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  Chapter XXIV

  An Explanation

  "La discretion defend de questionner, la delicatesse defend meme de deviner."

  We were a quiet party that evening, Madame having decided to ask noone to meet us. It was like a piece of the old Paris life, for all hadmet for better or worse in that city, and spoke the language of theonce brilliant capital.

  Madame insisted that I should take the head of the table, she herselfoccupying a chair at the foot, which had remained vacant as long as Icould remember. So I sat for the first time in the seat of myancestors, whence my father had issued his choleric mandates, only, Ifear, to be answered as hotly.

  "You are quiet, Monsieur," said Lucille, who sat at my right hand, andI thought her glance searched my face in a way that was new.

  "Say he is dull," put in Alphonse, whose gaiety was at high-watermark. "_Ce cher_ Dick--he is naturally so."

  And he laughed at me with his old look of affection.

  "Mademoiselle means that I am duller than usual," I suggested.

  "No," said Lucille, "I meant what I said."

  "As always?" inquired Alphonse, in a low voice aside.

  "As always," she answered, gravely. And I think she only spoke thetruth.

  We did not sit long over our wine, and John Turner reserved his cigaruntil a later opportunity.

  "I'll play you a game of billiards," he said, looking at me.

  In the drawing-room we found Lucille already; at the piano.

  "I have some new songs," she said, "from the Basque country. I wonderif you will prefer them to the old."

  I was crossing the room towards Madame, and a silence made me pauseand look towards the piano. Lucille was addressing me--and no doubt Iwas clumsy enough to betray my surprise.

  "I think I shall prefer the old ones, Mademoiselle," I answered.

  She was fingering the pages carelessly, and Alphonse, who was alwaysquick at such matters, stepped forward.

  "As the songs are new the pages will require turning."

  "Thank you," answered Lucille, rather coldly as I thought, and Madamelooked at me with a queer expression of impatience, as if I had donesomething amiss. She took up her book and presently closed her eyes.John Turner did the same, and I, remembering that he was a heavybreather, went up to him.

  "I am ready to beat you at billiards," I said.

  Lucille and Alphonse were so much engaged at the piano as to beapparently oblivious to our departure. I suppose that they weregrateful to us in their hearts for going.

  My friend did not play long or skilfully, and I, like allne'er-do-wells, played a fair game in those days.

  "Yes," he said, when handsomely beaten, "you evidently play onSundays. Let us sit down and smoke."

  I could not help noticing that the music had ceased. Lucille andAlphonse were probably talking together in low voices at the pianowhile Madame kindly slept.

  "Don't scowl at me like that," said John Turner, "but take one ofthese cigars."

  We sat down, and smoked for some time in silence.

  "It is one thing," said my companion at length, "to give a man a fairchance, and another to throw away your own."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why marry Mademoiselle to a weak-kneed fellow like Giraud?"

  "He is not a weak-kneed fellow," I interrupted, "and can sit a horseas well as any man in the county."

  "Life does not consist of sitting on horses."

  "And he has proved himself a brave soldier."

  "A man may be a brave soldier and make a poor fight of his life,"persisted Turner. "Besides, it is against her will."

  "Against her will?"

  "Yes," said John Turner. "She wants to marry quite a different man."

  "That may be," answered I, "but it is none of my business. I have noinfluence with Mademoiselle, who is one of my enemies. I have many."

  "No--you haven't," said Turner, stoutly. "You have but one, and she isa clever one. Isabella Gayerson is a dangerous foe, my boy. She haspoisoned the minds of Lucille and Alphonse against you. She has triedto do the same by the Vicomtesse, and failed. She encouraged andharboured Devar in order to annoy you. You and I start for Paristo-morrow afternoon. Take my advice and ride over to Little Cortonto-morrow morning. See Isabella, and have it out with her. Talk to heras you would to a man. Life would be so much simpler if people wouldonly recognise that sex is only a small part of it. Tell her you willsee her d----d before you marry her, or words to that effect. It isall a matter of vanity or money. I'm going to bed. Good-night. Myapologies to the ladies."

  He took his candle, and left me with half a cigar to smoke.

  I was up betimes the next morning, and set off on horseback throughthe quiet lanes soon after breakfast. Little Corton stands a mileinland, and two miles nearer to Lowestoft than the old Manor House ofHopton. Between the houses there is little pasture land, and I rodethrough fresh green corn with the dew still on it. The larks--and theyare nowhere so numerous as on our sea-bound uplands--were singing ablithe chorus. The world was indeed happy that May morning.

  The sight of the homely red walls of Little Corton nestling among theelms brought to my mind a hundred memories of the past days, whereinIsabella's parents had ever accorded a welcome to myself--amuddy-booted boy then, with but an evil reputation in thecountry-side.

  Isabella had gone out, they told me, but as she had taken neither hatnor gloves, the servants opined that she could not be far away. I wentin search, and found her in the beech wood. She had taken her morningletters there, and read them as she walked, her dress stirring thedead leaves. She did not hear my footstep until I was close upon her.

  "Ah! have you come to tell me that Lucille and Alphonse are engaged?"she asked, without even bidding me good morning. In her eyes, usuallyquiet and reserved, there was a look of great expectancy.

