"I'm sure," he said, "I don't believe that half of the people in the world can tell for the life of them why they fall in love with a certain person and not with another. As we're talking confidentially, I don't mind telling you that I've decided that I'm in love with Miss Fitzgerald, and that the best thing I can do is to tell her so as soon as possible, though I'm afraid there is little chance of her having me."
"I can honestly say," rejoined his companion, "that, if that is how the case stands, I do hope you'll be successful."
Having arrived at this amicable and highly satisfactory conclusion, they realised that in the earnestness of their discussion they had not noticed the lapse of time.
"Dear me, it must be getting late. I trust we're not far from the Hall," said Lady Isabelle.
"To tell you the truth, I don't know just where we are," he replied.
They were standing in a thick plantation at the time, through which meandered the little path they were following.
"There's rising ground ahead, however," he continued, "and, I think, a clearing."
This proved to be the case, and when they had gained the little knoll they saw, nearly in front of them, across a slight valley, bordered on either side by wide stretches of fields and pasture-land, the Hall.
"It doesn't look to be half a mile distant, but I doubt the wisdom of trying a short cut," he said, "We'd much better keep to our path."
Their prudence had its own reward, for they had not been walking five minutes before they encountered a peasant, who, with more good nature than brevity, directed their steps in a way that was too plainly not a short cut. However, there was nothing for it now but to push on, and though they walked rapidly, it was a long time before they reached the Hall.
Unkind fate prompted them on their arrival to venture into the drawing-room in search of a belated cup of tea, and, to their dismay, they found the apartment, which should have been deserted at this hour, tenanted solely by the Dowager, who had evidently been awaiting their return.
She was much too formally polite to make them feel at their ease, and with a word dismissed her daughter, on the plea of removing her wraps, thus leaving the Secretary to his fate.
Once they were alone, her Ladyship surveyed the young man deliberately through her lorgnettes, and when she had made him sufficiently nervous, remarked in a chilling tone that she trusted her daughter had caught no cold from walking so late in the park.
The Secretary acquiesced, and then the Marchioness opened the attack in earnest.
"We – my daughter – has had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of you lately, Mr. Stanley."
"Er, yes," he replied, scenting danger. "Of course it's been a great pleasure to me."
"Still," she continued, "it is not usual for a young lady, unchaperoned, to walk in the park with a gentleman at this hour; a gentleman who is, shall we say, a mere acquaintance."
"The matter was one of necessity," he replied shortly. "We lost our way."
"Mrs. Roberts has driven me over her grounds repeatedly, and it appears to me to be quite impossible for anyone to really lose his way."
"Deference to your Ladyship's opinion prevents me from saying more."
"It is certainly not pleasant," resumed the Dowager, ignoring his last remark, "to continue this conversation, and, were my late husband living, I should naturally have left the matter to him; as it is, my duty as a mother and my desire for dear Isabelle's welfare bids me – "
"Really, your Ladyship, am I to understand you to imply – "
"I can only say that I have heard your name associated with my daughter's in a manner – that was not – quite as I could wish. Dear Lady Wintern, a woman most interested in the good of her friends, spoke to me herself, and of course you, as a man of honour and a gentleman – "
"As a man of honour and a gentleman, I deeply regret that anything in my conduct should have led to a misconception in regard to my relations with Lady Isabelle, and in the future – "
"In the future, Mr. Stanley, you will of course see little or nothing of my daughter – unless – "
She paused, and for a moment neither spoke. Then the Secretary, who, whatever else may be said of him, was not a coward, seeing what was impending, determined to face the situation and have it over as soon as possible.
"Am I to understand," he inquired, "that you're asking me my intentions?"
Her Ladyship raised her eyebrows. If the French shoulder is expressive, the English eye-brow, feminine, speaks volumes.
"You do not make the situation easy for me," she replied. "Of course I speak only for myself. What my daughter may feel – "
"You don't suppose," he exclaimed, "that Lady Isabelle really thinks – "
"I know, Mr. Stanley, that my daughter thinks nothing and does nothing that would not be proper in a young lady of her position."
"Then I've only to apologise," he said, rising, "for what you force me to believe is my fault, however unintentional." And, bowing gravely to her, he quietly left the room.
