That the affair was "arranged" Lord Montague had no doubt. It was not conceivable that the daughter of an American stock-broker would refuse the offer of a position so transcendent and so evidently coveted in a democratic society. Not that the single-minded young man reasoned about it this way. He was born with a most comfortable belief in himself and the knowledge that when he decided to become a domestic man he had simply, as the phrase is, to throw his handkerchief.

At home, where such qualities as distinguished him from the common were appreciated without the need of personal exertion, this might be true; but in America it did seem to be somehow different. American women, at least some of them, did need to be personally wooed; and many of them had a sort of independence in the bestowal of their affections or, what they understood to be the same thing, themselves that must be taken into account. And it gradually dawned upon the mind of this inheritor of privilege that in this case the approval of the family, even the pressure of the mother, was not sufficient; he must have also Evelyn's consent. If she were a mature woman who knew and appreciated the world, she would perceive the advantages offered to her without argument. But a girl, just released from the care of her governess, unaccustomed to society, might have notions, or, in the vernacular of the scion, might be skittish.

And then, again, to do the wooer entire justice, the dark little girl, so much mistress of herself, so evidently spirited, with such an air of distinction, began to separate herself in his mind as a good goer against the field, and he had a real desire to win her affection. The more indifferent she was to him, the keener was his desire to possess her. His unsuccessful wooing had pa.s.sed through several stages, first astonishment, then pique, and finally something very like pa.s.sion, or a fair semblance of devotion, backed, of course, since all natures are more or less mixed, by the fact that this attractive figure of the woman was thrown into high relief by the colossal fortune behind her.

And Evelyn herself? Neither her mother nor her suitor appreciated the uncommon circ.u.mstances that her education, her whole training in familiarity with pure and lofty ideals, had rendered her measurably insensible to the social considerations that seemed paramount to them, or that there could be any real obstacle to the bestowal of her person.

where her heart was not engaged. Yet she perfectly understood her situation, and, at times, deprived of her lifelong support, she felt powerless in it, and she suffered as only the pure and the n.o.ble can suffer. Day after day she fought her battle alone, now and then, as the situation confronted her, a.s.sailed by a shudder of fear, as of one awakening in the night from a dream of peril, the clutch of an a.s.sa.s.sin, or the walking on an icy precipice. If McDonald were only with her!

If she could only hear from Philip! Perhaps he had lost hope and was submitting to the inevitable.

The opportunity which Lord Montague had long sought came one day unexpectedly, or perhaps it was contrived. They were waiting in the drawing-room for an afternoon drive. The carriage was delayed, and Mrs.

Mavick excused herself to ascertain the cause of the delay. Evelyn and her suitor were left alone. She was standing by a window looking out, and he was standing by the fireplace watching the swing of the figure on the pendulum of the tall mantelpiece clock. He was the first to break the silence.

"Your clock, Miss Mavick, is a little fast." No reply. "Or else I am slow." Still no reply. "They say, you know, that I am a little slow, over here." No reply. "I am not, really, you know. I know my mind. And there was something, Miss Mavick, something particular, that I wanted to say to you."

"Yes?" without turning round. "The carriage will be here in a minute."

"Never mind that," and Lord Montague moved away from the fireplace and approached the girl; "take care of the minutes and the hours will take care of themselves, as the saying is." At this unexpected stroke of brilliancy Evelyn did turn round, and stood in an expectant att.i.tude.

The moment had evidently come, and she would not meet it like a coward.

"We have been friends a long time; not so very long, but it seems to me the best part of my life," he was looking down and speaking slowly, with the modest deference of a gentleman, "and you must have seen, that is, I wanted you to see, you know well, that is--er--what I was staying on here for."

"Because you like America, I suppose," said Evelyn, coolly.

"Because I like some things in America--that is just the fact,"

continued the little lord, with more confidence. "And that is why I stayed. You see I couldn't go away and leave what was best in the world to me."

There was an air of simplicity and sincerity about this that was unexpected, and could not but be respected by any woman. But Evelyn waited, still immovable.

