CHAPTER XII
MASQUES, ANCIENT AND MODERN
The clouds did not lift until Cynthia was standing in front of thatremarkable Map of the World which reposes behind oaken doors in thesouth aisle of Hereford Cathedral. During the run from Symon's Yat,not even a glorious sun could dispel the vapors of that unfortunateSunday. Cynthia had smiled a "Good-morning" when she entered the car,but beyond one quick glance around to see if the deputy chauffeur wasin attendance--which Medenham took care he should not be--she gave novisible sign of yesterday's troubles, though her self-contained mannershowed that they were present in her thoughts.
Mrs. Devar tried to be gracious, and only succeeded in being stilted,for the shadow of impending disaster lay black upon her. Medenham'sonly thrill came when Cynthia asked for letters or telegrams at theGreen Dragon, and was told there were none. Evidently, Peter Vanrenenwas not a man to create a mountain out of a molehill. Mrs. Lelandmight be trusted to smooth away difficulties; perhaps he meant toawait her report confidently and in silence.
But that square of crinkled vellum on which Richard of Holdingham andLafford had charted this strange old world of ours as it appearedduring the thirteenth century helped to blow away the mists.
"I never knew before that the Garden of Eden was inside the ArcticCircle," said the girl, gazing awe-stricken at the symbolic drawingsof the eating of the forbidden fruit and the expulsion of Adam and Evefrom Paradise.
"No later than yesterday I fancied it might have been situated in theWye Valley," commented Medenham.
The cast was skillful, but the fish did not rise. Instead, Cynthiabent nearer to look at Lot's wife, placed _in situ_.
"Too bad there is no word about America," she said irrelevantly.
"Oh, even at that date the United States were on the other side. Yousee, Richard was a person of intelligence. He anticipated Galileo bymaking the earth round, so he would surely get ahead of Columbus inguessing at a New World."
They were the only tourists in the cathedral at that early hour, sothe attendant verger tolerated this flippancy.
"In the left-hand corner," he recited, "you see Augustus Caesardelivering orders for a survey of the world to the philosophersNichodoxus, Theodotus, and Polictitus. Near the center you have theLabyrinth of Crete, the Pyramids of Egypt, the House of Bondage, theJews worshiping the Golden Calf----"
"Ah, what a pity we left Mrs. Devar at the post-office--how she wouldhave appreciated this!" murmured Medenham.
Still Cynthia refused to take the fly.
"May we visit the library?" she asked, dazzling the verger with asmile in her best manner. "I have heard so much about the books inchains, and the Four Gospels in Anglo-Saxon characters. Is the volumereally a thousand years old?"
From the Cathedral they wandered into the beautiful grounds of theBishop's Palace, where a brass plate, set in a boundary wall, statesin equivocal phrase that "Nell Gwynne, Founder of Chelsea Hospital,and Mother of the first Duke of St. Albans," was born near the spotthus marked. Each remembered the irresponsible chatter of Saturday,but neither alluded to it, nor did Medenham offer to lead Cynthia toGarrick's birthplace. Not forty-eight hours, but long years, asmeasured by the seeming trivialities that go to make or mar existence,spanned the interval between Bristol and Hereford. They chafed againstthe bonds of steel that yet sundered them; they resented the silentedict that aimed at parting them; by a hundred little artifices eachmade clear to the other that the coming separation was distasteful,while an eager interest in the commonplace supplied sure index oftheir embarrassment. And so, almost as a duty, the West Front, theNorth Porch, the Close, the Green, the Wye Bridge, were dulysnap-shotted and recorded in a little book that Cynthia carried.
Fitzroy poses as the first Earl of Chepstow. _Page 263_]
Once, while she was making a note, Medenham held the camera, andhappened to watch her as she wrote. At the top of a page he saw "Film6, No. 5: Fitzroy poses as the first Earl of Chepstow." Cynthia's lefthand hid the entry just a second too late.
"I couldn't help seeing that," he said innocently. "If you will giveme a print, I shall have it framed and place it among the other familyportraits."
"I really meant to present you with an album containing all thepictures which turn out well," she said.
"You have not changed your mind, I hope?"
"N--no, but there will be so few. I was rather lazy during the firsttwo days."
"You can trust me to fill in the gaps with exceeding accuracy."
"Oh, don't let us talk as if we would never meet again. The world issmall--to motorists."
