Chapter 26

While I was walking on the wall with Sir Lionel just now, gazing up at watch-towers, or down over the town, and dodging seedy amateur guides whom we nicknamed "Wallers," I kept thinking, thinking, about what to sell. The only thing Sir Lionel has given me of really great value, which could be easily disposed of, is the ruby and diamond ring. But how it would hurt me to give it up in such a sordid way! It was my birthday present from him, and it's associated in my mind with that night of moonlight in the New Forest when I first knew I _cared_. But I'm sorely afraid it must be the thing to go. There are several important-looking antique shops here, and I noticed, when casting my eye about, one where they make a speciality of curious and rare jewellery. I shall look at it again more carefully when I run out to the post-office, in a few minutes, and perhaps I may have courage to try and strike a bargain, so as to send the money off in the morning before Knutsford--if I get it----

_An hour later._

Dearest, I've got your wire, now, having retrieved it from the Poste Restante, and I'm thankful for it--thankful that you're well, thankful that you don't blame me for anything I've done, faults committed or mistakes made. But--alas, I don't think the advice, good as it is, will be of any use to me. You see, you don't know Mrs. Senter. It would be hopeless for me to try and force her to exert authority over Dick Burden.

In the first place, she has no real authority, as apparently he has no expectations from her; and in the second place, though I'm almost sure she doesn't know the truth about me and Ellaline, she suspects that Dick has a hold over me; and after all I've submitted to from him already it would be impossible to "bluff" her into the belief that I'd dare ask Sir Lionel to send them both away. No, my dear one, there's little hope for me in that scheme. I allowed Ellaline to make my bed for me, and I must lie in it, although it has proved to be one of those nasty folding ones that will shut and swallow me up in a trap.

No, it's cowardly to whine like that. It won't be pleasant to keep my promise to Dick; but there have been worse things; and I shall probably be able to escape before long. Anyhow it will all be the same a hundred years hence. As soon as I am with you again it will be as if nothing had happened; and meanwhile I am going to keep a "stiff upper lip." It mayn't be becoming, but that won't matter, as Sir Lionel will never look at me; and you will see by my letters in future how well I am getting on.

Best love to my best loved,

From

Audrie.

XXXIII

SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL PATRICK O'HAGAN

_Keswick Hotel_, _September 3rd_

My Dear Pat: Here we are, you see, in the "happy hunting ground" where you and I used to hunt such shy game as chimneys, needles, crevices, etc., etc.; and if I'm not as happy in it now as I ought to be, that isn't the fault of the country, which is as fair as it ever was--the fairest in England, perhaps.

It just happens, unfortunately, that I've been rubbed up the wrong way before coming to the places I'd looked forward to revisiting more than any other, except Cornwall; and if I hadn't invited dear old Penrhyn from Pen-y-gwrd to meet me here, and have a climb, I'm not sure I should have stopped. However, I have enjoyed the beauty of the run. I must have been as blind as a mole, and as earthy, if I hadn't.

Fine road from Chester to Liverpool, which city had an air of opulent magnificence seen from the ferry, as we neared her--rather like a huge, modern Venice. Lunched there, at the Adelphi, on the fat of the land, and had some trouble finding the way out of town. Liverpool welcomes the coming, but doesn't speed the parting guest; not a sign-post in sight anywhere. Bad pavé till Ormskirk, when things improved, growing better and better; but no scenery to speak of until near Preston. Villages all along the line, stone-paved; struck me as being characteristic of that stern North Country which we approached. "Road too good not to mean police-traps," said I to myself; and an A. A. scout warned me that they swarmed; but luckily we were not held up. I wasn't in a temper to have taken any nonsense lying down, I'm afraid.

