THE WARNING
Mindful that a premature engagement might lead to gossip, Montrose and
his beloved acted with great discretion. They gave vent to their ardent
feelings in private, and behaved prudently in public. Certainly the
young man paid many visits to Mrs. Barrast's house, and was markedly
attentive to her visitor. But it was natural that a bachelor should
admire a pretty maid, so people merely remarked indulgently that
evidently Montrose was falling in love with Miss Enistor. They little
knew that the inevitable had already happened, and in a scandalously
short space of time. Mrs. Barrast, with a shrewdness which did her
credit, guessed that the couple understood one another better than they
would admit; but even she did not guess how far matters had gone. She
would have been annoyed had she really known the truth, not because of
the private engagement, but for the simple reason that she had not been
admitted into the confidence of the lovers. As it was, all she saw led
her to believe that Montrose was conventionally approaching her guest
with a view to marriage, and quite approved of his intentions. Therefore
she welcomed him to the house, and made use of him and his money. It was
only right, she thought, that he should pay for her kindness in
forwarding his aims.
And the payment took the form of Mrs. Barrast plundering Montrose on
all and every occasion. Frederick supplied her with ample funds for her
frivolity, but Mrs. Barrast always wanted more than she could reasonably
obtain, and cleverly got what she desired from Douglas. As both lovers
were in deep mourning for Lady Staunton, the aunt of one and the
benefactress of the other, they did not take much part in the gaieties
of the waning season. All the same, Mrs. Barrast made Montrose give her
concert tickets and boxes at theatres, which she used freely for herself
and her friends. And as on these occasions she usually left Alice to
entertain the donor in the Hans Crescent house, the young man was quite
willing to be lavish in this direction. Indeed, he was in others also,
for he supplied the butterfly with flowers and scent and gloves and
similar trifles, which every woman likes to have and which no woman
likes to pay for. Alice did not object at the outset to this generosity,
as it was necessary to keep Mrs. Barrast in a good temper; but in the
end she protested against such wholesale robbery.
"You will ruin Mr. Montrose if you take everything he gives you," she
said to Amy, two weeks after that momentous agreement in Kensington
Gardens.
"Oh, nonsense!" replied Mrs. Barrast airily. "The man has got more money
than he knows what to do with. It's a man's duty to be agreeable. But of
course, dear, if you are jealous----"
"I--jealous?"
Mrs. Barrast shrugged her elegant shoulders. "Well, my dear, it looks
like it, you know. You needn't be if you are, I'm sure, for I can't
marry him, and I have no intention of running away with the dear
thing."
"He wouldn't run away with you if you wanted to," said Alice crossly,
and could have bitten out her tongue for the speech.
"Really!" Mrs. Barrast tittered significantly. "Has it gone as far as
that?"
"What do you mean?" Alice grew red.
"My dear! You are a woman talking to a woman, so there is no need for
you to try and deceive me. You want to marry this charming young
fellow!"
"I don't admit that, Amy."
"Whether you admit it or deny it, what I state is the case."
"You have no right to say so. I like Mr. Montrose. I admire him!"
"Words! Words! Words! You love him. Look at yourself in the glass, my
dear. I think your colour tells the truth."
"What if it does?"
"Ah! Then you admit that I am right?"
Alice saw that it was useless to fence with Mrs. Barrast, who was much
too clever to be deceived and far too dangerous to be tampered with.
"Yes! I am in love with--Mr. Montrose."
"Why not say with Douglas?" tittered the little woman.
"Douglas, if it pleases you."
"My dear, the question is if it pleases _you_ and--him. Am I blind?"
asked Mrs. Barrast dramatically. "Am I a fool? Do you think that during
the past three weeks I have left you and that nice boy together without
guessing the truth ages and ages ago? I never ask for tickets. He gives
them to me to get me out of the way, which"--ended the butterfly
justly--"is not complimentary to me."
