Though he had had short notice, Haverford managed to get together a few
interesting men for dinner the following evening.
The greater part of the large house was not open, but enough was seen
to impress and delight Mrs. Brenton.
She admired everything.
"I am full of envy," she said to him.
"So am I," said Camilla. "I want everything I see here, your servants
especially. How _do_ you bachelor people always manage to get such good
servants? That man of yours, Harper, is a perfect treasure. He is a
sort of Monte Cristo--nothing seems difficult or impossible to him. I
believe if I were to call him now and say to him, 'Harper, will you
please give me the Earth?' he would answer in that quiet way of his, 'I
have just put it in your carriage, madam.'"
She was all in white to-night, and looked languid and pensive. Rupert
Haverford asked her once if she were tired; she nodded her head.
"Just a little; but that is my own fault. I have been skating at
Prince's all the afternoon," she explained. "I wondered if you would
come there by any chance. You must promise to go with me one day. It is
really rather fun, and it gives one some exercise."
She was sitting in the place of honour. Mrs. Brenton and she were the
only ladies.
"Don't send us away," said Camilla, when coffee was brought in; "please
smoke, all of you. Agnes doesn't mind--do you, Agnes? and I love it."
As the liqueurs were being handed to him, Haverford's man addressed him
confidentially.
"Could I speak to you, sir?" he asked.
Mr. Haverford looked upwards; the request was unusual; then he just
nodded his head.
"All right, I'll come to you in a minute."
He waited a little while, and then, when the conversation was general,
and there was a movement from the dining-room, with a murmured excuse
to his two women guests, he left them.
Harper was waiting for him.
"What is the matter, Harper?" he asked impatiently enough.
"I'm sorry to bring you away, sir," said the man, "but there's a young
person that wants to see you, sir. I told her that you'd friends to
dinner, but she wouldn't be sent away. Says she must see you. She came
quite a hour ago. I put her in your study. She's come from Mrs.
Baynhurst, I think, sir," the man added. "I asked her to tell me what
she wanted, but she wouldn't do it. Insisted that she must speak to you
yourself, sir."
Rupert Haverford gave a few orders to the man about having certain
rooms lit up for Mrs. Brenton to see, and then went along the broad
passage to the room where he usually sat and smoked and worked.
The girl who awaited him was standing by the fire. She turned as the
door opened.
He had seen her once before, and recognized her as his mother's
secretary.
Naturally his thoughts flew at once to his mother.
"Is anything wrong?" he asked. "Have you news from Paris? Do you want
me?"
Caroline Graniger looked at him steadily.
She was a tall slip of a girl, with a thin, colourless face, and very
large, impressive eyes.
Her dress was shabby and meagre; she looked, indeed, as if she had
scarcely enough on for such a cold, raw night.
"I don't know whether I ought to have come to you, Mr. Haverford," she
said, "but I'm in great trouble, and as I've no one to whom I can go,
and I don't quite know what to do, I thought of you."
She spoke in a staccato kind of way. The voice was rather disagreeable
to Haverford.
"I shall be very glad to help you if I can," he said coldly; and then
he waited for her to say more.
"Mrs. Baynhurst has sent me away," the girl said; she spoke still in
that same sharp, stiff way. "A letter came from Paris this morning by a
midday post, but as I have been out all day I did not get it till late
this afternoon. I have brought it with me so that you can read it."
Mr. Haverford looked annoyed.
He objected strongly to interfere in anything which concerned his
mother.
"I am afraid it is not possible for me to go into this matter with
you," he said. "I have nothing whatever to do with Mrs. Baynhurst's
affairs."
The girl answered him sharply, authoritatively.
"Some one _must_ listen to me, and as you are her son, I consider it
your duty to do so."
At this he wheeled round.
This kind of tone was a new experience to him in these latter days,
when every one who approached him had a soft word on their lips, and a
subservient suggestion in their manner.
"I think you have made a mistake," he said, thoroughly annoyed now; "if
my mother has seen fit to dispense with your services she has, no
doubt, the very best reason for doing so. You must apply to her. As I
have just said, this is a matter in which I could not possibly
interfere at any time. And now----"
"And now," said Caroline Graniger, with a short laugh, "you want to go
back to your guests; to your dinner!" She shrugged her shoulders. "Then
go. I was a fool to come."
She left the fireplace and walked past him to the door, but before she
could get there Rupert Haverford made a move forward.
"Wait," he said. He had suddenly caught a glimpse of her face; it wore
an expression that was eloquent enough to him.
