Lady Connie Part 26

But a later topic of conversation had brought them into even closer contact. Connie spoke of her proposed visit to her aunts. Falloden, radiant, could not conceal his delight.

"You will be only five miles from us. Of course you must come and stay at Flood! My mother writes they have collected a jolly party for the 12th. I will tell her to write to you at once. You must come! You must!

Will you promise?"

And Constance, wondering at her own docility, had practically promised.

"I want you to know my people--I want you to know my father!" And as he plunged again into talk about his father, the egotistical man of fas.h.i.+on disappeared; she seemed at last to have reached something sincere and soft, and true.

And then--what had begun the jarring? Was it--first--her account of her Greek lessons with Sorell? Before she knew what had happened, the brow beside her had clouded, the voice had changed. Why did she see so much of Sorell? He, like Radowitz, was a _poseur_--a wind-bag. That was what made the attraction between them. If she wished to learn Greek--

"Let me teach you!" And he had bent forward, with his most brilliant and imperious look, his hand upon her reins.

But Constance, surprised and ruffled, had protested that Sorell had been her mother's dear friend, and was now her own. She could not and would not give up her lessons. Why indeed should she?

"Because friends"--Falloden had laid a pa.s.sionate emphasis on the word--"must have some regard--surely--to each other's likes and dislikes. If you have an enemy, tell me--he or she shall be mine--instantly! Sorell dislikes me. You will never hear any good of me from him. And, of course, Radowitz hates me. I have given him good cause. Promise--at least--that you will not dance with Radowitz again.

You don't know what I suffered last night. He has the antics of a monkey!"

Whereupon the quarrel between them had broken like thunder, Constance denouncing the arrogance and unkindness that could ask such promises of her; Falloden steadily, and with increasing bitterness, pressing his demand.

And so to the last scene between them, at the gate.

Was it a breach?--or would it all be made up that very night at the Magdalen ball?

No!--it was and should be a breach! Constance fought back her tears, and rode proudly home.

"What are you going to wear to-night?" said Nora, putting her head in at Constance's door. Constance was lying down by Annette's strict command, in preparation for her second ball, which was being given by Magdalen, where the college was reported to have surpa.s.sed itself in the lavishness of all the preparations made for lighting up its beautiful walks and quadrangles.

Constance pointed languidly to the sofa, where a creation in white silk and tulle, just arrived from London, had been laid out by the reverential hands of Annette.

"Why on earth does one go to b.a.l.l.s?" said Constance, gloomily pressing both hands upon a pair of aching temples.

Nora shut the door behind her, and came to the side of the bed.

"It's time to dress," she said firmly. "Alice says you had a _succes fou_ last night."

"Go away, and don't talk nonsense!" Constance turned on her side, and shut her eyes.

"Oh, Alice hadn't a bad time either!" said Nora, complacently, sitting on the bed. "Herbert Pryce seems to have behaved quite decently. Shall I tell you something?" The laughing girl stooped over Connie, and said in her ear--"Now that Herbert knows it would be no good proposing to you, he thinks it might be a useful thing to have you for a relation."

"Don't be horrid!" said Constance. "If I were Alice--"

"You'd punch my head?" Nora laughed. "All very well. But Alice doesn't much care why Herbert Pryce marries her, so long as he does marry her."

Constance did not reply. She continued to feign a headache. But all the time she was thinking of the scene in the wood that morning, when she and Falloden had--to amuse themselves--plotted the rise in life, and the matrimonial happiness, of Herbert and Alice. How little they had cared for what they talked about! They talked only that they might laugh together--hear each other's voices, look into each other's eyes--

"Where did you ride this morning?" said Nora suddenly.

"Somewhere out towards G.o.dstowe," said Constance vaguely.

"I saw Mr. Falloden riding down the High this morning, when I was on the way to the Bodleian. He just looks splendid on horseback--I must give him that. Why doesn't he ride with you sometimes, as he chose your horse?"

"I understand the whole of Oxford would have a fit if a girl went out riding with an undergraduate," said Constance, her voice m.u.f.fled in the pillow. Then, after a moment she sprang up, and began to brush her hair.

"Mr. Falloden's not an undergraduate now. He can do what he likes," said Nora.

Constance made no reply. Nora observed her with a pair of shrewd brown eyes.

"There are two bouquets for you downstairs," she said abruptly.

Constance turned round startled, almost hidden by the thick veil of her brown hair.

"Who's sent them?"

"One comes from Mr. Radowitz--a beauty. The other's from Lord Meyrick.

Isn't he a jolly boy?"

Constance turned back to the dressing-table, disappointed. She had half expected another name. And yet she would have felt insulted if Falloden had dared to send her flowers that evening, without a word of apology--of regret for their happy hour, spoilt by his absurd demands.

"Well, I can't carry them both; and one will be offended."

"Oh, you must take Radowitz's!" cried Nora. "Just to show that you stand by him. Mr. Sorell says everybody likes him in college--except Mr.

Falloden's horrid set, who think themselves the lords of creation. They say that Otto Radowitz made such an amusing speech last week in the college debating society attacking 'the bloods.' Of course they didn't hear it, because they have their own club, and turn up their nose at the college society. But it's going to be printed somewhere, and then it'll make them still more furious with him. They'll certainly pay him out some time."

"All right," said Constance, who had suddenly recovered colour and vivacity. "I'll take Mr. Radowitz's bouquet."

"Then, of course, Lord Meyrick will feel snubbed. Serve him right! He shouldn't be so absurdly fond of Mr. Falloden!"

Nora was quite aware that she might be provoking Constance. She did it with her eyes open. Her curiosity and concern after what Alice had told her of the preceding night's ball were becoming hard to conceal. Would Connie really engage herself to that horrid man?

But no rise could be got out of Constance. She said nothing. Annette appeared, and the important business of hair-dressing went forward.

Nora, however, had yet another fly to throw.

"Alice pa.s.sed Mr. Falloden on the river this afternoon--he was with the Mansons, and another lady, an awfully pretty person. Mr. Falloden was teaching her to row. n.o.body knew who she was. But she and he seemed great friends. Alice saw them also walking about together at Iffley, while the others were having tea."

"Indeed?" said Constance. "Annette, I think I'll wear my black after all--the black tulle, and my pearls."

Annette unwillingly hung up the "creation."

"You'd have looked a dream in it, my lady. Why ever won't you wear it?"

But Constance was obstinate. And very soon she stood robed in clouds of black tulle and jet, from which her delicate neck and arms, and her golden-brown head stood out with brilliant effect. Nora, still sitting on the bed, admired her hugely. "She'll look like that when she's married," she thought, by which she meant that the black had added a certain proud--even a sombre--stateliness to Connie's good looks.

"Now my pearls, Annette."

"Won't you have some flowers, my lady?"

"No. Not one. Only my pearls."