He was a man with whom a gran rifiuto of this kind weighed heavily. His moral sense exacted such things rather of other people than himself. But, when made, he could appreciate them.
After a few turns up and down the room, he walked up to the two women.
“Miss Le Breton,” he said, in a far more hurried tone than was usual to him, “I cannot approve—and Evelyn ought not to approve—of much that has taken place during your residence with Lady Henry. But I understand that your post was not an easy one, and I recognize the forbearance of your present attitude. Evelyn is much distressed about it all. On the understanding that you will do what you can to soften this breach for Lady Henry, I shall be, glad if you will allow me to come partially to your assistance.”
Julie looked up gravely, her eyebrows lifting. The Duke found himself reddening as he went on.
“I have a little house near here—a little furnished house—Evelyn will explain to you. It happens to be vacant. If you will accept a loan of it, say for six months”—the Duchess frowned—“you will give me pleasure. I will explain my action to Lady Henry, and endeavor to soften her feelings.”
He paused. Miss Le Breton’s face was grateful, touched with emotion, but more than hesitating.
“You are very good. But I have no claim upon you at all. And I can support myself.”
A touch of haughtiness slipped into her manner as she gently rose to her feet. “Thank God, I did not offer her money!” thought the Duke, strangely perturbed.
“Julie, dear Julie,” implored the Duchess. “It’s such a tiny little place, and it is quite musty for want of living in. Nobody has set foot in it but the caretaker for two years, and it would be really a kindness to us to go and live there—wouldn’t it, Freddie? And there’s all the furniture just as it was, down to the bellows and the snuffers. If you’d only use it and take care of it; Freddie hasn’t liked to sell it, because it’s all old family stuff, and he was very fond of Cousin Mary Leicester. Oh, do say yes, Julie! They shall light the fires, and I’ll send in a few sheets and things, and you’ll feel as though you’d been there for years. Do, Julie!”
Julie shook her head.
“I came here,” she said, in a voice that was still unsteady, “to ask for advice, not favors. But it’s very good of you.”
And with trembling fingers she began to refasten her veil.
“Julie!—where are you going?” cried the Duchess “You’re staying here.”
“Staying here?” said Julie, turning round upon her. “Do you think I should be a burden upon you, or anyone?”
“But, Julie, you told Jacob you would come.”
“I have come. I wanted your sympathy, and your counsel. I wished also to confess myself to the Duke, and to point out to him how matters could be made easier for Lady Henry.”
The penitent, yet dignified, sadness of her manner and voice completed the discomfiture—the temporary discomfiture—of the Duke.
“Miss Le Breton,” he said, abruptly, coming to stand beside her, “I remember your mother.”
Julie’s eyes filled. Her hand still held her veil, but it paused in its task.
“I was a small schoolboy when she stayed with us,” resumed the Duke. “She was a beautiful girl. She let me go out hunting with her. She was very kind to me, and I thought her a kind of goddess. When I first heard her story, years afterwards, it shocked me awfully. For her sake, accept my offer. I don’t think lightly of such actions as your mother’s—not at all. But I can’t bear to think of her daughter alone and friendless in London.”
Yet even as he spoke he seemed to be listening to another person. He did not himself understand the feelings which animated him, nor the strength with which his recollections of Lady Rose had suddenly invaded him.
Julie leaned her arms on the mantelpiece, and hid her face. She had turned her back to them, and they saw that she was crying softly.
The Duchess crept up to her and wound her arms round her.
“You will, Julie!—you will! Lady Henry has turned you out-of-doors at a moment’s notice. And it was a great deal my fault. You must let us help you!”
Julie did not answer, but, partially disengaging herself, and without looking at him, she held out her hand to the Duke.
He pressed it with a cordiality that amazed him.
“That’s right—that’s right. Now, Evelyn, I leave you to make the arrangements. The keys shall be here this afternoon. Miss Le Breton, of course, stays here till things are settled. As for me, I must really be off to my meeting. One thing, Miss Le Breton—”
“Yes.”
“I think,” he said, gravely, “you ought to reveal yourself to Lord Lackington.”
She shrank.
“You’ll let me take my own time for that?” was her appealing reply.
“Very well—very well. We’ll speak of it again.”
And he hurried away. As he descended his own stairs astonishment at what he had done rushed upon him and overwhelmed him.
“How on earth am I ever to explain the thing to Lady Henry?”
And as he went citywards in his cab, he felt much more guilty than his wife had ever done. What could have made him behave in this extraordinary, this preposterous way? A touch of foolish romance—immoral romance—of which he was already ashamed? Or the one bare fact that this woman had refused Jacob Delafield?
XI
“Here it is,” said the Duchess, as the carriage stopped. “Isn’t it an odd little place?”
And as she and Julie paused on the pavement, Julie looked listlessly at her new home. It was a two-storied brick house, built about 1780. The front door boasted a pair of Ionian columns and a classical canopy or pediment. The windows had still the original small panes; the mansarde roof, with its one dormer, was untouched.
