Mademoiselle Stephanie Lagrange was a very pretty woman--a fact of which she was perfectly cognisant, as most pretty women are. She had a profusion of light silky hair, and large steel-gray eyes that were lacking neither in fire nor audacity. Her lips were thin and rather finely curved; but her chin was almost too massive to be in proportion with the rest of her features. Her figure was well-nigh perfect; and as she was a splendid horsewoman, she never appeared in the Row without having a hundred pair of eyes focused on her, and a hundred tongues asking eagerly who she was. In case the reader should put the same question, it may be as well to state that Mademoiselle Lagrange was a prominent member of the celebrated Ventelli Circus troupe, on whose posters and placards she was designated in large letters as "Queen of the Haute Ecole." Whether Mademoiselle Lagrange was of French or English extraction was a moot-point with several of those who knew her best, seeing that she spoke both languages equally well. Some there were who averred that she spoke English with a slight French accent, and French with a slight English accent; but be that as it may, no one knew from her own lips where she was born or of what nationality her parents had been.
As soon as she was left alone, Stephanie took off her hat and veil and seated herself on the window seat, from whence she could look into a strip of old-fashioned garden at the back of the tavern. As she nibbled at a biscuit and sipped her sherry--Steph was by no means averse to a glass of good wine--she soliloquised, half aloud: "Why has my good friend George left me and who is the person he has gone to see?--Eh bien, cher monsieur, there appear to be certain secrets in your life of which I know nothing. It must be my business to find out what they are. I like to have secrets of my own, but I don't like other people to have secrets from me."
At this point, in came bustling Mrs. Purvis, ostensibly to inquire whether the lady was in need of anything, but in reality to satisfy in some measure the cravings of her curiosity. She found Mademoiselle Stephanie by no means disinclined for a little gossip; only, when she came to think over the interview afterwards, she discovered that it was she who had answered all the young lady's questions, but that the young lady had answered few or none of hers.
Yes; she had known Master George from quite a boy, Mrs. Purvis went on to say, gratified at finding a listener so ready to her hand. He had been brought up at the Towers--the great house in the park there--and everybody thought he would be his uncle's heir. But as he grew up he fell into bad ways, and all sorts of tales were told about his extravagance and dissipation; and no doubt he was made out to be far worse than he really was. At length the old gentleman turned him out of doors, and made a fresh will in favour of his other nephew, Mr. Gerald Brooke--he who now lives at the Towers--while Master George had to content himself with a legacy of five thousand pounds. And then there was Miss Danby--the late vicar's daughter--whom everybody thought Master George would marry; but she, too, turned against him, and married his cousin, so that he lost both his inheritance and his wife.
"And does this lady whom Mr. Crofton was to have married live at the place you call the Towers?" asked Stephanie.
"Certainly, miss. She is mistress there; and a very beautiful lady she is."
"It is her whom he has gone to see," said Stephanie to herself. "He pretends that he loves me, but he cannot forget her.--So this is your secret, cher George! I shall know how to make use of it when the time conies."
Suddenly she started and half rose from her seat. Her eyes had been caught by something outside the window. She turned quickly on Mrs. Purvis. "That child--where does he come from? Who is he?"
The landlady's gaze followed hers through the window. "Do you mean that little fellow on the grass plat who is throwing crumbs to the birds? He's a mountebank's son, as you may see by his dress. His father is having some bread-and-cheese in the kitchen. What a shame it is that such a dear little mite should have to earn his living by turning head over heels in the streets."
For several moments Stephanie stood motionless, her eyes fixed on the child. Then, without turning her head, she said: "Thank you. I require nothing more at present. When I do, I will ring." The tones in which the words were spoken conveyed more than the words themselves. Mrs. Purvis bridled like a peacock, shook her cap-ribbons, and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her with unnecessary violence.