MARK JERVIS IS UNMASKED.
At nine o’clock--Indian balls are punctual and early--many lights were
to be seen converging in all directions towards the club. The oldest
inhabitant scarcely recognized it, it was so completely metamorphosed,
and turned back to front and upside down. The general effect was
dazzling--Persian carpets, rich draperies, Chinese lanterns, Japanese
screens, great palms, abounded in the verandahs, and the ball-room was
a blaze of candles, mirrors, and pink muslin. The reception rooms were
blocked up by girls and men, busy with programmes and pencils.
Among the girls, no one was so closely besieged as Honor Gordon. She
was looking quite lovely, in a new white ball-dress, with a diamond
star among her dark locks (Uncle Pelham’s birthday gift). As for Mrs.
Brande, in a black gown, no one had ever seen her attired to such
advantage. She was both handsome and dignified in her velvet and
diamonds, so different to her usual parti-coloured “reach-me-down”
costumes. Honor had composed the costume, and it did her credit.
Dancing commenced with all the go and briskness of a hill ball. There
were no lazy, lounging men in doorways, and but few wallflowers;
moreover, there were a good many new faces, and not a few pretty new
frocks. It was going to be a brilliant success.
“I have come to Shirani for six seasons,” said Mrs. Brande to Mark
(they were sitting out a dance), “and I ought to know the club well.
But I give you my word I don’t know which room I am in!” (A higher
compliment was impossible.) “I have never seen anything like this!
Where did you get such grand ideas? and such extravagant notions, eh?
for I may say that _you_ have managed this ball.”
Mark laughed rather constrainedly, and made no reply.
“So I hear your cousin is engaged to Miss Potter?” continued the lady.
“So I am told--but not by himself. I rather expected him here to-night.”
“Money to money, of course,” pursued the matron, discontentedly; “and
poverty marries poverty. There is Honor--she is so afraid of what
people may think, that she is barely civil to any one who has a penny
beyond his pay. She is downright stand-off with Sir Gloster and Captain
Waring. She will marry a pauper, of course, if she ever marries, and be
poor and proud till she goes down to her grave!”
Mark’s eyes followed Mrs. Brande’s fond glance, and rested on a radiant
vision with laughing eyes, who was endeavouring to arrange a dispute
between two partners. She did not give one the impression of being
either poor or proud, at present.
Yes, the dance was going off splendidly. The new-comers had all been
provided with partners; the refreshments were perfect; there was
not too much salt in the ices, or sugar in the cup. The setting-out
arrangements were greatly appreciated, and the excellent band was sober
to a man.
One of the strangers had been waltzing with Honor Gordon; he was a
brisk young fellow, who was going to be something some day, and was
seeing the world as a preliminary step. He kept his eyes open, and
carried a note-book, and had run up to Shirani in order to visit his
brother, and gather statistics and local colour. As they came to a
halt, he panted out rather breathlessly--
“So you have got that fellow Jervis here?” nodding to where he was
standing, exactly opposite. “Jervis, the millionaire, as of course you
know?”
“Oh no; it is his cousin, Captain Waring, who goes by that name.”
“He certainly was giving that impression at Simla, and was about to be
engaged to an heiress on the strength of it; but I put a stop to his
game,” said the little man, complacently.
“_You_ did! And may I ask why?” regarding him with great astonishment.
“Why? Why should I not expose an impostor?”
“I think we must be at cross purposes, and speaking of different
people,” said the young lady, rather stiffly.
“I think not; but we can go into that later. Do not let us lose this
capital waltz.”
When they had taken two more turns round the room, they came to a halt,
and he suddenly recommenced--
“Waring has not a penny to bless himself with. Nothing but debts. He
left the Rutlands a ruined man, ruined by his own folly.”
“And Mr. Jervis?”
“Is the rich young man,” he rejoined impressively.
His companion’s incredulity was so plainly depicted on her countenance,
that he added--
“Yes, I am not joking. That good-looking young fellow over there, near
the door, who is talking to the girl in pink. I came out with him on
board ship last October. He and Waring were going to do a tour--Waring
was a sort of companion, and genteel courier. I must say that the young
fellow was shamefully mobbed by a lot of snobs, who believed him to
be a second Count de Monte Christo. He is really the adopted son of a
rich City man, called Pollitt--Pollitt’s barley, you know,” with an
explanatory nod--“and he will probably have an immense fortune. He
is naturally fond of a quiet life, and seemed to loathe all display
or ostentation. Some of the women drove him to sit all day in the
smoking-room. They accompanied him fore and aft, and even down to the
engine-room. For, you see, he is a good-looking, gentlemanly boy; none
of the poultry grain about him, eh?”
Honor felt as if she was in a dream; her head was reeling. All her
ideas about the position of the two cousins were thus suddenly
reversed. The news was indeed a revelation, and extremely difficult to
realize.
“I suppose you are _quite_ in earnest,” she faltered at last. “But do
you know, that Captain Waring and Mr. Jervis were here together for
weeks, and neither of them ever gave us a hint of your version of the
story. It was Captain Waring who made plans, entertained, and lavished
money--”
“Yes, he was always a first-class hand at that! He spent Jervis’s
money, I do assure you. Jervis lay low for the sake of a quiet life; he
has no expensive tastes. But it was all a plant!”
“Then, if what you tell me is correct, I think _I_ should call it a
shameful hoax,” said the young lady, inwardly writhing under the sting
of many memories. “It was abominably deceitful of Mr. Jervis.”
“Did he ever tell you or any one that he was a pauper?”
“No!” she admitted reluctantly. “I cannot say that he did; but he acted
the part, which was all the same.”
“Ah, my dear Miss Gordon, surely you have often heard that appearances
are deceitful. Positively you seem quite annoyed to find that Jervis is
a very rich man.”
“I am,” she rejoined with indescribable dignity.
“Your state of mind is deliciously unique! How would it have been, had
he pretended to be rich, and turned out to be a beggar?” And he eyed
her with irritating steadiness.
“He has taken us all in; it was too bad of him! And if he _is_ so
wealthy, what can have detained him at Shirani? He has been here more
than two months, and seems to be a fixture. He came in April, and has
never left the station for a day. Every one thought it was because he
could not afford to move about. What does it mean?” and she in her turn
surveyed him with searching eyes.
“Ah!” with a laugh, “that riddle is quite beyond me; but I think, if
you were to apply to some _young lady_ in Shirani, she might answer the
question. Let me suggest his present partner, the girl in pink?”
END OF VOL. II.
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