"Dear Major,
"Kindly bring with you to-morrow your cheque for £200. He has come back.
"Maraquita Veilsturm."
Placing this in an envelope, she directed it to Major Griff, at the Globetrotters' Club, then ringing the bell, gave it to the servant, with instructions that it was to be delivered at once.
When she was once more alone, she picked up Sir Guy's card, and smiled cruelly as she looked at the name.
"You fool," she whispered softly. "Oh, you fool."
"By the magic of thine eyesThou hast drawn me to the brake,As thy victim slowly dies,Hiss in triumph, cruel snake.Strangled now I gasp for breath,Thus ensnared within thy toils,I can only wait for death,Helpless in thy shining coils."
"By the magic of thine eyes
Thou hast drawn me to the brake,
As thy victim slowly dies,
Hiss in triumph, cruel snake.
Strangled now I gasp for breath,
Thus ensnared within thy toils,
I can only wait for death,
Helpless in thy shining coils."
Mrs. Veilsturm was a lady who once having learnt a lesson from experience, never needed to go to that unpleasant school a second time. She saw plainly that her first tactics with regard to Errington had been entirely wrong, as it was a mistake to treat such a non-appreciative person with kindness. Therefore, when he returned to her for a second time, she behaved towards him with cold disdain, which had the effect of making him simply furious, as it resembled the way in which he had been treated by his wife. Instead of taking offence, however, and leaving his capricious divinity in disgust, he followed her everywhere, resolved with dogged perseverance to force her to revert to her earlier demeanour.
Wherever Cleopatra went, Errington was to be seen in attendance, and at balls, theatres, garden-parties, the Park, Hurlingham, his haggard-looking face appeared ever beside her. All the world of London, seeing Mrs. Veilsturm's change of front, thought that she was tired of her last fancy, and began to pity her for the persistent manner in which she was followed by her discarded lover. When questioned on the subject, she simply laughed, and talked pathetically about being a lonely widow, so that everyone said that she had been badly treated in being suspected of favouring Errington in any way.
"A charming woman, my dear," whispered the world, behind its fan, "always behaved with the greatest delicacy in every way. But that young Errington! Oh! good gracious! a young libertine--persecutes her with attentions and she can't possibly get rid of him. A bad young man, my dear, a very bad young man."
So the world, in its usual capricious manner, changed round altogether, and whitewashed Mrs. Veilsturm as a saint, while it blackened poor Guy's character as that of an irredeemable scamp. He had a wife, whom he treated very badly, kept her shut up in a gloomy place in the country. Spent all his income in leading a fast life. Terribly in debt, and mixed up with the Hebrews. Mrs. Veilsturm had implored him, with tears in her eyes, to go back to his wife, but he resolutely declined. She was really behaving very well, but as for young Errington--well, what could be expected now-a-days?
As for Saint Cleopatra, she was placed on a pedestal from whence she smiled kindly on her crowd of worshippers, and, possibly, laughed in her sleeve at the way in which she was gulling them. She had completely recovered her position in the eyes of society, and the Major chuckled complacently over the clever tactics of his friend and partner. The ball at which she was to make her last appearance in Town, was near at hand, and it seemed as though the firm were about to depart for the States in a blaze of triumph.
A great change had come over Guy since his return to the feet of Mrs. Veilsturm. Formerly so hearty and cheery, he was now gloomy and morose, with a frown on his good-looking face and a pain in his heart. His wife's cruelty had wounded him deeply, and though he did not care in the least for Mrs. Veilsturm, yet he was determined, out of bravado, to persevere in his pursuit. After a time, however, he became fascinated by her beauty and persistent neglect, which feeling Cleopatra saw, and determined to profit by it when she judged fit. At present, however, in the eyes of the world she was simply a virtuous woman exposed to the addresses of a libertine, and gained a great deal of undeserved pity thereby.
Eustace was still in Town, and was considerably puzzled over the whole affair, especially by the way in which Mrs. Veilsturm was behaving. He knew that she wanted to fascinate Guy for her own wicked ends, and wondered that she treated him in a way that was calculated to lose her the very prize which she strove to win. From constant observation, however, he gained a clear idea of the means she was adopting both to attract Errington and silence scandal, and could not refrain from admiring the dexterous fashion with which she played this very difficult game.
With regard to his cousin, he, of course, guessed that he had quarrelled with Alizon, but was unable to ascertain clearly what had occurred, as on asking Guy he was savagely told to mind his own business. Eustace would have taken offence at such treatment from anyone else, but he pitied his cousin for his obvious unhappiness, therefore took no notice of his rudeness.
