"You are the echo of my youth, when I, too, knew the wild spring-time of
love. So, dear, I need not tell you that you may count upon my doing what
I can for you both."
Then we talked and talked.
"I must admit," she said at last, "that I was prejudiced in your favor for
your dear father's sake, but in any case my opinion of Robert's judgment
is so high, I would have been prepared to find you charming, even without
that. He has the rarest qualities, he is the truest, most untarnished
soul in this world.
"I don't say," she went on, "that he is not just as the other young men of
his age and class; he is no Galahad, as no one can be with truth who is
human and lives in the world. And I dare say kind friends will tell you
stories of actresses and other diversions, but I who know him tell you,
you have won the best and greatest darling in London."
"Oh, I am sure of it," I said. "I don't know why he loves me so much, he
has seen me so little; but it began from the very first minute, I think,
with both of us. He is such a nice shape."
She laughed. Then she asked me if she was right in supposing all these
_contretemps_ we had had were the doing of Lady Ver. "You need not answer,
dear," she said. "I know Ianthe. She is in love with Robert herself; she
can't help it; she means no harm, but she often gets these attacks, and
they pass off. I think she is devoted to Sir Charles, really."
"Yes," I said.
"It is a queer world we live in, child," she continued, "and true love and
suitability of character are such a rare combination, but from what I can
judge, you and Robert possess them."
"Oh, how dear of you to say so!" I exclaimed.
"You don't think I _must_ be bad, then, because of my coloring?"
"What a ridiculous idea, you sweet child!" she laughed. "Who has told you
that!"
"Oh, Mrs. Carruthers always said so--and--and the old gentlemen, and--even
Mr. Carruthers hinted I probably had some odd qualities. But you do think
I shall be able to be fairly good--don't you?"
She was amused, I could see, but I was serious.
"I think you probably might have been a little wicked if you had married a
man like Mr. Carruthers," she said, smiling, "but with Robert I am sure
you will be good. He will never leave you a moment, and he will love you
so much you won't have time for anything else."
"Oh, that is what I shall like--being loved," I said.
"I think all women like that," she sighed. "We could all of us be good if
the person we love went on being demonstrative. It is the cold,
matter-of-fact devotion that kills love, and makes one want to look
elsewhere to find it again."
Then we talked of possibilities about the duke. I told her I knew his
_toquade_, and she, of course, was fully acquainted with mamma's history.
"I must tell you, dear, I fear he will be difficult," she said. "He is a
strangely prejudiced person, and obstinate to a degree, and he worships
Robert, as we all do."
I would not ask her if the duke had taken a dislike to me, because I
_knew_ he had.
"I asked you to meet him on Saturday on purpose," she continued. "I felt
sure your charm would impress him, as it had done me, and as it did my
husband, but I wonder now if it would have been better to wait. He said
after you were gone that you were much too beautiful for the peace of any
family, and he pitied Mr. Carruthers if he married you. I don't mean to
hurt you, child; I am only telling you everything, so that we may consult
how best to act."
"Yes, I know," I said, and I squeezed her hand again; she does not put out
claws like Lady Ver.
"How did he know anything about Mr. Carruthers"--I asked--"or me, or
anything?" She looked ashamed.
"One can never tell how he hears things. He was intensely interested to
meet you, and seemed to be acquainted with more of the affair than I am. I
almost fear he must obtain his information from the servants."
"Oh, does not that show the housemaid in him? Poor fellow!" I said. "He
can't help it, then, any more than I could help crying yesterday before
Robert in the park. Of course we would neither of us have done these
things if it were not for the _tache_ in our backgrounds, only,
fortunately for me, mine wasn't a housemaid, and was one generation
farther back, so I would not be likely to have any of those tricks."
She leaned back in her chair and laughed. "You quaint, quaint child,
Evangeline," she said.
Just then it was twelve o'clock, and Robert came in.
Oh, talk of hearts beating! If mine is going to go on jumping like this
every time Robert enters a room, I shall get a disease in it in less than
a year.
He looked too intensely attractive. He was not in London clothes; just
serge things, and a guard's tie, and his face was beaming, and his eyes
shining like blue stars.
We behaved nicely--he only kissed my hand, and Lady Merrenden looked away
at the clock even for that. She has tact.
"Isn't my Evangeline a darling, Aunt Sophia?" he said. "And don't you love
her red hair?"
"It is beautiful," said Lady Merrenden.
"When you leave us alone I am going to pull it all down"; and he
whispered, "Darling, I love you," so close that his lips touched my ear,
while he pretended he was not doing anything. I say, again, Robert has
ways that would charm a stone image.
"How was Torquilstone last night?" Lady Merrenden asked, "and did you tell
him anything?"
"Not a word," said Robert. "I wanted to wait and consult you both which
would be best. Shall I go to him at once, or shall he be made to meet my
Evangeline again, and let her fascinate him, as she is bound to do, and
then tell him?"
"Oh, tell him straight!" I exclaimed, remembering his proclivities about
the servants and that Véronique knows. "Then he cannot ever say we have
deceived him."
"That is how I feel," said Robert.
"You take Evangeline to lunch, Aunt Sophia, and I will go back and feed
with him, and tell him, and then come to you after."
"Yes, that will be best," she said, and it was settled that she should
come in again and fetch me in an hour, when Robert should leave to go to
Vavasour House. He went with her to the lift, and then he came back.
No--even in this locked book I am not going to write of that hour--it was
too divine. If I had thought just sitting in the park was heaven, I now
know there are degrees of heaven, and that Robert is teaching me up
towards the seventh.
_Monday afternoon._
(Continued.)
I forgot to say a note came from Christopher by this morning's post--it
made me laugh when I read it, then it went out of my head; but when Lady
Merrenden returned for me, and we were more or less sane again--Robert and
I--I thought of it; so apparently did he. "Did you by chance hear from
Christopher, whether he got your note last night or no?" he said.
I went and fetched it from my bedroom when I put on my hat. Robert read it
aloud:
"TRAVELLER'S CLUB
"_Sunday night._
"'_Souvent femme varie--fol qui se fie!_'
Hope you found your variation worth while!