“If she loves him!” repeated Maimie thoughtfully. “Why, certainly—but does she love him, Lady Caerleon?”
She seized the opportunity afforded by the entrance of a servant with a note to slip away, leaving her question to do its work. The interruption could not have occurred more suitably for her purpose, and during the next two or three days she managed to avoid all private conversation with Lady Caerleon. At the same time, she was obliged to keep constant watch lest her hostess should seek an interview with Félicia herself. Her manœuvres had hitherto been successful in keeping them apart without Lady Caerleon’s perceiving either the method or the reason; but now, stung by the doubt cast into her mind, she might insist upon a definite explanation. Then, if Félicia made another scene, and succumbed to Lady Caerleon’s motherly kindness, all was lost, and this was likely enough. The monotony of her indoor life, which she obstinately refused to vary by any exercise out of doors, was really telling on her nerves, and she would alarm Maimie by wild outbursts of impatience. She wanted to dance, to flirt, to go to the theatre and lose herself in a play, she wanted to run away—in fact, she was in a state in which she would respond to any stimulus applied to her emotions. Maimie knew very well that the contraband cigarettes were slightly narcotised, and by this means she tried to quiet Félicia’s nerves for the moment, while still keeping her mind on the stretch by vague promises and prophecies, the fulfilment of which depended upon the success of her “plan.”
As Maimie had expected, Lady Caerleon came to her, after two or three days of anxiety, for an explanation of her mysterious warning as to Félicia’s feelings. The mother was determined to know the worst.
“If Félicia doesn’t care for Usk, you ought to tell me,” she said, “that I may prepare his mind, and not let him go on hoping in vain.”
“Well, now, Lady Caerleon,” said Maimie, with the frankness which her hostess found almost more trying than reserve, “I’ll tell you just what I think. I don’t believe Félicia loves your son—at present, but I guess if he came home and asked her, she would marry him right away.”
“But why?” cried Lady Caerleon, aghast.
“Why? Can you ask? Because of all your kindness and of all Lord Usk has done. She says to herself, ‘If I can repay and please them by sacrificing my own feelings, why, I’ll just do it!’”
“This is terrible!” murmured Lady Caerleon. “I must speak to Félicia, and if that is really her state of mind, I will write to Usk at once.”
“No, please!” entreated Maimie. “Didn’t you remark that I said ‘at present’? I would like to have her fall in love with him really. I thought it was real kind of you and Lord Caerleon to tell him to go and visit Niagara, and the South, and not be back until February, so’s he wouldn’t embarrass Félicia by arriving home so soon. Well, now, if he didn’t come back until the end of March, I guess it would be better yet. Won’t you have him go and see the Pacific slope, and the Yosemite in winter? By the middle of March Félicia will be changing her mourning, and I thought we might pay a visit to her best friend, Mrs van Zyl, at Nice. She’s set on having us, and it would be just lovely for Félicia. Then your son could come out and see us there, and Félicia would be able to compare him with other men. You do think he would stand a good chance then, don’t you?”
This was a master-stroke. Even if Lady Caerleon could have brought herself to distrust Usk’s power of attraction, she could not confess the feeling, and she had no wish whatever to do so. Indeed, she was conscious of an unaccountable sensation of relief, which she attributed to the fact that Usk would at last be able to stand on his own merits, and take his chance in a fair field, unhampered by the dubious advantage of Mr Steinherz’s favour. She fell in with Maimie’s proposal at once.