Nell, of Shorne Mills Part 34

"Oh! Which one?" asked Drake absently; his eyes were following Nell, who happened to look across at him at the moment, and who smiled the smile which a woman only accords her lover.

"I don't remember her name," said the girl. "But she is very beautiful, I am told; though I find it hard to believe that she can be lovelier than she is," and she nodded in Nell's direction.

Drake felt very friendly toward the girl.

"She is as good as she is beautiful," he said; then, as the triteness and significance of the words struck him, he laughed slightly.

His partner glanced up at him shyly.

"Oh--I beg your pardon!" she said. "I didn't know. How--how proud you must be!"

"I am," said Drake.

"And of course you want to be dancing with her now? If I were you I should hate to have to dance with any one else. I wish--you would introduce me to her after this waltz!"

"With pleasure!" said Drake, wondering what on earth the girl's name was--for, of course, he had not caught it.

But the introduction was not made, for her next partner came up immediately the dance was finished and bore her off; and Drake leaned against the wall and watched Nell.

She was dancing with a subaltern from the garrison town, and was evidently enjoying herself. It was a pleasure to him to look at her; and it occurred to him that even if the bright little American, with the pleasant voice and tender heart, had not stepped in to ruin his prospects; if the t.i.tle and estates were as near to him as they had been a few months ago; if he were moving in London society, in his own critical and exclusive set, he would not have made any mistake in asking Nell to be his wife. She would have justified his choice in any society, however high.

It occurred to him that where they were going on the Continent he might, perhaps, procure a little amus.e.m.e.nt for her; there might be a dance or two at the hotels at which they would stay; or he might take her to one of the big state b.a.l.l.s for which there would be no difficulty in obtaining an invitation.

Yes, he thought as he watched her--her lips half parted with a smile of intense enjoyment, her eyes shining with the light of youth and ignorance of care--she should have a happy time of it or he would know the reason why; he would simply devote his life to watching over her, to screening her from every worry, to----

"Are you staying in the house, Mr. Blake?"

It was Sir William who had toddled up and addressed the reflective guest. Sir William never knew exactly how the house party was composed; and sometimes a man had been staying at the Grange for a fortnight without Sir William comprehending that the man was sleeping beneath his roof.

"No? Beg your pardon! I should have liked to show you my Herefords to-morrow morning. I think you'd admire 'em; they're the best lot I've had, and I ought to do well with them at the show. But perhaps you don't take an interest in cattle-breeding?"

"Oh, yes, I do," said Drake pleasantly, and with his rather rare smile--he was br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with happiness and would have patted a rhinoceros that night, and Sir William was anything but a rhinoceros.

"Every man ought to take an interest in cattle-breeding and horse-breeding. I did a little in the latter way myself." He pulled up short. "I shall be very glad to come over to-morrow morning, if you'll allow me."

"Do, do!" said Sir William genially, and evidently much gratified. "But, look here, you'll have to come over early, because I've got to go and sit on the bench, and shall have to leave here soon after ten. Why not come over to breakfast--say, nine o'clock?"

"Thanks!" said Drake; "I shall be very glad to."

At this moment Lady Maltby came up to them with a rather anxious expression on her pleasant face.

"I can't think what has come to the Chesney party, William," she said.

"I didn't expect them very early, but it's getting rather late now. Do you think they've had an accident?"

"Not a bit of it!" returned Sir William cheerily. "They've had a jolly good dinner, and don't feel like moving. Don't blame them, either.

Suppose we go and have a cigar, Mr. Blake?"

Drake glanced toward Nell, saw that she was surrounded, exchanged a smile with her, then went off with Sir William to the smoking room. They were in the middle of their cigars, and talking cattle and horses, when Drake heard a carriage drive up.

"That's the Chesney people, I dare say," said Sir William, and continued to dilate on a new rule which he was anxious that the Agricultural Society should adopt, and Drake and he discussed it exhaustively.

Nell had just finished a dance when she saw Lady Maltby hurry across the room to receive four persons, two ladies and two men, who had just arrived. It was the belated Chesney party. Their entrance attracted a good deal of attention, and Nell herself was startled into interest and curiosity by the appearance of one of the new arrivals. She thought that she had never imagined--she had certainly never seen--so beautiful a woman, or one so magnificently dressed.

