Margery was walking slowly to and fro in the square garden, buried in
her thoughts, when a firm step coming toward her made her raise her
head, and she saw Lord Court, looking almost handsome and undeniably
soldierly in the sunlight.
“I am sent after you, Miss Daw,” he said, raising his hat with a smile
that lit up his plain face. “Enid is pining for you, and thinks you
will be fatigued with so much walking.”
Margery laughed a little silvery laugh that sounded strange in her own
ears--it was long since she had been merry.
“Lady Enid does not know my capabilities,” she answered. “I am a
country girl, and walking comes naturally to me; but I am quite ready
to go to her.”
Lord Court turned and kept pace beside her.
“I can see walking is a pleasure to you,” he remarked, easily.
“I have been watching you, Miss Daw, and have been struck by the
very un-English nature of your carriage; you bear yourself like an
Andalusian. There is something peculiarly ungraceful in the ordinary
Englishwoman’s walk.”
“I think high heels have a great deal to answer for,” Margery
responded, the color just faintly tinting her cream-white cheeks. “I
have been seriously alarmed at the shoes I have seen since I came to
town; it must be almost like walking on stilts.”
“They are for show, not use,” said the earl, smiling. “What a beautiful
sky! It reminds me of the sunsets we used to see at Court Manor. My
sister, I dare say, has spoken to you of our old home, Miss Daw?”
“Lady Enid is never tired of dwelling on its beauties; she seems to
love it so much.”
“I have not seen it now for years,” the earl said--and Margery saw
a shadow cross his face; “but its memory is very dear. In point
of beauty and value it does not compare with either Drake Park or
Hohen Castle, both Court possessions; to me, however, it is far more
beautiful.” He paused, then said, abruptly, “Miss Daw, do you think it
would make Enid happier if she returned to the manor for a while?”
“Yes,” Margery answered, simply; “I am sure of it. She is so good, so
sweet, that she never complains; but I know she is pining for a glimpse
of the country, and I think she would grow stronger out of London--she
has been in town so long.”
“What a selfish brute I have been!” muttered the earl to himself.
“Poor child--poor Enid! Thank you, Miss Daw,” he added, quickly. “I
will speak to her at once, and make arrangements to start whenever she
likes. But you--you do not object to leave London?”
“I?” questioned the girl. “No, Lord Court, I have no objection; it
matters little to me where I am.”
He cast a quick, earnest glance at her.
“You are young to say that.”
Margery flushed; she had spoken unreflectingly, and she regretted the
words as soon as they were uttered.
“And wrong,” she said, with forced lightness. “I shall enjoy the
change; and anything that makes Lady Enid happy is a great pleasure to
me.”
Lord Court was silent, but he read her assumed manner rightly. He knew
Margery’s history well; still, he felt instinctively it was not her
orphan state alone that had caused such a remark.
Margery was unaware of his covert glances; she picked two or three
leaves from the trees as she passed and arranged them in a cluster with
an artistic touch.
“You are an artist, Miss Daw,” the earl observed, as they approached
the gates.
“I paint a little, but only flowers,” she returned.
“I used the brush a few years ago,” Lord Court said, “but I do nothing
now, and, with the exception of a few Egyptian sketches, I have no
drawings of my travels.”
He opened the gate as he spoke; then, suddenly meeting the full gaze of
her wondrous eyes, he said, almost involuntarily:
“I think I could paint you, if you would allow me.”
“I would sit to you most willingly,” Margery returned, smiling, “but
only on the condition that you make a picture of Lady Enid.”
“It is a bargain!” he cried, and Margery felt a thrill of pleasure at
his words.
By this promise she knew she would bring happiness to the young
sister--happiness because her beloved Nugent would be near her.
“Let us go and tell her at once,” she said, turning her lovely face,
flushed with pleasure, to him. “Ah, you will see my words were right
last night! You will be a better physician than I could ever hope to
be.”
The earl made no reply, but followed her across to the house. At the
door of Lady Enid’s room Margery paused.
“It will gladden her more coming from you,” she whispered, and she
hurried away.
Lord Court watched her disappear, then entered the room.
“Have you found her, Nugent?” asked Lady Enid, fixing her brown eyes
upon him.
“Yes,” he answered, drawing a chair to her couch and looking at her
pale face and fragile form with a dull pain at his heart. “We have been
talking together, Enid, and we have made two arrangements which we hope
will please you. The first is for us all to go down to Court Manor as
soon as ever you like. The second is for me to paint your portrait and
your friend’s--Margery Daw. Does that please you, my darling?”
Lady Enid raised her hands to her eyes--her face was hidden. She made
no reply, and her brother leaned over her and kissed her tenderly.
“My sweet Enid!” he murmured. “My poor little one. How selfish I have
been!”
Lady Enid let her hands drop.
“Selfish--you selfish, Nugent? How can you say so, when by this very
proposal you sacrifice your own wishes? No, my dear brother; I cannot
accept it.”
“But it is my wish, Enid. It will be like a glimpse of peace to see the
old place; and, back in her own nest, my darling will grow stronger,
please Heaven.”
Lady Enid’s face had grown a shade paler, her lips were trembling.
“Nugent,” she said, slowly, “I will go; but, first, will you do
something for me?”
“Anything on earth!”
“Then, dear, I wish you to visit Drake Park and Hohen before we start
for the manor. It is our duty, indeed, Nugent. Think. You have not been
near your property for so long that the tenants do not even know you.
Will you do so?”
“But I thought you would like to go straight to the manor,” the earl
said, slowly.
“I would rather wait and go with you, dear, and then we can commence
the portraits without further delay. I shall be so glad to have a
picture of my sweet Margery. Ah, here she is! What plots have you two
conspirators been hatching? Come, confess!”
“Do they not please you?” inquired Margery, kneeling for an instant
beside her.
“Please me? Nothing on earth could give me greater pleasure; but I want
Nugent to postpone the journey till his return from the country.”
The earl moved to the window, and was standing with folded arms. His
face wore a puzzled, almost distressed expression.
“My sister, Miss Daw,” he said, quietly, “is desirous I should visit my
other tenants before starting for Court Manor, and I am satisfied she
is right. I have not been down for years, but it will not take me long,
and then----”
“And then,” finished Lady Enid, with a feeble smile--“then good-by to
dreary, gloomy, dusty London, if--if Dr. Fothergill consents.”
“Enid,” Lord Court said, going to his sister’s side, “what do you mean?
Has Fothergill been frightening you? Ah, I knew there was something
that made you hesitate! Speak! tell me at once!”
“Nugent, my darling”--and Lady Enid imprisoned his strong hand in her
two frail ones--“forgive me! I have been tempted to tell you, and
then the thought of buoying you up only for bitter disappointment has
stopped me. This is it, my darling.” There was a little catch in her
breath which he did not notice in his anxiety, but which did not escape
Margery, who had risen, and was standing at a little distance, with
hands clasped tightly together. “For some time past Dr. Fothergill
has been hopeful that, by undergoing certain treatment, I shall be
cured--that is, partially cured--walk by myself, be no longer the
great baby I am now; and--and I have agreed to try it, for I do long
for health, to be as others are. Now, Nugent, you know my secret--you
have wormed it out of me. I did not mean to tell you, but I have been
compelled. So you see, darling, I cannot leave London while I am under
his care. In a little while I shall know whether the treatment is
successful or not. I have kept this even from Margery.”
Her cheeks were flushed, a light of eagerness was in her eyes. Margery
could not see for tears; she slipped her hand into the tiny hot one,
and whispered the words that Lord Court spoke; then, deeply moved, she
turned and left the room.