Set in Silver
the girl he has spent so much pen and paper on? Why does he go out of
his way to avoid mentioning her name?"
Well, she hasn't eloped, or done anything culpable. But there is no use
concealing from you, as I have told you so much, that she has hurt me to
the quick. Not that she has been unkind, or rude, or disagreeable. Quite
the contrary. And that's the worst of it, for I prayed to heaven that
there might be nothing of her mother in this young soul. At first, as
you know, I could hardly believe the girl to be all she seemed, but soon
she won me to thinking her perfection--a lily, grown by some miracle of
Nature in a soil where weeds had flourished hitherto. I would have given
my right hand rather than have to admit a flaw in her--that is, the one
fatal flaw: slyness hidden under apparent frankness, which means an
inherited tendency to deceit.
This may sound as if I had found the poor child out in a lie. But there
has been no spoken lie. She has only done the sort of thing I might have
expected Ellaline de Nesville's daughter to do.
I told you about the ring I bought her at Winchester, and gave her on
her birthday; how prettily she received it; how she seemed to treasure
it more because of the thought and the association than the intrinsic
value of the ruby and the brilliants.
At Chester, the night before we left, I thought I'd try to pick up some
little souvenir of the town for her, as she was delighted with the
place. Of course I wanted something small, as our luggage isn't of the
expanding order, so I had the idea of jewellery; a little antique
pendant, or a few old paste buttons. There is a certain shop in the
"Rows" where one looks for such things, and expects to find them good,
if highly priced. In the window of that shop I saw displayed for sale
the ring I had given to Ellaline!
The sight of it there was a blow; but I persuaded myself I might be
mistaken; that it wasn't the same ring, but another, almost a duplicate.
I went in and asked to look at it. The shopman mentioned that it was
something quite unusually good, and had "only come in" that afternoon.
Inside I found the date which I had had engraved on the ring; the date
of Ellaline's birthday. I bought it back--for a good deal more than I
paid in Winchester, as this chap knew his business thoroughly; but that
is a detail. It was merely to satisfy a kind of sentimental vanity that
I wanted to get the thing out of the window and into my own hands; for,
needless to say, I don't intend to speak of the matter at all to
Ellaline. It would humiliate me more than it would her, to let her see
that I know what she did with her birthday present; for partly, I blame
myself. I supposed that I was fairly free-handed with money, and had no
idea that the girl could possibly want more than she had. Still, I told
her to let me know in case she found me thoughtless, and not to hesitate
to ask for anything she wanted. She could have had as much as she chose,
and I would have put no questions. If I'd been surprised with the
largeness of the sums, I should have believed that she had some
pensioners to whom she wished to be charitable; for I had begun to
believe that she could do no wrong.
As I said, there was nothing culpable in selling the ring. It was hers.
She had a right to do as she liked with it. But that she should like to
part with it; that she should do so, knowing I would hate it if I knew;
that she should be exactly the same with me as if she hadn't done a
thing which she was aware would distress me; that she hadn't the courage
and frankness to come to me and say----
Oh, hang it all, I'm grumbling and complaining like an old prig! Perhaps
I am one. I know Dick Burden thinks so. We'll let it go at that. I don't
need to explain to you a matter which outwardly is insignificant, and is
significant to me only for reasons which the past will account for to
you better than my explanations.
The salt has gone out of life a bit, and I think it will do me good to
get to Graylees, where I shall find a thousand things to interest me. I
daresay Ellaline will be glad to settle down, though she is too polite
to show it; and I'm sure Emily will.
After a look at the Roman Wall, and a sight of Bamborough, we shall run
to Warwickshire with few detours or pauses.
You see, by the way, that you were wrong in thinking she could care. If
there had been the least warmth in her heart for me she couldn't have
sold my ring. I'm glad I didn't make a fool of myself.
Penrhyn wants to be remembered to you.
Yours ever,
Pen.
XXXIV
SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL O'HAGAN
_County Hotel, Newcastle_,
_September 5th_
My Dear Pat: You'll be surprised to get another letter from me
on the tail of the last, but there have been developments in which I
think you will be interested.
The sale of the ring was a mere preface to what has followed.
We arrived at Newcastle this afternoon, finding Burden already here. I
didn't think the meeting between him and Ellaline particularly cordial,
but appearances are deceiving where girls are concerned, as I have
lately been reminded in more ways than one. About an hour ago, while I
was getting off some letters and telegrams, I received a message from my
ward asking if she could see me in the hotel drawing-room--the place is
so full I couldn't get a private one.
I went down at once, of course, dimly (and foolishly) hoping that she
wanted to "confess" about the ring. But it was quite a different
confession she had to make; her desire to be engaged to Mr. Burden!
Naturally, after our last conversation on that subject, I was somewhat
surprised, and on the spur of the moment was tempted to remind her that
not long ago Young Nick had appeared as suitable in her eyes, as young
Dick. However, I stopped in time to save myself from being both bounder
and brute. I did inquire whether she were now sure of her own mind; but
it was the duty of a guardian and not the malice of a disappointed man
which prompted the question.
