GWEN AND PAULINE.
“I see you are not changed, Pauline,” said Lady Gwendolyn; “it was
always self with you, and always will be. My sufferings are nothing so
long as you run no risk!”
“Oh! but you are not suffering, I am sure,” answered Lady Teignmouth.
“You are looking exceedingly well, and handsome, and the whole affair
has blown over so comfortably, there’s no reason why you should not
resume your proper position in society. I am afraid Reggie won’t let me
chaperon you--at least, just yet; but there is Mrs. O’Hara. She is not
particular.”
“Possibly; but I am,” returned Lady Gwendolyn, with angry hauteur; “so
particular, indeed, that, if Reggie were willing I should go out with
you, I should decline the doubtful honor!”
“You are very severe, my dear,” said Lady Teignmouth uneasily; “and
yet, I ought not to be annoyed with you, since, in the eyes of the
world, I have certainly the best of it!”
“You would be sure to take care of that! But, really, Pauline, you are
forgetting that you are a ‘model of discretion,’ nowadays.”
“How?”
“Why, is it prudent to be seen walking with me? If we were to meet any
one we knew----”
“But I told you the whole affair had blown over. We should not have
returned to England if it had not been for that.”
Lady Gwendolyn turned upon her almost fiercely:
“Then cross the Channel, both of you, as quickly as you can, for you
have urged me so far between you that now I don’t care what I do, and I
mean to be happy my own way for a few months, even if the whole world
follows your and Reggie’s example, and hunts me down afterward. Do you
understand? Reggie has cast me off at your bidding, therefore I feel
independent of you all.”
“But you won’t do anything dreadful, Gwen?” pleaded Lady Teignmouth.
“I am sure Reggie will come round in time, and we shall be comfortable
together again.”
“Comfortable together again!” repeated the girl, with an accent of
withering scorn. “Fancy my being comfortable with you, or staying under
your roof! I really don’t think I am ever likely to fall quite so low
as that.”
Lady Teignmouth colored up, and her eyes flashed; but she dared not
show resentment. She was in her sister-in-law’s power to a certain
extent, for if Lady Gwendolyn chose to insist upon an explanation with
Reginald, and laid the facts of the case clearly before him, it was
doubtful whether she might not convince the earl of her own innocence
and of his wife’s guilt. And then all her pretty scheming would have
been worse than useless, since it would only aggravate the original
offense in Lord Teignmouth’s eyes.
Consequently Pauline had need to be humble and conciliatory. Her voice
was honey-sweet as she said:
“Of course, that must be as you feel, Gwen; but I know it would add
greatly to my happiness to have the affair pleasantly settled. I was
only saying to Reggie yesterday that Teignmouth would be unendurable
without you.”
“You are going to Teignmouth, then?”
“For a little while. Reggie has invited a houseful of people. It will
be a dreadful bore having to entertain them all by myself, and you
were always so nice and popular, dear; but it can’t be helped, of
course--it is the penalty I must pay for my own imprudence.”
“And deceit,” interposed Lady Gwendolyn sternly.
“One was the natural consequence of the other; if I had not been
imprudent I should not have had anything to conceal. I am quite aware
of my own faults, and really sorry for them; but it would be a dreadful
thing to break up Reggie’s house. And then the scandal and misery to
him, poor fellow!”
“I am glad you can feel for him--at last,” retorted Lady Gwendolyn.
“I presume that my troubles are of no consequence, although they were
brought about entirely by your sin.”
“I can’t do more than express my penitence and regret,” answered Lady
Teignmouth rather sulkily.
“Well, I suppose it is too late for anything else now,” admitted Lady
Gwendolyn contemptuously. “Fortunately, however, I am learning to do
without you both. If any harm comes to me, it is a comfort to know that
the sin will be at your door.”
