Part 10

Yes, he had come at four, we discovered, and had waited twenty minutes, and then left, saying he would come again at half-past six.

“Then you will write him a note, and give it to the porter for him, saying you are engaged to me, and can’t see him,” Robert said.

“No, I can’t do that--I am not engaged to you, and cannot be until your family consent, and are nice to me,” I said.

“Darling,” he faltered, and his voice trembled with emotion, “darling, love is between you and me, it is our lives--however that can go, the ways of my family, nothing shall ever separate you from me, or me from you, I swear it. Write to Christopher.”

I sat down at a table in the hall and wrote,

“DEAR MR. CARRUTHERS,--I am sorry I was out,” then I bit the end of my pen. “Don’t come and see me this evening. I will tell you why in a day or two.

“Yours sincerely, “EVANGELINE TRAVERS.”

“Will that do?” I said, and I handed it to Robert, while I addressed the envelope.

“Yes,” he said, and waited while I sealed it up, and gave it to the porter. Then, with a surreptitious squeeze of the hand, he left me to go to Lady Merrenden.

I have come up to my little sitting-room a changed being. The whole world revolves for me upon another axis, and all within the space of three short hours.

CLARIDGE’S,

_Sunday night, Nov. 27th._

LATE this evening, about eight o’clock, when I had re-locked my journal, I got a note from Robert. I was just going to begin my dinner.

I tore it open, inside was another, I did not wait to look from whom, I was too eager to read his. I paste it in.

“CARLTON HOUSE TERRACE.

“MY DARLING,--I have had a long talk with Aunt Sophia, and she is everything that is sweet and kind, but she fears Torquilstone will be a little difficult (_I don’t care, nothing_ shall separate us now). She asks me not to go and see you again to-night, as she thinks it would be better for you that I should not go to the Hotel so late. Darling, read her note, and you will she how nice she is. I shall come round to-morrow, the moment the beastly stables are finished, about 12 o’clock. Oh! take care of yourself! What a difference to-night and last night! I was feeling horribly miserable and reckless--and to-night! Well, you can guess! I am not half good enough for you, darling, beautiful Queen--but I think I shall know how to make you happy. I love you!

“Good night my own,

“ROBERT.”

“Do please send me a tiny line by my servant--I have told him to wait.”

I have never had a love letter before. What lovely things they are! I felt thrills of delight over bits of it! Of course I see now that I must have been dreadfully in love with Robert all along, only I did not know it quite! I fell into a kind of blissful dream, and then I roused myself up to read Lady Merrenden’s. I sha’n’t put hers in too, it fills up too much, and I can’t shut the clasp of my journal--it is a perfectly sweet little letter, just saying Robert had told her the news, and that she was prepared to welcome me as her dearest niece, and to do all she could for us. She hoped I would not think her very tiresome and old fashioned suggesting Robert had better not see me again to-night, and if it would not inconvenience me, she would herself come round to-morrow morning, and discuss what was best to be done.

Véronique said Lord Robert’s valet was waiting outside the door, so I flew to my table, and began to write. My hand trembled so I made a blot, and had to tear that sheet up, then I wrote another. Just a little word. I was frightened, I couldn’t say loving things in a letter, I had not even spoken many to him--yet.

“I loved your note,” I began, “and I think Lady Merrenden is quite right. I will be here at twelve, and very pleased to see you.” I wanted to say I loved him, and thought twelve o’clock a long way off, but of course one could not write such things as that--so I ended with just “Love from EVANGELINE.”

Then I read it over, and it did sound “missish” and silly--however, with the man waiting there in the passage, and Véronique fussing in and out of my bedroom, besides the waiters bringing up my dinner, I could not go tearing up sheets, and writing others, it looked so flurried, so it was put into an envelope. Then, in one of the seconds I was alone, I nipped off a violet from a bunch on the table, and pushed it in too. I wonder if he will think it sentimental of me! When I had written the name, I had not an idea where to address it. His was written from Carlton House Terrace, but he was evidently not there now, as his servant had brought it. I felt so nervous and excited, it was too ridiculous--I am very calm as a rule. I called the man, and asked him where was his lordship now? I did not like to say I was ignorant of where he lived.

