THE GLASS OF FASHION.
Doris went back to the house scarcely knowing whether she was awake
or dreaming. Could it be possible that she had promised to be Percy
Levant’s wife? She stood for a moment outside the door of Lady
Despard’s _boudoir_, trying to realize all that had passed, and the
step she had taken so strangely, so suddenly, and when Lady Despard
called out, “Is that you, Doris?” she started like one awakening from
sleep.
“Yes, it is I,” she said. “There is your bracelet.”
“Oh, thank you, dear. I am afraid you have had a hard search! Why--what
is the matter?” she broke off to exclaim as Doris turned her face
to the light. “Why, dear, you are as white as a ghost, and your
hands”--taking them anxiously--“are burning. Doris, you have taken a
chill! You foolish child, to stay out so long, and on account of this
stupid bracelet. Why, it isn’t of the slightest consequence! Go to bed
at once, dear. Stay, I’ll come up with you. You look dreadfully ill!”
“I am not ill,” said Doris, and she sank down on the leopard skin at
Lady Despard’s feet. “I have something to tell you, Lady Despard. It
was not your bracelet that kept me so long; I--I have been talking to
Mr. Levant.”
“To Percy Levant! He was there still? What could he have to say?
Ah! You don’t mean to tell me, Doris, that he has proposed to you?”
exclaimed her ladyship, in a tone of suppressed excitement.
“Yes,” said Doris, in a low voice; “he has asked me to be his wife.”
“And--and you said ‘No,’ of course?”
“I said ‘Yes,’” replied Doris.
Her ladyship sank back, and stared at the pale, lovely face.
“You--said--‘yes’! But, good heavens, my dear Doris, have you thought?
Percy Levant! Why, child, there are half-a-dozen of the best of the men
here madly in love with you. I know--I know--that the Prince Romanis
is only waiting an opportunity to propose to you! He hinted as much to
me yesterday! And Percy Levant! Of course, I’m not surprised that he
should ask you; I’ve seen that he was over head in love with you. Of
course, we’ve all seen it, but never thought he would venture to tell
you, least of all that he should ask you to be his wife. Why--why, he
hasn’t a penny; he is as poor as a churchmouse.”
“Then he is as rich as I,” said Doris, in a low voice.
“Yes; but--but----! But, there, what is the use of talking; it’s his
face and his voice, of course. And how long have you cared for him? Are
you sure you love him?”
Doris’ face grew scarlet for a moment, then went pale again.
“He loves me very dearly and truly,” she murmured, almost inaudibly.
“Yes! That’s nothing wonderful; so do other men. But you, you--do you
love him?”
“I shall marry him,” said Doris, gently.
Lady Despard almost groaned.
“Why, child, you must have taken leave of your senses. You have
consented to marry a poor man, a man of whom one knows nothing, and you
haven’t even the excuse that you love him!”
Doris leaned her head upon her hand so that her face was hidden from
Lady Despard’s anxiously searching eyes.
“I respect him; I think him worthy----”
Lady Despard broke in impatiently:
“My dear, dear child, how can you tell? What experience have you had?”
Doris looked up with a swift spasm of pain.
“I have had some experience,” she said, in a low, troubled voice. “You
ask me if I love him. He knows that I do not, and he is content. Lady
Despard, I have had two great sorrows in my life--the loss of him who
stood as a father to me was one; the other was the discovery that the
man to whom I had given my heart----” She stopped. “Is it so easy to
love, and lose, and forget, and love again so quickly?”
Lady Despard laid her hand upon her head with tender sympathy.
“My poor Doris!” she said, gently and pityingly. “And that is why you
are so cold to them all? I might have known there was something. I am
so sorry, dear! But--but why consent to marry Percy Levant?”
Doris smiled wearily.
“I--don’t be angry with me--I don’t think I can answer in set terms.
Perhaps it is because I think I can make him happy; perhaps it is
because he is as lonely as I am, or should be but for you, dear Lady
Despard. Why should I not marry him and make his life happier and
brighter? Perhaps”--her lips quivered--“I shall learn to forget the
past now that I have buried it forever!”
Lady Despard looked at her with troubled apprehension.
“My dear----” she commenced, but Doris stopped her almost excitedly.
“If you are going to tell me that that is hopeless, that I shall never
forget, don’t go on,” she said, in a low, hurried voice. “Right or
wrong, I have given my word, and--and for the future it is of him I
shall think and not of myself. I am a woman--and shall not break my
promise,” she added, almost to herself, and with a touch of bitterness
as she thought of the man who had broken his promise to her. “Dear
Lady Despard, I have told you because I thought it right you should
know, because,” with a little wince, “I will never again conceal
anything--anything that should be told. And now you will accept it as
something fixed and irrevocable, will you not? And you will wish me
happiness?” she added, looking up at her with a smile shining through a
veil of tears.
Lady Despard stooped and put her arm round the slender neck and kissed
her.
“Wish you happiness? With all my heart, dear!” she said, warmly.
“And now you must forgive all I have said. I was a little surprised
and--yes, just a little disappointed. I was thinking of the poor
prince, you must remember. But, after all, you have chosen the
handsomest and nicest man of them all; and I’m sure all the women will
be fit to die with envy.” Doris smiled at this characteristic touch.
“And as to his being poor--why, we will see about that, my dear. They
tell me I’ve no end of influence, and it will be a very hard case if we
can’t find some nice place for him. Oh, you needn’t blush, dear; I know
he is proud, and you, too, but it’s the duty of practical folks like me
to look after such romantic young couples as you! Oh, you will see! And
now I’ve got a surprise for you: Who do you think has come?”