He saw plainly, however, that husband and wife had parted in anger, so the way was made clear for him to carry out his intentions with regard to Lady Errington. But curiously enough, now that the very thing he desired was made so easy for him, he could not make up his mind to go down to Castle Grim, near the home of the woman he loved. Eustace was as selfish and egotistical as ever, still in spite of his strong inclination for Alizon, in spite of the three interpositions of Destiny, which had such an effect on his fatalistic nature! he hesitated about carrying out his project, and lingered in Town in a vacillating frame of mind eminently unsatisfactory to himself.
Once or twice, with an idea that he was doing his duty, he ventured to speak to his cousin about the way he was haunting the footsteps of Mrs. Veilsturm, but such well-meant intentions were received by Guy with such bad grace that he judged it best to remain neutral.
Aunt Jelly heard of Guy's behaviour, and also of the position taken up by Mrs. Veilsturm, by whose conduct she, in common with the rest of the world, was completely blinded. She sent for Guy in order to remonstrate with him, but he curtly refused to see her at all, and in despair she asked Eustace to speak to his cousin. Eustace told her he had done so without any result, and declined to interfere in the matter again. Miss Corbin would have liked to have written to Alizon, but her last attempt to mend matters had resulted in such a fiasco that she was afraid to do anything. So the poor old lady, already very ill, worried and fretted herself to a shadow over the helpless position in which she found herself.
Seriously angry with Guy, she had altered her will in favour of Eustace, and then took to her bed, resolving to meddle no more in mundane affairs. Victoria and Minnie attended her with great devotion, as she was clearly destined never to recover, but her indomitable spirit held out to the end, and she forbade any of her relations to be summoned. One thing displeased her seriously, that Otterburn had not yet spoken to Victoria, and one day she asked him plainly if he intended to do so, upon which the boy told her the whole state of the case.
"So you see, Miss Corbin," he said, when he finished, "that I'm afraid to try my luck a second time, in case the answer will be no."
"You have no fear of that," replied Aunt Jelly, patting his hand. "No one regrets her refusal more than Victoria. You ask her again, and I'll warrant the answer will be what you desire."
So Otterburn, having received this encouragement, made up his mind to speak to Victoria at Mrs. Veilsturm's ball. Aunt Jelly had not intended to let Miss Sheldon go to this festivity at first, thinking that Mrs. Veilsturm had designedly attracted Guy, but when she heard the way in which she was behaving, she withdrew her prohibition and insisted upon Victoria going. Not only that, but she herself selected a costume for her ward, and considerably astonished that young damsel when she told her what she wanted her to appear as.
"Why Flora Macdonald?" asked Victoria, in surprise. "I'm not a bit Scotch."
"Are you not?" said Aunt Jelly drily. "I thought your mother was?"
"Oh, yes, but----"
"Don't make nonsensical objections, child," replied Miss Corbin sharply, with a flash of her old spirit. "I want you to go as Flora Macdonald, and I've no doubt you'll find out the reason before the ball is ended."
Whereat Victoria, being less innocent of the reason than she pretended to be, laughed gaily, and went off with Minnie Pelch on a shopping excursion.
"Minnie," she said to her companion, when they left Miss Corbin, "do you know anything about Flora Macdonald?"
"Oh, yes," said Minnie, delighted at displaying her historical knowledge. "She was in love with Bonnie Prince Charlie, and saved his life, you know."
"Bonnie Prince Charlie," repeated Victoria thoughtfully, "perhaps I'll meet him at the ball."
"I shouldn't wonder," replied Miss Pelch significantly, for being a true woman, and dearly loving a romance, she had seen long ago how matters stood between Otterburn and Miss Sheldon.
So they went shopping all that bright afternoon, hunting up tartans, talking learnedly about Cairngorm brooches, and white cockades, and Jacobite songs, and the Lord knows what else.
Ah me, how strangely does Fate deal with our lives. Here was Guy drifting away from his wife day by day, and Angus being drawn nearer and nearer to Victoria. What Sir Guy Errington and Alizon Mostyn were two years before, they were about to become now--would their future be the same?
Who could tell? Fortune, blind and capricious, whirls her wheel round and round, raising and abasing men and women daily, hourly, momentarily, unaware herself, by reason of her bandage, of the good and evil she allots to one and another.
