Baudesert and Mrs. Vereker were also of the party. Mrs. Chantrey thought
a member of the British Embassy but a little lower than the angels, and
to this was added the stimulus that she confidently expected to be Lady
Baudesert before the year was out. Lord Baudesert encouraged this
harmless delusion in every possible way, short of actually proposing,
and if he had not been the ablest of diplomatists Mrs. Chantrey would
certainly have married him when he was not looking. She had, in her own
mind, already rearranged all the furniture in the British Embassy,
decided whom she would invite to dinner and whom she would leave out,
and intended to be very civil to Mrs. Vereker. However much Lord
Baudesert might be outwardly diverted by Mrs. Chantrey's elderly
coquetry, he was forced, cynic though he was, to admire Eleanor
Chantrey. He even went so far as to concede that, if it were possible
for an American woman to be fitted for an Ambassadress, Eleanor Chantrey
was that woman. Beauty, distinction and many other accomplishments were
hers, and she would have adorned the highest position.
The first person Sir Percy's eyes rested upon as he entered the
drawing-room was Lucy Armytage, and to his rage and delight she was
given to him to take in to dinner. Every moment thereafter he felt
himself falling more and more in love with her.
Senator March was among the guests, and after the ladies had departed
and the men were smoking he said to Sir Percy:
"Next month I'm having a little house-party at a country place I have in
the Maryland mountains. I go there occasionally for a few days' rest.
I hope you will be of the party."
Sir Percy accepted with pleasure. He had never met a man for whom he
felt a stronger inclination towards friendship than Roger March.
When the men returned to the drawing-room Lucy Armytage and Eleanor
Chantrey were standing together on the hearthrug and talking with
animation. Eleanor was resplendent in her beauty, but to Sir Percy
Carlyon the slim, black-haired Lucy Armytage seemed to outshine her as a
scintillant star, set high in the heavens, outshines the great, round,
common-place moon.
Later, driving back to the Embassy in the big, comfortable coach, Lord
Baudesert said to Sir Percy:
"Magnificent girl, Miss Chantrey. She has everything: beauty, breeding
and fortune. If she were not an American I should advise you to pay
your court in that direction."
"But she is an American," replied Sir Percy, laughing, "and that is the
unpardonable sin, according to my view of a diplomat's career."
That day two weeks Sir Percy Carlyon found himself at Senator March's
country place for the week end. The party was small but brilliant.
Eleanor Chantrey, her mother and Lucy Armytage were the only ladies.
Their amusements were simple, and consisted chiefly in the enjoyment of
the country, open in winter, after a siege in town. Young Stanley, a
personable, pleasant fellow, was among the guests, and his frank
adoration of Lucy Armytage made everybody smile, except one person, the
other man who was in love with her--Sir Percy Carlyon. Sir Percy was
too well trained and well balanced to show the chagrin he felt and the
Fates, and the exigencies of a house party, threw him more with Eleanor
Chantrey. He was forced to admire her, but his admiration was cool and
discriminating. On Eleanor's part sprung up a strong admiration for Sir
Percy Carlyon. She was not incapable of love, but her will and
intellect were always dominant over her heart. And then the daughter
repeated her mother's dream of ambition, marked, however, by the
enormous difference between the dream of a woman and the sense of a
simpleton. Her beauty, her intelligence, her wealth, her prestige, had
inspired her with what Sir Percy called "the princess attitude of mind,"
which looks around and chooses the man upon whom to bestow her hand.
Sir Percy Carlyon was well fitted to please her, and she understood
perfectly the really splendid position which would be his in time. She
knew, also, he was a man of small estate, and it occurred to her, in her
half-laughing, half-serious speculations, that her fortune would be well
applied in maintaining the position of an Ambassadress. The idea that
if she should indicate the slightest preference for Sir Percy she could
not bring him to her feet did not occur to her. Her imagination,
stimulated by her ambition, took hold of her, that Sir Percy would be
eminently suitable for her, and she played with it, as women of the
world do with such ideas quite as much as the veriest country lass.
