THERE was a buzzing, and a thronging round the victorious player.
Ina rose, and, with a delicate movement of her milk-white hand, turned
the mountain of gold and column of notes toward Ashmead. “Make haste,
please,” she whispered; then put on her gloves deliberately, while
Ashmead shoved the gold and the notes anyhow into the inner pockets of
his shooting-jacket, and buttoned it well up.
_“Allons,”_ said she, calmly, and took his arm; but, as she moved away,
she saw Zoe Vizard passing on the other side of the table. Their eyes
met: she dropped Ashmead's arm and made her a sweeping courtesy full of
polite consideration, and a sort of courteous respect for the person
saluted, coupled with a certain dignity, and then she looked wistfully at
her a moment. I believe she would have spoken to her if she had been
alone; but Miss Maitland and Fanny Dover had, both of them, a trick of
putting on _noli-me-tangere_ faces among strangers. It did not mean much;
it is an unfortunate English habit. But it repels foreigners: they
neither do it nor understand it.
Those two faces, not downright forbidding, but uninviting, turned the
scale; and the Klosking, who was not a forward woman, did not yield to
her inclination and speak to Zoe. She took Ashmead's arm again and moved
away.
Then Zoe turned back and beckoned Vizard. He joined her. “There she is,”
said Zoe; “shall I speak to her?”
Would you believe it? He thought a moment, and then said, gloomily,
“Well, no. Half cured now. Seen the lover in time.” So that opportunity
was frittered away.
Before the English party left the Kursaal, Zoe asked, timidly, if they
ought not to make some inquiry about Mr. Severne. He had been taken ill
again.
“Ay, taken ill, and gone to be cured at another table,” said Vizard,
ironically. “I'll make the tour, and collar him.”
He went off in a hurry; Miss Maitland faced a glass and proceeded to
arrange her curl.
Fanny, though she had offered no opposition to Vizard's going, now seized
Zoe's arm with unusual energy, and almost dragged her aside. “The idea of
sending Harrington on that fool's errand!” said she, peevishly. “Why,
Zoe! where are your eyes?”
Zoe showed her by opening them wide. “What _do_ you mean?”
“What--do--I--mean? No matter. Mr. Severne is not in this building, and
you know it.”
“How can I know? All is so mysterious,” faltered Zoe. “How do _you_
know?”
“Because--there--least said is soonest mended.”
“Fanny, you are older than me, and ever so much cleverer. Tell me, or you
are not my friend.”
“Wait till you get home, then. Here he is.”
Vizard told them he had been through all the rooms; the only chance now
was the dining-room. “No,” said Fanny, “we wish to get home; we are
rather tired.”
They went to the rail, and at first Vizard was rather talkative, making
his comments on the players; but the ladies were taciturn, and brought
him to a stand. “Ah,” thought he, “nothing interests them now; Adonis is
not here.” So he retired within himself.
When they reached the Russie, he ordered a _petit souper_ in an hour, and
invited the ladies. Meantime they retired--Miss Maitland to her room, and
Fanny, with Zoe, to hers. By this time Miss Dover had lost her alacrity,
and would, I verily believe, have shunned a _te'te-'a-te'te_ if she
could; but there was a slight paleness in Zoe's cheek, and a compression
of the lips, which told her plainly that young lady meant to have it out
with her. They both knew so well what was coming, that Zoe merely waved
her to a chair and leaned herself against the bed, and said, “Now,
Fanny.” So Fanny was brought to bay.
“Dear me,” said she piteously, “I don't know what to do, between you and
Aunt Maitland. If I say all I think, I suppose you will hate me; and if I
don't, I shall be told I'm wicked, and don't warn an orphan girl. She
flew at me like a bull-dog before your brother: she said I was
twenty-five, and I only own to twenty-three. And, after all, what could I
say? for I do feel I ought to give you the benefit of my experience, and
make myself as disagreeable as _she_ does. And I _have_ given you a hint,
and a pretty broad one, but you want such plain speaking.”
“I do,” said Zoe. “So please speak plainly, if you can.”
“Ah, you _say_ that.”
“And I mean it. Never mind consequences; tell me the truth.”
“Like a man, eh? and get hated.”
“Men are well worth imitating, in some things. Tell me the truth,
pleasant or not, and I shall always respect you.”
“Bother respect. I am like the rest of us; I want to be loved a little
bit. But there--I'm in for it. I have said too much, or too little. I
know that. Well, Zoe, the long and the short is--you have a rival.”
Zoe turned rather pale, but was not so much shaken as Fanny expected.
She received the blow in silence. But after a while she said, with some
firmness, “Mademoiselle Klosking?”
“Oh, you are not quite blind, then.”