"I don't mind Mr.--well then, Douglas, giving you boxes at the
theatres," said Alice petulantly; "but why take flowers and gloves
and----"
"Because I want such things," retorted Mrs. Barrast coolly. "If you are
foolish enough not to take presents from him, I don't see why I should
not. But I am glad that we have come to an understanding, dear, as I
wish to know if you are in earnest, or if you are merely flirting."
"And if I am flirting?"
"Then I think it's very horrid of you. He has a heart and hearts can be
broken. I don't flirt myself," said Mrs. Barrast, uttering the lie with
the greatest composure, "but if you are making a fool of that nice boy I
shall take him off your hands and be a--a--well, a mother to him."
Alice laughed outright. "You are much too young and pretty to be a
mother to any one, Amy!"
"That's right. Taunt me because I haven't any children. Frederick is
always complaining, as if it was my fault, which I'm sure it isn't. But
as to this flirting----"
"It isn't flirting. Douglas and I understand one another."
"Really. How sly you are! Has he said anything?"
"All that I wished him to say."
"Then he has proposed?"
"Yes!" Alice contented herself with the affirmative and did not trouble
to give the date of the proposal. Mrs. Barrast understood that it had
taken place within the last day or so, and even that displeased her.
"It's quite immoral for him to be so hasty," she exclaimed, because the
idea of Montrose adoring Alice and not herself was annoying and hurt her
vanity.
The girl smiled, wondering what her hostess would say if she knew that
the proposal had been made three weeks previously. "He's in love, you
see!"
"There is sense in all things, my dear. He has only known you a month."
"Of course! But love at first sight----"
"I don't believe in such a thing."
"Oh, Amy, what about Romeo and Juliet?"
"They are only things in a play. I don't think Juliet was at all
respectable, and if she had lived in London instead of Verona, I should
never have allowed her to visit me. Mr. Montrose should have behaved
himself properly."
"What do you call proper behaviour on his part?"
"Well, he should have spoken to me first!"
"Douglas's idea of propriety differs from yours, Amy. He thought it was
best to tell my father that he wished to marry me, before speaking to
you."
"He could do no less," snapped Mrs. Barrast, still ruffled. "Has he
written to Mr. Enistor?"
"Yes. Two days ago; but he has not yet received an answer. Nor have I,
for I wrote to my father at the same time, asking him to consent to our
engagement."
"Oh, he'll consent quick enough--your father, that is," sniffed the
little woman. "He owes me a great deal for bringing back that lost
money to the family. If he is nice--I suppose he _is_ nice, though
Julian doesn't like him at all--I expect he'll give me a bracelet, or a
muff-chain, or a----"
"Do you really mean that?" interrupted Alice, opening her eyes very
wide.
"Of course! Why shouldn't I mean what I say?"
"How rapacious you are, Amy."
"What a nasty word when I'm only sensible. What is the use of men if
they don't give us things?"
"Douglas will give you all you want, dear. After all, you brought us
together."
This diplomatic remark cleared the air and banished the frown from Mrs.
Barrast's small-featured face. "Of course I did. I saw that you two were
meant for each other the moment you set eyes on one another. I advised
you to get back your aunt's money by marriage, didn't I?"
"You certainly did," admitted Miss Enistor dryly, not thinking it
necessary to explain that she loved Montrose for himself alone. "What
you said has come true, Amy. Douglas desires to make me his wife, if my
father consents."
"Oh, bother your father," cried Mrs. Barrast vigorously. "What does his
consent matter when you have hooked a rich man?"
"Don't be vulgar, Amy!" said Alice, wincing.
"And don't be romantic. You can't deceive me. Mr. Montrose is rich."
"I would marry him without a sixpence."
"So you will," rejoined Mrs. Barrast caustically. "He has the sixpence,
remember. I am glad, dear: you have played your cards well. Frederick
will be pleased. He likes Mr. Montrose immensely, and you a great
deal."
"I am glad he does," said Alice soberly, "but don't say anything until
we hear from my father, Amy!"
