Part 46 (1/2)

So gradually and slowly the old love threw its glamour over them, slowly the master pa.s.sion took its place again in Lord Chandos' life, but just at that time it was unknown to himself. It came at last that the only real life for him was the time spent with her--the morning hours when he discussed all the topics of the day with her, and the evening when he leaned over his opera box, his eyes drinking in the marvelous beauty of her face.

Then, as a matter of course, Lady Marion began to wonder where he went.

He had been accustomed, when he had finished his breakfast, always to consult her about the day's plans--whether she liked to walk, ride, or drive, and he had always been her companion; but now it often happened that he would say to her:

”Marion, drive with my mother this morning, she likes to have you with her; my father goes out so little, you know.”

She always smiled with the most amiable air of compliance with his wishes, but she looked up at him on this particular morning.

”Where are you going, Lance?” she asked. Her eyes took in, in their quiet fas.h.i.+on, every detail of his appearance, even to the dainty exotic in his b.u.t.ton-hole.

Lord Chandos had a habit of blus.h.i.+ng--his dark face would flush like a girl's when any sudden emotion stirred him--it did so now, and she, with wondering eyes, noticed the flush.

”Why, Lance,” she said, ”you are blus.h.i.+ng; blus.h.i.+ng just like a girl, because I just asked you where you were going.”

And though the fiery red burned the dark skin, he managed to look calmly at his wife and say:

”You are always fanciful over me, Marion, and your fancies are not always correct.”

She was one of the sweetest and most amiable of women, no one ever saw her ruffled or impatient. She went up to him now with the loveliest smile, and laid her fair arms round his neck; the very heaven of repose was in the eyes she raised to his.

”My darling Lance,” she said, ”I can never have any fancy over you; my thoughts about you are always true.” She laid one slim, white hand on his face. ”Why, your face burns now,” she said, and he made some little gesture of impatience, and then his heart smote him. She was so fair, so gentle, and loved him so dearly.

”Have I vexed you, Lance?” she said. ”I did not mean to do so. If you do not like me to ask you where you are going, I will not, but it seems to me such a simple thing.”

”How can I object, or, rather, why should I object to tell you where I go, Marion? Here is my note-book; open it and read.”

But when he said the words he knew that on his note-book there was no mention of Leone's name, and again his heart smote him. It was so very easy to deceive this fair, trusting woman. Lady Chandos put the note-book back in his pocket.

”I do not want to see it, Lance. I merely asked you the question because you looked so very nice, and you have chosen such a beautiful flower. I thought you were going to pay some particular visit.”

He kissed the sweet, wistful face raised to his, and changed the subject.

”Do I not always look what you ladies call 'nice'?” he asked, laughingly; and she looked admiringly at him.

”You are always nice to me, Lance; there is no one like you. I often wonder if other wives are as proud of their husbands as I am of you? Now I shall try to remember that you do not like me to ask you where you are going. The greatest pleasure I have on earth is complying with every little wish of yours.”

He could not help kissing her again, she was so sweet, so gentle, so kind, yet his heart smote him. Ah, Heaven! if life had been different to him; if he had been but firmer of purpose, stronger of will! He left her with an uneasy mind and a sore heart.

Lady Marion was more than usually thoughtful after he had gone. She could not quite understand.

The time had been when he had never left the house without saying something about where he was going; now his absences were long, and she did not know where his time was spent.

Lady Lanswell noticed the unusual shadow on the girl's sweet face, and in her quick, impetuous way asked her about it.

”Marion, you are anxious or thoughtful--which is it?” she asked.

”Thoughtful,” said Lady Chandos. ”I am not anxious, not in the least.”