A Perilous Game.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVII, Issue 36, 10 February 1906, Page 14

A Perilous Game.

By BERTHA M. CLAY.

\ (Author of "Thrown on the World," "A Bitter Atonement," "Beyond Pardon," "On Her Wedding Morn," "The Lost of Haddon," etc.)

CHAPTER XXV. A STRANGE INTERVIEW. "Mees Dane!" announced Margherita's Italian servant and Madame St. Lys rose from her seat near one of the windows and came forward to meet Everil. "How kind of you to come and see nip!" said the soft, rich voice that roused resentment in poor Everil's heart, because it was such, a potent charm in itself. She looked round the room : the air was heavy with the scent of (lowers, which made the place a' veritable bower; ferns, too. in every , variety, were artistically piled up at various vantage points, or minjrled with ' the most exquisite flowers. Was this lavish profusion the result of Ernest Beaudeserfs promise? Certainly lie of- , fered royal homage; the Norman luxury of taste and splendour oi style had come down i mm in full, measure. But that wealth of beauty was to Everil an eyesore, because a symbol of worship given to another woman. Would Ernest have done —unasked —the half of this for her? Margherita, of course, read her visitor's "heart in her face; but Everil tried to mask her emotion, and said with, a smile: "What lovely flowers and ferns! Did they come from (."are-lc-Mont?" "Yes," Margherita answered, turning toward a stand literally covered with delicate ferns and brilliant blooms. "They arrived this morning and have taken mt hours to arrange." She did not add that the task was even longer than it might have been, hecaausc she had lingered over it so lovingly. "'{ RTU almost' vexed," she added, stooping to reinstate some flowers that had half fallen from their position, '•that he should rob his gardens and hothouses to such an extent." "Ernest never docs anything in half measure," said Everil; "none of tbe Bea-deserts ever do." Margherita smiled to herself at the quolification; a 5 of Ernest Beaudesert, however, lavish to others, would not ■shower on her a hundredfold • in comparison! "Half measure!" said she; "but this is triple, quadruple measure. What -Bill his gardeners say? Now, Miss D;iuc. let nic find you a comfortable chair. Here is one. Does the scent of the Dowers oppress yon, by the way? Some of the perfumes arc so pungent. Lot mc put you where you will get the hrce;:e from the window." "Oh, I don't find the scent oppressive,"' said Everil; "at least, not here," sitting in the chair Margherita placed for her. "Yet I don't think I could live in it all day." "No? 1 could. 1 love to breathe it it into my lungs," said Madame St. Lys, sealing herself, with fine tact, so that Everil's face was not immediately opposite i o her. Perhaps her mind was scarcely more easy than her visitor's, ' though from different causes, and she had the self-command of a strong character, and of worldly experience, in addition to that share of the quality which belongs to a subtle nation. She had no sense of triumph over Everil; she was grieved ber, aud for Ernest Beaudesert, too, for she —Margherita •—was not worthy of him, and he was wasting his heart on her, for he could not njarry her, and since that day at Richmond she saw more clearly than ever that he must feel this. With graceful readiness she started some topic of everyday talk, which she saw Everil kept up with an effort, though a , brave effort. "Heavens!" thought Margherita, "has the girl come here to bring mc to book, and Hhe does not know how to start? I shall ring for tea and create a diversion." She rose, and rang the bell, and in a few minutes tea and coffee came, and Margherita kept the ball rolling while the tea went forward, she taking coffee. "Do you smoke?" she said, laughingly. "1 have some lovely cigarettes."' "Oh. no!" exclaimed Everil. "Do you madame?" The other shook her head. "No," she said; "that is a foreign v habit I have not acquired. But I know some ladies who smoke; and men like my cigarettes, too. I gave some to Mr Favilo the other day. He is a great favourite of mine, you know." "Is he? He is certainly very affable," ; said Everil. "Are you going to the -Goodwood races, madame?" i "I am not sure—l think not. Do you know a Mrs Fenton?" she added. Everil almost held her breath for a I moment. "Yes,"' she said. Then: '*She has asked mc to stay for a week with