Ran straight through Lancaster, which was almost a pity, as John o' Gaunt's Castle is a brave old fortress, whether or no he really built the famous tower; and at the King's Arms we might have got some genuine oat-cakes, which would have given a taste of Cumberland to the strangers. As it was, the first truly characteristic things we came upon were the stout stone walls, on which we happened a little short of Kendal. Down to Windermere, a steep but beautiful run; Mrs. Senter by my side, and very enthusiastic. She seems to take an unaffected interest in scenery, with which you would hardly have credited her in old times. She was entranced by her first sight of the lake, which is not surprising, for to one who has never seen them the lakes must be a revelation.

Dick Burden, by the way, was not with us on this run, nor was he at Chester. He had business in London, which kept him longer than he expected when he left our party at Tintern. I can't say I regret him, though others may. I understand that there has been some telegraphing between him and his aunt, and that his present intention is to rejoin us at Newcastle. Rather wish he would put off his return a little longer, as it is arranged that we go out to Cragside and Bamborough Castle; and one doesn't like to abuse such delightful hospitality as we have been offered there. Dick's presence does not add to the gaiety of nations, it seems to me, and I am not keen on taking him.

I found Penrhyn waiting for me here, the good fellow, delighted at the prospect of his short visit, and to-morrow he and I will have some small climb. I shall send the car, with Young Nick to drive all who care to go, to a few of the beauty spots, while I am otherwise occupied. They must penetrate the cloistered charms of exquisite Borrodaile, and of course see Lodore, which ought to be at its best now, as there have been heavy rains. Jove! How the Cumberland names ring on the ear, like the "horns of elfland"! Helvelyn; Rydal; Ennerdale; Derwent Water; Glaramara! Aren't they all as crystal as the depths of mountain tarns, or that amethystine colour of the sky behind the clear profiles of high peaks?

I'm sorry we're too late for the Grasmere Sports; but the fact is we have lingered by the way longer than I planned for this trip; and now, as things are turning out I'm inclined to cut the end of the tour short. Graylees is practically ready for occupation, and I feel as if I ought to be there.

No! That isn't good enough for you, old chap. It's true, as far as it goes; but you have begun to read between the lines by this time, I know, and I may as well speak out. I should be an ostrich if I weren't sure that you've been saying to yourself: "Why doesn't this fellow refer to the girl he has spent so much pen and paper on? Why does he go out of his way to avoid mentioning her name?"

Well, she hasn't eloped, or done anything culpable. But there is no use concealing from you, as I have told you so much, that she has hurt me to the quick. Not that she has been unkind, or rude, or disagreeable. Quite the contrary. And that's the worst of it, for I prayed to heaven that there might be nothing of her mother in this young soul. At first, as you know, I could hardly believe the girl to be all she seemed, but soon she won me to thinking her perfection--a lily, grown by some miracle of Nature in a soil where weeds had flourished hitherto. I would have given my right hand rather than have to admit a flaw in her--that is, the one fatal flaw: slyness hidden under apparent frankness, which means an inherited tendency to deceit.

This may sound as if I had found the poor child out in a lie. But there has been no spoken lie. She has only done the sort of thing I might have expected Ellaline de Nesville's daughter to do.

I told you about the ring I bought her at Winchester, and gave her on her birthday; how prettily she received it; how she seemed to treasure it more because of the thought and the association than the intrinsic value of the ruby and the brilliants.

At Chester, the night before we left, I thought I'd try to pick up some little souvenir of the town for her, as she was delighted with the place. Of course I wanted something small, as our luggage isn't of the expanding order, so I had the idea of jewellery; a little antique pendant, or a few old paste buttons. There is a certain shop in the "Rows" where one looks for such things, and expects to find them good, if highly priced. In the window of that shop I saw displayed for sale the ring I had given to Ellaline!

