Cynthia's Chauffeur

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XIII

  WHEREIN WRATH BEGUILES GOOD JUDGMENT

  "Good-mornin', George."

  "Good-morning, dad."

  "Enjoy your run to Hereford?"

  "Immensely. Did you?"

  "It was not so bad. Rather tiresome, you know, travelin' alone, but onthe return journey I fell in with a decent sort of Frenchman whohelped to pass the time."

  "Monsieur Marigny, in fact?"

  "Ah, you know him, of course. I had forgotten."

  "I have met him. He is not the kind of person I care to know."

  The Earl selected an egg, tapped it, and asked his son what he thoughtof the crops--did they want rain? The two were breakfasting alone--atthe moment there was not even a man-servant in the room--but LordFairholme had long ago established the golden rule that controversialtopics were taboo during meals. Medenham laughed outright at thesudden change of topic. He remembered that Dale was sent to bed in theGreen Dragon Hotel at eight o'clock, and he had not the least doubtthat his father's ukase was really a dodge to secure an undisturbeddinner. But he was under no delusions because of this placid meetingin the breakfast-room. There was thunder in the air. Tomkinson hadwarned him of it overnight.

  "There's bin ructions while you were away, my lord," the butler hadwhispered, waylaying him in the hall just before midnight. "Lady St.Maur has upset the Earl somethink dreadful;" and Medenham had growledin reply: "Her ladyship will lunch here at one o'clock to-morrow,Tomkinson. Have an ambulance ready at two, for she will be in littlepieces before I have done with her. The mangling will be somethinkorful."

  "But what has become of Dale, my lord?" went on Tomkinson in a hushedvoice.

  "Dale? He is all right. Why? Is _he_ in the soup, too?"

  "No, my lord. I've heard nothink of that, but he sent me a wire fromBristol----"

  "A telegram--about what?"

  "About a horse."

  "Oh, the deuce take you and your horses. By the way, that remindsme--you gave me a rotten tip for the Derby."

  "It was a false run race, my lord. The favorite was swep' off his feetat Tattenham Corner, and couldn't get into his stride again till thefield was opposite Langland's Stands. After that----"

  "After that I'm going to bed. But I forgive you, Tomkinson. You put upa ripping good lunch. You're a far better butler than a tipster."

  This brief conversation had illumined at least one dubious page in therecords of the past few days. Medenham realized now that his aunt hademptied the vials of her wrath on Mrs. Devar, but, that lady beingabsent in body, the Earl had received the full dose. It indicatedsomewhat the line he should follow when, breakfast ended, his fathersuggested that they should smoke a cigarette in the library.

  Once there, and the door closed, the Earl established himself on thehearth-rug with his back to the fireplace. It was high summer, and thelazy London heat crept in through the open windows; but the hearth-rugconstituted a throne, a seat of Solomon; had his lordship stoodanywhere else he would have felt lacking in authority.

  "Now, George, my boy, tell me all about it," he said, with a geniallypaternal air that lent itself admirably to the discussion of ayoungster's transgressions.

  Medenham had a sense of humor denied to his well-meaning sire. Herecalled the last time he had heard those words. He and another sprigof nobility had come up to London from Winchester without leave inorder to attend a famous glove contest between heavyweights, and therehad been wigs on the green before an irate head-master would evendeign to flog them. That had happened twelve years ago, almost to aday. Since then he had fought through a great war, had circled theglobe, had sought the wild places of earth and its monsters in theirlairs. He knew men and matters as his father had never known them. APrime Minister had urged him to adopt a political career, and hadvirtually promised him a colonial under-secretaryship as soon as heentered parliament. He held the D.S.O., had been thanked by the RoyalGeographical Society for a paper on Kilimanjaro, and cordially invitedby the Foreign Office to send in any further notes in his possession.Months later, he heard that Sir Somebody Something was deeplyinterested in his comments on the activity of a certain Great Power inthe neighborhood of Britain's chief coaling-stations in the IndianOcean.

  The absurdity of a family conclave in which he should again be treatedas a small boy, and admonished to apologize and be flogged, while itbrought a smile to his lips, banished any notion of angryremonstrance.