“His lordship is at Vavasour House, Madame,” he said, respectfully, but with the faintest shade of surprise that I should not know. “His lordship dines at home this evening with his grace.”

I scribbled a note to Lady Merrenden--I would be delighted to see her in the morning at whatever time suited her. I would not go out at all, and I thanked her. It was much easier to write sweet things to her than to Robert.

When I was alone I could not eat. Véronique came in to try and persuade me. I looked so very pale, she said, she feared I had taken cold. She was in one of her “old mother” moods, when she drops the third person sometimes, and calls me “_mon enfant_.”

“Oh, Véronique, I have not got a cold, I am only wildly happy!” I said.

“Mademoiselle is doubtless _fiancée_ to Mr. Carruthers. _Oh! mon enfant adorée_,” she cried, “_que je suis contente!_”

“Gracious no!” I exclaimed. This brought me back to Christopher with a start. What would he say when he heard?

“No, Véronique, to some one much nicer--Lord Robert Vavasour.”

Véronique was frightfully interested--Mr. Carruthers she would have preferred for me she admitted, as being more solid--more _rangé_--_plus à la fin de ses bêtises_, but, no doubt, “Milor” was charming too, and for certain one day Mademoiselle would be Duchesse. In the meanwhile what kind of coronet would Mademoiselle have on her trousseau?

I was obliged to explain that I should not have any--or any trousseau for an indefinite time, as nothing was settled yet. This damped her a little.

“_Un frère de Duc, et pas de couronne!_” After seven years in England she was yet unable to understand these strange habitudes, she said.

She insisted upon putting me to bed directly after dinner--“to be prettier for Milor _demain_!” and then, when she had tucked me up, and was turning out the light in the centre of the room she looked back--“Mademoiselle is too beautiful like that,” she said, as if it slipped from her--“_Mon Dieu! il ne s’embêterai pas, le Monsieur!_”

CLARIDGE’S,

_Monday morning_.

I WONDER how I lived before I met Robert. I wonder what use were the days. Oh! and I wonder, I wonder if the Duke continues to be obdurate about me if I shall ever have the strength of mind to part from him so as not to spoil his future.

Such a short time ago--not yet four weeks--since I was still at Branches, and wondering what made the clock go round--the great big clock of life.

Oh, now I know! It is being in love--frightfully in love like we are. I must try to keep my head though, and remember all the remarks of Lady Ver about things and men. Fighters all of them, and they must never feel quite sure. It will be dreadfully difficult to tease Robert, because he is so direct and simple; but I must try I suppose. Perhaps being so very pretty as I am, and having all the male creatures looking at me with interest will do, and be enough to keep him worried, and I won’t have to be tiresome myself. I hope so, because I really do love him so extremely, I would like to let myself go and be as sweet as I want to.

I am doing all the things I thought perfectly silly to hear of before. I kissed his letter, and slept with it on the pillow beside me, and this morning woke at six and turned on the electric light to read it again! The part where the “Darling” comes is quite blurry I see in daylight; that is where I kissed most I know!

I seem to be numb to everything else. Whether Lady Ver is angry or not does not bother me. I did play fair. She could not expect me to go on pretending when Robert had said straight out he loved me. But I am sure she will be angry, though, and probably rather spiteful about it.

I will write her the simple truth in a day or two, when we see how things go. She will guess by Robert not going to Sedgwick.

CLARIDGE’S,

_Monday afternoon_.

AT half past eleven this morning Lady Merrenden came, and the room was all full of flowers that Robert had sent--bunches and bunches of violets and gardenias. She kissed me, and held me tight for a moment, and we did not speak. Then she said in a voice that trembled a little,

“Robert is so very dear to me--almost my own child --that I want him to be happy, and you, too, Evangeline--I may call you that, may not I?”

I squeezed her hand.

“You are the echo of my youth, when 1, too, knew the wild springtime of love. So dear, I need not tell you that you may count upon my doing what I can for you both.”

Then we talked and talked.

“I must admit,” she said at last, “I was prejudiced in your favour for your dear father’s sake, but in any case my opinion of Robert’s judgement is so high, I would have been prepared to find you charming even without that. He has the rarest qualities, he is the truest, most untarnished soul in this world.”

