The Everlasting Arms Part 9

"How?"

"Of course, if you go among the lower orders of people, the man obtains his wife's obedience by brute force. If she opposes him he knocks her down, thrashes her. But as you rise in the scale of humanity, the methods are different. The educated, cultured man never loses his temper, seldom utters an angry word. He may be a little sarcastic, perhaps, but nothing more. But he never yields. The wife cries, pleads, protests, goes into hysterics perhaps, threatens, but he never yields. He is polite, cold, cruel if you like, but he never shows a sign of weakness, and in the end he's master. And mastery is one of the great joys of life."

"You think so?"

"I'm sure of it."

d.i.c.k felt slightly uncomfortable. "You said you wouldn't be serious to-day, Romanoff," he laughed nervously, "and yet you talk as though something tragic were in the air."

"I can a.s.sure you I'm in one of my light moods," replied the Count. "After all, of what account is a woman in a man's life? A diversion if you like--a creature necessary to his pleasure, but nothing more. When a man regards a woman as indispensable to his happiness, he's lost. Always look on a woman, whoever she may be, as a diversion, my friend," and Romanoff laughed quietly.

After lunch, however, Romanoff's mood seemed changed. He spoke of his early days, and of his experiences in St. Petersburg and Moscow.

"People talk about Paris being the great centre of pleasure," he said a little indignantly, "but it is nothing compared with St. Petersburg, or Petrograd, as it is called now. Some day, my friend, I must take you there; I must show you the sights; I must take you behind the scenes. Oh, I envy you!"

"Why should you?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Because you are young, because you have the world at your feet."

"And haven't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so. But, then, you go to everything fresh. You will drink the cup of life for the first time; you will drink deep and enjoy. But I can never again drink for the first time--there lies the difference."

"But if the cup of life is good and sweet, why may not one drink it again, and again, and still find enjoyment?"

Romanoff did not reply. He sat for a few seconds in silence, and then started up almost feverishly.

"Let us away, my friend," he cried. "I am longing to see Lady Blanche Huntingford. How did you describe her? Velvety black eyes, rosy lips, hair as black as the raven's wing, tall, stately, shaped like a Juno and a Venus combined--was that it? Please don't let's waste any time. I'm anxious to be off."

"Even although we are going in a motor."

"Motors are useful, my friend. I may not like them, but I use them. For the matter of that, I use everything. I discard nothing."

"Except religion," laughed d.i.c.k.

"Oh, I have my religion," replied Romanoff. "Some time I'll tell you about it, but not now. The sunlight is the time for adventure, for love, for happiness. Let us be off."

Evidently the Count was impressed by Lady Blanche. Directly he entered her presence he seemed to forget his cynicism, and to become light-hearted and gay.

"Do you know, Lady Blanche," he said, "that I had an idea I had seen you somewhere. Your name was familiar, and when Faversham spoke of you, I felt I should be renewing an old acquaintance. Of course, I was mistaken."

"Why 'of course'?"

"The true reply would be too obvious, wouldn't it? Besides, it would be as trite and as clumsy as the repartee of an Oxford undergraduate."

"You are beyond me," she sighed.

Romanoff smiled. "Of course, you are laughing at me; all the same. I'll say this: I shall have no doubt from this time on as to whether I've met you. Do you know who I regard as the most favoured man in England?"

She shook her head.

"My friend Faversham, of course," and Romanoff glanced towards d.i.c.k, who sat listening and looking with a kind of wonder at the face of the girl.

"Of course, Wendover is just lovely," she replied.

"And only a very short motor-run from here," remarked Romanoff.

The girl pouted as though she were vexed at his words, but it was easy to see she was not. There could be little doubt that she loved flattery, and although she felt slightly uncomfortable under the Count's ardent gaze, she was pleased at his admiration.

She was also bent on being agreeable, and d.i.c.k felt that surely no handsomer woman ever lived than this glorious creature with whom he chatted and laughed. More than once he felt his heart beating wildly as her eyes caught his, and while he wished that Romanoff was not there, he felt it to be one of the happiest days of his life.

"If Romanoff were not here I'd ask her to-day," he reflected. "It's true she's almost a stranger to me; but, after all, what does it matter? Love does not depend on a long acquaintance."

