Jeanne of the Marshes

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER II

  Cecil came face to face with his brother in the room where refreshmentswere being dispensed by solemn-looking footmen and trim parlour-maids.He stared at him for a moment in surprise.

  "What on earth are you doing here, Andrew?" he asked.

  "Exactly what I was wondering myself," Andrew answered, setting downhis empty glass. "I met Bellamy Smith this afternoon in Bond Street,and he asked me to dine, without saying anything about this sort ofshow afterwards. By the by, Cecil," he added, "what are you doing intown? I thought you said that you were not coming up until the lateautumn."

  "No more I am, for any length of time," Cecil answered. "I am up forthe day, back to-morrow. There were one or two things I wanted, and itwas easier to come up and see about them than to write."

  "Is Forrest still with you?" Andrew asked.

  Cecil hesitated, and his brother had an unpleasant conviction that fora moment he was uncertain whether to tell the truth or no.

  "Yes!" Cecil answered, "he is still there. I know you don't like him,Andrew, but he really isn't a bad sort, and he's quite a sportsman."

  "Does he play cards with you?" Andrew asked.

  "Never even suggested it," Cecil declared eagerly. "Fact is, we're outshooting all day, duck shooting, or fishing, or motoring, and we go tobed soon after dinner."

  "You can't come to much harm at that," Andrew admitted. "By the by, doyou know that Engleton has never turned up?"

  "I have heard so," Cecil admitted. "I am not so surprised."

  "Why not?" Andrew asked.

  Cecil raised his eyebrows in a superior manner.

  "Well," he said, "I know he was very sick about his brother looking tooclosely into his concerns. He has a little affair on just now that hewants to keep to himself, and I think that that is the reason he wentoff so quietly."

  "His brother is very upset about it," Andrew remarked.

  "Oh! the Duke was always a heavy old stick," Cecil answered. "I seeyou've been doing your duty to-night," he added, making a determinedeffort to change the conversation.

  Andrew nodded.

  "Do I look so hot?" he asked. "I am not used to these close rooms, ordancing either. Unfortunately they seem short of men, and Mrs. BellamySmith had me set."

  Cecil grinned.

  "That's the worst of dining before a dance," he remarked. "You'repretty well cornered before the crowd comes. Upon my word, old chap,"he added, looking his brother up and down with an air of kindlypatronage, "you don't turn out half badly. Country tailor still, eh?"

  "Mind your own business, you young jackanapes," Andrew answered. "Doyou think that no one can wear town clothes except yourself?"

  Cecil laughed. After all, considering everything, Andrew was agood-natured fellow.

  "By the by," he said, "do you know who is here this evening?"

  Andrew demolished another sandwich.

  "Every one, I should think," he answered. "I never saw such a crowd inmy life."

  "The Princess and Jeanne are here," Cecil said. "I don't suppose weshall either of us get near them. People are getting to know aboutJeanne's little dot, and they are fairly mobbed everywhere."

  Andrew stood for a moment quite still. His first emotion was one ofdismay, and Cecil, noticing it, laughed at him.

  "You can go ahead with your little flirtation," he remarked. "I hadquite forgotten that. You needn't consider me. I haven't a chance withMiss Jeanne. She's too cranky a young person for me. I like somethingwith a little more go in it."

  Cecil drifted away, and Andrew glanced at his card. There were twodances for which he was still engaged, and he made his way slowly backto the ballroom. There was a slight block at the entrance, and he hadto stand aside to let several couples pass out. One of the last ofthese was Jeanne, on the arm of young Bellamy Smith. Andrew stood quitestill looking at her. He saw her start for a moment as she recognizedhim, and her eyes swept him over with a half incredulous, half startledexpression. She drew a little breath. And then Andrew saw her suddenlyand instinctively stiffen. She looked him in the face and bowed veryslightly, without the vestige of a smile.

  "How do you do, Mr. De la Borne?" she said as she passed on, withouttaking the slightest notice of the hand, which, forgetting where hewas, he had half extended towards her.

  Andrew went on into the ballroom, found his partner, and danced withher. As soon as he could he made his adieux and hurried off to thecloakroom. His coat was already upon his arm when Cecil discovered him.

  "What are you bolting off for, old man?" he asked.

  "I've had enough," Andrew answered. "I can't stand the atmosphere, andI hate dancing, as you know. See you to-morrow, Cecil. I want to have atalk with you. I am going away for a few weeks."

  "Right oh!" Cecil answered. "But you can't go just yet. Mademoiselle LeMesurier sent me for you. She wants to speak to you at once."

  Andrew hesitated.

