Set in Silver Part 37

SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL O'HAGAN

_County Hotel, Newcastle_, _September 5th_

My Dear Pat: You'll be surprised to get another letter from me on the tail of the last, but there have been developments in which I think you will be interested.

The sale of the ring was a mere preface to what has followed.

We arrived at Newcastle this afternoon, finding Burden already here. I didn't think the meeting between him and Ellaline particularly cordial, but appearances are deceiving where girls are concerned, as I have lately been reminded in more ways than one. About an hour ago, while I was getting off some letters and telegrams, I received a message from my ward asking if she could see me in the hotel drawing-room--the place is so full I couldn't get a private one.

I went down at once, of course, dimly (and foolishly) hoping that she wanted to "confess" about the ring. But it was quite a different confession she had to make; her desire to be engaged to Mr. Burden!

Naturally, after our last conversation on that subject, I was somewhat surprised, and on the spur of the moment was tempted to remind her that not long ago Young Nick had appeared as suitable in her eyes, as young d.i.c.k. However, I stopped in time to save myself from being both bounder and brute. I did inquire whether she were now sure of her own mind; but it was the duty of a guardian and not the malice of a disappointed man which prompted the question.

Her manner was singularly dry and businesslike, and she came as near to looking plain as it is possible for a beautiful girl to come; so love isn't always a beautifier.

"I am sure of my mind for the moment," she replied, with repulsive prudence. "I suppose a girl need never say more."

This answer and her manner puzzled me, so I ventured to ask, in a guardianly way, if she thought she were enough in love with Burden to be happy with him.

"I haven't to think about being with him at all yet," she temporized.

"You seem to have an extraordinary idea of an engagement," I said, perhaps rather sneeringly, for I felt bitter, and had never approved of her less.

"Perhaps I have," she returned, in such an odd, m.u.f.fled sort of tone that I feared she was going to cry, and glanced at her sharply. But she was looking down and there were no tears visible, so that fear was relieved.

"You do, at all events, wish to be engaged to Burden?" I persisted. "Am I to understand that?"

"I have asked for your consent," she said, with a queer stiffness. And it was on my tongue to say as stiffly, "Very well: you have it. What pleases you should please me." But the words stuck in my throat, as if they'd been lumps of ice; and instead I answered, almost in spite of myself, that I couldn't give my consent unconditionally. I must have another talk with Burden, and whatever my decision might be, I would prefer that she didn't consider herself engaged until after the tour was ended.

"We'll bring it to a close as soon as possible now," I added, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt, "so as not to keep you waiting."

She made no response to this, except to give me a singular look which even now I find it impossible to understand. It was as if she had something to reproach me for, and yet as if she were more pleased than sad.

Girls are very complicated human beings, if indeed they can be cla.s.sified thus--though perhaps some men's lives would be duller if they were simpler. As for my life, the less girls have to do with it when my ward is off my hands, the better.

Since the above conversation, I have been drawn into a talk with Burden.

He appeared anxious to find out exactly what had pa.s.sed between Ellaline and me, almost as if he suspected her of not "playing straight," but I replied, briefly, that she had asked my permission to be engaged to him, having evidently changed her mind since our last discussion on the subject. This appeared to content him more or less, although I repeated what I'd said to the girl: that I was not prepared to consent officially until I had communicated with his mother, and satisfied myself that my ward would be welcomed in the family. This he evidently thought old-fashioned and over-scrupulous, but when I admitted being both, he ceased to protest, only saying that he wished to write to his mother first. I suggested talking with his aunt, also, and he did not object to the idea, so Mrs. Senter and I have already had a short conversation concerning her nephew's love affair. She cried a little, and said that she would be "horribly alone in the world" when her "only real pal" was married, but that of course she wished for his happiness above everything, and she meant to give him a wedding present worth having, if she beggared herself for years. The poor little woman showed a great deal of heart, and I was touched. I'm afraid she's not too happy, under her air of almost flippant gaiety and "smartness," for she rather hinted that she liked some man who didn't care for her--someone she met in the East. I suppose she can't be cherishing a hidden pa.s.sion for you? Rather cruel of us, accusing her of being a flirt in those days, if she were in earnest all the time, eh?

In case I "pump" her a little about this mysterious disappointment, and find it's you she's thinking of, I may turn the tables, and give you some good advice--better than you gave me. You might do worse than get leave and have another look at this pretty and agreeable lady before deciding to let her slip.

Yours always,

Pen.

Good old Owen enjoyed his two days in c.u.mberland. He, too, tried his hand on advising me. Said I ought to marry. Not I!

x.x.xV

MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN

_Newcastle_, _September Something_

My Dear Sis: This is to ask a great favour of you, and you must be a pet and grant it. There's nothing I won't do for you in return, if you will.

