And then there was that hateful promise which Launce had extracted from her, not to speak of their engagement to any one till he should give her leave to do so. It was only for a few weeks, he told her, probably a month at the most, that he asked her to keep unbroken silence. Private reasons of an imperative nature compelled him to ask this favour at her hands. She had yielded to his importunity, but none the less did she realise how disloyal it was on her part to have a secret—and such a secret—locked up from her aunts.
The fact was that Launce Keymer, unknown to his father, or any one at St. Oswyth’s, had for some time past been making love to a pretty nursery governess at Dulminster, the county town, a dozen miles away, to which place he ran over by train on a couple of evenings in each week. Furthermore, he had been infatuated enough—and he now reviled himself in bitter terms for his folly—to write her a number of compromising letters, such as if produced in an action for breach of promise would infallibly land him in heavy damages. He knew that Hetty Blair had more than one correspondent in St. Oswyth’s, and that, if the news of his engagement with Ethel Thursby were once made public, it could scarcely fail to reach her ears. Not that he would have minded that in the least, if Hetty had only burnt or otherwise destroyed those fatal letters. But, as he was well aware, she had done nothing of the kind. He had seen them with his own eyes, tied round with white ribbon, where they lay in the girl’s old-fashioned workbox which stood on the top of the bureau in her mother’s little parlour, and his object was to get them back into his own hands before his engagement to Ethel got noised abroad. That once accomplished, he felt that he could afford to snap his fingers at Miss Hetty Blair.
It may seem strange that such a cool, calculating, mercenary fellow as Launce Keymer should so far have run counter to all the principles by which it was his ambition to regulate his life as to permit himself to fall in love with a young person who was compelled to work for her daily bread. But it was just one of those things which occasionally come to pass, as if to upset all one’s preconceived notions of what we poor mortals think ought to happen, and to prove by what contradictory impulses hearts the most calculating and unemotional are sometimes swayed, as by a force they are powerless to resist.
Hetty Blair was a pretty brunette, with sparkling black eyes, full ripe lips, and a vivacious, not to say saucy, manner. She was genuinely in love with Keymer, and jealously miserable, although she strove to hide the fact from her lover, because for five evenings out of seven she saw nothing of him, and had no assurance that he was not making love to some one else at St. Oswyth’s—which was precisely what he was doing.
Miss Blair, who at this time was filling the post of day-governess to the two young children of a major on half-pay, had her home with her mother in a little cottage in a suburb of Dulminster. Keymer was in the habit of visiting Hetty twice a week, on Wednesdays, when the girl’s pupils were allowed a half-holiday, and on Saturdays, when business with the young brewer was over at an early hour; consequently, when he made an unexpected appearance at the cottage on a certain Thursday afternoon, when he was fully aware that Hetty was from home, Mrs. Blair could not refrain from expressing her surprise. His explanation was, that having to come to Dulminster on business for his father, he could not resist the temptation of arranging a little surprise for Hetty. Accordingly, he had brought her a bouquet of hothouse flowers, and one of those delicious Madeira cakes of which she was so fond, and if Mrs. Blair would so far oblige him as to step upstairs, where she kept her little cellaret, and bring down one of those half dozen of choice bottles of port he had once sent her, he should feel that his little surprise was complete.
Mrs. Blair did not object in the least. She had a weakness for port, as Launce, who was a great favourite with her, was quite aware. Accordingly she trotted slowly upstairs, for she was somewhat infirm, leaving Keymer alone, smoking his cigar in the little parlour, and he was still occupied in the same harmless fashion when she returned, ten minutes later. But in the interim he had contrived either to pick or force the lock of Hetty’s workbox and obtain possession of his letters. Presently he took his leave. His father, he explained, would expect him back by six o’clock at the latest; but of course he should see Hetty as usual on Saturday.
It was on the day prior to Ethel Thursby’s birthday that Launce Keymer regained possession of his letters.
CHAPTER XI.
HOPES AND FEARS
Launce Keymer was radiant as he opened the side door which admitted him to the grounds of Vale View. He had got back those compromising letters, which had been the bugbear of his life ever since he had won Ethel’s promise to become his wife. Hetty Blair might rave and storm to her heart’s content, as no doubt she would do, for she was a girl with a temper of her own, but it was no longer in her power to harm him, and beyond that he cared not at all. There was nothing now to hinder him from pressing forward his suit with Ethel, and it should be owing to no lukewarmness on his part if they were not married before the end of summer. Of course he was quite aware that the wills which the spinsters had caused to be drawn up in favour of their niece made no provision for her in the event of her marriage, and would only benefit her after the demise of one or both of them. But he had seen and heard enough of the Miss Thursbys to imbue him with a feeling of all but absolute certainty that they would not fail, on her marriage, to liberally dower the girl who was destined ultimately to succeed to the whole of their property—always provided that she married in accordance with their wishes, and he had far too good an opinion of himself to fear that his suit would meet with any discouragement at their hands. In any case, the risk of his wedding a dowerless wife was one which, in Ethel’s case, Keymer was fully prepared to face; indeed, to him it seemed an almost infinitesimal one.
Master Launce gave a well-feigned start of joyful surprise when, on opening the green door, he found Ethel waiting for him just inside it, although he had quite expected to find her there. An instant later she was imprisoned in his arms, while half-a-dozen passionate kisses were imprinted in quick succession on her flaming face. One cool kiss on a coyly proffered cheek was the utmost she had ever conceded her lover before. Never had he ventured to put his arms around her till to-day. When he released her she stood panting and indignant, and half inclined to cry. But Launce only looked at her with laughing eyes.