A look of astonishment passed into old Alexander Wallace's face, and
into that of Lorin an expression of acute vexation as they stood in the
open doorway.
"Lina," the latter exclaimed, "I am so sorry I could not come before.
Apparently I need not introduce you to my cousin. You never told me
that you had met him?"
"Your cousin visited Mrs. Vandeleur's yesterday afternoon, but I was
out of the room nearly all the time," said Laline, constrainedly.
"Didn't I mention it to you? Now please let me say 'How do you do?' to
your uncle."
"Welcome to my niece Lina!" exclaimed old Alexander, beaming with
benevolent joy. "May I have an uncle's privilege, my dear?"
With paternal tenderness he took both the girl's hands in his and
kissed her on the cheek.
Luncheon was served in the dining-room on the ground-floor. To Laline
it was a terrible ordeal to sit between Lorin and Wallace. The latter,
as she afterwards learned, had insisted upon being included in the
party, maintaining that his presence at such a family gathering would
be the clinching proof that he had been taken back into favour. He was
in the highest possible spirits, devoting himself to Laline, paying
her compliments, and forestalling her wants at table, the while he,
with what appeared like irresponsible gaiety, rallied Lorin on his
backwardness in looking after his _fiancée_.
"'A laggard in love,' that's what you are, Lorin!" he cried. "This is
the second time you have neglected to hand the salt to Miss Grahame.
Take care I don't prove another young Lochinvar, and carry off your
prize under your nose."
"In the case of young Lochinvar, Mr. Armstrong, the bride was willing
to go," Laline remarked with some acerbity, whereat old Alexander, who
in no way understood the undercurrent of bitterness which lay in both
sallies, laughed heartily and declared that Wallace had met his match.
"I wish I had with all my heart, sir!" his nephew retorted, directing
a bold glance of admiration at Laline's face; and the old gentleman
laughed again in childish enjoyment.
It hurt Laline to see how, in spite of his serious and repeated
delinquencies, Wallace was clearly the favourite of Alexander, who
was delighted to kill the fatted calf in his behalf, Lorin's years of
filial devotion and unselfishness counting for nothing against the
shallow good humour and assumed affection of this showy ne'er-do-well.
Old Alexander's eyes rested constantly, with evident content, upon
his elder nephew's face; and, pleased as he was by the prospect of
Lorin's marriage, to him it was clearly an even greater subject for
thankfulness that his boy Wallace had humbled himself before him and
been forgiven.
"You must make allowance for me if my high spirits carry me away this
afternoon, Miss Grahame," Wallace said. "The fact is--and as you are
so soon to be a member of the family I can talk freely before you--I
have been a very, very bad boy, and a dreadful disgrace to everybody
about me. So I was punished, as bad boys ought to be. The worst part of
my punishment was the knowledge that I had deeply hurt the best man in
the world, and that I was shut out from my old home and my old place in
his affections. So this morning I went to him and appealed for another
chance; and he, having, as I believe, a corner in his heart somewhere
for me, took me home there again. That is the reason of my gaiety
to-day, cousin Lina, and I feel sure you will sympathise with me and
understand."
As Wallace spoke he laid his hand, with what looked like spontaneous
affection, upon that of his uncle, to the left of whom he was sitting.
Old Alexander grasped his hand warmly and tears filled his eyes. But
the little scene failed altogether to move Laline, who felt only
indignant that the simple-natured and kindly old man should be so
flagrantly deceived in his worthless nephew, whose sneers and gibes at
his uncle's expense were still fresh in her mind.
Lorin for his part talked very little. He had considerable difficulty
in concealing his deep annoyance at the attitude which Wallace had
adopted towards Laline. He had opposed as strongly as he could the
suggestion that Wallace should form one of the luncheon-party that
day. Knowing his cousin's record, he disliked the idea that anything
approaching familiar friendship should be instituted between his
cousin and the woman he loved. Lorin's sense of character was as keen
as that of his uncle was deficient. Wallace's pretended affection and
pretended reformation in no way deceived him, and, although, from the
associations of his boyhood, he still retained some little love for
the scapegrace elder who had taught him cricket and football years
ago, experience had taught him that no reliance was to be placed in
Wallace's honour or Wallace's word.
He grew hot with indignation, therefore, when he marked the insolent
admiration in his cousin's gaze, and heard the familiar "cousin Lina"
he addressed to Laline. One of Wallace's favourite boasts was that
he could fascinate any woman if he choose to try, and beautiful,
pure-minded Laline would not be the first woman who has been
temporarily attracted by a plausible scamp.
It was clear to Lorin that, since his cousin's visit to Mrs.
