"Oh, by the bye," Lancaster said, with sudden eagerness.
"Well?"
"Do me this favor: don't rehearse any of my family history to MissWest--the barren title, the picked-out bride, and--the rest of it."
"Certainly not. But of course she will know once she gets to England."
"At least she need not know sooner," Lancaster replied.
"No," assented De Vere; and then he asked thoughtfully. "Is it truethat her aunt is the housekeeper at Lancaster Park?"
"That is what my aunt says in her letter."
"And yet she--my little beauty--does not look lowly born."
"No; her mother was an American, you know. They--the Americans--allclaim to be nobly born, I believe. They recognize no such castedistinctions as we do. Miss West bears a patent of nobility in herface," said Lancaster, kindly.
"Does she not, the little darling? What a sweet good nature beams inher little face. And, after all, it is our own poet laureate who says:
"'Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good: Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.'"
"Yet I think you will find it hard to bring the rest of the De Veres tosubscribe to Tennyson's verse," Lancaster said, anxiously.
"They will e'en have to. I shall please myself, if I can--mark that,lad. So you needn't scold any more, old fellow, for I am in deadearnest to make Leonora Mrs. H. De Vere," laughed the young soldier.
"You are the arbiter of your own destiny. Enviable fellow!" grumbledLancaster.
"I never knew what a lucky fellow I was until now," agreed De Vere. "Itwas fortunate for me that I had a bachelor uncle in trade, and he leftme his fortune when he died. I can snap my fingers at my family ifthey cut up about my choice."
"Yes," Lancaster said, dryly.
"Ah, you are just thinking to yourself what a dude I am!" exclaimed DeVere, suddenly. "Here I am talking so confidentially about my choice,when I do not even know if she will look at me. What do you think aboutit, eh? Do I stand any chance with her?"
"If she were a society girl, I should say that you stood no chance ofbeing refused. No girl who had been properly educated by Madame Fashionwould say no to ten thousand a year and a title in prospective,"Lancaster replied, with conviction.
"You are putting my personal attractions quite out of the question,"said De Vere, chagrined.
"Because they are quite secondary to your more solid recommendations,"sarcastically.
"And, after all, you have not said what you think about my chances withMiss West."
"I do not know what to say, because I do not at all understand her. Yetif she is poor, as of course she must be, and being lowly born, as weknow, she could not do better than take you, if she is worldly wise."
"You talk about my worldly advantages very cynically, Lancaster. Do younot think that I might be loved for myself?" inquired De Vere, pullingat his dark mustache vexedly, and wondering if he (Lancaster) believedhimself to be the only handsome man in the world.
"Why, yes, of course. You're not bad looking. You have the smallestfoot in the regiment, they say, and the whitest hand, and yourmustache is superb," Lancaster replied, laughing, for from his superbsize and manly beauty he rather despised small dandies; and De Vere,feeling snubbed, he scarcely knew why, retired within himself after thedignified reply:
"I humbly thank you, Captain Lancaster; but I was not fishing for suchweak compliments."
CHAPTER XIII.
Miss West accepted the steamer-chair, the rugs, the wraps, and thebooks with unfeigned pleasure, and buried herself in the volumes witha pertinacity that was discouraging to her ardent wooer. She weariedof the blue sky and the blue ocean, the everlasting roll of the ship,the faces of her fellow-voyagers, of everything, as she averred, butthe books. They had a fair and prosperous journey, and every sunny dayLeonora might be seen on deck, but whether walking or sitting, shehad always a book in her hand in whose pages she persistently buriedherself at the approach of any one with whom she was disinclined totalk. In this discouraging state of things De Vere's wooing sped butslowly, and Lancaster's acquaintanceship progressed no further than aceremonious "Good-morning," "Good-evening," "Can I be of any serviceto you?" and similar stilted salutations, to all of which Leonorareplied with a quietness and constraint that put a check on furtherconversation. No one could complain that she gave any trouble; she wasquiet, courteous, and gentle, and there were two pairs of eyes thatfollowed the demure, black-robed figure everywhere upon the deck, andthe owners of the eyes wished, perhaps, that she would call on them formore attention, more services, so oblivious did she seem of the factthat they waited assiduously upon her lightest command.
"She is not a little flirt, as I thought at first, seeing her with DeVere," the captain said to himself. "She is a clever little girl who isbetter pleased with the thoughts of clever writers than the society oftwo great, trifling fellows such as De Vere and myself. I applaud hertaste."
All the same, he would have been pleased if the pretty face had lightedsometimes at his coming, if she had seemed to care for talking to him,if she had even asked him any questions about where she was going.But she did not manifest any curiosity on the subject. She was aconstrained, chilly little companion always to him. It chagrined himto see that she was more at her ease with De Vere than with him. Onceor twice she unbent from her lofty height with the lieutenant, smiled,chatted, even sang to him by moonlight, one night, in a voice as sweetas her face. But she was very shy, very quiet with the man whosebusiness it was to convey her to England. She tried faithfully to be aslittle of "a bore and nuisance" as possible.
