The King's Men: A Tale of To-morrow, Page 5

  CHAPTER V.

  "JAWKINS'S JOLLITIES."

  When Geoffrey entered that evening the great drawing-rooms of his oldhome he found that they had been transformed from shabby and mustyapartments into beautiful modern salons, which had the air of havingbeen long lived in by people of refinement. There was even a certainfeminine touch about the disposition of the bric-a-brac. The handsomepieces of old furniture, which seemed like friends of his boyhood, werestill there, retained by the true artistic sense of Jawkins, who knewthat no modern cabinetmaker could produce their like; still everythingseemed brightened, as if the old rooms had been touched with sunshine.The walls were hung with good modern paintings and old tapestries; thetables and mantelpieces were covered thick with curios. To fill a greathouse with the rare objects of art and luxury that are found in theabodes of those families which have held wealth for generations is animpossibility to the newly rich. Their brand-new mansions, left toupholsterers, resemble great caravansaries, bare, gilded and raw withprimary colors. But Jawkins was an artist; he not only made the houseswhich he arranged beautiful, but he gave them the air of having beenlived in for years, so that the strangers within the gates, who had beentaught to judge of men's characters by their dwellings and surroundings,could not but be pleasantly impressed. Miss Windsor was standing alone,in a corner of the room, by a little round-backed sofa, and smiled agreeting at Geoffrey. After exchanging a few words with his host hewalked over to her, and she stretched out her pretty gloved hand inwelcome.

  "Well met again, Lord Brompton; but you are not wearing your sword."

  "'The Knights are dust,' I fear," he quoted with a smile. "I was loathto wear it with modern evening dress. I crave your forgiveness, fairlady."

  "As long as you do not have it turned into a ploughshare, or a railwayshare, which would be more modern," laughed Maggie, "I will forgiveyou."

  "Have all your guests arrived?"

  "Of course; you are the last one, as usual. It has been rather an ordealyou may believe. Papa was in a dreadful state about it. The Duke and theDuchess of Bayswater he was especially in awe of. Dear old souls! Yousee them over there, looking like Mr. and Mrs. Marius in the ruins ofCarthage."

  Geoffrey, turning, saw a fine-looking old couple. The Duke still worethe blue ribbon of the Garter across his breast. He was a mild-lookinggentleman, who seemed to be plunged in deep melancholy. His head wasbald and highly polished, his gray side-whiskers were brushed carefullyforward, and his nose was aquiline. Her Grace the Duchess surveyed thecompany with a haughty stare, which seemed to be a matter of habitrather than of present feeling.

  "They were very kind to me when I was a boy," said Geoffrey, with asigh. "But it is so long since they have seen me that they must haveforgotten me. You have a large party."

  "Oh, yes; they have been coming in all the afternoon. I think that itwill be very pleasant when we get well shaken together. You see your oldfriend, Sir John Dacre, over there, do you not? away over at the end ofthe other rooms. The fine-looking girl to whom he is talking is RichardLincoln's daughter."

  Geoffrey looked in the direction, and saw the back of Sir John Dacre'shead as he bent over to speak to Miss Lincoln.

  He made a little start to go over to greet his friend. Miss Windsor sawit, and said: "You will see Sir John after dinner, Lord Brompton; youwould interrupt a pleasant conversation now by being that wretched thirdwho makes a 'company' a crowd; and at the same time, you would destroyall the proportion of the party by leaving me alone. You must sit on thesofa here by my side, and I will point out all the people to you. Youwill not sit anywhere near me, you know, at dinner, as you will take inMrs. Oswald Carey, as I told you this morning."

  Geoffrey sat down on the sofa by her and looked about the room.

  "I do not see the great professional beauty in this room, Miss Windsor,"he said, after he had finished his inspection of the people present, whoseemed plunged in the depths of that gloom which always hangs over aparty before a dinner.

  Richard Lincoln, who had been touched by her Grace's melancholy, stoodtalking to her. In the opposite corner of the room sat Mr. JamesSydney, the celebrated wit, his pasty face wearing an air of settledmelancholy, while he gazed vacantly at a curious old Turner, whichglowed like an American sunset against the stamped-leather hangings ofthe room.

