A STARTLING RECOGNITION
Meanwhile the day for Lady Peasewell’s drawing-room dawned.
Isabel Coolidge spared no pains or expense to make herself captivating
for the occasion, and she succeeded admirably.
Her father’s unexpected return, and his anger at her own and her
mother’s treatment of Miss Douglas, had threatened to upset all her
plans, however.
He demanded that the jewels be brought to him, and another exciting
scene ensued over them.
It must be confessed that he was somewhat confounded himself when he
beheld them, and a feeling of doubt entered his mind regarding Brownie’s
honesty; but he would not confess it to his family, and censured them in
no light terms for the dishonorable way in which they had become
possessed of the rare stones.
It all ended in angry tears on the mother’s and daughter’s part, and in
his taking charge of those unfortunate trinkets which had caused so much
trouble, and locking them securely in his safe.
Isabel dawdled away the morning in a state of fretful unhappiness, and
declared to herself, over and over again, that her appearance would be
ruined without the governess’s jewels.
After dinner, however, her father complained of a raging headache; two
hours later he was in a high fever, and all thoughts of his attending
the evening’s festivities were relinquished.
From that moment Isabel’s spirits rose, the clouds vanished from her
brow, and she was even heard humming a gay opera air.
“Wilbur can act as our escort, mamma; so we shall be all right,” she
said, when her mother complained of the circumstance as spoiling all
their pleasure.
“I have no heart for it, and would not go myself, were it not on your
account,” she replied, wearily.
Her husband’s displeasure, and the fate of the missing governess, still
weighed heavily on her conscience.
A few hours later she and Wilbur were waiting in the drawing-room for
Isabel to make her appearance.
“Does my amiable sister contemplate a brilliant conquest to-night, that
she is so long making her toilet?” sneered the young man, who had been
pressed into the service, and was impatient of the delay.
“Do speak a little more kindly of Isabel, my son,” said Mrs. Coolidge,
adding, with a heavy sigh: “In all probability she will marry some day,
and it is desirable that she should make a good match.”
“Certainly; only there may be a difference of opinion as to what a ‘good
match’ is,” he returned, sarcastically.
“I consider any one who occupies a good position in the world, and who
has plenty of money, an eligible _parti_.”
“Regardless of either heart, brain, or principles,” interrupted Wilbur
cynically.
“Why will you be so disagreeable, Wilbur? Of course, I expect your
sister will exercise good judgment in the matter, and I have no fear of
her letting herself down, or losing her head by any silly nonsense,”
retorted Mrs. Coolidge, pointedly.
Wilbur understood her insinuation perfectly, but would not notice it
enough to reply, and just then the rustle of rich, trailing garments was
heard upon the stairs.
A moment later the door opened, and Isabel entered.
There was an instant’s silence as both mother and son turned to
contemplate her.
“Isabel!” exclaimed the former, in tones of gratified pride.
“Whew!” whistled her brother, under his breath.
There was cause, truly, for these ejaculations of pleasure and surprise,
for the young girl certainly had the appearance of a queen, and, for the
first time in her life, she was handsome.
Her tall figure was clad in a rich white silk, with raised figures of
golden maize wrought upon it. It fitted her elegantly, and swept out
behind her in a graceful train. It was very simply made, being trimmed
only by a fall of elegant lace from the low-cut corsage and sleeves. Its
very richness was enough in itself.
Her hair was arranged _a la coronet_, around which glistened Brownie’s
lovely tiara of pearls, opals, and diamonds; while upon her neck she
wore the wonderful diamond necklace, from which was suspended the cross
which matched the tiara. Upon her white arms she wore her own bracelets,
which, although not so rich as the necklace, yet went with it very well.
She was absolutely perfect and dazzling, from the crown of her haughty
head to the sole of her elegantly embroidered satin slipper.
“Will I do, mamma?” she asked, enjoying their silent admiration, and
sweeping Mrs. Coolidge a profound courtesy.
“Where did you find those ornaments?” her mother asked, nervously, and
unheeding her question, while Wilbur scowled his disapprobation
savagely.
“Why, you know papa is sick, and it was a very easy matter to get his
keys, unlock his private desk, and get them,” she said, and laughed
lightly, although secretly she was anxious lest there should be another
scene.
“He would be very angry, Isabel, if he knew it,” returned her mother,
trying to speak severely, yet, in her heart, gloating over her
daughter’s magnificent appearance.
