Part 4 (1/2)
”Oh, here is Miss Knollys!” cries t.i.ta, running to her. ”We are going to feed the swans” (she looks back at her companion). ”He has got some more biscuits in his pockets.”
”It's quite true,” says Mr. Gower; ”I'm nothing but biscuits. Every pocket's full of 'em, and they've gone to dust. I tried to blow my nose a moment ago, but I couldn't. One can't blow one's nose in biscuit.”
”Come with us, Miss Knollys--do,” says t.i.ta coaxingly.
”I can't. Not now. I can't,” says Margaret, who is a little troubled at heart. ”Go, dear child, and feed the swans, and take care of her, Randy--take care of her.”
”I'll do my best,” says Mr. Gower, with much solemnity; ”but it's small--very small. As a rule, Miss Bolton takes care of me.”
Margaret gives him a last admonitory glance and turns away. In truth, Mr. Gower is but a broken reed to lean upon.
CHAPTER III.
HOW LADY RYLTON SAYS A FEW THINGS THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER LEFT UNSAID. HOW ”THE SCHEME” IS LAID BEFORE SIR MAURICE, AND HOW HE REFUSES TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT.
In the meantime the conversation in the drawing-room has been going on.
”Of course, if you think you can persuade him,” says Mrs. Bethune presently.
”I know I shall. One can always persuade a man where his interests lie. Besides, I have great weight with him. I tell you I shall manage him. I could always manage his father.”
A curious expression crosses Mrs. Bethune's face. The present Baronet may not prove so easy of management as his father!
”Well, I can only wish you success,” says she, with a shrug. ”By the way, Margaret did not back you up in this scheme as cordially as I deemed possible.”
”Margaret is troublesome,” says Lady Rylton. ”Just when you expect her to sympathize with you, she starts off at a tangent on some other absurd idea. She is full of fads. After all, it would be rash to depend on her. But _you_, Marian--you owe me much.”
”How much? My life's blood?”
Mrs. Bethune lets her hands fall clasped upon her knees, and, leaning over them, looks at her aunt--such a wonderfully young aunt, with her yellow hair and her sparkling eyes! Marian's lips have taken a cynical turn; her smile now is unpleasant.
”What a hideous expression!” says Lady Rylton, shuddering. ”You spoil yourself, Marian; you do indeed. You will never make a good marriage if you talk like that. 'Life's blood'!--_detestable!”_
”I don't desire a good marriage, as _you_ regard it.”
Lady Rylton sits suddenly quite upright.
”If you mean marriage with Maurice,” says she, ”put that out of your head. You must be mad to cherish such a hope. You are both paupers, for one thing, and for the rest, I a.s.sure you, my dear, Maurice is not as infatuated about you as you are about him!”
Mrs. Bethune makes a sudden movement; it is slight. Her face darkens. One reading between the lines might at this moment see that she could have killed Lady Rylton with a wondrous joy. Killing has its consequences, however, and she only stands quite quiet, looking at her foe. What a look it is!
”It is you who are mad,” says she calmly. ”What I meant was that I should probably marry some rich n.o.body for the sake of his wealth.
It would be quite in my line. I should arrange him, form him, bring him into Society, even against Society's will! There is a certain excitement in the adventure. As for Maurice, he is no doubt in your eyes a demiG.o.d--in mine,” with infinite contempt, ”he is a man.”
”Well, I hope you will keep to all that,” says Lady Rylton, who is shrewd as she is cruel, ”and that you will not interfere with this marriage I have arranged for Maurice.”