Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 47

"Yes, Madge. He has had ever since his uncle died, which was more than three months ago."

"Poor dear papa," murmured the girl in very bitterness of soul.

"She will come to it yet," thought Mrs. Arnold, "nothing succeeds like moderation," and with the most consummate adroitness commenced asking questions concerning her mother.

"You know, Madge, that mamma is so much wrapped up in Sir Arthur, the ugly old bore, that she can listen to no one else, and for no other reason than to have you addressed as 'my lady.'"

"Oh Eve, do not say that."

"I _will_ say it Madge, and more than that I will say that mamma has no more respect for her children's feeling than for those of her meanest servant. She would think it splendid to marry you to a gouty old baronet old enough to be your father, yes your grandfather, while I would not insist upon your favoring a handsome young man with wealth and a large heart into the bargain."

"Eve, you do mamma a great injustice," cried Marguerite, who be it said to her credit, always defended the absent one, "she already knows my feelings towards Sir Arthur and has used no coercion since and now that we are soon going home there is no need of referring to the affair."

Marguerite was annoyed and her sister saw that she had said enough, so with diplomatic tact, she became doubly tractable and tried to appear in sympathy with every word that the girl uttered.

"Are you going to accompany us to the opera this evening, Madge? My amiable husband, anxious to make reparation for past neglect, has formed a set and I must certainly go."

Marguerite was pained at her sister's composure and thought of the protestations of grief she had hitherto exhibited.

"Is it possible," thought she, "that Eve can dissemble so much?"

Then turning to her sister she exclaimed: "Eve, I cannot go; I am miserable enough already and--"

"I see how it is, Madge, you are inclined to be selfish, and cannot bear to see the happiness of others."

"Happiness!" murmured the girl, "as if there is much happiness under all this false glittering surface." But Mrs. Arnold heeded not the remark and added:

"Poor mamma, I know she feels badly, I will ask Montague to call and invite her to join us. I know I did wrong to say so much, but at times you know, dear Madge, I have an ungovernable temper."

"I am going now," said Marguerite rising and holding out her hand to Mrs. Arnold.

"I know Madge well enough to perceive that she will have no peace of mind this night. How she will brood over what I nave said!" and turning to the s.p.a.cious mirror Mrs. Arnold exclaimed, "Ah! madame, you can dupe more clever minds than that of your confiding little sister."

In the quiet of her own room Marguerite Verne gave full vent to her pent-up feelings in an outburst of tears. Hers was not a nature that could endure with fort.i.tude the ills that oftentimes befall humanity; but like the fragile reed that bends with the storm, and when the force of nature has spent itself raises its head heavenward.

And now the girl was prostrated, and bowed her head in keenest agony. She wished not the interruption of mother or friends, but remained silent and preoccupied.

On the third day in question a reaction set in, and Marguerite had made up her mind to act.

"I am reconciled to my fate," murmured the girl, as she carefully arranged her pretty morning toilet, and then went to her mother's apartments to receive the extremely conventional style of endearment.

"You should have been with us, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Verne, as she glanced at the interesting maiden, and thought that grief, if anything, made her more bewitching.

"You should have been there, dear," cried she in ecstasies of unfeigned delight. "It was such a charming little coterie, and the dear girl has such a happy knack of making her friends appear at ease, while Montague is so attentive that with all his faults one can forgive him, and admire his highly-polished manners. And you should have seen Lady Gertrude, my dear. She looked radiant in that _eau de nil_ satin and honiton-lace flounces, but really I think that her ladys.h.i.+p is very forward, as she certainly was making love to Mr. Tracy and using all her blandishments with a master stroke."

"And what matters that to me," thought Marguerite, though she expressed it not She was puzzled to know what had wrought such a change in her mother, as the latter talked of dear Eve and Mr. Tracy in one breath and seemed enthusiastic over each particular.

