Part 23 (2/2)

In hers, as in similar cases, I imagine that to break boldly through the meshes was the insect's best chance of turning the tables, and taking the custodian herself into custody.

”Miss Ross goes with you?” asked Sir Henry meditatively, though I believe he was thinking less of that black-eyed syren than of his daughter.

”Miss Ross goes with me, undoubtedly,” was the answer, spoken rather sharply, and in some little displeasure. ”Have you any objection? Can't you bear to part with her even for so short a period? You see, I know all about _that_, too.”

Sir Henry never seemed to have any sense of shame. He couldn't have blushed to save his life. To this callousness he owed many of his successes, and almost all his sc.r.a.pes.

He smiled pleasantly. ”You know all about everything, I believe,” said he; ”and you _think_ you know all about _me_. But you don't, and I don't; and n.o.body does, I fancy. I'm so different from what I feel sure I was intended to be, that I sometimes suspect, like the Irishman, they 'changed me at nurse.' Only, if I _were_ somebody else, that wouldn't account for it, after all, would it? These are puzzling speculations; but I know I _could_ have been a better and a very different man. It's not my fault.”

”Whose, then?” she asked, bending her blue eyes on him with an expression of interest extremely dangerous for a man at any age.

He scarcely marked it. He was searching out the truth for once from the depths--not very profound--of his world-worn heart, and had forgotten during the moment that false and fleeting woman-wors.h.i.+p which had so weakened and deteriorated his nature. Looking back along the path of life on which, as in some idolatrous grove, his every step had been marked by a soulless image of bra.s.s, or stucco, or marble, reared only to be defaced and overthrown, he was scarcely conscious of that lovely living companion, listening with all the attention of curiosity and self-interest to his retrospections.

”Yours!” he answered--(”Now it's coming,” she thought)--”Yours! Not individually, but collectively, as of that s.e.x which seems to be the natural bane of ours. If I could begin again, I would forswear female society altogether. I should be a better, and certainly a happier man.

As it is, my life has been wasted in looking for something I always failed to find. Did you ever see Grantley Berkeley's book? There it is on the table. I dare say you've never looked into it. Read it, if you want to find poetry in sport. He seems to entertain a gentle, kindly feeling for every living creature, wild or tame. He tells a story of one of his hounds--Champion or Challenger, if I remember right--that used to detach itself from the pack on hunting mornings, and come to its mistress's pony-chaise for a morsel of biscuit and a caress. Ever afterwards, when drafted into another county, the faithful, true-hearted dog would break away, and gallop up to every open carriage that arrived at the meet, returning from each succeeding disappointment with a sadder expression on his wise, honest face--a more piteous look in his meek, brown, wistful eyes. I've been like poor Champion or Challenger.

So often, I've thought I had found my heart's desire at last! Then I strained every nerve to win, and _did_ win, too; only to learn, over and over again, that she had not deceived me half so deeply as I had deceived myself. Shall I confess that the woman who, in my whole life, has approached nearest the ideal of my heart, was one whom my reason, my experience, and my moral sense, deteriorated though it is, convicted as the vilest and the worst?”

Few people had ever seen Sir Henry in earnest. Certainly not Mrs.

Lascelles; and she was almost frightened.

”Good gracious!” she exclaimed. ”After such an experience, you'll surely never try again?”

He seemed to wake up from a dream. The ruling pa.s.sion was not to be controlled; and habit, stronger than nature, impelled him, though for the hundredth time, to recommence the old story in the old familiar strain.

”Just once more,” he said, drawing his chair nearer the frail spider-legged tea-table that const.i.tuted the only barrier between them.

”It's hard if a man seeks all his life without finding his object at last. Mrs. Lascelles, may I not say----”

In another moment she might have had the satisfaction of hearing, and perhaps repelling, a fervent declaration of attachment; but, at this juncture, the door of the boudoir was thrown open, and the announcement of ”Lady Clearwell!” by James in person, ushered in an exceedingly courteous and sprightly personage, all smiles and rustle, who called Mrs. Lascelles ”Rose,” took her by both hands, and, with a distant bow to Sir Henry, dropped on the sofa as if she meant to make herself perfectly at home.

Such interruptions are almost a matter of course. There was nothing for it but to take up his hat and make his bow.

It may be that Sir Henry, walking soberly down-stairs, reflected, not without grat.i.tude, how such little _contretemps_ const.i.tute the great charm and safeguard of society in general.

Lady Clearwell stayed till nearly seven. As her carriage rolled away, Mrs. Lascelles looked wistfully at the clock, and called over the banisters to James:

”I'm not at home to anybody _now_, except Mr. Goldthred.”

But Mr. Goldthred never came.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE SOHO BAZAAR.

Frank Vanguard, leaving the threshold of No. 40 with unusual alacrity, lost no time in securing one of the many Hansom cabs that are to be found crawling about Belgravia, plentiful as wasps on wall-fruit, every summer's afternoon. ”Soho Bazaar,” said he. ”Don't go to sleep over it!”

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