her - at Grasslands —_t the end of the month." Margherita leaned back, clasping her hands behind her head. "I was introduced to her yesterday," she said, carelessly, "and she asked mc, too. to join the party." "And you —are —going?" For the life of her Everil could not get that sentence out smoothly, and her voice was hoarse and strained. Margherita turned her head a little, and glanced under her long lashes at the girl's white face. s "I gave no decided answer," she replied ; then, quietly,"but why should I not go?" "I know of no reason, - ' said Everil, with a desperate attempt to rally; "1 only asked a question." "Ah! but the manner and tone count ior so much more than the word?.*' "You misunderstood mc," Everil managed to get out. "Did 1? I beg your pardon. Do you know of any other people who are going?" "No—yes—that is, Mrs Fenton did not tell me—she wrote. She said, 'some nice people.''' v "Anyone I know?" asked Margherita. 6he knew, from Everil's first question, of one; but the girl should say the name herself. A moment's pause—the straight question compelled an answer; then Everil said, in a constrained voice: "1 think Ernest'is going!" Margherita only said, "Yes?" and lapsed into silence. She knew that •would force her "rival's" hand, and she "meant to do it. Whatever she decided to do in the end ■it was no part of her intention to do all Event's work for her, and surrender be-j-ore she was distinctly called upon to do so. After all,. Everil had no claim upon - ■her cousin; he)was free to carry his horn- • where hf would. m j

not in the least afraid of the girl. Ernest Beaudesert might not give his name 1 to Margherita St. Lys, but he would not, therefore, bestow it on his cousin; or. for that matter, on any woman. H,e was not a.man who loved lightly. And was it no temptation to the woman be worshipped, who worshipped him — to be under the same roof with him? Why must she yield up that happiness? Yet, for Ernest's sake, she might; perhaps, too, a little for Everil's sake. It might serve to open the girl's eyes to her folly; at present they were still partly closed. Did she really think she could win Ernest, if Margherita kept out of the field? "Would any man," Madame St. Lys thought—"'least of all Ernest —turn from mc to her? I cannot help knowing my own power. But still, if she does not hope, it is something to have mc banished. It is torture to her to see mc with him—to know that a look of mine is worth to him a month with her. I am afraid a fortnight would bore him! Poor little girl! But she must speak —not I!" The silence gTew to he intolerable to Everil. Her cheeks burned, then grew i pale; she rose, trembling, and went to | the window —then turned and looked at' Margherita. who gave no sign—made a step toward her, paused. I '"Madame St. Lys ," she began, hoarsely, and stopped abruptly. What was she going to say? She had no definite idea; her mind and heart were iv a chaos; some sort of appeal was struggling confusedly within her, but she could not give it shape. She stood still, quivering from head to foot. Margherita raised herself and looked at the girl. '"There is something," she said gently, "you wish to say to mc. I will listen." She was so sorry for the girl that she relented so far as to give her some help. Everil caught her breath with a half sob and dropped into the chair from which she had risen. "You love him!" she said, brokenly. "You have takeu him from mc " That was not what she had meant to say; in fact, she scarcely knew what she did say. She blurted out confusedly the passionate, resentful thought in her heart; and instead of an appeal she had made a most unjust accusation. It might have simply ruined her cause; it might have roused the pride of her antagonist to contempt and defiance. Margherita might have challenged her accuser's right to utter such words; taunted her with giving love unsought; triumphed in her own possession, and refused to hear either prayer or challenge. But the Italian did none of these, things. Through a pity, not unmixed with a measure of scorn, there was a sense of amusement at a statement so preposterous; but there was the memory also —never forgotten—of Everil's kinship with Ernest, and Margherita perfectly understood that the girl's inmost thought had escaped her unawares. She did not mean to rouse antagonism where she wanted to conciliate; instead, therefore; of feeling resentful, Margherita, with a fine generosity, was disponed to be indulgent. "You are not just to rae,'' she said, quietly, "or to your cousin. I have not 'taken him from yon'—or from anyone. He sought mc, not I him." "I didn't mean that!" exclaimed Everil. whose own words had startled her the instant she uttered them; and Margherita's answer was an almost unconscious relief to her; "but to lose him would not be to you as it would to mc!" Margherita. smiled—she could not help it. This girl to compare her love with the passion of the woman she accused!