A DOVE-COLORED GOWN.
But if he had any idea of finding out from Adrian, the morning
effectually banished it. The splinters of bone in his arm had put him
in agony, and he lay as he would lie for days, stupid with morphia.
Lord Levallion looked with a queer pity on the haggard, pain-drawn
face, and went softly away. He must find out for himself why that woman
had come down in his cousin’s company.
“For, of course, she did!” he mused. “The only thing that brought her
to ask after him was that she got tired of waiting in the village, dear
creature! Adrian was always a quixotic ass about a woman.” And he set
forth on an apparently aimless ride through the village, which for once
he did not ask his wife to share.
But his idle and cheerful conversation, by the way, were curiously
astounding. His lordship whistled as he turned his horse’s head down an
unfrequented lane, where he might collect his thoughts.
No one had come down with Captain Gordon, whose arm, in its black
sling, had excited the pity of the whole village; there was not a woman
staying at the inn or at any of the lodging-houses. Lord Levallion was
annoyed that he could not put two and two together and fit the coming
of Adrian Gordon with that woman’s voice in his own hall.
“If she’s living in this neighborhood, she’ll not do it long!” he
reflected angrily. “But, as far as I know, there’s nowhere for her to
live. Unless”--he stopped his horse, gave a stifled exclamation, as the
lane rounded a sharp turn.
On his left hand, where a vacant field had run up to the outlying
edge of his own woods, stood a brand-new, gim-crack bungalow in a new
garden; and strolling about it leisurely was a woman in a dove-colored
gown.
Levallion’s worn, handsome face turned absolutely bloodless, but his
insolent stare never turned from that small, dainty figure in the
garish garden.
“Gad! This is a charming surprise,” he said softly. “Charming. And if
Adrian had nothing to do with it, how the devil did she know he was
here, when I thought he was dead? Ah!” he smiled--a smile Sylvia would
have known, but not Ravenel.
For the woman in the garden had turned, had pretended not to see him,
and incontinently vanished into the house. Lord Levallion got on his
horse, and cantered through the gate.
“I think not,” he observed to himself acidly. And if he were
middle-aged and worn, he was yet a sufficiently terrifying figure to
the eyes that surveyed him through the lower blind of the drawing-room
window as he sauntered up to the house. Without the slight formality of
knocking, he opened the door the dove-colored fugitive had not thought
of locking, and walked in.
“I am here,” he observed politely. “There is no occasion to stare out
of the window for me.”
Hester Murray gave a frightened start in spite of herself. She
turned with two bright, pink patches on her thin cheeks, and
tried--unsuccessfully--after his pretty manners.
“Oh! How do you do? I was not sure it was you.” Her outstretched hand
was not steady.
“You may reassure yourself as to that. It is I--and I am quite as
usual, thank you.” He put down his riding-crop and his hat with
neatness, and, very quietly, closed the door.
“Now,” he said--and if ever a devil looked from a man’s eyes it was
from Levallion’s--“may I ask what you are doing here?”
“Living here.” Levallion could have laughed aloud as he remembered how
many times she had assured him she was never afraid of any one. “But
you knew that or you would not have come to see me.” She sat down, her
one ring--that was a wedding-ring--shining oddly conspicuous on her
nervous hand.
“How long have you been here?” he leaned against the window with his
back to the apricot-colored blind.
“Two months,” unwillingly. “But I’m really hardly settled. I did not
want you and Lady Levallion to know of me till I was all arranged. But,
of course, now I shall be delighted to call on her.” She was not sure
whether she was taking the right way or not, but surely Levallion would
prefer this one.
But he did not answer for a moment.
“I dare say you would,” to her surprise he broke out into a sarcastic
chuckle. “But you are not at all likely to. Now tell me what you meant
by coming to my house last night and raising the devil about Adrian?”
The sudden change of voice turned her cold.
“I--I heard in the village,” she stammered. “I was anxious.”
Anxious indeed! Even Lord Levallion had no notion how she had run
breathless through the fields, hoping the rumor her servant had brought
from the village was true that Adrian Gordon had fallen down dead at
Lady Levallion’s feet.
