"Because you are always so taken up with Beryl."
"With Beryl!" I echoed, starting quickly. "I really did not know
that--" I hastened to protest.
"Ah, no," she laughed, "To excuse yourself is useless. The truth is
quite patent to me if not to the others."
"The truth of what?" I inquired, with affected ignorance.
"The truth that you love her."
I laughed aloud, scouting the idea. I did not intend to show my hand,
for I was never certain of her tactics.
"My dear Doctor," she said presently, "you may deny it, if you like, but
I have my eyes open, and I know that in your heart you love her."
"Then you know my feelings better than myself," I responded, inwardly
angry that I should have acted in such a manner as to cause her to
notice my infatuation.
"One's actions often betray one's heart. Yours have done," she replied.
"But I would warn you that love with Beryl is a dangerous game."
"Dangerous! I don't understand you."
"I mean that you must not love her. It is impossible."
"Why impossible?"
"For one simple and very good reason," she responded. Then, looking
straight in my face, she added, "Could you, Doctor, keep a secret if I
told you one?"
"I think I could. It would not be the first one I've kept."
"Well, it is for the sake of your own happiness that I tell you this,"
she said. "You will promise never to breathe a word to her if I tell
you."
"I promise, of course."
She hesitated, with her dark eyes fixed upon mine. Then she said, in a
low voice--
"Beryl is already married."
"To whom?" I asked, so calmly that I think I surprised her.
"To whom I cannot tell you."
"Why not? Surely it is no secret."
"Yes, it is a secret. That is why I dare not tell you her husband's
name."
"Is she actually the wife of young Chetwode?"
"Certainly not."
"But she is engaged to him," I observed.
"She is believed to be," my hostess announced, "but such is not really
the case."
"And her husband? Where is he?"
It was strange that I should be asking such a question about my own
whereabouts.
"In London, I think."
"Then he is quite content that his wife should pose as the affianced
bride of young Chetwode? Such an arrangement is certainly rather
strange."
"I know nothing of the whys and wherefores," she replied. "I only know
that she is already married, and I warn you not to lose your heart to
her."
"Well, what you have told me is curious, but I think--"
The remainder of the sentence died upon my lips, for at that moment
Beryl burst gaily into the hall, dusty and flushed after cycling,
exclaiming--
"We've had such an awfully jolly ride. But the others came along so
slowly that Connie and I scorched home all the way from Monkton. How
stifling it is to-night!" And she drew the pins from her hat, and,
sinking into a chair, began fanning herself, while, at the same moment,
her companion, Connie Knowles, a rather smart girl who was one of the
party, also entered.
Hence our conversation was interrupted--a fact which for several reasons
I much regretted. Yet from her words, it seemed plain that she did not
know that I was actually her cousin's husband. She knew Beryl's secret,
that she was married, but to whom she was unaware.
There is an old saying among the _contadinelli_ of the Tuscan mountains,
"Le donne dicono semure i vero; ma non lo dicono tutto intero." Alas,
that it is so true!
That same evening when, after dressing, I descended for dinner, I found
Beryl in the study, scribbling a note which, having finished, she gave
to the servant.
"Is he waiting?" she inquired.
"Yes, miss."
"Then give it to him--with this;" and she handed the girl a shilling.
When, however, she noticed me standing in the doorway she seemed just a
trifle confused. In this message I scented something suspicious; but,
affecting to take no notice, walked at her side down the corridor into
the hall to await the others. She wore a toilette that night which bore
the cut of a first-class _couturier_. It was a handsome heliotrope gown
with a collar of seed pearls. After dining we danced together, and, in
so doing, I glanced down at her white, heaving chest, for her corsage
was a trifle lower than others she had hitherto worn. I found that for
which my eyes were searching--a tiny dark mark low down, and only just
visible above the lace edging of the gown--the tattoo mark which I had
discovered on that fateful day, the mark of the three hearts entwined.
What, I wondered, did that indelible device denote?
That it had some significance was certain. I had been waltzing with her
for perhaps five minutes, when suddenly I withdrew my hand from her
waist, and halting, reeled and almost fell.
"Why, Doctor," she cried, "what's the matter? How pale you are?"
"Nothing," I gasped, endeavouring to reassure her. "A little faintness,
that is all. I'll go out into the night." And, unnoticed by the
others, I staggered out upon the broad, gravelled terrace which ran the
whole length of the house.
She had walked beside me in alarm, and, when we were alone, suggested
that she should obtain assistance.
"No," I said; "I shall be better in a moment."
"How do you feel?" she inquired, greatly concerned.
"As though I had suddenly become frozen," I answered. "It is the same
sensation as when I entered that room at Gloucester Square."
"Impossible!" she cried in alarm.
"Yes," I said; "it is unaccountable--quite unaccountable."
The circumstance was absolutely beyond credence. I stood there, for a
few minutes, leaning upon her arm, which she offered me, and slowly the
curious sensation died away, until a quarter of an hour afterwards I
found myself quite as vigorous as I had been before. Neither of us,
however, danced again, but lighting a cigar, I spent some time strolling
with her up and down the terrace, enjoying the calm, warm, starlit
night.
We discussed my mysterious seizure a good deal, but could arrive at no
conclusion.
After some hesitation I broached the subject which was very near my
heart.
"I have heard nothing of late of Chetwode," I said. "Where is he?"
"I don't know," she responded. "His regiment has left Hounslow for
York, you know."
"And he is in York?"
"I suppose so."
"Suppose! And yet you are to be his wife!" I exclaimed.
"Who told you that?" she asked quickly, halting and looking straight at
me.
"Every one discusses it," I answered. "They say he is to be your
husband very shortly. What would he say, I wonder, if he knew that you
and I frivol so much together?"
"What right has he to say anything regarding my actions? I am quite
free."
"Then he is not your lover?" I inquired in deep earnestness. "Tell me
the truth."
"Of course not. We have danced together and walked together, just as
you and I have done; but as for love--why, the thing is absurd."
"You do not love him?" I asked.
"Certainly not," she laughed. Then she added, "I never love. That is
why I am not like other women."
"Every woman denies the tender passion," I said, smiling.
"Well, I only tell you the truth," she responded, with a slight sigh.
"If every woman must love at one time in her life, there must of course
be some exceptions. I am one of them."
"Ah, you do yourself an injustice?" I declared. "Every woman has a
heart."