He could not help laughing.
“Ay, I’ll tell him. ’Pon rep., sweetheart, I can find it in me to be sorry for him!”
“Oh, he will not mind for long,” she said philosophically. “He loves so easily, you see! But you, Dick—why did you go so often—so very often to see Mrs. Fanshawe?”
His face grew solemn.
“She knew—Jack—in Vienna—I—I wanted to hear all she could tell me of him—I could think of nothing else.”
“Oh, Dicky! How—how wickedly foolish I have been! And ’twas that that made you so cold—and I thought—oh, dear!”
He drew her head down on to his shoulder again.
“My poor love! Why, ’tis the kindest lady imaginable, but as to loving her—!” He kissed her hand lingeringly. “I love—and have always loved—a far different being: a naughty, wilful, captivating little person, who—”
Lady Lavinia clasped her arms about his neck.
“You make me feel so very, very dreadful! I have indeed been naughty—I—”
“And you’ll be so many times again,” he told her, laughing.
“No, no! I—will—try to be good!”
“I do not want you good!” Richard assured her. “I want you to be your own dear self!” … Lady Lavinia disengaged herself with a contented little sigh, and stood up.
“How charming it is to be happy again, to be sure!” she remarked naively. “To think that only half an hour ago I was wishing to be dead!” She went over to the glass and straightened her hair.
Richard looked at her rather anxiously.
“Lavinia—you—you quite understand, I am going to tell everyone the truth—next Friday?” he asked.
“Yes, I do, of course—’tis dreadfully disagreeable of you, but I suppose you will do it. I do hope people will not refuse to recognise us, though.”
“No one would ever refuse to recognise you, dearest.”
She brightened.
“Do you really think so? Well, perhaps after all, ’twill not be so very horrid. And—and you will like to have Jack again, won’t you? Yes—I knew you would. Oh, ’twill all be quite comfortable after a little while, I make no doubt!”
His Grace of Andover arose betimes, and early sallied forth into the street. He called a chair, and drove to an address in the Strand, where lodged a certain Colonel Shepherd. Half-an-hour did he spend with the Colonel, and when he at length emerged from the house the curl of his lip betokened satisfaction. He did not at once hail a chair, but walked along in the direction of St. James’s, entering the park in company with one Dare, who, seven years before, had given a certain memorable card-party.
Dare was pleasantly intrigued over Richard’s latest oddity.
“Have you an idea what ’tis about, Belmanoir?” he inquired. “Has he written you to come as well?”
“I believe I did receive some communication from Carstares; yes—I remember, Andrew brought it.”
“Well, what does it mean? Fortescue is bidden, and Davenant. ’Tis very curious.”
“My dear Dare, I am not in Richard’s confidence. We shall doubtless hear all that there is to hear at the given time. Mysteries do not interest me. But ’twill be a pleasant reunion. … Fortescue and Davenant, you say? Strange! I have heard that Evans and Milward have also received their sum—invitations. It should be most entertaining.”
“ ’Tis prodigious curious,” repeated Dare. “No one can imagine what ’tis all about!”
“Ah?” His Grace’s thin lips twitched.
Midway through the afternoon he repaired to Wyncham House and was ushered into the library.
Richard sat writing, but rose on seeing him, and came forward.
It struck his Grace that Carstares was looking quite happy.
“You seem cheerful, Richard!”
“I am,” smiled his brother-in-law.
“I am much relieved to hear it. I have seen Shepherd.”
“Shepherd?” interrogated Carstares.
“Lovelace’s colonel, my dear Richard. You may count on Captain Harold’s departure—on an important mission—in, say, forty-eight hours.”
“You may count on Captain Harold’s departure in very much less, Tracy,” said Carstares, a twinkle in his eye.
The Duke started forward.
“She has gone?” he almost hissed.
“Gone? No! She is in the drawing-room with him.”
“With Lovelace! And you permit it? You stand by and watch another man—”
“Say farewell to my wife. But I am not watching it, as you see.”
The anger died out of his Grace’s eyes.
“Farewell? Do you tell me you at last came to your senses?”
“We found that we both laboured under a delusion,” replied Carstares pleasantly.
“I am delighted to hear you say so. I hope you will for the future keep a stricter hold over Lavinia.”
“Do you?”
“I do. I think I will not undo what I have done; Lovelace were perhaps better out of the way for a time.”
“Why, I have no objection to that,” bowed Richard.
His Grace nodded shortly and picked up his hat.
“Then there remains nothing more to be done in the matter.”
He looked piercingly across at Carstares. “She did not love him?”
Richard gave a happy little sigh.
“She loves me.”
The heavy lids drooped again.
“You cannot conceive my delight. If she indeed loves you, she is safe. I thought she had not got it in her. Pray bear my respects to her.” His hand was on the doorknob, when something seemed to occur to him.
“I take it my presence at Wyncham on Friday will not be necessary?” he said cynically.
Richard flushed.
“It will not be necessary.”
“Then I am sure you will excuse me an I do not appear. I have other, more important affairs on hand. . … But I shall be loth to miss the heroics,” he added pensively, and chuckled. “Au revoir, my good Richard!”
Richard bowed him out thankfully.
Presently the front door opened and shut again, and looking out of the window he saw that Captain Harold Lovelace had taken his departure.
He was now awaiting Mr. Warburton, whom he had sent in search of John some days ago. He should have been here by now, he thought, but perhaps he had been detained. Richard was aching to hear news of his brother, longing to see him once more. But at the same time he was dreading the
