 CHAPTER XIII. MY LORD MAKES HIS BOW PART TWO OF BLACK MOTH BY GEORGET HIRE. REDFORLEEBREVOX.ORG INTO THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. Now I am going to ask a question, broke in Miss Betty's voice. He threw out an imploring hand. Madam, I beg you will consider my feeble condition. Am I fit to bear the strain, thank you? I do. Is it usual for gentlemen to ride masks, as you were? At that he laughed. No, madam, but for the gentleman of the high Toby it is deraille. She paused with her needle held in mid-air. Now, what do you mean by that? Just that I am a common highwayman, Miss Betty. She stared at him for a moment, then resumed her work. You look it. John cast a startled glance down his slim person. Is that so, madam? And I rather flattered myself I did not. I was only laughing at you. You do not expect me to believe that fabrication, surely? I fear I do, he sighed. It is very true a lack. Oh, indeed! Also a friend of Sir Miles O'Hara, J.P., and of Mr. Everard. At least the last named is not an acquaintance to be proud of, he retorted. Perhaps not. My die says he is some great gentleman. I perceive that your die is by nature suspicious. Why does she think that? You will see. Die, love, here is Mr. Carr trying to make me believe that he is a highwayman. Diana came up to them smiling. I fear he teases you, Aunt. Do you remember this, sir? Into Jack's hands she put his grace of andover sword. Carr stares took it, surprised, and glanced casually at the hilt. Then he started up. Why, tis his sword! And I thought it was left on the roadside. Can it be—did you bring it, mademoiselle? She dropped him a curtsy and laughed. You are surprised, sir. You demanded the sword, so I naturally supposed that you required it. Therefore I brought it home. T'was monstrous thoughtful of you, then. I dared not hope that it had not been forgotten. I am very grateful. Then pray show your gratitude by sitting down again. Advise the elder, Miss Bully. Remember that this is your first day up, and have a care. John subsided obediently, turning the sword over in his hands. Diana pointed to the wrought gold hilt with an accusing finger. And I mistake not, sir. That is a cornet. My lord's eyes followed the pink-tipped finger and rested wrathfully upon the arms of andover. It was like Tracely to flaunt them on his sword-hilt, he reflected. It certainly has that appearance, he admitted cautiously. Also, those are not paced, but real diamonds, and that is a ruby. I do not dispute it, madem, he answered meekly. And I believe that big stone is an emerald. I am very much afraid that it is. An expensive toy, she said, and looked sharply at him. Ornate, I agree, but as true a piece of steel as I ever saw, replied my lord blandly, balancing the rapier on one finger. A very expensive toy, she repeated sternly. John sighed. True, madem, true. Then, with a brightened air, perhaps Mr. Everard has expensive tastes. It is very possible, and I think that Mr. Everard must have been more than a simple country gentleman to indulge those tastes. Carstairs bit his lip to hide a smile at the thought of Tracely in the light of a simple country gentleman, and shook his head sadly. Do you infer that he came by this sword dishonestly, madem? The dimple quivered and was gone. Sir, I believe that you are playing with me, she said, with great dignity. Madem, I am abashed. I am very glad to hear it, then. I infer that Mr. Everard was something more than he pretended to be. In truth, a sorry rogue did deceive a lady. And I want to know if I'm right. Is he perhaps some grand gentleman? I can assure you, madem, that there is very little of the gentleman about Mr. Everard. Miss Betty began to laugh. Have done, my dear, to his of no avail, and to his impolite depress Mr. Carr too hard. Diana pouted. He is monstrous provoking, I think, she said, and eyed him approachfully. I am desolate, mourn Jack, but his eyes danced. And now you are laughing. But then mademoiselle, so are you. She shook her head, resolutely repressing the dimple. Then I am inconsolable. The brown eyes sparkled and her lips parted, in spite of her efforts to keep them in a stern line. Oh, but you are ridiculous, she cried and sprang to her feet, and here is Sir Miles. O'Hara came across the lawn towards them, bowed to the ladies, and glanced inquiringly from one to the other. Is it a joke you have? he asked. Diana answered him. Indeed, no, sir, to his Mr. Carr, who was so provoking. Provoking, is it? And what has he been doing? I'll tell you the whole truth, Miles, interposed the maligned one, to his Mr. Diana, who was so inquisitive. Oh! Diana blessed furiously. I protest you are unkind, sir. Short his no gentleman he is at all. To his on the subject of gentleman that we, quarreled, supplied her to the present. Disagreed, amended his lordship. Disagreed, not a Diana. I asked him whether Mr. Everard was not some grand gentleman, and he evaded the point. I vowed his slander, cried Jack. I merely said that Everard was no gentleman at all. There, and was that not evading the point, sir Miles? Was it? Sure, and I'm inclined to agree with him. I declare you are both in league against me, she cried, with greater truth than she knew. I mean, was he perhaps a tidal gentleman? But how should Jack know that? Because I am sure he knows him, or at least of him. Listen, Mr. Stuy, broke in my lord, shooting a warning glance at O'Hara. I will tell you all about Mr. Everard, and I hope you will be satisfied with my tale. He paused and seemed to cudgel his brain. First he is, of course, titled. Let me see. Yes. He is a duke. Oh, he is certainly a duke. And I am not sure but what he is royal. He—now you are ridiculous, cried Miss Betty. You are very teasing, said Diana, and tried to frown. First you pretend to know nothing about Mr. Everard, and then you tell me foolish stories about him. A duke, indeed. I believe you really do know nothing about him. As car stairs had hoped, she refused to believe the truth. He is playing with you, child, said O'Hara, who had listened to Jack's tale with a face of wonder. I warn't he knows no Everard, eh, Jack? No, I cannot say I do, laughed his lordship. But—but you said—never mind what he said, Miss Dye, to his escurvy fellow he is. She regarded him gravely. Indeed, I almost think so. But the dimple peeped out for all that. The next instant it was gone, and Diana turned a face of gloom to her aunt, pouting her red lips adorably, so thought my lord. Mr. Bedison, she said, in accents of despair. At these mystic words Jack saw Miss Betty frown and heard her impatient remark, draft the man. He looked towards the house and perceived a short, rather stout young man to be walking with a peculiar strutting gate towards them. The boy was good-looking, car stairs acknowledged to himself, but his eyes were set too close, and he did not like his style. No, he certainly did not like his style, nor the proprietary way in which he kissed Diana's hand. How agreeable it is to see you again, Mr. Bedison, said Miss Betty, with much affability. I declared to his an age since we set eyes on you. Oh, no, aunt! contradicted Diana sweetly. Why, it was only a very short while ago that Mr. Bedison was here, surely. She withdrew the hand that the young man seemed to inclined to hold fast to, and turned to John. I think you do not know Mr. Bedison, Mr. Carr, she said. Mr. Bedison, allow me to present you to Mr. Carr. Sir Miles, I think you know. The squire bowed with a great deal of stiff hostility. Car stairs returned to the bow. You will excuse my not riding, I beg. He smiled. As you perceive, I have had an accident. Light dawned on Bedison. This was the man who had rescued Diana, who found his impudence. Ah, yes, sir. Your arm, was it not? My faith, I should be proud of such a wound. It seemed to car stairs that he smiled at Diana in a damned familiar fashion. Devil take his impudence. It was a great honour, sir. Mr. Stuy, I have finished sorting your green silks. Diana sank down on the cushion again, and shook some more strands out onto his knee. How quick you have been! Now we will do the blue ones. Bedison glared. This fellow seemed prodigious intimate with Diana. Devil take him. He sat down beside Miss Betty and addressed himself to my lord patronizingly. Let me see, uh, Mr. Carr, have I met you in town, I wonder, at Tom's, perhaps? This country bumpkin would belong to Tom's, reflected John savagely, for no reason at all. Allowed, he said, I think it extremely unlikely, sir, I have been abroad some years. Oh, indeed, sir, the grand tour, I suppose. Mr. Bedison's tone was not the tone of one who supposes any such thing. John smiled. Not this time, he said. That was seven years ago. Mr. Bedison had heard rumours of this fellow who, it was murmured, was not but a common high woman. Really, after Cambridge, perhaps. Oxford corrected Carstairs gently. Curse his audacity, thought Mr. Bedison. Seven years ago, let me think. George must have been on the tour, then, so when I mean, Miss Bully. Jack, who had made the tour with several other young bucks fresh down from college, accompanied as far as Paris by the famous witt himself, held his peace. Mr. Bedison then launched forth into anecdotes of his own tour, and seeing that his friend was entirely engrossed with Miss Diana and her silps, O'Hara felt it incumbent on him to draw the enemy's fire, taking his own departure, to bear the squire off with him. For which he received a grateful smile from my lord, and a kiss blown from the tips of her fingers from Mr. Stuy, with whom he was on the best of terms. CHAPTER XIV. Mr. Stuy is unmaidantly, part one, of Black Moth by George Ed Hire, read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. The idyllic summer days passed quickly by, and every time that my lord spoke of leaving, the outcry was so indignant and so firm that he hastily subsided and told himself he would stay just another few days. His shoulder, having mended up to a certain point, refused quite to heal, and exertion brought the pain back very swiftly. So his time was, for the most part, spent with Mr. Stuy out of doors, helping her with her gardening and her chickens, for Diana was an enthusiastic poultry farmer on a small scale, and ministering to her various pets. If Fido had a splinter in his paw, it was to Mr. Carr that he was taken. If Nelly the Spaniel caught a live rabbit, Mr. Carr would assuredly know what to do for it, and the same with all the other animals. The young pair grew closer and closer together, while Miss Betty and O'Hara watched from afar, the former filled with pride of her darling and satisfaction, and the latter with apprehension. O'Hara knew that his friend was falling unconsciously in love, and he feared the time when John should realize it. He confided these fears to his wife, who, with young David, was staying at her mother's house in Kensington, in a long and very Irish letter. She replied that he must try and coax my lord into coming to stay with them, when her charms would at once eclipse Mistress Diana's, though to be sure she could not understand why Miles should not wish him to fall in love, for as he well knew towards a prodigious pleasant sensation. If he did not know it then he was indeed most disagreeable. And had he ever heard of anything so wonderful, David had drawn a picture of a horse. Yes, really, it was a horse. Was he not a clever child? Further, would her dearest Miles please come and fetch her home, for although mamma was prodigious, amiable, and wanted her to stay several weeks, she positively could not live without her husband an instant longer than was necessary. As soon as O'Hara read the last part of the letter he brushed car-stairs in his love affairs to one side, and posted straight to London to obey the welcome summons. Bit by bit my lord discovered that he was very much in love with Diana. At first his heart gave a great bound, and then seemed to stop with a sickening thud. He remembered that he could not ask her to marry him, disgraced as he was, and he immediately faced the situation, realizing that he must go away at once. His first move was to Mr. Bolie to tell him of his decision. On being asked why he must so suddenly leave Horton House, he explained that he loved Diana and could not in honour speak of love to her. At which Mr. Bolie gasped and demanded to know the reason. Car-stairs told him that he was by profession a high-women, and watched him bridle angrily. Before so agreeable and so smiling, Mr. Bolie now became frigidly polite. He quite understood Mr. Carr's position, and, ah, yes, he honoured him for the course on which he had decided. Mr. Bolie was very, very cold. Car-stairs gave Jim orders to pack immediately that he might depart next day, and reluctantly informed Miss Betty of his going. She was startled and bewildered. She had imagined that he would spend all June with them. Circumstances he regretted he willed otherwise. He should always remember her great kindness to him, and hoped that she would forgive the brusque nature of his departure. When he told Diana her eyes opened very wide and she laughed, pointing an accusing finger at him. You are teasing, Mr. Carr, she cried, and ran into the house. That evening Miss Betty confirmed Jack's words, and seeing the hurt look in the girl's eyes wisely held her peace. Next morning in the placents Diana came across my Lord, and went up to him, gravely questioning. You are really leaving us to-day, Mr. Carr? I am afraid I must, Mr. Stuy. So suddenly, then you were not teasing yesterday? No, mademoiselle, I was not. I fear I have tarried too long, taking advantage of your kindness. Oh, no, no, she assured him. Indeed you have not. Must you really go? Looking down into her big eyes, John read the answering love with them, and grew pale. It was worse to think that she cared too. If only he thought she was indifferent, Parni would not seem so unbearable. Mademoiselle, you overwhelm me. I must go. Oh, but