  "By 'all about it' I suppose you mean that you wish to hear what Ihave been doing since last Wednesday," he said pleasantly. "Well, dad,I have obeyed your orders. You asked me to find a wife worthy to reignat Fairholme. I have succeeded."

  "You don't mean to say you have _married_ her!" shouted the Earl, in apurple upheaval of rage whose lightning-like abruptness was not itsleast amazing feature. Certainly Medenham was taken aback by it.Indeed, he was almost alarmed, though he had no knowledge of apoplexyin the family.

  "I have not even asked the lady yet," he said quietly. "I hope--Ithink--that the idea will not be disagreeable to her; but a futureCountess of Fairholme is not to be carried by storm in that fashion.We must get to know her people----"

  "D----n her people!" broke in the older man. "Have you taken leave ofyour wits, George, to stand there and talk such infernal nonsense?"

  "Steady, dad, steady!" and the quiet voice grew still more calm,though the forehead wrinkled a little, and there was an ominoustightening of the lips. "You must take that back. Peter Vanrenen isquite as great a man in the United States as you are in England--may Ieven say, without disrespect, a man who has won a more commandingposition?--and his daughter, Cynthia, is better fitted to adorn acoronet than a great many women now entitled to wear one."

  The Earl laughed, with an immoderate display of an amusement he wasfar from feeling.

  "Are these Wiggy Devar's credentials? By gad, that shabby littlewretch is flying high when she tries to bag my son for her prettyprotegee!"

  "Don't you think it would be wiser, sir, if you allowed me to tell youexactly what has taken place since we met last?"

  "What good purpose will that serve? I have heard the whole story fromLady Porthcawl, from Dale, from that Frenchman--and Heaven knows Ihave been well coached in Mrs. Devar's antecedents by your Aunt Susan.George, I am surprised that a man of your sound commonsense shouldpermit yourself to be humbugged so egregiously.... Yes, yes, I amaware that an accident led you to take Simmonds's place in thefirst instance, but can't you see that the Devar creature must havegone instantly on her bended knees--if she ever does pray, which Idoubt--and thanked Providence for the chance that enabled her todispose of an earldom?... At a pretty stiff price, too, I'll be bound,if the truth were told. Really, George, notwithstanding your veryextensive travels and wide experiences, you are nothing but a kid inthe hands of a managing woman of the Devar variety."

  "I am not being given in marriage by Mrs. Devar, I assure you," beganMedenham, smiling anxiously, for the fatherly "tell me all about it"was not being borne out by the Earl's petulance.

  "No. You can trust me to take care of that."

  "But are you treating me quite fairly? Why should the distortedversion of my affairs given by Lady Porthcawl, a woman whom CynthiaVanrenen could not possibly receive in her house, and by Count EdouardMarigny, a disappointed fortune-hunter, be accepted without cavil,while my own story is not listened to? I leave Dale out of it. I amsure he told you the actual truth----"

  "By the way, where is he now?"

  "Somewhere in the neighborhood of Chester, I believe."

  "Have you discharged him?"

  "No--why should I?"

  "Because I wish it."

  "Why in the world are you so unreasonable, dad?"

  "Unreasonable! By gad, I like that. Have _I_ been gallivanting roundthe country with some----"

  "Stop! You are going too far. This conversation must cease here andnow. If you have any respect for yourself, though not for me, you mustadjourn the discussion till after you have met Miss Vanrenen and h
erfather."

  For the first time in his life, the Earl of Fairholme realized hislimitations; he was actually cowed for a few fleeting seconds. But thearrogant training of the county bench, the seignory of a vast estate,the unquestioning deference accorded to his views by thousands of menwho tacitly admitted that what he said must be right because he was alord--these excellent stays of self-conceit came to his help, and hesnorted indignantly:

  "I absolutely refuse to meet either of them."

  "That disposes of the whole difficulty for the hour," said Medenham,turning to leave the room.

  "Wait, George.... I insist----"

  Perhaps a clearer glimpse of a new and, to him, utterly unsuspectedforce in his son's character withheld the imperious command thattrembled on the Earl's lips. Medenham halted. The two looked at eachother, and the older man fidgeted with his collar, which seemed tohave grown tight for his neck.

