SOCIETY'S VOTARIES SMILE THOUGH THEY DIE.
"Here are some roses, Mademoiselle; the Captain cut them before he
went out and bid me keep them fresh for you."
"Very well, Saunders, I shall wear them this evening; that is, the
yellow ones; put the others in a vase, or give them to me, I shall,
while you get out my ruby velvet; I am pale; it is high waist and no
sleeves; take out my gold ornaments and bracelets--the plain gold
bands; an old lace collar, with roses, shall be my neck-gear; hand me
my vinagrette; I have a slight headache; and please comb my hair
gently, it will be pleasant, yes; that will do."
"Your hair is a fortune to you Mademoiselle, so long and thick."
"Yes, it is, but I like it best because of its fluffiness; it is no
trouble; weatherproof and waterproof.
"So it is, Mademoiselle."
"Now for my gown."
"It fits beautiful, Mademoiselle."
"Yes, I am quite satisfied with it."
And well she may be, for the robe might have grown on the perfect
form, every curve and roundness of figure being followed by the close
clinging velvet; and the arms, bare to the shoulder, fit models for a
sculptor, shone fair as the flesh of a child-blonde against the rich
ruby of the velvet, The perfumed bath had refreshed her, and though a
trifle pale, from heart emotion as to Lionel's probable leave-taking;
her lips always wore a "pretty redness," her eyes had a tender look,
while the fluffy bronze hair had its own beauty as it shaded the brow.
"You are looking charming, _ma chere_," said Lady Esmondet, whom Vaura
met in the hall.
"Thank you, dear, your eyes are partial, I fear."
"No, no, not as you imply."
As they entered the drawing-room, Robert Douglas came from a
comfortable corner where he had been studying a small work of Thomas a
Kempis, which he quietly returned to his pocket saying smiling:
"You see I am here to welcome you; I made myself at home and came here
immediately at the close of even-song."
"We feel complimented that you prefer our society to those very
ecclesiastical looking quarters of yours," said Lady Esmondet.
"And where the ancient fathers look from the walls in wonderment at
the priest of to-day, as he pores over printed records of their bygone
lives."
"Why, Vaura, how did you know that the pictured fathers grace the
walls of my humble retreat?"
"From Isabel."
"Ah, I wondered, for my study is never entered by a strange foot, it
is my rest."
"Is not your rest a misnomer, Robert? for from all I hear, you
literally rest nowhere," inquired Lady Esmondet.
"In my opinion, Lady Esmondet, a priest of the church should never
rest, but always have his armour on, for there is 'so little done, so
much to do.' Thank God we are waking up at last; look at the priest of
to-day (I say it in all humility) as compared with the priest of fifty
years ago."
"True, true," answered Lady Esmondet, "but, don't you think that the
zealous Low Church clergy are doing as much for the human race as you
are?"
"Undoubtedly, for the human race; but not for the church, for their
people often lapse into dissent."
"I don't believe in extremes; I respect the man who is thorough," said
Vaura, seeing that Capt. Trevalyon had entered and seated himself
beside her god-mother, evidently wishing to talk with her, and so, to
help him, taking up the thread of the argument herself.
"But Vaura," said the priest, "don't you think that in the Ritualist,
you have the man who is thorough?"
"Not exactly, he is extreme; the man who is thorough has no uncertain
sound; he neither culls from Rome her vestments, nor from Dissent her
hymns; both Rome and Dissent are thorough, why shouldn't he. But a
truce to argument, a gentleman's trap stops the way," she said
smiling, "is even now at the steps; his back is this way, so I cannot
name him; he talks to his servant, in bottle green livery, who has a
decidedly Hibernian countenance."
"Oh," said Capt. Trevalyon, starting to his feet, "Lady Esmondet, it
must be an Irishman, an acquaintance of mine, Sir Dennis O'Gormon, who
wanted very much to make the acquaintance of the ladies of the villa
Iberia. I had forgotten all about my asking him for to-day."
"It makes no difference, Lionel, 'tis little wonder you forgot such a
small matter in the many more important you have had."