The sight of it there was a blow; but I persuaded myself I might be mistaken; that it wasn't the same ring, but another, almost a duplicate. I went in and asked to look at it. The shopman mentioned that it was something quite unusually good, and had "only come in" that afternoon. Inside I found the date which I had had engraved on the ring; the date of Ellaline's birthday. I bought it back--for a good deal more than I paid in Winchester, as this chap knew his business thoroughly; but that is a detail. It was merely to satisfy a kind of sentimental vanity that I wanted to get the thing out of the window and into my own hands; for, needless to say, I don't intend to speak of the matter at all to Ellaline. It would humiliate me more than it would her, to let her see that I know what she did with her birthday present; for partly, I blame myself. I supposed that I was fairly free-handed with money, and had no idea that the girl could possibly want more than she had. Still, I told her to let me know in case she found me thoughtless, and not to hesitate to ask for anything she wanted. She could have had as much as she chose, and I would have put no questions. If I'd been surprised with the largeness of the sums, I should have believed that she had some pensioners to whom she wished to be charitable; for I had begun to believe that she could do no wrong.

As I said, there was nothing culpable in selling the ring. It was hers. She had a right to do as she liked with it. But that she should like to part with it; that she should do so, knowing I would hate it if I knew; that she should be exactly the same with me as if she hadn't done a thing which she was aware would distress me; that she hadn't the courage and frankness to come to me and say----

Oh, hang it all, I'm grumbling and complaining like an old prig! Perhaps I am one. I know Dick Burden thinks so. We'll let it go at that. I don't need to explain to you a matter which outwardly is insignificant, and is significant to me only for reasons which the past will account for to you better than my explanations.

The salt has gone out of life a bit, and I think it will do me good to get to Graylees, where I shall find a thousand things to interest me. I daresay Ellaline will be glad to settle down, though she is too polite to show it; and I'm sure Emily will.

After a look at the Roman Wall, and a sight of Bamborough, we shall run to Warwickshire with few détours or pauses.

You see, by the way, that you were wrong in thinking she could care. If there had been the least warmth in her heart for me she couldn't have sold my ring. I'm glad I didn't make a fool of myself.

Penrhyn wants to be remembered to you.

Yours ever,

Pen.

XXXIV

SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL O'HAGAN

_County Hotel, Newcastle_, _September 5th_

My Dear Pat: You'll be surprised to get another letter from me on the tail of the last, but there have been developments in which I think you will be interested.

The sale of the ring was a mere preface to what has followed.

We arrived at Newcastle this afternoon, finding Burden already here. I didn't think the meeting between him and Ellaline particularly cordial, but appearances are deceiving where girls are concerned, as I have lately been reminded in more ways than one. About an hour ago, while I was getting off some letters and telegrams, I received a message from my ward asking if she could see me in the hotel drawing-room--the place is so full I couldn't get a private one.

I went down at once, of course, dimly (and foolishly) hoping that she wanted to "confess" about the ring. But it was quite a different confession she had to make; her desire to be engaged to Mr. Burden!

Naturally, after our last conversation on that subject, I was somewhat surprised, and on the spur of the moment was tempted to remind her that not long ago Young Nick had appeared as suitable in her eyes, as young Dick. However, I stopped in time to save myself from being both bounder and brute. I did inquire whether she were now sure of her own mind; but it was the duty of a guardian and not the malice of a disappointed man which prompted the question.

Her manner was singularly dry and businesslike, and she came as near to looking plain as it is possible for a beautiful girl to come; so love isn't always a beautifier.

"I am sure of my mind for the moment," she replied, with repulsive prudence. "I suppose a girl need never say more."

This answer and her manner puzzled me, so I ventured to ask, in a guardianly way, if she thought she were enough in love with Burden to be happy with him.

"I haven't to think about being with him at all yet," she temporized.

"You seem to have an extraordinary idea of an engagement," I said, perhaps rather sneeringly, for I felt bitter, and had never approved of her less.

"Perhaps I have," she returned, in such an odd, muffled sort of tone that I feared she was going to cry, and glanced at her sharply. But she was looking down and there were no tears visible, so that fear was relieved.

"You do, at all events, wish to be engaged to Burden?" I persisted. "Am I to understand that?"

