Thelma
Gueldmar's sitting-room, and the alarming spectacle he saw was the
queenly Thelma down on the floor in an attitude of grief,--Thelma giving
way to little smothered sobs of distress,--Thelma actually crying! He
drew a long breath and stared, utterly bewildered. It was a sight for
which he was unprepared,--he was not accustomed to women's tears. What
should he do? Should he cough gently to attract her attention, or should
he retire on tip-toe and leave her to indulge her grief as long as she
would, without making any attempt to console her? The latter course
seemed almost brutal, yet he was nearly deciding upon it, when a slight
creak of the door against which he leaned, caused her to look up
suddenly. Seeing him, she rose quickly from her desponding position and
faced him, her cheeks somewhat deeply flushed and her eyes glittering
feverishly.
"Mr. Lorimer!" she exclaimed, forcing a faint smile to her quivering
lips. "You here? Why, where are the others?"
"They are coming on after me," replied Lorimer, advancing into the room,
and diplomatically ignoring the girl's efforts to hide the tears that
still threatened to have their way. "But I was sent in advance to tell
you not to be frightened. There has been a slight accident--"
She grew very pale. "Is it my father?" she asked tremblingly. "Sir
Philip--"
"No, no!" answered Lorimer reassuringly. "It is nothing serious, really,
upon my honor! Your father's all right,--so is Phil,--our lively friend
Pierre is the victim. The fact is, we've had some trouble with Sigurd. I
can't think what has come to the boy! He was as amiable as possible when
we started, but after we had climbed about half-way up the mountain, he
took it into his head to throw stones about rather recklessly. It was
only fun, he said. Your father tried to make him leave off, but he was
obstinate. At last, in a particularly bright access of playfulness, he
got hold of a large flint, and nearly put Phil's eye out with it,--Phil
dodged it, and it flew straight at Duprez, splitting open his cheek in
rather an unbecoming fashion--Don't look so horrified, Miss Gueldmar,--it
is really nothing!"
"Oh, but indeed it is something!" she said, with true womanly anxiety in
her voice. "Poor fellow! I am so sorry! Is he much hurt? Does he
suffer?"
"Pierre? Oh, no, not a bit of it! He's as jolly as possible! We bandaged
him up in a very artistic fashion; he looks quite interesting, I assure
you. His beauty's spoilt for a time, that's all. Phil thought you might
be alarmed when you saw us bringing home the wounded,--that is why I
came on to tell you all about it."
"But what can be the matter with Sigurd?" asked the girl, raising her
hand furtively to dash off a few tear-drops that still hung on her long
lashes. "And where is he?"
"Ah, that I can't tell you!" answered Lorimer. "He is perfectly
incomprehensible to-day. As soon as he saw the blood flowing from
Duprez's cheek, he tittered a howl as if some one had shot him, and away
he rushed into the woods as fast as he could go. We called him, and
shouted his name till we were hoarse,--all no use! He wouldn't come
back. I suppose he'll find his way home by himself?"
"Oh, yes," said Thelma gravely. "But when he comes I will scold him very
much! It is not like him to be so wild and cruel. He will understand me
when I tell him how wrong he has been."
"Oh, don't break his heart, poor little chap!" said Lorimer easily.
"Your father has given him a terrible scolding already. He hasn't got
his wits about him you know,--he can't help being queer sometimes. But
what have _you_ been doing with yourself during our absence?" And he
regarded her with friendly scrutiny. "You were crying when I came in.
Now, weren't you?"
She met his gaze quite frankly. "Yes!" she replied, with a plaintive
thrill in her voice. "I could not help it! My heart ached and the tears
came. Somehow I felt that everything was wrong,--and that it was all my
fault--"
"Your fault!" murmured Lorimer, astonished. "My dear Miss Gueldmar, what
do you mean? What _is_ your fault?"
"Everything!" she answered sadly, with a deep sigh. "I am very foolish;
and I am sure I often do wrong without meaning it. Mr. Dyceworthy has
been here and--" she stopped abruptly, and a wave of color flushed her
face.
Lorimer laughed lightly. "Dyceworthy!" he exclaimed. "The mystery is
explained! You have been bored by 'the good religious,' as Pierre calls
him. You know what _boring_ means now, Miss Gueldmar, don't you?" She
smiled slightly, and nodded. "The first time you visited the _Eulalie_,
you didn't understand the word, I remember,--ah!" and he shook his
head--"if you were in London society, you'd find that expression very
convenient,--it would come to your lips pretty frequently, I can tell
you!"
"I shall never see London," she said, with a sort of resigned air. "You
will all go away very soon, and I--I shall be lonely--"
She bit her lips in quick vexation, as her blue eyes filled again with
tears in spite of herself.
Lorimer turned away and pulled a chair to the open window.
"Come and sit down here," he said invitingly. "We shall be able to see
the others coming down the hill. Nothing like fresh air for blowing away
the blues." Then, as she obeyed him, he added, "What has Dyceworthy been
saying to you?"
"He told me I was wicked," she murmured; "and that all the people here
think very badly of me. But that was not the worst"--and a little
shudder passed over her--"there was something else--something that made
me very angry--so angry!"--and here she raised her eyes with a gravely
penitent air--"Mr. Lorimer, I do not think I have ever had so bad and
fierce a temper before!"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Lorimer, with a broad smile. "You alarm me,
Miss Gueldmar! I had no idea you were a 'bad, fierce' person,--I shall
get afraid of you--I shall, really!"
