Dust: A Novel

by Julian Hawthorne

Perdita paused, doubting the prudence of this last sentence, which, in fact, had vastly delighted the cynical and Machiavellian old lady. The latter was convinced that the relations between Perdita and Philip would not bear inspection, and that they were making Marion’s predicament a pretext for prosecuting their own intrigue. She was determined to bring their nefarious doings to light, and had already partly outlined to herself a plan of operations, having that end in view. For the present, she was satisfied at having attained the object of her visit, which was simply to ascertain that Perdita and Philip were on a confidential footing upon a matter so nearly affecting the latter’s honor, and that their intimacy was such as it was expedient for them to disguise. The rest would be revealed in due time. Meanwhile she hastened to declare that it was a fortunate thing for Philip to have secured the friendly interest of a woman of the world like Perdita; and that she trusted he would show his appreciation of it.

“I was going to say,” remarked Perdita, who had her wits about her, and was by no means prone to believe in the sincerity of her visitor’s cordiality, “that the whole story, so far as I am aware, is mere hearsay, and may be untrue. It would not surprise me were it to turn out so. So that any premature allusion to it, as your ladyship yourself suggested, might do a great deal of harm.”

“Aye, to be sure,” returned Lady Flanders, admiring the cleverness of this stroke; and for a moment she hesitated whether or not to give her authorities. She decided not to do so; turned the conversation into a review of the Bendibow affair, and soon after took her leave, charmed with the prospect of finally getting the better of the only woman in London whom she acknowledged as her equal in subtlety and intrigue.

We will now return to Philip Lancaster. He came home late after his interview with Perdita, and Marion having already gone to her room, he resolved to postpone whatever he might have to say to her until the next day. Indeed, he needed time to turn the matter over in his mind. Before speaking to Perdita, he had not regarded it in a really serious light. All he knew was that Marion had spent the greater part of a night away from home; that her mother had only accidentally discovered her absence; and that Marion had given no satisfactory account of where she had been. When he had asked her about it, she had merely laughed, in her strange, perverse way, had affected to treat it lightly, and had remarked that he would know by-and-by without her telling him. He had confined himself, at the time, to some moderate expression of displeasure; he was not prepared to believe in anything worse than an imprudent freak, especially while he was under the influence of Marion’s presence. She had presently begun to speak of Bendibow’s arrest, and had expressed a strong desire to know the details of any confession he might make: and she had suggested that Philip should take the packet and return it to Perdita without delay. He agreed to do this: and with that their conversation terminated. But when Philip was alone, his reflections became more and more uncomfortable; Marion’s refusal to explain her escapade seemed very strange; and her sudden anxiety to hear about Bendibow’s confession looked like a pretext for changing the subject. Even this errand to Perdita might be a device to get him out of the way. When, therefore, he and Perdita met, he was in a fit mood to receive the intelligence she had ready for him: he learnt from her, for the first time, where it was that Marion had gone, and what she had been seen to do there; for although Perdita neither told him that she herself had been the witness whose testimony she cited, nor mentioned Moore’s name, she made it sufficiently evident to her auditor that it was not any ordinary freak he had to deal with here, but a matter involving all that is of most vital importance to a husband. And yet, though his mind was persuaded, his heart was not so: did he not know Marion? and was it credible that she could do such wrong? It was necessary, however, that his mind and his heart should be put in accord, one way or the other; and he spent the greater part of the night in trying to summon up all his wits and energies for the interview on the morrow. The natural consequence was, that when the morrow came he was so nervous and discomposed as with difficulty to control even his voice. The interview, which took place in the breakfast-room, which Marion entered just as Philip was ready to leave it, did not last long, though its results did.

“Well,” said Marion, as she entered, “did Madame Desmoines accept the packet? And did you see what was in it?”

“She did not open it in my presence,” he answered. “We found other things to talk about.”

“Oh, no doubt,” said Marion laughingly.

“There was nothing amusing in it, as you seem to suppose,” he continued, hardly controlling his indignation. “I am going to ask you a serious question, Marion: and you must answer it.”

“Must?”

“Yes—must!”