—to dream that Ernest Beaudesert could be satisfied with what she was able to give him! "You are not very coherent, Miss Dane," she said, coolly: "and I don't think you exactly understand mc. It is not very likely you would. To you 1 am one of those women you read about in novels, and see on the stage— not quite so tad, perhaps, or you would not be here; but still., an adventuress— all men are more or lc&o alike to mc, they must be my slaves. I have no heart; I only care for homage. I can as easily resign your cousin as 1 can Count Guardi, Victor de Sansterre, or any other of my numerous admirers. Oh, you need not contradict mc! I am not offended. But suppose I give up Lord Ernest—that is, if he is mine to give up—is it quite clear that my ?oss —not much of a loss, you say—would be your gain?" Everil sat trembling, flushing and paling in a breath. She was stung, bewildered, unnerved; she did not know what to make of this speech, or of the speaker. She had provoked an antagonist who fought with weapons she had none in her poor armory to meet. She understood that Margherita was mocking her: but what underlay that mockery? What did it all "mean? What would be the end? "What do 1 you mean?" was her lame and impotent question at last, for Madame St. Lys, having paused, evidently intended her visitor to open up the next battery. "I think I might ask that question," she said, in the same unruffled manner. "Your plea is. indeed, a very strange one. I will not ask whether you have any ground for supposing that, before Lord Ernest met mc, he gave you a right to believe he thought of you, save as a dear cousin. I think he came to, my house before he saw you on your return from Canada; but let that pass. Hs is no suitor of mine " "No suitor of yours!" gasped Everil, interrupting. "You know he—he cares for you " Her quick glance round the room emphasised her words. "Ah! that is another thing," said Margherita, carelessly. "You are shocked? There is no need. In your world a lover and a suitor are one. Very right and proper. In a world below mine, they are never one! In mine, which lies between the two, they are ; not necessarily one. Don't you understand—no, how should yoii?—that' s man may love a woman he cannot, or ■ is not willing to marry—love her in all ! honour, he not dreaming of wrong to her; she, honourable, too, and not to be loved otherwise?" No, Everil did not understand. She gazed at the beautiful speaker blankly; then blurted out one of those hard and fast truths which, in some people's creeds, cover the whole field of morality and motive. "But it would not be honourable," she said, "for any man to treat a woman so, er for any women, to allow

Margherita laughed as she said: "My dear child—forgive mc for calling you child—l am not very much older than you in years, live or six, perhaps, but a hundred in experience—there are cur- i rents running through the natures of! men and women, though the whole soe- j ial body, of which you have no concep- ! tion, which you can no more compre- I hend than you can square the circle. A lie, a truth, th_t is what the people say | who believe casuistry a device of Satan, though I have never found such people fanatically truthful; and you say a man or a woman should not be tempt-1 ed, must not be! Now you wrong j mc!" She stopped, a..d, rising, walked! j through the room; bnt she came back in a minute and paused by the chair, leaning her hand upon it. "Don't judge I him," she said, with a wonderful soft- | ness in eye and voice, "whatever you j may think of mc. He could not tempt mc to sin; but I would not have him make mc his wife. lam content to suffer. I am not worthy of him or his. If he could love you J would not try to stand between you and him. I don't look for happiness. I have never been used to it. But I can do nothing for you, save this: I will refuse this