"Ah, you laugh!" and she spoke half-reproachfully. "You will not be
serious for one little moment!"
"Yes I will! Now look at me," and he assumed a solemn expression, and
drew himself up with an air of dignity. "I am all attention! Consider me
your father-confessor. Miss Gueldmar, and explain the reason of this
'bad, fierce' temper of yours."
She peeped at him shyly from under her silken lashes.
"It is more dreadful than you think," she answered in a low tone. "Mr.
Dyceworthy asked me to marry him."
Lorimer's keen eyes flashed with indignation. This was beyond a
jest,--and he clenched his fist as he exclaimed--
"Impudent donkey! What a jolly good thrashing he deserves! . . . and I
shouldn't be surprised if he got it one of these days! And so, Miss
Gueldmar,"--and he studied her face with some solicitude--"you were very
angry with him?"
"Oh yes!" she replied, "but when I told him he was a coward, and that he
must go away, he said some very cruel things--" she stopped, and blushed
deeply; then, as if seized by some sudden impulse, she laid her small
hand on Lorimer's and said in the tone of an appealing child, "you are
very good and kind to me, and you are clever,--you know so much more
than I do! You must help me,--you will tell me, will you not? . . . if it
is wrong of me to like you all,--it is as if we had known each other a
long time and I have been very happy with you and your friends. But you
must teach me to behave like the girls you have seen in London,--for I
could not bear that Sir Philip should think me wicked!"
"Wicked!" and Lorimer drew a long breath. "Good heavens! If you knew
what Phil's ideas about you are, Miss Gueldmar--"
"I do not wish to know," interrupted Thelma steadily. "You must quite
understand me,--I am not clever to hide my thoughts, and--and--, _you_
are glad when you talk sometimes to Sir Philip, are you not?" He nodded,
gravely studying every light and shadow on the fair, upturned, innocent
face.
"Yes!" she continued with some eagerness, "I see you are! Well, it is
the same with me,--I do love to hear him speak! You know how his voice
is like music, and how his kind ways warm the heart,--it is pleasant to
be in his company--I am sure you also find it so! But for me,--it seems
it is wrong,--it is not wise for me to show when I am happy. I do not
care what other people say,--but I would not have _him_ think ill of me
for all the world!"
Lorimer took her hand and held it in his with a most tender loyalty and
respect. Her naive, simple words had, all unconsciously to herself, laid
bare the secret of her soul to his eyes,--and though his heart beat with
a strange sickening sense of unrest that flavored of despair, a gentle
reverence filled him, such as a man might feel if some little snow-white
shrine, sacred to purity and peace, should be suddenly unveiled before
him.
"My dear Miss Gueldmar," he said earnestly, "I assure you, you have no
cause to be uneasy! You must not believe a word Dyceworthy says--every
one with a grain of common sense can see what a liar and hypocrite he
is! And as for you, you never do anything wrong,--don't imagine such
nonsense! I wish there were more women like you!"
"Ah, that is very kind of you!" half laughed the girl, still allowing
her hand to rest in his. "But I do not think everybody would have such a
good opinion." They both started, and their hands fell asunder as a
shadow darkened the room, and Sir Philip stood before them.
"Excuse me!" he said stiffly, lifting his hat with ceremonious
politeness. "I ought to have knocked at the door--I--"
"Why?" asked Thelma, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
"Yes--why indeed?" echoed Lorimer, with a frank look at his friend.
"I am afraid,"--and for once the generally good-humored Errington looked
positively petulant--"I am afraid I interrupted a pleasant
conversation!" And he gave a little forced laugh of feigned amusement,
but evident vexation.
"And if it was pleasant, shall you not make it still more so?" asked
Thelma, with timid and bewitching sweetness, though her heart beat very
fast,--she was anxious. Why was Sir Philip so cold and distant? He
looked at her, and his pent-up passion leaped to his eyes and filled
them with a glowing and fiery tenderness,--her head drooped suddenly,
and she turned quickly, to avoid that searching, longing gaze. Lorimer
glanced from one to the other with, a slight feeling of amusement.
"Well Phil," he inquired lazily, "how did you get here so soon? You must
have glided into the garden like a ghost, for I never heard you coming."
"So I imagine!" retorted Errington, with, an effort to be sarcastic, in
which he utterly failed as he met his friend's eyes,--then after a
slight and somewhat embarrassed pause he added more mildly! "Duprez
cannot get on very fast,--his wound still bleeds, and he feels rather
faint now and then. I don't think we bandaged him up properly, and I
came on to see if Britta could prepare something for him."
"But you will not need to ask Britta," said Thelma quietly, with a
pretty air of authority, "for I shall myself do all for Mr. Duprez. I
understand well how to cure his wound, and I do think he will like me as
well as Britta." And, hearing footsteps approaching, she looked out at
the window. "Here they come!" she exclaimed. "Ah, poor Monsieur Pierre!
he does look very pale! I will go and meet them."
And she hurried from the room, leaving the two young men together.
Errington threw himself into Olaf Gueldmar's great arm-chair, with a
slight sigh.
"Well?" said Lorimer inquiringly.
"Well!" he returned somewhat gruffly.
Lorimer laughed, and crossing the room, approached him and clapped a
hand on his shoulder.
"Look here, old man!" he said earnestly, "don't be a fool! I know that
'love maketh men mad,' but I never supposed the lunacy would lead you to
the undesirable point of distrusting your friend,--your true friend,