Her manner was singularly dry and businesslike, and she came as near to
looking plain as it is possible for a beautiful girl to come; so love
isn't always a beautifier.
"I am sure of my mind for the moment," she replied, with repulsive
prudence. "I suppose a girl need never say more."
This answer and her manner puzzled me, so I ventured to ask, in a
guardianly way, if she thought she were enough in love with Burden to be
happy with him.
"I haven't to think about being with him at all yet," she temporized.
"You seem to have an extraordinary idea of an engagement," I said,
perhaps rather sneeringly, for I felt bitter, and had never approved of
her less.
"Perhaps I have," she returned, in such an odd, muffled sort of tone
that I feared she was going to cry, and glanced at her sharply. But she
was looking down and there were no tears visible, so that fear was
relieved.
"You do, at all events, wish to be engaged to Burden?" I persisted. "Am
I to understand that?"
"I have asked for your consent," she said, with a queer stiffness. And
it was on my tongue to say as stiffly, "Very well: you have it. What
pleases you should please me." But the words stuck in my throat, as if
they'd been lumps of ice; and instead I answered, almost in spite of
myself, that I couldn't give my consent unconditionally. I must have
another talk with Burden, and whatever my decision might be, I would
prefer that she didn't consider herself engaged until after the tour was
ended.
"We'll bring it to a close as soon as possible now," I added, trying not
to sound as bitter as I felt, "so as not to keep you waiting."
She made no response to this, except to give me a singular look which
even now I find it impossible to understand. It was as if she had
something to reproach me for, and yet as if she were more pleased than
sad.
Girls are very complicated human beings, if indeed they can be
classified thus--though perhaps some men's lives would be duller if they
were simpler. As for my life, the less girls have to do with it when my
ward is off my hands, the better.
Since the above conversation, I have been drawn into a talk with Burden.
He appeared anxious to find out exactly what had passed between Ellaline
and me, almost as if he suspected her of not "playing straight," but I
replied, briefly, that she had asked my permission to be engaged to him,
having evidently changed her mind since our last discussion on the
subject. This appeared to content him more or less, although I repeated
what I'd said to the girl: that I was not prepared to consent officially
until I had communicated with his mother, and satisfied myself that my
ward would be welcomed in the family. This he evidently thought
old-fashioned and over-scrupulous, but when I admitted being both, he
ceased to protest, only saying that he wished to write to his mother
first. I suggested talking with his aunt, also, and he did not object to
the idea, so Mrs. Senter and I have already had a short conversation
concerning her nephew's love affair. She cried a little, and said that
she would be "horribly alone in the world" when her "only real pal" was
married, but that of course she wished for his happiness above
everything, and she meant to give him a wedding present worth having, if
she beggared herself for years. The poor little woman showed a great
deal of heart, and I was touched. I'm afraid she's not too happy, under
her air of almost flippant gaiety and "smartness," for she rather hinted
that she liked some man who didn't care for her--someone she met in the
East. I suppose she can't be cherishing a hidden passion for you? Rather
cruel of us, accusing her of being a flirt in those days, if she were in
earnest all the time, eh?
In case I "pump" her a little about this mysterious disappointment, and
find it's you she's thinking of, I may turn the tables, and give you
some good advice--better than you gave me. You might do worse than get
leave and have another look at this pretty and agreeable lady before
deciding to let her slip.
Yours always,
Pen.
Good old Owen enjoyed his two days in Cumberland. He, too, tried his
hand on advising me. Said I ought to marry. Not I!
XXXV
MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN
_Newcastle_,
_September Something_
My Dear Sis: This is to ask a great favour of you, and you must
be a pet and grant it. There's nothing I won't do for you in return, if
you will.
I have just been having a most satisfactory chat with Sir L. It began in
reference to Dick. Somehow or other that ingenious darling had forced
Ellaline Lethbridge to ask Sir Lionel for his (Dick's) hand! I say
"forced," because she is not in the least in love with him, indeed,
(strange as it may seem to you) detests the ground he walks on; yet she
does things that he tells her to do--things she hates like poison. This
last _coup_ of Dick's convinces me of what I've often suspected: he
knows something about her past which she is deadly afraid he will tell
Sir Lionel. It may be connected with that visit to Venice, when the
Tyndals saw her; anyhow, whatever the secret may be, it is serious. She
is obliged to bribe Dick; but she dislikes him too intensely to marry
him ever--even if the way to do so were made easy; so, I reiterate, have
no fear on that score.
Sir Lionel fancies himself in love with the girl, but he will get over
it, even if he isn't on the way to do so already, pushed roughly onto
the right road by her confessed preference for Dick. For the moment,
however, I can see he is rather hard hit, though he would be _mad_ if he
dreamed I or anyone could read his august feelings. He thinks his
hesitation to permit an engagement arises from conscientious scruples,
but really it's because he can't bear to have any other man (or boy)