“I cannot help it, mamma. I had set my heart upon wearing them; they set
off my dress superbly; and I was bound I would not be disappointed. He
need never know it, for I can return them just as soon as we get home
again, and no one will be harmed,” she replied, wilfully.
“Your sense of honor is extremely delicate, surely, Isabel,” said
Wilbur, mockingly.
“No one asked your opinion, and you can just hold your tongue. I shall
go to Lady Peasewell’s just as I am, and he may help it who can!” she
retorted, rudely, and they knew it would be useless to say anything more
to her.
“Isabel, you do look magnificent!” whispered Mrs. Coolidge, when they
had arrived at Lady Peasewell’s, and were in the dressing-room putting
the last touches to their toilet.
“Don’t I? I tell you this was worth a little finesse,” she replied,
surveying herself admiringly in the double swinging mirrors; and her
mother, in her heart, was glad that she had succeeded in getting the
jewels, although she feared the consequences should the fact be
discovered.
“Who is that queenly girl?” asked a fine-looking young man of another.
They were standing in the doorway leading from the dancing-room to the
conservatory, where they had been watching the dancers for the last ten
minutes.
Isabel had just swept by them in all her elegance, and it was he who had
called forth the above question.
“That is a Miss Coolidge. She is an American, and belongs to a very
wealthy family, who are spending a year abroad.”
“I should judge she did belong to a wealthy family from her appearance.
Why, she has at least a thousand pounds in diamonds on her!” said the
first speaker.
“She is a stunner, eh?”
“She is that. She is the most striking woman present this evening; and
yet, aside from her jewels, her dress is the most simple. Do you know
her?”
“Yes; I have met her several times.”
“Will you introduce me?”
“Certainly, Sir Charles.”
A few moments later, as Isabel was resting after her dance, she saw two
gentlemen approaching her.
“Miss Coolidge, allow me to present Sir Charles Randal, who requests the
pleasure of an introduction to you.”
Sir Charles bowed low, and Miss Coolidge, rising, swept him a graceful
curtsy, and soon after was again circling around the room, supported
upon the arm of a baronet.
She had heard of Sir Charles Randal, but had never seen him before. She
knew he was reputed to be very wealthy, being an only son, and there was
a prospect of more property to come in the future from a rich old aunt.
She had watched long for the appearance of Adrian Dredmond, hoping to
captivate him at once by her charms. But when he did come, he only
noticed her presence by the haughtiest bow, and a scornful curl of his
lips, as his eyes fell upon the jewels she wore. He had never seen them
before, but instinct told him at once that they were the ones which had
caused so much trouble, and he despised her so heartily that she knew at
once that all hope of winning him was useless.
Therefore, after her introduction to Sir Charles, she had said to
herself that the next best thing to a lord was a baronet, and being a
very attractive, noble-looking man, she exerted herself to charm him.
That night was one long to be remembered by Isabel Coolidge!
She was, indeed, as Sir Charles had said, the most striking-looking
woman in the room. Admirers flocked around her, introductions pressed
upon her, men raved about her, and women yielded the palm to her for the
time being; and for once she realized that she was being borne upon the
topmost wave of popularity.
Mrs. Coolidge was in her element, and deemed it the proudest moment of
her life, and the castles which she reared for her daughter in
imagination were of the grandest character.
Sir Charles was evidently very much interested in the fair American, and
certainly if she had only been as pure and beautiful at heart as she
seemed, she would have been well worthy of all the admiration which she
excited.
After his third dance with her he led her away to the conservatory to
rest.
As they were passing through the crowd they met a white-haired,
royal-looking gentleman, who, as his eyes rested upon Isabel, suddenly
paused, started on, then turned back again and gave her a keen,
searching glance, and finally moved on, after bowing to her companion.
“Who was that?” she asked, strangely interested, and vainly attributing
the man’s queer actions to admiration of herself.
“That was his lordship, the Earl of Dunforth,” was the reply.
Sir Charles led her to a seat beneath a spreading palm tree, then
excusing himself, he went to get her an ice.
She had danced a great deal, and was tired and heated.
With a sigh of content, she leaned back in her seat, and drew off her
gloves.
Upon the forefinger of her left hand there gleamed Miss Mehetabel’s
engagement ring, its central pearl surrounded with its six pure
brilliants.
She had been determined to make the most of her opportunity that
evening, fearing she would never have another, and while putting on the
other jewels, this had caught her fancy, and she had slipped it upon her
finger.