“I don’t say,” she went on, “that he is not just as the other young men of his age and class; he is no Galahad, as no one can be with truth who is human and lives in the world. And I daresay kind friends will tell you stories of actresses and other diversions, but I who know him, tell you you have won the best and greatest darling in London.”

“Oh, I am sure of it!” I said. “I don’t know why he loves me so much, he has seen me so little; but it began from the very first minute I think with both of us. He is such a nice shape!”

She laughed. Then she asked me if she was right in supposing all these _contretemps_ we had had were the doing of Lady Ver. “You need not answer, dear,” she said. “I know Ianthe--she is in love with Robert herself, she can’t help it; she means no harm, but she often gets these attacks, and they pass off. I think she is devoted to Sir Charles really.”

“Y-e-s,” I said.

“It is a queer world we live in, child,” she continued, “and true love and suitability of character are such a rare combination, but, from what I can judge, you and Robert possess them.”

“Oh, how dear of you to say so!” I exclaimed. “You don’t think I _must_ be bad, then, because of my colouring?”

“What a ridiculous idea, you sweet child!” she laughed. “Who has told you that?”

“Oh! Mrs. Carruthers always said so--and--and--the old gentlemen, and--even Mr. Carruthers hinted I probably had some odd qualities. But you do think I shall be able to be fairly good, don’t you?”

She was amused I could see, but I was serious.

“I think you probably might have been a little wicked if you had married a man like Mr. Carruthers,” she said, smiling; “but with Robert I am sure you will be good. He will never leave you a moment, and he will love you so much you won’t have time for anything else.”

“Oh! that is what I shall like--being loved,” I said.

“I think all women like that,” she sighed. “We could all of us be good if the person we love went on being demonstrative. It is the cold matter-of-fact devotion that kills love, and makes one want to look elsewhere to find it again.”

Then we talked of possibilities about the Duke. I told her I knew his _toquade_, and she, of course, was fully acquainted with mamma’s history.

“I must tell you, dear, I fear he will be difficult,” she said. “He is a strangely prejudiced person, and obstinate to a degree, and he worships Robert, as we all do.”

I would not ask her if the Duke had taken a dislike to me, because I _knew_ he had.

“I asked you to meet him on Saturday on purpose,” she continued. “I felt sure your charm would impress him, as it had done me, and as it did my husband--but I wonder now if it would have been better to wait. He said, after you were gone, that you were much too beautiful for the peace of any family, and he pitied Mr. Carruthers if he married you! I don’t mean to hurt you, child. I am only telling you everything, so that we may consult how best to act.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, and I squeezed her hand again; she does not put out claws like Lady Ver.

“How did he know anything about Mr. Carruthers?” I asked, “or me--or anything?”

She looked ashamed.

“One can never tell how he hears things. He was intensely interested to meet you, and seemed to be acquainted with more of the affair than I am. I almost fear he must obtain his information from the servants.”

“Oh, does not that show the housemaid in him! Poor fellow!” I said, “He can’t help it, then, any more than I could help crying yesterday before Robert in the Park. Of course we would neither of us have done these things if it were not for the _tache_ in our backgrounds, only, fortunately for me, mine wasn’t a housemaid, and was one generation further back, so I would not be likely to have any of those tricks.”

She leant back in her chair and laughed. “You quaint, quaint child, Evangeline,” she said.

Just then it was twelve o’clock and Robert came in.

Oh! talk of hearts beating. If mine is going to go on jumping like this every time Robert enters a room, I shall get a disease in it in less than a year.

He looked too intensely attractive; he was not in London clothes, just serge things and a Guard’s tie, and his face was beaming, and his eyes shining like blue stars.

We behaved nicely; he only kissed my hand, and Lady Merrenden looked away at the clock even for that! She has tact!

“Isn’t my Evangeline a darling, Aunt Sophia? he said. “And don’t you love her red hair?”

“It is beautiful,” said Lady Merrenden.

“When you leave us alone I am going to pull it all down,” and he whispered, “darling, I love you,” so close, that his lips touched my ear, while he pretended he was not doing anything! I say again, Robert has ways which would charm a stone image.

