To have her lion roll in a silken net,
And fawn at a victor's feet.
_Maud._
The news from Mansfield Road next morning defeated for a time the
designs of both the aspirants after Wynifred Allonby's hand.
Ted Haldane had been able to bring a certain amount of comfort to Hilda
and Jacqueline. He had been to Osmond's bankers, and found that the
young man had that morning drawn out a considerable sum. This certainly
seemed to negative any idea of suicidal intentions. But no further clue
was forthcoming. The porter believed that Mr. Allonby, on leaving the
bank, hailed a hansom and drove off; but even on this head he was by no
means sure.
It was the opinion, however, both of Henry Fowler and Mr. Haldane that
Osmond would himself send news of his present whereabouts in a few days'
time, when he had cooled down somewhat. But Wynifred was unable to
derive comfort from the news, such as it was, for when she recovered
from her long fainting-fit she was quite delirious. For the next few
days the two poor girls had a time of terrible anxiety. The third
morning brought a brief, reckless note from Osmond in Paris. It was
merely to let them know that he was alive. He could not say when he was
likely to return, or what he should do. He gave no address.
No words could express the comfort which Mr. Fowler was able to afford
the desolate girls. He saw that Wynifred had the best advice in London,
and everything that money could procure; and when, in a week's time, the
doctors were able to declare with confidence that the dreaded
brain-fever had been averted, it was hard to tell who most rejoiced in
the fact.
Meantime, the engagement of Elsa to Mr. Percivale was publicly
announced. The marriage was to take place immediately after Easter, and,
as the young lady totally declined to be married in Devonshire, two of
the Misses Willoughby were coming to town almost immediately to take a
furnished house for a couple of months. After all, it was but natural
that the girl should shrink from a place which had such terrible
associations for her.
Percivale sympathised entirely with her in this matter, as in
everything. It was extraordinary for outsiders to watch the utter
subjugation of his strong nature by the power of his love. Only one
thing did certainly trouble him. His betrothed could not bear the quaint
old dark house overlooking the river. It was exactly suited to the
disposition of the young man who, as Claud said, always seemed to be
trying to escape from his own century, somehow. He had improved the
house, spent large sums of money upon it, and it was, indeed, the one
spot in the modern roar of London wherein he felt entirely at home. His
life of seclusion had, of course, rendered him shy. Going much into
society was a trouble to him. But who wanted to find Elsa must needs go
into society to seek her, and he thought she more than repaid the
effort. Of course, if she found the house dull, it must be sold; but he
had persuaded her graciously to consent to live in it for a few months
first, just to try. Immediately on their marriage, he was going to take
her to Schwannberg, that she might see the bursting of the glorious
South German spring; but here again occurred a slight difference between
them. He would have liked to linger, but this did not suit his bride.
It would be dreadful, she urged, to waste these precious months cooped
up in such a remote corner of the world. She must be in town by the
middle of May, to have her first taste of a London season.
This was a definite trial to Leon; but all his tastes were gradually
undergoing such a complete revolution that he was willing on all
occasions to think himself in the wrong. When first Elsa had fixedly
declared that a month was the longest honeymoon she would suffer, the
idea had greatly ruffled him. They had parted in much offence on the
lady's part, and some unhappiness on the gentleman's.
Next day he presented himself with a mixture of feelings at Burton
Street. Fate was propitious. Lady Mabel was out at a calisthenic class
with her children and the governess. Elsa was alone in the boudoir,
attired in a tea-gown of delicate silk, and seated near the fire with a
little sick terrier of his which she had undertaken to doctor. At her
lover's entrance she half looked up, then turned slowly away and devoted
her attention to the dog. Percivale stood in the doorway, his hand on
the lock, his fine head thrown back.
"May I come in?" he asked.
"Pray do," said a small and frigid voice.
He closed the door and came forward, his daily offering of flowers in
his hand. Pausing before her--
"Are you angry with me, Elsa?" he asked, miserably.
"I thought _you_ were angry with _me_," she said, in low and injured
tones.
"My darling, no." He knelt down beside her. "Only I was a little
disappointed to think--to think that you would not be happy alone with
me----"
She shot a shy glance at him from beneath her heavy lashes.
"I do not know you very well yet," said she softly.
"Are you afraid of me, Elsa?"
A suggestive pause, during which he hung breathless on every change
which swept over the lovely face.
"I do not quite understand you," faltered she at last.
"I only plead to be allowed to explain myself," he murmured. "What is
it, love? I am so unused to women, you must be good to me, and help me,
and forgive me if I am not gentle enough. What is it you do not
understand?"
"Is our honeymoon only to last as long as our wedding journey?" slowly
asked the girl. "Will you not love me as well in London as in Tyrol?
Will you change when that little month is over? For me, I shall love you
as dearly, wherever we are."
"My beloved!" he flung his arm about her in a rapture; for Miss
Brabourne, as a rule, was very wisely sparing of her professions of
attachment. "You are right--I was wrong. Our honeymoon will last for
ever--what matters where we spend it?"
"That was what I thought--no, Leon, you must not kiss me again--once is
quite enough. Be good and listen to me while I talk to you a little."
