The Rake's Progress - Bowen Marjorie

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aristocrat and proud, the most famous beau in town, this man was his also, bought as surely as the gaudy furniture against which he stood. This was Mr. Hilton's crude thought, and the Earl read it.

      "You are satisfied?" he asked in a tone that was an insult.

      "I am satisfied, my lord; the debts within a week, the wedding within a month."

      Rose Lyndwood picked up his gloves; Mr. Hilton waited for him to speak; when the words came they were unexpected.

      "May I see Miss Hilton?" His voice was courteous again.

      "She is in the house;" her father was instantly at the bell-rope—"yes, I should wish you to see her."

      My lord pulled out his glass and dangled it by the ribbon; he had an air of complete abstraction, of aloofness from his surroundings.

      "A year ago Lavinia was at school," said Mr. Hilton; "she has had the education of a noblewoman, my lord."

      Rose Lyndwood was silent; he looked past the speaker towards the door; glass and ribbon swung from his fine idle hand.

      The bell had been obviously a signal, for it was the lady herself who entered.

      She came a little way into the room.

      "Lord Lyndwood, Lavinia," muttered Mr. Hilton. He moved awkwardly from the hearth; embarrassment made him appear clumsy, even foolish; his daughter, too, stood dumb and fluttering, but the Earl was now perfectly at his ease.

      He crossed to Miss Hilton and took her hand; she trembled a curtsey.

      "I come as a suitor, madam," he said, as he kissed her finger tips—"would it mightily displease you to become Countess of Lyndwood?"

      Then he looked at the girl; he found her fair, pale, very young; to him, at least, without charm or savour; her large eyes seemed to widen with fright, her lips quivered.

      "I am honoured," she said, and glanced at her father, then down again at the floor.

      "And I am grateful, Miss Hilton," smiled Lord Lyndwood, "that I have your consent—for it is a consent, is it not?"

      "Yes, my lord," then she moved suddenly away from him. "Sir," she addressed her father, "will you permit me to retire?"

      The eyes of the two men met for a second across her shrinking presence.

      Miss Hilton had not come more than a few paces from the door; and now she retreated towards it, with lowered eyes.

      "When may I wait on you, madam?" asked the Earl. "You must send me your command."

      Again she looked towards her father, who was regarding her with a mixture of shame and pride extraordinary to see.

      "Ask my father, sir," she answered, and showed such a piteous desire to be gone that he could not but open the door for her.

      Mr. Hilton strode up and down the lengthening patch of sunlight.

      "She is shy, my lord, you must forgive it; but a charming girl, for any situation, charming—and now for the lawyers; make your own appointment, my lord."

      Rose Lyndwood came across the room eyeing him.

      "A moment, Mr. Hilton; have you or I thought over what we are doing?"

      Suspicion clouded the older man's face.

      "What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

      The young Earl flushed and his eyes darkened.

      "I think of Miss Hilton—this—bargain concerns her, does it not?"

      The merchant was cautious, as one dealing with qualities strange to him.

      "Still I do not understand, my lord."

      Rose Lyndwood answered on a quick scornful breath.

      "You know my motive in this matter, Mr. Hilton, and your own—brutal words could not make it clearer between us than it is now—but what of your daughter, is it fair to her?"

      The other fumbled for the meaning behind these words.

      "This is a curious thing for you to say, Lord Lyndwood."

      "I speak against my own advantage, Mr. Hilton, which lies in this match," he smiled bitterly; "and Gad, I know not why I do speak save that there is no one else to say to you—reflect."

      Mr. Hilton frowned heavily.

      "Do you seek to evade the contract pledged between us?"

      The Earl's voice was stormy as he answered.

      "This is a sordid enough business, sir; believe me I do not find it pleasant." He checked himself, then flashed out again, haughtily, "I have seen Miss Hilton, and I have seen she is reluctant to become my wife. God in Heaven! do you not understand? What can you offer her? I am not famous for the domestic virtues."

      Mr. Hilton was quick now to think he saw the intention behind the words.

      "I am not asking for your reformation, my lord," he answered. "I expect nothing but to see my daughter your wife."

      "And I," said Rose Lyndwood, "was thinking not of you nor of myself, but of Miss Hilton; is it not possible for you to comprehend that?"

      The expression of baited anger returned to Mr. Hilton's intent face.

      "What does this mean?" he asked. "That ye seek to evade what ye have pledged yourself to, my lord?"

      "Leave the matter, I pray you"—it was almost as if he addressed his servant—"I spoke from a passing impulse, a foolish one." He picked up his hat from the linen cover of the settee; his manner closed the subject.

      Mr. Hilton, baffled but appeased, was silent, fondling his watch-chain.

      "Monday will be convenient to me," said Lord Lyndwood. "I shall look to see you then, at my house, about twelve of the clock. My lawyer will be acquainted."

      "And the betrothal shall be made public at once," assented Mr. Hilton.

      He glanced up at Rose Lyndwood and was surprised into an exclamation.

      "What is the matter?" asked the Earl quietly.

      "You looked so pale, my lord; I thought you were ill."

      The Earl's heavy lids almost concealed his eyes; he smiled, ignoring both the remark and the speaker.

      "I shall await you on Monday; now I must no longer trespass on your time—au revoir." He bowed, not it seemed to Mr. Hilton, but to some intangible quality in the room, and turned to the door, swinging his gloves.

      The older man was profuse and respectful in his leave-taking; my lord smiled beyond and above him, remote in an unnatural composure.

      Mr. Hilton accompanied him down the stairs, not forgoing the moment on the doorstep when the idlers round the green chariot turned agape to see the Earl, to mark his companion and the intimate manner of their parting.

      My lord was still noticeably pale when he mounted the curricle; as he gathered up the reins he shuddered.

      The groom sprang to his place behind and the impatient white horses trampled the dust with joy.

      My lord looked over his shoulder and saw Mr. Hilton lingering on the doorstep—he stood up and whispered to the horses.

      As the chariot sped glittering down the street, one of the loiterers hailed a new-comer:

      "There goes Lord Lyndwood—driving like the devil!"

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