Every day and all day long there is nothing but rehearsing. In every
corner two or more may be seen studying together the parts they have to
play. Florence Delmaine alone refuses to rehearse her part except in
full company, though Mr. Dynecourt has made many attempts to induce her
to favor him with a private reading of those scenes in which he and she
must act together. He has even appealed to Dora Talbot to help him in
this matter, which she is only too willing to do, as she is secretly
desirous of flinging the girl as much in his way as possible. Indeed
anything that would keep Florence out of Sir Adrian's sight would be
welcome to her; so that she listens kindly to Arthur Dynecourt when he
solicits her assistance.
"She evidently shuns me," he says in an aggrieved tone to her one
evening, sinking into the seat beside hers. "Except a devotion to her
that is singularly sincere, I know of nothing about me that can be
regarded by her as an offense. Yet it appears to me that she dislikes
me."
"There I am sure you are wrong," declares the widow, tapping his arm
lightly with her fan. "She is but a girl--she hardly knows her own mind."
"She seems to know it pretty well when Adrian addresses her," he says,
with a sullen glance.
At this Mrs. Talbot can not repress a start; she grows a little pale,
and then tries to hide her confusion by a smile. But the smile is
forced, and Arthur Dynecourt, watching her, reads her heart as easily
as if it were an open book.
"I don't suppose Adrian cares for her," he goes on quietly. "At
least"--here he drops his eyes--"I believe, with a little judicious
management, his thoughts might be easily diverted into another channel."
"You think so?" asks Mrs. Talbot faintly, trifling with her fan. "I can
not say I have noticed that his attentions to her have been in any way
particular."
"Not as yet," agrees Dynecourt, studying her attentively; "and if I
might be open with you," he adds, breaking off abruptly and assuming an
air of anxiety--"we might perhaps mutually help each other."
"Help each other?"
"Dear Mrs. Talbot," says Dynecourt softly, "has it never occurred to you
how safe a thing it would be for my cousin Sir Adrian to marry a
sensible woman--a woman who understands the world and its ways--a woman
young and beautiful certainly, but yet conversant with the _convénances_
of society? Such a woman would rescue Adrian from the shoals and
quicksands that surround him in the form of mercenary friends and
scheming mothers. Such a woman might surely be found. Nay, I think
I myself could put my hand upon her, if I dared, at this moment."
Mrs. Talbot trembles slightly, and blushes a good deal, but says nothing.
"He is my nearest of kin," goes on Dynecourt, in the same low impassive
voice. "Naturally I am interested in him, and my interest on this point
is surely without motive; as, were he never to marry, were he to leave
no heir, were he to die some sudden death"--here a remarkable change
overspreads his features--"I should inherit all the land you see around
you, and the title besides."
Mrs. Talbot is still silent. She merely bows her head in assent.
"Then, you see, I mean kindly toward him when I suggest that he should
marry some one calculated to sustain his rank in the world," continues
Dynecourt. "As I have said before, I know one who would fill the
position charmingly, if she would deign to do so."
"And who?" falters Dora Talbot nervously.
"May I say to whom I allude?" he murmurs. "Mrs. Talbot, pardon me if I
have been impertinent in thinking of you as that woman."
A little flickering smile adorns Dora's lips for a moment, then,
suddenly remembering that smiles do not become her, she relapses into
her former calm.
"You flatter me," she says sweetly.
"I never flatter," he responds, with telling emphasis. "But, I can see
you are not angry, and so I am emboldened to say plainly, I would gladly
see you my cousin's wife. Is the idea not altogether abhorrent to you?"
"No. Oh, no!"
"It is perhaps--pardon me if I go too far--even agreeable to you?"
"Mr. Dynecourt," says Mrs. Talbot, suddenly glancing at him and laying
her jeweled fingers lightly on his arm, "I will confess to you that I am
tired of being alone--dependent on myself, as it were--thrown on my own
judgment for the answering of every question that arises. I would gladly
acknowledge a superior head. I would have some one to help me now and
then with a word of advice; in short, I would have a husband. And,"--here
she lays her fan against her lips and glances archly at him--"I confess
too that I like Sir Adrian as--well--as well as any man I know."
"He is a very fortunate man"--gravely. "I would he knew his happiness."
"Not for worlds," says Mrs. Talbot, with well-feigned alarm. "You would
not even hint to him such a thing as--as--" She stops, confused.
"I shall hint nothing--do nothing, except what you wish. Ah, Mrs.
Talbot"--with a heavy sigh--"you are supremely happy! I envy you! With
your fascinations and"--insinuatingly--"a word in season from me, I see
no reason why you should not claim as your own the man whom you--well,
let us say, like; while I--"
"If I can befriend you in any way," interrupts Dora quickly, "command
me."
She is indeed quite dazzled by the picture he has painted before her
eyes. Can it be--is it--possible, that Sir Adrian may some day be hers?
Apart from his wealth, she regards him with very tender feelings, and of
late she has been rendered at times absolutely miserable by the thought
that he has fallen a victim to the charms of Florence.
Now if, by means of this man, her rival can be kept out of Adrian's way,
all may yet be well, and her host may be brought to her feet before her
visit comes to an end.
Of Arthur Dynecourt's infatuation for Florence she is fully aware, and
is right in deeming that part of his admiration for the beautiful girl
has grown out of his knowledge of her money-bags. Still, she argues to
herself, his love is true and faithful, despite his knowledge of her
_dot_, and he will in all probability make her as good a husband as she
is likely to find.
