Part 23 (1/2)
”And she seems attached to you,” he said, earnestly.
”She is very good to me--she is goodness itself;” and the blue eyes, with their depth of poetry and pa.s.sion, first gleamed with light, and then filled with tears.
”We must be friends,” said Lord Arleigh, ”for I, too, love the d.u.c.h.ess.
She has been like a sister to me ever since I can remember;” and he drew nearer to the beautiful girl as he spoke. ”Will you include me among your friends?” he continued. ”This is not the first time that I have seen you. I stood watching you yesterday; you were among the roses, and I was in the morning-room. I thought then, and I have thought ever since, that I would give anything to be included among your friends.”
His handsome face flushed as he spoke, his whole soul was in his eyes.
”Will you look upon me as one of your friends?” he repeated, and his voice was full of softest music. He saw that even her white brow grew crimson.
”A friend of mine, my lord?” she exclaimed. ”How can I? Surely you know I am not of your rank--I am not one of the cla.s.s from which you select your friends.”
”What nonsense!” he exclaimed. ”If that is your only objection I can soon remove it. I grant that there may be some trifling difference. For instance, I may have a t.i.tle; you--who are a thousand times more worthy of one--have none. What of that? A t.i.tle does not make a man. What is the difference between us? Your beauty--nay, do not think me rude or abrupt--- my heart is in every word that I say to you--your grace would enn.o.ble any rank, as your friends.h.i.+p would enn.o.ble any man.”
She looked up at him, and said, gently:
”I do not think you quite understand.”
”Yes, I do,” he declared, eagerly; ”I asked the d.u.c.h.ess yesterday who you were, and she told me your whole story.”
It was impossible for him not to see how she shrank with unutterable pain from the words. The point-lace fell on the gra.s.s at her feet--she covered her face with her hands.
”Did she? Oh, Lord Arleigh, it was cruel to tell it!”
”It was not cruel to tell me,” he returned. ”She would not tell any one else, I am quite sure. But she saw that I was really anxious--that I must know it--that it was not from curiosity I asked.”
”Not from curiosity!” she repeated, still hiding her burning face with her hands.
”No, it was from a very different motive.” And then he paused abruptly.
What was he going to say? How far had he already left all conventionality behind? He stopped just in time, and then continued, gravely: ”The d.u.c.h.ess of Hazlewood and myself are such true and tried friends that we never think of keeping any secrets from each other. We have been, as I told you before, brother and sister all our lives--it was only natural that she should tell me about you.”
”And, having heard my story, you ask me to be one of your friends?” she said, slowly. There were pain and pathos in her voice as she spoke.
”Yes,” he replied, ”having heard it all, I desire nothing on earth so much as to win your friends.h.i.+p.”
”My mother?” she murmured.
”Yes--your mother's unfortunate marriage, and all that came of it. I can repeat the story.”
”Oh, no!” she interrupted. ”I do not wish to hear it. You know it, and you would still be my friend?”
”Answer me one question,” he said, gently. ”Is this sad story the result of any fault of yours? Are you in any way to blame for it?”
”No; not in the least. Still, Lord Arleigh, although I do not share the fault, I share the disgrace--nothing can avert that from me.”
”Nothing of the kind,” he opposed; ”disgrace and yourself are as incompatible as pitch and a dove's wing.”
”But,” she continued, wonderingly, ”do you quite understand?”