Here a servant announced Sir Denis O'Gormon.
"Ah, O'Gormon, glad to see you. Lady Esmondet, permit me to present to
you Sir Dennis O'Gormon. Miss Vernon allow me to introduce Sir Dennis;
Douglas, I believe you and O'Gormon have met before."
Lady Esmondet and Miss Vernon shook hands with and welcomed their
guest, Lady Esmondet saying graciously, "Any friend of Captain
Trevalyon is always welcome."
"Thank you, Lady Esmondet, but by my faith, Trevalyon's a lucky
fellow, and one whom I have always envied but never more so than now,"
he continued laughingly, "when with all my fascinations I am only
welcomed by two charming women for his sake."
Mrs. Marchmont and Miss Marchmont were now announced. The two ladies
floated in the most approved style towards their hostess, who rose to
welcome them. They were ethereal in every respect, clad in a thin
material of pale green, neck bare and elbow sleeves, and looking more
like sisters than mother and daughter. Sandy of complexion, blue eyed
sharp of feature; the mother having the advantage in flesh, the
daughter being all the angles joined in one.
"I hate a thin woman," was the whispered criticism of Sir Dennis to
Trevalyon, with a suppressed emphasis on the word "hate."
Trevalyon smiled, giving a side glance at Vaura's rounded form, as she
bent gracefully with extended hand in welcome.
"Faith, you may well look in that direction," remarked the Irishman,
detecting him. "She's fair enough to seduce a look from His Holiness
himself."
Here Lady Esmondet introduced Sir Dennis O'Gormon to the Marchmonts;
Trevalyon and Douglas having met them before.
The butler now announced dinner, when Lady Esmondet taking the arm of
Sir Dennis assigned Mrs. Marchmont to Trevalyon, when Douglas handed
in Vaura and Miss Marchmont.
Lady Esmondet found Sir Dennis a pleasant neighbour, who devoted
himself equally to Vaura on his left and to his hostess at the head of
the table. As usual the table was decorated with the rarest of
flowers, which sent forth their delicate perfume from a large stand,
the design of which was an imitation of the famed terraced gardens of
Semiramis: the shrubs and trees represented in miniature by the most
delicate ferns and mosses; the whole a triumph of nature and art.
Choice flowers stood in a tiny bed of moss in front of each person.
Many delicate desert dishes were not only tempting to the palate, but
pleasing to the eye, while the wines in the cellar of the noble Don
Ferdinand were well known and appreciated.
"Del Castello has a snug place here, Lady Esmondet," observed Sir
Dennis.
"Extremely so, Sir Dennis. We are much more comfortably placed by the
kindness of the Marquis than we should have been at an hotel."
"He is a fine generous soul, always remembering that he is not the
only member of the human race," said Sir Dennis (who had met him).
"It is a charming little winter home," said Vaura. "I shall regret to
leave it."
"You won't, I hope, leave for some time yet?"
"Yes; much as we love it," she answered; smiling, "we go north ere
spring has thawed the sceptre out of the frozen hand of winter."
"I am sorry to hear that. But you don't surely go as soon as my friend
Trevalyon?"
Vaura hesitated a moment, not wishing to be a messenger of death at a
dinner table, when Trevalyon came to her aid, cutting Mrs. Marchmont
short in a dissertation on the merits of shaded wool versus plain, by
saying,
"Pardon me, Miss Vernon. I may be obliged, O'Gormon, to leave for
England sooner than I expected; if so, it will be alone."
"One of the penalties of bachelorhood, Trevalyon; by my faith, 'tis a
lonely loneliness."
"I thought most of you glory in the freedom of winging your flight
when you please, without having to say, by your leave," said Vaura,
gaily.
"Not always," said Trevalyon, quietly.
"What do you say, Lady Esmondet. Don't you think a fellow is happier
and less lonely when he cuts bachelor life?"
"Depends on the cards in his hands, and how he plays them, Sir
Dennis," answered his host, laconically.