She passed her arm round his neck as he knelt, and, with her other hand,
pushed up the soft curling rings of his bright hair. He closed his eyes
with rapture as he felt the touch.
"You say," said Elsa, stroking softly, "that you do not care for
society, that you dislike London in the season."
"And that is true, my own----"
"Now, how do you know? Have you tried society?"
"No, never. I have always avoided it!"
"And how many seasons have you been through?"
"Not one."
"There, you see! Now, Leon, look at me!" Daintily placing a finger
beneath his chin, she turned his face up to hers. "Is it fair to say you
dislike a thing you have never tried? How can you tell beforehand? Is it
not, perhaps, a little wee bit selfish of you?"
"Yes, it is," promptly replied he. "I am a brute, my darling."
"No, but you had not thought. I think, perhaps, if I--if I had a wife;
and if I were foolish enough to be very proud of her, as you are of poor
little me, that I should be pleased for people to see her, and to see
how happy I made her--and to let all the world know that I loved her
so--and--and--oh, Leon, you are laughing at me," and, with a burst of
childish merriment, she hid her face in his neck.
"Elsa," cried her lover, as soon as he could speak coherently, "my life,
do as you like, go where you will--if you please yourself you please me!
I live to make your happiness, mind that!"
This was merely a specimen of the way in which Elsa carried her points.
Percivale was a mere child in her hands; she had a knack of making
others feel themselves in the wrong, which was little short of genius.
Her presentation was a triumph. London was unanimous in pronouncing her
undeniably the beauty of the year; and her engagement to the mysterious
Percivale, as well as the romantic story of their first meeting,
surrounded them both with a perfect blaze of interest. Nothing else was
talked of. The marriage would be the event of the season. The world was
more than ever anxious to know more of the owner of the _Swan_.
"Miss Brabourne has never asked you anything about your belongings, has
she?" asked Claud one day of Percivale.
"Never. She has not alluded to the subject."
"Take my advice," said Claud, "and don't volunteer that information
which you mentioned to me."
"Oh, I must. I shall tell her everything when we are married. I have all
along determined on that."
"People are so busy with your name, that it occurs to me that you are
saddling a young girl with a great responsibility in giving her such a
secret to keep."
Percivale smiled.
"Cranmer, are you in love?" he asked.
"Yes, I am. Why?" said Claud, bluntly.
The other looked surprised.
"Well," he said, "you have not honored me with your confidence; and it
is quite new to me to hear that you are; but to the point. Would you not
trust the woman of your choice with any secret?"
Claud hesitated a moment.
"Well, to be honest," said he at last, "yes. I certainly should."
"Should you not think it an insult to her to hold her debarred from the
innermost recesses of your mind?"
"Undoubtedly I should."
"Well! Do you expect me to feel differently?"
Claud had no more to say. His own state of mind in these days was one of
deep depression.
Henry Fowler had been obliged to leave town directly. Wynifred was
announced to be convalescent; and, two days after his departure, Miss
Ellen Willoughby had written to ask Hilda to bring her sister down to
Edge Willoughby as soon as ever she was strong enough to travel, there
to remain as long as she pleased, and grow strong in the soft sea air.
Claud's only comfort was in calling every day at Mansfield Road for
news, and now and then leaving a basket of grapes or some flowers from
his sister; but he could never gain admittance to see Wynifred, though
his face, as he once or twice made a faltering petition, went to Hilda's
heart. His suspense was costing him a great deal, as was manifest from
his countenance of settled gloom, his pale face, and the purple marks
under his eyes.
Lady Mabel received a shock one day.
"Claud," said she, "I have been most astonished. Lady Alice Alison has
been calling, and she tells me that the youngest Miss Allonby is going
to marry one of the Haldanes of Eldersmain. I suppose I shall have to
call; and she tells me also that their father was a colonel, and a
nephew of Lord Dovedale. It is rather annoying; we ought to have known
that before."
"Why?" asked Claud, aggressively.
"Why? Because I ought to have been told--I should have shown them more
civility."
"Why, what do you know of the Dovedales?"
"Nothing, personally; but they are in society."
"Well? Are not the Allonbys in society?"
"Claud, how idiotic you can be when you like."
"It is a matter of necessity, not choice, my sister. My brain never did
work as fast as yours. But the speed of yours is abnormal. However, I
should not lay myself open to a snub by calling in Mansfield Road now."
"Why?"
"Because, if they have any pride, and I fancy they have a good deal,
they will not return your call."
"Claud! Not return my call?"
"I think not. They are very stiff with me."
"That is just because I have not called."
"And now you are ready to do so on the strength of their great-uncle
having been in 'Debrett,' Mab. I thought you were beyond that sort of
thing."
"If it is being in love that makes you so unpleasant, my good boy, I do
hope you will soon get over it."
"Get over it. You talk as if it was measles. Does one get over these
things? But, if you find my company irksome, I can go to Portland Place,
you know."
"Don't be offended; only you have been so terribly in the dumps lately.
Why don't you propose, and have done with it?"
"I am waiting for leave," said Claud, with a laugh which ended in a
sigh, as he hurriedly left the room.