Declined to fight the fellow? interposed Algernon. More shame to you!
I think youre a year younger than I am, Algy. You have the privilege of speaking with that years simplicity. Mrs. Lovell will play you as she played me. I acknowledge her power, and I keep out of her way. I dont bet; I dont care to waltz; I cant keep horses; so I dont lose much by the privation to which I subject myself.
I bet, I waltz, and I ride. So, said Algernon, I should lose tremendously.
You will lose, mark my words.
Is the lecture of my years senior concluded? said Algernon.
Yes; Ive done, Edward answered.
Then Ill put on my coat, Ned, and Ill smoke in it. Thatll give you assurance Im not going near Mrs. Lovell, if anything will.
That gives me assurance that Mrs. Lovell tolerates in you what she detests, said Edward, relentless in his insight; and, consequently, gives me assurance that she finds you of particular service to her at present.
Algernon had a lighted match in his hand. He flung it into the fire. Im hanged if I dont think you have the confounded vanity to suppose she sets me as a spy upon you!
A smile ran along Edwards lips. I dont think youd know it, if she did.
Oh, youre ten years older; youre twenty, bawled Algernon, in an extremity of disgust. Dont I know what game youre following up? Isnt it clear as day youve got another woman in your eye?
Its as clear as day, my good Algy, that you see a portrait hanging in my chambers, and you have heard Mrs. Lovells opinion of the fact. So much is perfectly clear. Theres my hand. I dont blame you. Shes a clever woman, and like many of the sort, shrewd at guessing the worst. Come, take my hand. I tell you, I dont blame you. Ive been little dog to her myself, and fetched and carried, and wagged my tail. Its charming while it lasts. Will you shake it?
Your tail, man? Algernon roared in pretended amazement.
Edward eased him back to friendliness by laughing. No; my hand.
They shook hands.
All right, said Algernon. You mean well. Its very well for you to preach virtue to a poor devil; youve got loose, or youre regularly in love.
Virtue! by heaven! Edward cried; I wish I were entitled to preach it to any man on earth.
His face flushed. There, good-bye, old fellow, he added.
Go to the city. Ill dine with you to-night, if you like; come and dine with me at my Club. I shall be disengaged.
Algernon mumbled a flexible assent to an appointment at Edwards Club, dressed himself with care, borrowed a sovereign, for which he nodded his acceptance, and left him.
Edward set his brain upon a book of law.
It may have been two hours after he had sat thus in his Cistercian stillness, when a letter was delivered to him by one of the Inn porters. Edward read the superscription, and asked the porter who it was that brought it. Two young ladies, the porter said.
These were the contents:
I am not sure that you will ever forgive me. I cannot forgive myself when I think of that one word I was obliged to speak to you in the cold street, and nothing to explain why, and how much I love, you. Oh! how I love you! I cry while I write. I cannot help it. I was a sop of tears all night long, and oh! if you had seen my face in the morning. I am thankful you did not. Mothers Bible brought me home. It must have been guidance, for in my bed there lay my sister, and I could not leave her, I love her so. I could not have got down stairs again after seeing her there; and I had to say that cold word and shut the window on you. May I call you Edward still? Oh, dear Edward, do make allowance for me. Write kindly to me. Say you forgive me. I feel like a ghost to-day. My life seems quite behind me somewhere, and I hardly feel anything I touch. I declare to you, dearest one, I had no idea my sister was here. I was surprised when I heard her name mentioned by my landlady, and looked on the bed; suddenly my strength was gone, and it changed all that I was thinking. I never knew before that women were so weak, but now I see they are, and I only know I am at my Edwards mercy, and am stupid! Oh, so wretched and stupid. I shall not touch food till I hear from you. Oh, if, you are angry, write so; but do write. My suspense would make you pity me. I know I deserve your anger. It was not that I do not trust you, Edward. My mother in heaven sees my heart and that I trust, I trust my heart and everything I am and have to you. I would almost wish and wait to see you to-day in the Gardens, but my crying has made me such a streaked thing to look at. If I had rubbed my face with a scrubbing-brush, I could not look worse, and I cannot risk your seeing me. It would excuse you for hating me. Do you? Does he hate her? She loves you. She would die for you, dear Edward. Oh! I feel that if I was told to-day that I should die for you to-morrow, it would be happiness. I am dyingyes, I am dying till I hear from you.
Believe me,
Your tender, loving, broken-hearted,
Dahlia.
There was a postscript:
May I still go to lessons?
Edward finished the letter with a calmly perusing eye. He had winced triflingly at one or two expressions contained in it; forcible, perhaps, but not such as Mrs. Lovell smiling from the wall yonder would have used.
The poor child threatens to eat no dinner, if I dont write to her, he said; and replied in a kind and magnanimous spirit, concludingGo to lessons, by all means.
Having accomplished this, he stood up, and by hazard fell to comparing the rival portraits; a melancholy and a comic thing to do, as you will find if you put two painted heads side by side, and set their merits contesting, and reflect on the contest, and to what advantages, personal, or of the artists, the winner owes the victory. Dahlia had been admirably dealt with by the artist; the charm of pure ingenuousness without rusticity was visible in her face and figure. Hanging there on the wall, she was a match for Mrs. Lovell.
CHAPTER VII
Rhoda returned home the heavier for a secret that she bore with her. All through the first night of her sleeping in London, Dahlias sobs, and tender hugs, and self-reproaches, had penetrated her dreams, and when the morning came she had scarcely to learn that Dahlia loved some one. The confession was made; but his name was reserved. Dahlia spoke of him with such sacredness of respect that she seemed lost in him, and like a creature kissing his feet. With tears rolling down her cheeks, and with moans of anguish, she spoke of the deliciousness of loving: of knowing one to whom she abandoned her will and her destiny, until, seeing how beautiful a bloom love threw upon the tearful worn face of her sister, Rhoda was impressed by a mystical veneration for this man, and readily believed him to be above all other men, if not superhuman: for she was of an age and an imagination to conceive a spiritual pre-eminence over the weakness of mortality. She thought that one who could so transform her sister, touch her with awe, and give her gracefulness and humility, must be what Dahlia said he was. She asked shyly for his Christian name; but even so little Dahlia withheld. It was his wish that Dahlia should keep silence concerning him.
Have you sworn an oath? said Rhoda, wonderingly.
No, dear love, Dahlia replied; he only mentioned what he desired.
Rhoda was ashamed of herself for thinking it strange, and she surrendered her judgement to be stamped by the one who knew him well.