Miles Tremenhere Volume Ii Part 18

"Then, why cover it up so mysteriously?"

"We artists are jealous of our unfinished works being criticised; 'tis, however, not _that_ which would detain me to-night, but another claim."

"Pray, set it aside, and accompany us, Mr. Tremenhere," said Lady Ripley, graciously; Lord Randolph's evident friends.h.i.+p for him, stamped him above what he was before, in her eyes--he still hesitated, when Lady Dora looked up, as if glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, and almost imperceptibly, 'twas so quickly done, her glance crossed his.

"Then I will do as you _command_," he said, bowing to Lady Ripley; but her daughter felt his eye was upon her, and the _command_, accentuated for her ear alone.

"We can perhaps spare you the trouble of going to the theatre, if you are engaged," cried Lady Ripley. "Dora, we may as well drive there ourselves."

"I shall not leave home to-day, mamma," was the reply.

"But you know, my dear, I _must_ call upon the Montagus at four."

"Lady Lysson will willingly accompany you; I know she too purposes a visit to them."

"But your resolution is sudden, Dora; to-day you promised to go with me at four."

"My head aches," she answered coldly; "pray excuse me."

"Oh! if that be the case," replied her ladys.h.i.+p, "I can urge no more; you had better lie down, my dear child, and prepare yourself for the evening's fatigue."

"No, thank you, mamma; with your permission I shall remain here--I have a letter to write."

She never once looked up, but a man the least vain might have fancied, as Tremenhere did, that "the morrow" of the _bal masque_, was presented to his view, especially after what Lord Randolph had said about his returning with the ticket for the theatre. Making their adieux, the gentlemen left with the understanding that one or both should return, after calling at the _Francais_ to secure the box.

For a moment Tremenhere hesitated how to act. He asked himself whether his conduct was right towards his friend--the t.i.tle he gave him in his heart decided him. "She is unworthy of him," he said; "'tis an act of kindness to break off this marriage."

And, consequently at four, he called with the ticket. Lady Dora had been schooling her heart, and received him with perfect composure, much regretting all the trouble he had taken; and she sat with an unfinished letter before her, and the pen between her fingers, as though expecting him to take leave. He read her as an open leaf in a book; and the want of all candour in her disposition made him more than ever resolved to bend her. Every day she had become more warped since he had first seen her; even when he and Minnie had been residing at Chiswick, she could be capable of a generous action; now, not one--she was the world's child!

"Is letter-writing advisable for a headache?" he asked, after the first salutations were over.

"Possibly not," was the cold reply; "but it is one of neglected duty, and I was resolved to finish it to-day."

"Then I will take my leave; a visiter is never more unfortunate than when he cuts the thread of some pleasant narrative by pen or lip," and he was going towards the door. "I have forgotten half my message!" he cried, returning. "Lord Randolph desired me to say, that he had taken upon himself the pleasant task of choosing your ladys.h.i.+p's bouquet for this evening, which will arrive in due season," and he moved towards the door.

"If you see him, Mr. Tremenhere," she said hastily, at the same time throwing down her pen and closing her letter-book, "pray prevent his lords.h.i.+p from giving himself so much trouble; I dislike bouquets in the hand."

"Indeed! permit me to wonder, flowers are kindred to the beautiful--you should not be so unnatural, as to disclaim your own."

"I presume I am expected to bow; but I seldom--_never_ do, to compliments; they are so vapid, made up, like these said bouquets, to suit every occasion, every taste, and thus doled out alike to all. Could we listen to half a dozen conversations at once, on the average they would be nearly word for word alike, between an idle man, and a silly woman."

"Why silly?" he asked smiling, still standing, hat in hand, near the door.

"Because all must be, to listen to them," and she pushed away her chair, and rising, dropped down amid the cus.h.i.+ons of the ottomans. Without another word, he crossed the room, laid his hat on the table, and, drawing off the one glove remaining on his hand, flung the two into his hat; and then, quietly seating himself beside her, asked with gentle interest,--

"How is your headache--is it better? You look pale!" and he took her hand. For an instant it struggled, then lay still. This was her first false step of bad generals.h.i.+p. His action was so natural, considering their relations.h.i.+p, though only by marriage, that what else had been freedom pa.s.sed as a right; her struggle to release it denoted a thought of wrong, and he was not slow to take advantage of it.

"Do not deny me even the privilege of a friend--I once possessed that, Lady Dora."

She made no reply.

"You have not answered my question. Is your headache better, or gone?

You would do well to banish that, like all other hurtful things."

"_Hurtful_ things?" she uttered in echo. "You are right."

"About what? Do we understand one another at last?"

"Tell me," she cried hurriedly, looking up, "whilst we are alone and uninterrupted, where have you been, Mr. Tremenhere?"

She looked, but could not read the anguish which crossed his brow; he made an effort, and subdued it before her.

"Been? shall I tell you truly?"

"Do, and quickly. I would know all _now_ at once."

"I fled, to prove many things--I fled, to live with a memory--I fled, to come back a slave!"

His tone was full of soul, for every word was truth; but she applied it wrongly to herself. He had withdrawn his hand, and pa.s.sed it over his brow. As it fell listlessly on his knee, she laid hers upon it, and it trembled; it was the action of a moment, and as quickly withdrawn.

"What have you proved?" she asked, almost imploringly.

"That we must never trust our own false hearts--they lead us on to destruction; still less, any _living_ woman." His thoughts were with the dead, as he deemed.

"Do not look so pale--so afflicted: look as you did on that night."

"_That night_, which never knew a morrow! and yet it held the promise of one, Lady Dora."

"Who cast that promise from his memory, as worthless?"

"Not that, as dangerous, incapable of leading to happiness, as a snare--any thing you will, but a promise of that joy, which another has obtained."

"I will not misunderstand you. There is one thing we may give in pique, the hand, but the heart defies our power--'tis our master."

"Is yours?"

"Yes; I have in vain struggled with it--it daunts me."

"Mine is a slave," he answered, "chained, but not by me; and yours will become so too, and follow the manacled hand, and thus you will be calm and happy."

"I? never. Do you know--do you not see, that my position terrifies me? I have none to counsel--be my guide, and as an error led me to the steps I have taken, direct me how to escape its penalty."

"You mean your marriage with Lord Randolph?" he took her hand as he spoke, and, looking upon it, thought of the day he first held Minnie's thus!

"'Tis a fair hand," he said, regarding it. "Oh! pity this should break hearts, sever ties of love--this little tiny thing, which holds so much fearful power. Are you sure you do not love Lord Randolph?"

"Sure? I almost hate him, and should, were he my husband."