I have just been having a most satisfactory chat with Sir L. It began in reference to d.i.c.k. Somehow or other that ingenious darling had forced Ellaline Lethbridge to ask Sir Lionel for his (d.i.c.k's) hand! I say "forced," because she is not in the least in love with him, indeed, (strange as it may seem to you) detests the ground he walks on; yet she does things that he tells her to do--things she hates like poison. This last _coup_ of d.i.c.k's convinces me of what I've often suspected: he knows something about her past which she is deadly afraid he will tell Sir Lionel. It may be connected with that visit to Venice, when the Tyndals saw her; anyhow, whatever the secret may be, it is serious. She is obliged to bribe d.i.c.k; but she dislikes him too intensely to marry him ever--even if the way to do so were made easy; so, I reiterate, have no fear on that score.

Sir Lionel fancies himself in love with the girl, but he will get over it, even if he isn't on the way to do so already, pushed roughly onto the right road by her confessed preference for d.i.c.k. For the moment, however, I can see he is rather hard hit, though he would be _mad_ if he dreamed I or anyone could read his august feelings. He thinks his hesitation to permit an engagement arises from conscientious scruples, but really it's because he can't bear to have any other man (or boy) making love to his girl. That's the brutal truth; and he's haggling and putting off the evil day as long as he can. He wanted to ask me what my feeling was in the matter; whether _you_ would be pleased, and so on.

Ellaline might not be rich, he explained, but she would have enough for her own wants as a married woman. He thought her husband, when she had one, ought to wish to do the rest; and though d.i.c.k considered his own prospects good, a partnership in a detective agency hardly seemed ideal.

I told him I couldn't quite answer for you, as you had always hoped your one boy might fall in love with a rich girl; but that I was sure d.i.c.k adored Ellaline. I asked if I should write to you, when d.i.c.k did; and he said, half reluctantly, perhaps I had better. Poor wretch, he was afraid I might succeed in persuading you!

I was pathetic on the subject of d.i.c.k, and our comradeship, which must be broken by the dear boy's marriage, and as Sir L. was suffering himself, he was in just the right mood to sympathize with me. I snivelled a little; and at last, emboldened by success, I allowed him to gather that there was someone I'd cared for a long, long time--someone who didn't care for me. At that he was so nice, that I liked him better than I ever thought I could; and since then I feel I really can't and shan't lose him.

No sooner had he given my hand a warm yet disappointing "kind friend"

squeeze, at parting, than I routed out d.i.c.k in his own room. I promised him that I would induce you to write a nice letter about the proposed engagement to Sir Lionel if he in his turn would persuade Ellaline to put in a good word for _me_ with Sir L., to tell him that she believed I cared for him a good deal, and was unhappy.

When I said "persuade" to d.i.c.k, I meant use his unknown power to command; for if the girl would say that to her guardian, her words would be the one stone capable of killing two birds. It would prove to him that of which I don't think he is perfectly sure at present: her love for d.i.c.k, or, at worst, her complete indifference to himself; and it would pop into his head the idea I want to put there, though I have done all it's safe to do openly toward inserting it.

I saw when I softly hinted at a hopeless affection which had spoiled years of my life, that he didn't think of himself. Somehow, he must be _made_ to think; and now is the right time, for his heart is sore, and needs balm. He would be so sorry for me that, in the state he is in, he couldn't be hard. He would argue that, as he was bound to be unhappy anyway, he might as well try to make others happy. I feel that everything would happen exactly as I want it to happen if Ellaline Lethbridge could be depended upon to say the right thing.

Of course, there lies the danger: that she won't. But d.i.c.k boasts that she'll have to do as he tells her. It's worth risking; but he won't give the word unless he thinks that I've coaxed you 'round.

That's the favour I ask. Will you, when you get this, wire to me at once, "Writing according to your request to Sir L."? I can then show your telegram to d.i.c.k (you must address it to me at Bamborough Castle, where we are to spend a night, after staying one at Cragside) and he will put pressure to bear on Ellaline Lethbridge.

You can be absolutely certain that no harm will come of this. That d.i.c.k and she will never be married; whereas, when I am married to Sir Lionel, I'll give you a present of five hundred pounds, within the first year, to do with as you like. I'd even be willing to sign a paper to that effect.

Your anxious, yet hopeful

Gwen.

x.x.xVI

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Bamborough Castle_, _September 9th_

Dear: I know you are miserable about me, but don't be it, because I'm not miserable about myself. Honour bright!

I've done the hateful deed. It was at Newcastle: and I knew I was in for it, the minute I saw d.i.c.k. He's got his partnership, and thinks he's got me. But there's many a slip 'twixt d.i.c.k Burden and Audrie Brendon.