"I had the exact contrary in mind," he said quickly. "If we partedto-day, and did not meet for twenty years, each of us might well bedoubtful as to what did or did not happen last Friday or Saturday. Butassociation strengthens and confirms such recollections. I often thinkthat memories held in common are the most solid foundation offriendship."
"You don't believe, then, in love at first sight," she ventured.
"Let me be dumb rather than so misunderstood!" he cried.
Cynthia breathed deeply. She was profoundly conscious of an escapewholly due to his forbearance, but she was terrified at finding thather thankfulness was of a very doubtful quality. She knew now thatthis man loved her, and the knowledge was at once an ecstasy and atorture. And how wise he was, how considerate, how worthy of thetreasure that her overflowing heart would heap on him! But it couldnot be. She dared not face her father, her relatives, her host offriends, and confess with proud humility that she had found her matein some unknown Englishman, the hired driver of a motor-car. At anyrate, in that moment of exquisite agony, Cynthia did not know what shemight dare when put to the test. Her lips parted, her eyes glistened,and she turned aside to gaze blindly at the distant Welsh hills.
"If we don't hurry," she said with the slowness of desperation, "weshall never complete our programme by nightfall.... And we must notforget that Mrs. Leland awaits us at Chester."
"To-night I shall realize the feelings of Charles the First when hewitnessed the defeat of his troops at the battle of Rowton Moor," wasMedenham's savage growl.
Hardly aware of her own words, Cynthia murmured:
"Though defeated, the poor king did not lose hope."
"No: the Stuarts' only virtue was their stubbornness. By the way, I ama Stuart."
"Evidently that is why you are flying from Chester," she contrived tosay with a little laugh.
"I pin my faith in the Restoration," he retorted. "It is a fairparallel. It took Charles twenty years to reach Rowton Moor, but themodern clock moves quicker, for I am there in five days."
"I am no good at dates----" she began, but Mrs. Devar discovered themfrom afar, and fluttered a telegram. They hastened to her--Cynthiaflushed at the thought that she might be recalled to London--which shewould not regret, since a visit to the dentist to-day is better thanthe toothache all next week--and Medenham steeled himself againstimminent unmasking.
But Mrs. Devar's main business in life was self.
"I have just heard from James," she cooed. "He promised to run up toShrewsbury to-day, but finds he cannot spare the time. Count Edouardtold him that Mr. Vanrenen was in town, and he regrets he was unableto call before he left."
"Before who left?" demanded Cynthia.
"Your father, dear."
"Left for where?"
Mrs. Devar screwed her eyes at the pink slip.
"That is all it says. Just 'left'?"
"That doesn't sound right, anyhow," laughed Medenham.
"Oh, but this is too ridiculous!" and Cynthia's foot stamped. "I havenever before known my father behave in this Jack-in-the-Box fashion."
"Mrs. Leland will clear up the whole mystery," volunteered Medenham.
"But what mystery is there?" purred Mrs. Devar, blinking first at one,then at the other. She bent over the telegram again.
"James sent this message from the West Strand at 9.30 a.m. Perhaps hehad just heard of M
r. Vanrenen's departure," she said.
Judging from Cynthia's occasional references to her father's characterand associates, Medenham fancied it was much more likely that theAmerican railway magnate had merely refused to meet Captain Devar. Buttherein he was mistaken.
At the very hour that the three were settling themselves in theMercury before taking the road to Leominster, Mr. Vanrenen, driven bya perturbed but silent Simmonds, stopped the car on the outskirts ofWhitchurch and asked an intelligent-looking boy if he had noticed thepassing of an automobile numbered X L 4000.
"I s'pose you mean a motor-car, sir?" said the boy.
Vanrenen, a tall man, thin, close-lipped, with high cheekbones, andlong nose, a man utterly unlike his daughter save for the wide-open,all-seeing eyes, smiled at the naive correction; with that smile someenchanter's wand mirrored Cynthia in her father's face. Even Simmonds,who had seen no semblance of a smile in the features of the chilly,skeptical man by whom he was dragged out of bed at an unearthly hourin the morning at Bristol, witnessed the alchemy, and marveled.
"Yes, sir, rather," continued the boy, brimming over with enthusiasm."The gentleman went along the Hereford Road, he did, yesterdaymornin'. He kem back, too, wiv a shuffer, an' he's a-stayin' at theSymon's Yat Hotel."
