"ADVICE GRATIS"
For once, Mrs. De Wolfe was hopelessly puzzled; something had happened the day of the races at Sandown; for ever since that date, Nancy was a changed creature; her amazing spirits appeared to have evaporated; she no longer entered into plans, with the same keen enthusiasm, but was restless, nervous, and given to surprising fits of silence. Her anxious chaperon dated this phase, from the afternoon when she had confided her charge into the hands of Jane Wynne; yet Jane Wynne could throw no light on the matter—although her aunt had approached her with the most careful, and subtle questions. The girl did not bet, she had no quarrel with anyone, nor had she lost any treasured bit of jewellery,—something had gone much deeper than that. What was it?
Nancy described in somewhat laborious detail, the crowd, the heat,—which had given her a headache,—she had met masses of people she knew, including the Hicks, and Teddy; the Millers were there in great force, including Lady Miller in a wonderful French frock; but the glare was dreadful, and she had not enjoyed herself one bit. "How I wish I had stayed at home, with you, and sat out in the cool under the trees," she concluded, as she had bent over her old friend, and kissed her between her somewhat bushy eyebrows.
Subsequently, Mrs. De Wolfe (who was credited with eyes in the back of her head) noted, that when they were in the park, at a polo match, or a dance, Nancy seemed to be looking about her nervously, as if in quest of someone: some individual whom she was half afraid to see! Her talk and her manner suffered; she had become preoccupied, absent minded, and silent.—It was a puzzle.—Meanwhile, her young friend was going through a crisis of feeling, almost too terrible to support.
For a whole fortnight, Nancy never caught sight of Mayne, and then she encountered him riding in the park one morning early. He was with a lady. They passed within a few yards of one another; but made no sign. She had felt half inclined to bow, but her impulse had arrived too late.
Mayne had waited in due form upon the Hicks, sent a handsome present to the bride-elect, and invited Teddy to dine with him at his club; but Teddy preferred a tête-à-tête luncheon—his evenings were sacred to Jessie.
"I'm awfully glad you were able to come," said Mayne, as he ushered his friend into the stately dining-room of his club. "I couldn't get half a word with you the other day, and I wanted to have a bukh."
"Oh, it's all right,—Jessie let me off this morning; she is up to her neck, shopping! You see, we are to be married in ten days, and want to do our honeymoon at home, before I get back to the coffee. We intend to live at Fairplains, which belongs to Nancy,—as you know."
"Yes! Mrs. Hicks told me. I hadn't heard a word."
"Well, how could you? when you never wrote to any of us. Nancy was a jolly sight better, she used to send me screeds, when she lived with her aunt, and did Companion, and Tweenie, and Scapegoat. However, that's all over now; as she and Mrs. De Wolfe will live together: they are going down to her country place, after July. I dined with them the other night, and I have heard all their plans."
"Mrs. De Wolfe lives in our part of the world; she and my uncle are old friends, so Nancy and I, will find ourselves in the same boat, meeting every day, sitting next to one another at dinner; in fact, I see nothing for it, but to chuck the rest of my leave, and go back to India."
"Don't be a fool, Mayne! Why on earth should you do that?"
"Knowing what you know,—need you ask? How can I go about, and associate, with a girl——" He paused expressively.
"You can make it up."
"No! I did my best, and Nancy made a fool of me."
"Yes, but the poor child was out of her mind with grief; the whole tragedy got upon her nerves; to tell you the truth, she grew so strange, that they thought she was really going off her chump, and bundled her home,—where I believe some real hard knocks and shocks, brought her to her senses. She has a face you can't forget; awfully pretty, isn't she?"
"She is," assented the other.
"Look here, Mayne, if you will take my advice,—you will sit tight—and brazen it out!"
"But my dear fellow, how can I brazen out, what is a dead secret?"
"Everyone will know some day,—and there will be a most tremendous rumpus. Nancy is famous for her good looks, she has a whole string of admirers,—Finchie's nephew is making great running, and——"
"He may run till he is black in the face," interrupted Mayne, "he can't marry her."
"Aren't you rather a manger dog; you don't care about the girl yourself,—some day she may lose her heart to a fellow, and then what is to happen?"
"I'm afraid, I have not been quite candid with you, Teddy old man! although I have only seen this new Nancy twice; I find, that I do care for her. In old days I admired her character, and liked her as a pal, otherwise she only struck me as a sunburnt, talkative, tomboy. Now, added to her good points, she has become beautiful, and attractive; and if she hadn't a penny, I'd have come forward, have asked you to be my ambassador, and endeavoured to make friends. On these lines, I believe matters would have worked out all right, in time. Travers liked me, and I'd score there; but to find that Nancy is not only a beauty, but also a great heiress, is a bit too much to face. I couldn't stand a wife with heaps of money, and mines! I'd be buried in gold and grandeur, and lose my own identity—such as it is! I only wish I saw a clear and honourable road, out of the whole diabolical business!"
"That is to say, if the mine were to burst up, and the coffee to go smash. I suppose," added Dawson, after a moment's reflection, "there was no flaw in that hurried-up ceremony?"
"None! I made particular inquiries at the time. The parson had the Bishop's licence all right; they sent an express, and routed his lordship out of bed in the middle of the night. Without this licence, a marriage is no more valid, as a binding ceremony,—than taking a woman down to dinner."
"So there's no loop-hole in that direction," said his companion. "If Finchie were at home, I bet you anything you like, she'd clear a path somehow. Shove you and your queer wedding into limbo, and marry Nancy and her money, to her nephew, Tony Lamerton!"
"Yes, perhaps she'd have a good try, but she couldn't bring it off all the same."
"You're coming to see me turned off on Wednesday week, eh,—you really must support me, and Nancy is to be one of the bridesmaids."
"Is she? well don't put me down for best man,—I'm not eligible, but I'll afford you my presence, and moral support. Is it to be a big affair?"
"I'm afraid so! lots of Mrs. Hicks' old friends, every planter in London, and most of our fellow passengers; we've had some thumping presents. Nancy has given us a car, a piano, and a fine canteen. She takes the deepest interest in our affairs, and is with Jessie to-day. We are sending some new furniture out to Fairplains."
"Well, I must confess, I rather liked the old sticks. There was one lame chair in the verandah, the most comfortable I ever sat in,—just took you nicely in the back, and didn't poke your head into your chest."
"It shall be preserved, and kept ready for you whenever you come for a shoot."
"I'll never shoot again at Fairplains,—or set foot on Nancy's estate."
"What a stiff-necked beggar you are! and yet I think it is quite on the cards,—that you may never return to India."
"Yes, I see your meaning, why swither out there, when I have a rich wife in England? As it happens, I bar a rich wife, and never intend to claim her."
"Supposing she were to take it into her head to claim you? What then?"
Mayne stared at his guest for a moment, and then burst into a loud and hearty laugh. "Sooner than that, from what I know of Nancy, she would take a header off Waterloo Bridge."
"Well," replied Teddy, looking at his watch, "I must be off. Jessie is the soul of punctuality,—and I have to be, what the Americans call, 'on time.'"
"I score over you in one way, Teddy," said his friend, "I was never on duty; I had no long engagement,—at the outside, it wasn't more than thirty-six hours!"