Wyndham before his engagement was one of the most boyish of men. All
the sunshine, the petting, the warmth, the love, which encircled him as
the prime favorite of many sisters and an adoring father at
Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, seemed to have grown into his face. His deep
grey-blue changeful eyes were always laughing--he was witty, and he
said witty and laughable things by the score. The young man had plenty
of talent, and a public school and university education had developed
these abilities to a fine point of culture. His high spirits, and a
certain Irish way which he inherited from his mother, made him a
universal favorite, but at all times he had his grave moments. A look,
a word would change that beaming, expressive face, bring sadness to the
eyes, and seriousness to the finely curved lips. The shadows passed as
quickly as they came. Before Wyndham met Valentine they were simply
indications of the sensitiveness of a soul which was as keenly strung
to pain as to joy.
It is a trite saying that what is easily attained is esteemed of little
value. Valentine found lovers by the score; in consequence, the fact of
a man paying her attention, looking at her with admiration, and saying
pretty nothings in her ear, gave her before her first season was over
only a slightly added feeling of ennui. At this juncture in her life
she was neither in love with her lovers nor with society. She was
younger than most girls when they make their entrance into the world,
and she would infinitely have preferred the sort of half school-room,
half nursery existence she used to lead. She yawned openly and wished
for bed when she was dragged out night after night, and when fresh
suitors appeared she began really to regard them as a weariness to the
flesh.
Gerald Wyndham did not meet Valentine in quite the ordinary fashion.
On a certain hot day in July, she had been absolutely naughty, the heat
had enervated her, the languor of summer was over her, and after a late
dinner, instead of going dutifully upstairs to receive some final
touches from her maid, before starting for a great crush at the house
of a city magnate near by, she had flown away to the library, turned on
the electric light, and mounting the book-ladder perched herself on her
favorite topmost rung, took down her still more favorite "Evelina," and
buried herself in its fascinating pages. Past and present were both
alike forgotten by the young reader, she hated society for herself, but
she loved to read of Evelina's little triumphs, and Lord Orville was
quite to her taste.
"If I could only meet a man like him," she murmured, flinging down her
book, and looking across the old library with her starry eyes, "Oh,
father, dear, how you startled me! Now, listen, please. I will not go
out to-night--I am sleepy--I am tired--I am yawning dreadfully. Oh,
what have I said?--how rude of you, sir, to come and startle me in that
fashion!"
For Valentine's light words had not been addressed to Mr. Paget, but to
a young man in evening dress, a perfect stranger, who came into the
room, and was now looking up and actually laughing at her.
"How rude of you," said Valentine, and she began hastily to descend
from her elevated position. In doing so she slipped, and would have
fallen if Wyndham had not come to the rescue, coolly lifting the
enraged young lady into his arms and setting her on the floor.
"Now I will beg your pardon as often as you like," he said. "I was
shown in here by a servant. I am waiting for Mr. Paget--I was
introduced to him this morning--my father turns out to be an old
friend, and he was good enough to ask me to go with you both to the
Terrells to-night."
"Delightful!" said Valentine. "I'll forgive you, of course; you'll take
the dear old man, and I'll stay snugly at home. I'm so anxious to
finish 'Evelina.' Have you ever read the book?--Don't you love Lord
Orville?"
"No, I love Evelina best," replied Gerald.
The two pairs of eyes met, both were full of laughter, and both pairs
of lips were indulging in merry peals of mirth when Mr. Paget entered
the room.
"There you are, Val," he said. "You have introduced yourself to
Wyndham. Quite right. Now, was there ever anything more provoking? I
have just received a telegram." Here Mr. Paget showed a yellow
envelope. "I must meet a business man at Charing Cross in an hour, on a
matter of some importance. I can't put it off, and so. Val, I don't see
how I am to send you to the Terrells all alone. It is too bad--why,
what is the matter, child?"
"Too delightful, you mean," said Valentine. "I wasn't going. I meant to
commit high treason to-night. I was quite determined to--now I needn't.
Do you mean to go to the Terrells by yourself, Mr. Wyndham?"
"The pleasure held out was to go with you and your father," responded
Wyndham, with an old-fashioned bow, and again that laughing look in his
eyes.
Mr. Paget's benevolent face beamed all over.
"Go up to the drawing-room, then, young folks, and amuse yourselves,"
he said. "Our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, will bear you company. Val,
you can sing something to Wyndham to make up for his disappointment.
She sings like a bird, and is vain of it, little puss. Yes, go away,
both of you, and make the best of things."
"The best of things is to remain here," said Valentine. "I hate the
drawing-room, and that dear, good Mrs. Johnstone, if she must act
chaperon, can bring her knitting down here. I am so sorry for you, Mr.
Wyndham, but I don't mean to sing a single song to-night. Had you not
better go to the Terrells?"
"No, I mean to stay and read 'Evelina,'" replied the obdurate young
man.
Mr. Paget laughed again.
"I will send our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, to make tea for you," he
said, and he hurried out of the room.