It did not matter; indeed, it was much better so, he told himself, andyet he chafed sometimes under her peculiar manner. He did not liketo be treated wholly with indifference, did not like to be entirelyignored, as if she had forgotten him completely.
So one day when De Vere lolled in his state-room, he went and stoodbehind her chair where she sat reading. It was one of the poets of hisown land whose book she held in her hand, and the fact emboldened himto say:
"You like English authors, Miss West. Do you think you shall likeEngland?"
She lifted the blue-gray eyes calmly to his face.
"No," she replied, concisely.
He flushed a little. It was his own native land. He did not like tohear her say she should not like it.
"That is a pity, since you are going to make your home there," he said.
"I am not at all sure of that," she answered, putting her whiteforefinger between the pages of her book, and turning squarely round tolook at him as he talked. "Perhaps if I can not bring myself to likeEngland, I may persuade my aunt to come to America with me."
"Lady Lancaster would die of chagrin if you did," he replied, hastily.
He saw a blush color the smooth cheek, and wished that he had thoughtbefore he spoke.
"She is poor and proud. She does not like to be reminded that her auntis a servant at Lancaster Park," he said, pityingly, to himself.
And he recalled De Vere's intentions with a sensation of generouspleasure. Leonora, with her fair face and her cultured mind, would belifted by her marriage into the sphere where she rightly belonged. Thenshe would like England better.
"I have been reading your poet laureate," she said. "I was much struckby these lines:
'Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good: Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.'
I should not have thought an English poet would write that," she wenton. "I thought England was too entirely governed by the laws of castefor one of her people to give free utterance to such a dangeroussentiment."
"You must not judge us too hardly," he said, hastily.
Ignoring his feeble protest, she continued: "My papa was English, buthe was not of what you call gentle birth, Captain Lancaster. He was theson of a most unlucky tradesman who died and left him nothing but hisblessing. So papa ran away t
o America at barely twenty-one. He went toCalifornia to seek his fortune, and he had some good luck and some bad.When he had been there a year he found a gold nugget that was quitea fortune to him. So he married then, and when I was born my prettyyoung mamma died. After that he lived only for me. We had many ups anddowns--all miners have--sometimes we were quite rich, sometimes verypoor. But I have been what you call well educated. I know Latin andFrench and German, and I have studied music. In America, I can move inquite good society, but in your country--" she paused and fixed herclear, grave eyes on his face.
"Well?" he said.
"In England," she said, "I shall, doubtless, be relegated to the sameposition in society as my aunt, the housekeeper at Lancaster Park. Isit not so?"
He was obliged to confess that it was true.
"Then is it likely I shall love England?" she said. "No; I am quitetoo American for that. Oh, I dare say you are disgusted at me, CaptainLancaster. You are proud of your descent from a long line of proudancestry." She looked down at her book and read on, aloud:
"'I know you're proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence I came.'"
He knew the verse by heart. Some impulse stronger than his will orreason prompted him to repeat the last two lines, meaningly, gazingstraight into the sparkling, dark-gray eyes with his proud, blue ones:
"'A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats of arms.'"
The gray eyes, brave as they were, could not bear the meaning gazeof the blue ones. They wavered and fell. The long lashes droopedagainst the cheeks that flushed rosy red. She shut up the book with animpatient sigh, and said, with an effort at self-possession:
"You shall see that I will bring my aunt home to America with me,Captain Lancaster."
"Perhaps so; and yet I think she loves England--as much, I dare say, asyou do America."
"I hope not, for what should we do in that case? I have only her, shehas only me, and why should we live apart?"
"Do you mean to tell me that you have left behind you no relatives?" hesaid.
"I told you I had no one but Aunt West," she said, almost curtly.
"And she can scarcely be called your relative. I believe she was onlyyour father's sister-in-law," he said.
"That is true," she replied.
"Then why go to her at all, since the kinship is but in name, and youwould be happier in America?" he asked, with something of curiosity.
"Papa wished it," she replied, simply.
Then there was a brief silence. Leonora's lashes drooped, with the dewof unshed tears on them. The young face looked very sad in the softevening light.
"She is almost alone in the world--poor child!" he thought.
"I want to ask you something," he said, impulsively.
"Yes," she said, listlessly.
"Was it because of those things we talked of just now--thosearistocratic prejudices--that you have so severely ignored De Vere andme?"
"Not exactly," she replied, hesitatingly.
"Then, why?" he asked, gravely.
She looked up into the handsome blue eyes. They were regarding hervery kindly. Something like a sob swelled her throat, but she said, ascalmly as she could:
"I'll tell you the reason, Captain Lancaster. Do you remember the daywe sailed, and what you and Lieutenant De Vere talked of that nightover your cigars?"
"I remember," he replied, with an embarrassment it was impossible tohide.
The clear eyes looked up straight into his face.
"Well, then," she said, "I heard every word you said to each otherthere in the moonlight."
CHAPTER XIV.
