"Towards me!" said she, calmly, but in an accent as honest, as frank, and as free from all concern as though speaking of a third person. "Oh, that is quite true. Mr. Layton also made his little quiet love to me as college men do it, and I accepted the homage of both, feeling that I was a sort of lightning-conductor that might rescue the rest of the building."

Sir William laughed as much at the arch quietness of her manner as her words. "How blind I have been all this time!" burst he in, angrily, as he reverted to the subject of his chagrin. "I suppose there's not another man living would not have seen this but myself."

"No, no," said she, gently; "men are never nice observers in these matters."

"Well, better late than never, eh, Mrs. Morris? Better to know it even now. Forewarned,--as the adage says,--eh?"

In these little broken sentences he sought to comfort himself, while he angled for some consolation from his companion; but she gave him none,--not a word, nor a look, nor a gesture.

"Of course I shall forbid him the house."

"And make a hero of him from that moment, and a martyr of her," quietly replied she. "By such a measure as this you would at once convert what may be possibly a passing flirtation into a case of love."

"So that I am to leave the course free, and give him every opportunity to prosecute his suit?"

"Not exactly. But do not erect barriers just high enough to be surmounted. Let him come here just as usual, and I will try if I cannot entangle him in a little serious flirtation with myself, which certainly, if it succeed, will wound May's pride, and cure her of any weakness for him."

Sir William made no reply, but he stared at the speaker with a sort of humorous astonishment, and somehow her cheek flushed under the look.

"These are womanish artifices, which you men hold cheaply, of course; but little weapons suit little wars, Sir William, and such are our campaigns. At all events, count upon my aid till Monday next."

"And why not after?"

"Because the Peninsular and Oriental packet touches at Malta on Saturday, and Clara and I must be there in time to catch it."

"Oh no; we cannot spare you. In fact, we are decided on detaining you.

May would break up house here and follow you to the Pyramids,--the Upper Cataracts,--anywhere, in short. But leave us you must not."

She covered her face with her handkerchief, and never spoke, but a slight motion of her shoulders showed that she was sobbing. "I have been so uncandid with you all this time," said she, in broken accents. "I should have told you all,--everything. I ought to have confided to you the whole sad story of my terrible bereavement and its consequences; but I could not. No, Sir William, I could not endure the thought of darkening the sunshine of all the happiness I saw here by the cloud of my sorrows. When I only saw faces of joy around me, I said to my heart, 'What right have I, in my selfishness, to obtrude here?' And then, again, I bethought me, 'Would they admit me thus freely to their hearth and home if they knew the sad, sad story?' In a word," said she, throwing down the handkerchief, and turning towards him with soft and tearful eyes, "I could not risk the chance of losing your affection, for you might have censured, you might have thought me too unforgiving,--too relentless!"

Here she again bent down her head, and was lost in an access of fresh afflictions.

Never was an elderly gentleman more puzzled than Sir William. He felt that he ought to offer consolation, but of what nature or for what calamity he could n't even guess. It was an awkward case altogether, and he never fancied awkward cases at any time. Then he had that unchivalric sentiment that elderly gentlemen occasionally will have,--a sort of half distrust of "injured women." This was joined to a sense of shame that it was usually supposed by the world men of his time of life were always the ready victims of such sympathies. In fact, he disliked the situation immensely, and could only muster a few commonplace remarks to extricate himself from it.

[Illustration: 152]

"You'll let me tell you everything; I know you will," said she, looking bewitchingly soft and tender through her tears.

"Of coarse I will, my dear Mrs. Morris, but not now,--not to-day. You really are not equal to it at this moment."

"True, I am not!" said she, drying her eyes; "but it is a promise, and you 'll not forget it."

"You only do me honor in the confidence," said he, kissing her hand.

"A thousand pardons!" cried a rich brogue. And at the same moment the library door was closed, and the sound of retreating steps was heard along the corridor.

"That insufferable O'Shea!" exclaimed she. "What will he not say of us?"

CHAPTER XIV. THE BILLIARD-ROOM

Mr. O'Shea had a very happy knack at billiards. It was an accomplishment which had stood him more in stead in life than even his eloquence in the House, his plausibility in the world, or his rose-amethyst ring. That adventurous category of mankind, who have, as Curran phrased it, "the title-deeds of their estates under the crown of their hats," must, out of sheer necessity, cultivate their natural gifts to a higher perfection than that well-to-do, easy-living class for whom Fortune has provided "land and beeves," and are obliged to educate hand, eye, and hearing to an amount of artistic excellence of which others can form no conception.

Now, just as the well-trained singer can modulate his tones, suiting them to the space around him, or as the orator so pitches his voice as to meet the ears of his auditory, without any exaggerated effort, so did the Member for Inch measure out his skill, meting it to the ability of his adversary with a graduated nicety as delicate as that of a chemist in apportioning the drops of a precious medicament.

