MY LORD ACTS
The _contre-danse_ had come to an end. The Earl led Miss Trefusis
back to her place, kissed her hand with a half-lazy glance into her
languishing eyes, and turned slowly down the ballroom.
It was after supper, and everyone was unmasked. My lord, in no mood for
the unrestrained gaieties of the crowd, stepped into the garden and
heard the chimes of St. James's Church that Miss Chressham listened
to in her darkened drawing-room. The garden was full of may trees and
limes, brightly lit with coloured lamps and filled with the melody of
violins that floated from the pavilion on the lake.
Rose Lyndwood, avoiding his acquaintances and choosing the less
frequented paths, wandered down to the water's edge. He had no design
nor intention in his mind, no one passion dominated his heart; but he
was in the mood to meet anything that might arise. There was nothing
reckless in his bearing. He walked quietly, slowly, his head bent and
the pink domino falling from his shoulders. He held up his rapier that
it might not catch in the laurels.
As he neared the water he paused to break from its stem a pale rose
that fell across his path--a flower-like faint flame that seemed as if
it had been created suddenly out of the darkness. When he looked up he
saw Selina Boyle, standing a few feet away from him under a rosy lamp
that cast a blushing radiance over her white dress. Beyond her the
bushes falling apart revealed a lattice overgrown with jasmine, and a
party of ladies and gentlemen laughing over a supper-table.
The Earl slipped the rose stem through the brooch in his cravat, and
laughed.
Miss Boyle moved a little away; it seemed as if she would rejoin her
companions without a word to him. Her delicate head was very erect
above the folds of her fine scarf.
"What chance brought me here?" said the Earl softly. "Good luck or bad?"
She hesitated, stopped and looked at him as if she wished to speak but
could not.
My lord's lids drooped. He had seen Sir Francis through the lattice of
the summer-house. His hitherto meaningless humour lacked now no motive
to spur it. He stepped quickly to Miss Boyle's side.
"I have seen Susannah," he said.
She moved out of the lamplight.
"Then you know that--we--cannot speak together," she said under her
breath and faintly.
"Why?" asked my lord on a quick note of recklessness.
"Ah, you know!" she faltered. "And we shall be seen."
She walked on, but towards the water, not the supper-table. He came
behind her, treading lightly. Her long gauzy scarf floated about her
like a mist. The silver borders of it gleamed across her bosom and over
her powdered curls.
"That malice in the paper has frightened you," said my lord. "I think
there is no need to notice it."
She paused in her slow walk and stood, an elusive shape in white,
against the dark laurels.
"This is an extraordinary thing for you to say," she breathed.
"Ah, you blame me, and I have no excuses to offer!"
"Mine was the fault," she spoke so low that he must bend closer to
hear. "I should never have written to you."
Her skirt had fluttered back on a bough; he stooped and loosened it.
"Walk along here with me, Selina."
"Let me return. You should not have spoken to me. I am unnerved
to-night."
He laughed.
"I should like to take you on the lake--away from these people. Could
we find a boat?"
"My lord, I entreat you, let me return. I--I shall not be able to hold
my head up!" she answered desperately and weakly.
"Do I prevent your return?" he smiled. "I am not detaining you, Selina."
"Oh, in many ways! You agitate me beyond bearing. If Sir Francis----"
"Well?" he laughed into her trembling sentences. "Are you afraid of Sir
Francis?"
She gave him a bewildered piteous look.
"Afraid! Yes, I am afraid of them all. What do you want to say to me?
Ah, there is nothing to be said!"
"Everything, I think," he answered. "Give me a chance to speak."
The dim confusing and shifting light of moon and lamp, falling brokenly
through the stirring branches, only half revealed to her his face,
turned towards her, pale between the pomaded curls.
"I cannot hear you, my lord."
He caught her little wrist lightly.
"You are not going to betroth yourself to Sir Francis?"
"I have assured you of that," she panted. "This is cruelty, my lord.
Ah, release my hand!"
He did not. The lace at his cuff trembled on her bare arm. They stood
very close together, she straining her head away from him so that her
hair and scarf mingled floated out on the breeze and touched his breast.
"This is impossible," murmured Miss Boyle. "I must return." Suddenly
she faced him. "Why are you doing this?"
He freed her hand.
"Read my actions by your own heart, Selina," he smiled. "You care for
me, do you not? I cannot expect it put into words, but at least look at
me."
"I think you must be heartless, or possessed, to-night, my lord."