  "Come, come, let us not leave a friendly argument in this unsettledstate," he said after an awkward pause. "My only thought is for yourinterests, you know. Your lifelong happiness is at stake, to saynothing of the future of our house."

  "I recognize those considerations so fully that I am going now inorder to shirk even the semblance of a quarrel between us."

  "Why not thresh things out? Your aunt will be here in a couple ofhours----"

  "You refuse to hear a word. You argue with a hammer, sir. I shall senda note to Lady St. Maur telling her that she has done mischief inplenty without adding fuel to the fire by coming here to-day--unless_you_ wish to consult her, that is?"

  The Earl, already afraid of his sister, was rapidly learning to fearhis son.

  "Dash it all! don't tell me you are off on this d----d motoring triponce more?" he cried passionately.

  Medenham smiled, even in his anger.

  "See how willfully you misunderstand me," he said. "I came away fromMiss Vanrenen solely because matters had gone far enough under ratherabsurd conditions. She knows me only as Fitzroy, the chauffeur; it istime to drop masquerading. Romance is delightful in its way--perhapsthere might well be more of it in this commonplace world of ours--butnone of us can afford to play the knight errant too long, so when nextI meet Cynthia it will be as a man who occupies a social position thatrenders our marriage at least possible."

  Lord Fairholme threw out his hands in a gesture of sheer bewilderment.

  "And do you honestly believe that?" he exclaimed.

  "I am quite sure of it. I may have to jump a very big fence indeedwhen she learns the harmless deception I have practiced on her, but Ido hope most devoutly that she will look at the facts more calmly thanyou have done."

  The Earl took a turn or two on the hearth-rug, from which wisdom hadtemporarily taken flight. He thought now he could see a way to avoidopen rupture, and he believed, quite rightly, that his son was in nomood to accept further disillusionment.

  "At any rate," he grumbled, "you are cutting a discred--sorry, Ididn't quite mean that--you are not rushing away from town again inpursuit of the young lady?"

  "No."

  "When is she due back in London?"

  "On Sunday."

  "And you will not see her before that day?"

  "I believe not--in fact, I am fairly certain of it. Mrs. Leland joinedher at Chester last night, so there should be no curtailment of thetour."

  The Earl started.

  "Mrs. Leland! Not the Mrs. Leland of Paris, and San Remo?"

  "Yes. By hazard, as it were, you have let me tell you why I cameaway--one of the reasons. Mrs. Leland would have recognized me atonce."

  "Dear me, dear me, this is a beastly muddle! Look here, George,promise me you won't do anything stupid for a day or so.... I havebeen so pestered by people ... I don't know which way to turn. Why notstay and meet your aunt?"

  "Because I might lose my temper with _her_."

  "Ah, well, she _is_ somewhat trying when it comes to family matters.Still, I may tell her----"

  "That she ought to mind her own business? By all means. And oblige me,too, by telling her that she would confer a boon on humanity if shepersuaded Lady Porthcawl to go to--Jericho--or Tokio--or wherever thatass, Porthcawl, may happen to be."

  "Millicent Porthcawl was at Bournemouth, you know."

  "Yes, I spoke to her. She had the impudence to introduce Ducrot toCynthia."

  "By gad! Did she, though? I heard something from Scarland about thataffair. Well, well--there's no accounting for tastes. I supposeyou realize, George, that I am keeping back a good deal of thetittle-tattle which reached me during your absence. I don't want tohurt your feelings----"

  "Thank you. The absurdity of the present position lies in the factthat I shall have all my work cut out to hold your wrath against thesepeople within bounds when once you have met Cynthia."

  "Oh, I have no doubt she is pretty, and fascinating, and all that sortof thing," growled the Earl, in a grudging access of good humor."Confound it, that is why we are putty in their hands, George. Don'tforget I've had fifty-five years of 'em. Gad! I could tell youthings--all right, let us chuck the dispute for the time. Shall I seeyou at dinner?"

  "Yes--if you are alone."

