THE MEETING
The new arrival in Charles Street soon discovered that he had by no means bettered his position, on the contrary, appeared to have gone out of the frying-pan, into the fire! Four years had wrought surprising changes in the ménage: Lord Torquilstone had become "more so," as Mayne mentally expressed it; his moustache was blacker, his coat more padded, his temper more irascible, than formerly. He belonged to a type of club man happily becoming extinct,—loud, aggressive in argument, quarrelsome, gouty, and greedy. He and her ladyship did not now hit it off,—and saw as little of one another as their mutual ingenuity could contrive. She, never appeared before one o'clock; he, lunched, and frequently dined, at his club,—unless they happened to have a few guests, or were engaged to present themselves, at some particular function.
Mayne noticed a woeful alteration in his mother; she looked faded, and worn, there were deep lines about her mouth, her voice was querulous, and her attitude the pose of one enduring "the bitter winter of her discontent!" In her cold, unemotional way, she was glad to welcome Derek, a handsome, creditable fellow and like his father; but in character much stronger, and more self-assertive.
He seemed to be thoroughly capable of shaping his own life, had excellent manners, plenty to say for himself, and judging by the number of his letters, with regimental, and other crests, was claimed by hosts of friends! In honour of his return, Lord Torquilstone dined at home, and abused the dinner; and he and his wife passed the young man under the harrow of a searching examination, with respect to his life, during the last four years. Mayne found it useless to protest, "But Mater, you had my letters."
"Yes, my dear boy,—they were rather dull. Not your fault I know, I always hated India,—the deadly paradise of the middle class. It's just what was not in your letters, that I want to hear about."
"Oh well, if you mean manœuvres, camps of exercise——"
"Don't be so silly," she interrupted impatiently.
"Your mother wants to hear about those lively grass widows up in Simla," broke in his lordship; "come now, own up!" and he chuckled diabolically.
"I have nothing to own. Never had any use for the frisky matron, at home, or abroad."
"Oh, Derek," protested his mother, "what about Josie Speyde?"
"Yes, what about her?" leaning back, with his hands in his pockets.
"You were one of her boys, I know!"
"She taught me to dance,—I'll say that for her."
"She taught you to flirt too."
"Don't expect the fellow wanted much teaching!" broke in Lord Torquilstone. "Any nice little girls out in India?"
"Oh yes, lots."
"I hope you didn't leave your heart, behind, Derek? I warn you that as daughter-in-law, I refuse to receive an Indian spin."
"Oh, there's no fear of that," replied Derek, lighting a cigarette, and tossing the match into the fireplace.
"I suppose you know your uncle is very anxious that you should marry."
"I suppose I do know! I suppose he has it on the brain, I've heard of nothing else,—he has driven me to the verge of idiocy."
"You were twenty-nine last April; time to be looking about, Derek. I know some charming girls; I do hope you will let me have a say?"
"Oh, my dear mother, you are welcome to as many says as you like, but I haven't the smallest intention of marrying."
"That's the way you young fellows talk," declared Lord Torquilstone, setting down an empty glass, "and then before you know where you are, you're caught," and he glanced at his wife with deadly significance.
"I'd like to see the girl, who could put salt on my tail," rejoined his stepson with extravagant confidence.
"Well now, Mater," glancing at his watch and rising as he spoke, "if you'll excuse me, I'm going out."
"Going out!" she repeated blankly, "where are you going?"
"To look on at a boxing match; I have promised to join a couple of fellows at the Sports Club."
"A boxing match, how horrible—disgusting!"
"Well, I admit that it's not exactly a pretty sight sometimes; but I like to see an active muscular fellow, that knows how to use his fists; I do a little in that line myself. I won't be in till all hours,—so I'll take a latch-key."
Before her ladyship could offer any further objection, he had kissed her on her powdered cheek, nodded to his stepfather, and departed.
"Quite his own master!" remarked his mother, as she heard the whistle for a taxi, "and I had promised to take him to the Rutherfords' 'at home!' Last night he was at the Opera,—it's almost impossible to get hold of him."
"You'll find some young woman will get hold of him," snarled Lord Torquilstone. "I hope she'll be, er! er! respectable. It's just those young fellows home on leave—that the worst of women pounce on."
Upon this subject, arose an immediate argument, Lady Torquilstone declaring, that "no man with good blood in his veins, would be likely to marry out of his class." Her husband held the opposite view, and backed his opinion, with an imposing string of names. The argument waxed louder, and presently developed into a personal quarrel, and (unmindful of the grey parrot's warning cry, of "Hullo! Hullo! Police! Police!") they continued exchanging nasty thrusts, until a footman brought in the ten o'clock post, and her ladyship having collected her letters, left the smoking-room, fortified with the consciousness, that the last word, had been hers.
