Elster's Folly Part 42

"I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon."

"Now don't pretend to be offended, Val. I have only saved you trouble."

"Maude," he said, rallying his good humour, "it was not right. Let us--for Heaven's sake let us begin as we mean to go on: our interests must be _one_, not separate. Why did you not tell me you wished to return to London, and allow me to see after an abode for us? It would have been the proper way."

"Well, the truth is, I saw you did not want to go; you kept holding back from it; and if I _had_ spoken you would have s.h.i.+llyshallied over it until the season was over. Every one I know is in London now."

The waiter entered with the fresh chocolate, and retired again. Lord Hartledon was standing at the window then. His wife went up to him, and stole her hand within his arm.

"I'm sorry if I have offended you, Val. It's no great matter to have done."

"I think it was, Maude. However--don't act for yourself in future; let me know your wishes. I do not think you have expressed a wish, or half a wish, since our marriage, but I have felt a pleasure in gratifying it."

"You good old fellow! But I am given to having a will of my own, and to act independently. I'm like mamma in that. Val, we will start to-morrow: have you any orders for the servants? I can transmit them through mamma."

"I have no orders. This is your expedition, Maude, not mine; and, I a.s.sure you, I feel like a man in utter darkness in regard to it. Allow me to see your mother's letter."

Lady Hartledon had put the letter safely into her pocket.

"I would rather not, Percival: it contains a few private words to myself, and mamma has always an objection to her letters being shown. I'll read you all necessary particulars. You must let me have some money to-day."

"How much?" asked he, from between his compressed lips.

"Oceans. I owe for millinery and things. And, Val, I'll go to Versailles this afternoon, if you like. I want to see some of the rooms again."

"Very well," he answered.

She poured out some chocolate, took it hurriedly, and quitted the room, leaving her husband in a disheartening reverie. That Lady Hartledon and Maude Kirton were two very distinct persons he had discovered already; the one had been all gentleness and childlike suavity, the other was positive, extravagant, and self-willed; the one had made a pretence of loving him beyond all other things in life, the other was making very little show of loving him at all, or of concealing her indifference.

Lord Hartledon was not the only husband who has been disagreeably astonished by a similar metamorphosis.

The following was the letter of the countess-dowager:

"Darling Maude,

"I have _secured_ the _house_ you write about and send by this _post_ for Hedges and a few of the rest from _Hartledon_. It won't accommodate a large _establishment_ I can tell you and you'll be _disappointed_ when you come over to take _possession_ which you can do when you _choose_. Val was a _fool_ for letting his town house in the spring but of course we know he is _one_ and must put up with it. Whatever you _do_, don't _consult_ him about _any earthly thing_ take _your own way_, he never did have _much_ of a will and you must let him _have none_ for the future. You've got a splendid _chance_ can spend _what you like_ and rule in _society_ and he'll subside into a _tame spaniel_.

"Maude if you are such an idiot I'll _shake_ you. Find you've made a _dredful_ mistake?--can't bear your husband?--keep thinking always of _Edward_? A child might write such utter _rubish_ but not you, what does it matter whether one's husband is _liked_ or _disliked_, provided he gives one _position_ and _wealth_? Go to Amiens and stop with _Jane_ for a _week_ and see her _plight_ and then grumble at your own, you _are_ an idiot.

"I'm quite _glad_ about your taking this town-_house_, and shall enter into _posession_ myself as soon as the servants are up, and await you.

_Bob's_ quite _well_ and joins to-day and of course _gives up_ his lodgings, which have been _wretchedly confined_ and uncomfortable and where I should have gone to but for this _move_ of yours I don't know.

Mind you bring me over a Parisian _bonnet_ or two or some articles of that _sort_. I'm nearly in _rags_, Kirton's as undutiful as he _can_ be but it's that _wife_ of his.

"Your affectionate mother,

"C. Kirton."

The letter will give you some guide to the policy of Maude Hartledon since her marriage. She did find she had made a mistake. She cared no more for her husband now than she had cared for him before; and it was a positive fact that she despised him for walking so tamely into the snare laid for him by herself and her mother. Nevertheless she triumphed; he had made her a peeress, and she did care for that; she cared also for the broad lands of Hartledon. That she was unwise in a.s.suming her own will so promptly, with little regard to consulting his, she might yet discover.

At Versailles that day--to which place they went in accordance with Maude's wish--there occurred a rencontre which Lord Hartledon would willingly have gone to the very ends of the earth to avoid. It happened to be rather full for Versailles; many of the visitors in Paris apparently having taken it into their minds to go; indeed, Maude's wish was induced by the fact that some of her acquaintances in the gay capital were going also.

