CHAPTER XXI.
MRS. ARNOLD CONFIDES IN HUBERT TRACY.
Mrs. Arnold's beauty was commented upon by the fashionable throng with whom she daily mingled. She was sought after and courted by her many admirers; yet among them all there was none who thought her the most charming of her set.
The wily beauty had adopted a line of policy that was not the most discreet. She showed a spiteful spirit towards any of her sex who laid claim to personal charms, and often said many bitter things in a way that was neither dignified nor ladylike.
It was in such a spirit that Mrs. Arnold returned from a grand ball where she had seen Lord Melrose pay marked attention to the pretty Mrs. Maitland. With anger in her bosom she strode the elegant boudoir with measured beat and vowed vengeance upon her more fortunate rival.
"Why does any one envy me the charms I possess?
"Ah, me!" she cried, looking at herself in the mirror with her hands poised in the attitude of a Caryatid. "It is all I have. Happiness I shall never know; but one thing I do know—that I will laugh, dance and sing and have a merry life while I am young, and then when my charms have fled to a younger form I will bury myself in some remote convent and try to make atonement for my gay and worldly life."
It were strange, indeed, that Mrs. Arnold had this sense of wrong. She did, indeed, realize that her actions were not what any sensible woman would justify, yet she took refuge in the thought that when she grew old there was time enough for discretion.
Another trait of her disposition: It grieved her to see others happy. Like the arch fiend who turned aside with envy when he beheld the happy pair in the Garden of Eden and from that hour plotted their ruin, so Mrs. Arnold from, sheer envy was determined that the innocent and pure-minded Marguerite should be associated with the coarse side of humanity—in short, that she should become familiar with the fashionable miseries of a fashionable woman.
But Mrs. Arnold reckoned without her host. She met with more opposition than she expected, and the lesson she yet had to learn cost her a bitter experience!
Mrs. Verne's vascillating nature was a source of much annoyance to her first-born.
"It is so provoking," murmured Mrs. Arnold, as she noted the infatuation her mother possessed for a certain baronet of a distinguished Yorkshire family.
"I've set my mind upon Hubert, and mamma must yield. As for Madge, she is out of the matter entirely."
As if in answer to her thoughts the young man was soon at her side looking quite interesting.
"You naughty boy; I am inclined to be angry with you—not one dance have you sought."
"From the very fact that I cannot have one. Ah, Mrs. Arnold, you well know how to amuse yourself at the expense of us poor unfortunates," said Mr. Tracy, glancing at the tablet already filled for every dance.
"I have a mind to cancel this," said he, pointing to that of the
Yorkshire baronet.
"No, indeed, Mr. Tracy; that would be pleasure at too great a sacrifice. I have a motive for entertaining the baronet."
Mrs. Arnold smiled one of her peculiarly attractive smiles, significant of the part she was to enact.
She whispered a few well-directed, words into the young man's ear, and taking his arm led him to the conservatory.
"I can only stay a couple of minutes at the least, so I wish you to be all attention."
Hubert Tracy seated himself beside Mrs. Arnold and listened to her dear confiding tones.
"Mr. Tracy, I despise that Yorkshire bore, with his coarse English and stupid manners. And his effrontery in presuming to play the suitor to Madge. It is all your own fault. You follow at a distance and have not the courage to claim your rights—"
"Rights!"
"Yes; I say rights, Mr. Tracy. I say that you have a right to claim Madge, because we always looked upon you as her future husband. The girl knows not her own mind, but she will never go against mamma's wishes, and I know that she cares for you, though she will not own it."
"If I thought so I would be happy, for if any woman will ever reclaim me it will be Marguerite Verne."
"Such talk, Mr. Tracy; I'm sure you are no worse than the general run of men. Pray don't talk of reclaiming; that sounds as if you had committed something dreadful."
Just then there arose before Hubert Tracy's vision the sad picture of a brave young man, struggling so hard to prove his innocence when circumstances are all against him. He sees the reproachful gaze of the sorrowful eyes, and he stops his ears to keep back the sound of the reproachful tones that force themselves upon him.
But Mrs. Arnold knows it not.
"We will dispense with the word if it displeases you, Mrs. Arnold. I will do anything that you wish, even if it be impossible for you to be in a dearer relation than at present."