"True, Lady Esmondet, and if the cards are his, the game is won, the
difficulty over," said Trevalyon, with a glance at Vaura, "and bliss
secured."
"Faith, you're right, Trevalyon."
Here Miss Marchmont's shrill voice was distinctly heard above the
general hum, in animated discussion, saying,
"Oh, I'm sure he comes from the East."
The Rev. Douglas was evidently much amused and disputing the point;
Miss Marchmont continued,
"The dear creature has such a beautiful colour--so bronzed."
"I'll lay any wager 'the dear creature' means a soldier," said
Trevalyon to Vaura.
Vaura smilingly assented.
"A soldier," exclaimed Mrs. Marchmont in horror; "oh no, Capt.
Trevalyon, nothing so naughty; it's Miranda's last pet."
"But we women are given to petting the red-coats, Mrs. Marchmont,"
said Vaura with a laugh in her voice.
"They're too wild for dear Miranda," said Marchmont mater; "the pet
you mean is the last sweet insect you have collected; is it not, my
dear child?" she said, anxious for the fair fame of the owner of the
fine exhibit in elbow and collar bone.
"Yes, mamma, you are right, but I am so sorry Mr. Douglas is not at
one with me; I feel convinced the dear potato bug comes from the east;
he is of brilliant colouring and luxurious habit."
Rev. Robert Douglas laughingly shook his head, and Sir Dennis said:
"Miss Marchmont, you cannot imagine the wager Capt. Trevalyon was
laying when you talked about the 'bronzed beauty;' he wanted some one
to take him up at ten to one you meant a dashing cavalry man, or a
'go-as-he-please' infantry."
"Order! order! O'Gormon," interrupted Trevalyon, laughing.
"Oh! I'm shocked, Capt. Trevalyon," cried Miss Marchmont seriously,
"that my dear potato bug, with all his innocent ways, its care of its
eggs,--."
Here a general laugh went round the table, except from Marchmont
_mere_, who tried in vain to catch the fair Miranda's eye, who
continued bravely, "should be taken for anything so wild as a soldier,
who doesn't do anything so useful. But I must convert you, Mr.
Douglas," she continued, returning to the siege; "it would be such a
sweet study for a clergyman; I shall lend you Cassels' Natural
History, and you must promise to read it for my sake," she said
gushingly.
Meanwhile, Trevalyon tried in vain to catch the drift of conversation
between Vaura and her neighbour, but no, Mrs. Marchmont, though
inwardly afraid of this squire of dames; and of his intellect,
determined to appear at ease, and so talked on the one engrossing idea
of her life; the last conundrum in fancy work, the last fashionable
incongruity in the blending of colours. And poor, victimized Lionel
longed to breathe in Vaura's refreshing breadth of thought; on his
tormentor pausing to recover breath, it was not as balm to a wound to
hear Sir Dennis say pleadingly:
"The gardens of the Collona palace are looking lovely in their tints
of emerald; it will transport me to my loved isle, Miss Vernon, if
you'll walk with me there some day; though our damsels are not fair as
the companion I desire, and her rich beauty would add grace to the
spot."
"Come, come, Sir Dennis, no flattery, I am jealous for the beauty of
those gardens, and do not want to hear, even in jest, my poor looks
would add to their charm," she answered gaily, and evading his
question.
Here Lady Esmondet, feeling for Lionel's torture, catching Mrs.
Marchmont's eye, rose from the table, leaving the gentlemen to discuss
the merits of bottles of no plebeian length of neck.
"How sweetly English the fire in the grate looks," observed Mrs.
Marchmont.
"Yes, it does; but while at home we really require it to keep away
cold, here it is more to remind us of the warm sun gone to rest," said
Lady Esmondet.
"There's no doubt the dear Spaniard, the Marquis Del Castello, has an
eye for luxurious comfort," said Vaura, as she sank into the corner of
a _tete-a-tete_ sofa and fell into a reverie of Lionel's probable
leave-taking.
While Mrs. Marchmont seated herself in an Elizabethan chair, Miranda
placing herself on a footstool by her side and laying her head with
its thin sandy curls on her knee.
