Lady Caerleon found that her dream of having two young companions and helpers always with her this winter instead of one was doomed to disappointment. The two girls spent their time almost exclusively in their own rooms, and what they did there was a mystery. Maimie had American books and papers sent her by post, and sometimes her voice could be heard as she read aloud to Félicia; but Félicia’s activities seemed to be confined to the eating of bonbons. When there were visitors, however, both the girls made their appearance as soon as they were sent for, and took all the burden of entertaining off Lady Caerleon’s shoulders. About each of them would gather a circle of worthy squires and parsons, whose honest laughter over Transatlantic audacities of speech made the great hall ring. The country ladies, sitting silent and astonished and a little shocked, had yet eyes to note the Parisian elegance of the deep mourning gowns, even if they remarked afterwards that it was just like Americans to dress with such uncalled for smartness every day. In any case, an impression was made.
CHAPTER VI.
TOTÂ QUOD MENTE PETISTI.
“How did Phil stand it, any way?” said Félicia.
She and Maimie were sitting over the fire in her room, discussing the Rector’s daughters, whom they had just been interviewing at tea. There is no other word to describe the intercourse between the American and the English girls, for Félicia, in a wonderful Empire tea-gown, which revealed her white arms and shoulders through clouds of black chiffon, had set herself deliberately to catechise the Misses Jones on the occupations and pleasures—particularly the pleasures—of their daily life. The Rector was a good Welshman, and his daughters, who were rosy, healthy, country girls, rejoiced in the names of Gwladys and Myfanwy. Now that Philippa was married, they were Lady Caerleon’s right hand in all her schemes for the good of the parish, and their multifarious duties had hitherto left them no time to cultivate the acquaintance of the two Americans, whose clothes they had regarded admiringly from a distance. Christmas was now over, however, and in the short breathing-space at the end of the holidays Lady Caerleon had insisted on making her young friends known to one another, and with some misgivings had left the four girls together.
The conversation that ensued was not entirely devoid of friction. Something in the tone of Félicia’s questions and comments seemed to rouse the two Welsh girls, and the sedate Gwladys took refuge in assuring her calmly that she could not possibly understand the pleasures and interests of a life so far removed from her own, and therefore there was no use in telling her about them. The livelier Myfanwy, on the other hand, was anxious to justify her contentment with things as they were. She and Gwladys were so busy, she said, that they really had no time to go about hunting for amusement; but when they wanted it there was plenty of one kind or another. They had their bicycles, and they took turns in driving their parents in the pony-cart, and they belonged to a harmonic society, and this winter there were University Extension Lectures in Aberkerran, and Lady Caerleon had given them tickets. They took turns, also, in going to dinner-parties, and in the summer there was tennis—which still lingered on in this remote corner of the world—and croquet (Gwladys was a crack player), and picnics, and choir excursions—the last form of dissipation was included somewhat doubtfully.
“But don’t you ever have any frolics?” demanded Félicia.
Both girls looked rather offended at being asked such a question, but inquired forbearingly what in the world she meant. Félicia, racking her memory to recall the amusements of country girls in America, mentioned candy-pulls, corn-huskings, apple-bees, clam-suppers, and church-socials, to which they replied with marked coolness that in England it was only the farmers and the Dissenters who went in for that sort of thing.
“Maybe this is a frolic?” suggested Maimie, with a wave of her hand, which included the room and the tea-table.
“It is a great pleasure,” answered Gwladys calmly; and Myfanwy added with effusion that they loved coming to the Castle, and wasn’t Lady Caerleon sweet? Lady Caerleon returned to the drawing-room at this moment, and carried off the Jones girls to her boudoir, to show them a new photograph of Philippa, which had just arrived.
“And I know just as well as anything what she said to them when she had them alone,” said Félicia. “‘My dears, in your simple useful lives you are far happier than those two selfish creatures in the parlour, who do nothing all the time.’”
“And the girl with the queer name just threw her arms round her neck, and said, ‘Dear Lady Caerleon!’” mimicked Maimie.
“But how did Phil stand it, any way?” said Félicia again. “That was a real sweet letter she wrote me this morning, or I’d have thought she was trying to get at me. ‘I do envy you in my dear old room. Do please ride Brownie, and use any of my things as much as you like. I wish I was at home to show you round.’ How could she want to be back home? No bouquets—no bonbons—no gentlemen—no sleigh-rides—no dancing—and yet she lived!”
“Why, she was a real outdoor girl,” said Maimie; “hunting and wheeling, and taking long walks, and thankful to get a day’s golf at Colfton now and then. You’ll act that way, Fay, before they’re done with you. You’re to be made over, you know, and as soon as Usk arrives home they’ll set at work. Wait until you change your mourning and the dinner-parties begin. Think of putting in a whole day on horseback, and dining the Jones family in the evening!”
“I know you’re trying to have me say I’ll break off with Usk,” said Félicia calmly, “and I would if there was anything better in sight. But there isn’t. At least we are sure of getting right into society here. I know it’s only the nice people Lady Caerleon visits with, not the smart people, but that I can fix for myself once I’m presented and have prospected around a bit. Lady Caerleon is best friends with the Dowager Duchess of Old Sarum and the rest of the religious aristocratic cranks, and once we break with the Caerleons all of their doors will be shut in our faces. As I say, that’s nothing if we can do better, but you’ve got to show me just how.”
“But if I can help you to do far better?” demanded Maimie.
“Why, I’d like to hear about it first.”
“That’s just what you can’t do. You must be quite innocent. But you’ll have to fire Usk out if I give you the word.”
“Well, I won’t fire him out definitely until this other plan of yours works. I can do with him well enough if it should peter out. You needn’t conclude I’m going to be made over to suit Lady Caerleon. I guess I can make Usk over to suit myself. But I’m open to other offers.”
“If I can’t fix things right away, she’ll accept him with effusion just as soon as ever he comes back,” said Maimie to herself; and she plotted and planned until, as she reflected ruefully, her hair must be turning grey. It was part of her scheme that Usk’s family, and not herself, should take the first step towards breaking off the understanding; and she saw her chance one day when Lady Caerleon, speaking with obvious nervousness, seized the opportunity of a rare tête-à-tête with her to say—
“Miss Logan, I wish I could enlist your help with Félicia. I quite hoped that the winter here would make her strong, but she gives herself no chance to get well.”
The implied reproach to Félicia aroused Maimie at once. “It’s just that there isn’t anything to do here,” she replied. “If we were at home you’d soon see she wasn’t sick. She would be going along from one function to another all the time.”
“Kept up by excitement? Still, that shows she can do a great deal if she likes. But I want to see her able to work and play in moderation without needing a perpetual stimulus. Of course I know her father’s death was a terrible shock, but the invalid life she leads at present is the worst possible thing for her. Always on the sofa, in that hot room, eating sweets or sucking that horrible gum——”
“We call it chewing gum, not sucking it,” interrupted Maimie, listening apprehensively for the next words. Had Lady Caerleon found out about the cigarettes smuggled in under the guise of bonbons?
“It makes no difference. And she scarcely eats anything at meals, and seems by some instinct to choose what is most unwholesome.”
“That is so,” said Maimie cordially. It was clear that Lady Caerleon had discovered nothing. “I’d just give anything to get her to think of her complexion, and she doesn’t begin to do it.”
