The Hoyden Part 43

"Oh, go on," says Hescott, seeing she is dying to speak. "A secret told to me is as lost as though you had dropped it down a well."

"You must remember first, then, that I should never have told you, only that you seemed to think she _couldn't_ get married.

It"--hesitating--"it's about Margaret!"

"Miss Knollys!" Hescott stares. "What has she been up to?"

"She has been refusing Colonel Neilson for _years!"_ solemnly. "Only this very night she has refused him again; and all because of a silly old attachment to a man she knew when she was quite a girl."

"That must have been some time ago," says Hescott irreverently and unwisely.

"A very _few_ years ago," severely. She rises. She is evidently disgusted with him. "Come back to the house," says she. "I am engaged for the next."

"A word," says Tom, rising and following her. He lays a detaining hand upon her soft, little, bare arm. "You blame her--Miss Knollys--for being faithful to an old attachment?"

"Y-es," says t.i.ta slowly, as if thinking, and then again, "Yes!"

with decision. "When the old attachment if of no use any longer, and when there is someone else."

"But if there was an old attachment, and"--Hescott's face is a little pale in the moonlight--"and practically--no one else--how then?"

"Eh?"

"I mean, if"--he comes closer to her--"t.i.ta, if _you _had known a man who loved you before you were married, and if when you did marry--"

"But she didn't marry him at all," interrupts t.i.ta. "He died--or something--I forget what."

"Yes; but think."

"There is nothing to think about. He died--so _stupid_ of him; and now she is making one of the nicest men I know miserable, all because she has made up her mind to be wretched for ever! So stupid of _her!"_

"Has it ever occurred to you that there is such a thing as love?"

asks Hescott, looking at her with a sudden frown.

"Oh, I've heard of it," with a little shrug of her pretty shoulders; "but I don't believe in it. It's a myth! a fable!"

"And yet"--with an anger that he can hardly hide, seeing her standing there so young, so fair, so debonnair before him--so insensible to the pa.s.sion for her that is stirring within his heart--"and yet your friend, Miss Knollys, is giving up her life, you say, to the consecration of this myth."

t.i.ta nods.

"Yes; isn't she silly! I _told_ you she was very foolish."

"You a.s.sure me honestly that you don't believe in love?"

"Not a bit," says t.i.ta. "It's all nonsense! Now come in--I want to dance. And remember--remember, Tom, you have promised not to breathe a word about what I have told you."

"I promise," says Hescott in a slow sort of way; he is thinking.

When they reach the dancing-room they find it, comparatively speaking, empty, save for a few enthusiastic couples who are still careering round it.

"Supper must be on," says Hescott. "Come and have something."

As they enter the supper-room several people look at them. To Rylton, who is standing near Mrs. Bethune, these glances seem full of impertinent inquiry. In reality they mean nothing, except admiration of his wife. To-night Lady Rylton has been p.r.o.nounced by most of those present the prettiest woman in the room. Hescott pilots his charming companion to a low lounge in a corner of the room, a place at any of the tables being impossible to get. But Rylton decides that he has taken her to that secluded spot to make more conspicuous his flirtation with her; and she--she seems only too ready to help him in his plan.

The fact that he is frowning heavily is conveyed to him by a voice at his elbow.

_ "Don't_ look so intense--so like a thirteenth-century conspirator!" says Mrs. Bethune. Her eyes are full of laughter and mischief--there is something of triumph in them too. "What does it matter, after all?"

"True." He gives her a brilliant smile in return for her rather mocking one. "Nothing matters--except the present moment. Let us consider it. Are you engaged for this dance?"

"Yes; but I can manage to forget my partner."

"That means?"

"You know very well what it means--what it always meant--in the old days."

Her lips part over her beautiful teeth; now there is no mockery in her smile, only love, and a most exquisite delight.

"Ah, Marian!" says he, in a low tone.

He leads her from the room. Her hand tightens on his arm; he feels the pressure, and now in the ball-room his arm goes round her.

She--the woman he had loved for so long--is in his arms; he forgets everything. He has sworn to himself in the last minute or two that he _will_ forget. Why, indeed, should he remember?

For the rest of the evening he gives himself up to Marian--devoting himself to her; telling himself he is knowing the old sweet happiness again, but always with a strange unaccountable sting at his heart.

CHAPTER XXVI.

HOW t.i.tA LOOKS AT HERSELF IN THE GLa.s.s AND WONDERS; AND HOW SHE DOES HER HAIR IN QUITE A NEW STYLE, AND GOES TO ASK SIR MAURICE WHAT HE THINKS OF IT; AND HOW HE ANSWERS HER.

"You can go to bed, Sarah; I shan't want you. And any other night when I am out so late you must not stop up for me. Do you hear?"

"Oh! But, my lady----"

"Yes, yes, yes; I know," interrupting her gaily. "But I won't have it. Do you think I can't take off my own frocks? You will lose your beauty sleep, and I shall be responsible for it. There, go; I'm all right now."

t.i.ta waves her gaily out of the room. She is indeed in the merriest mood, having enjoyed her evening immensely, and danced to the very last minute. She had been thoroughly sorry when Sir Maurice had told her that she ought to say "Good-night" to her hostess and come home.

She had not noticed the coldness of his manner at all, being so disappointed at his suggestion; but she had said "Good-night" at once to old Lady Warbeck, who would have liked her to stay on, having taken a great fancy to her; and as she had come back in a brougham with Margaret and Colonel Neilson and Minnie Hescott, she had not seen her husband since.

Having at last dismissed her maid, who had insisted on waiting to take off her evening dress, t.i.ta sits down before the gla.s.s to look at herself (all women like looking at themselves), and to think over her evening.

How well the men danced, especially Tom!--though, after all, not so well as Maurice. What a pity she could not have had that _one_ dance with him he had asked her for.