Wild Margaret. Garvice Charles
and politeness to the rest of the world. 'Courtly Ferrers,' they used to call him. Ah, well, what does it matter? All the same in a hundred years. I've had my fling, or nearly had it, and after me – "
Before he could conclude with "the deluge," a girl's voice rose softly and sweetly in the distance, and seemed to float in and harmonize with the rather melancholy strain of his musings; and yet the voice was blithe and joyous enough, too.
Lord Blair leaned over the stone rail of the balustrade and listened.
A spell fell upon the wild young man, and for a few minutes a strange feeling – was it of remorse for his wasted life? – possessed him. Then there rose the desire to see the singer, and as such desires were far stronger in Lord Blair's breast than remorse, he moved quickly along the terrace in the direction of the voice.
It did not occur to him that it might be Margaret Hale, and he experienced a sudden thrill of gratification as he saw the dove-colored dress shining, a soft patch of light against the shrubbery of the small garden.
At the same moment Margaret saw his shadow cast upon the smooth lawn, and the song died on her lips.
He stopped short, and stood on top of the steps leading to the little garden, looking down at her.
"May I come?" he said quietly.
Margaret inclined her head gravely and rose. It was quite unnecessary to tell the Viscount Leyton that he was at liberty to step into a part of the garden that would belong to him some day.
"I'm awfully unlucky, Miss Hale," he said, flinging his cigar away and coming up to the seat where she had been sitting. "This is the second time to-day I have disturbed you; and yesterday – oh, yesterday won't bear thinking of! You were singing, weren't you?"
"Yes, my lord," said Margaret gravely, for her grandmother's words had suddenly occurred to her, and she moved away.
"Are you going?" he said. "Now, I have driven you away! Please, don't go. I'll take myself off at once."
"I was going, my lord," said Margaret.
"Oh, come," he retorted pleadingly; "it's almost as wicked to tell stories as it is to fight; and you know you were sitting here comfortably enough until I intruded upon you."
His voice, his manner were irresistible, and produced a smile on Margaret's face.
"It is getting late," she said, "and Mrs. Hale may want me."
"I don't think she will. It isn't late – " he looked at his watch – "I can't see. Your eyes are better than mine, I'll be bound. I've spoilt them sitting up studying at night. Will you look? But upon this condition," he added, covering the face of the watch with his hand, "that if it isn't ten o'clock, you will stay a little while longer; of course I'll go – if you want me to!"
His eagerness was so palpable, almost so boyish, that Margaret could not repress a soft laugh. Rather gingerly she came back a step, and he held out his watch.
"It is half-past nine," she said.
"There you are, you see; it isn't late at all! Now you stop out till ten, and I'll take myself off" – and with a nod he walked toward the steps, with Margaret's antimacassar shawl in his hand.
"My lord!" she said, in a tone of annoyance, for it seemed as if he had done it on purpose.
"Yes," he responded, turning back very promptly.
"Will you give me my anti – my shawl, please?"
"Eh? Oh, of course, I beg your pardon," he said, "I took it up intending to ask you to put it on – nights are chilly sometimes. Here you are. Let me put it on for you."
"No, no, thank you," said Margaret, taking it from him.
"Well, it is warm," he said, looking up at the sky, and then quickly returning his gaze to her face. "It's a pity you can't paint this; but you artists get rather handicapped on these night scenes, don't you? Want a big moon and a waterfall, and all that kind of thing?"
Margaret smiled. Certainly, in matters pertaining to art he was a perfect savage.
"To-night could be painted, my lord," she said, just stopping to say it, then moving away again.
"You think so?" he said, displaying, with boyish ingenuousness, his desire to engage her in conversation. "Well, I don't know much about it; rather out of my line, you know. But I like seeing pictures, and I think you must be awfully clever – "
"Thanks, my lord!" said Margaret, with admirable gravity. "But your avowed ignorance rather detracts on the value of your expressed approval, does it not?"
He looked at her.
"That's rather hot and peppery, isn't it?" he said, ruefully. "Look here, you know, if I'm not up in painting, I know a little of other things. There are three things you might put me through a regular exam. in, and I shouldn't come out badly."
"For instance, my lord?" said Margaret, dangerously interested, and slowly stopping.
"For instance. Well, I know a horse when I see it."
"Very few people take it for a cow," retorted Margaret.
He laughed.
"Oh, you know what I mean. Many flats take a screw for a horse, though. Well, I know what a horse is worth pretty well, and I know a good dog when I see him, and I can tell you the proper kind of fly for most of the rivers in England and Scotland; and I know the quickest and surest way of stalking a stag; and – I can play a decent hand at ecarte – that is, if it's not too late in the evening; and – and – " he paused and looked rather at a loss.
"Is that all, my lord?"
"That's – that's all. It seemed rather a long lot, too, while I was running it over," he responded.
"And what use is your knowledge to you, my lord, unless you intend turning horse-dealer or gamekeeper? – but perhaps you do."
He laughed.
"By George, you're hard upon me! Won't you sit down?" Insensibly, Margaret sank into the seat, and he dropped carelessly on to the arm. "Well, I might do worse!"
"Much worse!" assented Margaret, severely.
He looked at her rather curiously.
"How strangely you said that," he remarked. "Meant for me from the shoulder, I expect; now wasn't it?"
Margaret was silent. She had meant it as a rebuke, but she would not have admitted it for the world.
He regarded her silently for a second, then he said:
"Miss Hale, they have been telling you something about me. They have, haven't they?"
A faint flush rose to her face.
"Would that matter in the slightest, my lord?"
"By George, yes!" he said. "Look here! there is an old proverb that says: 'Don't believe more than half you see, and less than half you hear.' I should like to know what they have been telling you about me!"
"What should 'they' say, my lord?" said Margaret. "Except that you are a very high-principled and serious-minded gentleman, doing all the good you could find to do, and setting a high example to your friends and companions?"
He leaned forward so that he might see her face, then broke into the musical and contagious laugh.
"It's too bad!" he said. "Miss Hale, I give you my word that the dev – , that nobody is quite as bad as he is painted – "
"It is to be hoped not, or, judging from the portraits one sees at the Academy, there must be a great many ugly people in the world," she said, quietly.
Lord Blair stared at her with unconcealed delight.
Pretty women he had met by the hundred, but a girl who was lovely as a flower, and witty as well, was a rarity that set his heart throbbing.
"All right!" he said. "I see you have made up your mind about me, and that you won't let me say a word in my own defense. But every poor beggar of a convict is allowed to say something before they pass sentence, don't you know, and you'll let me say my word before