Part 53 (2/2)

Did Charlotte intend that as a shaft? Lord Averil's cheek burnt as he endeavoured to recall the reminiscence. ”I think I remember it,” he slowly said. ”It was just before I went abroad. Yes, I do remember it,”

he added, after a pause. ”You were riding with a young, fair man.

And--did you not--really I beg your pardon if I am wrong--did you not introduce him to me as Mr. Pain?”

”It was Mr. Pain,” replied Charlotte.

”I hope he is well. He is not here probably? I did not see him at table, I think.”

Charlotte's face--I mean its complexion--was got up in the fas.h.i.+on. But the crimson that suffused it would have penetrated all the powder and cosmetics extant, let them have been laid on ever so profusely. She was really agitated: could not for the time speak. Another moment and she turned deadly pale. Let us admire her at any rate, for this feeling shown to her departed husband.

”My husband is dead, Lord Averil.”

Lord Averil felt shocked at his blunder. ”You must forgive me,” he said in a gentle voice, his tone, his manner, showing the deepest sympathy.

”I had no idea of it. No one has mentioned it to me since my return. The loss, I infer, cannot be a very recent one?”

In point of fact, Mr. Pain's demise had occurred immediately after the departure of Lord Averil from England. Charlotte is telling him so. It could not, she thinks, have been more than a week or two subsequent to it.

”Then he could not have been ill long,” remarked his lords.h.i.+p. ”What was the cause----?”

”Oh pray do not make me recall it!” interrupted Charlotte in a tone of pain. ”He died suddenly: but--it was altogether very distressing.

Distressing to me, and distressing in its attendant circ.u.mstances.”

An idea flashed over the mind of Lord Averil that the circ.u.mstances of the death must have been peculiar: in short, that Mr. Pain might have committed suicide. If he was wrong, Charlotte's manner was to blame. It was from that he gathered the thought. That the subject was a most unwelcome one, there could be no doubt; she palpably shrank from it.

Murmuring again a few clear words of considerate apology, Lord Averil changed the conversation, and presently said adieu to Charlotte.

”You surely are not thinking of going yet?” cried Charlotte, retaining his hand, and recovering all her lightness of manner. ”They are setting out the whist-tables.”

”I do not play. I have a visit to pay yet to a sick friend,” he added, glancing at his watch. ”I shall still be in time.”

”But I do not think your carriage is here,” urged Charlotte, who would fain have detained him.

”I am sure it is not here,” was the peer's answer. ”I did not order it to come for me. It is a fine night, and I shall walk to Prior's Ash.”

He looked round for Mr. Verrall. He could not see him. In at one room, in at another, looked he; out upon the terrace, before the dining-room window, amidst the smokers. But there was no Mr. Verrall: and Lord Averil, impatient to be gone, finally departed without wis.h.i.+ng his host good night.

Mr. Verrall had strolled out into the moonlight, and was in low, earnest conversation with George G.o.dolphin. They had got as far as that stream on which you saw George rowing the day of Mrs. Verrall's fete, when he so nearly caught his death. Standing on the arched wooden bridge, which crossed it to the mock island, they leaned forward, their arms on the rails. Mr. Verrall was smoking; George G.o.dolphin appeared to be too ill at ease to smoke. His brow was knit; his face hot with care. As fast as he wiped the drops from his brow they gathered there again.

”Don't worry, lad,” said Mr. Verrall. ”It always has come right, and it will come right now. Never fear. You will receive news from London to-morrow; there's little doubt of it.”

”But it ought to have come to-day, Verrall.”

”It will come to-morrow, safe enough. And--you know that you may always count upon me.”

”I know I may. But look at the awful cost, Verrall.”

”Pooh, pooh! What has put you in this mood to-night?”

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