Fanny Meredith was right in saying that the Joscelyns watched
Aimée and every man who approached her like dragons. And from
their point of view, this was natural enough. Had not Aimée’s
fortune lifted them out of poverty and the embarrassments resulting
therefrom, to a condition of affluence where all things became
easy and agreeable? And could they be expected to surrender the
advantages of this fortune without a struggle? It was true that
they had enjoyed these advantages for five or six years, in which
time Major Joscelyn, through whose hands the income passed, had
made not a few excellent investments on his own account; and
that Aimée, as soon as she attained her majority, had settled an
independence on her mother. Yet these things did not make them one
whit more inclined to surrender any part of the heritage which
they had grown to consider their own. Since it was, however,
undeniable that Aimée, although the most gentle and yielding of
human beings, had certain rights in her own property which the law
would secure to her, and which a husband, should she marry, might
be brutal enough to claim in her behalf, it became necessary that
she should marry some one who could be trusted to consider the
Joscelyn interest of primary importance; and this could only be
one of the Joscelyns themselves. It was therefore early decreed
in the family councils that Percy Joscelyn should in time marry
the young heiress. There had been considerable consternation when
he returned with her from St. Augustine and reported a mysterious
lover already on the horizon; especially since inquiries drew no
information concerning this person from Aimée. “He was a gentleman
whom I knew,” she said, and not even her mother could obtain from
her anything more.
Then Major Joscelyn solemnly announced that any such thing as a
probable or possible love affair must be promptly nipped in the
bud, and that the quickest and most complete way to accomplish this
was to take the girl abroad. Her education, which up to this time
had been of the most desultory order, furnished a good plea, and
the entire Joscelyn family conveyed themselves at once to foreign
fields. They had never returned to America. Nothing would have been
easier than to place Aimée in a French or German school, where she
would not have required the attention of her entire family; but
that would not have given an excuse for a residence in Paris, which
they all found very agreeable. So a handsome establishment was
mounted, and after its expenses were paid, besides the investments
on the major’s account already mentioned, there was not a great
deal to spare for Aimée’s education. Expensive masters, therefore,
she never had; but very good though not fashionable teachers can be
obtained in Paris for low prices, and it was not in Aimée’s nature
to make any demands for herself. She took eager advantage of the
scant opportunities allowed her, and accomplished an education for
which she had little to thank her guardians.
There was some uneasiness in the family mind when the time of her
majority approached; but it passed quietly, and, whether through
indifference, or ignorance of the full extent of her power, she
made no attempt to take the control of her income from Major
Joscelyn’s hands. So things had gone on as usual, and the family
were hoping that before very long Percy might come into possession
of the much-coveted fortune, when who should appear on the scene
but Fanny Meredith! At once the Joscelyns felt that the time had
come when they would have to fight for Aimée. They no longer had
legal control of her movements; and although she still yielded
submission to the wishes of her mother (which meant the wishes of
Major Joscelyn), they instinctively felt that it would not do to
try this submissiveness too far. So, when Mrs. Meredith proposed
that Aimée should join her husband and herself in a tour through
Italy, the Joscelyns held a council of war, and decided that, while
it was impossible to allow her to go, it was equally unadvisable
to strain obedience too far. The brilliant mind of Major Joscelyn
again found the remedy. “We will _all_ go,” he said. “It is
not--ahem!--what one would desire, to wander about Italian cities
for several months; but Aimée can not be trusted with this flighty
woman, who would not only introduce all manner of--hum--dangerous
acquaintances to her, but who would delight to undermine our
influence. Neither will it do to positively refuse to let her go;
so we must sacrifice ourselves and accompany her.”
The sacrifice, therefore, to Fanny Meredith’s great disgust,
was made. The family picked themselves up, and in solid phalanx
accompanied their heiress to Italy, keeping vigilant watch and
ward over her and over every possible dangerous acquaintance whom
she made. But they were little prepared for the unkind stroke
of Fate which brought Lennox Kyrle across their path. That his
appearance in Venice was an accident they did not believe for an
instant. They strongly suspected that Fanny Meredith had, together
with him, planned this appearance to take place when Aimée should
have been removed from her family environment. They congratulated
themselves that so much, at least, had been frustrated by their
foreseeing vigilance, but they had not the least doubt that Kyrle
had come with the determination to secure her hand and fortune, if
that desirable end could be attained by unholy arts and incredible
audacity. What was to be done to frustrate and check this
audacity? Such was the question the family met in solemn conclave
to consider on the day after the undesirable intruder had appeared.
“He is not to be shaken off easily,” said Percy Joscelyn, “for
Mrs. Meredith encourages him in every way. Last night she not
only invited him to join us as we sat outside Florian’s, but she
proposed going out in a gondola, took him along, and made him sing.
He sings uncommonly well--confound him!--and almost made love to
Aimée before my eyes.”
