THE INTRODUCTION.
If Lady Lanswell had purposely designed the meeting between her son and
the beautiful blonde to have taken place in the most picturesque spot in
Europe, she could not have chosen better. The great _salon_ of the
Palazzo Golza had, in former days, been used as a royal audience-room;
the noblest princes in Rome had met there, and had given audience to the
grandest nobles. It was a superb apartment; there was a background of
purple tapestry from which the blonde loveliness of the English girl
shone resplendent as a snow-drop on a black ground. There were many
beautiful women present; the Princess Ainla, whose dark beauty was the
wonder of all who saw it; the famous American belle, Miss Sedmon, whose
auburn hair resembled that given by the old masters to the Madonna; but
there was not one in that vast assembly who could vie with Lady Marion.
The Countess of Lanswell, with her son, was one of the last to enter the
_salon_; with one keen, comprehensive glance the countess took in, as it
were, the whole situation; she saw the pure, proud face of Lady Erskine,
saw that she was seated in the very place where her beauty was seen to
the best advantage, then she took her seat, never even looking in that
direction, and saying nothing to her son.
It was just like laying a trap for a bird--he fell into it with the same
helplessness.
Lady Lanswell neither looked at Lady Erskine nor her son, yet she knew
exactly the moment when his eyes first fell on her. She saw him start;
then she sat quite still, waiting for the question she knew must follow.
It came at last.
"Mother," he said, "who is that beautiful girl?"
My lady looked at him with languid eyes.
"What beautiful girl, Lance? There are so many."
"An English girl, I am sure. She has a string of pearls in her hair. Who
can she be?"
Still Lady Lanswell feigned ignorance. She looked on the wrong side of
the room, and she affected not to understand where he meant, and when
she could affect no longer, she said:
"Do you mean Lady Marion Erskine, the young lady near Princess Golza?"
"Yes, it must be Lady Erskine," he replied. "How beautiful she is,
mother. She shines like a fair pearl with that background of dark
tapestry. I heard some one say yesterday that she was in Rome. What a
perfect face."
My lady looked at it coldly.
"Do you think so, Lance?" she said. "I thought that you gave the
preference to dark beauties."
His heart went back for one moment to the beautiful, passionate face he
had seen by the mill stream. The gorgeous _salon_, the beautiful women,
the peerless face of Lady Marion, the exquisite music, all floated away
from him, and he was once more by the mill-stream, with Leone's face
before him. So strong, so vivid was the memory, that it was with
difficulty he refrained from calling the name aloud.
My lady guessed by the sudden expression of pain on his face where his
thoughts had gone. She recalled them.
"Tastes differ so greatly," she said. "Do you really consider Lady
Marion beautiful, Lance?"
"Yes, I have seen no one more lovely," he answered.
Then the countess dismissed the subject--too much must not be said at
once. She did not mention Lady Marion's name again that evening, but she
saw that her son looked often at her, and she smiled to think the bait
had taken.
Again they were walking through the vast gardens of one of the Roman
palaces, when the whole party met. Lady Cambrey was with her niece; Lord
Chandos was near the countess, but not close by her side. The ladies
met, exchanged a few words, then parted, the countess not having made
the least effort to introduce her son; he spoke of it afterward.
"Mother," he said, "you did not introduce me to Lady Erskine."
Lady Lanswell smiled calmly.
"It was out of pure consideration for her; they tell me she has so many
admirers in Rome. From what I know of her, you would not be quite in her
style."
The words piqued him.
"Why not?" he asked.
His mother laughed again.
"She is very proud, Lance, and very exclusive. I need say no more."
My lady always knew exactly when to leave off. She turned away now,
leaving her son with the impression that Lady Erskine would not care to
know him, on account of his unfortunate love affair.
They were destined to meet again that evening. A ball was given by an
English lady, Mrs. Chester, who had one of the best houses in Rome. Lady
Erskine looked very beautiful; her dress was of pale blue velvet,
superbly trimmed with white lace; she wore diamonds in her hair, and
carried a bouquet of white lilies in her hand. She was the belle of the
ball, and it was Mrs. Chester who introduced Lord Chandos to her. She
was quite innocent of any intrigue, but had she been the chosen
confidante of Lady Lanswell, she could not have done more to further her
views. She had been dancing with Lord Chandos herself, and began to
speak to him of the beautiful blonde.
