"I did not consider. There are difficulties. Perhaps she would not
receive me, and through her mother I will not act. Besides, if I was
asked why I had come forward, it would not be easy to explain, as it
would hardly do to mention Una. And I haven't got any clothes, so I
can't go anywhere to meet her."
Lucian stated these various difficulties, with exactly the same tone of
voice for all.
"Will you write?" said Sylvester.
"I don't think that that's quite the right thing. If I--insulted her,
face to face--face to face I must ask her pardon. No, you know them. I
suppose you can go and call, and ask her when I may come."
"I suppose I could," said poor Sylvester, with a pang. "Yes--I will."
"Thank you. But understand that it is my object to make known that I
put myself at her disposal. It is not a case for concealing a refusal.
Every one must know that I make the offer."
Sylvester gave a nervous laugh. Lucian's sense of his own importance to
Amethyst seemed ludicrously out of proportion to the reality. He
thought of Sir Richard Grattan, and Prince Pontresina, and Lord
Broadstairs, and of the various other men, who would have felt flattered
by having it supposed that they had approached near enough to the beauty
to propose to her.
"She has many offers," he said, rather dryly; "I think you must be
prepared for such a possibility."
"Yes," said Lucian. "But it won't be worse than it has been. And if--"
He did not finish the sentence, but over the beautiful face which some
people called statuesque, and others wooden, came, for once, a flush and
a change, and Sylvester thought that Sir Richard might suffer in
comparison.
"What's this Grattan like?" said Lucian, presently turning away.
"Oh--he's a commonplace beast," said the finespun Sylvester, "an `oiled
and curled Assyrian bull' sort of fellow. Sir Gorgius Midas--No, that's
a libel. I don't know that he's a bad sort. He's all straight, and not
bad-looking, and I shouldn't call him a cad exactly. He has as many
millions as a man can want and two big estates, and a good moral
character, and goes to church; and he's safe to be made a peer some day,
and--it's blasphemy to couple him with--_her_!"
Lucian was not an observant person, and, while he was sadly considering,
that though he was himself a moral character and a church-goer, and not
bad-looking, he would never be made a peer, and had hardly as many
thousands as Amethyst might want, he did not notice that Sylvester
stopped short, then hurried on.
"That old scoundrel Broadstairs being out of the question, the Roman
prince would be more in keeping. He _is_ a gentleman."
"But I suppose he's a foreigner, and a Roman Catholic. And a foreign
prince doesn't go for much," said Lucian anxiously.
"Depends on the breed," said Sylvester. "But Grattan is the man."
"I would rather not talk about her any more," said Lucian, and, strange
to say, he did not talk about her, but went with Sylvester to make a
provisional arrangement with the owner of the _Albatross_, and then
talked about his travels, and his sick friend, to whom he seemed to have
become much attached. Then they went back to the hotel and had dinner,
and came up to London by the night train, as Lucian had proposed.
Sylvester was tired with the two journeys, and with the strain on his
mind, and went to bed for some hours. When he appeared again, Lucian,
who had been to visit his tailor, and otherwise render himself fit for
fashionable life, was sitting in the window reading "Iris."
"I've telegraphed to Ashfield. Some of my things are there," he said,
"and I've got what I could. I should like to know if Iris was a real
young woman. Because, if not, I don't see why he made such a fuss about
her."
"Don't you see," said Sylvester, rather mistily, "she is the symbol of
all that he felt to be the best--what he desired most. Perhaps at one
time he desired a living Iris, but--but perhaps he had to content
himself with knowing of her perfection."
"And did he?" said Lucian.
"I suppose every Amelot must answer that question for himself," said
Sylvester.
"He never did, if there was a chance of getting the girl herself," said
Lucian. "Syl, when are you going to the Haredales'?"
"Well, I must ask after Una, in common politeness, and I'll get in if I
can. It's twelve o'clock. I can go now. What will you do?"
"Wait." He paused a moment, then said, rather piteously, "I don't know
why it should seem so hard, when yesterday I never thought I should see
her again."
"Poor old boy, did you think about her yesterday, before I came?"
"I always thought about her, except when I was thinking of something
else," said Lucian. "But now there's nothing else to think of."
"Well, I won't leave you long in suspense, if I can help it," said Syl,
taking his hat, and going off. He was himself intensely eager to see
Amethyst; must she not know, now, the confession that he had made to
Una? She would know at what cost he brought Lucian's message. Why it
should seem harder to give her back to his friend, than to see her marry
a man whom he detested, he could not tell, except that every day, every
hour, increased his restless misery. He would be loyal to Lucian, and
then he felt that he did not know what would become of him. There was
never much difficulty in getting into Lady Haredale's house, and he was
at once admitted, and told that some of the ladies were at home.
As he came into the drawing-room he saw that, with better fortune than
he could credit, Amethyst was there alone. She was sitting in a low
chair with her hat on, and a parcel or two on the table near, as if she
had just come in from doing some little errands. There was something
dejected in her attitude, and, when she heard Sylvester's name, she
blushed intensely, while he was very pale.
"My sister has been doing too much, she is overtired, and will have to
rest now," she said, in answer to his stammering inquiry for Una.
"Miss Haredale," said Sylvester, standing up before her, "I dare say
your sister has told you of her kindness the other night. I do not dare
even to apologise for the mistake which I made. My eyes were deceived,
but my mind--never! It was of course my first duty to undeceive my
friend, whom I so cruelly injured. By a strange chance, Lucian came
back from America two days ago. He is in London, and he begs to be
allowed to ask your pardon in person. It was not his fault."
There was a dead silence. Amethyst's deep blush slowly faded. Either
she could not speak or did not know what to say. Then, after what
seemed minutes, she spoke.
"That is all a very old story, Mr Riddell. As you may have seen, we do
not wish to look back on it in a tragical manner. If Mr Leigh _wishes_
to call here, I am sure my mother will be quite willing to receive him.
Why not? As you say, he made a mistake. It was a natural one."
She spoke with a kind of hauteur, mingling with the smiling coolness of
Lady Haredale's manner. Sylvester's heart sank within him. Then she
did not care what either of them thought of her.
"You would be at home--when?" he stammered.
"Let me see. This afternoon we go to a _matinee_. We expect a few
friends to-night, we shall be at home after dinner. Will you come
then--and Mr Leigh, if he wishes."
Sylvester murmured thanks and acceptance, and having gained his point
went away miserable.
When he got back, he did his best to make Lucian as unhappy as himself;
so that it was perhaps as well that the latter went off by the next
train to Cleverley to fetch the dress-clothes, which he had left behind
him there.