  "Poor fellow, he looks like the clown before he is painted," whisperedMiss Windsor.

  Mr. Prouty, the _Saturday Reviewer_, sat on a "conversazione" with LadyCarringford, a commonplace, faded-out-looking woman of forty, withbleached hair. She did not seem much pleased by the conversation of thejournalist, and looked furtively across the room as if to hint that sheought to be relieved, but Herr Diddlej and Sydney did not see hersignals of distress.

  Lord Carringford, her husband, a tall, keen-faced man with blue-blackside-whiskers and a furtive eye, was talking with Mr. Windsor, andthough he saw his wife's signals, of course, did not pay any attentionto them. The Archbishop of Canterbury, in rusty clerical garb, smiledbenignly at the whole company.

  "Mrs. Oswald Carey is far too clever to stay in the glare of a greatroom like this," said Miss Windsor to Geoffrey. "She is one of thosewomen who seek a corner and quiet and flourish there--not, however,alone. She is in the smaller room beyond, with Colonel Featherstone, whomust have nearly pulled his great mustaches out by this time. You knowhow he twirls and twitches them when he thinks he is being quiteirresistible, just as you are doing now, Lord Brompton."

  Geoffrey dropped his hand from his mustache impatiently.

  "Ah, you are always chaffing me, Miss Windsor," he pleaded.

  "I knew very well what you were thinking, sir. That you could cutColonel Featherstone out in no time. Now, were you not?"

  "Not at all. I was thinking of you. Were not my languishing glancesturned toward you?"

  "Yes, but the languish was all for Mrs. Oswald, and not for me. But itis time to go to dinner now, Lord Brompton. You are permitted to disturbthe _tete-a-tete_ and Mrs. Carey's peace of mind."

  "If you send me away, I suppose that I must obey. A hostess is a despotwhom no one may defy."

  Miss Windsor smiled pleasantly at the Duke of Bayswater, who just thenoffered her his arm with great solemnity. Geoffrey bowed to her and theDuke, and walked slowly into the adjoining room.

  In a dimly-lighted corner he saw a tall, heavily-built man, with a longred mustache, talking to a remarkably beautiful woman.

  "Mrs. Carey and old Charlie Featherstone?" he said to himself, as hestopped to look at them and to await a pause in their conversationbefore he interrupted them.

  "Why, it is Eleanor Leigh!" he exclaimed a moment later, as she turnedher head from the shadow of a great Japanese screen, behind which thepair had sought shelter from prying eyes.

  "Eleanor Leigh, my old sweetheart, to whom I bade farewell in the darklibrary of my old tutor's home, seven years ago."

  She did not look in his direction, and he had a few moments to observeher carefully.

  The slender girl whom he remembered had grown into a superb woman. Herhead was poised upon her shoulders like that of a Greek goddess, andaround her white throat gleamed a collar of brilliants. Atightly-fitting black gown made by contrast her bosom and arms dazzlingin whiteness. Her hair was rolled into a large round knot at the back ofher head, and its coils shone red-brown in the soft glow of the candles.Her face seemed cold and calm to him as he looked at her, a faint,mocking smile played upon her full, red lips, and her delicate eyebrowswere slightly raised. All of a sudden she turned toward him, and theireyes met in a flash of recognition. He remembered those eyes well, buthere was something in them which was not there when his brain lastthrilled with their magnetic glances--a something which he could notunderstand, but which repelled him. She raised her hand and seemed tobeckon to him, and he obeyed her command.

  "You remember me, then, Lord Brompton," she said coldly, as she gave himher hand.

  "Remember you!" he exclaimed, and was at a loss for words. Featherstone,who had w
ithdrawn a step or two, seemed to see his confusion, and afterwelcoming his old friend back to England went away.

  Mrs. Carey looked up at Geoffrey with a mocking smile, as if deridinghis embarrassment. "So we meet again after all these years, Geoffrey?"He looked down at the floor, confused and shame-faced, as he thought ofthe time when he had gone up to Oxford from her father's house with herimage in his heart. She, too, was thinking of those days of freshspring-time. "He is not much changed," she thought, "save that he lookstired and discouraged; then his eyes were bright, looking, as they were,into a world where everything seemed easy and full of pleasure to him."