"It wasn't reasonable that you should like a stranger right off," he went on, "just at first, and I waited till you got to know me better.

Ways are different here and over there, I know that, but if you came to know me, Miss Mavick, you would see that I am not such a bad sort of a fellow." And a deprecatory smile lighted up his face that was almost pathetic. To Evelyn this humility seemed genuine, and perhaps it was, for the moment. Certainly the eyes she bent on, the odd little figure were less severe.

"All this is painful to me, Lord Montague."

"I'm sorry," he continued, in the same tone. "I cannot help it. I must say it. I--you must know that I love you." And then, not heeding the nervous start the girl gave in stepping backward, "And--and, will you be my wife?"

"You do me too much honor, Lord Montague," said Evelyn, summoning up all her courage.

"No, no, not a bit of it."

"I am obliged to you for your good opinion, but you know I am almost a school-girl. My governess has just left me. I have never thought of such a thing. And, Lord Montague, I cannot return your feeling. That is all.

You must see how painful this is to me."

"I wouldn't give you pain, Miss Mavick, not for the world. Perhaps when you think it over it will seem different to you. I am sure it will.

Don't answer now, for good."

"No, no, it cannot be," said Evelyn, with something of alarm in her tone, for the full meaning of it all came over her as she thought of her mother.

"You are not offended?"

"No," said Evelyn.

"I couldn't bear to offend you. You cannot think I would. And you will not be hard-hearted. You know me, Miss Mavick, just where I am. I'm just as I said."

"The carriage is coming," said Mrs. Mavick, who returned at this moment.

The group for an instant was silent, and then Evelyn said:

"We have waited so long; mamma, that I am a little tired, and you will excuse me from the drive this afternoon?"

"Certainly, my dear."

When the two were seated in the carriage, Mrs. Mavick turned to Lord Montague:

"Well?"

"No go," replied my lord, as sententiously, and in evident bad humor.

"What? And you made a direct proposal?"

"Showed her my whole hand. Made a square offer. Damme, I am not used to this sort of thing."

"You don't mean that she refused you?"

"Don't know what you call it. Wouldn't start."

"She couldn't have understood you. What did she say?"

"Said it was too much honor, and that rot. By Jove, she didn't look it.

I rather liked her pluck. She didn't flinch."

"Oh, is that all?" And Mrs. Mavick spoke as if her mind were relieved.

"What could you expect from such a sudden proposal to a young girl, almost a child, wholly unused to the world? I should have done the same thing at her age. It will look different to her when she reflects, and understands what the position is that is offered her. Leave that to me."

Lord Montague shook his head and screwed up his keen little eyes. His mind was in full play. "I know women, Mrs. Mavick, and I tell you there is something behind this. Somebody has been in the stable." The n.o.ble lord usually dropped into slang when he was excited.

"I don't understand your language," said Mrs. Mavick, straightening herself up in her seat.

"I beg pardon. It is just a way of speaking on the turf. When a favorite goes lame the morning of the race, we know some one has been tampering with him. I tell you there is some one else. She has some one else in her mind. That's the reason of it."

"Nonsense." cried Mrs. Mavick, with the energy of conviction. "It's impossible. There is n.o.body, couldn't be anybody. She has led a secluded life till this hour. She hasn't a fancy, I know."

"I hope you are right," he replied, in the tone of a man wishing to take a cheerful view. "Perhaps I don't understand American girls."

"I think I do," she said, smiling. "They are generally amenable to reason. Evelyn now has something definite before her. I am glad you proposed."

And this was the truth. Mrs. Mavick was elated. So far her scheme was completely successful. As to Evelyn, she trusted to various influences she could bring to bear. Ultimate disobedience of her own wishes she did not admit as a possible thing.

A part of her tactics was the pressure of public opinion, so far as society represents it--that is, what society expects. And therefore it happened in a few days that a strong suspicion got about that Lord Montague had proposed formally to the heiress. The suspicion was strengthened by appearances. Mrs. Mavick did not deny the rumor. That there was an engagement was not affirmed, but that the honor had been or would be declined was hardly supposable.