“And pray which does he prefer?” asked Zoe, a little proudly.
“It is plain he likes you the best. But why does he fear her so? This is
where you seem all in the dark. He flew out of the opera, lest she should
see him.”
“Oh! Absurd!”
“He cut you and Vizard, rather than call upon her with you.”
“And so he did.”
“He flew from the gambling-table the moment she entered the room.”
“Behind him. She came in behind him.”
“There was a large mirror in front of him.”
“Oh, Fanny! oh!” and Zoe clasped her hands piteously. But she recovered
herself, and said, “After all, appearances are deceitful.”
“Not so deceitful as men,” said Fanny, sharply.
But Zoe clung to her straw. “Might not two things happen together? He is
subject to bleeding at the nose. It is strange it should occur twice so,
but it is possible.”
“Zoe,” said Fanny, gravely, “he is not subject to bleeding at the nose.”
“Oh, _then_--but how can you know that? What right have you to say that?”
“I'll show you,” said Fanny, and left the room.
She soon came back, holding something behind her back. Even at the last
moment she was half unwilling. However, she looked down, and said, in a
very peculiar tone, “Here is the handkerchief he put before his face at
the opera; there!” and she threw it into Zoe's lap.
Zoe's nature revolted against evidence so obtained. She did not even take
up the handkerchief. “What!” she cried; “you took it out of his pocket?”
“No.”
“Then you have been in his room and got it.”
_“Nothing of the kind!_ I sent Rosa.”
“My maid!”
“Mine, for that job. I gave her half a crown to borrow it for a pattern.”
Zoe seized the handkerchief and ran her eye over it in a moment. There
was no trace of blood on it, and there were his initials, “E. S.,” in the
corner. Her woman's eye fastened instantly on these. “Silk?” said she,
and held it up to the light. “No. Hair!--golden hair. It is _hers!”_ And
she flung the handkerchief from her as if it were a viper, and even when
on the ground eyed it with dilating orbs and a hostile horror.
“La!” said Fanny; “fancy that! You are not blind now. You have seen more
than I. I made sure it was yellow silk.”
But this frivolous speech never even entered Zoe's ear. She was too
deeply shocked. She went, feebly, and sat down in a chair, and covered
her face with her hands.
Fanny eyed her with pity. “There!” said she, almost crying, “I never tell
the truth but I bitterly repent it.”
Zoe took no notice of this droll apothegm. Her hands began to work. “What
shall I do!” she said. “What shall I do!”
“Oh, don't go on like that, Zoe!” cried Fanny. “After all, it is you he
prefers. He ran away from her.”
“Ah, yes. But why?--why? What has he done?”
“Jilted her. I suppose. Aunt Maitland thinks he is after money; and, you
know, you have got money.”
“Have I nothing else?” said the proud beauty, and lifted her bowed head
for a moment.
“You have everything. But you should look things in the face. Is that
singer an unattractive woman?”
“Oh, no. But she is not poor. Her kind of talent is paid enormously.”
“That is true,” said Fanny. “But perhaps she wastes it. She is a gambler,
like himself.”
“Let him go to her,” said Zoe, wildly; “I will share no man's heart.”
“He will never go to her, unless--well, unless we tell him that she has
broken the bank with his money.”
“If you think so badly of him, tell him, then, and let him go. Oh, I am
wretched--I am wretched!” She lifted her hands in despair, and began to
cry and sob bitterly.
Fanny was melted at her distress, and knelt to her, and cried with her.
Not being a girl of steady principle, she went round with the wind. “Dear
Zoe,” said she, “it is deeper than I thought. La! if you love him, why
torment yourself?”
“No,” said Zoe; “it is deceit and mystery that torment me. Oh, what shall
I do! what shall I do!”
Fanny interpreted this vague exclamation of sorrow as asking advice, and
said, “I dare not advise you; I can only tell you what I should do in
your place. I should make up my mind at once whether I loved the man, or
only liked him. If I only liked him, I would turn him up at once.”
“Turn him up! What is that?”
“Turn him off, then. If I loved him, I would not let any other woman have
the least little bit of a chance to get him. For instance, I would not
let him know this old sweetheart of his has won three thousand pounds at
least, for I noted her winnings. Diamond cut diamond, my dear. He is
concealing from you something or other about him and this Klosking; hide
you this one little thing about the Klosking from him, till you get my
gentleman safe to England.”
“And this is love! I call it warfare.”
“And love is warfare, three times out of four. Anyway, it is for you to
decide, Zoe. I do wish you had never seen the man. He is not what he
seems. He is a poor adventurer, and a bundle of deceit.”
“You are very hard on him. You don't know all.”
