Prince Fortunatus Part 62

"What has happened?"

He took up the newspaper, opened it, and handed it to her in silence, showing her a particular paragraph.

"Oh!" she said, with startled eyes, and yet she read the lines slowly, to give time for consideration. And then she recollected that she ought to express sympathy. "I am so very sorry--so sudden and unexpected; it must have been such a shock to you. But," she added, after a second--"but why are you here? You ought to have gone home at once."

"I'm on my way home--I only got the telegram yesterday afternoon--I reached London this morning," the young man said, disconnectedly; all his eager and wistful attention was concentrated on her face; what answer was about to appear there to his urgent prayer? "Don't you understand why I am here, dear Kate?" said he, and he advanced a little, but very timidly.

"Well, really," said she, for she was bound to appear a trifle shocked, "when such a dreadful thing happens--your father's sudden death--really I think that should be the first thing in your mind; I think you ought not to delay a moment in going home."

"You think me heartless, but you don't understand," said he, eager to justify himself in her eyes. "Of course I'm sorry. But my father and I never got on very well; he was always trying to thwart me."

"Yes, but for the sake of mere outward form and decency," she ventured to say.

"That's just it!" he said, quickly. "I'll have to go away down there, and I don't know how long I may be kept; and--and--I thought if I could take with me some a.s.surance that these altered circ.u.mstances would weigh with you--you see, dear Kate, I am my own master now, I can do what I like--and you know what it is I ask. Now tell me--you _will_ be my wife!

I can quite understand your hesitating before; I was dependent upon my father; if he had disapproved there might have been trouble; but now it is different."

Miss Burgoyne stood silent, her eyes fixed on the floor, her fingers interclasped. He looked at her. Then, finding she had no answer for him, a curious change of expression came over his face.

"And if you hesitate now," he said, vindictively, "I know the reason, and I know it is a reason you may as well put out of your mind. Oh, I am quite aware of the s.h.i.+lly-shallying that has been going on between you and that fellow Moore--I know you've been struck, like all the rest of the women--but you may as well give up that fancy. Mr. Moore isn't much of a catch, _now_!"

She raised her head, and there was an angry flash in her eyes that for a second frightened him.

"Magnanimous!" she said, with a curl of her lip. "To taunt a man with being ill, when perhaps he is lying on his death-bed!"

"It is not because he is ill," he retorted, and his naturally pale face was somewhat paler, "I dare say he'll get well enough again. It is because he is dead broke and ruined. And do you know who did it?" he went on, more impetuously still. "Well, I did it! I said I would break him, and I broke him. I knew he was only playing with you and making a fool of you, and I said to myself that I would have it out with him--either he or I would have to go to the right about. I said I would smash him, and I have smashed him. Do you see this check? That was waiting for me at my rooms this morning. Eleven hundred pounds--that was two days' work only, and I had plenty more before. But do you think it is his check? Not a bit! It is drawn out by a friend of his. It is lent him. He is just so much the more in debt, and I don't believe he has a farthing in the world. And that's the wonderful creature all you women are wors.h.i.+pping!"

Now this foolish boy ought to have taken care, but he had been carried away on a whirlwind of jealous rage. All the time that he was pouring forth his vengeful story, Miss Burgoyne's face had become more and more hard; and when he ceased, she answered him, in low and measured tones that conveyed the most bitter scorn.

"Yes," she said, "we women are worthy of being despised, when--when we think anything of such creatures as men are capable of showing themselves to be! Oh, it is a fine time to come and boast of what you have done, when the man you hate--when the man you _fear_--is lying ill, delirious, perhaps dying. That is the time to boast of your strength, your prowess! And how dare you come to me," she continued, with a sudden toss of her head, "with all this story of gambling and debt? What is it to me? It seems that is the way men fight now--with a pack of cards!

That is fighting between--men, and the victor waves a check in triumph, and comes and brags about it to women! Well--I--I don't appreciate--such--such manliness. I think you had better--go and see to your father's funeral--instead of--of bringing such a story to me!" said Miss Burgoyne, with heaving bosom; and it was real indignation this time, for there were tears in her eyes as she turned proudly away from him and marched straight for the door of the room.

"For Heaven's sake!" he cried, intercepting her. "Kate, I did not mean to offend you! I take back what I said. How could any one help being jealous--seeing your off-and-on relations with him all this time, and you would never say one thing or another. Forgive me."

She turned to him, and there were still indignant tears in her eyes.

"It isn't fair!" she said. "It isn't fair!--he is ill; you might have a little humanity."

"Yes, I know," he said, quite humbly and imploringly (for this young man was in a bad way, and had lost his head as well as his heart). "And I didn't mean half what I said--indeed I didn't! And--and you shouldn't reproach me with not going at once down to Petmansworth, when you know the cause. I shall be among a lot of people who won't know my relations to you; I shall have all kinds of duties before me now, and I wanted to take with me one word of a.s.surance. Even if it was only sympathy I wanted, why should I not come first to you, when you are the one I care for most in the world? Isn't it a proof of that, when my first thought is of you when this great change has taken place? Don't you see how you will be affected by it--at least if you say yes. I know you are fond of the theatre, and of all the flattery you get, and bouquets and newspaper notices; but you might find another way of life just as satisfying to your pride--I mean a natural pride, a self-respect such as every woman should have. Oh, I don't mind your remaining on the stage, for a time anyway; we could not be married for at least six months, I suppose, according to usual observances; but I think if you knew how you could play the part of great lady down at Petmansworth, that might have as great attraction for you as the theatre. I was considering in the train last night," continued this luckless youth--studying every feature of his mistress's face for some favorable sign of yielding, "that perhaps you might agree to a private marriage, in a week or two's time, by private license, and we could have the marriage announced later on."

