The Ladies Lindores. Volume 1 of 3

"I am so sorry you are not well," he said. "The fact is, it is London, Lady Lindores. I know your complaint, for it is mine too. Was there ever anything so irrational as to carry on this treadmill as we all do – you out of a wholesome country life, no doubt, and I out of a wandering existence, always in the open air, always in motion? What do we do it for? Lady Edith, tell me, what do we do it for? – I am asking everybody. Half of it would be very well, you know, but the whole of it is purgatory. I am sure that is your opinion. Is it merely fashion, or is it something in our nature which requires extravagance in all we do – "

"There is not much extravagance in what we do habitually," said Lady Lindores, "which perhaps makes this outbreak of activity less alarming to us. It is a change; and as for Edith, this is virtually her first season – "

"I thought it was your first season," cried the little Marquis. "I knew it must be so." This he said with decision, as if in triumph over some adversary. "There is a look which one is never deceived in. I have seen all my sisters come out, so I am quite an authority. They get to look at things quite in another way; they get so knowing, as bad – as I am myself," the youth added in perfect good faith, with a serious look upon his infantile countenance, and a lisping utterance which gave point to the speech. Lord Millefleurs, though he did not need to study appearances, was yet aware of the piquancy of the contrast between his round childlike countenance and the experience of his talk.

"I should not have thought you were so bad," said Edith, beguiled into smiling. "I think you look as if you were in your first season too – "

"Oh, bad – Bohemian, a waif and a stray," said Millefleurs; "you cannot think what an abandoned little person I was, till Beaufort took me in hand. You knew Beaufort, abroad somewhere? So he tells me. How lucky for him to be able to renew such an acquaintance! I need not tell you what a fine fellow he is – he has made me quite a reformed character. Do not laugh, Lady Edith; you hurt my feelings. You would not laugh if I were a coal-heaver addressing a meeting and telling how wicked I had been."

"And have you really been so wicked? You do not look so," said Edith, who, amused in spite of herself, began to get used to the grave countenance of Beaufort, seated on the other side of the table. Both the ladies were grateful to Millefleurs, who chattered on, and gave them time to recover themselves.

"No," he said, "that is what makes it so funny, they all tell me. I am a wolf in sheep's clothing; at least I was – I was, until Beaufort took me in hand. At present I am good, as good as gold. I get up early, and go to bed – when I can. I go out to three parties every night, and stand about at everybody's receptions. I even pay calls in the morning. I shall go to a levee soon – I know I shall," he said, in an accent of deep conviction. "Can you think of anything more virtuous than that?"

"And what has your Bohemianism consisted in, Lord Millefleurs?"

"Good heavens!" said the self-accused, "do you venture to ask me, Lady Edith? – everything that is dreadful. For months I never wrote a letter, for months I never had a penny. It was the best fun in the world. The sting of being poor is when you can't help it. I believe, for my part, that the most luxurious condition in this world is when you know you can be well off at any moment, and yet are half starving. No, I never was half starving. I worked with these hands;" and he held out a pair of plump, delicate, pink-tinged hands, not without a little vanity. "To feel that it's quite a chance whether you have ever any dinner again, to be altogether uncertain how you're to get shelter for the night – and yet to be quite sure that nothing dreadful can happen to you, that at the worst you can always 'draw a bugle from your side,' and be surrounded by 'five-and-thirty belted knights,' – I assure you it is the most delightful excitement in the world."

It was impossible to resist this baby-faced and lisping adventurer. The mother and daughter both yielded to his fascinations. The conversation became more and more animated and amusing. At the other end of the table they were not by any means so cheerful; but Lord Lindores beheld with a satisfaction far more solid than any sort of amusement, the result of his experiment. Edith, who had been pale and distraite, doing herself no sort of justice, when they sat down at table, had roused up, and was now bright and responsive, interested in all that was being said to her. And Millefleurs, it was evident, was enjoying himself thoroughly. Two such women giving their full attention to him, listening to all his adventures – which were neither few nor small – was enough to raise him to the height of satisfaction. Lord Lindores talked very rationally and agreeably to the lady next him, but it was with an effort that he caught her not very brilliant remarks, so much interested was he in what was going on at the other end of the room. As for Rintoul, he gave himself up to his dinner. Things were going as well as possible, he thought; and though Millefleurs was a little Bohemian, he was the heir of a Duke, and could do no wrong.

It was thus that Lady Lindores was beguiled almost to forget the other guest at the table, whose coming had affected her so deeply. Her interest was easily excited, and the little Marquis was delightful. And it was not till she had returned to the comparative quiet of the drawing-room that the recollection of Beaufort came back to her. Much of the danger seemed over. It would be over altogether in another hour, and the tremor in her mind was not so all-pervading as when she first saw his familiar face approaching. But she was not to get over her ordeal so easily. When the gentlemen came up-stairs, Beaufort came at once towards her. He stood in front of her for a moment, as if claiming his right to be heard, shutting everybody else out. She felt a sort of fascination in his gaze, and could make no attempt to begin any conversation. Her tremor returned: she looked up wistfully at him without anything to say, clasping and unclasping in unspoken appeal her unsteady hands.

"It is a long time since we have met," he said at length.

"Yes – it is a long time, Mr Beaufort."

"And many things have happened since that time."

She raised her clasped hands a little from her lap in mute entreaty, and made no other reply; but it did not occur to her – what was the case – that he was quite as much excited as she was, and did not notice her agitation, being so fully occupied with his own.

"I hope – that all of your family are – well: and happy, Lady Lindores."

"Very well. Mr Beaufort, I know that there is much that must have seemed strange and cruel to you. How can I speak of it now? It is impossible to explain."

He paused a little, replying nothing. Then he said suddenly, "If you would let me come and talk to you – talk of everything – I should feel it a great kindness – when I could see you alone."

She put out her hands now in sudden alarm and deprecation. "Mr Beaufort, it could do no good, it would be very painful. Do not ask me to do it. For me it would be a terrible ordeal – and no advantage to you."

"I think it would be an advantage," he said gently.

Again she clasped her hands, imploring forbearance. "I do not wish to try to justify – but after so long a time – is it right, is it kind, do you think, to press me so?"

"Let me come and talk to you," he said; "you need not fear my reproaches. May not I know how it was, how it came about? I will not complain. How can I cease to be interested, if that were all? Let me come and talk to you – let me know how it was."

Lady Lindores did not know what to answer or how to hide her emotion. She was trying to form an evasive answer with lips that faltered, when suddenly her husband came to her relief.

"I should not have expected you to have had part in adventures such as I hear Millefleurs relating. Where was he really when you picked him up?" said Lord Lindores.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME