CHAPTER XVI.
MRS. ARNOLD AS A DIPLOMATIST.
Some evenings later Phillip Lawson found his way to "Sunnybank." He was received by the stately mistress with more than usual courtesy.
"You have surely forgotten us of late, Mr. Lawson," exclaimed she, in a playful and remonstrating style. "Are we to attribute your delinquency to business or total neglect?"
"I must plead business to a certain extent, Mrs. Verne," said the young man with a quaint dignified reserve.
"I understand that you intend spending your vacation at 'Gladswood' Mr. Lawson. Really I envy you the prospect, for it is a truly delightful spot."
Mrs. Verne had seated herself upon the sofa. She wore a rich black moire robe which, with the addition of a magnificent display of garnets with setting of gold, made an elaborate costume.
"I am sorry that circumstance has cancelled my engagement in that direction. In fact I regret it deeply, I was anticipating too much and was justly punished."
"It must be weighty business that would thus interfere, Mr. Lawson.
I am inclined to believe that you are already becoming too worldly."
Mrs. Verne had raised her jewelled fingers and rested them upon her
forehead.
Among the many weaknesses of Mrs. Verne was her vain and uncontrollable desire to show off her beautifully shaped hands—fit models for the sculptor's chisel—rivals for those of, the Venus of Cnidos by Praxiteles.
The young barrister had kept his negotiations quiet and had no intention to gratify the woman's curiosity.
Marguerite now entered accompanied by Louise Rutherford. The latter had returned from Montreal and was making her first call at "Sunnybank."
"Mr. Lawson has just been receiving a slight reproof, young ladies, and I think you have arrived in time to assist me," said Mrs. Verne glancing at Louise with a bewitching smile.
"I for one always think that when Mr. Lawson neglects any part of his duties it is wholly from inability to perform them," said Louise.
"Duties! That is the great trouble. It is to duty that we attribute the true source of our complaint. To the stern goddess is sacrificed every would-be pleasure."
"Forgive me Mrs. Verne, I believe that Mr. Lawson is right, and forgetful of every presence Louise exclaimed:—
"Stern daughter of the voice of God,
O duty, if that name thou love,
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove—
Thou, who art victory and law,
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free,
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity."
"Noble girl," thought the young man, "those words give me greater strength."
Little did Marguerite Verne dream of the thoughts passing through Mr. Lawson's mind as he bowed acknowledgment to her companion's quotation.
The rising blush betrayed Louise Rutherford's embarrassment.
"Really Mr. Lawson, I beg to be excused. I have a habit of committing to memory any subject that I admire and it sometimes makes me seem very ridiculous when they unconsciously repeat themselves."
"Not in this particular, I assure you, Miss Rutherford," said the young man very earnestly, and as Marguerite fancied, with a hidden meaning in their depths.
"I presume you are aware that Mr. Tracy has sailed for Europe?" said Mrs. Verne, casting a meaning glance at Marguerite and watching the effect upon Mr. Lawson.
"Yes; I was somewhat surprised when he called at the office to make his adieu. It must surely have been an impromptu arrangement. Within a fortnight he had been planning a different course," said Mr. Lawson, quite cheerily.
"Sooner or later he will join Mr. and Mrs. Arnold," said Mrs. Verne, referring to the newly wedded pair with proud delight.
"That will be very pleasant, indeed," said Mr. Lawson.
"Would you not like to be one of the party, Madge?" cried Louise, with all the honest enthusiasm of her nature."
"I cannot say that I would," replied Marguerite.
"Oh! you are such an old-fashioned home body, Madge; I might know your answer without asking the question. Suppose I might ask you, Mr. Lawson," ventured Louise, persistent in getting a favorable reply.
The young barrister smiled, and that smile was a conquest in itself. It had powers to enable a mild and spirituelle maiden to form a resolve that was as unyielding as the marble hearthstone beside her, while on the other hand it exercised a spirit in the calculating matron that no human influence could brook.
