"I'll drive with pleasure on one condition--that you will first allow yourself to be taken to your patient's house," she replied demurely, adding when the doctor hesitated in embarra.s.sment: "It is such a very odd neighbourhood for a patient to live in, in the midst of these great blocks of offices! I think we may perhaps have to drive you a long, long way."

For a moment Dr Maclure did not reply; he merely held open the door of the carriage, waiting until Ruth should have taken her seat; then he leant towards her, the light from the lamps showing the nervous tremor of his lips.

"I will come in too, on one condition--that you are willing to drive beside me all the way, Ruth!"

What did he mean? Ruth started and flushed, for the tone of voice was even more eloquent than the words themselves. The moment which she had vaguely expected, dreaded, and hoped for, had come suddenly upon her, provoked by her own jesting words. She did not know what to say, or how to say it, only one definite thought stood out distinctly in the confusion of her mind, namely, that Dr Maclure was standing unprotected in the damp and cold. She held out her hand towards him, and cried tremulously--

"Don't stand out in the rain! Oh, please come in! We will go where you like?"

Dr Maclure leapt lightly to his seat, and the coachman whipped up his horses without waiting for instructions. A coachman is only an ordinary man after all, and George had seen how the wind blew for many a long day. He took care not to drive too quickly, nor to choose the shortest routes, satisfied that for once his master was not in a hurry.

Inside the brougham Dr Maclure held Ruth's shabbily gloved little hand in his, and asked earnestly--

"Can you give me a different answer this time, Ruth? It has been a weary waiting, and I seem to have grown worse instead of better. I fear it is an incurable complaint! Can you give me a glimmer of hope, dear, or is it still quite impossible?"

Ruth shook her head and nodded and smiled, and sighed, and shed a few bright tears, in a whirl of delightful confusion.

"It's--it's not impossible at all! I think I am quite sure. I have been growing surer and surer all this time. But am I good enough? You remember that six months ago I fancied myself in love with someone else?"

"I can afford to forget that episode, and even to be thankful for it, if it has shown you your own mind, so that now you are 'quite sure'! Oh, Ruth, it is too good to be true! Can you really be happy with a dull, old fellow like me? No country seat, you know; no life of ease and luxury, just a comfortable, commonplace house, with a husband who is too hard-worked to have much time for play. I have no fortune to offer you, dear, except love--there's no end to that wealth!"

Ruth turned her beautiful eyes upon him with a smile of perfect content.

"But that's everything!" she cried. "I shall be the richest woman in the world!"

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

MARGOT'S ANSWER.

A week later Victor Druce was sitting _tete-a-tete_ with Margot Blount in the drawing-room of her aunt's London house, a cramped little house in a fashionable neighbourhood. The house was generally let furnished during the season, and inhabited by the impecunious owner at those odd seasons of the year when she had no invitations which made it possible to saddle other people with the cost of food and maintenance. Just now there was a gap of a few weeks between the last shooting-party and a Christmas gathering in the country, so the house had been reopened, and friends flocked to call and leave cards, foremost among them Mr Victor Druce, a young man of importance, nowadays, as the accredited heir to one of the finest properties in the kingdom.

"I am not at home to anyone else this afternoon," Margot announced to the servant, as Victor took his seat beside her. She smiled to herself as she spoke, an odd little smile, whose meaning her visitor was puzzled to decipher. It was a great compliment to be allowed a private interview, but there was a mysterious something in Margot's manner which detracted from his satisfaction. He watched her as she poured out tea at the inlaid Turkish table, with eyes in which admiration and anxiety were equally mingled. He had known many women more beautiful, but never one with such an air of grace and distinction; every movement of the slim body and white tapering fingers was a poem in itself, and the coils of chestnut hair shone like burnished gold. Even in the poorest of surroundings Margot would look an aristocrat, and reflect credit on her husband's good taste.

While he was drinking his tea and listening to the pretty flow of conversation about everything in general and nothing in particular, which seems to come so naturally to women of the world, Victor was busy painting a mental picture of a wonderful, rose-coloured future where he would reign as master of Raby Court, with Margot acting chatelaine by his side. The exclusive county families might have hesitated to welcome a stranger, who was moreover a "City man," but, with Margot Blount as his wife, he would have the entree into any society.

Victor congratulated himself on his usual good luck, inasmuch as this desirable partner was the girl of all others whom he would have selected for her own sake. A year ago he had looked upon her as a star entirely out of his own sphere, for he had the poorest of prospects for the future, but now, as by the stroke of a magician's wand, a fine position was almost a.s.sured, and he could approach Margot if not as an equal, still as a match whom n.o.body need disdain. Almost, but not quite!

There lay the rub.

The old squire still lingered on, dying by inches as it were, and preserving to the last his grim enigmatical silence. Victor had not heard one word from his lips to substantiate his hopes; but actions-- which, as the proverb says, speak louder than words--all seemed to range themselves in his favour. His three rivals had retired in disfavour, and, receiving no replies to their first letters, had gradually ceased writing, so that there was at present no correspondence between them and the squire, while he himself was a constant visitor, and was even allowed carte blanche in inviting and entertaining his friends. The very servants about the place spoke of him as "the young master," and the local tradesfolk lost no opportunity of begging his patronage in the future. Surely, surely he might be done with doubts, and allow himself the joy of speaking out all that was in his heart!

"A penny for your thoughts, Mr Druce," cried Margot gaily. "You have not been listening to me for the last ten minutes. It must have been a very pleasant day-dream to engross you so completely."

"It was," said Victor simply. For once he was thoroughly sincere, and voice and manner both testified to the change. "I was thinking of you,"

he added, looking at her with the dark eyes which could be so eloquent upon occasions. "My daydreams have always been of you for the last year!"

