Part 9 (1/2)

Francis Markrute thought her beautiful. He was fond of a.n.a.lyzing types and breeds, and he said there were those who looked as if they had been poured into more or less fine or clumsy mould, and there were others who were sharply carved as with a knife. He loved a woman's face to look _ciselee_, he said. That is why he did not entirely admire his niece, for although the mould was of the finest in her case, her small nose was not chiseled. Numbers of English and some Austrians were chiseled, he affirmed--showing their race--but very few of other nations.

Now some people would have said the Lady Ethelrida was too chiseled--she might grow peaky, with old age. But no one could deny the extreme refinement of the young woman.

She was strikingly fair, with silvery light hair that had no yellow in it; and kind, wise, gray eyes. Her figure in its slenderness was a thing which dressmakers adored; there was so little of it that any frock could be made to look well on it.

Lady Ethelrida did everything with moderation. She was not mad about any sport or any fad. She loved her father, her aunt, her cousins of the Tancred family, and her friend, Lady Anningford. She was, in short, a fine character and a great lady.

”I have come to tell you such a piece of news, Ethelrida,” Tristram said as he sat down beside her on the chintz-covered sofa. Ethelrida's tastes in furniture and decorations were of the simplest in her own room.

”Guess what it is!”

”How can I, Tristram? Mary is really going to marry Lord Henry?”

”Not that I know of as yet, but I daresay she will, some day. No, guess again; it is about a marriage.”

She poured him out some tea and indicated the bread and b.u.t.ter.

Tristram, she knew, loved her stillroom maid's brown bread and b.u.t.ter.

”A man, or a woman?” she asked, meditatively.

”A man--ME!” he said, with reckless grammar.

”You, Tristram!” Ethelrida exclaimed, with as much excitement as she ever permitted herself. ”You going to be married! But to whom?”

The thing seemed too preposterous; and her mind had instantly flown to the name, Laura Highford, before her reason said, ”How ridiculous--she is married already!”--so she repeated again: ”But to whom?”

”I am going to be married to a widow, a niece of Francis Markrute's; you know him.” Lady Ethelrida nodded. ”She is the most wonderfully attractive creature you ever saw, Ethelrida, a type not like any one else. You'll understand in a minute, when you see her. She has stormy black eyes--no, they are not really black; they are slate color--and red hair, and a white face, and, by Jove! a figure! And do you know, my dear child, I believe I am awfully in love with her!”

”You only 'believe,' Tristram! That sounds odd to be going to be married upon!” Lady Ethelrida could not help smiling.

He sipped his tea and then jumped up. He was singularly restless to-day.

”She is the kind of woman a man would go perfectly mad about when he knew her well. I shall, I know.” Then, as he saw his cousin's humorous expression, he laughed boyishly. ”It does sound odd, I admit,” he said, ”the inference is that I don't know her well--and that is just it, Ethelrida, but only to you would I say it. Look here, my dear girl, I have got to be comforted this afternoon. She has just flattened me out.

We are going to be married on the 25th of October, and I want you to be awfully nice to her. I am sure she has had a rottenly unhappy life.”

”Of course I will, Tristram dear,” said Lady Ethelrida, ”but remember, I am completely in the dark. When did you meet her? Can't you tell me something more? Then I will be as sympathetic as you please.”

So Lord Tancred sat down on the sofa beside her again, and told her the bare facts: that it was rather sudden, but he was convinced it was what he wanted most to do in life; that she was young and beautiful, rich, and very reserved, and rather cold; that she was going away, until a week before the wedding; that he knew it sounded all mad, but his dear Ethelrida was to be a darling, and to understand and not reason with him!

And she did not. She had gathered enough from this rather incoherent recital to make her see that some very deep and unusual current must have touched her cousin's life. She knew the Tancred character, so she said all sorts of nice things to him, asked interested but not indiscreet questions. And soon that irritated and baffled sense left him, and he became calm.

”I want Uncle Glas...o...b..ry to ask Francis Markrute to the shoot on the 2nd of November, Ethelrida,” he said, ”and you will let me bring Zara--she will be my wife by then--although I was asked only as a bachelor?”

”It is my party, not Papa's, you dear old goose, you know that,” Lady Ethelrida said. ”Of course you shall bring your Zara and I myself will write and ask Mr. Markrute. In spite of Aunt Jane's saying that he is a cynical foreigner I like him!”

CHAPTER IX

Society was absolutely flabbergasted when it read in the _Morning Post_ the announcement of Lord Tancred's engagement! No one had heard a word about it. There had been talk of his going to Canada, and much chaff upon that subject--so ridiculous, Tancred emigrating! But of a prospective bride the most gossip-loving busybody at White's had never heard! It fell like a bombsh.e.l.l. And Lady Highford, as she read the news, clenched her pointed teeth, and gave a little squeal like a stoat.

So he had drifted beyond her, after all! He had often warned her he would, at the finish of one of those scenes she was so fond of creating.

It was true then, when he had told her before Cowes that everything must be over. She had thought his silence since had only been sulking! But who was the creature? ”Countess Shulski.” Was it a Polish or Hungarian name? ”Daughter of the late Maurice Grey.” Which Grey was that? ”Niece of Francis Markrute, Esquire, of Park Lane.” Here was the reason--money!