“No, nor a quarter; and you know less. There, dear, dry your eyes and
fight against it. After all, you know you are mistress of the situation.
I'll settle it for you, which way you like.”
“You will? Oh, Fanny, you are very good!”
“Say indulgent, please. I'm not good, and never will be, if _I can
possibly help._ I despise good people; they are as weak as water. But I
do like you, Zoe Vizard, better than any other woman in the world. That
is not saying very much; my taste is for men. I think them gods and
devils compared with us; and I do admire gods and devils. No matter,
dear. Kiss me, and say, 'Fanny, act for me,' and I'll do it.”
Zoe kissed her, and then, by a truly virginal impulse, hid her burning
face in her hands, and said nothing at all.
Fanny gave her plenty of time, and then said, kindly, “Well, dear?”
Then Zoe murmured, scarce audibly, “Act--_as if_--I loved him.”
And still she kept her face covered with her hands. Fanny was anything
but surprised at this conclusion of the struggle. She said, with a
certain alacrity, “Very well, I will: so now bathe your eyes and come in
to supper.”
“No, no; please go and make an excuse for me.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind. I won't be told by-and-by I have done
wrong. I will do your business, but it shall be in your hearing. Then you
can interfere, if you choose. Only you had better not put your word in
till you see what I am driving at.”
With a little more encouragement, Zoe was prevailed on to sponge her
tearful eyes and compose herself, and join Harrington at supper.
Miss Maitland soon retired, pleading fatigue and packing; and she had not
been gone long, when Fanny gave her friend a glance and began upon
Harrington.
“You are very fond of Mr. Severne, are you not?” said she.
“I am,” said Vizard, stoutly, preparing for battle. “You are not,
perhaps.”
Fanny laughed at this prompt pugnacity. “Oh, yes, I am,” said she;
“devoted. But he has a weakness, you must own. He is rather fond of
gambling.”
“He is, I am sorry to say. It is his one fault. Most of us have two or
three.”
“Don't you think it would be a pity if he were to refuse to go with us
tomorrow--were to prefer to stay here and gamble?”
“No fear of that: he has given me his word of honor.”
“Still, I think it would be hardly safe to tempt him. If you go and tell
him that friend of his won such a lot of money, he will want to stop; and
if he does not stop, he will go away miserable. You know they began
betting with his money, though they went on with their own.”
“Oh, did they? What was his own money?”
“How much was it, Zoe?”
“Fifty pounds.”
“Well,” said Vizard, “you must admit it is hard he should lose his own
money. And yet I own I am most anxious to get him away from this place.
Indeed, I have a project; I want him to rusticate a few months at our
place, while I set my lawyer to look into his affairs and see if his
estate cannot be cleared. I'll be bound the farms are underlet. What does
the Admirable Crichton know about such trifles?”
Fanny looked at Zoe, whose color was rising high at all this. “Well!”
said she, “when you gentlemen fall in love _with each other,_ you
certainly are faithful creatures.”
“Because we can count on fidelity in return,” said Vizard. He thought a
little, and said, “Well, as to the other thing--you leave it to me. Let
us understand one another. Nothing we saw at the gambling-table is to be
mentioned by us.”
“No.”
“Crichton is to be taken to England for his good.”
“Yes.”
“And I am to be grateful to you for your co-operation in this.”
“You can, if you like.”
“And you will secure an agreeable companion for the rest of the tour,
eh?--my diplomatic cousin and my silent sister.”
“Yes; but it is too bad of you to see through a poor girl, and her little
game, like that. I own he is a charming companion.”
Fanny's cunning eyes twinkled, and Zoe blushed crimson to see her noble
brother manipulated by this artful minx and then flattered for his
perspicacity.
From that moment a revulsion took place in her mind, and pride fought
furiously with love--for a time.
This was soon made apparent to Fanny Dover. When they retired, Zoe looked
very gloomy; so Fanny asked, rather sharply, “Well, what is the matter
now? Didn't I do it cleverly?”
“Yes, yes, too cleverly. Oh, Fanny, I begin to revolt against myself.”
“This is nice!” said Fanny. “Go on, dear. It is just what I ought to have
expected. You were there. You had only to interfere. You didn't. And now
you are discontented.”
“Not with you. Spare me. You are not to blame, and I am very unhappy. I
am losing my self-respect. Oh, if this goes on, I shall hate him!”
“Yes, dear--for five minutes, and then love him double. Come, don't
deceive yourself, and don't torment yourself. All your trouble, we shall
leave it behind us to-morrow, and every hour will take us further from
it.”
With this practical view of matters, she kissed Zoe and hurried to bed.
But Zoe scarcely closed her eyes all night.
Severne did not reach the hotel till past eleven o'clock, and went
straight to his own room.