His Grace appeared exasperated.
“ ’Fore Gad, you are a fool! Ask her! Ask her! Force her! Kick Lovelace from your house and abandon the heroic pose, I beg of you!”
“Do you suppose I want to lose her?” cried Carstares. “ ’Tis because I love her so much that I will not stand in the way of her happiness!”
The Duke flung round and picked up his hat.
“I am sorry I cannot join with you in your heroics. I must take the matter into my own hands, as usual, it seems. Lord, but you should have learnt to make her obey you, my good Dick! She has led you by the nose ever since she married you, and she was a woman who wanted mastering!” He went over to the door and opened it. “I will call upon you tomorrow, when I shall hope to find you more sane. They do not purpose to leave until late, I know, for Lovelace is promised to Mallaby at three o’clock. There is time in which to act.”
“I shall not interfere,” repeated Richard.
His Grace sneered.
“So you have remarked. It remains for me to do. Good night.”
XXIV
Richard Plays the Man
Lady Lavinia’s frame of mind when she awoke next morning was hardly befitting one who contemplated an elopement. A weight seemed to rest on her chest, hopeless misery was gathered about her head. She could not bring herself to drink her chocolate, and, feeling that inaction was the worst of all, she very soon crawled out of bed and allowed her maid to dress her. Then she went with dragging steps to her boudoir, wondering all the time where Richard was and what he was doing. She seated herself at her window and looked out on to the square, biting the edge of her handkerchief in the effort to keep back her tears.
Richard was in a no more cheerful mood. He, too, left his chocolate untouched, and went presently down to the breakfast table and looked at the red sirloin with a feeling of acute nausea. He managed to drink a cup of coffee, and immediately afterwards left the room and made his way to his wife’s boudoir. He told himself he was acting weakly, and had far better avoid her, but in the end he gave way to his longing to see her, and knocked on one white panel.
Lavinia’s heart leapt. How well she knew that knock!
“Come in!” she called, and tried to compose her features.
Richard entered and shut the door behind him.
“Oh—oh—good morning!” she smiled. “You—wanted to speak with me—Dick?”
“I—yes—that is—er—have you the Carlyles’ invitation?”
It was, perhaps, an unlucky excuse. Lavinia turned away and fought against her tears.
“I—I believe—’tis in my—escritoire,” she managed to say. “I—I will look for it.”
She rose and unlocked the bureau, standing with her back to him.
“ ’Tis no matter,” stammered Carstares. “I—only—’twas but that I could not find it. Pray do not disturb yourself!”
“Oh—not—at all,” she answered, scattering a handful of letters before her. “Yes—here ’tis.” She came up to him with the note in her hand, extending it.
Carstares looked down at the golden head, and at the little face with its eyes cast down, and red mouth set so wistfully. Heavens, how could he bear to live without her! Mechanically he took the letter.
Lavinia turned away, and as she stepped from him something snapped in Richard’s brain. The luckless invitation was flung down.
“No, by God you shall not!” he cried suddenly.
Lavinia stopped, trembling.
“Oh—oh, what do you mean?” she fluttered.
The mists were gone from his mind now, everything was clear. Lavinia should not elope with Lovelace. In two strides he was at her side, had caught her by the shoulders and swung her to face him.
“You shall not leave me! Do you understand? I cannot live without you!”
Lavinia gave a little cry full of relief, joy and wonderment, and shrank against him.
“Oh, please, please forgive me and keep me with you!” she cried, and clung to the lapels of his coat.
Carstares swept her right off the ground in the violence of his embrace, but she did not mind, although the crushing was ruinous to her silks. Silks were no longer uppermost in her brain. She returned his kisses eagerly, sobbing a little.
When Carstares was able to say anything beyond how he loved her, he demanded if she did not love him?
“Of course I do!” she cooed. “I always, always did, only I was so selfish and so careless!”
He carried her to the sofa and sat down with her on his knee, trying to look into her face. But she had somehow contrived to hide it on his shoulder, and he did not succeed.
“Then you never loved that puppy?” he asked, amazed.
One hand crept up to his other shoulder.
“Oh, Dicky, no! And—and you—you don’t love that horrid Mrs. Fanshawe, do you?”
He was still more amazed.
“Mrs. Fanshawe? Great heavens, no! You never thought that, surely?”
“I did—I did! Since you were always at her house, and so cold to me—how could I help it?”
“Cold to you? My dearest, surely not?”
“You were—you truly were—and I was so miserable—I—I thought I had been so unreasonable and so horrid that you had ceased to l-love me—and I did not know what to do. And—and then you told me that you were going to—to confess—and I lost my temper and said I would n-not stay with you—But I never, never meant it—and when you seemed to expect me to go—I—I did not know what to do again!”
He patted her shoulder comfortingly.
“Sweetheart, don’t cry! I had no idea of all this—why, I was sure that you loved Lovelace—I never doubted it—why in the world did you not tell me the truth?”
She sat up at that, and looked at him.
“Why, how could I?” she demanded. “I was quite certain that you loved Isabella Fanshawe. I felt I had to go away, and I could not do it alone—so—so—so, of course I had to elope. And I
