CHAPTER XLVI. PRETENDING.
Miss de Sor began cautiously with an apology. "Excuse me, Mr. Mirabel,for reminding you of my presence."
Mr. Mirabel made no reply.
"I beg to say," Francine proceeded, "that I didn't intentionally see youkiss Emily's hand."
Mirabel stood, looking at the roses which Emily had left on her chair,as completely absorbed in his own thoughts as if he had been alone inthe garden.
"Am I not even worth notice?" Francine asked. "Ah, I know to whom Iam indebted for your neglect!" She took him familiarly by the arm, andburst into a harsh laugh. "Tell me now, in confidence--do you thinkEmily is fond of you?"
The impression left by Emily's kindness was still fresh in Mirabel'smemory: he was in no humor to submit to the jealous resentment of awoman whom he regarded with perfect indifference. Through the varnishof politeness which overlaid his manner, there rose to the surface theunderlying insolence, hidden, on all ordinary occasions, from all humaneyes. He answered Francine--mercilessly answered her--at last.
"It is the dearest hope of my life that she may be fond of me," he said.
Francine dropped his arm "And fortune favors your hopes," she added,with an ironical assumption of interest in Mirabel's prospects. "WhenMr. Morris leaves us to-morrow, he removes the only obstacle you have tofear. Am I right?"
"No; you are wrong."
"In what way, if you please?"
"In this way. I don't regard Mr. Morris as an obstacle. Emily is toodelicate and too kind to hurt his feelings--she is not in love with him.There is no absorbing interest in her mind to divert her thoughts fromme. She is idle and happy; she thoroughly enjoys her visit to thishouse, and I am associated with her enjoyment. There is my chance--!"
He suddenly stopped. Listening to him thus far, unnaturally calm andcold, Francine now showed that she felt the lash of his contempt. Ahideous smile passed slowly over her white face. It threatened thevengeance which knows no fear, no pity, no remorse--the vengeance of ajealous woman. Hysterical anger, furious language, Mirabel was preparedfor. The smile frightened him.
"Well?" she said scornfully, "why don't you go on?"
A bolder man might still have maintained the audacious position whichhe had assumed. Mirabel's faint heart shrank from it. He was eagerto shelter himself under the first excuse that he could find. Hisingenuity, paralyzed by his fears, was unable to invent anything new. Hefeebly availed himself of the commonplace trick of evasion which he hadread of in novels, and seen in action on the stage.
"Is it possible," he asked, with an overacted assumption of surprise,"that you think I am in earnest?"
In the case of any other person, Francine would have instantly seenthrough that flimsy pretense. But the love which accepts the meanestcrumbs of comfort that can be thrown to it--which fawns and grovelsand deliberately deceives itself, in its own intensely selfishinterests--was the love that burned in Francine's breast. The wretchedgirl believed Mirabel with such an ecstatic sense of belief that shetrembled in every limb, and dropped into the nearest chair.
"_I_ was in earnest," she said faintly. "Didn't you see it?"
He was perfectly shameless; he denied that he had seen it, in the mostpositive manner. "Upon my honor, I thought you were mystifying me, and Ihumored the joke."
She sighed, and looking at him with an expression of tender reproach. "Iwonder whether I can believe you," she said softly.
"Indeed you may believe me!" he assured her.
She hesitated--for the pleasure of hesitating. "I don't know. Emily isvery much admired by some men. Why not by you?"
"For the best of reasons," he answered "She is poor, and I am poor.Those are facts which speak for themselves."
"Yes--but Emily is bent on attracting you. She would marry youto-morrow, if you asked her. Don't attempt to deny it! Besides, youkissed her hand."
"Oh, Miss de Sor!"
"Don't call me 'Miss de Sor'! Call me Francine. I want to know why youkissed her hand."
He humored her with inexhaustible servility. "Allow me to kiss _your_hand, Francine!--and let me explain that kissing a lady's hand is only aform of thanking her for her kindness. You must own that Emily--"
She interrupted him for the third time. "Emily?" she repeated. "Are youas familiar as that already? Does she call you 'Miles,' when you areby yourselves? Is there any effort at fascination which this charmingcreature has left untried? She told you no doubt what a lonely life sheleads in her poor little home?"
Even Mirabel felt that he must not permit this to pass.
"She has said nothing to me about herself," he answered. "What I know ofher, I know from Mr. Wyvil."
"Oh, indeed! You asked Mr. Wyvil about her family, of course? What didhe say?"
"He said she lost her mother when she was a child--and he told me herfather had died suddenly, a few years since, of heart complaint."
"Well, and what else?--Never mind now! Here is somebody coming."
The person was only one of the servants. Mirabel felt grateful tothe man for interrupting them. Animated by sentiments of a preciselyopposite nature, Francine spoke to him sharply.
"What do you want here?"
"A message, miss."
"From whom?"
"From Miss Brown."
"For me?"
"No, miss." He turned to Mirabel. "Miss Brown wishes to speak to you,sir, if you are not engaged."
Francine controlled herself until the man was out of hearing.
"Upon my word, this is too shameless!" she declared indignantly. "Emilycan't leave you with me for five minutes, without wanting to see youagain. If you go to her after all that you have said to me," she cried,threatening Mirabel with her outstretched hand, "you are the meanest ofmen!"
He _was_ the meanest of men--he carried out his cowardly submission tothe last extremity.
"Only say what you wish me to do," he replied.
Even Francine expected some little resistance from a creature bearingthe outward appearance of a man. "Oh, do you really mean it?" she asked"I want you to disappoint Emily. Will you stay here, and let me makeyour excuses?"
"I will do anything to please you."
Francine gave him a farewell look. Her admiration made a desperateeffort to express itself appropriately in words. "You are not a man,"she said, "you are an angel!"
Left by himself, Mirabel sat down to rest. He reviewed his own conductwith perfect complacency. "Not one man in a hundred could have managedthat she-devil as I have done," he thought. "How shall I explain mattersto Emily?"
Considering this question, he looked by chance at the unfinishedcrown of roses. "The very thing to help me!" he said--and took out hispocketbook, and wrote these lines on a blank page: "I have had a sceneof jealousy with Miss de Sor, which is beyond all description. To spare_you_ a similar infliction, I have done violence to my own feelings.Instead of instantly obeying the message which you have so kindly sentto me, I remain here for a little while--entirely for your sake."
Having torn out the page, and twisted it up among the roses, so thatonly a corner of the paper appeared in view, Mirabel called to a lad whowas at work in the garden, and gave him his directions, accompanied by ashilling. "Take those flowers to the servants' hall, and tell one of themaids to put them in Miss Brown's room. Stop! Which is the way to thefruit garden?"
The lad gave the necessary directions. Mirabel walked away slowly,with his hands in his pockets. His nerves had been shaken; he thought alittle fruit might refresh him.
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