Chapter II: Rose Again Sees Julius

Mrs. Vyner again went into society as usual, the only difference being that she was generally accompanied by Maxwell instead of her husband. Rose often stayed at home, but sometimes went with her. Time had not made her forget Julius St. John, but it had brought back the elasticity of her spirits; and except an occasional sigh of regret, or a short reverie, she was much the same as she had been before.

One Saturday on which they went to Dr. Whiston's soirée, Rose accompanied them, and was delighted to see Cecil there in high spirits, and beautifully dressed. Blanche's condition of course prevented her being there.

"But she is quite well, is she not?"

"Charming, and looks lovelier than ever."

"I have not been to see her this week. Mama has not been able to let me have the carriage. How gets on your new picture?"

"Famously. How beautiful you are looking to-night, Rose!"

"Of course I am; do I ever fail? But tell me, what is the subject of your picture?"

He put his finger on his lips.

"That's a secret. I let none know anything about it, as I intend surprising you all."

"Papa is so proud of you now, that I think if you were to go to him, all would be made up."

"That's kind, certainly; now I no longer need him, he is willing to acknowledge his son-in-law. No, Rosy, no; I have made advances enough; _he_ must make them now."

"But think how delightful it would be for us all!"

"I know that; besides, I know it must come. He will make the first advance; and he _shall_ make it."

The secret of Cecil's holding back was not pride, but calculation. He fancied that if Vyner made the first advances to him, he could _make terms_; and his recent losses at the gaming-table had made him sensible of the precariousness of his present resources.

As they moved through the crowd, and were passing into the second room, they came face to face with Mrs. St. John and Julius.

There was no avoiding a recognition. Rose blushed deeply, and felt extremely embarrassed; but recovering herself, she held out her hand to Mrs. St. John, who took it coldly.

Cecil and Julius shook hands cordially.

"Have you long been returned?" asked Rose in a low voice.

"Six weeks," was the laconic reply. "I hope Mr. Vyner is quite well, and Mrs. Vyner?'

"Mama is here--in the other room," she said, with an effort.

She made a movement as if to pass on; her eye met Julius's as she bowed, but his face, though deadly pale, gave no sign of agitation.

In another instant, they were in the next room; and Rose, with well acted indifference, occupied herself with the specimens exhibited on the table, addressing common-place remarks to Cecil, much to his astonishment.

"Is it all over, then, Rose?" he said.

"All. Oh, do look at this machine for teaching the blind to write--how very curious."

"Are you serious, Rose?"

"Serious! Didn't you see the cut direct?"

"You take it calmly!"

"Would you have a scene? Shall I faint? Shall I pretend to be stabbed to the heart? Shall I act a part?"

"Pretend! Are you not acting now?"

"Not I. If you think their reception has pained me, pray undeceive yourself; it is no more than I expected. Months ago I made up my mind. I know what to think of _him_. I am glad he has behaved so; very glad, very glad. It now puts everything beyond a doubt. Very glad."

She muttered "very glad" to herself as she sat down in a chair just left by a dowager, and tried to cheat herself into the belief that she really was glad. In truth, she was at that moment more indignant than unhappy. The coldness of her reception, both by mother and son, had exasperated her. Had he looked pleased to see her, had he even looked very pained, she would have at once given him to understand that his retreat had been precipitate, and that she was ready to accept him with delight. But his coldness piqued her; she refrained from addressing a word to him; and was now indulging in somewhat bitter reflections on his conduct.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Vyner had been eloquent in her admiration of Cecil and his genius, to Lady F----, with whom she was talking. Maxwell, from time to time, threw in a sarcasm, and was evidently uneasy at hearing any one praised so highly.

"Well, but you know, my dear sir," said Lady F----, "he must be monstrous clever, or he would never make so much money."

Maxwell shrugged his shoulders, and said, with considerable significance in the tone,--

"That depends upon how he makes it."

Mrs. Vyner looked at him surprised. A little while afterwards, when they were standing retired apart from the company, she asked him what he meant by his reply to Lady F----, respecting Cecil's money-making.

"I mean this: he doesn't make money by his _genius_," Maxwell replied, with sneering emphasis.

"By what, then?"

Maxwell refused at first to answer.

"What can you be hinting at? By what means does he make his money?"

"By ... there, I may as well tell you; you must soon hear it ... by gambling."

A shudder of disgust ran over her frame.

"Are you sure--quite sure of this?"

"Quite: I had it from a man who plays nightly at the same table with him."

"How horrible! isn't it?"

"No," he replied, with a sardonic smile: "it's _genius_."

She looked at him astonished: at that moment, she hated him. Well would it have been for her if she had taken the warning of that moment, and flung from her the viper that was crawling to her heart. But she forgot it. Maxwell's smile passed away, and was replaced by one of tenderness for her.

Rose and her mother were both thoughtful as they rode home that night.

The next day, Rose communicated to her father what Cecil had said at Dr. Whiston's, and begged him to write to Cecil, and announce his forgiveness. Vyner, who would have been well pleased to do so, spoke with his wife about it.

"He is a credit to us now," added Vyner.

"Oh! yes, a _great_ credit."

"Don't you think so?"

"How should I not? Vyner is an old name--a good name--it can gain no fresh _éclat_ from honours, but it may from infamy."

"From infamy, Mary?"

"Cecil Chamberlayne, your creditable son-in-law, is a gambler."

"Good heavens!"

"His cab and tiger, his dinners, his trinkets--all come from that infamous source: it is his means of livelihood."

"My poor, poor Blanche!" exclaimed the wretched father, as the tears came into his eyes. "But she shall not stay with him .... I will take her away ... She shall come to us .... she shall."

In vain his wife interposed; he ordered the carriage, and drove at once to Cecil's house.