“Why were you anxious?” with a slanting lift of his eyebrow. “And how
did you know he had come home?”
“I always told you it was foolish not to read newspapers,” she
retorted, “even if you are in love!”
Levallion shrugged his shoulders.
“For a man who concerned you not at all, I think you wasted
shoe-leather,” he said, and in his eyes was a kind of amusement that
confused her.
“I--he was good to me once!” with a momentary flash of inspiration. “Is
he--is he dying?” for she must know, since if he were not particularly
ill, she would have her work cut out to hide how she had paid him for
that honest kindness by doing Sylvia Annesley’s dirty work. For, of
course, that girl would tell him. And--there were other things. Oh! why
couldn’t the man die?
“It would do you no good if he did die, which is not in the least
likely,” remarked Levallion blandly, having seen her last thought on
her face. “It would not soften my heart toward you; though I grant you
it might have, once.”
The woman sprang up as if he had struck her.
“You are a devil, a cruel, cold devil!” she said between her small
teeth--and he had never noticed before how sharp and feline they were.
“You’ve no heart, no pity----”
“Neither had you,” interrupting her with so much more truth than
he knew that she was frightened and sobered. “But I have not come
to discuss either of our personal attributes, but to tell you,”
slowly, “that there are six trains a day by which you may leave this
neighborhood--and stay away;” his voice was perfectly level, but yet
Mrs. Murray drew away from him before she answered.
“I’ve nowhere to go,” she said sullenly. “I came here because it was
cheap.”
“I can assure you that you’ll find it remarkably dear,” dryly, “and
where’s the London house?”
“I couldn’t afford the rent any longer.”
“I consider you’ve plenty of money,” shortly.
“It costs more every day.” She did not say what, nor did he ask her.
“Where’s Murray?” Levallion, he best knew why, was holding himself hard.
For the first time she looked him in the face and told the truth.
“I don’t know and I don’t care!” she said viciously. “He said he was
sick of the business--and me--and he never meant to set eyes on me
again.”
“Poor devil,” said Lord Levallion slowly.
It was the last straw. Hester Murray quivered from head to foot with
ungovernable rage.
“You can’t send me away from here!” she cried. “You daren’t make a
scandal now--at this date. There’s no reason why I should not live
here. You can let me call on your wife--and--I’ll go on holding my
tongue.”
Levallion leaned forward and spoke almost in her ear.
“I dare do anything,” he said evenly. “Kindly remember that. And also
that my wife,” emphatically, “shall never know Mrs. Murray or call on
her if she lives here forever.”
“People will talk!” she gasped.
“If they do,” coolly, “I sha’n’t hear it; but you’ll feel it. I think
you had better go, if you’re wise.”
“Suppose I tell your wife--what will you do then?” it was her last
shot, and it had a curious effect.
Levallion laughed.
“Please yourself; stay here, tell anything!” he returned, still
laughing. “And I’ll tell, too. It would make an amusing story--in your
favorite newspaper.”
“Levallion!” it was all but a scream; she clutched him as he turned
away. “You can’t, you won’t, you’ve--oh, God! haven’t you any honor?”
for to ruin one’s own reputation is a very different thing to having it
done for you.
“I have exactly as much as you have,” he answered, moving quietly
from her appealing hand. “You can remember that. And if you like,”
carelessly, “you can stay here. Only be good enough not to come to my
house on any pretext whatever. I won’t have a woman like you under my
wife’s roof. You understand?” sharply.
She could only nod. His sudden acquiescence in her living so near him
had somewhat dumfounded her, together with his refusal to recognize her
in any way. Levallion, who had always wanted to keep things quiet! Yet
it was simple enough.
“After all,” he had thought swiftly, “she’s as well under my eye as
anywhere, while we rejoice in a penny-post!” Yet if he had seen the
face of the woman he left in that dim drawing-room, it is to be doubted
if Lord Levallion would not have preferred himself removing her and
her belongings on a barrow, rather than have had her within a hundred
miles. And yet she was only crying to herself pitifully, that she loved
him still.