"WHEN SHE WAS YOUNG, PERHAPS SHE LOVED SOME ONE LIKE ME."
Dinner was over, and Earle had recovered some little sense and reason.
He had hardly looked at Lady Estelle. They had met as perfect strangers,
and the earl introduced them.
It struck the earl that his wife looked pale and strange; but whenever
there was anything about Lady Linleigh that he did not understand, he
always attributed it to sentiment.
Then in her calm, high-bred fashion she bade Earle welcome to Linleigh;
she spoke to him several times during dinner. That dinner seemed to
Earle more like a dream than a reality. Whenever he looked at her he
thought of Quainton woods and the strange story she had told him there,
the truth of which seemed only known to herself and him. He wondered if
she would speak to him about it--if she would allude to it in any way.
He had never seen her since, although he had so well carried out her
commands. After dinner all wonder on that point was at an end.
"Doris," said the countess, "sing some of your pretty French _chansons_
for us. Mr. Moray, will you look over these sketches by Dore?"
While Doris' rich voice filled the room, and Earle sat with the sketches
in his hand, she, feigning to be interested in them, said:
"I have never had a chance to thank you, but I thank you now, with all
my heart, with gratitude that words cannot express. Can you understand
how grateful I am to you, Earle Moray?"
There was a pretty, musical lingering on his name which charmed him. He
looked into the proud, fair face, and said, simply:
"A man might be proud to give his life for you, Lady Linleigh. I am
happy to think that it was in my power to be of service to you."
"You will keep my secret always, Earle?"
"Always, Lady Linleigh, as I would guard my life or my honor."
"Even after you are married, when it will be most difficult to keep a
secret from Doris, you will keep this--you will never let her know that
I am her mother?"
"No; you may trust me until death," he said.
Then for some minutes there was silence. Lady Linleigh was the first to
break it.
"Do you know how I shall try to reward you, Earle?" she asked.
"I think less of the reward than of the kindness that prompts it," he
replied, gratefully.
"I shall do my best to further your interests in life--to help you to
reach such a position as shall please Doris. I will hasten your marriage
by every means in my power, and I will love you as though you were my
own son. Do not look so grateful; they will wonder what I am saying to
you. You understand, once and for all, I shall never allude to this
again."
The next moment Lady Doris was laughingly accusing the countess of
having asked her to sing, in order that she might talk at her ease.
"We are quite a family party," said Lord Linleigh. "Earle, do you play
billiards?"
"No," he replied, "I do not."
"Then come at once, and let me give you your first lesson. No man can
hope to succeed in this world who cannot play billiards."
Doris went into the billiard-room to see the first lesson given and
received, while Lady Estelle pondered over the same problem--did Doris
love Earle, or did she not?
On the morning following the earl and the poet had a long conversation.
It was a fine spring day, with the odor of early violets and the song of
the birds in the air.
"Come out with me, Mr. Moray," said the earl; "we can talk more at ease
under the broad blue sky."
Then, as they walked through the stately domain, the earl talked more
seriously than he had ever done before.
"Some men," he said, "might object to seeing an engagement of the kind
fulfilled. I do not. When Doris, as you knew, had no name, no home, you
would have been proud to make her your wife; she, in her turn, should
be, and is, I do not doubt, proud to reward your love. Now, it would be
very easy for me, Earle, to imitate one of the fathers in heavy comedy,
and say: 'Take her--be happy; here are fifty thousand pounds and my
blessing.' I repeat, that would be easy, but it would be an injustice to
you. I prefer that you shall make a position for yourself, and win her;
you will be happier."
"Yes," replied Earle, "a thousand times happier. I love her so
dearly--pardon me, my lord--so dearly, that I would work, as Jacob did,
seven years to win her, and, because of my great love, they would seem
as one day."
"I will take your fortunes in hand," said the earl, "as I told you
before. It would be easy to give you one; but I will give you what is
far better--the means of making one. I will place you in such a position
that it shall not be in the power of any person to say, when he hears of
my daughter's marriage, that she had made a _mesalliance_."
"I thank you, my lord; my deeds, my life shall thank you," said Earle,
earnestly.
"You have already," continued the earl, "made for yourself some
reputation as a poet; now tell me, have you ever turned your attention
to politics?"
The young poet's face glowed again; it was so sweet to him, for her dear
sake, this high hope of fame.
"I have studied the leading topics of the day," he replied, modestly.
"I know you have the gift of eloquence, and my first effort on your
behalf shall be that you be returned a member for Anderley. The late
member died a few weeks since, and I am repeatedly asked to put forward
a candidate. You shall be that candidate, Earle Moray, and you shall
succeed. When you are M. P. for Anderley, we will talk of the next
step."
"I cannot thank you," said Earle, breathlessly; "it would be quite
useless for me to try."