She made a quick step back among the laurels, for as she spoke Sir
Francis was upon them. He had come swiftly and silently, it seemed,
down the path from the pavilion, and was within a step of them before
they saw him.
"Miss Boyle--madam!" he cried, and looked from one to another in a
breathless manner.
The Earl bowed with a slight air of mockery. He seemed pleased, elated,
by this sudden incursion.
"Good even, Sir Francis!" he said.
Miss Boyle gathered herself together and took a step towards her cousin.
"Let us go back to the house, sir," she said.
Sir Francis flushed and hesitated. My lord observed him with narrowed
eyes.
"We are engaged for this dance," said Miss Boyle desperately. "I think
it hath begun." She laid her hand tremblingly on her cousin's arm, and
he was turning in answer to the appeal that she breathed forth to her
very finger-tips, when Rose Lyndwood spoke.
"I vow you are very fickle, Miss Boyle." His soft voice was pointedly
reckless. "Had you not promised me your company upon the lake?"
There followed the pause of a second, while my lord flung his domino
over his shoulder and fingered the rose under his chin.
"Is this true?" asked Sir Francis.
The Earl's eyes seemed to laugh.
"Call it a lie. Will it not equally serve?"
"My lord!" cried Miss Boyle.
"What is your meaning, Lord Lyndwood?" inquired Sir Francis softly.
"Not the same as you apprehended it last night," answered Rose
Lyndwood, and laughed outright. "And, for the rest, is it ever worth
while to ask my meaning?"
"Come away!" breathed Miss Boyle.
"No." Her cousin turned from her. "His lordship hath somewhat to answer
to me."
"You think so," said my lord. "Well, you know where to find me, Sir
Francis."
Miss Boyle broke into an agony of whispered words.
"What has happened? Take me away--for my sake, Francis--my lord!"
The Earl disregarded the entreaty of voice and eyes. He did not look at
her, but at the man she stood beside.
"Yesterday you were too slow, as to-night you go too fast," cried Sir
Francis, "and either humour is one not to be borne. So you _shall_ hear
from me, my lord."
"No!" exclaimed Miss Boyle, striking her hand on her bosom. "Take that
back, sir. You know not what you say--what you do!" She clasped his
hand, but the passion of her imploring eyes was all for Rose Lyndwood.
"Grant me the right to ask this of you. Take that back."
But her cousin answered hotly.
"It is you who do not know what you ask, madam. Now let me take you to
the ballroom."
She dropped his hand.
"My lord, to you--I speak to you. Will you allow this to happen?"
No change crossed my lord's pale smiling face.
"Sir Francis must act as he thinks fit, madam," he answered, and again
touched the rose at his cravat. "Need it distress you?"
Francis Boyle spoke on a passionate exclamation.
"'Tis your presence distresses this lady, Lord Lyndwood. With the
knowledge you have 'twas an insult that you sought to speak to her
to-night, and that you stay is, my lord, insolence!"
The Earl turned at this slightly, with an air of utterly dismissing
and despising the speaker. His eyes were wildly bright and daring in a
face composed and colourless. He spoke directly to Miss Boyle, with no
attempt to disguise the meaning in his voice.
"Will you speak for yourself, madam? Does not the gentleman pretend to
overmuch? May not I see you back to the house?"
Sir Francis drew his breath sharply, but remained proudly waiting for
her.
She shivered and gave a little groan. A sudden laugh sprang into my
lord's beautiful eyes. He lifted the pale rose to his lips and threw
back his head. Miss Boyle, all silver and white, took a step forward
into the moonlight where it fell clear of the laurels.
"Sir Francis is my escort, sir," she answered, looking straightly at
my lord. "My duty to the Countess, and adieu!" She curtsied, and Sir
Francis made a little eager motion towards her. She laid her hand
lightly on his arm.
The Earl smiled at both of them.
"_Au revoir_, shall we not say?" He turned away at once.
Miss Boyle stood with downcast eyes. She was so pale and quiet that Sir
Francis was alarmed.
"I would I had come sooner."
She looked round now--not at him, but at the pink domino disappearing
down the shadowed walk.
"You are not going to challenge him?" she asked under her breath.
"I am sorry that it should have happened in your presence, grieved that
it troubles you."
She glanced at him in an absent way.
"What are you saying? Give me a moment."
"Will you not return to the house?"
"No, I could not; nor dance to-night." Her fingers quivered on his
sleeve. "Besides, I must speak to you."
He flushed quickly.
"About this affair?"
"Give me a moment," repeated Miss Boyle faintly.
