you,Gilbert?"
"Never," he answered, grinning.
"With one exception," she observed with mock gravity. "Yourself, youmean?" he drawled, twirling his flaxen moustache and smiling.
"Certainly not," she cried with feigned indignation. "How dare youattempt to be complimentary at my expense? No, if I remember arightthere was one woman who in your eyes was a veritable angel, who--"
"Ah!" he said gravely, in a tone quite natural and unaffected. "Yes,you are right. There was one woman." And he sighed as if painfulmemories oppressed him.
One woman! Did he allude to Sybil? If so, it was apparent that Mabelmust be well aware of his acquaintance with the woman I had loved.Silent I sat while the conversation quickly turned from grave to gay, asit always did when the Countess chattered.
Suddenly, as we were passing into Piccadilly, it became impressedvividly upon my mind that they were hiding some secret from me. Twoprominent facts aroused within me suspicion that their conversation wasbeing carried on in order to mislead me. The first was, that although Ihad asked them what had brought them to Radnor Place neither of them hadgiven any satisfactory reply; the second was, that although Sternroydmust have been associated in some mysterious way with that silent houseto which the photographs had been sent, he had made no allusion whateverto it, nor did he make any observation when he noticed my dismay atdiscovering it untenanted.
It was evident some secret understanding existed between them, and themore I reflected upon it the more probable did it appear that they hadactually called at this house, and had only just left it when I arrived.In order to ascertain my object in visiting it, and to learn the extentof my knowledge regarding it, the Countess had greeted me with her usualgaiety, and was now carrying me triumphantly back. I had, of course, noproof; nevertheless, I had an intuition, strange and distinct, that inclose concert with my dead love's whilom friend, Sternroyd, she wasplaying a deep mysterious game with considerable tact and consummateingenuity. But she was a most remarkable woman. Always brilliant andfascinating, always sparkling with wit and bubbling with humour, she wasthoroughly unconventional in every respect. Society had long ago ceasedto express surprise at any of her eccentric or impetuous actions. Sheheld licence from Mother Grundy to act as, she pleased, for was she notadmitted on all hands to be "the smartest woman in London?" She had awatchful confidence not only in a multitude of men, but in a multitudeof things.
She dropped me outside the New Lyric Club, close to Piccadilly Circus,not, however, before she had expressed regret at Dora's unhappiness.
"What has occurred?" I asked concernedly.
"Oh! there has been a terrible upset at home about Jack Bethune," sheanswered. "I've done my level best with Ma, but she absolutely forbidsJack to pay his addresses to Dora."
"Because, as you have already told me, she wants her to marry a man shecan never love," I said gravely.
"Yes," she said hurriedly. "But here's your club. Captain Bethune iscertain to tell you all about it. Goodbye! I shall be at LadyHillingdon's to-morrow night, then we'll resume our chat."
"Good-bye!" I said, alighting and grasping her hand; then as thecommissionaire swung the club door open her companion raised his hat andthe carriage was driven rapidly away.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
SECRET UNDERSTANDING.
Idle memory shortens life, or shortens the sense of life, by linking theimmediate past clingingly to the present. In this may be found one ofthe reasons for the length of time in our juvenile days and the brevityof the time that succeeds. The child forgets, habitually, gayly, andconstantly. Would that I had never acquired the habit of recall!
Jack, in a well-worn velvet lounge coat, was seated at his writing-tableabsorbed in his work when I entered, a couple of hours after I had leftMabel. His small den, lined with books, contained but little furniturebeyond the big oak writing-table in the window, a heavy old-fashionedhorse-hair couch, and several easy chairs. Littered with newspapers,books, magazines, and those minor worries of an author's life,press-cuttings, the apartment was nevertheless snug, the bright fire andthe green-shaded reading lamp giving it a cosy appearance.
"Halloa, old chap!" he cried, throwing down his pen gayly and rising togrip my hand. "So glad you've looked in. Have a weed?" and as weseated ourselves before the fire he pushed the box towards me.
