Dross Part 28

"Oh--no," with a laugh.

"That is well," said I finally. And we walked on for a s.p.a.ce in silence, when my companion changed the conversation with that ease of manner under the direct snub which only comes from experience. Mr.

Devar was certainly a good-natured person, for he forgave my rudeness as soon as it was uttered.

I know not exactly how he compa.s.sed it, but he restored peace so effectually that before we reached Hyde Park Street he had forced me to invite him to lunch with me at my club on the following Sat.u.r.day.

This world is certainly for the thick-skinned.

We entered Isabella's drawing-room, therefore, together, and a picture of brotherly love.

"Force of good example," explained Mr. Devar airily. "I saw Howard walking and walked with him."

There were a.s.sembled the house-party only, Devar and I being the guests of the evening. Isabella frowned as we entered together. I wondered why.

Devar attached himself to Alphonse Giraud, whom he led aside under pretext of examining a picture.

"Monsieur Giraud," he then said to him in French, "as a man of affairs I cannot but deplore your heedlessness."

He was a much older man than Giraud, and had besides the gift of uttering an impertinence as if under compulsion.

"But, my dear sir--" exclaimed Alphonse.

"Either you do not heed the loss of your fortune or you are blind."

"You mean that I cannot trust my friend," said Alphonse.

Mr. Devar spread out his hands in denial of any such meaning.

"Monsieur Giraud," he said, "I am a man of the world, and also a lawyer. I suppose I am as charitable as my neighbours. But it is never wise to trust a single man with a large sum of money. None of us knows his own weakness. Put not thy neighbour into temptation."

Which sounded like Scripture, and doubtless pa.s.sed as such. Mr. Devar nodded easily, smiled like an advertis.e.m.e.nt of dentifrice, and moved back to the centre of the room. It naturally fell to him to offer his arm to the hostess, while Madame accompanied me to the dining-room.

Alphonse and Lucille paired off, as it seemed to me, very naturally.

As we pa.s.sed down the stairs I fell into thought, and made a mental survey of all these people as they stood in respect to myself.

Alphonse had progressed, as was visible on his telltale face, from suspicion to something near hostility. Isabella--always a puzzle--was more enigmatic than ever; for she showed herself keenly alive to my faults, and made no concealment of her distrust, though she threw open her house to me with a persistent and almost anxious hospitality. Here was no friend. Had I, in Isabella, an enemy? Of Devar, all that I could conclude was that he was suspicious. His interest in myself was less gratifying than the deepest indifference. In Madame de Clericy I had one who wished to be my friend, but her att.i.tude towards me was inscrutable. She seemed to encourage Alphonse. Did she, like the rest of them, suspect me of seeking to frustrate his suit by withholding his fortune? She merely looked at me, and would say no word. And of Lucille, what could I think but that she hated me?

At dinner we spoke of the siege, and of those sad affairs of France which drew all men's thoughts at this time. Mr. Devar was, I remember, well informed on the points of the campaign, and seemed to talk of them with equal facility in French and English; but I disliked the man, and determined to make my thoughts known to Isabella.

It was no easy matter to outstay Mr. Devar, but, a.s.serting my position as an old friend, this was at last accomplished. When we were left alone, Alphonse must have divined my intention in the quick way that was natural to him; for he engaged Lucille and her mother in a discussion of the latest news, which he translated from an evening paper. Indeed, Lucille and he put their heads together over the journal, and seemed to find it d.a.m.nably amusing.

"Isabella," I said, "will you allow me to make some inquiries concerning this man Devar before you ask him to your house again?"

"Are you afraid that Mr. Devar will interfere with your own private schemes?" she replied, in that tone of semi-banter which she often a.s.sumed towards me when we were alone.

"Thanks--no. I am quite capable of taking care of myself, so far as Mr. Devar is concerned. It is--if you will believe it--in regard to yourself that I have misgivings. I look upon myself as in some sort your protector."

She looked at me, and gave a sudden laugh.

"A most n.o.ble and competent protector!" she said, in her biting way, "when you are always fortune-hunting, or else in France taking care of beauty in distress."

She glanced across the room towards Lucille in a manner strangely cold.

"Why do you encourage this man?" I asked, returning to the subject from which Isabella had so easily glided away. "He is not a gentleman.

Seems to me the man is a--dark horse!"

"Well, you ought to know," said Isabella, with a promptness which made me reflect that I was no match for the veriest schoolgirl in a warfare of words.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A MOST n.o.bLE AND COMPETENT PROTECTOR!" SHE SAID, IN HER BITING WAY, "WHEN YOU ARE ALWAYS FORTUNE-HUNTING, OR ELSE IN FRANCE TAKING CARE OF BEAUTY IN DISTRESS."]

"I did not understand," continued Isabella, looking at me under her lashes, "that you looked upon yourself as my protector. It is rather an amusing thought!"

"Oh! I do not pretend to competence," answered I; "I know you to be cleverer, and quite capable of managing your own affairs. If there was anything you wanted, no doubt you could get it better without my a.s.sistance than with it."

"No doubt," put in Isabella, with a queer curtness.

"But my father looked upon you rather in the light I mentioned. He was very fond of you, and thought much of your welfare, and--"

"You think the burden should be hereditary," she interrupted again, but she smiled in a manner that softened the acerbity of her words.

"No, d.i.c.k," she said, "you are better at your fortune-hunting."

"It is not for myself," I said too hurriedly; for Isabella had always the power to make me utter hasty words, involving me in some quarrel in which I invariably fared badly.

"Who knows?"

"You think that if the fortune fell into my hands, the temptation would be too strong for a poor man like myself?" I inquired.

"Poor by choice!" The words were hardly audible, for Isabella was busying her fingers with some books that lay on the table between us.

It may have been the effect of the lamp shade, but I thought her colour heightened when I glanced at her face.

"It is hard to believe that you are honestly seeking a fortune, which, when found, will enable another man to marry Lucille," she said significantly, without looking at me. And I suppose she knew that which was in my heart.

"Some day," I retorted, "you will have to apologise for having said that!"

"Then others will need to do the same! Lucille herself does not believe in you."

"Yes," I answered, "others will have to do the same, and thank you for it."

"Lucille will not," answered Isabella, with a note of triumph in her voice, "for she had reason to distrust you in Paris."

"You seem to be on very confidential terms with Mademoiselle."

"Yes," she answered, looking at me with quiet defiance.

"Is the confidence mutual, Isabella?" asked I, rising to go; and received no answer.

When I bade good-night to Madame de Clericy, she was standing alone at the far end of the room.

"Ah! mon ami," she said, as she gave me her hand, "I think you are blinder than other men. Women are not only clothes. We have feelings of our own, which spring up without the help of any man--in despite of any, perhaps--remember that."