When Miss Marling heard that her dearest Mary was intending to become a governess she had the wit to keep her dismay to herself. It did not take the lively damsel long to discover the whole state of Mary’s mind, and having discovered it she became instantly resolved on Miss Challoner’s marriage to the Marquis. She lent a kind but disbelieving ear to Mary’s steadfast disavowal of the tender passion, and when asked to aid her friend in the search for a genteel family, said frankly that she knew of none. Mary, with only a few borrowed guineas in her pocket, found that she was as much in Vidal’s power as she had ever been, and since she feared that to take Tante Elisabeth into her confidence would lead only to her instant expulsion from the house, she threw herself on Juliana’s mercy, and begged her to save her from Vidal. To be cast to the street in a foreign city was a fate from which even the redoubtable Miss Challoner shrank. She had a feeling that she was fighting in the last ditch, and when her appeal to Juliana was unavailing, there seemed to be no hope left of holding his lordship at arm’s length.
Juliana, with a worldly wisdom learned no doubt from her mamma, pointed out the advantages of the match. She had no doubt, she said, that Vidal would make an odious husband, but Mary would be amazingly stupid not to take him, for more than half the dowagers in London wanted him for their own daughters.
Mary said unhappily: “I’ve begged you — I’ve prayed you to help me escape from this net. Do you care for me so little?”
“I love you so much I’m quite delighted to think you are to be my cousin,” responded Miss Marling. She embraced Mary warmly. “Truly, my dear, I daren’t smuggle you out of the way. I’ve promised Vidal I won’t, and even if I did he would find you in a trice. What shall you wear at the ball to-night?”
“I don’t go,” Mary said in a flat voice.
“Good gracious, Mary, why not?”
“I am in your cousin’s house under false pretences,” Mary said bitterly. “She would not take me to these parties if she knew the truth.”
“Well, she don’t know it,” replied Juliana. “Do come, my dear: Vidal will be there.”
“I have no desire to meet his lordship,” said Mary, and would say no more.
Mme. de Charbonne, the most easy-going of dames, made no more objection to Mary’s remaining at home than she had made to her sudden arrival two days before. Mary had told her, in desperation, that she was under the necessity of earning a living for herself, and it was plain that madame — who upon hearing this news had regarded her young guest as a kind of rara avis — considered that balls must certainly be out of place for indigent young females. Upon being asked if she could recommend Miss Challoner to a suitable family she had said vaguely that she would bear it in mind, which did not sound particularly hopeful.
Having seen Juliana arrayed for her party in a rose-pink taffeta gown trimmed with chenille silver and spread over immense elbow-hoops; her hair dressed in her favourite Gorgonne style by no less a personage than M. le Gros himself; her person scented with cassia, Miss Challoner bade her farewell and prepared to spend a quiet evening in one of the smaller salons. She intended to apply herself seriously to the problem of escape, but in this she was frustrated by the appearance, not half an hour after Madame de Charbonne’s and Juliana’s departure, of Mr. Frederick Comyn.
She had already met Mr. Comyn once since their unfortunate encounter at Dieppe, and she supposed that he was apprised of her situation. His manner was extremely respectful, and she thought that she could detect a certain grave sympathy in his gaze.
When the lackey ushered him into the salon she rose, and curtsied to him, and perceived as she did so that his firm mouth was rather tightly compressed. He bowed to her, and said, more as a statement than a question: “You are alone, ma’am.”
“Why yes,” she answered. “Were you not informed at the door, sir, that Miss — that Madame is gone out to-night?”
Mr. Comyn said with a touch of gloom: “Your first premise was correct, ma’am. It is not Madame de Charbonne that I came hoping to see, but Miss Marling. I was indeed informed that she was gone out, but I ventured to inquire for yourself, ma’am, believing that you would be able to oblige me by divulging Miss Marling’s present whereabouts.”
Miss Challoner begged him to be seated. She had a shrewd notion that all was not entirely well between Miss Marling and her swain. Certain veiled remarks and flighty head-tossings on the part of Juliana had induced her to suppose that Mr. Comyn had somehow affronted his lady. She now perceived that Mr. Comyn wore the air of a man goaded beyond the limits of forbearance. She would have liked to give him some good advice on the proper way of treating Miss Marling, but feeling that their intimacy was not far enough advanced to permit of this, she merely replied: “Certainly, sir. Miss Marling is gone to a ball at the house of — I think — Madame de Saint-Vire.”
She instantly realized from his expression that her frankness was ill-timed. A crease appeared between his brows; there was a distinct grimness in his face, which Miss Challoner privately thought became him rather well. “Indeed, ma’am?” he said levelly. “It is as I suspected, then. I’m obliged to you.”
He seemed to be on the point of departure, but Miss Challoner ventured to stay him. “Your pardon, Mr. Comyn, but I think you are put out?”