You may possibly remember a very small room in the galleries, exceedingly small as compared with the rest, chiefly hung with English portraits.

They were in this room, amidst the little crowd that filled it, when Lord Hartledon became aware that his wife had encountered some long-lost friend. There was much greeting and shaking of hands. He caught the name--Kattle; and being a somewhat singular name, he recognised it for that of the lady who had been sojourning at Cannes, and had sent the news of Miss Ashton's supposed engagement to the countess-dowager. There was the usual babble on both sides--where each was staying, had been staying, would be staying; and then Lord Hartledon heard the following words from Mrs. Kattle.

"How strange I should have seen you! I have met you, the Fords, and the Ashtons here, and did not know that any of you were in Paris. It's true I only arrived yesterday. Such a long illness, my dear, I had at Turin!"

"The Ashtons!" involuntarily repeated Maude. "Are they here?--in the chateau?" And it instantly occurred to her how she should like to meet them, and parade her triumph. If ever a spark of feeling for her husband arose within Maude's heart, it was when she thought of Anne Ashton. She was bitterly jealous of her still.

"Yes, here; I saw them not three minutes ago. They are only now on their road home from Cannes. Fancy their making so long a stay!"

"You wrote mamma word that Miss Ashton was about to marry some Colonel Barnaby."

Mrs. Kattle laughed. It is possible that written news might have been _asked for_ by the countess-dowager.

"Well, my dear, and so I did; but it turned out to be a mistake. He did admire her; there was no mistake about that; and I dare say she might have had him if she liked. How's your brother and his poor leg?"

"Oh, he is well," answered Maude. "Au revoir; I can't stand this crush any longer."

It was really a crush just then in the room; and though Maude escaped from it dexterously, Lord Hartledon did not. He was wedged in behind some stout women, and had the pleasure of hearing another word or two from Mrs. Kattle.

"Who was that?" asked a lady, who appeared to be her companion.

"Lady Hartledon. He was only the younger brother until a few months ago, but the elder one got drowned in some inexplicable manner on his own estate, and this one came into the t.i.tle. The old dowager began at once to angle for him, and succeeded in hooking him. She used to write me word how it progressed."

"She is very beautiful."

"Very."

Lord Hartledon made his escape, and found his wife looking round for him.

She was struck by the aspect of his face.

"Are you ill, Percival?"

"Ill? No. But I don't care how soon we get out of these rooms. I can't think what brings so many people in them to-day."

"He has heard that _she's_ here, and would like to avoid her," thought Maude as she took the arm he held out. "The large rooms are empty enough, I'm sure," she remarked. "Shall we have time to go to the Trianon?"

"If you like. Yes."

He began to hurry through the rooms. Maude, however, was in no mood to be hurried, but stopped here and stopped there. All at once they met a large party of friends; those she had originally expected to meet. Quitting her husband's arm, she became lost amongst them.

There was no help for it; and Lord Hartledon, resigning himself to the detention, took up his standing before the pictures and stared at them, his back to the room. He saw a good deal to interest him, in spite of his rather tumultuous state of mind, and remained there until he found himself surrounded by other spectators. Turning hastily with a view to escaping, he trod upon a lady's dress. She looked up at his word of apology, and they stood face to face--himself and Miss Ashton!

That both utterly lost their presence of mind would have been conclusive to the spectators, had any regarded them; but none did so. They were strangers amidst the crowd. For the s.p.a.ce of a moment each gazed on the other, spell-bound. Lord Hartledon's honest blue eyes were riveted on her face with a strangely yearning expression of repentance--her sweet face, which had turned as white as ashes. He wore mourning still for his brother, and was the most distinguished-looking man in the chateau that day. Anne was in a trailing lilac silk, with a white gossamer-bonnet.

That the heart of each went out to the other, as it had perhaps never gone out before, it may be no sin to say. Sin or no sin, it was the truth. The real value of a thing, as you know, is never felt until it is lost. For two months each had been dutifully striving to forget the other, and believed they were succeeding; and this first accidental meeting roused up the past in all its fever of pa.s.sion.

No more conscious of what he did than if he had been in a dream, Lord Hartledon held out his hand; and she, quite as unconscious, mechanically met it with hers. What confused words of greeting went forth from his lips he never knew; she as little; but this state of bewildered feeling lasted only a minute; recollection came to both, and she strove to withdraw her hand to retreat.

"G.o.d bless you, Anne!" was all he whispered, his fervent words marred by their tone of pain; and he wrung her hand as he released it.