The Bay State Monthly, Volume 3, No. 1

"Do you know him?"

"Not even who it is. I imagine that Stephen does, but he does not tell all he knows."

"I have found that out," laughed Lady Dacre. "Indeed, I don't feel like laughing," she added quickly, "but it seems to me only an awkward predicament, you see, and I am thinking of the time when the young people will be free to tie themselves according to their fancies.

"I don't take it so lightly," answered the lady, "and my husband, when Stephen is out of the way, shakes his head dolefully over it. He believes Harwin's story, and in that case he argues badly. My husband has a conscience, and he does not intend that his son shall commit bigamy. Neither does Stephen, of course, intend to; but then, Stephen is in love with Katie, and he and Elizabeth Royal are disposed to carry matters with a high hand. But Katie has scruples, too, and she must, of course, be satisfied."

"Of course. What kind of person is this Elizabeth Royal?" asked Lady Dacre after a pause. "Is she pretty, or plain?"

"Not plain, certainly. She has a kind of beauty at times, a beauty of expression quite remarkable, Katie tells me. But I have not seen anything especial about her."

"You don't like her?" questioned Lady Dacre.

"Oh, yes, only that I think her rather cool in her manners. She is the soul of honor. She comes of good stock, some of the best in the country. Her mother was a connection of Madam Pepperell. I believe she is about to visit there with her father. We shall meet them both." And the speaker explained that the Colonel knew Mr. Royal well, and would be anxious to pay them some attention. "I suppose I am no judge of the young lady," she added. "I have not seen her since the wedding, and only a few times before that when she was visiting Katie. She is an heiress; I understand that she is very wealthy, much richer than my little niece will ever be."

"Ah!" said Lady Dacre. It seemed to her that she understood how troublesome Colonel Archdale's conscience must be to him in this matter. But the Colonel was a stranger to her, and at times Lady Dacre was severe in her judgments. Sir Temple declared that she never had any scruples over that second line of the famous poem of aversion,

"I do not like you. Dr. Fell."

"There is something I want to tell you," she said after a pause, "something about Sir Temple and myself." And her listener received the confidence that had been withheld from Stephen a few evenings before in the garden.

Lady Dacre had scarcely finished when there came the sound of feet on the stairs, a blonde head appeared in the narrow opening, another head of dull brown hair came close behind, and Gerald Edmonson, followed by Lord Bulchester, stepped into the cupola. Lady Dacre remembered at the moment what Archdale had said on the journey, that most peoples' shadows changed about,—now before, now on one side or the other, but Edmonson's always went straight behind him.

"May we come?" asked the foremost young man, bowing to each of the ladies.

"It is rather late to ask that," returned Madam Archdale, "but as you are here, we will try to make you welcome."

And they sat there talking until the sun grew too hot for them.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth Royal, the subject of Lady Dacre's curiosity, was thinking of the visit she was on her way to make which would bring her within a few miles of Seascape. She dreaded it, yet she knew that her father was right when he told her that the more she could appear to treat the question of this marriage as a jest,—a thing which meant nothing to her,—the wiser she would be. This was the course that by her father's advice she had marked out for herself. Elizabeth Royal had her faults; she sometimes tried her friends a good deal by them; but if she had been Lot's wife, and had gone out of Sodom with him, she would never have been left on the plain as a bitter warning against vacillation. Only, it seemed to her a very long time since her restful days had gone by, and she realized that the one course she hated was to do things because it was good policy to do them. Before Archdale she was brave; not only from pride, but out of pity to him; before others, all but her father, pride restrained her from complaint, even from admission of the possibility of the disaster she feared. But alone her courage often ebbed.

CHAPTER XV

THE GUESTS

The fourth morning from this as Madam Archdale and her guest were on their way to the garden they met Archdale in the hall.

"Come with us," cried Lady Dacre to him, pointing through the open door. But Archdale had letters to write and the ladies went on without him. A few rods away they saw Edmonson seated under an elm near the door. "He has lost his shadow," whispered Lady Dacre to her companion as they drew near, and she repeated Stephen's speech. Her listener smiled. Edmonson rose as he saw them and sauntered beside them through the shaded walks. But for all his brilliant conversation he did not keep Lady Dacre from remembering the gloomy look she had surprised upon his face. As they were walking Bulchester joined them. He explained that he had been paying a visit to Madam Pepperell, whom he had met in Boston during the spring. Lady Dacre noticed that he and his friend exchanged significant glances, but neither spoke to the other. Edmonson devoted himself to her, while Bulchester walked on with his hostess.

At last they all sat down to rest where the sea-breeze beginning to blow brought a refreshing coolness. Sir Temple Dacre came out looking for them, and on being questioned by his wife as to where Archdale was, professed his ignorance. "He must have a larger correspondence than you," she returned, "if he is still at work; he told me that he had letters to write."