It was with some difficulty that Miss Enistor induced the little woman
to be silent, for Mrs. Barrast was so immensely pleased with what she
took to be her own cleverness in bringing the matter to a favourable
issue that she wanted to trumpet the news all over the place. There was
no word now of impropriety or hasty wooing, for Alice let the butterfly
think that the match was quite of her own making, and the butterfly
spread sheltering wings over the happy pair. She did not tell Frederick,
and as Frederick was wholly occupied with politics he did not see what
was going on under his very nose. But with many mysterious becks and
smiles and significant looks, the little woman managed to intimate that
she was the fairy godmother of these particular lovers, whose romance
was rapidly progressing towards fulfilment. Thus she made everything
safe in a respectable way for Montrose to be constantly invited to
dinner, and to be left alone with Alice more frequently than would have
met with public approval had he not been courting. The young man's
gratitude showed itself substantially and took the form of several
pieces of jewellery, which the guardian angel was pleased to accept.
Everything went as merry as a marriage bell, pending the reply of
Enistor to Montrose's letter. That came four days after Alice had
remonstrated with Mrs. Barrast for her shameless looting.
Mr. Enistor had written not only to Montrose but to his daughter with
regard to the proposal, and when the two came together on this
particular evening, they let one another know immediately that the fatal
missives had been received. Luckily Mrs. Barrast, with a merry party,
had gone to the Empire Music Hall and would not return until late.
Montrose, as usual, had provided the box, purposely having done so to
rid himself of an inconvenient third. Frederick was at the House, so he
could not interfere, and Douglas had Alice all to himself in the large
drawing-room. Mrs. Barrast, for the sake of propriety, had made him
promise to await her return and have supper. Therefore everything was
nicely arranged, and when quite alone, the lovers sat together on the
sofa and looked into one another's eyes.
"Now," said Alice breathlessly, "the letters!"
"Not just yet," replied Montrose, taking her in his arms, "remember I
have not seen you for forty-eight hours!"
"Oh, you foolish boy!"
Alice had some excuse for calling him so, although she liked the
foolishness he displayed immensely. He dropped on his knees, holding her
waist in his arms, and said all manner of delightful things, only
interrupting his speeches to kiss her again and again and again. What he
babbled need not be reported, as the talk of lovers, however pleasing to
themselves, is extraordinarily silly when repeated to others. But the
splendid glamour of love was over this pair, and what Douglas said
sounded sublimely sensible to the girl, while the looks of Alice were
those of a goddess to her adorer. Yet Montrose was a common-sense young
man, and Miss Enistor only a tolerably pretty girl. The misleading
passion of love excused each regarding the other as a divinity. They
certainly did so and were as foolishly happy as Antony and Cleopatra
were in their day of power. And like those famous lovers they would have
regarded the world as well lost for love.
"But really!" cried Alice at last, recovering her reason first, which
was natural since she was a woman, "we must be sensible."
"I think we are very sensible indeed."
"Other people would not think so."
"Why trouble about other people?" replied Montrose, reluctantly getting
on his feet. "There are no other people. You and I are alone in the
world."
"Indeed, I think we shall be unless my father consents," sighed Miss
Enistor. "Not that there will be any loneliness with you beside me," she
added.
"Darling!" Then another kiss and embrace before settling down to more
prosaic conversation. "Tell me, dear, what does he say to you?"
"Much the same as he writes to you, Douglas, I expect." Alice took the
letter from her pocket. "He is not angry as I expected he would be, and
says nothing about Don Pablo. All he desires--so he says--is my
happiness, and if he approves of you he is quite willing that we should
marry."
"If he approves of me," echoed Montrose, reading the paternal letter
over Alice's shoulder, "quite so. But suppose he doesn't approve?"
"Don't try to cross the bridge until you come to it, Douglas. Why
shouldn't my father approve, now that he evidently has given up his
idea of my marrying Don Pablo? Has my father asked you down to Tremore?"
"Yes!" said Montrose, producing his letter in turn, "how clever of you
to guess that, dearest."
