The Tiger Lily Part 24

"You? You see her? That tiger lily of a woman! No, that won't do at all."

"Mr. Pacey, I must see her. I have failed with Armstrong, but something tells me that I may succeed with her."

"But do you know what sort of a woman she is?"

"A lady of t.i.tle, beautiful and rich."

"Oh yes; but, my dear child, you who are as fresh as a little lily-of-the-valley, what could you say to her? Why, she is a heartless woman of fashion, proud as a female Lucifer, and you would only be exposing yourself to insult."

"She would injure herself more than me," replied Cornel. Then, after they had walked a few yards in silence, she turned to her companion.

"Mr. Pacey, you are Armstrong's most trusted friend?"

"I was once, but that's over now."

"No; true friends do not leave those they love when they are in their sorest need. I must--I will save Armstrong from this woman's toils. He has ceased to love me, but I cannot, when a word might save him, keep back that word. Take me to this lady's home."

"But, my dear Miss Thorpe--"

"I have known you for over a year, Mr. Pacey, though we only met to-day for the first time."

"Yes; and I've known you, my dear," said Pacey, "though he never half did you justice."

"Then I am Cornel Thorpe to you. Now listen: we must save him."

"But--"

"What is this lady's name?"

"The Contessa Dellatoria."

"Take me to her at once."

"And she could not master him?" muttered Pacey. "She masters me."

He was already walking her on fast towards Portland Place, where fortune favoured the mission, for a carriage and pair pa.s.sed them, driven rapidly, as they were close to the house, and Pacey told his companion that the fashionably dressed lady leaning back was the Contessa, with the effect of making Cornel hasten her pace after quitting Pacey's arm; while, resigning himself to the inevitable, he advanced more slowly, watching the scene before him as the carriage stopped. The footman ran up and gave a thundering knock and heavy peal, with the result that the door was thrown open at once, two more servants waiting to receive their lady.

By the time the steps were rattled down, and Valentina had alighted, Cornel was at her side, pale and trembling, in her simple, plainly cut black dress, cloak, and bonnet with its thin silk veil.

"Can I speak to you, madam?" she said faintly. The Contessa turned upon her in wonder, and Cornel shrank for the moment from the beautiful, magnificently dressed woman.

"Speak to me?" she said haughtily, as her eyes swept over the American girl. Then, as she walked towards the door, "Who are you? what are you--a hospital nurse?"

"Sometimes," said Cornel, fighting hard to be firm.

"Oh, I see: then you want a subscription for your charity. This is neither the time nor the place." The Contessa swept on, but Cornel was at her side again before she could reach the door.

"No, no, madam, you are mistaken," she cried in a low voice. "I wish to--I must see you."

Valentina's eyes dilated a little, and she looked wonderingly at the speaker.

"I--I have a message for you. I must speak to you. Take me to your room, for Heaven's sake."

A policeman was approaching, and the butler stepped out, saying significantly--

"Shall I speak to the young person, my lady?" No answer was vouchsafed, for just then Cornel caught the Contessa by the arm and whispered--

"You must see me, madam. It is life or death to one you know--one whom, I believe, you would not injure."

"Hush! Who cure you?"

"A stranger from a distant land, madam." Valentina started, and the rich blood flushed to her cheeks.

"I landed from America yesterday. Pray hear me. Your future depends upon it, and--perhaps--my life."

The Contessa made a sign to Cornel to follow, and entered the door; and a minute after, as Pacey pa.s.sed slowly by, he ground his teeth when he heard the coachman say to the footman, who was crossing the pavement with a shawl over one arm, and a basket containing a carriage clock, scent bottle, card case, and Court Guide--

"I say, d.i.c.ky, what game do you call that?"

"Last noo dodge for raising the wind," said the footman, and he went in and closed the door.

"A hurricane, I should say," muttered Pacey. "Poor little girl, can she face the storm?--I don't know though--there's a strength in her that masters me."

Meanwhile Lady Dellatoria led the way to the boudoir, held aside the portiere, and signed to Cornel to enter. Then following, the great velvet curtain was dropped, and they stood face to face, scanning each other's features, and measuring the one whom a natural instinct taught each to consider the great enemy of her life. Cornel's heart sank as she stood thus in the presence of her beautiful rival. For the moment, she was ready to sink into one of the luxurious lounges, and sob for very despair as she felt how unlikely it was that Armstrong could still care for the simple homely girl who had come across the wide ocean to save him--him, a willing victim to one who gazed at her with such contempt, and who at last broke the silence.

"Well," she said, "I have granted your request. Why do you not speak?"

"I was thinking, madam, how beautiful you are."

Valentina smiled faintly, and raised her eyebrows. It was such an old compliment paid to her.

"You wished to speak to me about some one I know. Have you brought a message? Who are you?"

"I am the poor American girl to whom Armstrong Dale plighted his troth before he left us to make his name and fame."

The Contessa's eyes were slightly veiled. It was no message then from him, and she avoided the searching eyes, so full of innocence and truth, that gazed at her, as she said huskily--

"Well, what is that to me?"

Cornel looked at her wonderingly, asking herself whether there was a mistake; but growing confident, she went on--

"This, madam: my lover--I speak to you in the homely fashion of our people--my lover came here to England, and his success was beyond my wildest dreams. We wrote to each other, and we were happy in the expectation of our future, till he saw you, and then--all was changed."

"Is this the beginning of some romance? But, of course--your love-story."

"Yes, madam, and no romance. But I do not come to speak angrily to you--I do not heap reproaches upon your head. I come to you simply as one woman in suffering should appeal to another."

The Contessa made a contemptuous gesture.