A VERY AWKWARD PREDICAMENT
Had Mrs. Roberts' interests not led her in another direction, she must
have felt no small gratification at the effect which her speech
produced. It was a great _coup_ for any hostess, and of tremendous
force, because absolutely unexpected.
A number of guests had been invited for this particular evening to swell
the party, making a dinner of sixteen, and it was delightful to witness
the manner in which they took the announcement. The men received it in
silence, while the women broke instantly into a confused, joyous cackled
exclamation, surprise and curiosity.
The Dowager was the person who probably derived the most satisfaction
from the scene, for her work was over and she could survey it calmly;
but Stanley, though the table and the guests whirled before his eyes,
caught some lightning glimpses of various expressions, which he was
destined never to forget.
He saw the Marchioness' satisfied smile, which said as plainly as words
could: "There, what did I tell you? You see how successfully I have
brought about this affair." He caught the glance of sympathy which his
hostess shot at Miss Fitzgerald, and he caught the glance of vindictive
rage which that young lady bestowed upon him, though he did not see the
smile which followed it.
It needed no one to tell Miss Fitzgerald that she held the whip now, or
to teach her how to use it. Her lover should smart for this.
One other glimpse the Secretary caught in that moment--a disgusted shrug
of the shoulders from Kent-Lauriston, and this latter hurt him the most
keenly of all. He wondered how all these people could be so stupid as
not to see the ghastly mistake they were making, the awful position in
which they were placing them both; and then he understood that Lady
Isabelle's pallor and his own flushed face might as easily be traced to
natural embarrassment as to utter confusion. What a shocking
complication--but if it was so bad for him, what must it be for her?
Thank Heavens, he was not to blame for it--he had only done what she had
asked him. What would people say when they learned the truth? What would
Inez think--what--Good Heavens! Why were all the men rising from their
seats? He must rise too--to drink his health. He felt fairly dazed from
agitation. They drained their glasses, he drank with them. The champagne
served to steady him; he was himself once more, ready to do battle for
his honour and hers. What was that they were saying--some idiot at the
far end of the table was crying "Speech--Speech!" Stanley made a mental
note that, despite laws against duelling, he'd run him through before
breakfast to-morrow morning, or know the reason why. Now all the others
were taking it up, every one was crying: "Speech! Speech! Speech!" Good
Heavens, what could he say! Would it not be better to stand up and tell
the truth of this miserable matter? One look at the bent head of Lady
Isabelle, and her nervous fingers clutching the tablecloth, determined
his course of action--he could not expose her to the criticism of this
table of scandal-mongers. She sat there, almost fainting, hanging on his
every word; chivalry, honour, manliness, left but one course open--he
must sacrifice himself to save her. The future would decide itself--his
duty lay clear before him. He saw that he must speak--and that he must
by his words deceive the company, and yet not compromise either her or
himself. He raised his hand to command attention; the rest sat down--it
gave him thirty seconds for reflection, an infinitesimal amount of time
in which to take action, but ample space in which to take thought: then
he spoke:--
"My friends:--
"You have just done us the honour to drink a toast to our united
happiness. I thank you for your kind intention. Those who are already
married have, by drinking this toast, very gracefully assured me of my
own future happiness, and those who are single have given me the
opportunity to express a hearty wish that it may some day be my
privilege to drink a similar toast to them."
Had Mr. Stanley never given other evidence of his fitness for a
diplomatic career, this speech alone would have conclusively furnished
it. He resumed his seat, and the look of gratitude which his companion
gave him was sufficient reward.
How that dinner passed off the Secretary never knew. It was a horrible
nightmare, and it seemed interminable; but it did come to an end at
last, and he repaired to the smoking-room where even a worse purgatory
awaited him. Kent-Lauriston distinctly avoided him, the rest evidently
regarded him as their lawful prey. His over-taxed nerves were beginning
to give way. He laughed hysterically, threw his cigar into the
fireplace, and, begging to be excused, left the room. A burst of
laughter followed him. He knew what it meant--every action of his must
henceforth be misinterpreted.
His appearance in the drawing-room was the signal for a preparatory
giggle, and then an, only too apparent, ignoring of his presence,
accompanied by meaning glances towards the conservatory. He took the
hint, and went in that direction, to find Lady Isabelle weeping her eyes
out on a divan.
"There's no use crying over spilt milk," he said to her, cheerfully;
"but you must admit it's a deuce of a mess."
"How can I ever sufficiently thank you, Mr. Stanley?" she exclaimed,
looking up at him in undisguised admiration. "You were splendid."
"Oh, not at all--but I'll admit your mother's announcement rather
staggered me."