"Sure this wild fantastic bandMust have come from Fairy-land.Those who live in History's page,Step once more upon Life's stage.All the poet's dreamings bright,In the flesh appear to-night,Columbine and Harlequin,Knight, Crusader, Saracen,Cleopatra and her Roman,Herod, Borgia loved of no man,Antoinette and Louis Seize,Faust with Mephistopheles,All beneath the gas-lamps' gleam,Dance as in some magic dream.Surely at the break of day,Will the vision fade away,And these spirits bright and fair,Vanish into viewless air."
"Sure this wild fantastic bandMust have come from Fairy-land.Those who live in History's page,Step once more upon Life's stage.All the poet's dreamings bright,In the flesh appear to-night,Columbine and Harlequin,Knight, Crusader, Saracen,Cleopatra and her Roman,Herod, Borgia loved of no man,Antoinette and Louis Seize,Faust with Mephistopheles,All beneath the gas-lamps' gleam,Dance as in some magic dream.Surely at the break of day,Will the vision fade away,And these spirits bright and fair,Vanish into viewless air."
Mrs. Veilsturm had certainly no reason to complain of lack of popularity, as she looked at her salons thronged with all fashionable London. Her diplomatic behaviour towards Errington for the last few weeks had borne good fruit, having converted foes into friends, and friends into red-hot partizans, therefore everyone came to her fancy dress ball, and this entertainment which signalised her exit from London Society was proving a wonderful success.
Never had she looked so perfectly lovely as she did on this night, when, robed as Cleopatra, she stood near the door receiving her guests. Swathed in diaphanous tissues, broidered with strange figures in gold and silver, with jewels flashing star-like from every portion of her dress, the double crown of Egypt on her lustrous coils of hair, and a trailing mantle of imperial purple silk drooping from her shoulders, she looked like the embodiment of some splendid civilization long since perished from the earth. Truly this woman, with her majestic bearing, her voluptuous form, her rich Eastern beauty, and slow sensuous movements, looked like that antique coquette of the slow-flowing Nile, whose face, fair and deathless, still smiles at us across the long centuries from out the darkness of old Egypt.
The huge room resembled a garden of flowers blown by the wind, as the restless dancers in their brilliant costumes swayed hither and thither to the music of the band. Dainty Watteau shepherdesses, serene Greek maidens, mediæval pages, steel-clad knights, Cavaliers, Louis Quatorze musketeers, and divers other picturesque figures, mingled together in gay confusion, laughing, talking, jesting, smiling, flirting and whispering, without pause or rest. And above the murmur of voices, the sound of feet gliding over the polished floor, and the indistinct frou-frou of dresses, sounded the rhythmical swing of the valse "Caprice d'une femme," played by an unseen orchestra. The gas-lamps in their many-coloured shades gleamed softly over the noisy crowd, the faint perfume of myriad flowers, drooping in the heat on the decorated walls, floated dreamily on the heavy air, and round and round with laughter and jesting swept the dancers, while the fitful music arose and fell with its recurrent burden of passionate tenderness.
"Dear, dear!" observed a ponderous Britannia, fanning her red face with her shield, "how hot it is to be sure! I wonder if there's such a thing as an ice to be had?"
"Or champagne?" said a faded-looking Dawn sitting near her. "I'm positively dying for champagne."
"Young men are so selfish," sighed Britannia, looking in vain for a friendly face; "they come to my dances, but never think of looking after me when I'm not in my own house. One might starve for all they care, and an ice----"
"Would, no doubt, save you from such a fate," said a languid voice, as a tall, heavily-built man, in a monkish dress, paused near the representative of the British Empire. "Come then, Mrs. Trubbles, and I'll get you one."
"Dear me, Mr. Gartney," observed Mrs. Trubbles, shifting her trident to her left hand in order to welcome Eustace. "Well, I am astonished."
"At seeing me here, or at my dress? Both things rather extraordinary, I must confess. I'm rather fond of fancy dress balls, all the same. It's so pleasant to see one's friends making fools of themselves."
"How unamiable, Mr. Gartney," said Dawn, screwing her wrinkled face into what was meant for a fascinating smile.
"But how true, Mrs. Dills," responded Gartney, with a bow, "but I see both you ladies are longing for supper, so perhaps I can make myself useful."
"Indeed you can," said both eagerly, rising and taking an arm each.
"I feel like the royal arms, between the lion and the unicorn," remarked Eustace, jestingly.
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Dills, who set up for being a wit, "we've got the lion between us. But what might you be, Mr. Gartney?"
"Rabelais."
