Part 15 (2/2)
”Well, what then? Don't keep me in suspense. I've had enough to try me without that.” And the Grand d.u.c.h.ess raised a little jewelled vinaigrette to her nostrils. It had been given her by Queen Victoria, and was particularly supporting in a time of trial.
Sylvia's lips were so dry that she found difficulty in articulating.
There were some things it was extremely embarra.s.sing to tell one's mother.
”We--went out into the garden--to see the moon--or something,” she managed to begin. ”He asked me to be--his wife. Oh--wait, wait, please! _Don't_ say anything yet! I didn't know what to make of it, and--he had to explain. He put it as inoffensively as he could, but-- oh! mother, I--I was only good enough to be his _morganatic_ wife!”
The storm had burst at last. There had always been mental and temperamental barriers between the parent and child; but, after all, a mother is a mother; and nothing better has ever been invented yet.
Sylvia fell on her knees by the sofa, and, burying her head in her mother's lap, sobbed as if parting with her youth.
The Grand d.u.c.h.ess thought of the last time when the girl had so knelt beside her, the bright hair under her caressing hand; and the contrast between _then_ and _now_ brought motherly tears to her eyes. That time had been in the dear old river garden at Richmond, when Sylvia had coaxed away her promise to help forward this very scheme--this disastrous, miserable, _mad_ scheme. Poor little Sylvia, so young, so inexperienced, so thoroughly girlish for all her naughty obstinacy and recklessness, sweet and loving and impulsive! The child had been so full of hope then; why, only a few hours ago, she had said she was the happiest creature on earth!
All the Grand d.u.c.h.ess's resentment melted away as she rocked the sobbing girl in the comfortable cradle of her arms, murmuring and crying over her--the hen-mother, over the golden duckling that had ventured into water too rough and treacherous.
”There, there, dear,” she crooned. ”It isn't so very dreadful; not half as bad as you made me think. I'm sure he _meant_ well. It showed, at any rate, that he loved you. Just at first, it came as rather a _shock_, of course, knowing who we are; but if you had really been Miss de Courcy, I suppose--I suppose it would have been a great _compliment_.”
”I call it an insult; I called it so to him,” gasped Sylvia in the midst of sobs.
”Oh, dear me, not as bad as that--not at all! Many ladies of very high standing have been in such positions, and every one has thoroughly respected them. Though, of course, such a thing would never do for _you_; you must reflect that Maximilian couldn't _know_ that.”
”He ought to have known--known that I would never consent. That no woman with English blood in her veins would ever consent. It was an insult. It has shown how poor was his estimate of me. It was--it was!
It has broken my heart. It has killed me. Oh, mother, it's all at an end--everything I lived for. I can never bear to see him after this.”
”You'll feel differently to-morrow, pet,” purred the Grand d.u.c.h.ess, smoothing the tumbled waves of yellow hair.
”Never!”
”You are too young to fully understand the etiquette of Courts.
Remember, _his_ point of view is different from yours.”
”That is the reason I am so miserable. His point of view is hateful. I want to go away--to go away at once.”
Her earnest emphasis forced conviction. She really meant it. This was no girlish whim, to be repented in a few hours, a lovers' quarrel, to be made up to-morrow. The Grand d.u.c.h.ess's kindly face, already deeply clouded, was utterly obscured in gloom. The small features seemed lost behind their expression of distress.
”But surely you will tell him the truth, or let me, and give him a chance to--to speak again? Now, more than ever----”
”What good would it do? Everything is spoiled. Of course, if he knew I were Sylvia of Eltzburg-Neuwald, he would be sorry for what had happened, even if he thought I had brought it all on myself. But that would be too late to mend anything. Don't you see, don't you understand, that I valued his love because it was given to me, just _me_, not the Princess? If he said, 'Now that I know you are Sylvia, I can have the pleasure of offering my _right_, instead of my _left_ hand to you, as my wife, and everything can be very pleasant and regular,' I should not care for that at all. No, we must go home, mother; and the Emperor Maximilian of Rhaetia must be informed that Sylvia of Eltzburg-Neuwald has decided not to marry. That will be our one revenge--the only one we can have--that little slap in the face to His Imperial Majesty; so pitiful a slap, since he will never know that Princess Sylvia who won't marry him, and Miss de Courcy who can't, are one and the same. But, mother, I did love him--I did love him so!”
”Then forget and forgive--and be happy, while you can.”
”I can't. I've just told you why. Oh, do let us make our plans to get out of this hateful house as soon as possible.”
The Grand d.u.c.h.ess resigned herself to the inevitable, and only a deep sigh told the tale of the effort resignation cost her. For once she was expected to take the initiative, and the responsibility was a stimulant; this one consolation was left her.
”Well,” she said, after a moment's abstruse reflection, ”the telegram will give us an excuse. I was so overcome on reading it that I had to sit down again after getting suddenly up from my chair and borrow the Baroness's smelling-salts--poor, inadequate Rhaetian stuff. Every one was alarmed, and I explained, without going into particulars, that I had received most _disturbing_ news from England. Directly I felt more like myself, I came upstairs, requesting that you should be sent to me, when you returned--though you were not to be specially _called_. I begged the Baroness not to be anxious, but she said that, before she went to bed, I really must allow her to stop at the door and inquire how I was. We might say to her that the telegram had compelled our immediate return to England.”
”Listen,” whispered Sylvia. ”There's someone at the door now.”
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