imitation. I will not go. I can give you that promise, and 1 have always kept my word. He—Lord Ernest—cannot love you; but it would mar your happiness if I were at that house. Of course, I understand that. It is all I can do— at least at pre sent. Will you accept it ?" It was no wonder that Everil was entirely puzzled. How could she understand such a woman as Margherita St. Lys? She was so unlike anyone within the girl's experience, her Southern temperament so out of Everil's range; and yet the latter was dimly conscious of a heroism to which she herself could not have attained. She wats touched by the infinite pathos of these words, "I have never been used to happiuess," from the lips of a woman who should seem, of all women, able to command it—if wonderful beauty and rare mental gifts arc the passports of paradise. Is it not generally, throughout history, the other way ? She felt humiliated. She knew she was selfish, exactins: for jealousy that which would not even give her the coveted love. She knew that Margherita spoke truth in saying, "Ho cannot love you." Since he loved this woman—formed to make men worship her—he must cling to her. Yet Everil could not renounce the promise offered her; it was selfish to Ernest, too. to claim it; but here the girl could deceive herself with the motive of interest in Ernest's welfare. Margherita herself admitted that he could not marry her, that he did not intend to do so. Why, then, should he waste life? Madame St. Lys implied that she would set him free from her influence, if she could. Why should not his cousin try to help him to freedom—to shake off chains that must ultimately bind him in sin, or iri a "disastrous" marriage, so Everil called it. inwardly, though why "disastrous"' she did not define. She was right in thinking that matters could uot rest where they were. Margherita knew that, herself, too well to assert the contrary. She bad Bimply passed over that part of the question. So Everil made a step forward, paused, hesitated, her head drooping, her colour coming and going. "You the kind," she faltered, "to me— to him, too. Thanks —I did not mean to wound you. I am sorry." "You have not wounded mc, Miss Dane," said the other, a little wearily. "You are going?" for Everil made a half move to hold out her hand. "Well, it would be a mistaken courtesy to detain you. Good-bye." She gave her hand frankly enough. Everil felt half ashamed to touch it. but Margherita felt no resentment. She rang the bell for the. servant as Everil went out, and so ended this strange interview. But Margherita thought: "If Ernest should know I have been invited, and refused? It is so hard to combat him! I cannot, tell him the truth, and I cannot tell him untruth. If I could make him forget mc!" She clabped her hands over her eyes. "I should have strength, even for that, if he were the happier!" CHAPTER XXVI. A KEEN DISAPPOINTMENT TO BEAUDESERT. Beaudesert called the next day in Hertf ordastreet and found Mrs Gray and Tessie just saying "good-bye'"—the. usual ladies' good-bye—and Tessie would willingly have prolonged it still more. ko soon as Lord Ernest appeared on the scene. "So you will be oue of the. circle at Grasslands?"' she said to him, coquettishly. "To have the pleasure of meeting you there,'" he answered. **And Madame de St. Lys," said Mrs Gray, "I hope you are coming?" Margherita laughed and shook her head. "No," she feaid. "I am sorry I shall not be able. Mrs Fenton was kind enough to ask mc." Beaudesert glanced at her covertly. Tessie said, gushingly: "Oh, that's too bad. Couldn't you cancel the other engagement?" "Oh, one. cannot do that!" said Margherita ; but it did not escape Ernest's keen perception that she had not actually said she had a previous engagement. He saw the -visitors to their brougham. and went back to Margherita, who was trembling.' inwardly, but she turned, with her vivid smile, to meet him. "Am I to thank you or to scold you for all these lovely flowers?" she said. He took her hands in his and kissed them. ' "Neither," he said, softly. "You thank mc in accepting them, and you know what happiness it is to mc to send them." "Yes; but such profusion! I feel as if I were robbing you." Again one of those stabs that checked the passionate answer on his tongue. Had she not robbed him of that to which all the flowers in Clare-le-Mont were nothing, and she could make that speech without