The Courting Of Lady Jane, Page 2

long.

  With characteristic directness he began:

  "Will your Ladyship allow me a half-hour of business with thequeen-mother?"

  She rose easily and stepped out through the long window to the littleside porch, then to the lawn. They watched her as she paced slowly awayfrom them, a tall violet figure vivid against all the green.

  "She is a dear girl, isn't she?" said her mother softly.

  A sudden flood of delighted pride surged through the colonel's heart.If only he might keep them happy and contented and--and his! He neverthought of them apart: no rose and bud on one stem were more essentiallytogether than they.

  "She is too dear for one to be satisfied forever with even our charmingneighborliness," he answered gravely. "How long have we lived 'acrossthe street from each other,' as they say here, Mrs. Leroy?"

  She did not raise her eyes from her white ruffles.

  "It is just a year this month," she said.

  "We are such good friends," he continued in his gentle, reserved voice,"that I hesitate to break into such pleasant relations, even withthe chance of making us all happier, perhaps. But I cannot resist thetemptation. Could we not make one family, we three?"

  A quick, warm color flooded her cheeks and forehead. She caught herbreath; her startled eyes met his with a lightning-swift flash ofsomething that moved him strangely.

  "What do you mean, Colonel Driscoll?" she asked, low and quickly.

  "I mean, could you give me your daughter--if she--at any time--couldthink it possible?"

  She drew a deep breath; the color seemed blown from her transparent skinlike a flame from a lamp. For a moment her head seemed to droop; thenshe sat straight and moistened her lips, her eyes fixed level ahead.

  "Lady?" she whispered, and he was sure that she thought the word wasspoken in her ordinary tone. "Lady?"

  "I know--I realize perfectly that it is a presumption in me--at myage--when I think of what she deserves. Oh, we won't speak of it againif you feel that it would be wrong!"

  "No, no, it is not that," she murmured. "I--I have always known that Imust lose her; but she--one is so selfish--she is all I have, you know!"

  "But you would not lose her!" he cried eagerly. "You would only shareher with me, dear Mrs. Leroy! Do you think--could she--it is possible?"

  "Lady is an unusual girl," she said evenly, but with something gone outof her warm, gay voice. "She has never cared for young people. I knowthat she admires you greatly. While I cannot deny that I should preferless difference than lies between your ages, it would be folly in me tofail to recognize the desirability of the connection in every otherway. Whatever her decision--and the matter rests entirely with her--mydaughter and I are honored by your proposal, Colonel Driscoll."

  She might have been reading a carefully prepared address: her eyes neverwavered from the wall in front--it was as if she saw her words there.

  "Then--then will you ask her?"

  She stared at him now.

  "You mean that you wish me to ask her to marry you?"

  "Yes," he said simply. "She will feel freer in that way. You will knowas I should not, directly, if there is any chance. I can talk about itwith you more easily--somehow."

  She shrugged her shoulders with a strange air of exhaustion; it was theyielding of one too tired to argue.

  "Very well," she breathed, "go now, and I will ask her. Come thisevening. You will excuse--"

  She made a vague motion. The colonel pitied her tremendously in a blindway. Was it all this to lose a daughter? How she loved her!

  "Perhaps to-morrow morning," he suggested, but she shook her headvehemently.

  "No, to-night, to-night!" she cried. "Lady will know directly. Cometonight!"

  He went out a little depressed. Already a tiny cloud hung between them.Suppose their pleasant waters had been troubled for worse than nothing?Suddenly his case appeared hopeless to him. What folly--a man of hisyears, and that fresh young creature with all her life before her! Hewondered that he could have dreamed of it; he wished the evening overand the foolish mistake forgiven.

  His sister was full of plans and dates, and her talk covered his almostabsolute silence. After dinner she retired again into packing, and hestrode through the dusk to the cottage; his had not been a training thatseeks to delay the inevitable.

  The two women sat, as usual at this hour, on the porch. Their whitegowns shimmered against the dark honeysuckle-vine. He halted at thesteps and took off the old fatigue-cap he sometimes wore, standingstraight and tall before them.

