“I am, Miss Challoner.”
“Then you will know, sir, that his lordship’s temper is extremely fiery and uncontrolled. I had provoked it, and it—it was disastrous. Lord Vidal forced me to go on board his yacht, and carried me to Dieppe.”
The gentleman felt for his quizzing-glass, and raised it. Through it he surveyed Miss Challoner. “May I ask what were his lordship’s tactics?” he inquired. “I feel an almost overwhelming interest in the methods of daylight abduction employed by the modern youth.”
“Well, it was not very romantic,” confessed Miss Challoner. “He threatened to pour the contents of his flask down my throat, thereby rendering me too drunk to resist.” She saw a frown in his eyes, and said: “I fear I shock you, sir, but remember that his lordship was enraged.”
“I am not shocked, Miss Challoner, but I infinitely deplore such a lack of finesse. Did his lordship carry out this ingenious plan?”
“No, for I submitted. To be made drunk seemed to me a horrid fate. I said I would go with him. It was very early, and there was no one on the quay, so that I could not call for help, even had I dared. And since his lordship threatened to strangle me if I made the least outcry, I am sure I should not have dared. I went on board the yacht, and as our passage was rough, I was most vilely unwell.”
A smile flickered across her hearer’s countenance. “My sympathies are with Lord Vidal. He no doubt found you most disconcerting.”
She gave a little laugh. “I think you don’t know him very well, sir, for it is one of the nice things about him that he was not disconcerted, but on the contrary, extremely prompt in dealing with the situation.”
He was looking at her rather curiously. “I thought that I knew him very well indeed,” he said. “Apparently I was wrong. Pray continue: you begin to interest me vastly.”
“He has a dreadful reputation,” she said earnestly, “but he is not wicked at heart. He is nothing but a wild, passionate, spoiled boy.”
“I am all admiration for your shrewdness, Miss Challoner,” said the gentleman politely.
“It is true, sir,” she insisted, suspecting him of irony. “When I was sick on that yacht—”
He raised one thin hand. “I accept your reading of his lordship’s true nature, Miss Challoner. Spare me a recital of your sufferings at sea, I beg of you.”
She smiled. “They were excessively painful, sir, I assure you. But we arrived at length at Dieppe, where his lordship had planned to spend the night. We dined. His lordship had, I think, been drinking aboard the yacht. He was in an ugly mood, and I was compelled, in the end, to protect my virtue in a somewhat drastic manner.”
The gentleman opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch delicately. “If you succeeded in protecting your virtue, my dear Miss Challoner, I can readily believe—knowing his lordship—that your methods must have been exceedingly drastic. You perceive me positively agog with curiosity.”
“I shot him,” she said bluntly.
The hand that was raising the pinch of snuff to one nostril was checked for a brief moment. “Accept my compliments,” said the gentleman calmly, and inhaled the snuff.
“It was not a very bad wound,” she told him. “But it sobered him, you see.”
“I imagine that it might do so,” he conceded.
“Yes, sir. He began to realize that I was not—not vulgarly coy, but in deadly earnest.”
“Did he indeed? A gentleman of intuition, I perceive.”
Miss Challoner said with dignity: “You laugh, sir, but it was not very amusing at the time.”
The gentleman bowed. “I beg your pardon,” he said solemnly. “What happened next?”
“His lordship insisted that I should tell him all that I have told you. When he had heard me out he said that there was. only one thing to be done. I must marry him at once.”
The keen eyes lifted from the contemplation of the enamelled snuff-box, and were suddenly intent. “We have reached the point where you interest me extraordinarily,” said that smooth voice. “Proceed, Miss Challoner.”
She looked down at her clasped hands. “I could not consent to so wild a scheme, sir, of course. I was forced to decline his lordship’s offer.”
“I do not think I am a fool,” said the gentleman pensively. “But although I can sympathize with your reluctance to marry so dissolute a gentleman as Lord Vidal, your predicament was such that I do not immediately perceive what forced you to decline.”
“The knowledge, sir, that Lord Vidal did not care for me,” answered Miss Challoner in a low voice. “The knowledge also that in marrying me he would be making a—a deplorable
The quizzing-glass was raised again. “You appear to have confronted your somewhat unnerving situation with remarkable equanimity, Miss Challoner.”
She shrugged. “What else could I do, sir? Vapours would not have helped me. Besides, I had his lordship sick on my hands with some slight inflammation of the wound I had given him, and as he was bent on doing a number of imprudent things I had too much to do in preventing him to think very much of my own troubles.”
“From my brief acquaintance with you, Miss Challoner, I feel moderately convinced that you did prevent Lord Vidal’s imprudence.”
“Oh yes,” she answered. “He is quite easy to manage, if—if one only knows the way.”
The quizzing-glass fell. “His lordship’s parents should be anxious to meet you,” said the gentleman.
Her smile was twisted. “I am afraid not, sir. I do not know whether you are acquainted with his grace of Avon?”
“Intimately,” he said, with the ghost of a laugh.
“Oh, then—” She broke off. “In short, sir, I refused Lord Vidal’s offer, and we—”
“But were you not about to make some observation concerning his grace of Avon?” he interposed urbanely.
“I was, sir, but if you are intimate with him I will refrain.”
“Pray do not. In what monstrous light has this gentleman appeared to you?”
“I have never set eyes on him, sir. I only judge him by what I have heard, and by things that Lord Vidal has from time to time let fall. I suppose him to be a man of few morals and no heart. He seems to me a sinister person, and is, I believe, quite unscrupulous in attaining his ends.”
The gentleman appeared to be amused. “I am far from contradicting you, Miss Challoner, but may I inquire whether you culled this masterly description from Lord Vidal’s lips?”
“If you mean, did Lord Vidal tell me so, no, sir, he did not. Lord Vidal is, I think, attached to his grace. I go by common report, a little, and by the very lively fear of her uncle evinced by my friend Miss Marling, His lordship merely gave me to understand that his father was uncannily omniscient, and had a habit of succeeding in all his objects.”
“I am relieved to hear that Lord Vidal has so much respect for his grace,” remarked the gentleman.
“Are you, sir? Well, having formed this opinion, I could not but feel that so far from desiring to meet me, his grace would very likely disinherit Lord Vidal if his lordship married me.”
“You draw an amiable portrait, Miss Challoner, but I can assure you that whatever his grace’s feelings might be he would never follow so distressingly crude a course.”
“Would he not, sir? I did not know, but I am very sure he would not countenance his son’s marriage to a nobody. To continue: Lord Vidal, discovering that I was once at school with his cousin, Miss Marling, brought me to Paris, and consigned me to her care until such time as he could find an English divine to marry me. Miss Marling was secretly betrothed to a certain Mr. Comyn, but their betrothal was broken off—irrevocably, as I thought—and Mr. Comyn, being a gentleman of great chivalry, offered his hand to me, to enable me to escape from Lord Vidal. Though I blush to confess it, sir, such was my desperate need, that I consented to elope with Mr. Comyn to Dijon where Lord Vidal had found an English divine. Unfortunately, Mr. Comyn thought it incumbent on him to leave a note for his lordship, apprising him of our intention to wed. The result was, sir, that Lord Vidal, accompanied by Miss Marling, overtook us at Dijon before the knot was tied. There was a painful scene. Mr. Comyn, desiring to protect me from his lordship’s—coercion—announced that we were man and wife. Lord Vidal, with the object of making me a widow, tried to choke the life out of Mr. Comyn. In which I think he would probably have succeeded,” she added, “had there not been a jug of water at hand. I threw it over them both, and my lord let Mr. Comyn go.”
