Dross

by Henry Seton Merriman

  Chapter XX

  Underhand

  "Le doute empoisonne tout et ne tue rien."

  As I walked through the park towards Isabella's house on the eveningof the dinner-party, Devar's hansom cab dashed past me and stopped afew yards farther on. The man must have had sharp eyes to recognise mein a London haze on a November evening. Devar leapt from his cab andcame towards me.

  "Shall I walk with you or will you drive with me?" he said.

  Placed between two evil alternatives, I suggested that it would bebetter for his health to walk with me--hoping, although it was a drynight, that his shiny boots were too precious or tight for suchexercise. Mr. Devar, however, made a sign to the groom to follow, andslipped his hand engagingly within my arm.

  "Glad of the chance of a walk," he said. "Wish I was a free man likeyou, Howard, London would not often see me!"

  "What would?" I asked, for I like to know where vermin harbours.

  "Ah!"--he paused, and, as I thought, glanced at me. "The wide world.Should like, for instance, a roving commission such as yours--to lookfor a scoundrel with a lot of money-bags, who may be in London orTimbuctoo."

  I walked on in silence, never having had quick speech or the habit ofunburthening my soul to the first listener.

  "Not likely to stay in London in November if he is a man of sense aswell as enterprise," he added, jerking up the fur collar of his coat.

  We walked on a little farther.

  "Suppose you have no notion where he is?" said my bland companion, towhich I made no articulate reply.

  "_Do_ you know?" he asked at length, as one in a corner.

  "Do you _want_ to know?" retorted I.

  "Oh--no," with a laugh.

  "That is well," said I finally. And we walked on for a space insilence, when my companion changed the conversation with that ease ofmanner under the direct snub which only comes from experience. Mr.Devar was certainly a good-natured person, for he forgave my rudenessas soon as it was uttered.

  I know not exactly how he compassed it, but he restored peace soeffectually that before we reached Hyde Park Street he had forced meto invite him to lunch with me at my club on the following Saturday.This world is certainly for the thick-skinned.

  We entered Isabella's drawing-room, therefore, together, and a pictureof brotherly love.

  "Force of good example," explained Mr. Devar airily. "I saw Howardwalking and walked with him."

  There were assembled the house-party only, Devar and I being theguests of the evening. Isabella frowned as we entered together. Iwondered why.

  Devar attached himself to Alphonse Giraud, whom he led aside underpretext of examining a picture.

  "Monsieur Giraud," he then said to him in French, "as a man of affairsI cannot but deplore your heedlessness."

  He was a much older man than Giraud, and had besides the gift ofuttering an impertinence as if under compulsion.

  "But, my dear sir--" exclaimed Alphonse.

  "Either you do not heed the loss of your fortune or you are blind."

  "You mean that I cannot trust my friend," said Alphonse.

  Mr. Devar spread out his hands in denial of any such meaning.

  "Monsieur Giraud," he said, "I am a man of the world, and also alawyer. I suppose I am as charitable as my neighbours. But it is neverwise to trust a single man with a large sum of money. None of us knowshis own weakness. Put not thy neighbour into temptation."

  Which sounded like Scripture, and doubtless passed as such. Mr. Devarnodded easily, smiled like an advertisement of dentifrice, and movedback to the centre of the room. It naturally fell to him to offer hisarm to the hostess, while Madame accompanied me to the dining-room.Alphonse and Lucille paired off, as it seemed to me, very naturally.

  As we passed down the stairs I fell into thought, and made a mentalsurvey of all these people as they stood in respect to myself.Alphonse had progressed, as was visible on his telltale face, fromsuspicion to something near hostility. Isabella--always a puzzle--wasmore enigmatic than ever; for she showed herself keenly alive to myfaults, and made no concealment of her distrust, though she threw openher house to me with a persistent and almost anxious hospitality. Herewas no friend. Had I, in Isabella, an enemy? Of Devar, all that Icould conclude was that he was suspicious. His interest in myself wasless gratifying than the deepest indifference. In Madame de Clericy Ihad one who wished to be my friend, but her attitude towards me wasinscrutable. She seemed to encourage Alphonse. Did she, like the restof them, suspect me of seeking to frustrate his suit by withholdinghis fortune? She merely looked at me, and would say no word. And ofLucille, what could I think but that she hated me?

  At dinner we spoke of the siege, and of those sad affairs of Francewhich drew all men's thoughts at this time. Mr. Devar was, I remember,well informed on the points of the campaign, and seemed to talk ofthem with equal facility in French and English; but I disliked theman, and determined to make my thoughts known to Isabella.

  It was no easy matter to outstay Mr. Devar, but, asserting my positionas an old friend, this was at last accomplished. When we were leftalone, Alphonse must have divined my intention in the quick way thatwas natural to him; for he engaged Lucille and her mother in adiscussion of the latest news, which he translated from an eveningpaper. Indeed, Lucille and he put their heads together over thejournal, and seemed to find it damnably amusing.

  "Isabella," I said, "will you allow me to make some inquiriesconcerning this man Devar before you ask him to your house again?"

  "Are you afraid that Mr. Devar will interfere with your own privateschemes?" she replied, in that tone of semi-banter which she oftenassumed towards me when we were alone.

  "Thanks--no. I am quite capable of taking care of myself, so far asMr. Devar is concerned. It is--if you will believe it--in regard toyourself that I have misgivings. I look upon myself as in some sortyour protector."

  She looked at me, and gave a sudden laugh.

  "A most noble and competent protector!" she said, in her biting way,"when you are always fortune-hunting, or else in France taking care ofbeauty in distress."

  She glanced across the room towards Lucille in a manner strangelycold.