CHAPTER XVI
MAN PROPOSES
As he dressed for dinner that evening, Stanley was still smarting with irritation at the undeserved attack which had just been made upon him by the Marchioness, and which through no fault of his own placed him in an exceedingly unpleasant and awkward position towards her daughter. The sooner he proposed to Miss Fitzgerald, and their engagement was announced, the better for all parties concerned. So seeking to justify himself by force of circumstances, he threw prudence to the winds and determined to speak that very night.
If, however, his private affairs had progressed rapidly to a crisis, the official interests which, he assured himself, were the real cause of his presence here, had not progressed at all, and he seemed no nearer the solution of the mystery, and the apprehension of the conspirators, than when he arrived.
True, Lady Isabelle's confession concerning Kingsland only served to strengthen his own conviction that the Lieutenant was Darcy's confederate; but Darcy himself, the prime mover of the plot, had not as yet put in an appearance, and till he arrived there was nothing to be done but to watch and wait.
Five minutes later the Secretary had joined the party in the drawing-room just as dinner was announced, and to his utter consternation his hostess whispered to him:
"I am sending you down with Lady Isabelle. I hear you and she are great chums."
"Great chums!" Stanley was tempted to plead sudden indisposition, and have his dinner in his room. Then a remembrance of his recent interview caused a wave of adverse feeling to sweep over him. Yes, he would take down Lady Isabelle. Was he to be badgered out of his dinner because a designing old woman could not leave well enough alone?
He could not indeed resist casting a look of amused triumph at the Dowager as he passed her with her daughter on his arm, but his conscience pricked him nevertheless, for he felt that his presence must be distasteful to his fair companion. That she really cared for him at all he could not bring himself to believe in the light of their conversation on the walk. Still, her frankness might have been assumed through pique at unreturned affection, and with a desire born of pride, to blind him to the true state of her feelings. The more he thought of this the more uneasy he became, and he could not help noticing that she was much more pale than he had as yet seen her, and seemed singularly abstracted. Moreover, he was certain that she was incurring her mother's displeasure, which would be to her a grave matter. He tried to make such atonement as lay in his power to make her feel at ease and to divert her mind. He told her his best stories, gave her his most brilliant conversation, but in vain. His endeavours fell hopelessly flat, and at last, after a dreadful pause, they spoke that which was in their hearts.
"Do you think it was nice of you to take me in to dinner?" she asked in that quiet conversational tone with which so many secrets have been told at dinners without arresting the attention of others.
"Really," he said, "I'd no option. Our hostess – "
"You managed to avoid it last night."
Stanley flushed.
"Do you mind so much?" he asked.
"Oh, no; but mamma."
"She didn't show me much consideration the last time we met."
"I was very sorry for you," she replied, "but as it had to come I thought I was better out of the way."
"Do you mean to say that you deliberately left me to my fate?"
"You mustn't be too hard on mamma. She wouldn't have thought she was doing right if she had not spoken."
"But," he continued relentlessly, "you – "
"Oh! I – ?"
"Yes, supposing I had – succumbed."
She paused a minute, and then looked shyly up at him.
"In that case," she began, when Mrs. Roberts rose, and gave the signal for the ladies to retire.
Stanley cursed the convention, yet perhaps it was fortunate, as the Dowager had been growing dangerously red and puffy in the face, owing to the fact that the two young people had, unconsciously, drawn closer together in the excitement of those unfinished words.
The cigars seemed interminable; but at last they were over, and the gentlemen were at liberty to seek the drawing-room.
There is generally a moment of indecision when the men come up from dinner. The ladies have appropriated the most comfortable and naturally the most isolated chairs, and their lords and masters huddle like sheep in the doorway, uncertain where to flee for refuge and the most desirable companion. The Secretary had studied this peculiarity of his sex, and had learned to choose his goal beforehand. One glance showed him that Lady Isabelle was absent; either she had retired, her mother was quite capable of ordering her off to bed to keep her out of harm's way, or else she was in the conservatory. He trusted that this last supposition was correct, and disappeared among the palms, when the Marchioness' attention was directed elsewhere.
"And in that case?" he said, as he stood beside her, recalling her last words at the table. "In that case?"
"In that case," she replied, flushing slightly, "I should probably have said something I might have regretted, had not Mrs. Roberts come to my rescue."
"And now?"
