THE SECOND LADY.
"Cecil! Where are you? Here?"
Hubert, who had been leaning against the wall, came out into the
moonlight. The lady stood on the top of the steps. The moon shone full
upon her. It lit up the glory of her red-gold hair. She was clad in
full evening dress. Her little opera cloak, which had slipped off her
shoulders, revealed, rather than concealed, her magnificent
proportions. Hubert, eying her critically from below, told himself
that she was certainly a "oner!"
"I am afraid I am late. I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Nothing to speak of. Just time enough to enjoy a cigar--and to dream
of you."
"Cecil! For shame! Is it damp? I have only my thin shoes on."
She held one out in evidence. Hubert liked the look of it.
"It is as dry as tinder; just the night for lovers."
"I really think it is." She came down the steps. "How glorious!"
Laying her hand upon his arm, she looked into his eyes with her big
ones. "As you say, it is just the night for lovers."
They began to stroll. She spoke--
"It seems strange, after all that has passed between us, that you and
I should be walking here together."
"It does seem strange." It certainly did.
"After all the hard things you have thought and said of me." There was
a pause. She looked down, speaking softly. "Call me by my pet name."
He slightly started. But he was not the sort of man to remain long at
a loss. As he turned to her and answered, in his voice there was a
ring of passionate intensity.
"Tell me by what name to call you!"
"Call me Angel."
"Angel! My angel of love! My angel of all good things!"
"Cecil!"
Their lips met in a kiss. As they did so, he told himself that if she
was Cecil's idea of an angel, she wasn't his. But she was certainly a
"oner." He wondered if she had been christened "Angel" Danvers. What a
weapon with which to chastise a wife!
"Cecil, let us understand each other. You are not trifling with me
again?"
"Need you ask?" This time he was fairly startled. "I am afraid that
after all which has passed between us, I need----"
"You do mean to make me your wife?"
"Make you my wife? Good heavens! What do you suppose I mean?"
"Then you do not believe I cheated?"
"Cheated!"
"Then you do not believe that man? You don't believe the lies they
said of me?"
"Never for one single instant."
His outspoken denial seemed to take her aback.
"Then, if you didn't believe it, why--but never mind! Cecil, it would
be useless to pretend to you that I have been the best of women, but I
swear that I will be a good wife to you until I die."
"My own," he murmured. To himself he said, "There seems to have been a
good deal more romance about this little affair of Cecil's than I
supposed."
Her manner changed.
"Let us talk of something else! Let us talk of you. Tell me of
yourself, my love!"
"Well," said Hubert, the ever-ready, "for the moment I am in rather an
awkward predicament."
"What is it?"
"The fact is"--he looked her straight in the face, and never turned a
hair--"my remittances seem to have all gone wrong. I am landed here
with empty pockets."
She laughed. "Let me be your banker, will you?"
"With pleasure."
"I'm quite rich, for me. I've got a heap of money in my purse, if I
can only find it." She found it, after long seeking. "How much would
you like--twenty pounds?"
"Thank you."
"Should I make it thirty?"
"If you could make it thirty."
Some bank-notes changed hands. He thrust them into his
waistcoat-pocket, telling himself that that was something on account
at any rate.
"Now, your remittances must make haste and come. Thirty pounds is
nothing to you; it is a deal to me. Now _I_ am destitute."
She held out her purse for him to see. It still contained a couple of
bank-notes and some gold.
"I suppose you couldn't manage to spare the rest?" he said.
"You greedy thing! I can scarcely believe you are the Cecil Buxton I
used to know--he would never have condescended to borrow thirty pounds
from me. Do you know, it isn't only that you are nicer, but, somehow,
even your manner and your voice seem different."
"Do you think so?" They were standing under the shadow of a tree. He
leaned back against the tree. "By the way, I have been remiss. I ought
to have inquired after your mother."
"My mother?" She started.
"I see your names are bracketed in the visitors' book together."
"Our names bracketed in the visitors book together! You are dreaming!"
"I saw them there--Mrs. and Miss Danvers."
