be solicited in marriage next time by a man who will be blind to the folly and conceit of your nature.” With which parting shot Mr. Comyn executed a low bow, and went downstairs without one backward look.
Rejecting the lackey’s offer to summon a chair, he left the Hotel Saint-Vire, and strode off down the street in the direction of his own lodging. He had not covered more than half the distance, when all at once he seemed to change his mind, and retraced his steps till he came to a side road. He turned down this, traversed a broad
The lackey who opened the door to him had ushered the Marquis of Vidal out not twenty minutes earlier, and his well-trained countenance betrayed surprise. Upon being asked if Miss Challoner were still up, he said cautiously that he would inquire, and left Mr. Comyn (whom he began to suspect of clandestine intentions) to kick his heels in the hall.
Miss Challoner, who had been sitting in a brown study, by the fire, started when the servant came in, and glanced at the clock. The hands pointed to a quarter past midnight.
“The Englishman who was here first to-night, mademoiselle, is here again,” announced the lackey severely.
“Mr. Comyn?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
Wondering very much what could have happened to bring him back, Miss Challoner requested the man to admit him. The lackey withdrew, and said later to his colleagues downstairs that the customs of English demoiselles were enough to shock a decent Frenchman.
Meanwhile Mr. Frederick Comyn stood once more before Miss Challoner, and said with less than his usual precision: “I beg pardon, ma’am, to intrude upon you at this hour, but I have a proposal to make to you.”
“A proposal to make to me?” repeated Mary. “Yes, ma’am. Earlier this evening I informed you that if it lay within my power to serve you I should count myself honoured.”
“Oh, have you found a way of escape for me?” Mary said eagerly. “Is that what you mean? I would welcome any way!”
“I am glad to hear you say as much, ma’am, for I fear that what I have to propose to you will take you by surprise, and even, perhaps, be repugnant to you.” He paused, and she noticed how hard his eyes were. “Miss Challoner, in touching upon the extreme delicacy of your situation I do not desire, believe me, to offend you. But your story is known to me; you yourself have divulged as much to me as my Lord Vidal. Your plight is desperate indeed, and while I can readily understand your reluctance to wed his lordship, I am bound to hold with him that nothing save marriage can extricate you from a predicament that must necessarily blacken—though unjustly—your fair name. Madam, I humbly beg to offer you my hand in marriage.”
Miss Challoner, who had listened to this amazing speech with an expression of frank bewilderment on her face, recoiled. “Good gracious, sir, have you gone mad?” she cried. “No, ma’am. Mad I have been for the past weeks, but I am now in the fullest possession of my faculties.”
Her suspicion that he had been drinking gave place to a more exact comprehension of the true state of affairs. “But, Mr. Comyn, you are plighted to Juliana Marling,” she said. He replied very bitterly: “I am happy to be able to inform you, ma’am, that Miss Marling and I have cut the knot of what each of us has been brought to regard as our entanglement.”
“Oh!” said Mary in distress. “Have you quarrelled with Juliana, then? Dear sir, I do not know what has passed between you, but if Juliana is to blame she will be sorry soon enough. Go back to her, Mr. Comyn, and you will see that I am right”
“You mistake, ma’am,” he replied curtly. “I have not the smallest desire to return to Miss Marling. Pray do not imagine that I am come to you in a fit of pique. I have for a week past realized the unwisdom of our betrothal. Miss Marling’s conduct is not what I wish for in my wife, and her decision to release me from my obligations I can only regard as the greatest favour she has ever bestowed upon me.”
Miss Challoner turned quite pale at this awful pronouncement, and sat weakly down on the couch. “But this is dreadful, sir!” she said. “You are speaking in anger, in a way that you will regret when you have had time to reflect.”
“Madam, I speak not from anger but from infinite relief. Whether you choose to accept of my offer or not my betrothal to Miss Marling is at an end. I shall not conceal from you that I fancied myself to be much in love with her; nor shall I insult your intelligence by pretending an ardour for yourself which I can naturally have had no time to acquire. If you will be content with my respect and deep regard, ma’am, I shall count myself fortunate to have secured the hand of one whose character and conduct command my sincere admiration.”
