A Dark Horse
"Le plus grand art d'un habile homme est celui de savoir
cacher son habileté."
Later in the day I was ignominiously recalled to London.
"Useless to remain in Southampton. First note has been changed in
London," Sander telegraphed to me.
While lunching at the hotel, I learnt from the waiter that the young
French lady had received letters causing her to change her plans, and
that she had left hurriedly for Dover, the waiter thought.
Sander came to see me the same evening at my club in London.
"There are at least two in it--probably three," he said. "The note was
changed at Cook's office, in the purchase of two tourist tickets to
Baden-Baden, which can, of course, be resold or used in part only. It
was done by an old man--wore a wig, they tell me--but he was genuine;
not a young man in disguise, I mean."
If Mr. Sander knew more he did not take me further into his
confidence. He was a pale-faced, slight man, having the outward
appearance of a city clerk. But the fellow had a keen look, and there
was something in the lines of his thin, determined lips that gave one
confidence. I saw that he did not reciprocate this feeling. Indeed, I
think he rather despised me for a thick-headed country bumpkin.
He glanced around the gorgeously decorated smoking-room of the club
with a look half-contemptuous and half-envious, and sat restlessly in
the luxurious arm-chair native to club smoking-rooms, as one
cultivating a Spartan habit of life.
"It is probable," he said bluntly, "that you are being watched."
"Yes--I know the bailiffs keep their eye on me."
"I suppose you are not going away to shoot or anything like that?"
"I can go to France and look after Madame de Clericy's property,"
answered I, and the prospect of a change of scene was not unpleasant
to me. For, to tell the truth, I was ill at ease at this time, and
while in England fell victim to a weak and unmanly longing to be at
Hopton. For, however strong a man's will may be, it seems that one
woman in his path must have the power to inspire him with such a
longing that he cannot free his mind of thoughts of her, nor
interest himself in any other part of the world but that which she
inhabits. Thus, to a grey-haired man who surely might have been wiser,
it was actual misery to be in England and not at Hopton, where
Alphonse Giraud was no doubt happy enough in the neighbourhood of the
woman we both loved.
[Illustration: "IT IS PROBABLE," HE SAID BLUNTLY, "THAT YOU ARE BEING
WATCHED."]
"Yes," said Sander to me, after long thought. "Do that. I shall get on
better if you are out of England."
The man's air, as I have said, inspired confidence; and I, seeking an
excuse to be moving, determined to obey him without delay. Moreover, I
was beginning to realise more and more the difficulties of my task,
and the remembrance of what had passed at Hopton made failure
singularly distasteful.
The Vicomtesse had property in the Morbihan, to which I could
penetrate without great risk of arrest. We had heard nothing from the
agent in charge of this estate since the outbreak of war, and it
seemed probable that the man had volunteered for active service in one
of the Breton regiments, raised in all haste at this time.
Writing a note to Madame, I left England the next day, intending to be
absent a week or ten days. My journey was uneventful, and needs not to
be detailed here.
During the writer's absence in stricken France, Miss Isabella
Gayerson, who seemed as restless as himself, suddenly bethought
herself to open her London house and fill it with guests. It must be
remembered that this lady was an heiress, and, if report be true, more
than one needy nobleman offered her a title and that which he called
his heart, only to meet with a cold refusal. I who know her so well
can fancy that these disinterested gentlemen hesitated to repeat the
experiment. It is vanity that too often makes a woman consent at last
(though sometimes Love may awake and do it), and I think that Isabella
was never vain.
"I have good reason to be without vanity," she once said in my
hearing, but I do not know what she meant. The remark, as I remember,
was made in answer to Lucille, who happened to say that a woman can
dress well without being vain, and laughingly gave Isabella as an
example.
Isabella's chief reason in coming to London during the winter was a
kind one--namely, to put a temporary end to an imprisonment in the
country which was irksome to Lucille. And I make no doubt the two
ladies were glad enough to avail themselves of this opportunity of
seeing London. God made the country and men the towns, it is said; and
I think they made them for the women.
