ANGELA'S CONFESSION
The Duke was in his study awaiting our arrival. I saw him rise and bow
stiffly to my stepmother. Then I closed the door and left them alone.
I wandered through the house, a little at a loss to know what to do with
myself. It was too soon to go to Ray, and the work on which I was
engaged was all in the study. Just as I passed the drawing-room door,
however, it opened suddenly, and Lady Angela came out, talking to a
white-haired old gentleman, who carried a stick on which he leaned
heavily. He looked at me rather curiously, and then began to hobble
down the hall at a great pace. But Lady Angela laid her hand upon his
arm.
"Why, Sir Michael," she exclaimed, "this won't do at all. You can't
look him in the face and run. Mr. Ducaine, this is Sir Michael
Trogoldy."
He swung round and held out his hand. His eyes searched my face
eagerly.
"Nephew," he said, "I wanted to meet you, and I didn't want to meet you.
God bless my soul! you've got Muriel's eyes and mouth. Come and dine
with me one night next week-any night: let me know. Good-bye, good-bye,
Lady Angela. God bless you. Here, James, give me your arm down the
steps, and whistle for my fellow to draw up. There he is, in the middle
of the road, the blockhead."
Lady Angela and I exchanged glances. I think that we should both have
laughed but for the tears which we had seen in his eyes.
"Poor old man," she murmured. "He is very nervous and very sensitive.
I know that he dreaded seeing you, and yet he came this afternoon for no
other purpose. Will you come into the drawing-room for a moment?"
There was a certain stiffness in her manner, which was new to me. She
remained standing, and her soft dark eyes were full of grave inquiry.
"Mr. Ducaine," she said, "I passed you just now driving in a hansom
with a person--of whom I disapprove. May I know--is it any secret why
you were with her?"
"It is no secret at all, Lady Angela," I answered. "I was sent to fetch
her by your father."
"By my father?" she repeated incredulously. "Do you mean that she is in
this house?"
"Certainly," I answered. "Your father is anxious, I believe, about Lord
Blenavon. It occurred to me that he perhaps hoped to get news of him
from Mrs. Smith-Lessing. At any rate he sent me for her."
She seemed to me to be trembling a little. Her eyes sought mine almost
pathetically. She was afraid of something. In the half-lights she
appeared to me then so frail and girlish that a great wave of tenderness
swept in upon me. I longed to take her into my arms--even to hold her
hands and try to comfort her. Surely to do these things was the
privilege of the man who loved her. And I loved her--loved her so that
the pain and joy of it were woven together like live things in my heart,
fighting always against the grim silence which lay like a seal upon my
lips. But there were moments when I was sorely tried, and this was one
of them. My eyes fell from hers. I dared not look her in the face.
"Is this--all?" she asked falteringly.
"It is all that I know," I answered.
Then we were silent. With a little sigh she sank down in the corner of
a high-backed easy chair. It seemed to me that she was thinner, that
something of the delicate childishness of her appearance had passed away
since her coming to London. I knew that she was in trouble, and I dared
not ask her the cause of it.
"I wish that we were going back to Braster to-morrow," she said
suddenly. "Everything and everybody is different here. You seem to
spend most of your time trying to avoid me, and--Colonel Ray, I do not
know what is the matter with him, but he has become like a walking
tragedy."
"I have not tried to avoid you," I said. "I--"
Then I stopped short. Her eyes were fixed upon mine and the lie stuck
in my throat. I went on desperately.
"I think," I said, "that if you fancy Colonel Ray is different you
should ask him about it."
She shook her head dejectedly.
"I cannot," she said. "Sometimes I am frightened of Colonel Ray. It is
like that just now."
"But you should try and get over it," I said gently. "He has strange
moods, but you should always remember that he is the man whom you are
going to marry. There ought to be every confidence between you, and I
know--yes, I know that he is very fond of you."
She leaned a little forward. Her hair was a little dishevelled, her
face was almost haggard. Her under lip was quivering like a child's.
"I am afraid of him," she sobbed out suddenly. "I am afraid of him, and
I have promised to marry him. Can't somebody--help me?"
Her head fell suddenly forward and was buried in her hands. Her whole
frame shook with convulsive weeping, and then suddenly a little white
hand shot out towards me. She did not look up, but the hand was there,
timid, yet inviting. I dropped on my knee by her side, and I held it in
mine.
