Part 22 (1/2)

”Our fathers were. We have not met often recently.”

”Yes, yes, of course,” said the Marchioness. ”Mr. Stanley told me. He's such a nice young fellow. We often see him at our house. I take quite an interest in him. And how pleasantly he is situated, too. Diplomacy is such a delightful profession. But then”--and here she sighed gently--”like other delightful things in this world it must require a very long purse.”

If Madame Darcy had had any knowledge of English manners and customs, the Dowager's method of attack would have put her on her guard at once.

But being totally unversed in the ways of British matrimonial diplomacy, she took the Marchioness' remarks to mean nothing more than an expression of kindly interest in the young man's welfare, and did not hesitate to inform her that the Secretary was amply able to afford any position he chose to take.

”Oh, yes,” said the Dowager. ”His father's greatly interested in sugar, I believe. Or is it salt? I am very ignorant about these matters. Which do you grow in your country?”

Madame Darcy repressed a smile and informed her guest that Mr. Stanley's father grew sugar, and was one of the most wealthy planters in that section of the world.

”Well, I must be going now,” said the Marchioness. ”I have had such a pleasant little chat, and I shall certainly ask Mrs. Roberts to call on you.”

”Oh, pray don't,” returned Madame Darcy. ”That is--excuse me, I did not mean to be rude--but I have come down here for absolute rest, and do not feel in the mood for any gaiety.”

”I quite understand,” said the Dowager, ”and will respect your feelings.

Indeed, I will not mention having met you at all, and then no one need be the wiser. No, thanks. I shall be quite able to go by myself. Perhaps we may meet again in London. You must ask Mr. Stanley to bring you to call on me. Such a nice young fellow! He ought to be married to keep him out of mischief.” And the Marchioness returned to her room to complete her headache.

Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed since the Dowager's departure, when, just by accident, Stanley strolled by, and lifting his eyes caught sight of Madame Darcy's face at the cottage window.

”What!” he exclaimed. ”You here!” and stood silent a moment as a wave of feeling rushed over him, the first pleasure of seeing her sad sweet face being swept away by consternation at the thought of how she had played into her husband's hands by following him to this place.

She read what was in his mind, saying, with that charming accent which appealed to him so strongly:

”You should not express your thoughts so clearly in your face. You are thinking--but it is not of me--it is of yourself--in this part of the world men think only of themselves--in my country they think of us.” And she gave a sigh.

”You are, what you English call 'put out' at my coming--you think it will compromise you--strange country where the men consider that they will be compromised. You do not think of me, not one little bit--eh? I am right?”

”I'm afraid so,” he said. ”You see, nowadays, chivalry doesn't exist far north or south of the equator.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

”I carry my own climate, my own atmosphere,” she said.

The Secretary bowed.

”No? You are not convinced? I had thought better of you.”

”You see,” he said, feeling it wiser to be blunt, feeling that he must, if possible, bring this wayward, entrancing, fantastic creature within the limits of practical common sense. ”You see, your precious husband has been making trumped-up charges against me, on your account, which are highly unpleasant.”

”He is a beast!”

”Quite so, but as far as circ.u.mstantial evidence goes, he has some cause on his side. Your arrival at my private apartments in London was most unfortunate; but your following me here was simply the worst sort of foolishness.”

The Secretary was aggrieved and showed it; but the result of his plaint was most unexpected.

His fair companion sprang to her feet and gave him a flas.h.i.+ng glance, that startled him out of the fancied security of his egotism.

”I come here to follow you! How dare you?”

”Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to be rude, really; but I naturally inferred----”