The dressing-gong sounded sonorously through the corridor of Crosbie
Castle. In one of the many charming rooms situated in the towering
wing a young girl was standing. The open windows overlooked a sweep
of verdant lawn, majestic groups of veteran trees, and to the left a
clump of smaller woodgrowth, touched with every tint of green. From
beneath, the scent of many a flower was borne on the air and wafted to
her, bringing with its fragrance a sense of purity and delicacy that
was utterly wanting to the faint odors that hung round the costly glass
bottles her maid was placing on the toilet table.
The mistress of the dainty apartment was leaning against the open
window deep in thought. She was tall and slight, with a face of
delicate loveliness and charm, albeit spoiled a little by a slight
expression of indifference and discontent. She had hair of the warm
brown shade peculiar to Englishwomen; her eyes were large, of a clear
but rather cold blue; her mouth was small and well shaped, disclosing
white, even teeth when her lips parted. There was an easy, graceful
nonchalance about her carriage; and, without being a strictly beautiful
figure, Vane Charteris had an indescribable air of _hauteur_ in the
slope of her shoulders and well-poised head that put to shame many a
rival better favored by nature. Her eyes were fixed at this instant
on the figure of a young man walking quickly across the lawn to the
house, followed by half a dozen dogs. He was by no means unpleasant to
look upon; and so thought his cousin, for she watched him with evident
attention and interest.
“My squire of Crosbie pleases me,” she murmured, moving languidly from
the window; “for once mamma has shown discrimination with worldly
wisdom.”
She seated herself at the glass, and let her maid unpin her luxuriant
tresses till they fell upon the folds of her pink silk wrapper in
glorious profusion. Vane Charteris had been out two years. Worshiped
from her cradle by her weak, widowed mother, she had entered society’s
world haughty, indifferent and selfish. The admiration she received
was but a continuation of the adulation that had been lavished upon
her all through her life; she had no aims, no hopes, no ambitions, but
was content with her imperious beauty and the power that gift brought.
At first Vane was a great success--her proud coldness was new, and
therefore a delightful experience; but after a while society grew weary
of her autocratic ways. The season just ended had been a lesson to her.
She saw herself deserted, and her power slip from her; and, as this
truth came home, she woke suddenly from her dreams, and realized that
something more was expected of her if she would still reign as queen.
Lady Charteris little guessed the workings of her daughter’s mind. She
had grown to consider Vane as a priceless jewel which must be carefully
watched, carefully tended and thought for. She judged the girl’s nature
to be one of the highest, combining true Charteris pride with utter
indolence. Possibly the mother had felt a touch of vexation when she
saw girls far below her child in beauty wed nobly and well; but she
loved Vane as her life, and regret was banished in the pleasure of her
presence.
This was the first visit of the beautiful Miss Charteris to Crosbie
Castle. Hitherto she had contented herself with meeting her uncle and
aunt in London: but this year the mood seized her to accept their
oft-repeated invitation and spend a few weeks in their country home.
She had heard much of her cousin Stuart, but had never seen him since
her childhood, as during the past two years he had been traveling, and
before that time she never left the seclusion of her schoolroom.
Sore with the knowledge of her social failure, dissatisfied with her
mother, herself, and everybody, Vane had sunk into a morbid, depressed
state. She left town without a sigh (though, when she contrasted this
journey with her migration of the former season, she might have given
vent to one, for instead of hearty farewells and expressions of regret,
she was neglected, save by her maid and her mother), and actually felt
a thrill of genuine pleasure as she bowled through the country lanes
and drank in the sweetness of the air. She stole many hurried glances
at her cousin during the drive--Mr. Crosbie had reached the station
in the nick of time--and found herself agreeing with the oft-repeated
praises her mother had sung concerning him. There was a manliness, a
frankness, an absence of self-consciousness and conceit about Stuart
Crosbie that pleased her jaded spirit; he was as handsome as any of her
former admirers, while possessing many other advantages they did not.
She listened quite interestedly to his chatty accounts of his travels,
and was surprised at the pleasure she derived from them.
“What will mademoiselle wear?” the maid asked, after she had coiled and
waved the luxuriant hair round the graceful head.
