‘You would like to separate me from my husband altogether, I daresay,’ cried Nora heatedly.
‘By no manner of means. You quite mistake my meaning. Such a proceeding would distress me beyond measure. But I don’t intend to give up any of the privileges which I enjoyed from Ilfracombe’s intimacy before his marriage for you. Had he married anybody else, it might have been different, but not for you. It would be too bad to ask me to give up both my lady-love and my friend at one stroke. You will acknowledge the justice of that yourself, won’t you?’
‘Don’t ask me, I don’t know anything,’ replied the Countess, wearily, as she moved away, ‘You have come into my life again to make it miserable, and if you have no honour nor generosity there is nothing left that I can see to appeal to.’ And in her heart Nora added, ‘And if I could stretch you dead at my feet this moment, I would do it without a single pang.’
She was more cautious in what she said to the earl, however, after that, and occasionally he rallied her on having got over her objection to too high play. Once when they were quite alone, she ventured to answer him.
‘No, Ilfracombe, I cannot say that you are right. You must have observed that I seldom stay in the room now when you are playing, I do not approve of such high stakes, but I do not like to interfere with your enjoyment, or to appear to know better than yourself. But you won’t tell Mr Portland I said so,’ she added in a wistful tone. Lord Ilfracombe looked surprised.
‘Tell Jack, my darling? Why, of course not. All that passes between you and me is sacred. I don’t think you’ve been looking quite up to the mark lately, Nora. I’m afraid you must find Thistlemere rather dull. I shall be glad when the time comes for us to go up to town. Then we’ll see some life together, won’t we?’
And Nora smiled faintly, and answered ‘Yes.’
CHAPTER IX.
The Derby was run that year in the last week of May. The young Countess of Ilfracombe had already been presented at Court under the auspices of her mother-in-law. She had attended more than one Royal function since; she had seen all that there was worth seeing in town, and she had entertained largely at her own house in Grosvenor Square. She had been fairly launched on Society in fact, and, unlike most heroines, it had not disappointed her. Everything was new and fresh to her; everything was delightful. This was what she had longed for and dreamed of in far-off Malta, and her letters home were full of the pleasure she was experiencing and the honours that were paid to her. Nora felt happier, too, and more at her ease in the company of her mother-in-law and the Ladies Devenish, and away from the close, every-day companionship of Mr Portland, who had at last returned to his own chambers in the Albany. She fluttered about from milliner to milliner, theatre to theatre, like a huge butterfly; all fashion, delicate tints, smiles and excitement. Ilfracombe, unlike his usual taste, seemed delighted to be her cavalier on all occasions. The truth is, he was thankful to get out of the house. Fond as he undoubtedly was of his wife, the atmosphere of Grosvenor Square depressed him. He could not enter a single room without being painfully reminded of Nell Llewellyn and her devoted love for him. It had been a very real love between these two. On her side the most unselfish, adoring, humble passion—on his, a very appreciative acknowledgment of her single-eyed affection, mingled with a great admiration of her beauty. His love for her, however, had always been mixed with a certain amount of shame and uncertainty, because he knew it was impossible it could go on for ever, and he dreaded the moment when it would become imperative to tell her so. Nell had ended it all for herself, however, and but too abruptly, and now he could not sit in the rooms where they had for so long sat together, and which she had so confidently regarded as her own without finding his thoughts very much drawn her way, even though his lawful wife was by his side. He thought of the time when Nell first came to his house, a tall, slender girl, with a complexion like a wild rose, and beautiful startled hazel eyes, moist with the dews of youth. How frightened she was when he first whispered his love into her ear—how passionately remorseful when he had led her astray—how wonderfully grateful and reverential when he told her she should thenceforth reign the mistress of his heart. He looked back over the years she had managed his household for him, and could not remember one instance of her losing her temper with him—that passionate, indomitable temper, which was so quickly roused by others. How often he had wished, almost decided to make her his wife, if only for the devoted love she bore him, but had been afraid on consideration of the sneers and disapproval of the world, and so had dismissed the idea from his mind. And now—well, of course, he would not change his Nora for any woman. She was a glory to him, whilst poor Nell would only have been a disgrace. Still he wished from the bottom of his heart that she had been more reasonable, and gone home quietly to her friends, and, by-and-by, married some man in her own station of life, who would have considered the settlement he wished to make on her a little fortune. Lord Ilfracombe wondered, by the way, who were Nell’s friends, and where she came from. She had never mentioned her old home to him. Did they know of her sad death, he wondered; or of the circumstances that led to it? He thought not. She was not the sort of woman to betray the man she loved even in death. She would have carried her secret with her to the grave. It was done, and it could not be undone, he would tell himself, but the thought made the house very distasteful to him. He became nervous, even timid. He did not care to enter his private rooms at dusk, and would fancy he heard a sigh, or caught sight of a shadowy form flitting by him in the gloaming. One day he called his wife ‘Nell.’ It was a fearful mistake, and his face grew crimson as he discovered it; but Nora was wonderfully calm under the little désagrément.
‘Was that Miss Llewellyn’s name, Ilfracombe?’ she asked archly.