“What has happened?” asked Cecil carelessly, “any thing which serves to break the monotony of a seaside existence must be a blessing.”
“I do not know whether you will think it so,” said the lady laughing, “Miss Oriel has eloped with Mr. Beauchamp.”
“I am glad of it—from my very soul I rejoice at it,” exclaimed Cecil Forrester, while a dark, vindictive smile gave a most disagreeable expression to his usually fine face.
“Why, how strangely you look at me,” replied Mrs. Dale, “what is the matter?”
“Nothing—nothing—when did it all happen?”
“Did you not see her go out with him to ride last evening? Well, it seems Mr. Beauchamp’s servant had been privately despatched to the city with their baggage, and instead of returning the lovers rode directly to the next town and were married.”
“Why did they give themselves so much trouble? If Beauchamp had asked the old woman she would have dropped a curtsy and thanked him for the offer.”
“There is the mystery of the whole affair; Mrs. Oriel pretends to be very indignant, but it is easy to see she is secretly pleased. Miss Oriel has written a letter to Miss Grey in which she entreats her to ‘break the tidings tenderly to poor Mamma;’ excuses herself on the plea of irresistible affection; talks of Mr. Beauchamp’s ardor and her fear of maternal opposition, and finishes by requesting Ellen to ‘allow his favorite Mrs. Dale to acquaint Mr. Forrester with her regret at having been the cause of disappointment and sorrow to him.’ ”
“What the devil does she mean by that?”
“Why to make Ellen jealous of me and distrustful of you, and thus disappoint both your love and revenge,” said Mrs. Dale.