“Her complexion!” There were scorn and disgust, deep if involuntary, in Lady Caerleon’s tones. “I am talking about her health. A more natural life and plenty of exercise—not simply creeping backwards and forwards on the terrace for a few minutes when it happens to be warm—would do more for her complexion than anything else. What I think of is the future. Miss Logan, can’t you see what I feel? My boy loves Félicia, and I hope they will have a long and happy married life together. But how can they, if she divides her time between spasms of excitement and helpless invalidism? I can’t help thinking of the poor unfortunate women one meets so often in travelling—rushing from place to place in search of some new sensation, never happy, never contented, always bored and yet eager, with tired eyes and all sorts of nervous complaints. And their children—their poor little children—grown-up men and women already, living and talking, and almost feeling like their elders, wizened and old before they have ever been young. Generally they are Americans, these poor people, but of late there have been more English among them. I speak in Usk’s interests, I can’t deny it, but I do entreat you, for Félicia’s own sake, to try and help me to save her from falling into a life of that sort.”
“I don’t see but you’ll have to leave Félicia alone,” was the reply, as Lady Caerleon, with tears in her eyes, paused suddenly. “We are not made like you English people, nor brought up like you, either. I know you are not English yourself,” Maimie added hastily, “but you have grown into English ways. We must move around, we must have interest and excitement, and if an American woman don’t find that sort of thing ready for her, she just starts right out and provides it for herself. If we have smarter brains and more active bodies than you, it’s not our fault, and you won’t do any good punishing us for it. If you leave Félicia and Lord Usk to fix things for themselves, I guess they’ll shake down all right.”
“I am afraid not. I remember all my own troubles when I first settled here, and I should like to save Félicia as much as I can. And my husband is the calmest and most reasonable of men. Nothing but deliberate wrong-doing would make him angry, and he bore with my mistakes, and listened to my complaints, and helped me to begin afresh, in the most wonderful way. But Usk is more like me. He gets worried and irritable when he is tried beyond a certain point, and his wife ought to be able to calm him, and not irritate him further. And surely, if she loves him, Félicia would delight to do anything she can to make herself a better wife for him? Think what a joy it would be to him to find her strong and well and able to go about with him when he comes back!”
“If she loves him!” repeated Maimie thoughtfully. “Why, certainly—but does she love him, Lady Caerleon?”
She seized the opportunity afforded by the entrance of a servant with a note to slip away, leaving her question to do its work. The interruption could not have occurred more suitably for her purpose, and during the next two or three days she managed to avoid all private conversation with Lady Caerleon. At the same time, she was obliged to keep constant watch lest her hostess should seek an interview with Félicia herself. Her manœuvres had hitherto been successful in keeping them apart without Lady Caerleon’s perceiving either the method or the reason; but now, stung by the doubt cast into her mind, she might insist upon a definite explanation. Then, if Félicia made another scene, and succumbed to Lady Caerleon’s motherly kindness, all was lost, and this was likely enough. The monotony of her indoor life, which she obstinately refused to vary by any exercise out of doors, was really telling on her nerves, and she would alarm Maimie by wild outbursts of impatience. She wanted to dance, to flirt, to go to the theatre and lose herself in a play, she wanted to run away—in fact, she was in a state in which she would respond to any stimulus applied to her emotions. Maimie knew very well that the contraband cigarettes were slightly narcotised, and by this means she tried to quiet Félicia’s nerves for the moment, while still keeping her mind on the stretch by vague promises and prophecies, the fulfilment of which depended upon the success of her “plan.”
As Maimie had expected, Lady Caerleon came to her, after two or three days of anxiety, for an explanation of her mysterious warning as to Félicia’s feelings. The mother was determined to know the worst.
“If Félicia doesn’t care for Usk, you ought to tell me,” she said, “that I may prepare his mind, and not let him go on hoping in vain.”
“Well, now, Lady Caerleon,” said Maimie, with the frankness which her hostess found almost more trying than reserve, “I’ll tell you just what I think. I don’t believe Félicia loves your son—at present, but I guess if he came home and asked her, she would marry him right away.”
“But why?” cried Lady Caerleon, aghast.
“Why? Can you ask? Because of all your kindness and of all Lord Usk has done. She says to herself, ‘If I can repay and please them by sacrificing my own feelings, why, I’ll just do it!’”
“This is terrible!” murmured Lady Caerleon. “I must speak to Félicia, and if that is really her state of mind, I will write to Usk at once.”
“No, please!” entreated Maimie. “Didn’t you remark that I said ‘at present’? I would like to have her fall in love with him really. I thought it was real kind of you and Lord Caerleon to tell him to go and visit Niagara, and the South, and not be back until February, so’s he wouldn’t embarrass Félicia by arriving home so soon. Well, now, if he didn’t come back until the end of March, I guess it would be better yet. Won’t you have him go and see the Pacific slope, and the Yosemite in winter? By the middle of March Félicia will be changing her mourning, and I thought we might pay a visit to her best friend, Mrs van Zyl, at Nice. She’s set on having us, and it would be just lovely for Félicia. Then your son could come out and see us there, and Félicia would be able to compare him with other men. You do think he would stand a good chance then, don’t you?”
This was a master-stroke. Even if Lady Caerleon could have brought herself to distrust Usk’s power of attraction, she could not confess the feeling, and she had no wish whatever to do so. Indeed, she was conscious of an unaccountable sensation of relief, which she attributed to the fact that Usk would at last be able to stand on his own merits, and take his chance in a fair field, unhampered by the dubious advantage of Mr Steinherz’s favour. She fell in with Maimie’s proposal at once.
“I think it is an excellent idea,” she said. “All the gaieties will be over on the Riviera, and Félicia will enjoy a quiet restful time.” Maimie could have told her differently, but held her peace. “I will speak to my husband at once, and if he agrees with me, I will write to Usk to-day.”
The idea did not approve itself quite so strongly to Lord Caerleon as to his wife, and his comments opened her eyes to a truth which she had successfully hidden from herself hitherto. Her relief sprang chiefly from the hope that, after all, Félicia might not marry Usk. With Lady Caerleon, to discover such a piece of self-deception was instantly to impose punishment, and while she still suggested to Usk that he should extend his travels, she confessed plainly that the idea was inspired by Maimie, and sprang from a suspicion that Félicia did not really care for him. She added also that his father and she left the matter entirely to his own discretion, and this intimation had the unlooked-for result that Usk promptly cancelled his remaining engagements in America, and sailed for home by the very first steamer. It was with the greatest reluctance that he had left Félicia in her trouble to the care even of his mother, but it had comforted him to feel that he was doing something for her in seeing her father’s body laid in the grave he had chosen. The extension of his exile he had accepted with some unwillingness, feeling that he could trust himself to be near Félicia without forcing his hopes upon her in her time of grief. However, if his presence would embarrass her, if she did not know him well enough to trust him, he was content to stay away. But this last menace to his happiness was too much. He must know the worst. If Félicia did not love him, it was better to hear it from her own lips, and bear it like a man, than wander about the American continent tortured with uncertainty, and murmuring, “She loves me—loves me not,” like a girl pulling a daisy to pieces.
