Wild Margaret. Garvice Charles

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      "Well, grandma?" said Margaret, as the old lady hesitated.

      "Well, I was going to say that – that – you must be careful!"

      "Careful? What of?" said Margaret smiling. "Does Lord Blair bite, as well as the earl? What am I to be careful of, grandma?"

      The old lady frowned.

      "My dear, it isn't right and proper that you and Lord Blair should be on speaking terms," she said at last. "He's the earl's nephew, and – and you are only my granddaughter, you know."

      "Which I am quite content to be," said Margaret, busily engaged with her paint box. "But I don't see that I have done anything very wicked, grandma. I couldn't very well refuse to answer him when he spoke."

      "No, no, certainly not," said the old lady; "but if he speaks again – but there, it isn't likely you'll see him again. He is only going to stop the night, and you're not likely to meet him again, that's one comfort."

      "It is indeed," said Margaret, with a laugh. "Especially as he is the gentleman whom I saw fighting in the village, and whom I called a savage."

      "You – you called him a savage!" gasped Mrs. Hale. "My dear Margaret, is it possible?"

      "It is only too possible and certain," said Margaret lightly, "and his lordship remembered it, too. However, as he asked me to forgive him, I suppose he has forgiven me; and if he has not I don't care. He was like a savage, and I spoke the truth." Then after a pause, during which the old lady stared in a rapt kind of fashion – "Grandma, what a pity it is that so wicked a man should be so good-looking."

      "Yes, he is handsome enough," sighed the old lady, shaking her head.

      "Oh, handsome, yes! I didn't mean that exactly. I meant really good looking. He looks so frank and – yes! – gentle, and his eyes seem to shine with kindness and – and – boyishness. Nobody would believe that he was a bad young man."

      "They'd soon learn the truth when they knew him," said the old lady, rather shrewdly.

      "I dare say. What a good thing it would be if all the good men were handsome, and all the bad ugly. You would tell at a glance, then, how the case lay. As it is, the man who looks like a villain may be as good as a saint, while the other who looks like a hero and an angel, is probably as bad as – as – "

      "Lord Blair," broke in the old lady.

      "Exactly – as Lord Blair," laughed Margaret. "And now I am going out to hear the nightingales, grandma. We haven't any nightingales in London – not of your sort, I mean. Ours haven't nice voices at all, and they mostly sing 'We won't go home till morning,' or 'He's a jolly good fellow,' and their voices sound rather unsteady as they go along the pavement. Those are the London kind of nightingale! Oh, what a lovely night – "

      "Put a shawl on, Madge!" called the old lady. "Come back now; I can't have you catching cold the very first night!"

      "Shawl? I haven't such a thing!" laughed Margaret. "This will do, won't it?" and catching up an antimacassar she threw it round her shoulders and ran out.

      Dinner at Leyton Court was a stately function. Very often the earl, as Mrs. Hale had said, would make his meal of a morsel of fish or a tiny slice of mutton, but all the same an elaborate menu was prepared, and the courses were served with due state and ceremony by the butler and two footmen.

      This night, in honor of Lord Blair, the dinner was more elaborate than usual; Mr. Stibbings had selected his choicest claret, and a bottle of '73 Pommery, and had himself superintended its icing. Already, although he had only been in the house a few hours, the young man had won the hearts of the servants!

      But notwithstanding the choice character of the wines and the elaborate menu, Lord Blair seemed rather absent-minded and preoccupied. The earl was silent, almost grimly so, but the young man seemed not grim by any means, but dreamy. The fact was that the face of the young girl who had called him a savage yesterday, and whom he had seen again in the gallery this evening, was haunting him.

      And – he wondered when and how he could see her again.

      Of course he knew, as well as did Mrs. Hale, that there should be no acquaintanceship between Viscount Leyton and the granddaughter of his uncle's housekeeper, but he did not think of that, and, if he had, the reflection would not have stifled the desire to find her out and get a few more words from those sweet lips, one more smile or glance from the lovely eyes.

      So that, what with Lord Blair being Margaret-haunted, and the earl being possessed by the fact of his nephew's wickedness, the grand dinner was anything but hilarious.

      They talked now and again, but long before the dessert appeared they had dropped into a mutual silence. Then Mr. Stibbings carried in, daintily and carefully, a bottle of the famous Leyton port, and, with the air of one bestowing a farewell benediction, glided out and left the two gentlemen alone.

      "Do you drink port, Blair?" said the earl, with his hand on the decanter.

      "Yes, sir; I drink anything," replied the young man, awaking with a little start.

      "You have a good digestion – good constitution?" said the earl.

      "Oh, yes," assented Lord Blair, cheerfully; "I suppose so. Never had a day's illness in my life that I can remember, and can eat anything."

      The earl looked at him musingly.

      "And yet – " he paused, "your habits are not regular; you keep late hours?"

      Lord Blair laughed.

      "I'm seldom in bed before ten," he said. "Yes," he added, "I'm afraid I don't keep very good hours; it's generally daylight before I am in my little cot. What capital port, sir!"

      "Yes? I do not drink it," said the earl.

      There was silence for a moment, during which the elder man looked at the handsome face and graceful, stalwart figure of the younger one. Lord Blair was one of those men who look at their best in evening dress, and the earl could not help admiring him. Then he sighed.

      "Have you thought over the words that passed between us this afternoon, Blair?" he asked.

      "Well – I'm afraid I haven't," he admitted, frankly.

      The earl frowned.

      "And yet they were important ones – especially those which referred to your future, Blair. We have not seen much of each other – perhaps wisely – "

      "I dare say," said Lord Blair, cheerfully. "People who can't agree are better apart, sir."

      "But," continued the earl grimly, and not relishing the interruption, "but I would wish you to believe that I have your best interests at heart."

      "Thank you, sir. I will take another glass of port."

      "And in no surer way can these interests be promoted than by your marriage with Violet Graham."

      Lord Blair frowned slightly, then he smiled.

      "'Pon my word, sir, I'm sorry to refuse you anything, especially after all your liberality; but it isn't to be done."

      "Why not?" demanded the earl coldly.

      Lord Blair hesitated, СКАЧАТЬ