As he spoke his pale face flushed, and his lip quivered with the emotion he strove, but was unable entirely to conceal.
“Forgive me, dear Arthur!” exclaimed Alice, whilst tears of ready sympathy glistened in her eyes; “I spoke carelessly—foolishly: indeed, indeed, I did not mean to give you pain! But you are not angry with me?”
As she spoke she laid her hand caressingly on his shoulder and glanced up in his face with a beseeching look, which would have melted the most flinty-hearted stoic. Arthur drew her to him, and kissed her smooth brow, in token of forgiveness, ere he replied—
“Before we quit this subject, never to resume it, let me say this much to you: in this matter I have nothing to reproach myself with; as far as I have been able to see what was right, I have acted up to it. This is my only comfort. That I have suffered much, I will not attempt to deny; but I am thankful to say the blow, though severe, has not paralysed me. The sunshine of my life may be destroyed for years, perhaps for ever, but my vigour and energy are left me, and I will yet make myself a name, and win myself a position that the mere possession of wealth can never bestow. Now, forget that this conversation ever took place.”
As he spoke the door flew open, and Harry and Lord Alfred Courtland, having encountered each other at the club, made their appearance arm-in-arm, like a pair of well-grown Siamese twins, and Alice was dispatched all in a hurry to put on her “things,” to be taken to a private view of the annual exhibition of the Society of Amalgamated Amateurs in Water-colours, whom Harry irreverently paraphrased as the “Amalgamated Muffs;” a definition the truth of which a closer inspection of the efforts of those mild and amiable caricaturists did not tend to disprove. As they strolled up and down the rooms, waiting for Kate and Mr. Crane, who had promised to join them, Lord Alfred,—on whose arm Alice was leaning, and who had been rattling on with great volubility, and in the highest possible spirits,—suddenly observed—
“I do find myself such a complete country cousin in London, that really it’s quite ridiculous! I meet all sorts of celebrities, and don’t know one of them by sight. Now, for instance, do you see that pair of young exquisites lounging elegantly along, like a couple of self-enamoured sleep-walkers, and dressed like beatific visions of dandies, rather than mere sublunary fops? I’m sure I’ve met the youngest of them somewhere—he with the petites moustaches noires, which are so irresistible that I should certainly cultivate a pair myself, if I did not feel morally certain that my prejudiced progenitor would cut them, and me, off with the same shilling.”
“In fact, cut off his heir because you would not cut off yours,” punned Coverdale. “But in regard to your beatific swells, I fancy Alice can enlighten you as to the patronymic of one of them, if she chooses; he is a very particular friend, to say nothing more, of hers. She only married me because she failed in captivating him.”
Alice replied to Lord Alfred’s expressive look, which asked as plainly as words could have done, “Is this all jest, or is there a small foundation of fact for it to rest upon?”—“If that had been my only reason for accepting my romancing husband, I should have remained Miss Hazlehurst still; however, I plead guilty to knowing Mr. D’Almayne, as he happens to be an intimate friend of Mr. Crane, the gentleman who married my cousin Kate, and in whose house we are now staying.”
While they thus chatted, the following conversation was being carried on in French between the subject of their remarks and his companion, a showily-dressed man, some half-dozen years older than Horace D’Almayne, with handsome features, but a worn, dissipated look, which involuntarily prejudiced one against him. He spoke with a thoroughly foreign accent, and the animated gestures with which he sought to elucidate his meaning also tended to prove he was not a native of this country.
“The plan has been worked out,” he continued, referring to some subject with which D’Almayne appeared acquainted, “and with his name as director, and £1000 ready money to pay clerks, and establish the concern on a respectable foundation, the affair will go charmingly; John Bull shall buy our shares and hand us his money, and in six months’ time, with that and”—here he sank his voice—“the club in J———— Street, we may set fortune at defiance.”