“Oh! but no harm will come to you, Gwen, of course. You will marry
happily----”
“And then I shall be off your mind, sha’n’t I? But, really, I am
wasting my time awfully,” she added abruptly. And, hailing a passing
cab, she jumped into it, and, with a careless nod to Pauline, she drew
her veil over her face, and leaned back out of sight.
After all, perhaps, although Lady Teignmouth had the best of it in some
ways, she might not have been sorry to change with Lady Gwendolyn.
When her cab stopped at the Langham, Lady Gwendolyn got out, and walked
up and down for awhile, afraid to enter.
For she had promised to go to Colonel Dacre’s room directly she
returned, and she knew that the keen eyes of love would immediately
find out her trouble. She could not have borne the most tender
questioning just then, and so she lingered until her face was composed,
and she could trust her voice and eyes.
Then she went slowly up-stairs, and knocked at Colonel Dacre’s door.
He had left his sick-chamber for the first time, and was reclining
on a couch in a pleasant little sitting-room, which Lady Gwendolyn
had filled with fresh roses in the morning, that he might receive a
fragrant greeting on entering. He looked up languidly as she opened the
door; but his hollow eyes brightened at once when he saw who it was,
and he held out his thin hand with a smile.
“How long you have been gone, Gwen?”
And he patted the chair near him by way of inviting her to occupy it.
“Are you tired, dear?” he added suddenly, discovering that she was very
pale.
“No--that is to say, a little. How do you feel, Lawrence?”
“Delightfully frisky! as if I could jump over the moon. Do you know, I
shall be able to travel next week.”
Lady Gwendolyn shook her head.
“Nothing of the kind; don’t talk nonsense, Colonel Dacre. Doctor May
says you must not stir for a fortnight.”
“Of course; because he wants to keep me under his thumb as long as he
can. Doctor May is a capital fellow; but he must take care of himself.”
“And of you.”
“Pshaw! I polished off nearly a whole grouse for my dinner just now,
and I have walked several times across the room. I don’t mind being an
invalid for three or four days longer, but after that I mean to take
the law into my own hands.”
“Why are you in such a dreadful hurry to leave us?” she asked, with
some faint signs of pique.
“I am not going to leave you, Gwen. I am going to take you with me
wherever I go for the rest of my life.”
She colored up, and looked at him in a timid, frightened sort of way.
He put his hand gently over hers.
“I should be sorry to think you did not wish this, Gwen. But, whether
or no, it must be now.”
“Why?”
He kissed her hand almost reverentially before he answered:
“This is a cruelly scandalous world. Do you think I should have allowed
you to nurse and tend me with such noble devotion unless I had looked
upon you as my future wife?”
“I did no harm, surely.”
“On the contrary, you did an immense deal of good--to me. Only finish
your work by giving me the dear right to protect and defend you against
the whole world.”
“Shall I need a defender?” she asked, lowering her eyes.
“I hope not; but I flatter myself you will need me, anyhow. Haven’t you
discovered how well we suit each other, Gwen?”
“Perhaps. But, oh! Lawrence, tell me truth, I beseech you--and I will
trust you altogether now--is there anything that should or ought to
prevent our marriage?”
“Before Heaven, no!” he answered emphatically.
“I must believe you, in spite of my eyes and my reason, in spite of my
conscience, for I have only one hope in the world, one thought.”
Then she slipped off her seat, hid her head on his breast, and added,
in a shrinking whisper:
“If what you told me just now is an untruth, I forbid you to undeceive
me ever! You hear? My life is locked up in yours from henceforth; and
if the day should come,” she added, more faintly still, “that we ought
to part, why, then Heaven will be merciful, perhaps, and let us both
die instead.”
And then she writhed, white and shivering, out of his arms.
“Oh! Lawrence, I am afraid!”
“Afraid of what, my love?” he asked tenderly, enfolding her once more,
and kissing her lips with all a lover’s fire.
“I am afraid we shall not be allowed to be happy together long;
something will part us.”
“Only death, now, my dearest,” he answered back firmly. “Only death!”