remembering Lilian? He caught his breath, silently, and said, in a suppressed way: "You could not rob mc. I cannot do too much for you." He led her to the couch, and sat down by her, keeping her hand in his clasp. "What is this," he caid, bending down, face and voice changing, "about your being asked to Grasslands?" "Mrs Fenton invited mc," she answered, "but I could not go. I wrote this morning to decline." "Had you a previous engagement? You did not say so just now." "You are too quick, Lord Ernest. No, I had no engagement." "Then why did you refuse? Did you know I should be there, Margherita?" A soft colour rose in her face; her head drooped. -T^-diesaiiijJa-^lairifweß,

Beaudesert looked at her steadily for a moment, his clasp unconsciously tightening. What underlay this, refusal of' hers? Dreading his next question. Margher- ■ ita added, quickly: "i could not help it. indeed. I should i have liked to go. but it was—inipos- j sible!" j "Why impossible?"—he was speaking j with the calmness of self-repressiorf. I \ "You arc fencing with mc." ; Margherita almost held her breath. ! It was dangerous, trifling with a man I j who only held his self-command bv v a I I thread. ! "I might have told you what was not the truth," she said, after a pause, during which her lover waited patiently— the conqueror's patience—"but I could not do that, Is it fair, because I cannot deceive you, to drive mc to extremities?" There was an appeal to him in those words, of which she was wholly unconscious. It smote him like a. knife—was he dealing fairly by her? Knowing the end, had he the right to exact from her the absolute frankness a betrothed lover might claim? At least, if he would ask more, he must plead, not insist; and he could uot endure the thought that she was avoiding him. There was an impression, too, that jshe was not a free agent, and vaguely there ran in his mind a connection between this refusal and Everil's visit yesterday. Of course, it did not occur to him that his cousin said anything to Margherita; but the latter might, of her own accord, have generously resolved to sacrifice herself. He did nc»t speak for two or three minutes, these troubled thoughts throbbing in his brain. Then he said, very gently: "Forgive mc, Margherita, 1 have no right—Heaven knows!—to question you at all; but because you will not put" mc off, with untruth, fou leave mc in such cruel doubt. What am I to think, but that my going has influenced your decision? Is it so? Tell mc!" How terribly difficult to answer that j question without betraying Everil! She j could refuse to answer at all, but for Ernest's own sake she dared not do this; it needed so little to snap the tension he was keeping on himself. How could sbe reconcile her promise to Everil with justice to the man who loved her? Her ready wit failed her in this difficulty; her brain was confused by the tumult of emotions that made her heart throb so heavily; and that close clasp of her hand, the man's very presence, unnerved her. "It is not as you think," she said, falteringly; "I—l did not want to avoid you—why should I? But—l thought it best not to go. I cannot tell you the reason. Don't ask mc, 1 must keep that to myself; I must, indeed. Perhaps I was wrong to refuse—but one does not always remember to forecast " She stopped, mastering herself. He saw in the dark eyes that glanced up pleadingly to him, "but would not meet his full, the fear of his not accept- . ing even this answer; and perhaps he might not, but that his vague feeling as to her reason was confirmed. Then°his lips were sealed. He could not even try to force ber to betray confidence— i especially that of a woman, and the woman his own cousin; it relieved him, at least, of the worst dread, but filled him in its place with an inevitable resentment against Everil, for Margherita's sake and for his own, for Everil surely had something to do with Margherita's refusal of the invitation. But he said nothing: he would not. if he could help it, even let his companion know that he understood. He bent his head and pressed his lips in a long, clinging kiss on the hand he held. Then he rose, and with only a whispered "Adieu," without one more look in her face, went out. He dared not trust himself another minute by her side. But Margherita knew—how,, with her -stute brain, her keen sympathies, could ahe fail to know?—that Ernest understood. 'To De continued daily.)