"I met Mabel to-day," I said at last, after we had been chatting andsmoking for some minutes.
"Did you? Well? What's the latest fad? Teas for poor children,bicycling, golf, old silver, or what?"
"She's much concerned regarding Dora," I answered. "And she has hintedthat there are strained relations between Dora's mother and yourself.I've come to hear all about it."
He hesitated, tugging thoughtfully at his moustache.
"There's not very much to tell," he replied, rather bitterly. "The oldlady won't hear of our marriage. When I mentioned it yesterday she wentabsolutely purple with rage, and forbade me to enter her house again, orhold any further communication with the woman I love."
"Which you will disregard, eh? Have you seen Dora to-day?"
"No. I've been waiting at home all day expecting a note, but none hasarrived," he said disappointedly; adding, "Yet, after all, there is nodisguising the fact, old chap, that I really haven't enough money tomarry a girl like Dora, and perhaps the sooner I recognise the truth andgive up all hope of marriage, the better for us both."
"No, no. Don't take such a gloomy view, Jack," I said sympathetically."Dora loves you, doesn't she?"
"Yes. You know well enough that I absolutely adore her," he answeredwith deep earnestness.
I had known long ago that his avowed intention had been never to marry.Until he became noted as a novelist his periods of life in town had beenfew and fleeting. Not that he felt awkward or ill at ease in society;his name was a passport, while his well-bred ease always insured him aflattering welcome; but for the most part Society had no charm for him.Sometimes, when among his most intimate friends, he would give the reinsto his high spirits, and then, gayest of the gay, he would have smoothedthe brow of Remorse itself. Private theatricals, dinner-parties,dances, or tennis-matches, he was head and front of everything. Thensuddenly he would receive orders to remove with his regiment to anothertown, and good-bye to all frivolity--he was a cavalry officer again, andno engagement had power to keep him.
If he ever made any impression on the fair sex, he had remainedunscathed himself until a few months ago, and the eagerness with whichhe obeyed each call to duty had been proof of the unfettered state ofhis heart. His ardent love for his profession was, he used to be fondof declaring, incompatible with domestic life. "The first requisite fora good officer," he had told me dozens of times, "is absolute freedomfrom all ties;" but now, having entered the profession of letters andhaving discovered the power of the pen, he had paid Dora Stretton achivalrous attention that had developed into ardent and passionatedevotion. She was his goddess; he worshipped at her shrine.
"Well, having received the maternal conge, what do you intend doing?" Iinquired after a long silence.
"What can I do?" he asked despondently, gazing sadly into the fire. "Ilove her with all my heart and soul, as you are aware, yet what can Ido?"
"Why, marry her all the same," cried a musical voice gayly, and as weboth jumped up, startled, we were surprised to find Dora herselfstanding in the doorway, laughing at our discomfiture.
"You!" cried Jack, gladly rushing forward and grasping her hand. "Howdid you get in?"
"I forbade your woman to announce me, because I wanted to surprise you,"she laughed. "But I--I had no idea that Mr Ridgeway was with you. Sheought to have told me," she added, blushing.
"I'm surely not such a formidable person, am I?" I asked.
"Well, no," she answered. Then looking round the little book-lined roomrather timidly, she said, "I don't know that I ought to have come here,but I wanted to see Jack. I'm supposed to be at Mabel's, dining. Idrove there in the broug
ham, and then came along here in a cab."
"Won't you sit down?" her lover asked. "Now you are here we must tryand make you as cosy as possible, providing you'll excuse theBohemianism of my quarters."
"Why apologise, Jack?" she asked, as he unclasped her cape, revealingher handsome dinner-dress cut a trifle decollete. "If Ma will not letus meet openly, then we must see each other surreptitiously."
"Well spoken," I exclaimed, laughing, and when she had seated herself inJack's arm chair, with her little satin shoes placed coquettishly uponthe fender, she told us how she
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