On the afternoon before the party broke up a walk was proposed. As the
case always is, the party paired off, and Eleanor Chantrey considered
herself ridiculously mismated with Stanley, who was equally
dissatisfied. Sir Percy Carlyon found himself walking with Lucy
Armytage through the winter woods in the red February afternoon. The
dead leaves were thick underfoot and drowned the sound of footfalls.
Unconsciously the two voices grew low, and it was like the fulfilment of
Sir Percy's dream. An impulse, stronger than himself, made him try all
his powers on this girl, with her innocent guile, her unworldly
coquetry. Suddenly he found she vibrated to him as a violin answers the
bow. That was too much for the resolution of Sir Percy Carlyon, or for
any other man with red blood in his veins.
They were the last to return, and at dinner that night Lucy Armytage's
usually pale cheeks were flooded with a deep colour. She had promised
to be Sir Percy Carlyon's wife.
*V*
Sir Percy Carlyon's mystification with his American _fiancee_ began
within twenty-four hours of the time she had given him her first kiss.
"Above all things," she said earnestly, as they were supposed to be
exchanging commonplaces in the train, "nothing must be said of this, not
one word to a soul. After a while I will break it to my uncle and
aunt."
Sir Percy stared at her, and wondered whether he were dreaming or she
raving. He expected, after the English custom, to announce the
engagement immediately to Colonel and Mrs. Armytage, and what did Lucy
mean by "breaking" it to them? His name, his position and his prospects
were such that the greatest match in England might not have been
reckoned unequal for him, and here was a girl from Bardstown, Kentucky,
who proposed to wait for an auspicious moment when she could "break"
this direful news to her aunt and uncle! Something of his involuntary
surprise showed in his face, and Lucy studied it gravely and then
suddenly laughed.
"I see," she whispered, "you don't understand. This is _our_ secret: the
world has nothing to do with it."
"I thought," answered Sir Percy, infatuated, but still retaining some of
the vestiges of conventionality, "that marriages were quite public
affairs. One has to get a license and be married in church."
"But this isn't being married," explained Lucy; "this is only being
engaged."
Then the two looked at each other with adoring but uncomprehending eyes.
Lucy's woman's wit, however, came to her rescue.
"I think," she said gravely, "that perhaps you know more about the ways
of the world than I do, and, after all, there are other ways than those
of Bardstown, Kentucky. So that it shall be as you wish."
She said this with such a pretty lowering of her long lashes, and so
much deep feeling visible under her coquetry, that Sir Percy was more
than ever charmed. Nor was the sound sense at the bottom of Lucy's
remark lost upon him. A compromise was effected, by which Colonel and
Mrs. Armytage were to be informed immediately, and the rest of the world
was to remain in ignorance until within one month of the wedding day.
There was no suspicion among the others of the party concerning what had
occurred, and least of all with Eleanor Chantrey and Stanley, both of
whom might be said to have contingent interests in the matter.
The morning after Lucy's return she was awakened to receive a bouquet of
roses and a letter from Sir Percy Carlyon. There was also a note for
Colonel Armytage asking for a private interview. This precipitated
matters.
"I should like to know," said Colonel Armytage, standing with his back
to the fire in his own room, with Sir Percy's letter in one hand and
_The Congressional Record_ of the day before in the other, "what this
means--'a private interview.'"
"Perhaps," ventured Mrs. Armytage, "he wants to ask you for a copy of
your speech of yesterday. There is an editorial in the newspaper about
it this morning."
Lucy, dressed in a delicious pink _negligee_, was standing by the
window, holding the roses in her hands.
"No," she said, coming forward with cheeks matching the pale beauty of
the roses; "he wants to ask you, uncle--we were together, you
know--and--and----"
A light dawned upon Colonel Armytage.
"The fellow wants to marry you," he roared.
"And I want to marry him," answered Lucy, with much spirit.
And then there were kisses and tears and embraces among all three of
them.
"It is a far cry to England," said Colonel Armytage, "and I had always
hoped you would marry some rising young lawyer in Bardstown."
Mrs. Armytage hinted that it might be a marriage of ambition for Sir
Percy, who would naturally wish to be allied to a man of such eminent
perfections as Colonel Armytage. At eleven o'clock Sir Percy walked into
Colonel Armytage's room. His manner was so manly and so debonair, even
in his imminent circumstances, that Colonel Armytage could not but
compare him mentally with those Kentucky thoroughbreds who are models of
decorum in the stable, on the race track and wherever they are seen.