I am sorry. Your being here has been such a pleasure. I— She stopped and looked away across the flowers. You— prompted Jack before he could check himself. With a tiny laugh she brought her gaze back. I am sorry you must leave us, naturally. She sat down beneath an arbor of roses, and padded the place beside her invitingly, with just the same unconscious friendliness that she had always shown him. My Lord stayed where he was, with one hand on a tree-trunk and the other fidgeting with his quizzing-glass. Mr. Stuy, I think it only right that I should tell you what I have told your father, and what I told your aunt some time ago when she refused to believe me. To some extent I am here under false pretenses. I am not what you think I am. Diana laced and unlaced her fingers, and thought that she understood. Oh, no, Mr. Carr. I am afraid, yes, mademoiselle. I am a— common felon, a highwayman. He bit the words out, not looking at her. But I knew that, she said softly. You knew it? Why, yes, I remember when you told Aunt Betty. You believed me? You see, she apologized, I always wondered why you were masked. And yet you permitted me to stay? How silly of you, Mr. Carr! Of course I do not care what you are. I owe so much to you. He wheeled round at that and faced her. Madem, I can bear anything rather than gratitude. Is it only that which has made you tolerate me all this time? Her fingers gripped one another. Why, sir? Why, sir? The flame died out of his eyes, and he drew himself up stiffly, speaking with a curtness that surprised her. I crave your pardon. I should be whipped at the cart-tail for asking such an impertinent question. Get it, I beg. Diana looked up at the stern face, half amazed, half affronted. I do not think I quite understand you, sir. There is not to understand, mademoiselle, he answered, with dry lips. T'were merely that I was coxcomb enough to hope that you liked me a little, for my known sake. She glanced again at his averted head with a wistful little smile. Oh! she murmured. Oh! and! It is very dreadful to be a highwayman, she sighed. Yes, mademoiselle. End of Chapter 14 Part 1 Read by Cibella Denton For more free audio books or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org Chapter 14 Mr. Diana is Unmade-Nly Part 2 Of Black Moth by George Ed Hire Read for Librivox.org into the public domain. But surely you could cease to be one, coaxingly. He did not trust himself to answer. I know you could, please do. That is not all, he forced himself to say. There is worse. Is there, she asked, wide-eyed, what else have you done, Mr. Carr? I once—heaven, how hard it was to say—I once cheated at cards. It was out. Now she would turn from him and disgust. He shut his eyes in anticipation of her scorn, and his head turned away. Only once came the soft voice, filled with odd admiration. His eyes flew open. Mademoiselle! She drooped her head mournfully. I am afraid I always cheat, she confessed. I had no idea it was so wicked, although Auntie gets so cross and vows she will not play with me. He could not help laughing. Tis not wicked in you, child. You do not play for money. Oh, did you? Yes, child. Then that was horrid of you, she agreed. He stood silent, fighting the longing to tell her the truth. But—but do not look so solemn, sir, the pleading voice went on. I am sure you must have had a very strong excuse. None. And now you are letting it spoil your life, she asked reproachfully. It does not wait for my permission, he answered bitterly. Ah! but what a pity! Must one moment's indiscretion interfere with all else in life. That is ridiculous. You have—what is the word?—expeated. Oh yes, that is it, expiated it. I know it. The past can never be undone, madame. That of course is true, she nodded with an air of a sage, but it can be forgotten. His hand flew out eagerly and dropped back to his side. It was hopeless. He could not tell her the truth and ask her to share his disgrace. He must bear it alone, and above all he must not whine. He had chosen to take Richard's blame and must abide by the consequences. It was not a burden to be cast off as soon as it became too heavy for him. It was forever, forever. He forced his mind to grasp that fact. Although his life must be alone against the world, his name would never be cleared. He could never ask this sweet child who sat before him with such a wistful, pleading look on her lovely face to wed him. He looked down at her somberly, telling him that she did not really care, that it was his own foolish imagination. Now, she was speaking, he listened to the liquid voice that repeated, could it not be forgotten? No, mademoiselle, it will always be there. To all intents and purposes, might it not be forgotten? She persisted. It will always stand in the way, mademoiselle. He supposed that mechanical voice was his own. Through his brain thrummed the thought, it is for Dick's sake, for Dick's sake, for Dick's sake you must be silent. Resolutely he pulled himself together. It will stand in the way of what? asked Diana. I can never ask a woman to be my wife, he replied. Now wantonly stripped a rose of its petals, letting each fragment leaf flutter slowly to the ground. I do not see why you cannot, sir. No woman would share my disgrace. No. No. You seem very certain, Mr. Carr. Pray, have you asked the lady? No, madem. Carstairs was as white as she was red, but he was holding himself well in hand. Then the husky voice was very low. Then, why don't you? The slim hand against the tree-trunk was clenched tightly, she observed. In his pale face the blue eyes burnt dark. Because, madem, to her the action of a—of a—of a what, Mr. Carr? A cur, a scoundrel, a blackard. Another rose was sharing the fate of the first. I have heard it said that some women like curs and—and—and scoundrels, even blackards, remarked that provocative voice. Through her lashes its owner watched my lord's knuckles gleam white against the tree-bark. Not the lady I love, madem. Oh, but are you sure? I am sure. She must marry a man whose honor is spotless, who is not a nameless outcast and who lives not by dice and highway robbery. He knew that the brown eyes were glowing and sparkling with unshed tears, but he kept his own turned inexorably the other way. There was no doubting now that she cared, and that she knew that he did also. He could not leave her to think that her love had been slighted. She must not be hurt, but made to understand that he could not declare his love. But how hard it was, but how hard it was, with her sorrowful gaze upon him in the pleading note in her voice, it was quivering now. Must she, sir? Yes, madem. But supposing—supposing the lady did not care, supposing she loved you, and was willing to share your disgrace. The ground at her feet was strewn with crimson petals, and all around and above her roses knotted and suede. A tiny breeze was stirring her curls in the lace of her frock, but John would not allow himself to look, lest the temptation to catch her in his arms should prove too great for him. She was ready to give herself to him, to face anything, only to be with him. In the plainest language she offered herself to him, and he had to reject her. It is inconceivable that the lady would sacrifice herself in such a fashion, madame," he said. Sacrifice! She caught her breath. You call it that? What else? I—I—I do not think that you are very wise, Mr. Carr, nor that you—understand women very well. She might not call it by that name. It would make no difference what she called it, madame. She would ruin her life, and that must never be. A white rose joined its fallen brethren, pulled to pieces by fingers that trembled pitifully. Mr. Carr, if the lady loved you, is it quite fair to her to say nothing? There was a long silence, and then my lord lied bravely. I hope that she will in time forget me," he said. Diana sat very still. No more roses were destroyed. The breeze wafted the fallen petals over her feet, lightly, almost playfully. Somewhere in the hedge a bird was singing, a full-throated sobbing plaint, and from all around came an incessant chirping and twittering. The sun set its bright rays all over the garden, bathing it in gold and happiness, but for the two and the plaisants the light had gone out, and the world was very black. I see! whispered Diana at last. Poor lady! I think it was a cursed day that saw me come into her life, he groaned. Perhaps it was. Her hurt heart made her answer. He bowed his head. I can only hope that she will not think too hardly of me, he said, very low, and that she will find it in her heart to be sorry for me also. She rose and came up to him, her skirts brushing gently over the grass, holding out her hands imploringly. Mr. Carr! He would not allow himself to look into the gold-flecked eyes. He must remember Dick, his brother, Dick. In his hand he took the tips of her fingers and, vowing, kissed them. Then he turned on his heel and strode swiftly away between the hedges towards the quiet woods, with a heart aflame with passion and with rebellion and impotent fury. He would go somewhere quite alone and fight the devil that was prompting him to cry the truth aloud and to throw aside his burden for love, forgetting duty. But Diana remained standing among the scattered flowers, very still, very cold, with a look of hopeless longing in her eyes, and a great hurt. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CHAPTER XXXXV. O'Hara's Mind is Made Up. Part I of Black Moth by George Atire. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Jim Salter folded one of my lord's waistcoats and placed it carefully in an open valise. Then he picked up a coat and spread it on the bed preparatory to folding it in such wise that no crease should afterwards mar it smoothness. All about him my lord's clothing was strewn. Mechlin ruffles and cravats adorned one chair, silk hose another, gorgeous coats hung on their backs, shoes of every description, red healed and white, riding boots and slippers stood in a row awaiting attention, wigs purged coquettishly on handy projections, and piles of white cambrick shirts peeped out from an almost finished bag. Jim laid the coat tenderly in the valise, coaxing it into decorous folds, and wondering at the same time where his master was. He had been out all the morning and on his return had looked so ill that Jim had been worried, and wished that they were not leaving Horton House quite so soon. A little while ago my lord had been closeted with his host. Jim supposed he must still be there. He reached out his hand for another waistcoat, but before his fingers had touched it he stopped, and lifted his head listening. Hasty impetuous footsteps sounded on the stairs, and came furiously along the corridor. The door was twisted open, and my lord stood on the threshold. Jim scanned the tired face anxiously, and noted with a sinking heart that the blue eyes were blazing and the fine lips set in a hard, uncompromising line. The slender hand gripping the door handle twitched in a way that Jim knew full well. Evidently my lord was in an uncertain mood. Have you finished? Wrapped out car-stairs. Not quite, sir. I wish to leave this year, not next, if it is all the same to you. Yes, sir. I didn't know you was in a hurry, sir. There was no reply to this. My lord advanced into the room and cast one glance at his scattered baggage and another all around him. Where's my riding-dress? Jim shivered in his luckless shoes. I—uh—tis packed, sir. Do you want it? Of course I want it. Do you suppose that I am going to ride in what I have on? I rather thought you were driving, your honour. I am not. The scarlet suit at once, please. He flung himself down in a chair before his dressing-table and picked up a nail-file. Salter eyed his reflection in the glass dismally and made no movement to obey. After a moment my lord swung round. Well, what are you standing there for? Didn't you hear me? I sir, I did, but your pardons, sir, do you think tis wise to ride to-day for—for the first time? The file slammed down onto the table. I am riding to Horley this afternoon, said his master dangerously. Tis a matter of fifteen miles or so, your honour. Hadn't you better—damn you, Jim, be quiet! Salter gave it up. Very well, sir, he said and unearthed the required dress. I'll see the baggage goes by coach and saddle to Mare and Peter. Not Peter, you go in the coach. No, sir. What? My lord stared at him. There had been a note of finality in the respectful tone. My lord became icy. You forget yourself, Salter. I ask your pardon, sir. You will travel in charge of my things, as usual. Jim compressed his lips and stowed his shoe away in the corner of the bag. You understand me? I understand you well enough, sir. Then that is settled. No, sir. My lord dropped his eyeglass. What the devil do you mean, no, sir? I ask your pardon, sir, and I presume, but I can't and won't let you ride alone with your wound but just tealed. There was not a hint of defiance or impertence in the quiet voice, but it held a great determination. You won't, eh? Do you imagine I am a child? No, sir. Or unable to take care of myself? I think you are weaker than you know, sir. Oh, you do, do you? Jim came up to him. You'll let me ride with you, sir. I won't trouble you, and I can ride behind, but I can't let you go alone. You might faint, sir. I can assure you I am not like to be a pleasant companion," said Carstairs, with a savage little laugh. Why, sir, I understand there's something troubling you. Will you let me come? My lord scowled up at him, and then relented suddenly. As you please. Thank you, sir. Salter returned to his packing, courting one bag and placing it near the door and quickly filling another. The piles of linen grew steadily smaller until they disappeared, and he retired into a cupboard to reappear with a great armful of coats and small clothes. For a while my lord sat silent, staring blankly before him. He walked to the window and stood with his back to the