Peter Vanrenen frowned, and Cynthia vanished, to be replaced by theWall Street speculator who had "made a pyramid in Milwaukees." Whence,then, had Cynthia telephoned? Of course, his alert mind hit on amissed mail as the genesis of the run to Hereford early on Sunday, buthe asked himself why he had not been told of a changed address. Hecould not guess that Cynthia would have mentioned the fact had shespoken to him, but in the flurry and surprise of hearing that he wasnot in the hotel she forgot to tell the attendant who took her messagethat she was at Symon's Yat and not at Hereford.
"Are you sure about the car?" he said, rendered somewhat skeptical bythe boy's overfullness of knowledge.
"Yes, sir. Didn't me an' Dick Davies watch for it all chapel-time?"
"But why?--for that car in particular?"
"The gentleman bust his tire, an' we watched him mendin' it, an' heset us a sum, an' promised us a bob each if we did it."
"Meanwhile he went to Hereford and back?"
"I s'pose so, sir."
Peter Vanrenen's attention was held by that guarded answer, and, beingan American, he was ever ready to absorb information, especially inmatters appertaining to figures.
"What was the sum?" he said.
To his very keen annoyance he found that he could not determinestraight off how long two men take to mow a field of grass, which oneof them could cut in four days and the other in three. Indeed, healmost caught himself saying "three days and a half," but stoppedshort of that folly.
"About a day and three-quarters," he essayed, before the silence grewirksome.
"Wrong, sir. Is it worth a bob?" and the urchin grinned delightfully.
"Yes," he said.
"A day an' five-sevenths, 'coss one man can do one quarter in a day,and t'other man a third, which is seven-twelfths, leavin'five-twelfths to be done next day."
Though the millionaire financier was nettled, he did not show it, butpaid the shilling with apparent good grace.
"Did _you_ find that out--or was it Dick Davies?" he asked.
"Both of us, sir, wiv' a foot rule."
"And how far is the Symon's Yat Hotel, measured by that rule?"
"Half a mile, sir, down that there lane."
While traveling slowly in the narrow way, Simmonds turned his head.
"It doesn't follow that because the boy saw Viscount Medenhamyesterday his lordship is here now, sir," he said.
"You just do as you are told and pass no remarks," snapped Vanrenen.
If the head of the house of Vanrenen were judged merely by thatsomewhat unworthy retort he would not be judged fairly. He was tiredphysically, worried mentally; he had been brought from Paris at anawkward moment; he was naturally devoted to his daughter; he believedthat Medenham was an unmitigated scamp and Simmonds his tool; and hisfailure to solve Medenham's arithmetical problem still rankled. Theseconsiderations, among others, may be pleaded in his behalf.
But, if Simmonds, who had stood on Spion Kop, refused to be browbeatenby a British earl, he certainly would not grovel before an Americanplutocrat. He had endured a good deal since five o'clock that morning.He told his tale honestly and fully; he even sympathized with afather's distress, though assured in his own mind that it was whollyunwarranted; he was genuinely sorry on hearing that Mr. Vanrenen hadbeen searching the many hotels of Bristol for two hours before he cameto the right one. But to be treated like a serf?--no, not if Simmondsknew it!
The car stopped with a jerk. Out leaped the driver.
"Now you can walk to the hotel," he said, though he distinguished thehotel by an utterly inappropriate adjective.
The more sudden the crisis the more prepared was Vanrenen--that washis noted characteristic, whether dealing with men or money.
"What has bitten _you_?" he demanded calmly.
"You must find somebody else to do your detective work, that is all,"came the stolid answer.
"Don't be a mule."
"I'm not a mule. You're makin' a d----d row about nothing. ViscountMedenham is a gentleman to his finger tips, and if you were one you'dknow that he wouldn't hurt a hair of Miss Vanrenen's head, or anylady's, for that matter."
"Where my daughter is concerned I am not a gentleman, or a viscount,or a person who makes d----d rows. I am just a father--a plain, simplefather--who thinks more of his girl than of any other object in thiswide world. If I have hurt your feelings I am sorry. If I amaltogether mistaken I'll apologize and pay. I'm paying now. This tripwill probably cost me fifty thousand dollars that I would havescooped in were I in Paris to-morrow. Your game is to attend to thebenzine buzz part of the contract and leave the rest to me. Shoveahead, and step lively!"
To his lasting credit, Simmonds obeyed: but the row had cleared theair; Vanrenen liked the man, and felt now that his original estimateof his worth was justified.
