VIII
Whether or not Mr. Gwynne had made up his mind to follow his mother'sadvice and employ a new weapon in his siege of Mrs. Kaye, or whether,like common mortals, he was subject to the natural impulses of youth,the most novel of the guests of Capheaton found herself on his right inthe informality of breakfast, and the object of his solicitude. Hefetched her bacon and toast from the sideboard, and when he discoveredthat she did not like cream in her tea, carried her cup back to hismother and waited for the more pungent substitute. And then he actuallymade an effort to entertain her. There was a flicker of surprisedamusement in the neighborhood, but Isabel accepted his attentions as amatter of course, assuming that the young gentleman felt refreshed aftera night's rest in his own bed, or had awakened to a sense of herimportance as a member of his family. It was not until she caught Mrs.Kaye's eye and read a contemptuous power to retaliate, that sheexperienced a certain zest in the situation. With the magnetism ofintelligent interest in her own eyes, she turned to Gwynne with aquestion that betrayed a flattering acquaintance with one of his lesspopular books, then hung upon the monologue of which he promptlydelivered himself. It was characteristic that he either contributedlittle to the conversation or monopolized it; and he reflected, as hetalked of the personal experience which led up to the episode of herinterest, that he had never before gazed into eyes at once so lovely andso fine. He disliked American girls, partly because they had shown nodisposition to join the ranks of those that lived to spoil him, partlybecause he believed them to be shallow and cold. Some of the marriedwomen had attracted him, but not before they had lived long enough todevelop the stronger qualities of the older races; he had his ideals andwas not easily satisfied. He was deeply in love with Mrs. Kaye, for herbrilliant subtle mind and powerful appeal to his passions had blindedhim to her defects, and he was convinced that his heart had travelled toits predestined goal. Nevertheless, he decided that his new cousin, ifas cold as the rest of her youthful compatriots, was worth cultivatingfor her intelligence and obvious talent for good-comradeship.
But in a moment a subject was started that entirely diverted his mindand upset the lively tenor of the breakfast-table.
"Where is Lorcutt?" asked some one, abruptly, referring to a brother ofLord Brathland, who had lost heavily and cheerfully at Bridge the nightbefore.
Isabel's eyes happened to have wandered to the face of the man opposite.To her surprise it became livid. He turned instantly to Gwynne, however,and said: "I should have told you--I quite forgot--he asked me to makehis excuses. He got a telegram--bad news--Bratty is dead."
Involuntarily Isabel glanced at Mrs. Kaye; Flora had hinted to her ofthe lady's designs. That face for once was ghastly and unmasked, but theeyes were not glittering with grief.
"Impossible!" she cried, sharply. "Lord Brathland? Why--I saw him onlytwo days ago, in London. He was as well as possible."
The others barely noticed her. Their astonished eyes were fixed on thefirst speaker, Captain Ormond, who was sitting very erect, as if toreceive the questions fired at him as a brave man faces the hiss of leadon the field.
"I know little," he replied; "except that Brathland was suddenlyattacked by appendicitis two nights ago and that an operation wasimmediately performed--"
"Friday night!" cried Mrs. Kaye. "Why he spent an hour with me thatafternoon, and was to dine with Lord Zeal and Lord Raglin and half adozen other men that night--they all came up to London to talk over oneof Sir Cadge Vanneck's mines. Why--I remember you were to be there.Surely Lord Brathland was well then?"
"He was looking very seedy when he came in. I happened to sit next tohim--told him he ought to go home. Finally he got so bad he decidedthat he would, and as he left the table he fainted. Several of us sawhim to bed. He said he didn't want his family fidgeting him, and thesurgeon said he would be all right in a few days. I thought he was outof danger when I came down last night, so said nothing about it toHarold."
"Was he taken home?" asked Gwynne, whose eyes had never left Ormond'sface.
"No--to Raglin's room up-stairs. The dinner was at the Club."
"I cannot understand why his family was not summoned at the last!"exclaimed Lady Victoria.
"Well, there's only the old duke and Harold, you see. Dick is out inAfrica. I suppose they didn't want to agitate the duke until the lastmoment and couldn't find Harold until this morning. Besides, Raglin waswith him, and he is a relative, at least. It is awfully sudden. I havebeen upset ever since Harold woke me up this morning and told me; andhated to speak of it."
"Who was the surgeon?" asked Gwynne.
"Ballast."
"Ballast? Who is he? Why not one of the big men, in heaven's name?"cried Mrs. Kaye.
"Well--they were all out of town--naturally enough at this time of year.We had to take what we could get. No doubt Lester or Masten wastelegraphed for later. I--all of us--left the affair in Raglin's hands."
The company broke into general comment, and under cover of the confusionIsabel distinctly heard Gwynne demand:
"What's up your sleeve, Ormond?"
And the response: "For God's sake, old chap, don't ask!"
Ancestors: A Novel Page 8