"Certainly not, there is no necessity that I should. Marriage is only an obligation for the heads of families, not for the younger branches."

"But if Sir John Ardayre has no son, you are--in blood--the next direct heir."

"And Ferdinand is the next direct heir-in-law--that makes one sick--"

Verisschenzko poured his friend out a whisky and soda and said smiling:

"Then let us drink once more to the Ardayre son!"

CHAPTER VII

Lady de la Paule really felt proud of her niece; the party at Ardayre was progressing so perfectly. The guests had all arrived in time for the ball at Bridgeborough Castle on the twenty-third of July and had a.s.sisted next day at the garden party, and then a large dinner at Ardayre, and now on the last night of their stay Amaryllis' own ball was to take place.

All the other big country houses round were filled also, and nothing could have been gayer or more splendidly done than the whole thing.

John Ardayre had been quite enthusiastic about all the arrangements, taking the greatest pride in settling everything which could add l.u.s.tre to his Amaryllis' success as a hostess.

The quant.i.ties of servants, the perfectly turned-out motors--the wonderful chef--all had been his doing, and when most of the party had retired to their rooms for a little rest before dinner on the twenty-fifth, the evening of the ball, Lady de la Paule and John's friend, Lady Avonwier, congratulated him, as he sat with them, the last ladies remaining, under the great copper beech tree on the lawn which led down to the lake.

"Everything has been perfect, has it not, Mabella?" Lady Avonwier said.

"I have even been converted about your marvellous Madame Boleski! I confess I have avoided her all the season, because we Americans are far more exclusive than you English people in regard to whom we know of our own countrywomen, and no one would receive such a person in New York, but she is so luridly stupid, and such a decoration, that I quite agree you were right to invite her, John."

"She seems to me charming," Lady de la Paule confessed. "Not the least pretension, and her clothes are marvellous. You are abominably severe, Etta. I am quite sure if she wanted to she could succeed in New York."

"Mabella, you simple creature! She just cajoles you all the time--she has specialised in cajoling important great ladies! No American would be taken in by her, and we resent it in our country when an outsider like that barges in. But here, I admit, since she provides us with amus.e.m.e.nt, I have no objection to accepting her, as I would a new n.i.g.g.e.r band, and shall certainly send her a card for my fancy ball next week."

John Ardayre chuckled softly.

"That sound indicates?"--and Etta Avonwier flashed at him her lovely clever eyes.

John Ardayre did not answer in words, but both women joined in his smile.

"Yes, we are worldlings," Lady Avonwier admitted, "just measuring people up for what they can give us, it is the only way though when the whole thing is such a rush!"

"I am so sorry for the poor husband," and Lady de la Paule's fat voice was kindly. "He does look such a wretched, cadaverous thing, with that black beard and those melancholy black eyes, and emaciated face. Do you think she beats him when they are alone?"

"Who knows? She is so primitive, she may be capable even of that!"

"Her clothes are not primitive," and John Ardayre lighted a cigarette.

"I don't think she really can be such a fool."

"I never suggested that she was a fool at all!" Lady Avonwier was decisive. "No one can be a fool who is as tenacious as she is--fools are vague people, who let things go. She is merely illiterate and stupid as an owl."

"I like your distinction between stupidity and foolishness!" John Ardayre often argued with Lady Avonwier; they were excellent friends.

"A stupid person is often a great rest and arrives--a fool makes one nervous and loses the game. But who is that walking with Amaryllis at the other side of the lake?"

John Ardayre looked up, and on over the water to the glory of the beech trees on the rising slope of the park, and there saw moving at the edge of them his wife and Verisschenzko, accompanied by two of the great tawny dogs.

"Oh! it is the interesting Russian whom we met in Paris, where all the charming ladies were supposed to be in love with him. He was to have come down for the whole three days. I suppose these Russian and Austrian rumours detained him, he has only arrived for to-night."

And across the lake Amaryllis was saying to Verisschenzko in her soft voice, deep as all the Ardayre voices were deep:

"I have brought you here so that you may get the best view of the house. I think, indeed, that it is very beautiful from over the water, do not you?"

Verisschenzko remained silent for a moment. His face was altered in this last week; it looked haggard and thinner, and his peculiar eyes were concentrated and intense.

He took in the perfect picture of this English stately home, with its Henry VII centre and watch towers, and gabled main buildings, and the Queen Anne added Square--all mellowed and amalgamated into a whole of exquisite beauty and dignity in the glow of the setting sun.

"How proud you should be of such possessions, you English. The acc.u.mulation of centuries, conserved by freedom from strife. It is no wonder you are so arrogant! You could not be if you had only memories, as we have, of wooden barracks up to a hundred and fifty years ago, and drunkenness and orgies, and beating of serfs. This is the picture our country houses call up--any of the older ones which have escaped being burnt. But here you have traditions of harmony and justice and obligations to the people n.o.body fulfilled." And then he took his hat off and looked up into the golden sky:

"May nothing happen to hurt England, and may we one day be as free."

A shiver ran through Amaryllis--but something kept her silent; she divined that her friend's mood did not desire speech from her yet. He spoke again and earnestly a moment or two afterwards.

"Lady of my soul--I am going away to-morrow into a frenzied turmoil. I have news from my country, and I must be in the centre of events; we do not know what will come of it all. I come down to-day at great sacrifice of time to bid you farewell. It may be that I shall never see you again, though I think that I shall; but should I not, promise me that you will remain my star unsmirched by the paltriness of the world, promise me that you will live up to the ideal of this n.o.ble home--that you will develop your brain and your intuition, that you will be forceful and filled with common sense. I would like to have moulded your spiritual being, and brought you to the highest, but it is not for me, perhaps, in this life--another will come. See that you live worthily."

Amaryllis was deeply moved.

"Indeed, I will try. I have seen so little of you, but I feel that I have known you always, and--yes--even I feel that it is true what you said,"

and she grew rosy with a sweet confusion--"that we were--lovers--I am so ignorant and undeveloped, not advanced like you, but when you speak you seem to awaken memories; it is as though a transitory light gleamed in dark places, and I receive flashes of understanding, and then it grows obscured again, but I will try to seize and hold it--indeed, I will try to do as you would wish."

They both looked ahead, straight at the splendid house, and then Amaryllis looked at Verisschenzko and it seemed as though his face were transfigured with some inward light.

"Strange things are coming, child, the cauldron has boiled over, and we do not know what the stream may engulf. Think of this evening in the days which will be, and remember my words."

His voice vibrated, but he did not look at her, but always across the lake at the house.

"Whenever you are in doubt as to the wisdom of a decision between two courses--put them to the test of which, if you follow it, will enable you to respect your own soul. Never do that which the inward You despises."

"And if both courses look equally good and it is merely a question of earthly benefit?"

Verisschenzko smiled.

"Never be vague. There is an Arab proverb which says: Trust in G.o.d but tie up your camel."

The setting sun was throwing its last gleams upon the windows of the high tower. Nothing more beautiful or impressive could have been imagined than the scene. The velvet lawn sloping down to the lake, with a group of trees to the right among which nestled the tiny cruciform ancient church, while in the distance, on all sides, stretched the vast, gloriously timbered park.

Verisschenzko gazed at the wonder of it, and his yellow-green eyes were wide with the vision it created in his brain.

No--this should never go to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Ferdinand, whose life in Constantinople was a disgrace. This record of fine living and achievement of worthy Ardayres should remain the glory of the true blood.

He turned and looked at Amaryllis at his side, so slender, and strong, and young--and he said: