The Hoyden. Duchess

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      "Oh, Marian!" says Miss Knollys.

      She half turns away as if in disgust, but Marian follows her and catches her sleeve.

      "You mean——" says she.

      "Must I explain? With his heart full of you, do you think he should marry this girl?"

      "Oh, his heart!" says Mrs. Bethune. "Has he a heart? Dear Margaret, don't be an enthusiast; be like everybody else. It is so much more comfortable."

      "You can put it off like this," says Miss Knollys in a low tone. "It is very simple; but you should think. I have always thought you—you liked Maurice, but you were a—a friend of his. Save him from this. Don't let him marry this child."

      "I don't think he will marry a child!" says Mrs. Bethune, laughing.

      "You mean——"

      "I mean nothing at all—nothing, really," says Marian. "But that baby! My dear Margaret, how impossible!"

CHAPTER VIII.

       Table of Contents

      HOW A STORM RAGED; AND HOW, WHEN A MAN AND WOMAN MET FACE TO FACE, THE VICTORY—FOR A WONDER—WENT TO THE MAN.

      There has been a second scene between Lady Rylton and Sir Maurice—this time a terrible scene. She had sent for him directly after dinner, and had almost commanded him to marry Miss Bolton. She had been very bitter in her anger, and had said strange things of Marian. Sir Maurice had come off triumphant, certainly, if greatly injured, and with his heart on fire. He had, at all events, sworn he would not marry the little Bolton girl. Those perpetual insinuations! What had his mother meant by saying that Marian was laying herself out to catch Lord Dunkerton, an old baron in the neighbourhood, with some money and a damaged reputation? That could not be true—he would not believe it. That old beast! Marian would not so much as look at him. And yet—had she not been very civil to him at that ball last week?

      Coming out from his mother's boudoir, a perfect storm of fury in his heart, he finds himself face to face with Marian. Something in his face warns her. She would have gone by him with a light word or two, but, catching her by the wrist, he draws her into a room on his left.

      "You have had another quarrel with your mother," says she sympathetically, ignoring the anger blazing in his eyes. "About that silly girl?"

      "No. About you!"

      His tone is short—almost violent.

      "About me?"

      She changes colour.

      "Yes, you. She accuses you of encouraging that wretched old man,

       Dunkerton. Do you hear? Speak! Is it true?"

      "This is madness!" says Marian, throwing out her hands. "How could you believe such folly? That old man! Why will you give ear to such gossip?"

      "Put an end to it, then," says he savagely.

      "I? How can I put an end to it?"

      "By marrying me!"

      He stands opposite to her, almost compelling her gaze in return.

       Mrs. Bethune gives it fearlessly.

      "Maurice dearest, you are excited now. Your mother—she is so irritating. I know her. Marriage, as we now stand, would mean quite dreadful things. Do be reasonable!"

      "You talk of reason," says he passionately. "Does love reason? No! I will hear your last word now."

      "Are you condemning me, then, to death?" asks she, smiling delicately, and laying two large but delicate hands upon his arms.

      He shakes her off.

      "Answer me. Will you marry me, or will you not?"

      "This is too sudden, Maurice!"

      A little fire is kindling in her own eyes; she had objected to that last repulsion.

      "Sudden! After all these months!" He pauses. "Is it to be Dunkerton or me?" asks he violently.

      "Please do not bring Lord Dunkerton into this discussion," says she coldly.

      "I certainly shall."

      "You mean that I——"

      "Have encouraged him. So I hear, at all events, and—there are things I remember."

      "For the matter of that," says she, throwing up her beautiful head, "there are things I remember too! You—you dare to come here and accuse me of falsity when I have watched you all day making steady court to that wretched little plebeian, playing tennis with her all the day long, and far into the evening! No! I may have said half a dozen words to Lord Dunkerton, but you—how many half-dozen words have you said to Miss Bolton? Come, answer me that, as we seem bent on riddles."

      "All this is as nothing," says Rylton. "You know, as well as I do, that Miss Bolton has not a thought of mine! I want only one thing, the assurance that you love me, and I put it at marriage. Will you link your fate with mine, low down though it is at present? If you will, Marian"—he comes closer to her and lays his hands upon her shoulders, and gazes at her with eyes full filled with honest love—"I shall work for you to the last day of my life. If you will not——"

      He pauses—he looks at her—he waits. But no answer comes from her.

      "Marian, take courage," says he softly—very softly. "My darling, is money everything?"

      She suddenly leans back from him, and looks fair in his eyes.

      "It is, it is," says she hoarsely. "I can't again go through what I suffered before. Wait, do wait—something—something will happen——"

      "You refuse me?" says he, in a lifeless tone.

      "Not that. Don't speak like that. Don't leave me, Maurice."

      "It is our last hour," says he deliberately. "Be sure of that. If money is so much to you—if money counts so far beyond all that a man can give you of his heart and soul—then take it."

      "And you," says she, "are you not seeking money, too? This girl, this little fool; your mother has led you to think of her. You will marry her!"

      "I will marry you," says he coldly, "if you will marry me."

      "I have told you that it is impossible"—she draws a deep breath—"at present."

      "You will not trust me, then, to make a fortune for you?"

      "A fortune! It takes so long to make; and," smiling, and drawing nearer to him, and suddenly flinging her arms around his neck, "are we not happy as we are?"

      "No." СКАЧАТЬ