Vane woke from her musings.
“Oh, anything, Marie; it does not matter! No; on second thoughts, give
me that plain white silk.”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
Marie went to the inner room, and returned with a mass of soft, rich,
clinging drapery on her arm, and assisted her mistress to adjust the
robe in silence. She was wondering a little why mademoiselle should
have chosen so simple a gown--it was not her usual habit. But, when the
last touch was given, and Vane stood gazing at her reflection in the
mirror, the maid was fain to confess the choice was good. The tall,
supple form looked inexpressibly graceful in the long, soft folds, the
delicate masses of lace brought fichu-like across the bust gave a touch
of quaintness to the whole, and the purity of the silk gave a softened,
fresher look to the pretty face, for once free from its discontent.
Vane looked long at herself, then turned to her maid:
“My gloves and fan, Marie. Thanks. Do not trouble to wait for me
to-night. Leave my wrapper here; I will brush my hair myself. I dare
say you are tired.”
“_Merci bien_, mademoiselle,” Marie murmured, marveling still more. She
was unaccustomed to any notice, to say naught of kindly words, from her
young mistress.
Vane drew on her long white gloves, then went slowly through the
corridor and down the stairs. The sun was declining, the heat of the
day dying, and a faint, delicious breeze came in through the many open
windows. Miss Charteris passed through the great hall, the tap-tap of
her heels sounding distinctly on the tesselated floor, and stood for
one instant at a door that led first under a colonnade and thence to
the grounds which her windows overlooked. While she was standing here
her cousin sauntered into view, and, moving forward with languid grace,
she went to meet him.
“_La dame blanche_,” he said, tossing away an unfinished cigarette.
“You startled me, Cousin Vane--you crept out so quietly and look so
like a spirit.”
“I am quite real, I assure you,” Vane answered. “But why have you
thrown away your cigarette?”
Stuart laughed as he answered:
“It is against my mother’s rules to smoke immediately before dinner,
but I love my weed, and am scarcely conscious when I am smoking or not.
Please forgive me. I have been a savage for so long, I have forgotten
my good manners.”
“Ah, I want to hear all about your travels and adventures!” said Miss
Charteris. “Have we time to stroll up and down for a while before
dinner?”
“But you will be tired,” remonstrated Stuart, mindful of his mother’s
injunctions; “and”--glancing at the small, dainty white feet--“I am
afraid you will ruin your pretty shoes!”
“I am not afraid of either calamity,” Vane responded, with a smile;
“however, let us split the difference and go to the conservatory.”
Stuart agreed willingly. He was most favorably impressed by his new
cousin. She was no hypochondriacal creature, but a young, beautiful
girl, and likely to prove a most agreeable companion. He glanced at
her dress as they sauntered along the colonnade to the conservatory,
mentally declaring it to be most charming and simple, deciding it
to be most probably the work of her own hands, and would have been
thunderstruck had any one informed him that the innocent-looking
garment had cost nearly fifty pounds.
Vane Charteris saw her cousin’s admiration, and her heart thrilled.
Once more she would taste the joy of power, she would no longer be
neglected. A vision of future triumph filled her mind at that instant.
She would wake from her indifference. The world should see her again as
queen, reigning this time by charm and fascination as well as by her
beauty. The color mounted to her cheeks, the light flashed in her eyes
at the thought, and she turned with animation and interest to converse
with the man beside her.
“You have a splendid home, Stuart,” she observed, after they had walked
through the heavily scented conservatory to the drawing-room. “I am
glad I have come.”
“And I am heartily glad to welcome you. I have heard so much of my
Cousin Vane, such stories of triumphs and wonders, that I began to
despair of ever receiving her here.”
“You forget,” said Vane, softly, waving her great feather fan to and
fro, “there is an attraction here now that at other times was wanting.”
She spoke lightly, almost laughingly, but her words pleased the man’s
vanity.
“Can it be that I am that attraction?” he asked, quickly. Then he
added: “Cousin Vane, I am indeed honored.”
“You jump to hasty conclusions,” she retorted, “but I will pardon your
excessive vanity, if you will give me a spray of stephanotis for my
dress.”
“Is it your favorite flower?” he asked, leading the way back to the
conservatory.