At the hotel, of course, he had much more to learn than he expected.Oddly enough, the praises showered on "Fitzroy" confirmed him in theopinion that Cynthia was the victim of a clever knave, be he titledaristocrat or mere adventurer. For the first time, too, he began tosuspect Mrs. Devar of complicity in the plot!
A nice kind of chaperon she must be to let his girl go boating with achauffeur on the Wye! And her Sunday's illness was a palpablepretense--an arranged affair, no doubt, to permit more boating anddallying in this fairyland of forest and river. What thanks he owed tothat Frenchman, Marigny!
Indeed, it was easy to hoodwink this hard-headed man in aught thataffected Cynthia. Count Edouard displayed a good deal of tact when hecalled at the Savoy Hotel late the previous night, but his obviousrelief at finding Vanrenen in London had induced the latter to departfor Bristol by a midnight train rather than trust wholly to Mrs.Leland's leisured strategy.
He did not go straight to Hereford for the best of reasons. He hadtold Cynthia of Mrs. Leland's coming, and had heard of if not fromher in response to his letter. If he rushed off now to intercept themotorists at Hereford he would defeat the very purpose he had in view,which was to interpose an effectual shield between the scoundrellylordling and his prey, while avoiding any risk of hurting hisdaughter's feelings. Moreover, he was eminently a just man. Hearingfrom Marigny that Simmonds, the original cause of all the trouble, wasskulking at Bristol, to Bristol he went. From that starting-point,with his knowledge of Cynthia's probable route, he could surely pickup traces of the predatory car at most towns through which it passed.Moreover, he could choose his own time for joining the party in front,which by this time he was fully resolved on, either at Chester orfarther north.
Transcending these minor features of a disturbing affair was hisself-confessed fear of Cynthia. In the unfathomed deeps of a father'slove for such a daughter there is ever an element of fear. Not for allhis wealth would Vanrenen cas
t a shadow on the unsullied intimacy oftheir affection. Therefore, he would be wary, circumspect, ready toaccept as most credible theories which he would scout in any otherconditions, quick to discern the truth, slow to point out wherein aninexperienced girl had erred, but merciless to the fortune-hunter whohad so jeopardized Cynthia's happiness and his own.
Hence, his appearance at the Symon's Yat Hotel seemed to have no moreserious import than a father's wish to delight his daughter by anunexpected participation in her holiday. No secret had been made as tothe Mercury's halting-place that day. Cynthia herself had written theaddress in the hotel register, adding a request that letters, if any,were to be forwarded to Windermere.
By chance, the smiling landlady's curiosity as to "Fitzroy" raised anew specter.
"He must be a gentleman," she said, "because he belongs to the ThamesRowing Club; he also spoke and acted like one. Why did he employ anassistant chauffeur? That is most unusual."
Vanrenen could only explain that arrangements for the tour were madeduring his absence in France, so he was not fully posted as todetails.
"Oh, they did not intend to remain here on Saturday, but Miss Vanrenenliked the place, and seemed to be rather taken with the hotel----"whereat the millionaire nodded his complete agreement--"so Mr. Fitzroytelegraphed for a man named Dale to come to Hereford. There was somemisunderstanding, however, and Dale only arrived yesterday in the car.He left by an early train this morning, after doing the garage work."
Simmonds, candor itself about Medenham, had said no word of the Earlof Fairholme or of Dale. Marigny, of course, was silent as to theEarl, since it might have ruined his last faint hope of success hadthe two perplexed fathers met; Simmonds's recent outburst opposed aneffectual bar to farther questioning; so Vanrenen was free to deduceall sorts of possibilities from the existence of yet anothervillainous chauffeur.
Unhappily, he availed himself of the opportunity to the full. The faircountryside and the good food of the March counties made little or noappeal to him thenceforth. He pined to be in Chester, yet restrainedthe impulse that urged a frenzied scurry to the Banks of the Dee, forhe was adamant in his resolve not to seem to have pursued Cynthia, butrather to have joined her as the outcome of a mere whim after she hadmet Mrs. Leland.
The Mercury arrived at Ludlow long before Vanrenen crossed the WyeBridge at Hereford. Medenham stopped the car at "The Feathers,"that famous magpie among British Inns, where Cynthia admired andphotographed some excellent woodcarving, and saw an iron-studded frontdoor which has shut out revellers and the night on each alternateround of the clock since 1609, if not longer.
