Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Two.
Linnell Changes his Mind.
“Getting cured then, Dick?” said Colonel Mellersh grimly, as Richard limped into the room after finding a note in his own place, which his father said had been brought by a boy.
“Cured? Look, I am quite lame. One of Miss Dean’s ponies kicked me; but it will only be a bruise.”
“Humph! How convenient!” said the Colonel, with a grim look.
“Don’t laugh at me,” said Linnell quickly. “I could not help myself.”
“That’s what we all say when we fall victims to fascination.”
“Mellersh, pray stop this banter. You refused Mrs Pontardent’s invitation for yourself and me?”
“I did.”
“I want you to ask her pardon, and get the invitations for us. I must get there to-night.”
“Because Miss Cora Dean, your beautiful charioteer, will be there?”
“No!” fiercely.
“Why, then, most impressionable youth?”
“Because—must I tell you?”
“Yes, if you wish me to act,” said the Colonel sternly.
“Because Claire Denville will be there.”
“Good heavens! that old fop is never going to take that girl?”
“He is.”
“Pooh! What am I saying?” cried the Colonel, half laughingly. “Well, what of it? Why do you want to go?”
“Look.”
Linnell held out the note he had found in his room, and Mellersh read it.
“Rockley—post-horses—for the London Road. Who sent this, Dick?”
“I don’t know.”
“It may be a trick.”
“Who would trick me like that? And what for?”
Mellersh remained silent for a few minutes, and then he said gravely:
“Well, Dick, suppose it is so. Surely you are going to awake from this madness now?”
“What do you mean?”
“What does this letter mean? It is plain enough. Constant sapping has carried the fortress, and the lady has consented.”
“Don’t talk like that, Mellersh. For heaven’s sake, don’t take that cynical tone.”
“Why not, madman? I have heard tell that women often say no when they mean yes. A lady we know must have meant yes. Hang it, boy, what more proof do you want that the woman is unworthy of your love?”
“None,” said Linnell bitterly; “none, but I love her all the same.”
“Nonsense! Be a man.”
“I am a man,” cried Linnell furiously, “too much of a man to see the woman I love suffer for her weakness when I can stretch out a hand to save her. That hand I can stretch out, and I will. Now, will you help me?”
“To the death, Dick. I abhor your folly, but there is so much true chivalry in it that I’ll help you with all my heart.”
“I knew you would,” cried Linnell excitedly. “Write at once and get the invitations.”
“Pish!” said Mellersh contemptuously. “Don’t trouble yourself, my boy. I have only to walk in at Madame Pontardent’s door with any friend I like to take. Ah, I wonder how many hundred pounds I have won in that house!”
Linnell was walking up and down the room when the strains of music heard across the hall ceased; and directly after old Mr Linnell’s pleasant, grave head was thrust into the room.
“Another letter for you, Dick, my son. Just come.”
He held it out, nodded to both, and went back to his room, when the violin was heard again.
“Strange hand,” said Richard, opening it quickly.
“Good God!”
“What’s the matter?” cried Richard, as he heard his friend’s exclamation—saw his start.
“What has Miss Clode to say to you?” said Mellersh huskily.
“Miss Clode? This is not from Miss Clode. Look—no, I cannot show you,” cried Richard excitedly. “Yes, I will; I keep nothing from you.”
Mellersh glanced at the note which had been delivered by hand. It was anonymous, and only contained these words:
“If Mr Richard Linnell wishes for further proof of the unworthiness of a certain lady, let him visit Mrs Pontardent’s to-night.”
“That cannot be from Miss Clode,” said Richard, as he saw his friend’s face resume its cynical calm.
“Possibly not. Of course not. Why should she write to you? Well, Dick, we’ll go and see the affair to-night; but what do you mean to do?”
“Act according to circumstances. At any rate stop this wretched business.”
“Good,” said Mellersh. “I’m with you, Dick; but if it comes to a meeting this time, let me take the initiative. I should like to stand in front of Rockley some morning. The man irritates me, and I am in his debt.”
“What, money?”
“No; I want to pay back a few insults thrown at me over the tables now and then.”