AN INVITATION.
They both saw him at the same moment. Leone, with a sudden paling of her
beautiful face, with a keen sense of sharp pain, and Lady Chandos with a
bright, happy flush.
"Here is my husband," she said, proudly; little dreaming that the
beautiful singer had called him husband, too.
He came toward them slowly; it seemed to him so wonderful that these two
should be sitting side by side--the woman he loved with a passionate
love, and the woman he married under his mother's influence.
There were so many people present that it was some time before he could
get up to them, and by that time he had recovered himself.
"Lance," cried Lady Chandos, in a low voice, "see how fortunate I am; I
have been introduced to Madame Vanira."
Yes, his heart smote him again; it seemed so cruel to deceive her when
she was so kind, so gentle; she trusted in him so implicitly that it
seemed cruel to deceive her. She turned with a radiant face to Leone.
"Let me introduce my husband, Lord Chandos, to you, Madame Vanira," she
said, and they looked at each other for one moment as though they were
paralyzed.
Then the simple, innate truth of Leone's disposition came uppermost.
With the most dignified manner she returned the bow that Lord Chandos
made.
"I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Chandos before," she said.
And Lady Marion looked at her husband in reproachful wonder.
"And you never told me," she said. "Knowing my great admiration for
Madame Vanira, you did not tell me."
"Where was it, madame?" he asked, looking at her with an air of
helpless, hopeless entreaty.
Then she bethought herself that perhaps those few words might cause
unpleasantness between husband and wife, and she tried to make little of
them.
"I was at the French Embassy here in London, Lord Chandos, at the same
time you were," she said.
And Lady Marion was quite satisfied with the explanation, which was
perfectly true.
Then they talked for a few minutes, at the end of which Lady Chandos was
claimed by her hostess for a series of introductions.
Lord Chandos and Leone were left alone.
She spoke to him quickly and in an undertone of voice.
"Lord Chandos," she said, "I wish to speak to you; take me into the
conservatory where we shall not be interrupted."
He obeyed in silence; they walked through the brilliant throng of
guests, through the crowded, brilliant room, until they reached the
quiet conservatory at the end.
The lamps were lighted and shone like huge pearls among the blossoms.
There were few people and those few desired no attention from the
new-comers. He led her to a pretty chair, placed among the hyacinths;
the fragrance was very strong.
"I am afraid you will find this odor too much, beautiful as it is," he
said.
"I do not notice," she said; "my heart and soul are full of one thing.
Oh, Lord Chandos, your wife likes me, likes me," she repeated, eagerly.
"I am not surprised at it; indeed, I should have been surprised if she
had not liked you," he said.
The dark, beautiful eyes had a wistful look in them as they were raised
to his face.
"How beautiful she is, how fair and stately!" she said.
"Yes, beautiful; but compared to you, Leone, as I said before, she is
like moonlight to sunlight, like water to wine."
"I have done no wrong," continued Leone, with a thrill of subdued
passion in her voice; "on the contrary, a cruel wrong was done to me.
But when I am with her, I feel in some vague way that I are guilty. Does
she know anything of your story and mine?"
His dark face burned.
"No," he replied; "she knows nothing of that except that in my
youth--ah, Leone, that I must say this to you--in my youth I made some
mistake; so my lady mother Was pleased to call it," he added, bitterly.
"She does not know exactly what it was, nor could she ever dream for one
moment that it was you."
She looked at him with a serious, questioning gaze.
"Surely you did not marry her without telling her that you had gone
through that service already, did you? If so, I think you acted
disloyally and dishonorably."
He bent his head in lowly humility before her.
"Leone," he said--"ah, forgive me for calling you Leone, but the name is
so sweet and so dear to me--Leone, I am a miserable sinner. When I think
of my weakness and cowardice, I loathe myself; I could kill myself; yet
I can never undo the wrong I have done to either. She knows little, and
I believe implicitly she has forgotten that little. Why do you ask me?"
"It seems so strange," said Leone, musingly, "I asked you to come here
to speak to me that I might ask your advice. She, Lady Marion, has asked
me to her house--has pressed me, urged me to go; and I have said that I
will think of it. I want you to advise me and tell me what I should do."
"My dear Leone, I--I cannot. I should love above all things to see you
at my house, but it would be painful for you and painful to me."
She continued, in a low voice:
"Lady Marion has asked me to be her friend; she is good enough to say
she admires me. What shall I do?"
He was silent for some minutes, then he said:
"There is one thing, Leone, if you become a friend, or even a visitor of
Lady Marion's, I should see a great deal of you, and that would be very
pleasant; it is all there is left in life. I should like it,
Leone--would you?"
Looking up, she met the loving light of the dark eyes full upon her. Her
face flushed.
"Yes," she whispered, "I, too, should like it."
There was silence between them for some little time, then Leone said:
"Would it be quite safe for me to visit you? Do you think that Lady
Lanswell would recognize me?"
"No," he answered, "if the eyes of love failed to recognize you at one
glance, the eyes of indifference will fail altogether. My mother is here
to-night; risk an introduction to her, and you will see. It would give
fresh zest and pleasure to my life if you could visit us."
"It would be pleasant," said Leone, musingly; "and yet to my mind, I
cannot tell why, there is something that savors of wrong about it. Lord
Chandos," she added, "I like your wife, she was kindness itself to me.
We must mind one thing if I enter your house; I must be to you no more
than any other person in it--I must be a stranger--and you must never
even by one word allude to the past; you promise that, do you not?"
"I will promise everything and anything," he replied. "I will ask Madame
de Chandalle to introduce you to my mother--I should not have the nerve
for it."
"If she should recognize me there will be a scene," said Leone, with a
faint smile; "it seems to me that the eyes of hate are keener than the
eyes of love."
"She will not know you. I believe that she has forgotten even your name;
who would think of finding Leone in the brilliant actress for whose
friendship all men sigh? Why, Leone, forgive me for using the word--life
will be quite different to me if we are to be friends, if I may see your
face sometimes in the home that should have been yours. It will make all
the difference in the world, and I am absurdly happy at the bare thought
of it."
"I think our conference has lasted long enough," she said, rising. "You
think, then, that I should accept Lady Marion's invitation?"
"Yes, it will give us more opportunities of meeting, and will bring
about between Lady Marion and yourself a great intimacy," he said.
"Heaven send it may end well," she said, half sadly.
"Thank Heaven for its kindness," he replied, and then they left the
quiet conservatory, where the soft ripple of the scented fountain made
sweetest music.
Lord Chandos quitted her, much to his regret, and Leone sought out
Madame de Chandalle.
"I should like to ask you, madame, for one more introduction," she said.
"I should much like to know the Countess of Lanswell."
Nothing could exceed madame's delight and courtesy. She took Leone to
the blue saloon, as it was called, where the Countess of Lanswell sat in
state. She looked up in gratified surprise as the name of the great
singer was pronounced. If Leone felt any nervousness she did not show
it; there must be no hesitation or all would be lost. She raised her
eyes bravely to the handsome, haughty face of the woman who had spurned
her. In the one moment during which their eyes met, Leone's heart almost
stood still, the next it beat freely, for not even the faintest gleam of
recognition came into my lady's eyes.
But when they had been talking for some minutes, and the countess had
excelled herself in the grace of her compliments, she gazed with keen,
bright eyes in that beautiful face.
"Do you know, Madame Vanira, that the first time I saw you there was
something quite familiar in your face."
There was something startling in the crimson blush that mounts even to
the locks of her dark hair.
"Is it so?" she asked.
And the countess did not relax the questioning gaze.
"I think now," she added, "that I am wrong. I cannot think of any one
who is like you. I shall be glad to see you at Dunmore House, Madame
Vanira. We have a dinner-party next week, and I hope you will be
inclined to favor us. Do you know Lady Chandos?"
"Yes," was the half sad reply, "I was introduced to her this evening."
They talked on indifferent subjects. The countess was most charming to
the gifted singer, and Leone could not help contrasting this interview
with the last that she had with Lady Lanswell. One thing was quite
certain. The countess did not recognize her, and her visits to Dunmore
House would be quite safe.
She talked to Lady Lanswell for some time, and went away that night
quite pleased with the new prospects opening before her.