Devil's Dice
Page 12
had ingeniously arranged with her sisterto return to Eaton Square in a cab, and then drive home in the carriage,as if she had been spending the whole evening with Mabel.
We laughed, and as I sat gazing at her, memories of Sybil, the woman Ihad loved and lost, crowded upon me. Even though Lady Stretton'sconsent was withheld, they were nevertheless happy in each other's love.The love-look upon their faces told me how intense was the passionbetween them, and I envied my friend his happiness. Dora was indeed ascharming to the sight as eyes could desire. Her bare shoulders, wellset-off by her black bespangled dress trimmed with pale-green chiffon,were a trifle narrow, but that lent her a childish grace, and it was theone fault that could be found with her; all the rest was perfect, andthe greatest charm of all that, unlike her sister, she was totallyunconscious of her loveliness.
In the warm atmosphere of their love and confidence their characters hadunfolded, and they had learned to know one another perfectly. Jack,although he held a world-wide reputation for keen analysis of characteron paper, had been amazed at all the delicate susceptibilities cherishedin Dora's heart, at the freshness and innocent pleasures of which it wascapable, and not a little at the vein of malicious fun he had whollyunsuspected.
I sat silent while they chatted, reflecting upon the strange discoveryof the photograph of my lost love, and the more remarkable encounterthat afternoon, I had called on Jack for the purpose of making a cleanbreast of the whole affair, but Dora's arrival precluded me from sodoing. My sorrow, however, lost none of its bitterness by keeping, andI resolved to return to him on the morrow, show him the portraits, andask his advice.
Jack had been admiring her gown, and the conversation had turned uponthe evergreen topic of dress. But she spoke with the air of aphilosopher rather than of a Society girl.
"Everyday life needs all the romance that can be crowded into it," shesaid. "Dress, in my opinion, is a duty to ourselves and to others--is apiece of altruism unsoured by sacrifice, a joy so long as it may last towearer and beholder, doing good openly nor blushing to find itselffamous."
"Your view is certainly correct," I said, smiling at her sedate littlespeech. "You are a pretty woman, and without committing yourself toaffectation or eccentricity, you may choose the mode that shall bestbecome you, whether born of Worth's imagination or founded on somepicturesque tradition. You may be severe or splendid, avenante orrococo, with equal impunity."
"Really you are awfully complimentary, Mr Ridgeway," she answered, withjust the faintest blush of modesty. "You are such a flatterer that onenever knows whether you are in earnest."
"I'm quite in earnest, I assure you," I said. "Your dresses always suityou admirably. On any other woman they would look dowdy."
"I quite endorse Stuart's opinion," said Jack with enthusiasm. "Inwriting it is often my misfortune to be compelled to describe femininehabiliments, therefore I've tried to study them a little. It seems tome that the ball-dress may be festal, the dinner-dress majestic, and theoutdoor frock combine the virtues of both; but romance must alwayscentre in the tea-gown. Before the advent of the tea-gown, the indoorstate of woman was innocent of comfort and beggared of poetry."
"Yes," she replied, clasping her hands behind her head and looking up athim with her soft brown eyes, "the tea-gown is always ingenuous insentiment and not wanting in charm, even though its hues may be odiousor sickly. Once it was looked upon with disfavour as a garment toograceful to be respectable, and stern parents, I believe, forbade itsuse. But time, taste, and the sense of fitness have put Puritanism toshame, and the useful tea-gown; bears witness now to our proficiency inthe long-lost art of living."
Her reference to stern parents caused me to refer to what Mabel had toldme regarding the attitude of her mother.
"Ah! I remember that you were discussing it when I interrupted you as Icame in," she said frankly. "Ma wants me to make a rich marriage, it istrue, but I love Jack, and I'm determined not to have any other man.I've seen enough of the tragedy of rich unions."
"I know you are true to me, Dora," my old friend said, grasping herhand, and looking into her eyes as he stood beside her chair. "I'vewaited all day expecting a note from you, for I felt confident you wouldwrite or see me after last night's scene."