On returning to London I found letters from Madame de Clericy
explaining this change of residence, and in the same envelope a note
from Isabella (her letters were always kinder than her speech),
inviting me to stay in Hyde Park Street.
"We are sufficiently old friends," she wrote, "to allow thus of a
general invitation, and if it shares the usual fate of such, the fault
will be yours, and not mine."
The letter was awaiting me at the club, and I deemed it allowable to
call in response the same afternoon. The news of Lucille's engagement
to Alphonse Giraud was ever dangling before my eyes, and I wished to
get the announcement swallowed without further suspense.
Alphonse, a perfect squire of dames, was engaged in dispensing thin
bread and butter when I entered the room, feeling, as I feel to this
day, somewhat out of place and heavy amid the delicate ornaments and
flowers of a lady's drawing-room. My reception was not exactly warm,
and I was struck by the pallor of Isabella's face, which, however,
gave place to a more natural colour before long. Madame alone showed
gladness at the sight of me, and held out both her hands in a welcome
full of affection. I thought Lucille's black dress very becoming to
her slim form.
We talked, of course, of the war, before which all other topics faded
into insignificance at that time--and I had but disquieting news from
France. The siege had now lasted seven weeks, and none knew what the
end might be. The opportunity awaited the Frenchman, but none rose to
meet it. France blundered on in the hands of political mediocrities,
as she has done ever since.
I gathered that Alphonse was staying in the house, and wondered at the
news, considering that Isabella knew him but slightly. It was the
Vicomtesse who gave me the information, with one of her quiet glances
that might mean much or nothing. For myself, I confess they usually
possessed but small significance--men being of a denser (though
perhaps deeper) comprehension than women, who catch on the wing a
thought that flies past such as myself, and is lost.
I could only conclude that Isabella was seeking the happiness of her
new-found friend in thus offering Giraud an opportunity, which he
doubtless seized with avidity.
Isabella was kind enough to repeat her invitation, which, however, I
declined with Madame's eye upon me and Lucille's back suddenly turned
in my direction. Lucille, in truth, was talking to Alphonse, and gaily
enough. He had the power of amusing her, in which I was deficient, and
she was always merry.
While we were thus engaged, a second visitor was announced, but I did
not hear his name. His face was unknown to me--a narrow, foxy face it
was--and the man's perfect self-assurance had something offensive in
it, as all shams have. I did not care for his manner towards
Isabella--which is, however, as I understand, quite _à la mode
d'aujourd'hui_--a sort of careless, patronising admiration, with no
touch of respect in it.
He made it quite apparent that he had come to see the young mistress
of the house, and no one else, acknowledging the introductions to the
remainder of the company with a scant courtesy. He talked to Isabella
with a confidential inclination of his body towards her as they sat on
low chairs with a small table between them, and it was easy to see
that she appreciated the attention of this middle-aged man of the
world.
"You see, Miss Gayerson," I heard him say with a bold glance, for he
was one of those fine fellows who can look straight enough at a woman,
but do not care to meet the eye of a man. "You see, I have taken you
at your word. I wonder if you meant me to."
"I always mean what I say," answered Isabella; and I thought she
glanced in my direction to see whether I was listening.
"A privilege of your sex--also to mean what you don't say."
At this moment Madame spoke to me, and I heard no more, but we may be
sure that his further conversation was of a like intellectual and
noteworthy standard. There was something in the man's lowered tone and
insinuating manner that made me set him down as a lawyer.
"Do you notice," said Madame to me, "that Lucille is in better
spirits?"
"Yes--I notice it with pleasure. Good spirits are for the young--and
the old."
"I suppose you are right," said Madame. "Before the business of life
begins, and after it is over."
Apropos of business, I gave the Vicomtesse at this time an account of
my journey to Audierne, and was able to inform her that I had brought
back money with me sufficient for her present wants.
