Volume II Part 22 (1/2)
”I was not cold, mamma; I had my warm cloak.”
”But you confess you have caught cold. I detest colds; they always go through a house. I shall be the next victim, I daresay; and with me a cold is martyrdom. I'm afraid you must find us very dull, Lord Mallow, for New Year's Day, when people expect to be lively. We ought to have had a dinner-party.”
”My dear Mrs. Winstanley, I don't care a straw about New Year's Day, and I am not in a lively vein. This quiet evening suits me much better than high jinks, I a.s.sure you.”
”It's very good of you to say so.”
”Come and play a game of billiards,” said Captain Winstanley, throwing down his paper.
”Upon my honour, I'd rather sit by the fire and watch Mrs. Winstanley at her point-lace. I'm in an abominably lazy mood after my tramp in those soppy plantations.” answered Lord Mallow, who felt a foolish pleasure--mingled with bitterest regrets--in being in the same room with the girl he loved.
She was hidden from him in her shadowy corner; shrouded on one side by the velvet drapery of the fireplace, on the other by her mother's chair. He could only catch a glimpse of her auburn plaits now and then as her head bent over her open book. He never heard her voice, or met her eyes. And yet it was sweet to him to sit in the same room with her.
”Come, Mallow, you can sing us something, at any rate,” said the Captain, suppressing a yawn. ”I know you can play your own accompaniment, when you please. You can't be too idle to give us one of Moore's melodies.”
”I'll sing, if you like, Mrs. Winstanley,” a.s.sented Lord Mallow, ”but I'm afraid you must be tired of my songs. My _repertoire_ is rather limited.”
”Your songs are charming,” said Mrs. Winstanley.
The Irishman seated himself at the distant piano, struck a chord or two, and began the old melody, with its familiar refrain:
Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream.
Before his song was finished Violet had kissed her mother and glided silently from the room, Lord Mallow saw her go, and there was a sudden break in his voice as the door closed upon her, a break that sounded almost like a suppressed sob.
When Vixen came down to breakfast next morning she found the table laid only for three.
”What has become of Lord Mallow,” she asked Forbes, when he brought in the urn.
”He left by an early train, ma'am. Captain Winstanley drove him to Lyndhurst.”
The old servants of the Abbey House had not yet brought themselves to speak of their new lord as ”master.” He was always ”Captain Winstanley.”
The Captain came in while Violet knelt by the fire playing with Argus, whom even the new rule had not banished wholly from the family sitting-rooms.
The servants filed in for morning prayers, which Captain Winstanley delivered in a cold hard voice. His manual of family wors.h.i.+p was of concise and businesslike form, and the whole ceremony lasted about seven minutes. Then the household dispersed quickly, and Forbes brought in his tray of covered dishes.
”You can pour out the tea, Violet. Your mother is feeling a little tired, and will breakfast in her room.”
”Then I think, if you'll excuse me, I'll have my breakfast with her,”
said Vixen. ”She'll be glad of my company, I daresay.”
”She has a headache and will be better alone. Stop where you are, if you please, Violet. I have something serious to say to you.”
Vixen left off pouring out the tea, clasped her hands in her lap, and looked at Captain Winstanley with the most resolute expression he had ever seen in a woman's face.
”Are you going to talk to me about Lord Mallow?” she asked.
”Yes.”
”Then spare yourself the trouble. It would be useless.”