If they hurried over luncheon they were content to dawdle in thepicturesque streets, and Cynthia was reluctant to leave the fine oldcastle, in which Milton's "Masque of Comus" was first played onMichaelmas night of 1634. At first, she yielded only to the flood ofmemories pent in every American brain when the citizen of the NewWorld stands in one of these treasure-houses of history and feels thepassing of its dim pageants; when they stood together in the ruinedbanqueting hall, Medenham gave play to his imagination, and strove toreconstruct a scene once spread before the bright eyes of a maidenlong since dead.
"You will please regard yourself," he said, "as the Lady AliceEgerton, daughter of the Earl of Bridgwater, Lord President of theMarches of Wales, who, with her two brothers, was benighted in theForest of Heywood while riding to Ludlow to witness her father'sinstallation in his high office. Milton was told of her adventures byHenry Lawes, the musician, and he wrote the 'Masque of Comus' todelight her and her friends. Have you read 'Comus'?"
"No," said Cynthia, almost timidly, for she was beginning to fear thismasterful man whose enthusiasm caught her to his very soul at suchmoments.
"Ah, but you shall. It ranks high among the miracles of English poetrywrought by Milton. Many a mile from Ludlow have I called to mind oneof its incomparable passages:
A thousand phantasies Begin to throng into my memory-- Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses.
And now you, the heroine of the masque, must try to imagine that youare lost in a wild wood represented by a carpet spread here, in thecenter of the hall. Seated there on a dais, is your father the Earl,surrounded by his officers and retainers. Near you are your brothers,Lord Brackley and Thomas Egerton, so blinded by sprites that theycannot see you, though keen enough to note the bright eyes andflushed cheeks of other ladies of high degree bidden to Ludlow fromneighboring shires for the merry-making. And mark you, this is no rudegathering of unlettered squires and rough men-at-arms. How is itpossible that an uncultured throng should listen rapturously to thenoblest performance of the kind that exists in any language, whereineach speech is a majestic soliloquy, eloquent, sublime, with anuncloying word-music acclaimed by three centuries?"
The sheer wonder in Cynthia's face warned him that this briefexcursion into the pages of Macaulay had better cease, so he focusedhis thoughts on the actual representation of the masque in which hehad taken part ten years ago at Fairholme.
"I must ask you to concede that the lords and ladies, the civicdignitaries and their wives, for whose amusement Milton spread thepinions of his genius, were far better equipped to understand hislyric flights than any similar assemblage that could be collectedhaphazard in some modern castle. They did not pretend--they knew.Even you, Lady Alice, could frame a neat verse in Latin and cap somepleasant jest with a line from Homer. When Milton dreamed aloud ofbathing in the Elysian dew of the rainbow, of inhaling the scents ofnard and cassia, 'which the musky wings of the Zepyhr scatter throughthe cedared alleys of the Hesperides,' they followed each turn andswoop of his fancy with an active sense of its truth and beauty. Andwhat a brilliant company! How the red flare of torch and cresset wouldflicker on the sheen of silk, the luster of velvet, the polishedbrightness of morion and spear. I think I can see those gallantgentlemen and fine ladies grouped round the players who told of thestrange pranks played by the God of Mirth. Perhaps that same fairAlice, who supplied the motive of the masque as well as its leadinglady, may be linked with you by stronger ties than those of merefeminine grace----"
Cynthia did not blush: she grew white, but shook her head.
"You cannot tell," he said. "'Comus' was played in Ludlow onlyfourteen years after the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in NewEngland, and I would remind you that we stocked the new nation in thewest with some of the bluest blood in Britain. Even in this hall therewere Puritans whose ascetic tastes disapproved of Milton's imageries,of children play-acting, of the brave show made by the gentry----"
"My mother's people lived in Pennsylvania for generations," she brokein with a strange wistfulness.
"I knew it," he cried in triumph. "Tell me the names of thefirst-nighters at the Milton Theater, Ludlow, on that autumn eveningin 1634, and warrant me to find you an authentic ancestor."
Cynthia bent a puzzled brow at him.
"After this, I shall apply myself to 'Comus' with addedcomprehension," she said. "But--you take my breath away; have you,then, delved so deep in the mine of English history that you canpeople 'most every ruined pile in Britain with the men and women ofthe dead years?"
He laughed, and colored a little, with true British confusion athaving been caught in an extravagant mood.