"What a child you are still, Miranda," said her mother, sentimentally,
as she fondled the high cheek-bone.
"You are quite companions," said Lady Esmondet.
"We are bosom friends; more than sisters since the departure of my
dear husband."
"Mr. Marchmont has been dead some time, I believe."
"Yes, some twelve years; but, dear Lady Esmondet, Miranda will tell
you that I always speak of dear Charles as departed, gone before; more
as if he had gone out to buy me some new fancy work, you know; the
word 'dead' upsets my nerves so," and the sandy head drooped and a
hand was laid on the forehead.
"Yes; dear mamma has such refined feelings."
"Yes," said her hostess, absently, for she heard a messenger arrive, a
tap at the door of the dining-room, and knew the message was for the
temporary master of the house, an answer to his telegram, and wished
the Marchmonts back to their own quarters, so that the complete little
trio were alone; but she is forgetting Madame Grundy, so says:
"I believe you intend wintering in Italy."
"Yes, we have rented Rose Cottage to a friend of Mrs. Haughton's, a
Major Delrose, late of the --th Lancers."
"Oh, it's _your_ cottage he has rented," said Lady Esmondet, awaking
to interest.
"Yes; Major Delrose took an awful fancy to it, and Mrs. Haughton, dear
thing, took a good deal of trouble in making our arrangements; neither
Miranda or myself are strong."
"Strong! What an odious word to apply to us. It smells of milk and
milk-maids; we would be uninteresting without our pet ailments."
"Excuse me, my child, I know a zephyr could waft us away."
"Pull-backs would be rather in the way of the onward movement of the
zephyr, don't you think?" inquired Vaura, ironically, and glancing at
the figure of the speaker, who with her daughter wore, at the
instigation of Mrs. Haughton (who laughed with her men friends at the
objects they were), skin-tight chamois under-clothing, and with only
one narrow underskirt beneath the dress, express the figure so that
nothing is left to imagination.
"Ah! Miss Vernon, don't be severe; Mrs. Haughton, dear thing, says you
have no pet sins, but if you will only wear tights, I shall send in my
own name for them," she said coaxingly.
"_Merci_! madame," said Vaura lightly, "but Worth has not yet told me
my pleasure in life would be enhanced by the encasing of my body in
tights, so I shall content myself with myself, as you see me."
"I'm so sorry you won't."
"Yes; but I believe I interrupted you; you were saying something about
Mrs. Haughton having kindly smoothed away difficulties in the way of
your wintering in Italy;" this she said roused to interest for her
uncle's sake, "and this Major Delrose, how was he mixed up with Mrs.
Haughton?"
"Oh! yes, Miss Vernon, the dear tights put everything else out of my
head; well, as I was saying, Major Delrose longed to be near the Hall,
and as the Colonel does not take to him, you see he is a little
attentive to Mrs. Haughton, and the dear thing likes him, dear Charles
was just like the Colonel, if men have handsome wives they don't like
men to admire them; so Mrs. Haughton, dear thing, hit upon this plan,
and they both arranged it with us one day they were in, and we were
not strong, I mean we were delicate, so we remain as long as the Major
wants Rose cottage, then we go to London to my sister, Mrs.
Meltonbury, for the season."
"Ah! I understand, quite a friendly arrangement," answered Vaura, a
trifle sarcastically. Here a diversion was caused by the entrance of
the gentlemen.
The fair Miranda raised her sandy head from her mother's knee and
looked languishingly at the priest, who smiled as he took a seat
beside her.
"I am so glad we have you in Rome during our stay," observed Mrs.
Marchmont, gushingly, "you will be such company for Miranda while I am
embroidering; the sweet child was saying she should so much like to go
to you for confession."
"Confessing! who is confessing?" said Sir Dennis, as he entered,
"faith for once I would not say no to playing priest where there is a
lovely penitent to shrive," and he glanced at Vaura and was making for
the sofa beside her, but Lionel with one long step gained their mutual
goal, saying:
"Priest Douglas will not allow you to entrench upon his preserves,
O'Gorman."
