"Little Harrie is pretty enough to excuse an older man losing his head," Lord Carteret answered; "but it would not suit Lady Kingsland"s book at all. The Hunsden is poorer than a church-mouse, and though of one of our best old-country families, the pedigree bears no proportion to my lady"s pride. A duke"s daughter, in her estimation, would be none too good for her darling son."
Mr. Grosvenor smiled satirically.
"She is a wonderful woman--my lady--but I fancy she is matched at last.
If Kingsland sets his heart on this latest fancy, all the powers of earth and Hades will not move him. Do you recollect that little affair of Miss Kingsland and poor Douglas of the --th? My lady put a stop to that, and he was shot, poor fellow, before Balaklava. But the son and heir is quite another story. Apropos, I must ask little Mildred to dance. _Adio_, Carteret!"
The ball whirled on--the hours went by like bright, swift flashes, and, from the moment of the redowa, to Sir Everard Kingsland it was one brief, intoxicating dream of delirium. My Lady Kingsland"s maternal frowns, my Lady Louise"s imperial scorn--all were forgotten. She was a madcap and a hoiden--a wild, hare-brained, fox-hunting Amazon--all that was shocking and unwomanly, but, at the same time, all that was bright, beautiful, entrancing, irresistible. His golden-haired ideal, with the azure eyes and seraphic smile was forgotten, and this gray-eyed enchantress, robed in white, crowned with ivy, dancing desperately the whole night long, set brain and heart reeling in the mad tarantella of love.
It was over at last. The gray and dismal dawn of the November morning stole chilly through the curtained cas.e.m.e.nts. A half-blown rose from Miss Hunsden"s bouquet bloomed in Sir Everard"s b.u.t.ton-hole, and it was Sir Everard"s blissful privilege to fold Miss Hunsden"s furred mantle around those pearly shoulders.
The bleak morning breeze blew her perfumed hair across his eyes, as she leaned on his arm and he handed her into the carriage.
"We shall expect to see you at Hunsden Hall," the Indian officer said, heartily. "Your father"s son, Sir Everard, will ever be a most welcome guest."
"Yes," said Harrie, coquettishly; "come and inquire how my health is after dancing all night. Etiquette demands that much, and I"m a great stickler for etiquette."
"Sir Everard would never have discovered it, I am certain, my dear, if you had not told him."
"A thousand thanks! I shall only be too delighted to avail myself of both invitations."
Sir Everard went home to Kingsland Court as he never had gone home before. The whole world was _couleur de rose_--the bleak November morning and the desolate high-road--sweeter, brighter than the Elysian Fields.
How beautiful she was! how the starry eyes had flashed! how the rosy lips had smiled! Half the men at the ball were in love with her, he knew; and she--she had danced twice with him, all night, for once with any one else.
It was a very silent drive. Lady Kingsland sat back among her wraps in displeased silence; Mildred never talked much, and the young baronet was lost in blissful ecstasy a great deal too deep for words. He could not even see his mother was angry--he never gave one poor thought to Lady Louise. The whole world was bounded by Harriet Hunsden.
Sybilla Silver was up and waiting. A bright fire, a cheery cup of tea, and a smiling face greeted her ladyship.
"Really, Miss Silver," she said, languidly, "this is very thoughtful of you. Where is my maid?"
"Asleep, my lady. Pray let me fulfill her duties this once. I hope you enjoyed the ball?"
"I never enjoyed a ball less in my life. Pray make haste--I am in no mood for talking."
Sybilla"s swift, deft fingers disrobed the moody lady, loosened the elaborate structure of hair, brushed it out, and all the while she sat frowning angrily at the fire.
"There was a young lady at the hall--a Miss Hunsden," she said, at last, breaking out in spite of herself--"and the exhibition she made was perfectly disgraceful. Miss Silver, if you see my son before I get up to-day, tell him I wish particularly for his company at breakfast."
"Yes, my lady," Miss Silver said, docilely; and my lady did not see the smile that faded with the words.
