CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.
MARGOT'S ANSWER.
A week later Victor Druce was sitting _tete-a-tete_ with Margot Blountin the drawing-room of her aunt's London house, a cramped little housein a fashionable neighbourhood. The house was generally let furnishedduring the season, and inhabited by the impecunious owner at those oddseasons of the year when she had no invitations which made it possibleto saddle other people with the cost of food and maintenance. Just nowthere was a gap of a few weeks between the last shooting-party and aChristmas gathering in the country, so the house had been reopened, andfriends flocked to call and leave cards, foremost among them Mr VictorDruce, a young man of importance, nowadays, as the accredited heir toone of the finest properties in the kingdom.
"I am not at home to anyone else this afternoon," Margot announced tothe servant, as Victor took his seat beside her. She smiled to herselfas she spoke, an odd little smile, whose meaning her visitor was puzzledto decipher. It was a great compliment to be allowed a privateinterview, but there was a mysterious something in Margot's manner whichdetracted from his satisfaction. He watched her as she poured out teaat the inlaid Turkish table, with eyes in which admiration and anxietywere equally mingled. He had known many women more beautiful, but neverone with such an air of grace and distinction; every movement of theslim body and white tapering fingers was a poem in itself, and the coilsof chestnut hair shone like burnished gold. Even in the poorest ofsurroundings Margot would look an aristocrat, and reflect credit on herhusband's good taste.
While he was drinking his tea and listening to the pretty flow ofconversation about everything in general and nothing in particular,which seems to come so naturally to women of the world, Victor was busypainting a mental picture of a wonderful, rose-coloured future where hewould reign as master of Raby Court, with Margot acting chatelaine byhis side. The exclusive county families might have hesitated to welcomea stranger, who was moreover a "City man," but, with Margot Blount ashis wife, he would have the entree into any society.
Victor congratulated himself on his usual good luck, inasmuch as thisdesirable partner was the girl of all others whom he would have selectedfor her own sake. A year ago he had looked upon her as a star entirelyout of his own sphere, for he had the poorest of prospects for thefuture, but now, as by the stroke of a magician's wand, a fine positionwas almost assured, and he could approach Margot if not as an equal,still as a match whom nobody need disdain. Almost, but not quite!There lay the rub.
The old squire still lingered on, dying by inches as it were, andpreserving to the last his grim enigmatical silence. Victor had notheard one word from his lips to substantiate his hopes; but actions--which, as the proverb says, speak louder than words--all seemed to rangethemselves in his favour. His three rivals had retired in disfavour,and, receiving no replies to their first letters, had gradually ceasedwriting, so that there was at present no correspondence between them andthe squire, while he himself was a constant visitor, and was evenallowed carte blanche in inviting and entertaining his friends. Thevery servants about the place spoke of him as "the young master," andthe local tradesfolk lost no opportunity of begging his patronage in thefuture. Surely, surely he might be done with doubts, and allow himselfthe joy of speaking out all that was in his heart!
"A penny for your thoughts, Mr Druce," cried Margot gaily. "You havenot been listening to me for the last ten minutes. It must have been avery pleasant day-dream to engross you so completely."
"It was," said Victor simply. For once he was thoroughly sincere, andvoice and manner both testified to the change. "I was thinking of you,"he added, looking at her with the dark eyes which could be so eloquentupon occasions. "My daydreams have always been of you for the lastyear!"
"Always?" echoed Margot sceptically. She selected a little cake fromthe basket by her side, and nibbled it daintily with her small whiteteeth. "Really? I am surprised to hear that. I fancied that you weremore catholic in your tastes. It is very flattering of you to includeme in your dreams, but I am not presumptuous enough to expect to occupythe entire stage!"
"Presumptuous!" echoed Victor reproachfully. The vague uneasiness whichhad possessed him since the beginning of the interview was deepened bythe unconcealed irony of her tone; and he realised suddenly that he mustspeak plainly, since it was dangerous to play fast and loose any longer."What a word for you to use of yourself! It is I who am presumptuousto dream of you as I do; but a man is not always master of his thoughts.I think you must know what my feelings have been ever since we met. Ifell hopelessly in love with you at first sight--hopelessly in everyway, as it seemed at that time; but, all the same, my fate was sealed,and the world held no other woman."
"Really?" queried Margot again, in the same voice of scepticism. "But,then, how wonderfully you act, Mr Druce! I have seen you onlyoccasionally during the year, but I cannot say that you impressed me asa man who had lost his interest in my sex! At one time I made sure--agood many people made sure--that you had a very definite preference.That was at the beginning of your stay at the Court, when Mr Farrellseemed so devoted to his charming grand-niece. Do you remember theafternoon when I came to call, and found you two sitting together uponthe terrace? What a charming picture you made! The old house makes anideal background for a _tete-a-tete_!"