"What's Rabelais? cried Britannia, with a faint idea it might be something to eat.
"Rabelais," explained Eustace, gravely, "was the creator of Pantagruel and Gargantua."
"I never heard of him," said Mrs. Dills crossly, being in want of her supper.
"Oh, fame! fame!"
"Bother fame," observed Mrs. Trubbles, as the two ladies sat down at the table. "I would give the fame of Nebuchadnezzar for a good meal."
"You shall have it and without such a sacrifice," said Eustace, assisting Dawn and Britannia plenteously; "by-the-way, isn't Miss Sheldon with you, to-night?"
"Yes Flora Macdonald, whoever she was," said Mrs. Trubbles, heavily, "she's with that young Macjean. Do you remember him at Como, Mr. Gartney? He's in a Scotch dress to-night."
"Bonnie Prince Charlie, I suppose?"
"Or a tobacconist's sign," said Mrs. Dills who was an adept at saying nasty things. "By-the-way, Mr. Gartney, isn't the company rather mixed?"
Mrs. Dills' papa had been an opulent linen-draper, and Mr. Dills had made his money by a speciality in sheets, so she thought herself quite justified in criticising aristocratic society.
Eustace knew all about Mrs. Dills, and was so amused by the little woman's insolence, that he did not reply half so severely as he had intended to do.
"Ah, you see I've not had your opportunities for judging," he replied drily, "but as far as I can judge, there's nobody here that isn't somebody."
"But their characters," hinted Mrs. Dills, with a seraphic look.
"Ah, bah! I'm no Asmodeus to unroof people's houses."
"What a lucky thing--for the people."
"And what a disappointment--for their friends," said Eustace, significantly.
He hated Mrs. Dills, who was an adept at damning with faint praise, and took away people's characters with the look of a four-year-old child and the tongue of a serpent. Mrs. Dills saw Gartney's meaning, and resenting it with all the viciousness of a small mind, began to be nasty.
"I see Sir Guy Errington is here," she said, smiling blandly, "as Edgar of Ravenswood. He looks like a thundercloud in black velvet. I'm so sorry for him."
"That's really very kind of you," retorted Eustace, sarcastically.
"Not at all," murmured Dawn, sympathetically; "it's such a pity to see his infatuation."
"For what?" demanded Gartney, obtusely.
"Oh, really! You know! of course you do! Poor Lady Errington! And then the 'Other' doesn't care for him."
"Little viper," thought Eustace, looking smilingly at her, but saying nothing, which encouraged Mrs. Dills to proceed.
"It's a dreadful scandal, but not 'Her' fault--oh, dear no! but he ought to go back to his wife, especially as the 'Other' doesn't care for him."
"You talk like a sphinx," said Eustace, coldly. "Whom do you mean by the 'Other'?"
Mrs. Dills smiled sweetly, and having finished her supper arose to take his arm.
"When one is in Rome, one must not speak evil of the Pope," she replied cleverly. "Are you quite ready, Mrs. Trubbles?"
"Quite, my dear," said that matron, who had made an excellent supper. "We'll go back now, Mr. Gartney. Dear me, there's Mr. Thambits. How do you do? What is your character, Mr. Thambits?"
"I'm Richard C[oe]ur de Lion," answered Dolly, who looked very ill at ease in his armour, "and Jiddy is Blondel."
"Is he really?" said Britannia, poking Jiddy in the back with her trident to make him turn round. "Very nice. I saw Blondin on the tight-rope once."
"Not Blondin, but Blondel," explained Jiddy, meekly, "he was a harper, you know, and sang songs."
"I hope you don't carry your impersonation so far as that," said Mrs. Dills, spitefully.
"I've had singing lessons," began Blondel, indignantly, "and I sing----"
"You do, I've heard you," said Eustace, significantly, and then hurried his two ladies quickly back to their seats, being somewhat tired of Mrs. Dills' spiteful tongue and Britannia's ponderous conversation.
Having thus performed his duty, he went away to look for Otterburn, being anxious to know how that young man had sped in his wooing. Near the door, however, a man brushed roughly past him with a muttered apology, and Eustace, turning to see whom this ill-bred person could be, found himself face to face with Guy Errington. He was dressed as the Master of Ravenswood, and, in his sombre dress of dark velvet, his high riding boots of black Spanish leather, and his broad sombrero with its drooping white plume of feathers, looked remarkably handsome, though, as Mrs. Dills had remarked, "like a thundercloud in black velvet," such was the gloom of his face.
