Devil’s Cub at-2 Read online

  “No, sir, that I am sure she has not,” Mary said.

  He looked at her in a hurt way that touched her. “When I tell you, ma’am, that from the moment of my arrival in Paris Miss Marling has persistently encouraged the advances of a certain French gentleman not unconnected with her family, and has upon every occasion preferred his company to mine, you will hardly assure me that her affections are unchanged.”

  “But I do, sir,” Mary said earnestly. “I do not know how she may have behaved to you, but you must bear in mind that she is as wilful as she is pretty, and delights, perhaps unwisely, in provoking people with her teasing ways. The gentleman you refer to is, I take it, the Vicomte de Valmé. I believe you have no need to feel alarm, Mr. Comyn. The Vicomte is no doubt entertaining, and his address is insinuating. But he is nothing but a rattle, when all is said, and I do not think for an instant that Juliana cares a fig for him.”

  “You know the Vicomte, ma’am?” said Mr. Comyn quickly.

  “I have met him, sir.”

  Mr. Comyn said in a repressed voice: “You have been an inmate of this house for two days, ma’am, and I understand from Juliana that you do not go out. I infer therefore that you have met the Vicomte here—within the past forty-eight hours.”

  Miss Challoner said cautiously: “And if I have, sir, what is there in that to annoy you?”

  “Only,” replied Mr. Comyn sharply, “that Juliana denied that de Valmé had visited her here.”

  Miss Challoner, feeling very guilty, could think of nothing to say. Mr. Comyn, rather pale about the mouth, said bitingly: “It is all of a piece. I begged Juliana, if she cared for me, not to be present to-night at a ball given by the Vicomte’s parents. It was a test of her affection which I, foolishly, believed would not be too severe. I was wrong, ma’am. Juliana has been playing with me—I had almost said flirting with me.”

  Miss Challoner, feeling that it was tune someone took the young couple in hand, proceeded to give Mr. Comyn her good advice on the management of a spoiled beauty. She tried to make him understand—but with indifferent success, since she did not understand it herself—that Juliana was so high-spirited that a breath of opposition induced her to behave outrageously. She told Mr. Comyn that to reproach Juliana, or to remonstrate with her was to drive her into her naughtiest mood. “She is romantic, Mr. Comyn, and if you desire to win her you should let her see that you are a man who will not brook her trifling. Juliana would love you to run off with her by force, but when you are gentle, sir, and respectful, she becomes impatient.”

  “You suggest, in fact, ma’am, that I should abduct Miss Marling? I fear I am quite unlearned in such ways. Her cousin, the Marquis of Vidal, would no doubt oblige her.”

  Miss Challoner coloured, and looked away. Mr. Comyn, realizing what he had said, coloured too, and begged her pardon. “I did not desire to elope with her, even were she willing,” he continued hurriedly. “But she deemed it our best course, and when I was urged to it by a member of her family, I allowed my scruples to be overruled, and came to Paris with the express intention of arranging a secret marriage.”

  “Well, arrange it, sir,” Miss Challoner advised him.

  “I had almost done so, ma’am. I may say that I bear in my pocket at this moment the direction of an English divine at present travelling through France on his way to Italy. I came here to-night expecting to see Juliana, and to tell her that we have nothing more to wait for. And I find that she has gone, in defiance of my expressed wish, to a ball where the chief—the sole attraction is the Vicomte de Valmé. Madam, I can only designate such conduct as heartless in the extreme.”

  Miss Challoner paid very little heed to the last part of this speech, but said rather breathlessly: “You know of an English divine? Oh pray, sir, have you told my Lord Vidal?”

  “No, ma’am, for—”

  “Then do not!” Mary said, laying her hand on his. “Will you promise me that you will not tell him?”

  “Madam, I regret infinitely, but you are under a misapprehension. It was Lord Vidal who told me.”

  Mary’s hand fell again to her side. “When did he tell you?”

  “This afternoon, ma’am. He was good enough, at the same time, to present me with a card for this ball at the Hotel Saint-Vire. Apparently he knows his cousin better than I do. I never dreamed that she would go.”

  “This afternoon .... Oh, I hoped he would not be able to find a Protestant to marry us!” Mary exclaimed unguardedly. “What shall I do? What in the world shall I do?”

  Mr. Comyn regarded her curiously. “Do I understand, ma’am, that a marriage with Lord Vidal is not your desire?”

  She shook her head. “It is not, sir. I am aware that you must think my conduct—my compromising situation—”

  She got up, averting her face.

  Mr. Comyn also got up. He possessed himself of both her hands, and held them in a comforting clasp. “Believe me, Miss Challoner, I understand your feelings exactly. I have nothing but the deepest sympathy for you, and if I can serve you in any way I shall count it an honour.”

  Miss Challoner’s fingers returned the pressure of his. She tried to smile. “You are very kind, sir. I—I thank you.”

  The click of the door made her snatch her hands away. She turned, startled, and met the smouldering gaze of my Lord Vidal.

  His lordship was standing on the threshold, and it was plain that he had seen Mary break loose from Mr. Comyn’s hold. His hand was resting suggestively on the hilt of his light dress-sword, and his eyes held a distinct menace. He was in full ball dress, all purple and gold lacing, with a quantity of fine lace at his wrists and throat.

  To her chagrin Miss Challoner felt a blush steal up into her cheeks. She said with less than her usual composure: “I thought you had gone to the Hotel Saint-Vire, sir.”

  “So I infer, ma’am,” said his lordship with something of a snap. “I trust I don’t intrude?”

  He was looking at Mr. Comyn in a way that invited challenge. Mary pulled herself together and said quietly: “Not in the least, sir. Mr. Comyn is on the point of departure.” She held out her hand to this young man as she spoke, and added: “You should use your card for the ball, sir. Pray do!”

  He bowed, and kissed her fingers. “Thank you, ma’am. But I should be very glad to remain if you feel yourself to be at all in need of company.”

  The meaning of this was quite plain. My lord strolled suggestively into the middle of the room, but before he could speak Miss Challoner said quickly: “You are very kind, sir, but I am shortly going to retire. Let me wish you good night—and good fortune.”

  Mr. Comyn bowed again, favoured his lordship with a slight inclination of the head, and went out.

  The Marquis watched him frowningly till he was out of the room. Then he turned to Miss Challoner. “You’re on terms of intimacy with Comyn, are you?”

  “No,” replied Mary. “Hardly that, my lord.”

  He came up to her, and gripped her by the shoulders. “If you don’t want to see a hole shot through that damned soft-spoken fellow you’d best keep your hands out of his. Do you understand, my girl?”

  “Perfectly,” said Miss Challoner. “You’ll allow me to say that I find you absurd, my lord. Only jealousy could inspire you with this ill-placed wrath, and where there is no love there cannot be jealousy.”

  He let her go. “I know how to guard my own.”

  “I am not yours, sir.”

  “You will very soon be. Sit down. Why are you not at the ball?”

  “I had no inclination for it, sir. I might ask, why are not you?”

  “Not finding you there, I came here,” he replied.

  “I am indeed flattered,” said Miss Challoner.

  He laughed. “It’s all I went for, my dear, I assure you. Why was that fellow holding your hands?”

  “For comfort,” said Miss Challoner desolately.

  He held out his own. “Give them to me.”

  Miss Challoner shook her head. There