She paused, and stood biting her lip and blinking her eyes to keep back
her agitation. Young as she was, she suggested an element of strength.
"I have not very much time at my disposal," said Rupert quickly, "but
tell me exactly what has happened. If I can help you I will."
She did not answer him immediately. When she did, that sharp, almost
pert, tone had gone from her voice.
"I know quite well I have not given Mrs. Baynhurst satisfaction," she
said, "though I have tried my very best to fall in with her ways. But
she is not very easy. She does not make allowances. If it were only
that I should not complain...." She bit her lip again, "if I am not
good enough for her as a secretary she is quite right to get some one
else; but she ought to have prepared me, not dismiss me in this way. I
did not go to her of my own accord. She took me away from the school
where I have been living for so many years. I was given to understand
that she was my guardian, but I suppose that cannot be true, or she
would not write to me as she has written now," she broke off abruptly.
"What are my mother's orders?" asked Haverford very quietly.
"She says I am to go away at once, as she has no further use for me. In
her letter she writes that as she intends to remain in Paris for some
time, the house in Kensington is to be shut up immediately. In
fact"--the girl gave a shrug of her thin shoulders--"this is already
done. I find that some one has been good enough to pack my few things
in a box, and the only maid who remains informed me that she, too, had
heard from Mrs. Baynhurst, and that by her mistress's orders I was to
leave at once...."
She looked at Rupert very steadily, and there was something of contempt
in the expression of her dark eyes.
"Your mother is proverbially careless, Mr. Haverford," she said drily;
"she never troubles herself about those small things that are called
duties by other people, so I suppose it has not even dawned on her that
by cutting me adrift in this way she puts me in a very awkward
position. And yet I don't know why I should suppose her in ignorance of
this," Caroline Graniger added the next moment, "for our life together
has been so miserably uncomfortable that I dare say she is glad to have
such a good opportunity of getting rid of me. You see," she smiled
faintly, "I cannot possibly annoy her when she is so far away. She
knows, of course, that I should have not merely required, but demanded,
an explanation if she had dismissed me herself, but she hopes, no
doubt, that I shall accept the inevitable if she remains out of reach
for some time; or," with a shrug of her shoulders, "she may possibly
hope that some good chance, such as destitution, may take me out of her
way altogether. I have not a penny in the world," the girl said in that
same harsh, sharp way, "and no one to whom I can turn for advice or
help. Please understand that this is my only excuse for coming to you."
Then, before Mr. Haverford had time to speak, she went on eagerly--
"Above all things, I want to know something about myself. It is no new
thing for me to feel lonely. I have always been one by myself. Perhaps
I should have gone on accepting everything that came and asked no
questions if this had not happened, but to-night I feel so ... so lost,
so bewildered to know what to do: to understand...." She cleared her
throat and looked pleadingly at Rupert Haverford. "As you belong to
Mrs. Baynhurst, perhaps you can answer my questions, perhaps you can
tell me why she took me away from the school where I have lived ever
since I can remember, why I was told she had the right to take me away?"
Haverford had moved to the fireplace, and was standing there looking at
her with contracted brows.
He listened with a sense of the greatest discomfort, and even
uneasiness.
"Believe me," he said when he spoke, "if I could answer those questions
I would do so most gladly, but I am an absolute stranger to all that
passes in my mother's life. I know you were her secretary, but she has
had a number of secretaries, and in this, as in other things, she acts
for herself absolutely. She has never spoken to me about you." Here he
paused. "If it is true that she called herself your guardian, this is a
matter about which I know nothing. I am sorry," he finished abruptly.
"Sit down," he said all at once, "you must be tired."
She had turned very white, and she sat down in the chair. For an
instant her eyes closed, and in that spell of silence he saw how young
she was, scarcely more than a child.
He was accustomed by this time to come in contact with all sorts of
trouble, with the sordid misery of the very poor, the hopeless,
pathetic endurance of those who have to keep a brave front to the world
whilst they are literally starving. Sorrow was a well-worn study, and
there was no mistake about the story written on that young, white face.
She opened her eyes almost directly.
"I--I beg that you will not let me detain you," she said in that sharp,
proud way; then more proudly still she added, "I am sorry now that I
came."
"On the contrary," said Rupert Haverford, "I am glad that you came. You
did quite rightly. Though I have made it a principle never to mix in my
mother's affairs, this appears to me to be a matter which requires
investigation. As you have just said yourself, she acts with no
conventional basis, doubtless she does not in the least grasp the
meaning of your real position. You must permit me to charge myself with
the care of you till we have communicated with Mrs. Baynhurst."
