Only a Girl's Love - Garvice Charles

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smile seemed to transform to true coin; but while he talked his thoughts were wandering to the dark-haired girl who had shone down upon him from her green and fragrant bower in the lane, and he found himself picturing her in the little room at the cottage in the meadows, amongst the curious litter of the old artist's studio; and gradually his answers grew disjointed and inconsequential.

      He got up presently, got up abruptly, and wandered across the room stopping to exchange a word or two with one and the other, his tall, graceful figure towering above those of the other men, his handsome head thrown back musingly. Many an admiring and wistful glance followed him from among the women, and not a few would have exerted all their fascinations to keep him by their side, had they not known by experience, that when he was in his present mood he was deaf to the voice and smile of the charmer, charmed she never so wisely.

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      The countess watched him from her table, and, looking up at the earl, murmured:

      "Leycester is in one of his restless moods to-night."

      "Yes," he said, with a sigh. "What is it?—do you know?"

      "No," she said, calmly. "He was all right at dinner."

      "Why can he not behave like other people?" said the earl, sadly. "Can you fancy any other man leaving his father's guests and riding about the country?"

      "Leycester never was like any other," she said, not without a touch of pride. "He is as he is, and nothing can alter him."

      The earl was silent for a moment, his long white hands folded behind his back, his dark eyes fixed on the floor.

      "Has he told you of his last escapade—his last mad freak?" he said, in a low voice.

      "Yes," she answered, calmly. "He has never concealed anything from me."

      "It is nearly twenty thousand pounds. Even Wyndward must feel such strains as this."

      The countess raised her head.

      "I know," she said; "he has told me everything. It was a point of honor. I did not quite understand; horse-racing is a pastime with which I have little sympathy, though we have always owned race-horses. It was a point of honor. Some one had been taking advantage of his name to act dishonestly, and he withdrew the horse. He could take no other course," he says.

      The earl sighed.

      "No doubt. But it is mad folly, and there is no end to it—if he could see some limit! Why does he not marry?"

      The countess glanced at the handsome face.

      "He will not marry until he meets with some one he can love."

      The earl looked round the room at the many beautiful graceful women who adorned it, and sighed impatiently.

      "He is hard to please."

      "He is," assented the countess, with the same touch of pride.

      "It is time he married and settled," continued the earl. "For most men a year or two would not matter, but with him—I do not like to think that the title rests only on our two lives, as mine must be near its close."

      "Algernon!"

      "And on his, which is risked daily."

      He stooped, silenced by the sudden look of pain in the beautiful eyes.

      "Why do you not speak to him? He will do anything for you."

      The countess smiled.

      "Everything but that. No, I cannot speak to him; it would be useless. I do not wish to weaken my influence."

      "Get Lilian to speak to him," he said.

      The countess sighed.

      "Lilian!" she murmured; "she would not do it. She thinks him something more than human, and that no woman in the world can be good enough to—to hold his stirrup or fill his wineglass."

      The earl frowned.

      "Between you," he said, "you have spoiled him."

      The countess shook her head gently.

      "No, we have not. He is now as a man what he was as a boy. Do you remember what Nelson said, when Hardy asked him why he did nothing while one of their ships was fighting two of the enemy's? 'I am doing all I can—watching.'"

      Before the earl could reply, a cabinet minister came up and engaged him in conversation, and the countess rose and crossed the room to where an elderly lady sat with a portfolio of engravings before her. It was the Dowager Countess of Longford, a tiny little woman with a thin wrinkled face, and keen but kindly gray eyes that lit up her white face and made it remarkable.

      She was dressed as simply as a quakeress, excepting for some old and priceless lace which softened the rigor of her plainly made gray satin dress. She looked up as the younger countess approached, and made room for her on the sofa.

      Lady Wyndward sat down in silence, which was unbroken for a minute. Then the old countess said without looking at her—

      "The boy grows handsomer every day, Ethel!"

      Lady Wyndward sighed.

      "What is the matter?" asked the other, with a keen smile. "What has he been doing now, burning a church or running off with a Lord Mayor's daughter?"

      "He has not been doing anything very much," answered Lady Wyndward. "Except losing some money."

      The old countess raised her eyebrows lightly.

      "That does not matter."

      "Not much. No, he has not been doing anything; I wish he would. That's what is the matter."

      "I understand," retorted the other. "He is most dangerous when quiet; you are always afraid he is preparing for some piece of madness beyond the ordinary. Well, my dear, if you will give the world such a creature you must put up with the consequences—be prepared to pay the penalty. I should be quite content to do so."

      "Ah, you don't know," said the countess, with a smile that had something pathetic in it.

      "Yes, I do," retorted the old lady, curtly. "And I envy you still. I love the boy, Ethel. There is not a woman of us in the room, from the youngest to the oldest, who does not love him. You cannot expect one whom the gods have so favored to behave like an ordinary mortal."

      "Why not? It is just what Algernon has said to me."

      "I thought as much. I was watching you two. Of all things, beware of this: don't let Algernon interfere with him. It is a strange thing to say, but his father is the worst man in all the world to attempt to put the bridle on Leycester. It is we women who alone have the power to guide him."

      "That is where my fear lies," said the countess. "It is the thought of what may happen in that quarter which fills me with daily dread."

      "There is only one safeguard—marry him," remarked the old countess, but with a comical smile.

      The countess sighed.

      "Again, that is what Algernon says. You both say it as calmly as if you told me to give him a cup of tea."

      The old countess was silent for a moment, then she said—

      "Where is Lenore Beauchamp?"

      Lady Wyndward was almost guilty of a start.

      "You read my thoughts," she said.

      The old lady nodded.

      "She is the only woman who can really touch him. Ask her here; let them be together. She will be glad to come."

      "I am not sure, Lenore is proud; she might guess why we wanted her."

      The

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