It was a sunny afternoon in early February when Usk arrived at the little wayside station near Llandiarmid. No one was expecting him, for the letter he had posted in New York, announcing his return, had travelled by the same vessel as himself, and had only reached the Castle that morning. At this moment it was lying on Lord Caerleon’s table, in company with the telegram Usk had sent from Liverpool on his arrival there; for Lord and Lady Caerleon had started at an unearthly hour in the morning on a long cold drive into Oldport, where a temperance convention was being held. Disregarding the stationmaster’s eager invitation to step into his office while he sent to the nearest farm and borrowed a trap to take his lordship up to the Castle, Usk left his luggage to be fetched later, and struck off across the fields. He had a feeling that if he met Félicia now, he would win her, and he hurried on, his country-trained senses noting the springing wheat in the autumn-sown fields, the pleasant smell of the rich red plough-lands, the brown and crimson buds in the hedges, and the twittering of the birds in the mild sunshine. Everything spoke of life and love and hope, and Usk whistled gaily for sheer gladness of heart as he renewed his acquaintance with the many short cuts, less remarkable for their shortness than their complexity, which he and Philippa had long ago discovered, and definitely laid down as the quickest way home. The shrubbery gate was locked, of course, but he had climbed the wall at this point too often for that to be any obstacle, and he went on up the well-known paths. At the long wild border under the sunny wall which marked the limits of the garden proper he cast an involuntary glance. Philippa would have been there, on such an afternoon as this, looking for early violets, or gathering handfuls of snowdrops from among the grass on the opposite side of the walk, and perhaps Félicia——? But Félicia was not to be seen, and he turned to the old arched doorway leading into the garden and rattled at it vigorously, nearly frightening the wits out of a meek gardener’s boy who was at work just inside, and opened the door timidly. On being questioned, however, the boy recovered his senses sufficiently to volunteer the remark that he ‘see one of the young ladies, the prettiest one, on the top terrace by herself about five minutes back,’ for which he received a munificent reward.
Climbing the long worn flights of steps which led from one to another of the broad terraces in front of the Castle, Usk kept purposely in the shade of the bushes which rose behind the balustrades. This was his chance, to find Félicia alone and take her by surprise. He reached the terrace next below the highest, and stopped suddenly. The steps which faced him turned sharply at a right angle, and on the small landing thus formed stood a sun-dial. Leaning against the sun-dial was Félicia, her long black robes trailing on the stones, her face almost hidden by the furs in which she was muffled.
“Félicia!” Usk had sprung up the steps and appeared at her side. She turned with a little scream, then a smile crept over her face.
“Well, do you know,” she remarked deliberately, “I was just thinking about you. I sort of felt you were not far away.”
“You wanted me? Oh, my darling!”
It was necessary for Félicia to free herself, which she did without undignified haste. Then she straightened her hat, and looked reproachful. “I don’t know what I said to give you the notion of doing that, Lord Usk,” she said severely.
“Only that you missed me.” Usk’s arm was round her again.
“Well, I don’t know but I have felt lonesome at times. But I never said it was on your account, any way.”
“Perhaps you would like me to make you say it?” suggested Usk, taking full advantage of his position.
“Do tell, now! Commend me to an Englishman for calm impudence! And what has brought you along just now?”
“I came because I couldn’t stay away any longer. You brought me back, you know you did. I had to see you again.”
“Then I guess you’re going away again right now? You seem to be taking a look to last you a long time.”
“If you’re counting on that, you’ll be disappointed. I shall look at you just as hard however long I stay. I should like to look at you for ever. Your face is never the same for two seconds together.”
“I don’t feel like allowing remarks on my face unless they’re compliments, Lord Usk, and don’t you forget it.”
“And that wasn’t a compliment? Then I’ll show you the difference. Any man may pay you a compliment, do you see? but I may make remarks which are not compliments, because I love you.”
“Then preserve me from being loved, any way! But maybe your sort of love isn’t just the usual sort?”
“Isn’t it? I’m so sorry. Is that better?” Félicia had laid herself open to an obvious retort in the confidence that Usk would not be quick-witted enough to seize the opportunity. “Do you believe that I love you now?” he asked, partially releasing her, “or shall I go on to prove it further?”
“I guess it’s not necessary. I can quite believe it.”
“And you do care for me—just a little?”
Félicia’s face assumed an expression of intense thought. “Well, yes,” she said at last. “I think I can maybe say that I do care for you—just a little.”
She flashed a glance at Usk which intoxicated him with delight, and nothing was further from his mind than the idea that her answer might be literally true. “All right. I’ll take it in instalments,” he said joyously. “Un peu—beaucoup—point—no, that’s not what I meant. What an idiot I am! You care for me, and that’s enough.”
“Yes, but Maimie don’t,” said Félicia dolorously.
“Oh, bother Maimie! No, I don’t mean that either. Of course she can’t bear losing you. But we’ll both be awfully nice to her, won’t we? Now that my mind is at rest about you, I’ll cultivate her—make up to her, in fact.”
“Not while I’m around, if you please.”
“Now is it likely—if you were anywhere near?”
“I guess I’ll go and tell her,” said Félicia. “Isn’t that your parents coming in from their ride? You go and have an affecting meeting with them, and break the news, and I’ll do likewise.”
Maimie was indoors, kept in by a bad cold, which she had caught when called out of bed one night to prescribe remedies for Félicia’s headache. Nothing could possibly have been better timed than that cold, Félicia thought complacently, though she had shown a strong sense of injury when it had prevented Maimie from coming out with her. She dashed upstairs and into Maimie’s room, and shot her bolt.
“Wake up, Maimie! Usk’s come back, and we are engaged!”
Maimie dropped her book and turned absolutely white. Then she stood up and came slowly towards Félicia, who cowered before her.
“Félicia Steinherz, I could kill you where you stand!”
“How you look, Maimie! What do you mean?” asked Félicia feebly.
“Why have you done it, any way?” demanded Maimie.
“Why, I like Usk well enough, and I must have a man to trail me around.”
“Do you know who’s coming here next week?” fiercely.
“Oh, just some brother of Lord Caerleon’s and his wife.”
“Why, certainly. Do you know how many brothers he has?”
“Well, I guess there must be two, any way—this Lord Cyril and the Count Mortimer that Mr Hicks talks about all the time.”
“I do admire to see a girl real smart! You’ve listened pretty well, haven’t you?”
“I don’t see but I’ve listened well enough. Lord Caerleon couldn’t expect me do more than look interested, and interrupt just right.”
“I’d have felt like boxing your ears if I’d been Lord Caerleon.”
“No, Maimie, you wouldn’t. It’s real sweet of me to have him talk to me, and he knows it. You’re fallen in love with him, because he cavaliers you around just the same as he does me, but that’s no reason why I should.” And Maimie was crushed for the time.
Now that Usk and Félicia were engaged, an impartial observer, with a mind appreciative of irony, might have enjoyed watching the attitudes assumed by the different persons concerned. Maimie, openly contemptuous for a moment, became calm and tolerant after the first shock of surprise, allowing Félicia to see that she did not take the matter at all seriously. If Félicia chose to break a country heart for pastime, it was no one’s business but her own, and the owner of the heart had only himself to thank if he took for love the frame of mind induced by propinquity succeeding ennui. Félicia, feeling bound to justify her action in Maimie’s eyes, overdid her part wofully. She raised Usk to the seventh heaven of delight by what seemed to him her utter self-surrender. He had never imagined that she could give herself up to him so unreservedly, although he had quite expected that she would monopolise his time and services, as she did. But that she should wish—nay, order him to be at her side all day, this filled him with a sense of wholly undeserved joy, since he could not tell that she was playing with one eye on Maimie.