He gave a short laugh. “Not at all, ma’am. I apprehend that I am merely unaccustomed to the manners obtaining in the Polite World.”
“Will you not take me a little way into your confidence, sir?” Mary said gently. “Juliana is my friend, and I believe I may say I do in part understand her. If I could be of assistance to you — but I do not wish to appear vulgarly intrusive.”
Mr. Comyn hesitated, but the kindness in Miss Challoner’s face induced him to come back into the room, and sit down on a chair beside her. “You are very good, ma’am. I believe it is not unknown to you that there exists between Miss Marling and myself a contract to wed, which, though unhappily a secret from the world, I at least have regarded as binding.”
“Yes, sir, I know, and I wish you very happy,” said Mary.
“Thank you, ma’am. Before I set foot in this town — a circumstance I am fast coming to regret — I should have received your extremely obliging good wishes with a gratitude unalloyed by misgiving. Now — ” He stopped, and Miss Challoner watched the meticulous gentleman change into an angry and scowling young man. “I can only suppose, ma’am, that Miss Marling has, upon reflection, perceived the force of her parent’s arguments, and decided to bestow her hand elsewhere.”
“No, sir, that I am sure she has not,” Mary said.
He looked at her in a hurt way that touched her. “When I tell you, ma’am, that from the moment of my arrival in Paris Miss Marling has persistently encouraged the advances of a certain French gentleman not unconnected with her family, and has upon every occasion preferred his company to mine, you will hardly assure me that her affections are unchanged.”
“But I do, sir,” Mary said earnestly. “I do not know how she may have behaved to you, but you must bear in mind that she is as wilful as she is pretty, and delights, perhaps unwisely, in provoking people with her teasing ways. The gentleman you refer to is, I take it, the Vicomte de Valmé. I believe you have no need to feel alarm, Mr. Comyn. The Vicomte is no doubt entertaining, and his address is insinuating. But he is nothing but a rattle, when all is said, and I do not think for an instant that Juliana cares a fig for him.”
“You know the Vicomte, ma’am?” said Mr. Comyn quickly.
“I have met him, sir.”
Mr. Comyn said in a repressed voice: “You have been an inmate of this house for two days, ma’am, and I understand from Juliana that you do not go out. I infer therefore that you have met the Vicomte here — within the past forty-eight hours.”
Miss Challoner said cautiously: “And if I have, sir, what is there in that to annoy you?”
“Only,” replied Mr. Comyn sharply, “that Juliana denied that de Valmé had visited her here.”
Miss Challoner, feeling very guilty, could think of nothing tosay. Mr. Comyn, rather pale about the mouth, said bitingly: “It is all of a piece. I begged Juliana, if she cared for me, not to be present to-night at a ball given by the Vicomte’s parents. It was a test of her affection which I, foolishly, believed would not be too severe. I was wrong, ma’am. Juliana has been playing with me — I had almost said flirting with me.”
Miss Challoner, feeling that it was time someone took the young couple in hand, proceeded to give Mr. Comyn her good advice on the management of a spoiled beauty. She tried to make him understand — but with indifferent success, since she did not understand it herself — that Juliana was so high-spirited that a breath of opposition induced her to behave outrageously. She told Mr. Comyn that to reproach Juliana, or to remonstrate with her was to drive her into her naughtiest mood. “She is romantic, Mr. Comyn, and if you desire to win her you should let her see that you are a man who will not brook her trifling. Juliana would love you to run off with her by force, but when you are gentle, sir, and respectful, she becomes impatient.”
“You suggest, in fact, ma’am, that I should abduct Miss Marling? I fear I am quite unlearned in such ways. Her cousin, the Marquis of Vidal, would no doubt oblige her.”
Miss Challoner coloured, and looked away. Mr. Comyn, realizing what he had said, coloured too, and begged her pardon. “I did not desire to elope with her, even were she willing,” he continued hurriedly. “But she deemed it our best course, and when I was urged to it by a member of her family, I allowed my scruples to be overruled, and came to Paris with the express intention of arranging a secret marriage.”
“Well, arrange it, sir,” Miss Challoner advised him.
“I had almost done so, ma’am. I may say that I bear in my pocket at this moment the direction of an English divine at present travelling through France on his way to Italy. I came here to-night expecting to see Juliana, and to tell her that we have nothing more to wait for. And I find that she has gone, in defiance of my expressed wish, to a ball where the chief — the sole attraction is the Vicomte de Valmé. Madam, I can only designate such conduct as heartless in the extreme.”
Miss Challoner paid very little heed to the last part of this speech, but said rather breathlessly: “You know of an English divine? Oh pray, sir, have you told my Lord Vidal?”
“No, ma’am, for — ”
“Then do not!” Mary said, laying her hand on his. “Will you promise me that you will not tell him?”
“Madam, I regret infinitely, but you are under a misapprehension. It was Lord Vidal who told me.”