"Don't be stupid, Mr. Stanley. Surely you know that any well-brought-up girl would always obey her mother – and – and you ought to see that this conversation is impossible."
"It's certainly unique."
"Don't you think we had better change the subject?"
"By all means, if you wish it, after I've asked you one more question. I trust you won't think me rude to persist, but – do you care for me, Lady Isabelle?"
"As a friend, yes."
"But in no other way?"
"In no other way."
"You're quite sure?"
"Quite, and I'm very sorry you asked me the question. I tried hard to prevent you."
"You've succeeded admirably," he said, laughing. "I was afraid you did care."
He held out his hand, and she took it, saying with a little constraint in her manner:
"You're certainly frank."
He was pleased to see that she was only piqued; the speech had been unfortunate; but Lady Isabelle had plenty of common sense, and she realised that his naïve confession had cleared the atmosphere, and made social intercourse possible.
He made another attempt to interest her in general conversation, this time succeeding admirably. And so an hour slipped by unnoticed, until the stern voice of the Dowager recalled them to the realities of life.
"Isabelle," she said coldly, "you are surely forgetting your duty to our hostess, and to me also, it seems."
"I'm coming, mamma," she replied, and left him with a quiet "Good-night."
Stanley felt immensely relieved. That was over; Lady Isabelle and he understood each other now, and his path was clear for – was it to be matrimony after all? He told himself he was a weak fool – that Miss Fitzgerald cared nothing for him; would not take him after last night; that he was under no real obligation and that he was a sentimental idiot – yet, he must see her – for his own sake – to justify himself – to – He resolutely shut his eyes to the future, and went in search of the lady in question.
Ten minutes later, Belle and he were alone in the most favourable place in the house for a tête-à-tête, a curious old corner, the two sides of which were converted into a capacious seat to which there was but one approach, screened by a heavy curtain on one side and a suit of armour on the other – safe from all observers.
"What a quaint old house this is!" he said. "We might almost suppose we were back in the sixteenth century."
"Yes," she replied dreamily. "We're out of place in these surroundings."
She was in a strange mood this evening, sad and thoughtful, yet lacking the repose which should have accompanied reverie. It was the only time that the Secretary had ever seen her nervous or distraite.
"What have you been doing all day?" he asked, hoping to lead the conversation to some more cheerful subject.
"Trying to forget myself," she replied.
"Surely it would be a pleasure to remember yourself, I should think."
"Should you? I fear not."
"Your ears must have burned this afternoon," he continued, unheeding her comment. "Pleasant things were being said about you."
"Did you say them?"
"Of course I said them, I always do; but I was referring to someone else – to Lady Isabelle."
"People only patronise me, when they think me unworthy of reproof."
"How can you say that!" he exclaimed. "I – " but she silenced him with a gesture.
"You've said it. That's why. I've never had one friend with whom there did not come a day, that he or she threw me over and cast my failings in my face. I'd believed it was different with you, I believed you trusted me; that you'd have trusted me through good and evil report – but no, you're like the rest. Society points its finger at me, and you accept its verdict, and you're right. You, secure in your social position, powerful, influential, you shall determine what is right and what is wrong, and I, – I must accept it without a murmur – I'm only a woman without a friend."
"No! no! no!" he cried vehemently. "You wrong me, you do not understand. No one can respect a woman more than I respect you. It's of some of your friends that I disapprove."
"A man is known by the company he keeps – how much more a woman. I'm like my friends – and you – you" – and for the moment she forgot to be meek and suffering, and her eyes blazed with passion – "you are the Pharisee of the nineteenth century, the hem of whose robe we outcasts are unworthy to touch!"
"How can you!" he cried, springing to his feet. "How can you do me so much wrong? It's not that you're like your friends. It is the fear that you may become so that moves me to speak as I do. But since you've seen fit to suspect me, you must allow me to justify myself. I know the affairs of this Colonel Darcy; know them as few others could, by virtue of my diplomatic position, and I assure you he has wronged and brutally treated one of the most beautiful and sweet-natured women I have ever seen. Treated her so badly that she was forced to flee to our Legation for assistance and protection. Imagine my feelings when you tell me that this man is your friend – when I hear your name coupled with his in the idle gossip of the smoking-room."
"I only know that Colonel Darcy was kind to me once upon a time," she replied, interrupting the flow of his eloquence.
"But what's that to do with this?"
"A man who can be kind to a woman in distress cannot be wholly bad."
"Why do you defend him?"
"Never mind why. Don't let us talk any more about it," she said wearily. "You cannot deny that you think worse of me for defending him; you can't take back your words of last night. I've been thinking it over carefully, and I've make up my mind. I'm of no use to anyone. I make my friends ashamed of me – I'm misunderstood and misjudged. It's the way of the world, but it's hard. My spirit's broken. I no longer have the wish to continue the battle. I'm going away."
"Going away! When?" he cried, in amazement.
"At once."
"And where?'
"I don't know; somewhere where I'm not known, where I've no friends to be annoyed at having to claim me as an acquaintance. Somewhere where people will take me for what I am, not for what I have been, for whom I know, for what I have done or left undone. Oh, I'm so tired, so sick of it all," and she bowed her head and wept.
The effect of all this on Stanley can hardly be over-stated. He supported her, he soothed her, he told her all that was in his heart, or all he thought was there. She should not go away alone; he would go with her; he had shockingly misjudged her; it should be his life task to make her forget that, to proclaim to all the world how great a heritage he had received in her love. They would triumph over all obstacles. He would show the world what a true, noble woman she really was; he would prove it in the best way possible by marrying her, if she would have him, if she would so far honour him. His heart was at her feet. She would be quite right in spurning it, but he besought her to be merciful, to give him his answer, and let that answer be consent.
And the lady, who, under these ministrations and protestations, had gradually recovered her self-control, ceased her passionate sobbing, rested her head contentedly on his shoulder, and allowed him, with but feeble resistance, to encircle her waist with a protecting arm – in short, everything seemed prepared for her success, when the curtain was pushed aside and there stood before them the figure of a man, which caused them both to spring to their feet, in time, as they fondly hoped, to escape detection; the Secretary with a smothered exclamation of rage; the lady, as she recognised the intruder, with a startled cry of:
"Colonel Darcy!"
CHAPTER XVII
HER HUSBAND
Even an unobserving man – and Colonel Robert Darcy was not that – could hardly have helped seeing that his presence was unwelcome, and that he had interrupted an important interview.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "I fear I've intruded."
The Secretary said nothing, and Miss Fitzgerald came to the rescue by declaring that she was very glad to see him, and that she had no idea he would be in Sussex so soon.
"The fact is, I particularly wanted to see you," he replied bluntly.
Thereupon Mr. Stanley did that most unpardonable thing in good society – lost his temper and gave evidence of the fact; a piece of egotism often noticeable in young men during their first years of social life, before a severe course of snubbing has taught them of how little relative importance they really are.
"Three's an impossible number for a tête-à-tête," he said stiffly, "so if you'll excuse me," and he started to leave her side.
Up to this point Belle had been in some doubt as to how she ought to act; but when the Secretary took the initiative, it at once gave her her cue, and she was quick to save the situation.
"There are no secrets between friends," she said hastily, "and you're both friends of mine, so I shall expect you to be friends of each other's."
"This is Colonel Robert Darcy, Jimsy – we call him Bob for short," she rattled on, laughing nervously. "And now, Bob, why have you arrived so unexpectedly in Sussex?"
"I think you've forgotten to introduce me to Colonel Darcy, Miss Fitzgerald," suggested Stanley.
"Dear me, I believe I have," replied that lady, calmly. "Bob, this is Jimsy; Jimsy, this is Bob – that'll do for the present. I'll tell you the rest of his names, titles and appurtenances when I've more time and less to talk about. So now we are friends and have no secrets from each other, therefore out with yours."
Darcy laughed.
"You see, Jimsy," continued Miss Fitzgerald, turning to the Secretary, "though I'm young and ignorant, men have always come to me for advice, or, perhaps, for the use of my intuition."
"I'm sure I trust Colonel Darcy will profit by it; but even our well-established friendship gives me no right to play third party to his confidences, and as I promised Kingsland a game of pool – "
"Ah, but you mustn't go; really you mustn't," expostulated the Colonel, "or you'll make me feel I've intruded."