It was not long before the engagement became known in the county, although it was not to be publicly announced until six months had elapsed after Mr Steinherz’s death. Local interest in the event was tremendous, and the dwellers in the neighbourhood learned to watch almost daily for the Castle dogcart, with the ‘young lord’ driving, and the beautiful lady muffled in furs at his side. Félicia’s neglect of her complexion was positively heroic at this time, but fortunately the weather was mild, and Maimie showed herself truly forgiving where face-washes were concerned.
“I guessed the fault was in the companion, and not the climate, when you wouldn’t go out driving with me, Félicia,” said Lord Caerleon, laughing, as he helped her out of the cart one day, and Félicia had the grace to blush.
“I don’t see but I’m real English now, just like Phil,” she answered brightly, for Maimie’s benefit.
Perhaps the happiest of the onlookers at this juncture was Lady Caerleon. She forced herself to rejoice in Usk’s happiness, in a way only possible to a woman whose tendency through life had been to choose the most disagreeable path that offered itself, in the conviction that it was the right one. Her husband, much as he admired Félicia’s beauty, grumbled a little in private that Usk should choose an American bride, and one who took no interest in social questions, but Lady Caerleon persisted that love would set everything right. Félicia had even learnt to like the country since Usk had come home, and very soon, no doubt, she would be taking an active interest in the Temperance cause. In the kindness of her heart the mother even petted Maimie, for whom she still felt an instinctive distrust, and devised all sorts of little pleasures for her, to soften the loneliness that fell to her lot now that Félicia had forsaken her so completely.
CHAPTER VII.
A FAMILY LIKENESS.
There was a sense of mystery hanging over the Castle. Visitors were expected, and a whole suite of apartments, called the Queen’s Rooms (of course because Queen Elizabeth had occupied them on one of her progresses), had been prepared for them, much to Félicia’s astonishment and somewhat to her indignation. It seemed to her that she and her engagement had sunk into insignificance in view of this approaching visit of Lord and Lady Cyril Mortimer and the latter’s son. Why on earth should such a fuss be made about them? she wished to know; and she took refuge in an insulted determination not to show any interest in their coming, although Maimie’s eyes expressed abundant knowledge, and Usk was obviously willing to be questioned.
Lord Caerleon and his son drove into Aberkerran to meet the travellers, and afternoon tea was postponed until their return. This was a fresh grievance for Félicia, who declared herself as limp as a rag. In the intervals of eyeing the tea-table thirstily, she spared a little mild wonder for Lady Caerleon, who was moving nervously about the hall, altering the position of the furniture and rearranging the folds of curtains. The brougham drove up, and Lady Caerleon flew to the door to receive the white-haired lady whom her husband led up the steps. Félicia’s quick eye noticed at once that the visitor was wearing the most magnificent sables she had ever beheld, but her amazement was extreme when she saw Lady Caerleon only checked in a deep reverence by the newcomer’s seizing her hands and kissing her on both cheeks.
“Do tell, now!” whispered the astonished observer eagerly to Maimie. “Aren’t these English people real stiff? or is it because Lady Caerleon is a foreigner?”
“Nadia, my dear sister!” the visitor was saying reproachfully, as Maimie shot a glance of scorn at Félicia, “you will astonish your young friends. Present them, please—I mean, you will introduce them, won’t you?”
As Lady Caerleon complied with the request, in a curiously flurried manner, Félicia noticed that the stranger’s face did not look old, in spite of her white hair, and that she had a very sweet smile. In her bearing there was something so dignified, notwithstanding the gentleness of her words and looks, that Félicia felt as if she was being presented at Court. In Lady Cyril’s presence she suddenly saw herself as an outsider, and began to feel nervous about her manners and uncomfortable about her voice.
“But I’ll watch and see how she fixes things,” she told herself, with returning confidence. “I guess an American woman can just make herself over if she wants to, and not be beaten by any Eu-ropian court lady.”
Lord Cyril’s greeting restored her self-complacency. He was “just ordinary,” she decided at a glance, small and grey-haired, with blue eyes and unobtrusive manners, but he expressed it as his opinion that Usk was a very lucky fellow, which showed him to be a person of discernment. He had brought a secretary with him, it appeared, and his wife a lady companion, but Lady Cyril’s son, Baron von Neuburg, had been delayed on the Continent by the breakdown of a train, and would not arrive till the next day. Félicia was still oppressed by a sense of mystery. Why did Lady Caerleon seem to leave the initiative in everything to her sister-in-law, and why was Lady Cyril constantly on the point of taking the lead in another person’s house, to the obvious amusement of her husband? The secretary and the lady companion, who were introduced as M. Paschics and Mlle. Mirkovics, were stiff and silent, and appeared, no doubt unintentionally, to disapprove of what was going on; and, most unpardonable of all, Usk’s attention seemed to be devoted chiefly to his aunt, and not to his betrothed. It was not until tea was over, and the visitors had been shown to their rooms, that Félicia was able to mark her sense of his behaviour by refusing to come into the garden with him to see if there were any primroses out. Instead, she went upstairs with Maimie.
“Well!” she said, when they were in their own room, “I would like to know what’s come to all of the folks. Lady Cyril’s only a dowdy old thing after all, though her sables are too sweet for words, but they all treat her just like a queen.”
“And she is a queen,” said Maimie impatiently, “and her sables were given her by the Emperor of Scythia. She is Queen Ernestine of Thracia, who married Count Mortimer two years back, as Mr Hicks has told you time and time again, and her son, who comes here incognito to-morrow as Baron von Neuburg, is the King of Thracia. I meant you to marry him.”
“Land alive!” was all that Félicia could say.
“I wanted to make you an empress, and you threw away your chance,” went on Maimie bitterly. “And this time I was going to have you marry a king, and a week before he comes you conclude to get engaged to Usk!”
“Why, Maimie Logan, have you lost your mind?” cried Félicia, recovering herself. “You know we would never be let do it.”
“I know you just would, then. I could fix it.”
“Well, it’s too late now, and I don’t care, any way. Usk is a real good fellow, and his folks are just lovely. I’m on yet.”
“I do wonder how you’ll feel when you come to live way down in the country all of the year, and be out in the air mornings and afternoons and evenings. You’ll have a nice round contented face like the Jones girls by then, rosy-cheeked and blowsy and dairymaidish.”
“You needn’t be nasty.” Félicia went to the glass and examined her face with some anxiety, but the pure creamy pallor was not yet vulgarised by any touch of red. She laughed. “Not much harm done this far, Maimie. I’ll tell you when I’m tired of Usk, any way.”
“No, you won’t,” said Maimie calmly. “You’re tired of him already. It’s getting more and more of a trial to have him stick to you the way he does, but you let him do it just to make me mad. When you’re tired clear out, you can let me know.”
“And you can round up a few of the kings you keep on hand, and have me choose,” responded Félicia.
