Part 2

“Yes,” she answered, “and some of them pretty. The two with the scarlet tam-o’-shanters are the Miss Todds, heiresses from Woorolango. And the one in the white yachting cap is said to be the belle of Sydney.”

“And who is the dark girl who sits at the end of the first officer’s table?”

“Beside a delicate lady with white hair and a bloodless face? I do not know, except that they are Mrs. and Miss Loftus, presumably mother and daughter. The girl is devoted to the invalid, and never leaves her side; they keep entirely to themselves.”

“Must be rather slow for the young lady?”

“No doubt it is; but when she is spoken to she merely smiles and answers ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Conversation cannot flourish under such circumstances, can it?”

“Do they know no one?”

“No. No one knows them, or who they are--which amounts to the same thing.”

“She is a handsome girl, with a thundering good figure, and looks well-bred.”

“Appearances are sometimes deceitful!”

“I don’t know about that--one has an intuition----”

“I believe you are going to break the spell of silence, and make the lady’s acquaintance.”

“Yes--why not?”

“Why not, indeed? But you will find it easier said than done! She has never opened a conversation with anyone during three weeks. I’ve even tried to talk to her myself!”

“Ah! I see you are a little piqued.”

“I am not the only one who is piqued. I think the damsel is inclined to give herself _airs_--we are possibly not good enough--but I expect she will thaw to _you_.”

“Come now. I call that rather a nasty one, Mrs. Seymour! What have I done to deserve it?”

“Nothing--forgive me, and help me on with my cape, and we will take a little turn before I turn in. As for the Loftus party, they may have very good reasons for keeping all at arm’s-length”--she paused and stared at him significantly--“for not wishing to know us, or us to know them,” and, as she spoke, the lady rose from her chair, as if the subject were closed and done with.

Like a true sportsman, Captain Grantham was patient and pertinacious; he bided his time--but biding one’s time on the trackless ocean, aboard a fast liner, is not the same thing as tracking a quarry in the pathless forest. There is a limit to postponement--a limit represented by the port of arrival.

For several days he made no progress whatever, beyond discovering that the lady was admired by the men-folk, and suspected by the ladies, who, whilst admitting the patent fact of her filial devotion, had nothing to say in her favour. There was plenty to occupy the time among the passengers, and one sulky girl was soon overlooked--but not by Captain Grantham. She interested him; he was determined to make her acquaintance, and luck favoured him--a sudden lurch of the ship in the abominable current just off Socotra capsized the old lady’s chair, and she would have been hurled across the deck had he not dashed to her assistance, caught her bodily in his arms, and saved in all respects the situation. He took the entire charge of Mrs. Loftus, personally conducted her to her cabin, and subsequently collected books, spectacles, shawl, and was thus brought into communication with the young lady, and from that moment his object was secured. She proved not at all _difficile_ once the ice was broken, but a charming and captivating acquaintance. After nearly four weeks’ silence, she seemed anxious to make up for lost time, and talked incessantly; she was also an admirable listener. Before they had reached Suez she had largely extended her acquaintance, and became as intimate with some of the passengers as previously she had been remote. But her first acquaintance was her chief ally; together they paced the deck for exercise, together they did problems in the papers, they played chess, and exchanged books and opinions, and sat for a long time after dinner watching the stars and the low tropical moon.

In the canal Captain Grantham, who was on the “amusement committee,” helped to get up a grand concert, and prevailed on Miss Loftus to sing. He had gleaned from her mother that she had a fine voice, and also a few other talents; as he sat beside the invalid’s long chair, he discovered that she was ladylike and refined; her surroundings indicated taste and money.

Rata, as the girl was called, was her only child. Mrs. Loftus was a widow returning to England, which she had quitted twenty-eight years previously. Her husband’s people came from Gloucester, and were nearly all dead.

She had lived near Christchurch, New Zealand, and only been twice to England since she and her husband had become colonists. Her brother had commanded a well-known regiment and was now a Brigadier in India.

Yes, Captain Grantham remembered to have seen him some years previously, and here was a link between them--such a very small matter will constitute a tie on board ship, especially when both the ends are anxious to be joined.

