"Looks the heart alone discover,
If the tongue its thoughts can tell,
'Tis in vain you play the lover,
You have never felt the spell."
Joyce, who had been dreading, with a silent but terrible fear, her first
meeting with Dysart, had found it no such great matter after all when
they were at last face to face. Dysart had met her as coolly, with
apparently as little concern as though no former passages had ever taken
place between them.
His manner was perfectly calm, and as devoid of feeling as any one could
desire, and it was open to her comprehension that he avoided her
whenever he possibly could. She told herself this was all she could, or
did, desire; yet, nevertheless, she writhed beneath the certainty of it.
Beauclerk had not arrived until a week later than Dysart; until, indeed,
the news of the marvelous fortune that had come to her was well
authenticated, and then had been all that could possibly be expected of
him. His manner was perfect. He sat still And gazed with delightfully
friendly eyes into Miss Maliphant's pleased countenance, and anon
skipped across room or lawn to whisper beautiful nothings to Miss
Kavanagh. The latter's change of fortune did not, apparently, seem to
affect him in the least. After all, even now she was not as good a
_parti_ as Miss Maliphant, where money was concerned, but then there
were other things. Whatever his outward manner might lead one to
suspect, beyond doubt he thought a great deal at this time, and finally
came to a conclusion.
Joyce's fortune had helped her in many ways. It had helped many of the
poor around her, too; but it did even more than that. It helped Mr.
Beauclerk to make up his mind with regard to his matrimonial prospects.
Sitting in his chambers in town with Lady Baltimore's letter before him
that told him of the change in Joyce's fortune--of the fortune that had
changed her, in fact, from a pretty penniless girl to a pretty rich one,
he told himself that, after all, she had certainly been the girl for him
since the commencement of their acquaintance.
She was charming--not a whit more now than then. He would not belie his
own taste so far as so admit that she was more desirable in any way now,
in her prosperity, than when first he saw her, and paid her the immense
compliment of admiring her.
He permitted himself to grow a little enthusiastic, however, to say out
loud to himself, as it were, all that he had hardly allowed himself to
think up to this. She was, beyond question, the most charming girl in
the world! Such grace--such finish! A girl worthy of the love of the
best of men--presumably himself!
He had always loved her--always! He had never felt so sure of that
delightful fact as now. He had had a kind of knowledge, even when afraid
to give ear to it, that she was the wife best suited to him to be found
anywhere. She understood him! They were thoroughly _en rapport_ with
each other. Their marriage would be a success in the deepest, sincerest
meaning of that word.
He leant luxuriously among the cushions of his chair, lit a fragrant
cigarette, and ran his mind backward over many things. Well! Perhaps so!
But yet if he had refrained from proposing to her until now--now when
fate smiles upon her--it was simply because he dreaded dragging her into
a marriage where she could not have had all those little best things of
life that so peerless a creature had every right to demand.
Yes! it was for her sake alone he had hesitated. He feels sure of that
now. He has thoroughly persuaded himself the purity of the motives that
kept him tongue tied when honor called aloud to him for speech. He feels
himself so exalted that he metaphorically pats himself upon the back and
tells himself he is a righteous being--a very Brutus where honor is
concerned; any other man might have hurried that exquisite creature into
a squalid marriage for the mere sake of gratifying an overpowering
affection, but he had been above all that! He had considered her! The
man's duty is ever to protect the woman! He had protected her--even from
herself; for that she would have been only too willing to link her sweet
fate with his at any price-was patent to all the world. Few people have
felt as virtuous as Mr. Beauclerk as he comes to the end of this thread
of his imaginings.
Well! he will make it up to her! He smiles benignly through the smoke
that rises round his nose. She shall never have reason to remember that
he had not fallen on his knees to her--as a less considerate man might
have done--when he was without the means to make her life as bright as
it should be.
The most eager of lovers must live, and eating is the first move toward
that conclusion. Yet if he had given way to selfish desires they would
scarcely, he and she, have had sufficient bread (of any delectable kind)
to fill their mouths. But now all would be different. She, clever girl!
had supplied the blank; she had squared the difficulty. Having provided
the wherewithal to keep body and soul together in a nice, respectable,
fashionable, modern sort of way, her constancy shall certainly be
rewarded. He will go straight down to the Court, and declare to her the
sentiments that have been warming his breast (silently!) all these past
months. What a dear girl she is, and so fond of him! That in itself is
an extra charm in her very delightful character. And those fortunate
thousands! Quite a quarter of a million, isn't it? Well, of course, no
use saying they won't come in handy--no use being hypocritical over
it--horrid thing a hypocrite!--well, those thousands naturally have
their charm, too.
He rose, flung his cigarette aside (it was finished as far as careful
enjoyment would permit), and rang for his servant to pack his
portmanteaux. He was going to the Court by the morning train.
* * * * *
Now that he is here, however, he restrains the ardor, that no doubt is
consuming him, with altogether admirable patience, and waits for the
chance that may permit him to lay his valuable affections at Joyce's
feet. A dinner to be followed by an impromptu dance at the Court
suggests itself as a very fitting opportunity. He grasps it. Yes,
to-morrow evening will be an excellent and artistic opening for a thing
of this sort. All through luncheon, even while conversing with Joyce and
Miss Maliphant on various outside topics, his versatile mind is
arranging a picturesque spot in the garden enclosures wherein to make
Joyce a happy woman!
Lady Swansdown, glancing across the table at him, laughs lightly. Always
disliking him, she has still been able to read him very clearly, and his
determination to now propose to Joyce amuses her nearly as much as it
annoys her. Frivolous to the last degree as she is, an honest regard for
Joyce has taken hold within her breast. Lord Baltimore, too, is
disturbed by his brother's present.