Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 31

"Halloa; you back, Jack!" said a tall, military-looking man, who was known as the "Indian Nut," because he was one of the most famous of our Indian colonels. "You're just in time to take a hand at loo."

"No; come and join us," said young Lord Pierrepoint, from another table, at which nap was being played.

But if you could only wring a promise out of Jack, you could rest perfectly certain that he would keep it; and he shook his head firmly.

"Nary a card."

"What! Don't you feel well, Jack?"

"No, I'm hungry. I'm going to get something to eat."

"Dear me, I didn't know you did eat, Jack. However, man, come and sit down, and don't fidget about the room like that."

"Len's right, the club won't do neither. I couldn't hold a card straight tonight. I'll get some dinner, and go back, and we'll have it all over again."

It was a wise and virtuous resolution; and, unlike most resolves, Jack meant to keep it. But alas! before he had got through with his soup, the door opened and two men strolled in.

They were both young and well-known. The one was Sir Arkroyd Hetley; the other, the young Lord Dalrymple, whose coronet had scarcely yet warmed his forehead, as the French say.

Both of them uttered an exclamation at seeing Jack, and made straight for his table.

"Why, here's the Savage!" exclaimed Dalrymple. "Back to his native forest primeval."

"Been on the war trail, Jack?" asked Sir Arkroyd. "How are the squaws and wigwams? Seriously, where have you been, old man?"

"Yes, I have been on the war trail," he said.

"And got some scalps, I hope," said Dalrymple. "What are you doing--dining? What do you say, Ark, shall we join him? It's so long since I've eaten anything that I should like to watch a man do it before I make an attempt."

The footman put chairs and rearranged the table, and the two men chatted and conned over the _carte_.

"You don't look quite the thing, Jack. Been going it in the forest, or what?"

"Yes, I've been going it in the forest, Dally."

"Been hunting the buffalo and chumming up with his old friend, Spotted Bull," said Arkroyd. "Bet you anything he hasn't been out of London, Dally."

"Take him," said Jack. "I've been out of London on a little matter of business."

"He's been robbing a bank," said Arkroyd, "or breaking one."

"Neither. Stop chaffing, you two, and tell a fellow what's going on."

"Shall we tell him, Dally? Perhaps he'll try to cut us out. It wouldn't be a bad idea to start a joint stock company, all club together, you know, and work it in that way, the one who wins to share with the other fellows."

"Wins what? What on earth are you talking about? Is it a sweepstake, a handicap, or what----"

"No, my n.o.ble Savage. It's the heiress."

"Oh," said Jack, indifferently, and he sipped his claret critically.

"What has come to you, Jack? Have you decided to cut the world or have heiresses become unnecessary? Perhaps someone has left you a fortune, old man; if so, n.o.body will be more delighted than I shall be--to help you spend it."

A flush rose to Jack's face, and his eyes flashed. He had been drinking great b.u.mpers of the Hawks' favorite claret--a heady wine which Jack should never have touched at any time, especially not tonight.

"No, no one has left me a fortune; quite the reverse. But you'd better tell me about this heiress, I see, or you'll die of disappointment. Who is she--where is she?--what is she? Here's her good health, whoever she is," and down went another b.u.mper of the Lafitte; and as it went down, it was to Una he drank, not to the unknown one.

"Do you remember Earlsley?" said Arkroyd. "Oh, no, of course not, you must have been in your cradle in the wigwam in that time. Well; old Wigsley died and left his money to a fifty-second cousin, who turned out to be a girl. No one knew anything about her; no one knew where to find her; but at last there comes a claimant in the shape of a girl from one of the Colonies--Canada. That isn't a colony, is it, though?

Australia--anywhere--n.o.body knows, you know. She came over with her belongings--a rum-looking old fellow, with a white head of long hair, like, a--a--what's got a long head of white hair, Dally?"

"Try patriarch," murmured the marquis.

"Well, in addition to the money, and there's about a million, more or less--she's got the most beautiful, that isn't the word, most charming, fascinating little face you ever saw. If she looks at you, you feel as if you never could feel an ache or pain again as long as you lived."

"Ark, you've had too much champagne."

"No; 'pon my honor. Isn't it right, Dally?"

"Yes, and if she smiles," said Dalrymple, "you never could feel another moment's unhappiness. The prettiest mouth--and when it opens, her teeth----"

"Oh, confound it!" exclaimed Jack, brusquely. "You needn't run over her points as if she were a horse; I don't want to buy her."

As a matter of fact, he had only caught the last word or two, for while Arkroyd had been talking he had been thinking of that other beautiful girl--not a doll, with teeth and a smile, but an angel, pure and ethereal--a dream--not a fascinating heiress.

"Buy her!" exclaimed Arkroyd. "Listen to him! Don't I tell you she's worth a million?"

"And I'd make her Countess of Dalrymple tomorrow if she hadn't a penny, and would have me," said Dalrymple.

"Try her," said Jack, curtly.

"No use, my dear Savage," he said, tugging at his incipient fringe of down ruefully. "She won't have anything to say to yours truly, or to any one of us for that matter. She only smiles when we say pretty things, and shows her teeth at us. Besides, the t.i.tle wouldn't tempt her. She's got one already. Don't I tell you she's one of the Earlsley lot? No; we've all had a try, even Arkroyd. He even went so far as to get a fellow to write a poem about her in one of the society journals, and signed it 'A. H.;' but she told him to his face that she didn't care for poetry. It was a pretty piece, too, wasn't it, Ark?"

"First-rate," said Arkroyd, with as much modesty as if he had written it. "But it was all thrown away on Lady Bell."

"On whom?" said Jack, waking up again.

"On Lady Bell--Isabel Earlsley is her name. You're wool-gathering tonight, Jack."

"Oh, Lady Bell, is it?" said Jack, carelessly. "Go ahead. Anything else?"

"No, that's all, excepting that I'll wager a cool thousand to a china orange that you'll change your tone when you see her, Savage."

"Perhaps," said Jack, "but your description doesn't move me; not much, Ark. You're not good at that sort of thing. It isn't in your line. The only things you seem to have remarked are her smile and her teeth."

"Savage, you are, as usual, blunt, not to say rude. Let us have another bottle of Cliquot."

Jack shook his head, but another bottle came up, and he sat and took his share in silence, and, indeed, almost unconsciously. For all the attention he paid to the chatter of his two friends they might not have been present.