At the rehearsals for the concert, Miss Loftus discovered to her listeners a magnificent contralto voice. People vowed she was a second Melba; there was also something that thrilled and touched one’s very heart-strings in the expression of her rich, full notes.

The concert took place whilst the ship was in the Canal, and the _Oriana_ seemed motionless, as it wound its way through the limitless sand; the concert was, of course, packed, every seat was occupied. There were the usual banjo and guitar ditties, men’s songs, a glee; then Miss Loftus stood up, all in white, and, without a note of music, sang “An Arab Love Song.”

The theme, which seemed peculiarly suitable to the encompassing desert, had a weird and impressive effect, and threw a momentary spell over the entire audience. There was a wild, passionate note in the singer’s voice that appealed to that something far down, hidden away and stifled, that is born in every human being.

All the world of the _Oriana_ realised that they were listening to a voice entirely out of the common, to something unusual, unforgettable, and unique.

Miss Loftus presented a delightful picture; she was good to look at, as she stood up in the moonlight on the little platform--graceful, dignified, and yet so simple; last, by no means least, so undeniably handsome.

Her second song was a simple ballad, which caused a lump to rise in the throats of her audience; but when the last notes had died away among the sands, what applause--real applause! Such was the uproar and the acclamation, that a ship which was following became extremely envious, and half inclined to despatch a boat to inquire the reason of the unusual demonstration.

A Mediterranean moon looks sympathetically on lovers. What can be more romantic than those long, idle evenings on that romantic sea? By the time Malta was sighted, Lumley Grantham, the despair of mothers (his own included), had proposed and been accepted by Rata Loftus. Although they had only known one another three weeks, time at sea means ten times more than time on land. They had no distractions, or occupation, spent at least twelve hours of the day in each other’s society, and they had learnt one another’s tastes and characters--so far as these may be known before marriage. She listened eagerly to his sporting adventures--he, to her descriptions of New Zealand, her vivid little sketches of Colonial life, her craving to see England and other countries, to hear operas, concerts, and, above all, to visit Bayreuth during the festival.

When the news of the engagement leaked out, it was received on board with mixed feelings--but on the whole the ship was pleased. It was a wonderful catch for the girl; but she was handsome, accomplished, and rich. Some of the women murmured among themselves that, “for all anyone knew she might be an adventuress! and the uncle, who was a General, a fraud,” but they kept their suspicions to themselves.

Mrs. Loftus now became more active; the voyage had revived her. She walked on deck, a little erect figure with a stately pose of her white head, and even discussed her plans with other ladies.

She proposed to make London her headquarters for the present, to take a furnished house, and get Rata presented--it was only March; there were sure to be May drawing-rooms.

The happy couple--they were very much in love--went ashore, and spent a day at Gibraltar in the highest spirits, chaperoned by Mrs. Loftus. It was surmised that they had despatched telegrams and letters, and, at any rate, Miss Loftus wore a handsome ring on her engaged finger when she returned to the ship, loaded with gifts of fans, quaint bits of Moorish ornaments, and a fine mantilla, which she wore at a fancy ball two evenings later as a Spanish lady, and looked a Spanish donna to the life. On their arrival in London, Mrs. and Miss Loftus drove straight to the Carlton Hotel, and Lumley Grantham joined his family in Grosvenor Place.

The next day Lord and Lady Nesfield came to call on the new arrivals, and their son’s future bride.

They were not a formidable couple: he, a tall, bent, grey old man, with courteous manners; she, a pretty, impulsive little woman, enchanted that Lumley had chosen a wife at last, thankful for anyone, as long as she was not black, and prepared to be delighted with her daughter-in-law.

Rata for her part was much touched by their kind welcome, and all now went merrily as a marriage bell. Miss Loftus was handsome, healthy, ladylike; she had £25,000--quite ample, as Lumley had no occasion to marry a great fortune. Her mother was a refined and amiable woman, passionately devoted to her only child, and the attachment was most warmly returned. Rata was a girl of strong feelings, and it was patent to all that she was deeply in love with her _fiancé_. Mrs. Loftus, who was evidently a woman of wealth, was soon established in a fashionable house at Lowndes Square, with a smart carriage and an adequate staff, and all Lumley Grantham’s relatives and connections, male and female, crowded to call upon the lady of his choice.