"I tried to prepare you."
"I'm afraid you didn't succeed," he replied coldly, for he felt that he
had been ill-used.
"I assure you," she said, "if I'd had the remotest idea of what mamma
intended doing, I would have faced all possibilities and told her the
truth, rather than have exposed you to what has occurred. I can never,
never forgive myself for it."
"It was really more my fault than yours. I gave your mother permission
to announce our engagement whenever you gave your consent."
"I never gave it!" she cried.
"Of course," he continued, "I never supposed that your mother would so
far forget herself as to force you."
"You mustn't be too hard on mamma."
"Under the circumstances you could hardly expect me to be lenient; I
think we'd better agree to change the subject."
She bowed silently.
"There's one thing, however, that you can do to help me," he continued.
Lady Isabelle shivered as she saw the approach of the dreaded request,
and asked:
"What is that?"
"You can go to Miss Fitzgerald and tell her the truth. No statement of
mine, unsupported by you, would have any credence in her ears after what
has passed. You're the only person whose word can right me in her
estimation."
"Mr. Stanley," she replied slowly, and with evident exertion, "I cannot
tell you the pain, the chagrin, which it gives me to refuse your
request."
"You won't do it!" he cried, utterly amazed.
"I can't do it."
"But do you realise the position in which you place me with Miss
Fitzgerald?" he protested, unwilling to believe his ears.
"Perfectly--only too keenly," she replied. "The knowledge that I've
wronged you in her estimation is the bitterest part of the whole matter.
I feel it much more than my own position in the affair."
"And knowing this you can still refuse to interfere in my behalf, when a
word from you would set all right."
"I deeply regret it, Mr. Stanley, but I must."
He stood looking at her for a moment in the deepest scorn. Had he
sacrificed himself for a woman like this?
"Don't think too hardly of me," she pleaded; "believe me, I have
reasons."
"I've only this to say, Lady Isabelle," he replied coldly. "Until you
absolve me from the unfortunate position in which your foolishness and
weakness have placed me, my good name, my honour, and my future
prospects are in your hands. Your conscience should tell you how far you
have the right to trifle with them," and turning on his heel he left the
conservatory.
After the departure of the Secretary, Lady Isabelle lost no time in
seeking out Miss Fitzgerald, who had retired to her chamber.
To pursue a woman who believes that you have cruelly wronged her was a
bold undertaking, but if she could not assure the Secretary that she
would right him in his lady's eyes, her duty, under the circumstances,
was all the more imperative to do so without delay; so summoning all her
courage to her aid, she ascended to Miss Fitzgerald's chamber, and
knocked timidly; so timidly, indeed, that at first she was not heard,
and was compelled to knock again.
"Come in," called Belle.
Her Ladyship partially opened the door.
"It's I," she said.
"Lady Isabelle!" exclaimed Miss Fitzgerald, in unfeigned surprise,
rising to receive her visitor. "You're the last person I expected to
see!"
"I must beg your pardon for intruding upon your privacy, but I felt I
must come to you the first moment that I was able."
"Really?"
"I owe you an explanation, Miss Fitzgerald."
Belle looked at her proudly and coldly, with the air of an insulted
queen. It was not often she had the chance to triumph over a lady of
title, and she enjoyed it thoroughly.
"You owe me more than an explanation," she said, and indicating a chair
for her guest, they both sat down.
"Of course, you're aware that Mr. Stanley cannot be engaged to me," Lady
Isabelle began, after some hesitation, in which Belle gave her no help,
for she knew this interview was her real punishment.
"I should hardly have supposed so," replied Miss Fitzgerald, and lapsed
into silence.
"I"--Lady Isabelle began, covered with confusion--"I--the fact is--I
asked him to propose to me."
"You asked him to propose to you?"
"I don't wonder you are surprised; but the facts of the case are these.
My mother asked Mr. Stanley his intentions last evening. Being engaged
to you, he naturally had none."
"Mr. Stanley is not engaged to me."
"I beg your pardon, I thought----"
"He has proposed to me, I admit; but I must say his conduct doesn't
prejudice me in his favour."
"But you mustn't allow this to injure him, Miss Fitzgerald. Really you
must not."
"A man who could accept a lady who had so far forgotten herself as to
propose to him----"
"Pray let me state my case before judging me," pleaded her Ladyship,
ready to sink through the floor with mortification.
"Proceed, Lady Isabelle," said her tormentor.
"Mr. Stanley told me of his interview with my mother, who, I knew, was
very anxious to make a match between us. This morning I discovered that
she intended to go to early service. You know what that would have
involved."
Miss Fitzgerald nodded.