room, looking out. Then he turned and came back to his chair. Jim, watching him covertly, noted that the hard glitter had died out of his eyes, and that he looked wearier than ever. He never studied his nails for a moment in silence. Presently he spoke. Jim. Yes, sir. I shall be going abroad again shortly. If Carstairs had remarked that it was a fine day, the man could not have shown less surprise. Shall we, sir? John looked across at him, smiling faintly. You'll come, Jim? I would go anywhere with you, sir. And what about that little girl at Fittering? Salter blushed and stammered hopelessly. My dear fellows, since when have I been blind? Do you think that I did not know? Why, sir, well, sir, yes, sir. Of course I knew. Can you leave her to come with me? I couldn't leave you to stay with her, sir. Are you sure? I do not want you to come against your inclinations. Women ain't everything, sir. Are they not? I think they are. A great deal, said my lord wistfully. I am mighty fond of Mary, but she knows I must go with you. Does she? But is it quite fair to her? And I believe I am not mine to drag you across the continent again. You won't leave me behind, sir. You couldn't do that. Sir, you're never thinking of going by yourself. I—I won't let you. I'm afraid I cannot spare you. But if you should change your mind, tell me. Is it a promise? I, sir, if I should change my mind—Salter's voice was grimly sarcastic. I am selfish enough to hope you'll not change. I think no one else would bear with my vile temper as you do. Help me out of this coat, will you? I'll never change, sir, and as to tempers, as if I minded. No, you're marvellous. My breeches. Thanks. He shed his satin small clothes and proceeded to enter into white buckskins. Not those boots, Jim, the other pair. He leaned against the table as he spoke, drumming his fingers on a chair-back. A knock fell on the door, at which he frowned and signed to Jim, who walked across and opened it slightly. A sheer master here, inquired a well-known voice, and at the sound of it my lord's face lighted up, and Salter stood aside. Come in, Myles. The big Irishman complied and cast a swift glance round the disordered room. He raised his eyebrows at the side of Jack's riding-boots and looked inquiringly across at him. My lord pushed a chair forward with his foot. Sit down, man! I thought you were in London. I was. I brought Molly home yesterday to Darlan, and I heard that you were leaving here this afternoon. Ah? And as I'm not going to let you slip through my fingers again, I thought I would come and make sure of you. You are a deal too slippery, Jack. Yet I was coming to see you again, whatever happened. Of course. You are coming now to stay. Oh, no! O'Hara placed his hat and whip on the table and stretched his legs with a sigh. Sure to stiff I am. Jim, I've shays outside for the baggage, so you may take it down as soon as may be. Leave it where it is, Jim. Myles, to his monstrous good of you, but—keep your bets to yourself, Jack. My mind's made up. And so is mine. I really cannot. My good boy, you are coming to stay with us until you are recovered, if I have to knock you senseless and then carry you. The lightning smile flashed into Jack's eyes. How ferocious! But prey, do not be ridiculous over a mere scratch. Recover it, indeed. You still look ill. Nay, Jack. Take that frown off your face. Tis of no avail. I am determined. The door closed softly behind Jim as car-steers shook his head. I can't, Myles. You must seed his impossible. Poo! No one who comes to Thur's house knows you or anything about you. You need not see a soul, but come, you must. But Myles! Jack, don't be a fool. I want you and so does Mully. Tis no trap, so you need not look so scared. I'm not. Indeed, I am very grateful, but I cannot. I am going abroad almost at once. What? Yes, I mean it. O'Hara set up. So it has come. I knew it would. What mean you? You found out that you love Mr. Stuy. Nonsense! And she you. Jack looked at him. Oh, hi. I'm a tackless oaf, I know, and me manners are atrocious to be for trying to break through the barriers you put up round to yourself. But I tell you, Jack, it hurts to be kept at the end of a pole. I don't want to force your confidence, but for God's sake, don't be treating me as if I were a stranger. I beg your pardon, Myles. It's confoundedly hard to confide in any one after six years solitude. He struggled into his coat as he spoke and settled his cravat. If you want to know the whole truth, Tis because of Diana that I am going. Of course. You are in love with her. It rather points that way, does it not? Then why the devil don't you ask her to marry you? Why don't I ask her? Because I will not offer her smirch name. Because I love her so much that— He broke off with a shaky, furious laugh. How can you ask me such a question? I am a desirable partie, heim. Nom de nom. For what do you take me? O' Hera looked up, calmly studying the wrathful countenance. Chivalrous young fool, he drawled. Again the short, angry laugh. It is so likely that I should ask her to marry me, is it not? Mademoiselle, you see in me an improvident fool. I began life by cheating at cards, and since then— Oh, I shall believe it myself ere long. I seem to have told it to so many people, and I lay myself open to the impertences of— He checked himself, thinking of the interview downstairs with Mr. Bollie. Rubbish, Jack! Tis not rubbish. I have one recommendation, only one. Faith, have ye as much? What is it? My lord laughed bitterly. I dress rather well. And fence better, farce I remember. I have reason to. That is but another point to dam me. What woman would marry a fencing master? Oh, my God! What a mess I have made of my life! He tried to laugh and failed miserably. I rather fancy Mr. Stuywood. She will not be asked to thus demean herself, was the proud answer. My dear Jack, you forget you are the Earl of Wincham. A pretty Earl. No thank you, Myles. Richard's son will be Earl, no son of mine. O' Hera brought his fist down on the table with a crash. Damn Richard on his son! My lord picked up a jeweled pin, and walking to the glass proceeded to fasten it in his cravat. The other followed him with smoldering eyes. Retired into your cell again, he growled. Car stares with his head slightly on one side, considered the effect of the pin. Then he came back to his friend. My dear Myles, the long and short of it is that I am an unreasonable grumbler. I made my bed, and I suppose I must lie on it. And will ye be after telling me who helped you in the making of it? Car stares sat down and started to pull on one boot. I foresee we shall be at one another's throats there long, he prophesied cheerfully. Did I tell you that I informed Mr. Bowley of my, uh, profession to-day? Myles forgot his anger in surprise. You never told him you were a highwayman, he cried. Yes, I did. Why not? Why not? Why not? God help us all! Are ye daft men? Do ye intend to tell every other person ye meet what ye are? But, dad, to this mad ye are entirely. Car stares sighed. I was afraid ye would not understand. It would take a wizard to understand ye. Another shovel was impulse, a doubt not. Sh- No. It is just that I could not let him think me an honourable gentleman. He took it well on the whole, and is now frigidly polite. Polite? I should hope so. The old scarecrow after ye'd saved his daughter on him, too, and to us he who made ye so furious. Others laughed. He and myself, ye see, he lectured me, oh, quite kindly, on the error of my ways, and it hurt. Tis as well ye are coming to me, then, the way things are with yet present. My Lord opened his mouth to speak, encountered a fiery glance and shut it again. Anything to say? inquired O'Hara with a threatening gleam in his eye. No, sir, replied Jack Meekly. You will come. Please. O'Hara sprang up joyfully. Good Lord lad, I was afraid at one time. Put on your other boot while I go and look for that rascal of yours. He hurried out of the room to find Jim, who, having foreseen the result of the contest, was already stowing the luggage away on the shays. CHAPTER XV O'HARA'S MIND IS MADE UP PART II. OF BLACK MOTH BY GEORGET HIRE. Red for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Half an hour later, his adduce made, Jim in the baggage following, my Lord rode out with O'Hara on his way to Thur's house. For some time there was silence between the two men, with only a perfunctory remark or two on the fineness of the day and the freshness of the mare to break it. Carstairs's mind was, as his friend well knew, dwelling on all that he had left behind him. His parting with Diana had been quite ordinary, she at least making no sign that he was anything beyond a chance acquaintance. Indeed, it had almost seemed to him that her attitude was slightly aloof, as this she had drawn a little into herself. Her hand, when he kissed it, had been lifeless and cold, her smile sweetly remote. He knew that he had held the hand a fraction of a minute longer than was strictly in accordance with the rules on good manners, and he feared that he had clasped it in a most unseemly wise, pressing it hard against his lips. He wondered whether she had remarked it. He little guessed that long after he had ridden out of sight, she continued to feel that pressure. If he could have seen her passionately kissing each finger separately, for fear her lips might pass over the exact spot his had touched, his heart might have been lighter. It was true that she had retired into her shell, a little hurt at what she had termed his man's blind obstinacy. She had laid her heart bare for him to read. She had offered herself to him as plainly as if she had spoken in terms less general than in the Plucense. She had fought desperately for her happiness, thrusting aside all thought of maiden modesty. And when she afterwards had realized what she had done, and tried to imagine what he must think of her, she had blushed dark, and mentally flayed herself for her lack of proper pride in manners. Terrified that he might think her a modest, overwhelmed with sudden shyness, she had been colder in her attitude toward him than she had intended, even in her anxiety not to appear forward. But in spite of her coldness, how intensely had she hoped that he would sense her love, and all that she wanted him to know? incomprehensible the ways of women. Not endowed with feminine perspicacity or intuition, how could John hope to understand her dual feelings? He only knew that he had hurt her, and that she had drawn back that she might not lay herself open to more. He could not hope to understand her when she did not fully understand herself. Reflecting on the swiftness with which love had come to them, he believed that with a like swiftness it might fade, at least from Diana's memory. He told himself that he hoped for that end, but he was honest enough to know that it was the last thing in the world he wanted. The mere thought of Diana indifferent to him, or worse, another man's bride, made him bite on his underlip and tighten his hold on the rain. O'Hara cast many a surreptitious glance at the stern young profile beside him, wondering whether his lordship would outlast the tedious ride or no. He knew enough of car-stairs's indomitable courage to believe that he would, but he feared that it would prove too great a strain on him in his present weakened condition. Very wisely he made no attempt to draw car-stairs out of his abstraction, but continued to push on in silence, past fields knee-deep in grass, soon to be hay, with sorrel and poppies growing apace, along lanes with hedges high above their heads on either side, over hill and down dale, always in silence. Presently O'Hara fell a little to the rear that he might study his friend without palpably turning to do so. He thought he had never seen Jack's face wear such a black look. The fine brows almost met over his nose, with only two sharp furrows to separate them. The mouth was compressed, the chin a little prominent, and the eyes, staring ahead between Jenny's nervous ears, seemed to see all without absorbing anything. One hand at his hip was clenched on his riding-whip, the other mechanically guided the mare. O'Hara found himself admiring the lith grace of the man, with his upright carriage and splendid seat. Suddenly as if aware that he was being studied, my lord half turned his head and met O'Hara's eyes. He gave a tiny shrug, and with it seemed to throw off his oppression. The frown vanished and he smiled. I beg your pardon, Myles. I am a surly fellow. May haps your shoulder trouble to you, suggested O'Hara tactfully. No, I am barely conscious of it. I have no excuse beyond bad manners and a worse temper. From thence onward he set himself to entertain his friend, and if his laugh was sometimes rather forced, at least his wit was enough to keep O'Hara in a pleasurable state of amusement for some Myles. By the time they arrived at Thur's house, Carstairs was suspiciously wide about the mouth, and there was once more a furrow, this time of pain between his brows. But he was able to greet my lady O'Hara with fitting elegance and to pay her at least three neat, laughing compliments before O'Hara took him firmly by the arm and marched him to his room, there to rest and recover before the dinner hour. Shortly after, Jem arrived, highly contented with his new surroundings and able to give a satisfactory verdict on Jenny's opinion. He had quite accepted O'Hara as a friend, after some jealous qualms, and was now well pleased that his master should be in his house instead of roaming the countryside. At five o'clock, as the gong rang, my lord descended the stairs resplendent in old gold and silver trimmings, determined to be as gay and light-hearted as the occasion demanded, as though there had never been a Diana to upset the whole course of a man's life. Not for nothing had he fought against the world for six long years. Their teaching had been to hide all feeling beneath a perpetual mask