While I was thus talking I heard, through my own speech, that Isabella
invited the stranger to dine on the following Thursday.
"I have another engagement," he answered, consulting a small
note-book. "But that can be conveniently forgotten."
Isabella seemed to like such exceedingly small social change, for she
smiled brightly as he rose to take his leave.
To the Vicomtesse he paid a pretty little compliment in French,
anticipating much enjoyment on the following Thursday in improving
upon his slight acquaintance. He shook hands with me, his gaze fixed
on my necktie. He then bowed to Lucille and Alphonse, who were talking
together at the end of the room, and made a self-possessed exit.
"Who is your friend?" I asked Isabella bluntly, when the door was
closed.
"A Mr. Devar. Does he interest you?"
There was something in Isabella's tone that betokened a readiness, or
perhaps a desire, to fight Mr. Devar's battles. Had I been a woman, or
wiser than I have ever proved myself, I should, no doubt, have ignored
this challenge instead of promptly meeting it by my answer:
"I cannot say he does."
"You seem to object to him," she said sharply. "Please remember that
he is a friend of mine."
"He cannot be one of long standing," I was foolish enough to answer.
"For he is not an East Country man, and I never heard of him before."
"As a matter of fact," said Isabella, "I met him at a ball in town
last week, and he asked permission to call."
I gave a short laugh, and Isabella looked at me with calm defiance in
her eyes. It was, of course, no business of mine, which knowledge
probably urged me on to further blunders.
Isabella's mental attitude was a puzzle to me. She was ready enough
to supply information respecting Mr. Devar, whose progress towards
intimacy had, to say the least of it, been rapid. But she supplied, as
I thought, from a small store. She alternately allayed and aroused an
anxiety which was natural enough in so old a friend, and to a man who
had moved among adventurers nearly all his life. Alfred Gayerson, her
brother and my earliest friend, was now in Vienna. Isabella had no one
to advise her. She was, I suppose, a forerunner of the advanced young
women of to-day, who, with a diminutive knowledge of the world culled
from the imaginative writings of females as ignorant, are pleased to
consider themselves competent to steer a clean course over the shoals
of life.
Isabella had had, as I understood, a certain experience of the
ordinary fortune-hunters of society--pleasant enough fellows, no
doubt, but lacking self-respect and manhood--and it seemed
extraordinary that her eyes should be closed to Mr. Devar's manifold
qualifications to the title.
"Perhaps," she said at length, "you also will do us the pleasure of
dining with us on Thursday, as you appear to be so deeply interested
in Mr. Devar despite your assurances to the contrary."
"I shall be most happy to do so," answered I--ungraciously, I
fear--and there arose a sudden light, almost of triumph, to her
usually repressed glance.
Alphonse Giraud acceded to my suggestion that he should walk with me
towards my club. His manner towards me had been reserved and
unnatural, and I wished to get to the bottom of his feeling in respect
to one whom he had always treated as a friend. Isabella was the only
person to suggest an objection to my proposal, reminding Alphonse,
rather pointedly, that he had but time to dress for dinner.
"Well," I said, when we were turning into Piccadilly, "Miste has begun
to give us a scent at last."
"It is not so much in Monsieur Miste as in the money that I am
interested," answered Giraud, swinging his cane, and looking about him
with a simulated interest in his surroundings.
"Ah!"
"Yes; and I am beginning to be convinced that I shall never see
either."
"Indeed."
"Let us quit an unpleasant subject," said the Frenchman, after a
pause, and in the manner of one seeking to avoid an impending quarrel.
"What splendid horses you have in England! See that pair in the
victoria? one could not tell them apart. And what action!"
"Yes," I answered, lamely enough; "we have good enough horses."
And before I could return to the subject, which no longer drew us
together, but separated us, he dragged out his watch and hurriedly
turned back, leaving me with a foolish and inexplicable sense of
guilt.