LANCE'S DETERMINATION.
"You have not much to say to me to-night, Lance," said Lady Marion, in a
tone of gentle expostulation. "I wonder if that beautiful singer was
really looking at you. It seemed to me that the moment her eyes caught
yours she faltered and almost failed."
Lord Chandos roused himself.
"Give me a woman's fancy," he said; "it is boundless as the deep sea."
"I think a beautiful singer is like a siren," continued Lady Chandos,
"she wins all hearts."
He laughed again, a tired, indifferent, reckless laugh.
"I thought we had agreed that you had won mine, Marion," he said, "and,
if that be true, it cannot be won again."
She was silent for a few minutes, then she continued:
"Which do you really admire most, Lance, blonde or brunette, tell me?"
"A strange question to ask a man who was fortunate enough to win the
queen of blondes for his wife," he replied.
He would have paid her any compliment--said anything to please her--if
she would only have given him time to think.
They were driving home together, but he felt it was impossible to remain
under any roof until he had learned whether Leone and La Vanira were the
same. If his dear, good, amiable wife would but give him time to think.
He could hear the sound of the mill-wheel, he could hear the ripple of
the waters, the words of the song:
"In sheltered vale a mill-wheel
Still sings its busy lay.
My darling once did dwell there,
But now she's gone away."
The stars were shining as they shone when he sat by the mill-stream,
with that beautiful head on his heart. He shuddered as he remembered her
forebodings. Lady Chandos took his hand anxiously in hers.
"My dearest Lance, I am quite sure you are not well, I saw you shudder
as though you were cold, and yet your hands are burning hot. What is it
you say about going to your club? Nothing of the kind, my darling. You
must have some white wine whey; you have taken cold. No; pray do not
laugh, Lance, prevention is better than cure."
She had exactly her own way, as those very quiet, amiable wives
generally have. He did not go to his club, but he sat by his
dressing-room fire, and drank white wine whey. He had the satisfaction
of hearing his wife say that he was the best husband in the world; then
he fell asleep, to dream of the mill-stream and the song.
It grew upon him--he must know if that was Leone. Of course, he said to
himself, he did not wish to renew his acquaintance with her--he would
never dare, after his cruel treatment of her, even to address one word
to her; but he should be quite content if he could know whether this was
Leone or not. If he could know that he would be happy, his sorrow and
remorse would be lessened.
He knew that the best place for hearing such details was his club--the
Royal Junior--every one and everything were discussed there, no one
escaped, and what was never known elsewhere was always known at the
Royal Junior. He would take luncheon there and by patient listening
would be sure to know. He went, although Lady Chandos said plaintively
that she could not eat her luncheon alone.
"I am compelled to go," he said. "I have business, Marion, that is
imperative."
"I think husbands have a reserve fund of business," said Lady Chandos.
"What a mysterious word it is, and how much it covers, Lance. Lord
Seafield is never at home, but whenever his wife asks him where he is
going, he always says 'on business.' Now, in your case what does
business mean?"
He laughed at the question.
"Parliamentary interests, my dear," he replied, as he hastened away.
Such close questions were very difficult to answer.
He found the dining-rooms well filled, and, just as he had foreseen, the
one subject was La Vanira. Then, indeed, did he listen to some wonderful
stories. The Marquis of Exham declared that she was the daughter of an
illustrious Sicilian nobleman, who had so great a love for the stage
nothing could keep her from it. The Earl of Haleston said he knew for a
fact she was the widow of an Austrian Jew, who had taken to the stage as
the means of gaining her livelihood. Lord Bowden said she was the wife
of an Austrian officer who was possessed of ample means. There were at
least twenty different stories about her, and not one agreed with
another.
"I wonder," said Lord Chandos, at last, "what is the real truth?"
"About what?" said a white-haired major, who sat next to him.
"About La Vanira," he replied; "every one here has a different story to
tell."
"I can tell you as much truth as any one else about her," said the
major, "I was with the manager last evening. La Vanira is English. I
grant that she looks like a Spaniard--I never saw such dark eyes in my
life; but she is English; accomplished, clever, good as gold, and has no
one belonging to her in the wide world. That much the manager told me
himself."
