"Very slightly, I imagine so," replied the other satirically. "It is not the first time I have seen her, though," he added sotto voce.
Arthur was all attention in a moment: "Where have you met her, Captain Mordaunt?"
"Oh, that is my secret. We can all be close when it suits our turn. A word in your ear, young man. Ultra modesty, faith in the immaculate—you take me?—never goes down with women. I know something of them, and they're all alike. There! don't look indignant. Follow up your advantage, if you've gained any, and before long you may find out that I am right, and thank me for the hint."
Margaret had found a place at last on the crimson seat. As the last words were spoken she was leaning forward, her head resting on one of her hands, from which she had taken the glove. There was marvellous grace in her position. The long white fingers, the flushed cheek, the dark weary eyes and the slender bowed form made such a picture as few could have looked upon unmoved.
Captain Mordaunt, whose eyes had never stirred from her face, smiled softly (a smile that made Arthur writhe mentally), and clapped his thumb-nails together as though he had been applauding some favorite actress.
"Bravo!" he said in a low tone to his companion: "there's a pose for you—knows she's being admired. Bless you, lad! it's women's way; and so innocent all the time, the pretty pets! By ——, I'd like awfully to follow this up on my own account. But," and he gave a deep sigh, "I've too many on hand already—won't do. Like the Yankee, I shall be 'crowded out.' I leave the field clear for a younger knight. By-bye, old fellow—best wishes. I must be off—was due at Lady ——'s an hour ago."
In another moment he was gone, but before he left the hall he turned and looked at his young companion, and as he looked his lips curled. Arthur did not see him, nor did he hear his muttered comment: "Poor fool! he'll have his wings singed for him, but serve him right for his impertinence. Knock me down, indeed!"
In Arthur's mind very different thoughts and feelings were struggling for ascendency. Indignation, disgust, loathing of this world-sated man and his wisdom—these the better side of his nature prompted, rejecting with spiritual insight the unholy poison; but there was a lurking demon within him, the ego Arthur had been striving to trample upon, and to it all this was sympathetic.
Perhaps, after all, Captain Mordaunt was right. Chivalry and its attendant virtues belonged rather to the region of the imagination than to the matter-of-fact life of humanity. It was the way of the world for men to amuse themselves while they could. It had been Captain Mordaunt's way, and what a pleasant life he led! Petted, caressed, flattered, at home in some of the noblest mansions in England, his word law in all matters of etiquette, grand ladies considering it an honor to entertain him. He had not gained this position by squeamishness: that point he allowed every one to know.
Arthur's heart told him that all this was false—that whatever or whoever the light loves of Captain Mordaunt might have been, the lady whom he admired was pure, true, unconscious of evil. He felt instinctively, with the insight lively sympathy often gives to the young, that to take advantage in any way of her lonely position would be to shut himself out from the place he had been so happy as to gain in her kindly remembrance, and to preclude himself from all hope of rendering her any further assistance in the future.