"How are you, Guy?" said his cousin, laying a detaining hand upon the young man's shoulder. "I've been looking for you everywhere."
"I've only been here half-an-hour," replied Errington listlessly. "Anything wrong?"
"Oh, no I only you've avoided me for the last week or so, and I want to know the reason."
"There's no reason that I know of, and I haven't avoided you."
As he spoke, his eyes were looking over the heads of the crowd, and in following their gaze. Eustace saw they rested on Cleopatra, who was talking to Major Griff.
"Oh, I see the reason," said Eustace coolly, "and a very handsome reason it is."
Errington laughed in a sneering manner and made no reply.
"I say Guy," remarked Eustace complacently, "isn't it about time you stopped making a fool of yourself?"
"I don't understand you."
"No? you wish me to speak plainer?"
"I do not wish you to speak at all," retorted Errington fiercely, his eyes full of sombre fire. "Our relationship has its privileges, Gartney, but don't take too much advantage of them."
He shook off his cousin's hand impatiently, and without another word disappeared in the crowd, leaving Eustace considerably perturbed.
"I've done all I can," he muttered disconsolately. "He's bent on going to the devil via Mrs. Veilsturm, so I can't stop him. If I only dared to console his wife, but she's got the boy--that's consolation enough for a piece of ice like her."
Meanwhile, Errington, pushing his way through the dancers, made his way to Cleopatra, who, having finished with Griff, was chatting to a young F.O. man. On seeing Errington, she turned towards him with a slight bow, and began to talk, upon which the F.O. went off to find some one else.
"Are you not dancing, Sir Guy?" she asked, looking at him brightly.
"No, I don't care about it, unless you dance with me."
"And what about my duties as hostess?"
"I think you've done enough penance for one evening."
"Meaning that my reward is to dance with you," she said mischievously. "Thank you, Monsieur."
She was more amiable to him this evening than she had been of late. And Guy, feeling the change, thawed wonderfully under the sunshine of her eyes.
"Well, am I to have my dance?" he asked, with a smile.
Cleopatra took up her programme and ran her eyes over the series of scratches which did duty for names opposite the dances.
"I don't know if you deserve one," she whispered coquetishly.
"Don't say that. As you are strong, be merciful."
She handed him the card with a laugh.
"You can have that valse," she said, indicating one far down, "by that time I will be released from durance vile."
Errington scribbled his name, and giving her back the card, was about to renew the conversation, when she dismissed him imperiously.
"Now you have got what you wanted, go away. I have a number of people to talk to."
"A lot of fools," he muttered peevishly.
"Possibly--we can't all be Ravenswoods, you know."
"Maraquita!"
"Hold your tongue," she said, in a fierce whisper, "do you want to compromise me before all these people? Go away, and don't come near me till our valse."
"And afterwards?"
"Entirely depends upon the humour I am in."
He took his dismissal in a sufficiently sulky manner, which made Mrs. Veilsturm smile blandly, on seeing which he turned away with a stifled curse. It was extraordinary, the change in this man, who, from being a good-natured-enough fellow, had suddenly changed, through his wife's cruelty and his temptress's caprices, into a morose, disagreeable individual, whom nobody cared to speak with.
"Is that Sir Guy Errington?" asked a soft voice behind him. "See if it is, Mr. Macjean."
"There is no need," responded Errington with forced civility, turning round to Otterburn and Miss Shelton. "You have very sharp eyes."
"Ah, you see I knew what your costume was going to be," said Victoria, who looked wonderfully pretty as Flora Macdonald. "Aunt Jelly told me."
"By the way, how is Aunt Jelly?"
"She's not at all well," replied Victoria, reproachfully, "and you have not been near her for some weeks."
"More pleasantly employed, eh?" said Otterburn, laughing, for which he was rewarded by a fierce glance from Errington.
"I've been busy," he said briefly. "I'll call shortly. Hope you'll enjoy this foolery, Miss Sheldon."
Jerking out these polite sentences he went off, leaving the young couple looking after him in undisguised astonishment.
"I don't know what's come over Sir Guy," said Macjean, as they pursued their way towards the conservatory, "he used to be such a good-tempered fellow."
"Oh,cherchez la femme."
"Wouldn't have to seek far I'm afraid," replied Angus, glancing at the distant form of Mrs. Veilsturm.
"She's a horrid woman," said Victoria, viciously, as they entered the conservatory, and found a comfortable nook.
"I quite agree with you."
"You shouldn't talk of your hostess in that way," observed Miss Sheldon reprovingly.
