A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette. Charlotte M. Brame
break his heart, but no one should utter one word against him – not one.
"That was my lover with whom you saw me," she said, in a cold, clear voice. "You have spoken of him as a farmer, he is not that. I should not have fallen in love with a farmer. He is a poet and a gentleman."
"He looks like it," said my lord, seeing that he was altogether on the wrong track, "therefore I say how deeply I regret that I have met you too late. You cannot surely, Miss Brace, be angry with me for saying that?"
"I am not angry at all," said Doris, and the beautiful eyes were raised frankly to his. "How can I be angry," she continued, "when you pay me the greatest compliments in your power."
CHAPTER XXIV
AN IMPASSIONED WOOING
"This is the very place for lovers," said Lord Vivianne.
They had reached an open piece of moorland, where the shadows of the tall trees danced on the grass, and great sheets of bluebells contrasted with starry primroses. There was a bank where the wild thyme grew, sheltered by a tall linden-tree. The birds seemed to have made their home there, for the summer air resounded with sweet song.
Lord Vivianne drew aside the fallen branch of a slender willow, that she might find room to sit down.
"The very place for lovers," he repeated.
She looked at him with a smile:
"But we are not lovers," she said; "therefore it is not the place for us."
"False logic! fairest of ladies!" he replied; "there is no knowing how soon we may become lovers, though. I feel sure we did not meet for nothing."
"Can a girl have two lovers?" she asked, looking up at him with the frank eyes of an innocent child.
He laughed.
"That quite depends on the state of one's conscience," he replied, "and the elasticity of one's spirits. If two lovers are objectionable, the proper thing is to send one away."
"Which should be sent away?" she asked.
"I should say the one that is loved the least. Tell me, now, do you really love this country admirer of yours very much?"
"I do not understand why you ask me."
"Do you not? I will tell you. Because everything that interests you interests me; your pains and pleasures would soon be mine."
"I have no pains," she said, thoughtfully, "and no pleasures."
"Then yours must be a most dull and monotonous life. How can you, with so keen a capacity for enjoyment – how can you bear it?"
"I do not bear it very well," she replied; "I am always more or less bad-tempered."
He laughed again.
"You improve upon acquaintance, Miss Brace. You are the first lady whom I have heard plead guilty to bad temper. As a rule, women prefer making themselves out to be angelic."
"I am very far from that," said Doris, frankly; "nor am I naturally bad-tempered. It is because nothing in my life pleases or interests me."
"Not even your lover?" he said, bending over her and whispering the words.
She blushed under his keen gaze. Her words had betrayed more than she meant to betray.
Then he added:
"Would you like it changed – this dull life of yours – into one of fairy brightness?"
"I should; but it will not be possible. My fate in the future is fixed – nothing can alter it."
"Yes," he said, gently, "there is one thing that can alter it, and only one – your will and mine."
Then he seemed to think that for a time he had said enough. He looked over the trees, and began to talk to her about the flowers. Doris did not much care about that – she had not come out to listen to the praises of flowers; she would rather ten thousand times over that her lordly lover had praised herself.
While he was talking, she was thinking of many things. Was it a dream, or a reality, that she, Doris Brace, daughter of Mark and Patty Brace, was really talking to a lord, listening to his compliments, that he admired her quite as much as Earle did? It was more like a dream than a reality. He, who had been half over the world, who belonged to the highest society, who had seen and known the most beautiful women in England, to be talking to her so easily, so kindly.
"I must be beautiful," thought the girl, in her heart, "or he would never have noticed me."
Then she recalled her wandering thoughts. The sun was shining full upon them, and all its light seemed to be concentrated in a superb diamond that he wore on his left hand. No matter where she looked, her eyes seemed to be drawn to that stone; the fire of it was dazzling. Then her eyes wandered over the well-knit figure. What a difference dress made. Earle, in such garments as these, would look like a nobleman. Her attention was suddenly attracted.
"You do not answer me," he was saying.
She looked up at him.
"I beg your pardon," she said; "I was not really listening to you."
"I was telling you that I ought to have left the Castle three days ago, but I was determined that I would not leave until I had seen you. I do not know how I can tear myself away."
Again she blushed crimson. Could it be possible that he had stayed purposely to see her?
"I should rather think that you stayed to enjoy a little more of Lady Estelle's society," she said.
"Lady Estelle," he repeated. "You do not suppose that any one could find any pleasure in that perfect icicle."
"Icicle! I should never give her that name. She seemed to me, on the contrary, almost sentimental."
"My dear Miss Brace," he said, "it is simply impossible that we can be speaking of the same lady. I assure you that Lady Estelle Hereford is known everywhere as the coldest and proudest of women. She has had many admirers, but I do not think she ever loved any one."
The girl's eyes were now fixed on him in perplexity and wonder.
"Never in love!" she repeated. "Why, she gave me a long lecture about love, and advised me never to marry without it. When she spoke of it her face quite changed, her eyes lost their indolent expression and filled with light. I thought she was the most romantic and sentimental lady I had ever met."
"I can only say that I believe it to be the first romantic idea of her life. She is cold, reserved, high-bred, and graceful, I admit; but as for sentiment, she has none of it."
"We have evidently seen her from different points of view," said Doris. "I wonder which is the correct one."
"I dislike contradicting a lady, but must state that I am likely to know her better than you. I have known her many years, and you have only met her once."
"Still we differ considerably," said Doris.
"And you think it possible that I should remain for her sake? Of all the people in the world she interests me the least."
"She interests me most deeply. I thought of fire and ice, sun and snow, and all kinds of strange contradictions while I talked to her."
"It is for you I remained – never mind Lady Estelle. We will not waste the sunny hours of this lovely morning talking about her. You have not told me yet if you prefer this country admirer of yours to all the world; if you do, there remains for me nothing except to take up my hat and go. I know how useless it is even to attempt to win even one corner of a preoccupied heart."
"Why should you wish to win one corner of mine?" she asked, stealing from underneath her long lashes one sweet, subtle glance that was like fire to him.
"Why!" he replied, passionately; "because I long to win your whole heart and soul; your whole love and affection for myself. I cannot rest; I know no peace, no repose; I think of nothing but you! Why should I not win your heart if I can?"
She shrank back, trembling, blushing; the fire and passion of his words scared her.
"Your face haunts me; I see it wherever