Now that her perplexity was at an end, Félicia was prepared to take full advantage of the situation. Queen Ernestine’s obvious difficulty in masquerading in the English household as a younger son’s wife afforded her a malicious amusement, and she could not pardon Usk for refusing to respond to the frequent glances she flashed at him. At the same time, she watched the royal lady narrowly, hoping to discover the source of the peculiarly dignified charm of manner which characterised her. Those who knew could have told Félicia that it was the outcome of a life of sadness and self-repression, crowned at last with a tardy happiness chastened by apprehension. Her own soul, however, was not sufficiently awake to note more than that the Queen seemed to do and say the right thing by instinct, and that the grace of her bearing was only equalled by her consideration for others. Knowing little of her story, Félicia was captivated by her personality—although the attraction was no bar to the entertainment she derived from seeing her in a false position—and she felt quite virtuously indignant when Maimie, by what seemed an unpardonable piece of gaucherie, brought a shadow into the beautiful changeful eyes.
It appeared as though a demon of mischief had taken possession of Maimie that evening. The secretary and Mlle. Mirkovics had discreetly excused themselves after dinner, leaving the family party alone, and the four elders were gathered by the fire, talking. Usk and Félicia occupied a three-cornered settee at a little distance—it was a piece of furniture Usk liked, because the form of the seat obliged him to turn round and rest his arm on the back, if he was to face Félicia in talking to her. Between the two groups, at a little table close to the standard lamp, sat Maimie, looking through the annual volume of an illustrated paper some twenty or thirty years old, which she had disinterred from the library for reasons best known to herself. Occasionally she interjected remarks into the conversation of the party by the fire, enjoying the delightful feeling that she was outraging all etiquette, and yet that no one could rebuke her. It happened that the talk turned upon the escapade of a young member of a German princely family, who had recently disappeared from his home, and was understood to have managed to join the forces opposed to Great Britain in a little war which was then raging.
“Well, now, that’s queer!” said Maimie. “Here in this old paper there’s a case of the same sort. Just listen: ‘In connection with the ill-fated Prince Joseph of Arragon, a view of whose yacht, the Claudine, we published a fortnight ago, a Vindobona correspondent sends us a romantic story. It is understood that the official accounts of the Prince’s voyage to the South Seas were merely a blind, and that his journey was in reality a flight, in which he was accompanied by a charming young lady of noble birth, whose musical performances have been the delight of Vindobona this winter. It is even rumoured that they were privately married. However this may be, it is certain that not only Fräulein von Lilienkranz, but her duenna, Frau Schlesinger, and the latter’s daughter Julie, who was her constant attendant, disappeared at the exact time that the Prince’s voyage was announced. The keenest interest was felt here as to the dénoûment of the romance which has been so tragically ended by the Australian billows——.’ Do tell, Fay!” Maimie broke off shrilly. “Julie Schlesinger! mightn’t that be my mother’s name? It caught my eye right away.”
“See if there’s a portrait,” suggested Félicia. “Maybe it was your mother in disguise, though I don’t just see how it works out.”
“No, there isn’t any. It says you couldn’t buy one in Vindobona—that either the Prince or his family had snapped all of them up, both of him and the lady, and destroyed them. There’s just the ship, two weeks back.”
Usk sprang up, as though to look at the picture, but when he was stooping over the book he whispered hastily, “Perhaps you don’t know that Prince Joseph was my aunt’s cousin?”
“Oh, I’m real sorry. How could I know?” Maimie whispered back, with a face of guileless innocence touched with anguish. Aloud, she made some remark about another picture on the same page, and Usk returned to his former seat. As he did so, he was struck by a certain alert look, which he knew well, on his uncle’s face. Félicia had turned her head when Maimie claimed her attention, and the lamplight fell full upon her profile, which was in a line with that of Queen Ernestine. Usk saw the two faces from one side, his uncle from the other, but at the same moment it flashed upon both of them that the profiles were extraordinarily alike. Lord Cyril cast a glance of calm scrutiny at his nephew, and resumed the conversation Maimie had interrupted. It was possible that he regarded the likeness as merely a coincidence, and Usk hoped this might be the case.
It might have seemed to strengthen this opinion that Lord Cyril made no remark to his nephew, but some hours later, when he looked into his wife’s boudoir, where she was spending a few minutes in chat with the sallow-faced lady-in-waiting, it was clear that he had not forgotten what he had seen.
“And what do you think of your niece that is to be, Ernestine?” he asked.
“She is very beautiful,” said the Queen, somewhat doubtfully, “but it does not seem to me that poor Usk has found her heart yet.”
“Perhaps she has none to find. What does Mlle. Mirkovics think?”
“Miss Steinherz has something of the grand air, though there is a want of repose in her manners,” was the temperate reply. “One would scarcely expect that in an American, perhaps. But she carries herself like a queen in her own right.”
“Every American woman is that by right of birth,” said Lord Cyril lazily. “Does Félicia’s face remind you of any one, Ernestine?”
“Oh, you have noticed it, then? The likeness haunted me all evening, until I happened to see her refusing to say good night to Usk. He had offended her in some way, and she would only let him kiss her hand. Then I saw a likeness to my aunt Claudine, who married the King of Cantabria. It was not a happy marriage, you know, Cyril, and her portrait has a look of haughty resignation about it—a kind of ‘scorn of scorn.’ It is only in profile that there is a likeness, for none of our family have that little rosebud mouth or those surprised eyebrows, and Félicia is much prettier than my aunt ever was.”
“It’s a curious coincidence,” said Cyril, apparently dismissing the subject as he left the room, but his mind was still busy with it. “There are more coincidences in the affair than this one, if I am not mistaken,” he said to himself. “There was that story which came out at the inquest, that the girl’s father was murdered by mistake for the Archduke Ferdinand Joachim. Come, this narrows it down. Weldart and Hohenstaufen! King Paul of Cantabria married a Weldart, and his mother was a Hohenstaufen. The girl shows no traces of Albret or Hohenstaufen features—happily for herself—but the Weldart look is very distinct, only fined and sharpened as European types so often are after a generation or two in America. Clearly, then, the deceased ‘Mr Steinherz’ was a son of Paul and Claudine. There were three of them. Ramon is still alive, as I know only too well. Florian died young—in somewhat discreditable circumstances, but he is indubitably dead. There remains the lost Joseph, and here, I think, we must look for the link. That shipwreck presents great possibilities. It looks a little fishy that Prince Joseph and his fair musician—oh, and the maid too, of course—should have contrived to escape when every one else on board was drowned. Was there collusion somewhere? I don’t see how or why the thing was worked. But perhaps they had trans-shipped before the end came? That’s more likely, and makes the whole thing credible. Well, Usk knows whatever there is to be known, and if I am at all acquainted with him, will make a clean breast of the whole matter to me at the earliest opportunity. Caerleon and Nadia know nothing, nor does the girl herself. She is too self-conscious to be a good actress. But the hanger-on—does she know? or was that artless discovery another coincidence? She also has possibilities. She allowed herself to be silenced by Usk, which she would hardly have done if she had been the brainless innocent she was impersonating for the moment. I am inclined to think she does know, and is keeping the thing dark for some reason of her own. What that may be is not apparent for the moment, but I think it is distinctly to the advantage of all concerned that silence should still be kept. To-morrow I shall probably hear what Usk thinks about it.”
The confidence which Cyril anticipated he received the next morning, when Usk and he were walking into Aberkerran. Queen Ernestine had invited her sister-in-law and the two girls to assist at the unpacking of a box of Eastern embroideries she had brought with her from her Syrian home, and Usk seized the opportunity of obtaining a private talk with his uncle, who had some telegrams to send off, and asking his advice. He told his tale as briefly as possible, anxious to make an end of a disagreeable task, and there were several points on which Cyril was obliged to seek further information by means of questions. When it was all clear in his mind, he walked on for a short time in silence.
