did not know her."
He was perfectly clear in his head now, but the pain in it was racking.He tried not to think, but in vain. Clearer, and yet more clearly,stood out before his mind's eye the strange drama of that afternoon.And the more he thought of it, the more he looked at it, approaching itfrom every side, the more incapable he became of explaining Miss Ford'sextraordinary conduct. The indignation which had at first blotted outalmost all other feeling gradually gave way to his extreme perplexity.
"She had no sort of grounds for speaking to me as she did," hereflected. "Accusing me vaguely of unworthy motives--what _could_ shemean?" Then a new idea struck him. "Some one has been makingmischief," he thought: "that must be it, though what and how, I cannotconceive. Gertrude Englewood would not do it intentionally--but still--I saw that she was changed to me. I shall have it out with her. Afterall, I hope Madeline's letter _has_ gone."
And a vague, very faint hope began to make itself felt that perhaps,after all, all was _not_ lost. If _she_ had been utterly misled abouthim--if--
He drew a deep breath, and looked round. It was the very sweetestmoment of a summer's day existence, that at which late afternoon beginssoftly and silently to fade into early evening. There was an almostSabbath stillness in the air, a tender suggestion of night's reluctantapproach, and from where Despard sat the white headstones of some gravesin the ancient churchyard were to be seen among the grass. The man feltstrangely moved and humbled.
"If I could hope ever to win her," he thought, "I feel as if I had it inme to be a better man--I am not _all_ selfish and worldly, Maisie--surely not? But what has made her judge me so cruelly? It is awful toremember what she said, and to imagine what sort of an opinion she musthave of me to have been able to say it. For--no, that was _not_ mycontemptible conceit--" and his face flushed. "She _was_ beginning tocare for me. She is too generous to have remembered vindictively myinsolence, for insolence it was, at the first. Besides, she saidherself that she had been getting to like and trust me as a friend.Till to-day--has the change in her all come from what I said to-day? Nogirl can despise a man for the fact of his caring for her--what can itbe? Good heavens, I feel as if I should go mad!"
And he wished that the pain in his head, which had somewhat subsided,would get worse again, if only it would stop his thinking.
But just then came the sound of wheels. In another moment Mrs Selby'spony-carriage was in sight. Despard got off his stile, and walkedslowly down the road to meet her.
"So you faithless--" she began--for, to tell the truth, she had notattached much credence to the story which had reached her of thefrightful headache--but she changed her tone the moment she caught sightof his face. "My poor boy, you do look ill!" she exclaimed. "I am sosorry. I would have come away at once if I had known."
"It doesn't matter," Despard replied, as he got into the carriage; "butdid you not get my message?"
"Oh, yes; but I thought it was just that you were tired and bored. Whatin the matter, dear Despard? You don't look the least like yourself."
"I fancy it was the sun this morning," he said.
"But it's passing off, I think."
Madeline felt by no means sure that it was so.
"I am so sorry," she repeated, "and so vexed with myself. Do you knowwho the young man was that gave me your message?"
Despard shook his head.
"It was Mr Conrad Fforde, Lord Southwold's nephew and heir--heir atleast to the title, but to little else."
"So I should suppose," said Norreys indifferently.
"The Southwolds are very poor."
"How queer that he knew your name if you have never met him before,"said Mrs Selby. "But I dare say it's through the Flores-Carters;they're such great friends of mine, you know, and they are staying atLaxter's Hill as well as the Southwold party."
"Yes," Despard agreed, "he had evidently heard of you."
"And of you too in that case. People do so chatter in the country. TheCarters are dying to get you there. They have got the Southwolds topromise to go to them next week. They--the Carter girls--are perfectlywild about Lady Margaret. I think it would be better taste not to makeup to her so much; it does _look_ as if it was because she was what sheis, though I know it isn't really that. They get up these fits ofenthusiasm. And she is very nice--not _very_ pretty, you know, butwonderfully nice and unspoilt, considering."
"Unspoilt," repeated Despard. He was glad to keep his sister talkingabout indifferent matters. "I don't see that poor Lord Southwold'sdaughter has any reason to be spoilt."
"Oh, dear yes--didn't you know? I thought you knew everything of thatkind. It appears that she is a tremendous heiress; I forget thefigures. The fortune comes from her aunt's husband. Her mother's eldersister married an enormously wealthy man, and as they had no children ornear relations on his side, he left all to this girl. Of course she andher father have always known it, but it has been kept very quiet. Theyhave lived in the country six months of the year, and travelled theother six. She has been most carefully brought up and splendidlyeducated. But she has never been `out' in society at all till thisyear."
"I never remember hearing of them in town," said Despard.
"Oh, Lord Southwold himself never goes out. He is dreadfully delicate--heart-disease, I think. But she--Lady Margaret--will be heard of _now_.It has all come out about her fortune now that he has come into thetitle. His cousin, the last earl, only died two months ago."
"And," said Despard, with a strange sensation, as if he were listeningto some one else speaking rather than speaking himself, "till he cameinto the title, what was he called? He was the last man's cousin, yousay?"
"Yes, of course; he was Mr Fforde--Fforde with two `f's' and an `e,'you know. It's the family name of the Southwolds. That young man--theone you spoke to--is Mr Conrad Fforde, as I told you. They say that--"
But a glance at her brother made her hesitate.
"Despard, is your head worse?" she asked anxiously.
"It comes on by fits and starts," he replied. "But don't mind; go onspeaking. What were you going to say?"
"Oh, only about young Mr Fforde. They say he is to marry LadyMargaret; they are only second cousins. But I don't think he looks goodenough for her. She seems such a womanly, nice-feeling girl. We hadjust been introduced when Mr Fforde came up with your message, and shewanted him to go back to you at once. But he said you would be gonealready, and I--well, I didn't quite believe about your head being sobad, and perhaps I seemed very cool about it, for Lady Margaret reallylooked quite vexed. Wasn't it nice of her? The Carters had beentelling her about us evidently. I think she was rather disappointed notto see the famous Despard Norreys, do you know? I rather wonder younever met her this summer in town, though perhaps you would scarcelyhave remarked her just as Miss Fforde, for she isn't--"
But an exclamation from Despard startled her.
"Maddie," he said, "don't you understand? It _must_ be she--she, thisLady Margaret--the great heiress! Good heavens!"
Mrs Selby almost screamed.
"Despard!" was all she could say. But she quickly recovered herself."Well, after all," she went on, "I don't see that there's any harm done.She will know that you were absolutely disinterested, and surely thatwill go a long way. But--just to think of it! Oh, Despard, fancy yoursaying that you half thought she was going to be a governess! Oh, dear,_how_ extraordinary! And I that was so regretting that you had not mether! What a good thing you did not--I mean _what_ a good thing that myletter showing your ignorance was written and sent before you knew whoshe was! Don't you see how lucky it was?"
She turned round, her eyes sparkling with excitement and eagerness. Butthere was no response in Mr Norreys' face; on the contrary, itsexpression was such that Mrs Selby's own face grew pale with dread.
"Despard," she said, "why do you look like that? You are not going tosay that now, because she is an heiress--just because of _money_," witha tone of supreme contempt, "that you will
give it up? You surely--"
But Mr Norreys interrupted her.
"Has the letter gone, Maddie?"
She nodded her head.
"Then I must write again at once--myself--to Gertrude Englewood to makeher promise on her honour never to tell what you wrote. Even if Ithought she would believe it--and I am not sure that she would--I couldnever allow myself to be cleared in her eyes _now_."
Madeline stared at him. Had the sunstroke affected his brain?
"Despard," she said, "what do you
That Girl in Black; and, Bronzie Page 9