Vandeleur's house on the preceding day, Laline had changed towards
him. All their talk during their foggy walk in the Park after church
had been of deferring their marriage, and to-day her manner towards
him was strangely cold and absent. He had surprised her with his
cousin's hand on her arm, an incident concerning which neither she nor
Wallace had volunteered the slightest explanation, and even now she was
passively receiving his flattery and thinly-veiled love-making without
any evident signs of disapproval. Not one look, not one word had he a
chance of exchanging with her unnoticed by his cousin, although there
was very much that he was longing to communicate to her. He had hoped
that the occasion of seeing her home might give him the opportunity he
longed for; but his presence was required in the bank that afternoon,
and old Alexander was loath to let Laline leave so early.
"Even if Lorin is busy, and Wallace here finds for once something
useful to do, my dear," he said, "you can stay and have a cup of tea
with me at four o'clock, can't you?"
"I have nothing more useful or more pleasant to do than to stay also,"
Wallace was beginning, when Laline cut him short.
"I will stay alone with you, Mr. Wallace," she said. "You and I can
have a nice quiet _tête-à-tête_ together."
The idea had been strengthening in her mind ever since her arrival
that by old Alexander's assistance she might contrive to break her
engagement. The presence of Wallace, looming large and aggressive
upon her mental horizon, made all hope of association with his cousin
impossible. Laline was suffering acutely. The watchfulness of
Wallace's bold eyes incessantly fixed upon her face wrought her to such
a pitch of nervous excitement that she was hardly conscious of what she
said or did. The man exercised a magnetic power over her, so that, much
as she disliked and even detested him, she was profoundly affected by
his presence. A knowledge of the suffering she would shortly bring upon
Lorin increased her distress of mind; she felt she dared not look in
his face, lest her glance should be intercepted, or lest he should read
in her eyes the consciousness that she was deceiving him.
Yet the very strength of her love and pity for Lorin, and the necessity
for putting a severe curb upon her emotions, made her manner of parting
with him seem strangely cold.
"Good-bye, Lina dear! At about five o'clock I will return and take you
home."
"I may not be able to wait until then. Good-bye!"
How could he tell that her indifferent manner was only assumed, and
that her woman's heart was throbbing with grief and vain regret? She
could not even trust herself to return his look as he gazed down into
her face, his own full of surprise and pain. She drew her fingers
swiftly from the caressing clasp of his hand, lest his touch should
unnerve her for the work before her, and she let him go from her
presence thus, without one word or look to tell him that she loved him.
Wallace Armstrong noted the parting, and formed his own conclusions
thereon. He would have given a good deal to win this girl from his
cousin. Her beauty, her disdain, and something reminiscent in her face
and voice at once piqued and fascinated him. So far as he was capable
of loving a woman, he loved her, and he longed most ardently to humble
her pride and to make her will subservient to his. He was nearly
thirty-one, and his constitution was prematurely aged by his irregular
method of life. Possibly he knew that he was on the downward road,
and seized at the idea that he could be saved by the sacrifice of the
love of a pure and beautiful girl. Certain it was that he definitely
resolved, if the thing could be done, to win Laline from her allegiance
to his cousin, either before or after her marriage. Pity and remorse
were qualities as foreign to Wallace's nature, where his own selfish
enjoyment was concerned, as reverence and gratitude; and on this very
day of reconciliation and forgiveness, which was to herald a new era
of reformation, when he unwillingly left his uncle and Laline to their
_tête-à-tête_, he betook himself, not to the office, in which he had
again been offered a position, but to one of his favourite drinking
haunts, where he speedily made amends for his comparative abstinence at
luncheon.
In Lorin's sitting-room a cheery fire was burning, and Laline drew old
Mr. Wallace's arm-chair towards the blaze, while she herself stood
with one hand on the mantelpiece and one foot on the fender, looking
earnestly down into the glowing coals.
"What a slip of a girl you are, to be sure, my dear!" remarked
Alexander Wallace, as he noticed the graceful but unduly slender
outline of her figure in its severely-cut blue-serge gown. "It's time
you had some one to look after you and make life pleasanter for you!
And what is the exact day you have fixed for the wedding?"
She turned and faced him suddenly, very pale, with big tears gathering
in her eyes.
"Mr. Wallace," she said, "I am going to hurt you dreadfully--but it
hurts me even more. My marriage with your nephew Lorin can never take
place!"
Alexander started from his seat and gazed at her blankly.
"Never take place?" he repeated slowly. "You are surely joking, my
lassie! I thought you seemed a bit cold to the boy; but it's only some
lovers' tiff, and you will make it up when you meet again. I am not too
old to forget young folks' ways."
"There has been no tiff. I love your nephew far too well to quarrel
with him; but we must part, all the same."
