The King's Men Part 8

"Why, my dear boy, of course you were nothing more. To be great friends is enough; so you own up to the serious affair? You think that she isn't watching you--look."

Geoffrey glanced up and caught Miss Windsor's eye. She colored, turned away, and said something to the _Sat.u.r.day Reviewer,_ who had before found his satirical remarks thrown away on his _distraite_ hostess.

"See that fine color mounting to her cheeks," said Mrs. Carey.

"She sees that we are talking about her and feels a little self-consciousness. The Americans are not so self-possessed as we are."

"Why do you not marry her?" she continued, not heeding him. "She has money, is not at all bad-looking. There is nothing else for you to do, and you cannot long go on as you are now, I fancy."

Geoffrey grew red and confused. He tried to make a clever answer. She had such an air of graceful badinage, as she asked the question, that it did not seem to him that he had a right to be angry, and yet he did feel so. It annoyed him very much to be chaffed about Miss Windsor; to have this cold woman of the world suggest to him that he should marry the young American girl for her money.

Mrs. Carey laughed slightly, and seeing that she had pressed her advantage too far, turned to a congenial diversion with Sydney, who had by this time dined well and thoughtfully. She clinked his gla.s.s of Burgundy lightly with him in a quaint, old-fas.h.i.+oned way, and Sydney's eyes sparkled; he drained his gla.s.s.

Sir John Dacre had seen Geoffrey when the party sat down at the table; but it so chanced that he did not catch his eye until just now. The two men had not met for years, and even now the conventions of society and six feet of mahogany kept them separated more effectually than miles of country. They smiled and nodded, however, and Dacre raised his gla.s.s of wine, and the two pledged each other's health in some old comet claret of 1912.

"Who is the man who just smiled at you, Mr. Dacre?" asked Miss Lincoln.

"My dear old friend, Lord Brompton--Geoffrey Ripon you would call him, perhaps. I am downright glad to see him here to-night. Indeed, I came down to this part of the country to see him."

Miss Lincoln seemed chagrined.

"You must be very much attached to him, then, Mr. Dacre."

"Yes, of course I am; and I have not seen him for some years. He has not changed much."

"If he is Geoffrey Ripon, Earl of Brompton, it is to him that this estate used to belong, then?"

"Yes, Miss Lincoln, in his father's day it was a beautiful place; there were none of these modern gewgaws here. The old earl would have starved to death rather than have dined in a room lighted by the electric light.

I used to stay here as a boy; indeed, I am a kinsman of the family. I was here last some years before the old gentleman's death. He lived on here for years without hearing from the outside world. He even gave up the _Times_, and would not have anything in the house which was written since the abdication. He refused to acknowledge the existence of a country which had exiled his king."

Miss Lincoln blushed a little as she said:

"Do we not owe our allegiance to our country, Mr. Dacre, as it is? It seems to me that it is our duty to do what we can for it."

"Ah, Miss Lincoln, I am afraid that we are treading on dangerous ground.

Your father and I respect each other as foes, whose swords have crossed, always do; but it is not fitting that his daughter and I should discuss this matter. Do you notice how intently Mrs. Oswald Carey watches Miss Windsor? I wonder why?"

"I have noticed it, Mr. Dacre," answered Miss Lincoln. "Just now she guarded her face with her bunch of roses, that Miss Windsor might not perceive her scrutiny, and her look is not a friendly one."

"She is a beautiful tiger," said Sir John, "not a domestic cat, as many women are; and she means mischief when her eyes fix upon any one in that way."

Miss Lincoln looked at him in surprise, for he spoke earnestly, more earnestly than he knew himself; for something told him that the beautiful woman with the black gown and gleaming shoulders, sitting opposite to him, was dangerous to him and his friends.

The dinner was over; the ladies swept from the room, Mrs. Carey following close at Miss Windsor's side.

When the men had returned to sole possession of the dining-room the company separated into little groups. Jawkins fastened upon the Duke, whom Mr. Windsor relinquished with ill-concealed delight. Herr Diddlej sat turning a lump of sugar with brandy in his coffee spoon, and smoking cigarettes, which he rapidly rolled with his yellow-stained damp fingers. Mr. Lincoln sat with Sydney, who forgot his hypochondria over his cigar and became quite amusing, as the smile upon Lincoln's shrewd, kindly face testified, for Richard Lincoln was a flint upon which all intellectual steel struck fire.

