Leonore Stubbs Part 35

"Only to the rectory," said Maud, indifferently; "but they are there, and there they will stay for ages. It is a sort of farewell visit. What do you want to see me about?"

"Stop a bit. There's Leo. Is she--where is she?"

"In bed. She caught a chill yesterday going out in the damp."

"You are sure she is not out in the damp again, to-day?" said Val, significantly, and gave his companion what he considered a meaning look.

"Hey? Are you sure of that, Maud?"

"As I was with her five minutes ago, I think I may be," retorted Maud, and convinced by this preamble that Leo, not herself, was the real object of the visit, she was less gracious than before. "I thought you said it was me you wanted?"--she threw out, however.

"So it is. I don't want Leo--not a bit. I don't want her ever again, that's more. You'd say the same if you'd seen what I saw. Give me time, and I'll tell you all about it. That's what I came for."

"Really, Val, I--it's not the thing, you know, to come to one of us with complaints of the other. If you have any fault to find with Leo, you must say so to herself."

"You wait till you hear. You won't be so keen for me to go to Leo----"

"But I really can't," said Maud, rising. Her pride revolted at the idea of being the confidant of some silly quarrel, which did not concern her in the slightest. "I don't know anything about it, and I don't want to know. Do talk of other things."

"What? When I came here on purpose----?"

"Hush,--you needn't be excited. Of course if you are determined to speak, you had better speak and be done with it; but I warn you I shan't take your part, or any one's part----"

"As long as you don't take Paul's part," cried he, with a flash of inspiration, "the rest doesn't matter."

"Paul's part?" For very amazement Maud fell into her chair again, and stared at the speaker as though he had struck her a blow. "What--what did you say? Did you say 'Paul's part'?"

"Yes, I did--I did say just that. I told you you'd jolly well better hear me out instead of being so infernally supercilious. Oh, I say, I'm sorry I said that, Maud; I'm--I'm sorry for you altogether."

"You speak in enigmas, Val,"--but her laugh was a little forced; his earnestness and persistency told; and then there was "Paul's part"?

"He is--but look here, you needn't mind what he is. Don't you take it to heart----"

"I know what Paul is, thank you," haughtily.

"That's just what you don't----"

"Excuse me, Val----"

"Excuse me, Maud----"

"You are impertinent now, I shall listen no longer."

"Listen no longer? You haven't even _begun_ to listen. Confound it, you shouldn't treat a fellow like this, when a fellow is doing all he can for you, and feels for you as--as I do. You know I've always been fond of you, Maud," softening, "and I've come to say that if you'll marry me instead----"

"Have you gone crazy, Val?" But vanity whispered a flattering solution of the problem, and his ear detected an opening. To the same suggestion Leo had cried "Nonsense!" and although affronted at first, he had ultimately accepted the "Nonsense!" with philosophy,--but he had weapons in reserve now, and would soon show that he was not "crazy". No, d.a.m.n it, he was not "crazy". The idea!

With the rush of a torrent he told his tale.

"And you saw this--and you heard this?" said Maud, at last. "You did not dream it? You--you are sure you did not dream it?"

"I'll take my solemn Davy I saw it all, and heard it all. Leo is a little cat; and as for Paul, to think that he should dare--but I say, Maud, you will checkmate him, won't you?"

"Hush;" she waved him back, for he had pressed forward. "Let me think--let me think. If this is true--but it isn't, it can't be true,--" and she pressed her hands upon her forehead. A thousand trifles, insignificant in themselves, which had secretly perplexed and chafed her spirit of late, rushed back upon her memory. Paul had lost the air of a happy lover. He had become moody, silent, solitary in his habits. He had, it is true, obeyed to the strictest extent the dictates of custom, but there were moments which in the retrospect maddeningly bore out Val's accusation. He had played--he was still playing her false? She was, or would be, a laughing-stock? She quailed and faltered.

"Take me," urged Val. "It's not--not only for your own sake, though of course that's what I'm thinking of most, but----"

"I must know first. I must make sure of the truth first."

"If you do, you'll give the show away. You ought never to let out that you know anything, and throw him over before he throws you. Then--there you are!"

"You mean that I must not unveil Paul's treachery? That he is to go unpunished?"

"You can't cut off your nose to spite your face, you know. Once you have a row with Paul the fat is in the fire, and it will be all over the place that he's jilted you."

"And for my own sister;" said she, bitterly.

She longed to rush to Leo, to Paul, to both severally or together, and denounce them. She could scarce restrain herself from proclaiming her wrongs upon the housetops, but--she paused and looked thoughtfully at Val. There was no doubt about Val's integrity. Up to his lights he was universally accounted "straight," and she need never fear being tricked and cheated a second time. He had acted well by her at this crisis, and to reward him? The idea grew in favour.

On the other hand, how terrible would be her position if she refused--and Position was a G.o.d she worshipped. She would be talked about, pointed at, and worst of all, pitied. Her ignominy--she could not face it.

"I say, Maud, you know I am fond of you?"

Yes, poor boy, he was fond of her; she had always felt complacently secure of his fondness, though occasionally nettled of late by misgivings as to his having transferred his first allegiance elsewhere.

Leo had been bidden to Claymount oftener than she; and gran had made much of the younger sister, whereas she had always been cool and distant to the elder.

Maud, in her slow way, had resented this, and given herself considerable airs towards the old lady after her engagement. To triumph over her--over everybody--vindicate her own charms, and prove to the world the unswerving devotion of her old admirer would be something, would at any rate be better than nothing.

She sighed gently, and emboldened, he pressed his suit. A long interview closed with this decision. If satisfied as to the truth of his statements--but satisfied she must be--she would send for him next day, and--and do whatever he asked her.

"That's right, that's all I want;" his face shone with satisfaction. "Of course you wouldn't have wanted me if you had had Paul--not that Paul is any shakes now, (and whatever he is, he's not for you," in parenthesis,) "and--and I'm your man. I'll see you through, Maud; trust me."

"You will make all the arrangements?--that is, if I send for you?"

"Won't I? I had the whole thing in my head when I came here, and I'll work it out again going home. I'm a bit fl.u.s.tered just now, but you'll see if I don't do the square thing. We'll be off by the first train for London town and a registry office--but don't I just wish it was Gretna Green, and a gallop through the night! I have often thought what a jolly skidaddle one might have behind four horses to Gretna Green."

"Go, now;" said Maud, authoritatively. "But if I send word to come, Come."

And the message went, "Come".

Mr. Anthony Boldero and Mr. John Purcell were putting their heads together in the window of a Pall Mall club. The two gentlemen had a subject in common to discuss; and as old acquaintances, who had recently become new neighbours, they had a great deal to say and said it freely.

"A most disgraceful business;" the one bald head wagged, and the other responded. "'Pon my soul," a.s.serted Mr. Purcell, vivaciously, "it is no wonder it killed the old lady. She might have hung on long enough, but for that. Although she was seventy-seven. Seventy-seven. A ripe age, Boldero."

He was only a little over sixty himself, and had often wondered how long his step-mother was going to keep him out of the property? It had for years been a secret grievance that a second wife should have had its tenancy for life, and made her descendant, a poor creature like Val, its master in appearance if not in fact. He could not therefore affect to be inconsolable.

Was it possible that the "disgraceful business" had had anything to do with General Boldero's demise?--he queried next. Could he have known, or suspected anything?