Leslie's Loyalty. Garvice Charles
made for nice people."
"No, I suppose not," he assents; "and I suppose you are going to say that they had better be here than in some other places, and that it might do 'em good; that's the sort of thing that's talked now. I'm not much of a philanthropist, but that's the kind of thing that good people always say."
"They seemed very happy," says Leslie.
"Who?" he asks, almost sharply. "Oh, those people? Yes; Mr. Lisle ought to get a good sketch somewhere hereabouts," and he leads her back to the duke and Mr. Lisle.
The duke looks up. Grey has made a "back" for him with the cushions and the hampers, and he's smoking in most unwonted contentment.
"Back already!" he says. "I thought you had gone to prospect?"
"So we had," responds Yorke, "but we were alarmed by savages from a neighboring island." He lights a cigar as he speaks. "We are going to give them time to get away in their canoes, as Robinson Crusoe did, you know. By the way, Miss Lisle, if you will sit down, I will reconnoiter and report."
Leslie sinks down beside her father, and Yorke strolls leisurely to the steps leading from the tower.
He pauses there a moment or two, listening, then goes down. At the foot of the steps on the grassy slope he stops again, and the cloud comes on his face darker than before.
"It must be a mistake," he mutters. "It couldn't be she, and yet – ."
He walks on a few paces, and at the foot of the tower comes upon traces of the "savages" – a champagne bottle, empty, of course, and a newspaper.
He takes the latter up mechanically, then unfolds it and turns to the column of theatrical advertisements, and sees the following:
"Diadem Theater Royal. Notice. In consequence of serious indisposition, Miss Finetta will not play this evening."
With an exclamation which is very near an oath, he flings the paper from him and walks on, and as he goes round the base of the tower he is almost run into by one of the gentlemen whom Leslie saw with the dark young lady of the song.
They both stop short and start, then the new-comer exclaims, with a laugh:
"Hello, Auchester! Well, I'm – ."
"Hush! Be quiet!" says Yorke, almost sternly, and with an upward glance.
"Eh?" says the other, "what's the matter? Who the duse would have expected to see you here?"
"I might say the same," retorts Yorke, with about as mirthless a smile as it is possible to imagine.
"How did you come here?"
"Why, by boat," responds the other. "Didn't I tell you so? What have you done with my nags?"
"They are all right," says Yorke. "Come this way, will you? Keep close to the tower, if you don't mind."
The young fellow follows him, with a half-amused, half-puzzled air.
"What's it all mean? Why this mystery, my dear boy?" he asks.
Yorke, having got him out of sight and hearing of the three on the tower, faces him, and instead of replying to his question, asks another.
"Was that Finetta with you just now, Vinson?"
"Yes," says Lord Vinson, at once; "of course it was. Didn't you see her, know her?"
Yorke nods curtly.
"Yes. What is she doing here? How did she come here with you?"
"The simplest thing in the world," replies Lord Vinson. "After you'd left me this morning, I was wondering who I should hunt up to come for a sail, when I saw her coming down the street. You might have knocked me down with a feather."
"I dare say. Well?"
Lord Vinson looks rather aggrieved at being cut so short, but goes on good-temperedly enough.
"She spotted me at once, and the first question she asked was, had I seen you?"
"Well?" demands Yorke, as curtly as before.
"Well, I didn't know what to say for the moment, because I thought perhaps you wouldn't care for her to know."
A faint expression of relief flits across Yorke's face, but it disappears at Vinson's next words.
"She saw me hesitate, and of course knew that I had seen you. 'It's no use your playing it low down on me, my dear boy,' she said, laughing – you know her way. 'You couldn't deceive a two-months-old calf, if you tried. You've seen him, and he's here somewhere.' It was no use trying to deceive her, as she said, and I had to own up that I had seen you this morning, and – that you borrowed my rig."
Yorke bit his lip, and nodded impatiently.
"She took it very well, she did indeed. She only laughed and said that she knew you had left town for some fishing; and, being sick of London herself, she had sent a certificate to say she was down with low or high, or some kind of fever, I forget which, and had to run down here for a bit of a holiday with her brother – or her uncle, I don't know which it is."
Yorke looks round with ill-concealed anxiety.
"Oh, it's all right," says Lord Vinson; "they've gone on to the inn. I came back for my stick. There it is. Well, I thought the best thing I could do was to ask them to come for a sail, and it took her ladyship's fancy, and here we are, don't you know."
Yorke stands with downcast, overclouded face, and the young viscount, after regarding him attentively, says:
"Look here, Auchester, I know what it is, you don't want to run against her just now. Got friends up there, eh?" and he nods his head in the direction of the tower.
"No, I do not want to see her, and I certainly don't want her to see me," assents Yorke. "If you can manage to take her away, Vinson!"
He lays his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, and Vinson, who is never so delighted as when doing a service for his friend, nods intelligently.
"I see. All right, you leave it to me." He pulls out his watch. "I'll get her away at once; in fact, it's time we started. Don't you be uneasy."
"Thanks," says Yorke, and his brow lifts a little. "When does she go back?"
"To-night; she plays to-morrow."
Yorke's brow clears completely, and he smiles.
"Off with you, then," he says. "I'm awfully obliged to you, Vinson. You are right; I don't want the – the people I am with to see her."
Vinson looks up at the tower curiously, and rather wistfully.
"No, my dear boy, I'm not going to introduce you," says Yorke, with a smile. "I'm too anxious to be rid of you – and her. See them safe on board the train to-night, and if anything occurs to prevent them going, send me a message to-morrow morning. I'll give you the address – ." He stops. "No, never mind. Make them go to-night. Tell her she'll lose her engagement, anything, but see that she goes."
Vinson grins.
"I'll tell her you've gone back to town," he says.
Yorke colors.
"Woodman, spare the lie," he says, with forced levity. "No need to tell her that."
"No, it wouldn't do, come to think of it. She'd find out I'd sold her when she'd got back, and then – ." He whistled, significantly. "I like Finetta with her claws in, don't you know. I think you're the only man that's not afraid of her."
Yorke smiles again.
"Well, do what you like," he says. "But go now, there's a good fellow; and for Heaven's sake, don't let her come this way again. We heard her singing!"
Vinson laughs.
"Yes, if you were within a mile of her you couldn't help doing that," he says, dryly. "Well, good-by, old chap. Don't trouble about the nags."
"They are all right," says Yorke. "I'll bring them back safe and sound – ."
"When the coast's clear," finishes the young fellow; and with a smile and a nod, he picks up his stick, and goes off.
Yorke Auchester