The Haunted Chamber | Page 8

up to the subject she has
in hand, she says carelessly--
"By the bye, Flo, you are rather uncivil to Arthur Dynecourt, don't you
think?"
"Uncivil?"
"Well--yes. That is the word for your behavior toward him, I think. Do
you know, I am afraid Sir Adrian has noticed it, and aren't you afraid he
will think it rather odd of you--rude, I mean--considering he is his
cousin?"
"Not a very favorite cousin, I fancy."
"For all that, people don't like seeing their relations slighted. I once
knew a man who used to abuse his brother all day long, but, if any one
else happened to say one disparaging word of him in his presence, it
put him in a pretty rage. And, after all, poor Arthur has done nothing to
deserve actual ill-treatment at your hands."
"I detest him. And, besides, it is a distinct impertinence to follow any

one about from place to place as he has followed me. I will not submit
to it calmly. It is a positive persecution."
"My dear, you must not blame him if he has lost his head about you.
That is rather a compliment, if anything."
"I shall always resent such compliments."
"He is certainly very gentlemanly in all other ways, and I must say
devoted to you. He is handsome too, is he not; and has quite the air of
one accustomed to command in society?"
"Has he paid you to sing his praises?" asks Florence, with a little laugh;
but her words so nearly hit the mark that Dora blushes painfully.
"I mean," she explains at last, in a rather hurried way, "that I do not
think it is good form to single out any one in a household where one is
a guest to show him pointed rudeness. You give all the others acting in
this play ample opportunities of rehearsing alone with you. It has been
remarked to me by two or three that you purposely slight and avoid Mr.
Dynecourt."
"So I do," Florence admits calmly; adding, "Your two or three have
great perspicacity."
"They even hinted to me," Dora goes on deliberately, "that your dislike
to him arose from the fact that you were piqued at his being your stage
lover, instead of--Sir Adrian!"
It costs her an effort to utter these words, but the effect produced by
them is worth the effort.
Florence, growing deadly pale, releases her hair from her cousin's grasp,
and rises quickly to her feet.
"I don't know who your gossips may be," she says slowly; "but they are
wrong--quite wrong--do you hear? My dislike to Mr. Dynecourt arises
from very different feelings. He is distasteful to me in many ways; but,

as I am undesirous that my manner should give occasion for surmises
such as you have just mentioned to me, I will give him an opportunity
of reciting his part to me, alone, as soon as ever he wishes."
"I think you are right, dearest," responds Mrs. Talbot sweetly. She is a
little afraid of her cousin, but still maintains her position bravely. "It is
always a mark of folly to defy public opinion. Do not wait for him to
ask you again to go through your play with him alone, but tell him
yourself to-morrow that you will meet him for that purpose in the north
gallery some time during the day."
"Very well," says Florence; but her face still betrays dislike and
disinclination to the course recommended. "And, Dora, I don't think I
want my hair brushed any more, thanks; my head is aching so
dreadfully."
This is a hint that she will be glad of Mrs. Talbot's speedy departure;
and, that lady taking the hint, Florence is soon left to her own thoughts.
The next morning, directly after breakfast, she finds an opportunity to
tell Mr. Dynecourt that she will give him half an hour in the north
gallery to try over his part with her, as she considers it will be better,
and more conducive to the smoothness of the piece, to learn any little
mannerisms that may belong to either of them.
To this speech Dynecourt makes a suitable reply, and names a
particular hour for them to meet. Miss Delmaine, having given a grave
assent to this arrangement, moves away, as though glad to be rid of her
companion.
A few minutes afterward Dynecourt, meeting Mrs. Talbot in the hall,
gives her an expressive glance, and tells her in a low voice that he
considers himself deeply in her debt.


CHAPTER III.

"You are late," says Arthur Dynecourt in a low tone. There is no anger
in it; there is indeed only a desire to show how tedious have been the
moments spent apart from her.
"Have you brought your book, or do you