Mrs Pontardent was a lady of a class who prospered well in the days
when George the Third was king, and fashionable men considered it the
correct thing to ruin themselves at cards wherever the tables were
opened for the purpose. If you go to an auction sale now, in
out-of-the-way places, there are sure to be card-tables in the
catalogue; but if you furnish newly, your eyes rarely light upon green
baize-lined tables exhibited for sale.
There were several at Mrs Pontardent's handsomely-furnished detached
house in Prince's Road, where it stood back in fairly extensive grounds.
In fact, it was, after Lord Carboro's, one of the best houses close to
Saltinville.
There were plenty of carriages waiting about in the road that night--so
many along by the garden wall that Major Rockley found it necessary to
alter his plans, for a post-chaise and four was likely to attract
attention, and its postboys might be the objects of a good deal of
ribald jest if they were close up with the servants of the private
carriages.
To meet this difficulty, not being able to find his servant, he went
round himself to the livery-stables, feed the postboys, and gave them
instructions to wait in the back lane close by the door in the wall at
the north side of the garden.
That door was only unlocked when the gardener was receiving fresh soil,
plants or pots, or found it necessary to go out for a quiet refresher in
the heat of the day; but after an interview and the offer of a golden
key, the gardener thought it possible that the door might be left open
that night.
Mrs Pontardent lived in style, and her rooms deserved the title of
saloons, draped as they were with amber satin, and bright with wax
candles, whose light was reflected from many girandoles.
The drawing-room windows opened on to a well-kept lawn; there were bosky
walks; a terrace from which the glittering sea was visible; and in the
saloons and about the garden a large and brilliant company was
assembled.
The Barclays were there, for Barclay was everybody's banker, and a
necessity. The Deans arrived early, and Cora looked handsomer than
ever. In fact, the officers of the dragoon regiment, as they saw her go
up and speak to Claire, declared that they were the most perfect blonde
and brunette that the world had ever seen. But then Mrs Pontardent's
wines were excellent, and it was acknowledged that it was a guest's own
fault if he did not have enough.
Tea, coffee, ices, and sandwiches at various buffets were spread as a
matter of course, but the servants who waited there had a light time
compared with that of the butler and his aid.
The Master of the Ceremonies had arrived early with his daughter, whom
Mrs Pontardent kissed affectionately, and called "My dear child," and
then her father was obliged to leave her, as he had so many duties to
perform, receiving guests and introducing them to the hostess as if it
were a royal ball; getting couples ready for the dances that went on to
the strains of a string band in a very languid way, and finding places
for elderly ladies at the card-tables, as opportunity served.
As soon as she could, Claire found a refuge by the side of Mrs Barclay;
but her hand was much sought after by dancers brought up from time to
time by her father, and every time she trembled lest one of those
present should offer himself as a partner.
But, though Major Rockley was there, and had spoken to her gravely once,
and bowed on two other occasions as he passed her, he had made no other
advance; and when Richard Linnell arrived he did not attempt to speak,
but passed her arm-in-arm with Colonel Mellersh, bowing coldly, and
giving her one stern, severe look that made her draw her breath once
with a catch, and then feel a glow of resentment.
Cora came and sat down once by her side, to be by turns loving and
spiteful, as if her temper was not under command; but they were soon
separated, for Cora's hand was also much sought after for the various
dances.
The evening was less trying than Claire had anticipated. She had come
prepared to meet with several slights from the ladies present, but,
somehow, the only one who openly treated her with discourtesy was Lady
Drelincourt, who gave her the cut direct in a most offensive way, as she
passed on Morton Denville's arm.
That was the unkindest act of all, for the boy had seen her, and was
about to nod and smile, forgetful in the elation produced by several
glasses of wine, of the cause of offence between them; but, taking his
cue from the lady on his arm, he drew himself up stiffly and passed on.
The tears rose to Claire's eyes, but she mastered her emotion, as she
saw Major Rockley on the other side of the room, keenly observant of all
that had passed; and to hide her grief she went on talking to the
gentleman who had just solicited her hand for the next dance.
Richard Linnell passed her soon afterwards with Cora upon his arm, and a
jealous pang shot through her; but it passed away, and she resigned
herself to her position, as if she had suffered so many pangs of late
that her senses were growing blunted, and suffering was becoming easier
to her.
Morton Denville was dismissed soon after in favour of Sir Matthew Bray;
and, in his boy-like excitement, looked elated one moment as the
half-fledged officer of dragoons, annoyed and self-conscious the next,
as he kept seeing his father bowing and mincing about the rooms, or
caught sight of his sister, whom he shunned.
It was a miserable evening, he thought, and he wished he had not come.
Then he wondered whether he looked well, for he fancied that the
Adjutant had smiled at him.
A minute later he was thinking that he was thoroughly enjoying himself,
and this enjoyment he found in a glass of Mrs Pontardent's champagne.
The dancing went on; so did the flirting in the saloons and in the
garden, which was brilliant in front of the windows, deliciously dark
and love-inspiring down the shady walks, for there the strains of the
band came in a sweetly subdued murmur that the young officers declared
was intoxicating, a charge that was misapplied.
The play grew higher as the night wore on, the conversation and laughter
louder, the dancing more spirited, and the party was at its height when
Mrs Pontardent, in obedience to an oft-repeated look from Major
Rockley, walked up to him slowly, and took his arm.
"My dear Major: what a look!" she said banteringly. "You met the
handsome youth, and you shot him. After that you ought to be friends,
whereas I saw you exchange a look with poor Mr Linnell that was only
excelled by the one you gave Colonel Mellersh."
"Damn Colonel Mellersh!" said Rockley savagely.
"By all means," said the lady mockingly; "but not in my presence,
please."
"Don't talk twaddle," exclaimed Rockley, as they passed out of the
drawing-room window and across the lawn.
It so happened that Cora Dean had been dancing with a handsome young
resident of the place, and, after the dance, he had begged her to take a
stroll with him out in the grounds.
"No, no," she said, amused by the impression made upon his susceptible
nature; "that means taking cold."
"I assure you, no," he exclaimed rather thickly. "It's warm and
delightful outside. Just one walk round."
She was about to decline, when she caught Richard Linnell's eyes fixed
upon her and her companion, and, urged by a feeling of coquetry, and a
desire to try and move him to speak to her, if it were only to reproach,
she took the offered arm, and, throwing a lace scarf over her head,
allowed her partner to lead where he would, and that was naturally down
one of the darkest grass alleys of the grounds.
"Do you know, Miss Dean," he began thickly, "I never saw a girl in all
my life who--"
"Can we see the sea from the grounds here?" said Cora.
"Yes; lovely view," he said. "Down here;" and he led her farther from
the house. "There, you can see the sea from here, but who would wish to
see the sea when he could gaze into the lovely eyes of the most--"
"Is not that an arbour?" said Cora, as they stood now in one of the
darkest parts of the garden.
"Yes. Let's sit down and have a talk, and--"
"Will you lead the way?" said Cora.
"Yes; give me your hand--eh--why--what dooce! She's given me the slip.
Oh, 'pon my soul, I'll pay her for that."
He started back towards the house, passing close by Cora, who had merely
stepped behind a laurustinus, and who now went in the other direction,
along a grass path at the back of the lawn.
Her white satin slippers made not the slightest sound, and she was about
to walk straight across the lawn and out into the light, when a low,
deep murmur reached her ear, and she recognised the voice.
"Major Rockley," she said to herself. "Who is he with?"