of nonchalance and wit, never for an instance to betray a hurt, and never to allow it to appear that he was anything but the most carefree of men. The training stood him in good stead now, and even O'Hara wondered to see him in such spirits after all that had passed. Lady Molly delighted with her guest, admiring his appearance, his fine, courtly manners, and falling an easy victim to his charm. O'Hara, watching them, saw with content that his capricious little wife was really attracted to my lord. It was a high honour, for she was hard to please, and many of O'Hara's acquaintances had been received, if not with actual coldness, at least without any degree of warmth. At the end of the meal she withdrew with the warning that they were not to sit too long over their wine, and that Miles was not to fatigue his lordship. O'Hara pushed the decanter towards his friend. "'I have a piece of news I dare say will interest you,' he remarked. Carstairs looked at him inquiringly. "'I, tis that his grace of end over has withdrawn his precious person to Paris.' Carstairs raised one eyebrow. "'I suppose he would naturally wish to remain in the background after our little frock is. Does he ever wish to be in the background? You probably know him better than I do, does he?' He does not. Tis always out in front he is, mighty prominent. Damn him! My lord was faintly surprised. "'Why that? Has he ever interfered with you?' He has interfered with my best friend to some purpose. I fear the boot was on the other leg. Well, I know something of how he interferes with Dick.' Carstairs put down his glass, all attention now. "'With Dick? How?' O'Hara seemed to regret having spoken. "'Oh, well, of no sympathy with him. What has Tracy done to him?' "'Tis nothing of great moment. Merely that he and that worthless brother of his seek to squeeze him dry. Robert?' "'Andrew. I know very little of Robert.' "'Andrew? But he was a child. Well, he's grown up now and is rake as a young sprint-thrift as you could ever wish for. Dick seems to pay their debts.' "'Devil take him. Why?' "'Heaven knows. I suppose Lavinia insists. We all knew that was for that reason Tracy flung your both in her way. Nonsense! We went of our own accord. She had but returned from school.' "'Exactly. And who's doing was that but Tracy's?' Carstairs opened his eyes rather wide and leaned both arms on the table, croaking his fingers round the stem of his wine-glass. Did the debts amount to much? I can't tell you that. It was but by chance I found it out at all. The Belmenwys were never moderate in their manner of living. Nor were any of us. Don't be so hard on them, Myles. I knew, of course, that the Belmenwys state was mortgaged, but I did not guess to what extent. I don't know that either, but Dick's money does not go to pay it off. Tis all frittered away on gambling and pretty women. My Lord's brow darkened ominously. "'Yes. I think I shall have a little score to settle with Tracy on that subject some day.' Myles said nothing. But how does Dick manage without touching my money? I do not know. O'Hara's tone implied that he cared less. I hope he is not in debt himself,' mused Carstairs. "'Tis like enough he is in some muddle. I wish I might persuade him to accept the Revenue.' He frowned and drummed his fingers on the table. O'Hara exploded. "'Sure it would be like you to be doing the same. Let the man alone for the Lord's sake, and don't be after worrying your head over a miserable, spout-peen that did you more harm than—Myles. I cannot allow you to speak so of Dick. You do not understand. I understand well enough. Tis to Christian you are entirely. And let us have an end to this farce of yours. I know that Dick cheated as well as you do, and I say tis natural for you to be wanting him to take your money after he's done you out of honour and all else.' Carstairs sipped his wine quietly, waiting for Myles's anger to evaporate, as it presently did, leaving him to glower balefully. Then he started to laugh. "'Oh, Myles, let me go my own road. I'm a sore twile to you, I know.' Then suddenly so bring. But I want you not to think so hardly of Dick. You know enough of him to understand a little how it all came about. You know how extravagant he was and how often in debt. Can you not pardon the impulse of a mad moment? That I could pardon. But I could not forgive his unutterable meanness in letting you bear the blame. O'Hara, he was in love with Avinia. So were you. Not so deeply. With me tis a boy's passion, but with him tis serious.' O'Hara remained silent, his mouth unusually hard. Put yourself in his place, pleaded Jack, if you— Thank you!' O'Hara laughed unpleasantly. No, Jack, we shall not agree on this subject, and we had best leave it alone. I did not think you need to worry about him, though. I believe he is not in debt. Does he have a fair luck with his racing, and is—O'Hara smiled grimly. Dick is a very changed man, John. He does not keep race horses. Neither does he play cards, save for appearance's sake. Dick, not play. Then what does he do? Manages your estates and conducts his wife to routes. When in town, bitterly, he inhabits your house. Well, there is none else to use it, but I cannot imagine Dick turned sober. Tis easy to be righteous after the evil is done, I am thinking. My Lord ignored this remark. A curious smile played about his mouth. He gad miles, tis very entertaining. I, the erstwhile sober member—what is the matter? I am now the profligate. I dice. I gamble. I rob. Dick, the ne'er-do-well, is saint. He lives a godly and righteous life, and is robbed by his wife's relations. After all, I do not think I envy him over much. At least you enjoy life more than he does, said O'Hara grinning, for you have no conscience to reckon with. Car stares his face was inscrutable. He touched his lips with his napkin and smiled. As you say, I enjoy life more, but as to conscience I do not think it is that. O'Hara glanced at him sitting sideways in his chair, an arm flung over its back. Will you be offended if I ask you a question? Of course not. Then, do you intend to go back to this high-road robbery? I do not. Then, what will you do? The shadows vanished in my Lord's laugh. To tell you the truth, Myles, I have not yet settled that point. Fate will decide, not I. CHAPTER XVI. Mr. Bedeson could make nothing of Diana of late. Her demeanor, at first so charming and so cheerful, had become listless and even chilling. She hardly seemed to listen to some of his best tales, and twice she actually forgot to laugh at what was surely a most witty pleasantry. It struck him that she regarded him with a resentful eye, as if she objected to his presence at Horton House, and had no desire to be courted. But Mr. Bedeson was far too egotistic to believe such a thing, and he brushed the incredible suspicion away, deciding that her coldness was due to a very proper shyness. He continued his visits until they became so frequent that it scarce a day passed without his strutting step being heard approaching the house and his voice inquiring for the Miss Bolies. Mr. Bolie, who secretly hoped for Mr. Bedeson as a son-in-law, would not permit the ladies to deny themselves, and he further counseled Miss Betty to absent herself after the first few moments, leaving the young couple together. Thus it was that so continually fell to Diana's lot to receive the squire and to listen to his never-ending monologues. She persistently snubbed him, hoping to ward off the impending proposal, but either her snubs were not severe enough, or Mr. Bedeson's skin was too thick to feel them, for not a fortnight after my lord's departure he begged her hand in marriage. It was refused him with great firmness, but taking the refusal for coquettishness he pressed his suit still more amorously, and with such a self-assured air that Mr. Stuy became indignant. Sir! she cried, it seems you have indeed misread my attitude towards you. Mr. Bedeson was struck dumb with amazement. It had never entered his brain that Diana could seriously refuse him. He could hardly believe his ears at this quite unmistakable tone of voice and sad gaping. I must beg, continued Diana. I must beg that you will discontinue your all-too-frequent visits here. Please do not deem me unkind, but your persecution of me. I can call it nothing else, is wearying, and you will forgive the word, tiresome. I confess I am surprised that you had not perceived your intentions to be distasteful to me. Distasteful! cried Mr. Bedeson, recovering after two or three unsuccessful attempts from his speechlessness. Do you mean what you say, Miss Diana, that you will not wed me? She nodded. Yes, Mr. Bedeson, I do. And that my attentions are displeasing to you. Well, Miss Bollie! Well, indeed! Diana softened a little. I am indeed sorry that you should have misconstrued. No misconstruction, madam! snapped the squire, who was fast losing control over his temper. Do you dare avert that you did not encourage me to visit you? I do, most emphatically. Oh, I see what is. You cannot hoodwink me. Twas never thus with you before that fellow came. Mr. Bedeson, I am entirely at a loss, but I desire you to leave this room before you say ought that you may afterwards regret. He disregarded her. You are infatuated by that overdressed popinjay, that insufferable car, who from all I hear is but a shady fellow, and who, with a sweeping movement, Diana had risen and walked to the bell-rope. She now pulled it with such vigor that a great peal sounded throughout the house. She stood perfectly still, a statue of disdain, tall, beautiful, and furious, with compressed lips and head held high. Mr. Bedeson broke off and mopped his brow, glaring at her. Startled Thomas appeared at the door. Did you ring, madam? Show Mr. Bedeson out, was the proud answer. The squire got up awkwardly. I am sure I apologize if I said ought that was untrue, he mumbled. I hope you will not take my words amiss. I shall try to forget your insult, sir," she replied. The door, Thomas. Mr. Bedeson went out, and his step had lost some of its self-confidence swagger. For a full minute after the great front door had shut behind him Diana stood where she was, and then the color suddenly flamed in her cheeks, and she turned and ran out of the room, up the stairs to her own chamber, where she indulged in a luxurious fit of crying. From this enjoyable occupation she was interrupted by a wrap on the door, and Miss Bedes's voice desiring to know if she was within. She instantly started up and with hasty fingers straightened her tumbled curls. Pray enter, she called, trying to sound jaunty. To complete the illusion she started to hum. Her aunt entered. I came to see if you had my broodry. I cannot find it, and I am sure it was you brought it in from the garden this morning. Oh! oh, yes! I am so sorry. Tis in that corner on the chair, I think," replied Diana, keeping her face averted. Miss Betty cast a shrewd glance at her, and sat down on the sofa with the air of one who means to stay. What is it, my love? she demanded. Diana pretended to search for something in a cupboard. Nothing on't. What should there be? I do not know. Tis what I want to find out! answered Miss Betty, placidly. There is not a miss, I assure you. To prove the truth of this statement Diana essayed a laugh. It was a poor attempt and wavered pitifully into a sob. My pet, don't tell me. You are crying. I—I'm not—about Diana, hunting wildly for her pocket handkerchief. Tis a cold in the head, I've had these three days. Indeed, my love. Longer than that, I fear. Yes, perhaps so. I—what do you mean? I doubt but what you caught at the day that Mr. Carr left us. Diana started. Pray, do not be ridiculous, auntie. No, my dear, come and sit beside me and tell me all about it, coaxed Miss Betty. Diana hesitated, gave a damp sniff, and obeyed. Miss Betty drew her head down onto her shoulder, soothingly. There, there, don't cry, my sweet. What has happened? Tis that odious Mr. Bettison, sobbed Diana. He—he had the audacity to ask me to marry him. You don't say so, my love. I thought I heard him arrive. So you sent him about his business? Not before he had talked to—insult me! Insult you! Die! He—he dared to insinuate—oh, no, he accused me outright of being infatuated by Mr. Carr—infatuated. Over her head Miss Betty opened her eyes at her own reflection in the glass. The brute! But coaxed his true—no answer. Is it not? The sobs came faster. Of—of coaxed his true, but how dare he say so? Die, my love. You really are in love with that boy. I—I—I asked him to marry me, and he wouldn't. Good gracious heavens! Miss Betty was genuinely horrified. My dear Diana! Not outright, but he understood, and he loves me. And I'll do it again tomorrow, if I could, immodest or no. So dare. Yes, yes, sooth Miss Betty hastily. Tell me all about it. Diana lifted her head. That's all. And he loves me. He does. He does. Did he say so? No. But I could tell. And I love him. And I'd sooner die than live without him. And he won't ask me, because he has not got a spotless past, and he'd be a cur, and horrid things, and my husband must not be an—an outcast, and—and—and I don't care. Her bewildered aunt unraveled this with difficulty. He'd be a cur, if he asked you to marry him. She asked, with knitted brows. Yes, because he's a high woman. CHAPTER XVI. Mr. Bedeson proposes Part II of Black Moth by George Ed Hire. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. A high woman? Then twes true what he said. Well, well, I should never have thought it. That nice boy! Diana disengaged herself, and her eyes was a threatening gleam. Don't dare say a word against him. No, no, of course not. I was only surprised. But I am thankfully glad he did not ask you for all that. Glad? How can you be so cruel? My dear, you could not possibly marry a—a common felon, sobbed Diana. I can! I can! And Heaven alone knows what else he may have done. Why, child, he said himself that he had a—a spotty past. At this her niece gave a tearful giggle. La! What else you now, Di? He—he never said spotty. Miss Betty smiled reluctantly. A doubtful past, then. I don't believe it. Her aunt pursed up her lips. I won't believe it. He couldn't be wicked. You forget he saved me. Miss Betty relented. No, I do not, my love, and to be sure I think he is a dear boy, but I also think it was very right of him to go away. He was enveloped in a rapturous embrace. Auntie, you know you love him as almost as much as I do. No, that I do not, was the grim retort. I am not like to want to marry him. There was another watery giggle at this. Then Diana went over to the dressing-table to tidy her hair. I doubt I shall ever see him again. She said wretchedly, O Auntie, if you could but have seen his dear, unhappy eyes. Stuff and nonsense. Not see him again forsooth. He will call upon us in town, to his but common politeness. You forget he is a highwayman, and not like to come nice again. Well, my dear, if he cares for you as you say he does, he will see to it that he takes up some decent occupation. May have people go into the army or what not. Then wait and see if he does not come to you. Do you think so? Doubtfully. Of course I do, sweetheart. And if he does not try to mend his ways, and you will see him no more, why then snap your fingers at him, my love, for he will not be worth one tear. Diana sighed and poured out some water to bathe her face with. Is that not sensible? coaxed her aunt. She raised her head and looked unanswerable scorn. I think to his remarkably silly, she answered, then her dignity fell from her. Oh, are all men such big stupid's? She cried. Most of them, not at her aunt. But county tell that I shall be—oh, so miserable, and that I should not ruin my life if I married him. My dear, once a man gets an idea into his head, he's the very devil to get it out of him. Not but what I think Master Jack is right, mind you, and your dear papa and I had looked higher for you. After all, what is Mr. Carr? He is the only man I will ever marry, so you may cease looking higher for me. I suppose you want me to marry that great Gabby, Sir Dennis Fabian, that you are forever inviting to the house, or perhaps this gallant Mr. Bettison, or Mr. Everard? How can you be so unkind? I am not, but I could not bear to see you throw yourself away on a highwayman, my dear. Diana ran to her, putting her arms round her neck. Dear Estanti, forgive my rudeness. I know you did not mean to be unkind, but you do not understand. I love him. I always said you take it badly, not in Miss Betty, gloomily. Take what badly? Love! And no man is worth one teardrop, sweet. The confident, tender little laugh that answered this statement made her look at her suddenly-changed niece in surprise. You don't know, said Diana. Her eyes were soft and luminous. You just do not know. Before Miss Betty could think of a suitable retort, a knock fell on the door. It was opened, and Thomas was found to be without. My Lady O'Hara is below, madam. For an instant the two ladies stared at one another. Then, La and Drat, said Miss Betty, with the drawing-room in a muddle after cleaning. Diana nodded to the man. We will come, Thomas. Then as soon as he had withdrawn she stared again at her aunt. Lady O'Hara! But why? I suppose she felt she must call after Sir Miles had been here so often. But why, for goodness sake, must she choose the one day that the drawing-room is all untidy? Drat again, I say. Diana was powdering her little nose and anxiously looking to see if the tear stains had quite vanished. Tis not untidy, Aunt Betty. Oh, I'm quite eager to see her. I think she must be charming from all Sir Miles said. Do hurry on. Miss Betty stuck a pin into her hair and smoothed out her dress. And me and this old taffeta, she grumbled. Diana swirled round, her own peach-coloured silk rustling fashionably. Never mind, dear. You look very sweet. But do be quick. Miss Betty suffered herself to be led to the door. Tis all very fine for you, my love, with the new gown fresh on to-day. Will you just take a look at my petticoat, though? Nonsense. You are beautiful. Come. Together they descended the stairs and went into the drawing-room. A dainty, very diminutive little lady arose from a chair at their entry and came forward without stretched hands and such a fascinating smile that Miss Betty's ill-humour vanished, and she responded to her visitor's deep curtsy with one of her best jerky dips. I am vastly delighted to welcome you, madam, she said primely, to as good in you to come this long way to see us. She drew a chair forward for my lady and presented her niece. Lady O'Hara gave the girl a swift, scrutinising glance and curtsied again. Tis a great pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Bowley, she smiled. My husband has told me so much of you, I declare I was all a gog to meet you. Diana warmed instantly to the little lady's charm. Indeed, madam, we too have heard much of you from Sir Miles. We have wanted to meet you. Lady O'Hara seated herself and nodded briskly. I expect he told you some dreadful tales of me, she said happily. I must ask your pardon for not having visited before, but as I dare say you know, I have been away, and gracious me when I returned everything seemed topsy-turvy. She laughed across at Miss Betty. I promise you I have had my hands full putting things to rights, Miss Bowley. Miss Betty drew her chair closer, and in a minute they were deep in truly feminine conversation, the prodigious extravagance of the servants, the hopelessness of men folk when left to themselves, and then London, its shops, its parks, the newest play. Lady O'Hara was begged to take a dish of Miss Betty's precious bojia, a very high honour indeed, and when Mr. Bowley came into the room he found his sister and daughter seated on either side of a pretty, animated little lady whom he had never seen before, talking hard and partaking of tea and angel cakes. Whereupon he retired hastily and shut himself up in his library. CHAPTER XVII Lady O'Hara wins her point. Part I of Black Moth by Georgeette Hire. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Lady O'Hara looked across at her sleeping husband with no little severity in her glance. He was stretched in a chair beneath a giant oak, and she was busied with some needlework a few paces from him. O'Hara's eyes were shut and his mouth open. My lady frowned and coughed. She rasped her throat quite considerably, but it was not without effect. Her spouse shut his mouth and opened one lazy eyelid. Immediately my lady assumed an air of gentle mournfulness, and the eye regarding her twinkled a little, threatening to close. Lady O'Hara really looked reproachful and began to speak in an aggrieved tone. Indeed, and I do not think it at all kind in you to go to sleep when I want to talk, sir." O'Hara hastily opened the other eye. Why, my love, it was not a sleep. I was a—thinking. Do you say so, sir, and do you usually think with your mouth open, snoring? O'Hara started up. I'll swear I did not snore, he cried. Molly, tis a wicked tease you are. Miles, tis a big baby you are, she mimicked. There is a caterpillar on your wig and tis on crooked. The caterpillar—asked O'Hara bewildered. No stupid, the wig. I'd best straighten it for you, I suppose. She rose and stooped over him, settling the wig and removing the caterpillar by means of two leaves judiciously wielded. Then she dropped a kiss on her husband's brow and sat down at his feet. First, you have never asked me where I was gone to all yesterday afternoon. O'Hara had been carefully broken in, and he now knew what was expected of him, and he put on an expression of great interest. Where did you go, my lady? I went to call on Miss Boley and her niece, sir. She looked up at him triumphantly and a little challengingly. The devil you did! Certainly, sir. I knew that there was something in the air, and I remembered your letter to me saying that Jack was in love with Diana, so I thought I would go and see her for myself. Miles looked down at her half-intelligently, half-vexedly. Did you puss? I did, and I found that she was in love with him as well as he with her, of course. Of course! Who could help falling in love with him? He's so monstrously captivating I would like to marry him myself. She bent her head to hide the roguish smile that had sprung to her lips. I beg your pardon! asked O'Hara, startled. My lady traced patterns on his knee. Provided, of course, that I had not already married you, Miles. But O'Hara had seen the smile. He heaved a great sigh and said in the gooberious tones, There is always the river, madam. My lady's finger wavered and stopped, and her hand tucked itself away into his. That is not a nice joke, Miles. He laughed and tweaked one of her curls. Sure, and did she not ask for it as though? Of course I did not. But about Jack, dear. I thought it was about Jack. Miles, will you be quiet and attend? Yes, my dear. Very well, then. As I've told you, I drove over to Little Dean yesterday afternoon and made the acquaintance of the Miss Bollies. And what did you think of them? I thought Diana was wonderfully beautiful, such eyes, Miles, and such hair. Miss Bollie is very amiable and so drawl. I drank a dish of tea with them and spoke of Jack. Madcap! Never tell me you called him car-stares. No, you great baby! Of course I did not. As it chanced, Miss Bollie mentioned him first, and she called him Mr. Car. So I did too. And I noticed that Diana said scarce a word about him, and when she did was of the coolest. That, of course, made me all the more certain that she loved him. O'Hara was plainly puzzled. But why should he be certain if she did not speak of him, Alana? Tis what you'll never understand, my dear, because you are but a man. But no matter, I knew. I quite adored Diana and determined to talk to her alone. So I admired the roses and she offered to escort me round the garden, which was what I wanted. We went out together. I think Diana must have liked me for nonsense. Be quiet, Miles, for she dropped her eyes and became quite friendly. And I talked a lot. She was aware of a convulsive movement above her and a suppressed cough. She raised inquiring eyebrows. Well, sir? Nothing, Azor, nothing. Go on with the tale. You are saying that I talked a lot. She paused and her eyes dared him, then she dimpled and dropped her lashes over them. I shan't tell you all I said. A relieved sigh interrupted her. And if you continue to behave in this disagreeable fashion I shall not say another word about anything. Having satisfied herself that he was not going to venture a retort, she continued, We had a long chat, and I gathered from all she said and left unsaid, that Jack, for some foolish reason, will not ask her to marry him. Foolish reason, Azor? He interrupted. Oh, I know you consider it a remarkable fine reason, but I tell you, to his rank cruelty to that poor child, as if she cared about high women. It was not so much that, I take it as—yes, but he could tell her he was innocent. Oh, Miles, do not look so provoking. Of course he could. I vow, if you had treated me so, I would never have let you go until you had truly repented. I am of a mind to speak to Jack. It would be an entertaining sight, but she'll kindly have a care how you touch him, my lady. He does not understand. I know she would be proud to marry him. And you'd think it a fine thing in Jack to ask her the way things are with him at present. I—oh, I don't know. No, my love. Jack is right. He must first clear his name. Then, gracious goodness me, why does he not? cried Molly, exasperated. This time it was O'Hara's turn to look superior. Well, Alana, that's a question you cannot hope to understand, because you are but a woman. Lady O'Hara ignored the challenge. But what is to be done? Not. He will have to work it out himself. He bound me to secrecy some time ago, or I would be tempted to speak to Richard. I quite hate Richard, she cried. He must be a selfish, unkind person. And now Jack swears he must go away almost at once, and— Oh! you should have seen Diana's face of despair when I mentioned that he was going abroad again. Miles, we must keep him here as long as we ever can. Oh, dear! It is all very worrying. She broke off as O'Hara pressed her hand warningly. My lord was coming across the lawn towards them. I am in dire disgrace, he said. I was left with your ferocious baby, Molly, and to quiet him I gave him a string of beads that you had left on the table. My precious wooden Indian beads! Yes, I believe so. Anyway, the paint came off, and when Jane returned David looked as though he had had some horrible disease. She was most annoyed about it. He sat down in Molly's lately vacated chair and carefully wiped a blob of green from his finger. Molly laughed. Poor Jane, she will have such a task to clean him. But you've arrived most opportunity. We were talking of you. O'Hara groaned inwardly and tried to frown her down. You were. I am flattered. May I ask what you were saying? Why, that we do not want you to go back to France. O'Hara breathed again. That is very kind of you, my lady. I regret the necessity myself. Are you sure it is necessary? You might just as well live in a nice place near here, with a dear old woman to keep house for you, and—and Jim, and lots of pleasant things. My lord shook his head. No, thank you. Yes, yes, and later on you could choose a wife, she continued audaciously. Not at all. There would be no choice. I should be made to marry the dear old woman. You would bully me into it. CHAPTER XVII. LADY O'HARA WINS HER POINT. PART II. OF BLACK MOTH BY GEORGET HIRE. RED FOR LIBRAVOX.ORGAN TO THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. SHE LAUGHED. SERIOUSLY, JACK, COULD YOU NOT SETTLE DOWN NEAR HERE? NOT WITH THAT OLD WOMAN, MOLLY. NEVER MIND HER. ONCE YOU CONSIDER IT. No one need know you. In fact, you need see no one, and—oh, Jack, don't look like that. Miles, is he not ridiculous? Sure, Alana, tis