"But I say, you know," replied Otterburn, rather bewildered at this sudden change of front, "you say----"
"I say lots of things I do not mean."
"I wish I could be sure of that."
"Indeed why?"
"Because--oh! you understand?"
"I'm sure I don't," replied Miss Sheldon, demurely, then looking up, she caught his eye, and they both laughed gaily.
The conservatory was certainly a very pleasant place, with its wealth of palms, of cactuses, of ferns and such-like tropical vegetation. A pale, emerald radiance from green-shaded lamps bathed the whole place, and at one end a slender jet of water shot up like a silver rod from the stillness of a wide pool, in which floated great white water-lilies. The band in the distant ball-room were playing apot pourriof airs from the latest opera, and Otterburn sat under the drooping fronds of a palm-tree beside Victoria, with the fatal words which would bind him for life trembling on his lips. So handsome he looked in his picturesque Scotch dress, with the waving tartans and gleam of Cairngorm brooches, and his bright young face bent towards her, full of tender meaning. Victoria knew quite well that he intended to propose again, and her heart beat rapidly as her eyes fell before the fiery light which burned in his own.
"I suppose you have quite forgotten Como?" said Otterburn, in what he meant to be a matter-of-fact tone.
Miss Sheldon began to draw designs on the floor with the toe of her dainty boot, and laughed nervously.
"Oh no! it was the first time I was in Italy, you know, and first impressions----"
"Are always excellent."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"I hope you don't think the same about first refusals."
"Refusals of what?" she replied, wilfully misunderstanding his meaning, at which Otterburn felt somewhat disappointed.
"Ah, your memory is treacherous."
"I think not! I can remember most things--when I choose."
"Then do you remember how we talked about Scotch costumes, and I said I'd put mine on the first Fancy Dress Ball we went to."
"Yes! I remember that."
"This is the first Fancy Dress Ball."
"And you are in your tartans," she answered, with a sudden glance. "How curiously it all comes about. I thought you had forgotten."
"I never forget anything you say," he replied eagerly. "I wish I could."
"Now that's very unkind of you! Why?"
"Because I wish to forget how cruel you were to me at the Villa Medici."
"Was I cruel?" she asked, with sudden compunction.
"You know you were," he answered reproachfully, "so I think you ought to make up for it."
He took her hand that was lying on her lap, and drew her towards him. She made no resistance, but still kept her eyes cast down.
"How can I make up for it?" she asked, in a low voice. "By saying Yes, instead of No," he replied ardently.
"Certainly. Yes, instead of No."
"How cruel you are still," he said impatiently. "You understand what I mean quite well. You sent me away to wander all over the face of the earth because you were----"
"A coquette," she interrupted.
"I never said so," he answered, rather taken aback.
"You did--then."
"I? Well I do not now. I'll say you are the dearest, sweetest girl in the world if you'll only say----"
"Yes."
"Ah, you've said it," he said joyfully, slipping his arm round her waist. "You have said, 'yes.'"
"Ah! perhaps I did not mean it," she answered coquettishly.
"I don't care," he retorted recklessly, "you have said it, and I hold you----"
"Yes you do," she murmured with a smile.
"To your word," he finished gaily. "Victoria, say you love me a little."
"No, I can't say that."
His face whitened, and a pained look came into his eyes, but she laid her head on his shoulder, and looking up, whispered softly:
"Because I love you a great deal."
"My darling."
He bent down and kissed her fondly, and then--then--ah, who can repeat truly the conversation of lovers, who can write down coldly all the fond, foolish words, the tender endearments, that go to make up the happy time that succeeds the little word "yes?"
The music in the distance ceased, there was the noise of approaching feet, and Victoria sprang to her feet quickly.
"We must go back to the ball-room, Mr. Macjean."
"Mr. Macjean!"
"Well, then, 'Angus.'"
"Ah, that's much better," he said gaily, giving her his arm. "You are no doubt engaged for the next dance, but I cannot give you up so soon. Now I've got you I'll keep you for ever."
"Ever's a long time," laughed Victoria, whose face was beaming with smiles, as she looked at her handsome young lover walking so proudly beside her.
"It won't be long enough for me," he said fondly, and they passed into the brilliant ball-room at peace with themselves and the world.
On the way they met Eustace, who glanced keenly at both of them, and then held out his hands with a laugh.
"I congratulate you both," he said, smiling; "you will both be happy--till you get tired of one another."
"That horrid man," said Victoria with a shiver as he passed onward. "We will never get tired, Mr.--I mean Angus?"