For the second time since he had met Leonora West, Captain Lancasterdevoutly wished that the earth would open and hide him from the sightof those gray-blue eyes.
"I heard every word," she repeated, and his memory flew back anxiouslyto that night.
"Oh, impossible!" he cried. "You had retired. We were alone."
The fair cheek flushed warmly.
"I shall have to confess," she said. "But you must not judge me toohardly, Captain Lancaster."
He looked at her expectantly.
"I will tell you the truth," she said. "I went early to my state-room,because I was tired of Lieutenant De Vere. I wanted to be alone. Butit was so warm and close in my room, I could not breathe freely. So Ithrew a dark shawl over me and went out on deck again. There was no onethere. I slipped around in the shadow of the wheel-house and sat down."
"And then we came--De Vere and I," said Lancaster.
"Yes," she replied. "I was frightened at first, and shrank closer intothe darkness. I did not want to be found out. I thought you would smokeyour cigars and go away in a little while."
There was a minute's silence.
"I wish I had been a thousand miles away!" the captain thought,ruefully, to himself.
"So then you commenced to talk about me," continued Leonora. "I oughtnot to have listened, I know, but I could not make up my mind tointerrupt you; it would have been so embarrassing, you know. So I keptstill, hoping you would stop every minute, and thus I heard all."
"You heard nothing but kindness--you must grant that, at least," hesaid.
The red lips curled at the corners, whether with anger or feeling hecould not tell.
"You were very condescending," she said, in a quiet, very demure littlevoice.
"Now, you wrong us--you do, indeed, Miss West," he cried, hotly. "Wesaid the kindest things of you. You must own that Lieutenant De Verepaid you the highest compliment man can pay to woman."
A beautiful blush rose into the fair face, and her eyes drooped amoment.
"While we are upon the subject," he continued, hastily, "let me speaka word for my friend, Miss West. He is quite in earnest in his lovefor you, and you would do well to listen to his suit. He is in everyway an unexceptionable suitor. There is everything in favor of him,personally, and he is of good birth, is the heir to a title, and last,but not least, has ten thousand a year of his own."
"Enough to buy him a more fitting bride than Mrs. West's niece," shesaid, with some bitterness, but more mirth, in her voice.
"Who could be more fitting than the one he has chosen?" asked Lancaster.
"It would be a _m?salliance_," she said, with her eyes full on his faceas she quoted his words.
"In the world's eyes--yes," he answered, quietly. "But if you love himand he loves you, you need not care for the world," he said; and hefelt the whole force of the words as he spoke them. He said to himselfthat any man who could afford to snap his fingers at fortune and marryLeonora West would be blessed.
She listened to his words calmly, and with an air of thoughtfulness, asif she were weighing them in her mind.
"And so," she said, when he had ceased speaking, "you advise me,Captain Lancaster, to follow up the good impression I have made on yourfriend, and to--to fall into his arms as soon as he asks me?"
He gave a gasp as if she had thrown cold water over him.
"Pray do not understand me as advising anything!" he cried, hastily. "Imerely showed you the advantages of such a marriage; but, of course, Ihave no personal interest in the matter. I am no match-maker."
"No, of course not," curtly; then, with a sudden total change of thesubject, she said: "Aren't we very near the end of our trip, CaptainLancaster?"
"You are tired?" he asked.
"Yes. It grows monotonous after the first day or two out," she replied.
"You might have had a better time if you had let De Vere and me amuseyou," he said.
"Oh, I have been amused," she replied, frankly; and he wondered withinhimself what had amused her, but did not ask. She had a trick of sayingthings that chagrined him, because he did not understand them, and hada lingering suspicion that she was laughing at him.
"We shall see the end of our journey to-morrow, if we have good luck,"he said, and she uttered an exclamation of pleasure.
"So soon? Ah, how glad I am! I wo
nder," reflectively, "what my auntwill think about me."
"She will be astonished, for one thing," he replied.
"Why?"
"Because I think she is expecting a child. She will be surprised to seea young lady."
"Poor papa!" a sigh; "he always called me his little girl. That is howthe mistake has been made. Ah, Captain Lancaster, I can not tell youhow much I miss my father!"
There was a tremor in the young voice. His heart thrilled with pity forher loneliness.
"I hope your aunt will be so kind to you that she will make up to youfor his loss," he said.
"Tell me something about her," said Leonora.
"I am afraid I can not tell you much," he answered, with someembarrassment. "She is a good woman. I have heard Lady Lancaster saythat much."
"Of course, you can not be expected to know much about a merehousekeeper," with a distinct inflection of bitterness in her voice."Well, then, tell me about Lady Lancaster. Who is she?"
"She is the mistress of Lancaster Park."
"Is she nice?"
"She is old and ugly and cross and very rich. Is all that nice, as youdefine it?"
"No; only the last. It is nice to be rich, of course. That goes withoutsaying. Well, then, is there a master?"
"A master?" vaguely.
"Of Lancaster Park, I mean."