"Dear Lady Angela," I murmured. "You must not give way like this, you
must not! Ray is not used to women, and you are very young. But he
loves you, I know that he loves you."
"I don't--want him to love me," she sobbed. "Oh, I know that I am
foolish and wicked and childish, but I am afraid of him."
I kept silence, for my own battle was a hard one. The little hand was
holding fast to mine. She lay curled up in the corner of the chair, her
face hidden, her slim delicate figure shaking every now and then with
sobs. All the while I longed passionately to take her into my arms and
comfort her.
"Don't!" I begged. "Oh, don't. Ray has told me his story. He has made
me his confidant. He has told me how unhappy he has been, and how he
loves you. Oh, Lady Angela, what is there I can say? What can I do?"
I was losing my head a little, I think, for her fingers were gripping
mine convulsively, warm and tender little fingers which seemed to be
drawing me all the while closer to her.
"I am so miserable," she murmured.
Then suddenly her other arm was around my neck, her wet tear-stained
face was pressed to mine. I scarcely knew how it happened, but I knew
that she was in my arms, and my lips were pressed to hers. A sudden,
beautiful wave of colour flooded her cheeks; she smiled gladly up at me.
She gave a delicious little sigh of satisfaction and then buried her
face on my shoulder. Almost at the same moment Ray entered the room.
She did not at once raise her head, although she pushed me gently away
from her at the sound of the opening door. But I, who was standing
facing that direction, saw him from the first, a dark stern figure,
standing as though rooted to the ground, with the doorhandle still in
his hand. For the second time in one day he seemed to have intervened
at the precise psychological moment. He did not speak to me, nor I to
him. Lady Angela, as though wondering at the silence, turned her head
at last, and a little gasping cry broke from her lips.
"Mostyn," she exclaimed. "Is that you?"
For answer he turned towards the wall and flooded the room with electric
light. Then he looked at us both intently and mercilessly; only this
time I saw that much of his wonderful self-control was wanting. He did
not answer Lady Angela. He did not glance towards her.
"You cur!" he cried. "Twice in a day am I to be brought face to face
with your cursed treachery? Twice in a day! Lady Angela, may I beg
that you will leave us?"
She stood up and faced him, slim and white-faced, yet with her head
thrown back and her voice steady.
"Mostyn," she said, "this is my fault. I do not ask for your
forgiveness. I have behaved shamefully, but I was miserable, and I
forgot. Mr. Ducaine is blameless. It was my fault."
"You will pardon the keenness of my observation," he answered, "but the
attitude in which I was unfortunate enough to find you tells its own
story. You will oblige me, Lady Angela, by leaving us alone."
I would have spoken, but she held out her hand.
"I think you forget, Colonel Ray," she said, "that this is my house. I
am not disposed to leave you and Mr. Ducaine here together in your
present mood."
He laughed harshly.
"Are you afraid for your lover?" he asked. "I promise you that I will
hold his person sacred."
"Lady Angela," I begged. "Please leave us. I--"
Then came an interruption so unexpected and yet so natural that the
whole scene seemed at once to dissolve into bathos. The door was thrown
open, and a footman ushered in callers.
"Lady Chelsford and the Marchioness of Cardenne, your ladyship," he
announced. "Mrs. and the Misses Colquhoun. Sir George Treherne!"
It was a transformation. The room, with its dull note of tragedy, was
suddenly filled with faint perfumes, shaken from the rustling draperies
of half a dozen women, a little chorus of light voices started the babel
of small-talk, Lady Angela had taken her place behind the large round
tea-table and was talking nonsense with the tall young guardsman who had
drawn his chair up to her side, and I, with a plate of sandwiches in my
hand, nearly ran into Ray, who was carrying a cup of tea. For a quarter
of an hour or so we played our parts in the comedy. Then a servant
entered the room and whispered in my ear.
"His Grace would be glad to see you in the library, sir."
I rose at once. Angela's eyes were fixed upon mine questioningly. As I
passed the table I spoke to her, and purposely raised my voice so that
Ray should hear.
"Your father has sent for me, Lady Angela. He is terribly industrious
to-day."
She smiled back to me quietly. I lingered in the hall for a minute,
and Ray joined me there. He did not speak a word, but he motioned me
fiercely to precede him to the library. Directly we entered it was
clear that something unusual had happened. The great safe door stood
open. Lord Chelsford and the Duke were both awaiting our coming.