Azalia spent a very restless day and night after Marie had left her to
go upon her secret quest. Her mind was busy, and her lover, Lord Clive,
was nearly all the time in her thoughts.
She knew that she had done him a cruel injustice in promising to become
his wife. She would never have done so had not Laurie Meredith been so
close by that she was tempted to answer "yes" in order to provoke his
wrath and jealousy.
She had failed most ignobly. Laurie had remained cold, unmoved,
indifferent, and there remained to her nothing but the consciousness of
having made a fatal mistake, of having wronged the heart of another man
by accepting him only for a purpose that now recoiled upon her own head.
She could never marry Lord Clive, even if she loved him, for look which
way she would she saw only the impossibility of such a marriage.
If Marie found the marriage-certificate, and it proved her legally
Laurie Meredith's wife, she, the unacknowledged wife of an indifferent
husband, could not wed Lord Clive. On the other hand, if the marriage
had been only a sham, how could she, with that cruel stain upon her,
dare to enter one of the proudest homes of old England? Even if she
could have been dishonest enough to keep the secret, it might be found
out some day--and then?
Azalia sunk her head in her hands and sobbed aloud:
"No, no, I could not bear that! I must break with him even though he
curse me!"
She kept her room for several days, feigning illness, but in reality
too wretched to meet the lover whose anger she feared and dreaded so
much. Her timid heart ached with pain because of the pain she must
inflict on Lord Clive.
But she could not feign illness always. Lady Ivon grew impatient of her
seclusion, declaring that she was only moping, that she would be better
if she would come into their private parlor and see Lord Clive, who was
always hanging about, sending messages and flowers to his invisible
lady-love.
"I will come down presently. Tell him so for me, please," the girl
said, patiently; and when the door had closed upon Lady Ivon's silken
trailing skirts, she fell down upon her knees and begged God to forgive
her for the wrong she had done to Lord Clive, and to help her to bear
his anger when she told him the truth.
He was waiting in the handsome private parlor belonging to Lord Ivon's
elegant suite of rooms at Willard's Hotel, and when she came gliding
in, softly as a spirit in her long gown of rich black velvet, he came
eagerly to meet her, exclaiming:
"My darling, I am glad you are well enough to come out again, for I
have missed you very much."
"Thank you, Lord Clive," she said, in a constrained voice; and evading
the arms outstretched to embrace her, she sunk wearily into a chair.
He followed, and sat down by her side.
"Oh, you have been ill--you are pale and wan indeed, Azalia. I see now
that I did you an injustice, for I half believed, like Lady Ivon, that
it was a fit of _ennui_ or the _dismals_."
The blue eyes turned eagerly to his face, and he could see that she was
trembling very much.
"Poor child!" he said, compassionately, attempting to press her hand;
but she drew it quickly away, and exclaimed:
"You were right, Lord Clive. It was not that I was sick, only dismal
and wretched. Yes, I will tell you the truth now. I was not ill, only
frightened--of _you_!"
The low voice faltered, and she stole a pleading glance at him that
mystified him even more than her words.
"Frightened of me! I do not understand you, Azalia," he said,
inquiringly.
"I had--something--to tell you," faltered the frightened voice. "Oh,
Lord Clive, do not look at me so kindly for presently you will hate me!
I--I--want to take back my promise! I can not learn to love you, so I
can never marry you!"
When he recovered from the severe shock she had given him he attempted
to expostulate with her, to reason with her, but all to no purpose, for
she would only reiterate her declaration that she could never marry
him, and beg him to forgive her for what she had done.
His handsome blonde face grew pale with emotion.
"Your reasons for this strange step, Azalia?" he said at last,
haughtily, indignation beginning to work in his breast.
"I do not love you," she faltered, faintly.
"You told me that before, yet you did me the honor to accept my offer;
so there must be some newer reason," said Lord Clive.
She began to sob bitterly, and he said, impatiently:
"I am waiting for your answer, Miss Brooke."
Driven to bay, she answered, sobbingly:
"I can give you no reason; for, although one exists, I am too great a
coward to confess it. I can only throw myself on your pity and your
mercy, Lord Clive."
"But you are not showing me any mercy or pity," he replied, in a deeply
offended tone.
"Am I not, Lord Clive? Then I will show no mercy to myself. Listen,
then: I am an arrant coquette. When I accepted your offer I knew quite
well that I could never marry you. But it was to pique another, whom I
cared for, into a confession of his love that I played with your heart.
There; have I lowered myself sufficiently in your eyes?"
The handsome nobleman arose, pale with passion.
"You have made me quite willing to relinquish all claims upon you, Miss
Brooke," he said, with haughty sarcasm, adding, still more bitterly: "I
trust your clever ruse brought him to your feet."
"Ah, no, no!" she cried, in a broken voice; but at that moment the door
opened, admitting Lord and Lady Ivon and some visitors--Mrs. Meredith,
her two daughters, and Jewel Fielding.
Azalia rose quietly and greeted the visitors, trembling when the
hateful glance of Jewel met her own.
"She is regretting that I was not killed by the dynamite bomb she left
in my room," she thought, nervously. "Ah, with what a deadly hatred she
regards me! She will never relax in her deadly purpose until I am dead
and out of her way."
Mrs. Meredith came and sat down by her side, almost furtively, in her
fear of offending jealous Jewel.
"You are not looking well, my dear," she said, almost tenderly, for she
had taken a serious fancy to the lovely girl.
Azalia knew that Lord Clive was listening angrily for her reply, and
answered, truthfully:
"I have been unhappy over something, Mrs. Meredith, and it has made me
feel almost ill!"
"Unhappy! What, my dear girl, with all your blessings!" exclaimed the
astonished matron; and she could not help letting her glance fall on
Lord Clive, who frowned and moved restlessly in his seat.
"Ah, it is only a lover's quarrel!" she thought, astutely; and hastily
led the conversation to something less personal than Miss Brooke's
looks.
There was a slight break in the conversation, and to her horror Azalia
heard Jewel saying:
"I know you have often wondered, Lady Ivon, why I fainted the night
when I first met your beautiful niece, Miss Brooke."
Lady Ivon coughed slightly, and answered, with cool politeness:
"I merely supposed the rooms were too warm for you, Miss Fielding."
"Ah, no, it was not that!" said Jewel. Her handsome head, in its plumed
bonnet of ruby plush, was thrown backward, and her eyes had a malicious
light, her mouth a wicked, defiant smile, as if some secret, exultant
thought moved her to speech.
"I am going to tell you the reason," continued Jewel, looking straight
into Lady Ivon's face.