a dreary life he'd be leading, chuckled O'Hara. I see what it is, Molly. You have planned to make me a recluse and to marry me to my housekeeper. I protest, till's great ill usage. Molly eyed him doubtfully. Would you object much to the life, John? Madam, he replied solemnly. Madam, replied John solemnly. You would find my corpse in the garden at the end of the first week. Of course I should not like that, she pondered, but I do not see what else we can do for you. Oh, and that reminds me, I drove over to Little Dean yesterday. Miles, my love, will you be so kind as to fetch me my hat? I protest the sun. We will move more into the shade, said her disablaging husband. Oh, well, tis of no account, though I did hear that Brown was wanting to speak to you about the new cob. Tis prodigious thoughtful of you, Molly, but I met Brown some time ago. Lady O'Hara gave it up. Well, as I was saying, Jack, I went to call at Horton House. Dear me, what a beautiful girl Diana is, to be sure. Carstairs tried to think of something to say, and failing made a noncommittal sound. Yes, they both sent their kind wishes and hoped you were better. Goodness, tis very close here. I wonder if you will give me your arm round the garden, and would you fetch me my hat? I left it in the hall, I think. Thank you very much. She waited until he was out of earshot before she turned to her husband. Now, Myles, you must please to say where you are. I am not going to do anything indiscreet. Molly, I can't have you worry him. No such thing. I am going to coax him to stay here instead of going abroad. I feel sure that if we can but persuade him to stay, something will happen. What will happen? Something. How do you know? I don't know. I only feel it. Very well, Asthor, if you can tease Jack into staying, I'll bless you. That will be most enjoyable, I make no doubt," she answered, and stepped back out of reach. Oh, thank you, John! She tied the hat over her curls and placed her hand on my Lord's arm. Lazy Myles is going to sleep again, she said, and I so disliked to hear him snore, so let's go a long way away into the Rose Garden. Don't go so far as all that, drawled Myles, closing his eyes. You will tire yourselves. Do you allow him to make these rybald remarks, inquired Jack, waiting for her to extricate a stone from her shoe? Not usually, she answered. He takes advantage when you are here. She dropped the pebble on top of O'Hara and strolled away with my Lord. As soon as they had rounded a corner in the shrubbery, she commenced the attack. I want to speak to you of Myles, she confided. He is so worried. Is he Molly Faith? I hadn't noticed it. She reflected that neither had she, but continued, nothing daunted. Ah, but he is! What worries him? You, said the lady, mournfully. Tis the thought of you leaving us, I feel it myself. Why? He had hoped you would be with us for a long time, as I had. Tis monstrous good of you both, but I am sure I do not know what I shall do with Myles when you are gone. He was so looking forward to having you with him. Molly. And indeed it has come as a great disappointment to both of us to hear you talk of leaving. Won't you think better of it? Molly, you overwhelm me. How can I remain here indefinitely? If only you would. You don't know how happy it would make us. I declare Myles will worry himself quite ill if you persist in being so unkind. Oh, Molly, you rogue! She could not repress a smile, but checked it almost at once. I mean it, Jack. What, that Myles is worrying himself ill over me? Why? Perhaps not as bad as that, she admitted, but indeed he is much perturbed in—oh, I wish that you would not make us so unhappy. She dabbed at her eyes with a wispy handkerchief, but managed to watch his face all the same. David loves you so, the pet, and Myles is so delighted to have found you again, and I like you, and—and—and I think it will be indeed rude and horrid if you do go, besides being so silly. Do you, Molly? You make me feel I should be an ingrateful bore to refuse. The handkerchief was whisked away. Then, of course, you won't try to refuse. You'll stay, promise? I cannot thank you enough. Oh, thank you, Jack, till the autumn. Promise? Molly, I really—promise! I shall cry if you do not. I cannot. How can I pray upon your hospitality for so? What rubbish, Jack! As if Myles had not spent months and months at Wincham when you were boys. That was different. When you were boys, and now you are so proud that you refuse to say three miserable little months with us. No, no, Molly, indeed, tis not that. Confess, if Myles were a bachelor you would not hesitate. He was silent, nonplussed. You see, and just because he has a wife you are disagreeable and proud. You feel you cannot bear to stay with me. I swear I do not. Then why do you refuse? She triumphed. Molly, really, I— He broke off laughing. You little wretch, you leave me nothing to say. Then you will stay, as I ask. You are quite sure. Quite! Thank you very much. I will stay. Tis monstrous good of you, I vow. When you are tired of me, say so. I will, she promised. Oh, but we shall do famously. How pleased Myles will be. By the way, she continued eerily, I asked the Miss Bollies to honour us on Wednesday, but unfortunately they could not. Still, perhaps some other— She stopped, a little frightened, for he was standing before her gripping her shoulders in a very elder brother fashion. Listen to me, Molly. I know that you have discovered that I love Diana, and I know that you think to be very kind to bring us together. But I tell you that we will not be kind at all, only very cruel to us both. If you worry her to come here, I must go. Do you see? Molly looked into the stern eyes and her lip trembled. I'm very sorry, she faltered. Jack drew her arm through his once more. She has nothing to be sorry about, and indeed I am very grateful to you for trying to make me happy. But please do not. No, I promise I will not. But do you think you are being quite fair to— Molly, tell me this. Do you think you are being quite good to disobey your husband? The blue eyes were dancing. She smiled doubtfully. What do you mean, Jack? Do you tell me that Myles did not expressly forbid you to mention this subject to me? She pulled her hand away, her mouth forming a soundless, oh. Well, well, well, how horrid of you! she cried and shook her fist at him. I'm going now. Later she found her husband in the library and ran into his arms. Do you mind holding me tightly? she asked. I've—I've been put in the corner. What! O'Hara drew her onto his knee. Yes, figuratively, by Jack. I think perhaps I shouldn't like to marry him after all. What has he done? Nothing, I'm afraid, polishing one of his buttons with an assiduous finger. I'm afraid it was rather my own fault. Oh! Yes, but I only said very little about the Miss Bollies, and he suddenly turned into an iceberg and made me feel so like a naughty little girl. But he is going to stay all the same, so kiss me, Myles. THE LONGING FOR TOWN At the end of August, after having spent a moderately quiet summer in the country, Lady Levinia was again seized with a longing for town and its attractions. She would not listen to Richard's warnings of the atrocious condition of the roads, declaring that she cared not one jot, and go to London she must. After that one protest he desisted, and promised to take her there the following week, secretly counting himself lucky to have kept her so long at Wincham in comparative cheerfulness of spirits. Levinia was overjoyed, kissed him again and again, scolded herself for being such a wicked tease, and set about making her preparations for the journey. The roads proved even worse than Richard had prophesied, and twice the coach nearly upset, and times without numbers stuck fast in the mire, causing the inmates much inconvenience. Car stares road by the side of the heavy vehicle, in which were his wife, her maid, her tiny dog, and countless bandboxes and small parcels. In spite of the worry, the constant stoppages entailed, he quite enjoyed the journey, for Levinia was in excellent spirits, and made light of their mishaps, receiving each fresh one with roguish laughter and some witty remark. Even when the chimney of her bed-chamber, at one of the ends at which they halted, smoked most violently, she did not, as Richard quite expected she would, fly into a rage and refuse to spend another moment in the house. But after looking extremely doleful, cheered up and told dear Dickie that she would have his room while he should have hers. Then in the morning she would find him all dried up and smoked. In high good humour she went down to dinner with him, voted the partridge is excellent, the pasties quite French, and the wine marvelously tolerable for such an out-of-the-way place, and kept him laughing at her antics until bedtime. The journey was, of necessity, very slow, not only on account of the bad roads, but because whenever my lady caught sight of wild roses growing on the hedges she must stop to pluck some. Then she and Richard would stroll along for some way, he leading his horse, the coach following at a walking pace, all of which was very idyllic and had the effect of sending Richard to the seventh heaven of content. When at length they arrived at Winsham House, may fair, they found that the servants had arrived a week before, and had made good use of their time. However, declared Lavinia, had the house looked so inviting, so spick and span. One of her black pages proffered a small monkey with much bowing and grinning, and the murmur of, mass is present. Lady Lavinia flew to embrace her dickie. How did he guess that she had for so long yearned for a monkey? Surely she had but once or twice mentioned it. Oh, he was the very best of husband. She danced off to her apartments in a state of ecstasy. The Beaumond was returning to town, and when a few days later, car stairs conducted his wife to Roundleg, they found the gardens fairly crowded and very gay. Lamps hung from tree branches, although it was still quite light. The fiddler scraped away, almost without a pause. Fireworks shot up from one end. The summer houses had all been freshly painted, and the pavilion was a blaze of light. Consciousness of her beauty and the smartness of her Georgia silk gown, with its petticoat covered in gold net, considerably added to Lavinia's enjoyment. Her hair she wore powdered and elaborately curled down on both sides, with dainty, escaloped half lace concealing it, and a gray cappuccine overall. Her tippet was gold lace to match her petticoat, and to fasten it she wore brooch composed of clustered rubies. Rubies also hung in her earrings, which last were of such length that the other ladies turned to stare and envy, and the bracelets that she wore over her long gloves flashed also with the great red stones. She was well pleased with Richard's appearance, and reflected that when he chose he could be very fashionable indeed. The clare covered velvet he was wearing was most distinguished, and the gold clocks to his hose quite ravishing. They had not been in the gardens ten minutes before a little crowd of men had gathered around them, professing themselves enraptured to behold the fair Lady Lavinia once more. One of them fetched her a chair, another a glass of negus, and the rest hovered eagerly about her. Becomingly flushed with triumph, my lady gave her little hand to Mr. Selwyn, who had once been a very ardent admirer, laughed at his neat compliment, and declared that he was a very dreadful, flattering demon, and positively she would not listen to him. Sir Gregory Markham, who brought her the negus, she discovered to have just returned from Paris. On hearing this she broke off in the middle of a conversation with an enchanted French chivalier, and turned to him, raising her china-blue eyes to his face, and clasping tight-gloved hands. Oh, Sir Gregory, Paris? Then tell me, please, tell me, have you seen my darling devil? Why, yes, madam, responded Markham, handing her the glass he held. She sipped the negus and gave it to the chivalier to take care of. I declare, I quite love you, then, she exclaimed. What is he doing, and oh, when will he return to England? Sir Gregory smiled. How can I say, he drawled, I fear Monsieur Samuse. She flirted her fan before her face. Dreadful creature! she cried. How dare you say such things? Belmenois, inquired Lord Degement, twirling his cane. Enamored of the pompadour is he not, saving your presence, Lady Laby. Lavenia let fall her fan. The pompadour! He had best have a care. I believe there has already been some unpleasantness between his majesty and the fair Jean on the subject of devil. Since then she is supposed to have turned on him a cold shoulder. I heard twas he worried of madam, said Markham. Well, whichever it was, I'm glad the episode is closed, decided Lavenia. Tis too dangerous a game to play with Louis's mistresses. Oh, Monsieur Chevalier, if I had not forgot your presence. But I am sure you say dreadful, earl-natured things of our George, now don't you? Oh, and have you held my negus all this time? How monstrous could have you? There I will drink it, and Julian shall take the glass away. Voila! She handed it to Degement and wrapped Mr. Selwyn's knuckles with her fan, looking archly up as he stood behind her chair. Naughty man, will you have done whispering my ear? I vow I will not listen to your impudences. No, nor laugh at them, neither. Sir Gregory, you've given me no answer. When will Tracy return, for the Cavendish rout on Wednesday week? I'll say yes. Certainly I will say yes, fair tormentor, but to tell the truth, Tracy said no word of coming to London when I saw him. She pouted. Now, I hate you, Sir Gregory. And he has been absent since May. Oh, Julian, back already. You shall escort me to the fireworks then. Oh, my fan, where is it? I know I dropped it on the ground. Selwyn, if you have taken it—oh, Dickie, you have it. Thank you. See, I'm going with Julian, and you may