They found her as handsome, graceful, and agreeable as they were led to expect, but perhaps a little unconventional and colonial. With respect to her voice, there could be but one opinion. She was a serious loss to the musical world, and could have made a fortune as a great _prima donna_. Invitations were showered upon 225, Lowndes Square. Miss Loftus was in continual request, and soon became a social favourite. She was a magnificent horsewoman, and rode every morning in the Row, accompanied by Captain Grantham.

Among the chorus of praise were a few discordant notes; the loudest and shrillest of these issued from the Hon. Mrs. Custance, Lord Nesfield’s only sister, a lady in somewhat narrow circumstances, with two tall, talkative daughters. Her view’s were not rigid respecting the marrying of first cousins, and Lumley’s engagement had been a shock to her, for she had always hoped that he would one day settle down, and marry either Maudie or Mag, instead of which he presented as _fiancée_ a Colonial nobody, whom he had, so to speak, picked up at sea! _Who_ was she? This was a question continually on her lips.

The Loftus family were undoubtedly respectable, but how was anyone to know she was one of them? And the uncle, a General, was possibly a myth. These people had no friends in London, and did not seem to know a soul.

But for all these objections Lady Nesfield found satisfactory replies. She was delighted at her son’s capture--now he would be chained fast, and kept at home. General Broome had written his congratulations, and was sending a present. Two of the Custance girls were to be bridesmaids; the wedding would take place in July, as the bride’s mother was in precarious health, and anxious to see her daughter happily married, as she believed--so she told Lady Nesfield in confidence--that her own days were numbered, and she could not bear the idea of leaving Rata alone in the world.

At the present moment she had rallied sufficiently to be able to accompany her girl to the park, the play, and elsewhere.

The questions of Mrs. Custance were also on the lips and in the mind of Lady Foxrock, Lumley Grantham’s only sister. She was undeniably one of the smart set. The childless wife of a wealthy old peer, ambition was her fetish, and, in spite of her passion for bridge, motoring, and racing, she still contrived to find time for the casting of social nets, and for bringing important intimacies into the family circle. She had always resolved that Lumley, “the wild hunter,” as she playfully called him, should marry--when he _did_ take the step--to the advantage of his family, and she had mentally selected one of her exclusive friends, the rather _passée_ daughter of a noble duke, with a splendid connection, and a considerable dower. She never dreamt, for one moment, that Lumley would find anything more attractive abroad than his usual horns, tusks, and skins; but home he came with a bride, so to speak, in his hand--a mere colonial nobody. Lady Foxrock took an invincible dislike to her on the spot--the dislike was mutual. Rata felt herself an antagonist to this tall, sour-looking lady, with a thin, high nose, pale, arrogant eyes, and slow, disdainful airs. Lady Foxrock could not understand why men admired the colonial; in her opinion, she was frightfully second-rate. And who _was_ she? How, she asked her mother, did they know she was related to the Gloucestershire people? The uncle in India was probably a fiction! The girl had no friends in London and, for all that they could tell, might be an adventuress. Lumley’s interests must be watched--he was an _idiot_, where that girl was concerned.

Naturally Lady Foxrock had been indefatigable in her endeavours to discover something about the Loftuses, but, unfortunately, New Zealand was remote, and her acquaintances in the Colonies were limited, and she had a confused idea that people who lived in Melbourne or Sydney must, as a matter of course, be intimate with those in Christchurch and Wellington!

One sleepy afternoon, at Hurlingham, kind fate placed a clue in her hand. She was sitting in one of the little tents on the lawn, enjoying tea and strawberries; her near neighbours were a large merry party of acquaintances, and they gradually intermixed. Among the group was a grey-haired, square-built gentleman, who was presented to her as Mr. Dexter, spending a few months in England after an absence of thirty years. Lady Foxrock surveyed him critically; his clothes were ill-fitting, his gloves preposterous, but his carriage, square chin, and keen eyes, gave indication of a man of character, and importance.

He sank into a chair beside the lady, and said, “It is a pretty scene,” nodding his head at the numerous gay groups, the passing crowd, the lawn scattered with flower-beds, the tall trees, through which shimmered the river.

