“This is an unexpected pleasure, gentlemen,” said her ladyship, her black eyes glancing from one to another. “You have come to congratulate me upon the change in my prospects, I dare say. I have been overwhelmed with calls during the past week, and begin to find my connection with an old county family decidedly onerous,” and she laughed softly. “All of Sir Harold’s friends have been to see me, and really I believe that some of them have felt it their duty to condole with Neva upon the misfortune of so soon possessing a step-papa.”
The three gentlemen had called for the purpose of discussing with Lady Wynde and Neva the expected change in the prospects of her ladyship, but the quiet audacity of the handsome widow’s speech and manner half-confounded them.
Sir John Freise, being the eldest of the party, took upon himself the office of spokesman.
“I was an old friend of Sir Harold, Lady Wynde,” he said, a little stiffly. “I was a man when Sir Harold was a boy, but I knew him well, and I loved him. I know how deeply he was attached to you, and it is for his sake that I have now intruded upon you. You are still young, and with your attractions and your fortune you are peculiarly liable to be beset by fortune-hunters. As your late husband’s most intimate friend, I desire to ask you if you have well considered this step you are about to take?”
Lady Wynde bowed a cold assent.
“Your knowledge of the character of Mr. Black can be but slight,” persisted Sir John Freise, leaning his chin upon the gold knob of his walking-stick, and regarding the handsome widow with troubled eyes. “He has been at Wyndham but a few months. I grant that he is of attractive exterior, Lady Wynde, but what do you know of his character? I have not come here to make any charges against Mr. Black but those I am prepared to substantiate. These gentlemen who have accompanied me will bear me out in the statement that I have no personal prejudices in the matter, and that I am actuated only by a desire for your ladyship’s happiness and that of Miss Wynde. I have written to London since hearing the report of your engagement, and yesterday received a reply of so much moment that I summoned Lord Towyn from his marine villa and Mr. Atkins from Canterbury to accompany me into your presence, and assist me to impart to you the unpleasant news. Lady Wynde, this Craven Black, your accepted lover, is a scoundrel, a gamester, a man unworthy your consideration for a moment.”
“Indeed!” said Lady Wynde, with a slight sneer. “Mr. Black, to my knowledge, goes in the first society. He visited at the Duke of Cheltenham’s last year, and the duke is a perfect Puritan, as every one knows.”
“The Duke of Cheltenham is a distant connection of Mr. Black, and invited him to his house with the hope of winning him into better courses,” said Sir John gravely. “But it is not Mr. Black’s high connections, but the man himself, with whom your destiny is to be linked, Lady Wynde. I implore you to consider your decision. Better to remain for ever the honored widow of Sir Harold Wynde than to become the wife of Mr. Craven Black.”
“I do not think so,” said her ladyship, her sneer deepening. “I believe I am competent to choose for myself, Sir John, and it is my happiness, you will be pleased to remember, which is at stake. I resent your interference, as uncalled for and intrusive. I shall marry Mr. Craven Black in two weeks from to-day, and if you do not approve the marriage I presume you will be able to testify your disapproval by remaining away from the wedding.”
Sir John looked deeply pained; Mr. Atkins looked disgusted. Lord Towyn’s warm blue eyes were directed toward Neva rather than toward Lady Wynde, but he lost nothing of the conversation.