"I go to do so," sneered Julius, and bowed himself ironically out of the room, leaving Lucy furious both with him and with herself.
She was angry with herself because she felt that in speaking of Conniston she had colored. And as a matter of fact she greatly admired the young lord, even though they had only met once, for Conniston was one of those irresistible men who appeal to women. Lucy thought—but it matters little what she thought. All she knew was that her engagement to Julius, which had always weighed on her conscience, was at an end. "I am free now—free," she said, stretching her hands. "Oh, what an escape I have had from that wicked man. He has shown his hand too plainly. I will put Mr. Durham on his guard, and"—here she blushed—"and Lord Conniston."
Julius, walking towards the Bower, was also angry with himself. As Lucy thought, he had shown his hand too clearly. "It would have been better," he considered, "to have held my tongue. I should have done so had she not goaded me into speech. She will tell Durham and that interfering Conniston and put them on their guard. Well"—he laughed and looked at the small boy trotting beside him—"I am equal to both."
The boy was a handsome, innocent-looking little fellow, rather undersized. With his clear skin, his fair hair and wide blue eyes he looked like the conventional picture of a cherub. No one would have suspected that such a childish creature was a born criminal. But his mind had not yet had time to work on his face, and the mask of his childhood—for he was only thirteen—concealed his evil nature successfully. In a few years, when his passions worked their way through the mask, his face, now so smooth and innocent, would be wrinkled and sinful. His mind would have marked plainly its signet on the smooth surface. But at present he looked charmingly innocent, although he already knew much more about life than was good for him. Julius, in order that the lad might make an impression on Miss Plantagenet, had dressed him in a new suit, and pleased with himself—for much of the boy remained in this precocious criminal—young Jerry trotted along smiling.
"Jerry," said Beryl, looking down, "mind you are nice to the old lady."
Jerry tossed his fair curls and looked roguish. "Oh, that's all right, Mr. Beryl. All old ladies take to me. They think I'm a kind of Holy Bill, and I let them think so. It pays."
"Jerry, you are a young scamp of the worst."
The boy chuckled as though he had received a compliment. "I like doing things," he explained frankly; "it's fun. When I was with old grandmother at the castle I hated doing nothing. If it hadn't been for Victoria—the girl I told you about—I should have left long before. I'm going to marry her."
"You know nothing about such things," corrected the respectable Mr. Beryl, severely.
"I know a jolly sight more than you think," said the urchin under his breath and producing a cigarette.