"But where does she come from?" he asked, impatiently. "Everybody comes
from somewhere."
"The manager's idea is that she was brought up in the midland counties;
he thinks so from a few words she said one day."
"Is she married or single?" asked Lord Chandos.
"Single," was the reply; "and in no hurry to be married. She has refused
some of the best offers that could be made; and yet she wears a ring on
the third finger of her left hand--perhaps it is not a wedding-ring."
"I should like to see her," said Lord Chandos.
The white-haired major laughed.
"So would half the men in London, but no one visits her--she allows no
introductions. I know a dozen and more who have tried to see her in
vain."
He was not much wiser after this conversation than before; but he was
more determined to know. That same evening he made another excuse, and
left his wife at Lady Blanchard's ball while he drove to the
opera-house. The opera was almost over, but he saw the manager, to whom
he briefly stated his errand.
"I believe," he said, "that in Madame Vanira I recognize an old friend.
Will you introduce me to her?"
"I am sorry to say that I cannot," was the courteous reply. "I promised
madame not to make any introductions to her."
"Will you take my card to her? If she is the lady I take her to be she
will send word whether she wishes to see me or not."
The manager complied with his request. He soon returned.
"Madame Vanira wishes me to say that she has not the pleasure of your
lordship's acquaintance, and that she is compelled to decline any
introduction."
"Then it is not Leone," he said to himself, and a chill of
disappointment came over him.
His heart had been beating quickly and warmly, yet he persuaded himself
it was only that he was so pleased to know she was all right and safe
from the frowns of the world. It was not Leone, but she was so much like
Leone that he felt he must go to see her again.
"The opera to-night?" said Lady Marion, in her sweetest tones. "Why, my
dear Lance, you were there three nights since."
"Yes, I know, but I thought it pleased you, Marion. We will ask my
mother to go with us. It is the 'Crown Diamonds,' a very favorite opera
of hers."
"Will Madame Vanira sing?" asked Lady Chandos, and her husband quietly
answered:
"Yes."
He was anxious for Lady Lanswell to go, to see if she would recognize
Leone, or if any likeness would strike her. As his chief wish seemed to
be to give pleasure to his mother, and he expressed no desire to see the
beautiful singer again, Lady Chandos was very amiable. She sent a kind
little note to the countess, saying what pleasure it would give them if
she would go to the opera with them, and Lady Lanswell was only too
pleased. The earl had grown tired of such things and never cared to go
out in the evening.
How anxiously Lord Chandos watched his mother's face. He saw delight,
surprise and wonder, but no recognition--except once, and then the
magnificent arms of the actress were raised in denunciation. Then
something of bewilderment came over Lady Lanswell's face, and she turned
to her son.
"Lance," she said, "Madame Vanira reminds me of some one, and I cannot
think who it is."
"Have you seen her before, mother, do you think?" he asked.
"No, I think not; but she reminds me of some one, I cannot think whom.
Her gestures are more familiar to me than her face."
Evidently the thought of Leone never entered her mind; and Lord Chandos
was more puzzled than ever. The countess was charmed.
"What fire, what genius, what power! That is really acting," she said.
"In all my life I have seen nothing better. There is truth in her
tenderness, reality in her sorrow. I shall often come to see Vanira,
Lance."
So she did, and was often puzzled over the resemblance of some one she
knew; but she never once dreamed of Leone, while, by dint of earnest
watching and study, Lord Chandos became more and more convinced that it
was she.
He was determined to find out. He was foolish enough to think that if he
could once be sure of it, his heart and mind would be at rest, but until
then there was no rest for him.
What could he do--how could he know? Then the idea came, to follow her
carriage home. By dint of perseverance he found, at last, that Madame
Vanira had a very pretty house in Hampstead called the Cedars, and he
determined to call and see her there. If he had really been mistaken,
and it were not Leone, he could but apologize; if it were----
Ah, well, if it were, he would ask her forgiveness, and she would give
it to him, on account of the love she bore him years ago.