  "We are both thinking of the old days," she said to him, as she pulled arose from her belt, and nervously crumpled its petals between herfingers. "Ah, how I wept when you ceased writing to me!"

  "I do not imagine that you ever wept any bitter tears on my account,"remonstrated Geoffrey. "I was a mere boy then; and a girl of eighteencan hold her own with a man of any age, while a boy of eighteen can nomore look after himself in a love affair than a--"

  "Boy of any other age," interrupted Mrs. Carey. "Ah, Geoffrey, I didweep then more than you can imagine. But I have always remembered you asa dear boy, who loved me a little and forgot me when he was away. Menare deceivers ever, and I fancy that I am not the last woman whom youhave loved a little and forgotten since. But the others are going in todinner. It is a motley party, is it not? Just fancy Richard Lincoln'sbeing here, and the old Duke, and John Dacre, too. Why is he here? Doyou know?"

  "I haven't seen him since I first went to Paris," answered Geoffrey, ashe offered her his arm.

  The pair walked in to dinner in their proper place in the procession.

  "What a beautiful old room this is!" exclaimed Mrs. Carey as theyentered the dining-hall. "Jawkins does this sort of thing so well! Howperfectly he reproduces the courtly state of the last century when here-establishes a house!"

  Geoffrey had not been in this room since the day when he had been calledfrom Oxford by a telegram announcing his father's sudden death. Then theroom had been dark and there was a hush over it, and the servants hadmoved stealthily over the oaken floor, and he had sat by the windowlistening to the slow words of the family lawyer, which told him that hewas the heir of a ruined estate.

  He winced as he seated himself by Mrs. Carey's side, a guest at thegreat table at which his forebears had broken bread as almost princelyhosts. The party had entered, and sat down in silence, and, afterunfolding their napkins, looked rather gloomily at each other for awhile, but Mr. Jawkins soon broke into an easy conversational canter,and the rest of the party by the time that the champagne appeared withthe fish found that their tongues were loosened. The old Duke, whoalways loved a pretty face and brilliant eyes, got on capitally withMiss Windsor, and seemed to forget his fallen dignity and the mournfulface of his consort, as he said pretty things to the beautiful American.

  "I had a great curiosity to see Mr. Windsor before I came here,"whispered Mrs. Carey to Geoffrey. "He has a strong face, has he not?They say that he is so rich that he does not know how much he is worth,and that he has made all his money himself."

  "I suppose that somebody has got all the money that we people in Englandhave lost or spent," she continued, with a woman's idea of politicaleconomy. "Isn't it all dreadful? I suppose that you are a--What shall Isay, a guest?"

  "Why should you not say a guest, since we certainly are at Mr. Windsor'stable?" he asked, as if innocently.

  "Ah, you must know what I mean; one of Mr. Jawkins's list. Just think ofthe poor Duke and Duchess being on it--the proudest family in England.Did you ever hear of such a thing?"

  "The aristocrats during the French Revolution were reduced to asdesperate shifts," answered Geoffrey. "We, at least, are not banishedfrom our country and can earn our living, if we choose, in theold-fashioned way, by the sweat of our brows. I have been digging in myvegetable garden this summer; you know that I have five acres left, andwhat with fishing--and don't mention it, pray--a little poaching, I havegot along pretty well. I knew Mr. Windsor in Paris, when I was on theLegation there."

  "And you were put out of the service by that old brute, Bagshaw. What anodious thing this Republican form of government is! You know poor Oswaldwas in the Stamp and Sealing-wax Office. Oswald is a Legitimist, ofcourse, and would not pay the assessment which was levied upon him bythe Radical party, and he was ousted last spring."

  "Is your husband here?"

  "Oh, dear, no! They do not wish me if I take Oswald along with me. He isin our lodgings in London. He quite misses the office in the daytime, ashe cannot sleep nearly so well at home. Poor Oswald! Mr. Sydney," shesaid, turning to that gentleman, who had sat in silence at her side, "Ithought that you always kept the table in a roar?"

  "How can a man do that when he is expected to," answered Sydney,gloomily. "I am always saddest at dinner, for I know that I have beenasked because there is a tradition in society that I am a wit. If Ispeak of the gloomiest subjects people snicker; if I am eloquent orpathetic, they roar. I am by nature rather a lyric poet than a wit--ah,you are laughing, Mrs. Carey, you are laughing. What did I tell you?"

