_Sunday night, Nov. 27th._
LATE this evening, about eight o’clock, when I had re-locked my
journal, I got a note from Robert. I was just going to begin my dinner.
I tore it open, inside was another, I did not wait to look from whom, I
was too eager to read his. I paste it in.
“CARLTON HOUSE TERRACE.
“MY DARLING,--I have had a long talk with Aunt Sophia, and she is
everything that is sweet and kind, but she fears Torquilstone will be
a little difficult (_I don’t care, nothing_ shall separate us now).
She asks me not to go and see you again to-night, as she thinks it
would be better for you that I should not go to the Hotel so late.
Darling, read her note, and you will she how nice she is. I shall come
round to-morrow, the moment the beastly stables are finished, about
12 o’clock. Oh! take care of yourself! What a difference to-night
and last night! I was feeling horribly miserable and reckless--and
to-night! Well, you can guess! I am not half good enough for you,
darling, beautiful Queen--but I think I shall know how to make you
happy. I love you!
“Good night my own,
“ROBERT.”
“Do please send me a tiny line by my servant--I have told him to wait.”
I have never had a love letter before. What lovely things they are! I
felt thrills of delight over bits of it! Of course I see now that I
must have been dreadfully in love with Robert all along, only I did
not know it quite! I fell into a kind of blissful dream, and then I
roused myself up to read Lady Merrenden’s. I sha’n’t put hers in too,
it fills up too much, and I can’t shut the clasp of my journal--it is
a perfectly sweet little letter, just saying Robert had told her the
news, and that she was prepared to welcome me as her dearest niece,
and to do all she could for us. She hoped I would not think her very
tiresome and old fashioned suggesting Robert had better not see me
again to-night, and if it would not inconvenience me, she would herself
come round to-morrow morning, and discuss what was best to be done.
Véronique said Lord Robert’s valet was waiting outside the door, so
I flew to my table, and began to write. My hand trembled so I made
a blot, and had to tear that sheet up, then I wrote another. Just
a little word. I was frightened, I couldn’t say loving things in a
letter, I had not even spoken many to him--yet.
“I loved your note,” I began, “and I think Lady Merrenden is quite
right. I will be here at twelve, and very pleased to see you.” I wanted
to say I loved him, and thought twelve o’clock a long way off, but of
course one could not write such things as that--so I ended with just
“Love from EVANGELINE.”
Then I read it over, and it did sound “missish” and silly--however,
with the man waiting there in the passage, and Véronique fussing in and
out of my bedroom, besides the waiters bringing up my dinner, I could
not go tearing up sheets, and writing others, it looked so flurried, so
it was put into an envelope. Then, in one of the seconds I was alone,
I nipped off a violet from a bunch on the table, and pushed it in too.
I wonder if he will think it sentimental of me! When I had written
the name, I had not an idea where to address it. His was written from
Carlton House Terrace, but he was evidently not there now, as his
servant had brought it. I felt so nervous and excited, it was too
ridiculous--I am very calm as a rule. I called the man, and asked him
where was his lordship now? I did not like to say I was ignorant of
where he lived.
“His lordship is at Vavasour House, Madame,” he said, respectfully,
but with the faintest shade of surprise that I should not know. “His
lordship dines at home this evening with his grace.”
I scribbled a note to Lady Merrenden--I would be delighted to see her
in the morning at whatever time suited her. I would not go out at all,
and I thanked her. It was much easier to write sweet things to her than
to Robert.
When I was alone I could not eat. Véronique came in to try and persuade
me. I looked so very pale, she said, she feared I had taken cold. She
was in one of her “old mother” moods, when she drops the third person
sometimes, and calls me “_mon enfant_.”
“Oh, Véronique, I have not got a cold, I am only wildly happy!” I said.
“Mademoiselle is doubtless _fiancée_ to Mr. Carruthers. _Oh! mon enfant
adorée_,” she cried, “_que je suis contente!_”
“Gracious no!” I exclaimed. This brought me back to Christopher with a
start. What would he say when he heard?
“No, Véronique, to some one much nicer--Lord Robert Vavasour.”
Véronique was frightfully interested--Mr. Carruthers she would
have preferred for me she admitted, as being more solid--more
_rangé_--_plus à la fin de ses bêtises_, but, no doubt, “Milor” was
charming too, and for certain one day Mademoiselle would be Duchesse.
In the meanwhile what kind of coronet would Mademoiselle have on her
trousseau?
I was obliged to explain that I should not have any--or any trousseau
for an indefinite time, as nothing was settled yet. This damped her a
little.
“_Un frère de Duc, et pas de couronne!_” After seven years in England
she was yet unable to understand these strange habitudes, she said.
She insisted upon putting me to bed directly after dinner--“to be
prettier for Milor _demain_!” and then, when she had tucked me up,
and was turning out the light in the centre of the room she looked
back--“Mademoiselle is too beautiful like that,” she said, as if it
slipped from her--“_Mon Dieu! il ne s’embêterai pas, le Monsieur!_”