Chapter XIII

As Mrs. Villars gracefully proceeded along a path, not wide enough for two abreast, and offered her companion a full view of a perfectly-fitting back, and coils of lustrous hair--she had several new ideas simmering in her head. She liked the handsome boy, now treading in her footsteps, and had flirted and amused herself with him, as was her custom; also, because Fanny had given her a somewhat shame-faced hint to keep Geoffrey fast, and urge him to accompany his friends to the Hills, adding mysteriously, that there was an important reason for detaining him. When she had asked for further particulars, Fanny replied:

"It is a family matter. Much depends on tying the young man to my, or rather to _your_ apron strings."

"And so I am to play the syren?"

"Yes, my dear, a nice, amiable, harmless syren," and to this she had agreeably consented.

But now, as the lady preceded her slave, stepping delicately over the ground, in her high-heeled grey _suede_ shoes, she asked herself, why she should not play the syren in real _earnest_?

Relieved from Sir William's formidable presence, and the questioning glances of his torpid, but suspicious eyes, she felt once more young, and free! Of course, there was Sir William's great fortune figuratively at her feet, but its master was old, unattractive, and irritable; when they were man and wife, and he had paid her debts, possibly he might not be so devoted or so docile.

As for Geoffrey Mallender, dear, simple boy! he was the soul of chivalry, generosity, and good-humour. He had a fine old place, and seven or eight thousand a year. Why should she not have, so to speak, "a new deal," be serious, encourage his timid homage, and marry him? It was true, that she was fourteen years his senior, but who would suspect it? Like her family, she had been endowed with the priceless gift of perennial youth. Fanny, her old school-fellow, who knew her age to a day, would possibly disapprove, and make difficulties. After all, why should she consider Fanny Tallboys? Naturally her first object was her own interest.

"Do let us sit down here," she said, turning about at last, "and look at this glorious blue view! Blue mountains, blue valleys, and blue sky, all in different shades,--and sniff the scent of roses, and heliotrope, and now, my dear boy, I am going to have a nice little talk with you."

"That's right, what is it about?"

"I want you to tell me, why there is such a silent but strenuous effort to keep you from leaving the Tallboys?"

Mallender looked at her smiling eyes, broke off a twig of lemon verbena, but made no reply.

"Fanny has some particular reason for not allowing you to run away."

"Has she?" he answered with a bantering air.

"Don't evade my questions, there's a dear, but tell me the truth? I am so _safe_. Are you about to ruin your life by a foolish marriage?"

His reply was a boyish and spontaneous laugh; then seeing her face of grave reproach, he added:

"I don't want to go away, you may be sure,--but I may have to leave--as a duty. I'd tell you all about it, like a shot, but it would not interest you, you'd only chaff me."

"_Chaff_ you!" she repeated indignantly. "Do you imagine you are talking to Nancy Brander? anything that concerns you, will interest _me_. Won't you tell me?" Suddenly her voice sank to a low enticing whisper. Behold Mrs. Villars in her most dangerous character.

"Yes, I will another time," he glanced about. They were not alone in this exquisite spot. Various other couples were roaming in the lovely garden.

"But, Geoffrey, you will never have a better opportunity!" she urged. "Give me your confidence, and perhaps, if you are very, very good, I will tell you something, that I know will please you!" and she smiled at him, with half-closed eyes.

"All right," he agreed, "confidence for confidence--exchange is no robbery, my business is about----"

At this critical moment, when Mrs. Villars was leaning forward with parted lips, a white figure came prancing towards them! It was Chinna-Sawmy, holding aloft a telegram between his two thumbs. Here, indeed, was a most perverse little incident!

The baffled lady drew back murmuring, "What a bore! well, another time then," and rose slowly to her feet. "I think I must run in now, and see what Kemp is doing, and dress for dinner. I believe it is at the ghastly hour of half-past seven. We will meet in the verandah later--and continue our little _talk_!"

"Yes, all right," then he tore open the envelope, unfolded the slip of paper, and read:

"_He is found, return to-night. Shumilal._"

For a moment, Mallender felt stunned, and stared stupidly at the telegram. Then by degrees he collected his wits and turning to Chinna-Sawmy, said:

"Run and find out when the next train leaves." To Anthony who had followed the wire, "I am going back at once. Put my kit together again, and send it to the station."

"Train leaves in one half-hour," was Anthony's prompt reply. "I knowing the place well,--master will have to be quick."