all go Mrs. Clive, whom I see walking over there. Yes, positively you may, and I shall not be jealous. Very well, Julian, I'm coming. Chevalier, I hope I shall see you at the rout on Wednesday week, but you must wait upon me before then. The Frenchman brightened. Madame is too good. Am I then called at Vincenmaus? Vraiment, I shall but exist until then. In a perfectly audible whisper he confided to Wilding that, Mélodie est ta ravissante, mais ravissante. Mélodie Lavinia went off on her gratified Cavalier's arm, and countering many boughs and much admiration as she passed down the walk, leaving her husband not to augule the beautiful kitty as she had advised, but to saunter away in the direction of the pavilion, in company with Tom Wilding and Markham. Desgements guided my lady into one of the winding alleys, and they presently came out on a large lawn dotted over with people of all conditions. Towards them was coming Lavinia's sister, Colonel Lord Robert Belmanois, very richly clad and rakish in appearance. When he saw his sister a look of surprise came into his floored face and he made her a sweeping leg. Bon my honour! Lavinia! My lady was not fond of her brother, and acknowledged the salutation with a brief nod. I am delighted to see you, Robert, she said primely. The mere word delighted in no way expresses my sensations, replied the Colonel in the drawing, rather unpleasant voice peculiar both to him and to the Duke. Your servant, Desgements! I imagined Lavinia that you were in the country. Richard brought me to town last Tuesday, she answered. How unwise of him, talked to the Colonel, or had he no choice. She tossed her head angrily. If you are minded to be disagreeable, Robert, pray do not let me detain you, she flashed. Desgements was quite unembarrassed by this interchange of civilities. He knew the Belmanois family too well to be made uncomfortable by their bickering. Shall we leave him?" he asked Lavinia, smiling. Yes, she patted. He is determined to be unpleasant. My dear sister! On the contrary, I believe I can offer you some amusement. Lovelace is in town. Captain Harold! she cried incredulously. The same. Oh, Bob! Impulsively she withdrew her hand from Julian's arm, transferring it to the Colonel's. I must see him at once, to think he has returned after all these years. Quick, Julian, dear dad, go and find him, and tell him to his eye, Lavinia, who want him. You know him, do you not? Yes, I thought you did. Send him to be at once, at once." Desgements looked very crestfallen at having his walk with the goddess thus cut short. But he had perforce to kiss her hand and to obey. End of Chapter 18 Part 1. Red by Sabella Denton. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 18. Enter Captain Harold Lovelace, Part 2. of Black Moth by George Atire. Redford LibriVox.org into the Public Domain. Yes, I thought you would be pleased, remarked Robert, and chuckled. Allow me to point out to you that there is a chair, two chairs, in fact, quite a number of chairs immediately behind you. She sat down, chattering excitedly. Why, tis nigh on five years since I saw Harry. Has he changed? Lord, but he will deem me an old woman. Is he like to be in town for long, I wonder? Dear me, Bob, look at the two ladies over behind that seat. Gracious, what extraordinary coiffes to be sure, and cherry ribbons, too. Tell me, Bob, where did you meet Harry Lovelace? The Colonel, who, far from attending to her monologue, had been sending amorous glasses across to a palpably embarrassed girl, who hung on her papa's arm while that gentleman stopped to speak to a stout dowager, brought his gaze reluctantly back to his sister. What's that, you say, Laby? How provoking of you not to listen to me! I asked where you met Harold. Where I met him? Let me see where did I meet him. Oh, I remember, at the Coco Tree, a fortnight since. And is he altered? Not in any way, dear sister. He is a Sam mad, reckless rake-hail as ever. And unmarried. How delightful! Oh, I shall be so glad to see him again. You must present him to Richard, sneered the Colonel, as an old flame. I must indeed, she agreed, his sarcasm passing over her head. Oh, I see him! Look, coming across the grass! She rose to meet the tall, fair young guardsman who came swiftly towards her, curtsying as only Lady Levinia could curtsy with such stateliness and Coco Tree. Captain Lovelace! she put forward both her hands. Lovelace caught them in his and bent his head over them so that the soft, powdered curls of his loose wig fell all about his face. Lady Levinia, enchantress! I can find no words. I am dumb. And I! In that case, drawled the Colonel, you are not like to be very entertaining company. Pray give me leave. He bowed and sauntered away down the path with a peculiarly malicious smile on his lips. Levinia and Lovelace found two chairs, slightly apart from the rest, and sat down, talking eagerly. Captain Lovelace, I believe you had forgot me. She rallied him. Never, he answered promptly. Not though you well nigh broke my heart. No, no, I did not do that. I never meant to hurt you. He shook his head disbelievingly. You rejected me to marry some other man. Do you say you did not mean to? You naughty Harry! You never married yourself. I—the delicate features expressed as species of hurt horror—I No, I was ever faithful to my first love. She unfurled her fan, fluttering it delightedly. Oh, oh! Always, Harold! Now speak the truth! Nearly always, he amended. Disagreeable man! You admit you had lapses then. So very trivial, my dear, he excused himself. And I swear my first action on coming to London was to call it Wyncham House. Imagine my disappointment, my incalculable gloom! On the top of having already dropped a thousand at Farrow, when I found the shell void, and Venus. She stopped him, her fan held ready for chastisement. Sir, you said your first action was to call upon me. He smiled, shaking back his curls. I should have said my first action of any importance. You do not deem losing a thousand guineas important? she asked wistfully. Well, hardly. One must enjoy life, and what's a thousand after all? I had my pleasure out of it. Yes, she breathed, her eyes sparkling. That is how I think. What pleasure can one get if one neither hazards nor spends one's money? Oh, well! she shrugged one shoulder, dismissing the subject. Have you seen Tracy of late? He was at a court-ball I attended at Versailles, but I did not have a chance of speaking with him. I heard he was very popular at Paris. I, she said proudly, he has the French air. I so desire to see him again, but I fear he does not think of returning. I know he was promised for the Duchess of Devonshire's route months ago, before even the date was fixed, and she does so dote on him, but I do not expect to see him there. She sighed and drummed on the ground with her diamond-buckled shoe. Harry, I am chilled. Take me to the pavilion. I doubt they are dancing, and Dickie will be there. Dickie, he repeated, Dickie, Lavinia, do not tell me there is another claimant to your heart. Wicked, indelicate creature! Tis my husband. Your husband? En fa— She cast him aside long glance of mingled coquetry and reproof. Your mind is at rest, I trust? Of course, a husband. Poo! a bagatelle, no more. My husband is not a bagatelle, she laughed. I am very fond of him. This grows serious, he frowned, to his very unfashionable surely. She met his teasing eyes and cast down her lashes. Captain Lovelace, you may take me to the pavilion. Wait, tormentor, not until you cease to so misname me. Harold, I am indeed chilly, she said plaintively and snatched her hand from his lips. No, no, people will stare. Look, there is my odious brother returning. I declare I will not stay to listen to his hateful sneering remarks. Come!" They walked across the grass together, keeping up a running fire of railery, punctuated on his side by extravagant compliments, filled with classical illusions, all more or less erinous, and on hers by delighted little laughs and mocks-goldings. So they came to the pavilion, where the musicians fiddled for those who wished to dance, and where most of the company had assembled now that it was growing chilly without. Down one end of the hall, card-tables were set out, where members of both sexes diced and gambled, drinking glasses of burgundy or negus, the men toasting the ladies, and very often the ladies returning the toasts, with much archiness and low curtsying. Lavinia cast off her capuchin and plumed her feathers, giving a surreptitious shake to her ruched skirts and smoothing her ruffles. She wrestled forward with great statelyness, fan unfurled, head held high, her gloved fingers resting lightly on Lovelace's velvet-clad arm. Richard, hearing the little stir caused by her entry, glanced up and perceived her. He did not recognize her companion, but the sparkle in her eyes and the happy curve to her full lips were quite enough to tell him that it was someone whom she was very contented to have met. He had ample opportunity for studying Lovelace as the good-looking pair drew near, and he could not but admire the delicate, handsome face with the gray eyes that held a laugh in them, the pleasure-loving, well-curved mouth and the chin that spoke of determination. Here was not one of Lavinia's lisping, painted puppy-dogs, for in spite of the effeminate curls it was easy to see that this man had character and a will of his own, and, above all, a great charm of manner. He saw Lavinia blush and wrap the captain's knuckles in answer to some remark, and his heart sank. He rose and came to meet them. Lady Lavinia smiled sweetly upon him and patted his arm with a possessive little air. Dickey, dear, I have found an old friend, a very old friend! Is it not agreeable? Captain Lovelace, Mr. Carstairs. The two men bowed, Richard with a reluctancy, the captain with easy bon amie. Sir, I claim to be a worshipper at the shrine of which you, I believe, are high priests. He said impudently and bowed again, this time to my lady. You are one of many, sir, smiled Richard. Lady Devereaux came tripping up to them and kissed Lavinia with great show of affection. My dearest life, my sweet Lavinia! Lavinia presented a powdered cheek. Dearest Fanny, how charming to see you again, she cooed. Through her lashes she gazed at her friend's enormous headdress, with its rolls of powdered curls and the imitation flowers perched upon the top of the erection. But my angel, exclaimed Lady Fanny, stepping back to view her, surely you have been ill! How strange! smiled Lavinia. I was about to ask you that same question, my dear. To his age I doubt not. Do we both look such dreadful hags? She turned her bewitching little countenance to the men and smiled appealingly. And showered upon her, and Lady Devereaux, who was conscious that her own sallow countenance, in spite of rouge and powder, must appear even more sallow beside Lavinia's pink and whiteness, flushed in annoyance and turned away, begging her dearest Lavi to come to the pharaoh with her. But Lavinia, it appeared, was going to watch the dicing at Richard's table. She vowed she should bring him monstrous good luck. I don't doubt it, my dear, replied her husband, but I am not playing to-night. Will you not take your luck to Bob? He nodded to where the Colonel was lounging, dice-box in hand. Lavinia pouted. No, I want you to play. To-s of no avail, Lady Lavinia, drawled Sir Gregory. Richard is the very devil to-night. Selwyn, rattling his dice, paused, and looked around at Markham with a face of innocent surprise. Then he turned slowly and stared at car-stairs's grave, almost stern countenance, with even more surprise. He started to rattle the dice again and shifted back to the face's opponent with pursed lips. Is he? he inquired, with study-depression. Even Lavinia joined in the general laugh, not so much at the wits' words as at his comic expression, and the extreme deliberation with which she had enacted the little scene. Someone cried a bet to Lovelace, which was promptly accepted, and Lavinia's eyes glowed afresh as she followed the captain to a table. Richard went to fetch her some refreshment, and on his return found her leaning over Lovelace's chair, her hand on his shoulder, eagerly casting the dice onto the table. He was in time to see her clap her hands and to hear her cry of, My luck! Oh, my luck is in! I will throw again! Glancing round, she caught sight of her husband and her face fell. Do you mind, Dickie? she pleaded. He did mind, but he could not appear churlish before all these men, so he laughed and shook his head and went to her elbow to watch her play. When she at length ceased, her luck had run out, and she had lost her much-priced ruby earring to Mr. Selwyn, who placed it carefully in his vest pocket, bowing he should wear it next to his heart forever. Then and then only did she consent to leave the gaming tables for the dancing-hall, and for another hour Richard had the felicity of watching her tread the minuet with various young bloods, but most often with her new-found Harry Lovelace. End of CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIX. It seemed to Richard in the days that followed that Captain Lovelace was never out of his house. If he went to his wife's bourgeois, there was Lovelace, hanging over her while she played upon the spinnet or glanced through the pages of the rambler. If LaVenia went to a ball or masquerade, the Captain was always amongst the favoured ones admitted to her chamber for the express purpose of watching her don her gown and judiciously place her patches. If Carstairs begged his wife's company one morning, she was full of regrets. Harry was calling to take her to Voxhall or to Spring Gardens. When he entered his door the first sight that met his eyes was the Captain's amber-clouded cane and point-edged hat. And when he looked out of the window it was more often to see a chair draw up at the house and Lovelace alight. After patiently enduring a week