Lucretia Part 5

"Hands across, hands across!" cried Mr. Ardworth.

"And," continued Mr. Vernon, as soon as a pause was permitted to him, "there is a song which the prince sings, written by some sensible old-fas.h.i.+oned fellow, which says,--

"'Gather your rosebuds while you may, For time is still a flying."'

"You have obeyed the moral of the song yourself, I believe, Mr. Vernon."

"Call me cousin, or Charles,--Charley, if you like, as most of my friends do; n.o.body ever calls me Mr. Vernon,--I don't know myself by that name."

"Down the middle; we are all waiting for you," shouted Ardworth.

And down the middle, with wondrous grace, glided the exquisite nankeens of Charley Vernon.

The dance now, thanks to Ardworth, became too animated and riotous to allow more than a few broken monosyllables till Vernon and his partner gained the end of the set, and then, flirting his partner's fan, he recommenced,--

"Seriously, my cousin, you must sometimes feel very much moped here."

"Never!" answered Lucretia. Not once yet had her eye rested on Mr.

Vernon. She felt that she was sounded.

"Yet I am sure you have a taste for the pomps and vanities. Aha! there is ambition under those careless curls," said Mr. Vernon, with his easy, adorable impertinence.

Lucretia winced.

"But if I were ambitious, what field for ambition could I find in London?"

"The same as Alexander,--empire, my cousin."

"You forget that I am not a man. Man, indeed, may hope for an empire. It is something to be a Pitt, or even a Warren Hastings."

Mr. Vernon stared. Was this stupidity, or what?

"A woman has an empire more undisputed than Mr. Pitt's, and more pitiless than that of Governor Hastings."

"Oh, pardon me, Mr. Vernon--"

"Charles, if you please."

Lucretia's brow darkened.

"Pardon me," she repeated; "but these compliments, if such they are meant to be, meet a very ungrateful return. A woman's empire over gauzes and ribbons, over tea-tables and drums, over fops and coquettes, is not worth a journey from Laughton to London."

"You think you can despise admiration?"

"What you mean by admiration,--yes."

"And love too?" said Vernon, in a whisper.

Now Lucretia at once and abruptly raised her eyes to her partner. Was he aiming at her secret? Was he hinting at intentions of his own? The look chilled Vernon, and he turned away his head.

Suddenly, then, in pursuance of a new train of ideas, Lucretia altered her manner to him. She had detected what before she had surmised.

This sudden familiarity on his part arose from notions her uncle had instilled,--the visitor had been incited to become the suitor. Her penetration into character, which from childhood had been her pa.s.sionate study, told her that on that light, polished, fearless nature scorn would have slight effect; to meet the familiarity would be the best means to secure a friend, to disarm a wooer. She changed then her manner; she summoned up her extraordinary craft; she accepted the intimacy held out to her, not to unguard herself, but to lay open her opponent. It became necessary to her to know this man, to have such power as the knowledge might give her. Insensibly and gradually she led her companion away from his design of approaching her own secrets or character, into frank talk about himself. All unconsciously he began to lay bare to his listener the infirmities of his erring, open heart.

Silently she looked down, and plumbed them all,--the frivolity, the recklessness, the half gay, half mournful sense of waste and ruin.

There, blooming amongst the wrecks, she saw the fairest flowers of n.o.ble manhood profuse and fragrant still,--generosity and courage and disregard for self. Spendthrift and gambler on one side the medal; gentleman and soldier on the other. Beside this maimed and imperfect nature she measured her own prepared and profound intellect, and as she listened, her smile became more bland and frequent. She could afford to be gracious; she felt superiority, scorn, and safety.

As this seeming intimacy had matured, Vernon and his partner had quitted the dance, and were conversing apart in the recess of one of the windows, which the newspaper readers had deserted, in the part of the room where Sir Miles and Dalibard, still seated, were about to commence their third game at chess. The baronet's hand ceased from the task of arranging his p.a.w.ns; his eye was upon the pair; and then, after a long and complacent gaze, it looked round without discovering the object it sought.

"I am about to task your kindness most improperly, Monsieur Dalibard,"

said Sir Miles, with that politeness so displeasing to Ardworth, "but will you do me the favour to move aside that fold of the screen? I wish for a better view of our young people. Thank you very much."

