A KNOCK-DOWN BLOW.
After this Carolyn refused to talk of Lawrence or Prudence. She
immediately decided to go back to their city house and go on with the
winter precisely as usual.
Mrs. Ffolliott made two remarks, and then dropped the subject. One
of these remarks was, "I can't tell how thankful I am that we didn't
put on black, though I should have done it if you hadn't stopped us,
I must say." The other was, "If your father had been living, Caro,
things wouldn't have happened like this;" though how Carolyn's father
would have prevented these things from happening was not explained.
The girl and her mother went everywhere and received the same as
usual. After their five hundred friends had looked at Caro in great
but partially concealed curiosity as to "how she took it," they all
tried to act as if nothing had happened, and most of them conceded
that it was wise of Miss Ffolliott to go right on with her ordinary
life.
Some of them remarked, "But there is a curious look about her eyes,
isn't there? I suppose she really cared for that man."
One afternoon in January, while Carolyn was in her own room, her furs
still on, for she had just come in from a walk, a servant brought
her a card. As she read "Lord Maxwell" on the pasteboard, her face
changed. She hesitated an instant, then she said, "I will go down."
The gentleman was standing by the hearth; a thick yellow beard
covered his chin, and this change so improved his appearance that
Carolyn was surprised almost into doubting his identity.
"It's so good of you to see me," he began, "so awfully good, you
know."
She held out her hand. She was trying not to be agitated. It seemed
to her that she was very weak because at sight of this Englishman her
pulses began to flutter. She sat down on one side of the hearth; he
continued standing. He laughed slightly, and said he believed he was
getting nervous; he'd rather stand; no, on the whole he'd sit. So he
sat down also.
"I say, Miss Ffolliott," he spoke hurriedly, "I hope you'll pardon
me for calling, you know. I was going to be in town, and I hunted up
your address. Is--is your cousin, Miss Prudence, with you?"
"No."
Carolyn found it at first a simple impossibility to add more. The
very strength of her wish to give the information concerning her
cousin in a matter-of-fact way prevented her from doing so.
Lord Maxwell leaned forward with his hands on his knees. His large,
prominent eyes were fixed on the fire.
"You were anxious about Lady Maxwell when I saw you last," now said
Carolyn.
"Yes; I remember. She died; yes, she died, you know." The gentleman
sat up straight. "We did everything we could, but it wasn't any use.
I didn't feel like going back to England. Her mother went. I've
been out to the Rockies; been hunting no end,--big game, you know;
but, somehow, I didn't care much. My wife was a good woman, Miss
Ffolliott."
Carolyn made an inarticulate murmur in response.
"Yes," he went on, "I came right here. Thought I'd call and see old
friends, you know. Made sure you could tell me where Miss Prudence
Ffolliott is. Can you?"
"No." And again the girl found it almost impossible to go on. But
this time she did continue: "Prudence married Mr. Rodney Lawrence,
Lord Maxwell. They never came back that night. I wonder you had not
heard?"
The young man rose to his feet, but immediately sat down again.
His face grew red, and then pale. He opened his lips to speak, and
presently said, "Haven't seen a paper; haven't heard any news. By
Jove!"
The exclamation came harshly,--so harshly that he immediately begged
pardon.
He sat gazing intently into the fire. It was really painful to
witness his struggle towards composure. As for Carolyn, she was
wondering now at her own calmness. She was thinking, "He loves her,
too."
Then she fell to wondering what Prudence would think and feel when
she knew that now, by her own act, she had missed a brilliant
marriage, for the second time had missed a peerage. But below
everything in her mind was the keen, insistent question, "Why do they
love her so?"
Lord Maxwell evidently tried to rouse himself. He looked at the girl
opposite; something in her face made his eyes grow dim. He wanted
to speak; his thoughts groped for words that should express--what?
