The Baronet's Bride Part 29

"Well, yes," Mr. Parmalee admitted, glancing modestly at the plethoric portfolio he carried under his arm. "Would your lords.h.i.+p mind taking a look at them? I've got some uncommon neat views of our American scenery, too--Mammoth Cave, Niagry Falls, White Mountains, and so on.

Might help to pa.s.s a rainy afternoon."

"Very true, Mr. Parmalee; it might. Let us see your American views, then. Taken by yourself, I presume?"

"Yes, sir!" responded the artist, with emphasis. "Every one of 'em; and done justice to. Look a-here!"

He opened his portfolio and spread his "views" out.

Lady Kingsland arose with languid grace and crossed over. Her husband seated her beside him with a loving smile. Her back was partly turned to the American, whom she had met without the faintest shade of recognition.

Sybilla Silver, eager and expectant of she knew not what, lingered and looked likewise.

The "views" were really very good, and there was an abundance of them--White Mountain and Hudson River scenery, Niagara, Nahant, Southern and Western scenes. Then he produced photographic portraits of all the American celebrities--presidents, statesmen, authors, actors, and artists.

Mr. Parmalee watched her from under intent brows as she took them daintily up in her slender, jeweled fingers one by one.

"I have a few portraits here," he said, after a pause, "painted on ivory, of American ladies remarkable for their beauty. Here they are."

He took out five, presenting them one by one to Sir Everard. He had not presumed to address Lady Kingsland directly. The first was a little Southern quadroon; the second a bright-looking young squaw.

"These are your American ladies, are they? Pretty enough to be ladies, certainly. Look, Harrie! Isn't that Indian face exquisite?"

He pa.s.sed them to his wife. The third was an actress, the fourth a _danseuse_. All were beautiful. With the last in his hand, Mr.

Parmalee paused, and the first change Sybilla had ever seen cross his face crossed it then.

"This one I prize most of all," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly, and looking furtively at my lady. "This lady's story was the saddest story I ever beard."

Sybilla looked eagerly across the baronet's shoulder for a second. It was a lovely face, pure and child-like, with great, innocent blue eyes and wavy brown hair--the face of a girl of sixteen.

"It is very pretty," the baronet said, carelessly, and pa.s.sed it to his wife.

Lady Kingsland took it quite carelessly. The next instant she had turned sharply around and looked Mr. Parmalee full in the face.

The American had evidently expected it, for he had glanced away abruptly, and begun hustling his pictures back into his portfolio.

Sybilla could see he was flushed dark red. She turned to my lady. She was deathly pale.

"Did you paint those portraits, too?" she asked, speaking for the first time.

"No, marm--my lady, I mean. I collected these as curiosities. One of 'em--the one you're looking at--was given me by the original herself."

The picture dropped from my lady's hand as if it had been red-hot. Mr.

Parmalee bounded forward and picked it up with imperturbable _sang froid_.

"I value this most of all my collection. I know the lady well. I wouldn't lose it for any amount of money."

My lady arose abruptly and walked to the window, and the hue of her face was the hue of death. Sybilla Silver's glittering eyes went from face to face.

"I reckon I'll be going now," Mr. Parmalee remarked. "The rain seems to hold up a little. I'll be along to-morrow, Sir Everard, to take those views. Much obliged to you for your kindness. Good-day."

He glanced furtively at the stately woman by the window, standing still as if turning to stone. But she neither looked nor moved nor spoke.

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN THE PICTURE-GALLERY.

Mr. Parmalee, true to his promise, presented himself at the earliest admissible hour next day with all the apparatus of his art.

So early was it, indeed, that Sybilla was just pouring out the baronet's first cup of tea, while he leisurely opened the letters the morning mail had brought.

Lady Kingsland complained of a bad headache, her husband said, and would not leave her room until dinner.

Sir Everard made this announcement, quietly opening his letters.

Sybilla looked at him with gleaming eyes. The time had come for her to begin to lay her train.

My lady had ascended to her room immediately upon the departure of the American, the preceding day, and had been invisible ever since. That convenient feminine excuse, headache, had accounted for it, but Sybilla Silver knew better. She had expected her to breakfast this morning, and she began to think Mr. Parmalee's little mystery was more of a mystery than even she had dreamed. The man's arrival gave her her cue.

"Our American friend is a devotee of art, it seems," she said, with a light laugh. "He lets no gra.s.s grow under his feet. I had no easy task to restrain his artistic ardor during your absence. I never knew such an inquisitive person, either; he did nothing but ask questions."

"A national trait," Sir Everard responded, with a shrug. "Americans are all inquisitive, which accounts for their go-aheadativeness, I dare say."

"Mr. Parmalee's questions took a very narrow range; they only comprised one subject--you and my lady."

The young baronet looked up in haughty amaze.

"His curiosity on this subject was insatiable; your most minute biography would not have satisfied him. About Lady Kingsland particularly--in point of fact, I thought he must have known her in New York, his questions were so pointed, and I asked him so directly."

"And what did he say?"

"Oh, he said no," replied Sybilla, lightly, "but in such a manner as led me to infer yes. However, it was evident, yesterday, that my lady had never set eyes on him before; but I did fancy, for an instant, she somehow recognized that picture."

"What picture?" asked the baronet, sharply.

"That last portrait he showed her," Miss Silver answered. "Yet that may have been only fancy, too."

"Then, Miss Silver, have the goodness to indulge in no more such fancies. I don't care to hear your suspicions and surmises, and I don't choose to have my wife so minutely watched. As for this too inquisitive Yankee, he had better cease his questions, if he wishes to quit England with sound bones!"

He arose angrily from the table, swept his letters together, and left the room. But his face wore a deep-red flush, and, his bent brows never relaxed. The first poisonous suspicion had entered his mind, and the calm of perfect trust would never reign there again.

Sybilla gazed after him with her dark, evil smile.

"Fume and fret as you please, my dear Sir Everard, but this is only sowing the first seed. I shall watch your wife, and I will tell you my suspicions and my fancies, and you will listen in spite of your uplifted sublimity now. Jealousy is ingrained in your nature, though you do not know it, and a very little breath will fan the tiny coal into an inextinguishable flame."

She arose, rang the bell for the servant to clear the table, shook out her black silk robe, and went, with a smile on her handsome face, to do the fascinating to Mr. Parmalee.

She found that cautious gentleman busily arranging his implements in the picture-gallery, preparatory to taking sundry views of the n.o.ble room.

He nodded gravely to the young lady, and went steadfastly on with his work.