"I have asked for your consent," she said, with a queer stiffness. And it was on my tongue to say as stiffly, "Very well: you have it. What pleases you should please me." But the words stuck in my throat, as if they'd been lumps of ice; and instead I answered, almost in spite of myself, that I couldn't give my consent unconditionally. I must have another talk with Burden, and whatever my decision might be, I would prefer that she didn't consider herself engaged until after the tour was ended.

"We'll bring it to a close as soon as possible now," I added, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt, "so as not to keep you waiting."

She made no response to this, except to give me a singular look which even now I find it impossible to understand. It was as if she had something to reproach me for, and yet as if she were more pleased than sad.

Girls are very complicated human beings, if indeed they can be classified thus--though perhaps some men's lives would be duller if they were simpler. As for my life, the less girls have to do with it when my ward is off my hands, the better.

Since the above conversation, I have been drawn into a talk with Burden. He appeared anxious to find out exactly what had passed between Ellaline and me, almost as if he suspected her of not "playing straight," but I replied, briefly, that she had asked my permission to be engaged to him, having evidently changed her mind since our last discussion on the subject. This appeared to content him more or less, although I repeated what I'd said to the girl: that I was not prepared to consent officially until I had communicated with his mother, and satisfied myself that my ward would be welcomed in the family. This he evidently thought old-fashioned and over-scrupulous, but when I admitted being both, he ceased to protest, only saying that he wished to write to his mother first. I suggested talking with his aunt, also, and he did not object to the idea, so Mrs. Senter and I have already had a short conversation concerning her nephew's love affair. She cried a little, and said that she would be "horribly alone in the world" when her "only real pal" was married, but that of course she wished for his happiness above everything, and she meant to give him a wedding present worth having, if she beggared herself for years. The poor little woman showed a great deal of heart, and I was touched. I'm afraid she's not too happy, under her air of almost flippant gaiety and "smartness," for she rather hinted that she liked some man who didn't care for her--someone she met in the East. I suppose she can't be cherishing a hidden passion for you? Rather cruel of us, accusing her of being a flirt in those days, if she were in earnest all the time, eh?

In case I "pump" her a little about this mysterious disappointment, and find it's you she's thinking of, I may turn the tables, and give you some good advice--better than you gave me. You might do worse than get leave and have another look at this pretty and agreeable lady before deciding to let her slip.

Yours always,

Pen.

Good old Owen enjoyed his two days in Cumberland. He, too, tried his hand on advising me. Said I ought to marry. Not I!

XXXV

MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN

_Newcastle_, _September Something_

My Dear Sis: This is to ask a great favour of you, and you must be a pet and grant it. There's nothing I won't do for you in return, if you will.

I have just been having a most satisfactory chat with Sir L. It began in reference to Dick. Somehow or other that ingenious darling had forced Ellaline Lethbridge to ask Sir Lionel for his (Dick's) hand! I say "forced," because she is not in the least in love with him, indeed, (strange as it may seem to you) detests the ground he walks on; yet she does things that he tells her to do--things she hates like poison. This last _coup_ of Dick's convinces me of what I've often suspected: he knows something about her past which she is deadly afraid he will tell Sir Lionel. It may be connected with that visit to Venice, when the Tyndals saw her; anyhow, whatever the secret may be, it is serious. She is obliged to bribe Dick; but she dislikes him too intensely to marry him ever--even if the way to do so were made easy; so, I reiterate, have no fear on that score.

Sir Lionel fancies himself in love with the girl, but he will get over it, even if he isn't on the way to do so already, pushed roughly onto the right road by her confessed preference for Dick. For the moment, however, I can see he is rather hard hit, though he would be _mad_ if he dreamed I or anyone could read his august feelings. He thinks his hesitation to permit an engagement arises from conscientious scruples, but really it's because he can't bear to have any other man (or boy) making love to his girl. That's the brutal truth; and he's haggling and putting off the evil day as long as he can. He wanted to ask me what my feeling was in the matter; whether _you_ would be pleased, and so on. Ellaline might not be rich, he explained, but she would have enough for her own wants as a married woman. He thought her husband, when she had one, ought to wish to do the rest; and though Dick considered his own prospects good, a partnership in a detective agency hardly seemed ideal.