"There you lay bare the mummer," he said. "What clever fellows actorswould be if they grasped the underlying realities of all the finewords they mouth! No; I quote 'Comus' only because on onehalf-forgotten occasion I played in it."
"Where?"
The prompt question took him unaware.
"At Fairholme," he said.
"Is that another castle?"
"No--merely a Georgian residence."
"I seem to have heard of it--somewhere--I can't remember."
He remembered quite well--was not Mrs. Devar, student of Burke,sitting in the car at the castle gate?
"Oh, we must hurry," he said sham
efacedly. "I have kept you here toolong, for we have yet to
trace huge forests and unharbour'd heaths, Infamous hills and sandy perilous wilds,
before we see Chester--and Mrs. Leland."
With that the bubble was pricked, and staid Ludlow became a busymarket-town again, its streets blocked by the barrows of huckstersand farmers' carts, its converging roads thronged with cattle. AtShrewsbury Medenham was vouchsafed a gleam of frosty humor byMrs. Devar's anxiety lest her son might have obeyed her earlierinjunctions, and kept tryst at "The Raven" after all. That trivialdiversion soon passed. He hoped that Cynthia would share the frontseat with him in the final run to Chester; but she remained tucked upin the tonneau, and the dread that kept her there was bitter-sweet tohim, since it betrayed her increasing lack of confidence in herself.
The rendezvous was at the Grosvenor Hotel, and Medenham had made uphis mind how to act long before the red towers of Chester Cathedralglowed above the city's haze in the fire of a magnificent sunset. Dalewas waiting on the pavement when the Mercury drew up at the galleriedentrance to the hotel.
Medenham leaped down.
"Good-by, Miss Vanrenen," he said, holding out his hand. "I can catchan early train to town by hurrying away at once. This is Dale, whowill take my place. He is thoroughly reliable, and an even morecareful driver than I am."
"Are you really going--like that?" faltered Cynthia, and her faceblanched at the suddenness of it.
"Yes. I shall have the pleasure of seeing you in London when youreturn."
Their hands met in a firm clasp. Mrs. Devar, too flustered at first togasp more than an "Oh!" of astonishment, leaned forward and shook hishand with marked cordiality.
"You must tell Dale to take great care of us," she said, knowingly.
"I think he realizes the exceeding trust I repose in him," he said,but the accompanying smile was meant for Cynthia, and she read into ita farewell that presaged many things.
He disappeared without another word. When a slim, elegantly-gownedlady had hastened to the door from the drawing-room, whence she wassummoned by a page, she found two dust-covered figures in the act ofalighting from a well-appointed car. Her next glance was at the solemnjowl of the chauffeur.
"Cynthia, my darling girl!" she cried, with arms thrown wide.
There could be no doubting the heartiness of the greeting, and in thatmotherly embrace Cynthia felt a repose, a security, that she had beenwillfully skeptical of during many weary hours. But polite usagecalled for an introduction, and Mrs. Leland and Mrs. Devar eyed eachother warily, with the smiles of convention.
Mrs. Leland glanced at Dale.
"And who is this?" she asked, seizing the opportunity to settle apoint that was perplexing her strangely.
"Our chauffeur," said Cynthia, and a glint of fun showed through thewanness of her cheeks.
"But not--not----"
Even smooth-tongued Mrs. Leland was at a loss.
"Not Fitzroy, who left us a minute ago. This man's name is Dale. Onewonders, though, how you knew--why you doubted," cried Cynthia insharp discernment.
"Pray why did Fitzroy leave you a minute ago?" was all that the otherwoman could find to say.
"He had to return to London. But, there--it is I who ought toask questions. Let us go inside. I want to get some of the gritout of my eyes and hair; then I shall become an absolute mark ofinterrogation--so I warn you. Of course, I am delighted to see you;but queer things have happened, and I am pining to have them clearedup. When did you see father last? Is he still in London?"
Mrs. Leland answered, with freer speech now, but in her heart she wassaddened by Medenham's duplicity. Six months earlier he and the Earlhad dined at the villa she was occupying at San Remo for the winter.She then took a great liking to him on account of his shy and reticentbut singularly pleasing manners. She was prepared to laugh at thepresent escapade when she had discussed it with him that night. Nowhe had fled, doubtless through fear. That was bad. That looked uglyand mean. Most certainly Peter Vanrenen had acted rightly in bringingher post-haste from Trouville. She must use all her skill if mischiefwere to be avoided.