A TRIPLE BONDAGE.
Lady Quaintree had hoped to glean a little more information from the
two gentlemen, for she was as much excited as if she herself had been
the inheritrix of the eccentric old man’s money.
But she was disappointed. Scarcely had she returned to the principal
drawing-room, when five or six guests arrived, and from that moment
people came pouring into the salons until there was a well-bred,
well-dressed throng.
Lois did not wait to be sent for. She came in with a quiet, calm
dignity of manner, the color a shade deeper on her cheeks, and a
feverish glitter in her eyes, but otherwise self-possessed, as usual.
Her marked change of costume attracted universal attention, and many
inquiries were made. Lady Quaintree had the supreme felicity of being
able to diffuse the information just received through a dozen different
channels, whereby she was sure it would permeate to society in general.
“I should not have permitted her to appear had this been a
dancing-party,” she explained. “But it is so quiet, and I am unable to
manage without her.
“She is quite like a daughter to me,” she went on, thoroughly believing
her own enthusiastic speeches, and feeling a maternal pride swell her
bosom. A tear or so lightly brushed away by her lace handkerchief would
have added to the effect, but tears come and go at will, not at the
command of those who would summon or dismiss them.
Miss Turquand sat so tranquil in appearance, and bore the masked
battery of curious eyes so calmly, that some people who listened with
amazement were indignant. Lady Quaintree’s companion did not seem
conscious that anything unusual had happened. Two or three times
she glanced through the veil of silken lashes which fringed her
translucent gray eyes at Captain Desfrayne, but it was a glance swift
as lightning, not betraying the most transient glimpse of the strange,
mingled feelings of resentment and lively interest aroused in her heart
by the claim made upon her in behalf of the handsome young officer.
Captain Desfrayne carefully avoided looking at his beautiful charge.
He seemed to be profoundly indifferent on the subject of Mr. Vere
Gardiner’s whims and fancies, and neither approached Miss Turquand nor
evinced the slightest desire to become acquainted with her.
Frank Amberley and Lady Quaintree thought this strange, but neither
showed that they were in any way conscious of Captain Desfrayne’s cold
indifference toward the young girl.
Paul Desfrayne found some people among the crowd whom he knew, and
was introduced to some others by his hostess, or by Frank Amberley,
so he ought not to have experienced the profound sense of ennui and
oppression which made him long to be anywhere but in this brilliant
throng.
Lady Quaintree at last seized an opportunity of questioning her nephew
on the subject of the mysterious old man, and in a few words he gave
her as much information as he thought advisable.
“How extraordinary!” she said. “What a very romantic case! I have
no objection to his leaving a fine fortune to my dear little girl,
but I think he should not have hampered her with such disagreeable
conditions. He seems to have been remarkably eccentric.”
“I knew scarcely anything of him,” Mr. Amberley replied. “I think,
certainly, it was an odd thing for him to lay such an embargo on the
liberty of two young people, and I doubt not but the expression of his
wishes will most probably be the means of hindering them from----”
He abruptly paused. His aunt looked searchingly at him, anxious to
learn his secret thoughts, for more reasons than one.
“I know Lois will never be the one to love when she is ordered to
dispose of her affections,” she said, very quietly. “And I am
perfectly convinced she will never marry any one whom she does not
love.”
A most wonderfully indiscreet question--one which he knew
Lady Quaintree would not answer, but which he longed to ask,
nevertheless--trembled on the lips of the young lawyer, yet he could
not form the necessary words. He was about to ask:
“Do you think she cares for any one at present?” But Lady Quaintree was
called away before he could muster sufficient presence of mind even to
debate with himself whether it were possible to as much as hint such a
query.
Lois’ opinion of Paul Desfrayne, gathered from those fugitive glances,
was that she could never like him even as a friend. He seemed so cold,
so self-absorbed, so haughty, that her sense of antagonism deepened.
The strange, bewildering sense of magnetic attraction which had fallen
upon her during the first few moments of their unexpected meeting had
faded away, to be replaced by a firmly rooted conviction that she
could never entertain even the mildest liking for this almost stern,
melancholy looking guardian.
Paul Desfrayne’s idea of Lois--at whom he had, indeed, hardly glanced
at all--was that, while beautiful as a statue, she was as icy as if
carved from marble.
