As soon as O’Hara read the last part of the letter he brushed Carstares and his love affairs to one side, and posted straight to London to obey the welcome summons.
Bit by bit my lord discovered that he was very much in love with Diana. At first his heart gave a great bound, and then seemed to stop with a sickening thud. He remembered that he could not ask her to marry him, disgraced as he was, and he immediately faced the situation, realising that he must go away at once. His first move was to Mr. Beauleigh, to tell him of his decision. On being asked why he must so suddenly leave Horton House, he explained that he loved Diana and could not in honour speak of love to her. At which Mr. Beauleigh gasped and demanded to know the reason. Carstares told him that he was by profession a highwayman, and watched him bridle angrily. Before so agreeable and so smiling, Mr. Beauleigh now became frigidly polite. He quite understood Mr. Carr’s position, and—er—yes, he honoured him for the course on which he had decided. But Mr. Beauleigh was very, very cold. Carstares gave Jim orders to pack immediately, that he might depart next day, and reluctantly informed Miss Betty of his going. She was startled and bewildered. She had imagined that he would spend all June with them. Circumstances, he regretted, willed otherwise. He should always remember her great kindness to him, and hoped that she would forgive the brusque nature of his departure.
When he told Diana her eyes opened very wide and she laughed, pointing an accusing finger at him.
“You are teasing, Mr. Carr!” she cried, and ran into the house.
That evening Miss Betty confirmed Jack’s words, and seeing the hurt look in the girl’s eyes, wisely held her peace.
Next morning in the pleasaunce Diana came across my lord, and went up to him, gravely questioning.
“You are really leaving us today, Mr. Carr?”
“I am afraid I must, Mistress Di.”
“So suddenly? Then you were not teasing yesterday?”
“No, mademoiselle—I was not. I fear I have tarried too long, taking advantage of your kindness.”
“Oh, no, no!” she assured him. “Indeed, you have not! Must you really go?”
Looking down into her big eyes, John read the answering love in them, and grew pale. It was worse to think that she cared, too. If only he thought she was indifferent, parting would not seem so unbearable.
“Mademoiselle—you overwhelm me—I must go.”
“Oh, but I am sorry. Your being here has been such a pleasure! I—” She stopped, and looked away across the flowers.
“You?” prompted Jack before he could check himself.
With a tiny laugh she brought her gaze back.
“I am sorry you must leave us, naturally.”
She sat down beneath an arbour of roses, and patted the place beside her invitingly, with just the same unconscious friendliness that she had always shown him. My lord stayed where he was, with one hand on a tree trunk and the other fidgeting with his quizzing glass.
“Mistress Di—I think it only right that I should tell you what I have told your father, and what I told your aunt some time ago, when she refused to believe me. To some extent I am here under false pretences. I am not what you think me.”
Diana laced and unlaced her fingers, and thought that she understood.
“Oh, no, Mr. Carr!”
“I am afraid yes, mademoiselle. I am—a common felon … a highwayman!” He bit the words out, not looking at her.
“But I knew that,” she said softly.
“You knew it?”
“Why, yes! I remember when you told Aunt Betty.”
“You believed me?”
“You see,” she apologised, “I always wondered why you were masked.”
“And yet you permitted me to stay—”
“How silly of you, Mr. Carr! Of course I do not care what you are! I owe so much to you!”
He wheeled round at that, and faced her.
“Madam, I can bear anything rather than gratitude! Is it only that which has made you tolerate me all this time?”
Her fingers gripped one another.
“Why, sir—why, sir—”
The flame died out of his eyes, and he drew himself up stiffly, speaking with a curtness that surprised her.
“I crave your pardon. I should be whipped at the cart-tail for asking such an impertinent question. Forget it, I beg.”
Diana looked up at the stern face, half amazed, half affronted.
“I do not think I quite understand you, sir.”
“There is nought to understand, mademoiselle,” he answered with dry lips. “ ’Twere merely that I was coxcomb enough to hope that you liked me a little for mine own sake.”
She glanced again at his averted head with a wistful little smile.
“Oh!” she murmured. “Oh!”—and—“It is very dreadful to be a highwayman!” she sighed.
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
“But surely you could cease to be one?” coaxingly.
He did not trust himself to answer.
“I know you could. Please do!”
“That is not all,” he forced himself to say. “There is worse.”
“Is there?” she asked wide-eyed. “What else have you done, Mr. Carr?”
“I—once—” heavens, how hard it was to say! “I once … cheated … at cards.” It was out. Now she would turn from him in disgust. He shut his eyes in anticipation of her scorn, his head turned away.
“Only once?” came the soft voice, filled with awed admiration.
His eyes flew open.
“Mademoiselle—!”
She drooped her head mournfully.
“I’m afraid I always cheat,” she confessed. “I had no idea ’twas so wicked, although Auntie gets very cross and vows she will not play with me.”
He could not help laughing.
“ ’Tis not wicked in you, child. You do not play for money.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Yes, child.”
“Then that was horrid of you,” she agreed.
He stood silent, fighting the longing to tell her the truth.
“But—but—do not look so solemn, sir,” the pleading voice went