"Never," he whispered fervently.
There's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream, but what a pity there should be any awakening.
"He comes unsoughtTo young and old,Can ne'er be boughtBy tears or gold,He buries us all in the churchyard's mould."Oh, man, why weep?His gifts are blest,He brings us sleep,He gives us rest.And the world's care ceases upon his breast."Receive, if wise,Affliction's rod,The body liesBeneath the sod,But the soul we love is at home with God."
"He comes unsought
To young and old,
Can ne'er be bought
By tears or gold,
He buries us all in the churchyard's mould.
"Oh, man, why weep?
His gifts are blest,
He brings us sleep,
He gives us rest.
And the world's care ceases upon his breast.
"Receive, if wise,
Affliction's rod,
The body lies
Beneath the sod,
But the soul we love is at home with God."
It was now nearly the end of the season, and Society was preparing to amuse itself in another fashion. Brighton, and Trouville, and Dieppe, and Scarborough were thronged with languid men and women, slowly regaining from the fresh salt breeze of the sea the strength they had wasted during the feverish existence of the season. After her brilliant entertainment, Mrs. Veilsturm had taken a villa at San Remo for a month or so, prior to departing for the States, and managed to amuse herself very comfortably by the blue Mediterranean, with an occasional run over to Monte Carlo and Nice.
The Major was in Paris, looking after some business connected with the inevitable West Indian estate, though what Paris had to do with the West Indies nobody could find out. However, his business being duly finished, he went South, at the kind invitation of Mrs. Veilsturm, and found Anthony at the feet of Cleopatra, in other words, Sir Guy Errington in attendance.
Yes! Guy, in spite of the calls of honour and respectability, had followed his charmer to the Continent, and being released from the microscopic vision of Mrs. Grundy, Cleopatra had been very kind to him, fully recouping him for the cavalier fashion in which she had treated him in Town. He had never written to his wife since leaving her, except a curt note telling her he was leaving England for an indefinite period, and to this he had received no answer. Angered at her silence, he abandoned any scruples he might have had and went off to dishonour and Mrs. Veilsturm, who was delighted at the easy victory she had secured over her hated rival. She flattered and caressed Errington with all the infinite charm of which she was mistress, was kind and cruel by turns, but never permitted him to go beyond a certain limit, which cautious conduct perplexed him exceedingly. He had thrown up everything for her, and expected a like sacrifice in return, but Mrs. Veilsturm was not by any means prepared to give up her hardly-won position even for revenge. All she wanted was to destroy the married life of Lady Errington, and she was quite willing to accomplish this by keeping Guy near her under the shadow of suspicion, without giving that suspicion any real grounds. Therefore, she kept him in a fool's paradise of meaningless caresses, which meant nothing, and had he been a wise man he would have seen that he had given up the substance for the shadow.
He was not a wise man, however, and dangled after Mrs. Veilsturm in a manner that would have won his own contempt had he thought. But he never thought, or if he did, it was more of the wife he had left behind than this capricious woman, whose slave he was supposed to be. He did not love her, but was content to surrender himself to the spell of her evil beauty, and acted as he did more from a sense of revolt against his wife's scorn, than any innate desire to do wrong. It was an unsatisfactory position, and he felt it to be so, but Mrs. Veilsturm was too clever to let him go until her revenge was quite complete, and every day wound her chains closer round him.
Major Griff was not pleased to find Errington in this position, as he thought it would compromise Cleopatra's reputation too much, but when he saw the way in which she was conducting the campaign he was perfectly satisfied, and smiled grimly at the dexterous manner in which she was revenging herself for the insult she had received.
Dolly Thambits, in company with the faithful Jiddy, was staying at Monte Carlo, and losing his money with wonderful skill at the tables. This, however, seemed a waste of God's best gifts to the Major, and, aided by the seductions of Cleopatra, he inveigled Dolly to San Remo and kept him under his own eye. He won a lot of money from him, which came in useful, and occasionally went out with him to Monaco, so as to make such pigeon-plucking look less glaring.
Dolly was anxious to marry Mrs. Veilsturm, who simply laughed at his frequent proposals, as she was by no means tired of being a free lance, but she decided in her own mind, that when she was she would marry Mr. Thambits and give the cold shoulder to Major Griff. At present, however, she coquetted with Guy so as to retain him in her toils, and made poor Dolly deadly jealous of the good-looking baronet, which was useful in keeping him by her side out of contrariness. She was a clever woman, Maraquita Veilsturm, and kept everyone well in hand, so that not even the astute Major suspected her designs.