"I tried every means to deter her, but in vain. Then, as a last
resort--I admit it was very wrong to do so--I asked Mr. Stanley to
intercept my mother on her way to the church, and make her a proposal
for my hand, as I knew this was the only way to detain her, telling him
that I was about to be married, and that I would tell her the truth
to-day."
Miss Fitzgerald drew a sharp breath.
"Then he knows that you're a married woman?"
"He knew that I was to be, before the ceremony."
The Irish girl gave a contented little sigh, and murmured to
herself--"So he did know after all."
Then waking up to the immediate present, she continued, with exaggerated
courtesy:--
"Your Ladyship has not, I think, finished your story. You promised Mr.
Stanley that you would tell your mother the truth--but you have not done
so."
"No, I have not, and for the following reasons. My husband, as you know,
received a telegram apprising him of the fact that a relative, who was
dying, intended leaving him a large fortune, and required his immediate
presence. He forbade me to speak till he came back, and insisted that I
must hold out the prospect of my engagement with Mr. Stanley as a bait
to keep my mother here till he could return to me. She, however, pressed
me for an answer, and on my refusing to commit myself either way, took
matters into her own hands, as we have seen. I assure you entirely
without the knowledge of Mr. Stanley or myself."
"I see. You feel it necessary to continue this bogus engagement, for the
present."
"I'm between two fires, Miss Fitzgerald: obedience to my husband's
commands, and the reparation I owe to you."
"What does Jimsy say?"
"Mr. Stanley has, of course, behaved like a gentleman, and left the
matter for me to decide. I'm in a most dreadful position, either way I
must wrong some one."
"I'll spare your conscience, Lady Isabelle. I shan't require you to
break your engagement with the Secretary."
"But you'll forgive him, will you not? It was not his fault, really."
"You seem to forget that I've not accepted him as yet."
"But you'll not let this prejudice your ultimate decision. Promise me
that?"
"Yes, I'll promise--for I don't think there's anything proved against
him in this matter, except that he's weak, and I did not need you to
tell me that."
"He's a very large heart, Miss Fitzgerald."
"He has," assented that lady. "Of which I've had ample evidence in the
last few days."
"You've been so gracious to me in this matter," continued Lady Isabelle,
"that unsuitable as the occasion is, I'm going to venture to ask you a
favour.
"And what is that, your Ladyship?"
"Mr. Stanley doesn't know that you're aware of my marriage, and for some
reason which I don't understand, my husband forbade me to tell him of
the fact unless I had your permission; so he fancies that he's put
himself in a worse position than is really the case. Do allow me to
tell him the truth. Poor fellow, he's so unhappy."
"No," replied Miss Fitzgerald, a gleam of triumph lighting up her face,
as she realised the power which Kingsland had placed in her hands. "Your
husband is quite right; there are excellent reasons why he should not be
told; besides he deserves to be miserable, he's treated me very badly."
"In that case," said Lady Isabelle, stiffly, rising to go, "I've nothing
more to say."
"Quite right, Lady Isabelle, and may I give you a parting word of
caution? When your husband, Lieutenant Kingsland, advises a course of
action, follow it blindly."
"Really, Miss Fitzgerald!" exclaimed her Ladyship, bridling up at the
Irish girl's remark.
"Good-night, Lady Isabelle," murmured Belle in her silkiest tones,
opening the door, and laughing softly to herself, as her visitor rustled
away in the distance. Then she leaned over the staircase and listened.
No sound met her ears, but her eyes beheld the disconsolate figure of
the Secretary, standing alone in the hall below. She tripped noiselessly
down, and, arriving within a few paces of him unnoticed, drew herself
up haughtily, and said, in her most chilling tones:--
"Will you kindly permit me to pass, Mr. Stanley?"
"Belle--Miss Fitzgerald," he cried. "I must have a few words with you--
I must explain."
"It's not necessary, Mr. Stanley. I've already heard a detailed account
of the affair from Lady Isabelle's mother."
On the verity of the statement we will not attempt to pass judgment;
suffice it to say, that it simply staggered the young diplomat.
"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "I--it's not true, believe me, it's not
true."
"Do I understand you to insinuate that the Marchioness has
prevaricated?"
"No, no, of course not; but it's all a mistake. I can explain--really."
"Mr. Stanley, answer me one question. Did you or did you not give the
Marchioness to understand, in your interview with her this morning, that
you wished to marry her daughter?"
"Why, yes--I suppose I did--but, then, you see----"
"That is quite sufficient. Good-night."
"If you'd only let me explain!"
"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," she repeated icily, and swept past him into
the drawing-room.