"I did not guess it, as you might have seen if you read my father's
letter properly," said Alice quickly. "He says that he has asked you
down, or intends to ask you down. I don't know which."
"Oh, here is the invitation," remarked the young man, waving his letter.
"Mr. Enistor says that before he can consent to place your future in my
hands he must become well acquainted with me. He invites me to Tremore
for a visit of one month. In four weeks he hopes to give his decision."
Alice disconsolately replaced her epistle in her pocket and watched her
lover put away his communication. "That doesn't sound very promising."
"Oh, but I think it does," said Montrose hopefully. "I don't see what
else he could say if he entertains at all the idea of my marrying you.
It is only natural that he should wish to know what kind of a husband I
am likely to be to his adored daughter."
"Oh!" said Alice ironically, "does my father call me that?"
"Twice he calls you that in his letter."
"He doesn't mean it," the girl assured Montrose in a troubled way; "my
father and I endure one another's society, but little love exists
between us. The fault isn't mine, Douglas, as I was willing enough to
love him when I came from school. But father has always kept me at arm's
length, and hitherto my life has been loveless--save for Julian."
"Julian!" There was a jealous note in the young man's voice. "That is
the name of Mrs. Barrast's brother, is it not?"
"Yes. I call him Julian and he calls me Alice."
"Confound his impudence!" fumed Montrose angrily.
"No impudence at all, Douglas. Julian is my very good friend: nothing
more, I assure you. But if I had not met you, and if my father had
insisted upon my becoming Don Pablo's wife, I should have married
Julian."
"Oh, Alice," in a tone of deep reproach, "do you love him and not me?"
"No. I respect him. If I loved him you would not now be sitting beside
me."
Still Montrose was not satisfied. "Is he good-looking?"
"Very; in a large stolid Anglo-Saxon way. He's an artist, but I don't
think one would call him clever except as a painter of pictures."
"I see that you don't love him," said Douglas, his brow clearing; "but
does Hardwick--that is his name, isn't it?--love you?"
"No," rejoined Alice promptly, "he thought that he did, but he really
does not in the way a woman wants to be loved. He proposed and I
rejected him on those grounds. Now he understands that I am right, and
we have settled to be great friends."
"All the same you said you would have married him if----"
"If my father had insisted on my becoming the wife of Don Pablo,"
interrupted Alice swiftly. "Can't you understand, Douglas? I detest
this Spaniard, who is such a friend of my father, and of two evils I
was prepared to choose the lesser. I did not want to marry Julian any
more than I wanted to marry Don Pablo. But Julian is at least human,
so----"
"Isn't Don Pablo human?" asked Montrose, interrupting in his turn.
"I don't believe he is," said Alice thoughtfully, "there is something
dreadfully wicked about him. I can't explain, but when you meet him you
will in some way guess my meaning."
"Humph! I shall certainly accept your father's invitation both to see
this Spaniard and Hardwick also."
"And you understand my position?" urged Alice anxiously.
"Yes. I think I do. All the same I want you to assure me positively that
you love no one else but me."
"There is no need to tell you what you already know," returned the girl
in a calm positive way. "We are made for one another!"
"Darling!" he caught her in his arms, "I know. But I hope your father
will think as we do."
"He means well," said Miss Enistor with a sigh of relief, "or he would
not ask you down to Tremore."
It was at this interesting point in their interview that the lovers were
interrupted. The footman opened the door to announce Dr. Eberstein, and
when that gentleman entered the room the servant promptly retired.
Montrose came forward with a look of amazed inquiry, which was reflected
on the face of Alice. Both the young people were astonished by the
unexpected appearance of the doctor.
"I thought you were still in Paris, Eberstein," cried Douglas, as his
friend shook hands with both.
"I arrived in London to-day!"
"Why didn't you let me know?"
"There was no need to. It was necessary that you should quite understand
one another before I came on the scene." Eberstein looked from one
flushed face to the other with a smile. "You do understand, I see."
"We are engaged," blurted out Montrose awkwardly.
