The Tigress

He felt then that he simply had to say something, and so he said, as so often happens, the one thing that he shouldn't have said. He asked: "Is your mother here?"

Miss Veynol looked down, shivered slightly, rose, and moved over to a window. Carleigh rose, too, and followed her.

"Mama is in Ireland," she answered at length, in a low, sweet voice. "She told me before she went – she – " Then she stopped.

He threw his gaze over her from head to feet. He felt bitter and scornful, and yet the memories crowded fast. After all, she was very lovely, and – odd how he had seen her face early this very morning when for all he knew he was dropping to his death!

"What do you think of me, anyway?" he asked at length. "What is your final opinion of us all three?"

She looked up at him. All her shyness seemed suddenly gone. Her eyes met his fearlessly. Yet her voice was very low as she said: "I think that you love mama."

Of course she would think that. If she had ever doubted it his question uttered a minute ago on their remeeting must have convinced her.

He took a backward step and drew in his breath. Upstairs Nina was dying perhaps. On every hand fortune seemed bent on breaking with him. He was lashed, stung, crumpled. He looked at her and truth cowered naked.

"Not at all," he said with biting emphasis. "Perhaps people talk that and you believe it. But I've never thought of such a thing. I have offered myself to Mrs. Darling, and I've given her your ring."

He paused, expectant; but Rosamond just stared at him.

Then he walked out of the room, hurt and – rather frightened.

It had been one of those fearfully ingenious tricks of Fate which she deals out in such a startlingly unexpected manner – this meeting with his whilom fiancée.

Chasing the woman who had the power to make him forget, only to be abruptly thrust, in the very midst of it, under the same roof with her he was striving never to remember, was malevolent cruelty. And it was very awful.

Yes, it would have been much better had he slept five minutes longer. Then there would have been no escape, and his troubles would have been over.

CHAPTER XX

Fires of One Kind and Another

It was a very miserable morning for Carleigh. It was pretty miserable for every one, seeing that things were all at sixes and sevens, owing to the enforced mingling of two house parties; but the young baronet, with counter emotions tearing things apart deep down in the soul of him, found it especially so.

Out-of-doors was quite impossible. The heavy clouds were unloading their burden in a drenching downpour. Some brave one proposed a tramp to Carfen and a search of the cooling ruins, but found so few volunteers that the project was given over.

Bridge games were started in both the red and yellow drawing-rooms. Blissmore, the novelist, had induced Nevill Dalgries to oppose him at chess, and the pair sat in silent concentration over board and men in the library.

For a long while Sir Caryll hung about the hall in expectation of a word with Dr. Dodson on his morning visit; only to learn after something like two hours of waiting that the medical man had come and gone during that period of agony in the breakfast-room.

Nevertheless, there was some measure of relief for him in the tidings that Dodson had pronounced his patient improving steadily.

Julian Archdeacon had told him this, having had it direct from Cecile. "He doesn't say that Nina's out of danger; but he does say that with a continued absence of fresh symptoms she very soon will be."

Carleigh sighed and a faint color tinged his wan pallor. He had been pallid as a ghost ever since he told Miss Veynol about the ring. "If I could only see her," he muttered.

But Julian thought that quite impossible.

"It's mostly shock, don't you know," he said, "and everything depends on keeping her quiet."

The relief, small as it was, was not lasting. When he had flung that final ill-considered speech at Rosamond he had really believed Nina's case hopeless.

If she got well Rosamond would be sure to learn that what he said wasn't true, and she would probably hate him all the more for it. Therefore, it was actually imperative that he have a word with Mrs. Darling at the very earliest opportunity.

"I mean to ask Dr. Dodson, at all events," he said. "When will he be here again?"

The Honorable Julian didn't know. He might be over in the afternoon, and, then, just as likely, he might not be over until evening.

"Waldron is burned worse than was thought," he added. "He never gave a sign, and yet he must have been suffering torments. His self-command was nothing short of Spartan."

But at this Carleigh frowned.

"We have thought best to wire for his wife," Archdeacon added.

"His wife!" exclaimed Caryll.

