The next morning, while at breakfast, he received a little note from
Lady Angleford, asking him to dinner that night. It was a charming
little note, as pleading and deprecating as her eyes had been when she
looked at him at the Northgates'.
Drake sent back word that he would be delighted to come, and at eight
o'clock presented himself at his uncle's house in Park Lane. Lord
Angleford was, like Northgate, detained in London by official business.
He was a very fine specimen of the old kind of Tory, and, though well
advanced in years, still extremely good-looking--the whole family was
favored in that way--and remarkably well preserved. His hair was white,
but his eyes were bright and his cheeks ruddy, and, when free from the
gout, he was as active as a young man. Of course, he was hot-tempered;
all gouty men are; but he was as charming in his way as Lady Angleford,
and extremely popular in the House of Lords, and out of it.
Though he had fallen in love with a pretty little American, perhaps he
would not have married her but for the little tiff with Drake; but that
little tiff had just turned the scale, and, though he had taken the step
in a moment of pique, he had not regretted it; for he was very fond and
proud of his wife. But he was also very fond and proud of Drake, and was
extremely pleased when Lady Angleford had told him that she had met
Drake, and was going to ask him to dinner.
"Oh, all right," he had said. "I shall be very glad to see him--though
he's an obstinate young mule. I think you'll like him."
"I do like him very much indeed," she had said. "He is so handsome--how
very like he is to you!--and he's not a bit stand-offish and superior,
like most Englishmen."
"Oh, Drake's not a bad sort of fellow," said Lord Angleford, "but he's
too fond of having his own way."
At this Lady Angleford had smiled; for she knew another member of the
family who liked his own way.
She was waiting for Drake in the drawing-room, and gave him both her
hands with a little impulsiveness which touched Drake.
"I am so glad you have come," she said; "and your uncle is very glad,
too. You won't--get to arguing, will you? You English are such dreadful
people to argue. And I think he has a slight attack of the gout, though
he was quite angry when I hinted at it this morning."
Drake sincerely hoped his uncle hadn't, for everybody's sake. At that
moment the earl came into the room, held out his hand, and said, as if
he had parted with Drake only the night before:
"How are you, Drake? Glad to see you. You've met Lady Angleford already?
Isn't it nearly dinner time?"
Drake took Lady Angleford in. There were no guests besides himself, and
they had quite a pleasant little dinner. Lady Angleford talked with all
the vivacity and charm of a cultured American who has seen both sides of
the world, and kept her eyes open, and Drake began to feel as if he had
known her for years. The earl was in a singularly good humor and
listened to, and smiled at, his young wife proudly, and talked to Drake
as if nothing had happened. It was just like old times; and Drake, as he
opened the door for Lady Angleford, on her way to the drawing-room,
smiled down at her, and nodded as she looked up at him questioningly.
Then he went back to his chair, and the butler put the Angleford port in
its wicker cradle before the earl.
"I oughtn't to touch a drop," he said, "for I've had a twinge or two
lately; but on this occasion----"
He filled his glass, and passed the bottle to Drake--the butler had left
the room.
"So you met Lady Angleford last night?"
"Yes, sir; and I take this, the first opportunity, to congratulate you.
And Lady Angleford is as charming as she is pretty; and you won't mind
my saying that I consider you an extremely lucky man."
Of course, the earl looked pleased.
"Thanks," he said; "that's very good of you, Drake--especially as my
marriage may make all the difference to you."
Drake looked at his cigarette steadily.
"I've no reason to complain, sir; and I don't," he said. "You might have
married years ago, and I'm rather surprised you didn't."
The earl grunted.
"I don't suppose I should have done so now, if you hadn't been such a
stubborn young ass. That put my back up. But though I don't regret what
I've done--no, by Jove!--I don't want you to think I am utterly
regardless of your future. This port improves, doesn't it? Of course,
you may be knocked out of the succession now----"
"Most probably so, I should think," said Drake.
"Just so. And, therefore, it's only right that I should do something for
you."
"You are very good, sir," said Drake.
The earl colored slightly.
"Now look here, Drake; I'm always suspicious of that d----d quiet way of
yours! I was very glad when Lady Angleford told me that you were coming
here, and I made up my mind that I would let bygones be bygones and act
squarely by you. As I said, I'm not a bit sorry that I married; no,
indeed!--you've seen Lady Angleford--but I don't want to leave you in
the lurch. I don't want you to suffer more than--than can be helped.
