"Yes." And something in his tone made Lesley change the subject hurriedly. Captain d.u.c.h.esne would never have been so ill-bred as to speak disparagingly of a lady's father to her face; and yet she felt that there was something disparaging in the tone.

"Have you seen the present Lord Courtleroy?" she asked.

"Yes; I have met him once or twice. He is somewhat stiff and rigid in appearance, but he is very courteous--more than courteous, Lady Alice tells me, for he is kind. He wishes to disturb her as little as possible--entreats her to stay at Courtleroy, and so on; but naturally she wishes to have a house of her own."

"Of course. But I thought that she would prefer the South of France."

"If I may say so without offence," said Captain d.u.c.h.esne, smiling, "Lady Alice's tastes seem to be changing. She used to love the country and inveigh against the ugliness of town; but now she spends her time in visiting hospitals and exploring Whitechapel----"

Lesley almost sprang to her feet. "Oh, Captain d.u.c.h.esne, are you in earnest?"

"Quite in earnest."

"Oh, I _am_ so glad!"

"Why, may I ask?" said d.u.c.h.esne, with real curiosity. But Lesley clasped her hands tightly together and hung her head, feeling that she could not explain to a comparative stranger how she felt that community of interests might tend to a reconciliation between the long separated father and mother. And in the rather awkward pause that followed, Miss Ethel Kenyon was announced.

Lesley was very glad to see her, and glad to see that she looked approvingly at Captain d.u.c.h.esne, and launched at once into an animated conversation with him. Lesley relapsed almost into silence for a time, but a satisfied smile played upon her lips. It seemed to her that Captain d.u.c.h.esne's dark eyes lighted up when he talked to Ethel as they had not done when he talked to _her_; that Ethel's cheeks dimpled with her most irresistible smile, and that her voice was full of pretty cadences, delighted laughter, mirth and sweetness. Lesley's nature was so thoroughly unselfish, that she could bear to be set aside for a friend's sake; and she was so ingenuous and single-minded that she put no strained interpretation on the honest admiration which she read in Harry d.u.c.h.esne's eyes. It may have been partly in hopes of drawing her once more into the conversation that he turned to her presently with a laughing remark anent her love of smoky London.

"Oh, but it is not the smoke I like," Lesley answered. "It is the people."

"Especially the poor people," put in Ethel, saucily. "Now, I can't bear poor people; can you, Captain d.u.c.h.esne?"

"I don't care for them much, I'm afraid."

"I like to do them good, and all that sort of thing," said Ethel. "Don't look so sober, Lesley! I like to act to them, or sing to them, or give them money; but I must say I don't like visiting them in the slums, or having to stand too close to them _anywhere_. I am so glad that you agree with me, Captain d.u.c.h.esne!"

And not long afterwards she graciously invited him to call upon her on "her day," and promised him a stall at an approaching _matinee_, two pieces of especial favor, as Lesley knew.

Captain d.u.c.h.esne sat on as if fascinated by the brilliant little vision that had charmed his eyes; and not until an unconscionable time had elapsed did he seem able to tear himself away. When he had gone, Ethel expressed herself approvingly of his looks and manners.

"I like those soldierly-looking men," she said. "So well set up and distinguished in appearance. Is he an old friend of yours, Lesley?"

"No, I have met him only once before. In Paris, he dined with us--with my grandfather, my mother, and myself."

"And he comes from Lady Alice now?"

"Yes, to bring me news of her."

Ethel nodded her bright little head sagaciously.

"It's very plain what Lady Alice wants, then?"

"What?" said Lesley, opening her eyes in wide amaze.

"She wants you to marry him, my dear."

"Nonsense!"

"It's not nonsense: don't get so red about it, you silly girl. What a baby you are, Lesley."

"I am sure mamma never thought of anything of the kind," said Lesley, with dignity, although her cheeks were still red.

"We shall see what we shall see. Well, I won't put my oar in--isn't that kind of me? But, indeed, your Captain d.u.c.h.esne looks thoroughly ripe for a flirtation, and it will be as much as I can do to keep my hands off him."

"How would Mr. Trent like that?" said Lesley, trying to carry the war into the enemy's camp.

"He would bear it with the same equanimity with which he bears the rest of my caprices," said Ethel, merrily; but a shade crossed her brow, and she allowed Lesley to lead the conversation to the subject of her _trousseau_.

Captain d.u.c.h.esne did not seem slow to avail himself of the favor accorded to him. He presented himself at Ethel's next "at home;" and devoted himself to her with curious a.s.siduity. Even the discovery of her engagement to Mr. Trent did not change his manner. It was not so much that he paid her actual attention, as that he paid none to anybody else.

When she was not talking to him, he kept silence. He seemed always to be observing her, her face, her manner, her dress, her att.i.tude. Yet this kind of observation was quite respectful and un.o.btrusive: it was merely its continuity that excited remark. Oliver noticed it at last, and professed himself jealous: in fact he was a little bit jealous, although he did not love Ethel overmuch. But he had a pride of possession in her which would not allow him to look with equanimity on the prospect of her being made love to by anybody else.

Ethel enjoyed the attentions, and enjoyed Oliver's jealousy, in her usual spirit of childlike gaiety. She was quite a.s.sured of Oliver's affection for her now; and she looked forward with shy delight to the day of her wedding, which had been fixed for the twentieth of March.

Meanwhile, Oliver was devoured with secret anxiety. For what had become of Francis, and when would he appear to demand the money which had been promised to him on the day when the marriage should take place?

CHAPTER XXIV.

MR. BROOKE'S DESIRES.

Lady Alice's movements were not without interest to Caspar Brooke, although Lesley did not suspect the fact. It was quite a surprise to her when he entered the library one day, with apparently no other object than that of saying abruptly,

"What is your mother going to do, Lesley?"

"To do?" said Lesley, flushing slightly and looking astonished.

"Yes"--impatiently. "Where is she going to live? What will become of her? Do you want to go to her? I wish to hear what you know about her arrangements."

He planted himself on the hearth-rug in what might be termed an aggressive att.i.tude--really the expression of some embarra.s.sment of feeling. It certainly seemed hard to him at that moment to have to ask his daughter these questions.

"I think," said Lesley, with downcast eyes, "that she is trying to find a house to suit her in Mayfair."

"Mayfair. Then half her income will go in rent and taxes. Will she live there alone?"

"Yes. At least--unless--until----"

"Until you join her: I understand. Will"--and then he made a long pause before continuing--"if she wants you to join her at once; and you wish to go, don't let this previous arrangement stand in the way. I shall not interfere."

His curtness, his abruptness, would once have startled and terrified Lesley. She had of late grown so much less afraid of him, that now she only lifted her eyes, with a proud, grieving look in them, and said,

"Do you want me to go away, then?"

"_Want_ you to go? Certainly not, child," and Mr. Brooke stretched out his hand, and drew her to him with a caressing gesture. "No: I like to have you here. But I thought you wanted to go to her."