"Yes. Good little woman. Does a lot of slum work in London, and all that sort of thing, you know. Time was too much taken up to come down with him."

So here was a measure of relief from another quarter.

"Did you wire for any of Mrs. Darling's people?"

"No. She didn't want any one. We suggested sending for the duke and duchess. But the idea only excited her. Then we thought of Kneedrock. He's a cousin, you know, and a sort of next-of-kin protector and adviser. But she wouldn't have him at any price. Gritty little woman, Nina."

Dr. Dodson came between tea and dinner, and it was more through good luck than good management that Carleigh saw him.

He had gone to his nursery bed-chamber, where he had been looking over the evening things laid out for him, only to discover that the pumps provided were fully two sizes too large.

Twice he had rung for valet or footman without response – his own man had been shipped up to town that morning – and was on his way to Nevill Dalgries's quarters when he encountered an elderly gentleman – bearded, carrying a small professional-looking hand-bag, and stepping with professional briskness – turning into the corridor from an intersecting passage.

He stopped him without the least hesitation. "I fancy you are Dr. Dodson?" he said.

The physician signified assent, and Carleigh introduced himself.

"I do so want to learn of poor Mrs. Darling," he went on. "I am very anxious."

"Mrs. Darling," Dodson replied, "is doing capitally. I have every reason to believe that she will make an amazingly quick recovery, Sir Caryll."

"That is good news indeed," Carleigh rejoined. "And now there is a favor I have to ask. I really think that I should be allowed to see her."

The doctor pursed his lips and his eyes shot a question through his glasses.

"I am deeply interested in her," the young man went on, "and I believe she would wish it, if you let her know."

His effort was to speak in exactly the right tone, all things considered. Yet he was wofully uncertain as to just what were the things he had to consider.

"I will ask her, of course," returned Dodson. "But I must warn you in advance, Sir Caryll, that Mrs. Darling does not care to see any one. Aside from the severe shock, she is at present, you know, so very badly disfigured."

Caryll experienced a deathlike sinking at his heart. Until this minute he had barely considered this matter of disfigurement. He just couldn't believe it – couldn't realize it as a possibility.

"How – " he began, and stopped short.

"One side of her face is very badly burned," said the doctor.

A man doesn't like to hear such things about a woman for whom he has just confessed an attachment. It took a brief moment for Carleigh to collect himself. Then: "Beg her to see me, please," he asked a little stiffly.

He saw the physician go, but he had very little hope. It was hardly possible that she would accede to his plea.

She didn't want "Doody" and "Pucketts." She didn't want even "Nibbetts," who, it was clear to him, was usually her help in time of trouble. What chance then was there that she would see him?

But to his surprise and that of the doctor as well, she did.

Her maid came back with Dodson and took him to the room. And there, in the half dark made by the drawn window-curtains he saw her lying in the wide, white bed, her beauty hidden – or was it her hideousness – by swathing white cloths.

She looked curiously Eastern and uncanny, and his thoughts crowded, and he was dumb.

But she held out her right hand to him and said: "So nice to see you! But – what is this I hear they are telling about us? Such astounding tales."

Then he knew that Rosamond had made no secret of his daring speech and that the doors and windows of gossip were all set open afresh.

He sat down in a chair close by her side and took the hand she offered, and held it close to his own.

"I have been telling the truth," he said, with that cool, odd courage which leaps like a well-trained servant to do the bidding of some men. "It is only a few days as time is counted, but clocks should be our slaves instead of our masters. To me it seems an eternity since you so gave me back to myself that I" – he faltered ever so slightly – "could love – yes, really and truly – love again. And I do. Oh, Nina, I do! Just you – only you."

Then, all at once, he remembered, and looked sharply about the room. He had forgotten the maid. He had not thought of Cecile Archdeacon. They might be there, somewhere, curtained by the gloom.

"Don't be alarmed," Nina said, amused. "There is no one but I to hear your confession. Cecile withdrew discreetly before you came, and my maid parted from you on the other side of the door."

"I love you," he repeated, reassured.

"But you have said openly here, in this house, that we are engaged – that I had your ring."

