Part 14 (2/2)
He was uncomfortable, without knowing why--haunted by a vague, miserable suspicion he could not explain, by a presentiment he could not understand--compelled against his will to watch her, yet unable to detect anything in her words and manner that justified his doing so. It had been arranged that after the _fete_ he should return to Verdun House with Lady Peters and Philippa. He had half promised to dine and spend the evening there, but now he wondered if that arrangement would be agreeable to Philippa. He felt that some degree of restraint had arisen between them.
He was thinking what excuse he could frame, when Philippa sent for him.
He looked into the fresh young face; there was no cloud on it.
”Norman,” she said, ”I find that Lady Peters has asked Miss Byrton to join us at dinner--will you come now? It has been a charming day, but I must own that the warmth of the sun has tired me.”
Her tone of voice was so calm, so unruffled, he could have laughed at himself for his suspicions, his fears.
”I am quite ready,” he replied. ”If you would like the carriage ordered, we will go at once.”
He noticed her going home more particularly than he had ever done before. She was a trifle paler, and there was a languid expression in her dark eyes which might arise from fatigue, but she talked lightly as usual. If anything, she was even kinder to him than usual, never evincing the least consciousness of what had happened. Could it have been a dream? Never was man so puzzled as Lord Arleigh.
They talked after dinner about a grand fancy ball that Miss Byrton intended giving at her mansion in Grosvenor Square. She was one of those who believed implicitly in the engagement between Lord Arleigh and Miss L'Estrange.
”I have a Waverley quadrille already formed,” said Miss Byrton--”that is _de rigueur_. There could not be a fancy ball without a Waverley quadrille. How I should like two Shakesperian ones! I thought of having one from 'As You Like It' and another from 'Romeo and Juliet;' and, Miss L'Estrange, I wish you would come as _Juliet_. It seems rude even to suggest a character to any one with such perfect taste as yours--still I should like a beautiful _Juliet--Juliet_ in white satin, and glimmer of pearls.”
”I am quite willing,” returned Philippa. ”_Juliet_ is one of my favorite heroines. How many _Romeos_ will you have?”
”Only one, if I can so manage it,” replied Miss Byrton--”and that will be Lord Arleigh.”
She looked at him as she spoke; he shook his head, laughingly.
”No--I yield to no one in reverence for the creations of the great poet,” he said; ”but, to tell the truth, I do not remember that the character of _Romeo_ ever had any great charm for me.”
”Why not?” asked Miss Byrton.
”I cannot tell you; I am very much afraid that I prefer _Oth.e.l.lo_--the n.o.ble Moor. Perhaps it is because sentiment has not any great attraction for me. I do not think I could ever kill myself for love. I should make a sorry _Romeo_, Miss Byrton.”
With a puzzled face she looked from him to Miss L'Estrange.
”You surprise me,” she said, quickly. ”I should have thought _Romeo_ a character above all others to please you.”
Philippa has listened with a smile--nothing had escaped her. Looking up, she said, with a bright laugh:
”I cannot compliment you on being a good judge of character, Miss Byrton. It may be perhaps that you have not known Lord Arleigh well enough. But he is the last person in the world to make a good _Romeo._ I know but one character in Shakespeare's plays that would suit him.”
”And that?” interrogated Lord Arleigh.
”That,” replied Philippa, ”is _Petruchio_;” and amidst a general laugh the conversation ended.
Miss Byrton was the first to take her departure. Lord Arleigh lingered for some little time--he was still unconvinced. The wretched, half-formed suspicion that there was something hidden beneath Philippa's manner still pursued him; he wanted to see if she was the same to him.
There was indeed no perceptible difference. She leaned back in her favorite chair with an air of relief, as though she were tired of visitors.
”Now let us talk about the _fete_, Norman,” she said. ”You are the only one I care to talk with about my neighbors.”
So for half an hour they discussed the _fete_, the dresses, the music, the different flirtations--Philippa in her usual bright, laughing, half-sarcastic fas.h.i.+on, with the keen sense of humor that was peculiar to her. Lord Arleigh could not see that there was any effort in her conversation; he could not see the least shadow on her brightness; and at heart he was thankful.
When he was going away, she asked him about riding on the morrow just as usual. He could not see the slightest difference in her manner. That unpleasant little conversation on the lake might never have taken place for all the remembrance of it that seemed to trouble her. Then, when he rose to take his leave, she held out her hand with a bright, amused expression.
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