Volume I Part 17 (1/2)

All three were guiltily startled by the opening of my lady's bedroom window (which looked upon the courtyard), and the apparition of Queen Bess in a bad temper, summoning Miss Wolfe to her presence.

CHAPTER XI.

STORMY WEATHER.

My lady was walking up and down the tapestry-saloon with hands clasped behind her back, when her niece joined her--a prey evidently to considerable agitation. Doreen marked the deepened wrinkles on her forehead, the tightening of the thin lips, the contraction of the nostrils, and waited with accustomed self-possession to hear her elder's pleasure. The countess was displeased about something. Her fine face was pale, her eyes tinged with red. Her majestic draperies seemed to whisper in their soft rustle that something was seriously disturbing the spirit of the chatelaine. Wheeling round presently, she faced her niece, and, scrutinising her narrowly, spoke.

'Terence has come home to live,' she remarked. 'Mr. Curran cannot bear him any more, and I am not surprised. We must put up with him; he's enough to vex a saint!'

Doreen's cheek flushed with swift anger at his mother's unwarrantable speech.

'Oh, aunt!' she said, 'dare you speak thus of your own child!'

'Ah!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the countess, still frowning at Miss Wolfe, 'let us understand each other at once. I will never allow of any nonsense between you and that boy--do you hear?--NEVER. I presume that he would not dare to marry without my consent. You are capable of anything, I know. I sincerely believe that he, as yet, is one shade less undutiful. He has been showing much independence lately, though.

There's no knowing,' she went on in a low absent manner, 'what he might not do if he knew----'

'Knew what?' asked Doreen.

My lady started and pushed her fingers through her white hair.

'Nothing, nothing! Mind this--_I will never give my consent to a union between you and my second son_. Understand this, once and for all.'

'You need not distress yourself, aunt,' Doreen replied.

'Doreen!' my lady said abruptly, after a pause, 'you were talking about _that woman_ at the kennel gate just now. I could see you were, by Terence's mimicry. What was it about?'

This was the real cause of her aunt's ill-humour: the red rag, Mrs.

Gillin. That foolish idea about Terence was of course only a cloak to conceal unreasonable wrath. It was quite too tyrannical of her, though. They were speaking no ill of their neighbour.

'We were talking of Norah and Shane,' the girl replied, with a touch of hauteur. 'Nothing wonderful in that, for all the world talks about them. I suppose I may be bridesmaid, aunt?'

To her surprise the blood faded slowly from my lady's face, leaving her lips white, while her breast heaved and her fingers tightened. The girl regretted her pert remark, though her aunt speedily recovered herself.

'You could stop this disgrace if you would,' she said in husky tones.

'Last year I thought that you encouraged Shane; then you turned round again. For shame! That Arthur Wolfe's daughter should be a flirt! But it's the other blood that's working in you. Your father was always too weak and too indulgent. You are a sly, artful girl! Yes, it is right that you should hear the truth. You do no credit to your bringing-up.

Is it maidenly to receive letters from a man in secret--to retire, as I have ofttimes seen you do, to a secluded spot in the rosary, there to gloat over them--and that man married, and an outlaw! Fie upon you!

Your father is not aware of this, or it would break his heart; for, G.o.d help him! he loves you beyond your deserts. But there, there! I will not waste my breath in railing; for what else could be expected of your blood and your religion?'

Doreen's cheek, too, had paled. She trembled violently, and was forced to cling to a table ere she could still her anger sufficiently to answer. At length she mastered her voice, which rang out low but clear.

'Lady Glandore,' she said, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes, 'it ill becomes one of your years to say cruel things to one of mine, for if you crush out my respect for you as a woman, I choose to remember your white hairs.

However bitter you may allow your tongue to be, I will not lower myself to a retort; but let me beg you to remember that some things spoken intemperately will rankle in the heart for ever. No after-apologies will quite wash them out.'

Oh, naughty damsel, to prate of white hair, and suggest that my lady was an octogenarian! She was no more than five-and-fifty, as her niece knew right well--but, bless my heart! we must not survey feminine weapons too closely.

'I am a disgrace to my bringing-up!' pursued Doreen, warming to the fray. 'Yet she who brought me up condescends to act the spy on me! A flirt, am I? I never, upon my honour, gave the least encouragement to either of your sons. They are not such Admirable Crichtons! Seeing that you are beset by some hallucination on this subject, I have again and again implored my father to take me hence in vain. I hereby swear to you by the Holy Mother and my hopes of salvation, that I will never be Shane's wife--never, never, never! Perhaps now you will leave me at peace. Though I am a Catholic, madam, I decline to brook insult. Here are my cards--face upwards on the table. Show me yours.'

The girl, who was usually so quiet and grave, had lashed her wrath to foam, and was grievously exercised to restrain fast-gathering tears.