For a breath he hesitated. Then: "Let it stand," he pleaded, and bent toward her. "You are like me, you are sick of it all. The world has bruised us both – has tried to make outcasts of us both – has blackened us falsely.

"Let us go away together – to Yukon, to Ceylon, to where you will. Let us build for ourselves a free life – a new, clean life, out in those free, new clean surroundings."

He was actually surprised at his own eloquence and at how in earnest he felt; and how chivalrous. But he was still more surprised at how keen he was to prove to Rosamond that he had spoken truthfully.

"But I'm disfigured," said Nina behind her white windings. "Horridly disfigured."

"It will not matter," he declared.

"And I am old. I count for ten years beyond you."

"That is our own affair – our very own affair." He felt the hand within his quiver lightly and hope rose.

"I really am very fond of you," she whispered.

"Believe me, it is love," he whispered in return. "See how it snatched us both in the same instant."

Her fingers nestled sweetly in among his own.

"Did Kneedrock tell you more than you told me?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered frankly. "But it made no difference. I don't care what people say about you."

"But I have played with fire so often – once too often," she added with a laugh. "Fire came near ending me at last."

Abruptly his curiosity roused. "They say you were safely down stairs, and that then you turned and went back. Why did you go back?"

"I wanted something."

"What? What was worth the risk?"

For just a little she did not answer. Then, slowly, she reached out her other hand – her left hand. "For this," she said.

He looked and fancied he must be dreaming, for, lo, there on her engagement finger sparkled a ring – his ring. The ring that he believed lost; the ring that he believed no woman would ever wear again.

For a full minute he was too amazed, too stunned, to speak.

"You – you found it!" he stammered at last.

"I never threw it away at all," she confessed. "I only made the motion. Why should I throw away a perfectly good pearl and diamond ring when the mere motion of throwing answered every purpose?"

"Every purpose? What purpose?"

"My purpose," and she smiled.

"But I – I don't understand. What could have been your object?"

"I'll tell you," she replied. He could see her eyes quite clearly now. His own had grown accustomed to the gloom. He could see them so clearly as to read mischief in them. He wondered whether it was possible that she was suffering the least bit.

"I just wondered what you would say and do. I knew of no better way to test a man's whole character than by pretending to toss away as worthless something that he highly values."

"My whole character?" he echoed. "Did you have to test it?"

"I didn't have to. I wished to. One learns of the real man, then. And I am so interested in real men."

The thing rather hurt him, but he said: "I suppose you were satisfied."

"My interest was," she answered, and he was clever enough to note the distinction she effected by the word and the emphasis.

"I'm glad if it amused you," he said, not at all pleased. "Are you going to tell me what you learned?"

"I'm going to let you draw your own conclusions," she answered. "I told a man once in India that there was a cobra in the corner of the room in which we were sitting, just to see what he would say."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He acted."

"Was there a cobra there?"

"Of course. We could both see it."

"You were telling the truth then?"

"After my fashion, yes."

"And what did he do?"

"He shot."

"And – "

"The bullet knocked the cobra over. It was bronze."

Then, for the first time since he entered the room, he let go her hand. "And that satisfied your interest?"

"That satisfied me," she said, and he would have sworn she slightly emphasized the pronoun.

"There must have been a lot of shooting out there in India," he said significantly. Somehow he felt terribly vexed.

No, he didn't want to go into any wilds with this woman. He recalled that reincarnated tigress idea of Kneedrock's. No Yukon or Ceylon. No, surely not.

She seemed to read his thought. She drew back her right hand which he had dropped so coolly and, turning a little on her side, she reached out her left.

"There! Take off the ring and give it to Miss Veynol," she said cheerfully. "I really can't marry you. Indeed I can't. Don't press me. Don't even press my hand. It's absolutely no use. Go on, now, and leave me to sleep."

It was Caryll's mood of the moment to feel relieved. He took the ring from her finger, thrust it into his waistcoat pocket, and rose. Then he bowed a little stiffly. After which he left her to sleep.