She understood it perfectly. Sir Everard had broken from the maternal ap.r.o.n-string, deserted the standard of Lady Louise, and gone over to "bold, odious" Miss Hunsden.
Sybilla dutifully delivered the message the first time she met the baronet. A groom was holding Sir Galahad, and his master was just vaulting into the saddle. He turned away from the dark face and sweet voice.
"It is impossible this morning," he said. "Tell Lady Kingsland I shall meet her at dinner."
He rode away as he spoke, with the sudden consciousness that it was the first time he and that devoted mother had ever clashed. Thinking of her, he thought of her favorite.
"She wants to read me a tirade, I suppose, about her pet, Lady Louise,"
he said to himself. "They would badger me into marrying her if they could. I never cared two straws for the daughter of Earl Carteret; she is frightfully _pa.s.see_, and she"s three years older than I am. I am glad I did not commit myself to please my mother."
Sir Everard reached Hunsden Hall in time for luncheon. The old place looked deserted and ruined. The half-pay Indian officer"s poverty was visible everywhere--in the time-worn furniture, the neglected grounds, the empty stables, and the meager staff of old-time servants.
"Captain Hunsden is so poor that he will be glad to marry his daughter to the first rich man who asks her. The Hunsden estate is strictly entailed to the next male heir; he has only his pay, and she will be left literally a beggar at his death."
His eyes flashed triumphantly at the thought. Harrie Hunsden stood in the sunshine on the lawn, with half a score of dogs, big and little, bouncing around her, more lovely, it seemed to the infatuated young baronet, in her simple home-dress, than ever. No trace of yesterday"s fatiguing hunt, or last night"s fatiguing dancing, was visible in that radiant face.
But just at that instant Captain Hunsden advanced to meet him, with Lord Ernest Strathmore by his side.
"What brings that idiot here?" Sir Everard thought. "How absurdly early he must have ridden over!"
He turned to Miss Hunsden and uttered the polite common-place proper for the occasion.
"I told you I never was fatigued," the young lady said, playing with her dogs, and sublimely at her ease. "I am ready for a second hunt to-day, and a ball to-night, and a picnic the day after. I should have been a boy. It"s perfectly absurd, my being a ridiculous girl, when I feel as if I could lead a forlorn hope, or, like Alexander, conquer a world. Come to luncheon."
"Conquer a world--come to luncheon? A pretty brace of subjects!" said her father.
"Miss Hunsden is quite capable of conquering a world without having been born anything so horrid as a boy," said Lord Ernest. "There are bloodless conquests, wherein the conquerors of the world are conquered themselves."
The baronet scowled. Miss Hunsden retorted saucily. She and Lord Ernest kept up a brilliant wordy war.
He sat like a silent fool--like an imbecile, he said to himself, glowering malignantly. He was madly in love, and he was furiously jealous. What business had this ginger-whiskered young lordling interloping here? And how disgustingly self-a.s.sured and at home he was! He tried to talk to the captain, but it was a miserable failure.
It was a relief when a servant entered with the mailbag.
"The mail reaches us late," Captain Hunsden said, as he opened it. "I like my letters with my breakfast."
"Any for me, papa?" Harriet asked.
"One--from your governess in Paris, I think--and half a dozen for me."
He glanced carelessly at the superscriptions as he laid them down. But as he took the last he uttered a low cry; his face turned livid: he stared at it as if it had turned into a death"s-head in his hand.
"Oh, papa--"
She stopped in a sort of breathless affright.
Captain Hunsden rose up. He made no apology. He walked to a window and tore open his letter with pa.s.sionate haste.
His daughter still stood--pale, breathless.
Suddenly, with a hoa.r.s.e, dreadful cry, he flung the letter from him, staggered blindly, and fell down in a fit.
A girl"s shrill scream pierced the air. She sprung forward, thrust the letter into her bosom, knelt beside her father, and lifted his head.
His face was dark purple, the blood oozed in trickling streams from his mouth and nostrils.
All was confusion. They bore him to his room; a servant was dispatched in mad haste for a doctor. Harriet bent over him, white as death. The two young men waited, pale, alarmed, confounded.