“Is there anything you think I ought to do?” asked Usk at last.
“Do? What can you do? You are absolutely debarred from enlightening Félicia, as I understand, or even from informing any one else of the circumstances. Obviously, then, the only thing that practically concerns you is the marriage at St Mary Windicotes. That’s your starting-point. I suppose you didn’t think of running down there to look up the register before you went to America?”
“No; I had no opportunity.”
“Do it when you are next in town, and note especially whether there is that slip of paper pasted on the inside of the cover, or not. It is just possible that Steinherz père made up the whole story on the strength of his likeness to the Archduke, though I allow that would not account for Félicia’s profile. That marriage once established, you are safe in England and America, at any rate, for people know better than to inquire too curiously into the pedigree of heiresses from the States. Of course it would not hold for a moment in Pannonia. There you would have to take your stand on the quasi-ceremony which Steinherz devised to spite his chaplain. If he had lived, it would almost certainly have been annulled on an appeal to Rome by his family, but as he was otherwise disposed of, no doubt they thought the less fuss made the better. As it is, you see, the sole evidence for it is the word of a dead man, for the other witnesses would know better than to testify to it unless the Emperor directed them to open their lips.”
“But would it in any circumstance be valid?”
“It is the kind of marriage that may be either valid or invalid at the will of the families concerned. If it was to the advantage of the Albrets to consider it an ordinary morganatic marriage, they would condone Steinherz’s defiance, and probably induce the Emperor to confer a title of nobility on Félicia. Or if there was something really important at stake—for instance, if you took it into your head to revive your father’s claim to Thracia, and made yourself troublesome in the Balkans, and they found they must buy you off—they might even be brought to recognise the marriage as fully valid and regular, and declare Félicia a Princess of Arragon, just as a bribe to you to stay at home. It has been done, notably about two hundred years ago, in a case intimately connected with English history, but naturally, the consideration would have to be a large one. And on the other hand, if they see no advantage to them in the matter, they can deny the Pannonian marriage, and refuse to recognise the English one, and continue to give out officially that Prince Joseph was drowned off the Australian coast, however forcibly it may be proved to them that he wasn’t.”
“I’m glad to hear you say this, for I still feel sometimes as if I was keeping Félicia out of something that was her due.”
“You needn’t. By the bye, I suppose Hicks will come to England for your wedding, about this trustee-business? I should like to go through these proofs which he has in charge. If I am to be co-trustee, I must know where we stand. But I don’t think you need be afraid the thing will ever come out. You won’t haunt the Pannonian Court, I presume?”
“No, indeed!” said Usk fervently. “England for me!”
“If Félicia will allow it. Ah, that reminds me. Is the companion—the Logan girl—supposed to know all this?”
“Miss Logan? Certainly not. I don’t think anything would have induced Mr Steinherz to tell her.”
“Still, that is no bar to her having discovered the facts for herself. I believe she knows, but I don’t quite see what use she means to make of her knowledge. I could wish that King Michael was not coming here, though. Is it necessary to warn you not to let Félicia see too much of him?”
“I wouldn’t spy upon her on any account.”
“Quite unnecessary, if you stick to her as closely as you do now. No one else could get a word with her. But it’s just possible she may get a little tired of your constant vigilance.”
“There’s no vigilance in the matter,” said Usk warmly; “it’s simply that I like to be with her, of course. And if I didn’t think she liked it as much as I do, I’d—I’d try to keep away from her a little.”
“Don’t imagine that I am blaming you or assailing her. I think I have mastered the art of letting people be miserable in their own way. If you prefer to be unhappy with Miss Steinherz rather than without her, far be it from me to interfere, even though your taste may surprise me as much as my own wife’s does. I merely advise you to remember that Michael has a truly royal eye for a pretty face, and that Félicia may not know the exact value of compliments and asseverations from a man in his position.”
“What’s bringing him here?” growled Usk.
“Pecuniary difficulties, of course. The last Drakovics Ministry left the country plunged in debt, and old Mirkovics, who is as honest as the day, but no financier, made no attempt to retrench. He thought that anything spent on the army or on public works must be so much to the good, while the King felt it his duty to look after the beautifying of the capital and the formation of the public taste, and between them they’ve called down the thunderbolt which used to hang over our heads in the old days.”
“You mean they’ve encroached upon the interest due on the Scythian loan?”
“Encroached? They haven’t paid any interest for three years. Of course Scythia lay low and accepted their excuses with a pleased smile, and equally, of course, she is demanding the arrears now.”
“But what can they do?”
“Oh, Scythia is most willing to suggest terms—and conditions also. One of the conditions is a Scythian marriage for Michael, and the others would deliver Thracia over, bound hand and foot, to Scythian influence. Pannonia and Hercynia are not much inclined to help, having seen all their warnings disregarded, but they will hardly be able to remain passive in view of such a complete surrender. The problem of the moment is to secure their moral support without requiring them to advance the corresponding cash, and King Michael is coming here in the hope of solving it.”
“I see. He has got himself into difficulties, and expects you to get him out of them?”
“Quite so. As soon as he found himself in this fix, he telegraphed to request me to return and reorganise Thracia. It showed a touching faith in me; and once, no doubt, I could have done what he expects of me, but not now. All I can do is to go through his affairs, and give him the advice of an ordinary business man—no brilliant strokes at this time of day. I know he thinks I can raise the necessary money among my Jewish friends by my personal influence, but they have something else on hand.”
“But do you mean,” cried Usk indignantly, “that King Michael insisted on your coming back to Europe in spite of the risk, and that is why you are here?”
“You forget that he’s my wife’s son. It pleases his mother when he turns to me for help, and I am glad to do what I can for him. But I had other reasons for coming home. There is one of them.” He pointed to two men, armed with fishing-rods and baskets, who passed at the moment, saluting Usk with marked deference.
“But those are the detectives who are down here to look after King Michael,” said Usk. “The stout one comes from Scotland Yard, and is sent by our Government, and the other, who belongs to some private office, is employed by the Thracian Minister.”
“He may belong to any number of private offices, but he is employed by the Scythian Secret Police, and he is here to spy upon me.”
“And my father has given him free leave to go anywhere he likes on our land, and to fish, and so on, and he has taken up his quarters in the village!” cried Usk, aghast. “But we’ll soon kick him out.”
“I beg you won’t do anything of the kind. His presence here is a testimony to my former importance, which I find very soothing. Moreover, he is to be made useful. You saw those cipher telegrams I sent off just now? They all have to do with a Zionist scheme for making me Prince of Palestine, and while I am here I shall be continually having letters and telegrams and even visitors, all connected with the same thing.”
“But this fellow will be spying about and spoil everything.”
“He will see and report everything, for that is what he is meant to do, but he will spoil nothing. The whole thing is a blind, intended just to keep the spies busy, and the rank and file of the Children of Zion quiet, for fear of their doing something rash. The real plot is a very different matter. You may as well know the main idea. The United Nation Syndicate has been reconstituted, but its object is to be attained in a new way. So long as Scythia holds Jerusalem, the Jewish ideal is necessarily incapable of realisation. She cannot be dispossessed by force; can diplomacy do anything? Besides the Jews there is another very powerful body whose interest it is to get her out, and both these communities have fixed upon a certain person as able to do it if any one can. No; I am not the happy man. My part is merely to cover up his tracks.”