Mr. Lawson had little thought of the agencies at work in those two beings of widely different natures, and of which time alone will interpret the result.
Marguerite Verne was sweetly irresistible. Her dress was simple—a sweet simplicity in every look, motion and gesture. The pure white draperies gave to the spirituelle face the radiance of a Madonna, and placed the maiden in striking contrast to the sparkling bright and witty Louise—a striking and high-spirited brunette, with a mind of no common order.
As Mr. Lawson sat in the Verne drawing-room with the being that he idolized so near him, a deadly struggle was going on within. What a conflict—what doubt, what irresolution!
It was worse than ever to give up all earthly hope, all earthly happiness.
What prevented the young man—aye, every inch a man—from falling on his knees and declaring his love, and begging a slight return for such love?
Go ask the weird sisters upon whose spindles hang the threads of every human life! Go ask the winds that echo the wails of human hearts and often carry them along with a cruel insatiable spirit of revenge, until all is hushed in the stillness of death.
Mrs. Verne dwelt with pride upon the adulation which her firstborn was receiving in them other country. Mrs. Arnold's beauty had been commented upon in the journals; her face was sought after in all the fashionable resorts, and her queenly torso was the subject of every artist.
"They are going to remain for some weeks in Paris, and I am really afraid that Evelyn will be intoxicated with gaiety. She is such a lover of society, the dear girl, and Montague is just as fond of gaiety as Eve. What a happy couple they must be—they write such sweetly interesting letters. Really, Mr. Lawson, it would do one good to read them."
The subjects of those remarks were in the meantime enjoying life at a hotel in Picadilly. They had seen the sights of the great French metropolis, but were they really enjoying life as it should be. Was there real true happiness existing between these two hearts—"this happy couple?"
This is a question to be answered in due time, and which will be "sweetly interesting" to know.
When Mr. Lawson rose to take leave he was uncomfortably conscious of the patronage bestowed upon him. Mrs. Verne was radiant in smiles and gave her hand to the departing guest with the grace of a dowager.
"You must not stay away so long again, Mr. Lawson. Remember if you do, I shall be very angry, and, perhaps, not so easily conciliated."
It did, indeed, seem a coincidence that at the very moment that Louise Rutherford had asked Marguerite if she did not wish to be one of the tourists that a thought flashed through Mrs. Vernes' head with the rapidity of lightning, and in less time than is conceivable was formed into high and daring resolve.
And more surprising still is the fact that some hours previous the same bent of thought was being cherished by the wily Mrs. Montague Arnold.
The latter was determined that through her influence upon her worldly mother that Marguerite should wed Hubert Tracy, heir to Sir Peter Tracy's grand estates.
"Mamma will accomplish her end if any person on earth can do it, and
Marguerite is too good, too conscientious, to disobey."
Was this peerless beauty so fond of Hubert Tracy? Did she entertain, such high opinion of this fashionable young man? No! He had riches— that was all in all. That was one reason; and another, it would be the means of outwitting Philip Lawson, whom she hated with a bitter hate.
When Evelyn Verne gave her hand to Montague Arnold she never gave her heart.
Her marriage was in the eyes of the world a good match, and that was all that was necessary. Mr. Arnold was a man of the world, addicted to many habits that were not what the better side of life would approve of; but his wife had her failings, likewise, and she availed herself of the license thus given her—the liberties of fashionable folly. Mrs. Arnold being a beauty, was courted by the gay and fashionable world. She flirted without restraint, and took delight in making conquests among the degenerated nobility, and lost no opportunity of displaying her charms. Excitement was as necessary to Mrs. Arnold's nature as the air is necessary for the support of animal life. She was buoyed up by excitement and kept alive by excitement. Life was one giddy round of delights—the dejeuner fete, opera, and ball-room.
It matters not to know whether this woman of fashion ever gave one thought to the real object of life—whether she even dreamed that God gave man an intellect, with mind-power capable of being brought nearer that state from which he fell ere he lost the impress of the Divine; but it matters us to know that she strove to bring every one whom she met on a level with her own superficial mind.
