"What makes you think so?"
"He took it so awfully cool."
"That may mean the reverse."
"It don"t with him. But, Mrs. Lovell, do tell me you haven"t lost.
Not much, is it? Because, I know there"s no guessing, when you are concerned."
The lady trifled with her bridle-rein.
"I really can"t tell you yet. I may have lost. I haven"t won. I"m not cool-blooded enough to bet against favourites. Addio, son of Fortune!
I"m at the Opera to-night."
As she turned her horse from Lord Suckling, the cavalier who had saluted her when she was with Sir William pa.s.sed again. She made a signal to her groom, and sent the man flying in pursuit of him, while she turned and cantered. She was soon overtaken.
"Madam, you have done me the honour."
"I wish to know why it is your pleasure to avoid me, Major Waring?"
"In this place?"
"Wherever we may chance to meet."
"I must protest."
"Do not. The thing is evident."
They rode together silently.
Her face was toward the sunset. The light smote her yellow hair, and struck out her grave and offended look, as in a picture.
"To be condemned without a hearing!" she said. "The most dastardly criminal gets that. Is it imagined that I have no common feelings? Is it manly to follow me with studied insult? I can bear the hatred of fools.
Contempt I have not deserved. Dead! I should be dead, if my conscience had once reproached me. I am a mark for slander, and brave men should beware of herding with despicable slanderers."
She spoke, gazing frontward all the while. The pace she maintained in no degree impeded the concentrated pa.s.sion of her utterance.
But it was a more difficult task for him, going at that pace, to make explanations, and she was exquisitely fair to behold! The falling beams touched her with a mellow sweetness that kindled bleeding memories.
"If I defend myself?" he said.
"No. All I ask is that you should Accuse me. Let me know what I have done--done, that I have not been bitterly punished for? What is it? what is it? Why do you inflict a torture on me whenever you see me? Not by word, not by look. You are too subtle in your cruelty to give me anything I can grasp. You know how you wound me. And I am alone."
"That is supposed to account for my behaviour?"
She turned her face to him. "Oh, Major blaring! say nothing unworthy of yourself. That would be a new pain to me."
He bowed. In spite of a prepossessing anger, some little softness crept through his heart.
"You may conceive that I have dropped my pride," she said. "That is the case, or my pride is of a better sort."
"Madam, I fully hope and trust," said he.
"And believe," she added, twisting his words to the ironic tongue. "You certainly must believe that my pride has sunk low. Did I ever speak to you in this manner before?"
"Not in this manner, I can attest."
"Did I speak at all, when I was hurt?" She betrayed that he had planted a fresh sting.
"If my recollection serves me," said he, "your self-command was remarkable."
Mrs. Lovell slackened her pace.
"Your recollection serves you too well, Major Waring. I was a girl. You judged the acts of a woman. I was a girl, and you chose to put your own interpretation on whatever I did. You scourged me before the whole army.
Was not that enough? I mean, enough for you? For me, perhaps not, for I have suffered since, and may have been set apart to suffer. I saw you in that little church at Warbeach; I met you in the lanes; I met you on the steamer; on the railway platform; at the review. Everywhere you kept up the look of my judge. You! and I have been "Margaret" to you. Major Waring, how many a woman in my place would attribute your relentless condemnation of her to injured vanity or vengeance? In those days I trifled with everybody. I played with fire. I was ignorant of life.
I was true to my husband; and because I was true, and because I was ignorant, I was plunged into tragedies I never suspected. This is to be what you call a coquette. Stamping a name saves thinking. Could I read my husband"s temper? Would not a coquette have played her cards differently? There never was need for me to push my husband to a contest. I never had the power to restrain him. Now I am wiser; and now is too late; and now you sit in judgement on me. Why? It is not fair; it is unkind."
Tears were in her voice, though not in her eyes.
Major Waring tried to study her with the coolness of a man who has learnt to doubt the truth of women; but he had once yearned in a young man"s frenzy of love to take that delicate shape in his arms, and he was not proof against the sedate sweet face and keen sad ring of the voice.
He spoke earnestly.
"You honour me by caring for my opinion. The past is buried. I have some forgiveness to ask. Much, when I think of it--very much. I did you a public wrong. From a man to a woman it was unpardonable. It is a blot on my career. I beg you humbly to believe that I repent it."
The sun was flaming with great wings red among the vapours; and in the recollection of the two, as they rode onward facing it, arose that day of the forlorn charge of English horse in the Indian jungle, the thunder and the dust, the fire and the dense knot of the struggle. And like a ghost sweeping across her eyeb.a.l.l.s, Mrs. Lovell beheld, part in his English freshness, part ensanguined, the image of the gallant boy who had ridden to perish at the spur of her mad whim. She forgot all present surroundings.
"Percy!" she said.
"Madam?"
"Percy!"
"Margaret?"
"Oh, what an undying day, Percy!"
And then she was speechless.
CHAPTER XXVII
The Park had been empty, but the opera-house was full; and in the brilliance of the lights and divine soaring of the music, the genius of Champagne luncheons discussed the fate of the horse Templemore; some, as a matter of remote history; some, as another delusion in horse-flesh the greater number, however, with a determination to stand by the beaten favourite, though he had fallen, and proclaim him the best of racers and an animal foully mishandled on the course. There were whispers, and hints, and a.s.sertions; now implicating the jockey, now the owner of Templemore. The Manchester party, and the Yorkshire party, and their diverse villanous tricks, came under review. Several offered to back Templemore at double the money they had lost, against the winner. A favourite on whom money has been staked, not only has friends, but in adversity he is still believed in; nor could it well be otherwise, for the money, no doubt, stands for faith, or it would never have been put up to the risks of a forfeit.
Foremost and wildest among the excited young men who animated the stalls, and rushed about the lobby, was Algernon. He was the genius of Champagne luncheon incarnate. On him devolves, for a time, the movement of this story, and we shall do well to contemplate him, though he may seem possibly to be worthless. What is worthless, if it be well looked at? Nay, the most worthless creatures are most serviceable for examination, when the microscope is applied to them, as a simple study of human mechanism. This youth is one of great Nature"s tom-fools: an elegant young gentleman outwardly, of the very large cla.s.s who are simply the engines of their appet.i.tes, and, to the philosophic eye, still run wild in woods, as did the primitive n.o.bleman that made a noise in the earlier world.
Algernon had this day lost ten times more than he could hope to be in a position to pay within ten years, at the least, if his father continued to argue the matter against Providence, and live. He had lost, and might speedily expect to be posted in all good betting circles as something not pleasantly odoriferous for circles where there is no betting.