replied the maid, eyeing him archly, “the honor of a waltz with my lord is too rare a favor to be neglected.”
The gracious and suave smile with which Rutley answered her was not at all appreciated by Mr. Corway.
And as Rutley glanced his way, their eyes met. Virginia saw it. She instantly grasped the full meaning of that glance – the deadly hatred of rivals.
Rutley, with familiarity begotten of mutual esteem, as he fondly hoped, linked Hazel’s yielding arm in his and led her toward the piazza. “By the way,” and he spoke very confidently, “Mr. Corway seems to have a warm attachment for Mrs. Thorpe” —
The girl halted and looked questioningly at him.
“I mean,” continued Rutley, in a sort of apologetic tone, “he is apparently quite the lion with her.”
Passing a few feet near them were John Thorpe and Mrs. Harris, who had appeared unnoticed from another part of the grounds.
John Thorpe plainly heard Rutley’s allusion to Corway and his wife, and became profoundly sensible of that same strange feeling infolding him, as he experienced when Virginia first intimated Corway’s questionable character. “Is it possible that, after all, Constance, and not Hazel, is the real object of his attention?”
He was conscious of a sense of jealousy arising within him, and so strong and virulent as to be beyond control, and compelled him to turn aside, to conceal the anger that must be depicted on his face. He halted while Mrs. Harris joined Virginia and Mr. Harris.
“Mrs. Thorpe is most attractive,” Hazel at length replied.
“I have heard that not long ago he was attached to Miss Thorpe, but lately has transferred his affection to another,” continued Rutley.
“Virginia was fond of his society, yet ’tis not always, you may remember, that those who have won our love return it.”
The strains of dreamy music drifted out upon the air.
“Well, at present, Corway seems persistent in his attentions to Mrs. Thorpe.”
Again John Thorpe winced at the connection of his wife’s name with Corway.
And then Rutley felt himself pushed aside, while Corway offered his arm to Hazel.
“Will you accompany me to the ball-room?”
Hazel drew a step aside and exclaimed, half angrily, yet seemingly rather pleased at Corway’s audacity.
“Joe!”
“Hazel!” he responded with just the faintest suggestion of command in his voice.
It was his first assumption of authority over his affianced, and he won – for unlike the “feminine forwards” of the new school, she appreciated his strong character and showed it by clinging to his arm.
Neither of these two men could be considered handsome, though Corway had the advantage of being more youthful and taller of stature, with large, bright eyes and dark curly hair, which with clear-cut, manly features, seemed to charm the fancy and captivate the maiden’s eye.
While Rutley’s graceful and pliant frame carried more elegance, an assumed superb superiority, a cold, ironical disdain and lofty ease, bespoke an imperious nature, indifferent to that soft, beguilement so charming to women.
Corway turned to Rutley, and, bowing low, exclaimed, with studied politeness: “I beg my lord’s pardon,” and so saying, he passed up the piazza steps with Hazel and disappeared within.
They were closely followed by Mr. Harris and Mrs. Thorpe.
Rutley fixed the monocle to his eye and stared at the retreating Corway in blank amazement.
Meanwhile, John Thorpe was absorbed in profound thought, and oblivious of his surroundings, said to himself: “What can his lordship mean? Corway’s persistent attention to my wife! Was that mere accidental gossip? He shall explain!” And he looked fixedly at Rutley.
It was at that moment that Mrs. Harris, having reached his side, said: “Your arm, Thorpe. Dear me!” And she started back at seeing his gloomy face. “Why, I declare, the frowning ‘Ajax’ could not look more unsociable.”
For a moment Thorpe displayed confusion, but by a strong effort subdued his agitation and offered his arm. “Of late,” he explained, “my nervous system has been subject to momentary shocks.” Leading her toward the piazza, “I beg your pardon.”
“I am afraid that unless you provide yourself with a mask for such occasions the shock is likely to become contagious,” she remarked, as they passed up the steps.
Meanwhile Rutley, having removed the monocle from his eye, allowed his frigidity to dissolve, and, slowly stepping a few paces toward the east end of the house, paused under the shadow of a magnolia, and at once seemed to plunge in deep reflection, to be startled a few moments later by hearing Virginia close to him, in a low tone, saying: “How does my lord propose to resent that insult?”
Seeing him alone, she had noiselessly and unperceived, stolen to his side, convinced by what she had just discovered, that he was meditating some sort of revenge on Corway, and she determined to ascertain its nature.
Her fertile brain had already conceived Rutley her ally, and it was with no uncertain or wavering purpose that she approached him with a question pregnant with sinister import.
Rutley looked at her steadily, as though trying to penetrate her motive, then, without moving his eyes from hers, said deliberately: “Well, if he doesn’t apologize, my friend will call on him.”
“You mean a shooting affair?”
“I do not say, but I understand that is a popular way in this country to avenge an outrage.”
“Yes, that is true,” she said, “particularly in our West, but it is fast going out of fashion. In fact, on the Coast, it is seldom practiced now. Besides, my lord, I advise you not to try it. I’ve heard he’s a dead shot,” and she abruptly stopped and looked furtively about, and then, in a more discreet tone of voice, said: “Will you walk?”
He instantly comprehended her desire to confide something of interest to him, and as they slowly proceeded over the soft, velvety grass, and without betraying haste to know what she was evidently anxious to disclose, he replied, sneeringly:
“Ah, he is! Well, these affairs are settled in an honorable way in a gentleman’s country.”
“I again warn you not to try it,” she said. “If you do, you will likely find yourself a subject for some hospital surgeon.”
“Indeed!” laughed Rutley, with a sarcastic ring in his voice.
She halted, turned to him, and continued in a low tone. “Yes, there is a better plan – that insult can be wiped out in a more effectual manner.”
“How?”
For one moment Virginia looked far off across the placid waters of the Willamette, over and beyond the rugged hills shrouded in gloomy repose. Was it the “still small voice within her crying in anguish ‘beware, beware’,” if so, it was unheeded, drowned in the impetuous desire for revenge.
Shocked