  "There will be no women. I'll take devilish good care of that.Scarland is in town for the show, and he is bringing Sir Ashley Stoke,but Betty is nursing a youngster through the measles. Good Lord! I'mglad your aunt didn't get hold of Betty!"

  Now, Lord Fairholme's diatribes against the sex were not quitejustified. Notorious as a lady-killer in his youth, in middle age hewas as garrulous a gossip as Mrs. Devar herself. Indeed, he had anuneasy consciousness that Lady St. Maur might turn and rend him ifstress were laid only on _her_ efforts to thwart his son's unexpectedleaning towards matrimony. During every yard of the journey fromChester to London he had tried to extract information from Marigny,and the sharp-witted Frenchman had enjoyed himself hugely indisplaying a well-feigned reluctance to yield to the Earl's probing.It was just as much a part of his scheme to make the threatenedalliance as objectionable on the one side as on the other. Bypainting Medenham as an unprincipled adventurer he had succeeded inalarming Vanrenen; his sly hints, derogatory of both Cynthia and herfather, now fanned the flame of suspicion kindled in Lord Fairholme'sbreast by his sister's remonstrances. Unfortunately, his lordship hadgone straight to Curzon Street and told Susan St. Maur every word thatMarigny had said, and a good deal that he had not said, but had leftto be inferred from a smirk, a malicious glance, an airy gesture.

  Perhaps the two elderly guardians of the Fairholme line were notwholly to blame for their interference. The title descended throughmale heirs only, and Medenham's marriage thereby attained an addedimportance. Lord Fairholme himself had been singularly fortunate inescaping a mesalliance--several, in fact--and it was the one greattrouble in his otherwise smooth and self-contained life that hishigh-born and most admirable countess had died soon after the birthof her second child, the present Marchioness of Scarland. Such a manwould naturally be the most jealous scrutineer of the pretensions ofhis son's chosen wife. Qualities of heart and mind would weigh lightin the scale against genealogy. To his thinking, blue blood differedfrom the common red stream as the claret of some noted vintage differsfrom the _vin ordinaire_ of the same year. Perhaps he had blundered ona well-founded theory, but he certainly lacked discrimination as tothe _cru_.

  Medenham did some shopping, lunched at a club, surprised his tailor bya prolonged visit and close inspection of tweeds and broadcloths, andsuccessfully repressed a strong desire to write a letter. It was someconsolation to peruse for the twentieth time the four closely-writtenpages on which Cynthia had set out the tour's timetable for thebenefit of Simmonds. He had not returned it, since she possessed acopy, and in his mind's eye he followed the Mercury in its flightup the map from end to end of industrial Lancashire, through smokyPreston to trim Lancaster and quiet Kendal, and finally, after a longday, to the brooding peace and serene beauty of Windermere.

  At last, rousing himself from his dreaming--for he was now b
ack in hisclub again, sipping a cup of tea--he glanced at his watch. Fiveo'clock--a likely hour to find Mr. Vanrenen in the hotel, if, as wasmost probable, Devar's telegram to his mother was altogether mistakenin its report of the millionaire's movements.

  He meant, of course, to make himself known to Vanrenen, and go throughthe whole adventure from A to Z. It should provide an interestingstory, he thought--lively as a novel in some of its chapters, andcalculated to appeal strongly to the bright intelligence of anAmerican. On his way to the Savoy, he tried to picture to himself justwhat Cynthia's father would look like. It was a futile endeavor,because he had never yet been able to construct a mental portrait ofany man wholly unknown to him. One day in Madras he had telephonedto an official for leave to shoot an elephant in a Governmentreservation, and a deep voice boomed back an answer. Apparentlyit belonged to a man whose stature warranted his appointment ascontroller of monsters, but when Medenham called in person for thepermit he found that the voice came from a lean and wizened scrap ofhumanity about five feet high.

  He smiled at the recollection of his dumb surprise at this apparition,and was in the best of humors with himself when he arrived at theinquiry office of the Savoy Hotel and asked for Mr. Peter Vanrenen.

  "Left here Sunday, sir," was the answer. "He will not return for aweek."

  This blow dished his hopes. He had counted strongly on gainingVanrenen's friendship and sympathy before Cynthia's dainty visionmet his eyes again.