Victor's eyes lit up with a flash of relief and triumph. Margot wasjealous--that was the reason of the change of manner which had puzzledhim all the afternoon. She was jealous of his attention to RuthFarrell, which she evidently looked upon as disloyal to herself. As hecould not deny the evidence of her own eyesight, the wisest plan was tothrow himself upon her generosity and forgiveness.
"Ah, you must not be hard on me! You were out of reach, and the timeand the opportunity were there. She was a pretty girl, and notdisinclined for an innocent flirtation. You would not confound sotrivial an incident with my feeling for you? Ruth Farrell is a charminggirl in her own way; but--"
"But not so charming as she was! She has fallen from favour all round,poor little Ruth, since Mr Farrell transferred his favour to another!"
Victor leapt from his seat, and strode across the room to her side.
"Margot, what is the matter? Why do you speak to me in that voice?Leave Ruth Farrell alone--she is nothing to you or to me. I have beenwaiting to ask you a question, but I can wait no longer. If the Courtis mine, if Mr Farrell makes me his heir, as we all expect, will youshare my good fortune? Will you be my wife, and make me the happiestman on earth? I could give you a home which would be worthy even ofyou!"
He bent over her as he spoke; but Margot pushed back her chair, and roseto confront him, her head almost on a level with his own.
"Really, Mr Druce, you are too original in your methods! A conditionalproposal is quite a novelty in my experience. _If_ you inherit? Andwhat if by chance you are disappointed? It is still possible, you know!There are some people who believe that the squire is deliberatelymisleading us all, and that the property will go to Ruth Farrell,despite all appearances. I should like to know exactly how I standbefore I commit myself to a reply. Does your offer still hold good ifRuth inherits in your place?"
Victor's eyelids sank, and a dull red flush showed on his cheeks.
"It is impossible!" he protested. "Why will you conjure up such aposition? Mr Farrell has never mentioned his niece's name since sheleft the Court. He treats me like a son; I come and go as I choose. Itis preposterous to believe there can be any doubt on the subject!"
"But suppose there were? Suppose the impossible happened, if you liketo put it in that way?"
"If I were back in my old position--worse than my old position, forthese months of idleness have not helped me on--I--I should be no matchfor you, Margot. You would not care to marry a pauper!"
"Nor you an equally impecunious bride! My title would be of service toyou as master of the Court, but a commoner with a substantial fortune toher back would be a better bargain for a budding barrister. Such acommoner
as--shall we say Ruth Farrell, for example? Mr Druce, youought to succeed in your profession, for you have shown wonderfulforethought in the management of your own affairs. It was an admirableidea to provide for both emergencies, while leaving yourself free. Theonly drawback to success is that Ruth and myself happened to be friends,and were mutually anxious that the other should not be deceived. Underthe circumstances, you will not be surprised that I must decline toconsider the problematical offer of the Court and its master. I willlive unmarried all my days, or I will marry an honest man and agentleman!"
Victor stood gazing at her, a figure cut in stone. For a few momentsstupefaction held him dumb; then his face worked convulsively in theeffort of speech.
"You have known all along--you have deliberately waited, intending todeal me this blow?"
Margot bent her head gravely.
"Yes, I have waited! I am able to take care of myself, but I wished tomake quite sure that Ruth was safe. To-day I was glad to feel that itwas unnecessary to wait any longer. You will be interested to hear thatMiss Farrell is happily engaged to an old friend of the family. Itsometimes happens that the cleverest of schemers falls between twostools. The position is undignified, but you have only yourself tothank. I think we have nothing more to say to each other, Mr Druce. Ihave the pleasure to wish you--Good-bye!"
She had touched the electric bell a moment before, and now the dooropened and a servant stood awaiting her bidding. In his presence it wasimpossible for Victor to reply. For one moment he stood glaring at her,a picture of impotent fury, then slowly turned and left the room. Asthe house door closed behind him, the electric bell pealed once more,and the servant turned back to the drawing-room.
"I am not at home in future to Mr Druce! Please remember!" said LadyMargot.
Then her eye fell on the envelope of a telegram which the man wascarrying towards her. She tore it open, saw at a glance that it camefrom Mrs Thornton at Raby, and read the following message:--
"Squire died suddenly last night. Husband, Druce, Melland, summoned tofuneral on Thursday. Will write details."
It was a duplicate of a message which was even then speeding on its wayto the two grand-nieces in Liverpool.