of his continued presence Carstairs remonstrated with his wife. She must not encourage her friend to spend all his time at Grovener Square. At first she had looked reproachful, and then she inquired his reason. His reluctant answer was that it was not Seamly. At that her eyes had opened wide and she demanded to know what could be more Seamly than the visits of such an old friend. With a gleam of humour Richard replied that it was not Captain Harold's age that he objected to, but on the contrary his youth. On which she accused him of being jealous. It was true enough, but he indignantly repudiated the suggestion. Very well then he was merely stupid. He must not be cross. Harry was her very good friend and did not Richard admire the new device for her hair. Richard was not to be cajoled. Did she clearly understand that Lovelace visits must cease? She only understood one thing, and that was that Dickey was marvellous ill-tempered and ridiculous today, and he must not tease her. Yes, she would be very good, but so must he. And now she was going shopping and she would require at least twenty guineas. In spite of her promise to be good she made no attempt to discourage Lovelace's attentions, always smiling charmingly upon him and beckoning him to her side. It was on the morning of the Duchess of Devonshire's route that Carstairs again broached the subject. My lady was in bed, her fair hair unpowdered and streaming all about her shoulders, her chocolate on a small table at her side, and countless billets due from admirers scattered on the sheet. In her hand she held a bouquet of white roses, with a card attached bearing, in bold sprawling characters, the initials H.L. Perhaps it was the sight of those incriminating letters that roused Richard's anger. At all events, with a violence quite unlike his usual gentle politeness, he snatched the flowers from her hand and sent them whizzing into a corner. "'Let there be an end to all this folly,' he cried. LaVinia raised herself on one elbow, astonished. "'How dare you!' she gasped. "'It has come to that,' he answered. "'How dare I, your husband, try to control your actions in any way. I tell you, LaVinia, I have had enough of your actions and I will not put up any longer with them. "'You—you—what in heaven's name, Ailes, you Richard? "'This! I will not countenance that puppy's invasion of my house.' He made a furious gesture towards the wilted bouquet. "'Neither will I permit you to make yourself the talk of London through him.' "'I—I—I make myself the talk of London. How dare you! Oh, how dare you!' "'I beg you will cease that foolishness. There is no question of my daring. How dare you disobey me, as you have been doing all this past week?' She cowered away from him. "'Tis very well to cry dicky and to smile, but I have experienced that before. Sometimes I think you are utterly without heart—a selfish, vain, extravagant woman.' The childish lips trembled. Lady LaVinia buried her face in the pillow, sobbing. Carstairs's face softened. "'I beg your pardon, my dear. May hap that was unjust.' "'And cruel—and cruel—and cruel—forgive me!' She twined white, sat in the arms about his neck. "'You did not mean it?' "'No. I mean that I will not allow Lovelace to dangle after you, however.' She flung away from him. "'You have no right to speak like that. I knew Harry Long before I ever said eyes on you.' He winced. "'You inferred that he is more to you than I am?' "'No. Though you try to make me hate you, no, I love you best, but I will not send Harry away.' "'Not if I order it?' "'Order it. Order it. No. No. A thousand times, no.' "'I do order it. And I refuse to listen to you.' "'By God, madam, you need a lesson,' he flamed. "'I am minded to take you back to Wincham this very day. And I promise you that, and you do not obey me in this, to Wincham you shall go.' He stamped out of the room as he spoke, and she sank back amongst her pillows, white and trembling with fury. As soon as she was dressed, she flounced downstairs, bent on finishing the quarrel. But car stairs had gone out some time since, and was not expected to return until late. For a moment Lavinia was furious, but the timely arrival of a box from her mantua-makers chased away the frowns, and wreathed her face and smiles. Richard did not return until it was time to prepare for the route, and on entering the house he went straight to his chamber, putting himself into the hands of his valet. He submitted to the delicate tinting of his fingernails, the sprinkling of his linen with rose water and the stenciling of his brows. He was arrayed in pews and gold, rings slipped onto his fingers, his legs coaxed into hose with marvellous clocks splashed on their sides, and a diamond buckle placed above the large black bow of his tie-wig. Then, powdered, painted, and patched, he went slowly across to his wife's room. Lavinia, who had by now quite forgotten this morning's contraton, greeted him with a smile. She sat before the mirror in her undergown, with a loose dechabil thrown over her shoulders. The coffure had departed, and her hair, thickly powdered, was dressed high above her head over cushions, twisted into curls over her ears, and allowed to fall in more curls over her shoulders. On top of the creation were poised ostrich feathers, scarlet and white, and round her throat gleamed a great necklace of diamonds. The room was redolent of some heavy perfume, discarded ribbons, laces, slippers, and gloves strewn the floor. Over the back of a chair hung a brilliant scarlet domino, and tenderly laid out on the bed with her gown, a mass of white satin and brocade, with full ruffles over the hips and quantities of foaming lace falling from the corsage and from the short sleeves. Beside it reposed her fan, her soft lace gloves, her mask, and her tiny reticule. Carstairs gingerly sat down on the extreme edge of a chair and watched the maid tint his wife's already perfect cheeks. I shall break hearts to-night, shall I not?" she asked gaily over her shoulder. I do not doubt it, he answered shortly. And you, Dicky! she turned round to look at him. Who's? Tis not the color I should have chosen, but Tis well enough—a new wig, surely? I. Her eyes questioned his coldness, and she suddenly remembered the events of the morning. So he was sulky. Very well. Mistress should see. Someone knocked at the door. The maid went to open it. Sir Douglas Favicham, Sir Gregory Markham, Missoula Chevalier, and Captain Loveless are below, my lady. A little devil prompted Lavinia. Oh, la, la! So many! Well, I cannot see them all, Tis certain. Admits Sir Gregory and Captain Loveless. Louisa communicated this to the lackey and shut the door. Richard bit his lip angrily. Are you sure I am not detrope? he asked, savagely sarcastic. Lady Lavinia cast aside her dishevel and stood up. Oh, Tis no matter. I am ready for my gown, Louisa. There came more knocking at the door, and this time it was car-stairs who rose to open it. Here entered Markham, heavily handsome in crimson and gold, and Loveless, his opposite, fair and delicately pretty in palest blue and silver. As usual he wore his loose wig, and in it sparkled three sapphire pins. He made my lady a marvellous leg. I am prostrated by your beauty, fairest. Sir Gregory was eyeing Lavinia's white slippers through his quizzing-glass. Jeweled heels! Pond my soul! he drawled. She pirouetted gracefully her feet flashing as they caught the light. Was it not well thought on, she demanded, but I must not waste time with the dress. Now, Markham, now, Harry, you will see the creation. Loveless sat down on a chair, straddle-wise, his arms over the back, and his chin sunk in his hands. Markham lent against the garter-robe, and watched through his glass. When the dress was at last arranged, the suggested improvements in the matter of lace, ribbons, and adjustment of a brooch, thoroughly discussed, bracelets fixed on her arms, and the flaming domino draped about her. It was full three-quarters of an hour later, and car-stairs was becoming impatient. It was not in his nature to join with the two men in making fulsome compliments, and their presence at the toilette filled him with annoyance. He hated that Lavinia should admit them, but it was the mode, and he knew he must bow the head under it. My lady was at last ready to start. Her gilded chair awaited her in the light of the flambeau at the door, and with great difficulty she managed to enter it, taking absurd pains that her silks should not crush, nor the knotting plumes of her huge headdress become disordered by unseemly contact with the roof. Then she found that she had left her fan in her room, and Lovelace and Markham must need's vie with one another in the fetching of it. While they wrangled wittily for the honour, Richard went quietly indoors and presently emerged with the painted chicken-skin, just as Lovelace was preparing to ascend the steps. At last Lavinia was shut in, and the bearers picked up the poles. Off went the little cavalcade down the long square, the chair in the middle. Lovelace walked close beside it on the right, and Richard and Markham on the left. So they proceeded through the uneven streets, carefully picking their way through the dirtier parts, passing other chairs and pedestrians, all coming from various quarters into South Audley Street. They were remarkably silent, Markham from habitual laziness, Lovelace because he sensed Richard's antagonism, and Richard himself on account of his extremely worried state of mind. In fact, until they reached Curson Street no one spoke, and then it was only Markham, who glancing behind him at the shuttered windows of the Great Corner House, casually remarked that Chesterfield was still at Wells. An absent ascent came from car stairs, and the conversation came to an end. In Clarkes Street they were joined by Sir John Fortescue, an austere patrician, and although some years his senior, a close friend of Richard's. They fell behind the chair, and Fortescue took Richard's proffered arm. I did not see you at whites today, John. No, I had some business with my lawyer. I suppose you did not stumble across my poor brother? Frank, I did not, but why the poor? Fortescue shrugged slightly. I think the lad has demented, he said. He was to have made one of March's supper-party last night, but at four o'clock received a communication from Heaven knows whom, which threw him into a state of unrest. What must he do but hurry off without a word of explanation? Since then I have not set eyes on him, but his man tells me he went to meet a friend. Damned unusual of him is all I have to say. Very strange. Do you expect to see him to-night? I should hope so. My dear car stairs, who is the man walking by your lady's chair? Markham? The other. Lovelace. Lovelace, and who the devil is he? I cannot tell you, beyond a captain in the guards. That even is news to me. I saw him at Goose-trees the other night and wondered. Something of a rake-hell, I surmise. I daresay, I do not like him. They were entering the gates of Devonshire House now, and had to part company, for the crush was so great that it was almost impossible to keep together. Car stairs stayed by Lavinia's chair, and the other men melted away into the crowd. Chairs jostled one another in the effort to get to the door. Town coaches rolled up, and having let down their fair burdens, marched out again slowly, pushing through the throng. When the car stairs' chair at last drew near the house, it was quite a quarter of an hour later. The ballroom was already full, and a blaze of riotous color. Lavinia was almost immediately borne off by an infatuated youth for whom she cherished a motherly affection that would have caused the unfortunate to tear his elegant locks, had he known it. Richard distinguished Lord Andrew Belmanois, one of a group of bugs gathered about the newest beauty, Miss Gunning, who with her sister Elizabeth had taken fashionable London by storm. Andrew wore a mask, but he was quite unmistakable by his length of limb and carelessly rakish appearance. Wilding, across the room, beckoned to Richard, and on his approach dragged him to the card room to play at Lanskine with March, Selwyn, and himself. Car stairs found the earl in great good humor, due, so Selwyn remarked, to the finding of an opera singer even more lovely than the last. At Lanskine they very soon passed to dice and bedding, with others who strolled up to the table. Then Car stairs excused himself and went back to the ballroom. He presently found himself by the side of one Isabella Fansha, a sprightly widow greatly famed for her wittiness and good looks. Car stairs had met her, but once before, and was now rather surprised that she motioned him to her side, patting the couch with an inviting, much-burringed hand. Come and sit by me, Mr. Car stairs. I have wanted to speak with you this long time. She lowered her mask as she spoke and clothly scrutinized his face with her bright, humorous eyes. Why, madam, I am flattered, bowed Richard. She cut him short. I am not in the mood for compliments, sir, nor am I desirous of making or hearing clever speeches. You are worrying me." Richard sat down intrigued and attracted by this downright little woman. I, madam? You, sir, that is, your face worries me. Seeing his surprise, she laughed, fanning herself. Tis comely enough, I grant you, I mean, there is such a strong likeness to a friend of mine. Richard smiled politely and relieved her of the fan. Indeed, madam? Yes, I knew this other gentleman in Vienna three years ago. I should judge him younger than you, I think. His eyes were blue, but very similar to yours. His nose was almost identical with yours, but the mouth—no. Yet the whole expression! She broke off, noticing her companion's sudden pallor. But you are unwell, sir. No, madam, what was your friend's name? Ferndale, she answered, Anthony Ferndale. End of Chapter 19 Part 1 Read by Cibella Denton For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org