  "No."

  She folded her letters slowly, and as we walked side by side her quieteyes came slantwise to my face in a searching glance. She asked noother question, however, and left the burthen of the silence with me.There was a rustic seat near to us, and with one accord we went to itand sat down. Isabella seemed to be breathless, I know not why, andher bodice was stirred by the rapidity of her breathing. I noticedagain that my old playmate was prettier than I had ever suspected--astrongly-built woman, upright and of a fine, graceful figure.

  "Don't beat about the bush," John Turner had advised, and I rememberedhis words now.

  "Isabella," I said, awkwardly enough, as I stirred the dead leaveswith my whip, "Isabella, do you know the terms of my father's will?"

  She did not answer at once, and, glancing in her direction, I sawthat she had flushed like a schoolgirl.

  "ISABELLA," I SAID, AWKWARDLY ENOUGH, AS I STIRRED THEDEAD LEAVES WITH MY WHIP, "ISABELLA, DO YOU KNOW THE TERMS OF MYFATHER'S WILL?" SHE DID NOT ANSWER AT ONCE, AND, GLANCING IN HERDIRECTION, I SAW THAT SHE HAD FLUSHED LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL.]

  "Yes," she answered at length.

  "I am penniless unless you marry me."

  "Yes--I know."

  Her voice was quiet and composed. Isabella was younger than I, but inher presence I always felt myself her inferior and junior, as, nodoubt, I had always been in mind though not in years.

  "You have always been my enemy, Isabella."

  "Why should I be that?" she asked.

  "I suppose it is on account of the squire's will."

  "I care nothing for that."

  "Then, if you are not my enemy, if you do not hate me--I do notrecollect doing you an injury--if you do not hate me, why have youpoisoned Lucille's mind against me and made Alphonse distrust me? Whydid you encourage Devar, whom you knew to be my enemy?"

  "So you have ridden over in order to bring these charges against me,"answered Isabella, in her coldest voice; "and you came at a time whenyou knew you would find me alone, so as to do it the moreeffectually."

  "I am letting you know that I am aware that you dislike me, and wantto be told why. Do you remember long ago at
the gate over thereleading to Drake's Spinney? It was the first time you had put yourhair up and had a long dress on. I was a clumsy oaf and did not knowthat those things made such a difference. I gave you a push as youwere climbing over, and you fell."

  "Yes," said Isabella; "I remember."

  "You hurt yourself, and cried, and said you hated me then. And Ibelieve you did, for you have never been the same since. That wasfourteen years ago, Isabella--my first year at Cambridge. You wereeighteen then."

  "Yes," answered Isabella, in a chilly voice. "You have all your datesvery correct, and a simple addition sum will tell you that I amthirty-two now--a middle-aged woman, whose hair is turning grey!Thirty-two!"

  And I was too stupid, or too wise, to tell her that she did not lookit.

  "I do not know," I said instead, "why you should have turned againstme then, and remembered so long a mere boyish jest; for I thought wewere to be good friends always--as we had been--and never dreamt thata few hairpins could make us different."

  Isabella sat with her still, white hands clasped in her lap, andlooked towards the gate that had caused this childish breach; but Icould not see the expression on her face.

  "My father," I went on, determined to speak out that which was in mymind, "had no business to make such a will, which could only lead totrouble. And I should have been a scoundrel had I sacrificed yourhappiness to my own cupidity--or, rather, had I attempted to do so.You might have thought it your duty to take me, Isabella, had I askedyou to, for the sake of the money--though you have always spared meany doubts as to your opinion of me. You have always known my faults,and been less charitable towards them than anyone else. I should havebeen a scoundrel indeed had I asked you to sacrifice yourself."

  She sat quite still, and was breathing quietly now.

  "So I came to talk it over with you--as old friends, as if we were twomen."

  "Which we are not," put in Isabella, with her bitter laugh; and Godknows what she meant.

  "We were placed in an impossible position by being thus asked to marryagainst our will. I did not ever think of you in that way--think ofloving you, I mean. And you have made it plain enough, of course, thatyou do not love me. On the contrary--"

  "Of course," she echoed, in a queer, tired voice. "On the contrary."

  I somehow came to a stop, and sat mutely seeking words. At last,however, I broke the silence.

  "Then," I said, making an effort to speak lightly and easily, "weunderstand each other now."--

  "Yes," she answered; "we understand each other now."

  I rose, for there seemed nothing more to be said, and yet feeling thatI was no further on--that there was something yet misunderstoodbetween us.

  "And we are friends again, Isabella."

  I held out my hand, and, after a momentary pause, she placed herfingers in it. They were cold.--"Yes, I suppose so," she said, and herlips were quivering.

  I left her slowly, and with a feeling of reluctance. My way lay overthe gate, where fourteen years earlier I had made that mistake. As Iclimbed it, I looked back. Isabella had turned sideways on the seat,and her face was hidden in her arms folded on the back of it. Sheseemed to be weeping. I stood for a minute or two in indecision. Then,remembering how she disliked me, went slowly on to the stable, andfound my horse.