The Hoyden. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ you? Your mother? Ah, I know it! She has set her heart on your marriage with this—this little nobody, and she is poisoning your mind against me. But you—you—you will not forsake me for her!"

      "It is you who are forsaking me," returns he violently. "Am I nothing to you, except as a medium by which you may acquire all the luxuries that women seem ready to sell their very souls for? Come, Marian, rose above it all. I am a poor man, but I am young, and I can work. Marry me as I am, and for what I am in your sight, and seek a new life with me abroad."

      "It is madness," says she, in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible. For a short, short minute the plan held out to her had tempted her, but something stronger than her love prevailed. She could wait—she would; and she is so sure of him. He is her own, her special property. Yes! she can afford to wait. Something must occur shortly to change the state of his affairs, and even if things come to the very worst—there are others. "I tell you," says she, "that I will not spoil your life. Your uncle—he would be furious if you married me, and——"

      Rylton put her somewhat roughly from him.

      "I am tired of that old excuse," says he, his tone even rougher than his gesture. He turns away.

      "Maurice!" says she sharply—there is real anguish in her tone, her face has grown white as death—"Maurice, come back." She holds out her arms to him. "Oh—darling, do not let your mother come between us! That girl—she will make you marry that girl. She has money, whereas I—what am I? A mere castaway on life's sea! Yes, yes." She covers her face with her hands in a little paroxysm of despair. "Yes," faintly, "you will marry that girl."

      "Well, why not?" sullenly. He is as white as she is—his face is stern. "If she will deign to accept me. I have not so far," with a bitter laugh, "been very successful in love affairs."

      "Oh! How can you say that—and to me?"

      She bursts into tears, and in a moment he has her in his arms. His beautiful darling! He soothes her, caresses her, lets her weave the bands of her fascination over him all fresh again.

      It is only afterwards he remembers that through all her grief and love she had never so forgotten herself as to promise to exile herself for his sake in a foreign land.

CHAPTER V.

       Table of Contents

      SHOWING HOW, WHEN PEOPLE DO CONGREGATE TOGETHER, MUCH KNOWLEDGE MAY BE FOUND, AND HOW THE LITTLE HOYDEN HAD SOME KIND THINGS SAID ABOUT HER.

      "Game and set," cries Tita at the top of her young voice, from the other end the court. It would be useless to pretend she doesn't shout it. She is elated—happy. She has won. She tears off the little soft round cap that, defiant of the sun, she wears, and flings it sky-high, catching it deftly as it descends upon the top of her dainty head, a little sideways. Her pretty, soft, fluffy hair, cut short, and curled all over her head by Mother Nature, is flying a little wildly across her brows, her large gray eyes (that sometimes are so nearly black) are brilliant. Altogether she is just a little, a very little, pronounced in her behaviour. Her opponents, people who have come over to The Place for the day, whisper something to each other, and laugh a little. After all, they have lost—perhaps they are somewhat spiteful. Lady Rylton, sitting on the terrace above, bites her lips. What an impossible girl! and yet how rich! Things must be wrong somewhere, when Fate showers money on such a little ill-bred creature.

      "How funny she is!" says Mrs. Chichester, who is sitting near Lady Rylton, a guest at The Place in this house-party, this last big entertainment, that is to make or mar its master. Lady Rylton had organized it, and Sir Maurice, who never contradicted her, and who had not the slightest idea of the real meaning of it, had shrugged his shoulders. After all, let her have her own way to the last. There would be enough to pay the debts and a little over for her; and for him, poverty, a new life, and emancipation. He is tired of his mother's rule. "And how small!" goes on Mrs. Chichester, a tall young woman with light hair and queer eyes, whose husband is abroad with his regiment. "Like a doll. I love dolls; don't you, Captain Marryatt?"

      "Are you a doll?" asks Captain Marryatt, who is leaning over her.

      He is always leaning over her!

      "I never know what I am," says Mrs. Chichester frankly, her queer eyes growing a little queerer. "But Miss Bolton, how delightful she is! so natural, and Nature is always so—so——"

      "Natural!" supplies Mr. Gower, who is lying on a rug watching the game below.

      "Oh, get out!" says Mrs. Chichester, whose manners are not her strong point.

      She is sitting on a garden chair behind him, and she gives him a little dig in the back with her foot as she speaks.

      "Don't! I'm bad there!" says he.

      "I believe you are bad everywhere," says she, with a pout.

      "Then you believe wrong! My heart is a heart of gold," says Mr.

       Gower ecstatically.

      "I'd like to see it," says Mrs. Chichester, who is not above a flirtation with a man whom she knows is beyond temptation; and truly Randal Gower is hard to get at!

      "Does that mean that you would gladly see me dead?" asks he. "Oh, cruel woman!"

      "I'm tired of seeing you as you are, any way," says she, tilting her chin. "Why don't you fall in love with somebody, for goodness' sake?"

      "Well, I'm trying," says Mr. Gower, "I'm trying hard; but," looking at her, "I don't seem to get on. You don't encourage me, you know, and I'm very shy!"

      "There, don't be stupid," says Mrs. Chichester, seeing that Marryatt is growing a little enraged. "We were talking of Miss Bolton. We were saying——"

      "That she was Nature's child."

      "Give me Nature!" says Captain Marryatt, breaking into the tęte-ŕ-tęte a little sulkily. "Nothing like it."

      "Is that a proposal?" demands Mr. Gower, raising himself on his elbow, and addressing him with deep interest. "It cannot be Mrs. Bolton you refer to, as she is unfortunately dead. Nature's child, however, is still among us. Shall I convey your offer to her?"

      "Yes, shall he?" asks Mrs. Chichester.

      She casts a teasing glance at her admirer; a little amused light has come into her green-gray eyes.

      "I should think you, Randal, would be the fitting person to propose to her, considering how you haunt her footsteps day and night," says a strange voice.

      It comes from a tall, gaunt old lady, who, with ringlets flying, advances towards the group. She is a cousin of the late Sir Maurice, and an aunt of Gower's, from whom much is to be expected by the latter at her death. There is therefore, as you see, a cousinship between the Gowers and the Ryltons.

      "My dear aunt, is that you?" says Mr. Gower with enthusiasm. "Come and sit here; do, just here beside me!"

      He pats the rug on which he is reclining as he speaks, beckoning her warmly to it, knowing as he well does that her bones would break СКАЧАТЬ