"Always?" echoed Margot sceptically. She selected a little cake from the basket by her side, and nibbled it daintily with her small white teeth. "Really? I am surprised to hear that. I fancied that you were more catholic in your tastes. It is very flattering of you to include me in your dreams, but I am not presumptuous enough to expect to occupy the entire stage!"

"Presumptuous!" echoed Victor reproachfully. The vague uneasiness which had possessed him since the beginning of the interview was deepened by the unconcealed irony of her tone; and he realised suddenly that he must speak plainly, since it was dangerous to play fast and loose any longer.

"What a word for you to use of yourself! It is I who am presumptuous to dream of you as I do; but a man is not always master of his thoughts.

I think you must know what my feelings have been ever since we met. I fell hopelessly in love with you at first sight--hopelessly in every way, as it seemed at that time; but, all the same, my fate was sealed, and the world held no other woman."

"Really?" queried Margot again, in the same voice of scepticism. "But, then, how wonderfully you act, Mr Druce! I have seen you only occasionally during the year, but I cannot say that you impressed me as a man who had lost his interest in my s.e.x! At one time I made sure--a good many people made sure--that you had a very definite preference.

That was at the beginning of your stay at the Court, when Mr Farrell seemed so devoted to his charming grand-niece. Do you remember the afternoon when I came to call, and found you two sitting together upon the terrace? What a charming picture you made! The old house makes an ideal background for a _tete-a-tete_!"

Victor's eyes lit up with a flash of relief and triumph. Margot was jealous--that was the reason of the change of manner which had puzzled him all the afternoon. She was jealous of his attention to Ruth Farrell, which she evidently looked upon as disloyal to herself. As he could not deny the evidence of her own eyesight, the wisest plan was to throw himself upon her generosity and forgiveness.

"Ah, you must not be hard on me! You were out of reach, and the time and the opportunity were there. She was a pretty girl, and not disinclined for an innocent flirtation. You would not confound so trivial an incident with my feeling for you? Ruth Farrell is a charming girl in her own way; but--"

"But not so charming as she was! She has fallen from favour all round, poor little Ruth, since Mr Farrell transferred his favour to another!"

Victor leapt from his seat, and strode across the room to her side.

"Margot, what is the matter? Why do you speak to me in that voice?

Leave Ruth Farrell alone--she is nothing to you or to me. I have been waiting to ask you a question, but I can wait no longer. If the Court is mine, if Mr Farrell makes me his heir, as we all expect, will you share my good fortune? Will you be my wife, and make me the happiest man on earth? I could give you a home which would be worthy even of you!"

He bent over her as he spoke; but Margot pushed back her chair, and rose to confront him, her head almost on a level with his own.

"Really, Mr Druce, you are too original in your methods! A conditional proposal is quite a novelty in my experience. _If_ you inherit? And what if by chance you are disappointed? It is still possible, you know!

There are some people who believe that the squire is deliberately misleading us all, and that the property will go to Ruth Farrell, despite all appearances. I should like to know exactly how I stand before I commit myself to a reply. Does your offer still hold good if Ruth inherits in your place?"

Victor's eyelids sank, and a dull red flush showed on his cheeks.

"It is impossible!" he protested. "Why will you conjure up such a position? Mr Farrell has never mentioned his niece's name since she left the Court. He treats me like a son; I come and go as I choose. It is preposterous to believe there can be any doubt on the subject!"

"But suppose there were? Suppose the impossible happened, if you like to put it in that way?"

"If I were back in my old position--worse than my old position, for these months of idleness have not helped me on--I--I should be no match for you, Margot. You would not care to marry a pauper!"

"Nor you an equally impecunious bride! My t.i.tle would be of service to you as master of the Court, but a commoner with a substantial fortune to her back would be a better bargain for a budding barrister. Such a commoner as--shall we say Ruth Farrell, for example? Mr Druce, you ought to succeed in your profession, for you have shown wonderful forethought in the management of your own affairs. It was an admirable idea to provide for both emergencies, while leaving yourself free. The only drawback to success is that Ruth and myself happened to be friends, and were mutually anxious that the other should not be deceived. Under the circ.u.mstances, you will not be surprised that I must decline to consider the problematical offer of the Court and its master. I will live unmarried all my days, or I will marry an honest man and a gentleman!"

Victor stood gazing at her, a figure cut in stone. For a few moments stupefaction held him dumb; then his face worked convulsively in the effort of speech.

"You have known all along--you have deliberately waited, intending to deal me this blow?"

Margot bent her head gravely.

"Yes, I have waited! I am able to take care of myself, but I wished to make quite sure that Ruth was safe. To-day I was glad to feel that it was unnecessary to wait any longer. You will be interested to hear that Miss Farrell is happily engaged to an old friend of the family. It sometimes happens that the cleverest of schemers falls between two stools. The position is undignified, but you have only yourself to thank. I think we have nothing more to say to each other, Mr Druce. I have the pleasure to wish you--Good-bye!"

She had touched the electric bell a moment before, and now the door opened and a servant stood awaiting her bidding. In his presence it was impossible for Victor to reply. For one moment he stood glaring at her, a picture of impotent fury, then slowly turned and left the room. As the house door closed behind him, the electric bell pealed once more, and the servant turned back to the drawing-room.

"I am not at home in future to Mr Druce! Please remember!" said Lady Margot.

Then her eye fell on the envelope of a telegram which the man was carrying towards her. She tore it open, saw at a glance that it came from Mrs Thornton at Raby, and read the following message:--

"Squire died suddenly last night. Husband, Druce, Melland, summoned to funeral on Thursday. Will write details."