As time passed on all constraint between Lord Earle and his daughters
wore away; Ronald even wondered himself at the force of his own love
for them. He had made many improvements since his return. He did
wonders upon the estate; model cottages seemed to rise by magic in
place of the wretched tenements inhabited by poor tenants; schools,
almshouses, churches, all testified to his zeal for improvement.
People began to speak with warm admiration of the Earlescourt estate
and of their master.
Nor did he neglect social duties; old friends were invited to
Earlescourt; neighbors were hospitably entertained. His name was
mentioned with respect and esteem; the tide of popularity turned in his
favor. As the spring drew near, Lord Earle became anxious for his
daughters to make their debut in the great world. They could have no
better chaperone than his own mother. Lady Helena was speaking to him
one morning of their proposed journey, when Lord Earle suddenly
interrupted her.
"Mother," he said, "where are all your jewels? I never see you wearing
any."
"I put them all away," said Lady Earle, "when your father died. I shall
never wear them again. The Earle jewels are always worn by the wife of
the reigning lord, not by the widow of his predecessor. Those jewels
are not mine."
"Shall we look them over?" asked Ronald. "Some of them might be reset
for Beatrice and Lillian."
Lady Helena rang for her maid, and the heavy cases of jewelry were
brought down. Beatrice was in raptures with them, and her sister
smiled at her admiration.
The jewels might have sufficed for a king's ransom; the diamonds were
of the first water; the rubies flashed crimson; delicate pearls gleamed
palely upon their velvet beds; there were emeralds of priceless value.
One of the most beautiful and costly jewels was an entire suite of
opals intermixed with small diamonds.
"These," said Lord Earle, raising the precious stones in his hands,
"are of immense value. Some of the finest opals ever seen are in this
necklace; they were taken from the crown of an Indian price and
bequeathed to one of our ancestors. So much is said about the unlucky
stone--the pierre du malheur, as the French call the opal--that I did
not care so much for them."
"Give me the opals, papa," said Beatrice, laughing; "I have no
superstitious fears about them. Bright and beautiful jewels always
seemed to me one of the necessaries of life. I prefer diamonds, but
these opals are magnificent."
She held out her hands, and for the first time Lord Earle saw the opal
ring upon her finger. He caught the pretty white hand in his own.
"That is a beautiful ring," he said. "These opals are splendid. Who
gave it to you, Beatrice?"
The question came upon her suddenly like a deadly shock; she had
forgotten all about the ring, and wore it only from habit.
For a moment her heart seemed to stand still and her senses to desert
her. Then with a self-possession worthy of a better cause, Beatrice
looked up into her father's face with a smile.
"It was given to me at the Elms," she said, so simply that the same
thought crossed the minds of her three listeners--that it had been
given by Dora and her daughter did not like to say so.
Lord Earle looked on in proud delight while his beautiful daughters
chose the jewels they liked best. The difference in taste struck and
amused him. Beatrice chose diamonds, fiery rubies, purple amethysts;
Lillian cared for nothing but the pretty pale pearls and bright
emeralds.
"Some of those settings are very old-fashioned," said Lord Earle. "We
will have new designs from Hunt and Boskell. They must be reset before
you go to London."
The first thing Beatrice did was to take off the opal ring and lock it
away. She trembled still from the shock of her father's question. The
fatal secret vexed her. How foolish she had been to risk so much for a
few stolen hours of happiness--for praise and flattery--she could not
say for love.
* * * * *
The time so anxiously looked for came at last. Lord Earle took
possession of his town mansion, and his daughters prepared for their
debut. It was in every respect a successful one. People were in
raptures with the beautiful sisters, both so charming yet so unlike.
Beatrice, brilliant and glowing, her magnificent face haunted those who
saw it like a beautiful dream--Lillian, fair and graceful, as unlike
her sister as a lily to a rose.
They soon became the fashion. No ball or soiree, no dance or concert
was considered complete without them. Artists sketched them together as
"Lily and Rose," "Night and Morning," "Sunlight and Moonlight." Poets
indited sonnets to them; friends and admirers thronged around them. As
Beatrice said, with a deep-drawn sigh of perfect contentment, "This is
life"--and she reveled in it.
That same year the Earl of Airlie attained his majority, and became the
center of all fashionable interest. Whether he would marry and whom he
would be likely to marry were two questions that interested every
mother and daughter in Belgravia. There had not been such an eligible
parti for many years. The savings of a long minority alone amounted to
a splendid fortune.
The young earl had vast estates in Scotland. Lynnton Hall and Craig
Castle, two of the finest seats in England, were his. His mansion in
Belgravia was the envy of all who saw it.
Young, almost fabulously wealthy, singularly generous and amiable, the
young Earl of Airlie was the center of at least half a hundred of
matrimonial plots; but he was not easily managed. Mammas with blooming
daughters found him a difficult subject. He laughed, talked, danced,
walked, and rode, as society wished him to do; but no one had touched
his heart, or even his fancy. Lord Airlie was heart-whole, and there
seemed no prospect of his ever being anything else. Lady Constance
Tachbrook, the prettiest, daintiest coquette in London, brought all her
artillery of fascination into play, but without success. The beautiful
brunette, Flora Cranbourne, had laid a wager that, in the course of two
waltzes, she would extract three compliments from him, but she failed
in the attempt. Lord Airlie was pronounced incorrigible.