  "But, my dear Mr. Sydney, you are funny, really you are."

  "I am funny because I mean to be serious," said Mr. Sydney. "In thesedays of the decadence of civilization if a man is in earnest, terriblyin earnest, people think that he is vastly amusing. I shall try to befunny soon, to earn my wage, and people will think me dull enough then."

  The poor man drank a large glass of wine and pointing at the _entree_upon his plate asked:

  "Mrs. Carey, can a man who expects daily to be gathered to his fatherseat a _vol-au-vent_ of pigeons _a la financiere_? How can it beexpected? They should not tempt me with such dishes. I know that I oughtnot to eat them, but I cannot resist. I partake of them and I do notsleep. I have not closed my eyes for three nights."

  He began to eat his _vol-au-vent_ with the appetite of a boy offourteen.

  "Poor old fellow," whispered Mrs. Carey to Geoffrey. "He knows that hemust be amusing on this visit else Jawkins will strike him off his list.It is lucky that I only have to look beautiful. It is no exertionwhatever. While poor old Sydney knows that something is expected of him,and as he naturally likes to talk about statistics and his physicalailments, and as he gained his reputation as a wit from a singlerepartee made at a dinner twenty years ago, he finds it hard to fulfilhis part. He is simply funny because he isn't. It's a strange paradox."

  "It must, indeed, be a hard task, making one's self a brick withoutstraw," answered Geoffrey. "Think of not having the luxury of beingdisagreeable--to be always on the rack to perpetrate a joke, Mrs.Carey."

  "You did not call me Mrs. Carey when we last met," she said,reproachfully.

  "But you were not Mrs. Carey then, and, not being a prophet, I could notvery well call you so."

  "Do not be flippant. But if we were prophets what a dreadful thing lifewould be! It did not seem possible seven years ago that Eleanor Leighwould become a professional beauty, a hired guest, who lived upon theroyalty from the sale of her photographs."

  "You can congratulate yourself that yours is the only 'royalty' left inthe country, Eleanor." He lowered his voice as he spoke her name.

  "I will not talk about myself," she said, in a cold, hard tone. "That'sa man's prerogative. But I wish you, when we are alone, to tell me allabout your life. The lines of our lives, which once bade fair to runalong together, have diverged; but fate is strong. We are throwntogether again. I know not whether it matters to you that we have metagain, but it does very much to me. I wish to know what you have beendoing all these years. To-morrow, surely, we shall have a chance to seeeach other, and till then let us change the subject, for if the wallshave not ears, Mr. Sydney certainly has, and very large and ugly ones,too, like a lop-eared rabbit's."

  Geoffrey looked with a smile at poor Mr. Sydney's villified ears, andsaid to himself that the unfortunate wit never could live in muchcomfort upon the royalties from t
he sale of his picture. Mrs. Careylooked around the table searchingly. Her quick wit was tickled by thecurious incongruities of the scene; by Richard Lincoln talking smallnothings to the Duchess of Bayswater across the rich American; by thegenial and smirking Jawkins, seated between Sir John Dacre and thatpink of fashion, Colonel Featherstone; by Lady Carringford, who wasbetween the indifferent Colonel and the Duke; by the three members ofthe artiste class, Prouty, Diddlej and Sydney, whom Mr. Jawkins hadplaced together with delicate discrimination. Mrs. Carey gave a littleshrug at perceiving that she, too, was put in the same neighborhood.Lord Carringford and the Duchess seemed to be getting along uncommonlywell together. Sir John Dacre ignored his dapper neighbor, Jawkins, andwas absorbed in conversation with beautiful Mary Lincoln, who blushedwhenever she caught her father's eye looking questioningly at her. Mrs.Carey's glance over the table was at first cursory; she had been so muchinterested in meeting Geoffrey that the tide of old feelings, surgingback through her brain, had driven out all thought of the other people,for in the heart of this woman of the world, who had lived in ball-roomsand in the maddest whirl of that most mad and material of all things,modern society, where love is a plaything and an excitement only, therehad lingered a fond remembrance of the ardent young lover, whose boyishaffection for her, absence had so quickly cooled. Through all hiswanderings she had managed to trace him. The world of society is small.She had heard of his affair with Miss Windsor in Paris two years before;so her eyes, after wandering over the table, fixed themselves upon her.With a woman's instinct, Mrs. Carey had known that Geoffrey would nothave been so indifferent to her if he had been fancy free; when shefirst saw him, before dinner, her heart throbbed with passion, and shedetermined to wind around him again the chain of flowers which he hadsnapped so easily when the great god of modern love, "Juxtaposition,"deserted her. But now she saw that he had long since ceased to care forher. He had called her "Eleanor" once, to be sure; but it was only aftershe had forced his hand.

