"Will you introduce me?" asked Basil Carruthers.
"My dear Basil," replied the wily diplomatist, with an air of a.s.sumed frankness, "I really do not think you would like her. She is fond of b.a.l.l.s, of dancing, of all sorts of amus.e.m.e.nts that you despise. If I introduce you to anybody at all, it must be to Minerva in disguise."
"I should not like Minerva," was the abrupt reply.
"Well, as you seem anxious, I will undertake it. We are going to the d.u.c.h.ess of Hexham"s ball tomorrow evening. Lady Amelie Lisle is sure to be there--no grand ball is complete without her. She is so surrounded now. I hardly like to interrupt her. Are you going to the Hexham ball?"
Now Basil had said no, he should certainly decline the invitation, but he seemed to forget it.
"Certainly I shall go," he said.
"Ah, then we shall see her there," replied the colonel, and his long mustache concealed the triumphant smile with which he listened to the words.
CHAPTER VIII.
Lady Amelie at Home.
The poets of old must have been thinking of a woman like Lady Amelie when they wrote of circes and sirens, and women whose beauty has proved fatal to men. It is perhaps quite as well that they are very rare--the power of a beautiful woman is great. If she be good, and use it for a good purpose; the world is the better for it. If she be bad, and her beauty is simply used as a lure, the world is the worse for it.
Either for good or evil, the power of Lady Amelie was great, for a more royally beautiful woman had seldom been seen. She was the very ideal of glowing, luxurious loveliness, and her beauty was perhaps the least of her charms. She had that wonderful gift of fascination which makes even a plain woman irresistible. Allied to beauty so wondrous as hers, it was fatal.
It is morning, and Lady Amelie, fresh and radiant as a June rose, is in her boudoir, an exquisite little room, hung with pink silk and white lace; the windows were draped with pink silk, and the light that came through was subdued and rosy, the fairest of all lights in which to see a fair woman.
A gem of a room, from which a painter would have made a room glowing in luxurious color. The air was heavy with the perfume of white hyacinths and daphnes--the jardinieres were filled with the sweetest of flowers; Lady Amelie loved them so well; she was never so pleased as when in the midst of them. There was a marble Flora, whose hands were filled with purple heliotropes--in fact, every beauty that money, taste or luxury could suggest, was there. Pale pink was a color that Lady Amelie loved--her chairs and couches were covered with it. She is sitting now in a pretty, fantastic chair, the subdued rosy light of the room falling full upon her. She is reading the fashionable daily paper, smiling as some on dits meet her eye. Surely such beauty as that should be immortal. No wonder that Basil Carruthers, whose eyes had never rested long on a woman"s face before, should not weary of hers.
It is the beauty of an empress, royal, commanding, statuesque, yet radiant and full of grace. Her figure, as she reclines, is perfection; the soft, flowing lines, the gracious curves, the free, unfettered grace, the queenly dignity, all combined, enchant one. The head, whose contour is simply perfect, is crowned with a ma.s.s of dark hair, shining like the l.u.s.trous wing of some rare bird. The brow is white, rounded at the temples and clear as the leaf of the lily. The brows are straight, delicate and have in them wonderful expression. But it was Lady Amelie"s eyes that drew men so irresistibly to her feet. They were irresistible.
Black, with a languid, golden light in their wondrous depths; full of veiled fire and repressed pa.s.sion. They could melt and flash, persuade and command, as no other eyes did. No man ever looked into their depths without losing himself there. Her mouth was no less beautiful, tender and sensitive; yet those lovely lips could curl with scorn that withered and pride that crashed.
She knew that she was beautiful, and she rejoiced in her beauty, as the lion in his strength or the serpent in its cunning. Men she looked upon as her natural va.s.sals, her subjects, her lawful prey. She never once, in the whole course of her triumphant life, paused to think whether or not she inflicted pain. If any one had said to her, abruptly, "You have made such a person suffer," she would have laughed gaily. The ache and pain of honest hearts is incense to a coquette.
And Lady Amelie Lisle was a coquette to the very depth of her heart! She could have counted her victims by the hundred. Who ever saw her and did not love her? She delighted in this universal worship; it became necessary to her as the air she breathed. Universal dominion was her end and aim; but once sure of a man"s love or admiration, it became worthless to her and she longed for something fresh. Like Alexander, she would have conquered worlds.