"Hubert Tracy, if you succeed not, remember it is through no fault of mine. Just listen to me."
The young man listened, and in a few short words Mrs. Arnold made known her plans.
"We will succeed or I am not what I think myself," said Mrs. Arnold, readjusting the spray of heliotrope that was displaced in her corsage.
"Adieu for the present, dear Hubert," said the latter, on seeing
Lord Melrose advancing to claim her for the next waltz.
"Ah, my fear truant, you have given me a world of anxiety. Why do you persist in such delightful methods of torture."
"Torture! Lord Melrose!" exclaimed the lady with an air of arch coquetry.
Meanwhile Marguerite Verne sat in the quiet of her own apartment. She had retired from the heated ball-room at an earlier hour than many of the guests. A wearied look rested upon the girl's face. She was heartily worn out with the excessive fatigue attending fashionable life.
"Well, it seems that I am fated for a martyr, and I must calmly submit," said she, loosening the luxuriant mass of silken hair that had been arranged to suit the most fastidious taste of Mrs. Arnold.
Donning a loose wrapper, and exchanging the pretty white satin slippers for a pair of soft morocco ones. Marguerite threw herself into a large and inviting arm-chair.
"I will not allow myself to think. My thoughts are rebellious," and immediately a pretty little pocket Testament found its way into the girl's hand.
A few words escaped Marguerite's lips as if an invocation was asked; then she read aloud the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians: "Though I speak with the tongue of men and angels," etc.
The sweet voice of the reader was not heard in vain. Marguerite closed the book and remained motionless for some moments, when she fancied that there was a noise as if some one were listening at the door.
"I am so foolish. My nerves are unstrung from keeping late hours," murmured she. Then hastily glancing towards the spot whence the sound proceeded Marguerite knelt down and prayed that an All-Merciful Providence would keep her from the temptations of fashionable society.
"God help me, I'm lost. I dare not approach that angel in disguise, else I would ask her what is meant by that Charity."
These words were muttered by Montague Arnold, who having been unable to attend his wife to the ball, had now returned in a state of intoxication.
Had Marguerite listened she might have heard the words repeated; but she had dropped off into a quiet slumber and lay unconscious of the semi-brutal state of her dissipated brother-in-law.
The next morning brought invitations for private theatricals at the house of a distinguished foreign embassy.
The spacious mansion in St. James' Court received the grandees of every land. It was a high honor to enter "Rosemere Place."
Mrs. Verne was almost beside herself (to use a vulgarism). She walked on air, as it were, and could talk of nothing else but the elegance and grandeur in prospect.
"I have accepted Mr. Tracy as escort, mamma," said Mrs. Arnold, entering her drawing room with an elegant dress that had just arrived from the modiste.
"Now, Evelyn, have you not been a little premature? Would it not have been better to wait, for I think that Sir Arthur would in all probability have called to offer his service to Madge."
"Sir Arthur is a horrid bore, mamma—he is intolerable. I cannot see why you encourage him. I'm sure his estates are heavily mortgaged. I don't believe he can afford to pay for the kid gloves that he nourishes on his big brawny hands!"
"Some malicious person has been endeavoring to misrepresent Sir Arthur. I wish you would not listen to such stuff. I am certain that he is immensely wealthy, and then think of his family!"
Mrs. Verne did not wish to quarrel with her daughter; yet it seemed that a quarrel was brewing.
"You think it so important to secure a title for Madge that you would have her struggle amid shabby genteel surroundings in order to introduce her as Lady Forrester!"
"Shame, Evelyn! you forget that I am your mother," said Mrs. Verne, raising her hand with haughty gesture and looking the embodiment of injured innocence.
"Forgive me, mamma, I did not mean to anger you," said Mrs. Arnold with an air of deep contrition.
This act was the latter's only safeguard. She knew well the key to her mother's character, and was determined to take advantage of every point.
"You know, mamma that we must look to dear papa's interest as well. His business is in a precarious state. I heard Montague say that it is tottering, and Hubert's great riches will be at Madge's disposal."
Mrs. Verne could not but admire the thoughtful argument of her daughter.
"True enough, child; but if Mr. Tracy hears of the circumstance he will soon throw us over, my dear," said Mrs. Verne with something like agitation in her voice.