  She picked up the large bouquet of roses which lay by her plate, andraising them to her face as if to inhale their fragrance, sheattentively observed Miss Windsor, for she felt that there must besomething between her and Geoffrey; some tie stronger than the memory ofa dead flirtation. Her masked battery served her purpose well, forMaggie, presently, after smiling faintly at some remark of Mr. Prouty's,looked quickly over toward Lord Brompton, who was at the time listeningattentively to a political conversation between Mr. Lincoln and Mr.Windsor. Maggie only looked at him for a moment, but Mrs. Carey saw thatshe looked at him with that fondness with which a woman gazes at the manshe loves when she thinks that she is unobserved. Mrs. Carey put downher bouquet and turned to Geoffrey.

  "Miss Windsor is not a bad-looking girl, is she?" she asked.

  "You put me in an awkward dilemma, Mrs. Carey," replied Geoffrey, alittle nervously, "in the alternative of criticising my hostessunfavorably or praising the looks of one woman to another. Is that quitefair?"

  "Her features are not regular, yet she seems attractive in a way," shecontinued, not waiting for his answer or answering his question. "Youknew her before, did you not?"

  "Yes, slightly."

  "That is to say, you had a desperate affair with her?"

  "It seems to me that you jump at conclusions."

  "Not at all. She is interested in you; I have eyes in my head."

  "I should think that you had," laughed Geoffrey, as their glances met.

  "And I have noticed that she has been continually looking over towardus. The old Duke has not been lively, you see, and that _SaturdayReviewer_ is a disagreeable thing. How she has longed to have you nextto her!"

  "You flatter me, Mrs. Carey," answered Geoffrey, who was annoyed, as allmen are, when they are accused of being too fascinating. "Miss Windsorand I were great friends, nothing more."

  "Why, my dear boy, of course you were nothing more. To be great friendsis enough; so you own up to the serious affair? You think that she isn'twatching you--look."

  Geoffrey glanced up and caught Miss Windsor's eye. She colored, turnedaway, and said something to the _Saturday Reviewer,_ who had beforefound his satirical remarks thrown away on his _distraite_ hostess.

  "See that fine color mounting to her cheeks," said Mrs. Carey.

  "She sees that we are talking about her and feels a littleself-consciousness. The Americans are not so self-possessed as we are."

  "Why do you not marry her?" she continued, not heeding him. "She hasmoney, is not at all bad-looking. There is nothing else for you to do,and you cannot long go on as you are now, I fancy."

  Geoffrey grew red and confused. He tried to make a clever answer. Shehad such an air of graceful badinage, as she asked the question, that itdid not seem to him that he had a right to be angry, and yet he didfeel so. It annoyed him very much to be chaffed about Miss Windsor; tohave this cold woman of the world suggest to him that he should marrythe young American girl for her money.

  Mrs. Carey laughed slightly, and seeing that she had pressed heradvantage too far, turned to a congenial diversion with Sydney, who hadby this time dined well and thoughtfully. She clinked his glass ofBurgundy lightly with him in a quaint, old-fashioned way, and Sydney'seyes sparkled; he drained his glass.

  Sir John Dacre had seen Geoffrey when the party sat down at the table;but it so chanced that he did not catch his eye until just now. The twomen had not met for years, and even now the conventions of society andsix feet of mahogany kept them separated more effectually than miles ofcountry. They smiled and nodded, however, and Dacre raised his glass ofwine, and the two pledged each other's health in some old comet claretof 1912.