“The fellow’s impudence seems to be equal to anything!” said the
major. “And how did Aimée receive his--ah--advances?”
“You can never tell much about Aimée,” his son answered. “She
is quiet, and she’s deep. She didn’t seem responsive, but that
signifies nothing. Under ordinary circumstances I might think
that he had made no impression on her; but these are not ordinary
circumstances, and the trouble is that we don’t know what the
extent of their first acquaintance was. Although Mrs. Berrien
denied it, I shall always believe that there had been some
love-making going on between them in St. Augustine.”
“And yet Aimée was certainly not very attractive at that time,”
observed Miss Joscelyn.
“There’s no accounting for tastes,” said her brother, curtly, “and
facts are facts. I _saw_ him give her a locket--something which,
you know, she always declined to explain.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Joscelyn, with a sigh, “she was very obstinate and
as close as wax. But I have always had an idea that he was not a
lover, because, in the first place, she said so--and Aimée always
told the truth--and, in the second place, because she never seemed
to have any fancy for lovers, like other girls.--You know, Lydia,
how often you have remarked that Aimée was so old-fashioned in this
respect.”
“Yes,” assented Lydia, “but, as Percy says, Aimée is deep, and
I don’t really feel that I know very much about her. As for the
matter of the locket, though,” added the speaker with a sudden
gleam of intuition, “that was as likely as not one of Fanny
Meredith’s tricks. She was an outrageous flirt!”
“If I thought so!” exclaimed Percy Joscelyn, with a start. His eyes
flashed as he spoke. Many a score had he to pay Fanny Meredith,
who in truth took a malicious pleasure in frustrating his attempts
to establish a claim upon Aimée; and if it were possible to bring
anything out of the past against her, how delighted he would be to
use it remorselessly! “But there is not the least proof of such a
thing,” he said, almost resentfully, to his sister.
“No; it was only an idea that occurred to me,” she replied; “but
I know what Fanny Berrien was, and I believe that, if you could
induce Aimée to speak, you would find that it was so.”
“Then, in that case,” said the major, “you don’t believe the man
was Aimée’s lover at all?”
“It does not matter what she believes,” Percy somewhat rudely
interposed. “Opinions, without any ground of proof, amount to
nothing. I know what I saw, and I know that the fellow has eyes
only for Aimée now; and that Mrs. Meredith, as I have already
said, encourages him by every means in her power.”
“Then,” said the major, sharply, “one thing is certain: Aimée can
not be allowed to go out with the Merediths.”
“How will you prevent it?” Percy asked. “The last thing advisable
is to force her to declare her independence of us, and any
ill-judged attempt at control would do this. Nothing would please
Mrs. Meredith better than to prompt her to such a course. No;
watchfulness is our only resource--watchfulness, and perhaps
stratagem. If it were possible to leave Venice now--”
“That would be the best thing,” said the major, “only--ah--what is
to prevent this objectionable person from following us?”
“If that were all,” said Percy, “I should leave at once, and trust
to luck or the shortness of his purse to prevent his following. But
the real objection is that we could not be certain that Aimée would
consent to go; and we could neither force her to do so nor leave
her with the Merediths. So, departure is not to be thought of. We
must fight the thing out by watchfulness and stratagem, as I have
said.”
“Watchfulness--yes,” said his father, “that is plain, and of course
necessary; but what stratagem do you propose?”
“I propose, for one thing, that some person shall always take
charge of Mr. Kyrle, and prevent him from devoting himself to
Aimée.”
“But how is any one to take charge of Mr. Kyrle--without his
consent?” asked Mrs. Joscelyn, feebly.
“A man’s consent is always taken for granted where a lady is
concerned,” young Joscelyn answered. “Lydia, here, might be equal
to the delicate task, I think. All that is required is that she
shall quietly take possession of Mr. Kyrle on all occasions, and
make it impossible for him to attach himself to Aimée.--It is a
task after your own heart,” he went on, addressing his sister with
more than the suspicion of a brotherly sneer in his tone “I have
seen you on many occasions monopolize men very much against their
will. Do you think you can manage the same thing with Kyrle?”
A flush rose to her cheek and was visible through the powder that
covered it. “You are as insulting as usual,” she said.
“On the contrary, I am most flattering,” he returned, suavely--for
he felt that Lydia’s assistance was essential at this juncture of
affairs. “Only a woman of rare powers can do these things. A stupid
woman or a clumsy woman can never succeed in them. It requires a
peculiar tact to take possession of a man and keep him fastened to
your side whether he likes or not.”
“I understand perfectly all that you mean to imply,” she said,
coldly; “and if I do this thing it is not out of regard for you or
your plans, but because I have an object of my own in it.”
“Whatever your object,” her brother replied, “only _do_ the thing,
and I shall be satisfied, and never doubt your powers again.”