It was the day of a very "Big" race at Sandown, the weather was perfection, and half society, and all the racing world poured out of London in a long succession of specials.
Captain Mayne and a brother officer, had secured the last two seats in a smoking carriage; the train was just about to start, when the door was wrenched open, and a tall young man, leapt in, and hauled a girl after him. A stout individual by the window, rose, and offered the lady his place, and he and her companion, stood,—blocking up the compartment. "By Jove, that was a near squeak," exclaimed the young man, breathless, but triumphant. Mayne recognized him as an acquaintance—the Honourable Tony Lamerton.
"Yes!" panted his companion, "what a race! I wonder what has become of the others?"
"Left behind, I'll bet. I'll swear her ladyship could never leg it down the platform, as you did!"
"Then pray, what am I to do for a chaperon?" and the girl laughed.
There was something in the voice and laugh, that sounded oddly familiar to Mayne, and suddenly leaning forward, he looked round the substantial figure, which was planted directly in front of him. The first glance, gave an impression of a remarkably pretty girl; then with a shock, it dawned upon him, that the pretty girl was Nancy! A Nancy altered almost beyond recognition: beauty the crown of her youth!
It seemed to Mayne that nothing remained of the original flapper, but her merry blue eyes, and sweet, high-pitched voice. Her face was rounded, her complexion—if real,—was dazzling. She was dressed with surpassing elegance, in a gauzy white gown, touched with green; a large hat wreathed with green feathers, half concealed masses of reddish brown hair, a string of splendid pearls encircled her throat, and in her little white gloved hand, she held a gold bag, and a card of the races. Undoubtedly her aunt was a woman of wealth, and did not spare it upon her niece.
The niece was so engaged in laughing and chattering with Tony Lamerton, that Mayne had ample time to collect his wits, and make a prolonged and critical inspection. Nancy carried herself, with an air of graceful confidence, and the manner of one who was aware of her own value; and yet the face wore the same eager, almost childish expression; and a look of innocent mockery danced in the eyes that were raised to Tony Lamerton. Here was a beauty! an assured, and fashionable young woman; she and Tony appeared to be on the best of terms, and he noticed that the Guardsman's attention, was entirely absorbed by his lovely charge.
As the train cleared the suburbs, a clear young voice, said, "How dreadfully hot it is!! may we not have the other window down?" and as the stout gentleman instantly moved to obey her request, Nancy became suddenly aware of Derek Mayne! He was seated in the far corner, and hitherto concealed behind a bulky screen.
His grave dark eyes, encountered her startled glance, with the most penetrating composure. Yes, it certainly was Captain Mayne,—but little changed, beyond the transformation effected by London clothes, a tall hat and a buttonhole. How different to the rough Shikari garb, in which she had been accustomed to see him! When their eyes met in recognition, Nancy was sensible of an overwhelming shock; she gave little outward sign, beyond a quick indrawing of her breath, but her heart had made such a violent plunge, that it seemed about to leap out of her mouth!
Here within three yards of her, was the last man in the world, she expected, or wished to see. A man, she had almost succeeded in turning out of her mind, and to whom for weeks she never cast a thought. The discovery left her nerveless; every morsel of colour deserted her face and lips. The last time they met, was when they had stood beside her father's grave: that was exactly two years and four months ago, and although she had instantly averted her eyes, he was still before them; vividly different to her somewhat faded mental picture—that of a worried restless young man, smoking endless cigarettes, as he paced the terrace at Fairplains.
During this little scene, Tony and the stout gentleman had taken it in turn to struggle with an obstinate window sash, and as the former turned about, his eyes fell upon an old acquaintance. In a voice of hearty welcome, he exclaimed,
"Hullo! Mayne, when did you get back?"
"Three weeks ago."
"And never came near us,—how is that?"
"I've been down at Maynesfort."
"Oh yes, to see the old man! Getting on all right, isn't he? and now you're doing a bit of town, eh?—What are you backing for the big race?"
As Mayne discussed the favourites and weights, he noticed that Nancy had recovered her composure and colour; her self-possession was marvellous; but then he was not aware, that she had been through a rigorous training in a stern school, and had learnt to successfully repress her feelings and emotions. For the moment, she appeared to be engrossed in the study of her race card; but unless Mayne was greatly mistaken, it was not altogether the oscillation of the express, which caused that pretty little hand, to shake quite perceptibly!