Under the challenge of that domineering and unscrupulous glance the major fidgeted, cleared his throat nervously, but finally spoke. “Yes,” he said, “I think that any means would be—ah—justifiable, to prevent a thing so mad as what she declares her intention of doing.”
“Then everything is settled,” said Percy, with sharp decision. “Make preparations for leaving Venice immediately. Whether I succeed or fail with Mrs. Meredith, that must be done. Give Aimée no excuse for refusing to go. Promise anything now. Once away, she will be in our hands, and the rest is easy.”
Even Lydia shuddered a little at the last words. To be in Percy’s hands, at Percy’s mercy, was surely a fate not to be desired, and that, she knew, was what it meant; for he ruled them all, and his father and stepmother would consent to whatever he proposed. With the last words he rose.
“Now,” he said, “I am going to try intimidation with Mrs. Meredith. If I succeed, our work will be easier; if I fail, nothing will be lost. In any event, we go.”
Fanny Meredith was walking restlessly about her sitting-room, waiting for the news from Aimée, which Aimée had not yet come to give. Lennox had looked in after his interview with Major and Mrs. Joscelyn, made his report, received the sarcastic congratulations of his ally on having brought about exactly the result she had predicted, and which she supposed he had desired, and then taken his departure—for he felt as if solitude was at that moment the only thing he craved—solitude to dwell upon the look and the tone of Aimée when she put her hand in his as he was going, and said: “Do not let any of this trouble you. I shall not change.” Change! He could have laughed at their folly in fancying they could change her. How well he knew that light in the brave, dark eyes, and the unflinching resolution which it indicated!
After his departure, Fanny looked for Aimée to appear shortly; but as time went on and she did not come, Mrs. Meredith grew restless and impatient. What was the matter? Even her courage shrank from bearding the lion in his den—that is, the enraged family in their own apartments; but she decided that if Aimée did not come soon, she would go and learn what detained her. It was just after this resolution had been formed that a knock at the door was followed by the appearance of Percy Joscelyn.
He was perfectly calm in outward bearing, but his quietness of manner did not deceive Fanny for a moment. She knew in the first glance of his eye that he had come for war, and she felt at once scornfully ready to meet it. What could Percy Joscelyn say that would matter to her? She threw back her head and met him with the weapon that always came to her most readily, that of mockery.
“Why, Percy,” she said, “this is a very unexpected pleasure. It is not often you are good enough to come to see me alone. But I suppose you want to talk over such an interesting event as Aimée’s engagement.”