His mind was in a painful confusion; he hated to suffer as he was
suffering now. And this girl who was looking at him,--how kind she
was!--and, by Jove, she had just been going to marry Lawrence! He
had forgotten that at first. What a cursed muddle it all was! Had
she cared, too? But women were so strange, and proud, and--All at
once Maxwell was pouring out hurried words, having a confidence that
this girl would not scorn him, would be kind, and he must speak to
some one; a man couldn't hold his peace when such a thing as this had
happened. And he had been sure that Prudence would engage herself
to him, and they would be married as soon as it was respectable.
Hadn't she jilted Lawrence for him? Hadn't she--but what had he done
himself? And now he wondered if she had loved Lawrence all the time;
but surely she had loved him, Maxwell, when--He wanted to swear again.
"Here I've been thinking of her every minute," he burst
out,--"thinking of her when I ought to have remembered my wife. But
I didn't care; I didn't care for anything but to get a smile from
Prudence. Damn it! Oh, do forgive me, Miss Ffolliott! A man doesn't
know what he's saying. And when Lady Maxwell died, I wouldn't write;
I was bound I'd wait till I came back here, you know; I resolved on
that,--kind of penance, and that sort of thing, and--"
"It was too late, Lord Maxwell," interrupted Carolyn, coldly,
"already too late before you had joined your wife."
"Was it?" Maxwell was now walking about the room, his hands in
his pockets. "I'll wager ten to one you think I'm a fool to care
so, and so I am. But what's a fellow to do? I tell you I'm hard
hit,--devilishly hard hit,--beg pardon."
"Men seem to be fools about Prudence Ffolliott," remarked Carolyn;
"she seems to be that kind of a woman."
Though she spoke in a very quiet voice, hearing her own tones made
her shrink from herself in a contemptuous surprise. Had she fallen so
low as to allow herself to speak thus? She would have given much to
recall her sentence. She drew herself up with some haughtiness as she
added, "Please forget that I used such words. Naturally I don't like
to think of my cousin. I will say to you, Lord Maxwell, that you are
not the only one who has suffered by reason of that woman."
Carolyn succeeded in pronouncing the words "that woman" in an
entirely neutral tone. Having done so, she immediately fell to
despising herself for having said them at all. They seemed to her far
beneath her own ideal of what she ought to be. In the sudden stress
of her penitence and pain she leaned forward and made a gesture for
her companion to stop in his walk.
"Lord Maxwell," she said, tremulously, "I don't mean to bear malice,
or to judge. How am I to know the strength of temptation which besets
somebody else? I am always praying to be forgiven. The seeing that
you suffer--yes, it must be that--makes me talk to you in this way,
though I don't know you much,--though--"
Her voice trembled into silence. Her eyes, dim with tears, were
lowered. Lord Maxwell seized her hand; he held it fast in both his
own for an instant.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "you're a good woman! I wish I'd known a
woman like you years ago. I did have a sister, but she died; somehow
a fellow can't get on if he doesn't have a good sister, or know some
woman like you."
He paused and dropped her hand. Two tears fell from his eyes to his
cheeks. He took out his handkerchief and openly wiped them away.
"I'm a regular donkey, don't you know?" he said; "but you can't
tell what it is to me to see a woman like you. I knew there must
be such women somewhere; and I've had such a load of things on my
mind lately. And I've been wishing I'd tried more to make my wife
have a better time; but I couldn't get Prudence out of my mind
no way. Fact is, she bewitched me. And I counted on finding her
now, and--and--well, you see, hearing she's married was a regular
knock-down blow,--took the stiffening right out of me. So I've been
and behaved like a baby,--and I an Englishman!"
Here the speaker smiled in a doleful manner. Then he turned towards
the door. "I believe I'll go now; might as well. Good-by, Miss
Ffolliott."
He turned back again, shook hands, and then walked out of the room.
Carolyn remained in her chair by the fire. She leaned her head back
and closed her eyes. Her features gradually became as calm as if they
did not belong to a being who could be happy, and who could also
suffer.