Stanley felt that it was not his fault if that officer did not already possess those sentiments, and was about to stand to his decision, when Miss Fitzgerald pulled him down beside her, saying:
"Don't talk nonsense, Jimsy. I'm dying to hear Bob's secrets, and he's been here five minutes already, and we haven't allowed him to get a word in edgewise."
Thus admonished, the Secretary had no choice but to be an unwilling listener.
"I'm sure I don't know why I should dignify my affairs by the name of secrets," began Darcy, with ill-attempted nonchalance, "or why I should be reticent about speaking of them, either. It's more than the Press will be in the next few days," and he laughed harshly.
"My dear Bob!" exclaimed Miss Fitzgerald, with a horror that was meant to be assumed, but nevertheless had a touch of reality about it. "My dear Bob! I knew you were bad, but don't tell me you're as bad as all that!"
"I'm afraid so," he replied. Then turning to Stanley, continued, "I suppose you've not the misfortune to be married?"
"I'm a single man," replied the Secretary, who, under the circumstances, felt that a mere statement of fact was infinitely better than an expressed opinion.
"Then of course you can't conceive the pleasures of anticipation which the prospect of the divorce court arouses in the mind of a husband."
"I can imagine that the point of view would largely depend on his own status in the case."
"You don't mean to tell me, Bob," cried Miss Fitzgerald, "that she's been foolish enough – !"
"Oh, I'm the accused in the present indictment. But, fortunately for me, women are by nature inconsistent."
"Why do you say that?" she asked.
"Why? Because, having run away from my house and secured legal assistance in London to bring suit against me – well, on statutory grounds, she has, as a proof of her injuries, seen fit to take up her residence at the bachelor quarters of her Secretary of Legation."
"What! Is she there now?" cried Miss Fitzgerald, her eyes flashing, as she turned them full on Stanley.
That gentleman, who had foreseen this dénouement from the first, half rose to his feet with a view of crushing his defamer, but the Colonel's next statement so staggered him that he sunk back in his seat.
"No," replied that officer, in answer to Miss Fitzgerald's question. "No. London life didn't seem to agree with them, so they've made a little expedition into Sussex together; in fact, they're both here, or hereabouts."
"What do you say?" cried Belle, quite dazed by this astounding declaration.
"Oh, it's quite true. She actually had the effrontery to write me requesting that I send her belongings to his chambers. Of course I got no satisfaction in London, for my young man, with a discretion far beyond his years, promptly left for parts unknown. I didn't search for him, I watched her. I knew I could trust her to put me on the scent, if not to lead me to the quarry. She's quite fulfilled my expectations. When she left town my detective was on hand, followed her to Liverpool Street, watched her while she took her ticket, secured a place in another part of the same train, located her in a farmhouse on this estate, and, as I suspected, found that among the guests at the Hall was my co-respondent, Mr. Secretary Aloysius Stanley."
The speaker paused, and absolute silence reigned between them; but he did not seem to notice the tense muscles of the man or the flushed anxiety of the woman.
"Well, that's the story," he said shortly. "Not a pretty one, either, is it; but of course I shall have to see it through, and, as a first step, I must ask the assistance of you both in meeting this little cad of a diplomat. After I've settled with him, I shall leave her quite free to – "
"Stop!" cried the Secretary. "Don't say that, Colonel Darcy. Don't you dare to say it!"
"What the devil – I – " began Darcy, completely astonished at the turn affairs had taken.
"Miss Fitzgerald," continued his companion, "neglected to introduce me formally, but I will rectify that error. My name is Aloysius Stanley, and I'm the Secretary of Legation to whom you've presumed to allude in language for which I shall demand an explanation."
"We'll settle our difficulties at some more appropriate time, sir," replied the Colonel, with repressed anger patent in every tone.
"We'll settle them here and now – I demand a retraction of what you've just said, or intimated, in regard to my relations with your wife."
"I'll give you the only satisfaction you have a right to expect, and I to demand, when and where you please."
"Gentlemen! gentlemen!" exclaimed Miss Fitzgerald, fearful of what their anger might lead to. "Pray remember that you're in the presence of a lady."
"You need have no fear," said Stanley, in reply to her request, "I shall not forget myself." Then turning to Darcy, he continued:
"Did not my profession, which is essentially one of peace, prevent me from taking any notice of your absurd challenge, I should still refuse to involve myself in a matter with which I've no concern, merely because you've been enough of a cad to slander your wife in the presence of a third person."
