A QUEER COINCIDENCE.
When Olive saw who was standing on the lawn, she felt very much
inclined to fly from so dear yet dangerous a foe. But maidenly pride
came to her aid, and, doing violence to her feelings, the better to
conceal them, she saluted Mr. Mallow with so much frigidity as rather
to disconcert that young gentleman.
"Mr. Dimbal told me that you were here," she said. "He saw you at
Reading Station yesterday."
"Mr. Dimbal is very kind to save me the trouble of announcing myself,"
said Mallow' dryly. "So unimportant a person as I am should feel much
flattered."
"No friend is unimportant, Mr. Mallow," reproved Miss Bellairs,
gently.
"I believe that--when there is something substantial to be gained from
the friendship."
"What a cruel remark!" cried Tui, shaking her head. "I hope you do not
practise what you preach, Mr. Mallow."
"Mallow's bark is worse than his bite," chimed in Aldean.
"And the horse is the noblest of all animals," said Mallow'
ironically. "Go on, Aldean; I love these dry chips from the tree of
knowledge."
"The Hebrew tree of knowledge was stolen by them from the Chaldeans,"
said Miss Slarge, loudly. "The serpent legend, so intimately connected
with it, came from the same source. Well, young people, I must really
return to my studies. Lord Aldean--Mr. Mallow; I hope you will both
stay to luncheon?"
Aldean consulted Mallow by a side look, but seeing no encouragement in
his moody face refused the invitation on behalf of them both; whereat
Miss Slarge shook hands in the nineteenth-century fashion, and
returned to her studies and the primæval days when Nimrod began to be
a mighty one on the earth. The four young people were left standing,
and a short silence prevailed, which was broken by Mallow.
"'Hence, loathed melancholy!'" he spouted theatrically; "we have had
enough of that dismal goddess. Miss Bellairs, smile; Aldean, make a
joke; Miss Ostergaard, laugh for goodness' sake."
"I can't," replied the last-named lady, "until Lord Aldean makes his
joke. One can't make bricks without straw or mirth without jests."
"I always have to think out my jokes," said Aldean, innocently; which
remark brought forth the required mirth.
"You are like the man whose impromptus took him years to invent," said
Olive, beginning to be merry. "Mr. Mallow, what is the latest news
from town?"
"Men are in love; thieves are in gaol, and women still use
looking-glasses."
"Also Queen Anne is dead," laughed Tui, swinging her basket. "Oysters
and news should both be fresh, yet you talk truisms."
"Have you heard of that awful murder?" put in Aldean. "Murder! Oh, the
horrid word, you make me shudder!"
"Aldean is like the fat boy in Pickwick," said Mallow, and quoted, "I
wants to make your flesh creep.'"
"Is that the Athelstane Place crime, Lord Aldean?" asked Olive.
"Yes. Fellow was killed with a knitting-needle. I wonder who did it?"
"A woman, you may be sure."
"What makes you think so, Miss Bellairs?" demanded Mallow, quickly.
"Because men don't use knitting-needles, and women do," replied the
girl. "I dare say it was a case of jealousy."
"Perhaps; but even a jealous woman would hesitate to cut off the right
hand of a dead lover."
"Unless she came from the East," said Aldean, suddenly.
"Why should she come from the East?"
"Well, the _Morning Planet_ says that the man came from India."
"From India!" cried Olive and Tui in one breath; and their thoughts
centred at once on Angus Carson.
"Oh, that is only a theory of the newspaper!" said Mallow, hastily.
"Can't you find a pleasanter subject to talk about, Aldean?"
"Yes," replied Aldean, looking meaningly at Tui. "Only----"
"Only I am wasting my time, and you are helping me to do so," cried
that young lady, briskly. "I must tie up my roses."
"Let me help you."
"I am afraid your help would be a hindrance," said Miss Ostergaard, as
she moved towards the house, followed by her huge admirer. "However,
if you are very, very good, you may hold the ball of string."
Left alone with Mallow, Olive felt in so dangerous a position that she
assumed a demeanour even more reserved.
"So Mr. Carson has arrived in England," remarked the young man,
gloomily.
"Yes; who told you so?"
"Mr. Dimbal, the lawyer. Of course, it is an open secret that you are
to marry him."
"I see no reason why it should be a secret at all," retorted Olive,
with a flush. "If my father wished for the marriage, no one can say a
word against it."
"I am not saying a word against it. If I did, I should probably say
too much."
"Then don't let us discuss the subject," said Olive, hurriedly; "you
only make my position the harder."
"Do you consider it hard?"
"You have no right to ask me that question, Mr. Mallow."
"I beg your pardon," said the young man, reddening. "I admit that I
have no right--unless you give me one."
