Elster's Folly

Anne had already been terribly tried by Mrs. Graves: this was the climax: she lost her self-control and burst into tears. Lord Hartledon was softened at once. He took her two hands in his; he clasped her to his heart, half devouring her face with pa.s.sionate kisses. Ah, Lady Maude!

this impa.s.sioned love was never felt for you.

"You don't love her?" whispered Anne.

"Love her! I never loved but you, my best and dearest. I never shall, or can, love another."

He spoke in all good faith; fully believing what he said; and it was indeed true. And Anne? As though a prevision had been upon her of the future, she remained pa.s.sively in his arms sobbing hysterically, and suffering his kisses; not drawing away from him in maiden modesty, as was her wont. She had never clung to him like this.

"You will write to me often?" he whispered.

"Yes. Won't you come to Cannes?"

"I don't know that it will be possible, unless you remain beyond the spring. And should that be the case, Anne, I shall pray your father and mother that the marriage may take place there. I am going up to town next month to take my seat in the House. It will be a busy session; and I want to see if I can't become a useful public man. I think it would please the doctor to find I've some stuff in me; and a man must have a laudable object in life."

"I would rather die," murmured Anne, pa.s.sionately in her turn, "than hear again what Mrs. Graves said."

"My darling, we cannot stop people's gossip. Believe in me; I will not fail you. Oh, Anne, I wish you were already my wife!" he aspirated fervently, his perplexities again presenting themselves to his mind.

"The time will come," she whispered.

Lord Hartledon walked home full of loyal thought, saying to himself what an utter idiot he had been in regard to Maude, and determined to lose no time in getting clear of the entanglement. He sought an opportunity of speaking to her that afternoon; he really did; but could not find it. The dowager had taken her out to pay a visit.

Mr. Carr was as good as his word, and got down in time for dinner. One glance at Lord Hartledon's face told him what he half expected to see--that the word of emanc.i.p.ation had not yet been spoken.

"Don't blame me, Carr. I shall speak to-night before I sleep, on my word of honour. Things have come to a crisis now; and if I wished to hold back I could not. I would say what a fool I have been not to speak before; only you know I'm one already."

Thomas Carr laughed.

"Mrs. Ashton has heard some tattle about Maude, and spoke to me this afternoon. Of course I could only deny it, my face feeling on fire with its sense of dishonour, for I don't think I ever told a deliberate lie in my life; and--and, in short, I should like my marriage with Anne to take place as soon as possible."

"Well, there's only one course to pursue, as I told you when I was down before. Tell Lady Maude the candid truth, and take shame and blame to yourself, as you deserve. Her having known of the engagement to Miss Ashton renders your task the easier."

Very restless

He went up, feeling a desperate man. To those of his temperament having to make a disagreeable communication such as this is almost as cruel as parting with life.

No one was in the drawing-room but Lady Kirton--stretched upon a sofa and apparently fast asleep. Val crossed the carpet with softened tread to the adjoining rooms: small, comfortable rooms, used by the dowager in preference to the more stately rooms below. Maude had drawn aside the curtain and was peering out into the frosty night.

"Why, how soon you are up!" she cried, turning at his entrance.

"I came on purpose, Maude. I want to speak to you."

"Are you well?" she asked, coming forward to the fire, and taking her seat on a sofa. In truth, he did not look very well just then. "What is it?"

"Maude," he answered, his fair face flus.h.i.+ng a dark red as he plunged into it blindfold: "I am a rogue and a fool!"

Lady Maude laughed. "Elster's folly!"

"Yes. You know all this time that we--that I--" (Val thought he should never flounder through this first moment, and did not remain an instant in one place as he talked)--"have been going on so foolishly, I was--almost as good as a married man."

"Were you?" said she, quietly. "Married to whom?"

"I said as good as married, Maude. You know I have been engaged for years to Miss Ashton; otherwise I would have _knelt_ to ask you to become my wife, so earnestly should I desire it."

Her calm imperturbability presented a curious contrast to his agitation.

She was regarding him with an amused smile.

"And, Maude, I have come now to ask you to release me. Indeed, I--"

"What's all this about?" broke in the countess-dowager, darting upon the conference, her face flushed and her head-dress awry. "Are you two quarrelling?"

"Val was attempting to explain something about Miss Ashton," answered Maude, rising from the sofa, and drawing herself up to her stately height. "He had better do it to you instead, mamma; I don't understand it."

She stood up by the mantelpiece, in the ray of the l.u.s.tres. They fell across her dark, smooth hair, her flushed cheeks, her exquisite features.

Her dress was of flowing white crepe, with jet ornaments; and Lord Hartledon, even in the midst of his perplexity, thought how beautiful she was, and what a sad thing it was to lose her. The truth was, his senses had been caught by the girl's beauty although his heart was elsewhere.

It is a very common case.

"The fact is, ma'am," he stammered, turning to the dowager in his desperation, "I have been behaving very foolishly of late, and am asking your daughter's pardon. I should have remembered my engagement to Miss Ashton."

"Remembered your engagement to Miss Ashton!" echoed the dowager, her voice becoming a little shrill. "What engagement?"

Lord Hartledon began to recover himself, though he looked foolish still.

With these nervous men it is the first plunge that tells; get that over and they are brave as their fellows.

"I cannot marry two women, Lady Kirton, and I am bound to Anne."

The old dowager's voice toned down, and she pulled her black feathers straight upon her head.

"My dear Hartledon, I don't think you know what you are talking about.

You engaged yourself to Maude some weeks ago."

"Well--but--whatever may have pa.s.sed, engagement or no engagement, I could not legally do it," returned the unhappy young man, too considerate to say the engagement was hers, not his. "You knew I was bound to Anne, Lady Kirton."

"Bound to a fiddlestick!" said the dowager. "Excuse my plainness, Hartledon. When you engaged yourself to the young woman you were poor and a n.o.body, and the step was perhaps excusable. Lord Hartledon is not bound by the promises of Val Elster. All the young women in the kingdom, who have parsons for fathers, could not oblige him to be so."

"I am bound to her in honour; and"--in love he was going to say, but let the words die away unspoken.

"Hartledon, you are bound in honour to my daughter; you have sought her affections, and gained them. Ah, Percival, don't you know that it is you she has loved all along? In the days when I was worrying her about your brother, she cared only for you. You cannot be so infamous as to desert her."

"I wish to Heaven she had never seen me!" cried the unfortunate man, beginning to wonder whether he could break through these trammels. "I'd sacrifice myself willingly, if that would put things straight."

"You cannot sacrifice Maude. Look at her!" and the crafty old dowager flourished her hand towards the fireplace, where Maude stood in all her beauty. "A daughter of the house of Kirton cannot be taken up and cast aside at will. What would the world say of her?"

"The world need never know."

"Not know!" shrieked the dowager; "not know! Why, her trousseau is ordered, and some of the things have arrived. Good Heavens, Hartledon, you dare not trifle with Maude in this way. You could never show your face amongst men again."

"But neither dare I trifle with Anne Ashton," said Lord Hartledon, completely broken down by the gratuitous information. He saw that the situation was worse than even he had bargained for, and all his irresolution began to return upon him. "If I knew what was right to be done, I'm sure I'd do it."