"If you please, sir, a lady wants to see you very particularly."
"A lady, Jacob," exclaimed Hugh Trethowen, who was in the lazy enjoyment
of a cigar and a novel in his sitting-room, at the close of a dull, wet
January day. "Who is she?"
"I don't know, sir. She wouldn't give her card."
"Young?"
"Yes, sir."
"Pretty?"
"Well, I suppose I'm not much of a judge at my time of life, Master
Hugh," protested the old servant.
"Get along with you," laughed his master. "You can yet distinguish a
pretty girl from a fossilised hag, I'll be bound. Show her in, and
let's have a look at her." Rising, he glanced at himself in the mirror,
settled his tie, and smoothed his hair; for the appearance of a lady was
an unusual phenomenon at his rooms.
When the door opened he walked towards it to welcome his visitor, but
halted halfway in amazement.
"Why, Dolly, is it you?" he exclaimed, gripping her gloved hand.
"Yes, Mr. Trethowen; I--I don't think I ought to have come here--to your
chambers," she replied, glancing round the room rather timidly; "but I
wanted to tell you something."
"Surely there's no harm in interviewing the lion in his den, is there?"
he asked, laughing. "Come, let me help you off with your cloak."
At first she hesitated, declaring that she could only remain a few
minutes, but eventually he persuaded her to allow him to remove the
fur-lined garment--an Operation in which he displayed a rather excessive
amount of care.
Then he drew up a cosy armchair to the fire, and as she seated herself
in it she commenced a desultory conversation, evidently loth to touch
upon the matter of importance that had brought her thither.
Men at Hugh Trethowen's age are impressionable. They love, hate, and
forget all in one day. For a brief period one fair daughter of Eve is
thought enchanting and divine, but in the majority of cases another,
fairer still, whose charms are increasingly bewitching, steps in and
usurps her place, and she, though tender and fair--she may go anywhere
to hide her emotion from an unsympathetic world, and heal her broken
heart.
If the truth were told, as she fixed her sweet, affectionate eyes upon
him, he was reflecting whether he really loved her in preference to
Valerie.
"Why do you desire so particularly to see me?" he asked, blowing a cloud
of smoke from his lips, and regarding her with a happy and somewhat
amused expression.
Blushing, and dropping her eyes to the floor, she began to pick at her
skirt.
"I hope you'll not be angry with me, and also that you'll keep my visit
a secret," she said at last, with a little demure droop in the corners
of her mouth, and just a suspicion of _diablerie_ in her eye. "I want
to tell you of some one with whom you are acquainted."
"Who?"
"Mademoiselle Dedieu."
He smiled, contemplating the end of his cigar.
"Ah, I have heard all about your infatuation," she continued seriously;
"but, I suppose I must not reproach you, inasmuch as I have no right to
do so," and she sighed.
"You have always been one of my dearest friends, Dolly," he remarked
warmly; "and I hope you will continue so, even though I have promised to
marry Valerie Dedieu."
"You--you have promised to be her husband?" she gasped in dismay.
"Yes. Why, surely you, too, are not going to defame her?" he exclaimed
in astonishment. "Come, tell me what you know concerning her."
"Personally, I know nothing," she answered in an earnest tone, "but as
your friend--as one who has your interests at heart, I would urge you to
heed the warning you have already received. Has not Mr. Egerton told
you that she is not a fit woman to be your wife?"
"He certainly did say something once, in a vague sort of way."
"Why then do you not take his advice?"
"You do not know us, Dolly," he replied, looking straight into her eyes.
"In matters of love we men usually follow our own course, whether it
leads us to happiness or to woe."
"That is exactly why I came here to-day," she said anxiously. "I wanted
to tell you what Mr. Egerton says of her."
"What does he say?"
"Promise not to repeat anything I tell you."
"Upon my honour, I will not," he declared.
"A few days ago we were speaking of her, and he told me of your
admiration and love. He said that if you knew the truth you would hate
her like poison--that she had brought a curse upon others, and she would
bring unhappiness and ruin upon you."
Hugh gazed thoughtfully into the fire.
"And you have come to tell me that, little one?" he remarked
reflectively.
"Yes, I want to save you," was the earnest, naive reply.
"To save me," he echoed, with a smile. "Why, any one would think I was
in danger of going by the express route across Styx."
"I mean," she faltered, a trifle embarrassed,--"I mean that Mr. Egerton
knows more of her past than you. I feel sure he does, for she came to
see him the other day, and they talked very excitedly. I was not in the
room, of course, but--"
"Valerie at the studio! Why did she go?" he inquired, astonished.
"I don't know, but I heard her say she would pay him another visit
to-day and hear his answer, so I presume he has to decide upon some
matter upon which she is pressing him."
"To-day! She may be there now!" he cried, jumping to his feet with
sudden impulse.
"Yes, most probably. She came the other day about four o'clock."
"Then I will go and demand an explanation," said he briefly, and,
opening the door, he shouted to Jacob to call a cab.
Rather unceremoniously he hurried on his fair companion's cloak, and,
getting into his own overcoat, they both descended to the street.
In a few minutes they were driving in the direction of Fitzroy Square,
leaving old Jacob standing on the kerb in astonishment at his master's
sudden flight in company with the strange lady.
The pretty model's words had caused Hugh to become thoughtful and
morose. His face wore a dark, resolute expression, and he scarcely
uttered a word during the journey.
Dolly Vivian regarded him as her friend. She had accomplished her
object and felt satisfied.
In Tottenham Court Road he stopped the cab, and she alighted, so that
they should not both arrive at Fitzroy Square together.
A few minutes afterwards he got out and rang the bell.
Walking unceremoniously past Mrs. O'Shea, the aged housekeeper, he
entered the studio unannounced.
Jack and Valerie were seated upon a low divan before the fire. He was
holding her slim hand in his, and was uttering some low, passionate
words. As the door opened their _tete-a-tete_ was abruptly terminated,
for the artist jumped to his feet, while she turned to face the
intruder.
"I--I really must apologise for coming in without knocking," Hugh
exclaimed roughly. "I didn't know you were engaged, old fellow," he
added sarcastically.
"You! Hugh!" she cried, with a blush suffusing her cheeks.
"What, Valerie!" said Trethowen, laughing dryly. "I really didn't
recognise you in the shadow. I'm sorry if I interrupted what must have
been a pleasant conversation."
"Not at all, old boy," Egerton answered airily. "Mademoiselle Valerie
merely called to have a chat."
Hugh's brow darkened.
"I think, as my affianced wife, Valerie owes me a full explanation of
this mysterious visit," he said angrily.
"There's little to explain," she replied. "I merely called to consult
Mr. Egerton, who is an old friend, with regard to a portrait I desire
painted."
He endeavoured to preserve a calm disinterested demeanour, but the
attempt was a sorry one. Prompted by feelings of jealousy, he gave vent
to his wrath.
"Your position when I entered was peculiarly affectionate," he said
hotly.
He glanced at her, and caught the agitated expression of her face as she
stood erect before him. Her eyes had a perplexed look, with just a
suspicion of tears in their brown depths.
"No affection exists between us, I assure you," she declared boldly.
"If you doubt me, ask Mr. Egerton. He and I are merely friends."