“Yes, but I’ve seen it so often,” she drawled, “its charm has faded a little.”

“Ah, well, if you had been thirty years in the colonies you would not complain of _that_.”

“Oh, really, I suppose not,” she answered indifferently, her attention diverted by the sight of her brother, his _fiancée_, Mrs. Loftus, and Lady Nesfield, who were then passing. She noticed that her companion started and stared hard; he even leant forward and gazed after the group; then, as he met her glance of interrogation, he said, “I’ve just seen a familiar face--a face from home.”

“Oh, then you are from New Zealand,” she exclaimed, “and have recognised Mrs. and Miss Loftus?”

“Ah,” he answered, “so you know them?”

“Yes; and you?”

“Very intimately once; but eighteen years ago they left our neighbourhood, and I entirely lost sight of them.”

“Who _was_ Mr. Loftus?” she asked abruptly.

“A prosperous gentleman who owned several large ranches, and died a year ago, leaving a fortune.”

“Was he of good birth?”

“I should say so--but we don’t take much account of that in the Colonies, you know.”

“And Mrs. Loftus?”

“She was renowned for her philanthropy and charities. She had no children----”

“What! No children! She has a daughter--you saw her just now.”

“An adopted daughter,” he corrected.

“Impossible!”

“I assure you it is the case; there was no secret about it.”

“There is a secret about it _now_.”

“You seem interested in the family.”

“I should think I am, considering that Miss Loftus is going to marry my brother--Lord Nesfield’s only son.”

“You don’t say so!” he exclaimed, in unfeigned amazement.

“But I do--the wedding is fixed to take place in ten days’ time. Shall we go outside this tent, and stroll about a little?--impossible to talk here.”

“Certainly,” and he moved a chair out of her way, and followed Lady Foxrock down towards the polo ground.

“I suppose there is no mistake, Mr. Dexter,” she began, “and you really recognise these people?”

“I recognise Mrs. Loftus. I could swear to her anywhere, to her white face and prominent blue eyes. The girl was only two, when I last saw her, but I believe her to be the same. She was very handsome, and her name, I believe, was Rata--named after a New Zealand flower.”

“Yes; it is Rata.”

“There never was any concealment or mystery respecting her. The Loftuses had no family. They were passionately fond of children, and they adopted a child, and, a short time after this, they moved away to the south island; and we lost sight of them.”

“Do you know who the child was?”

“Well”--with obvious reluctance--“yes, I do.”

“You will tell me, won’t you?” and she flashed on him a challenging glance from her small grey eyes.

A moment’s silence. At last he said, “No; I would rather not. It is not my business, and you must excuse me.”

“Oh, Mr. Dexter, _won’t_ you speak out? It means so much to _us_.”

“There is absolutely nothing against the girl’s character. I think I can assure you of that.”

“Then it is her _birth_--that is the question.”

“Well, she is not responsible for that, is she?”

“No-o,” the negative was reluctant.

“She seems a fine, tall, beautiful young woman, and I’m sure she has been well brought up; she will be wealthy--what more do you want?”

“The truth, and nothing but the truth.”

“It is not always advisable to know the truth--sometimes silence is best.”

“And so you won’t speak,” she said impatiently, “you are inflexible?”

He bowed his head.

“Look here; we are just coming face to face with the party. Will you accost them?”

“No; I prefer not--unless Mrs. Loftus recognises me.”

They approached in a line, the two younger people handsome and radiant--Rata all in white, carrying a becoming pink sunshade--the elder ladies deep in mutual confidences. Little did they suspect that the smiling lady in grey, who had accosted them in passing, was elaborating a scheme which was to upset their happy anticipations.

“Well, Mr. Dexter,” said Lady Foxrock, “I see you are a man of honour, and respect the affairs of other people, and I must say, that, _much_ as I should like to know something about my future sister-in-law, I admire your reticence immensely. We will consider our talk strictly confidential. Are you married?”

“Yes; that was my wife with the Greysons--the little woman in the blue toque.”

“You won’t mention the subject to her, will you?”

“No, certainly not. The less said the better.”

“Where are you staying?”

“At the Hyde Park Hotel--for a couple of weeks. We have not many friends in London.”