I've been thinking the matter over, and I'll tell you what I'll do. Have
some more port."
Unluckily for Drake, the old man filled his own glass before passing the
bottle. Drake sipped his port and waited, and the earl went on:
"Of course, I meant to continue your allowance; but I can see that under
the circumstances that wouldn't be sufficient. Something might happen to
me----"
"I sincerely trust nothing will happen to you, sir," said Drake.
The earl grunted.
"Well, I'm not so young as I was; and I might get chucked off my horse,
or--or something of that sort; and then you'd be in a hole, I imagine;
for I suppose you've got through most of your mother's money?"
"A great deal of it," admitted Drake.
"Yes; I thought so. Well, look here; I'll tell you what I'll do, Drake.
As you may know, Lady Angleford has a fortune of her own. Her father was
a millionaire. That leaves me free to do what I like with my own money.
Now, I'll settle ten thousand a year on you, Drake--but on one
condition."
Drake was considerably startled. After all, ten thousand a year is a
large sum; and though the earl was immensely rich, Drake had not
expected him to be so liberal. On ten thousand a year one can manage
very comfortably, even in England. Drake thought of his debts, of all
that a settled income would mean to him, and his heart warmed with
gratitude toward his uncle.
"You are more than kind, sir," he said. "Your liberality takes my breath
away. What was the condition?"
The earl fidgeted a little in his chair.
"Look here, Drake," he said, "I've never worried you about your way of
life; I know that young men will be young men, and that you've lived in
a pretty fast set. That was your business and not mine, and as long as
you kept afloat I didn't choose to interfere. But I think it's time you
settled down; and I'll settle this money on you on condition that you do
settle down. You're engaged to a very nice girl--just you marry and
settle down, and I'll provide the means, as I say."
Drake looked straight before him. Had this offer been made a month
before he would have accepted it without a moment's hesitation, for he
had thought himself in love with Luce, and, more important, he had
thought that she had cared for him. But now all was changed. He knew
that if a hundred thousand a year were dependent upon marrying Luce he
couldn't accept it.
The earl stared at him, and filled another glass with the port, which
was a poison to him.
"Eh? What the devil do you mean? I say that if you'll settle down and
marry Luce I will provide a suitable income for you. What the blazes are
you hesitating about? Why--confound it!--aren't you satisfied? You don't
want to be told that I'm not bound to give you a penny!"
The old man's handsome face was growing red, and his eyes were beginning
to glitter; the port was doing its fell work.
"I know," said Drake, with a quietude which only made his uncle more
angry, "and I'm very much obliged to you. I know what ten thousand a
year means; but I'm afraid I can't fulfill the conditions."
"What the devil do you mean?" demanded the earl.
Drake smoked in silence for a moment or two. Most men would have said at
once that Lady Lucille Turfleigh had, on his change of prospects, jilted
him; but Drake had some old-world notions of honor in respect to women,
and he could not give Lady Luce away.
"I'm afraid I can't marry Luce," he said. "Our engagement is broken
off."
The earl swore a good old Tory oath.
"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" he said. "One of the nicest
girls I know, and--devoted to you. More devoted to you than you deserve.
And you don't mean to marry her? I suppose you've seen some one else?"
Drake grew hot, but he still clung to his notion of honor.
"I tell you what it is, Drake," said the earl, bringing down his port
glass on the table so violently that it snapped off at the stem, "you
young fellows of the present day haven't any idea of honor. Here's a
girl, a beautiful girl, and nice in every way, simply devoted to you,
and you go and throw her over. For some insane fancy, I suppose! Well,
see here, I'm d----d if I'll countenance it. I abide by my condition.
You make it up with Luce and marry her, and I'll settle this money on
you, as I've said. If not----"
Drake knocked the ash off his cigarette and looked straight before him.
He could still save himself by telling the truth and sacrificing Lady
Luce. But that was not his way.
"I'm sorry, sir----" he began.
"Sorry be d----d!" broke in the earl tempestuously. "Will you, or will
you not?"
"I can't," said Drake quietly.
The old man rose to his feet, flinging his serviette aside.