For d.i.c.k felt sure he was in love. It is true there seemed a kind of barrier between them, a certain something that kept them apart. But that he put down to their different upbringing. She was a patrician, the child of long generations of aristocratic a.s.sociations, while he, although his father and mother were gentlefolk, was a commoner. All his life, too, he had been poor, while during the last few years he had had to struggle constantly with poverty. It was no wonder, therefore, that there should be a kind of barrier between them. But that would break down. Already he was feeling more as if "he belonged" to his new surroundings, while his neighbours had received him with the utmost kindness. It was only a matter of time before he would feel at one with them all. Meanwhile, Lady Blanche charmed him, fascinated him. She appealed to him as a glorious woman, regal in her carriage, wondrous in her youth and beauty.

Once during the afternoon they were alone together, and he was almost on the point of declaring his love. But something kept him back. What it was he could not tell. She was alluring, gracious, and seemed to offer him opportunities for telling her what was in his heart. And yet he did not speak. Perhaps he was afraid, although he could not have told what he feared.

"When are you going to give me another game of golf?" he asked, as they parted.

"I don't like threesomes," she laughed, looking towards Romanoff.

"I share your antipathy," said Romanoff, "but could you not suggest someone who might bear with me while you and Faversham break the record?"

"Please manage it," pleaded d.i.c.k.

"There's a telephone at Wendover, isn't there?"

"Of course there is. You'll ring me up and let me know, won't you?"

"Perhaps."

Her smile was bewildering, and as he felt the warm pressure of her hand he was in Arcadia.

"I congratulate you, Faversham," remarked Romanoff, as they neared Wendover Park. "She's a glorious creature, simply glorious. Cleopatra was plain compared with her. My word, what a mistress for your new home. Such eyes, such hair, such a complexion--and what a magnificent figure. Yes, Faversham, you are a lucky man."

"If I get her," sighed d.i.c.k.

"Get her! Of course you'll get her. Unless----"

"Unless what?" asked d.i.c.k as the other hesitated.

Romanoff looked at him for some seconds very searchingly; then he sighed.

"Yes, what is it?" persisted d.i.c.k, who felt uncomfortable under Romanoff's look.

"I'm wondering."

"Why and at what?"

"If you are a wise man or a fool."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"No, but you will presently."

There seemed to be something so ominous in his words that a feeling like fear possessed d.i.c.k's heart. He had always felt somewhat uncomfortable in Romanoff's presence, but now the feeling was so intensified that he dreaded what he might mean.

"The sun is still s.h.i.+ning," went on the Count, "and I told you that I should be in a festive mood until dark. In another hour the king of day will have disappeared; then I shall have some serious things to say to you."

"Let's have no more play-acting," and d.i.c.k laughed nervously.

"I can a.s.sure you, there'll be no play-acting. Everything will be real--desperately real. But I'm going to say no more now. After dinner I am going to be serious. But not until. See! Aren't you proud of it all? Don't you revel in it? Was there ever such a lovely old house, standing amidst such gorgeous surroundings? Look at those giant trees, man! See the glorious landscape! Was there ever such a lucky man! What a mistress Lady Blanche will make!"

They were now pa.s.sing up the long avenue which led to the house. Away in the distance they could see the mansion nestling amidst giant trees centuries old. From the house stretched the gardens, which were glorious in the beauty of early summer. And d.i.c.k saw it all, gloried in it all; but fear haunted him, all the same.

"What is the meaning of this strange mood of yours, Romanoff?" he asked.

"After dinner, my friend," laughed the other. "I'll tell you after dinner."

Throughout dinner the Count was apparently light-hearted, almost to flippancy, but directly the servants had left them to their coffee and cigars his mood changed.

"I told you I was going to be serious, didn't I?" he said slowly. "The time for laughter has ceased, Faversham. The next hour will be critical to you--ay, and more than critical; it will be heavy with destiny."

"What in Heaven's name do you mean?"

"Have you ever considered," and Romanoff enunciated every word with peculiar distinctness, "whether you are really the owner of all this?"

CHAPTER XI.

THE REAL HEIR.

d.i.c.k Faversham could not repress a shudder as the other spoke. The Count's words were so ominous, so full of sinister meaning that for the moment he felt like crying out with fear. He mastered himself after a few seconds, however, and his reply was calm.