“I love all flowers,” Vane answered; “that is,” she added, carelessly,
“all hothouse flowers.”
“You shall be well supplied in future.”
“Thanks.”
She drew off her gloves and pinned the spray of wax-like flowers
amid her laces. Her hands were white and delicate, yet Stuart’s mind
unconsciously flew to two little brown ones he had seen that afternoon
grasping a plainly bound book. There was even more beauty in them than
in his cousin’s, he thought.
“I shall look to you, Cousin Stuart,” Miss Charteris observed, as
she fastened her gloves again, “to initiate me into the mysteries of
country life. I intend to dabble in farming, milk the cow, toss the
hay, picnic in the fields, and get quite burned and brown.”
Stuart laughed a little constrainedly. He was thinking of his picnic
for next Wednesday, and wondering whether he could induce his cousin to
be kind to Margery. His mother, for some unaccountable reason, did not
appear to like Margery.
“We must get a native of Hurstley to act as cicerone,” he responded,
breaking off a leaf from sheer wantonness. “I have been away so long, I
have almost forgotten my home.”
“What are you going to do, now you are back?”
“Nothing--that is, nothing definite. You see, my father is very shaky,
and I must relieve him of some of his duties. My mother has a strong
wish that I should stand for Chesterham.”
“A parliamentary career?” questioned Vane. “How would you like that?”
“Not at all,” Stuart answered, frankly. “Legislation is not my _forte_.
I am, if anything, a sportsman.”
“English to the backbone! Cousin Stuart, I am disposed to like you.”
“Is that true?” Stuart asked, gravely.
Vane turned and met his gaze, then laughed softly.
“True? Of course it is; are we not cousins? The liking, however, must
not be altogether on my side.”
“Have no fear,” the young man began, but at that instant the
dinner-gong sounded, and his sentence remained unfinished.
Vane was led in by her cousin, and they were even yet more amicable
during the meal, to Mrs. Crosbie’s intense satisfaction. She made
no effort to interrupt the merry conversation of the young people,
and contented herself with now and then joining in the flow of
reminiscences in which her husband and Lady Charteris were indulging.
Squire Crosbie was a tall, thin man with a worn, almost haggard
face. Its prevailing expression was kindly but weak, and he turned
instinctively to his wife for moral support and assistance. Stuart
dearly loved his father. The gentle student disposition certainly was
not in harmony with his own nature; but he had never received aught
but tenderness and love from his father, and grew to think of him
as a feeble plant that required warmth and affection to nourish it.
His feeling for his mother was entirely different. He inherited his
strong spirit from her, the blood of an old sporting family flowed in
her veins. She was a powerful, domineering woman, and Stuart had been
taught to give her obedience rather than love. Had he been permitted
to remain always with his mother, his nature, although in the abstract
as strong as hers, might by force of habit have become weakened and
altered; but, as soon as he had attained his majority, he had expressed
a determination to travel, and in this was seconded for once most
doggedly by his father. Those two years abroad did him an infinite
amount of good; but to Mrs. Crosbie they did not bring unalloyed
delight. Her son had gone from her a child obedient to her will, he
returned a man and submissive only to his own.
Lady Charteris resembled her brother, the squire; but the intellectual
light that gleamed in his eyes was altogether wanting in hers. Her
mind was evidently fixed on her child, for even in the thick of a
conversation her gaze would wander to Vane and rest on her. She was
heartily pleased now at her daughter’s brightness, and whispered many
hopes to Mrs. Crosbie that this visit might benefit the delicate nerves
and health.
Mrs. Crosbie nodded absently to these remarks. She was occupied with
her own thoughts. Stuart must marry; and whom could he find better,
search where he might, than Vane Charteris for his wife? Beautiful,
proud, a woman who had reigned as a social queen--in every way she was
fitted to become the mistress of Crosbie Castle. She watched her son
eagerly, she saw the interest and admiration in his face, and her heart
grew glad. Of all things Mrs. Crosbie had dreaded during those two
years’ absence, the fear of an attraction or entanglement had been most
frequent, and not until she saw him so wrapped up in his cousin Vane
did she realize indeed that her fears had been groundless.