CHAPTER XII.
ON ST. PARTRIDGE DAY.
As he descended the stairs he encountered Nixon and a veiled lady in black ascending. He looked at her keenly—she was tall and slender; beyond that, through the heavy crape veil, he could make out nothing. "Mysterious, certainly!" he thought. "I wonder who she is?" He bowed as he passed her; she bent her head in return; then he hastened to seek out Edith, and tell her an important visitor had arrived for Lady Helena, and that the excursion to Eastlake Abbey would be postponed. He was but a poor dissembler, and the girl's bright brown eyes were sharp. She smiled as she looked and listened.
"Did you know I could tell fortunes, Sir Victor? Hold out your hand and let me tell you the past. You have been upstairs with Lady Helena; you have told her that Edith Darrell has consented to be your wife. You have asked her sanction to the union, and have been naturally, indignantly, and peremptorily refused."
He smiled, but the conscious color rose.
"I always suspected you of being an enchantress—now I know it. Can you tell me the future as truthfully as the past?"
"In this instance I think so. 'You shall never marry a penniless nobody, sir.' (And it is exactly Lady Helena's voice that speaks.) 'Your family is not to be disgraced by a low marriage. This girl, who is but a sort of upper servant, hired and paid, in the family of these common rich American people, is no mate for a Catheron of Catheron. I refuse to listen to a word, sir—I insist upon this preposterous affair being given up.' You expostulate—in vain. And as constant dropping wears the most obstinate stone, so at last will her ladyship conquer. You will come to me one day and say: 'Look here, Miss Darrell, I'm awfully sorry, you know, but we've made a mistake—I've made a mistake. I return you your freedom—will you kindly give me back mine? And Miss Darrell will make Sir Victor Catheron her best curtsey and retire into the outer darkness from whence she came."
He laughed. Her imitation of his own slow, accented manner of speaking was so perfect. Only for an instant; then he was grave, almost reproachful.
"And you know me no better than this!" he said. "I take back my words; you are no seeress. I love my aunt very dearly, but not all the aunts on earth could part me from you. I would indeed be a dastard if a few words of objection would make me resign the girl I love."
"I don't know," Miss Darrell answered coolly; "it might be better for both of us. Oh, don't get angry, please—you know what I mean. I am a nobody, as your somebodies go on this side. My Grandfather Stuart was a peddler once, I believe; my Grandfather Darrell, a schoolmaster. Not a very distinguished descent. My father by education and refinement is a gentleman, but he keeps a boarding-house. And I am Miss Stuart's paid companion and poor relation. Be wise, Sir Victor, while there is time; be warned before it is too late. I promise not to be angry—to even admire your common-sense. Lady Helena has been as a mother to you; it isn't worth while offending her for me—I'm not worth it. There are dozens of girls in England, high-born, high-bred, and twice as handsome as I am, who will love you and marry you to-morrow. Sir Victor Catheron, let us shake hands and part."