Tristram of Blent. Anthony Hope

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      The Imp loved fighting, and her blood was getting up. He was a good foe, but he did not know her power. He must not either—not yet, anyhow. If he patronized her much more, she began to feel that he would have to know it some day—not to his hurt, of course; merely for the reformation of his manners.

      "Meanwhile," he continued, as he lit a cigarette, "I'm not seriously disappointed that attentions paid to one lady fail to please another. That's not uncommon, you know. By the way, we're not on the path to the greenhouses; but you don't mind that? They were a pretext, no doubt? Oh, I don't want to hurry back. Your uncle shall have his fair show. How well you're mastering English!"

      At this moment Mina hated him heartily; she swore to humble him—before herself, not before the world, of course; she would give him a fright anyhow—not now, but some day; if her temper could not stand the strain better, it would be some day soon, though.

      "You see," Harry's calm exasperating voice went on, "it's just possible that you're better placed at present as an observer of our manners than as a critic of them. I hope I don't exceed the limits of candor which you yourself indicated as allowable in this pleasant conversation of ours?"

      "Oh well, we shall see," she declared, with another nod. The vague threat (for it seemed that or nothing) elicited a low laugh from Harry Tristram.

      "We shall," he said. "And in the meantime a little sparring is amusing enough. I don't confess to a hit at present; do you, Madame Zabriska?"

      Mina did not confess, but she felt the hit all the same; if she were to fight him, she must bring her reserves into action.

      "By the way, I'm so sorry you couldn't see my mother when you called the other day. She's not at all well, unhappily. She really wants to see you."

      "How very kind of Lady Tristram!" There was kept for the mother a little of the sarcastic humility which was more appropriate when directed against the son. Harry smiled still as he turned round and began to escort her back to the lawn. The smile annoyed Mina; it was a smile of victory. Well, the victory should not be altogether his.

      "I want to see Lady Tristram very much," she went on, in innocent tones and with a face devoid of malice, "because I can't help thinking I must have seen her before—when I was quite a little girl."

      "You've seen my mother before? When and where?"

      "She was Mrs. Fitzhubert, wasn't she?"

      "Yes, of course she was—before she came into the title."

      "Well, a Mrs. Fitzhubert used to come and see my mother long ago at Heidelberg. Do you know if your mother was ever at Heidelberg?"

      "I fancy she was—I'm not sure."

      Still the Imp was very innocent, although the form of Harry's reply caused her inward amusement and triumph.

      "My mother was Madame de Kries. Ask Lady Tristram if she remembers the name."

      It was a hit for her at last, though Harry took it well. He turned quickly toward her, opened his lips to speak, repented, and did no more than give her a rather long and rather intense look. Then he nodded carelessly. "All right, I'll ask her," said he. The next moment he put a question. "Did you know about having met her before you came to Merrion?"

      "Oh well, I looked in the 'Peerage,' but it really didn't strike me till a day or two ago that it might be the same Mrs. Fitzhubert. The name's pretty common, isn't it?"

      "No, it's very uncommon."

      "Oh, I didn't know," murmured Mina apologetically; but the glance which followed him as he turned away was not apologetic; it was triumphant.

      She got back in time to witness—to her regret (let it be confessed) she could not overhear—Janie's farewell to Bob Broadley. They had been friends from youth; he was "Bob" to her, she was now to him "Miss Janie."

      "You haven't said a word to me, Bob."

      "I haven't had a chance; you're always with the swells now."

      "How can I help it, if—if nobody else comes?"

      "I really shouldn't have the cheek. Harry Tristram was savage enough with the Major—what would he have been with me?"

      "Why should it matter what he was?"

      "Do you really think that, Miss Janie?" Bob was almost at the point of an advance.

      "I mean—why should it matter to you?"

      The explanation checked the advance.

      "Oh, I—I see. I don't know, I'm sure. Well then, I don't know how to deal with him."

      "Well, good-by."

      "Good-by, Miss Janie."

      "Are you coming to see us again, ever?"

      "If you ask me, I——"

      "And am I coming again to Mingham? Although you don't ask me."

      "Will you really?"

      "Oh, you do ask me? When I ask you to ask me!"

      "Any day you'll——"

      "No, I'll surprise you. Good-by. Good-by really."

      The conversation, it must be admitted, sounds commonplace when verbally recorded. Yet he would be a despondent man who considered it altogether discouraging; Mina did not think Janie's glances discouraging either. But Bob Broadley, a literal man, found no warrant for fresh hope in any of the not very significant words which he repeated to himself as he rode home up the valley of the Blent. He suffered under modesty; it needed more than coquetry to convince him that he exercised any attraction over the rich and brilliant (brilliance also is a matter of comparison) Miss Iver, on whose favor Mr. Tristram waited and at whose side Major Duplay danced attendance.

      "You're a dreadful flirt, Janie," said Mina, as she kissed her friend.

      Janie was not a raw girl; she was a capable young woman of two-and-twenty.

      "Nonsense," she said rather crossly. "It's not flirting to take time to make up your mind."

      "It looks like it, though."

      "And I've no reason to suppose they've any one of them made up their minds."

      "I should think you could do that for them pretty soon. Besides, uncle has, anyhow."

      "I'm to be your aunt, am I?"

      "Oh, he's only an uncle by accident."

      "Yes, I think that's true. Shall we have a drive soon?"

      "To Mingham? Or to Blent Hall?"

      "Not Blent. I wait my lord's pleasure to see me."

      "Yes, that's just how I feel about him," cried Mina eagerly.

      "But all the same——"

      "No, СКАЧАТЬ