Chapter Sixty Nine.
The Cabriolet.
There was but one thing for which Richard Swinton really now cared. He liked “euchre”; he would have relished revenge; but there was a thought to which both these enjoyments had become subservient.
It was a passion rather than thought—its object, Julia Girdwood.
He had grown to love her.
Such a man might be supposed incapable of having this passion. And in its purity, he was so.
But there is love in more ways than one; and in one of them the ex-guardsman’s heart had got engaged; in other words, he had got “struck.”
It was love in its lowest sense; but not on this account weakest.
In Swinton it had become strong enough to render him regardless of almost everything else. Even the villainous scheme, originally contrived for robbing Julia Girdwood of her fortune, had become secondary to a desire to possess himself of her person.
The former was not lost sight of; only that the latter had risen into the ascendant.
On this account, more than any other, did he curse his irksome indoor life.
It occurred just after that pleasant dinner-party, when he supposed himself to have made an impression. It hindered him from following it up. Six days had elapsed, and he had seen nothing of the Girdwoods. He had been unable to call upon them. How could he with such a face, even by explaining the damage done to it? Either way the thing was not to be thought of; and he had to leave them uncalled upon.
He fretted meanwhile, longing to look once more upon Julia Girdwood. Cards could not cure him of it, and what he saw, or suspected, in the conduct of his own wife, made him lean all the more to his longings; since the more did he stand in need of distraction.
He had other thoughts to distress him—fancies they might be. So long without seeing her, what in the meantime was transpiring? A beautiful woman, with wealth, she could not be going on unnoticed? Sure to be beset with admirers; some of them to become worshippers? There was Lucas, one of the last already; but Swinton did not deign to think of him. Others might make appearance; and among them one who would answer the conditions required by her mother before permitting her to marry.
How could he tell but that a real lord had already trumped up on the tapis; and was at that moment kneeling upon one of the Clarendon carpets, by the selvedge of her silken skirt?
Or if not a lord, might not Maynard be there, unknown to the mother?
Swinton had this last fancy; and it was the least pleasant of all.
It was in his mind every day, as he sat by the window, waiting till the skin of his face should be restored to its natural colour.
And when this at length came to pass, he lost not another day, but proceeded to call upon the Girdwoods.
He went in tip-top style. His spy pay, drawn from such a generous patron, afforded it. No swell upon the streets was dressed in better fashion; for he wore a Poole coat, Melnotte boots, and a hat of Christy’s make.
He did not walk, as on his first call at the Clarendon.
He was transported thither in a cabriolet, with a high-stepping horse between the shafts, and a top-boot tiger on the stand-board.
Mrs Girdwood’s apartments in the aristocratic hotel commanded a window fronting upon Bond Street. He knew that his turn-out would be seen.
All these steps had been taken, with a view to carrying on the cheat.
And the cabriolet had been chosen for a special purpose. It was the style of vehicle in vogue among distinguished swells—notably young noblemen. They were not often seen upon the streets; and when seen attracting attention, as they should—being the handsomest thing upon heels.
During one of her moments of enthusiasm, he had heard Julia Girdwood say she should like to have a ride in one of them. He was just the man to drive her: for while a guardsman he had often handled the ribbons of a drag; and was esteemed one of the best “whips” of his time.
If he could only coax Julia Girdwood into his cabriolet—of course also her mother to permit it—what an advantage it would give, him! An exhibition of his skill; the opportunity of a tête-à-tête unrestrained—a chance he had not yet had; these, with other contingencies, might tend to advance him in her estimation.
It was a delicate proposal to make. It would have been a daring one, but for the speech he had heard suggesting it. On the strength of this he could introduce the subject, without fear of offending.
She might go. He knew she was a young lady fond of peculiar experiences, and not afraid of social criticism. She had never submitted to its tyranny. In this she was truly American.
He believed she would go, or consent to it; and it would be simply a question of permission from the mother.
And after their last friendly interview, he believed that Mrs Girdwood would give it.
Backed by such belief there could be no harm in trying; and for this the cabriolet had been chartered.
Buoyant of hope, Mr Swinton sprang out of the vehicle, tossed the reins to his tiger, and stepped over the threshold of the Clarendon.