Deeper and darker grew the cloud upon the young man’s brow; and at
length, finding a favorable chance to escape unseen, he quitted
the softly illumined drawing-room, wherein he had deemed himself a
prisoner; and with a slow step he descended the wide, richly carpeted
staircase, revolving thoughts evidently not too pleasing.
He had just reached the bottom of the stairs when a figure, radiant as
Venus herself, alighted from a brougham at the door, and swept over the
threshold, in all the pride and glory of the most brilliant and latest
Parisian toilet.
It was the woman who had been sitting in the balcony in Porchester
Square the previous evening, when the weary pedestrian had stopped
Captain Desfrayne, and implored his pity.
Almost at the moment when she alighted, she was met by a young man, who
was about to enter the mansion.
This young man was Lady Quaintree’s only son--a fair, slender, rather
foppish young fellow, with a pale, interesting face, and a pretty,
graceful figure.
The attention of the resplendent creature in pink satin and white
lace was turned smilingly on this young man, who stepped eagerly
forward, and offered her his arm; otherwise she must have seen Captain
Desfrayne, who gazed at her as people are supposed to stare at specters.
A few muttered, half-broken words escaped Paul Desfrayne’s lips, and he
looked hurriedly about, with the air of an animal at bay. Then, swiftly
turning, as the two gay, laughing and flirting apparitions came up the
hall, he threw aside a crimson velvet portière, and plunged recklessly
into a room close at hand.
It was a moderate-sized sitting-room, flooded with a soft, pure light,
and deliciously cool in contrast to the heated salons above.
Paul Desfrayne was about to congratulate himself on the retired nook
into which he had managed to tumble; but almost at the instant when
he entered, he heard a silvery, musical voice, sounding so as to
evidence that the person who owned it was rapidly approaching from a
conservatory opening on the room--the voice of his mother, speaking in
animated conversation.
It was impossible to retreat, though he would gladly have avoided even
his idolized mother at that moment. Nay, she was just then the last
being he desired to see.
She would naturally be surprised to meet him here, for until this
evening he had scarcely known anything of Lord or Lady Quaintree.
The clustered lights above the doorway, half-hidden as they were by
climbing exotics trained in prodigal profusion about slender columns,
shed their glowing beams upon an animated face and superbly handsome
figure, as Mrs. Desfrayne appeared, arrayed, as was her wont, with
faultless taste. Her companion was Lord Quaintree, the famous judge--a
tall, noble old Englishman.
“I am free to confess, my lord,” she was saying, “that I do not at all
approve of the presence of these singing-women at reunions such as this
of to-night. They are very well in their proper places, these people.”
It would be impossible to give any idea of the insolent disdain with
which these words were uttered. “But they ought not to be allowed to
mix with----”
She suddenly paused, as she caught sight of Paul, and, in her
amazement, stood still, gazing upon him with an expression of blank
astonishment. Half-angry with herself for being so surprised, she felt
that she was accidentally placed in an almost ludicrous position for
the moment; yet she could not as much as speak a word.
Captain Desfrayne, for his part, could not have uttered one syllable
if his life had depended on it. He had never, in all his days, felt so
completely at a nonplus--so forlorn, so distracted, as he did at this
instant. A terrible scene he knew was at hand, and he could not tell
what might be the result.
Lord Quaintree looked with surprise from one to the other, not being
able to comprehend what was passing before his eyes. He had never seen
Captain Desfrayne, and could not guess why Mrs. Desfrayne should be
thus betrayed into so singular a display of emotion. Conscious that
probably he might be a little in the way, he yet did not know how to
move himself off the stage with his ordinary easy grace.
Mrs. Desfrayne was the first to speak. She exclaimed:
“Paul!”
Captain Desfrayne bowed.
“At your service, madam,” he said, very simply.
“I was not aware----Lord Quaintree, my son--my only son--Captain
Desfrayne.”
Lord Quaintree smiled, and held out his hand. He saw that something was
amiss, without knowing what.
“I hope to see you presently, Captain Desfrayne,” he said, with his
pleasant, urbane manner. “I must show myself up-stairs at once, or my
lady will think I have run away.”
He left the room, surmising that the two would greatly prefer being
left together. But for very shame’s sake, Paul would have caught him by
the sleeve, and detained him as a temporary shield.