“But the risk!” cried Usk. “Why should you run into danger for the sake of this other man?”
“To do old friends a good turn, I suppose. Or perhaps, now that I can’t play the game myself, it’s the next best thing to see other people doing it well. Have you guessed who the man is? It’s Malasorte, the Neustrian Pretender. He is to be assisted to make himself emperor at last.”
“But I don’t see——How will that——?” Usk was unwontedly perturbed.
“The Jesuits will arrange things for him at home, the Jews abroad. Moral support and ready cash, the two indispensables again. In return for their help, he has promised the Jews to turn Scythia out of Palestine.”
“And what has he promised the Jesuits?”
“Ah, that I don’t know, and there, it seems to me, is the weak point. What if the Jesuits also want Jerusalem? If so, he may hand it over to the Jews first, and then kick them out of it for the benefit of the other lot. ‘Mala sorte, buona fede’ is the family motto, you know, but no one ever thinks of quoting it except as ‘Buona sorte, mala fede.’”
“But why do the Jews and the Jesuits both think so much of him?”
“He is a very unusual man, no one can doubt it. His enemies are fond of asserting that he is not a genuine Malasorte, but his likeness to Timoleon I. is enough to disprove that calumny. His father was in the Scythian service, and married a Greek lady, descended, of course, from the Byzantine Emperors. That gives him a great pull with the Orthodox, and he is a personal friend of the Emperor of Scythia, who is very much under his influence. He believes he can induce him to withdraw his troops from Palestine, and Goldberg and the rest believe it too. So he is to have his chance.”
“It’s awfully queer how things are mixed up,” said Usk. “Do you know this chap wanted to marry Félicia?”
“This same man—Timoleon Lucanor? Yes, I remember, he was military attaché at Washington. And why didn’t he?”
“Her father didn’t think his chances good enough, I fancy.”
“No; I think the blood of the Albrets rose against the parvenu, even then. But this is interesting, Usk. Could Malasorte have had any idea of Mr Steinherz’s secret? No, of course not. He would not have allowed himself to be choked off in that case. It was the money he was after, and he missed what would have been better to him than millions. Did Miss Logan approve of his suit, do you know?”
“Yes; Hicks said she pushed it all she knew.”
“And yet she didn’t tell him? It’s pretty clear, then, that whatever she knows she has learnt since. My dear Usk, you may thank your stars that I am a wretched crack-brained failure, if you want to keep your Félicia. There are the makings of a most tremendous plot lying about—infinite possibilities—and I can’t see how to put them together.”
CHAPTER VIII.
LOVE IN IDLENESS.
The arrival of Baron von Neuburg, otherwise King Michael of Thracia, did not add to the gaiety of the circle at the Castle. Scarcely more than a boy in years, his face was so curiously old that not only Usk but his father looked young beside him, and his manner was weary almost to the point of exhaustion.
“I don’t take much stock in kings generally,” Félicia remarked to Usk after the new-comer had been presented to her; “but for the sake of the rest I hope this one’s a bad sample.”
“He’s not a particularly good specimen, certainly. Aren’t his ways awfully riling?”
“Yes,” agreed Félicia; “that’s where the difference comes in between him and your uncle. Lord Cyril is just elegant. He has dipped into everything, and got pretty tired, but he don’t advertise the fact. The Baron has done it too, and parades his weariness, and that’s rude.”
“I’m glad you don’t care for him,” said Usk honestly. “He’s not—not the sort of fellow I should like to see you take to.”
“Don’t you know that by saying that you’re just daring me to be as sweet to him as I know how?”
“Oh, I know people say that sort of thing about women, but no nice woman would go and make up to a man of bad character simply because she was warned against him.”
“Then I’m a nice woman? Well, I guess you’ll expect me do something for you in return for that acknowledgment, and I’d admire to teach the Baron a lesson.”
“Not by way of breaking his heart, please.”
“Not while you’re around, any way. But I’d like to have him know what folks would think of him if he didn’t just happen to be a king.”
It is possible that Félicia set to work with all the more gusto that she was conscious of a personal injury at her introduction to the King. To her mind his look had expressed no recognition of the fact that he was being presented to a very beautiful woman. Maimie also had noticed this insensibility, and she commented upon it to Félicia, with a certain lack of tact.
“You see, Fay, he can just tolerate having you around as the future Lady Usk, but it’s quite beyond him to show any interest in an untitled American girl. She’s way down under his feet in the mud somewhere.”
“Well, I guess it’ll maybe interest him to know what the American girl thinks about him.”
“Don’t see how you’re going to have him feel it, any way. Say, Fay, Usk is real devoted, isn’t he? I’m glad you’ve taken him instead of the King now I’ve seen him, don’t you think! He’s solid good right through. He won’t ever have you find out anything new and unpleasant about him. Every day of his life he’ll come to meet you mornings with a flower, just as his father does to Lady Caerleon, and he’ll like nothing better evenings than sit alone with you and read the ‘Times’ out loud.”
“Guess I’ll fix things differently to that.”
“You’d better not. His way will save you a pretty good deal of trouble. He’ll like you to be the same all the time, just as he is. And so’s you’re just decently civil to him, he’ll never be ugly. It’s only with a man like the Baron you need to be smart, for you lose him if he’s away out of your sight a moment.”
“Well, I incline to think the Baron will need to be smart this next week.”
In all probability the Baron was of the same opinion before the week was over. He had come prepared to take the lead in the general conversation, even if he did not monopolise it, and nothing was further from his thoughts than that this little nobody of an American, whom the Caerleons had managed to pick up for Usk on account of her money, should take it upon herself to dispute his right. Young as he was, King Michael had already ruled so long that it seemed to him only natural to be the autocrat of any table at which he sat, and it was whispered that his meetings with other monarchs were few and far between, and also extremely short, by reason of this genial habit of mind. It was a tremendous shock to find himself called upon for explanations, laughed at for his choice of words, even contradicted, and all by a radiant being who flashed provoking glances at him from magnificent eyes, and having annihilated him, turned with irritating nonchalance to engage Usk in a low-toned conversation punctuated with soft looks.
To Usk himself these favours, thus publicly conferred, were the reverse of delightful. His hospitable soul was wounded by the treatment meted out to the guest, and he could not help feeling that it was bad form in Félicia to emphasise his own happier position at every opportunity. When he ventured to remonstrate, however, his only reward was a severe snubbing in private, for Félicia was not to be turned from her prey. Lord Cyril, to whom Lady Caerleon appealed in distress, laughed at the whole thing, and declared that Félicia’s scorn was the best possible tonic for his stepson. To have met her would be a liberal education for him, provided she continued the treatment to the end of his visit, and did not soften towards him for a moment. But there was no need for her to do this. It was enough for King Michael to notice the difference in her manner when she turned to Usk. When a rarely beautiful woman treats one man to nothing but gibes, and lavishes tenderness upon another who looks rather uncomfortable under the process, it is not in human nature not to wish to be in the other man’s place for once.