"Lady Marion Erskine realizes my idea of a fair woman," said Mrs.
Chester. "I have read the words in prose and poetry, now I understand
them."
"I do not know Lady Erskine," said the young earl.
"Not know her. Why, I should have thought that all the Englishmen in
Rome knew their beautiful country-woman."
"I have never been introduced to her," said Lord Chandos.
"Then this is the last hour in which you shall lay any such complaint
against fate," said Mrs. Chester. "Come with me, my lord."
Like all other English ladies in Rome, Mrs. Chester had a great
admiration for the heir of the Lanswells. It was impossible to withhold
it. He was so handsome, so brave and gallant, with the bearing of a
prince, the chivalry of a knight, and in his temper the sweet, sunny
grace of a woman. They all liked him; he seemed to have the geniality,
the generosity, the true nobility of an Englishman, without the
accompanying reserve and gloom. At that time there was no one more
popular in Rome than the young lord, about whom so many romantic stories
were told. He followed Mrs. Chester to where Lady Marion stood, the
brilliant center of a brilliant group. It pleased him to see what
deference was paid to him--how Italian princes and French dukes made way
when Mrs. Chester presented him to the beautiful heiress.
The first moment the proud clear eyes smiled in his face he liked her.
She was most charming in her manner; she had not the fire and passion of
Leone; she was not brilliant, original or sparkling, but she was sweet,
candid, amiable, and gentle.
One found rest in her--rest in the blue eyes, in the sweet, smiling
lips, in the soft, low voice, in the graceful, gentle movements--rest
and content.
She never irritated, never roused any one to any great animation; she
received rather than gave ideas; she was one of those quiet, gentle,
amiable women whose life resembles the rippling of a brook rather than
the rush of a stream. She looked with a smile into the handsome face of
the young lord, and she, too, liked him.
They stood together for a few minutes while Lord Chandos begged for a
dance, and even during the brief time more than one present thought what
a handsome pair they were. Lord Chandos was much pleased with her--the
low voice, the exquisitely-refined accent, the gentle grace, all
delighted him.
She lacked passion, power, fire, originality, the chief things which
went for the making up of Leone's character; no two people could be more
dissimilar, more unlike; yet both had a charm for Lord Chandos; with the
one he found the stimulant of wit and genius, with the other sweetest
rest.
They had several dances together; in her quiet, gentle way Lady Marion
confided to him that she preferred Englishmen to Italians, whom she
thought wanting in frankness and ease.
"Why did you come to Rome?" asked Lord Chandos; and the beautiful blonde
was almost at a loss how to answer the question. The only answer that
she could give was that Lady Cambrey had first mentioned it.
"It was not from any great wish, then, to see the antiquities or the art
treasures of Rome?" asked Lord Chandos, thinking as he spoke with what
rapture Leone would have thought of a visit to Italy.
"No, it was not that, although I would not have missed seeing Rome on
any account. What brought you here, Lord Chandos?"
He also hesitated for a moment, then he answered:
"I really do not know. I came, so far as I know my own mind, because my
mother came," and then their eyes met with a curious, half-laughing
gaze.
It was strange that they should have both come there without having any
clear or distinct notion why.
"It seems to me," said Lord Chandos, "that we are both under guidance."
"I am glad, for my own part," said Lady Erskine. "It is much easier to
be guided than to guide. I find it easier to obey than to command."
"Do you?" he asked, laughingly. "You will find it very easy then some
day 'to love, honor and obey.'"
"I do not doubt it," said the beautiful heiress, calmly. "I should not
care to go through life alone; I want a stronger soul than my own to
lean on."
And again Lord Chandos went back in thought to the noble, self-reliant
girl who would hold her own against the world if need should be.
And yet he liked Lady Marion; her graceful, languid helplessness had a
great charm for him. When he bade her good-evening, it was with the hope
that they would soon meet again.