The Hoyden, Margaret Wolfe Hungerford [best ereader manga txt] 📗

Hescott stares. "What has she been up to?"

"She has been refusing Colonel Neilson for _years!"_ solemnly. "Only this very night she has refused him again; and all because of a silly old attachment to a man she knew when she was quite a girl."

"That must have been some time ago," says Hescott irreverently and unwisely.

"A very _few_ years ago," severely. She rises. She is evidently disgusted with him. "Come back to the house," says she. "I am engaged for the next."

"A word," says Tom, rising and following her. He lays a detaining hand upon her soft, little, bare arm. "You blame her--Miss Knollys--for being faithful to an old attachment?"

"Y-es," says Tita slowly, as if thinking, and then again, "Yes!" with decision. "When the old attachment if of no use any longer, and when there is someone else."

"But if there was an old attachment, and"--Hescott's face is a little pale in the moonlight--"and practically--no one else--how then?"

"Eh?"

"I mean, if"--he comes closer to her--"Tita, if _you _had known a man who loved you before you were married, and if when you did marry--"

"But she didn't marry him at all," interrupts Tita. "He died--or something--I forget what."

"Yes; but think."

"There is nothing to think about. He died--so _stupid_ of him; and now she is making one of the nicest men I know miserable, all because she has made up her mind to be wretched for ever! So stupid of _her!"_

"Has it ever occurred to you that there is such a thing as love?" asks Hescott, looking at her with a sudden frown.

"Oh, I've heard of it," with a little shrug of her pretty shoulders; "but I don't believe in it. It's a myth! a fable!"

"And yet"--with an anger that he can hardly hide, seeing her standing there so young, so fair, so debonnair before him--so insensible to the passion for her that is stirring within his heart--"and yet your friend, Miss Knollys, is giving up her life, you say, to the consecration of this myth."

Tita nods.

"Yes; isn't she silly! I _told_ you she was very foolish."

"You assure me honestly that you don't believe in love?"

"Not a bit," says Tita. "It's all nonsense! Now come in--I want to dance. And remember--remember, Tom, you have promised not to breathe a word about what I have told you."

"I promise," says Hescott in a slow sort of way; he is thinking.

When they reach the dancing-room they find it, comparatively speaking, empty, save for a few enthusiastic couples who are still careering round it.

"Supper must be on," says Hescott. "Come and have something."


* * * * *


As they enter the supper-room several people look at them. To Rylton, who is standing near Mrs. Bethune, these glances seem full of impertinent inquiry. In reality they mean nothing, except admiration of his wife. To-night Lady Rylton has been pronounced by most of those present the prettiest woman in the room. Hescott pilots his charming companion to a low lounge in a corner of the room, a place at any of the tables being impossible to get. But Rylton decides that he has taken her to that secluded spot to make more conspicuous his flirtation with her; and she--she seems only too ready to help him in his plan.

The fact that he is frowning heavily is conveyed to him by a voice at his elbow.

_ "Don't_ look so intense--so like a thirteenth-century conspirator!" says Mrs. Bethune. Her eyes are full of laughter and mischief--there is something of triumph in them too. "What does it matter, after all?"

"True." He gives her a brilliant smile in return for her rather mocking one. "Nothing matters--except the present moment. Let us consider it. Are you engaged for this dance?"

"Yes; but I can manage to forget my partner."

"That means?"

"You know very well what it means--what it always meant--in the old days."

Her lips part over her beautiful teeth; now there is no mockery in her smile, only love, and a most exquisite delight.

"Ah, Marian!" says he, in a low tone.

He leads her from the room. Her hand tightens on his arm; he feels the pressure, and now in the ball-room his arm goes round her. She--the woman he had loved for so long--is in his arms; he forgets everything. He has sworn to himself in the last minute or two that he _will_ forget. Why, indeed, should he remember?

For the rest of the evening he gives himself up to Marian--devoting himself to her; telling himself he is knowing the old sweet happiness again, but always with a strange unaccountable sting at his heart.


CHAPTER XXVI.

HOW TITA LOOKS AT HERSELF IN THE GLASS AND WONDERS; AND HOW SHE DOES HER HAIR IN QUITE A NEW STYLE, AND GOES TO ASK SIR MAURICE WHAT HE THINKS OF IT; AND HOW HE ANSWERS HER.


"You can go to bed, Sarah; I shan't want you. And any other night when I am out so late you must not stop up for me. Do you hear?"

"Oh! But, my lady----"

"Yes, yes, yes; I know," interrupting her gaily. "But I won't have it. Do you think I can't take off my own frocks? You will lose your beauty sleep, and I shall be responsible for it. There, go; I'm all right now."

