Part 32 (1/2)
Arlington's appearance. Though no doubt she is pretty,--in a certain style,” concludes Miss Beauchamp, who is an adept at uttering the faint praise that d.a.m.ns.
”Trant is a gentleman,” returns Guy, somewhat coldly. Yet as he says it a doubt enters his mind.
”He has the name of being rather fast in town,” says young Musgrave, vaguely; ”there is some story about his being madly in love with some mysterious woman whom n.o.body knows. I don't remember exactly how it is,--but they say she is hidden away somewhere.”
”How delightfully definite Taffy always is!” Lilian says, admiringly; ”it is so easy to grasp his meaning. Got any more stories, Taffy? I quite begin to fancy this Colonel Trant. Is he as captivating as he is wicked?”
”Not quite. I am almost sure I saw him to-day in the lane that runs down between the wood and Brown's farm. But I may be mistaken; I was certainly one or two fields off, yet I have a sure eye, and I have seen him often in London.”
”Perhaps Mrs. Arlington is the mysterious lady of his affections,” says Guy, laughing, and, the moment the words have pa.s.sed his lips, regrets their utterance. Cyril's eyes descend rapidly from the ceiling and meet his. On the instant a suspicion unnamed and unacknowledged fills both their hearts.
”Do you really think Trant came down to see your tenant?” asks Cyril, almost defiantly.
”Certainly not,” returning the other's somewhat fiery glance calmly. ”I do not believe he would be in the neighborhood without coming to see my mother.”
At the last word, so dear to her, Lady Chetwoode wakes gently, opens her still beautiful eyes, and smiles benignly on all around, as though defying them to say she has slumbered for half a second.
”Yes, my dear Guy, I quite agree with you,” she says, affably, _apropos_ of nothing unless it be a dream, and then, being fully roused, suggests going to bed. Whereupon Florence says, with gentle thoughtfulness, ”Indeed yes. If Guy is to be up early in the morning he ought to go to bed now,” and, rising as her aunt rises, makes a general move.
When the women have disappeared and resigned themselves to the tender mercies of their maids, and the men have sought that best beloved of all apartments, the Tabagie, a sudden resolution to say something that lies heavy on his mind takes possession of Guy. Of all things on earth he hates most a ”scene,” but some power within him compels him to speak just now. The intense love he bears his only brother, his fear lest harm should befall him, urges him on, sorely against his will, to give some faint utterance to all that is puzzling and distressing him.
Taffy, seduced by the sweetness of the night, has stepped out into the garden, where he is enjoying his weed alone. Within, the lamp is almost quenched by the great pale rays of the moon that rush through the open window. Without, the whole world is steeped in one white, glorious splendor.
The stars on high are twinkling, burning, like distant lamps. Anon, one darts madly across the dark blue amphitheatre overhead, and is lost in s.p.a.ce, while the others laugh on, unheeding its swift destruction. The flowers are sleeping, emitting in their dreams faint, delicate perfumed sighs; the cattle have ceased to low in the far fields: there is no sound through all the busy land save the sweet soughing of the wind and the light tread of Musgrave's footsteps up and down outside.
”Cyril,” says Guy, removing the meerschaum from between his lips, and regarding its elaborate silver bands with some nervousness, ”I wish you would not go to The Cottage so often as you do.”
”No? And why not, _tres cher_?” asks Cyril, calmly, knowing well what is coming.
”For one thing, we do not know who this Mrs. Arlington is, or anything of her. That in itself is a drawback. I am sorry I ever agreed to Trant's proposal, but it is too late for regret in that quarter. Do not double my regret by making me feel I have done you harm.”
”You shall never feel that. How you do torture yourself over shadows, Guy! I always think it must be the greatest bore on earth to be conscientious,--that is, over-scrupulous, like you. It is a mistake, dear boy, take my word for it,--will wear you out before your time.”
”I am thinking of you, Cyril. Forgive me if I seem impertinent. Mrs.
Arlington is lovely, graceful, everything of the most desirable in appearance, but----” A pause.
”_Apres?_” murmurs Cyril, lazily.
”But,” earnestly, ”I should not like you to lose your heart to her, as you force me to say it. Musgrave says he saw Trant in the lane to-day.
Of course he may have been mistaken; but was he? I have my own doubts, Cyril,” rising in some agitation,--”doubts that may be unjust, but I cannot conquer them. If you allow yourself to love that woman, she will bring you misfortune. Why is she so secret about her former life? Why does she shun society? Cyril, be warned in time; she may be a----, she may be anything,” checking himself slowly.
”She may,” says Cyril, rising with a pa.s.sionate irrepressible movement to his feet, under pretense of lighting the cigar that has died out between his fingers. Then, with a sudden change of tone and a soft laugh, ”The skies may fall, of course, but we scarcely antic.i.p.ate it. My good Guy, what a visionary you are! Do be rational, if you can. As for Mrs. Arlington, why should she create dissension between you and me?”
”Why, indeed?” returns Guy, gravely. ”I have to ask your pardon for my interference. But you know I only speak when I feel compelled, and always for your good.”
”You are about the best fellow going, I know that,” replies Cyril, deliberately, knocking the ash off his cigar; ”but at times you are wont to lose your head,--to wander,--like the best of us. I am safe enough, trust me. 'What's Hecuba to me, or I to Hecuba?' Come, don't let us spoil this glorious night by a dissertation on what we neither of us know anything about. What a starlight!” standing at the open cas.e.m.e.nt, and regarding with quick admiration the glistening dome above him. ”I wonder how any one looking on it can disbelieve in a heaven beyond!”
Here Musgrave's fair head makes a blot in the perfect calm of the night scene.