"Faith! you wouldn't either," said the Irishman with a side glance at
the sofa.
"But tell me," continued Trevalyon, "confess, reverent Father, dost
thou at confession bestow the gentle kiss of reconciliation?"
"You should not disclose the secrets of the confessional, Robert,"
said Lady Esmondet, coming to his aid.
"No! trust me," answered Robert, and Miss Marchmont hung her head and
blushed.
"It would be a pleasant little _denouement_ when the penitent was a
pretty woman," said Trevalyon laughingly.
"_A propos_ of the confessional, did any of you ever come under the
torture of that modern Inquisition, the 'Confession Book?'" said
Vaura.
"Yes, yes," cried the gentlemen simultaneously.
"Oh! don't denounce them, Miss Vernon," exclaimed Miss Marchmont
pathetically. "I could not exist without mine; it is so interesting to
read aloud from at a picnic, tennis party, or five o'clock tea.
Indeed, my confession book was one of the chief sources of pleasure at
Rose Cottage, wasn't it, mamma?" and she stroked her mother's hand
caressingly.
"It was, Miranda; and Miss Vernon must promise to write down all her
secrets in your book on her return to England; Blanche Tompkins has it
in charge; you will promise to write, Miss Vernon, won't you?" and the
thin lips were pursed into a smile.
"The saints forbid," laughed Vaura, "that I should put the surgical
knife, as it were, to my heart, and lay bare all its latent workings
for the express delectation of five o'clock teas--and women!"
"Oh! do, dear Miss Vernon," said Miss Marchmont coaxingly, "your heart
would be so interesting."
The gentlemen laughed.
"Nearly as much so as the potato bug," said Vaura in an undertone to
Trevalyon; aloud, she said gaily:
"No, I rebel, and most solemnly affirm, that, as you tell me Mrs.
Haughton says I cultivate no pet sins, and as she is your oracle, I
abide by her decision; with no pet sins, what could I say? that, as to
colours, Worth supplies me. That, though I be ostracised by Mrs.
Grundy, I still have the courage left in me to affirm that I don't and
won't climb the dizzy heights or flights, to pour incense on that
shrine alone. And that, were I on the rack, I should gasp forth that
the woman who invented torture-books has not my heart-felt love."
"Hear! hear!" said O'Gormon, clapping his hands, "'when found, make a
note on,' Miss Marchmont, and you have Miss Vernon's confession."
"Yes now I should never have thought of that; you Irish think like
lightning; let me see if I can recall what Miss Vernon said," and the
sandy locks are thrown backwards as the blue eyes dwell on the painted
ceiling.
"But, Miss Marchmont," said Trevalyon, in pretended earnest, "it would
be unorthodox, and spoil your book, unless you extract a promise from
Miss Vernon, only to pour incense at the feet of the brilliant Earl."
"Oh certainly, thank you, Capt. Trevalyon; pardon me, Miss Vernon,"
cried the owner of the torture-book, in great dismay, "excuse me, but
everyone contributing to my book, must admire the dear Earl more than
anyone departed or with us (Gladstone after, if you wish); of course,"
she added apologetically, "one does not care to remember he has Jewish
blood, yet against that fact is, that he has never eaten pork, such a
nasty, vulgar meat."
"Remember, Miranda sweet, that Miss Vernon, having spent so much of
her life in France, cannot perhaps know that it is the fashion to
worship the Earl."
"From Earl Beaconsfield to music is a long look, but let us take it,"
said Lady Esmondet; "Miss Marchmont, will you sing for us?"
As Miranda asked Rev. Robert what it should be, Vaura said in an
undertone to Trevalyon:
"I do admire the clever Earl immensely, and not only because it is the
decree of the god of fashion."
"I wish we had the evening to ourselves," he murmured, "what do you
think of the Irishman?"
"He is lavish of the superlative degree; is good-hearted as his race;
and for the time being, feels intensely," she answered.