Sir Miles now discovered Mainwaring, and observed that, far from regarding with self-betraying jealousy the apparent flirtation going on between Lucretia and her kinsman, he was engaged in animated conversation with the chairman of the quarter sessions. Sir Miles was satisfied, and ranged his p.a.w.ns. All this time, and indeed ever since they had sat down to play, the Provencal had been waiting, with the patience that belonged to his character, for some observation from Sir Miles on the subject which, his sagacity perceived, was engrossing his thoughts. There had been about the old gentleman a fidgety restlessness which showed that something was on his mind. His eyes had been frequently turned towards his niece since her entrance; once or twice he had cleared his throat and hemmed,--his usual prelude to some more important communication; and Dalibard had heard him muttering to himself, and fancied he caught the name of "Mainwaring." And indeed the baronet had been repeatedly on the verge of sounding his secretary, and as often had been checked both by pride in himself and pride for Lucretia. It seemed to him beneath his own dignity and hers even to hint to an inferior a fear, a doubt, of the heiress of Laughton. Olivier Dalibard could easily have led on his patron, he could easily, if he pleased it, have dropped words to instil suspicion and prompt question; but that was not his object,--he rather shunned than courted any reference to himself upon the matter; for he knew that Lucretia, if she could suppose that he, however indirectly, had betrayed her to her uncle, would at once declare his own suit to her, and so procure his immediate dismissal; while, aware of her powers of dissimulation and her influence over her uncle, he feared that a single word from her would suffice to remove all suspicion in Sir Miles, however ingeniously implanted, and however truthfully grounded. But all the while, under his apparent calm, his mind was busy and his pa.s.sions burning.

"Pshaw! your old play,--the bishop again," said Sir Miles, laughing, as he moved a knight to frustrate his adversary's supposed plan; and then, turning back, he once more contemplated the growing familiarity between Vernon and his niece. This time he could not contain his pleasure.

"Dalibard, my dear sir," he said, rubbing his hands, "look yonder: they would make a handsome couple!"

"Who, sir?" said the Provencal, looking another way, with dogged stupidity.

"Who? d.a.m.n it, man! Nay, pray forgive my ill manners, but I felt glad, sir, and proud, sir. Who? Charley Vernon and Lucretia Clavering."

"a.s.suredly, yes. Do you think that there is a chance of so happy an event?"

"Why, it depends only on Lucretia; I shall never force her." Here Sir Miles stopped, for Gabriel, unperceived before, picked up his patron's pocket-handkerchief.

Olivier Dalibard's gray eyes rested coldly on his son. "You are not dancing to-night, my boy. Go; I like to see you amused."

The boy obeyed at once, as he always did, the paternal commands. He found a partner, and joined a dance just begun; and in the midst of the dance, Honore Gabriel Varney seemed a new being,--not Ardworth himself so thoroughly entered into the enjoyment of the exercise, the lights, the music. With brilliant eyes and dilated nostrils, he seemed prematurely to feel all that is exciting and voluptuous in that exhilaration which to childhood is usually so innocent. His glances followed the fairest form; his clasp lingered in the softest hand; his voice trembled as the warm breath of his partner came on his cheeks.

Meanwhile the conversation between the chess-players continued.

"Yes," said the baronet, "it depends only on Lucretia. And she seems pleased with Vernon: who would not be?"

"Your penetration rarely deceives you, sir. I own I think with you. Does Mr. Vernon know that you would permit the alliance?"

"Yes; but--" the baronet stopped short.

"You were saying, but--But what, Sir Miles?"

"Why, the dog affected diffidence; he had some fear lest he should not win her affections. But luckily, at least, they are disengaged."

Dalibard looked grave, and his eye, as if involuntarily, glanced towards Mainwaring. As ill-luck would have it, the young man had then ceased his conversation with the chairman of the quarter sessions, and with arms folded, brow contracted, and looks, earnest, anxious, and intent, was contemplating the whispered conference between Lucretia and Vernon.

Sir Miles's eye had followed his secretary's, and his face changed. His hand fell on the chess board and upset half the men; he uttered a very audible "Zounds!"

"I think, Sir Miles," said the Provencal, rising, as if conscious that Sir Miles wished to play no more,--"I think that if you spoke soon to Miss Clavering as to your views with regard to Mr. Vernon, it might ripen matters; for I have heard it said by French mothers--and our Frenchwomen understand the female heart, sir--that a girl having no other affection is often prepossessed at once in favour of a man whom she knows beforehand is prepared to woo and to win her, whereas without that knowledge he would have seemed but an ordinary acquaintance."

"It is shrewdly said, my dear Monsieur Dalibard; and for more reasons than one, the sooner I speak to her the better. Lend me your arm. It is time for supper; I see the dance is over."

Pa.s.sing by the place where Mainwaring still leaned, the baronet looked at him fixedly. The young man did not notice the gaze. Sir Miles touched him gently. He started as from a revery.