"May I command you?" asks Arthur, in his softest tones. "You know my
secret, I believe. Ever since that last meeting at Brighton, when my
heart overcame me and made me show my sentiments openly and in your
presence, you have been aware of the hopeless passion that is consuming
me. I may be mad, but I still think that, with opportunities and time, I
might make myself at least tolerated by Miss Delmaine. Will you help me
in this matter? Will you give me the chance of pleading my cause with
her alone? By so doing"--with a meaning smile--"you will also give my
cousin the happy chance of seeing you alone."
Dora only too well understands his insinuation. Latterly Sir Adrian
and Florence have been almost inseparable. To now meet with one whose
interest it is to keep them asunder is very pleasant to her.
"I will help you," she says in a low tone.
"Then try to induce Miss Delmaine to give me a private rehearsal
to-morrow in the north gallery," he whispers hurriedly, seeing Captain
Ringwood and Miss Villiers approaching. "Hush! Not another word! I rely
upon you. Above all things, remember that what has occurred is only
between you and me. It is our little plot," he says, with a curious
smile that somehow strikes a chill to Mrs. Talbot's heart.
She is faithful to her word nevertheless, and late that night, when all
have gone to their rooms, she puts on her dressing-gown, dismisses her
maid, and crossing the corridor, taps lightly at the door of Florence's
apartment.
Hearing some one cry "Come in," she opens the door, and, having fastened
it again, goes over to where Florence is sitting while her maid is
brushing her long soft hair that reaches almost to the ground as she
sits.
"Let me brush your hair to-night, Flo," she says gayly. "Let me be your
maid for once. Remember how I used to do it for you sometimes when we
were in Switzerland last year."
"Very well--you may," acquiesces Florence, laughing. "Good-night,
Parkins. Mrs. Talbot has won you your release."
Parkins having gladly withdrawn, Dora takes up the ivory-handled brush
and gently begins to brush her cousin's hair.
After some preliminary conversation leading up to the subject she has
in hand, she says carelessly--
"By the bye, Flo, you are rather uncivil to Arthur Dynecourt, don't you
think?"
"Uncivil?"
"Well--yes. That is the word for your behavior toward him, I think. Do
you know, I am afraid Sir Adrian has noticed it, and aren't you afraid
he will think it rather odd of you--rude, I mean--considering he is his
cousin?"
"Not a very favorite cousin, I fancy."
"For all that, people don't like seeing their relations slighted. I once
knew a man who used to abuse his brother all day long, but, if any one
else happened to say one disparaging word of him in his presence, it put
him in a pretty rage. And, after all, poor Arthur has done nothing to
deserve actual ill-treatment at your hands."
"I detest him. And, besides, it is a distinct impertinence to follow any
one about from place to place as he has followed me. I will not submit
to it calmly. It is a positive persecution."
"My dear, you must not blame him if he has lost his head about you. That
is rather a compliment, if anything."
"I shall always resent such compliments."
"He is certainly very gentlemanly in all other ways, and I must say
devoted to you. He is handsome too, is he not; and has quite the air of
one accustomed to command in society?"
"Has he paid you to sing his praises?" asks Florence, with a little
laugh; but her words so nearly hit the mark that Dora blushes painfully.
"I mean," she explains at last, in a rather hurried way, "that I do not
think it is good form to single out any one in a household where one is
a guest to show him pointed rudeness. You give all the others acting in
this play ample opportunities of rehearsing alone with you. It has been
remarked to me by two or three that you purposely slight and avoid Mr.
Dynecourt."
"So I do," Florence admits calmly; adding, "Your two or three have great
perspicacity."
"They even hinted to me," Dora goes on deliberately, "that your dislike
to him arose from the fact that you were piqued at his being your stage
lover, instead of--Sir Adrian!"
It costs her an effort to utter these words, but the effect produced by
them is worth the effort.
Florence, growing deadly pale, releases her hair from her cousin's
grasp, and rises quickly to her feet.
"I don't know who your gossips may be," she says slowly; "but they are
wrong--quite wrong--do you hear? My dislike to Mr. Dynecourt arises from
very different feelings. He is distasteful to me in many ways; but, as I
am undesirous that my manner should give occasion for surmises such as
you have just mentioned to me, I will give him an opportunity of
reciting his part to me, alone, as soon as ever he wishes."
"I think you are right, dearest," responds Mrs. Talbot sweetly. She is
a little afraid of her cousin, but still maintains her position bravely.
"It is always a mark of folly to defy public opinion. Do not wait for
him to ask you again to go through your play with him alone, but tell
him yourself to-morrow that you will meet him for that purpose in the
north gallery some time during the day."
"Very well," says Florence; but her face still betrays dislike and
disinclination to the course recommended. "And, Dora, I don't think I
want my hair brushed any more, thanks; my head is aching so dreadfully."
This is a hint that she will be glad of Mrs. Talbot's speedy departure;
and, that lady taking the hint, Florence is soon left to her own
thoughts.
The next morning, directly after breakfast, she finds an opportunity to
tell Mr. Dynecourt that she will give him half an hour in the north
gallery to try over his part with her, as she considers it will be
better, and more conducive to the smoothness of the piece, to learn
any little mannerisms that may belong to either of them.
To this speech Dynecourt makes a suitable reply, and names a particular
hour for them to meet. Miss Delmaine, having given a grave assent to
this arrangement, moves away, as though glad to be rid of her companion.
A few minutes afterward Dynecourt, meeting Mrs. Talbot in the hall,
gives her an expressive glance, and tells her in a low voice that he
considers himself deeply in her debt.