Lady Wynde nodded assent.
“And,” continued Artress, “I am to enter society with you, to remain with you as your guest instead of companion. I have been necessary to you in playing this game. I have lived with you some three years now, and though people know that I am a lady born, no one suspects that I am own cousin to Craven Black, and soon to be your cousin by marriage. We have joined our forces and wits together in this game, and we shall enjoy our success together.”
This, then, was the secret of the connection between the two women so unlike each other, yet so in unison in their schemes. Mrs. Artress was the cousin of Craven Black, and being poor as well as unscrupulous, she was his most faithful ally in his stupendously wicked schemes. The interests of the three conspirators were indeed identical.
“I believe I will rise,” said Lady Wynde. “I am impatient to give this letter to Neva, and to see how she receives it. Do you suppose she is up?”
“She has been up these two hours,” answered Artress. “She has been all over the house, has talked with the butler and the servants, has visited the stable and gardens, and has even been into the park. She means to assert her dignity as mistress of Hawkhurst, and to win the hearts of her dependents, so that in case she disagrees with you they will support her.”
Lady Wynde frowned darkly.
“Miss Neva is not yet of age, and so, although she owns Hawkhurst, there may be a question whether she is its mistress, or whether I, who am her guardian and her father’s widow, am mistress here.”
Her ladyship pulled the bell cord at her bed head, summoning her maid. Artress retired into Lady Wynde’s sitting-room, and upon the appearance of her attendant, the widow arose and attired herself in a white morning wrapper with crimson trimmings, and put upon her head a small square of white lace adorned with crimson bows. She had some time since discarded her widow’s cap, as “too horribly unbecoming.”
She ascertained that Neva was now in her own rooms, and took her way thither, the forged letters in her hand. Neva was alone when her step-mother, after a preliminary knock upon the door, entered her sitting-room, and she greeted Lady Wynde with a smile and look of welcome.
Neva was looking very lovely this morning, flushed with her early exercise, her red-brown eyes strangely brilliant, her red-brown hair arranged in crimps and braids. She wore a simple dress of white lawn, made short to escape the ground, and her ribbons and ornaments were of black. Lady Wynde fancied that Neva’s half-mourning attire was a reproach to her, and this fancied reproach, coupled with Neva’s bright, spirited beauty, gave an impulse to her incipient dislike to the girl.