Sir Percy told his story and then waited for Colonel Armytage's
decision.
"My dear sir," said Colonel Armytage, after a moment, "I appreciate the
respectful attitude you take towards me, but, to tell you the truth,
these matters are in the hands of our young people entirely. It is the
part of parents--and Mrs. Armytage and I stand in that relation to our
niece--to advise and take precautions, but not to coerce. However," he
continued, smiling, and showing fine white teeth between his grey
moustache and beard, "I don't think there is any coercion in this case."
"I believe not," said Sir Percy, with an answering smile, "these things
are somewhat differently managed in the States than with us, but the
result is the same. Miss Armytage is doing me the honour of marrying me
without the consideration of certain matters which must be mentioned
between you and me. As regards settlements, I shall be as liberal as I
possibly can, but I must frankly tell you that my fortune is modest.
All of it, however, shall be settled upon the future Lady Carlyon and
her children."
"I beg to differ with you there," promptly replied Colonel Armytage. "I
think children are not to be considered in these matters: I don't
believe in putting a woman in the power of her children. Every penny I
have is settled upon my wife, and she is my sole executrix, without
bond. That is what I require of any man who marries my niece, and also
that he insures his life for her benefit, and that her money--for my
niece has some money of her own--shall be settled upon her irrevocably."
Sir Percy Carlyon longed both to laugh and to swear, but he controlled
his inclinations and said calmly:
"I fully appreciate your point of view, but you must remember certain
obligations which we, in England, acknowledge to our successors. My
baronetcy will descend to my eldest son, if I be blessed with a son, and
there are moral obligations in such a case to give a child something to
maintain the rank to which he is born. With regard to the future Lady
Carlyon--what is hers I desire to remain hers. If I were a richer man,
I think I could convince you of my disinterestedness."
Colonel Armytage, like Lucy, had a mind open to conviction, and, after
considering this speech for a moment or two, acknowledged that Sir Percy
was right. Thus the dangerous question of settlements was got over
without friction. After a few minutes more of conversation, Sir Percy
asked to see Mrs. Armytage. That excellent woman, in bestowing her
approval upon his suit, told him earnestly that to be related by
marriage to such a man as Colonel Armytage was in itself a high
privilege and carried a special blessing with it. Sir Percy inwardly
agreed with this. He was glad that his future wife was brought up in
the atmosphere of love and kindliness, which surrounded the Armytages.
He had a rapturous half-hour alone with Lucy, and then went away feeling
that the gates of paradise had been opened before him.
In order to escape comment, it had been arranged that Sir Percy's visits
should be on one or two evenings in the week, when he would not be
likely to meet any of his acquaintances as he passed in and out of the
hotel, or might be supposed to be going to see a man. Evening visits,
although long since abandoned by the smart set, still prevail among the
old-fashioned people and the Congressional circle, in which were most of
the Armytages' acquaintances. Never had Sir Percy imagined that such
delicious hours in life awaited him as those he spent during the next
fortnight in the Armytages' little sitting-room. Colonel and Mrs.
Armytage, according to the Bardstown custom, felt it their duty to leave
their modest sitting-room entirely to the lovers; but Lucy, who was
making a close study of Sir Percy Carlyon's class prejudices, insisted
that Mrs. Armytage should remain. Mrs. Armytage, feeling guilty, would
establish herself with her knitting before the fire and dutifully fall
asleep within ten minutes of Sir Percy's arrival. The lovers, sitting
in an embrasure of a window and looking down upon a quiet side street,
were almost as much alone as they had been in the winter woods, on that
February afternoon, when they had first known each other's hearts. Sir
Percy had a satisfaction which is often denied lovers--the satisfaction
of seeing his _fiancee_ adapting herself with grace and intelligence to
his tastes and wishes. Lucy Armytage was far too clever to have that
deadly obstinacy which is the bane of provincials, and which makes them
carry their Bardstowns into every company and association in which they
may find themselves.