  "Do you mean this, Cecil?" he asked.

  "Of course I do," Cecil answered. "I haven't been rushing about lookinginto every corner of the place for nothing. Come along. I'll take youto where she is."

  Andrew handed back his coat and hat to the attendant, and followedCecil into the ballroom. In a passage leading to the billiard-room,where several chairs had been arranged for sitting out, Jeanne wasensconced, with two men leaning over her. She waved them away when shesaw who it was coming. Without a smile, or the vestige of one, shemotioned to Andrew to take the vacant seat by her side.

  "I have executed your commission, Miss Le Mesurier," Cecil said, bowingbefore her. "I will claim my reward when we meet again."

  He sauntered away, leaving them alone. Jeanne turned at once towardsher companion.

  "I am sorry," she said, "if my sending for you was in any way anannoyance. I understand, of course, you have made it quite clear to me,that our little friendship, or whatever you may choose to call it, isat an end. But I do insist upon knowing what it was that you and mystepmother were discussing for nearly half an hour in the gardens ofthe Red Hall. The truth, mind. You and I should owe one another that."

  "We talked of you," he answered. "What other subject can you possiblyimagine your stepmother and I could have in common?"

  "That is a good start," she answered. "Now tell me the rest."

  "I am not sure," he answered, "that I feel inclined to do that."

  She leaned forward and looked at him. Unwillingly he turned his head tomeet her gaze.

  "You must tell me, please," she said. "I insist upon knowing."

  "Your stepmother," he said, "was perfectly reasonable and very candid.She reminded me that you were a great heiress, and that as yet you hadseen nothing of the world. I do not know why she thought it necessaryto point this out to me, except that perhaps she thought that in somemad moment I might have conceived the idea that you--"

  "That I?" she repeated softly, as he hesitated.

  He set his teeth hard and frowned.

  "You know what I mean," he said coldly. "Your stepmother is a cleverwoman, and a woman of the world. She takes into account allcontingencies, never mind how improbable they might be. She was afraidthat I might think things were possible between us which after all mustalways remain outside serious consideration. She wanted to warn me.That was all. It was kindness, but I am sure that it was unnecessary."

  "You are not very lucid," she murmured. "It is because I am a greatheiress, then, that you go off fishing for three weeks without sayinggood-bye; that you leave our next meeting to happen by chance in thelast place I should have expected to see you? What do you think of me,Mr. Andrew? Do you imagine that I am of my stepmother's world, or evercould be? Have the hours we have spent together taught you nothingdifferent?"

  "You are a child," he answered evasively. "You do not know as yet towhat world you will belong. It is as your stepmother said to me. Withyour fortune you may marry into one of the great families of Europe.You might almost take a part in the world's history. It is not for suchas myself to dream of interfering
with a destiny such as yours may be."

  "For that reason," she remarked, leaning a little towards him, "youwent fishing in a dirty little boat with those common sailors for threeweeks. For that reason you bow to me when you meet me as though I werean acquaintance whom you barely remembered. For that reason, I suppose,you were hurrying away when your brother found you."

  "It was the inevitable thing to do," he answered. "You may think to-dayone thing, but it is for others who are older and wiser than you toremember that you are only a child, and that you have not realized yetthe place you fill in the world. If it pleases you to know it, let metell you that I am very glad indeed that you came to Salthouse. Youhave made me think more seriously. You have made me understand thatafter all the passing life is short, that idle days and physicalpleasures do not make up the life which is worthiest. I am going to tryother things. For the inspiration which bids me seek them, I have tothank you."

  She touched his great brown hand with the delicate tips of her fingers.

  "Dear Mr. Andrew," she said, "you are very big and strong andobstinate. You will have your own way however I may plead. Go, then,and strike your great blows upon the anvil of life. You say that I ampassing the threshold, that as yet I am ignorant. Very well, I willmake my way in with the throng. I will look about me, and see what thisthing, life, is, and how much more it may mean to me because I chanceto be the possessor of many ill-earned millions. Before very long wewill meet again and compare notes, only I warn you, Mr. Andrew, that ifany change comes, it comes to you. I am one of the outsiders who haslooked into life, and who knows very well what is there even fromacross the borders."

  He rose at once. To stay there was worse torture than to go.

  "So it shall be," he said. "We will each take our draught ofexperience, and we will meet again and speak of the flavour of it. Onlyremember that whatever may be your lot, hold fast to those simplethings which we have spoken of together, and the darkest days of allcan never come."

  She gave him her hand, and flashed a look at him which he was notlikely to forget.

  "So!" she said simply. "I shall remember."