CHAPTER XXI

An End to the Gossip

All masculine and human as he was, Sir Caryll Carleigh emerged from that darkened room with a vivid vision still remaining of the white bandaged face and a keen awareness of the engagement ring once more in his possession, enormously eased.

If there was a sense of somewhat summary dismissal to annoy, it was more than offset by the knowledge that he was absolutely free. Yes, free even of the chain made by his own impulsive speech.

A thoroughly foolish man, embarrassed by the product of his various and gregarious emotions, may still have sense enough left to experience relief at being afforded a fresh chance.

Life, in spots, was very trying to the young baronet, but still it might have been far worse.

One may not enjoy being buffeted about by a woman one is almost sure one loves. Still it's a poor ball that isn't conscious of a thrill as it rises in the air of limitless freedom after a hard kick.

So Carleigh went lightly along the corridor and turned lightly at the angle. And as he turned he came face to face with Rosamond Veynol. And Rosamond, it so chanced, was looking beautiful as she had never looked beautiful before.

He stopped abruptly, and so did she. He gasped, and she likewise gasped. But, somehow, it was far less awful than before, because here there was no one present to witness their behavior.

He put out his hand and she put hers in it before she thought. It came to him just then, suddenly, that he had told her he had offered himself to Mrs. Darling and given her the ring. And now he had that very ring in his waistcoat pocket.

His breath came fast – so fast that it almost choked him.

"Rosamond!" he stammered. "Oh, Rosamond!"

She was dressed for traveling and was evidently just on her way down. In point of fact she was about quitting the house to save herself further embarrassment.

She wasn't expecting to meet Carleigh on that side of the house, and the encounter had startled her, as it did him, more than slightly.

She stood, actually panting. She strove to look at him, and failed utterly. Then she tried to free her hand and failed in that, too.

Had the place been less public he would surely have taken her in his arms. But dinner was barely an hour off, and guests were likely to be passing at any minute.

Moreover, being at the angle of the corridor, they were likely to come upon them without any warning whatever; just as they had come upon one another.

"Rosie," he said, without the slightest premeditation or consideration, "I've been very unhappy and very foolish, and Mrs. Darling has brought me to my senses. She doesn't want me and she doesn't want the ring. Will you take it back? Will you take me back? She says that you are the one I love, and I think she knows."

All this at headlong speed, spoken as fast as he could form and utter the words. As he ended he opened the hand that had been fumbling at a pocket and showed her the ring – her engagement ring – lying in his palm.

She seemed to stumble and fall sideways against the wall, and his arm went out to steady her.

"Oh!" she gasped. "And mama? What of mama?"

"We'll run away and get married." His words were as wild as her own. "We'll tell no one. We'll fly. And afterward – afterward – " But there he stuck.

"And mama?" she said again. "And mama?"

He was sure now that for him she was the only woman in the world. "We will live abroad," he said heartily. "Ceylon, Yukon, or some place" – his imagination surely had limitations this evening – "and we will never come back."

Rosamond at length achieved control.

"Mama will never leave us in peace," she declared. "Mama will find us wherever we go. Believe me, mama is quite set against the marriage. She will not have it. And she says if it goes forward ever, she'll surely take you away from me. I can't tell you what awful things she's told me – things you've said to her. Terrible things."

At that he paled and loosed her hand. Certainly the corridor was far too public for this kind of conversation; and yet all he could sense was the odor of probable triumph – the exaltation, the exhilaration of winning out.

Never mind the mother; that selfish, narrow-viewed American grass-widow, who had her little way of having her little way on all occasions and under all circumstances.

He was determined that Rosamond Veynol must go off with him, so that Nina – and everybody else, of course, might hear of it. All other considerations were forgotten. He seized her hand again.

"Listen, my dear girl," he pleaded. "We do love one another. We've said so a thousand times. Your mama doesn't want the match, and we've tried to break it off. We can't break it off. It's too strong for us. We both have found that out.

"When I suddenly saw you this morning I knew it was too strong for me. Now you know it, too. But we can't put it through in the open. So let us put it through in the only other way. Let's run off. And at once."

She lifted her eyes to his and he felt that she would help him to manage it somehow. He didn't stop an instant to consider that perhaps she, too, had her triumph to secure. Rosamond was human too.