"Then that means an understanding," said the doctor cheerfully, with a
benevolent look in his grey eyes. "I hope it means also mutual trust."
"I am quite sure it does," cried Alice vehemently, "nothing Douglas
could say or do would ever make me doubt him."
"And I would believe in Alice if all the world were against her," said
the young man decisively.
"That is good hearing," observed the doctor pleasantly, "union is
strength."
"Every one knows that, don't they, doctor?" said Miss Enistor rather
pertly.
"Perhaps," he replied, "but few practise it. You wonder why I have come
here to-night. It is because you both need me. All seems to be sunshine
at the present moment. You love one another devotedly: you think that
Mr. Enistor is well disposed towards your engagement----"
"Oh!" interrupted Alice, with a frightened look in her eyes. "How do
you know that my father is aware of our engagement?"
"The letters you received to-day----"
This time Montrose interrupted, and there was a note of awe in his
voice. "I believe you know everything, Eberstein."
"I know that you are invited down to Cornwall, so that Mr. Enistor may
judge if you are the man he would choose to be his son-in-law."
"But how do you know?" said Alice, startled. "You make me afraid!"
Eberstein took her hand and gazed directly into her eyes. "Are you sure
that I make you afraid?" he asked gently.
"Why, no!" Alice felt the momentary fear vanish in an unaccountable way.
"And you trust me even though you have known me such a short time?
Remember, you have only met me once, Miss Enistor." He loosened his
soft, reassuring grasp and leaned back in his chair.
"I do trust you," said the girl promptly, "you have been kind to
Douglas."
"Is that the sole reason?"
Alice stared at him doubtfully. "It is the only reason I can give. No
one but a good man and a kind friend would have saved Douglas's life as
you did."
"Perhaps no, perhaps yes," said the doctor enigmatically, "but I advised
our friend here to keep Lady Staunton's money. My interest in him may
not be so philanthropic as you imagine it to be."
"Doctor!" said Montrose indignantly, "how can you talk so?"
"Hush!" Eberstein threw up his hand. "I want Miss Enistor to speak."
"What can I say but that I trust you? I am sure there is some good
reason why Douglas should keep my aunt's money. You would not have
advised him to keep it otherwise."
"But if your father pointed out that he should have enjoyed the fortune
and that I wish Montrose to keep it so that I can make use of the money
through him? What then?"
"Still I must believe in you and trust you," persisted Alice steadily.
"My father does not want the fortune." Eberstein smiled slightly. "Oh, I
assure you he does not. He has said nothing about it. As to doubting
you, doctor, he does not know you."
"He will some day and then he may doubt me. Remember when he does and
tries to turn you against me that I have foretold the possibility of
such a warning. You say you will trust me. Good! I accept the assurance.
Montrose?"
"I believe in you now as I always have done," said the young man
eagerly. "I don't understand why you are talking in this way, though."
"You don't understand many things at present," said Eberstein dryly;
"when you do, pain will come with the knowledge. Necessary pain. Go to
Cornwall and meet Mr. Enistor. While the sun still shines you will not
see me. But when dark clouds obscure the light, then I shall be at your
side."
"You will come to Cornwall?" asked Alice quickly.
"When the need arises."
"Will it arise?"
Eberstein looked from one to the other quietly. "Yes! The need will
arise."
"What need?" demanded Montrose, bewildered.
"Enough for the day is the evil thereof," said Eberstein serenely, "and
that also applies to the good. All is well with you as yet, so enjoy the
passing moment and draw from peace the necessary strength for conflict.
Gold must be refined in the fire, and you must both be cast into the
furnace. Yet be not afraid. The same God who saved Shadrach, Meshach and
Abednego will save you. You are neither of you afraid," he ended
positively.
Arm in arm the lovers stood and they glanced at one another as the
doctor spoke. "We are not afraid," they declared simultaneously, and
spoke the truth.
"Behold then," said Eberstein solemnly, "how great is Love which can
cast out fear!" and over them he made the holy sign.