Miss Marchmont, now asking her mother to join her in the duet, "Come
where my love lies dreaming," they glided arm in arm to the piano, and
now Miss Marchmont implored of some one to come where her love lay
dreaming, in a shrill treble, while her mother repeated the request in
a very fair alto.
O'Gormon challenged Vaura to a game at chess.
Lionel fell into a brown study of his future plans to undo the
mischief done by a woman's tongue. The poor fellow often glanced at
Vaura in all her loveliness, and a pain came to his heart as he
looked, for he thought of how he was leaving her, not knowing if she
loved him, and with other men about her; and of how, with the torture
that he might lose her weighing him down, he was going out from her
alone to find Sister Magdalen, and see if she would openly reveal all.
She had been reticent and guarded for years, and he was not in a mood
to hope much.
But now he hears the clear voice of Vaura cry, "checkmate," and
O'Gormon leads her to the piano.
Vaura gave them a gem of Mozart's, then some gay opera airs, then, in
response to their pleading for some song, gave "Il Bacio," in her full
rich tones.
Sir Dennis stood by the piano and looked his admiration.
"You seem fond of music, Sir Dennis," said the fair musician, as she
leisurely turned over the music with him in search for a song from
"Traviata."
"Fond of it! I adore it, and sometimes the musician."
"A double tax on your powers of adoring," said Vaura, gaily, as Sir
Dennis placed the song before her, but though her notes were clear and
sweet as a bird's, her heart was sad at the thought of the parting
between Lionel and herself, and just now she had no sympathy with the
free-from-care spirit of the song "Gaily Thro' Life I Wander."
During the song Capt. Trevalyon was summoned from the room. It is a
telegram, and runs thus:
"THE LANGHAM HOTEL,
"LONDON, England, Dec. 24th.
"My father cannot live, and wishes to see you. Physician says come at
once." JUDITH TREVALYON.
"Capt. Trevalyon,
"Villa Iberia, Rome, Italy."
"Sims, this telegram calls me to England. You say there is an express
at midnight. It is now 10.30, go at once and take some necessary
refreshment; pack my luggage, leaving out my travelling gear; get your
own box, and have them conveyed to the depot, express them through to
London, to the Langham, and be ready to leave with me by the midnight
train; and don't forget Mars."
"Yes sir; and what time, sir, shall I order the trap to take you to
the _depot_, sir?"
"At 11.30 sharp, Sims."
"Yes, sir."
Captain Trevalyon hurried back to the salons just as Vaura finished
her song. He made his way to Lady Esmondet, in order to get a word in
her ear, as Sir Dennis monopolised Vaura; but Mrs. Marchmont was full
of a new folding screen Mrs. Haughton had ordered from London.
"The dear thing wanted something novel, so had the three 'Graces'
painted on a sky-blue plush ground, suspended in the air; over them
(as it were) hangs an open umbrella in rose-pink; oh! it's too lovely
for anything, Lady Esmondet; you will be entranced when you see it,
Captain Trevalyon," and she folded her hands and turned her pale blue
eyes upwards.
To Captain Trevalyon's relief, Vaura asked him to sing something, and
seeing it was hopeless just now, to have a word with Lady Esmondet, he
hoped when his song was over and their glass of champagne drank, there
would be a general exodus ere it was time for him to leave; so he
moved towards the piano, and playing his own accompaniment, sang one
of Moore's melodies, "Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour."
Vaura sat at a small table near the piano. Sir Dennis, with the
sanguineness of his race, thought she was interested in his chit-chat
and in a book of Italian views, but her thoughts were with Lionel, for
she caught his eye, and "minds run in grooves," and he knew that she
under stood, his silent farewell; she felt her heart ache, and would
have risen and gone to him, but "men may suffer and women may weep,"
but the conventionalities must be attended to, or the mighty god,
society, stares and frowns; and so Lionel sung parting words to the
woman he loved, and to his friend; and surely Moore would have been
moved to tears had he heard the depth of feeling thrown into his
words. When he was singing, the silver chimes softly rang eleven
o'clock, so knowing he had no time to lose, he quietly left the room.
