Rossmoyne. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ turning to him with ineffable sweetness, "will you do something for me?"

      The transition from coldness to tender appeal is too much for Rossmoyne: his face brightens.

      "You know there is nothing I would not do for you," he says, gravely but eagerly.

      "Then," promptly, "please take that ugly frown off your forehead and put it in your pocket; or – no, throw it away altogether; if you kept it near you, you might be tempted to put it on again."

      "I did not know I was frowning."

      "You were," sweetly. "You are all right again now, and so shall be rewarded. You can't think how unbecoming frowns are, and how much better you look when you are all 'sweetness and light' as now for example. Come," rising, "you shall take me for a nice long walk through these delightful old gardens."

      As she moves she sees the daisies still clinging to her gown that Ulic Ronayne has been amusing himself with during the past half-hour. More than this, she sees, too, the imploring gaze of his dark eyes upturned to hers.

      "Silly boy!" she says, stooping to shake away the daisies with her hand; but her words have a double meaning. Involuntarily, unseen by all the others – except Monica – his hand closes upon hers.

      "Do not go with him," he says, with deep entreaty.

      "I must – now."

      "Then let me come too?"

      "No." Then she raises herself, and says, gayly, "You shall stay and make love to Miss Beresford – Monica, I have desired Mr. Ronayne to stay here and amuse you."

      She moves across the lawn with Rossmoyne beside her. Mrs. Herrick and Mr. Kelly are strolling lazily in another direction. Monica and Ulic are alone.

      "Is there anything I can take you to see?" asks he, gently.

      "No, thank you. I am quite happy here."

      Then, noticing the extreme sadness on his beautiful face, she says, slowly, "But you are not, I am afraid."

      "I should be, with so fair a companion." He smiles as he says this, but his smile is without mirth, and she does not return it. Suddenly leaning forward, she says to him, very tenderly, —

      "You love Olga, do you not?"

      She never afterwards thinks of this speech without blushing deeply and wondering why she said it. It was an impulse too strong to be conquered, and it overpowers her. His face changes, and he colors perceptibly; he hesitates too, and regards her inquiringly. Something, perhaps, in her expression reassures him, because presently he says, bravely, —

      "Yes, I do. I love her with all my heart and soul; as I never have loved, as I never shall love again. This thought is my happiness: my sorrow lies in the fear that she will never love me. Forgive my saying all this to you: she told me to amuse you," with a faint smile, "and I have woefully neglected her commands."

      "You must forgive me," says Monica. "I should not have asked you the question."

      "Do not be sorry for that: it has done me good, I think. I am glad I have said it out loud to somebody at last. It is odd though, – isn't it? – I should have made my confession to you, of all people, whom I never saw until ten minutes ago!"

      Then Monica remembers that this is the second young man she has found herself on friendly terms with since her arrival at Moyne, without the smallest introduction having been gone through on any side. It all sounds rather dreamy, and certainly very irregular.

      "Ah! there is Madam O'Connor beckoning to me," says Ronayne, rising lazily to his feet. "I suppose she wants me for a moment. Will you mind my leaving you for a little, or will you come with me? I shan't be any time."

      "I shall stay here," says Monica. "There, go: she seems quite in a hurry. Come back when you can."

      He runs across the grass to his hostess; and Monica, leaning back in her chair, gives herself up to thought. Everything is strange, and she is feeling a little lonely, a little distraite, and (but this she will not allow even to herself) distinctly disappointed. She is trying very hard to prevent her mind from dwelling upon a certain face that should be naught to her, when she suddenly becomes conscious of the fact that some one has come to a standstill close beside her chair. She turns.

      CHAPTER VII

      How Monica listens to strange words and suffers herself to be led away. – How Cupid plants a shaft in Mars, and how Miss Priscilla finds herself face to face with the enemy.

      "You see I failed," says Brian Desmond.

      A quick warm blush has dyed Monica's cheeks crimson.

      "Ah! it is you," she said. "I thought you had not come."

      This betrays the fact that she has been thinking of him, but he is far too wise a young man in his own generation to take count of it.

      "Yes, I came. Three days ago I thought I should have been in London now, and then I heard you were to be here to-day."

      "In what have you failed?" asks she, abruptly, alluding to his opening sentence.

      "Can't you guess? Have you forgotten the last cruel injunction you laid upon me? 'When next we meet,' you said, 'you are to look straight over my head and pass on.' Will you believe that twice to-day I obeyed that mandate? The third time was the charm: it conquered me; I broke my sword in two and came to you."

      "I wish you hadn't," says Monica, sincerely, if impolitely. "I wish you would go away now, and promise me never to speak to me again. You know I am afraid of you," looking nervously around.

      "I don't, indeed; I can't conceive such a situation. You do me a great injustice, I think. I verily believe if I tried my very hardest I couldn't instil terror into the smallest child in the village."

      "You know what I mean. Of course," scornfully, "I should never be afraid of a man: it is Aunt Priscilla I am afraid of. And see, see there!" in an agony, "she is standing quite close to us, talking to somebody."

      "If that is your aunt Priscilla, she is safe for an hour at least. The old lady with her is Lady Rossmoyne, and she never lets any one (unfortunate enough to get into her clutches) go free under a generous sixty minutes. She is great on manures, and stock, and turnips, and so forth. And your aunt, I hear, is a kindred spirit."

      "But then there is Aunt Penelope," says Monica, timidly.

      "She, too, is arranged. Half an hour ago I met her so deep in a disgraceful flirtation with the vicar that I felt it my duty to look the other way. Depend upon it, she is not thinking of you."

      "But some one may tell them I have been talking to you."

      "I always thought I had a proper amount of pride until I met you," says Mr. Desmond. "You have dispelled the belief of years. 'Is thy servant a dog,' that you should be ostracized for speaking to him? Never mind; I submit even to that thought if it gives me five minutes more of your society. But listen to me. No one can tell tales of us, because we are both strangers in the land. No one knows me from Adam, and just as few know you from – let us say Eve, for euphony's sake."

      She laughs. Encouraged by her merriment to believe that at least she bears him no ill will, Brian says, hurriedly, —

      "Come СКАЧАТЬ