Not, be it understood, that Lady Amelie, as she expressed it, "ever went in for anything serious." She had never been in love in her life, except with herself, and to that one affection she was most constant. She accepted all, but gave none. Once or twice her flirtations had been on the verge, but Lady Amelie was one of those who can look very steadily over the brink but never fall in.
The world spoke well of her. "She was certainly a great coquette,"
people said, indulgently, but then she was so beautiful and so much admired. She smiles as she reads the fashionable intelligence; there is a paragraph describing her appearance at a ball given by one of the queens of society. The paper speaks of her beauty, her magnificent dress and costly jewels. She remembered all the homage, the sighs, the whispered words, the honeyed compliments, smiled and thought how sweet life was.
At that moment her maid entered. "My lady," she said. "Colonel Mostyn would be so much obliged if you could see him. It is on important business."
"Certainly. I will see him here," she replied. "What can he want with me?" thought my lady. "He was very empresse last night; surely he is not going to make love to me."
And the notion of a gray-haired lover piqued her and made her smile again.
The colonel entered with the most courtly of bows, and she received him graciously. He talked of the opera, of the ball, of the last new novel, of the latest marriage on the tapis, and all the time Lady Lisle"s beautiful eyes were looking at him. "It was not for this you came," she thought. At last the colonel spoke openly.
"I have come to ask of you a great favor, Lady Lisle," he said. "You have perhaps heard of my young kinsman, Basil Carruthers?"
"The heir of Ulverston?" she said. "Certainly. He is one of the prizes in the matrimonial market at present, colonel."
Colonel Mostyn drew a very animated and interesting portrait of his young charge.
"He wants modernizing; his ideas are dated two hundred years back. Lady Lisle, there is no one who could work such wonders for him as you."
"What could I do?" she asked, with a conscious smile.
"You could modernize him and humanize him. Will you allow me to introduce him to you? And will you take him in hand a little--teach him something of life as it is, not as he dreams of it?"
"What if he burns his wings, like many other silly moths?" she asked, laughingly.
"It would do him all the good in the world," he replied, with enthusiasm. "Will you believe, Lady Lisle, that he never admired any one, not even Lady Evelyn Hope? He never admired any face until he saw yours last evening." That piqued her. "I have never seen anything like his indifference to all ladies. Dear Lady Lisle, you are the brilliant sun that alone can melt this icicle. I a.s.sure you, that his mother and myself are in despair."
"You must not blame me," she said, "for whatever happens. You choose to run the risk."
"Nothing can happen but what will be for his greatest good," said the colonel, gallantly.
"You may introduce him to me," said Lady Amelie, "and I will do the best I can for him."
"You will be at the d.u.c.h.ess of Hexham"s ball this evening?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "You have described your charge, Colonel Mostyn; now I know the carte du pays. It would be better not to mention having seen me."
"Certainly not"--
"Let me see," she interrupted. "I am to teach him what life is like in this nineteenth century, to try to inoculate him with modern ideas; to teach him how to appreciate the society of ladies; he shall learn his lesson well."
There was something in her peerless face and her brilliant smile that made Colonel Mostyn pause, and wonder if after all he had done a wise thing.
"The boy cannot be hurt," he said to himself; "he has too much sense to fall in love with a married lady. A violent flirtation will do him good, and cure him of his absurd ideas."
"Your ladyship will be the benefactress of the whole family if you can rescue our young hero, and help us make him in some degree fit for the age he lives in."
Lady Amelie smiled; there was not much fear in her failing in anything she undertook.
"It is not often that young men err on the side of originality and singularity," she said; "I have always considered realism the sin of the age. I am quite curious to see your hero, Colonel Mostyn."
"I believe he is quite as anxious to see you. Lady Lisle; he positively asked me to introduce him to you, and that is a request he has never made before, though I have shown him some beautiful women."
"I ought to feel flattered," said Lady Amelie, and again there was something in her smile that made the colonel wonder whether he had done amiss.
"We are quite in a conspiracy," he said, and Lady Lisle laughingly a.s.sured him that all women were fond of plots.
"Your s.e.x, my dear colonel, are so strong and so wise that it is a real pleasure to any poor weak woman to outwit you." And Lady Amelie shot him a glance from her beautiful eyes that made the colonel again half pity his young kinsman.