"Mrs. and Miss Danvers! Cecil! what do you mean?"
It was his turn to stare. Her manner had all at once become quite
singular.
"What do _you_ mean? Isn't your mother with you?"
"Cecil, are you making fun of me?"
Hubert felt that, in some way, he was putting his foot in it--though
he did not quite see how.
"Nothing is further from my thoughts than to make fun of you. But when
I saw Mrs. Danvers' name in the visitors' book----"
"Whose name?"
"When I saw Mrs. and Miss Danvers there as large as life----"
The lady moved a step away from him. All at once she became, as it
were, a different woman entirely.
"I see that you are the same man after all. The same Mr. Cecil Buxton.
The same cold, calculating, sneering cynic. Only you happen to have
broken out in another place. I presume you have been having a little
amusement at my expense on a novel plan of your own. But this time, my
friend, you have gone too far. You have asked me, in so many words, to
be your wife--I dare you to deny it! You have borrowed money--I dare
you to deny that too! I am not so unprotected as you may possibly
imagine. I took the precaution to wire this morning for a friend. You
will marry me, or we shall see!"
The lady swept him a splendid curtsey, and--walked off. He was so
taken aback by the sudden change in her deportment that he made not
the slightest attempt to arrest her progress. He stared after her, in
the moonlight, open-eyed and open-mouthed.
"Well----! I've done something, though I don't know what. And I've
done it somehow, though I don't know how. Cecil ought to be grateful
to me for ridding him of her. They'd never have been happy together,
I'll stake my life on it. Hallo! Who's this? More adventures!"
There was a rustling behind him. He turned. Someone came out of the
shadow of the tree. It was a young girl. She was clad in a plain black
silk dinner dress. A shawl was thrown over her shoulders. He could see
that she had brown hair and pleasant features. She addressed to him a
question which surprised him.
"Who is that woman?" she asked.
She pointed after the rapidly retreating "Angel" with a gesture which
was almost tragic. He raised his hat.
"I beg your pardon? I don't think I have the pleasure----"
She paid no attention to his words.
"Who is that woman?" she repeated.
"Which woman?"
"That woman?"
"Really I--I think there's some mistake----"
To his amazement she burst into a passion of tears. "Cecil, don't
speak to me like that--don't! don't! don't!"
Hubert stared. The young lady dropped her hands from before her face.
She looked at him with streaming eyes.
"Who is that woman? Tell me! I've been longing for your coming,
thinking of all that I should say to you, wishing that the minutes
were but seconds--and you've been here all the time! You must have
come hours before you told me that your train was due. What is the
meaning of it all?"
"That is precisely what I should like to know."
"I came out here that I might be alone before our meeting. I heard the
sound of voices, and I thought that one of them was yours--I could not
believe it. I listened. I heard you talking to that woman. I saw her
kiss you. Oh, Cecil! Cecil! my heart is broken!"
She tottered forward, all but falling into Hubert's arms. He tried to
soothe her. _Sotto voce_ he told himself that Cecil had more romance
in his nature than he had given him credit for. His complications in
the feminine line appeared to be worthy of the farces at the Palais
Royal. In the midst of her emotion, the young lady in his arms
continued to address him.
"Why--did you--tell me--you were coming--by one train--when--all the
time--you must have meant--to come by another. I--have your letter
here----"
From the bosom of her dress she drew an envelope. Hubert made a dash
at it.
"My letter? Permit me for an instant!"
With scant ceremony he took it from her hand. He glanced at the
address--recognising Cecil's well-known writing.
"Miss--Miss Danvers! Are you--are _you_--Miss Danvers?"
The girl shrank from him. Her tears were dried. Her face grew white.
"Cecil!" she exclaimed.
"Forgive me if my question seems a curious one, but--_are_ you Miss
Danvers?"
The girl shrank away still more. Her face grew whiter. She spoke so
faintly her words were scarcely audible.
"Cecil! Give me back my letter, if you please!"
