"I have been teasing Sir Isaac, and I have gained my wish. But--you didn't see"--and she bent her lips with a smile--"I had to give him a kiss for the concession."
"Rather a hazardous favour to grant in a general way," observed Mrs. Darling, whose ears the whispered words had reached. "Some gentlemen, in the bachelor position of Sir Isaac, might deem the gift significant."
She put down her beads and her canvas, and looked full at Georgina, expecting a protest against such motives. But in this she was mistaken. Georgina only threw back her pretty head with a laugh; and in it--at least to Mrs. Darling's ears--there was a sound of triumph.
"What was your petition to him, my dear?" asked Mrs. St. John.
"Ah, that's a secret; it's something between himself and me;" and Miss Georgina Beauclerc went dancing towards the window, as if desiring a breath of the fresh night air.
The scene was almost more lovely than by day, with that moon, brighter than you often see it in August, shining on the landscape, and bringing out its light and its shade. Mrs. Carleton, every vestige of dissatisfaction removed, talked to Sir Isaac St. John. The tones of her voice were low and tender; the pale, passive countenance was singularly attractive. Sir Isaac had grown to like her very much indeed; and she knew it. But, what perhaps she did not know, liking with him had hitherto been confined to respect, esteem, friendship,--as the case might be. Never had the probability of its going further occurred to any one. He had always expressed a determination to live and die unmarried, and it was accepted as a matter of certainty.
Mr. St. John leaned against the wall, partly shaded by the blue satin window-curtains. He was watching her keenly. All that old gossip which had reached him, creating a strange suspicion in his mind, was rising up, bit by bit. She mad! Surely not! In that low, modulated voice; in that composed, self-controlled countenance; in those dark eyes, lighted now with a pleasant smile, there was no madness to be traced, past, present, or to come,--not a symptom of it. What had Rose meant by taking up the idea seriously?--by speaking of it to him? Nay, his was the fault for having listened to her. Rose! vain, giddy, careless as of old. Mr. St. John had wondered two or three times this past week what she was coming to.
As he looked, an idea flashed over him. He had noticed this last week, since his residence with them, little odds and ends in Mrs. Carleton's conduct. How she strove incessantly to make herself agreeable to Sir Isaac; how she walked out with him, drove out with him, sat with him oftentimes in his morning-room, how suave she was to Mr. Brumm; how, in short, she seemed to have one object in life--and that, to devote herself to Sir Isaac. It was very kind of her--very considerate, had been Frederick's only thought until now, and he felt grateful to her, though rather wondering; he felt grateful to any one who appreciated his brother; but now the truth seemed to have opened his eyes, and removed the scales that were before them. She was hoping to become Lady St. John.
Every feeling of Frederick St. John rose up in arms against it. Not against his brother marrying. If it would be for his comfort and happiness, Frederick would have been glad to see him marry on the morrow. But to marry her--with that possibility of taint in her blood? Any one in the wide world, rather than Charlotte Carleton. The room suddenly felt too hot for him, and he turned from it impetuously, his hand lifted to his brow.
"Who's this? Don't run over me, Mr. St. John."