“I’ll return to you,” he informed the furious young man. “Open the door.”
“Perhaps it is as well that Lady Crewe should withdraw,” sneered Sir Henry. He flung the door wide.
Roxhythe did not answer him. He led Millicent, tearless now, a creature of ice, to the deserted hall.
“Will you wait here, child? I’ll send my cousin to you.”
Her lips moved.
“Oh—no! I cannot! I—”
“My dear, you are in no fit state to go back to the ballroom. Sit down.”
She sank down, unresisting. Roxhythe kissed her hand. “Let me reassure you, sweetheart; there will be no scandal. You can trust my cousin.” He strolled into the ballroom.
Lady Frances was not dancing. When she saw Roxhythe she came quickly towards him.
“Where is Lady Crewe?”
“I want to take you to her. That young fool of a husband came plunging in upon us, and she is nigh fainting with fright.”
“Good God, Roxhythe! In my house! Could you not be decent for one evening? Where is the child?”
“In the hall. May I solicit your kindness for her? She should go home.”
Lady Fanny swept out. Roxhythe, following more leisurely, saw her bend over the drooping figure in the chair. He half smiled, and went back to the little parlour.
Frances took the girl’s hands.
“My dear! Will you come upstairs with me?”
The great shamed eyes looked up.
“I—think—I had best—go home,” whispered Millicent.
Frances drew her to her feet.
“Presently, dear. Come with me now and tell me all about it.”
“Lady Frances—I am indeed sorry—to be the cause of a—disturbance in your house. I—”
“Nonsense! Come, we shall be private in my room.”
She bore the girl off to her boudoir, and put her into a chair.
“There! Poor little thing! Tell me what has happened.”
Millicent bowed her head.
“I’ve been so wicked—I suppose you know. And today—I let—Lord Roxhythe—take me to another room—and—and—my husband found us—and—oh, heavens, what must you think of me?”
“Why, that you are a silly child! No, no, don’t cry! There’s no harm done. My cousin will see to it that there is no scandal. But mercy on us, what induced you to play with Roxhythe, of all men?”
“I love him,” answered Millicent dully.
Lady Frances opened her eyes to their widest.
“Love—my dear, foolish girl, you cannot.”
“I love him. And it’s all over—all over.”
“And a good thing too!” thought my lady. But she did not say that. She put her arms round Millicent.
“Won’t you tell me everything, dear?”
The girl flushed.
“You are very, very kind, Lady Frances, but—oh, I expect you know all there is to know about me!”
“My child, I have seen Roxhythe often at your side, and I confess I have wondered what you were at—playing with fire.”
“I was not playing! Oh, at first, three years ago, yes. No one minded; my husband thought nothing of it. But lately—I have been so—unhappy, and when he was with me—so very happy! And he meant nothing; he did not love me. It was a—game. I suppose any other woman would have known, but I—I—oh, I think my heart will break!”
“I am quite sure it will not,” replied Lady Frances. “ ’Tis all midsummer madness. How could you think Roxhythe was in earnest? Was there no one to warn you?”
“No. There is only Henry—and now he—hates me. What shall I do?”
“Start afresh,” said Fanny briskly. “Roxhythe is not worth one teardrop. You must forget him, and play no more with fire.”
“Forget! Ah, my lady, it is easy to speak so. I love him! I love him so much that were he to lift one finger I would go with him—anywhere!”
Lady Frances nodded over the bowed head.
“Well, my dear, he’ll lift no finger. He lives for himself alone. This is not his first affaire.”
Millicent shuddered.
“I thought he really cared for me. I knew there were—other women—but—”
Lady Frances proceeded to be cruel for kindness’ sake.
“I have known Roxhythe for—I won’t say how many years—and I know how much heart he hath. That is none. He has fascinated you until you think that you love him. But you do not. Ah, no, my dear, you do not!”
Millicent was silent. After a moment Fanny patted her shoulder.
“Come! Cheer up! Oh, I know ’tis hard, but you must bear a brave front. Never let him see that he has hurt you.”
“You do not know, Lady Frances.”
Fanny laughed irrepressibly.
“Why, do you think I have not been in love scores of times with those whom I should not have loved? Child, I have experienced all your feelings, and I assure you that you will recover.”
“I wish that I were dead!”
“Nonsense! You are overwrought tonight; tomorrow you will think differently. I am going to send you home now, and—if I may—I will come and see you in a few days’ time.”
“You—you will not care to. There will be some dreadful scandal—oh, I wish that I had never come to town!”
“There’ll be no vestige of scandal, my dear. Trust Roxhythe to see to that.”
“Oh, yes, yes! They are going to fight, and one of them will be killed—all for me who am—worthless!”
“I’ll wager my best necklet no one is killed,” said Lady Frances.
“Henry is so angry! I have never seen him look so terrible! He—he will do my lord some injury.”
“Alas! There’s no likelihood of such a thing happening!” said Fanny, tartly.
III
The Challenge
Roxhythe shut the door.
“And now what is it?”
Crewe was standing by the fire. At my lord’s words he swung round.
“It is this, sir! I’ll not have my wife’s name dishonoured by such as you! For nearly three years it has gone on! At first I thought nothing; she had her admirers, but she loved me. And then you gradually stole her from me, until she thinks of naught save when she shall next be with you! Oh, I’m not blind! I’ve watched and waited. But tonight I could no longer contain myself! One of us dies, my lord!”
“Very fine,” applauded Roxhythe. “But
