It was a bold attack, but it failed.
“Nor is he.” Christopher went on with the pasty.
Harcourt laughed long and low.
“Why, Chris, have you heard none of the rumours current in town?”
“I hear a good many lies. Which one is this?”
“That the King made a treaty with France some time back—secretly.”
“Oh, that!” Christopher was scornful. “I wonder you give ear to these rumours, Harcourt.”
“But my dear boy, men say that it was for that reason that we went to war with Holland!” He was watching Christopher closely.
“Men will say anything,” replied Dart. It was a very fair imitation of Roxhythe’s style.
Harcourt’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you fencing with me, I wonder?”
Christopher looked up, smiling.
“Odso! I? No.”
It was impossible to look into his clear, honest eyes and to disbelieve his word. Harcourt was puzzled.
“I have heard it said also that Roxhythe worked the intrigue. You remember how often he was in Paris?”
“Ay. And I know why. It was not intrigue.”
“Oh! Then you do not think that the King allied himself with France behind our backs?”
“Of course I do not. Is that a wild duck?”
Harcourt pushed the dish towards him. Christopher had a fine, healthy appetite.
“I don’t trust the King,” said Harcourt profoundly.
“You must always be mistrusting someone, Sydney,” said Christopher, amused. “What’s to do now?”
“Why were we deprived of Shaftesbury? Why have we this Danby?”
“God knows. I don’t meddle in politics. You had best ask Shaftesbury himself. I hear he is much with your master.”
Harcourt frowned.
“Perhaps I shall. Is it possible that you can trust Danby?”
“I hardly know him,” said Christopher. He attacked the wild duck with some vigour.
“But his policy! It is all cringing to the Court.”
“Is it?”
“I mislike his distribution of money. It smacks of bribery.”
“Sydney, I recommend this bird—oh, I beg your pardon! yes, bribery. Certainly.”
“Associating with Roxhythe has made you very careless,” reproved his friend.
“I have already told you that I do not meddle in what I do not understand. I have abundant faith in His Majesty’s discretion—and that is all there is to it. How is Madame Harcourt?”
Harcourt gave it up, and Christopher promptly forgot the conversation.
Later in the week he called on Lady Frances to whom he was more than ever attached.
She greeted him gaily. With her was Lady Crewe, and Christopher saw that Millicent had been crying.
“Do I intrude?” he asked, smiling.
“By no means!” answered Frances. “We are delighted to see you, are we not, Millicent?”
Lady Crewe assented. Christopher kissed both their hands, and sat down. For a short space he entertained them with snatches of gossip. Lady Crewe was palpably ill-at-ease and anxious to be gone. Before very long she rose, murmuring excuses.
Lady Frances took her hand.
“Must you go? Well, I’ll not press you to stay, as I know how busy you are. Chris, wait for me!” She went out with Millicent.
When she returned, Christopher looked at her, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.
“Well?”
“Well what?” asked her ladyship, swinging her brocades.
“I want to know.”
“Inquisitive child! Again what?”
“Is it all at an end between Lady Crewe and Roxhythe?”
Fanny sat down beside him.
“Thank heaven, yes! You noticed, then?”
“Since March he has hardly ever been at her side.”
“And she mopes and lies awake nights thinking of him. It’s a sad coil, Chris.”
“So I always thought. Lady Crewe looks very sick.”
Frances tapped her fan against the table.
“Because she hath a fool for husband! ’Pon rep, Chris, I’ve no patience with the man! Oh, I’ll tell you the whole story! You can be discreet, I know. In March I gave a ball; you remember? Well, they were both present. Roxhythe took Millicent into my little parlour and as far as I can gather there was something of a fracas. He discovered that he felt fatherly towards her and I suppose that he saw that she was too much in earnest for peace and quiet. To do him justice, I believe he meant to be kind then. They bade one another farewell, or some such nonsense, and the child wept very grievously. Roxhythe is too fascinating. At that moment in walked the husband! Conceive the tableau! Roxhythe brought Millicent to me, and went back to Sir Henry. According to him, Sir Henry was all for a duel, but he’d have none of it, and left the poor man disconsolate. No doubt he was very rude. Since then he has eschewed Millicent’s society. Tant mieux. All would then have been well had it not been for Crewe’s heroics. So Roxhythe calls it. Instead of treating the matter tactfully, he first raved at the child, and then turned a cold shoulder to her. They scarcely speak; each goes his own road, and each is very properly unhappy.
“I told Sir Henry he was a fool—yes, was it not brave of me?—and I told him to take Millicent away and be kind to her. Oh, he could have won her back! Instead he took her down into the country where she fretted herself to death. Now she thinks that she hates Crewe. I’ve talked to the man till I am tired, and to no avail. In fact, he sent me about my business. And so they go their ways. Millicent yearns for Roxhythe, because she wants love and Henry seems to have none for her. She sees David at all the houses they visit, and in that way the wound is kept open.”
“I see,” said Christopher. “I had some notion of this, of course, but I did not know all. One does not question Roxhythe.”
“No,” agreed her ladyship. “One does not. I am very worried over this affaire. I must say that since the fracas Roxhythe hath not paid much heed to Millicent. But they meet everywhere—and Roxhythe is all too magnetic. The child fancies herself madly in love with him.”
“I had not thought that. True, she does not look well, and she is less gay, but she scarce glances in Roxhythe’s direction.”
“Oh, she hath her pride!” said Frances. She sighed a little, and fell silent. After a few moments she