Vaura's heart throbbed quickly for she thought, "he has gone."
But the Marchmonts, much to her relief and Lady Esmondet, saying they
must "really tear themselves away," a rather prolonged leave-taking
took place between Reverend Robert Douglas and Miss Marchmont, into
which Mrs. Marchmont was drawn.
"Well, I don't know, Miranda sweet," she says, "that I can promise to
take you to St. Augustine service tomorrow afternoon. I am going to
high mass at St. Peter's, and shall be fatigued."
Vaura, who was standing near, listening to O'Gormon's adieux, and
anxious to do anything to hasten their leave-taking, said quickly:
"I shall likely go, and shall call at your hotel for Miss Marchmont."
Miss Marchmont was gushing in her thanks.
"Oh! don't forget, Miss Vernon, I wouldn't miss hearing Mr. Douglas
intone the service for worlds."
"The creature, not the creator," thought Vaura. But now at last the
guests have departed and the friends are alone.
Lionel sees them go from the garden walk which he is pacing up and
down, ready to go and waiting for the trap. He has gone out urged by
conflicting emotions, head aching, and in the air hoping to gain calm.
It is now 11.15; fifteen minutes yet. "If I could only see her alone."
Fortune favours him, for Lady Esmondet having heard from Saunders
(while Vaura is engaged with the Marchmonts) that Captain Trevalyon is
about somewhere, as he does not go until eleven thirty, taking in the
situation, tells Vaura to go to the _salons_ for a little while and
she will join her after she gives some directions to her maid.
So Vaura returns and, wishing to be quite alone before Lady Esmondet
joins her, steps into the conservatory, but there her sense of
loneliness is so complete, that she returns to the _salon_ immediately
adjoining, and drawing the heavy brocade curtains dividing it from the
others, she feels that she can give herself up to thoughts of Lionel;
she knows now that he is gone; she would give worlds to have him by
her side; she throws herself onto a lounge with her great white arms
in a favourite attitude thrown above her head. But in the moment of
her entrance into the conservatory, Lionel had seen her from the
garden and came in noiselessly to make sure; she is alone, and he is
now gazing at her through the glass door; her bosom heaves, her flower
face is lovely in its transparent soft paleness, and her eyelids are
wet with the tear-drops she will not let fall, her lips move and he
opens the door on its noiseless hinges, she says softly:
"Oh, darling, why did you go?" and she throws herself on her side and
buries her face in her arms. Now Lionel fearing to hear the wheels of
the trap to take him away, makes a noise with the door as if he had
only come, and so Vaura thinks as she starts to a sitting posture and
her heart beats wildly as she says, putting both hands to her side,
"Oh, you are not gone, I am so glad."
"But I am going, and in a few minutes, Vaura darling," and he seated
himself beside her; "you must know I love you with the whole pent-up
love of my life," and his arm was round her. "You know, darling, I
told you of a difficulty and I did not mean to speak until it was
removed, but my heart has ached and I am so unmanned I have not known
sometimes what to do or how to bear up; I have been in torture,
darling, lest other men should win your love. Oh! my love, my
beautiful darling, say you will not give your heart to another, that
you will wait until I can plead my cause."
"I shall wait, dear Lionel."
"God, is it so, darling, darling?" and the soft hand was pressed and
the lovely head was drawn to his breast and the rose-mouth was kissed
again and again.
"There, that will do, won't it, Lionel, for to-night; we have waited
so long," and the large grey eyes with their warm love-light, looked
into the tired blue of the eyes so near her own now with a great
passionate love looking from them.
"Darling love," and his cheek was on hers, "I feel so full of bliss
and content, and my nerves all throbbing, I don't think I can ever let
you go; oh, you don't know how I love you. I used to boast of my
strength with women beauty; but with you in my arms, heaven, what
bliss! Vaura, darling, I feel half delirious; and yet a full rich joy
in living and loving could not turn a man's brain."
And now the hall bell is pulled furiously; Vaura starts up and to her
feet.
