No word was exchanged between Jack and myself regarding the interview
with Markwick. It was a subject we both avoided, and, as he was happy
with Dora, I hesitated to inquire into the antecedents of the mysterious
individual who had repudiated all knowledge of me with such consummate
impudence. Among my letters one morning a week later, however, I found
a note from Mabel dated from her town house, asking me to run up and
call upon her at once, and requesting me to keep the fact a strict
secret. "I want to consult you," she wrote, "about a matter that
closely concerns yourself, therefore do not fail to come. I shall be at
home to you at any time. Do not mention the matter to either Jack or
Dora."
During my ride with our two visitors I pondered over this summons, which
was rather extraordinary in view of our last interview, and at length
resolved to take the mid-day train to town.
Soon after five o'clock that evening I was ushered into the Fyneshade
drawing-room, a great handsome apartment resplendent with gilt furniture
and hangings of peacock-blue silk, where I found Mabel alone, seated on
a low chair before the fire reading a novel.
"Ah! I received your wire," she exclaimed, casting her book aside, and
rising quickly to meet me. "It is awfully good of you to come."
She looked very handsome in a wondrous tea-gown of silk and chiffon, and
as I sat down opposite her and she handed me a cup, I reflected that the
journalistic chroniclers were not far wrong in designating her "one of
the prettiest women in London."
"On the last occasion we met, on the night of the ball at Blatherwycke,
you uttered some rather bitter personalities, Stuart," she commenced,
resting her elbows on her knees and her chin upon her palms as she
crouched by the fire. The evening was chilly, and when I had shaken her
hand I noticed how icy it seemed. "I've been thinking over your words,"
she added after a short pause.
"Well, I only said what I thought," I answered. "I'm often accused of
abruptness."
"Yes, but it was not to scold you that I asked you to call," she went
on. "The fact is I'm in a terrible difficulty," and she hesitated as if
half fearing to admit the truth.
"Of what nature?" I asked.
"Fyneshade has left me!" she answered suddenly, in a strange
half-whisper.
"Left you!" I cried. "Why, whatever do you mean?"
"I mean that I have acted foolishly, and that he has left this house
with a declaration upon his lips that while I inhabit it he will never
again cross its threshold. Today, I have had a letter from his
solicitors suggesting that I should have an interview with them for the
purpose of coming to some financial arrangement. He offers me Fyneshade
Hall for the remainder of my life."
"Where is he?"
"In Paris, I believe."
"And the cause of this disagreement? Tell me."
"No. For the present I must say nothing. It will get into the papers
soon enough, I expect, for the public gaze is as acute upon a
fashionable woman as upon a prime minister in these days of scurrilous
journalism and irresponsible personal paragraphs," she answered rather
sadly.
I felt sorry for her, but I knew that the open manner in which she had
carried on flirtation had been a public scandal, and after all I was not
really surprised that at last Fyneshade should resolve to end it.
"When did he leave?" I inquired.
"Four days ago. I have not been out since, and am at my wits' ends how
to act so as to allay any suspicions of the servants. He took his valet
with him."
"But why make me your confidant?"
"Because I want you, if you will, to render me one small service," she
answered with deep earnestness. Then after a pause, during which time
she took down a feather hand-screen and held it between her face and the
fire, she said: "I have already heard that Jack and Dora are together
again, and--"
"And you desire to part them," I hazarded seriously. "No, I think you
misjudge me," she answered with a winning smile. "I am merely anxious
that my sister should not make a disastrous marriage."
"Then you think marriage with Bethune would prove disastrous?"
"Unfortunately, yes," she answered, sighing. "Already I know what
transpired at the interview between Jack and Francis Markwick on the day
of the former's arrival at Wadenhoe."
"You have again seen your mysterious friend, I suppose, and he has told
you everything, eh?"
"Yes, and further, let me confess that it was owing to this interview
that Fyneshade, who has suddenly become outrageously jealous, took
umbrage, and went away in a passion."
"I should have thought," I said, "that the narrow escape you had of
detection in the shrubbery at Blatherwycke ought to have already served
as warning."
"Ah! That is the matter upon which I want especially to consult you,"
she said suddenly. "Markwick has related to me how you told him of your
presence in the shrubbery on that night. It is evident also that
Fyneshade suspected that I met someone there clandestinely, and if the
truth comes out and our conversation repeated, you must recognise how
very seriously I may be compromised."