"Don't refer to that again," she said quickly, putting up her littlehand as if to arrest his words. "It was too cruel of Ma to speak as shedid. She tried to wound my feelings, because I told her I would marrythe man of my own choice. She wants me to be smart, with a penchant forflirtation, like Mabel," and her lips quivered with emotion.
"If you marry me, darling," he said, with an utter disregard for mypresence, "I will strive to provide you with fitting supplies, but ifyou were poorer than Mabel you would at least love your husband dearlyand be his idol."
"I do not doubt it, Jack," she answered, her love-darting eyes fixedearnestly upon his. "I love no man but yourself."
"Then nothing shall part us, dearest--nothing," he declared.
I sat gazing into the fire, thinking of some excuse whereby I mightleave them alone. The memories of my own love were too vivid, and thispassionate scene was to me painful. Alas! all that remained of theashes of my own romance was the photograph in my pocket. I had not tornaside the veil of mystery that had surrounded Sybil; I did not even knowher true name.
"Stuart, old fellow, you will excuse us speaking in this manner," myfriend said apologetically. "If you had ever loved you would know thedepths of our feelings in this hour when estrangement seems probable."
If I had ever loved! The thought was galling. Was he taunting me?
"Ill go," I stammered, stifling with difficulty a sob that very nearlyescaped me. "Though your exchange of confidences may be made before me,your old friend, without fear of their betrayal, it is best that youshould be alone," and stretching forth my hand I bade Dora adieu.
"No, don't go, Mr Ridgeway," she exclaimed concernedly. "As children,you and I often played at being lovers. When I was a child you werelike a big brother, and I confess I then admired you. I regard you nowas Jack's firm and sincerest friend--as my own friend."
"I am gratified by your esteem," I said; "that you both may be happy ismy heartfelt desire. If I can be of any assistance to Jack or toyourself, command me."
"We--we may want assistance," she said. Then she paused, plainlystopped by the beating of her heart, for her breast rose and fellconvulsively as tears forced themselves up to her long eyelashes.
Bethune was leaning over her. The light of those brown eyes, seenthrough the bright brimming tears, affected him in a manner strange andtouching.
"If we ask Stuart to help us I know he will do all in his power," heassured her. "Ours must be a secret marriage if her ladyship will notconsent. Do you trust me?"
"Implicitly, Jack. I trust you because--because I love you."
"Then after all I have no need to be jealous of Gilbert Sternroyd," thesoldier-novelist said smiling.
"Gilbert Sternroyd!" I cried amazed. "Who is Gilbert Sternroyd?"
"Dora will answer your question," my friend replied.
I looked eagerly at her, and her eyes met mine with a look full ofsurprise and mild reproach.
"He admires me, and because he is wealthy, Mabel has suggested that amarriage is possible," she answered.
"He admires you!" I echoed. "Who is he? what is he?"
With some surprise she regarded me, perhaps alarmed at the fierce mannerin which I had demanded an explanation.
"I really know very little except that his income is fabulously large,and that he is regarded by many mothers as a substantial matrimonialprize," she replied, adding, "I really don't know his--well, I--"
"Suppose we go into the next room," Jack interposed, evidently to hideDora's embarrassment. "There is a piano there, although I'm afraidyou'll find it sadly out of tune."
"A piano! I really can't play to-night."
"Oh, but you must," I said laughing. "Remember, you came here to spendthe evening, and th
e penalty for coming to a man's chambers is to bringbrightness to his life."
We had both risen. With seeming reluctance she also rose, and togetherwe went into an adjoining room, well furnished with a few handsomepieces of old oak, a quantity of bric-a-brac, and many strange arms andcurios which their owner had picked up in out-of-the-way corners of theworld.
The apartment was half dining-room, half drawing-room, with darkupholstered chairs, the walls papered a dull red, the effect of thewhole being so severe that the shaded lamps seemed to cast no radiancearound, but to die out like water drunk up