"Your lordship has no message to leave?"
"None," he answered, slightly disconcerted by her sudden reserve—"I cannot think of troubling you; I will write."
The bell sounded beneath her fingers; with perfect composure she curtsied. He durst not again attempt to take her hand, and he followed the serious maid to the outer gate; there he turned, but no eye was watching him, for Minnie had sunk on a seat, and was lost in memory, not of the most agreeable sort, of many strange things her visitor had said, which created an unpleasant sensation, and yet she could not tell where, or why. Lord Randolph rode on in perplexed imaginings, too; she had left an impression on his mind of pleasure and pain. The former, that irresistible feeling we experience when gazing upon either a lovely face, or lovely picture. The latter, was sorrow that so fair a shrine should be desecrated; for, though a man of the world, he was no libertine. He would rather at any time save a woman than lose her. If he found her lost, irretrievably so, he followed the current of worldly recklessness, and left moralizing to a more fitting occasion. Nothing could have persuaded him that this girl had voluntarily chosen a life of degradation—some arts, some entrapment, must have been used; and with these thoughts in his mind he turned into Loundes Square, intending to call upon Lady Dora. As he turned the corner of a street leading into it, her ladyship's brougham passed him rapidly; the blinds were half drawn down, as if she wished to avoid recognition, and she herself was leaning back, reading a letter attentively. Evidently he had not been noticed; for a moment he hesitated, and then, turning round, cantered after her. Her groom drove on, however, at a rapid pace, and Lord Randolph followed. "When she stops," he said to himself, "I'll join her; she may be induced, perhaps, to tell me more about this unhappy girl." But Lady Dora did not stop; and what at first had been done unpremeditatedly, now became a sort of link in the mystery of the last two days. Where could she be going alone at that rapid pace? Overtake her he could not, without calling to her groom; so he followed about twenty yards behind. At the corner of Charles Street, Soho, there was a stoppage of carriages; hers passed, but his horse, being rather spirited, made some demur before a coal-waggon; and, when he reached the square, it was just in time to see Lady Dora enter the bazaar hastily, with her veil down. To dismount, and leave his horse in a man's care, occupied a few minutes more; then he too entered, with no idea but one—of finding her ladyship occupied in shopping; and he deemed himself very fortunate in having so excellent an opportunity of conversing with her.
We have said Lady Dora was reading a letter when Lord Randolph first saw her; we will give its contents to our readers; she had received it by a messenger an hour before.
"Mr. Tremenhere presents his compliments to Lady Dora Vaughan; and though he would not presume to intrude thus for any merely personal business, yet as the husband of one allied so closely to Lady Dora, he ventures to solicit half an hour's conversation about Minnie, and the most unpleasant affair of yesterday. He dare not venture to intrude in Loundes Square, but at three precisely, he will be in the Soho Bazaar; and under these circumstances, hopes her ladyship will favour him, where one dear to her is so nearly concerned."
When Lord Randolph entered, it was to see Lady Dora and Miles Tremenhere composedly ascending the stairs together—not arm in arm, but in close converse. To turn, and bolt out of the bazaar, were the acts of an instant—he was too proud to become a spy on their actions: that they had met by appointment was evident. In a greater state of excitement than before, he mounted his horse, and, riding to the opposite side of the square, watched the door. Nearly half an hour elapsed, and then she came out hurriedly alone, stepped in, and off drove the brougham again at a quick pace. Two minutes afterwards Tremenhere came out; and, with eyes bent on the ground in deep thought, turned through Charles into Oxford Street. There is a natural envy in our hearts, which makes us feel less kindly towards one superior to ourselves in every way, than we should to one inferior; and were we judging between the two, assuredly we would rather find a guilty flaw in the one than the other. Though liking Tremenhere, Lord Randolph at once condemned him as every thing that was bad; and deemed himself of wonderful perspicacity in reading the intricate book before his mind's eye, thus:—By his power of fascination and good looks, he had entangled both these women. (Dalby had given him the clue.) Minnie he had lost, and by some inconceivable means, drawn the proud Lady Dora into an acquaintance with her; and now he was endeavouring, and from their private meeting it would seem successfully, to accomplish some further end—marriage, of course—with a woman too much in love, perhaps, to resist him. How else could he account for the events before him? With all this in his mind, is it to be wondered at that he felt the utmost disgust for Tremenhere? How to act he knew not. As to quietly allowing these events to take their present course, that was impossible—whom consult? Not Burton—he did not like the man; nor Dalby—no creature—but a friend. So he went off, and sought his young friend whom we have seen at Uplands—the unfledged youth, whom we will call Mr. Vellumy; and between them the two concocted as fatal a scheme as they could well have imagined; and done, like many such another, with the best intention; for Mr. Vellumy, like his friend, would rather do a good than a bad action—not that he was one to repent in sackcloth and ashes if he accomplished a criminal one by accident. He was "a good-intention" embodied, and stuck like a crow on the top of a weathercock. He and Lord Randolph being bosom friends, had run up together for two or three days from Uplands, leaving the remaining guests at Liberty Hall to take care of themselves—bachelor sans ceremonie. We will leave them awhile and follow Lady Dora, whose brougham spun, in a short space like thought, down to Chiswick, and stopped at Tremenhere's gate. He had, of course, not returned. Minnie could scarce credit the evidence of her eyes when she saw her cousin step out.
"It is so kind—so very kind, dear Dora!" she exclaimed, embracing her, "to return so soon."
"I have but a few minutes to stay," answered the other, "for mamma will wonder where I have been. But that I am not much controlled, she might question and scold; for I have been out some time, Minnie," she added hastily. "Do you know with whom I have been walking?"
"I cannot guess, Dora."
"There—read that—and see!" and she laid on her knee Miles's letter. Minnie coloured deeply, and like a vision passed before her the recollection of their meeting at Uplands, which he never mentioned. She was not jealous; but it was like the sudden pain of a thorn, which makes one wince and cry out—the flesh versus spirit; but when she read it, the spirit conquered at once.