The Haunted Chamber | Page 6

offer any objection to his
taking the much-coveted part.
"Well, I have sacrificed myself for you; I have renounced a very dear
desire all to please you," says Sir Adrian softly, bending down to
Florence. "Have I succeeded?"
"You have succeeded in displeasing me more than I can say," she
returns coldly. Then, seeing his amazed expression, she goes on hastily,
"Forgive me, but I had hoped for another Marlow."
She blushes prettily as she says this, and an expression arises in her
dark eyes that moves him deeply. Stooping over her hand, he imprints a
kiss upon it. Dora Talbot, whose head is turned aside, sees nothing of
this, but Arthur Dynecourt has observed the silent caress, and a dark
frown gathers on his brow.


CHAPTER II.
Every day and all day long there is nothing but rehearsing. In every
corner two or more may be seen studying together the parts they have
to play. Florence Delmaine alone refuses to rehearse her part except in
full company, though Mr. Dynecourt has made many attempts to
induce her to favor him with a private reading of those scenes in which
he and she must act together. He has even appealed to Dora Talbot to
help him in this matter, which she is only too willing to do, as she is
secretly desirous of flinging the girl as much in his way as possible.

Indeed anything that would keep Florence out of Sir Adrian's sight
would be welcome to her; so that she listens kindly to Arthur
Dynecourt when he solicits her assistance.
"She evidently shuns me," he says in an aggrieved tone to her one
evening, sinking into the seat beside hers. "Except a devotion to her
that is singularly sincere, I know of nothing about me that can be
regarded by her as an offense. Yet it appears to me that she dislikes
me."
"There I am sure you are wrong," declares the widow, tapping his arm
lightly with her fan. "She is but a girl--she hardly knows her own
mind."
"She seems to know it pretty well when Adrian addresses her," he says,
with a sullen glance.
At this Mrs. Talbot can not repress a start; she grows a little pale, and
then tries to hide her confusion by a smile. But the smile is forced, and
Arthur Dynecourt, watching her, reads her heart as easily as if it were
an open book.
"I don't suppose Adrian cares for her," he goes on quietly. "At
least"--here he drops his eyes--"I believe, with a little judicious
management, his thoughts might be easily diverted into another
channel."
"You think so?" asks Mrs. Talbot faintly, trifling with her fan. "I can
not say I have noticed that his attentions to her have been in any way
particular."
"Not as yet," agrees Dynecourt, studying her attentively; "and if I might
be open with you," he adds, breaking off abruptly and assuming an air
of anxiety--"we might perhaps mutually help each other."
"Help each other?"
"Dear Mrs. Talbot," says Dynecourt softly, "has it never occurred to

you how safe a thing it would be for my cousin Sir Adrian to marry a
sensible woman--a woman who understands the world and its ways--a
woman young and beautiful certainly, but yet conversant with the
_convénances_ of society? Such a woman would rescue Adrian from
the shoals and quicksands that surround him in the form of mercenary
friends and scheming mothers. Such a woman might surely be found.
Nay, I think I myself could put my hand upon her, if I dared, at this
moment."
Mrs. Talbot trembles slightly, and blushes a good deal, but says
nothing.
"He is my nearest of kin," goes on Dynecourt, in the same low
impassive voice. "Naturally I am interested in him, and my interest on
this point is surely without motive; as, were he never to marry, were he
to leave no heir, were he to die some sudden death"--here a remarkable
change overspreads his features--"I should inherit all the land you see
around you, and the title besides."
Mrs. Talbot is still silent. She merely bows her head in assent.
"Then, you see, I mean kindly toward him when I suggest that he
should marry some one calculated to sustain his rank in the world,"
continues Dynecourt. "As I have said before, I know one who would
fill the position charmingly, if she would deign to do so."
"And who?" falters Dora Talbot nervously.
"May I say to whom I allude?" he murmurs. "Mrs. Talbot, pardon me if
I have been impertinent in thinking of you as that woman."
A little flickering smile adorns Dora's lips for a moment, then, suddenly
remembering that smiles do not become her, she relapses into her
former calm.
"You flatter me," she