There was the world, and her mother, and – Mrs. Darling. Oh, especially there was Mrs. Darling. Carleigh didn't know, and Nina didn't know. Nobody knew, in fact, but Rosamond Veynol.

Caryll took her in his arms, unresisting, and hugged her very close. He had been warned about the corridor, but he didn't heed in time.

He was still holding her, and his lips were pressed tightly to hers, when Cecile turned the angle and uttered a little cry of astonishment.

Of course there was no escape.

"We – we're going to be married at once," Carleigh explained, stammeringly. And Rosamond, nodding, blushed as red as a peony.

"I am glad," Cecile congratulated.

"But – but – you see," the young baronet continued, one arm still held possessively about his fiancée's waist, "while we're delighted that you should know, we aren't quite ready to tell society in general."

"I understand perfectly. Rely on me to preserve your confidence. I think it is positively lovely."

"Yes, isn't it?" said Rosamond. "Caryll and I were made for one another. You do understand, don't you, dear Mrs. Archdeacon?"

"Perfectly," repeated Cecile. "By the bye, dear, the car has been waiting for you this half hour. If you've changed your mind – "

Rosamond shook her head vigorously. "Oh, but I haven't," she returned. Then she said to Caryll: "I'm going over to the Manse, at Ranleigh Copse, for a couple of days. If you'd care to ride over to-morrow – "

"Care to?" he murmured. "How can I wait until to-morrow? Suppose I run over with you now, just to see you safely there."

"Won't you be late getting back to dinner?" asked the chatelaine of Carfen House. "The countess might, you know, be annoyed."

Carleigh smiled. "As the earl has failed to fit me with pumps," he said, "I consider myself excusable. Would you mind explaining for me, my dear Cecile?"

Of course he drove over to the Manse with Rosamond. Nothing in the world could have held him back just then.

And on the way he told her of how nearly he had lost his life in the fire and of how her face had come before him in what he believed was his last moment.

"That should prove beyond everything how I love you, dearest," he murmured.

"I don't require any proof, Caryll, my own," she said. "I feel it so deep, deep down in the heart of me. Our brain knows other things, but it is with our heart that we know the things of love."

There was a great deal of this sort of thing on the way over, and if the chauffeur had sharp ears he must have been very much amused or – very much bored.

Love-making is always so infinitely entertaining to the lovers, with every burning word a fresh delight; and yet how tiresome, flat, trite, stale, and unprofitable to the disinterested yet enforced listener.

Carleigh got back to Cross Saddle Hall in ample time to dress for dinner, and found no less than a dozen pairs of pumps of varying sizes spread out on his floor for inspection and selection.

After dining he redressed and went up to town by a late train. The next day he returned his borrowed attire, and then he went down to Bellingdown once more for a long and important conference with his aunt.

It took place in Lady Bellingdown's boudoir, and this is the way he began it: "Rosamond and I are to be married within a week, and we'd like to be married here."

Lady Bellingdown's breath was quite taken away. She couldn't say a thing. So her nephew proceeded: "You see, we thought first of going to the registrar, saying nothing to any one, and just slipping off to some foreign paradise all by ourselves.

"But Rosamond says she never expects to be married but once, and that as she has her wedding-gown all ready and waiting she might as well wear it and show it."

"But I thought – " began his kinswoman, and got no farther.

"You thought I was in love with Mrs. Darling," he interrupted. "So I – No, I wasn't. I was fascinated, infatuated. But I – Of course you heard about the fire at Carfen?"

"We heard she was horribly burned. Do tell me the particulars."

"They say she's disfigured," he explained. "Her face is all swathed now."

"That will rob her of her power. And she was so beautiful."

"Yes, she was beautiful," agreed Carleigh. "And she did have power. She could make a man forget his eternal soul."

"Nina was wonderful at making men forget," said his Aunt Kitty. "She made you forget, didn't she?"

"For a little while. Then, by purest chance, I saw Rosamond again, and – well, I knew that she was the only woman I could ever really care for as one's wife should be cared for. She is an angel."