They walked on, neither saying a word, he waiting for her and she
absorbed in some emotion that held her silent. They reached a little
seat by the water's edge, and there she, leaving the support of his
arm, sank down.
"Oh, heaven!" she cried suddenly. "You are not going to challenge him?"
"What else?" he answered reluctantly. "But there is no need to talk of
it."
"It cannot--it must not happen!" said Miss Boyle desperately.
He glanced at her half doubtingly. The moonlight was elusive,
treacherous; he could not guess what emotion it was that shook her.
"You laughed at the paragraph in the paper," she continued, "and
now----"
He ended her sentence.
"I cannot laugh at his manner of taking it; that he should speak to
you, in that tone--that he should dare. We could not take from any man,
least of all from Lord Lyndwood."
"You have neither right nor excuse to interfere," she answered. "I do
not ask you to champion me, Francis."
"The right of a member of your family, madam, the head of your family;
your father would approve what I do."
"But you swore you wished to please me," she cried feverishly. "Well,
please me this way."
"It is a way in which no man should please a lady," replied Sir Francis
hotly. "Do not put me to the pain of a refusal, madam. My challenge
goes to Lord Lyndwood."
"Ah, that is what it comes to! It is not for me you care, but for your
pride."
"You will not be involved," he said quickly. "Can we not find a pretext
for a quarrel?"
Miss Boyle rose, and the silver borders of her scarf rippled from her
bosom to her feet.
"I am going to put myself at your mercy," she said in a quiet voice.
"You must not take this quarrel upon you. You must understand."
He stood silent, staring at her oval face faintly seen between the
folds of gauze.
"It is true, Francis--that statement in the paper. My lord wrote to me,
and I to him, as it said. It was, I think, the Countess who found my
letter and composed that paragraph." Her voice suddenly failed into a
little sob.
"Is this a wile to put me off?" demanded Sir Francis passionately.
"On my honour, it is true," she answered. "It was always so between us,
before his marriage, since we first met, and because of that I could
not give you or any my hand."
"This to my face!" exclaimed her cousin softly.
Miss Boyle replied proudly.
"I do you some honour. You have no claim on me. I might have put you
off with lies, it is not over easy to tell the truth--_his_ truth to
you."
"Would you had lied sooner than I had heard it!" he answered bitterly.
"It is not, madam, pleasant news."
"You had to know. There must be no duel."
This flicked him into a passion as if it had been an insult or a blow.
"You cannot imagine, madam, that what you have told me can make any
difference. By heaven, you do not dare to ask me to ignore this!"
"After what I have confessed!" she cried, bewildered, piteous.
Sir Francis gave a short laugh.
"You have confessed too much, madam. It has not increased my respect
for Lord Lyndwood, nor altered my intentions."
She clasped her hands in an agony.
"I implore you, if you would not kill me, do not send that challenge."
"You are very tender of his safety," replied Sir Francis, moving back
from her. "But take courage, madam; men like my lord are usually
skilled with sword and pistol."
Miss Boyle shrank down on to the seat.
"You insult me, Francis--Francis!"
"What of me? Do you think me wood or stone? And what I say, I mean.
Lord Lyndwood is a successful duellist."
"Can you think I want _you_ hurt," she cried frantically, "and by
_him_?"
"You would not, I think, grieve overmuch, madam," he answered bitterly.
"I have been sorry fool enough to think I might one day win your
regard, and you tell me this! It is very well. I will not distress you
with my presence."
But she sprang up and crossed his path as he was leaving her.
"For God's sake, Francis, listen to me. Do not refuse to listen to me
now. I have tried to be honest with you from the first." She suddenly
slipped to her knees on the path and took his sword hand. "Have some
pity, Francis," and she broke into wild tears.
He gave a great exclamation to see her at his feet, and raised her
sharply.
"This should be to my Lord Lyndwood," he said wildly, "but you can have
no cause to kneel to me."
She crouched away from him on the seat where he placed her and buried
her face in her hands.
"You do not understand," she gasped. "I would not have believed this."
"Nor I, madam," he answered. "That a man like my lord should be _your_
choice!"
She raised her distorted face and struggled with sobs, pressing her
hands to her eyes. Sir Francis watched her for a moment.
"Shall I see you back to the house?" he asked in a restrained voice.
Miss Boyle shuddered into a sudden calm.
"I would thank you to leave me."
"Good-night, then, madam."
She looked at him with utter reproach and despair.
"God forgive you, Francis!"
He left her without a word or a backward look towards the seat where
she sat dumbly weeping.