  "Has he gone to Paris?" he inquired.

  "Can't say, sir, I'm sure. My orders are to tell callers that Mr.Vanrenen will be in town next Tuesday."

  So, if present arrangements held good, Cynthia would reach London twodays before her father. Well, he must contrive somehow to get Lady St.Maur in a proper frame of mind. Mrs. Leland's presence would be apositive blessing in that respect. Meanwhile, there would be no harmdone if he----

  Lest prudence should conquer him a second time he sat down and wrote:

  DEAR MISS VANRENEN--I hope the car is behaving in a manner that befits the messenger of the gods, and that Dale has justified my faith in him. I am here in fulfillment of my promise to call on Mr. Vanrenen: unluckily, he is out of town, and the hotel people say he is not expected back till a day early next week. If you make any change in your programme, or even if you have a minute to spare, though proving yourself a true American by rigidly adhering to schedule, please send a line to yours ever sincerely----

  Once more he hesitated at the name, and contented himself by signing"George, the Chauffeur."

  The problem of an address offered some difficulty, but he boldlydeclared for "91 Grosvenor Square" in a postscript, believing, andcorrectly as it happened, that Cynthia shared with Sam Weller apeculiar knowledge of London that rendered one address very like untoanother in her eyes.

  The failure to meet Vanrenen was the first real drawback he hadencountered. It was irritating, at the time, but he gave little heedto it after the first pang of disappointment had passed. Fate, whichhad proved so kind during six days, did not see fit to warn him thather smiles would now be replaced by frowns. She even lulled him intothe belief that Vanrenen's absence might prove fortunate.

  "Perhaps," he fancied, "I would have rubbed him up the wrong way. Heis devoted to his daughter, and he might look on my harmless butunavoidable guile with a prejudiced eye. In any event, I should becompelled to go slow in analyzing Mrs. Devar's motives, and thispertinacious Marigny seems to have been fairly intimate with him inParis. Yes, on the whole, it is just as well that I missed him.Cynthia can put matters before him in a better light than is possibleto one who is an utter stranger. I must tell her, in my best American,that it is up to her to explain Fitzroy to pap."

  Before leaving the hotel he inquired for Count Edouard Marigny. Hedrew a blank there. No such name had been registered during the year.

  The dinner passed without noteworthy incident. Sir Ashley Stokecondemned the Government, the Marquis of Scarland was more thanskeptical as to the prospects of grouse shooting after the deluge inApril and May, Lord Fairholme growled at the pernicious effects ofthe Ground Game Act, and Medenham spoke of these things with hislips but in his heart thought of Cynthia. The four men were in thesmoking-room, and the Earl was chaffing his son on account of hisinability to play bridge, when Tomkinson entered. He approachedMedenham.

  "Dale has arrived; he wishes to see your lordship," he said in a stagewhisper.

  "Dale!"

  The young man sprang to his feet, and his troubled cry brought a smileof wonderment to his brother-in-law's face.

  "By Jove!" said the Marquis, "you couldn't have jumped quicker ifTomkinson had said 'the devil' instead of 'Dale.' Who, then, is Dale?"

  Medenham hurried from the room without another word. The Earl shookhis head.

  "More mischief!" he muttered. "Dale is George's chauffeur. I supposehe is mixed up in this Vanrenen muddle again."

  "What muddle is that?" asked Scarland. "Is George in it?--that wouldbe unusual."

  Fairholme suddenly bethought himself.

  "Something to do with a motor," he said vaguely. "The Vanrenens areAmericans, friends of Mrs. Leland's. You remember her, Arthur, don'tyou?"

  "Perfectly. Is 'Vanrenen' the Peter of that ilk?"

  "I think so. Yes--that is the name--Peter Vanrenen."

  "Oh, _he's_ all right. If George has any dispute with him I'll settleit in a minute. He is as straight as they make 'em--bought two of myprize bulls three years ago for his ranch in Montana. By the way,someone told me the other day that he has a very pretty daughter--'areal peach' the man said. Wonder if George has seen her? Begad, hemight go farther and fare worse. We effete aristocrats can do with astrain of new blood occasionally, eh, what?"

