Part 46 (1/2)

”Don't you ever read the newspapers, Miss Lestrange?” he said. ”I have been advertised as being on view every night at the New Theatre.”

”Oh, I don't mean that. Lady Adela says you have quite forsaken her.”

”Is Lady Adela to be here this afternoon?” he asked, in an off-hand way.

”Oh, certainly,” replied Miss Georgie. ”She is going everywhere just now, in order to put everything into her new novel. It is to be a perfectly complete picture of London life as we see it around us.”

”That is, the London between Bond Street and Campden Hill?”

”Oh, well, all London is too big for one canvas. You must cut it into sections. I dare say she will take up Whitechapel in her next book.”

Miss Burgoyne turned from the gla.s.s case to seek her companion, and seemed a little surprised to find him talking to these two strangers. It was the swiftest glance; but Miss Georgie divined the situation in an instant.

”Good-bye for the present,” she said, and she and her brother pa.s.sed on.

And now he was more anxious than ever to get away. If Lady Adela and her sisters were coming to this exhibition, was it not highly probable that Honnor Cunyngham might be of the party? He did not wish to meet any one of them; especially did he not care to meet them while he was acting as escort to Miss Burgoyne. There were reasons which he could hardly define; he only knew that the clicking of the turnstile on the stair was an alarming sound, and that he regarded each new group of visitors, as they came into the room, with a furtive apprehension.

”Oh, very well,” Miss Burgoyne said, at length, ”let us go.” And on the staircase she again said: ”What is it? Are you afraid of meeting the mamma of some girl you've jilted? Or some man to whom you owe money for cards? Ah, Master Lionel, when are you going to reform and lead a steady and respectable life?”

He breathed more freely when he was outside; here, in the crowd, if he met any one to whom he did not wish to speak, he could be engaged with his companion and pa.s.s on without recognition. He proposed to Miss Burgoyne that they should walk home, by way of Piccadilly and Park Lane, and that young lady cheerfully a.s.sented. It was quite a pleasant afternoon, for London in midwinter. The setting sun shone with a dull-copper l.u.s.tre along the fronts of the tall buildings, and over the trees of the Green Park hung clouds that were glorified by the intervening red-hued mists. The air was crisp and cold--what a blessing it was to be able to breathe!

Lionel was silent and absorbed; he only said, ”Yes?” ”Really!” ”Indeed!”

in answer to the vivacious chatter of his companion, who was in the most animated spirits. His brows were drawn down; his look was more sombre than it ought to have been, considering who was with him. Perhaps he was thinking of the crowded rooms they had recently left, and of the friends who might now be arriving there, from whom he had voluntarily isolated himself. Had they, had any one of them, counselled him to keep within his own sphere? Well, he had taken that advice; here he was--walking with Miss Burgoyne!

All of a sudden that young lady stopped and turned to the window of a jeweller's shop; and of course he followed. No wonder her eyes had been attracted; here were all kinds of beautiful things and splendors--tiaras, coronets, necklaces, pendants, bracelets, earrings, bangles, brooches--set with all manner of precious stones, the clear, radiant diamond, the purple amethyst, the sea-green emerald, the mystic opal, the blue-black sapphire, the clouded pearl. Her raptured vision wandered from tray to tray, but it was a comparatively trifling article that finally claimed her attention--a tiny finger-ring set with small rubies and brilliants.

”Oh, do look at this!” she said to her companion. ”Did you ever see such a love of a ring?--what a perfect engagement-ring it would make!”

Then what mad, half-sullen, half-petulant, and wholly reckless impulse sprang into his brain!

”Well, will you wear that as an engagement-ring, if I give it to you?”

he asked.

She looked up, startled, amused, but not displeased.

”Why, really--really--that _is_ a question to ask!” she exclaimed.

”Come along in and see if it fits your finger--come along!” and therewith Miss Burgoyne, a little bewildered and still inclined to laugh, found herself at the jeweller's counter. Was it a joke? Oh, certainly not. Lionel was quite serious and matter of fact. The tray was produced. The ring was taken out. For a moment she hesitated as to which finger to try it on, but overcame that shyness and placed it on the third finger of her left hand and said it fitted admirably.

”Just keep it where it is, then,” he said; and then he added a word or two to the jeweller, whom he knew; and he and his companion left the shop.

”Oh, Lionel, what an idea!” said Miss Burgoyne, with her eyes bent modestly on the pavement. ”If I had fancied you knew that man, do you think I would ever have entered the place? What must he think? What would any one think?--an engagement in the middle of the streets of London!”

”Plenty of witnesses to the ceremony, that's all,” said he, lightly.

Nay, was there not a curious sense of possession, now that he walked alongside this little, bright person in the magnificent furs? He had acquired something by this simple transaction; he would be less lonely now; he would mate with his kind. But he did not choose to look far into the future. Here he was walking along Piccadilly, with a cheerful and smiling and prettily costumed young lady by his side who had just been so kind as to accept an engagement-ring from him, and what more could he want?

”Lionel,” she said, still with modestly downcast eyes, ”this mustn't be known to any human being--no, not to a single human being--not yet, I mean. I will get a strip of white india-rubber to cover the ring, so that no one shall be able to see it on the stage.”