"I see what you mean," he said quietly. "A few weeks ago I was poor, and without great expectation. Now----Naturally you wonder whether it is real to me, whether I can believe in my good fortune."

"It goes deeper than that, Faversham," was the Count's rejoinder--"very much deeper than that."

"What do you mean?"

"You believe that you are the owner of all this. You regard yourself as the lawful possessor of the Wendover Park estate, with all its farms, cottages, and villages; you also think of yourself as the owner of mining rights, s.h.i.+pping interests, and a host of other things, added to a very magnificent credit balance at your bankers'. Isn't that so?"

"Of course I do. What have you to say against it?" d.i.c.k spoke almost angrily. He was greatly excited, not only by the Count's words, but by his manner of speech.

"On the strength of it you have cast eyes of love on one of the most beautiful women in England; you have dreamed of marrying Lady Blanche Huntingford, who bears one of the oldest names in the land?"

"And if I have, what then?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that your fortune rests on a very slender, a very unsafe, foundation?"

"I say, Count Romanoff----"

"Don't be angry, my friend, and, above all, look at everything calmly."

"Really, this is a trifle thick, isn't it? I'm afraid I must ask for an explanation of this peculiar manner of speech."

"I deeply regret that I shall have to give an explanation," and there was curious vibration in Romanoff's voice. "But please, please, Faversham, don't think unkindly of me because of what I have to tell you. Perhaps I have been very clumsy, but I have been trying all day to prepare you for--for what you will regard as bad news."

"Trying to prepare me? Bad news?"

"Yes, my friend. I told you this morning that I was not going to be serious while the sun shone, but that after the sun went down I was going to be tragically in earnest. The time has come."

"You spoke of my having no right here!" and a gleam of anger shot from d.i.c.k's eyes. "Might I suggest, Count, that it is a little out of the common for a guest to tell his host that he has no right to give him hospitality?"

"I was afraid you might take it like that," and Romanoff spoke almost gently. "Doubtless I have been very clumsy, very gauche; all the same, I have come only in kindness."

"Am I to understand, then, that you came here for the purpose of telling me that I am an impostor, an interloper? That, indeed, is interesting."

"I came as a friend, a well-wisher--as one deeply, very deeply, interested in your welfare. I came as one who wants you to enjoy what you believe is your good fortune, and to marry the most beautiful woman in England. If, after you have heard me, you wish me to leave you, I will do so--sadly, I will admit, but I will leave you."

"At least, do not deal in hints, in innuendoes. Tell me exactly what you mean, and perhaps you will also tell me what particular interest you have in the matter, and by what right you--you--talk in this way."

"Faversham, let me first of all admit frankly that I took a great liking to you during the voyage that ended so--tragically. I am no longer a boy, and I do not take to people easily; but I felt an unaccountable interest in you. There were traits in your character that attracted me. I said to myself, 'I should like to know that young fellow, to cultivate his acquaintance.' That must be my reason for taking what interest I have in you. It would have been easy to let you drown, to--to listen to the appeal of the other occupants of the boat, and----"

"Pardon me," interrupted d.i.c.k impulsively, "I have behaved like a cad. I forgot that I owed my life to you. But I was excited--angry. You see, the suggestion that I am here under false pretences naturally upsets me. But tell me what you mean. I do not understand you--I am bewildered by your hints."

"Of course, I understand your feelings, and am not in the least offended. I think I know you too well not to take offence easily; besides, my desire, and my only desire, being to help you makes me impervious to ordinary emotions."

"Still," cried d.i.c.k, "tell me what you mean. You say my position as owner of my Uncle Faversham's estates rests on a very slender, a very unsafe foundation. That is surely a serious statement to make. How do you know?"

"Your uncle's will--yes, I will admit I went to Somerset House and paid a s.h.i.+lling for the right of reading it--states that he gave his fortune to his sister's sons, and after them to the next-of-kin."

"Exactly."

"Presently it came to pa.s.s that only one person stood between you and possession."

"That is so. I did not know it at the time, but such, I am informed, was the case."

"This person's name was Mr. Anthony Riggleton, at that time the only surviving son of your uncle's sister!"

"That is so."