LORD VIVIANNE PROPOSES A LITTLE DISCUSSION.
"If I may take the liberty," said Lord Vivianne, turning with his most
amiable smile to Mrs. Brace, "I should so much like to ask for a cup of
tea. I was anxious to see your daughter, so did not wait to take any
refreshments at the hotel. It is a great disappointment to me."
"Yes," said Mark, quietly, "it is wonderful how many disappointments we
have to bear."
The tea was prepared, and Mrs. Brace's heart was won by praise of the
excellent tea, the thick cream, the fresh golden butter, and ripe fruit.
Woman-like, her heart secretly inclined to the handsome stranger whom
Mark kept so sternly at bay, but where could he have possibly seen
Doris? Mark saw symptoms of relenting in his wife's eyes; under pretext
of speaking to her about the milking and cheese, he drew her into the
larder.
"Now, look here, Patty," he said, "my word is passed, and I do not mean
to break it. I told the earl that, no matter who came, who asked, or
what was wanted, Doris' name and history should never be told, and it
never shall."
"I am sure, Mark," said his obedient wife, "this is a gentleman; there
can be no mistake about him."
"Gentleman--oh! There, now, my dear, do not look so frightened! I never
swore in my life, not even in the hottest of weather. I am not going to
begin now. He may be a gentleman--he is, I do not deny that; but it has
nothing to do with the matter. Why does he come here to talk about
Doris? What has it to do with him? It means mischief. He shall go away
from here as wise as he came--no wiser."
"You are right, Mark," said his wife.
"That is a sensible woman. Yet," added Mark, with shrewd irony, "the
sight of his handsome face and the smoothness of his tongue may cause
you to betray a secret you have promised to keep, so you had better keep
out of the room."
"I will," said Mrs. Brace. "I have no more wish to talk than you have,
Mark. Still he looks so wistful, I will stay away."
"That is the best woman in England," said Mark to himself, as Mrs. Brace
closed the door after her. Then he returned to his guest. He apologized
for his wife's absence, but Lord Vivianne knew just as well as though
Mark had told him, that she was gone lest she should be tempted to talk
to him. Mattie wisely imitated her mother's example, leaving her father
alone with his guest.
"What a grand old farm this is of yours," said his lordship. "I never
saw grounds in such fine condition."
Mark had made up his mind to be urbane and polite, but it was with some
little difficulty he refrained from showing his contempt. What did this
lord know of farming. Above all, why did he want to flatter Mark Brace?
"I am rather pleased," said the visitor, drawing his chair nearer to the
farmer, "that I have a chance of talking quietly to you, without the
ladies being present. I wanted that opportunity."
"You have it," said Mark, briefly.
"Yes. I have it, and will try to avail myself of it. I met, as I told
you, Miss Doris Brace some time since, and I was deeply impressed by
her--most deeply."
"Were you?"
"Yes; and I resolved, if possible, to see her again."
Mark sat silent.
"I quite believed at the time that she was your daughter, but I have
heard a strange romance since--terribly strange. May I ask, Mr. Brace,
if it be true?"
"No, my lord, you may not ask me--at least, I do not mean that--you may
ask what you will, but you must excuse me if I do not reply. The fact is
this--if you ask as to the state of my farm, my balance at the bank, my
hopes of a crop, I will tell you; but when it comes to the ladies of my
family, you must really excuse me if I distinctly and plainly refuse to
answer one question concerning them. I am sorry to seem rude, my lord."
But, like every one else who saw him, Lord Vivianne admired Mark Brace.
He held out his white, slim hand to touch the farmer's sunburnt one.
"There is no offense, Mr. Brace," he said. "You are an honest man, and I
shall think better of all other men for having seen you. If you decline
any conversation on the matter, it is, of course, useless for me to
offer any explanations."
"Quite useless, my lord; a waste of time."
"Then, thanking you for your hospitality, I may as well go," said his
lordship, with a smile.
To which remark the farmer, not knowing what politeness required him to
answer, made no answer at all.
Although he was baffled, Lord Vivianne could not feel angry.
"It would be a straightforward world," he said to himself, laughingly,
"if all the men in it were like Mark Brace." Still he felt that he had in
some measure won a victory--he had found out that, in connection with
Doris, there was something to conceal.
He went to Quainton and took up his abode for the night in the Castle
Hotel. There he fancied he should be sure to hear something or other.
Nor was he mistaken. In the billiard-room the conversation turned upon
Earle Moray--they were very proud of him, they said that Lindenholm had
given to England one of her finest poets--they boasted to each other of
having known him, of having spoken to him; they talked of his election
for Anderley; there had been no bribery--all had been open as the day.