“How was Torquilstone last night?” Lady Merrenden asked. “And did you tell him anything?”

“Not a word,” said Robert. “I wanted to wait and consult you both which would be best. Shall I go to him at once, or shall he be made to meet my Evangeline again and let her fascinate him, as she is bound to do, and then tell him?”

“Oh, tell him straight!” I exclaimed, remembering his proclivities about the servants, and that Véronique knows. “Then he cannot ever say we have deceived him.”

“That is how I feel,” said Robert.

“You take Evangeline to lunch, Aunt Sophia, and I will go back and feed with him and tell him, and then come to you after.”

“Yes, that will be best,” she said, and it was settled that she should come in again and fetch me in an hour, when Robert should leave to go to Vavasour House. He went with her to the lift, and then he came back.

No--even in this locked book I am not going to write of that hour--it was too divine. If I had thought just sitting in the Park was heaven, I now know there are degrees of heaven, and that Robert is teaching me up towards the seventh.

_Monday afternoon (continued)._

I FORGOT to say a note came from Christopher by this morning’s post--it made me laugh when I read it, then it went out of my head, but when Lady Merrenden returned for me, and we were more or less sane again--Robert and I--I thought of it; so apparently did he.

“Did you by chance hear from Christopher whether he got your note last night or no?” he said.

I went and fetched it from my bedroom when I put on my hat. Robert read it aloud:

“TRAVELLERS’ CLUB,

“_Sunday night_.

“_Souvent femme varie, fol qui se fie!_”

Hope you found your variation worth while.

“C. C.”

“What dam cheek!” he said in his old way; he hasn’t used any “ornaments to conversation” since we have been--oh! I want to say it--engaged!

Then his eyes flashed. “Christopher had better be careful of himself. He will have to be answerable to me now!”

“Do be prudent, Evangeline, dear!” Lady Merrenden said gaily, “or you will have Robert breaking the head of every man in the street who even glances at you! He is frantically jealous!”

“Yes, I know I am,” said Robert, rearranging the tie on my blouse with that air of _sans gêne_ and possession that pleases me so.

I belong to him now, and if my tie isn’t as he likes, he has a perfect right to re-tie it! No matter who is there! That is his attitude, not the _least_ ceremony or stuff, everything perfectly simple and natural!

It does make things agreeable. When I was “Miss Travers” and he “Lord Robert,” he was always respectful and unfamiliar--except that one night when rage made him pinch my finger! but now that I am _his_ Evangeline, and he is _my_ Robert (thus he explained it to me in our Paradise hour) I am his queen and his darling--but at the same time his possession and belonging, just the same as his watch or his coat. I adore it, and it does not make me the least “uppish,” as one might have thought.

“Come, come, children!” Lady Merrenden said at last, “we shall all be late!”

So we started, dropping Robert at Vavasour House on our way. It is a splendid place, down one of those side streets looking on the Green Park, and has a small garden that side. I had never been down to the little square where it is before, but, of course, every one can see its splendid frontage from St. James’s Park, though I had never realized it was Vavasour House.

“Good luck!” whispered Lady Merrenden as Robert got out, and then we drove on.

Several people were lunching at Carlton House Terrace, Cabinet Ministers, and a clever novelist, and the great portrait painter, besides two or three charming women, one as pretty and smart as Lady Ver, but the others more ordinary looking, only so well mannered. No real frumps like the Montgomeries. We had a delightful lunch, and I tried to talk nicely, and do my best to please my dear hostess. When they had all left I think we both began to feel excited, and long apprehensively for the arrival of Robert. So we talked of the late guests.

“It amuses my husband to see a number of different kinds of people,” she said, “but we had nothing very exciting to-day, I must confess--though sometimes the authors and authoresses bore me--and they are often very disappointing, one does not any longer care to read their books after seeing them.”

I said I could quite believe that.

“I do not go in for budding geniuses,” she continued, “I prefer to wait until they have arrived--no matter their origin, then they have acquired a certain outside behaviour on the way up, and it does not _froissé_ one so. Merrenden is a great judge of human nature, and variety entertains him. Left to myself I fear I should be quite contented with less gifted people who were simply of one’s own world.”