The fact was that his lordship had been sensibly brought up. He
intended to marry when he could find some one to love him for himself,
and not for his fortune. This ideal of all that was beautiful, noble,
and true in woman the earl was always searching for, but as yet had not
found.
On all sides he had heard of the beauty of Lord Earle's daughters, but
it did not interest him. He had been hearing of, seeing, and feeling
disappointed in beautiful women for some years. Many people made the
point of meeting the "new beauties," but he gave himself no particular
trouble. They were like every one else, he supposed.
One morning, having nothing else to do, Lord Airlie went to a fete
given in the beautiful grounds of Lady Downham. He went early,
intending to remain only a short time. He found but a few guests had
arrived. After paying the proper amount of homage to Lady Downham, the
young earl wandered off into the grounds.
It was all very pretty and pleasant, but he had seen the same before,
and was rather tired of it. The day was more Italian than English,
bright and sunny, the sky blue, the air clear and filled with
fragrance, the birds singing as they do sing under bright, warm skies.
Flags were flying from numerous tents, bands of music were stationed in
different parts of the grounds, the fountains played merrily in the
sunlit air. Lord Airlie walked mechanically on, bowing in reply to the
salutations he received.
A pretty little bower, a perfect thicket of roses, caught his
attention. From it one could see all over the lake, with its gay
pleasure boats. Lord Airlie sat down, believing himself to be quite
alone; but before he had removed a large bough that interfered with the
full perfection of the view he heard voices on the other side of the
thick, sheltering rose bower.
He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure,
the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet
as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and
brightly.
"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice
was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake."
"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be in the
very center of gayety."
"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to last me
for life. Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful. You think so, but do
not admit it honestly as I do."
There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice resumed:
"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth calling
life--every moment is a golden one. If there is a drawback, it
consists in not being able to speak one's mind."
"What do you mean?" asked Lillian.
"Do you not understand?" was the reply. "Lady Helena is always talking
to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' Poor, dear
grandmamma! Her perfect idea of good manners seems to me to be a
simple absence--in society, at least--of all emotion and all feeling.
I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari system."
"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister.
"Yes," was the careless reply. "Only imagine, Lillian, yesterday, when
Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite young friend of hers the
tears came to my eyes. I could not help it, although the drawing room
was full. Lady Helena told me I should repress all outward emotion.
Soon after, when Lord Dolchester told me a ridiculous story about Lady
Everton, I laughed--heartily, I must confess, though not loudly--and
she looked at me. I shall never accomplish 'elegant repose.'"
"You would not be half so charming if you did," replied her sister.
"Then it is so tempting to say at times what one really thinks! I can
not resist it. When Lady Everton tells me, with that tiresome simper
of hers, that she really wonders at herself, I long to tell her other
people do the same thing. I should enjoy, for once, the luxury of
telling Mrs. St. John that people flatter her, and then laugh at her
affectation. It is a luxury to speak the truth at all times, is it
not, Lily? I detest everything false, even a false word; therefore I
fear Lady Helena will never quite approve of my manner."
"You are so frank and fearless! At the Elms, do you remember how every
one seemed to feel that you would say just the right thing at the right
time?" asked Lillian.
"Do not mention that place," replied Beatrice; "this life is so
different. I like it so much, Lily--all the brightness and gayety. I
feel good and contented now. I was always restless and longing for
life; now I have all I wish for."
There was a pause then, and Lord Airlie longed to see who the speakers
were--who the girl was that spoke such frank, bright words--that loved
truth, and hated all things false--what kind of face accompanied that
voice. Suddenly the young earl remembered that he was listening, and
he started in horror from his seat. He pushed aside the clustering
roses. At first he saw nothing but the golden blossoms of a drooping
laburnum; then, a little further on, he saw a fair head bending over
some fragrant flowers; then a face so beautiful, so perfect, that
something like a cry of surprise came from Lord Airlie's lips.
He had seen many beauties, but nothing like this queenly young girl.
Her dark, bright eyes were full of fire and light; the long lashes
swept her cheek, the proud, beautiful lips, so haughty in repose, so
sweet when smiling, were perfect in shape. From the noble brow a waving
mass of dark hair rippled over a white neck and shapely shoulders. It
was a face to think and dream of, peerless in its vivid, exquisite
coloring and charmingly molded features. He hardly noticed the
fair-haired girl.
"Who can she be?" thought Lord Airlie. "I believed that I had seen
every beautiful woman in London."
Satisfied with having seen what kind of face accompanied the voice, the
young earl left the pretty rose thicket. His friends must have thought
him slightly deranged. He went about asking every one, "Who is here
today?" Among others, he saluted Lord Dolchester with that question.
"I can scarcely tell you," replied his lordship. "I am somewhat in a
puzzle. If you want to know who is the queen of the fete, I can tell
you. It is Lord Earle's daughter, Miss Beatrice Earle. She is over
there, see with Lady Downham."
Looking in the direction indicated, Lord Airlee saw the face that
haunted him.
"Yes," said Lord Dolchester, with a gay laugh; "and if I were young and
unfettered, she would not be Miss Earle much longer."