Caught in the Snare.
The first part of that hour was charming. Basil never forgot it; the
rooms were not crowded, the pictures beautiful, and Lady Amelie in one
of her most graceful moods. They both stood before a little gem by one
of our first English artists, called "The Coquette's Decision," a very
pretty picture that told its own story. A young girl, standing, half
hesitating between two gentlemen. They looked anxious, she smiling and
triumphant. She inclined ever so little to the fair-haired youth on the
right, her eyes and lips smiling on him, but her hand was extended to
his dark-haired rival on the left.
"I do not like that kind of picture," said Basil, "it lowers one's ideal
of woman. I do not think there is one-half so much coquetry in the world
as people would make you believe."
"Perhaps you never knew a coquette," she said; and the look she gave him
from underneath those long lashes was quite irresistible.
"No," he replied; "indeed, a coquette could never charm me. My ideal of
woman is some one as lofty, grand, beautiful and gifted as you."
"Yet there are coquettes," she said, gravely.
"I do not doubt it. I only say there would be no charm for me in the
fairest of them all."
Just then two gentlemen entered at the other end of the room, and the
slight noise made by their entrance caused Lady Amelie to look up.
Basil, who was watching her every movement, as he always did,
attentively, saw her turn very pale and a sudden cloud of fear dimmed
the radiance of her eyes.
"Lady Amelie, you are ill!" he cried; "or tired."
"I am tired," she said, and they sat down on one of the seats, placed
in the middle of the room. It struck him that she was anxiously trying
to conceal herself from observation, yet the idea seemed absurd.
In the meantime, the two gentlemen advanced slowly up the room. They,
too, paused before "The Coquette's Decision," and laughed. Then one,
leaving his companion, came hastily to the seat where Lady Amelie was
sitting. He held out his hand as though surprised and delighted.
"Lady Amelie!" he said. "I felt sure that I was not mistaken--that it
must be you."
There was no answering delight on her face; nothing but constraint,
embarrassment and confusion.
"How do you do, Count Jules?" she said, coldly. "This is an unexpected
surprise. I thought you had left London for some years."
"L'homme propose, Dieu dispose," said the count. "I only reached England
last night, and have hurried to London."
"It is strange that I should meet you here," she said.
"My friend, Monsieur Le Blanc, has a picture here, and I have been
criticising it for him."
Then Lady Amelie seemed to remember the laws of politeness, for she
introduced the two gentlemen, who looked very unpleasantly at each
other.
Basil did not like the count, although at first sight he was certainly a
very handsome man, essentially French, with a quick, shrewd, handsome
face and dark hair, eyes black as night, yet bright and eloquent. It was
those very eyes that Basil disliked; they were not clear, true nor
honest. In fact, a sudden hatred to the French count sprang up in his
heart, he could not tell how or why. They exchanged a few words, and
then, under pretense of drawing Lady Amelie's attention to a picture,
Count Jules said to her:
"Can you not dismiss your young cavalier? I have come to London on
purpose to see you--I must speak to you."
"I cannot dismiss him," she said, curtly. "He is not a footman to be
sent away at my pleasure. Tell me in few words what you want."
"I want money!" he said, with a very dark frown; "and money, Amelie, I
must have."
"I can give you none--you have no conscience. How much have you had
already?"
"I have kept no account." he replied; "and really what I have had is not
of the least consequence--it is what I have to get."
"That will be nothing from me," she replied. "I gave you a thousand
pounds three months ago, and you promised you would ask for no more."
"I did not foresee the present necessity," he said. "Amelie, I must have
money."
"Count Jules," said Lady Lisle, "you are a villain, who trades upon a
woman's fears!"
"My charming lady shall call me anything she will, but I must have the
money."
"I tell you," she replied, angrily, "that I have not got it, nor is it
any use asking my lord for it; he was angry the last time, and I shall
ask him no more."
"Then get it from some other source."
"There is no other source open to me," she replied.
The count's face darkened angrily.
"There need not be so many words about it, Lady Lisle. I must have the
money."
"By what right do you incessantly demand money from me?" she asked.
"You promised, in those happier days, to be my friend always; and as a
friend you have lent me money often. As a friend, I ask you for it
again."
"And as a friend," she retorted, "I refuse."
"Then I shall be obliged to adopt the very unpleasant alternative of
asking it from Lord Lisle."
"Lord Lisle would refuse it."
"He would give it to me as the means of purchasing my silence," he said.
"You forget, Lady Amelie, what I have to show Lord Lisle, if he does
refuse?"
"You mean my letters?" she said, indignantly. "You are coward enough to
threaten me with showing my husband the letters I was so mistaken as to
write to you?"
"I should be deeply grieved, indeed," he said, "but I have no other
alternative."
"And I mistook you for a gentleman," she said, with calm scorn.
"You were very kind to me, Lady Amelie," he said, with a polite sneer.
"I do not believe you have those letters," she said.
"I have, indeed. I have locked them up with the only two family
heirlooms I possess--a watch and a ring--in an ivory casket, and I go
nowhere without it."
"You must do your worst!" said Lady Amelie.
"Nay," he said, "I do not wish to do that. My worst would be to bring
the honored name of Lady Amelie Lisle into the divorce court, and that I
should not like to do. Do not decide hastily. I cannot remain in England
very long. Take a week to decide in and let me know when I am to have
the money."
She turned from him with the scornful gesture of an outraged queen.
"We shall see," she muttered between her white teeth. "We shall see."
She spoke no other word to him, but went back to her seat. Count Jules
bowed and quitted the room.
"You do not like that man, Lady Lisle?" said Basil, as he looked at her
fair, flushed face. Before she had time to answer, they were joined by
some ladies of his acquaintance, and were not able to exchange another
word on the subject. As he was leaving, Lady Lisle looked out of the
carriage.
"Mr. Carruthers!" she said. He was by her side in a moment. She was pale
and agitated, not quite herself.
"You are my sworn knight," she said, laying her hand on his.
"Until death!" he replied.
"You promised to help me at any risk, in any difficulty, and now I am
going to ask your aid."
"It is yours. My whole life is yours," he cried. She smiled, sadly.
"There are some things more valuable than life. Perhaps what I ask from
you will cost you dear."
"I do not care in the least what it costs," he said.
"You are coming to dine with us; we do not dine this evening until
eight. Come soon after six. I have a story to tell you."
"I will not fail," he replied. "Do not be anxious, Lady Lisle, you look
distressed. Trust in me; far as human aid can go, mine is yours."
His clear blue eyes lingered on her perfect face, and again, for the
second time in her life, the queen of coquettes felt something like pity
for the man she was luring to his doom. She leaned back in the carriage
after he was gone, with a most triumphant smile on her lips.
"What wonders a pretty face can work," she thought. "I feel quite safe,
now that my troubles are to rest on his broad shoulders. How I should
like to see that Jules trampled upon and crushed. My knight will save
me."
She never remembered that he was the only son of his mother--a widow.
She cared little that he was the head of a grand old race. She thought
still less of his talents, his honest enthusiasm, his simplicity, except
so far as it answered her purpose.