Sir John Dacre and Geoffrey grasped each other's hand with a firm grip, and looked into each other's eyes in silence for a moment.

"I came down here to see you, Geoffrey, because I need you.

"You know, John, that I am at your service, now and always."

"It is not my service, Geoffrey," said Dacre. "But later for this. Here comes old Featherstone; we have come down here together. Here, let us get on the sofa; it is the same one we used to sit on when we came here in the hunting season in your father's day."

"I did not have a chance to say anything to you while the ladies were present," said Featherstone, sitting down between his friends. "I am very glad to see you. I had heard nothing about you since you left Paris. They tell me that you are living in the neighborhood."

"Yes, just over there," indicated Geoffrey with his thumb. "You are to stop three days, I hear. You must both come to see me. You will be my first guests since I came back to my estate."

"You look as well as ever," said Featherstone. "But how we have made the running the wrong way, to be sure, since I last saw you."

Featherstone made a gesture with his left hand, and looked inquiringly at his friends; but Geoffrey, though he noticed the gesture, did not attach any significance to it.

He raised his gla.s.s of port over a carafe of water. "The King," he said.

All three drank, and Dacre whispered, "No more of this, Featherstone. I shall see Geoffrey this evening; he is not one of us yet."

"What an attractive woman Mrs. Oswald Carey is!" exclaimed Featherstone.

"You knew her before, did you not, Geoffrey?"

"I was her father's pupil before I went to Oxford."

"And knew the G.o.ddess when she was budding into womanhood. I can see it all. You fell in love with her, of course, cherished a locket in your left-hand waistcoat pocket for some weeks after you left her father's tutelage. I don't blame you. I never saw a woman who made one's blood course faster."

Featherstone stretched out his long legs and arms and pulled away at his cigar, a queer smile playing over his mouth.

"She is a woman whom it is delightful to have been or be in love with,"

he continued; "but to marry--ah! I do not envy Oswald Carey. He simply gives his name up to have a Mrs. put before it. By the way, our hostess is an interesting girl. I like the old man, too. It is refres.h.i.+ng to see a man who has opened his oyster after living among such a broken-down lot as we all are. I wish that he could give me a point or two; they say that he can make a million by turning over his hand. Think of it. There are a lot of fellows who can lose one by the same simple process."

Geoffrey did not answer; he felt silent and depressed since the ladies had left the room, and his cigar seemed to him to be altogether too long. It is a bad sign when a man's cigar seems too long to him, and when he tells you that he never knew until lately how offensive the odor of tobacco was to a refined woman you may know that all is up with him.

Featherstone, on the other hand, smoked his cigar, slowly and reverently, like a liberty-loving and untrammelled gentleman.

Geoffrey walked out to the great hall, where he found the ladies gathered around the fireplace. Mrs. Oswald Carey sat near the d.u.c.h.ess, and was talking with her. The old lady did not seem pleased with her new companion, and smiled pleasantly at Geoffrey, when she saw him approach.

Miss Windsor was sitting in a low chair somewhat removed from the other two. Geoffrey, after a few words of greeting to the d.u.c.h.ess, approached Miss Windsor.

"You did not linger over your cigar like the rest, I see," she said to him, as he sat down by her. "Tobacco is a woman's most formidable rival, but the charms of Mrs. Oswald Carey are strong enough to draw you in here! Perhaps you will have a cup of coffee to make up for your deprivation."

"Thank you, Miss Windsor; one lump. But I did not come in to see Mrs.

Oswald Carey. I had the pleasure of sitting next her at dinner."

"We are going to-morrow on a drive to the ruins of Chichester Cathedral.

If you have nothing to prevent you, will you not join us?"

Geoffrey accepted the invitation.

"It is a pity that there are so few ladies," continued Miss Windsor; "we can make up a coach-load, however, and you may drive, if you wish it. Of course, you can then have Mrs. Oswald on the box-seat with you, and then you will be sure to have a good time."

"Oh, Featherstone can drive much better than I," answered Geoffrey; "I have not driven four-in-hand since I lived in this house. I should much prefer to be upon one of the seats with you."