A Woman-Hater Part 58

Severne looked aghast. He faltered out, "Why, how could they know?"

"Why, he advertises, stupid! and Lord Uxmoor and Harrington had seen it.

Gentlemen _read_ advertis.e.m.e.nts. That is one of their peculiarities."

"Of course he advertises: that is not what I mean. I did not drop his card, did I? No; I am sure I pocketed it directly. What mischief-making villain told them it was Poikilus?"

f.a.n.n.y colored a little, but said, hastily, "Ah, that I could not tell you."

"The footman, perhaps?"

"I should not wonder." (What is a fib?)

"Curse him!"

"Oh, don't swear at the servants; that is bad taste."

"Not when he has ruined me?"

"Ruined you?--nonsense! Make up some other fib, and excuse the first."

"I can't. I don't know what to do; and before my rival, too! This accounts for the air of triumph he has worn ever since, and her glances of scorn and pity. She is an angel, and I have lost her."

"Stuff and nonsense!" said f.a.n.n.y Dover. "Be a man, and tell me the truth."

"Well, I will," said he; "for I am in despair. It is all that cursed money at Homburg. I could not clear my estate without it. I dare not go for it. She forbade me; and indeed I can't bear to leave her for anything; so I employed Poikilus to try and learn whether that lady has the money still, and whether she means to rob me of it or not."

f.a.n.n.y Dover reflected a moment, then delivered herself thus: "You were wrong to tell a fib about it. What you must do now--brazen it out. Tell her you love her, but have got your pride and will not come into her family a pauper. Defy her, to be sure; we like to be defied now and then, when we are fond of the fellow."

"I will do it," said he; "but she shuns me. I can't get a word with her."

f.a.n.n.y said she would try and manage that for him; and as the rest of their talk might not interest the reader, and certainly would not edify him, I pa.s.s on to the fact that she did, that very afternoon, go into Zoe's room, and tell her Severne was very unhappy: he had told a fib; but it was not intended to deceive her, and he wished to explain the whole thing.

"Did he explain it to you?" asked Zoe, rather sharply.

"No; but he said enough to make me think you are using him very hardly.

To be sure, you have another string to your bow."

"Oh, that is the interpretation you put."

"It is the true one. Do you think you can make _me_ believe you would have shied him so long if Lord Uxmoor had not been in the house?"

Zoe bridled, but made no reply, and f.a.n.n.y went to her own room, laughing.

Zoe was much disturbed. She secretly longed to hear Severne justify himself. She could not forgive a lie, nor esteem a liar. She was one of those who could pardon certain things in a woman she would not forgive in a man. Under a calm exterior, she had suffered a n.o.ble distress; but her pride would not let her show it. Yet now that he had appealed to her for a hearing, and f.a.n.n.y knew he had appealed, she began to falter.

Still f.a.n.n.y was not altogether wrong: the presence of a man incapable of a falsehood, and that man devoted to her, was a little damaging to Severne, though not so much as Miss Artful thought.

However, this very afternoon Lord Uxmoor had told her he must leave Vizard Court to-morrow morning.

So Zoe said to herself, "I need not make opportunities; after to-morrow he will find plenty."

She had an instinctive fear he would tell more falsehoods to cover those he had told; and then she should despise him, and they would both be miserable; for she felt for a moment a horrible dread that she might both love and despise the same person, if it was Edward Severne.

There were several people to dinner, and, as hostess, she managed not to think too much of either of her admirers.

However, a stolen glance showed her they were both out of spirits.

She felt sorry. Her nature was very pitiful. She asked herself was it her fault, and did not quite acquit herself. Perhaps she ought to have been more open and declared her sentiments. Yet would that have been modest in a lady who was not formally engaged? She was puzzled. She had no experience to guide her: only her high breeding and her virginal instincts.

She was glad when the night ended.

She caught herself wishing the next day was gone too.

When she retired Uxmoor was already gone, and Severne opened the door to her. He fixed his eyes on her so imploringly, it made her heart melt; but she only blushed high, and went away sad and silent.

As her maid was undressing her she caught sight of a letter on her table.

"What is that?" said she.

"It is a letter," said Rosa, very demurely.

Zoe divined that the girl had been asked to put it there.

Her bosom heaved, but she would not encourage such proceedings, nor let Rosa see how eager she was to hear those very excuses she had evaded.

But, for all that, Rosa knew she was going to read it, for she only had her gown taken off and a peignoir subst.i.tuted, and her hair let down and brushed a little. Then she dismissed Rosa, locked the door, and pounced on the letter. It lay on her table with the seal uppermost. She turned it round. It was not from _him:_ it was from Lord Uxmoor.

She sat down and read it.

"DEAR MISS VIZARD--I have had no opportunities of telling you all I feel for you, without attracting an attention that might have been unpleasant to you; but I am sure you must have seen that I admired you at first sight. That was admiration of your beauty and grace, though even then you showed me a gentle heart and a sympathy that made me grateful. But, now I have had the privilege of being under the same roof with you, it is admiration no longer--it is deep and ardent love; and I see that my happiness depends on you. Will you confide _your_ happiness to me? I don't know that I could make you as proud and happy as I should be myself; but I should try very hard, out of grat.i.tude as well as love. We have also certain sentiments in common. That would be one bond more.

"But indeed I feel I cannot make my love a good bargain to you, for you are peerless, and deserve a much better lot in every way than I can offer. I can only kneel to you and say, 'Zoe Vizard, if your heart is your own to give, pray be my lover, my queen, my wife.'

"Your faithful servant and devoted admirer,

"UXMOOR."

"Poor fellow!" said Zoe, and her eyes filled. She sat quite quiet, with the letter open in her hand. She looked at it, and murmured, "A pearl is offered me here: wealth, t.i.tle, all that some women sigh for, and--what I value above all--a n.o.ble nature, a true heart, and a soul above all meanness. No; Uxmoor will never tell a falsehood. He _could_ not."

She sighed deeply, and closed her eyes. All was still. The light was faint; yet she closed her eyes, like a true woman, to see the future clearer.

Then, in the sober and deep calm, there seemed to be faint peeps of coming things: It appeared a troubled sea, and Uxmoor's strong hand stretched out to rescue her. If she married him, she knew the worst--an honest man she esteemed, and had almost an affection for, but no love.

As some have an impulse to fling themselves from a height, she had one to give herself to Uxmoor, quietly, irrevocably, by three written words dispatched that night.

But it was only an impulse. If she had written it, she would have torn it up.

Presently a light thrill pa.s.sed through her: she wore a sort of half-furtive, guilty look, and opened the window.