Part 36 (2/2)

”Take care, sir,” she said quickly, ”when Dr. Claudius comes back he--”

Barker interrupted her with a laugh.

”Claudius coming back?” he answered, ”ha! ha! good indeed!”

He looked at Margaret. She was very quiet, and she was naturally so dark that, in the shadow of the fan she held carelessly against the light, he could not see how pale she turned. She was intensely angry, and her anger took the form of a preternatural calm of manner, by no means indicative of indifferent reflection. She was simply unable to speak for the moment. Barker, however, whose reason was in abeyance for the moment, merely saw that she did not answer; and, taking her silence for consent to his slighting mention of Claudius, he at once proceeded with his main proposition. At this juncture the other couple slowly left the room, having arranged their own affairs to their satisfaction.

”That being the case,” he said, ”and now that I am a.s.sured that I have no rivals to dread, will you permit me to offer you my heart and my hand? Countess Margaret, will you marry me, and make me the happiest of men? Oh, do not be silent, do not look as if you did not hear! I have loved you since I first saw you--will you, will you marry me?” Here Mr.

Barker, who was really as much in love as his nature allowed him to be, moved to the very edge of his chair and tried to take her hand.

”Margaret!” he said, as he touched her fingers.

At the touch she recovered her self-possession, too long lost for such a case. She had tried to control her anger, had tried to remember whether by any word she could have encouraged him to so much boldness. Now she rose to all her haughty height, and though she tried hard to control herself, there was scorn in her voice.

”Mr. Barker,” she said, dropping her hands before her and standing straight as a statue, ”you have made a mistake, and if through any carelessness I have led you into this error I am sorry for it. I cannot listen to you, I cannot marry you. As for Dr. Claudius, I will not permit you to use any slighting words about him. I hold in my possession doc.u.ments that could prove his ident.i.ty as well as any he can obtain in Germany. But I need not produce them, for I am sure it will be enough for you to know that I am engaged to be married to him--I am engaged to be married to Dr. Claudius,” she repeated very distinctly in her deep musical tones; and before Barker could recover himself, she had pa.s.sed from the room into the lights and the sound of music beyond.

What do you think, reader? Was it not a brave and n.o.ble action of hers to vindicate Claudius by taking upon herself the whole responsibility of his love rather than by going home and sending Mr. Barker doc.u.mentary evidence of the Doctor's personality? Claudius had never asked her to marry him, the very word had never been mentioned. But he had told her he loved her and she had trusted him.

Start not at the infinity of social crime that such a doubt defines. It is there. It is one thing for a woman to love a man at arm's length conditionally; it is another for her to take him to her heart and trust him. Does every millionaire who makes love to a penniless widow mean to marry her? for Margaret was poor on that Tuesday in Newport. Or reverse the case; if Claudius were an adventurer, as Barker hinted, what were the consequences she a.s.sumed in declaring herself engaged to marry him?

In spite of her excitement, Margaret was far too much a woman of the world to create a sensation by walking through the rooms alone. In a moment or two she saw a man she knew, and calling him to her by a look, took his arm. She chatted pleasantly to this young fellow, as proud as need be of being selected to conduct the beauty whither she would, and after some searching she discovered Mr. Bellingham, still asleep behind the swinging door.

”Thanks,” she said to her escort. ”I have promised to take Mr.

Bellingham home.” And she dropped the young man's arm with a nod and a smile.

”But he is asleep,” objected the gallant.

”I will wake him,” she answered. And laying her hand on Mr.

Bellingham's, she leaned down and spoke his name. Instantly he awoke, as fresh as from a night's rest, for he had the Napoleonic faculty for catching naps.

”Winter awaking to greet the spring,” he said without the slightest hesitation, as though he had prepared the little speech in his sleep.

”Forgive me,” he said, ”it is a habit of mine learned long ago.” He presented his arm and asked her what was her pleasure.

”I am going home,” she said, ”and if you like I will drop you at your door.”

Mr. Bellingham glanced at a great enamelled clock, half-hidden among flowers and fans, as they pa.s.sed, and he noticed that they had not been in the house much more than three quarters of an hour. But he wisely said nothing, and waited patiently while Margaret was wrapped in her cloaks, and till the butler had told the footman, and the footman had told the other footman, and the other footman had told the page, and the page had told the policeman to call the Countess Margaret's carriage.

After which the carriage appeared, and they drove away.

Uncle Horace chatted pleasantly about the party, admitting that he had dreamed more than he had seen of it. But Margaret said little, for the reaction was coming after the excitement she had pa.s.sed through. Only when they reached Mr. Bellingham's rooms, and he was about to leave her, she held his hand a moment and looked earnestly in his face.

”Mr. Bellingham,” she said suddenly, ”I trust you will always be my friend--will you not?” The old gentleman paused in his descent from the carriage, and took the hand she offered.

”Indeed I will, my dear child,” he said very seriously. Then he bent his knee to the sill of the door and kissed her fingers, and was gone.

No one ever resented Mr. Bellingham's familiarity, for it was rare and honest of its kind. Besides, he was old enough to be her grandfather, in spite of his pretty speeches and his graceful actions.

Margaret pa.s.sed a sleepless night. Her anger with Mr. Barker had not been so much the mere result of the words he had spoken, though she would have resented his sneer about Claudius sharply enough under any circ.u.mstances. It was rather that to her keen intelligence, rendered still more acute by her love for the Doctor, the whole scene const.i.tuted a revelation. By that wonderful instinct which guides women in the most critical moments of their lives, she saw at last the meaning of Barker's doings, of his silence concerning Claudius, and of his coolness with the latter before he had got rid of him. She saw Barker at the bottom of the plot to send Claudius to Europe; she saw him in all the efforts made by the Duke and Barker to keep Claudius and herself apart on board the yacht; she saw his hand in it all, and she understood for the first time that this man, whom she had of late permitted to be so much with her, was her worst enemy, while aspiring to be her lover. The whole extent of his faithlessness to Claudius came before her, as she remembered that it had doubtless been to serve the Doctor that Barker had obtained an introduction to her at Baden; that he had done everything to throw them together, devoting himself to Miss Skeat, in a manner that drove that ancient virgin to the pinnacle of bliss and despair, while leaving Claudius free field to make love to herself. And then he had suddenly turned and made up his mind that he should have her for his own wife.

And her anger rose higher and hotter as she thought of it.

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