Part 40 (1/2)
”Who is she?” and in spite of herself, Lady Winsleigh's smile vanished and her lips quivered.
”Lady Bruce-Errington,” answered Sir Francis readily. ”The loveliest woman in the world, I should say! Phil was beside her--he looks in splendid condition--and that meek old secretary fellow sat opposite--Neville--isn't that his name? Anyhow they seemed as jolly as pipers,--as for that woman, she'll drive everybody out of their wits about her before half the season's over.”
”But she's a mere peasant!” said Mrs. Marvelle loftily. ”Entirely uneducated--a low, common creature!”
”Ah, indeed!” and Sir Francis again yawned extensively. ”Well, I don't know anything about that! She was exquisitely dressed, and she held herself like a queen. As for her hair--I never saw such wonderful hair,--there's every shade of gold in it.”
”Dyed!” said Lady Winsleigh, with a sarcastic little laugh. ”She's been in Paris,--I dare say a good _coiffeur_ has done it for her there artistically!”
This time Sir Francis's smile was a thoroughly amused one.
”Commend me to a woman for spite!” he said carelessly. ”But I'll not presume to contradict you, Clara! You know best, I dare say! Ta-ta! I'll come for you to-night,--you know we're bound for the theatre together.
By-bye, Mrs. Marvelle! You look younger than ever!”
And Sir Francis Lennox sauntered easily away, leaving the ladies to resume their journey through the Park. Lady Winsleigh looked vexed--Mrs.
Marvelle bewildered.
”Do you think,” inquired this latter, ”she can really be so wonderfully lovely?”
”No, I don't!” answered Clara snappishly. ”I dare say she's a plump creature with a high color--men like fat women with brick-tinted complexions--they think it's healthy. Helen of Troy indeed! Pooh! Lennie must be crazy.”
The rest of their drive was very silent,-they were both absorbed in their own reflections. On arriving at the Van Clupps', they found no one at home--not even Marcia--so Lady Winsleigh drove her ”dearest Mimsey”
back to her own house in Kensington, and there left her with many expressions of tender endearment--then, returning home, proceeded to make an elaborate and brilliant toilette for the enchantment and edification of Sir Francis Lennox that evening. She dined alone, and was ready for her admirer when he called for her in his private hansom, and drove away with him to the theatre, where she was the cynosure of many eyes; meanwhile her husband, Lord Winsleigh, was pressing a good-night kiss on the heated forehead of an excited boy, who, plunging about in his little bed and laughing heartily, was evidently desirous of emulating the gambols of the clown who had delighted him that afternoon at Hengler's.
”Papa! could you stand on your head and shake hands with your foot?”
demanded this young rogue, confronting his father with towzled curls and flushed cheeks.
Lord Winsleigh laughed. ”Really, Ernest, I don't think I could!” he answered good-naturedly. ”Haven't you talked enough about the circus by this time? I thought you were ready for sleep, otherwise I should not have come up to say good-night.”
Ernest studied the patient, kind features of his father for a moment, and then slipped penitently under the bedclothes, settling his restless young head determinedly on the pillow.
”I'm all right now!” he murmured, with a demure, dimpling smile. Then, with a tender upward twinkle of his merry blue eyes, he added, ”Good-night, papa dear! G.o.d bless you!”
A sort of wistful pathos softened the grave lines of Lord Winsleigh's countenance as he bent once more over the little bed, and pressed his bearded lips lightly on the boy's fresh cheek, as cool and soft as a rose-leaf.
”G.o.d bless you, little man!” he answered softly, and there was a slight quiver in his calm voice. Then he put out the light and left the room, closing the door after him with careful noiselessness. Descending the broad stairs slowly, his face changed from its late look of tenderness to one of stern and patient coldness, which was evidently its habitual expression. He addressed himself to Briggs, who was lounging aimlessly in the hall.
”Her ladys.h.i.+p is out?”
”Yes, my lord! Gone to the theayter with Sir Francis Lennox.”
Lord Winsleigh turned upon him sharply. ”I did not ask you, Briggs, _where_ she had gone, or _who_ accompanied her. Have the goodness to answer my questions simply, without adding useless and unnecessary details.”
Briggs's mouth opened a little in amazement at his master's peremptory tone, but he answered promptly--
”Very good, my lord!”
Lord Winsleigh paused a moment, and seemed to consider. Then he said--
”See that her ladys.h.i.+p's supper is prepared in the dining-room. She will most probably return rather late. Should she inquire for me, say I am at the Carlton.”