Maimie had been watching eagerly for the King to reach this point, but here she found herself at a standstill. All this time she had been cultivating the acquaintance of the aide-de-camp, Captain Andreivics, who had accompanied King Michael, and was introduced as his “friend.” She had picked his brains to such good purpose that she knew as much as he did of the King’s circumstances, and had gone far beyond him in the deductions she drew. He could not tell her exactly how the long hours were spent when the King and his stepfather were closeted every morning with vast piles of papers, but she knew. She could picture Cyril exposing pitilessly the extravagance, laxity, and corruption which had spread through every department of State since he had left Thracia, and indicating reforms and economies which would put matters straight if the present crisis could be tided over, but performing no miracle to provide the money urgently needed at the moment. It was from the aide-de-camp, however, that she heard how one morning the King dashed away the papers with the pettish remark, “Really, Count, your brain seems as strong as ever for all these absurd trivialities. Why is it that you refuse to return to Thracia and get me out of my difficulty?” and how the incisive answer flashed forth, “If my brain was as strong as ever, sir, I should not be busy with these trivialities. I should be holding the balance of power in Europe.” She knew that both Cyril and the King had reluctantly come to the conclusion that, failing the much-needed miracle, there was only one thing to be done. The King must journey homewards by way of the Riviera, where the Scythian Princess who had been proposed for his acceptance was sojourning. There was a bare hope that his apparent intention of falling in with the arrangement suggested by Scythia might alarm his Pannonian and Hercynian relations into some attempt to prevent the threatened surrender.
Maimie ground her teeth, metaphorically speaking, over this deadlock. There were Félicia’s millions, far more than sufficient to fill the yawning gulf, for the sum which could bring a Balkan State to bankruptcy was trivial in American eyes, and no one seemed to have thought of making use of them. The King, however much he might admire the girl of whose beauty he had at last become conscious, had not the slightest thought of marrying her, and Cyril would take no step to utilise those convenient millions, even if they ever occurred to him, because Félicia happened to be engaged to Usk. Maimie felt that she had no patience with Usk, who to the injury of existing added insult by hanging about Félicia so perpetually that the King had no opportunity of getting up a flirtation with her even if he desired it. If Usk would only run up to town for a day or two! but he remained in Félicia’s near neighbourhood as persistently as if he had known of Maimie’s designs and meant to thwart them. Captain Andreivics it was who returned to London two days before the time fixed for the King’s departure, and with no better excuse than the stereotyped one of “urgent business,” so that Maimie lost her cavalier.
At last, just when Maimie was gloomily revolving in her mind various desperate expedients for removing Usk from Félicia’s side, the motive force required was suddenly imparted from without. It came in the form of a letter from Mr Forfar, the Prime Minister, to Lord Caerleon, asking whether Usk was still thinking of entering Parliament. If so, he could do a great service to the party (to which the Marquis had always lent a loyal, if discriminating support, since his own entry on public life), by allowing himself to be adopted as the future candidate for a great Northern constituency. The sitting member was old and feeble, but had stoutly refused to tolerate the mention of a successor until recently, when a severe illness had given him a fright. He was now willing to allow a suitable “under-study” to be introduced to the party managers and make himself known in the constituency; and as the supporters of the Temperance cause were well organised and powerful, what more suitable candidate could be found than the son of the life-long Temperance champion? Neither Usk nor his father hesitated a moment in accepting the offer. The great banquet, at which Sir James Morrell had reluctantly undertaken to present his successor to the association which had so often shared with him the sweets of victory, was to take place two nights after the arrival of Mr Forfar’s letter, and there was no time to be lost. Usk dashed upstairs in high excitement to pack his bag, while his father went round to the stables himself to order the dogcart, and Lady Caerleon interviewed the cook on the subject of sandwiches. It never entered Usk’s mind that any one could dream he would let slip this long-desired opportunity, and he sent an eager message by Maimie begging Félicia, who was breakfasting in her own room, to drive to the station with him. When he came downstairs with his bag, however, he found her still in her “wrapper,” as she called the frilled and beribboned garment which Lady Caerleon always felt ought not to make its appearance outside a bedroom. Maimie had insisted on her getting up when she brought Usk’s message, and she was obliged to make a very hasty toilet, much to her disgust. She did not appear to suitable advantage, she felt, unless Pringle’s skilful fingers had proper time for their work.
“Why, Fay, aren’t you coming, then?” cried Usk, when he saw her.
“I guess not,” responded Félicia laconically.
“Well, you’ll wish me joy, won’t you? This is the beginning, you know.”
“Of what? The beginning of the end?”
“What do you mean?” Usk was too happy and too much excited to make any attempt to understand. “Why, it’s my chance at last—what we’ve talked of so often.”
“You have,” corrected Félicia. Then a transient gleam of brightness showed itself. “Canvassing, do you mean? Then I suppose we are all to trail you along?”
“Oh no, that would be a little previous,” laughed Usk. “I’m only going to be introduced to the party. There’s no election on at present.”
“I want to know! You’re leaving me this way just for an ordinary ward-meeting? and you don’t so much as ask me whether I choose to have you go?”
“Why in the world should I think you’d mind? I thought you would be delighted. Why, Fay!” in utter amazement, for Félicia was weeping delicately into a lace handkerchief.
“You said you loved me, and now you’re having the Baron—everybody—see how little you care for me. You just haven’t the very slightest consideration for my feelings!”
Dismayed and astounded, but still utterly puzzled as to the nature of his offence, Usk knelt down hastily by her chair, and alternately entreated her forgiveness and adjured her to tell him what he had done. With him it was a matter of course that the women of a household should send forth their men to the chances of war or politics with a brave face and words of cheer, and he could not conceive Félicia’s feeling hurt at not being consulted. He did not know that Maimie’s triumphant “Now you see just how much he thinks about you!” was rankling in her mind, and that she had set her heart on proving her power over him. When she consented at last to remove the handkerchief from her eyes, it was merely to intimate that he might consider himself forgiven if he did not go. Usk sprang to his feet.
“And lose this chance—give Forfar a slap in the face?” he cried in astonishment. “Why, Fay, you must be mad! You’re joking, aren’t you? You couldn’t possibly mean it.”
“I guess I mean exactly what I say. You’re telling me all the time how much you love me, but I can’t just seem to realise it.”
“You mean that you ask me in cold blood to give up this chance, disappoint my people, offend Forfar, just because—why, it’s for no reason at all!”
“I don’t ask you anything,” said Félicia, rising regally, and throwing him a glance over her shoulder. “I just tell you to do it.”
“Well, then, I won’t,” returned Usk, with equal candour; but as she swept towards the door he intercepted her, breaking into a laugh, “Why, Fay, for the moment I thought you meant it. What a gorgeous scene we have been making over nothing at all! Now you don’t leave this room until you say you’re sorry, and signify the same in the usual manner. There! I’m getting quite a public speaker already.”
“It’s a pity if your future audiences don’t appreciate you better than the present one,” said Félicia coldly. “Kindly allow me pass. If you don’t choose to consult my wishes—well, you’re not the only man in the world, any way.”
“Now it would serve you right if I kept you here until you gave in,” said Usk, “but I hear my father tramping up and down in furious anxiety about the train. I’ll settle this little matter with you when I come back, but any token of penitence in the shape of a letter will receive due consideration. And—just that you mayn’t make yourself miserable thinking I’m angry with you—there! and there! and as many more assurances of pardon as you like.”
He ran along the corridor, still laughing, and Félicia returned angrily to her own room. It was the laughter that annoyed her. Even if Usk had refused to yield, he ought to have taken her objection seriously. He was so sure of her that he thought he could afford to laugh at her, was he? Very well; it might be advisable to show him that he need not be quite so sure.