"Mr. Mallow, I really do not understand you."
"I don't understand myself, Miss Bellairs; usually I am not timid when
I should be bold."
"'Be bold--be bold, but be not over bold,'" quoted Olive, trying to
turn off his speech with a laugh--an attempt which Mallow resolutely
refused to countenance.
"I suppose you will marry Mr. Carson?" he inquired anxiously.
"I suppose I shall," replied Miss Bellairs, with a coolness she was
far from feeling.
"Is it absolutely certain?"
Olive felt a quiver pass through her frame, and it was with difficulty
she prevented her emotion from overcoming her. She thought of the man
who was coming to claim her, the man she had never even seen; of the
undeclared lover who was by her side dreading the answer which she
should give. Finally the memory of the sealed letter, with its menace
of coming evil passed through her mind, and dictated the reply--
"It is absolutely certain--absolutely."
"In that case there is nothing for me to do but to offer you the
customary congratulations on your--your good fortune."
"My good fortune!" she burst out. "My good--oh yes, of course. Thank
you, Mr. Mallow. I congratulate you, in my turn, on your penetration."
And before he could recover from his amazement at this attack, she
flitted across the lawn, swept past the astonished couple on the
steps, and vanished into the house.
This incident brought the visit to a close, for as Olive did not
reappear to explain her sudden anger, Mallow said good-bye to Miss
Ostergaard, and departed with the reluctant Aldean. The young lord,
guessing that his friend and Olive had come to words, more than
expected to have a peevish companion for his homeward walk, instead of
which Mallow was quite uproariously merry. By this time he had
fathomed the cause of Olive's wrath, and he cursed himself for a fool
not to have seen and known that she was not the woman to wear her
heart upon her sleeve. Her sudden retreat after her foolish speech had
been the result of fear at having betrayed her real feelings. These
were not for Carson, he was sure of that now, but for himself--Olive
loved him; and whether the pre-arranged marriage took place or not,
nothing could alter that fact. As the thought became conviction,
Mallow found it impossible to suppress the joy he felt, and he
forthwith indulged in antics which would have shamed a schoolboy.
"What is it?" asked Aldean, amazed at this conduct in so grave a man.
"What do you think it is, Jim?"
"Lunacy, I should say, on the face of it."
"No, my boy; but a word much the same in meaning, which begins with
the same letter."
"Larking?" guessed the obtuse Jim, with a grin.
"I can't say much for your penetration, Lord Aldean," said Mallow,
with a laugh. "Love is the word I mean--love is the feeling which
thrills me, for 'to-day the birthday of my life is come.'"
"One would think you had been celebrating the occasion with strong
drink," retorted Jim, soberly. "Have you spoken to Miss Bellairs?"
"No, sir; I have done nothing so foolish."
"Then has she perhaps given you to understand----"
"Of course not; do you think for one moment she is the woman to do
such a thing?"
"I don't know; once or twice girls have pretty near proposed to me.
I've had some trouble with them, I can tell you. Then how do you know
it is all right?"
"Because I do know."
"That isn't an answer; it's a statement."
"Then you will have to take the statement for your answer, my dear old
thickhead. Olive loves me, the angel that she is."
"She ran away from you."
"I know she did, but she loves me."
"She was in a pelting rage; I saw her face."
"I know she was, but she loves me."
"Oh, come home," growled Aldean, putting his arm within that of his
enigmatic friend. "You're a human cuckoo."
Mallow laughed, and went back to Kingsholme with an excellent
appetite, which went to prove that he was no lover out of a sickly
romance. For the next two or three days he made no attempt to see
Olive, but lived on the memory of her self-betrayal. In spite of Jim's
insidious hints that the pleasantest walks tended towards the Manor
House, Laurence kept away. With his host he rode and drove and played
golf. He spun over the country on his Humber, and fought Jim valiantly
in singles on the tennis-lawn.
Then the news came that Angus Carson and his friend Major Semberry had
arrived, and were in possession of the garden of flowers, and
presumably of the nymphs who haunted it. Mallow's spirits suddenly
went down to zero, and, in a moping mood, he worried Aldean for two
whole days. On the third he resolved to meet his rival face to face;
so, taking advantage of Aldean's absence at Reading, he walked over to
the Manor House, and was duly shown into the drawing-room.
Remembering their last meeting, Olive blushed as she gave Mallow her
hand. Then, to cover her confusion, she presented Mallow to a tall,
slender young man in a grey tweed suit, with his right hand in a black
silk sling.
"Mr. Mallow, this is Mr. Carson."
Laurence bowed, and as he did so he became aware of a faint drowsy
odour.
It was the perfume of sandal-wood.