"Nothing of the kind, dear mamma," said Mrs. Arnold, placing her hand caressingly upon her mother's shoulder "it is thus that I have proved the true worth of Mr. Tracy's character—he not only spoke of the matter but intimated in a delicate manner that now he could sue more boldly for Madge's hand—be in a position to place dear papa on a surer footing than, he ever was."
"It is indeed a great blessing to know that we have such true friends," said Mrs. Verne in a tone that showed her heart was not with the subject.
Poor Mrs. Verne!
She had, since her arrival in England, changed her views as regards a son-in-law.
Her heart was set on the baronet and she wished that the merciless Evelyn would have expatiated on his riches instead of those of former friends.
"I can never have what I want," sighed the anxious mother as she sought her boudoir to write a letter in answer to the one which lay upon the Indian cabinet opposite.
"What on earth brings about these insolvencies is more than I can account for. One thing certain I can wash my hands of it. It is not our extravagance that will cause it."
Mrs. Verne glanced at the surroundings hoping to see much simplicity, but the elegance of the magnificent suite of apartments were sadly at variance with her speech.
"And to think of Evelyn's opposition. She is settled and should mind her own affairs, and judging from what I can see, she will have enough to do to keep her head up. Montague Arnold is no better than he ought to be. Well, well! I suppose his money will hold out and that is all that is required—oh dear, if Sir Arthur had Hubert Tracy's money."
The letter being finished a servant was despatched with the budget of mail, and Mrs. Verne took up a pretty design, of Kensington work that she was fashioning for a table scarf.
"I don't feel like anything to-day," murmured the woman, throwing the work aside and yawning several times.
"Madge, I'm glad you have come. Where is that novel I saw you reading yesterday?"
"Rossmoyne, do you mean, mamma?"
"Yes, I glanced over it and think it is fascinating, and I stand sorely in need of just such a work to-day."
Marguerite knew from her mother's fretted looks that she had been somewhat annoyed, and judging that Evelyn had something to do in the matter, said nothing, but quietly withdrew to her own apartments.
Although Mrs. Verne and her daughter spent much of their time in Mrs. Arnold's elegant suite of rooms, they occupied an exclusive suite of apartments in an aristocratic square not far distant.
Marguerite had been amusing herself in reading over some extracts from her pocket diary when a pretty young page entered with an exquisite bouquet of rare exotics.
"How lovely," was the simple remark, as the girl took them in her hand and held them out to view, while the fragrance exhaled was almost overwhelming.
A tiny note, peeped out between a cluster of heliotrope and blush roses.
"It is provoking," thought the maiden, as she drew forth the perfumed billet-doux and read what might be considered a declaration of love.
Sir Arthur Forrester was not a dissipated man, nor was he a disagreeable man, yet he was not what a girl of Marguerite Verne's nature would desire for a husband.
"This is just what mamma has been angling for," thought Marguerite as she tore up the note into tiny shreds and showed more spirit than her sister Eve would have given her credit for.
"I thought as much dear Madge," said Mrs. Verne, who on entering beheld the bouquet, "and to think that Evelyn should accept Mr. Tracy as escort when we could have Sir Arthur. It is, indeed, provoking beyond endurance. Madge you are to be congratulated upon such good luck; scores of girls would envy you the proud position as Lady Forrester, and for once I hope my child will consider well before she lets such an offer meet with refusal."
Marguerite sat as if in a state of utter abstraction. She was too much confused to reply. "Honor thy father and mother" had been an important part of her religion. Must she now say words of dire rebellion—the thought cost a bitter pang. The tears rose to her eyes and her lips were pallid and tremulous.
"Mamma I cannot think you would ask me to encourage Sir Arthur feeling as I do at present. I respect him but nothing more, please do not mention the subject again. I do not wish to leave you and I know papa wishes me to remain always with him and make his home what it ought to be."
The last remark was too much for Mrs. Verne's temper.
"Marguerite, lately I had begun to think that you had more sound sense than your fortunate sister but I am doomed to bitter disappointment. One need expect nothing but ingratitude from children—especially mine. Hear me, Madge: if you refuse Sir Arthur you will live to repent of it—remember my words!" and gathering up her trailing robes Mrs. Verne turned angrily away leaving Marguerite to her own sad thoughts.