The girl did not answer him immediately; the gaze of her dark eyes had
gone beyond him and was resting on the blaze of the fire.
"I don't want to be a trouble to anybody," she said, "I am really very
independent, and very strong. I would not have come to you to-night,"
she added, "if I had been able to go to the school where I lived for so
many years; but this is lost to me now. That is where I have been
to-day. The black fog choked me, and as I knew I was not wanted, that
there was nothing for me to do, I determined to have a little holiday.
I borrowed a few shillings from the parlourmaid, and I went down into
the country. There was no fog there. It was cold, but it was fresh and
beautiful. I walked ever so far. It was silly, but I lost my way. I did
not expect to be very warmly welcomed, for I believe I was kept out of
charity for a great number of years, but I thought perhaps _somebody_
might be glad to see me. However, when I got to the old familiar house
it was empty. There was a board saying that it was to let. It looked so
desolate!..." She sighed faintly. "It took me a long time to get back
to Kensington, and when I did arrive it was to find my box packed in
the hall, and nothing before me but the doorstep."
"Come nearer the fire," said Rupert "I am going to send you in some
dinner. I really must leave you for a little while, but I will come
back again. Won't you make yourself comfortable? You had better take
off your coat and hat...."
She got up at once and he helped her to remove the coat. She was
painfully thin. When her hat was off he saw that she had masses of dark
hair. But he scarcely realized what her appearance was, her story had
surprised and troubled him sharply. He pushed a cosy chair near the
fire, and gave her some papers to look at, and then hurried away.
His guests were scattered about the house.
On his way to join them Mr. Haverford paused to give Harper orders to
take in some food at once to Miss Graniger.
"See that she has everything that she wants," he said.
By his tone the manservant understood that the girl who had come so
unexpectedly was to be treated with the utmost courtesy.
This done, Haverford made his way up the stairs.
Mrs. Brenton was waiting for him almost impatiently.
"I shall come here every day whilst I am in town," she declared, "and
even then I am sure I shall always find something fresh to admire! I
congratulate you, Mr. Haverford; you have a beautiful home!"
"My house is beautiful," he corrected; "I sometimes feel I have no
home. All my tastes are for small and simple things. This is so large,
so much too splendid for me. It always feel so empty...."
"Oh! but you are going to change all that," Agnes Brenton said with a
little laugh.
He took her to look at the portrait of Matthew Woolgar, the work of one
of the greatest of modern painters, a _chef d'oeuvre_ in its way.
"It's a living portrait," Haverford said. "Just fancy, Mrs. Brenton, I
knew that man all my life, and I don't think he ever said a kind word
to me. There was not the slightest sign of any sort to let me feel that
he troubled himself about me one way or other." He was speaking with an
effort, for all the time his thoughts were busy with the girl whom he
had left in the study below. Naturally it was not a great astonishment
to him to hear that his mother should be careless and indifferent to
the welfare of others. The woman who could turn her back as she had
done on her own little child, could not be blessed with too much
sympathy or womanly thought; still, if this girl's story was true--and
he saw no reason to doubt it--his mother was now guilty of a definitely
cruel act, for which he failed in this moment to find any possible
explanation.
"Have you a portrait of your father?" Mrs. Brenton asked, after a
little while, as they wandered round.
"Yes, but not here," answered Rupert Haverford. "I have a few old
photographs, but those are in my bedroom, and there is a sketch of him
in water-colours in my study--that is a room downstairs," he added.
"May I see that room?" Mrs. Brenton asked.
He paused imperceptibly, and then he said in his frank way--
"I will show it to you another time. I have some one in it now."
Then all at once there flashed across him a suggestion that here was a
woman who could possibly help him out of the difficulty of the moment.
That Caroline Graniger should remain in his house was, of course,
impossible; but it was equally impossible that this young creature
could be turned outside to find some lodging for herself at this late
hour of the night. He knew Mrs. Brenton to be a practical woman, a
woman of resource, and this was essentially a matter for a woman to
deal with.
Briefly he explained to her that his mother's secretary had come to him
in trouble.