"Oh, Percy, you frighten me," said the young lady, whose wrath was clearly being mollified by his persuasive words--or perhaps by other considerations. "I couldn't think of such a thing! Oh, no, no! What would my people say? And what would the public say, when it all came out?"

"I only offered the suggestion," said he, submissively. "It would be making everything sure, that was all. But I can quite understand that a young lady would rather have a grand wedding, and presents, and a list of friends in the _Morning Post_: well, I don't insist; it was only a fancy I had last night in the train, but I am sure I would rather study your wishes in every respect."

She stood silent for a little time, he intently waiting her answer.

"It is too serious a matter for me to decide by myself," she said, at last, in a low voice.

"But who else has any right to interfere?" he exclaimed. "Why should you not decide for yourself? You know I love you--you have seen it? and I have waited and waited, and borne with a good deal. But then I was hardly in a position to demand an answer; there would have been some risk on your part, and I hesitated. Now there can be none. Dear Kate, you are going to say one word!--and I shall go away down to all this sad business that lies before me with a secret comfort that none of them will suspect."

"It is too sudden, Percy," she said, lingeringly; "I must have time to consider."

"What have you to consider?" he remonstrated.

"A great many things," she said, evasively. "You don't know how a girl is situated. Here is papa coming to town this very morning; Jim and Cicely have gone up to Paddington to meet him. Well, I don't know how he might regard it. If you wanted me to leave the theatre altogether, it would make a great difference; I do a good deal for Jim and Cicely."

"But, Katie," he said, and he took her hand in spite of her, "these are only matters of business! Do you think I can't make all that straight?

Say yes!"--and he strove to draw her towards him, and would have kissed her, but that she withdrew a step, with her cheeks flus.h.i.+ng prettily through the thin make-up of the morning.

"You must give me time, Percy," she said, with downcast eyes. "I must know what papa says."

"What time?"

"Well--a week," she said.

"A week be it: I won't worry you beyond your patience, dear Kate," said this infatuated young man. "But I know what you will have to say then--to make me the happiest of human beings alive on this earth.

Good-bye, dearest!"

And with that he respectfully kissed her hand and took his leave; and so soon as she was sure he was out of the house she rang for breakfast, and called down to the little maid to look sharp with it, too. She was startled and pleased in one direction, and, in another, perhaps a trifle vexed; for what business had any man coming bothering her with a proposal of marriage before breakfast? How could she help displaying a little temper, when she was hungry and he over pertinacious? Yet she hoped she had not been too outspoken in her anger, for there were visions before her mind that somehow seemed agreeable.

That was another anxious day for those people in Piccadilly, for the fever showed no signs of abating, while some slight delirium returned from time to time. Nina, of course, was in constant attendance; and when he began, in his wanderings, to speak of her and to ask Maurice what had become of her, she would simply go into the room, and take a seat by the bedside, and talk to him just as if they had met by accident in the Piazza Cavour. For he had got it into his head now that they were in Naples again.

"Oh, yes, it is all right, Leo," she would say, putting her cool hand on his burning one, "they will all be in time, the whole party; when we get down to the _Risposta_, they will all be there; and perhaps Sabetta will bring her zither in its case. Then there will be the long sail across the blue water, and Capri coming nearer and nearer; then the landing and the donkeys and the steep climb up and up. Where shall we go, Leo?--to the Hotel Pagano or the Tiberio? The Pagano?--very well, for there is the long balcony shaded from the sun, and after luncheon we shall have chairs taken out--yes, and you can smoke there--and you will laugh to see Andrea go to the front of the railings and sing, '_Al ben de tuoi qual vittima,_' with his arms stretched out like a windmill, and Carmela very angry with him that he is so ridiculous. But then no one hears--what matter?--no one except those perhaps in the small garden-house for the billiard. Will there be moonlight to-night before we get back? To-morrow Pandiani will grumble. Well, let him grumble; I am not afraid of him--no!"

So she would carelessly talk him back into quietude again; and then she would stealthily withdraw from the room, and perhaps go to the piano and begin to play some Neapolitan air--but so softly that the notes must have come to him like music in a dream.

Lord Rockminster called that afternoon and was shown up-stairs.

"I am going down to Scotland to-night," said he to Maurice, "and I have just got a telegram from Miss Cunyngham--you may have heard of her from Mr. Moore?"

"Oh, yes," Mangan said.

"She wishes me to bring her the latest news."

Well, he was told what there was to tell--which was not much, amid all this dire uncertainty. He looked perplexed.

"I should like to have taken Miss Cunyngham some more rea.s.suring message," he said, thoughtfully. "I suppose there is nothing either she or I could do?" And then he drew Maurice aside and spoke in an undertone. "Except perhaps this. I have heard that Moore has been playing a little high of late--and has burned his fingers. I hope you won't let his mind be hara.s.sed by money matters. If a temporary loan will serve, and for a considerable amount if necessary, I will rely on your writing to me; may I?"

"It is exceedingly kind of you," Maurice said--but made no further promise.

No, Lionel had not been forgotten by all his fas.h.i.+onable friends. That same afternoon a package arrived, which, according to custom, Maurice opened, lest some acknowledgment should be necessary. It proved to be Lady Adela Cunyngham's new novel--the three volumes prettily bound in white parchment.

"Is the woman mad with vanity," said Francie, in hot indignation, "to send him her trash at such a time as this?"

Maurice laughed; it was not often that the gentle Francie was so vehement.

"Why, Francie, it was the best she could do," he said; "for when he is able to read it will send him to sleep."

He was still turning over the leaves of the first volume.