Part 81 (1/2)

She looked up at him with a strange smile on her cold, white face, and held out a tea-cup. But as he came near her, the cup dropped from her hand with a crash, and she fell back like one stricken unto death.

That same evening, Lady Bell stood in the drawing-room of Earl's Court.

She was richly dressed, more richly than was usual with her; upon her white neck and arms sparkled the diamond set which she wore only on the most special occasions. The room was full. Four or five of the country families had been dining with her, and the buzz of conversation and sound of music rose and fell together confusedly.

Surrounded, as usual, by a little circle of courtiers, she reigned, by the right of her beauty, her birth, and her wealth, a queen of society.

Brilliant and witty she, so to speak, kept her devoted adherents at bay, her beautiful face lit up with the smile which so many found so falsely fascinating, her eyes s.h.i.+ning like the gems in her hair. Never had she appeared so beautiful, so irresistible.

Regarding her even most critically one would have a.s.sented to the proposition that certainly if any woman in the world was happy that night it was Lady Isabel Earlsley.

And yet beneath all her brilliance Lady Bell was hiding an aching heart.

Half the country was there at her feet, and only one of all her invited guests absent, and he a poor, tireless, ne'er-do-well. But Lady Bell would willingly, joyfully have exchanged them all for that one man, for that scapegrace with the bold, handsome face and frank, fearless eyes.

Since mid-day she had been expecting him. Like Una, her eyes had wandered to the clock, and she had told the minutes over; but he had not come, and now, with that false gayety of despair, she was striving, fighting hard to forget him.

But her eyes and ears refused to obey her will, and were still watching and waiting, and suddenly her glance, wandering over her fan, saw a figure standing in the doorway.

It was not a man's, it was that of Laura Treherne's--Mary Burns.

Not one of them around her noticed any difference in her smile or guessed why she dismissed them so easily and naturally. She did not even march straight for the door, but making a circuit, gradually reached the hall.

Pale and calm and self-possessed as usual, the strange maid was waiting for her.

”Well!” said Lady Bell, and her voice was scarcely above a whisper.

”Has--has he come?”

”No,” said Laura Treherne. ”But though your ladys.h.i.+p told me only to let you know of Mr. Newcombe's arrival, I thought it best to bring you this letter.”

Lady Bell almost s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her hand.

”You did right,” she said.

With trembling hands she broke open the envelope, not noting that it opened easily as if it had been tampered with, and read the note.

”DEAR LADY BELL--I am sorry I cannot come as arranged. I am in great trouble, and cannot leave London.

”Yours truly, ”JACK NEWCOMBE.”

Lady Bell looked at the few lines for full a minute, then she pressed the letter to her lips. As she did so, she saw that the slight figure in its dark dress was still standing in front of her, and she started.

”Why are you waiting?” she said angrily.

Laura Treherne turned to go, but Lady Bell called to her.

”Wait. I beg your pardon. I am going to London tomorrow by the first train. Will you have everything ready?”