LITMIR.BIZ

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Lyndwood sighed.

      "He has the air—he was never as handsome as Rose."

      Miss Chressham laughed shortly.

      "He is handsome enough." She moved a silver bowl of roses further on to the table. "Rose, of course, is—" She suddenly broke off, and her manner had an air of distance. "You must be very proud of them, Aunt Agatha."

      The Countess shook her delicate head.

      "I feel a helpless old woman, my dear, and quite a stranger to both."

      The window stood open on the June evening, a most exquisite perfume lingered round the chamber, a perfume of roses, violets, and indefinable things of the night; an almost imperceptible breeze caused the candle flames to tremble against their shining silver sconces and filled the room with a sense of life and movement.

      In each of the glasses on the table a gem of light quivered, and the little gold labels hung round the necks of the dark wine bottles gave forth long shuddering rays. The white china was painted in pink, the hue of the half-opened moss roses; in the centre of the table two harts in ivory, each wearing a collar of turquoise, bore between their antlers a crystal dish filled with pale lilies.

      Miss Chressham slipped to her seat, her brown hair and eyes, her rich complexion and bright dress made her catch the light in rivalry even of the sparkling crystal and silver. As she moved something fell from her dress. "My letter to Selina!" she laughed, picking it up, "and I have never addressed it—that was Marius."

      "Selina Boyle?" questioned the Countess, listening for her son's step.

      "Yes, my dearest friend, you know, though I so seldom see her; she is in Bristol with her family now," smiled Miss Chressham.

      Lady Lyndwood turned her sweet face to the door.

      "Of course, I remember her, my dear; she was here two seasons back—how long Marius is!"

      "She sends her greeting to you," said Susannah, "and asks after Rose; she has heard so much of him, even in Bristol. I meant to tell you before."

      She glanced at the Countess with a feeling almost of guilt, and two lines from Selina Boyle's letter—"tell me, I pray you, of your cousin the Earl, who I hear has all the graces and all the vices—the saddest rake in London!"—seemed to weigh on her as if her own.

      But Lady Lyndwood smiled absently.

      "Marius must be so fatigued—he is rather pale, do you not think? And I wish he had brought Mr. Hardinge."

      Miss Chressham reminded her gently.

      "Mr. Hardinge had to accompany Mr. Brereton's son to London, and I expect Marius would not have cared to travel through England with a tutor."

      She was grateful her mention of Selina Boyle's letter (that she had been nerving herself to for three days past) had passed without comment.

      To attain this end she had chosen a moment of abstraction; Lady Lyndwood, weary with leisure, would most probably have desired to see the letter.

      And Miss Chressham did not wish to show it to her.

      Now Marius re-entered, fresh and elegant in grey satin, his eyes wonderfully dark under his powdered hair, a knot of thick lace at his throat and a fine pink cameo clasping it—a more animated Marius, a more charming Marius than the slightly ungainly lad from college who had, on occasion, flouted his mother and teased his cousin two years ago.

      "Mr. Hardinge has done wonders, I swear," sighed the Countess, still striving with that sense of loss.

      And Marius, too young to admit he had ever been different from what he was, blushed, and for a moment was awkward.

      "'Tis only two years," he said; then he caught his mother's yearning gaze and became conscious of his modish side curls and all the little fopperies of his dress so delightfully new, and the fresh colour deepened in his smooth cheeks.

      "'Twill seem very quiet here," remarked Susannah, coming delicately to the rescue, as he took his place opposite her; "look at the moon"—she pointed towards the violet night.

      "She appears so different in Venice," cried Marius; "are you sure she is the same, Susannah?"

      "Not at all," she answered. "And did you like Venice?"

      "All of it—so much, but this is sweet, the sweetest of all, my lady," he bowed towards his mother.

      "Ah, Marius," said the Countess wistfully, "I do not look to keep you long."

      "Rose and I must talk of that," he answered youthfully, and joyously important. "I shall take you and Susannah to London, my lady. I have been thinking you must be over quiet here."

      "We go to stay with Rose in the season," answered Lady Lyndwood; then she became rather abruptly silent, since what she had been about to add could not be said before the servants.

      Miss Chressham, sensitive to the reason of the pause, covered it. She spoke of little home affairs, and drew out Marius to relate again those incidents of his travels that had so entertained them in his letters.

      He talked with animation, with gaiety, his listeners were interested and loving; but whenever he touched on the future, on his bright plans, on his young unconscious hopes for it, Susannah Chressham winced.

      After dinner they went into the great withdrawing-room that looked on to the hidden fragrance of the terrace and the park, and Marius sat beside the Countess on the long Spanish leather couch; his laughing voice made the old room ring with youth, and his mother's face flushed as she looked at him.

      Miss Chressham moved to the writing-table and observed both of them; she felt curiously averse to speech to-night; in her heart she was sorry—sorry for all of them, and—afraid. Idly she picked a quill and stared at Marius.

      His young English face, fair and bright, with rounded features, grey eyes, and rebellious brown hair under the powder, wore a proud air of distinction given by the beautiful mouth and arrogant cleft chin, common to the Lyndwoods; when he smiled, which was not seldom, he showed a charming dimple.

      As Miss Chressham gazed at him, in a half-troubled manner, he looked round, and she glanced away and began addressing the letter she held in her hand.

      Marius Lyndwood rose and crossed to her.

      "How quiet you are, Susannah!"

      She kept her face turned from him as she answered; lightly and hurriedly her quill glided over the smooth paper.

      "I am finishing my letter to Selina—interrupted because of your return, Marius! You would not remember her, 'twas after you left that she was here."

      He scrutinised her clear writing.

      "Miss Selina Boyle!" he said. "Is she a friend of yours?"

      Susannah's glittering brown hair was blown across her brow by the little breeze from the terrace as she turned to glance up at him.

      "We were at school together—yes, a dear friend of mine; you do not know her?"

      "I heard of her but now at Dover—Miss Selina Boyle——"

      "Heard of her?"

      Marius laughed.

      "Mr. Hardinge met a friend who was lately from the Wells," he explained, "and Rose was mentioned; this gentleman had seen him at the Wells; he had a rake-helly reputation, he declared. … "

      "Marius!" protested the Countess, rising delicately; "that is not fair to Rose."

      "But about Selina?" cried Miss Chressham, and her white brow was wrinkled.

      "Oh, la, Susannah, I only heard that she was at the Wells, and what a name she had for a belle, and how Rose was paying her a deal of attention—you must know that!"

      Miss Chressham was completely off her guard.

      "No!"

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