I lost some money to Lady Saint George, and the awkward thing is, that she is a distant cousin of Mrs Leigh’s; as rich as Croesus the Saint Georges are really. But she hates me – always did – and lately she has made friends with Charles. I wouldn’t know Charles, I think a line should be drawn, but she chose to take him up, and actually ‘confided’ to him my little delay. That was mean, and I hate meanness. Well, Charles and his father had one of their pleasant interviews; Charles wanted money as usual, and when my lord couldn’t give it him, and complained of his constant drains upon him, he had the audacity to say that he was not the only culprit!”
“Oh, mother, can’t you pay it?”
“I must, my dear child; you see poor, good old Tony has managed hundreds of little affairs for me; but now it will be different, as he has told me.”
“Did he lend you money?”
“My dear, he was good-nature itself. Besides, one can’t go oneself and sell one’s poor little things. One would be cheated, and it is so much nicer, isn’t it, to leave those matters to a man to manage?”
“Won’t you – ask father?”
“My dear child, no! He can’t give me any money. It is you, my darling, who must help your poor mother. Will you give up your amethysts at least for a time? They are really of value.”
“I would give up everything on earth,” said Amethyst.
“Well then, you will make it all quite easy. I am writing a note to Tony, and you shall just direct it for me, and take it down to the post.”
“Why should I direct it?”
“Why, he is staying at Loseby. Miss Verrequers, his heiress, is a connection of the Riddells, you know, our Riddells’ cousins. They are there together. I don’t want to appear in the matter at all, but you might be writing to him about your wedding presents. I must be most careful not to make any trouble for him, poor fellow! Miss Verrequers wouldn’t understand our friendship.” Amethyst felt an instinctive shrinking from directing the letter, though she could hardly tell why. She was confused and puzzled. The whole story was so out of her experience, her mother fascinated her so much, that she could not judge the case on its own merits.
“We are going to. Loseby on Thursday,” she said, “to a tennis party.”
“Yes, I know, that will be the opportunity for giving him the amethysts. Come, dearest, and let me give you the note. And, Amethyst, Lucian, of course, mustn’t guess at this little contretemps. You promise?”
Amethyst shrank again. She could not have told Lucian of her mother’s – what? – shame seemed too strong a word – discredit? Yet to promise secrecy towards him went against her, but at her mother’s desire, it never struck her that it was wrong.
“Yes, mamma,” she said confusedly, and followed Lady Haredale into the house, directed the envelope in the modern, upright, school-girl hand, which certainly bore no resemblance to Lady Haredale’s sloping penmanship, and prepared to take it to the post-office. As she came down-stairs she saw Tory standing in the hall, her legs apart and her hands behind her back.
“Amethyst,” she said, “Kat and I mean you to know. It’s quite true what I said just now. Una’s gone nearly off her head over Tony getting married. She’s a perfect fool about him. But it’s his fault, he’s an awful spoon is Tony. So is she; you’d better go and talk to her.”
“But – she’s a child,” said Amethyst; so much taken aback, that she forgot that the precocious Tory was more of a child still.
“Oh – little girls are amusing. He thought it didn’t matter. Una ought to have known it was nonsense.”
“But mother said it was nonsense, just now – of Una’s.”
“Very likely. That’s what she would think.”
Amethyst turned and fled. She felt as if she could neither speak nor look. A horror seized her of “kind good Tony,” and she ran across the park, in haste to get the note addressed to him out of her hand.
As she was about to put it into the box, Sylvester Riddell came up with a handful of letters.
“Good afternoon, Miss Haredale,” he said, “I hope this lovely weather will last for my cousin’s party at Loseby.”
The sense of unaccustomed secrecy made Amethyst give a guilty start; she dropped the letter, Sylvester picked it up, and the address in the clear-marked writing caught his eye. He noticed it, of course, by no word or look, but her crimson blush startled him.
Why should she write to a man whom, in common with Lucian Leigh, he detested; and why, if she did so, should she look so frightened and ashamed?
She dropped the letter into the box, and with a murmured excuse of being in a hurry, went back with winged footsteps, but a heavy heart.
She took herself to task for her folly in being so much startled and upset, but the shadow of half-understood evil is very frightful to a young soul; and she turned, with almost a sense of relief, from her mother’s revelations, to what she believed to be more within her comprehension, Una’s “silliness” about Major Fowler.
She had, of course, seen many girls who were “silly,” and meaning to scold and coax Una out of such folly, went straight up to her room in search of her, opening the door without waiting for an answer to her knock.
The girl was crouched up in a chair all in a heap, and glared at Amethyst under her hair, as if she would have liked to spring at her.
“What is the matter, Una?” said Amethyst. “Won’t you tell me all about it? Why are you so miserable, you poor little dear?”
“I mean to tell you. I hate to see you think the world is all sugar, when I know it is so wicked. I’ll teach you knowledge of the world.”
“Well?” said Amethyst composedly, and sitting down on the side of the bed. She was too much of a modern school-girl to be easily impressed by heroics.
“My lady made a great deal of him,” began Una abruptly, “because he lent her money. After he’d told her all about Mrs Fowler’s ill-temper he used to catch me in the passage and kiss me, and say he wished I was his little wife. He took me out long days, and people said I was so little it didn’t matter. And I used to put little notes in his great-coat pocket, and he’d stick his in little corners for me. And when he sat up smoking, I’d slip out when I’d been sent to bed, and run down and have such good times. He told me a great deal more of his sorrows than he ever told my lady! And he’d plan how we’d be married when I was seventeen, and go in a yacht to a lovely island in the south. I was happy then; I didn’t care about being married. It was just enough to love him, love him, love him! And now, he’s been cooling off ever since we came here, and I’ve just been dying for him. And it’s over, it’s over! I won’t live! I won’t exist without him! I’d like to kill him. Last time he was here, he laughed and made jokes. It wasn’t a joke once. He was just a fool about me then. He has sucked out my life like a vampire!”
Amethyst clenched her fingers together.
“I wish I could punish him!” she said. “He is a wicked man – a villain.”
“Oh no, no, no!” screamed Una. “He can’t help it. He’s an angel, and I’d die for
