"Well, I don't care; what does it matter? A few places and thousands in the dim future--the loss of them is nothing to me if I only have my Evangeline now."

"But, Robert dearest," Lady Merrenden said, "you can't possibly live without what he allows you--what have you of your own? About eighteen hundred a year, I suppose, and you know, darling boy, you are often in debt. Why, he paid five thousand for you as lately as last Easter. Oh, what is to be done?" and she clasped her hands.

I felt as if turned to stone. Was all this divine happiness going to slip from my grasp? Yes, it looked like it, for I could never drag Robert into poverty and spoil his great future.

"He can't leave away Torquilstone, and those thousands of profitless acres," Lady Merrenden went on; "but, unfortunately, all the London property is at his disposition. Oh, I must go and talk to him!"

"No," said Robert. "It would not be the least use, and would look as if we were pleading." His face had fallen to intense sadness as Lady Merrenden spoke of his money.

"Darling," he said, in a broken voice. "No, it is true it would not be fair to make you a beggar. I should be a cad to ask you. We must think of some way of softening my brother after all."

Then I spoke.

"Robert," I said, "if you were only John Smith I would say I would willingly go and live with you in a cottage, or even in a slum; but you are not, and I would not for _anything in the world_ drag you down out of what is your position in life. That would be a poor sort of love. Oh, my dear," and I clasped tight his hand, "if everything fails, then we must part and you must forget me."

He folded me in his arms, and we heard the door shut. Lady Merrenden had left us alone. Oh, it was anguish and divine bliss at the same time the next half-hour.

"I will never forget you, and never in this world will I take another woman, I swear to G.o.d!" he said, at the end of it. "If we must part, then life is finished for me of all joy."

"And for me, too, Robert!"

We said the most pa.s.sionate vows of love to each other, but I will not write them here; there is another locked book where I keep them--the book of my soul.

"Would it be any good if Colonel Tom Carden went and spoke to him?" I asked, presently. "He was best man at papa's wedding, and knows all there is to be known of poor mamma; and do you think that as mamma's father was Lord de Brandreth--a very old barony I believe it is--oh, can it make any difference to the children's actual breeding, their parents not having been through the marriage ceremony? I--I--don't know much of that sort of things."

"My sweet," said Robert, and through all our sorrow he smiled and kissed me--"my sweet, sweet Evangeline."

"But does the duke know all the details of the history?" I asked, when I could speak; one can't when one is being kissed.

"Every little bit, it seems. He says he will not discuss the matter of that--I must know it is quite enough, as I have always known his views; but if it was not sufficient, your wild, wicked beauty is. You would not be faithful to me for a year, he said. I could hardly keep from killing him when he hurled that at my head."

I felt my temper rising. How frightfully unjust--how cruel! I went over and looked in the gla.s.s--a big mirror between the windows--drawing Robert with me.

"Oh, tell me, tell me, what is it? Am I so very bad looking? It is a curse, surely, that is upon me."

"Of course you are not bad looking, my darling!" exclaimed Robert.

"You are perfectly beautiful--a slender, stately, exquisite tiger-lily--only--only--you don't look cold--and it is just your red hair, and those fascinating green eyes, and your white, lovely skin and black eyelashes that, that--Oh, you know, you sweetheart! You don't look like bread-and-b.u.t.ter, you are utterly desirable, and you would make any one's heart beat."

I thought of the night at "Carmen."

"Yes, I am wicked," I said; "but I never will be again--only just enough to make you always love me, because Lady Ver says security makes yawns.

But even wicked people can love with a great, great love, and that can keep them good. Oh, if he only knew how utterly I love you, Robert, I am sure, sure, he would be kind to us!"

"Well, how shall we tell him?"

Then a thought came to me, and I felt all over a desperate thrill of excitement.

"Will you do nothing until to-morrow?" I said. "I have an idea which I will tell to no one. Let us go back to Claridge's now, and do not come and see me again until to-morrow at twelve. Then, if this has failed we will say good-bye. It is a desperate chance."

"And you won't tell me what it is?"

"No. Please trust me; it is my life as well as yours, remember."

"My queen!" he said. "Yes, I will do that, or anything else you wish, only _never, never_ good-bye. I am a man, after all, and have numbers of influential relations. I can do something else in life just be a Guardsman, and we shall get enough money to live quite happily on, though we might not be very grand people. I will never say good-bye--do you hear?

Promise me you will never say it, either."

I was silent.

"Evangeline, darling!" he cried in anguish, his eyebrows right up in the old way, while two big tears welled up in his beautiful eyes. "My G.o.d!

won't you answer me?"

"Yes, I will," I said, and I threw all my reserve to the winds, and flung my arms round his neck, pa.s.sionately.

"I love you with my, heart and soul, and pray to G.o.d we shall never say good-bye."

When I got back to Claridge's, for the first time in my life I felt a little faint. Lady Merrenden had driven me back herself, and left me with every a.s.surance of her devotion and affection for us. I had said good-bye to Robert for the day at Carlton House Terrace.

They do not yet know me, either of them, quite; or what I can and will do.

CLARIDGE'S

_Monday night._

I felt to carry out my plan I must steady my mind a little, so I wrote my journal, and that calmed me.

Of all the things I was sure of in the world, I was most sure that I loved Robert far too well to injure his prospects. On the other hand, to throw him away without a struggle was too cruel to both of us. If mamma's mother was n.o.body, all the rest of my family were fine old fighters and gentlemen, and I really prayed to their shades to help me now.

Then I rang and ordered some iced water, and when I had thought deeply for a few minutes while I sipped it, I sat down to my writing-table. My hand did not shake, though I felt at a deadly tension. I addressed the envelope first, to steady myself:

"To "His Grace "The Duke of Torquilstone, "Vavasour House, "St. James's, S.W."

Then I put that aside.

"I am Evangeline Travers who writes," I began, without any preface; "and I ask if you will see me--either here in my sitting-room this evening, or I will come to you at Vavasour House. I understand your brother, Lord Robert, has told you that he loves me and wishes to marry me, and that you have refused your consent, partly because of the history of my family, but chiefly because my type displeases you. I believe, in days gone by, the prerogative of a great n.o.ble like you was to dispense justice. In my case it is still your prerogative by courtesy, and I ask it of you. When we have talked for a little, if you then hold to your opinion of me, and _convince me_ that it is for your brother's happiness, I swear to you on my word of honor I will never see him again."

"Believe me,

"Yours faithfully,

"EVANGELINE TRAVERS."

I put it hastily in the envelope and fastened it up. Then I rang the bell, and had it sent by a messenger in a cab, who was to wait for an answer.