"By some curious mistake," he said, "the house has been shut up, and,
as far as I can understand, she is unable to sleep there to-night. The
question is, Where can she go? Apparently, from what she tells me, my
mother intends staying in Paris for some time. I have no news from her
of any sort, so I know nothing of her plans; but the girl has come to
me for advice, and I am not sure what to do with her. I have not a
single woman in my household. My cook is a man, and Harper has only men
under him. I suppose she had better go to an hotel."
"Oh, poor girl!" said Mrs. Brenton quickly; "she must be very much
upset" She paused an instant, and then said briskly, "The best thing
she can do is to come back with me. Dick is not coming up for a day or
two, and there is a bed in his dressing-room. We never go to an hotel,"
she explained, "we have always gone to these rooms. Practically we keep
them on during the winter. They have several advantages, the greatest
being in my eyes the fact that I am really almost next door to Camilla.
Suppose I go and speak to this young lady. What is her name?"
"Graniger," Rupert Haverford said; "but really, Mrs. Brenton," he
protested, "I hardly like to bother you to such an extent. I am almost
sorry I mentioned this. No doubt if we leave the matter to Harper he
will arrange something. You know, according to Mrs. Lancing, he is the
most marvellous man in the world."
"Oh! but this is not a case for Harper," objected Mrs. Brenton
immediately. She felt a woman's sympathy for the probably well-bred
young woman who had been so roughly treated.
"If you will tell me how I shall find my way to your study, I will go
to her at once and fix up things."
She was gone almost directly, pausing only on her way to admire the
almost priceless tapestry which lined the walls of the passage which
led to the staircase.
Harper was in the study, arranging a dainty little dinner table, and
Caroline Graniger was sitting in the chair, looking thoroughly tired
out. She turned, and then rose quickly as Mrs. Brenton advanced with
outstretched hand.
"How do you do, Miss Graniger?" said Agnes Brenton. "May I come in and
chat with you a little while? Mr. Haverford is 'on duty,' you know. I
must introduce myself," she added, as they were alone. "I am Mrs.
Brenton, a friend of Mr. Haverford's."
This kindly, warm greeting startled Caroline. It was something so new,
she hardly knew how to respond to it. She took Mrs. Brenton's hand, but
she said nothing, and the other woman was very sorry for her.
"Poor child," she thought, "she looks scared and half starved. Why, she
cannot be more than seventeen or eighteen. Fancy sending a child like
that out of the house at this time of night. It is monstrous!"
Her easy bearing made the situation almost natural.
"Now you must eat some dinner," she said, "and I will sit here, if you
will let me. Mr. Haverford has been telling me that you are alone by
yourself just now," Mrs. Brenton chattered on, "and as you don't seem
to know where to go, I have suggested that you should come home with
me, at any rate for to-night. There is a small bed in a room close to
mine. It is clean and comfortable, and that is about all that can be
said of it."
"You are very kind," said Caroline Graniger; she spoke shyly,
nervously; in the presence of this womanly sympathy she lost her
self-reliance a little; she almost felt inclined to cry. Only a long
time ago she had taught herself the futility of tears.
"I can't eat anything," she said rather abruptly the next moment; "it
is a pity to give so much trouble, for I am not a bit hungry."
"Oh! that is because you are over-tired," said Agnes Brenton. "I should
have some soup and a little fish. You won't sleep if you don't eat
something."
The girl sat down in the chair that was put for her, and as the soup
was put before her she ate it obediently.
Harper had gone, but one of his subordinates waited upon her with great
importance. Mrs. Brenton talked on pleasantly and brightly, and her
thoughts were busy.
"She looks awfully thin," she said to herself; "if she had a little
more flesh on her bones she would be rather pretty. As it is, she is
decidedly interesting. Poor little soul! She makes my heart ache, and
she is only a type after all, one of thousands who have to go out and
fight the world when they have only just left their cradle, as it were.
I should imagine she has been having a pretty rough time with Mrs.
Baynhurst. A genius is a delightful thing in its way, but not a very
comfortable thing to live with."
"Now when you have had some sweets," Mrs. Brenton announced, "I am
going to get Harper to put you in a cab, and you shall go to my rooms.
I will give you a little note to take with you." She sat down at
Haverford's writing-table and scribbled a few words, explaining that
Miss Graniger was her guest, and desiring that the dressing-room should
be made ready for her.
"Please light a fire," she wrote at the end.
"When you go in, ask for my maid, and give that to her," she said,
"then you will find everything all right." And then Mrs. Brenton stood
up and looked about her.
"This is Mr. Haverford's favourite room, I am sure," she said, "it
looks so cosy, and that must be his father." She advanced and looked up
at a portrait on the wall. "Yes, I can see a strong likeness to him,
can't you?"