Yes, he had been returned almost without opposition. They spoke of Lord
Linleigh's interest in him, and then one or two of the wisest among them
told how he was to marry Lord Linleigh's daughter, the beautiful girl
who, for some reason or other, had been brought up at Brackenside. It
was impossible to keep such a secret quiet; some few in Quainton knew,
and others guessed it.
Lord Vivianne listened without a comment, the veins in his forehead
swelled, his face flushed a hot crimson flush, his hands trembled. It
was a victory he had hardly expected to win.
Then he muttered to himself something that sounded like a fierce oath:
"She shall pay for it," he said to himself. "Madly as I love her, I will
not spare her. When I have humbled her pride, I will worship her and
marry her; not until then. So it was she, all the time; she looked into
my eyes without recognition; she dared me, braved me, laughed at me. She
shall suffer. She is the most magnificent and dauntless creature I ever
beheld; she is grand enough for a Charlotte Corday, a Joan of Arc. By
Heaven! how many girls would have come to me crying, praying that I
would keep their secret; she laughs at me, defies me. I will repay her!"
His whole soul was torn between passionate love and passionate anger; at
one time he felt inclined to weep at her feet, to pray and beseech her
to love him, to be his wife; at another time to feel that he must
upbraid her with her perfidy, her falsity, her deceit. Which spirit
would master him when he stood in her presence he hardly knew; it would
depend upon herself. If she were defiant, so should he be; if she were
gentle, he would be the same. Of one thing he was quite determined--do,
say what she might, she should be his wife. It would be a most
dishonorable thing to threaten to hold her secret over her; but, if she
compelled him, he would do it. No thought of pity came into his mind,
but he wondered much. That news--the news of her father's succession to
the earldom, and his return home--must have reached her while she was in
Florence with him. No one even knew where he was; how, then, could she
learn it.
It struck him that was the reason she had left him; he had not thought
of that before; it was because this news came to her, and she would not
be found with him. But who could have told her?--that was the puzzle.
Some one must have gone straight from England to Florence. The more he
thought of it the more he was puzzled.
He felt quite certain that on the morning he left her to secure her
opera box, and to purchase flowers for her, she knew nothing of it. He
had left her by the river-side; when he returned she was gone. During
that interval, short as it was, some one must have found her, have told
her, and brought her to England. Who could that some one be?
Not Earle, surely not Earle, her lover--surely not he! "He would have
been more likely to kill her than to bring her home if he had found her
with me," he said to himself.
He was keen enough, but it never occurred to him that she had the skill
to deceive Earle as well.
He returned by the early train to London; he should be in time then, he
said, to give her a morning call. He smiled to himself as he thought of
her confusion. He reached Hyde House when the earl and countess had just
driven to a fashionable _dejeuner_, and Lady Doris was left alone; she
desired it should be so; she wanted time to arrange her thoughts, to
recover herself; and they, believing in her plea of fatigue, had been
quite willing to leave her. She had made up her mind, no matter what it
cost her, not to see Lord Vivianne again. It would be easy to manage it;
she would decline all invitations on the plea of ill health, and she
would refuse to receive visitors at home. Strict orders had been given
to that effect--the servants understood that their young lady was tired,
and would see no one, except, as a matter of course, Mr. Moray.
She believed herself quite safe; that morning Earle had promised to
spend with her, and they would arrange about their wedding and the
honeymoon that was never to end.
She had dressed herself so prettily for Earle--she went to the
conservatory intending, there, to spend the morning with him. She walked
among the flowers, singing in a soft, low voice to herself; it would all
soon be over, she should so soon be away from London, where her terrible
secret seemed to have taken bodily shape. She should so soon be safe in
her own home in Linleigh; above all, she should soon be Earle's wife.
"Earle's wife--how he loves me!" thought the girl, "how true and good
and noble he is, my Earle!"
Then a shadow fell over the brightness of the flowers. She raised her
eyes, believing it was he, and they fell on the smiling face of Lord
Vivianne.
For one instant she looked at him spell-bound, fascinated, as one sees a
fluttering bird charmed by a snake. Her heart gave one great bound.
"He knows me!" she thought, "and he is come to tell me so!"
How he gained admittance matters not; how he bribed a servant, who
afterward lost his place for taking the bribe, matters not.
He was there, and in the contemptuous insolence of his smile, in the
expression of his face, she read that no evasion would be of service to
her. Still she did not lose her self-possession.
"How did you obtain admittance, my lord?" she asked, imperiously.
"Oh, Dora, Dora! I have found you. Did you really think you would
deceive me for long? I have found you; and now, if you please, we will
discuss matters in a proper business-like form."