The Courting of Lady Jane | Page 4

said slowly, "you give me too much, but you must not measure my thankfulness for the gift by my deserts. Whatever a man can do to make you and your mother happy shall be done so long as I live."
She smiled gravely into his eyes and bowed her head slightly; like all her little motions, it had the effect of a graceful ceremony. Then, slipping loose her hand, she seated herself on a low stool beside her mother's chair, leaning against her knee. Her sweet silence charmed him.
He took his accustomed seat, and they sat quietly, while the breeze puffed little gusts of honeysuckle across their faces. Occasional neighbors greeted them, strolling past; the newly watered lawns all along the street sent up a fresh turfy odor; now and then a bird chirped drowsily. He felt deliriously intimate, peacefully at home. A fine, subtle sense of bien-��tre penetrated his whole soul.
When he rose to go they had hardly exchanged a dozen words. As he held, her hand closely, half doubting his right, she raised her face to him simply, and he kissed her white forehead. When he bent over her mother's hand it was as cold as stone.
Through the long pleasant weeks of the summer they talked and laughed and drove and sailed together, a happy trio. Mrs. Leroy's listless quiet of the first few days gave way to a brilliant, fitful gayety that enchanted the more silent two, and the few hours when she was not with them seemed incomplete. On his mentioning this to her one afternoon she shot him a strange glance.
"But this is all wrong," she said abruptly. "What will you do when I am gone in the winter?"
"What do you mean?" he asked. "Gone where, when, how?"
"My dear colonel," she said lightly, but with an obvious effort, "do you imagine that I cannot leave you a honeymoon, in spite of my doting parenthood? I plan to spend the latter part of the winter in New York with friends. Perhaps by spring--"
"My dear Mrs. Leroy, how absurd! How cruel of you! What will Lady do? What shall I do? She has never been separated from you in her life. Does she know of this?"
"No; I shall tell her soon. As for what she will do--she will have her husband. If that is not enough for her, she should not marry the man who cannot--"
She stopped suddenly and controlled with great effort a rising emotion almost too strong for her. Again a deep, inexplicable sympathy welled up in him. He longed to comfort her, to give her everything she wanted. He blamed himself and Jane for all the trouble they were causing her.
That afternoon she kept in her room, and he and his fianc��e drank their tea together alone. He was worried by the news of the morning, dissatisfied out of all proportion, vexed that so sensible and natural a proposition should leave him so uneasy and disappointed. He had meant the smooth, quiet life to go on without a break, and now the new relation must change everything.
He glanced at Jane, a little irritated that she should not perceive his mood and exorcise it. But she had not her mother's marvellous susceptibility. She drank her tea in serene silence. He made a few haphazard remarks, hoping to lose in conversation the cloud that threatened his evening; but she only assented tranquilly and watched the changing colors of the early sunset.
"Have you made a vow to agree with everything I say?" he asked finally, half laughing, half in earnest.
"Not at all," she replied placidly, "but you surely do not want an argument?"
"Oh, no," he answered her, vexed at himself.
"What do you think of Mrs. ------'s novel?" he suggested, as the pages, fluttering in the rising breeze, caught his attention.
"Mother is reading it, not I," she returned indifferently. "I don't care very much for the new novels."
Involuntarily he turned as if to catch her mother's criticism of the book: light, perhaps, but witty, and with a little tang of harmless satire that always took his fancy. But she was not there. He sighed impatiently; was it possible he was a little bored?
A quick step sounded on the gravel walk, a swish of skirts.
"It is Louise Morris," she said, "I'll meet her at the gate."
After a short conference she returned.
"Will you excuse me, please?" she said, quite eagerly for her. "Mother will be down soon, anyway, I am sure. Louise's brother is back; he has been away in the West for six years. Mother will be delighted--she was always so fond of Jack. Louise is making a little surprise for him. He must be quite grown up now. I'll go and tell mother."
A moment later and she was gone. Mrs. Leroy took her place in the window, and imperceptibly