"I think he is very like his mother," Caroline Graniger said, "only,"
she added, "his is a much better face. He ought to have been the
woman...."
"Oh! do you think so? I think him such a splendid man," said Mrs.
Brenton warmly, "there is not the slightest trace of effeminacy in him."
"I did not mean that," said the girl. "I mean that his mother has no
right to be a woman. Do you know her?" the girl asked abruptly.
Mrs. Brenton shook her head.
"No, I don't know her personally, but of course I know of her. As
Octavia Haverford she made a great name for herself."
"She may be a wonderful woman," said Caroline Graniger, "but she is a
very cruel one!"
"Well now," said Mrs. Brenton, "I think you had better get on your hat
and coat. I should go straight to bed. You look so tired. Ask my maid
to give you anything you want. I won't disturb you when I come home, as
you may be asleep, and I am sure to be a little late. We will have a
chat in the morning."
Harper was waiting in the passage outside, and to his care Mrs. Brenton
confided Miss Graniger.
"You are not afraid to go alone, are you?" she asked, and Caroline
Graniger only smiled as they shook hands.
"I am not afraid," she said; then she tried to say some words of
gratitude, but Agnes Brenton would not listen.
"Please don't thank me.... I am only too glad that I am able to be of
some use."
Camilla floated across one of the big rooms when Mrs. Brenton
reappeared upstairs.
"Where _have_ you been?" she asked half petulantly, as she slipped her
hand through Mrs. Brenton's arm. "Haven't you finished admiring yet? It
is all very beautiful and wonderful, and everything has cost a mint of
money, of course ... but oh! isn't it dull?... Agnes, I am ever so
tired!... All this sense of money is so oppressive. Suppose we go home."
But at this moment one of the men sat at the piano, and began to play
softly. Camilla looked round, and her eyes lit up.
"Sing something, Mr. Amherst," she commanded; and then she changed
this, "No, play a waltz." She slipped her hand from Agnes Brenton's
arm. "This will make a heavenly ballroom," she said. She paused,
looking about her, tapping the floor with her foot. Then she gathered
her white skirts in her hand, and fluttered up to Rupert Haverford.
"Listen..." she said, "this is a waltz.... I am dying to dance.... Will
you dance with me?"
Rupert looked into the laughing, radiant face, into the large blue eyes
that could be so dreamy, so full of sadness at times, but which now had
a touch of fire in them ... a look to bewilder and fascinate.
"Alas," he said, "I cannot dance, Mrs. Lancing."
Camilla struck him lightly on the arm with her fan.
"Oh! you tiresome person! You do nothing! You won't play cards ... you
can't dance; you! ... What _can_ you do?" With one of her bird-like
movements she turned to a man standing beside him. "I know _you_ can
dance," she said, "come along."
They slipped away, and Rupert Haverford stood looking after her with
his heart beating uncomfortably quickly.
He was conscious of a rush of sharp, resentful anger, and of course he
was mortified. Camilla could sting very surely when she liked.
She was laughing and chatting away to the man whom she had annexed so
calmly; he was neither young nor handsome, but he made no sort of
incongruous figure. He danced as a matter of course, as a habit.
At all times dancing as a social custom was something that startled
Rupert Haverford; now, as he saw Camilla held ever so lightly in the
arms of another man, he felt choked, hurt, almost outraged.
His face was so stern, so angry that Camilla was satisfied.
"A pity our host is so puritanical," she said to her partner; "he is
looking at us now as if he would like to annihilate us both, and all
because we are dancing! I love shocking him! He is such a nice old
maid."
"A real good sort, though, all the same," answered the man, "one of the
best...."
"I begin to hate good people, they are so wet-blankety," Camilla said
impatiently. "Isn't this a splendid floor?" she said the next moment.
"I could waltz all night. Tell me when you have had enough."
Mrs. Brenton moved across to where Rupert was standing.
"I love to see Camilla dance," she said, "she is all grace, and she
dances with the heart of a child. Indeed, to me she always remains a
child.... Sometimes when I see her with her babies I cannot realize
that she is their mother, or that she has gone through more dark
experiences as Ned Lancing's wife than happily one woman in a hundred
is called upon to endure." Mrs. Brenton was silent a moment. Then she
turned. "I think I have made things comfortable for Miss Graniger," she
said; "she looked so tired, poor child. She is an interesting-looking
child. I wonder if she is purely English?"