It occurred to Sir Percy, a very short time after his engagement, that
the sacrifices which he was prepared to make for the sake of marrying
the woman he loved might not be so great after all. Whenever he saw
Lucy he found that she had learned something. She had picked up a new
phrase, or abandoned an old one which was not in perfect taste; she had
learned to curb her wit and to be on her guard against those indiscreet
words and actions which are harmless enough in a young girl, but highly
dangerous in the wife of a diplomat. Sir Percy had begun to believe all
he heard of the adaptability of the American woman after studying Lucy
Armytage, and he saw, with profound pride, that Lucy was forming herself
to be his wife. One thing only troubled him: should he confess to her
then, or after their marriage, the story of Alicia Vernon? It was a
difficult thing to tell to a girl so young as Lucy Armytage, and so
guileless, and so little familiar with wickedness. If penitence could
avail, then he had atoned for that early wrongdoing. He concluded it
would be kinder for him to wait until after their marriage, when he
could tell her the whole painful story.
One afternoon, three weeks after Lucy Armytage had promised to become
Lady Carlyon, a letter was delivered at the British Embassy for Sir
Percy Carlyon. One look at the clear, strong handwriting made him turn
pale--it was Alicia Vernon's hand and the postmark was Washington. He
thrust the letter into his pocket and, declining Lord Baudesert's
suggestion to come in to tea, went back to his own chambers. With
hatred and repugnance pulsating all through him, he opened the letter
and read it. The date was of that day, and it was written from a
fashionable uptown hotel.
"We arrived yesterday, my father and I. It was quite unexpected, for
Washington has always seemed as far away to me and as unreal as Bagdad,
but here we are. We shall call at the Embassy in a day or two, and
meanwhile my father asks me to say that we shall be at home at five
o'clock every day, and he hopes to see you soon.
"A.V."
How like the letter was to Alicia Vernon! Apparently so conventional, so
frankly friendly, and yet how different was she to all of this! Sir
Percy Carlyon had reached that age and stage of life when he was
sceptical of reformations. One thing was certain, General Talbott's
presence ensured Alicia Vernon's _entree_ to the British Embassy, and
that she and Sir Percy would be much thrown together. At this, rage and
shame possessed him. He saw at a glance the grim possibilities of the
case, and they were enough to stagger a strong man. He examined the
letter before him as it lay upon his study table, and it seemed to bring
contamination with it. His sin and the shame had tracked him over the
world, and were now seated, hideous spectres that they were, on each
side of him. He had repented and had atoned as far as he could, for the
sin of his youth.
He rose and, throwing his arms wide, despaired in his heart, and then
asked pardon of that Higher Power to which his soul aspired. The thought
of Lucy came to him like a lash upon an open wound. Then his mood grew
dogged and a kind of fatalism possessed his mind. If it were written
that Alicia Vernon should be avenged upon him, then it _was_ written,
and struggle were useless. If only he had not told Lucy Armytage of his
love! She, poor child, might be dragged into the degradation which
awaited him! He remembered that he was to go to see Lucy that evening
after dinner. The joy he felt at the thought of being with her was
poisoned by the black shadow of Alicia Vernon's presence in Washington.
He had to pass the hotel where she and General Talbott were lodged on
his way to his club for dinner, and the place which held Alicia seemed
odious to him. And General Talbott, too; of all living men he was the
man whom Sir Percy should most wish to meet and to serve; but among the
keenest pangs of his punishment were the shame and unworthiness he felt
in General Talbott's presence.
Sir Percy had some thought of excusing himself from his semi-weekly
visit to Lucy on that evening, but, doggedness still possessing him, he
went, thinking to himself, at any moment the explosion might come, any
meeting might be their last, therefore would he have as many as
possible. He had not reached his present position without acquiring
perfect mastery over his manner, his voice and his countenance, and Lucy
had no suspicion that he was not entirely at his ease when he entered
the Armytages' sitting-room.
Never had he seen Lucy more charming than when she came forward to meet
him. She was full of the lessons in languages she was taking,
especially in rubbing up her superficial knowledge of French. She had
got a French newspaper, and read with admirable accent some editorials
in which Sir Percy was interested. Mrs. Armytage went sound asleep as
usual, and the lovers could talk with a sweet unrestraint. Heretofore
it was Sir Percy who had risen promptly on the stroke of ten, but
to-night it was a quarter past before he stirred, and Lucy then forced
him away. He returned to his chambers accompanied by the ghost of his
wrong-doing, and the black dog who kept watch over him prevented him
from sleeping all night long.