  "'Vanrenen' sounds like a blend of old Dutch and New England," saidSir Ashley Stoke, who was sane on all subjects save one, his pet maniabeing the decay of England since the passing of the Victorian age.

  The Earl helped himself to a whisky and soda. His egotism wasseverely shaken. Who would have thought that a pillar of the statelike Scarland would approve of this Vanrenen girl as a match forGeorge, even in jest? But he had the good sense to steer clear ofexplanations. When he found his voice it was to swear at the qualityof the whisky.

  Medenham, meanwhile, had rushed into the hall. He expected to findDale there, but saw no one except the suave footman on duty. The manopened the door.

  "Dale is outside, in the car, my lord," he said.

  "In the car!" That meant the bursting of a meteor in a blue sky.

  Sure enough, there stood the Mercury, dusty and panting, but seeminglygathering breath for another mighty effort if necessary.

  "Come in!" shouted Medenham, on whom the first strong shadow ofimpending disaster had fallen as soon as he heard those ill-omenedwords "in the car."

  Dale scrambled to the pavement and walked stiffly up the steps, beingweary after an almost unbroken run of one hundred and eighty miles.He nodded to the Mercury, and the footman rang for a pageboy to mountguard. Medenham led the way into a small anteroom and switched on thelight.

  "Now," he said.

  "Mr. Vanrenen kem to Chester last night in Simmond's car, my lord.This mornin' he sent for me an' sez 'who are you?' 'The chauffeur,sir,' sez I. 'Whose chauffeur?' sez he. 'Yours for the time,' sez I,bein' sort of ready for him. 'Well, you can get,' sez he. 'Get what?'sez I. 'Get out,' sez he. Of course, my lord, I knew well enough whathe meant, but I wanted to have it straight, an' I got it."

  Dale's style of speech was elliptical, though he might have beensurprised if told so. For once, Medenham wished he was a loquaciousman.

  "Was nothing else said?" he asked. "No message from--anyone? No reasongiven? What brought Simmonds to Chester?"

  "Mr. Vanrenen picked him up in Bristol at 4 a.m. yesterday, my lord.Simmonds made out that that there Frenchman, Monsieur Marinny" (Daleprided himself on a smattering of French), "had pitched a fine oletale about you. In fact, the bearings got so h
ot at Symon's Yat thatSimmonds chucked his job till Mr. Vanrenen sort of apologized."

  "Can you be specific, Dale? You are hard to follow."

  "Well, my lord, I _could_ do with a drink. It's a long road thatstretches between here an' Chester, an' I left there at ten o'clockthis morning, runnin' through any Gord's quantity of traps, an' all."

  Medenham did not smile. He touched a bell, and found that Dale'sspecific was a bottle of beer.

  "I never set eyes on Miss Cynthia," continued the chauffeur, his witsquickening under the soothing draught. "Another lady kem out an'looked me up an' down. 'Yes, that is the car,' she said, an' with thatI remembered seein' her at San Remo. Mrs. Devar seemed as if shewanted to say somethink, but she daren't, because Mr. Vanrenen's eyewas on her. He made no bones about it, but told me to hike back toLondon the minnit Simmonds got the carrier off."

  "I am quite clear on that point. What I really want to know is thereason behind Simmonds's statement about Count Marigny'stale-pitching, as you term it."

  "Oh, of course Mr. Vanrenen didn't _say_ anythink. Simmonds was whatyou call puttin' two an' two together. From what Mr. Vanrenen arskedhim it was easy enough to get at the Frenchman's dirty tricks."

  "Tell me how Simmonds put it?" said Medenham, with the patience of agreat anger. Dale scratched the back of his ear.

  "For one thing, my lord, Mr. Vanrenen wanted to know if you was reellya viscount. It was a long time before Simmonds could get him tobelieve that the accident in Down Street wasn't a put up job. Then, hewas sure you stopped in Symon's Yat just in order to throw Mr. Marinnyoff your track. Simmonds is no fool, my lord, an' he guesses that theFrenchman brought Mr. Vanrenen hot-foot from Paris so as to--to----"

  Dale grinned, and sought inspiration in the bottom of an empty glass.

