_Monday night._
I felt to carry out my plan I must steady my mind a little, so I wrote my
journal, and that calmed me.
Of all the things I was sure of in the world, I was most sure that I loved
Robert far too well to injure his prospects. On the other hand, to throw
him away without a struggle was too cruel to both of us. If mamma's mother
was nobody, all the rest of my family were fine old fighters and
gentlemen, and I really prayed to their shades to help me now.
Then I rang and ordered some iced water, and when I had thought deeply for
a few minutes while I sipped it, I sat down to my writing-table. My hand
did not shake, though I felt at a deadly tension. I addressed the envelope
first, to steady myself:
"To
"His Grace
"The Duke of Torquilstone,
"Vavasour House,
"St. James's, S.W."
Then I put that aside.
"I am Evangeline Travers who writes," I began, without any preface;
"and I ask if you will see me--either here in my sitting-room this
evening, or I will come to you at Vavasour House. I understand your
brother, Lord Robert, has told you that he loves me and wishes to marry
me, and that you have refused your consent, partly because of the
history of my family, but chiefly because my type displeases you. I
believe, in days gone by, the prerogative of a great noble like you was
to dispense justice. In my case it is still your prerogative by
courtesy, and I ask it of you. When we have talked for a little, if you
then hold to your opinion of me, and _convince me_ that it is for your
brother's happiness, I swear to you on my word of honor I will never see
him again."
"Believe me,
"Yours faithfully,
"EVANGELINE TRAVERS."
I put it hastily in the envelope and fastened it up. Then I rang the bell,
and had it sent by a messenger in a cab, who was to wait for an answer.
Oh, I wonder if in life I shall ever have to go through another
twenty-five minutes like those that passed before the waiter brought a
note up to me in reply.
Even if the journal won't shut I must put it in:
"VAVASOUR HOUSE, ST. JAMES'S
"_November 28th._
"DEAR MADAM,--
"I have received your letter, and request you to excuse my
calling upon you at your hotel this evening, as I am unwell;
but if you will do me the honor to come to Vavasour House on
receipt of this, I will discuss the matter in question with
you, and trust you will believe that you may rely upon my
_justice_.
"I remain, madam,
"Yours truly,
"TORQUILSTONE."
"His grace's brougham is waiting below for you, madam," the waiter said,
and I flew to Véronique.
I got her to dress me quickly. I wore the same things, exactly, as he had
seen me in before--deep mourning they are, and extremely becoming.
In about ten minutes Véronique and I were seated in the brougham and
rolling on our way. I did not speak.
I was evidently expected, for as the carriage stopped the great doors flew
open and I could see into the dim and splendid hall.
A silver-haired, stately old servant led me along through a row of
powdered footmen, down a passage all dimly lit with heavily shaded lights.
(Véronique was left to their mercies.) Then the old man opened a door, and
without announcing my name, merely, "The lady, your grace," he held the
door, and then went out and closed it softly.
It was a huge room splendidly panelled with dark, carved _boiserie_ Louis
XV., the most beautiful of its kind I had ever seen--only it was so dimly
lit with the same shaded lamps one could hardly see into the corners.
The duke was crouching in a chair and looked fearfully pale and ill, and
had an inscrutable expression on his face. Fancy a man so old-looking, and
crippled, being even Robert's half-brother.
I came forward--he rose with difficulty, and this is the conversation we
had.
"Please don't get up," I said. "If I may sit down opposite you."
"Excuse my want of politeness," he said, pointing to a chair; "but my back
is causing me great pain to-day."
He looked such a poor, miserable, soured, unhappy creature, I could not
help being touched.
"Oh, I am so sorry!" I said. "If I had known you were ill I would not have
troubled you now."
"Justice had better not wait," he replied, with a whimsical, cynical, sour
smile. "State your case."
Then he suddenly turned on an electric lamp near me, which made a blaze of
light in my face. I did not jump, I am glad to say; I have pretty good
nerves.
"My case is this: To begin with, I love your brother better than anything
else in the world."
"Possibly--a number of women have done so," he interrupted. "Well?"
"And he loves me," I continued, not noticing the interruption.
"Agreed. It is a situation that happens every day among young fools. You
have known each other about a month, I believe."
"Under four weeks," I corrected.
He laughed--bitterly.
"It cannot be of such vital importance to you, then, in that short time."
"It is of vital importance to me, and you know your brother's character;
you will be able to judge as well as I if, or not, it is a matter of vital
importance to him."