"You can go down this staircase," said Sir Charles, leading him to a landing; "it guides on to the garden, take the first to the right, and you'll come at last to the avenue."
Mr. Effingham put his finger to the limp brim of his hat and departed.
But when he arrived in the chestnut avenue, and had looked carefully round, and found that he was out of sight of any one in the house, and that there was no one near enough to observe his conduct, he rubbed his hands together, and almost cut a caper in the air with delight.
"To think of it!" he said. "There never, never was such luck! D'Ossay, my boy, you've got the trick of it somehow. What will Griffiths say now? To think that I've been hunting for this woman all this time, and that she's now placed in my hands--and by this very swell too! Two birds with one stone now. Oh, there's a much bigger game than the Bart.'s cheque for fifty! But it'll take a deal of thinking over and planning; and if there's any one to do that, it's you, D'Ossay, my boy, and no one else!"
[CHAPTER XVIII.]
IN THE DRAWING-ROOM.
What was Laurence Alsager doing at Redmoor? He was beginning to ask himself that question very frequently. And that question led to another--why had he come down there at all? He had "done" country-houses and their amusements and had tired of them years before; he had not the slightest liking for any of the guests; he had a vague dislike of the host. Why, then, had he come? He was a man who rarely tried to deceive himself; and when he put this question point-blank to himself the answer was, Why? Why, because you take a certain interest in Lady Mitford--no, I allow that perfectly; nothing dishonourable, nothing which at present could even be described as a love-passion; but a certain interest. You think from all you have seen that she is not merely very charming in her innocence and simplicity, but really good; and you expect from certain signs which you detect, and with the nature of which you are familiar, that she will have to pass through a very perilous ordeal. It is obvious to you that in society, as it is now constituted, a woman of Lady Mitford's personal attractions and position must incur a very great deal of temptation. This, of course, would be to a great extent avoided if she were secure in the affections and certain of the attentions of her husband; but in the present instance you are constrained to admit, contrary to the opinion which you once publicly expressed, that Sir Charles Mitford is a weak, silly, vain person, who has fallen a victim to the wiles of a thoroughly heartless coquette, and who appears to be going from bad to worse as rapidly as possible. So that your certain interest has brought you down here to watch over the lady. Quixotic and ultra-romantic, is it not? You do not mean it to be so, I know--I give you full credit for that; but still that is the designation it would probably receive from any of your friends. The truth is, that this--I was almost going to call it parental, but we will say fraternal--this fraternal regard for a very handsome woman is a novelty to you; and hence your enjoyment of it. I said expressly a very handsome woman, because I don't believe that the fraternal sentiment could possibly blossom for an ugly one. Beware of it, my friend, if you please! it's the trickiest, most treacherous elf, this fraternal friendship, that exists; it goes on for a certain period perfectly steadily and properly, and then one morning you find it has deserted you, and left in its place a hot flaming riotous passion that scorches you into tinder, makes you miserable, takes away your appetite, and, in fact, possesses all the qualities which, at one time, you knew so well.
Such was the result of Laurence Alsager's self-examination, and he fully admitted its truth. It was the interest which he took in Lady Mitford that had induced him to visit Redmoor; it was the same feeling which kept him lingering there. Then the interest must have increased; for the necessity for his self-imposed task of protection and supervision had certainly diminished. The actual fact which had decided his coming was the announcement that Lord Dollamore was to be among the guests. He had always had his own opinion of Lord Dollamore's morality; and the way in which that nobleman had spoken of Lady Mitford in the smoking-room of the Maecenas had jarred horribly on Alsager's nerves. There was something too in Laura Hammond's look and in the tone of her voice when she spoke of the probability of Dollamore's being left constantly with the ladies, at which Laurence had taken alarm. But Lord Dollamore seemed to be perfectly innocuous. Laurence had watched him narrowly from the first, and, as in the case of the drive to Egremont Priory, he seemed rather to avoid than to seek opportunities of being in Lady Mitford's company en tête-à-tête, and, judging from that and one or two other instances, was apparently desirous of keeping in the background, and of pushing Laurence forward. Could he--? No; he was a man utterly without principle where women are concerned; but he would never attempt such a game as that, more particularly if he, Laurence Alsager, were involved in it. Certainly Sir Charles was going to the bad more rapidly than Alsager had anticipated; but then it was to be said for him that he clearly had fallen into able hands. There had been few such adepts in the art of flirtation in Europe as Laura Molyneux; and she seemed to have become even more fertile in resources and skilful in their development since her marriage. Anything like the manner in which she had flirted with Mitford during the first few clays of her visit to Redmoor, Laurence, in all his experience, had never seen; and he thought at the time of the Egremont Priory expedition that things were coming rapidly to an end. Lady Mitford had evidently noticed something that day, some tendresse between her husband and Mrs. Hammond, which had annoyed her very much; so much that she had almost called her friends' attention to her disgust. But the sweetness of her disposition had come to the rescue. Laurence knew, as well as if he had been able to read her thoughts, all that had passed in her mind during that drive in the pony-phaeton; he saw how she had reasoned with herself, and how she had finally determined that she had been hasty, inconsiderate, and in the wrong. He had seen her, immediately on alighting, slip away to join her husband; and he could fully understand that she had made silent atonement for what she imagined to be an outburst of groundless jealousy.
An extraordinary change had come over Mitford within the last few days. Before the picnic, and at the picnic, he had been enthralled, entêté, eagerly waiting for Mrs. Hammond's every look, every word, and scarcely able to behave with decency to anybody else. Since then he had acted quite differently. Had his conscience smitten him for neglecting his wife? No; Laurence did not believe in sudden conscience-smites with such men as Sir Charles Mitford; and he had further noticed that though there was no open flirtation, there was plenty of eye-telegraphy of a very peculiar and significant kind. They had come to some understanding evidently, for Mrs. Hammond now seldom addressed her conversation to her host, but kept her hand in by practising on the susceptible heart of Major Winton, or by coquetting with some of the officers who were invariably to be found dining at Redmoor. She had tried to réchauffer a little of the old story with Laurence, but had encountered something so much more marked than mere disinclination, that she suspended operations at once.
However, be this as it might, the necessity for Alsager's stay at Redmoor, even judged by his own peculiar notions, was at an end. The Dollamore question never had been mooted; the Hammond difficulty seemed entirely in abeyance. What further need was there for him to keep watch and ward over the Redmoor household? He could be back in town as soon as they could, go where they might; something would occur during the season, he thought, and he might as well be there on guard; but that was a matter of only a few hours from wherever he might happen to be.