“The eldest is in Canada with his regiment.”
“And the second?”
“The second is in orders.”
“Overworking himself in the East End, as all the young parsons seem to be doing?”
“That is precisely what he has been doing. But now, I am thankful to say, a country living has been offered him, and his mother and I have persuaded him to take it.”
“A country living? Where?”
“One of the Duke of Crowborough’s Shropshire livings,” said the General, after what seemed to be an instant’s hesitation. Mademoiselle Le Breton had moved away, and was replacing the photographs in the drawer of a distant bureau.
“Ah, one of Crowborough’s? Well, I hope it is a living with something to live on.”
“Not so bad, as times go,” said the General, smiling. “It has been a great relief to our minds. There were some chest symptoms; his mother was alarmed. The Duchess has been most kind; she took quite a fancy to the lad, and—”
“What a woman wants she gets. Well, I hope he’ll like it. Good night, General. Shall I look you up at the War Office some morning?”
“By all means.”
The old soldier, whose tanned face had shown a singular softness while he was speaking of his son, took his leave.
Sir Wilfrid was left meditating, his eyes absently fixed on the graceful figure of Mademoiselle Le Breton, who shut the drawer she had been arranging and returned to him.
“Do you know the General’s sons?” he asked her, while she was preparing him a second cup of tea.
“I have seen the younger.”
She turned her beautiful eyes upon him. It seemed to Sir Wilfrid that he perceived in them a passing tremor of nervous defiance, as though she were in some way bracing herself against him. But her self-possession was complete.
“Lady Henry seems in better spirits,” he said, bending towards her.
She did not reply for a moment. Her eyes dropped. Then she raised them again, and gently shook her head without a word. The melancholy energy of her expression gave him a moment’s thrill.
“Is it as bad as ever?” he asked her, in a whisper.
“It’s pretty bad. I’ve tried to appease her. I told her about the bazaar. She said she couldn’t spare me, and, of course, I acquiesced. Then, yesterday, the Duchess—hush!”
“Mademoiselle!”
Lady Henry’s voice rang imperiously through the room.
“Yes, Lady Henry.”
Mademoiselle Le Breton stood up expectant.
“Find me, please, that number of the Revue des Deux Mondes which came in yesterday. I can prove it to you in two minutes,” she said, turning triumphantly to Montresor on her right.
“What’s the matter?” said Sir Wilfrid, joining Lady Henry’s circle, while Mademoiselle Le Breton disappeared into the back drawing-room.
“Oh, nothing,” said Montresor, tranquilly. “Lady Henry thinks she has caught me out in a blunder—about Favre, and the negotiations at Versailles. I dare say she has. I am the most ignorant person alive.”
“Then are the rest of us spooks?” said Sir Wilfrid, smiling, as he seated himself beside his hostess. Montresor, whose information on most subjects was prodigious, laughed and adjusted his eyeglass. These battles royal on a date or a point of fact between him and Lady Henry were not uncommon. Lady Henry was rarely victorious. This time, however, she was confident, and she sat frowning and impatient for the book that didn’t come.
Mademoiselle Le Breton, indeed, returned from the back drawing-room empty-handed; left the room apparently to look elsewhere, and came back still without the book.
“Everything in this house is always in confusion!” said Lady Henry, angrily. “No order, no method anywhere!”
Mademoiselle Julie said nothing. She retreated behind the circle that surrounded Lady Henry. But Montresor jumped up and offered her his chair.
“I wish I had you for a secretary, mademoiselle,” he said, gallantly. “I never before heard Lady Henry ask you for anything you couldn’t find.”
Lady Henry flushed, and, turning abruptly to Bury, began a new topic. Julie quietly refused the seat offered to her, and was retiring to an ottoman in the background when the door was thrown open and the footman announced:
“Captain Warkworth.”
VI
The newcomer drew all eyes as he approached the group surrounding Lady Henry. Montresor put up his glasses and bestowed on him a few moments of scrutiny, during which the Minister’s heavily marked face took on the wary, fighting aspect which his department and the House of Commons knew. The statesman slipped in for an instant between the trifler coming and the trifler gone.
As for Wilfrid Bury, he was dazzled by the young man’s good looks. “ ‘Young Harry with his beaver up!’ ” he thought, admiring against his will, as the tall, slim soldier paid his respects to Lady Henry, and, with a smiling word or two to the rest of those present, took his place beside her in the circle.
“Well, have you come for your letters?” said Lady Henry, eying him with a grim favor.
“I think I came—for conversation,” was Warkworth’s laughing reply, as he looked first at his hostess and then at the circle.
“Then I fear you won’t get it,” said Lady Henry, throwing herself back in her chair. “Mr. Montresor can do nothing but quarrel and contradict.”
Montresor lifted his hands in wonder.
“Had I been Aesop,” he said, slyly, “I would have added another touch to a certain tale. Observe, please!—even after the Lamb has been devoured he is still the object of calumny on the part of the Wolf! Well, well! Mademoiselle, come and console me. Tell me what new follies the Duchess has on foot.”
And, pushing his chair back till he found himself on a level with Julie Le Breton, the great man plunged into a lively conversation with her. Sir Wilfrid, Warkworth, and a few other habitués endeavored meanwhile to amuse Lady Henry. But it was not easy. Her brow was lowering, her talk forced. Throughout, Sir Wilfrid perceived in her a strained attention directed towards the conversation on the other side of the room. She could neither see it nor hear it, but she was