"If I ever meet you outside!" began the Colonel, purple with rage – but the Secretary continued his remarks, oblivious of the interruption.
"There is one thing, however, that I shall do," he said. "Unless you leave this house immediately, I shall inform my hostess, who has already refused to include your name in her party, of what I know of you, and then put you out."
"Do go, Bob!" cried Belle. "Do, to please me."
"Oh, to please you," said Darcy, sulkily, "I suppose I must. But where I'm to go for a night's lodging, in this God-forsaken place, is quite a problem."
"Oh, there's a good inn just outside the Lodge gates. I know the proprietor of it," said Miss Fitzgerald.
"Perhaps you'll give me a line to him," he suggested, "as you're turning me out, and I've no luggage to insure my respectability."
"Certainly," she replied, "if you've a pencil, and will excuse the back of an old envelope."
The Colonel nodded, and she took an undirected envelope, which seemed to be carrying more than it could conveniently hold, from the pocket of her dress, and hastily scribbled a line on it with the pencil he gave her, handing them both to him nervously.
"Perhaps," suggested the Secretary coldly, who had watched this transaction with growing irritation, "it would be as well to remove the contents of your letter, Miss Fitzgerald. You should be careful to whom you entrust your correspondence."
She faced him, and looked at him steadily, with those great blue eyes of hers, while she said, with measured force and deliberation:
"I should be quite willing to trust the contents of any of my letters to Colonel Darcy's care."
The Colonel had, meantime, been nervously twisting the envelope round his fingers, and Stanley caught sight of a well-known monogram composed of the initials A. R. It was the letter he had taken from Kingsland, and restored to Mr. Riddle. How came it in Belle's hands – the seal still unbroken, and why was it given to Darcy? His suspicions, so long lulled by careful artifice, were at once aroused, and he threw the Colonel a glance, the meaning of which was not lost on the woman. Suddenly, her whole manner changing, she became nervous and excitable, once more saying to Darcy:
"Now, go, Bob; go at once, for all our sakes."
He growled a surly reply, and before the Secretary was aware of his intentions, had left the room.
Stanley stood for a moment, dazed; uncertain whether to follow or remain, his breast full of conflicting emotions; bewilderment at the vast field of possibilities opened by the Colonel's receipt of the letter; rage at his cowardly imputations, and dismay at the consequences of the strong circumstantial evidence which Madame Darcy had unwittingly manufactured against him; and at the effect which the Colonel's charges might produce on Miss Fitzgerald.
He was prepared for hysterics, recriminations, stern questions, scorn, anger, and endless tears; but totally unprepared for the ringing burst of laughter which greeted him as soon as the Colonel had left the room; cold, cynical laughter, from the girl he had just asked to be his wife, who threw herself on the couch, her eyes flashing and her whole face twitching with anger or merriment, he was not certain which.
"Oh dear – oh dear!" she cried, when she could at last control her voice, "this is too funny! too dreadfully funny!"
"I don't see anything amusing about it," he said bluntly. He was angry and sore, and this ill-timed merriment irritated him.
"Don't you? Then you must have lost your sense of humour. This young man," she continued, pointing at him, as if she were exhibiting him to a crowd. "This good young man, who preaches me sermons on self-respect – who is concerned for my good name – who thinks I've been too careless of my reputation, who is cut to the heart because I do not live up to the ideal to which he considers a woman should attain, who has just done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage – not because he loves me – oh dear, no – but because he feels it his duty to save me from myself. This practical young man, who combines pleasure with duty, by conducting an affaire du cœur, in a neighbouring farmhouse, with my friend's wife, but whose morality is so outraged at the man who is courteous enough to permit that wife to get the divorce, that he can't bear to be in the same room with him. This superlatively excellent young man, who had almost persuaded me that I was wrong in my estimate of human nature, turns out to be the worst of the lot, a whitened sepulchre of lying and hypocrisy and deceit – or perhaps I should sum it all up and say – a model of diplomacy. Isn't it funny – isn't it cruelly, wickedly humorous? Do you wonder I laugh?"
"If you can believe this of me, Miss Fitzgerald – " began the Secretary, who had flushed, and then turned as white as a sheet.