_Monday night_.
I FELT to carry out my plan I must steady my mind a little, so I wrote
my journal, and that calmed me.
Of all the things I was sure of in the world I was most sure that I
loved Robert far too well to injure his prospects. On the other hand
to throw him away without a struggle was too cruel to both of us. If
mamma’s mother was nobody, all the rest of my family were fine old
fighters and gentlemen, and I really prayed to their shades to help me
now.
Then I rang and ordered some iced water, and when I had thought deeply
for a few minutes, while I sipped it, I sat down to my writing-table.
My hand did not shake, though I felt at a deadly tension. I addressed
the envelope first, to steady myself:
_To_
_His Grace_,
THE DUKE OF TORQUILSTONE,
_Vavasour House,_
_St. James’s, S.W._
Then I put that aside.
“I am Evangeline Travers who writes,” I began, without any preface,
“and I ask if you will see me--either here in my sitting-room this
evening, or I will come to you at Vavasour House. I understand your
brother, Lord Robert, has told you that he loves me, and wishes to
marry me, and that you have refused your consent, partly because of
the history of my family, but chiefly because my type displeases you.
I believe, in days gone by, the prerogative of a great noble like you
was to dispense justice. In my case it is still your prerogative by
courtesy, and I ask it of you. When we have talked for a little, if you
then hold to your opinion of me, and convince me that it is for your
brother’s happiness, I swear to you on my word of honour I will never
see him again.
“Believe me,
“Yours faithfully,
“EVANGELINE TRAVERS.”
I put it hastily in the envelope, and fastened it up. Then I rang the
bell, and had it sent by a messenger in a cab, who was to wait for an
answer. Oh! I wonder in life if I shall ever have to go through another
twenty-five minutes like those that passed before the waiter brought a
note up to me in reply.
Even if the journal won’t shut I must put it in.
“VAVASOUR HOUSE,
“_St. James’s_,
“_Nov. 28th_.
“DEAR MADAM,--I have received your letter, and request you to excuse
my calling upon you at your hotel this evening, as I am very unwell,
but if you will do me the honour to come to Vavasour House on receipt
of this, I will discuss the matter in question with you, and trust you
will believe that you may rely upon my _justice_.
“I remain, Madam,
“Yours truly,
“TORQUILSTONE.”
“His grace’s brougham is waiting below for you, Madam,” the waiter
said, and I flew to Véronique.
I got her to dress me quickly. I wore the same things exactly as he had
seen me in before, deep mourning they are, and extremely becoming.
In about ten minutes Véronique and I were seated in the brougham and
rolling on our way. I did not speak.
I was evidently expected, for as the carriage stopped the great doors
flew open, and I could see into the dim and splendid hall.
A silver-haired, stately old servant led me along, through a row of
powdered footmen, down a passage dimly lit with heavily shaded lights
(Véronique was left to their mercies). Then the old man opened a door,
and without announcing my name, merely, “The lady, your grace,” he held
the door, and then went out and closed it softly.
It was a huge room splendidly panelled with dark carved _boiserie_
Louis XV, the most beautiful of its kind I had ever seen, only it was
so dimly lit with the same sort of shaded lamps one could hardly see
into the corners.
The Duke was crouching in a chair, he looked fearfully pale and
ill, and had an inscrutable expression on his face. Fancy a man so
old-looking, and crippled, being even Robert’s half-brother!
I came forward; he rose with difficulty, and this is the conversation
we had.
“Please don’t get up,” I said, “if I may sit down opposite you.”
“Excuse my want of politeness,” he replied, pointing to a chair, “but
my back is causing me great pain to-day.”
He looked such a poor miserable, soured, unhappy creature, I could not
help being touched.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” I said. “If I had known you were ill, I would not
have troubled you now.”
“Justice had better not wait,” he answered, with a whimsical, cynical,
sour smile. “State your case.”
Then he suddenly turned on an electric lamp near me, which made a blaze
of light in my face. I did not jump. I am glad to say I have pretty
good nerves.
“My case is this: to begin with, I love your brother better than
anything else in the world----”
“Possibly: a number of women have done so,” he interrupted. “Well?”
“And he loves me,” I continued, not noticing the interruption.
“Agreed. It is a situation that happens every day among young fools.
You have known one another about a month, I believe?”
“Under four weeks,” I corrected.
He laughed bitterly.
“It cannot be of such vital importance to you then in that short time!”
“It is of vital importance to me, and you know your brother’s
character; you will be able to judge as well as I if, or not, it is a
matter of vital importance to him.”
He frowned. “Well, your case.”
“First, to demand on what grounds you condemned me as a ‘devilish
beauty?’ and why you assume that I should not be faithful to Robert for
a year?”
“I am rather a good judge of character,” he said.
“You cannot be--or you would see that whatever accident makes me have
this objectionable outside, the me that lives within is an honest
person who never breaks her word.”
“I can only see red hair and green eyes, and a general look of the
devil.”
“Would you wish people always to judge by appearances then?” I
said. “Because, if so, I see before me a prejudiced, narrow-minded,
cruel-tempered, cynical man, jealous of youth’s joys. But _I_ would not
be so unjust as to stamp you with these qualities because of that!”
He looked straight at me, startled. “I may be all those things,” he
said. “You are probably right!”
“Then, oh, please don’t be!” I went on quickly. “I want you to be kind
to us. We, oh, we do, do so wish to be happy, and we are both so young,
and life will be so utterly blank and worthless for all these years to
the end if you part us now.”
“I did not say I would part you,” he said, coldly. “I merely said I
refused to give Robert any allowance, and I shall leave everything in
my power away from the title. If you like to get married on those terms
you are welcome to.”
Then I told him I loved Robert far too much to like the thought of
spoiling his future.
“We came into each others lives,” I said. “We did not ask it of Fate,
she pushed us there; and I tried not to speak to him because I had
promised a friend of mine I would not, as she said she liked him
herself, and it made us both dreadfully unhappy, and every day we
mattered more to one another; until yesterday--when I thought he had
gone away for good, and I was too miserable for words--we met in the
Park, and it was no use pretending any longer. Oh! you _can’t_ want to
crush out all joy and life for us, just because I have red hair! It is
so horribly unjust.”
“You beautiful siren,” he said. “You are coaxing me. How you know how
to use your charms and your powers; and what _man_ could resist your
tempting face!”