Rossett was of the same opinion. The General agreed to a private engagement. Guy gave his betrothed a beautiful ring which she did not dare openly to display. She looked at it several times a day, and kissed it every night before she went to sleep.
Guy had lost no time in approaching his father, and the Earl had received the news in the worst spirit. He had stormed, and broken out into one of his furious, ungovernable rages.
“You are simply an idiot. With my influence with the Government, there is no knowing where I can push you to.” He seemed to take it for granted that his son could not help himself. “You must marry a woman in your own class, a woman who can help you in your career. And then you propose to me some obscure chit of a girl, who lives in a cottage at Eastbourne.”
Guy argued calmly that Isobel was a lady, and of good family. Certainly her father was not a rich man, this much he had to admit.
The Earl would not listen to reason. He brushed aside all his son’s pleadings. He recovered from his first rage, but he wound up the discussion in a voice of deadly calm.
“You can do as you choose, Guy. You are quite independent, and I daresay if you married a shop girl it would make no difference to your aunt. But please understand this. From the day you make Isobel Clandon your wife, all is over between us. I wash my hands of you. Not a penny of my money, not an atom of my influence. You understand.”
“I quite understand, sir. You force me to choose between yourself and Isobel. Well, if you persist in your determination, I shall choose Isobel. But I am in hopes you will change your mind.”
“Never,” snapped out the Earl viciously. “Go to the devil your own way, as soon as you like. Fancy a manlike you being caught by a baby face.” But Guy smiled to himself. Lord Saxham was a very obstinate man, also a very irritable one. But his bark was worse than his bite. He had often climbed down before. And there was Lady Mary to be reckoned with, who, as a rule, could twist her father round her little finger, even if the process involved some time.
Lord Saxham betook himself next day to the all-powerful Mr Greatorex. He hinted to that impassive gentleman that he wanted to get his son abroad. Mr Greatorex elevated his finely arched eyebrows. “The usual thing, I suppose? An entanglement of some sort?”
“Wants to marry a woman who will ruin his career,” answered the Earl tersely.
“A chorus-girl or something of that sort?” queried Greatorex. He knew that Guy Rossett had mixed in a somewhat fast set, and was prepared to expect the worst of him. “Or, perhaps, a doubtful widow?” He had heard rumours of him and Violet Hargrave.
Lord Saxham shook his head. “No, neither; but just as bad from my point of view. A girl, technically a lady, but no family to speak of, no fortune. He’d marry for love, and tire of her in six months, misery for her as well as for him.”
The Honourable Rupert Greatorex was the scion of a very ancient family himself. He had a proper detestation of mésalliances.
“I will do my best,” he said cordially. “He shall have the first thing going.”
He had watched the career of young Rossett, as he had watched the career of every young man in the Foreign Office. Guy had not shown himself, up to the present, very zealous. He was more inclined to play than to work, and he foregathered with some very queer people.
But he did not lack brains. From some of the strange people with whom he associated, he had gleaned some rather valuable information which he had placed at Mr Greatorex’s disposal.
If he was sent to Spain, he might turn out a useful member of the vast diplomatic corps, and he would be separated from this charming young woman, of no family to speak of, and no fortune. And Greatorex would be obliging a staunch supporter of the Government. Hence the appointment which Guy fondly believed he had secured through his own merits.
While his father was scheming to thwart what he considered his son’s ill-advised wooing, Guy had enlisted Mary for an ally.
Mary, the friend of all true lovers, only asked two questions. First, Was she a lady? Second, Were they quite sure they really loved each other?
Her brother was able to answer both questions in the affirmative. And she was sure, this time, he was in earnest. She had been the recipient of previous confidences, hence a little caution on her part.
“I should like to meet her, and judge for myself,” said Mary decidedly. She knew, of course, of her father’s obstinate refusal to entertain the idea. She would like to meet Isobel, to be sure if she was justified in opposing the Earl. For Mary was, above all things, conscientious. She adored Guy, but she also loved her father, and she had a duty towards him. She must be certain that Isobel was worthy, no mere adventuress, luring a sorely love-stricken man.
Guy unfolded his cunning little plan.
“Run up to London one day for some shopping. I’ll get up Isobel and her father, and we can all lunch together. Where shall we go? The Ritz for preference, but we should meet too many people we knew, and it might get to the Governor’s ears. We’ll lunch at the Savoy.”
So that was arranged. There came that delightful day when the General and his daughter travelled up from Eastbourne, and met Guy and his sister in the vestibule of the famous London restaurant.
Isobel was dreadfully nervous, but quite excitedly happy. What a lovely new life! The tepid gaieties of Eastbourne paled their ineffectual fires in comparison with the present festivity.
The two women took to each other at once. It did not take the shrewd Mary long to discover that this beautiful girl was genuinely in love with the equally good-looking Guy, that here was no artful and designing maiden.
The General, simple and dignified, made an equally good impression upon her. In manner and bearing he was the true type of aristocrat, as much so as Lord Saxham himself. Fortunately for others, he lacked the Earl’s somewhat explosive qualities.
They lingered in the lounge some time after lunch, and here the two women had a little private chat together, with the view of cementing their acquaintance.
Mary promised to be their friend, and to use all her influence to wear down her father’s opposition.
Isobel thanked her warmly. “It seems an unkind thing to say,” she added, at the conclusion of her little outburst of gratitude. “But I almost wish that Guy were a poor man.”
Mary looked at her questioningly; she did not, for the moment, catch the drift of her thoughts.
“There couldn’t, then, be all this fuss and trouble,” explained Isobel, with a little catch in her voice. “People wouldn’t be able to think that I had run after him, they would know I only cared for him for himself. Now, whatever happens, they will always think the worst of me.”
Mary whispered back the consoling answer, “There are two people who will never think that, myself and Guy.”
The happy hours passed. They all saw Mary off by her train, and a little later the General and his daughter went back to Eastbourne.
There were many delightful days to follow, days when Guy ran down, dined with the General, and put up for the night at the “Queen’s.”
And then the time drew near for Guy to take up his new post, to leave London for Madrid. Still, things were not any further advanced. In spite of Lady Mary’s powerful and persistent advocacy, the Earl remained as obdurate as ever. If Guy insisted upon making Isobel Clandon his wife, all friendly relations between father and son would be suspended.
On the night preceding the young diplomatist’s departure, there was a farewell dinner, this time at a less public restaurant than the Savoy. The party was the same, Guy and his sister, Isobel and her father.
Lady Mary would have to stay the night in London. This she had arranged to do with an old girl friend, now married, Lady May Brendon.
The