"Can it be possible," Alexander asked, in bewildered tones, "that you
have taken a fancy to my other nephew? I hope not, my dear. Much as I
love Wallace--and he is like my own son to me--I hope not. A good woman
might be the making of Wallace, I do believe, but her heart might be
broken in the process. He's a wild harum-scarum fellow, and----"
"Do you think for one moment," cried Laline, indignantly, "that I would
break off my engagement with Lorin in order to marry your other nephew?
I have seldom met any one I dislike so much as he in all my life!"
"Yet he's a fine, handsome fellow, and I have heard that women go crazy
about him. There's a lot of good in Wallace, too," said his uncle,
anxiously; "and you and he seemed very good friends when Lorin and I
came in suddenly and found you together before luncheon."
"He had roughly seized my arm and I could not get it away," returned
Laline, shuddering at the remembrance of the scene. "I can't endure
even to talk about him! Lorin is worth a whole regiment of such men!
Lorin is manly and sincere, unselfish and kind----"
"If he is all this, why don't you want to marry him?"
"But I do want to marry him--I want to marry him with all my heart!"
she cried, distractedly. "Oh, Mr. Wallace, listen to me and help me
with your advice, for I am very, very unhappy!"
She slipped down on her knees on the hearthrug before his chair, and
told her tale thus, nervously clasping and unclasping the slender hands
in her lap while she spoke.
"What I am going to tell you you must give me your word to keep
secret," she said. "No one must know--not even Lorin. Promise me that."
"I promise; but----"
"I loved Lorin as soon as I met him, and I was proud of loving him, and
encouraged him to love me in return. I agreed to marry him directly he
asked me. I never tried to hide my feelings for him. You know this,
don't you?"
"Why should you hide your feelings? He is a man any girl might be proud
to love."
"He is indeed! That's what makes it so hard to give him up!"
Tears were raining down Laline's cheeks now and her voice was choked by
sobs.
Alexander Wallace gazed upon her in wondering pity for a moment. Then
he gently took her hands, which were pressed to her eyes, and drew her
to the side of his chair.
"Tell me all your trouble, my child," he said, tenderly. "Why should
you give up Lorin, since you love each other and since there is no
quarrel between you?"
"Mr. Wallace," she faltered, "don't think too harshly of me! I have
deceived you all. When I was little more than a child I was married!"
"Married?" Alexander repeated, in astonishment. "Then you are a widow?"
"No!"
"Your husband is alive?"
She bowed her head.
A long pause followed. Mr. Wallace let her hands go and rose from his
chair.
"Heaven forgive you," he said, solemnly, "for playing with a good
man's love! It was an ill deed, whatever prompted it? My poor boy!"
"Mr. Wallace," cried Laline, springing up and facing him, "don't
misjudge me! When I met Lorin, I believed myself free to be his wife.
It is only quite recently--within the past few days, indeed--I found
out that----"
"That your husband was alive?"
"Yes."
"And you have to return to him?"
"No, no--not for the whole world! I----Please--please don't ask me any
questions, Mr. Wallace! My marriage was a terrible mistake! I had heard
and seen nothing of the man I married for several years; I knew of
nothing to prevent my marriage with Lorin. Then, by sheer accident, I
learned that that other man was still alive. I cannot tell you how much
I hate him; and he never cared for me for one moment, and has forgotten
my existence. But he lives, and I cannot marry Lorin!"
"But why tell me all this, my child? Why not go to Lorin, and let him
hear the truth from your own lips?"
"No, no--I can't; it is quite impossible! I have made up my mind what
to do. I must go away from here, to some place where he cannot follow
me; and then you must break it to him. Only remember one thing. You
must tell him I loved him with all my heart and soul. Tell him I never
knew what love was until I met him. Tell him that my marriage was a
miserable farce, that within one hour of the ceremony I was far away
from my husband, and that I never went back to him again. Be sure to
tell him that. Tell him it is of no use to think of me any more. I
don't want him to leave off loving me, but he must love me as though
I were dead, for I must be dead to him. I shall leave England, and he
must not attempt to find me or follow me. I trust to his honour to
respect my wishes, for it is of no use pretending to be better or
stronger than I am, Mr. Wallace. I love Lorin so dearly that, if I
were to see him or write to him, I don't know what I might say or do.
You see it is a great temptation. I am tied to a man I hate, who does
not even know that I am alive; yet, because of those words we spoke
together years ago when I was too young to understand the meaning
of what I did, I must break my own heart and that of the man I love
and live lonely and uncared for perhaps all my life. To me it seems
bitterly, cruelly hard! Yet I would not for anything let Lorin fall
from my ideal of him; and, if we were together, and he asked me to
become his wife, in spite of the law, I could not be sure of myself,
and perhaps I might say 'Yes.' Now do you understand why you must tell
him all this and not I?"
"I understand," the old man answered, in a broken voice. "My poor
children!"