Tita waves her gaily out of the room. She is indeed in the merriest mood, having enjoyed her evening immensely, and danced to the very last minute. She had been thoroughly sorry when Sir Maurice had told her that she ought to say "Good-night" to her hostess and come home. She had not noticed the coldness of his manner at all, being so disappointed at his suggestion; but she had said "Good-night" at once to old Lady Warbeck, who would have liked her to stay on, having taken a great fancy to her; and as she had come back in a brougham with Margaret and Colonel Neilson and Minnie Hescott, she had not seen her husband since.

Having at last dismissed her maid, who had insisted on waiting to take off her evening dress, Tita sits down before the glass to look at herself (all women like looking at themselves), and to think over her evening.

How well the men danced, especially Tom!--though, after all, not so well as Maurice. What a pity she could not have had that _one_ dance with him he had asked her for.

She leans forward, and pulling some hairpins out of her short, curly hair, pushes it into another shape, a little lower down on the neck, to see if that would suit her better. No, it wouldn't.

After all, Maurice _might_ have asked her again. He danced a great deal with Mrs. Bethune towards the end of the evening, and how charming he looked when dancing!

She rests her arms--soft, naked arms, round and white as a child's--upon the dressing-table and wonders. Wonders if that old story--the story her mother-in-law had told her of Maurice and Mrs. Bethune--was really true. Maurice did not look like that--like a man who would be dishonest. Oh no! It is not true--that horrid story!

Her eyes light up again; she goes back again to her hair, the arrangement of which, on account of its length, is difficult. She piles it now far up on her head, and sticks little diamond pins into it. She almost laughs aloud. She looks like a Japanese young woman. And it's very pretty, too--she _does_ look nice in this way. What a pity nobody can see her! And with this little new white dressing-gown, too! Such a little dream of a thing!

Where's Maurice? Surely he must have come up by this time. Some of the men had gone into the smoking-room on their return; but it is so late--with the dawn breaking; perhaps Maurice _has_ come up.

She crosses a little passage and goes to the door leading into his room, and knocks lightly; no answer. She knocks again, more impatiently this time, and as still only silence follows her attempt, she opens the door and steps on tiptoe into the room.

It is lit by two or more lamps, and at the end of it, close to a hanging curtain, stands Maurice in his trousers and shirt, having evidently just flung off his evening coat.

"Oh, here you are!" cries she with open delight. "I was afraid you hadn't come up yet, and I wanted to show myself to you. Look at my hair!" She pulls out the skirts of her dainty loose gown and dances merrily up to him. "Don't I look lovely?" cries she, laughing.

Rylton has turned; he is looking at her; his eyes seem to devour her--more with anger than delight, however. And yet the beauty of her, in spite of him, enters into his heart. How sweet she is, standing there with her loose gown in her pretty uplifted hands, and the lace flounces of her petticoat showing in front! She had not fastened this new delight in robes across her neck, and now the whiteness of her throat and neck vies with the purity of the gown itself.


"He looked on her and found her fair,
For all he had been told."


Yet a very rage of anger against her still grows within his heart.

"What brought you here?" asks he sharply, brutally.

She drops her pretty gown. She looks at him as if astonished.

"Why--because"--she is moving backwards towards the door, her large eyes fixed on him--"because I wanted you to look at me--to see how nice I am."

"Others have looked too," says he. "There, go. Do you think I am a fool?"

At that Tita's old spirit returns to her. She stands still and gives him a quick glance.

"Well, I never thought so till now," says she. She nods at him. "Good-night."

"No, stop!" says Rylton. "I will have this out with you. You pretend to misunderstand me; but I shall make it clear. Do you think I have not seen your conduct of this evening?"

"Mine?"

"Yes, with your cousin--with Hescott." He draws nearer to her. His eyes are on fire, his face white. "Do you think I saw nothing?"

"I don't know what you saw," says she slowly.

All her lovely mirth has died away, as if killed by a cruel death.

"Don't you?" tauntingly. "Then I will tell you. I saw you"--he pauses as if to watch the changes of her face, to see when fear arises, but none does--"in the arbour"--he pauses again, but again no fear arises--"with your cousin."

He grows silent, studying her with eager eyes, as if expecting something; but nothing comes of all his scrutiny, except surprise. Surprise, indeed, marks all her charming features.

"Well?" says she, as he stops, as if expecting more.

She waits, indeed, as one at a loss.

"Well?" He repeats the word with a wild mockery. Could there be under heaven another woman so dead to all honesty? Does she dare to think she can deceive him to the end? In what a lovely form the evil can dwell! "Well!" He brings down his hand with a little crash upon the table near her. "I was there--near that arbour. I heard--I heard all."

"Well, I'm sorry," says Tita slowly, colouring faintly.

"Sorry! Is that all? Do you