Confessions of a Young Lady Part 33

He saw her face; it was pale, with the look upon it which follows a sleepless night.

"Did you think that we would keep it?" She put out her hand and touched his sleeve. "Did you think so badly of us, then, as that?"

He thought that he had never seen her look so pretty. There was something in her voice which caused "a choking in his throat.

"But I cannot take the money. Especially--if you will forgive me, Mdlle. de Fontanes--especially from you."

She sat down. For a moment she covered her face with her hands.

Suddenly she rose.

"Do not make my burden heavier than it is already. Mr Davison, my father cannot help but cheat. It is a disease. In the common things of life he is the most honourable of men--the best of fathers. But with the cards, night after night, since he must play, I play with him, and he cheats me."

She fell on her knees by the side of the table. Burying her face in her hands, she cried as though her heart would break. Mr Davison could only whisper--

"Mdlle. de Fontanes."

She looked up at him.

"Say you forgive me," she cried.

"Forgive you! I! What have I to forgive?"

"For taking you home that night; for letting you know my father; for letting you know me."

Mr Davison fumbled with a compliment.

"That--that is an honour for which I--I ought to thank you."

She rose. She regarded him intently, the tears still stealing from her eyes. Never had he felt so uncomfortable before a woman's gaze. It seemed to him that he was pa.s.sing through all the colour phases of the rainbow.

"So you forgive me, truly?"

"If--if there is forgiveness needed."

"If you forgive me"--she came close to him, he felt her hand steal into his--"kiss me, Harry."

He kissed her as though she were a red-hot coal. Never did a travelled young man of the world so kiss a pretty woman yet! And when he had kissed her there was silence. Then, slipping her hand into the bosom of her dress, she drew out a locket, to which was attached a narrow black ribbon.

"Keep this in memory of a chance acquaintance. Look at it sometimes, and, in looking, think of me. And, in thinking of me, do not think of me as one who plundered you, but as one who--"

She paused. She looked down. But he was the most awkward of men. When she looked up again her face was fiery red. She drew herself away from him, and when she spoke her tone was changed.

"So, Mr Davison, you quite perceive that you owe my father nothing.

You two are quits. But there is one thing you must promise me--you will not fight him."

"I do not understand."

"Oh, it is simple. He will challenge you. After what pa.s.sed last night he is sure to challenge you. But, however that may be, you must say 'No.'"

"If you wish me to, I promise. But in England we don't fight duels.

"No? Not even at the 'Varsity?"

She nodded to him and smiled. And in a moment she was gone. Mr Davison found Mr Lintorn still engaged in putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to his costume. The expression of his countenance was a vivid note of interrogation.

"Well, was it she?"

Mr Davison said "Yes."

"I should have won that guinea."

Mr Davison narrated the interview. When he had finished, Mr Lintorn reflected.

"Odd! Something of the same sort happened to me. It was at Mentone I first encountered the de Fontanes. On two or three evenings I played _ecarte_. I lost; but not five hundred pounds. Two or three days afterwards the sum which I had lost came to me enclosed in an envelope. Not a sc.r.a.p of writing was with it, but the address was in a feminine hand; I always suspected it came from the lady. When I again inquired for the de Fontanes they were gone. But my curiosity was piqued. I did not forget them. So I renewed the acquaintance when I saw them here."

"If he challenges me, what shall I do? I promised not to fight him.

Besides, the thing would be a rank absurdity."

"Stand to your promise. I tell you what to do. There's a boat leaves for Folkestone in an hour. Let's go by it together."

"But wouldn't that look like running away?"

"It would be running away."

Mr Davison did not quite like this way of putting it, but he went.

They travelled together. On the boat Mr Davison remembered the locket.

He opened it. It contained a portrait of the giver. As he eyed it, he observed in that curious vernacular which is an attribute of some examples of modern youth,--

"By Jingo! aren't those French girls goers?"

But Mr Lintorn was an older man. His range was wider.

"Don't judge of a nation by an individual. Mdlle. de Fontanes is unique; the product, I should say, of a very singular experience."

Actually, Mr Davison kissed the portrait.

"I will always keep it," he said.

X

THE GIRL AND THE BOY

CHAPTER I

Archie Ferguson's smoking-room. He and I its only occupants. We had been to a meeting of the Primrose League which had been held at the neighbouring county town. Knocking off the ash from his cigar, he broke an interval of silence by asking me a question.