“But it is impossible!” Mary said, still feeling dazed. “Surely, surely all cannot be at an end between you and Juliana?”
“Irrevocably, ma’am!”
“Oh, I am sorry!” Mary said pitifully. “As for your offer, indeed I thank you, but how should we two wed without love, or even acquaintance?”
He said seriously: “At any other time, ma’am, such haste would be strange indeed. But your situation being what it is, you are bound to seek refuge in wedlock with all possible speed. Ma’am, allow me to speak with a plainness you may deem impertinent; I think you, as well as I, come to this marriage with a bruised heart. Forgive me, Miss Challoner, but having watched you I could not but suspect that you are not indifferent to my Lord Vidal. I do not inquire what are the reasons that induce you to refuse his suit; I say only, each of us is disappointed: let us endeavour, together, to heal our separate hurts.”
She covered her face with her hands. She was so taken by surprise that her brain reeled. Here indeed was the answer to her prayer, yet all she could say was: “Please leave me. I must think, sir; I cannot answer you now. I know that I ought to refuse your offer, but such is the hopelessness of my position that I dare not even do that without a pause for calm reflection. I must see Juliana; I can scarcely believe that all is indeed as you say.”
He picked up his hat at once. “I will withdraw, ma’am. Pray think well over what I have said. I shall remain at my present lodging until noon to-morrow, then, if I do not hear from you, I shall depart from Paris. Permit me to wish you good night.” He bowed, and left the room, and after a few moments Miss Challoner rose, and went slowly up to her bedchamber.
She heard her hostess and Miss Marling come in an hour later, and presently got up out of her bed, and slipped on a dressing-gown, and went to scratch softly on Juliana’s door. Juliana called to her to come in. A sleepy tirewoman was undressing her, and closely as she scrutinized the vivid little face Mary could perceive nothing in it but a natural weariness. “Oh, is it you, Mary?” Juliana said. “You should have come; it was vastly entertaining, I do assure you.” She began to chatter of the people she had met, and the dresses she had seen. Her eyes were bright and hard, her good spirits perhaps rather feverish, but she deceived her friend. She sent the abigail to bed when her dress was safely hung in the wardrobe, her jewels locked up, and her hair brushed free of powder, and Mary ventured to ask whether Mr. Comyn had been at the ball.
Juliana jumped into bed, saying: “Oh, don’t speak to me of that man! I cannot conceive how I was ever fool enough to fancy myself in love with him. Tis all over between us; you cannot imagine how glad I am!”
Mary looked at her worriedly. “But, Juliana, you did love him—you do still!”
“I?” Miss Marling gave a scornful laugh. “Lord, how solemn you are, my dear! I thought it would be famous good fun to let him think I’d elope with him, but if you must know, I never meant to marry him at all.” She shot a quick look at Miss Challoner’s grave face. “I shall marry Bertrand de Saint-Vire,” she said, to clinch the matter.
This announcement startled Miss Challoner almost as much as it would have startled the Vicomte, had he been privileged to hear it. She said: “How can yon talk so, Juliana? I don’t believe you!”
Miss Marling laughed again. “Don’t you, my dear? I make no doubt you think me monstrous heartless. Oh, yes, I can see you do! Well, we don’t have hearts in our family, as you’ll discover, I fear.”
“You need not fear for me,” said Mary calmly. “I am not going to marry Lord Vidal, I assure you.”
“You don’t know my cousin,” replied Juliana. “He means to wed you, and he will—in Uncle Justin’s teeth, too! Lord, I would give a guinea to see my uncle’s face when he hears! Not that it would tell me much,” she added pensively. She clasped her hands round her knees. “You’ve not yet met his grace, Mary. When you do—” she paused. “I can’t advise you. I am for ever making up my mind just what I shall say to him, and then when the tune conies I am not able to.”
Miss Challoner ignored this. “Juliana, be frank with me: have you quarrelled with Mr. Comyn?”