  "Well, my lord, excuse _me_," he said, "but you know what I mean."

  Medenham completed the sentence.

  "So as to prevent me from marrying Miss Cynthia."

  "Exactly what Simmonds an' me said, my lord."

  "He will not succeed, Dale."

  "I never thought he would. Once your lordship is set on a thing, well,that thing occurs."

  "Thank you. Good-night!"

  Medenham did not feel equal to facing the men in the smoking-roomagain. He went out, walked up Oxford Street and across the park, andreached his room about midnight. Next day he devoted himself to work.In view of the new and strange circumstances that had arisen hebelieved confidently that Cynthia would reply to his letter by returnof post, and there should be no chance of delay, because she meant tostay two days at Windermere, making that town the center of excursionsthrough lakeland.

  While the son was seeking forgetfulness in classifying a collection ofmoths and night flies caught during a week at La Turbie, the fatherfound occupation in prosecuting diligent inquiries into the social andfinancial standing of Peter Vanrenen. As a result, the Earl visitedLady St. Maur, and, as a further result, Lady St. Maur wrote a verybiting and sarcastic note to "My dear Millicent." Moreover, shedecided not to press her nephew to visit her at present.

  Next morning, Medenham was up betimes. He heard the early postman'sknock, and Tomkinson in person brought the letters.

  "There's nothink in the name of Fitzroy, my lord," said he, havingbeen warned in that matter overnight.

  Medenham took his packet with the best grace possible, trying toassure himself that Cynthia had written at a late hour and had missedthe first London mail in consequence. Glancing hurriedly through thecorrespondence, however, his glance fell on a letter bearing theWindermere postmark. It was addressed, in an unfamiliar hand, to"Viscount Medenham," and the writing was bold, well-formed, andbusiness-like. Then he read:

  SIR--My daughter received a note from you this morning, and she was about to answer it when I informed her that she was communicating with a person who had given her an assumed name. I also asked her, as a favor, to permit me to reply in her stead. Now, I have this to say--Miss Vanrenen does not know, and will never know from me, the true nature of the trick you played on her. You bear the label of a gentleman, so it is my earnest hope--indeed, my sincere belief--that you will respect the trust she placed in you, and not expose her to the idle chatter of clubs and scandal-spreading drawing-rooms. During two days I have been very bitter against you. To-day I take a calmer view, and, provided that neither my daughter nor I ever see or hear of you again, I shall be willing to credit that you acted more in a spirit of youthful caprice than from any foul desire to injure the good repute of one who has done no harm to you or yours.

  I am, Yours truly, PETER VANRENEN.

  Medenham read and reread this harsh letter many times. Then, out ofbrooding chaos, leaped one fiery question--where was Marigny?

  The gate which Cynthia's father had shut and bolted in his face didnot frighten him. He had leaped a wall of brass and triple steel whenhe won Cynthia Vanrenen's love in the guise of an humble chauffeur, soit was unbelievable that the barrier interposed by a father'smisguided wrath should prove unsurmountable.

  But Marigny! He wanted to feel his fingers clutching that slenderthroat, to see that pink and white face empurple and grow black undertheir strain, and it was all-important that the scoundrel should bebrought to book before the Vanrenens returned to London. He gave apassing thought to Mrs. Leland, it was true. If she shared withVanrenen the silly little secret of his identity, it was beyondcomprehension that she should let her friend hold the view that he(Medenham) was merely an enterprising blackguard.

  Still, these considerations were light as thistle-down compared withthe need of finding Marigny. He and Dale began to hunt London for theFrenchman. But they had to deal with a wary bird, who would not breakcovert till it suited his own convenience. And then, the sublime cheekof the man! On the Friday morning, when Medenham rose with a fixedresolve to obtain the services of a private detective, he receivedthis note:

  DEAR VISCOUNT MEDENHAM--I have a notion, as our mutual acquaintance Mr. Vanrenen would say (Do you know him? Now that I consider the matter, I think not), that you are anxious to meet me. We have things to discuss, have we not? Well, then I await you at the above address.

  Yours to command, EDOUARD MARIGNY.