In all her talk one can see her thought and consideration for Lord Merrenden and his wishes and tastes.

“I always feel it is so cruel for him our having no children,” she said; “the Earldom becomes extinct, so I must make him as happy as I can.”

What a dear and just woman!

At last we spoke of Robert, and she told me stories of his boyhood, amusing Eton scrapes, and later feats. And how brave and splendid he had been in the war; and how the people all adored him at Torquilstone; and of his popularity and influence with them. “You must make him go into Parliament,” she said.

Then Robert came into the room. Oh! his darling face spoke, there was no need for words! The Duke, one could see, had been obdurate.

“Well?” said Lady Merrenden.

Robert came straight over to me, and took my face in his two hands: “Darling,” he said, “before everything I want you to know I love you better than anything else in the world, and nothing will make any difference,” and he kissed me deliberately before his aunt. His voice was so moved--and we all felt a slight lump in our throats, I know; then he stood in front of us, but he held my hand.

“Torquilstone was horrid, I can see,” said Lady Merrenden. “What did he say, Robert--tell us everything? Evangeline would wish it too, I am sure, as well as I.”

Robert looked very pale and stern, one can see how firm his jaw is in reality, and how steady his dear blue eyes.

“I told him I loved Evangeline, whom I understood he had met yesterday, and that I intended to marry her----”

“And he said?” asked Lady Merrenden, breathless.

I only held tighter Robert’s hand.

“He swore like a trooper, he thumped his glass down on the table and smashed it--a disgusting exhibition of temper--I was ashamed of him. Then he said, ‘Never, as long as he lived and could prevent it--that he had heard something of my infatuation, so as I am not given that way he had made inquiries, and found the family was most unsatisfactory.’ Then he had come here yesterday on purpose to see you--darling,” turning to me--“and that he had judged for himself. The girl was a ‘devilish beauty’ (his words not mine) with the naughtiest provoking eyes, and a mouth--No! I can’t say the rest, it makes me too mad!” and Robert’s eyes flashed.

Lady Merrenden rose from her seat, and came and took my other hand. I felt as if I could not stand too tall and straight.

“The long and short of it is, he has absolutely refused to have anything to do with the matter; says I need expect nothing further from him, and we have parted for good and all!”

“Oh, Robert!” it was almost a cry from Lady Merrenden.

Robert put his arms round me, and his face changed to radiance.

“Well, I don’t care--what does it matter! A few places and thousands in the dim future--the loss of them is nothing to me if I have only my Evangeline now.”

“But, Robert, dearest,” Lady Merrenden said, “you can’t possibly live without what he allows you, what have you of your own? About eighteen hundred a year, I suppose, and you know, darling boy, you are often in debt. Why he paid five thousand for you as lately as last Easter. Oh, what is to be done!” and she clasped her hands.

I felt as if turned to stone. Was all this divine happiness going to slip from my grasp? Yes, it looked like it, for I could never drag Robert into poverty, and spoil his great future.

“He can’t leave away Torquilstone, and those thousands of profitless acres,” Lady Merrenden went on, “but unfortunately the London property is at his disposition. Oh! I must go and talk to him!”

“No!” said Robert. “It would not be the least use, and would look as if we were pleading. His face had fallen to intense sadness as Lady Merrenden spoke of his money.

“Darling,” he said, in a broken voice. “No, it is true it would not be fair to make you a beggar. I should be a cad to ask you. We must think of some way of softening my brother after all!”

Then I spoke.

“Robert,” I said, “if you were only John Smith I would say I would willingly go and live with you in a cottage, or even in a slum--but you are not, and I would not for _anything in the world_ drag you down out of what is your position in life--that would be a poor sort of love. Oh! my dear,” and I clasped tight his hand--“if everything fails, then we must part, and you must forget me.”

He folded me in his arms, and we heard the door shut. Lady Merrenden had left us alone. Oh! it was anguish and divine bliss at the same time the next half hour.

“I will never forget you, and never in this world will I take another woman, I swear to God,” he said at the end of it. “If we must part, then life is finished for me of all joy.”

“And for me, too, Robert!”

We said the most passionate vows of love to one another, but I will not write them here, there is another locked book where I keep them--the book of my soul.