So did she free herself and him from a burdensome gratitude; and they passed to discussing the latest chances of the Mokembe appointment. The Staff-College Colonel was no doubt formidable; the Commander-in-Chief, who had hitherto allowed himself to be much talked to on the subject of young Warkworth’s claims by several men in high place—General M’Gill among them—well known in Lady Henry’s drawing-room, was perhaps inclining to the new suggestion, which was strongly supported by important people in Egypt; he had one or two recent appointments on his conscience not quite of the highest order, and the Staff-College man, in addition to a fine military record, was virtue, poverty, and industry embodied; was nobody’s cousin, and would, altogether, produce a good effect.
Could anything more be done, and fresh threads set in motion?
They bandied names a little, Julie quite as subtly and minutely informed as the man with regard to all the sources of patronage. New devices, fresh modes of approach revealed themselves to the woman’s quick brain. Yet she did not chatter about them; still less parade her own resources. Only, in talking with her, dead walls seemed to give way; vistas of hope and possibility opened in the very heart of discouragement. She found the right word, the right jest, the right spur to invention or effort; while all the time she was caressing and appeasing her companion’s self-love—placing it like a hothouse plant in an atmosphere of expansion and content—with that art of hers, which, for the ambitious and irritable man, more conscious of the kicks than of the kisses of fortune, made conversation with her an active and delightful pleasure.
“I don’t know how it is,” Warkworth presently declared; “but after I have been talking to you for ten minutes the whole world seems changed. The sky was ink, and you have turned it rosy. But suppose it is all mirage, and you the enchanter?”
He smiled at her—consciously, superabundantly. It was not easy to keep quite cool with Julie Le Breton; the self-satisfaction she could excite in the man she wished to please recoiled upon the woman offering the incense. The flattered one was apt to be foolishly responsive.
“That is my risk,” she said, with a little shrug. “If I make you confident, and nothing comes of it—”
“I hope I shall know how to behave myself,” cried Warkworth. “You see, you hardly understand—forgive me!—your own personal effect. When people are face to face with you, they want to please you, to say what will please you, and then they go away, and—”
“Resolve not to be made fools of?” she said, smiling. “But isn’t that the whole art—when you’re guessing what will happen—to be able to strike the balance of half a dozen different attractions?”
“Montresor as the ocean,” said Warkworth, musing, “with half a dozen different forces tugging at him? Well, dear lady, be the moon to these tides, while this humble mortal looks on—and hopes.”
He bent forward, and across the glowing fire their eyes met. She looked so cool, so handsome, so little yielding at that moment, that, in addition to gratitude and nattered vanity, Warkworth was suddenly conscious of a new stir in the blood. It begat, however, instant recoil. Wariness!—let that be the word, both for her sake and his own. What had he to reproach himself with so far? Nothing. He had never offered himself as the lover, as the possible husband. They were both esprits faits—they understood each other. As for little Aileen, well, whatever had happened, or might happen, that was not his secret to give away. And a woman in Julie Le Breton’s position, and with her intelligence, knows very well what the difficulties of her case are. Poor Julie! If she had been Lady Henry, what a career she would have made for herself! He was very curious as to her birth and antecedents, of which he knew little or nothing; with him she had always avoided the subject. She was the child, he understood, of English parents who had lived abroad; Lady Henry had come across her by chance. But there must be something in her past to account for this distinction, this ease with which she held her own in what passes as the best of English society.
Julie soon found herself unwilling to meet the gaze fixed upon her. She flushed a little and began to talk of other things.
“Everybody, surely, is unusually late. It will be annoying, indeed, if the Duchess doesn’t come.”
“The Duchess is a delicious creature, but not for me,” said Warkworth, with a laugh. “She dislikes me. Ah, now then for the fray!”
For the outer bell rang loudly, and there were steps in the hall.
“Oh, Julie”—in swept a white whirlwind with the smallest white satin shoes twinkling in front of it—“how clever of you—you naughty angel! Aunt Flora in bed—and you down here! And I who came prepared for such a dose of humble-pie! What a relief! Oh, how do you do?”
The last words were spoken in quite another tone, as the Duchess, for the first time perceiving the young officer on the more shaded side of the fireplace, extended to him a very high wrist and a very stiff hand. Then she turned again to Julie.
“My dear, there’s a small mob in the hall. Mr. Montresor—and General Somebody—and Jacob—and Dr. Meredith with a Frenchman. Oh, and old Lord Lackington, and Heaven knows who! Hutton told me I might come in, so I promised to come first and reconnoitre. But what’s Hutton to do? You really must take a line. The carriages are driving up at a fine rate.”
“I’ll go and speak to Hutton,” said Julie.
And she hurried into
