"Lady Ver said no husband could do that. The fact of their being one kept your heart quite quiet, and often made you yawn; but she said it was not necessary, as long as you could make theirs so that they would do all you asked."

"Then do women's hearts never beat--did she tell you?"

"Of course they beat. How simple you are for thirty years old! They beat constantly for--oh--for people who are not husbands."

"That is the result of your observations, is it? You are probably right and I am a fool."

"Some one said at lunch yesterday that a beautiful lady in Paris had her heart beating for you," I said, looking at him again.

He changed--so very little. It was not a start, or a wince even--just enough for me to know he felt what I said.

"People are too kind," he said. "But we have got no nearer the point. When will you marry me?"

"I shall marry you--never! Mr. Carruthers," I said, "unless I get into an old maid soon and no one else asks me! Then if you go on your knees I may put out the tip of my fingers, perhaps!" and I moved towards the door, making him a sweeping and polite courtesy.

He rushed after me.

"Evangeline!" he exclaimed. "I am not a violent man as a rule; indeed, I am rather cool, but you would drive any one perfectly mad. Some day some one will strangle you--witch!"

"Then I had better run away to save my neck," I said, laughing over my shoulder as I opened the door and ran up the stairs, and I peeped at him from the landing above. He had come out into the hall. "Good-bye," I called, and, without waiting to see Lady Ver, he tramped down the stairs and away.

"Evangeline, what _have_ you been doing?" she asked, when I got into her room, where her maid was settling her veil before the gla.s.s, and trembling over it. Lady Ver is sometimes fractious with her--worse than I am with Veronique, far.

"Evangeline, you look naughtier than ever--confess at once."

"I have been as good as gold," I said.

"Then why are those two emeralds sparkling so, may one ask?"

"They are sparkling with conscious virtue," I said, demurely.

"You have quarrelled with Mr. Carruthers--go away, Welby! Stupid woman, can't you see it catches my nose!"

Welby retired meekly. (After she is cross, Lady Ver sends Welby to the theatre. Welby adores her.)

"Evangeline, how dare you! I see it all. I gathered bits from Robert. You have quarrelled with the very man you must marry!"

"What does Lord Robert know about me?" I said. That made me angry.

"Nothing; he only said Mr. Carruthers admired you at Branches."

"Oh!"

"He is too attractive--Christopher! He is one of the 'married women's pets,' as Ada Fairfax says, and has never spoken to a girl before. You ought to be grateful we have let him look at you--minx!--instead of quarrelling, as I can see you have." She rippled with laughter, while she pretended to scold me.

"Surely I may be allowed that chastened diversion!" I said. "I can't go to theatres!"

"Tell me about it," she commanded, tapping her foot.

But early in Mrs. Carruthers's days I learned that one is wiser when one keeps one's own affairs to one's self, so I fenced a little, and laughed, and we went out to drive finally, without her being any the wiser. Going into the park, we came upon a troop of the 3d Life Guards, who had been escorting the king to open something, and there rode Lord Robert in his beautiful clothes and a floating plume. He did look so lovely, and _my_ heart suddenly began to beat--I could feel it, and was ashamed, and it did not console me greatly to reflect that the emotion caused by a uniform is not confined to nursemaids.

Of course it must have been the uniform and the black horse--Lord Robert is nothing to me. But I hate to think that, mamma's mother having been n.o.body, I should have inherited these common instincts!

300 PARK STREET,

Thursday evening, _November 24th._

Lady Merrenden is so nice--one of those kind faces that even a tight fringe in a net does not spoil. She is tall and graceful, past fifty perhaps, and has an expression of Lord Robert about the eyes. At luncheon she was sweet to me at once, and did not look as if she thought I must be bad just because I have red hair, like elderly ladies do generally.

I felt I wanted to be good and nice directly. She did not allude to my desolate position or say anything without tact, but she asked me to lunch as if I had been a queen and would honor her by accepting. For some reason I could see Lady Ver did not wish me to go--she made all sorts of excuses about wanting me herself--but also, for some reason, Lady Merrenden was determined I should, and finally settled it should be on Sat.u.r.day, when Lady Ver is going down to Northumberland to her father's, and I am going--where? Alas! as yet I know not.

When she had gone Lady Ver said old people without dyed hair or bridge proclivities were tiresome, and she smoked three cigarettes, one after the other as fast as she could. (Welby is going to the theatre again to-night!)

I said I thought Lady Merrenden was charming. She snapped my head off for the first time, and then there was silence, but presently she began to talk, and fix herself in a most becoming way on the sofa--we were in her own sitting-room, a lovely place, all blue silk and French furniture and attractive things. She said she had a cold and must stay in-doors. She had changed immediately into a tea-gown, but I could not hear any cough.

"Charlie has just wired he comes back to-night," she announced, at length.

"How nice for you!" I sympathized; "you will be able to make his heart beat!"

"As a matter of fact, it is extremely inconvenient, and I want you to be nice to him, and amuse him, and take his attention off me, like a pet, Evangeline," she cooed; and then: "What a lovely afternoon for November! I wish I could go for a walk in the park," she said.

I felt it would be cruel to tease her further, and so announced my intention of taking exercise in that way with the angels.

"Yes, it will do you good, dear child," she said, brightly, "and I will rest here and take care of my cold."

"They have asked me to tea in the nursery," I said, "and I have accepted."

"Jewel of a snake-girl!" she laughed--she is not thick.

"Do you know the Torquilstone history?" she said, just as I was going out of the door.

I came back--why, I can't imagine, but it interested me.

"Robert's brother--half-brother, I mean--the duke, is a cripple, you know, and he is _toque_ on one point too--their blue blood. He will never marry, but he can cut Robert off with almost the bare t.i.tle if he displeases him."

"Yes," I said.

"Torquilstone's mother was one of the housemaids. The old duke married her before he was twenty-one, and she, fortunately, joined her beery ancestors a year or so afterwards; and then much later he married Robert's mother, Lady Etheldrida Fitz Walter. There is sixteen years between them--Robert and Torquilstone, I mean."

"Then what is he _toque_ about blue blood for, with a _tache_ like that?"

I asked.

"That is just it. He thinks it is such a disgrace that even if he were not a humpback he says he would never marry to transmit this stain to the future Torquilstones--and if Robert ever marries any one without a pedigree enough to satisfy an Austrian prince, he will disown him and leave every sou to charity."