In order to explain the cause of Mrs. Verne's altered manner we would have to repeat a conversation which a few hours earlier took place in Mrs. Montague Arnold's boudoir with mother and daughter as occupants. Suffice it to say that a reconciliation was effected, and that Mrs. Verne agreed to everything advanced by her daughter, also that they were now united in a common cause, and that Sir Arthur Fonister was ruthlessly cast aside for a more profitable consideration, and one which would gratify the wants and wishes of both.

"But enough of this for the present, my dear," said Mrs. Verne, then instantly changing look, tone and manner, exclaimed, "It is strange that we have not heard from home. Madge, I trust, things are not growing worse. Indeed, I feel uneasy, but we must be prepared; nothing seems improbable nowadays."

It was Marguerite's turn now to speak. Looking steadily into her mother's face she asked, "Mamma, did Eve tell you what had pa.s.sed between her and Mr. Tracy?"

"Yes, dearest, and I begged that she would think no more of the matter. When she declared that she would make double such sacrifice for her dear papa, I told her that I believed she would, but that she was of a different disposition from you, and would suit herself to circ.u.mstances, and besides she is of a strong mind and possessed of much will, and is capable of smoothing all difficulties, while you, my dear Madge, are a tender, sensitive creature, whom it would be more than cruel to submit to anything contrary to your wishes."

"Mamma, I am capable of more than you think. I have never looked upon Hubert Tracy otherwise than a friend. Indeed I have friends whom I like very much better, but I will receive him as my future husband, and try to do the best I can to repay him for unreciprocated love."

With these words died all the hopes that Marguerite hitherto vainly cherished, and as she received her mother's warm embrace, her heart seemed to have suddenly turned to ice, and her breath more chilling than the piercing blasts of the frigid zone.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

MONTAGUE ARNOLD IN DIFFICULTY.

Scene, a London club-room. It is an early hour and the dons of the gay metropolis have not yet put in an appearance. The handsomely-furnished rooms are almost silent while the endless array of porters and waiters are on the alert, and cooks are busy in getting up the various epicurean compounds for which they are noted and to which the gay votaries of these resorts are ever ready to pay devoted attention.

"What! here already, chum? You've kept your word for once." Montague Arnold was somewhat inebriated but still in full possession of his senses.

Hubert Tracy glanced moodily at his companion and muttered something in the fas.h.i.+on of an oath, then exclaimed, "and a deuced hard time I had to get here."

He was dressed in the most elaborate style and notwithstanding his irregular habits was a prepossessing young man. His chestnut curls gave a romantic look to his well-shaped head and would have elicited the admiration of many a fair maiden. "Let us have what you want to say, Mont."

"I'm afraid that you're not in the listening humor, boy," said the other with an ill-at-ease look and manner.

"I ought to be pretty well used to it by this time," was the reply.

"Well, the truth of it is I'm on the rocks again and you must get me off somehow. Cursed fool that I was to risk my last ten thousand!"

"Yes, and a kind of a fool that never sees his folly until too late," exclaimed Hubert Tracy, in anything but sympathetic tones.

"Heap on the agony, my boy! I can stand more than that!" said the other taking a cigar from the elaborate case and puffing the fantastic wreath of smoke into all visible s.p.a.ce.

"It's no use for you to be fighting against fate any longer. You can't keep up this thing forever. Mont, your last venture was a failure. What do you expect from this?"

"As true as the heavens are above us you will be more than repaid. I have spoken to Eve and she says that you can count on her sure. Yes, sir, you're one of the family already."

"Remember, Mont Arnold, if you fail now, when I need you most, there will be the devil to pay."

The young man gave his companion a look that almost startled him, then added, "If I am fooled, Mont, there will be a just retribution."

"Good-heavens! don't look like that, boy; you would freeze a fellow to the very joints and marrow; besides, there is no need of it now, when you have everything your own way. Why, man, the old dame has thrown over Sir Arthur."

"Egad, I thought as much, from the way the old clown, glared at me last night at the Plough and Harrow."

"Plough and Harrow! what the deuce took you _there_?"

"To see the country la.s.ses have a gla.s.s of hot punch, and hear the orations of the country squires."