Part 13 (1/2)

”Yus,” he growled, ”you think you're going to git off scot-free, don't yer? What if I don't do it? He giv' me a tenner, he did. 'E's a real gent. What if I don't do it?” he repeated.

Mr. Vermont's eyes narrowed till he looked like a snake about to strike.

Raising the riding-whip which he had in his hand, he seized the wretched creature once more, and brought the whip down again and again on his almost skeleton body.

”Play me false, you hound, and I'll kill you,” he almost hissed; and, half beside himself with pain and rage, the jockey gasped brokenly:

”Stop! stop! I'll do it.”

It was just five o'clock when Lady Constance and Leroy returned from their ride. During the course of it Adrien had realised something of his cousin's beauty of character, as well as of face. Until that day he had only regarded her as a younger sister, pretty, perhaps, in a quiet, retiring way, but nothing more. Now, as he lifted her down from the saddle, he could have bent and reverently kissed the little foot that lodged so lightly in the stirrup.

Woman-like, she was quick to notice the change in him, and her heart beat high with hope.

”He will love me yet,” she whispered to herself triumphantly, as, with outward calmness, she bade him au revoir till they should meet at dinner.

Adrien went straight to his own rooms. An unusual restlessness was upon him, and his pulses throbbed wildly, but as yet he did not understand what these things meant. He, who had played the lover so lightly all his life, did not realise that it was now his turn to feel Cupid's dart, and that he was becoming as deeply enamoured of his pretty cousin as any raw boy straight from college.

As he paced up and down his luxurious study, thoughtfully smoking a cigar, his past life rose before him, with all its idleness and wasted years. He knew that with most women he had only to throw down the glove for it to be s.n.a.t.c.hed up eagerly; women had loved him, petted and spoilt him ever since he could remember. But here was one who thought of him as nothing but a means to save her people--or, rather, his people---from distress. It said much for Lady Constance's powers of reserve that she had impressed him thus, and had she known it, nothing could have helped her cause more.

Throwing himself into a chair, the young man reviewed again the incidents of their ride. How beautiful she had looked; how pointedly and yet gently she had reproved him for his long absences from his estates and the people who loved him. Well, it should come to an end now, and there and then he formed a resolve to return to town directly after the race, and go through his affairs with Jasper. His friend would help him to lead a worthier and more useful life, he thought--if any one could do so.

When he went down to dinner that night few would have noticed any difference in his calm face and demeanour; none, indeed, save Lady Constance herself, who, with the subtlety which seems inbred in even the best of her s.e.x, devoted her attention almost exclusively to Mr. Jasper Vermont. It was he who was allowed to sit next her at dinner; it was to him she turned when the race, with which all present were concerned, was the subject under discussion.

Adrien noted all this, and his heart grew heavy within him. But he did not grudge Jasper her favour--as yet; he blamed himself too deeply for the neglect of his past opportunities.

Jasper skilfully turned the conversation to Lady Merivale's ball, which he described in detail to Lady Constance; adding many little realistic touches concerning the fair hostess and Adrien, till he had convinced her--as he thought--that there was a great deal more between them than was really the case. For Vermont, as had been said before, was ”no fool”; and he realised only too well in what direction events were tending with Lady Constance and her cousin.

But she showed no signs either of understanding or misunderstanding his allusions to Adrien, and began to discuss a ball which Miss Penelope was trying to arrange.

”Mr. Shelton, I am counting on you to help us,” she said, turning to the gentleman on her other side. ”Auntie has been besieging uncle for the last two months; and has, I think, carried the citadel.”

”What is the motive of the attack?” inquired Mortimer Shelton.

”Aunt Penelope wants a fancy dress dance in the ball-room in the east wing,” she returned gaily, adding, as she looked across at her cousin, who was listening attentively: ”Adrien, if you would add your word, we should get it. Won't you do so?”

”A fancy dress ball here?” he replied. ”But if my father has refused you, it is scarcely likely that I shall have any more influence.” He turned to his aunt. ”Why not have Barminster House, Aunt Penelope?” This was the town house, supposed to be given up almost exclusively to the young man's use, though he generally inhabited his own chambers in Jermyn Street. ”I will hand it over to you from cellar to attic, and will bind myself to be your faithful slave from early morn to dewy eve.”

His aunt laughed.

”No, thank you, Adrien, I know your idea of slavery,” she said. ”You would hand it over to Mr. Vermont, and he does quite enough of your work already.” Vermont was a favourite with Miss Penelope, owing chiefly to his frequent gifts of marron glaces--a great weakness of hers.

”Besides,” she continued, ”Barminster House is too modern. I want to revive a ball, just as it happened two or three centuries ago. It must be Barminster Castle or nothing.”

Adrien smiled across at her.

”Your word is law, my dear aunt; but if I were you, and it comes off at all, I'd leave the arranging of it to Jasper.”

Mr. Vermont beamed. Nothing seemed to please him so much as the idea of work, especially when it involved the spending of money other than his own.