I told him I couldn't quite answer for you, as you had always hoped your one boy might fall in love with a rich girl; but that I was sure Dick adored Ellaline. I asked if I should write to you, when Dick did; and he said, half reluctantly, perhaps I had better. Poor wretch, he was afraid I might succeed in persuading you!

I was pathetic on the subject of Dick, and our comradeship, which must be broken by the dear boy's marriage, and as Sir L. was suffering himself, he was in just the right mood to sympathize with me. I snivelled a little; and at last, emboldened by success, I allowed him to gather that there was someone I'd cared for a long, long time--someone who didn't care for me. At that he was so nice, that I liked him better than I ever thought I could; and since then I feel I really can't and shan't lose him.

No sooner had he given my hand a warm yet disappointing "kind friend" squeeze, at parting, than I routed out Dick in his own room. I promised him that I would induce you to write a nice letter about the proposed engagement to Sir Lionel if he in his turn would persuade Ellaline to put in a good word for _me_ with Sir L., to tell him that she believed I cared for him a good deal, and was unhappy.

When I said "persuade" to Dick, I meant use his unknown power to command; for if the girl would say that to her guardian, her words would be the one stone capable of killing two birds. It would prove to him that of which I don't think he is perfectly sure at present: her love for Dick, or, at worst, her complete indifference to himself; and it would pop into his head the idea I want to put there, though I have done all it's safe to do openly toward inserting it.

I saw when I softly hinted at a hopeless affection which had spoiled years of my life, that he didn't think of himself. Somehow, he must be _made_ to think; and now is the right time, for his heart is sore, and needs balm. He would be so sorry for me that, in the state he is in, he couldn't be hard. He would argue that, as he was bound to be unhappy anyway, he might as well try to make others happy. I feel that everything would happen exactly as I want it to happen if Ellaline Lethbridge could be depended upon to say the right thing.

Of course, there lies the danger: that she won't. But Dick boasts that she'll have to do as he tells her. It's worth risking; but he won't give the word unless he thinks that I've coaxed you 'round.

That's the favour I ask. Will you, when you get this, wire to me at once, "Writing according to your request to Sir L."? I can then show your telegram to Dick (you must address it to me at Bamborough Castle, where we are to spend a night, after staying one at Cragside) and he will put pressure to bear on Ellaline Lethbridge.

You can be absolutely certain that no harm will come of this. That Dick and she will never be married; whereas, when I am married to Sir Lionel, I'll give you a present of five hundred pounds, within the first year, to do with as you like. I'd even be willing to sign a paper to that effect.

Your anxious, yet hopeful

Gwen.

XXXVI

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Bamborough Castle_, _September 9th_

Dear: I know you are miserable about me, but don't be it, because I'm not miserable about myself. Honour bright!

I've done the hateful deed. It was at Newcastle: and I knew I was in for it, the minute I saw Dick. He's got his partnership, and thinks he's got me. But there's many a slip 'twixt Dick Burden and Audrie Brendon.

I wouldn't tell Sir Lionel I was in love with the horrid Boy Detective, and I'm happy--or nearly happy--to say that he refused to give his consent straight out to an engagement. He told Dick the same thing; so there'll be no leaving us two alone in lovesick corners (can corners be lovesick?), or making announcements, or anything appalling of that sort.

Perhaps it was easier, speaking to Sir Lionel, because he hadn't been kind to me since the last evening in Chester--I can't think why, though I can think why I deserved unkindness. The ring was terribly on my mind; but he can't have found out about that, because the man in the shop promised he wouldn't try to sell it until next day.

I couldn't get quite what Ellaline wanted, though I sold two or three other things--all I could sell; but it came nearly to the right amount; and it went off to her in Scotland, in the form of a post-office order, that same night--assured instead of registered, as the letter was so valuable.