Elster's Folly Part 41

"Can I forward any letter for you, sir? If you'd like to intrust one to me, I'll send it as soon as we know of any certain address."

"No--no, I think not," said the stranger, musingly. "There might be danger," he muttered to himself, but Hedges caught the words.

He stood swaying the umbrella-handle about, looking down at it, as if that would a.s.sist his decision. Then he looked at Hedges.

"My business with Lord Hartledon is quite private, and I would rather not write. I'll wait until he is back in England: and see him then."

"What name, sir?" asked Hedges, as the stranger turned away.

"I would prefer not to leave my name," was the candid answer. "Good evening."

He walked briskly down the avenue, and Hedges stood looking after him, slightly puzzled in his mind.

"I don't believe it's a creditor; that I don't. He looks like a parson to me. But it's some trouble though, if it's not debt. 'Danger' was the word: 'there might be danger.' Danger in writing, he meant. Any way, I'm glad he didn't go in to that ferreting old dowager. And whatever it may be, his lordship's able to pay it now."

CHAPTER XIX.

A CHANCE MEETING.

Some few weeks went by. On a fine June morning Lord and Lady Hartledon were breakfasting at their hotel in the Rue Rivoli. She was listlessly playing with her cup; he was glancing over _Galignani's_.

"Maude," he suddenly exclaimed, "the fountains are to play on Sunday at Versailles. Will you go to see them?"

"I am tired of sight-seeing, and tired of Paris too," was Lady Hartledon's answer, spoken with apathy.

"Are you?" he returned, with animation, as though not sorry to hear the avowal. "Then we won't stay in Paris any longer. When shall we leave?"

"Are the letters not late this morning?" she asked, allowing the question to pa.s.s.

Lord Hartledon glanced at the clock. "Very late: and we are late also.

Are you expecting any in particular?"

"I don't know. This chocolate is cold."

"That is easily remedied," said he, rising to ring the bell. "They can bring in some fresh."

"And keep us waiting half-an-hour!" she grumbled.

"The hotel is crammed up to the mansarde," said good-natured Lord Hartledon, who was easily pleased, and rather tolerant of neglect in French hotels. "Is not that the right word, Maude? You took me to task yesterday for saying garret. The servants are run off their legs."

"Then the hotel should keep more servants. I am quite sick of having to ring twice. A week ago I wished I was out of the place."

"My dear Maude, why did you not say so? If you'd like to go on at once to Germany--"

"Lettres et journal pour monsieur," interrupted a waiter, entering with two letters and the _Times_.

"One for you, Maude," handing a letter to his wife. "Don't go," he continued to the waiter; "we want some more chocolate; this is cold. Tell him in French, Maude."

But Lady Hartledon did not hear; or if she heard, did not heed; she was already absorbed in the contents of her letter.

"Ici," said Hartledon, pushing the chocolate-pot towards the man, and rallying the best French he could command, "encore du chocolat. Toute froide, _this_. Et puis depechez vous; il est tarde, et nous avons besoin de sortir."

The man was accustomed to the French of Englishmen, and withdrew without moving a muscle of his face. But Lady Hartledon's ears had been set on edge.

"_Don't_ attempt French again, Val. They'll understand you if you speak in English."

"Did I make any mistake?" he asked good-humouredly. "I could speak French once; but am out of practice. It's the genders bother one."

"Fine French it must have been!" thought her ladyship. "Who is your letter from?"

"My bankers, I think. About Germany, Maude--would you like to go there?"

"Yes. Later. After we have been to London."

"To London!"

"We will go to London at once, Percival; stay there for the rest of the season, and then--"

"My dear," he interrupted, his face overcast, "the season is nearly over.

It will be of no use going there now."

"Plenty of use. We shall have quite six weeks of it. Don't look cross, Val; I have set my heart upon it."

"But have you considered the difficulties? In the first place, we have no house in town; in the second--"

"Oh yes we have: a very good house."

Lord Hartledon paused, and looked at her; he thought she was joking.

"Where is it?" he asked in merry tones; "at the top of the Monument?"

"It is in Piccadilly," she coolly replied. "Do you remember, some days ago, I read out an advertis.e.m.e.nt of a house that was to be let there for the remainder of the season, and remarked that it would suit us?"

"That it might suit us, had we wanted one," put in Val.

"I wrote off at once to mamma, and begged her to see after it and engage it for us," she continued, disregarding her husband's amendment. "She now tells me she has done so, and ordered servants up from Hartledon. By the time this letter reaches me she says it will be in readiness."

Lord Hartledon in his astonishment could scarcely find words to reply.

"You wrote--yourself--and ordered the house to be taken?"

"Yes. You are difficult to convince, Val."

"Then I think it was your duty to have first consulted me, Lady Maude,"

he said, feeling deeply mortified.

"Thank you," she laughed. "I have not been Lady Maude this two months."