"Put your soft arms around my neck, darling, and give me a good-bye
kiss; it will be a talisman from evil and help me through my lonely
travels."
And her arms are clasped tightly round his neck, and his head bends
down to the sweet lips.
"Good-bye, dearest Lion," and the eyes rest on his and she whispers,
"I am not sorry I came back alone to the _salons_."
"My love; how can I leave you."
"You must."
And Lady Esmondet calls and Lionel hurries to the ball, and with a
tight hand-clasp with his friend and a whispered, "I shall and most
conquer my enemies."
"You will, Lionel."
And Lady Esmondet knew by the light in his eyes that he had spoken and
she was glad.
Having promised Vaura to join her she now turned her steps towards the
_salons_, but thinking, "No, she will not want me to-night," retraced
her steps to her own room; and while her maid disrobed her, the lonely
woman thought: "What a perfect union theirs will be; both handsome,
gifted, and with much gold, for I shall settle L3,000 per annum on
Vaura. Sir Vincent will do something for dear Lionel. Ah, me; what I
have missed in my wedded life, I who could have loved a husband of my
own choice so fondly, so truly. Eric, Eric, you alone would have made
me happy; but I am growing old, I am looking back; it is folly. Alice
Esmondet, you must not give way to melancholy, life is sweet to you
even if you are not a winner of all good in life's game--. Give me a
few drops of red lavender, Somers; there, that will do; now leave me
and go to rest."
Vaura's whole being was filled with such intense happiness as she sank
into a corner of the sofa where Lionel had found her a short time
before that she would not move and so perhaps break the spell.
Emotional natures will know how she felt; as one does on waking from a
dream of the night, so rich, so full of sweetness, so full of
delicious languor one does not move a muscle lest the sensation pass.
At last she moves with a great sigh. "My darling, mine," she thought,
"and he loves me; come back to me, Lion," and the great fair arms were
clasped at the back of her head, then thrown down to the knees, and
the hands go together, while a smile, oh, how sweet and tender, comes
to the mouth, and the eyes are wet with their warmth and feeling.
"I'm glad you spoke before the 'difficulty,' is overcome, for if you
can never undo it you will know that I always loved you. Men who would
have satisfied most women have wooed me in vain. And now could any one
of them who have charged me with cruelty see me. Yes, dearest Lion, I
am every inch a woman and am subdued at last, and longing, longing,
dear heart, to feel your arms about me and see the light in your
mesmeric eyes. I have been waiting for you so long, love; come back to
me, for I cannot do without the sweet, grave smile, the look from the
tired eyes. Do you know, darling, as you are whirling away to northern
climes that I am dreaming the hours away thinking of you; it is one
o'clock, love, good night."
And Vaura, in all her loveliness, and full of a dreamy languor, went
to her chamber. Saunders heard the light step in the silent household
and followed her mistress.
"You must be sleepy, Saunders; put away my robe, lace, and jewels, and
go."
"I am not tired, Mademoiselle; I have just had a nap in the house-
keeper's room; you'd best let me run the comb through your hair,
Mademoiselle."
"Very well, Saunders, but be quick; I am tired."
"The household are sorry, Miss, that the Captain is away; we were
proud to have such a handsome master, and so free-handed; but it
wasn't for what the Captain gave; it was his own kind ways, and we'll
be wishing his servant back too, Mademoiselle; he was so merry. But
his master was so kind, Sims could but be happy."
"Even the hirelings love him," thought her mistress; aloud she says:
"I am quite sure Capt. Trevalyon was a kind master, Saunders, and
Sims was a faithful servant, and looked the essence of good humour.
Good-night, you can go now,"
"Good-night, ma'am; what time shall I call you for your bath, ma'am?"
"At half-past nine."
"Yes, ma'am."
And the white _robe de nuit_ is on, and this sweet woman glances at
the mirror, and smiles at the fair face with the bright brown curls on
the brow, the throat as fair as the soft robe of muslin, all a mystery
of embroidery and shapely clingingness.