  Mrs. Leroy leaned back in her chair; the faintest possible gestureindicated her daughter, who had risen and stood beside her.

  "Colonel Driscoll," she said in a low, uneven voice, "my daughter wishesme to say to you that she appreciates deeply the honor you do her, andthat if you wish it she will be your wife. She--she is sure she will behappy."

  The colonel felt his heart leap up and hit heavily against his chest.Was it possible? A great gratitude and pride glowed softly through him.He walked nearly up the steps and stood just below her, lifting her handto his lips.

  "My dear, dear child," he said slowly, "you give me too much, but youmust not measure my thankfulness for the gift by my deserts. Whatever aman can do to make you and your mother happy shall be done so long as Ilive."

  She smiled gravely into his eyes and bowed her head slightly; like allher little motions, it had the effect of a graceful ceremony. Then,slipping loose her hand, she seated herself on a low stool beside hermother's chair, leaning against her knee. Her sweet silence charmed him.

  He took his accustomed seat, and they sat quietly, while the breezepuffed little gusts of honeysuckle across their faces. Occasionalneighbors greeted them, strolling past; the newly watered lawns allalong the street sent up a fresh turfy odor; now and then a bird chirpeddrowsily. He felt deliriously intimate, peacefully at home. A fine,subtle sense of _bien-etre_ penetrated his whole soul.

  When he rose to go they had hardly exchanged a dozen words. As he held,her hand closely, half doubting his right, she raised her face to himsimply, and he kissed her white forehead. When he bent over her mother'shand it was as cold as stone.

  Through the long pleasant weeks of the summer they talked and laughedand drove and sailed together, a happy trio. Mrs. Leroy's listlessquiet of the first few days gave way to a brilliant, fitful gayety thatenchanted the more silent two, and the few hours when she was not withthem seemed incomplete. On his mentioning this to her one afternoon sheshot him a strange glance.

  "But this is all wrong," she said abruptly. "What will you do when I amgone in the winter?"

  "What do you mean?" he asked. "Gone where, when, how?"

  "My dear colonel," she said lightly, but with an obvious effort, "doyou imagine that I cannot leave you a honeymoon, in spite of my dotingparenthood? I plan to spend the latter part of the winter in New Yorkwith friends. Perhaps by spring--"

  "My dear Mrs. Leroy, how absurd! How cruel of you! What will Lady do?What shall I do? She has never been separated from you in her life. Doesshe know of this?"

  "No; I shall tell her soon. As for what she will do--she will have herhusband. If that is not enough for her, she should not marry the man whocannot--"

  She stopped suddenly and controlled with great effort a rising emotionalmost too strong for her. Again a deep, inexplicable sympathy welled upin him. He longed to comfort her, to give her everything she wanted. Heblamed himself and Jane for all the trouble they were causing her.

  That afternoon she kept in her room, and he and his fiancee dranktheir tea together alone. He was worried by the news of the morning,dissatisfied out of all proportion, vexed that so sensible and naturala proposition should leave him so uneasy and disappointed. He hadmeant the smooth, quiet life to go on without a break, and now the newrelation must change everything.

  He glanced at Jane, a little irritated that she should not perceivehis mood and exorcise it. But she had not her mother's marvelloussusceptibility. She drank her tea in serene s
ilence. He made a fewhaphazard remarks, hoping to lose in conversation the cloud thatthreatened his evening; but she only assented tranquilly and watched thechanging colors of the early sunset.

  "Have you made a vow to agree with everything I say?" he asked finally,half laughing, half in earnest.

  "Not at all," she replied placidly, "but you surely do not want anargument?"

  "Oh, no," he answered her, vexed at himself.

  "What do you think of Mrs. ------'s novel?" he suggested, as the pages,fluttering in the rising breeze, caught his attention.

  "Mother is reading it, not I," she returned indifferently. "I don't carevery much for the new novels."

  Involuntarily he turned as if to catch