"Madge must marry Hubert Tracy; once with us she is perfectly safe. Papa will be beyond reach, and his counsel or suggestions will not come in time."
Such was the comment of Mrs. Arnold as she stood opposite the elegant plate mirror which reflected a life-size portrait of herself.
"I am beautiful, and it is but in justice to myself that 'I improve the shining hour.' Oh, Montague Arnold, you were a lucky man to wed such a prize," murmured the woman, clasping her hands over her head in an attitude often seen upon the stage when the actress is exhibiting much feeling: then looking into the depths of the brilliant dark eyes, exclaimed, "What jewels can compare with thee, my priceless orbs?"
The elegant evening costume was a marvel in itself—creamy lace, shining satin, and flowing draperies, while bright jewels gleamed from the dusky hair and burned upon the heaving bosom.
"Evelyn, my queen, you are ready for the conquest!" cried the beauty, taking one long gaze, and then picking up the jewelled fan that fell at her feet went forth at the summons of the waiting-maid to receive a visitor in the drawing-room.
"The Hon. Cecil Featherstone! The man is my slave! Why is he here at such an early hour?—it is too bad! What shall I do with poor Huntington, my latest flame? Oh, dear! I wish the men were not so incorrigible! Featherstone—it ought to be Featherhead, for I believe his head is sadly light of brains. Featherhead—Hon. Cecil Featherhead!—ha! ha! ha!"
Had not the grand drawing-room been at the other end of the spacious hall the latter part of Mrs. Arnold's speech would have been heard by the subject of these remarks. Be it said, to that gentleman's ease of mind, that he was in the meantime admiring some choice paintings and counting the minutes hours until the fair hostess should arrive.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Featherstone! I was really wondering what I should do with myself until the opera—and how kind of you, Mr. Featherstone, to think of me! I believe that I am one of the most favored of mortals!"
Having made this speech, Mrs. Arnold cast upon Mr. Featherstone one of her duly-organized smiles—a smile that was magnetic, and that set the heart of the luckless visitor into a flutter beyond recall.
"My dear Mrs. Arnold, you certainly do me the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a human being"—Mr. Featherstone felt considerable difficulty in getting off this speech, but another glance at the fair creature and he continued—"for you are certainly born to be worshipped at a distance—a something too lovely to be approached by anything this side of paradise!"
"Oh, Mr. Featherstone, spare me this flattery—I cannot really receive such, and from you-one endowed with such intellectual power, such ability and such genius! The thought is really dreadful!"
Mrs. Arnold's assumed earnestness of manner was indeed flattery of the seventh degree to the superficial Mr. Featherstone. He was transported to empyrean air. Mrs. Arnold had insight and her opinion was something to cherish. Poor Mr. Featherstone!
The conversation that followed was extravagant to the highest degree, and he went away that evening in a state of great disquietude, wondering why it was that it had not been his good fortune to meet his ideal of female loveliness ere she was wedded to another.
"That miserable bore! I am late in writing mamma's letter. I really
wonder what she would say if she saw me flirting with the Hon. Cecil
Featherstone! but I must be cautious, for I want the simple-minded
Madge to share my blissful fate."
A servant in livery entered in answer to the summons of the bell-rope.
"Has James gone for the evening mail, Watkins?" demanded Mrs. Arnold in an imperious tone.
"He has not gone yet, my lady."
"Go and see how long before he does."
"Yes, my lady," said the servant, bowing very low, and with an air that seemed to say he was in the presence of royalty. The said Watkins had seen service in distinguished families, and the habit, though a ridiculous one, had become second nature, he invariably addressing every woman of fashion as "my lady."
Mrs. Arnold was pleased to learn that she could put her plan into execution without a moment's delay, and being a rapid writer she wrote and sealed a formidable-looking document, which she styled "mamma's letter," and within a few minutes saw it safe in the mail-bag awaiting the arrival of James, the trustworthy footman.
What the letter contained and its effects upon the different members of her family will follow in another chapter.