“Pardon me if I interrupt what appears a most interesting conversation, but I have been hunting all over the gardens for the last half-hour to find you. Mr. Crane imagines you have eloped with his phaeton and horses, and Mrs. Coverdale is so completely au désespoir at the loss of her husband, that even Lord Alfred Courtland’s attentions are powerless to console her;—really, Miss Crofton, it is too cruel of you to seduce Benedick from his allegiance to his Beatrice—you might be content with enslaving us poor bachelors!”
This speech was not particularly palatable to Arabella, and she would probably have passed it over in contemptuous silence had she not glanced at Coverdale; but, perceiving by his flashing eye and quivering lip that he was so angry that he literally dared not trust himself to reply, she hastened to prevent anything unpleasant occurring between them, by observing in her usual calm, slightly sarcastic manner—
“It is like Mr. D’Almayne’s policy to screen himself by throwing the blame on the injured party. We have been roaming up and down like restless ghosts, hunting for Mrs. Crane and Mrs. Coverdale for the last half-hour—ever since we arrived, in fact, until I grew so tired, that out of compassion Mr. Coverdale allowed me to sit down and rest.”
“One word, Mr. D’Almayne,” interrupted Harry, regardless of an imploring look and gentle pressure of the arm from Arabella Crofton, “you made a joke (for I suppose you do not wish me to consider you spoke seriously) about my wife a minute ago; now I’m a quick-tempered fellow—touchy you may call it, upon some points, and this happens to be one of them; so to prevent anything disagreeable, I tell you frankly I don’t like such jokes—you understand?”
Horace did understand; he glanced at Harry’s face. The handsome mouth was sternly compressed—the small, well-cut nostril quivered, and the large dark eyes flashed with the anger he could scarcely restrain, his tall form was drawn up to its full height—his broad chest dilated, and the muscles stood out on his stalwart arms until their shape became visible beneath the “Zephyr Paletot;” altogether, Coverdale did not look just then the kind of man with whom it would be pleasant to quarrel: so D’Almayne, deeming “discretion the better part of valour,” smiled, and said something which might mean anything, and conveyed a clear idea of nothing, in his most fascinating manner, and then piloted his companions to the spot where he had agreed on a rendezvous at a certain time with the Crane party. They had not yet made their appearance, however, and D’Almayne (who, since Harry gave him the “caution” conveyed in his last speech, had evinced a marked desire to keep on good terms with, and out of arms reach of, so dangerous an acquaintance), guessing their whereabouts, volunteered to go and fetch them.
“Pray do not quarrel with that man,” urged Arabella, as D’Almayne quitted them; “you are as little his equal in scheming and manœuvring, as he is yours in strength and courage, and for this reason he is more to be dreaded than if he were a very Hercules; do not lose your temper with him, for by so doing you will put yourself in the wrong and play his game; come, be guided by me in this matter; believe me, my only object is to secure your happiness.”
As she spoke, she looked up in his face with such an expression of interest, not to say affection, that Coverdale, whose anger at the worst was always a very evanescent affair, felt an impulse of pity for her, which appeared in the softened tones of his voice, as he replied:—
“Don’t be afraid; I’m not going to give him his deserts at present, and I’m very sorry I spoke harshly to you just now; but I know Alice to be so good, and true, and pure—innocent and spotless as a child (by heaven, the slightest blow to my faith in her would drive me mad!), and the mere mention of that foolish boy supposing her to be a fit recipient for his romantic sentimental nonsense, made me lose my temper: but you need not fear my doing anything hasty. I shall, as you advise, observe Alfred Courtland, and if, as I feel certain, his attentions annoy Alice, I shall speak to him seriously and kindly (I know the boy has a good heart, and that it is D’Almayne who has set him on this business, if he is set on it); then, finding I am aware of it, his fancy will die a natural death; but I have little expectation that my preaching will be required. Alice’s indifference will work the best cure.”
As he spoke, the Crane party came in sight, Kate and her husband leading the van, closely attended by Horace D’Almayne; while, at some little distance behind them, lingered Alice on the arm of Lord Alfred Courtland. As they came up, he was addressing her in an earnest, pleading manner. Alice appeared thoughtful and distraite, but the moment her eye fell upon Harry and Miss Crofton she started, coloured up, and turning to her companion, said in a hurried, eager tone—
“Such constancy and perseverance, my lord, deserve rewarding,” and as she spoke she gave him a rosebud she carried in her hand, which he fastened in his button-hole with an expression of eager delight.