  "Who is the man who just smiled at you, Mr. Dacre?" asked Miss Lincoln.

  "My dear old friend, Lord Brompton--Geoffrey Ripon you would call him,perhaps. I am downright glad to see him here to-night. Indeed, I camedown to this part of the country to see him."

  Miss Lincoln seemed chagrined.

  "You must be very much attached to him, then, Mr. Dacre."

  "Yes, of course I am; and I have not seen him for some years. He has notchanged much."

  "If he is Geoffrey Ripon, Earl of Brompton, it is to him that thisestate used to belong, then?"

  "Yes, Miss Lincoln, in his father's day it was a beautiful place; therewere none of these modern gewgaws here. The old earl would have starvedto death rather than have dined in a room lighted by the electric light.I used to stay here as a boy; indeed, I am a kinsman of the family. Iwas here last some years before the old gentleman's death. He lived onhere for years without hearing from the outside world. He even gave upthe _Times_, and would not have anything in the house which was writtensince the abdication. He refused to acknowledge the existence of acountry which had exiled his king."

  Miss Lincoln blushed a little as she said:

  "Do we not owe our allegiance to our country, Mr. Dacre, as it is? Itseems to me that it is our duty to do what we can for it."

  "Ah, Miss Lincoln, I am afraid that we are treading on dangerous ground.Your father and I respect each other as foes, whose swords have crossed,always do; but it is not fitting that his daughter and I should discussthis matter. Do you notice how intently Mrs. Oswald Carey watches MissWindsor? I wonder why?"

  "I have noticed it, Mr. Dacre," answered Miss Lincoln. "Just now sheguarded her face with her bunch of roses, that Miss Windsor might notperceive her scrutiny, and her look is not a friendly one."

  "She is a beautiful tiger," said Sir John, "not a domestic cat, as manywomen are; and she means mischief when her eyes fix upon any one in thatway."

  Miss Lincoln looked at him in surprise, for he spoke earnestly, moreearnestly than he knew himself; for something told him that thebeautiful woman with the black gown and gleaming shoulders, sittingopposite to him, was dangerous to him and his friends.

  The dinner was over; the ladies swept from the room, Mrs. Careyfollowing close at Miss Windsor's side.

  When the men had returned to sole possession of the dining-room thecompa
ny separated into little groups. Jawkins fastened upon the Duke,whom Mr. Windsor relinquished with ill-concealed delight. Herr Diddlejsat turning a lump of sugar with brandy in his coffee spoon, and smokingcigarettes, which he rapidly rolled with his yellow-stained dampfingers. Mr. Lincoln sat with Sydney, who forgot his hypochondria overhis cigar and became quite amusing, as the smile upon Lincoln's shrewd,kindly face testified, for Richard Lincoln was a flint upon which allintellectual steel struck fire.

  Sir John Dacre and Geoffrey grasped each other's hand with a firm grip,and looked into each other's eyes in silence for a moment.

  "I came down here to see you, Geoffrey, because I need you.

  "You know, John, that I am at your service, now and always."

  "It is not my service, Geoffrey," said Dacre. "But later for this. Herecomes old Featherstone; we have come down here together. Here, let usget on the sofa; it is the same one we used to sit on when we came herein the hunting season in your father's day."

  "I did not have a chance to say anything to you while the ladies werepresent," said Featherstone, sitting down between his friends. "I amvery glad to see you. I had heard nothing about you since you leftParis. They tell me that you are living in the neighborhood."

  "Yes, just over there," indicated Geoffrey with his thumb. "You are tostop three days, I hear. You must both come to see me. You will be myfirst guests since I came back to my estate."

  "You look as well as ever," said Featherstone. "But how we have made therunning the wrong way, to be sure, since I last saw you."

  Featherstone made a gesture with his left hand, and looked inquiringlyat his friends; but Geoffrey, though he noticed the gesture, did notattach any significance to it.

  He raised his glass of port over a carafe of water. "The King," he said.

  All three drank, and Dacre whispered, "No more of this, Featherstone. Ishall see Geoffrey this evening; he is not one of us yet."

  "What an attractive woman Mrs. Oswald Carey is!" exclaimed Featherstone."You knew her before, did you not, Geoffrey?"

