“I met him at that concert.”
“But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least, I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre together.”
“So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I have never seen him since.”
“Oh, indeed! I quite mistook.”
“If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will.
It will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him?
It will be no trouble to me.”
“No, oh no. I wanted — it was something that could only be told to him indirectly by an intimate friend — by some one with influence over him. More a hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it cannot be helped.”
Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in silence. Then he said: “If the matter is of serious importance to you, Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a person who has influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that I can; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty.”
Marian looked at him in some surprise. “I hardly know what I ought to do,” she said, doubtfully.
“Then do nothing,” said Conolly bluntly. “Or, if you want anything said to this gentleman, write to him yourself.”
“But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to write to him. I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be told something that may prevent a great deal of unhappiness. It seems so unfeeling to sit down quietly and say, ‘It is not my business to interfere,’ when the mischief might so easily be prevented.”
“I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking care of other people’s happiness is thankless and dangerous. You dont know your cousin’s address, you say?”
“No. I thought you did.”
Conolly shook his head. “Who does know it?” he said.
“My brother George does; but he refused to tell me. I shall not ask him again.”
“Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of what use will that be, since you think you ought not to write to him?”
“I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned myself, I would not hesitate to tell you the whole story, and ask your advice. I feel sure you would shew me what was right. But this is a matter which concerns other people only.”
“Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont meddle in it.”
“But—”
“But what?”
“After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring about mischief. If Marmaduke could be given a hint to come down here at once — he has been invited, and is putting off his visit from week to week — it would be sufficient. He will get into trouble if he makes any more excuses. And he can set everything right by coming down now.”
“Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth matters over for the present?”
“No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth matters over as to rescue him from a bad influence that is ruining him. There is a person in London from whom he must he got away at all hazards. If you only knew — I wish you knew.”
“Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss Lind, let us understand one another. Your family want your cousin to marry Lady Constance. I know that. She does not object. I know that too. He does.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Marian, “you are wrong. He does not.”
“Anyhow,” continued Conolly, “he acts with a certain degree of indifference toward her — keeps away at present, for instance. I infer that the bad influence you have mentioned is the cause of his remissness.”
“Yes, you are right; only, looking at it all from without as you do, you are mistaken as to Marmaduke’s character. He is easily led away, and very careless about the little attentions that weigh so much with women; but he is thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with Lady Constance. Unfortunately, he is easily imposed on, and impatient of company in which he cannot be a little uproarious. I fear that somebody has taken advantage of this part of his character to establish a great ascendency over him. I” — here Marian became nervous, and controlled her voice with difficulty— “I saw this person once in a theatre; and I can imagine how she would fascinate Marmaduke. She was so clever, so handsome, and — and so utterly abominable. I was angry with Duke for bringing us to the place; and I remember now that he was angry with me because I said she made me shudder.”
“Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman to say of another,” said Conolly, with a certain sternness. “However, I can understand your having that feeling about her. I know her; and it is through her that I hope to find out his address for you.”
“But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I think it is somewhere in West Kensington.”
Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled a step, frightened.
“Since when, pray?”
“Very lately, I think. I do not know.”
They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regretting that she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terrible darkness. He walked on at last faster than before. No more words passed between them until they came out into the moonlight close to the veranda. Then he stopped again, and took off his hat.
“Permit me to leave you now,” he said, with an artificial politeness worthy of Douglas himself. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” faltered Marian.
He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she found
Jasper and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the drawingroom.
“Hallo!” said Jasper, “where is Conolly? I want to say a word to him before he goes.”
“He has just gone,” said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasper immediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two cousins alone together.
“Well, Marian,” said Elinor, “do you know that you have taken more than quarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did, and that you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls her, has been making some kind remarks about it.”
“Do I look disturbed? I hope Auntie wont notice it. I wish I could go straight to bed without seeing anybody.”
“Why? What is the matter?”
“I will tell you tonight when you come in to me. I am disgusted with myself; and I think Conolly is mad.”
“Mad!”
“On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad,” said Lord Jasper, returning at this moment out of breath and laughing.
Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian.
“He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of the yellow field when I caught sight of him. Just as I was about to hail him, he started off and cleared the fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furious rate, swinging his arms about, and laughing as if he was enjoying some uncommonly good joke. I am not sure that I did not see him dance a hornpipe; but as it is so dark I wont swear to that.”
“You had better not,” said Elinor, sceptically. “Let us go in; and pray do not encourage George to talk. I have a headache, and want to go to bed.”
“You have been in very good spirits, considering your headache,” he replied, in the same incredulous tone. “It has come on rather suddenly, has it not?”
When