While Guy was thus abandoning himself to the spell of Circe, Eustace had gone down to Castle Grim, and was seeing a good deal of the deserted wife. He did not make much progress, however, in his wooing, as Alizon was not a woman to wear her heart on her sleeve, and never spoke of her husband in any way. She simply said that her husband was abroad, made no reference to the reason of their separation, and for the rest, passed her days with her child, and treated Eustace in a kindly fashion when he came over on a visit.
Astute man of the world as he was, Gartney was quite at a loss how to proceed, and might have retired from the unequal contest in despair, much as he loved her, had not an event happened which gave him the opening he desired.
Aunt Jelly died.
She had been ailing for a long time, poor soul, and was glad when the time came to leave this world, in which she had found such small pleasure. Her imperious spirit held out to the last, but she was strangely gentle at times, especially to Minnie Pelch, whom she knew would be left quite alone in the world when she died. Otterburn's engagement to Victoria gave her the greatest delight, and she insisted that they should get married at once, so that she could leave the world satisfied that the child of her old lover was under the safe protection of a husband.
Otterburn was quite willing that the marriage should take place without delay, and wrote a letter to Lord Dunkeld announcing his determination. By the advice of Johnnie (who was greatly pleased with his new mistress, pronouncing her a "canty lass," which was complimentary if not intelligible), he wrote a crafty letter to Mactab, enlisting his good offices to gain the consent of the old lord. Mactab thought a good deal over the letter, but when he discovered that the proposed bride was handsome, good, and had a large income, he came to the conclusion that "the laddie micht hae din waur," and went to interview Lord Dunkeld.
The fiery old gentleman was in a great rage, averring that neither money nor good looks could make up for want of birth, but the discovery that Victoria's mother was a Macjean, and therefore connected with the family, calmed his anger and after some hesitation he consented to the match. Not only that, but he came up to London to the marriage and brought the redoubtable Mactab to tie the nuptial knot, so everything was really very pleasant.
They were married in a quiet fashion at Aunt jelly's house, and Lord Dunkeld was very much pleased with his new daughter, both as regards fortune and looks. The young couple went off to Ventnor for their honeymoon, and after a fortnight in Town, round which they were shewn by Eustace, Lord Dunkeld and his spiritual adviser returned to the North, satisfied that the future head of the clan had obtained a "guid doonsettin'."
Before the end of the honeymoon, however, Mrs. Macjean was summoned home to the bedside of Aunt Jelly, but alas, before she arrived, Aunt Jelly had already passed away attended to the last by Minnie Pelch. Both Otterburn and his young wife were sorry for the death of the stern old woman, who had been so kind to them both; and their sorrow was shared by Eustace, who came up from Castle Grim for the funeral. Guy was telegraphed to, but as his relations with his aunt had not been of the best during the latter part of his life, and he blamed her for making trouble between himself and his wife, he refused to come over.
"Aunt jelly hated me," he wrote to Eustace, "and although I would liked to have made it up with her before she died, yet I cannot forget the letter she wrote to my wife, which has been the cause of all my trouble. She will no doubt leave you all her money, as I know she had every intention of altering the will she made in my favour, and I am sorry for my son's sake, if not for my own."
There was much more in the letter which Eustace pondered over, as he understood perfectly that Guy was not happy, but as he did not see how he could alter things, he left them alone.
On the will being read, it turned out exactly as Guy had anticipated, for Aunt Jelly left all her real and personal estate to Eustace, with the exception of two hundred a year to Minnie Pelch, and some legacies to her servants, Victoria and Doctor Pargowker. To Guy she did not leave a single thing, his name not even being mentioned in the will.
Eustace wrote to his cousin and offered him half the fortune, but Guy refused, so Gartney found himself an enormously rich man, and more miserable than ever.
He sincerely loved Alizon Errington, but did not know how to make his love known to her, and as he could not see how to remedy the terrible misunderstanding between husband and wife, he was forced to take up a neutral position.
Mr. and Mrs. Macjean, after the funeral, took their departure to Dunkeld Castle, on a visit to the old lord, and after installing Minnie Pelch as mistress of the house in Delphson Square, Eustace went down to Castle Grim, in order to tell Lady Errington about the will.
It was a terribly bitter situation altogether. Husband parted from wife by a miserable misunderstanding, and this man, wealthy and clever, wavering between honour and dishonour, between respect for Guy and love for Alizon.