Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 27

Mr. Arnold could not fail to be impressed with the sight. He at last found words to say, "What is your programme today, Eve?"

"I have promised to visit the studio with mamma and Madge. Lord Melrose is to be there, and I am very anxious to see his portrait."

"Don't flatter yourself that you are his latest charm, my dear,"

said her husband in sarcastic tones.

"You are altogether _de trop_, my amiable husband," said Mrs.

Arnold with an angry gleam in the brilliant and wondrous dark eyes.

"I was sorry to hear that the young and beautiful Mrs. Maitland has possessed the fellow body and soul. What an honor to the young 'squire to have his wife thus lionized in the London drawing-room."

Mr. Arnold could be tantalizing without mercy, and when he had fully aroused his wife's anger he was happy.

Mrs. Arnold had received much flattering attention from Lord Melrose, and it wounded her pride when she heard that another had supplanted her. The remarks that had escaped her lips referred to the merciless young matron; and well Montague Arnold was aware of the fact, but he winced not, and only plunged deeper into the whirlpool of dissipation, which sooner or later would be his inevitable destruction.

"I was really tired waiting," exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, when Mrs. Verne and Marguerite entered the reception room an hour later. "I had begun to think that some prince in disguise had eloped with little sobersides."

"I don't think we will be quite so fortunate, Eve," said Mrs. Verne, with a significant look which annoyed Marguerite more than she was willing to acknowledge.

"Really, Madge, you are growing prettier every day since you came on English soil. Mamma, just look at her color; is it not bewitching? I tell you, Madge, you will turn half the heads in Piccadilly."

Marguerite saw with disgust the real object of her mamma's visit, and she was determined to show her dislike in a manner that would save herself from being the object of ridicule.

"Eve, I wish you to understand that I am not interested in love affairs. Please choose your conversation from other sources, and I will be much obliged--indeed I shall be forever grateful."

The girl's manner was serious, and her pleading looks would have given pleasure to a sensible woman, but they were scorned by Mrs.

Arnold and her mother.

Mrs. Verne had been expatiating upon the immense fortune which had fallen to Hubert Tracy, and took the greatest of pains to impress Marguerite with a sense of his importance.

"How I wish that I had waited, mamma. You know that Mr. Tracy was devoted to me in every way, but you preferred Mr. Arnold."

"I preferred his riches, my dear, and you know Montague is so handsome and distinguished looking. Why, he really was the handsomest man in the ball-room last evening."

"But Hubert's fortune is tenfold that of Montague's. His income is immense."

"Well, all we can do is to consign him to Madge," said Mrs. Arnold, with an affected air of deep regret. "It is certain that he clings to the family, and his great wealth would be an heirloom for many generations."

"Quite a speech, Eve," said Mrs. Verne, clapping her white palms together by way of applause.

Crimson silk _portieres_ separated the party from Mr. Arnold, but not a word had been lost. "You will have to play your little game quick, else the fortune will soon be a thing of the past,"

muttered the husband under his breath. "Curse these women, they are nearly all tarred with the same stick. And my charming wife. What a pity I stand in her way. Well, she can go on in _her_ way and I will stick to mine. Heavens! is there one true woman?"

Montague Arnold's face, reflected in the mirror opposite, was not then a pleasing study. A sardonic grin was on his lips and a dangerous light in his eyes.

Just then Marguerite changed her seat, and, un.o.bserved, the dissipated man glanced at the pure _spirituelle_ face which had appeared as answer to his questioning words.

"Yes, Madge, I am a veritable scoundrel; already I see before me one true and pure being."

Was it a tear that glistened on the maiden's cheek as Montague Arnold once more contemplated the fair brow and madonna-like eyes?

Marguerite, in her courtly surroundings, was indeed indulging in day dreams, woven from scenes of her native land. And when she contrasted the picture with the vague, undefined reality, her emotional nature was stirred within her, and the gushing tears would force themselves in spite of all efforts at control. She was longing for one glimpse of dear old "Gladswood" and the fond embrace of Cousin Jennie.

"What would I not give to be free from this," murmured the girl in an undertone; then glancing around she recognized her brother-in-law, his eyes fixed upon her in close scrutiny.

"Upon my senses, Madge, you look like some one in a dream. I really might imagine you a piece of rare statuary--one of the Niobe group strayed from the Florentine gallery to meet the wistful gaze of the sight-seers of London!"

Marguerite smiled, and the color rose to her cheeks.

"I have dispelled the charm!" cried Montague Arnold, pointing to the vivid, life-like and roseate hue of the oval face.

"A flirtation, I declare!" said a lady who formed one of the party for the morning's entertainment. "Mrs. Arnold, I really would not allow it."

"But you must remember we have liberty of conscience, my dear. Each is free to act as he pleases within the realm of British jurisdiction."

"I am afraid you are giving us a wide license, Mrs. Arnold. Please be more circ.u.mspect," cried the lady in playful tone, "else your suggestion may have a very bad effect."

Mr. Arnold looked askance at the fashionable woman beside him, and thought what a world of deceit lurked within--a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Instantly he was at the woman's side, and began paying her those compliments which the most enraptured lover might pay to her whom he adores above all women.

At the studio Marguerite was introduced to many persons of distinction, among those a German Count, a blaze looking Captain of the Life Guards, and a bright, dashing young officer of the Dragoons.

"What a host of admirers you have already in your train, Madge,"

whispered Mrs. Arnold to her sister as she came opposite the portrait of Lord Melrose and stood admiring the exquisite touch and execution of the artist.

The latter had been engaged in conversation with a group of ladies when his eyes fell upon Marguerite Verne. The earnest gaze made the girl look toward him, and as she did so that look made a deep impression upon the youth.

"I would give almost all I possess to paint that face," thought he, gazing intently at the _spirituelle_ type of beauty that is so seldom seen.

"Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Verne," said Mrs., Arnold, who felt much flattered at the admiration paid Marguerite.

"I think that we must persuade her to sit for a portrait, Mr.

Manning," said Mrs. Arnold, trying to attract her mother's attention from the niche in which she sat carelessly chatting with some acquaintances they had made on their ocean trip.

Soon Mrs. Verne found them, and was in ecstacies over her daughter's proposal.

"It would be such a nice way to show Madge to advantage. I am delighted with the thought," said Mrs. Arnold to her mother, as she toyed with her jewelled fan and gazed carelessly around to see if Lord Melrose were yet in the studio.

"How provoking. It is just always so! It will afford such satisfaction to my sweet-tempered husband."

"My dear Mrs. Arnold; it does one good to meet you after trying to live a few days at Portsmouth," cried a showy looking military man, perhaps forty years of age, perhaps younger, with a heavy reddish moustache and dark auburn hair.

"I cannot really say whether you are complimentary or not, colonel,"

said Mrs. Arnold, smiling with all the angelic sweetness at her command, "since I have never had the pleasure of visiting that renowned place."

"Well, I should consider it the highest compliment that could be paid," said a brother officer in dark blue uniform with a sprinkling of "silver threads among the gold," "coming as it does from one who can stand the siege when a thousand bright eyes are levelled upon him at a garrison ball in Portsmouth with a heart as impregnable as the fort at Gibraltar!"

"Thank you, Major Greene, for your kind consideration to both parties," said Mrs. Arnold, bowing sweetly to the former. The gallant colonel also bowed acknowledgment, and then espied Marguerite Verne, who still lingered near the artist, considering him far above the shallow set that frequented his studio.