AN INTERRUPTED INTERVIEW
The last set had been played, tennis prizes been distributed amid much clapping and applause, performers and spectators had dispersed, the great tennis week was over!
Nancy, who felt mentally and bodily fatigued, contrived to escape from her friends, to enjoy a short rest, and breathing time, before the evening gaieties set in; and by devious and cunning short cuts, made her way to a favourite seat, at the end of the least frequented Pergola. Here for once, she found herself out of the public eye,—the only eyes that rested upon her, were those of her companion, Bob, the brown spaniel,—nephew to the dogs at Maynesfort. Bob detested tennis, and had followed his mistress under the fond delusion that she was about to take him for a nice run by the river; alas! no, she threw herself down on a hard rustic bench, and heaved a long sigh. Poor disappointed Bob was in complete sympathy with this frame of mind, and inclined to sigh too.
All day long, Nancy had borne the fierce light, that beats on a pretty popular girl,—the most prominent figure in a society gathering; as deputy hostess, tennis competitor, adviser, referee, arbitress in little half-playful disputes, with an eye to the guests in the refreshment tents, and in perpetual demand, here, there, and everywhere.
Mrs. De Wolfe had abdicated and taken her ease, and an attitude of serene detachment, seated among her contemporaries, and intimates; all little anxieties and worries, were handed over to her vice-reine, and although she had the gift of social grace, youth, and energy, Nancy found the sceptre as heavy as lead! Here was Mrs. Harper looking alarmingly red and explosive, because no one had escorted her to tea, and there was Lizzie Stevens on the verge of tears, because the umpire had given her two faults; Mrs. Fitzhammond had lost a dear old silver brooch, she had had since she was a school-girl, and was unpleasantly querulous, injured, and fussy; whilst Sutton the butler had informed poor Nancy in a hollow whisper, that "the ice was running out!"
Well, it was all over at last! and had been a surprising success; but the deputy hostess felt completely exhausted, as she took off her hat, and closed her eyes. The previous night, she had lain awake for many hours, meditating on Mrs. Hicks' unexpected revelation. It seemed to her, that she was approaching a crisis in her life: looking into her own heart, she saw Derek Mayne; yes, Derek, and no one else. Far removed from the tragedy of former associations, in another hemisphere, and among other surroundings, she realized his personal attraction, his upright character, unfailing good humour,—and for a man,—surprising unselfishness!
She had noticed his thoughtful attention to his uncle; his pleasant ways to children, and to nobodies,—it was he, who had relieved her of Mrs. Harper, and carried off that swelling matron, to enjoy ices, and conversation (whilst Dudley Villars lay prone on the grass, at the feet of the county's duchess, entertaining her with scraps of highly-spiced scandal!). She recalled to mind, what a favourite he had been with her father; how he had given her to him when on his deathbed; later how fiercely she had thrust him aside, and fled. Yes! there was no doubt, that she was the offender; and it was for her, to venture the first advance—an advance bristling with difficulties and dangers. If she made an overture and was repulsed—how—how, could she ever hold up her head again? on the other hand, if she made no sign, and he went away, it would be something whispered,—for—ever.
During the last few days she and Derek had been on easier terms; naturally the tournament had thrown them together; more than once, he had addressed her as "Nancy," and more than once, she had surprised him surveying her with an expression of keen attention, and something else—"What?" What it was she could not analyse; interest, yes, perhaps interest; at any rate, the glance was neither cynical nor scornful! Possibly it might mean, that he wished to speak to her, that—oh no, never by word or look, had he intimated that he looked for any change in their relations; if she was to say, or do anything that would count; if she was to venture to break the ice, and her heart quailed at the mere idea of such an undertaking,—it must be soon. On Saturday, he was leaving the Court, and from what she could gather, shortly returning to India; so it was a case of now, or never! How could she begin?—she had not the gracious art of approaching the unapproachable. As she sat meditating, and by no means fancy free, the thumping of Bob's tail announced his welcome to someone; and opening her eyes, she beheld the subject of her thoughts, rapidly approaching along the turf walk. Was she asleep? or was his appearance the result of some strange telepathy?
How good-looking he was! a lover to gladden the eyes of any girl. His flannels set off an admirable well-knit figure—the touch of scarlet in his blazer, was eminently becoming to his dark hair and eyes; in one hand he swung a bat, and was apparently pressed for time.
"Well, what is it?" he inquired, as he came within earshot.
"I'm sure I don't know!" she answered, now sitting erect.
"But Mrs. Hicks told me to hurry here at once—she said you wished to speak to me."
"She must have been dreaming!"
"On the contrary, she looked particularly wide awake, and would take no refusal,—we are just getting up a match." Nevertheless, he lingered.
"I should have thought you'd had enough of tennis for to-day," remarked Nancy.
"Yes, I daresay. You are in great form, you and I, are the proud winners of the ladies' and gentlemen's doubles. I say——" he paused abruptly.