Sir Charles was detained longer than he had intended to be gone, and
while she sat there silently thinking, her hand carelessly resting upon
the back of the seat, she was suddenly startled by having it seized by
some one behind her, in a grip of iron, while a voice, hoarse with
suppressed feeling, said:
“Where did you get this? Young woman, where did you get this ring?”
She started to her feet, and turning quickly, found herself face to face
with that white-haired, stately looking man whom but a few moments
before she had inquired about—Lord Dunforth!
To say that she was startled is to say the very least, for the man’s
face was as white as his hair, his eyes dilated and fixed upon the ring,
his lips set and livid, while the hand which grasped hers shook as if he
had been stricken with the palsy.
“Where did you get it?” he demanded again, this time somewhat
impatiently.
Then, as she still continued silent from fear, and not knowing how to
answer him, he looked up in her face.
“And this!—and this!—oh, God! and this!” he cried, as his eyes caught
the gleam of the other jewels, his voice rising in pain with each word,
as he touched, first the cross, then the necklace, and last the
glittering tiara upon her golden head.
She began to think him a lunatic, or else that the gems were bewitched
and were about to get her into deeper trouble.
“They—they are heirlooms,” she finally managed to articulate, and
speaking at random.
“Did she give them to you?”
“Whom?”
“Meta—my Meta—Mehetabel Douglas!” he said, speaking incoherently, almost
wildly.
“Yes, they used to be hers,” Isabel said, thinking only of the despised
and injured governess, and inwardly quaking as she wondered what would
come next.
“Used to be!” he cried, catching at her words, while his face grew
almost convulsed—“used to be! Then she is dead! Ah, me!” and he caught
his breath in a hard, dry sob. “This was our engagement ring,” he
continued, touching it again, tenderly. “How beautiful she was the night
I put this upon her finger! There is not a woman here to-night as fair
as she was then! And these other gems were her bridal gifts, and I
thought to see her wear them when she should have been my wife. But the
time never came. That is long ago—ages ago, it seems to me! I thought
the memory of it had faded out into but a shadow, but the sight of these
things to-night is like the keen edge of a knife in my heart.”
His voice had grown infinitely sad. He appeared quite unnerved; his lips
quivered, and tears stood in his fine eyes, while he gazed upon that
ring, as if he were looking his last upon his dearest friend who was
dead.
“Was she your mother?” he at length asked, breaking the spell, and
looking up at her.
“No, she was not my mother,” Isabel answered, guiltily, scarce knowing
what to say, and yet strangely moved by his wild, sad words.
“Your aunt, perhaps, then?—she had a brother.”
“But—but,” he added, with sudden thought, “you are not the one who wore
the corals that night at the opera; she was short, and darker than you.
Those were my gifts to Meta, and she wore them last on that dreadful
night. Ah! ah! I did not think the pain was so bitter still! But my
heart was broken then, and though I have tried to live bravely, I find
the wound is not healed even now.”
His lordship seemed to have lost all knowledge of where he was, in
living over the sad past, and there is no knowing how long he might have
gone on in his rambling talk, had not Sir Charles now made his
appearance, bearing a salver filled with dainties for his companion.
Isabel was infinitely relieved to see him, for she was suffering torture
under this forced inquisition.
The young man bowed to his lordship again as he drew near, although his
face expressed some surprise at finding him conversing with Isabel.
“I beg your pardon for my seeming rudeness. There are certain
circumstances under which one will sometimes forget one’s self. I beg
you to forgive and forget what has just occurred.”
He turned and left them almost as abruptly as he came, while Isabel sank
back into her seat, weak and frightened, although considerably
enlightened upon some points. Her tongue had seemed glued to the roof of
her mouth, and she could not have answered his questions had he given
her the opportunity. She was immensely relieved, however, that it had
not been required of her; for she feared she should have committed
herself, since it was evident that he knew the history of the jewels
which she wore.
She had wronged the governess; the property was hers beyond a doubt, and
what should she do about it?
She was filled with dismay; she could not return the jewels for the
young girl was apparently lost to them forever, and she would have to
carry about with her always the unpleasant consciousness that she was,
as Wilbur had said, the thief.
But it would not do to indulge in such thoughts now, and in explanation
of what Sir Charles had just witnessed, she said:
“His lordship thought from my appearance that I was the child of some
one whom he knew, and he spoke to me very abruptly.”
“My lord is very eccentric about some things; he is getting quite old,
too, and people do not mind him,” replied Sir Charles, giving the matter
no further thought.