It was something to see him play. There was a sort of lounging elegance,--a half purpose-like energy, dashed with indolence,--a sense of power, blended with indifference,--a something that bespoke the caprice of genius, mingled with a spirit that seemed to whisper that, after all, "cannons" were only vanity, and "hazards" themselves but vexation of spirit. He was, though a little past his best years, a good-looking fellow,--a thought too pluffy, perhaps, and more than a thought too swaggering and pretentious; but somehow these same attributes did not detract from the display of certain athletic graces of which the game admits, for, after all, it was only Antinous fallen a little into flesh, and seen in his waistcoat.

It was mainly to this accomplishment he owed the invitations he received to the villa. Charles Heathcote, fully convinced of his own superiority at the game, was piqued and irritated at the other's success; while Sir William was, perhaps, not sorry that his son should receive a slight lesson on the score of his self-esteem, particularly where the price should not be too costly. The billiard-room thus became each evening the resort of all in the villa. Thither May Leslie fetched her work, and Mrs. Morris her crochet needles, and Clara her book; while around the table itself were met young Heathcote, Lord Agincourt, O'Shea, and Layton. Of course the stake they played for was a mere trifle,--a mere nominal prize, rather intended to record victory than reward the victors,--just as certain taxes are maintained more for statistics than revenue,--and half-crowns changed hands without costing the loser an afterthought; so at least the spectators understood, and all but one believed. Her quiet and practised eye, however, detected in Charles Heathcote's manner something more significant than the hurt pride of a beaten player, and saw under all the external show of O'Shea's indifference a purpose-like energy, little likely to be evoked for a trifling stake. Under the pretext of marking the game, a duty for which she had offered her services, she was enabled to watch what went forward without attracting peculiar notice, and she could perceive how, from time to time, Charles and O'Shea would exchange a brief word as they passed,--sometimes a monosyllable, sometimes a nod,--and at such times the expression of Heathcote's face would denote an increased anxiety and irritation. It was while thus watching one evening, a chance phrase she overheard confirmed all her suspicions,--it was while bending down her head to show some peculiar stitch to May Leslie that she brought her ear to catch what passed.

"This makes three hundred," whispered Charles.

"And fifty," rejoined O'Shea, as cautiously.

"Nothing of the kind," answered Charles, angrily.

"You 'll find I 'm right," said the other, knocking the balls about to drown the words. "Are you for another game?" asked he, aloud.

"No; I 've bad enough of it," said Charles, impatiently, as he drew out his cigar-case,--trying to cover his irritation by searching for a cigar to his liking.

"I 'm your man, Inch-o'-brogue," broke in Agincourt; for it was by this impertinent travesty of the name of his borough he usually called him.

"What, isn't the pocket-money all gone yet?" said the other, contemptuously.

"Not a bit of it, man. Look at that," cried he, drawing forth a long silk purse, plumply filled. "There's enough to pay off the mortgage on an Irish estate, I 'm sure!"

While these freedoms were being interchanged, Charles Heathcote had left the room, and strolled out into the garden. Mrs. Morris, affecting to go in search of something for her work, took occasion also to go; but no sooner had she escaped from the room than she followed him.

Why was it, can any one say, that May Leslie bestowed more than ordinary attention on the game at this moment, evincing an interest in it she had never shown before? Mr. O'Shea had given the young Marquis immense odds; but he went further, he played off a hundred little absurdities to increase the other's chances,--he turned his back to the table,--he played with his left hand,--he poked the balls without resting his cue,--he displayed the most marvellous dexterity, accomplishing hazards that seemed altogether beyond all calculation; for all crafty and subtle as he was, vanity had got the mastery over him, and his self-conceit rose higher and higher with every astonished expression of the pretty girl who watched him. While May could not restrain her astonishment at his skill, O'Shea's efforts to win her praise redoubled.

"I'll yield to no man in a game of address," said he, boastfully: "to ride across country, to pull a boat, to shoot, fish, fence, or swim--There, my noble Marquis, drop your tin into that pocket and begin another game. I 'll give you eighty-five out of a hundred."

"Is n't he what Quackinboss would call a 'ternal swaggerer, May?" cried Agincourt.

"He is a most brilliant billiard-player," said May, smiling courteously, with a glance towards the recess of the window, where Layton was leaning over Clara's chair and reading out of the book she held in her hand.

"How I wish you would give me some lessons!" added she, still slyly stealing a look at the window.

"Charmed,--only too happy. You overwhelm me with the honor, Miss Leslie, and my name is not O'Shea if I do not make you an admirable player, for I've remarked already you have great correctness of eye."

"Indeed!"

"Astonishing; and with that, a wonderfully steady hand."

"How you flatter me!"

"Flatter? Ah, you little know me, Miss Leslie!" said he, as he passed before her.

May blushed, for at that moment Layton had lifted his eyes from the book and turned them full upon her. So steadfastly did he continue to look, that her cheek grew hotter and redder, and a something like resentment seemed to possess her; while he, as though suddenly conscious of having in some degree committed himself, held down his head in deep confusion.