“Yes, that was not well done of me,” she said. “I am sorry, but you understand I have a quick temper.”
“Yes, I understand that,” grimaced Rupert.
“It is very sad,
He became her slave from that moment.
CHAPTER XVI
The days sped past, and still the Duke did not come. Rupert and Leonie rode, fenced, and quarrelled together like two children, while, from afar, the Merivales watched, smiling.
“My dear,” said his lordship, “she reminds me strangely of someone, but who it is I cannot for the life of me make out.”
“I don’t think I have ever seen anyone like her,” Jennifer answered. “My lord, I have just thought that ’twould be a pretty thing if she married Rupert.”
“Oh, no!” he said quickly. “She is a babe, for sure, but, faith, she’s too old for Rupert!”
“Or not old enough. All women are older than their husbands, Anthony.”
“I protest I am a staid middle-aged man!”
She touched his cheek.
“You are just a boy. I am older by far.”
He was puzzled, and a little worried.
“I like it so,” she said.
Meanwhile at Avon Leonie and her swain made merry together. Rupert taught Leonie to fish, and they spent delightful days by the stream and returned at dusk, tired and wet, and unbelievably dirty. Rupert treated Leonie as a boy, which pleased her, and he told her endless tales of Society which also pleased her. But most of all she liked him to remember scraps of recollection of his brother. To these she would listen for hours at a time, eyes sparkling, and lips parted to drink in every word.
“He is—he is
“Oh, ay, every inch of him! I’ll say that. He’ll count no cost, either. He’s devilish clever, too.” Rupert shook his head wisely. “Sometimes I think there’s nothing he don’t know. God knows how he finds things out, but he does. All pose, of course, but it’s damned awkward, I give you my word. You can’t keep a thing secret from him. And he always comes on you when you least expect him—or want him. Oh, he’s cunning, devilish cunning.”
“I think you do like him a little,” Leonie said shrewdly.
“Devil a bit. Oh, he can be pleasant enough, but it’s seldom he is! One’s proud of him, y’know, but he’s queer.”
“I wish he would come back,” sighed Leonie.
Two days later Merivale, on his way to Avon village, met them, careering wildly over the country. They reined in when they saw him and came to him. Leonie was flushed and panting, Rupert was sulky.
“He is a great stupid, this Rupert,” Leonie announced.
“She has led me a fine dance this day,” Rupert complained.
“I do not want you with me at all,” said Leonie, nose in air.
Merivale smiled upon their quarrel.
“My lady said a while ago that I was a boy, but ’fore Gad you make me feel a greybeard,” he said. “Farewell to ye both!” He rode on to the village, and there transacted his business. He stopped for a few minutes at the Avon Arms, and went into the coffee-room. In the doorway he ran into a tall gentleman who was coming out.
“Your pardon, sir,” he said, and stared in amazement. “Saint-Vire! Why, what do ye here, Comte? I’d no notion——”
Saint-Vire had started back angrily, but he bowed now, and if his tone was not cordial, at least he was polite.
“Your servant, Merivale. I had not thought to see you here.”
“Nor I you. Of all the queer places in which to meet you! What brings you here?”
Saint-Vire hesitated for a moment.
“I am on my way to visit friends,” he said, after a while. “They live—a day’s journey north of this place. My schooner is at Portsmouth.” He spread out his hands. “I am forced to break my journey to recover from a slight indisposition which attacked me
Merivale thought the story strange, and Saint-Vire’s manner stranger still, but he was too well-bred to show incredulity.
“My dear Comte, it’s most opportune. You will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner at Merivale? I must present you to my wife.”
Again it seemed that Saint-Vire hesitated.
“Monsieur, I resume my journey to-morrow.”
“Well, ride out to Merivale this evening, Comte, I beg of you.”
Almost the Comte shrugged.
“
He came that evening to Merivale and bowed deeply over Jennifer’s hand.
“Madame, this is a great pleasure. I have long wished to meet the wife of my friend Merivale. Is it too late to felicitate, Merivale?”
Anthony laughed.
“We are four years married, Comte.”
“One has heard much of the beauty of Madame la Baronne,” Saint-Vire said.
Jennifer withdrew her hand.
“Will you be seated, monsieur? I am always glad to see my husband’s friends. For where are you bound?”
Saint-Vire waved a vague hand.
“North, madame. I go to visit my friend—er—Chalmer.”
Merivale’s brow creased.
“Chalmer? I don’t think I know——”
“He lives very much in seclusion,” explained Saint-Vire, and turned again to Jennifer. “Madame, I think I have never met you in Paris?”
“No, sir, I have not been outside mine own country. My husband goes there sometimes.”
“You should take madame,” Saint-Vire smiled. “You we see often,
“Not so often as of yore,” Merivale answered. “My wife has no taste for town life.”
“Ah, one understands then why you stay not long abroad these days, Merivale!”
Dinner was announced, and they went into the adjoining room. The Comte shook out his napkin.
“You live in most charming country, madame. The woods here are superb.”
“They are finer about Avon Court,” said Anthony. “There are some splendid oaks there.”
“Ah, Avon! I am desolated to hear that the Duc is away. I hoped—but it is not to be.”
In the recesses of Merivale’s brain memory stirred. Surely there had been some scandal, many years ago?
“No, Avon, I believe, is in London. Lord Rupert is staying with us—he is at the Court now, dining with Madame Field, and Mademoiselle de Bonnard, the Duke’s ward.”
Saint-Vire’s hand, holding the wine-glass, shook a little.
“Mademoiselle de——?”
“Bonnard. You knew that Avon had adopted a daughter?”
“I heard some rumour,” the Comte said slowly. “So she is here?”
“For a time only. She is to be presented soon, I think.”
“
“I think she is well enough,” Merivale answered. “There is much to amuse her at Avon. She and that scamp, Rupert, have taken to playing at hide-and-seek in the woods. They are naught but a pair of children!”