A professional beauty in all her war paint is somewhat of a rara avis in a quiet country house, and this professional beauty was the acknowledged queen of her tribe. Her hair shone like gold, and it had been dressed by a maid who had acquired her art at the hands of a famous Parisian coiffeur; her complexion, of a delicate ivory, was tinted with the blush of a rose; her lips were the Cupid-bow lips which Sir Joshua Reynolds loved to paint. Naturally graceful, her figure was indebted to her modiste for every advent.i.tious aid the art of modern dressmaking can bestow. Nell knew too little of dress to fully appreciate the exquisite perfection of the _toilette de la danse_; she could only admire and wonder. It was of a soft cream silk, rendered still softer in appearance by cobweb lace, in which, as if caught by the filmy strands, as in a net, were l.u.s.trous pearls. Diamonds glittered in the hair which served them as a setting of gold. Her very gloves were unlike those of the other women, and seemed to fit the long and slender hands like a fourth skin.

"How beautiful!" she said involuntarily, and scarcely aware that she had spoken aloud.

The man who was sitting beside her smiled.

"Like a picture, is she not?" he said. "In fact, I never see her but I am reminded of a Lely or a Lawrence; one of those full-length pictures in Hampton Court, you know!"

"I don't know," said Nell. "I've never been there."

"Well, you won't think it a fair comparison when you do see them," he said; "for there isn't one of them half as beautiful as Lady Luce."

"What is her name?" asked Nell, who had not caught it.

He did not hear the question, for the music had struck up again, and with a bow he went off to his next partner. It was evident to Nell that the beauty was not known to Lady Maltby, for Nell saw the other lady introducing them. Nell felt half fascinated by the new arrival, and sat and watched her, looking at her as intently as one gazes at something quite new and strange which has swung suddenly into one's own ken.

Nell was engaged for that dance, but her partner did not turn up. She was not sorry, for she wanted to rest; the room was hot, and, though she was by no means tired, she was not eager to dance the waltz--unless it were to be danced with Drake. She was sitting not very far from the window; some considerate soul had opened it a little, and Nell got up and went to it and looked out. It opened onto a wide terrace; the stars were shining brightly, the night air came to her softly and wooingly.

How nice it would be to go out there! Perhaps if she stole out, and waited, presently Drake would come into the ballroom, and, missing her, would come in search of her, for he would guess that she would be out there, and they would have a few minutes by themselves under the starlit sky. It was worth trying for.

She went out, without opening the window any wider, and leaning on the stone coping, looked up at the sky, and then to where, far away, the few lights which were still burning showed her where Shorne Mills nestled amid its trees.

As long as life lasted she would never be able to think of Shorne Mills without thinking of Drake; she thought of him now, and longed for him; and as she heard the window open wider she turned with a little throb of expectation. But instead of Drake's tall figure, two ladies came out.

Nell recognized the beauty by her dress, and saw that the lady who was with her was the one who had accompanied her to the ball.

Nell's disappointment was so acute as to embarra.s.s her for a moment, and, reluctant, with a girl's shyness, to be found there alone, she rather foolishly drew back quietly into the shadow accentuated by the contrast of the light streaming from the half-open window. She retreated as far as the corner of the terrace, and, finding a seat there, over which she had nearly stumbled, she sank into it. Beside her was a marble statue of the G.o.d Pan. The pedestal almost, if not quite, concealed her; and, although she was already ashamed of having taken flight, so to speak, she decided to remain where she was until the other two women returned to the ballroom, or Drake came out and she could call to him.

Lady Luce went and leaned upon almost the very spot where Nell had leaned; and she looked up at the sky and toward the twinkling lights, and yawned.

"Sorry you have come, dear?" said Lady Chesney, with a little laugh. "I know you so well that that yawn speaks volumes."

"It is rather slow, isn't it?" admitted Lady Luce, with the soft little London drawl in her languid voice.

"My dear Luce, I told you it would be slow. What did you expect? These dear, good people are quite out of the world--they are antediluvians.

The best people imaginable, of course, but not of the kind which gives the sort of hop you care for. I'm sorry you came; but I did warn you, dear, didn't I?"

"Yes, I know," a.s.sented Lady Luce.

"And, really, you seemed so bored--forgive me, dear; I don't want to be offensive--that I thought that perhaps, after all, this rustic entertainment might amuse you."

"I'm not bored, but I'm very sick and sorry for myself," said Luce. "One always is when one has been a fool."

"My dear girl, you did it for the best."

"That always seems to me such a futile, and altogether ineffectual, consolation," said Luce; "and people never offer it to you unless you have absolutely made a fool of yourself."

"But I think, and everybody thinks with me, that you acted very wisely under the circ.u.mstances. He could not expect you to marry a poor man.

Good heavens! fancy Luce and poverty! The combination is not to be imagined for a moment! It is not your fault that circ.u.mstances are altered, and that if you had only waited----"