“Granted the difference!” ejaculated Mrs. Mortimer; “and yet, even making every possible allowance for that, there is still room enough to admit the existence of my bitter hostility against Torrens. What! was I not arrested the other day—dragged ignominiously back to London—compelled to sleep in a prison; and forced to appear at the bar of justice,—and all on account of his crime! He reaped the benefit—I the inconvenience, the fear, the exposure, and the disgrace! It is true that I never loved him—never even liked him;—true, also, that ours was a marriage of convenience—both suspecting, despising, and abhorring each other. From the very first, then, I was his enemy; and ever since I have cherished an undying animosity against him.”
“Well, mother, I shall not attempt to interfere with your vengeance any more than you will seek to mar the progress of mine. You have given me an explanation of your views; and it is now my turn to speak. This morning,” continued Laura, “my hopes were suddenly defeated, and my golden dreams dissipated by the appearance of Mr. Hatfield. At half-past eleven o’clock, I found myself deserted by him whom I had loved, and alone as it were in a strange city. I instantly made up my mind not to yield to sorrow or give way to grief; and when a woman, placed in such circumstances, will not permit her tender feelings to get the better of her pride—when, in fact, she takes refuge in that very pride against the poignancy of sorrow—she necessarily conceives thoughts of vengeance. For the pride which becomes her defence and her shield in such a case, must be vindicated. I therefore determined to cherish this hope of vengeance, and gratify that hope when the proper time shall come. But, in the interval—and first of all—I must create a brilliant social position for myself. On these matters I reflected seriously this morning, so soon as Charles and his father had taken their departure. Then, to a certain extent, I made a confidant of my French lady’s-maid, who has already become deeply attached to me, and in whom I speedily discovered a spirit of intrigue and a shrewd disposition. At the same time, I told her nothing more than was absolutely necessary to account for the abrupt departure of Charles and my change of name; and even those explanations which I did give her were not entirely true. In a word, I acted with caution, while I secured her fidelity and devotion to my interests. Having thus come to a certain understanding, as it were, we repaired to an agency-office, kept by an Englishman, and made inquiries for furnished apartments in a fashionable neighbourhood. The agent conducted us hither: I inspected the suite—approved of it—paid a half-year’s rent in advance—and removed into my new abode, where you now find me, at about three o’clock this afternoon.”
“You have lost no time in settling yourself thus far, at all events,” observed Mrs. Mortimer. “But proceed: you have more yet to explain to me.”
“Only to observe that your aid is now required, mother, to help me to that brilliant position which I am determined to reach, and the attainment of which will render us independent for the remainder of our days.”
“My aid and assistance you shall have, Laura—aye, and effectually too,” returned the old woman, with difficulty concealing the joy and triumph which she experienced on finding herself thus again appealed to as a means to work out a grand design: “but a fortnight’s delay will not prejudice your scheme. You will not lose one particle of your beauty in that time: on the contrary, you will recover your wonted hues of health—for your cheeks are somewhat pale this evening, and there is a blueish tint around your eyes. Doubtless,” she added, with a slightly malicious grin, “Charles Hatfield was a husband to you in everything save the indissoluble bonds!”
“No,” replied Laura, with an effrontery so cool, so complete, that, had the old woman been questioning her daughter on suspicion only, and not on a verified certainty, she would have been satisfied with that laconic, but emphatic negative.
“Ah! then your maudlin sentimentalism did not render you altogether pliant and docile to the impetuous passions of that handsome young man?” she observed.
“Believing that we were to be married,” answered Laura, “I necessarily refrained from compromising myself in his estimation. But wherefore these questions, mother?”—and again the fine large eyes of the young woman were fixed searchingly on Mrs. Mortimer’s countenance.
“I had no particular motive in putting those queries,” was the response, apparently delivered off hand, but in reality well weighed and measured, as was every word that the artful old creature uttered upon this occasion. “I was merely curious to learn whether your prudence or your naturally voluptuous temperament had prevailed in the strong wrestle that must have taken place between those feelings, while you were travelling and dwelling alone with a handsome young man whom you almost adored.”