"I have been abroad long enough," said Lord Earle, in reply to some
remark made by Lady Helena. "The girls do not care for the
sea--Beatrice dislikes it even; so I think we can not do better than to
return to Earlescourt. It may not be quite fashionable, but it will be
very pleasant."
"Yes," said Lady Earle; "there is no place I love so well as home. We
owe our neighbors something, too. I am almost ashamed when I remember
how noted Earlescourt once was for its gay and pleasant hospitality.
We must introduce the girls to our neighbors. I can foresee quite a
cheerful winter."
"Let us get over the summer and autumn," said Ronald with a smile,
"then we will look the winter bravely in the face. I suppose, mother,
you can guess who has managed to procure an invitation to Earlescourt!"
"Lord Airlie?" asked Lady Helena.
"Yes," was the laughing reply. "It did me good, mother--it made me
feel young and happy again to see and hear him. His handsome, frank
face clouded when I told him we were going; then he sighed said London
would be like a desert--declared he could not go to Lynnton, the place
was full of work-people. He did not like Scotland, and was as homeless
as a wealthy young peer with several estates could well be. I allowed
him to bewilder himself with confused excuses and blunders, and then
asked him to join us at Earlescourt. He almost 'jumped for joy,' as
the children say. He will follow us in a week or ten days. Lionel will
come with us."
"I am very pleased," said Lady Earle. "Next to you, Ronald, I love
Lionel Dacre; his frank, proud, fearless disposition has a great charm
for me. He is certainly like Beatrice. How he detests everything
false, just as she does!"
"Yes," said Ronald, gravely; "I am proud of my children. There is no
taint of untruth or deceit there, mother; they are worthy of their
race. I consider Beatrice the noblest girl I have ever known; and I
love my sweet Lily just as well."
"You would not like to part with them now?" said Lady Earle.
"I would sooner part with my life!" he replied. "I am not given to
strong expressions, mother, but even you could never guess how my life
is bound up in theirs."
"Then let me say one word, Ronald," said his mother; "remember Dora
loves them as dearly and as deeply as you do. Just think for a moment
what it has cost her to give them up to you! She must see them soon,
with your full consent and permission. They can go to her if you will."
"You are right, mother," he said, after a few minutes. "They are
Dora's children, and she ought to see them; but they must not return to
that farm house--I can not bear the thought of it. Surely they can meet
on neutral ground--at your house, say, or in London; and let it be at
Christmas."
"It had better be in London," said Lady Helena. "I will write to Dora,
and tell her. The very anticipation of it will make her happy until
the time arrives--she loves the children so dearly."
And again a softened thought of Dora came to her husband. Of course
she loved them. The little villa at Florence rose before him; he saw
vividly, as though he had left it but yesterday, the pretty vine-shaded
room where Dora used to sit nursing the little ones. He remembered her
sweet patience, her never-failing, gentle love. Had he done right to
wound that sad heart afresh by taking those children from her? Was it
a just and fitting reward for the watchful love and care of those
lonely years?
He would fain have pardoned her, but he could not; and he said to
himself again: "In the hour of death! I will forgive her then."
* * * * *
The glowing August, so hot and dusty in London, was like a dream of
beauty at Earlescourt. The tall trees gave grateful shelter, baffling
the sun's warm rays; the golden corn stood in the broad fields ready
for the sickle; the hedge-rows were filled with flowers. The beech
trees in the park were in full perfection. Fruit hung ripe and heavy in
the orchards. It was no longer the blossoming promise of spring, but
the perfect glory of summer.
For many long years Earlescourt had not been so gay. The whole
country-side rang with fashionable intelligence. The house was filled
with visitors, Lord Airlie heading the list. Lionel Dacre, thinking
but little of the time when the grand old place would be his own, was
full of life and spirits.
Long arrears of hospitalities and festivities had to be repaid to the
neighborhood. Beatrice and Lillian had to make their debut there.
Lady Helena decided upon commencing the programme with a grand dinner
party, to be followed by a ball in the evening. Ronald said something
about the weather being warm for dancing.
"We danced in London, papa," said Beatrice, "when the heat was so great
that I should not have felt any surprise if the whole roomful of people
had dissolved. Here we have space--large, cool rooms, fresh air, a
conservatory as large as a London house; it will be child's play in
comparison with what we have gone through."
"Miss Earle is quite right," said Lord Airlie. "A ball during the
season in London is a toil; here it would be nothing but a pleasure."
"Then a ball let it be," said Lord Earle. "Lillian, make out a list of
invitations, and head it with Sir Harry and Lady Laurence of Holtham
Hall. That reminds me, their eldest son, Gaspar, came home yesterday
from Germany; do not forget to include him."
"Little Gaspar," cried Lady Helena--"has he returned? I should like to
see him."