Doris shook her head.
“I don’t think I’m equal to the feeblest kind of conundrum to-night,”
she said.
“I dare say not. Well, Mr. Spenser Churchill--your guardian, as I call
him--is here.”
Doris started.
“He!” she said, in a low voice, as the old feeling of mingled fear and
repugnance rose within her.
“Yes! I was as surprised as you are, for he had not written, as you
know. He is out in the grounds looking for you----”
Doris rose almost hastily.
“I--I think I will go to bed,” she said. “I am very tired, and you will
excuse me.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll excuse you,” said Lady Despard, smiling. “It is only
natural that you should want to run away and hide yourself to-night.
And, am I to tell him, dear?”
Doris turned at the door.
“You may tell every one,” she said, quietly. “All the world may know
it. It is quite fixed and certain, Lady Despard.”
Doris lay awake all through that night trying to realize the fact
that she was betrothed to Percy Levant, and by the morning she had
succeeded. She would begin a new chapter of her life from this date.
The past, which was illuminated by the memory of those happy days in
Barton meadows, when she loved and thought herself beloved by Lord
Cecil Neville, must be buried forever. In the future she must set her
heart upon one task, that of learning to love the man who loved her so
truly and devotedly, and whom she had promised to marry.
She went down to breakfast a little paler than usual, but very calm and
self-possessed, looking, as Lady Despard thought, as she greeted her
with a loving kiss, like a lily, in her simple white frock.
“Well, dear!” she said, “you have come down, then! I told Mr. Churchill
that you were so tired last night that you would very likely not put in
an appearance till lunch. He’s on the terrace--oh! here he is!”
Mr. Spenser Churchill came in at the French window as she spoke, and
advanced to Doris with his sweetest and most benevolent smile.
“My dear Miss Marlowe!” he murmured. “How do you do? I am so glad to
see you, and looking the picture of health and happiness”--there were
dark marks under Doris’ eyes, which wore the look a sleepless night
always produces--“the very picture of health and happiness! And with
good reason--good reason! You see, a little bird has told me the news,”
and he wagged his head playfully.
“Am I very much like a little bird?” said Lady Despard. “I told him,
Doris, dear; you said I might.”
“Yes, dear Lady Despard has told me!” he said, spreading his napkin
over his knee and smiling upon them both. “And I hasten to express my
best and most heartfelt wishes. Lucky Percy! I must confess that I envy
him! He is such a dear fellow! I have known him since he was, oh, quite
a boy, and he was always, oh, quite too charming! But I never dreamed
he would be so fortunate as to win so great a prize as the beautiful
Miss Doris!”
Doris took her place in silence. Lady Despard laughed.
“That’s a very nice speech and hits them both,” she said.
“And it is such a strange coincidence,” he went on. “They say that good
luck always comes in showers! Do you know I am the bearer of a very
good offer for our dear Percy? I won’t give you the particulars, but
will only say that it will make him almost a rich man. Really, the dear
fellow is in favor with the gods.”
The door opened and Percy Levant walked in. He bowed to Lady Despard,
and to Spenser Churchill, then went to Doris, took her hand and raised
it to his lips, and, as a matter of course, seated himself next to her.
He held a couple of small bouquets in his hand, and, placing one beside
Lady Despard’s plate, laid the other against Doris’.
“Oh, thanks,” said Lady Despard, talking quickly to cover the little
embarrassment. “You have been flower-gathering this morning? And you
met Mr. Spenser Churchill last night? I am so glad he has come, for I
want to hear all the news--all the London news, I mean! We seem to be
quite at the other end of the world here.”
Mr. Spenser Churchill shrugged his shoulders amusedly.
“One comes here to learn the news,” he said, with a significant smile
at Doris and Percy Levant.
Doris’ face flushed, but Percy Levant’s remained grave.
“As Mr. Churchill has no gossip to relate, perhaps this will be
acceptable,” he said. “I have just got it by this post,” and he took a
society journal from his pocket and handed it to Doris to pass to Lady
Despard.
“_The Glass of Fashion!_” exclaimed her ladyship. “How nice! I
haven’t seen it for ages,” and she opened it with a little flush of
satisfaction. “I always enjoy _The Glass_; it is always so charmingly
spiteful. It ought to be called _The Cup of Poison_, for it destroys a
reputation every week.”
She began turning over the pages of this, the latest product in
society journalism, and Spenser Churchill in vain endeavored to engage
Percy Levant in conversation, then suddenly Lady Despard uttered an
exclamation.
“What is the matter, dear Lady Despard?” asked Spenser Churchill. “Has
_The Glass_ attacked one of your bosom friends?”
“Oh, no; it’s this!” replied Lady Despard. “Just listen:
“‘Rumor, which is not always untruthful, hinted some time ago at the
engagement of one of our principal beauties to the heir of the oldest
marquisate in England; and we are now authorized to formally announce
that Lady Grace Peyton is engaged to Lord Cecil Neville, the heir and
nephew of the Marquis of Stoyle. The marriage will take place as soon
as the marquis has recovered from his present attack of illness.’
“Cecil Neville and Grace Peyton are really engaged, then, and to be
married out of hand! Well--oh, look!--Doris!” she broke off, with a cry
of dismay, for Doris had fallen back in a dead faint.
Mr. Spenser Churchill, with a cry of alarm, sprang from his chair and
hastened round the table; but Percy Levant had raised her in his arms,
and, as he supported her lifeless form on his breast, stretched out one
hand to ward Spenser Churchill off.
“Stand back!” he said, hoarsely, his white face set hard and stern.
“You shall not touch her!” and, lifting her bodily, he carried her into
the hall.