"In the meantime there is an appointment in London, in the civil
service, vacant, and I think my influence can procure it for you. It
will bring you in an income of seven or eight hundred pounds per annum.
The expenses of the election will, of course, be mine."
Earle raised his hand to his head with a bewildered expression.
"I think," he said, "I must have had a fairy godmother."
"Genius is a fairy godmother," said the earl, laughingly. "We shall all
be very happy, Earle. Doris is young--too young to marry yet; a year or
two in the great world will not hurt her. I do not think anything will
ever take her from you, Earle."
"I am sure of it, my lord. I have full faith in my love."
That very evening Lord Linleigh wrote to London, to secure the
appointment of which he had spoken. It was characteristic of him that
more than once during the course of that letter-writing he laughed to
himself for being sentimental.
"I should have done better," he thought, "to have given the young man
something handsome, and have let Doris marry as my daughter ought to
marry."
Then, again, he would reproach himself with the thought, and his heart
would warm with the consciousness of doing a good and generous action.
It would have been impossible, even had he desired it, to have kept the
household in ignorance over Earle.
He had not been there twenty-four hours before the whole body of
domestics were interested in his wooing. He was universally admired;
the susceptible portion of the establishment declared that he was as
handsome as Apollo, with a voice like real music, while languid footmen
and knowing grooms declared him to be the "right kind of gentleman."
The Lady Doris had said little, but she had watched him with jealous
eyes. If he had failed in any little observance of form or etiquette,
she would never have pardoned him; if she had heard even the least hint
that he was not perfectly well-bred, that he was not accustomed to the
manners of good society, her angry resentment would have known no
bounds. As it was, she was flattered by the universal praise and
admiration. Earle might have lived with dukes and earls all his life. It
never occurred to him, this terrible distance in rank; he did not think
of it. As he once said to Doris, "He was a gentleman--a king was no
more." She had half anticipated feeling ashamed of him; she found, on
the contrary, that she had ample reason to be proud of him.
The earl told his wife and daughter what he hoped and intended to do for
Earle. He almost wondered that the countess should be so pleased; her
face flushed and her eyes filled with tears.
"You are very good, Ulric," she said, very gently.
He fancied that it was for her daughter's sake that she felt pleased.
But there were no tears in his daughter's beautiful eyes.
"I am a deal of trouble to you, papa," she said. "It is not enough that
you must have a grown-up daughter, but you must also provide her with a
husband! It is rather too hard on you."
"But, Doris, you--you love Earle?" he said, anxiously.
"Oh, yes, I love Earle. It is a thousand pities, though, that he has not
a ready-made fortune and position--it would save you so much trouble."
"My dear Doris, there can be no trouble for me where you are concerned;
you know how anxious I am that you should be happy. You will be happy
with Earle?"
"I am one of those singularly fortunate people, papa, who are happy
anywhere," she replied. Then, seeing a very discontented expression on
his face, she hastened to add: "Remember how often you have called me a
true Studleigh, papa. I find it more in my nature to laugh than to
sentimentalize; indeed, under pain of instant execution, I fear that I
should not, could not grow sentimental. At the same time believe me no
one could be more grateful than I am to you about Earle."
And with that the earl was forced to be content. She sat down to the
piano shortly afterward, and he heard the gay voice singing of love and
flowers. He looked at her--the same puzzle came to him.
"Has she any heart?" he asked himself.
That was a question which no one yet had been able to answer.
"Earle," said Lady Doris, as they sat together in the morning-room, "do
not read any more to me. I always tell you that reading poetry aloud to
me is a waste of time and of talent. I want you to talk."
The next moment he had closed the book, and was sitting on the little
ottoman at her feet.
"I am only too delighted," he said. "It is not often that my beautiful
queen wishes to talk to me."
"Your beautiful queen wishes to know, Earle, what you think of my lady?"
"My lady!" he repeated wonderingly.
"Yes! try and not be dull of understanding--nothing tries me so severely
as that. My lady! I mean, of course, the Countess of Linleigh. What do
you think of her, Earle?"
"I think she is very kind, very beautiful, very stately, and very
charming."
"I agree with you; but do you not think that she is rather sentimental?"
"I hardly know. Why, Doris?"
"She has a fashion of dropping into my dressing-room at all hours, of
taking this long hair of mine into her hands, and looking as though she
would fain kiss it, of kissing my face, and talking about you."
"That seems very natural, Doris, and very kind," he said.
"When she talks about you, Earle, the tears come into her eyes, and she
is so eloquent about love. Do you know what I fancy sometimes?"
"No," he replied, "I do not."
"You need not look so strangely at me; but I do fancy at times that when
she was young, perhaps she loved some one like me, who is dead. What do
you think, Earle?"
"It is very possible, darling. I should be so kind to her, Doris, were I
in your place."
"I am kind, I never interfere; I let her do just as she likes with me. I
am sure, Earle, it is not possible to be any kinder than that."