  "I was her father's pupil before I went to Oxford."

  "And knew the goddess when she was budding into womanhood. I can see itall. You fell in love with her, of course, cherished a locket in yourleft-hand waistcoat pocket for some weeks after you left her father'stutelage. I don't blame you. I never saw a woman who made one's bloodcourse faster."

  Featherstone stretched out his long legs and arms and pulled away at hiscigar, a queer smile playing over his mouth.

  "She is a woman whom it is delightful to have been or be in love with,"he continued; "but to marry--ah! I do not envy Oswald Carey. He simplygives his name up to have a Mrs. put before it. By the way, our hostessis an interesting girl. I like the old man, too. It is refreshing to seea man who has opened his oyster after living among such a broken-downlot as we all are. I wish that he could give me a point or two; they saythat he can make a million by turning over his hand. Think of it. Thereare a lot of fellows who can lose one by the same simple process."

  Geoffrey did not answer; he felt silent and depressed since the ladieshad left the room, and his cigar seemed to him to be altogether toolong. It is a bad sign when a man's cigar seems too long to him, andwhen he tells you that he never knew until lately how offensive the odorof tobacco was to a refined woman you may know that all is up with him.Featherstone, on the other hand, smoked his cigar, slowly andreverently, like a liberty-loving and untrammelled gentleman.

  Geoffrey walked out to the great hall, where he found the ladiesgathered around the fireplace. Mrs. Oswald Carey sat near the Duchess,and was talking with her. The old lady did not seem pleased with her newcompanion, and smiled pleasantly at Geoffrey, when she saw him approach.Miss Windsor was sitting in a low chair somewhat removed from the othertwo. Geoffrey, after a few words of greeting to the Duchess, approachedMiss Windsor.

  "You did not linger over your cigar like the rest, I see," she said tohim, as he sat down by her. "Tobacco is a woman's most formidable rival,but the charms of Mrs. Oswald Carey are strong enough to draw you inhere! Perhaps you will have a cup of coffee to make up for yourdeprivation."

  "Thank you, Miss Windsor; one lump. But I did not come in to see Mrs.Oswald Carey. I had the pleasure of sitting next her at dinner."

  "We are going to-morrow on a drive to the ruins of Chichester Cathedral.If you have nothing to prevent you, will you not join us?"

  Geoffrey accepted the invitation.

  "It is a pity that there are so few ladies," continued Miss Windsor; "wecan make up a coach-load, however, and you may drive, if you wish it. Ofcourse, you can then have Mrs. Oswald on the box-seat with you, and thenyou will be sure to have a good time."

  "Oh, Featherstone can drive much better than I," answered Geoffrey; "Ihave not driven four-in-hand since I lived in this house. I should muchprefer to be upon one of the seats with you."

  The men trailed into the hall awkwardly, bringing a fine perfume oftobacco along with them. They stood around for a moment, gettingthemselves into the position of the social soldier.

  Herr Diddlej seated himself before the piano, ran his fingers throughhis long hair, and was soon weeping over a sonata of his owncomposition.

  Dacre, who was standing apart from the others, before a picture, in adark recess of the hall, was approached by a footman, who made a quicksign to him, a sign such as Featherstone had made to Geoffrey a fewmoments before.

  Sir John answered, and the servant, in handing him a cup of coffee,slipped a note into his hand. The footman went on handing the coffee,calm and unmoved.

  Dacre, after glancing at the letter, thrust it into his waistcoatpocket, and furtively glanced at Geoffrey. The latter excused himself toMiss Windsor.

  "I wish to have a long and private conversation with you," said Dacre tohim, "and when you take your leave I will walk over with you to yourhouse, where we can talk together."

  Mrs. Carey, before the party broke up, excused herself on the grounds ofa severe headache and retired to her room. She sat there for some timelooking out upon the ocean and the moon-glade, glistening and twistingover the waves like a great serpent. Of a sudden she threw over hershoulders a thick cloak, and, by a dark back passage of the old house,stole out into the moonlight. She felt a desire to walk along the cliffand to soothe her nerves with the deep booming of the waves along itsbase. And, perhaps, she might meet Geoffrey on his way home, shethought, not forgetting the potency of moonlight and the great Love God,"Juxtaposition."