  "Why do you encourage this man?" I asked, returning to the subjectfrom which Isabella had so easily glided away. "He is not a gentleman.Seems to me the man is a--dark horse!"

  "Well, you ought to know," said Isabella, with a promptness which mademe reflect that I was no match for the veriest schoolgirl in a warfareof words.

  "A MOST NOBLE AND COMPETENT PROTECTOR!" SHE SAID, INHER BITING WAY, "WHEN YOU ARE ALWAYS FORTUNE-HUNTING, OR ELSE INFRANCE TAKING CARE OF BEAUTY IN DISTRESS."]

  "I did not understand," continued Isabella, looking at me under herlashes, "that you looked upon yourself as my protector. It is ratheran amusing thought!"

  "Oh! I do not pretend to competence," answered I; "I know you to becleverer, and quite capable of managing your own affairs. If there wasanything you wanted, no doubt you could get it better without myassistance than with it."

  "No doubt," put in Isabella, with a queer curtness.

  "But my father looked upon you rather in the light I mentioned. He wasvery fond of you, and thought much of your welfare, and--"

  "You think the burden should be hereditary," she interrupted again,but she smiled in a manner that softened the acerbity of her words.

  "No, Dick," she said, "you are better at your fortune-hunting."

  "It is not for myself," I said too hurriedly; for Isabella had alwaysthe power to make me utter hasty words, involving me in some quarrelin which I invariably fared badly.

  "Who knows?"

  "You think that if the fortune fell into my hands, the temptationwould be too strong for a poor man like myself?" I inquired.

  "Poor by choice!" The words were hardly audible, for Isabella wasbusying her fingers with some books that lay on the table between us.It may have been the effect of the lamp shade, but I thought hercolour heightened when I glanced at her face. />
  "It is hard to believe that you are honestly seeking a fortune, which,when found, will enable another man to marry Lucille," she saidsignificantly, without looking at me. And I suppose she knew thatwhich was in my heart.

  "Some day," I retorted, "you will have to apologise for having saidthat!"

  "Then others will need to do the same! Lucille herself does notbelieve in you."

  "Yes," I answered, "others will have to do the same, and thank you forit."

  "Lucille will not," answered Isabella, with a note of triumph in hervoice, "for she had reason to distrust you in Paris."

  "You seem to be on very confidential terms with Mademoiselle."

  "Yes," she answered, looking at me with quiet defiance.

  "Is the confidence mutual, Isabella?" asked I, rising to go; andreceived no answer.

  When I bade good-night to Madame de Clericy, she was standing alone atthe far end of the room.

  "Ah! mon ami," she said, as she gave me her hand, "I think you areblinder than other men. Women are not only clothes. We have feelingsof our own, which spring up without the help of any man--in despite ofany, perhaps--remember that."

  Which I confess was Greek to me, and sent me on my way with thefeeling of a hunter who, in following one all-absorbing quarry throughthe forest, and hearing on all sides a suppressed rustle or hushedmovement, pauses to wonder whence they come and what they mean.

  "Tell me," said Alphonse, who helped me with my heavy coat, "if youhave news of Miste or propose to follow him. I will accompany you."

  He said it awkwardly, after the manner of one avowing an unworthysuspicion of which he is ashamed. So Alphonse Giraud was to follow meand watch my every movement, treating me like a servant unworthy oftrust. I made answer, promising to advise him of any such intention;for Giraud's company was pleasant under any circumstances, and therewould be some keen sport in running Miste to earth with him beside me.

  Thus I came away from Isabella's house with the conviction that sheand no other was my most active enemy. It was Isabella who hadpoisoned Giraud's mind against me. He was too simple and honest tohave conceived unaided such thoughts as he now harboured. Moreover, hewas, like many good-hearted people, at the mercy of every wind thatblows, and, like the chameleon, took his colour from his environments.

  It was to no other than Isabella that I owed Lucille's coldness, and Ishrewdly suspected some ulterior motive in the action that transferredthe home of the distressed ladies--for a time at least--from my houseat Hopton to her own house in London. Madame de Clericy and Lucillewere no longer my guests, but hers; and each day diminished their debttowards me and made them more beholden to Isabella.

  "I know," Lucille had said to me one day, "that you despise us forbeing happier in London than at Hopton; we are conscious of yourcontempt."

  And with a laugh she linked arms with Madame de Clericy, who hastenedto say that Hopton was no doubt charming in the spring.

  I had long ago discovered that Lucille ruled her mother's heart,where, indeed, no other interest entered. This visit to Isabella'stown house had, it appears, been arranged by the two girls, Madameacquiescing, as she acquiesced in all that was for her daughter'shappiness.

  In whatsoever line I moved, Isabella seemed to stand in my path readyto frustrate my designs and impede my progress. And Isabella Gayersonhad been my only playmate in childhood--the companion of my youth,and, if the matter had rested with me, might have remained the friendof my whole lifetime.

  As I walked down Oxford Street (for in those days I could not afford acab, my every shilling being needed to keep open Hopton and pay theservants there) I pondered over these things, and quite failed toelucidate them. And writing now, after many stormy years, and in quietharbour at Hopton, I still fail to understand Isabella; nor can I tellwhat it is that makes a woman so uncertain in her friendships.

  Then my thoughts returned to Mr. Devar, where the necessity for actionpresented difficulties more after my own heart.

  I went to the club and there wrote a letter to Sander, who was stillin the Netherlands, asking him if he knew aught of a gentleman callinghimself Devar, who appeared to me to be no gentleman, who spoke Frenchlike any Frenchman, and had the air of a prosperous scoundrel.