Part 31 (1/2)
”I should be quite willing to trust the contents of any of my letters to Colonel Darcy's care.”
The Colonel had, meantime, been nervously twisting the envelope round his fingers, and Stanley caught sight of a well-known monogram composed of the initials A. R. It was the letter he had taken from Kingsland, and restored to Mr. Riddle. How came it in Belle's hands--the seal still unbroken, and why was it given to Darcy? His suspicions, so long lulled by careful artifice, were at once aroused, and he threw the Colonel a glance, the meaning of which was not lost on the woman. Suddenly, her whole manner changing, she became nervous and excitable, once more saying to Darcy:
”Now, go, Bob; go at once, for all our sakes.”
He growled a surly reply, and before the Secretary was aware of his intentions, had left the room.
Stanley stood for a moment, dazed; uncertain whether to follow or remain, his breast full of conflicting emotions; bewilderment at the vast field of possibilities opened by the Colonel's receipt of the letter; rage at his cowardly imputations, and dismay at the consequences of the strong circ.u.mstantial evidence which Madame Darcy had unwittingly manufactured against him; and at the effect which the Colonel's charges might produce on Miss Fitzgerald.
He was prepared for hysterics, recriminations, stern questions, scorn, anger, and endless tears; but totally unprepared for the ringing burst of laughter which greeted him as soon as the Colonel had left the room; cold, cynical laughter, from the girl he had just asked to be his wife, who threw herself on the couch, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng and her whole face twitching with anger or merriment, he was not certain which.
”Oh dear--oh dear!” she cried, when she could at last control her voice, ”this is too funny! too dreadfully funny!”
”I don't see anything amusing about it,” he said bluntly. He was angry and sore, and this ill-timed merriment irritated him.
”Don't you? Then you must have lost your sense of humour. This young man,” she continued, pointing at him, as if she were exhibiting him to a crowd. ”This good young man, who preaches me sermons on self-respect--who is concerned for my good name--who thinks I've been too careless of my reputation, who is cut to the heart because I do not live up to the ideal to which he considers a woman should attain, who has just done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage--not because he loves me--oh dear, no--but because he feels it his duty to save me from myself. This practical young man, who combines pleasure with duty, by conducting an _affaire du coeur_, in a neighbouring farmhouse, with my friend's wife, but whose morality is so outraged at the man who is courteous enough to permit that wife to get the divorce, that he can't bear to be in the same room with him. This superlatively excellent young man, who had almost persuaded me that I was wrong in my estimate of human nature, turns out to be the worst of the lot, a whitened sepulchre of lying and hypocrisy and deceit--or perhaps I should sum it all up and say--a model of diplomacy. Isn't it funny--isn't it cruelly, wickedly humorous? Do you wonder I laugh?”
”If you can believe this of me, Miss Fitzgerald----” began the Secretary, who had flushed, and then turned as white as a sheet.
”One story's good till another is told, my dear Jimsy; but I was wrong to have laughed. I quite understand, believe me, the painfulness of your position.”
”I tell you it's not true----” he began.
”Oh, don't try to improve the situation. You can't”--she continued, rising and towering before him in the majesty of her wrath. ”I'd really come to believe that there was one among the hundreds of worthless, vicious, mercenary human beings I know, who called themselves men, who was what he claimed to be; who really believed in the old fallacies of right and duty, and moral cleanliness, and lived up to them; who really kept the ten commandments in thought as well as in act, a strong rock of defence to whom I might cling in time of trouble; but he's a fraud like all the rest, and the man I made a hero turns out to be of clay!”
She paused, and the Secretary, controlling himself, replied coldly:
”After what you've said, it's of course worse than useless for me to repeat the question I asked you just before Colonel Darcy intruded his presence upon us. It had better remain unanswered.”
”No,” she said. ”I don't think so. It needs an answer, and you shall have it--but not yet. I've been a little fool, and have been punished for my folly; but I don't know any reason why I should make you suffer.
You're only as you were made. You can't help it, I dare say.”
”You surely can't think of marrying me, believing what you do.”
”I don't know. While I thought you were an angel, I was afraid of you. I thought I should have to be constantly living up to you and listening to sermons;-- Thank Heavens you can never preach to me again. Even you wouldn't have the face to do it now. But since I've found out that you're only very human, I really don't know but what I might grow to love you. I'll think it over. There,” she continued, ”don't look so sheepish. I may decide not to take you after all, but until then consider yourself on approval. Don't say anything more, you'd only bore me. I want to be by myself and get my face straight, if I can,” and crossing the room she broke out again into peals of ringing, unmusical laughter.
”This is intolerable!” he cried, but he addressed thin air,--he was alone.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE DOOR WITH THE SILVER NAILS
”ST. JAMES' CLUB, ”PICCADILLY, W.
”MY DEAR STANLEY,
”I am sending this letter to you at Roberts' Hall, because I am certain that you are there.
”I can fancy you drawing a long face, and admitting to yourself that you are certainly in for a sermon from that old bore, Kent-Lauriston, but you are entirely mistaken. I shall neither expostulate with nor upbraid you, for you have done exactly what I expected you would do. Nevertheless I mean to save you from yourself, to which end I trust you are not as yet entangled, as it is less easy gracefully to break than make an engagement.