“Then I should like to do myself the pleasure of calling on Mrs. Dexter.”

“That is really very kind of you. I am sure she will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“And now,” said the lady, “we must go and look for our parties. They will think we are lost.”

Lady Foxrock was prompt in calling on Mrs. Dexter. She found her twenty years younger than her husband, and of a much inferior class--a yellow-haired, shallow, over-dressed little person, who was obviously flattered by a visit from her ladyship.

Her ladyship dangled some imposing invitations before her dazzled eyes, and then began to ask cautious questions about New Zealand.

Yes, she was New Zealand born herself, not long married--she had insisted on Joe taking her to England, for a spree like! She wanted to see the world a bit, and society. He had brought her, though all his own folk were dead--and he had no home now.

Had Mrs. Dexter ever heard of a Mrs. Loftus in her part of the world?

Yes, ages ago--she’d almost forgotten the tale.

“Oh, so there was a tale. How very interesting! Has it anything to do with her adopted daughter?”

Mrs. Dexter nodded, and giggled.

“The girl is in England now, you know, with Mrs. Loftus--and about to make a grand match.”

Lady Foxrock had touched the right chord; the little colonial was filled with a sudden spasm of envy.

“A splendid match--_she_!”

“Yes, to the son of a lord.”

“Oh--what!” and she burst out into an excited laugh. “Well, I declare, this is too fine a joke. If they only knew--wouldn’t they be wild!”

“Knew what?”

“Oh, I’d better not say--it might get out. I don’t want to be a spoil-sport; and Joe hates what he calls ‘gossip,’” and she put her finger on her lips.

Lady Foxrock drew herself up and looked dignified. “I assure you that I never gossip, Mrs. Dexter. If you can tell me who this girl was, and is, you will be doing me an enormous favour, and one I shall not forget; but, of course, if you feel that you have no wish to confide in me--and after all I am a stranger----” she paused, and her smile implied a threat.

After all, she was Lady Foxrock, and if she was denied this small request, good-bye to a box at the Opera, an invitation for Lady Foxrock’s fancy ball--and other delights.

“Well, then, look here; I _will_ tell you,” and she suddenly leant forward. Her visitor also approached her head, her heart beat fast--these moments are the sparks of life!

“Miss Loftus, the adopted daughter of Mrs. Loftus, is just a----”

There was a footstep outside.

“Hark! my husband is coming!”

“Quick, quick, you must tell me!” cried Lady Foxrock, seizing her arm in an agony of suspense.

Mrs. Dexter once again leant forward, and whispered, and, ere her whispering had ceased, the handle rattled, and the two heads started apart, as the door opened and Mr. Dexter entered the room.

His wife had entirely recovered her self-possession and said, with incredible assurance, “Oh, there you are, dear. I’m so glad you’ve come in while Lady Foxrock is here.”

He advanced with broad, extended palm. Lady Foxrock, who seemed embarrassed, and strangely flushed, said:

“Yes; I’ve paid, you see, my threatened visit to your wife, and now”--rising as she spoke--“I must positively be going. I’m such a busy person, my quarters of an hour are all filled up.”

“I am sorry I did not come home a little sooner,” said Joe Dexter, who saw that his wife was flattered and gratified, and felt proportionately pleased.

“I will send the cards to-morrow,” continued Lady Foxrock, “and I shall hope to see you both on the 29th,” and with a gracious handshake her ladyship swept out.

Once seated in her carriage, she felt herself trembling with excitement; a few civil words, a card of invitation, what had they not brought her? The match between Lumley and the New Zealander was practically broken off--in a few hours the notification would appear in the _Morning Post_!

She was determined to strike at once--no time like the present, and no time to be lost. She ordered her footman to drive to Lowndes Square.

Mrs. Loftus was at home, resting on the sofa in the back drawing-room. She had had an unusually fatiguing day, and looked ghastly as she struggled to her feet to receive Lady Foxrock. Her ladyship, being Lumley’s sister, had the _entrée_ at all hours to the temporary home of his _fiancée_. Yet Lady Foxrock was antipathetic to both Rata and her mother. She was cold, arrogant, interfering, and inquisitive--it seemed almost impossible that she could have been born a Nesfield!