"Then, by Heaven! I've done with you!" he exclaimed. "I made you a fair
offer. I've only asked you to act like a gentleman, a man of honor. Am I
to understand that you refuse?"
Drake had also risen slowly.
"I'm afraid I must, sir," he said.
"All right," said the earl, red with anger. "Then there's nothing more
to be said. You can go your own way. But permit me to tell you----"
"Oh, don't, sir!" said Drake, rather sadly. "I can't do what you ask.
God knows I would if I could, but--it's impossible. For Heaven's sake,
don't let us quarrel----"
"Quarrel! I am as cool as a cucumber!" exclaimed the earl, his face the
color of beetroot. "All I say is"--here a twinge of the gout checked his
utterance--"that you're behaving shamefully--shamefully! We'd better
join the ladies--I mean Lady Angleford----"
"I think I'll get you to excuse me, sir," said Drake. "There is no need
to upset Lady Angleford. She asked me here with the very best
intentions, and she would be disappointed if she knew we had--quarreled.
There is no need to tell her. I'll clear out. Make my excuse to her."
"As you like," said the earl shortly. "But let me tell you that I think
you are----"
"No end of a fool, I've no doubt," said Drake, with a rather weary
smile. "I dare say I am. But I can't help it. Good night, sir."
The earl muttered something that sounded like "good night," and Drake
left the house. He ought to have said good night to Lady Angleford, but
he shirked it. He bore her no animosity; indeed, he liked her very
much--so much that he shrank from telling her about this quarrel with
his uncle; and he knew that if he went to her she would get it out of
him.
He walked home, feeling very miserable and down on his luck. How he
hated London, and all that belonged to it! Like a whiff of fresh air the
memory of Shorne Mills wafted across his mind. He let himself in with
his latchkey, and, taking a sheet of note paper, made some calculations
upon it. There was still something remaining of his mother's fortune to
him. If he were not Lord Drake Selbie, but simply Mr. Drake Vernon, he
could manage to live upon it. The vision of a slim and graceful girl,
with soft black hair and violet-gray eyes, rose before him. It seemed to
beckon him, to beckon him away from the hollow, heartless world in which
he had hitherto lived. He rose and flung open wide the window of his
sitting room, and the breath of air which came through the London
streets seemed fragrant with the air which wafted over Shorne Mills.
* * * * *
No pen, however eloquent, can describe the weariness of the hours for
Nell which had passed since "Mr. Drake Vernon" had left Shorne Mills.
Something had seemed to have gone out of her life. The sun was shining
as brightly, there was the same light on the sea, the same incoming and
outgoing tide; every one was as kind to her as they had been before he
left, and yet all life seemed a blank. When she was not waiting upon
mamma she wandered about Shorne Mills, sailed in the _Annie Laurie_, and
sometimes rode across the moor. But there was something wanting, and the
lack of it made happiness impossible. She thought of him all day, and at
night she tossed in her little bed sleeplessly, recalling the happy
hours she had spent with him. God knows she tried hard to forget him, to
be just the same, to feel just the same, as she had been before he had
been thrown at her feet. But she could not. He had entered into her life
and become a principal part of it, absorbed it. She found herself
thinking of him all through the day. She grew thin and pale in an
incredibly short time. Even Dick himself could not rouse her; and Mrs.
Lorton read her a severe lecture upon the apathy of indolence.
Life had been so joyous and so all-sufficing a thing for her; but now
nothing seemed to interest her. There was a dull, aching pain in her
heart which she could not understand, and which she could not get rid
of. She longed for solitude. She often walked up to the top of the hill,
to the purple moor over which she had ridden with Drake Vernon; and
there she would sit, recalling every word she had said, every tone of
his voice. She tried to forget him, but it was impossible.
One evening she walked up the hill slowly and thoughtfully, and seated
herself on a mossy bank, and gave herself up to that reverie in which we
dream dreams which are more of heaven than of earth.
Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps. She looked up listlessly and
with a slight feeling of impatience, seeing that her reverie was
disturbed.
The footsteps came nearer, a tall figure appeared against the sunset.
She rose to her feet, trembling and filled with the hope that seemed to
her too wild for hope.
In another moment he was beside her. She rose, quivering in every nerve.
Was it only a dream, or was it he? He held her hand and looked down at
her with an expression in his eyes and face which made her tremble, and
yet which made her heart leap.
"Nell!" he said.