Mary’s hand fell again to her side. “When did he tell you?”
“This afternoon, ma’am. He was good enough, at the same time, to present me with a card for this ball at the Hotel Saint-Vire. Apparently he knows his cousin better than I do. I never dreamed that she would go.”
“This afternoon .... Oh, I hoped he would not be able to find a Protestant to marry us!” Mary exclaimed unguardedly. “What shall I do? What in the world shall I do?”
Mr. Comyn regarded her curiously. “Do I understand, ma’am, that a marriage with Lord Vidal is not your desire?”
She shook her head. “It is not, sir. I am aware that you must think my conduct — my compromising situation — ”
She got up, averting her face.
Mr. Comyn also got up. He possessed himself of both her hands, and held them in a comforting clasp. “Believe me, Miss Challoner, I understand your feelings exactly. I have nothing but the deepest sympathy for you, and if I can serve you in any way I shall count it an honour.”
Miss Challoner’s fingers returned the pressure of his. She tried to smile. “You are very kind, sir. I — I thank you.”
The click of the door made her snatch her hands away. She turned, startled, and met the smouldering gaze of my Lord Vidal.
His lordship was standing on the threshold, and it was plain that he had seen Mary break loose from Mr. Comyn’s hold. His hand was resting suggestively on the hilt of his light dress-sword, and his eyes held a distinct menace. He was in full ball dress, all purple and gold lacing, with a quantity of fine lace at his wrists and throat.
To her chagrin Miss Challoner felt a blush steal up into her cheeks. She said with less than her usual composure: “I thought you had gone to the Hotel Saint-Vire, sir.”
“So I infer, ma’am,” said his lordship with something of a snap. “I trust I don’t intrude?”
He was looking at Mr. Comyn in a way that invited challenge. Mary pulled herself together and said quietly: “Not in the least, sir. Mr. Comyn is on the point of departure.” She held out her hand to this young man as she spoke, and added: “You should use your card for the ball, sir. Pray do!”
He bowed, and kissed her fingers. “Thank you, ma’am. But I should be very glad to remain if you feel yourself to be at all in need of company.”
The meaning of this was quite plain. My lord strolled suggestively into the middle of the room, but before he could speak Miss Challoner said quickly: “You are very kind, sir, but I am shortly going to retire. Let me wish you good night — and good fortune.”
Mr. Comyn bowed again, favoured his lordship with a slight inclination of the head, and went out.
The Marquis watched him frowningly till he was out of the room. Then he turned to Miss Challoner. “You’re on terms of intimacy with Comyn, are you?”
“No,” replied Mary. “Hardly that, my lord.”
He came up to her, and gripped her by the shoulders. “If you don’t want to see a hole shot through that damned soft-spoken fellow you’d best keep your hands out of his. Do you understand, my girl?”
“Perfectly,” said Miss Challoner. “You’ll allow me to say that I find you absurd, my lord. Only jealousy could inspire you with this ill-placed wrath, and where there is no love there cannot be jealousy.”
He let her go. “I know how to guard my own.”
“I am not yours, sir.”
“You will very soon be. Sit down. Why are you not at the ball?”
“I had no inclination for it, sir. I might ask, why are not you?”
“Not finding you there, I came here,” he replied.
“I am indeed flattered,” said Miss Challoner.
He laughed. “It’s all I went for, my dear, I assure you. Why was that fellow holding your hands?”
“For comfort,” said Miss Challoner desolately.
He held out his own. “Give them to me.”
Miss Challoner shook her head. There was a curious lump in her throat that made speech impossible.
“Oh, very well, ma’am, if you prefer the attentions of Frederick Comyn!” said the Marquis in a hard voice. “Be good enough to listen to what I have to say. I have discovered, through Carruthers, of the Ambassador’s suite, that there is a divine, lately passed through Paris, bear-leading some sprig of the nobility. They are bound for Italy by easy stages, and at this present are to be found in Dijon, where it appears they are making a stay of two weeks. He’s the man to do our business for us. I am about to abduct you for the second and last time, Miss Challoner.” She made no reply. His eyes reached her face. “Well, have you nothing to say?”
“I have said it all so many times, my lord.”
He turned away impatiently. “Make the best of me, ma’am; you dislike me cordially, no doubt. I’ll admit you have reason. But you may know, if it interests you, that I am offering what I have never offered to any woman before.”
“You offer it because you feel you must,” said Mary in a low voice. “And I thank you — but I refuse your offer.”
“Nevertheless, ma’am, you’ll start with me for Dijon tomorrow.”
She raised her eyes to his face. “You cannot wrest me by force from this house, my lord.”
“Can’t I?” he said. His lip curled. “We shall see. Don’t try to escape me. I should run you to earth within a day, and if you put me to that trouble you might find my temper unpleasant.” He walked to the door. “I have the honour to bid you good night,” he said curtly, and went out.