"What do you say?" she asked.
"Well,—it's about that fellow Villars;—you will remember, I begged you to drop him; and I find him here installed as Tame cat: in fact a sort of Puss in Boots,—running the whole show!"
"That's true," admitted Nancy, "but Sir Dudley was l'ami de la maison long before Mrs. De Wolfe knew me,—and surely you can scarcely expect her to turn out her old friends on my account,—besides, he is her godson."
"So you think that sanctifies him?" shifting his bat under his arm.
"No, certainly not; but I do honestly believe, you are prejudiced and that Sir Dudley is not any worse than his neighbours; he is religious in his way too, always down to family prayers,—of course, attendance is optional,—whilst you appear with the hot dishes! He reads the Scriptures beautifully,—I've never heard the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes read with such expression."
"If you would only take my word for it, the Song of Solomon is a thousand times more in his line—all about my beloved, and roses, and lilies."
"Do you know, that he has a wife?" said Nancy expressively.
"No, has he? Unhappy woman! but I do happen to know, that he has run away with another man's wife! Certainly, it was years ago,—if he made any scandal with mine"—he paused and looked full into her eyes, "by Jove I would kill him,—and I should like to kill him!"
Nancy burst into a peal of laughter. "How melodramatic you are! and how you do abhor him!"
"May I ask, if he is aware, that you have a husband?" Although his manner chaffed her—his voice had a ring of earnestness.
"What an absurd question; of course not! There isn't a soul in this country, who's in the secret—except Mrs. Hicks."
"I say," he exclaimed, "we are a fine couple of impostors! You may be amused to hear, that my uncle has taken an immense fancy to you."
"How nice of him."
"And between ourselves, he thinks you would be an ideal niece-in-law. The Maynes are poor, the place swallows up money, and the reigning proprietor is obliged to get hold of a consort with coin."
A thought instantly darted into Nancy's mind; here was her opportunity! and as if in obedience to some irresistible force, she rose, with a hammering heart,—looking, did she but know it, enchantingly pretty.—A little pale perhaps, but stirred by some inward emotion, her lovely face was unusually expressive. One or two rose leaves had fallen on her uncovered hair, and the light between the branches overhead, sent the shadows of leaves, to dance gaily upon her white skirt.
"A wife with coin," repeated Nancy, speaking with a desperate effort, and fixing her eyes upon the ground, "well! you did that yourself."
"Quite unintentionally, I assure you," was the emphatic reply; "the girl I married, was as poor as a church mouse! Nothing would tempt me to marry for money."
"I suppose," began Nancy—and she hesitated.
"You suppose what?" he asked sharply.
"That if ... if ..." she stammered—for the tone of his voice had been discouraging, and made her, if possible—more nervous. "If you could forgive me,—do you think.... Oh, how can I put it?..." and her voice shook, "that I could tempt you? Oh no, I don't mean that,—only I don't want all that money; no one knows better than you do, that I never was accustomed to riches, and—and I should be only too thankful, to give it to you."
Mayne stared at her amazed! She was no longer pale.
"Nancy!" he exclaimed, "I remember how in old days you talked the wildest nonsense, I don't suppose for a moment, that you know or mean, one single word of what you are saying."
"Yes, I do," she rejoined tremulously, "but I can promise you this,"—her lips quivered—and she added with difficulty, "I will never say it again," she paused, struggling between pride, and emotion.
"Oh, my dear Nancy, if I could only believe you—don't you know——"
"So here you are, Derek!" exclaimed a high, authoritative treble, and through a breach in the Pergola, Mrs. Speyde appeared, waving an imperative tennis bat. "Have you forgotten, that we are all waiting to make up a match?" She glanced sharply from him to Nancy. His face wore a strained expression, as for the girl, she was the colour of a crimson rambler!
"Ah," with a little malicious laugh, "I see you have been talking secrets. Yes, Miss Nancy, I always suspected that you knew a good deal more about this gentleman than you pretended. Well, for the present, you must leave the cat in the bag. Derek," laying an arresting hand on his arm, "you've got to come!"
Mayne drew back, but before anything further happened, Nancy had picked up her hat, and vanished through an opening that led into the old walled garden.
That same evening, Nancy selected her most becoming frock, and took particular pains with her hair—for she entertained high hopes, that Mayne would seek her out, and endeavour to resume the conversation so cruelly interrupted by Josie Speyde. At dinner, she saw nothing of him,—as he happened to be on the same side of the table; later, as he held the door for the ladies to pass forth, it seemed to her, that he gave her a glance of particular significance; but strange to say, he did not come into the drawing-room with the other men.
About an hour later, when she was singing a duet with Sir Dudley, she noticed him standing near the door. It struck her, that he looked pale and rather stern,—as if he had been annoyed, or disappointed; he made no effort whatever to speak to her for the remainder of the evening; and she retired for the night, with an acute sense of hopelessness, and depression.