Of course Madeline never moved her eyes from him; they followed him, as he found a seat at the end of a pew, luckily well within her view. He could not see her, but she could study him, especially when she knelt down, with her two hands shielding either side of her face, from watchful Lady Rachel.
He looked well, a little grave perhaps, a little worn; no doubt he was working hard. He did not stare about as did others, nor cast a single glance at the radiant figure in the benchers’ seats. At times he seemed preoccupied and buried in thought, but he gave his undivided attention to the sermon, to which he listened with folded arms and a critical air, as if he were weighing every word of it in his mind, and as though it were a summing up of evidence being laid before a jury of which he was a member. There was no abstracted air about him, his mind was on the alert, he had cast the past or future aside, and was absorbed in the present.
The sermon concluded, crowds flocked through the ancient doorway, and scattered outside. Lady Rachel still lingered, and looked about eagerly, ere taking her departure westward, and then she exclaimed, in a disgusted voice—
“I wanted to have asked Mr. Wynne to lunch, if I had seen him to speak to,” shaking out her parasol and opening it with a jerk of annoyance. “But there he goes, marched off by that girl in the green and blue frock—the very sight of it turns me cold! And do you see the old papa rushing after them, and accosting him with rapture? The way in which girls throw themselves at men’s heads nowadays, is abominable. However, it’s a mistake for these bold creatures to imagine that men will marry them. They either take a wife from the stage or music-hall, or some quiet little country mouse. As for Mr. Wynne, he is a widower, and I believe his wife was a perfect horror—so he will not be caught again! Ah, here’s a hansom! Now, my dear girl, get in, get in. These dry sermons make me frightfully thirsty. I am dying for my lunch.”
CHAPTER XXXV.
INFORMATION THANKFULLY RECEIVED.
The house in Belgrave Square remained closed for many months, whilst its master roamed from one fashionable continental resort to another, in search of what he called health—but which was merely another name for variety and amusement. Madeline was at first averse to this protracted absence; but she had excellent news of little Harry. Laurence was still in what she called “the sulks;” and every day weakened her hold more and more on her former ties, and bound her to her present condition. In the early twenties a girl is very adaptable, and it had come to this, that at times Miss West forgot that she had ever had other than this sunny butterfly existence; and, if her conscience occasionally made a claim on behalf of her child, she promptly told herself that he was well cared for, and that Lady Frederick Talboys sent all her children out to nurse until they were three years of age, and Harry was barely two. As for Laurence, he would come to his senses in time; and the idea of telling her father of her marriage she now put away in the lumber-room of her brain, and rarely looked at.
About Christmas Mr. and Miss West and suite arrived at Biarritz, put up at a large and fashionable hotel, and occupied the best rooms on the first floor. They found Biarritz charming, Madeline liked the sea, the rolling Atlantic breakers, the Basque tongue, and the bronzed semi-Spanish peasantry. Mr. West was charmed with the society, the golf links, and the Casino.
One day Mrs. Leach casually arrived at their hotel, with a number of basket-trunks and a maid, looking very handsome, and was enchanted to meet dearest Madeline and dear Mr. West. She had heard that they were at Pau, and was so surprised to discover them. Madeline was such a naughty girl about writing, such a hopelessly lazy correspondent.
To tell the truth, Miss West was secretly anxious to shake off the tenacious widow, and was purposely silent.
In less than a week the lady had resumed her sway over Madeline’s papa. Her soft manners, pathetic eyes, stately presence, and low, caressing voice, proved his undoing. He had almost forgotten the Honourable Mrs. Leach—and here, in three days, he was as much, or more, her slave as ever. So much for men’s vanity and women’s wiles. She flattered—he confided. It came to pass, as a matter of course, that the lady occupied a seat beside Madeline in the landau every afternoon. Her maid tripped down with her wraps and parasol precisely as if it were her mistress’s own carriage. Her mistress also occupied Miss West’s private sitting-room, received her friends in it, wrote, and worked, and read all the Wests’ papers and books, shared their table at meals in the salle à manger, and (but this was never known to Madeline) her little weekly account for room and board was always furnished to and settled by Madeline’s papa; a few whispered words on the balcony one night had arranged this trifling matter. The handsome widow was completely identified with the West family, and was included in all their invitations as well as their accounts. Every evening, after dinner, she and Mr. West sat aloof in a little alcove whilst he smoked cigarettes, or on the verandah whilst he smoked and sipped his coffee, and she amused him and cut up many of the gay and unsuspicious company for his delectation. She was also confidential respecting her own affairs. If she had told him their true position his few scanty locks would have stood on end. She was almost at the end of her wits, and he was her sole hope, her last resource. For years she had lived beyond her income—a small one. Her dressmaker’s bills would have staggered even him. She owed money in all directions; her creditors were pressing, her society friends were not pressing with invitations; her husband’s connections ignored her. But if she could establish herself in Mr. West’s heart and home, as his second wife, she would have before her a new and delightful career. And she had begun well! Certainly Madeline was irresponsive and cool, but always pleasant and polite. Why was Madeline changed? However, once she was Madeline’s mamma, Madeline would find a difference! Every night, as Mrs. Leach stepped into the lift, to be borne aloft to her own bower, she said to herself, “He will certainly propose to-morrow,” but alas! one evening these cheering presentiments were crushed.