Rupert Haverford did not answer. He had of course warmly thanked her,
but now he scarcely heard her words. He was watching Camilla intently.
Now and then she seemed to circle so closely to him he could have
touched her floating draperies; then she was swept away from him
swiftly--far, far away. Her small white feet appeared scarcely to touch
the ground; to his jealous fancy she leaned too intimately on the arm
that embraced her.
Her blue eyes mocked him at one moment, and pleaded the next.
Sometimes she ceased laughing, and then her lips would take the pensive
expression that was so pathetic, and which moved him so.
When the music ceased, Camilla came slowly towards them--she was
panting a little.
"You must really give a ball, Mr. Haverford," she said; then,
restlessly, "Is it time to go, Agnes? I am sure it is. You look as
though you were longing to be in your little bi-bi."
They did not go immediately, however, but she kept all the men hovering
about her, and adroitly avoided being alone with Haverford for an
instant.
"Did I hear you make an assignation for to-morrow with that dear, dull
person?" she queried listlessly as Mrs. Brenton and she were swept
fleetly homewards in Haverford's electric carriage.
"Yes; he is coming to see me in the morning, or rather to see somebody
else." And then Mrs. Brenton explained further.
"I fancy his mother must be a cat," said Camilla, yawning; "they don't
seem to meet very often. I am sure I am not surprised, for he is a very
dreary person, you know, Agnes, my dear."
"Since when?" Mrs. Brenton spoke with some irritation. "I thought you
liked him so much?"
"Oh, I change my mind occasionally!" She yawned again. "The fact is, I
do like him sometimes, but then again I dislike him more often. You
see, he bores me, and life is much--much too short to be bored...."
Mrs. Brenton sat silent a moment; then she said--
"Camilla, I want to..."
"No," said Camilla, "don't! I know so exactly what you want to say. I
know it all by heart. He cares for me; he is _such_ a good man; it will
be such a _splendid_ thing for me! Don't you suppose I can hear
everybody saying this? Well, of course, it would be a splendid thing. I
am not denying that; but oh! Agnes, he depresses me so horribly. When
he talks to me I feel as though I were being prepared for confirmation,
and he has a way of sitting and looking at me that is positively
unbearable. If he only had a spice of the devil in him...."
"Like Sammy, I suppose!" said Agnes Brenton drily.
"Yes"--impatiently--"like Sammy or any other man who lives, and moves,
and is not always up in the clouds contemplating the road to Heaven. My
dear Agnes, there is no getting away from the fact that Rupert
Haverford is a bore, a distinct and definite bore!"
"Well," said Mrs. Brenton, "if that is your opinion of the man, I
should not bother about him so much."
"Now you are cross with me," said Camilla, "dear sweet old thing! Don't
you know I always speak out my thoughts with you? Oh, here we are at
your lodgings already! Look here, Agnes, you must let me help you with
this girl. Poor soul! she must feel pretty miserable, I expect. Why not
bring her in to luncheon to-morrow?"
Mrs. Brenton kissed the speaker.
"Why will you always try and make me believe you are what you are not?"
she asked, half lightly, half sadly.
"Silly Agnes," said Camilla, laughingly, "it is all your own fault; you
are so anxious to make me a saint, and all the time I am very much the
other thing. Good night, darling!"
Mrs. Lancing's maid was waiting for her mistress, and there were some
letters and a note from Sir Samuel Broxbourne.
Camilla opened the note first.
It was merely a reminder that she had promised to ride with him the
following morning if the weather was good.
Sir Samuel was, of course, lending Mrs. Lancing a horse.
"I am deadly tired, but I don't believe I shall sleep a wink, Dennis.
You had better give me some bromide," Camilla said, as she was made
ready for bed.
"If I could only be sure," she said to herself when the maid was gone;
"he _seems_ just the same, and yet now and then he looks at me in
rather an odd way." She caught her breath. "Sammy can be so hard! All
the world knows that."
She sat crouched up looking into the fire for a long time, then she
shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, if ever the worst were to happen, and he should turn nasty, I
have the money now." She got up, and stood looking into the fire once
again "Only if," she said slowly, "he will not be satisfied with money,
if he...."
She shivered, not once, but several times, and hurriedly taking up the
sleeping draught her maid had prepared, she swallowed it, and then got
into bed; where she lay staring at the shadows on the walls and ceiling
made by the dancing flames of the fire, till her eyes closed at last
unconsciously in the sleep she had commanded.