Book III
Results
I
After a life in which each day was spent in happy anticipation of the pleasures of the next, the calm, quiet existence at The Towers would have been dull and cheerless to Violet. But following so soon upon the death of Waldron, under such awful circumstances, the life with Lady Lechester seemed to her, for a while at least, like that in a haven of refuge where the storm without could not reach. And had Aymer been there, or near at hand, she would in a quiet way have been happy.
For Lady Lechester was singularly kind. She made no show of sympathy, she did not ask, as some pretentiously hospitable people do every morning, if she were comfortable and had all she wished. But Agnes possessed a rare and delicate tact, the power of perceiving what others felt, of anticipating their smallest fancies.
She accommodated herself and her habits to Violet, and there grew up between them a firm friendship, and more than that—a companionship. Agnes kept no secret from Violet. Violet had none to hide from her.
There was one topic only which Violet never of her own volition approached, but she was perfectly aware that something of the kind was going on. In an indefinable manner she had learnt that Agnes had a suitor. It came to her knowledge that he was extremely wealthy, but low born in comparison with her long descent. How Agnes looked upon him it was hard to say. She was fully five-and-thirty, and that is an age at which women begin to feel that now, if ever, is the time when they must choose a companion.
On the other hand it is an age when the glamour of early hope and youthful fancy, are hardly likely to gild the first figure that approaches with a beauty not really its own. It is an age when the mind can choose calmly and deliberately, in the true sense of the word. Violet had never seen this man, or heard his name, but she knew that there was correspondence between them, for she had seen the letters with a foreign postmark. She gathered that he was in America. After which Agnes whispered that he would shortly be home, and would visit her.
“He is very handsome,” she said, for the first time speaking directly upon the subject. “He is a man who could not be passed in a crowd, even were it not for exceptional circumstances surrounding him. And yet. I do not know—I do not know.”
Then she was silent again for several days, but presently approached the inevitable topic again.
Would it be possible for a woman to really banish that topic from her mind? Agnes could the more easily confide in Violet, because she was fully aware of her love for Aymer. It is easier to speak to those who have had similar experiences, than to those who are as yet ignorant.
“He is in England, now,” said Agnes, one day. “He is not far distant. Why should I conceal it any longer? Your friend Mr. Malet meets him daily, I daresay; he is a candidate for Stirmingham. It is Mr. Marese Baskette.”
“I must congratulate you,” said Violet. “He is the richest man in the world, is he not?”
“He will be if he succeeds in obtaining his rights. To tell you the truth, I think the great battle he is fighting with these companies and claimants, gives me more interest in him than—than—well, I don’t know. You will see him soon. He will come directly the election is over. Now you know why I took so much interest in your letters from Mr. Malet, describing the course of the family council. But I think he is wrong, dear, in the last that you showed me. I think I should like to be the owner of that great city—it is true there would be responsibilities, but then there would be opportunities, he forgets that. Think what one could do—the misery to be alleviated, the crime to be hunted out, the great work that would be possible.”
Her eyes flashed, her form dilated. It was easy to see that to the ambition innate in her nature, the idea of having an immense city to reign over, as it were, like the princesses of old, was almost irresistible. A true, good woman she was, but it would have been impossible for her not to have been ambitions.
“With his talent,” she said—becoming freer upon the subject the longer she dwelt upon it—“with his talent, for he is undoubtedly a clever man, with the love the populace there have for him, with my long descent—perhaps the longest in the county—which enables me to claim kindred with powerful families, with a seat in Parliament, there seems no reasonable limit to what we might not do. That is the way to put it. You shall see his letters.”
Violet read them. Marese Baskette was gifted with the power of detecting the points which pleased those he conversed or corresponded with, and upon these he dwelt and dilated. It was this that made his speeches so successful in Stirmingham. As he spoke he noted those passages and allusions which awoke the enthusiasm of the audience. Next time he omitted those sentiments which had failed to attract attention, and confined himself to those which were applauded. In half a dozen trials he produced a speech, every word of which was cheered to the echo.
So, in his intercourse with Agnes Lechester, the same faculty of perceiving what pleased, led him to disregard the ordinary method of lovers; he avoided all mention, or almost avoided, expressions of affection, or of love, and harped upon the string which he had found vibrated most willingly in her breast. The theme was ample and he did not hesitate to work upon it. He compared his position and that of Agnes when united, and when his rights were conceded, to that of the royal reigning dukes