"Little Gaspar," said Lord Earle, laughing, "is six feet high now,
mother. You forget how time flies; he is taller than Lionel, and a
fine, handsome young fellow he is. He will be quite an acquisition."
Lord Earle was too much engrossed to remark the uneasiness his few
words had caused. Lord Airlie winced at the idea of a rival a handsome
man, and sentimental, too, as all those people educated in Germany are!
"I can not understand what possesses English people to send their sons
abroad for education," he said to Beatrice--"and to Germany of all
places in the world."
"Why should they not?" she asked.
"The people are so absurdly sentimental," he replied. "Whenever I see
a man with long hair and dreamy eyes, I know he is a German."
"You are unjust," said Beatrice, as she left him to join Lillian.
"You are jealous," said Lionel, who had overheard the conversation.
"Look out for a rival in the lists, my lord."
"I wish this tiresome ball were over," sighed Lord Airlie. "I shall
have no chance of speaking while it is on the tapis."
But he soon forgot his chagrin. The formidable Gaspar appeared that
very morning, and, although Lord Airlie could perceive that he was at
once smitten with Beatrice's charms, he also saw that she paid no heed
whatever to the new-comer; indeed, after a few words of courteous
greeting, she returned to the point under discussion--what flowers
would look best in the ball room.
"If we have flowers at all," she said, imperiously, "let them be a
gorgeous mass of bloom--something worth looking at; not a few pale
blossoms standing here and there like 'white sentinels'; let us have
flowers full of life and fragrance. Lillian, you know what I mean; you
remember Lady Manton's flowers--tier after tier of magnificent color."
"You like to do everything en reine, Beatrice," said Lady Helena, with
a well-pleased smile.
"If you have not flowers sufficient, Miss Earle," said Lord Airlie, "I
will send to Lynnton. My gardener considers himself a past master of
his art."
"My dear Lord Airlie," said Lady Earle, "we have flowers in profusion.
You have not been through the conservatories. It would while away the
morning pleasantly for you all. Beatrice, select what flowers you
will, and have them arranged as you like."
"See," said the triumphant beauty, "what a grand thing a strong will
is! Imagine papa's saying he thought thirty or forty plants in full
flower would be sufficient! We will surprise him. If the gardener
loses his reason, as Lady Earle seems to think probable, he must be
taken care of."
Lord Airlie loved Beatrice best in such moods; imperious and piquant,
melting suddenly into little gleams of tenderness, then taking refuge
in icy coldness and sunny laughter. Beautiful, dazzling, capricious,
changing almost every minute, yet charming as she changed, he would not
have bartered one of her proudest smiles or least words for anything on
earth.
He never forgot that morning spent among the flowers. It was a glimpse
of elysium to him. The way in which Beatrice contrived to do as she
liked amused him; her face looked fairer than ever among the blooming
flowers.
"There is the bell for lunch," she said at last. "We have been here
nearly three hours."
"Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel. "I am
sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants. He told me
confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the heat of the ball
room."
"I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied. "I
like dancing among the bright flowers. Why should we not have
everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?"
"Why not?" said Lionel, gravely. "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not
always young and beautiful and happy? Why must flowers die, beauty
fade, love grow old? Ask a philosopher--do not ask me. I know the
answer, but let some one else give it to you."
"Philosophy does not interest me at present," she said. "I like
flowers, music, and dancing better. I hope I shall never tire of them;
sometimes--but that is only when I am serious or tired--I feel that I
shall never live to grow old. I can not imagine my eyes dim or my hair
gray. I can not imagine my heart beating slowly. I can not realize a
day when the warmth and beauty of life will have changed into cold and
dullness."
Even as she spoke a gentle arm stole round her, a fair, spirituelle
face, eyes full of clear, saintly light looked into hers, and a soft
voice whispered to her of something not earthly, not of flowers and
music, not of life and gayety, something far beyond these, and the
proud eyes for a moment grew dim with tears.
"Lily," she said, "I am not so good as you, but I will endeavor to be.
Let me enjoy myself first, just for a short time; I will be good, dear."
Her mood changed then, and Lord Airlie thought her more entrancing than
ever.
"That is the kind of wife I want," thought Lionel Dacre to himself,
looking at Lillian--"some one to guide me, to teach me. Ah, if women
only understood their mission! That girl looked as I can imagine only
guardian angels look--I wish she would be mine."
Lord Airlie left the conservatory, with its thousand flowers, more in
love than ever.
He would wait, he said to himself, until the ball was over; then he
would ask Beatrice Earle to be his wife. If she refused him, he would
go far away where no one knew him; if she accepted him, he would be her
devoted slave. She should be a queen, and he would be her knight.
Ah! What thanks would he return to Heaven if so great a blessing
should be his.