Colonel Tallboys shaved twice a day, and was carefully operating with a new safety razor, when he heard a hurried thump on the door of his dressing-room, and Geoffrey entered, with a coat on his arm, and a cap in his hand.

"I say," he began abruptly, "I've just got a wire, my marching orders,--and I'm off at last!"

Colonel Tallboys stood transfixed, razor in hand; one half his face white, the other pink. If the matter had not been so desperately serious, Geoffrey would have laughed at the spectacle.

"Don't be vexed," he urged anxiously, "don't take it so hardly. I expect I'll get through in a week or two and----"

His cousin at last found breath and voice.

"I take it hardly--damned hardly," he burst out in a high shaky key. "It means your ruin! thanks to your infernal pig-headed obstinacy. Of course if you _are_ mad, you are your own master--I can't stop you. Here," stirred by a sudden access of fury, he rushed to the door, and wrenched it open, "Go--go! I never want to see you, or hear of you, again!"

Completely taken aback, Geoffrey stared incredulously at his furious relative, then walked blindly out of the room, and sought his cousin Fanny.

"I'm going," he said, "the telegram is urgent, and I'm just off, I'll write, of course. Wish me luck, and God bless you, Fan."

For a moment Mrs. Tallboys surveyed him with amazement. Then she put her hand on his shoulder, and tears stood in her eyes.

"So the sword has fallen at last! Oh, Geoffrey, do be careful,--do be prudent. You have told Fred. I heard his voice just now--I'm afraid he is vexed."

"More than vexed, he washes his hands of me!"

"Oh, that's only his way, when he is angry. He will get over it all right. Meanwhile, we are always your friends, bear this in mind, and, Geoffrey," smiling through her tears, "though I hate and fear the thought of your going, and would do all in my power to hold you back, yet I don't _blame_ you, and whatever happens, you return to us," and she kissed him with warm affection.

After these farewell visits, the parting guest hurried away to the office, in order to settle his bill--only a half day,--and as he was gathering up change, a light hand was laid on his arm, and looking round, he beheld Mrs. Villars, who for some reason appeared to be strangely unlike herself; she seemed excited, flurried,--and if he dared to use the word, dishevelled!

"I _must_ speak to you," she began breathlessly. "Come into the sitting-room for a moment," and as they entered, she turned round abruptly, and faced him. "Oh, Geoffrey, what _is_ this I hear? Is it true, that you are leaving us?" she asked, with tragedy in her voice.

"Yes, I'm bound to go," he answered decisively.

"Don't, don't!" she pleaded, "Geoffrey, I implore you to think twice, before hurling yourself to ruin. Your cousin has told me, he is simply frantic."

"But I'm ruined already, if it comes to that, as far as money is concerned, and I intend to see this thing through."

"It means beggary, and madness--it does, it does," she reiterated, with passion. "I ask you, I beg of you, I beseech of you, to stay--stay for _my_ sake," and she flung her arms round his neck, and gazed into his face, with two lovely, liquid, irresistible eyes.

Lena Villars was on her mettle, she was using the most effective and deadly weapon in her armoury. Should she suffer this young man to escape, to go headlong his own way, her prestige in her inner consciousness would be for ever dimmed!

Such eyes as hers, were powerful persuaders. Mallender was young, with hot blood racing through his veins; he caught his breath sharply, and was about to yield. The perfume of the syren's hair, her close and delicious proximity, intoxicated his senses. At this critical instant, he beheld a face, and two hands numbering twelve fingers pressed against the window, making urgent signs. With a firm but gentle movement he put the sorceress quietly aside, caught up his cap, and ran out of the hotel.

As the fugitive hurried to the station, he was aware of fleet footsteps pattering behind him! he turned to find not Lena, but Nancy Brander, breathless, bareheaded, and wrapped in a long cloak.

"I was dressing," she panted, "_don't_ look at me! but I could not let you go, without a word. Here, I know the way, this is the ticket place, you will write, won't you?" she continued in gasps, "and be sure, and let me know what happens!"

"Yes, of course I'll write, without fail."

"Tom comes up next week, and if Uncle Fred is still furious, remember that _we_ will shelter you. Ah, you are just off--good-bye--and the best of luck!"

The last friendly face that Mallender beheld was the plain visage of Nancy, battling between smiles and tears, as she waved him a vigorous adieu.