He handed her back her envelope. "Miss Danvers, I entreat you----"
But the look of scorn which was on her face brought even Hubert to a
standstill. As he hesitated, she "fixed him with her eyes." He had
seldom felt so uncomfortable as he did just then. He seemed to feel
himself growing smaller simply because of the scorn which was in her
glance.
"Good evening, _Mister_ Buxton."
She slightly inclined her head--and was gone. Hubert stared after her
dumfounded. When he did recover the faculty of speech he hardly knew
what use to make of it.
"Well--I've done it! If _she's_ Miss Danvers--_who_ is 'Angel?' Cecil
will thank me for the treat which I'm preparing for him. I knew this
fatal likeness would dog me to the grave. Why was I born a twin?"
He strolled slowly toward the building. As he entered the hall a lady
was coming along the corridor. At sight of him she quickened her pace.
She advanced to him with outstretched hands. She was a lady of perhaps
forty years of age.
"Cecil!" she cried.
But Hubert was not to be caught with salt. He had had enough, for the
present, of Cecil and--of Cecil's feminine friends. Ignoring her
outstretched hands, he slightly raised his hat.
"Pardon me, you have the advantage of me, Madame."
The lady seemed bewildered. She stared at him as if she could not
believe her eyes and ears. The door through which Hubert had just
entered from the grounds was re-opened at his back. A figure glided
past him. It was the young girl from whom he had just parted--in not
too cordial a manner. She went straight to the lady, slipping her arm
through hers.
"Mamma, Mr. Buxton has declined to acknowledge my acquaintance as he
declined to acknowledge yours. I think I can give you a sufficient
reason for his doing so, if you will come with me, dear mother."
"Hetty!" murmured the elder woman, still plainly at a loss.
"Come!" said the girl. They went, leaving Hubert to stare.
"Well--I've gone one better! That's Mrs. Danvers, I presume. So I've
contrived to insult the mother and the daughter too. Cecil will shower
blessings on my head. Who _can_ that Angel be?"
As he was about to follow the ladies along the corridor, someone
touched him on the arm. Turning, he saw that a stranger in a black
frock coat stood at his side.
"What were you saying to those ladies?" this person asked.
"What the deuce is that to do with you? And who the devil are you?"
"It has this to do with me, that I am the manager of this hotel, and
that it is sufficiently obvious that your presence is objectionable to
those ladies. Moreover, under existing circumstances, it is
objectionable to me. It is a rule of this hotel that accounts are paid
weekly. You have been here more than three weeks, and your first
week's bill is yet unpaid. You have made sundry promises, but you have
not kept them. I don't wish to have any unpleasantness with you, sir,
but I regret that I am unable to accommodate you with a bed, in this
hotel, to-night."
Hubert felt a trifle wild. He was capable of that feeling now and
then. As they were advancing in one direction, two gentlemen, a tall
and a short one, were advancing towards them in the other. They were
coming to close quarters. Hubert was conscious that the manager's
outspoken observations could not be altogether inaudible to the
approaching strangers. So he rode as high a horse as he conveniently
could.
"As for your bill, I will see it hanged first. As for your insolence,
I will report it to your employers. As for myself, I shall only be too
glad to go at once."
One of the approaching strangers--the tall one--suddenly standing
still, placed himself in front of Hubert in such a way as to bar his
progress. With the finger tips of his right hand he tapped him lightly
on the chest.
"Not just at once, dear Buxton, not just at once. Not before you have
said a few words to me."
"And to me," said the short man, who stood beside his taller
companion. Hubert looked from one to the other.
"And pray who may you be?" he inquired.
"You do not know me?" asked the big stranger.
"Nor me?" echoed the little one.
"But it does not matter. Perhaps you have a bad memory, my dear
Buxton."
The big man's manner was affable. He turned to the manager. "You must
excuse us for one moment, we have just a word to say to our friend
Buxton. Here is our little private sitting-room most convenient--just
a word."
Before Hubert had altogether realised the situation, the big man had
thrust his arm through his, and drawn him into a sitting-room which
opened off the corridor from the left. When they were in, the big man
locked the door--he not only locked the door, but in an ostentatious
manner he pocketed the key.