The next afternoon at five o'clock Sir Percy Carlyon was ushered into
General Talbott's and Alicia Vernon's charming little drawing-room at
the hotel. As he came in, General Talbott met him with both hands
outstretched. Sir Percy realised, as he always did in General Talbott's
presence, that here was a man of no common mould. He was small, bald
and low-voiced, but in distinction of bearing and manner there were few
men superior to General Talbott. This distinction also belonged to
Alicia Vernon, and Sir Percy could not but recognise it as she rose and
advanced towards him and gave him her hand. She was quite forty, and
showed it. Like most women of her exquisite blonde type, each year left
a visible mark. Her chestnut hair had lost much of its lustre, and her
fine white skin had little marks and lines in it, like a crumpled
roseleaf. She had not the freshness and naturalness which Sir Percy
Carlyon reckoned the chief charm of the American women. Alicia Vernon
was the product of an old civilisation, and showed it; but her tall and
stately figure retained all its symmetry, and her eyes and her voice and
her smile--ah, they were matchless still! Her voice, low, soft and
clear, had a melancholy sweetness and power of expression that Sir Percy
Carlyon had never known in any woman's voice but hers, and her eyes, the
colour of the violets, had in them a depth of fire, and flickering
shadows like the heart of an opal. Everything about her was individual
and distinctive. Sir Percy was not much versed in the details of a
woman's dress, but he felt, rather than knew, the beauty of the
sweeping, pale blue draperies which undulated about Alicia Vernon, and
the seductive perfume which exhaled from everything which she wore and
used. Hers was the charm of the Shulamite.
In meeting Sir Percy her manner and tone were perfectly calm, friendly
and composed. Towards her father she was always perfect; and his air of
tender, chivalrous protection was touching and beautiful.
The three sat around the fire and talked intimately, as friends do after
a long absence. Mrs. Vernon offered Sir Percy a cup of tea, and even
handed it to him with her own hands sparkling with gems, but he declined
it. If it had been in Italy during the time of the Borgias he would
have hesitated to drink any cup offered him by Alicia Vernon. She said
little, leaving the conversation chiefly to her father and Sir Percy.
As they talked she sat in a large chair, her head half turned towards
Sir Percy and holding between the fire and her face an antique fan
painted by Greuze. She had been a slip of a girl when her lips had
sought Sir Percy's, and had shown him, in triumph, her long, bright
hair; but in some things she was unchanged, and Sir Percy felt that a
stripling of to-day, such as he had been in the old days, would not be
safe with Mrs. Vernon. While they were talking Lord Baudesert's card
was brought to General Talbott. On it was scrawled:
"My first chance to take the air. Gout has me by the leg, so come down
and drive with me for an hour."
General Talbott rose at once. Sir Percy had no excuse to leave at the
same time and remained perforce.
When the door was shut on General Talbott Sir Percy Carlyon's face
changed into the hardness of a flint, and he sat silent waiting to see
what position Mrs. Vernon would take with him. She too remained silent
for a while, fixing upon him two wells of violet light. The setting sun
streamed through a western window upon Sir Percy's face, and she studied
it carefully. No; he was not handsome even as a young man, and at
thirty-eight his moustache was growing grey and his hair scanty, and
there were crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. But what did that
matter to her? He was the most considerable man upon whom she had ever
tried her power.
"After all," she said presently, her low voice filling the room as a
trained singer's softest note is heard at the Paris Opera, "I was right
even in my youth, and knew that before you was a great destiny. You are
to be the next Ambassador here."
"How did you know that?" asked Sir Percy.
"Partly by observation and partly by a clever guess. I have been
staying in the same house with the Prime Minister, and quite naturally
we spoke of you. I told him that we were old friends."
As she said the last two words Sir Percy Carlyon turned away his head
and a dull flush dyed his sunburnt face.
"However, those are matters really of prescience. I was very young when
we loved, but even then I knew that some day you would be a great, if
not a famous, man."
"I am neither," responded Sir Percy, taking refuge in commonplace.