"I think he has gone to ask a friend of his to dine with us," said his mother. "I saw him gallop off half an hour ago. We are going to be very quiet to-day that you may have a chance to rest; tomorrow guests have been invited to meet you. Stephen thought that this evening you might like a sail,—unless you have had too much of the water?" And she turned inquiringly to Lady Dacre.

"Oh, no," cried her ladyship. "I should be delighted. The moon fulls to-night Am I right, Temple?"

A few minutes later Edmonson and Bulchester having strolled down to the beach confronted one another there in silence, until the sound of a wave breaking seemed to rouse their surprise into speech.

"Edmonson," exclaimed the smaller man, "for once you are at fault. You did not describe her at all."

"The—!" cried Edmonson with a black look. "I was never so amazed in my life. What has got into the girl? She is a different creature. That present air of hers would take in London; better even than in this out-of-the-world hole, it would be more appreciated. And what thousands she has to carry it off well, or I ought to say, to carry it on well. That good-for-nothing," he added, "does not even understand his luck." There was an undertone in his voice which gave the bitter laugh with which he tried to hide it an intensity that made Bulchester look at him anxiously.

"You don't mean that you admire her so much as that?" he asked. Edmonson laughed again.

"My admiration of any woman will not injure my digestion. I believe you know my ideas on that subject. But such a figure for the head of one's table, and such golden accompaniments to her presentablity—all mine, you know, or to be mine, and here this young lordship steps in between. Lordship; indeed! he thinks himself no less than a duke by his airs. But I—." He stopped, and ground his teeth to swallow his rage, and his face was so lowering that the other cried in trepidation:

"What are you going to do, Edmonson? Nothing,—nothing—uncomfortable, you know, I hope?"

Edmonson turned slowly upon him with the blackness of his look lightening into a smile as different from mirth as the brassy gleam behind a thundercloud is from sunshine. "What concerns your lordship?" he asked contemptuously. "Do you imagine that I shall forget my station?"

"Or your position as guest?"

"Or my 'position as guest?' No, indeed," sneered his listener. "What has come over you, Bulchester?" he added. "For how long are you engaged for this role of dictator? I shall leave until it is over, you do it so badly." And he turned on his heel, grinding the pebbles under it hard as he did so.

"Nonsense, stay where you are, I beg," cried Bulchester with an assumption of indifference in his manner, and a tone of humility so incongruous that Edmonson glancing over his shoulder smiled in scorn, and having remained in that position a moment, came back to his little squire, and said impressively:

"Bulchester, we are beginning to burn; something will turn up here. I can't tell you why, but I feel it."

"You mean that you have a clue? That the name amounts to anything?" cried the other excitedly. "That you have found—?"

"Hush!" interrupted Edmonson. "Lady Dacre! Yes, I have found the air here delightful. My tedious headache is wearing away already. And here comes her ladyship to make us appreciate our blessings still more. Say, Bul," he added in a quick undertone as he was about moving forward to meet the new-comer, "how good does one have to be among this set? Have you any idea?"

"No, but I assure you your best will not pall."

Edrnonson's smile of welcome to the lady broadened. "The fellow has quickness sometimes," he thought, "he has caught that from me."

"They are all following," said Lady Dacre. "But our kind host joined us just now, and he and his mother are arranging the hour for the sail, that is, if the wind will favor us."

"I should not think Archdale would be over fond of sailing," remarked Edmonson dryly.

"Why not?" asked Lady Dacre, then recollecting the story, added suddenly, "Do you think that is a real marriage, Mr. Edmonson?"

"I am sure I don't know," responded that gentleman nonchalently.

"You see," explained Bulchester, "if that man is really a parson, they have not much of a set of witnesses to prove that the ceremony was a joke. Harwin minus, though he has left his confession; Waldo interested in proving it a real marriage; Mistress Katie interested the other way, and the Eveleigh,—you have not seen the Eveleigh?"

Lady Dacre replied that she had not had that pleasure. As she spoke she intercepted a flashing glance from Edmonson to Bulchester. But she did not overhear the conversation between the two that took place later.

"Bulchester," Edmonson hissed out when they were alone, "what's the reason you always retail my opinions?"

Bulchester opened his mild eyes.

"Did I say any harm?" he asked. "I am sure I didn't mean it; what objection can you have to my giving your opinion on that matter, and I did not even say it was yours."

"Because—I do object," returned the other moodily. Then he said nothing more, rather to conceal the strength of his objections, than because his anger was over.

This happened a few hours later. At the same time Lady Dacre was speaking to her husband about Elizabeth. "I think that Archdale must feel the situation most on account of the young betrothed," Sir Temple said.

"That is all you know of a woman," she retorted indignantly. "Suppose I were tied to you and knew you did not care for me, I need not have come three thousand miles to find water enough."