to discuss thingslightly. "No, I don't think you have exaggerated a bit this time; somany of your swans have been geese, but this is a real swan, at last.She is very lovely; even in her terror she looked beautiful, and she hasa peculiar, elusive charm. She makes you want to know more of her, andpenetrate the mystery which seems to hover around her."
"I can't say I see any mystery, myself." Esmond spoke rather sharply,for such a good-natured little man.
"Perhaps it is too strong a word. But I take it, you know something ofthe _menage_, and can enlighten me on one point. What is her positionthere: paid companion, a passing guest, or does she share the flat withher cousin on some sort of terms?"
It was a little time before Esmond answered. "I have never rightly gotat that myself. Sometimes I have thought one thing, sometimes another.But I am pretty sure she is poor: in fact, she has admitted as much."
"Poverty is relative after all, and it depends on how she was broughtup. She seems to dress well, and that cannot be done without money."
Yes, Esmond admitted that she was turned out well. But he either couldnot, or would not express any positive opinion upon the delicate subjectof Miss Keane's finances.
"Does she ever play? She didn't touch a card while we were there, onlyflitted about from table to table."
No, Esmond had never seen her play since he had frequented the house.It was clear, therefore, she did not make any pocket-money out ofgambling. He had to admit that she seemed to act as deputy hostess,and, he believed, wrote most of her cousin's notes; in other words, madeherself useful.
All this information, such as it was, he imparted, as it seemed toSpencer, with some reluctance. Perhaps his keen admiration prompted himto hide anything that served to show her in a dependent position. AndSpencer desisted from any further cross-examination on this head.
On one point, however, he was determined to elicit a positive expressionof opinion from the cautious little man.
"What is the mystery of the bounder cousin? You must admit he has cadstamped all over him, his speech, his person, his gestures."
Tommy could establish no defence for the gentleman in question. "No, heis past criticism, I allow. The result of some _mesalliance_, Isuppose; his mother a very common person doubtless. But then, manyhighly respectable people have skeletons like that in their cupboards."
"The mystery is that he finds his way, cousin as he may be, into anydecent house. Mrs L'Estrange we know to be a woman of good family.You would think she would lock and bolt the door against a creature likethat. What is he supposed to be, if he has any profession beyond thatof his intense bounderism?"
"Something in the City, I am told," replied Esmond shortly. "Somethingconnected with finance; stockbroker or something."
"It must be a shady kind of finance, if he has anything to do with it,"growled the young man. "To think of his claiming relationship with thatexquisite girl."
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
It would be idle to assume that a man of Guy Spencer's naturaladvantages had reached the age of thirty without experiencing a fewaffairs of the heart. But he had never been deeply touched, and hisfriend Tommy Esmond was right when he described him as not verysusceptible to feminine influence.
The one feeling which had lasted for some years, was a pronouncedaffection for his cousin Nina. He felt as much at home with her as hewould have done with a favourite sister, had he possessed one. But theregard had a warmth in it that is lacking in fraternal relations.
He knew that Lady Nina was not indifferent to him, that she allowed himto assume a certain air of proprietorship in the disposal of dances, inthe claim to her society when he was disposed to enjoy it. He knew alsothat it was a match which would be warmly approved of by his invaliduncle.
Without being guilty of undue vanity, he felt pretty certain that if heproposed he would be accepted. And once or twice he had been very nearto taking the decisive step. He never could quite understand what itwas that made him hesitate.
The fact of his hesitation proved to himself, as well as to the younglady concerned, that much as he might like his cousin, he was certainlyfar from being deeply in love with her.
She was a pretty, winsome girl, possessing an upright, straightforwardnature, and quite attractive in a simple, frank fashion. There wasnothing subtle or mysterious about her, you could read her like an openbook. She was a good daughter, she was the type of girl who could nothelp making a good wife.
Some day, no doubt, he would put the fateful question, and by heracceptance be made, in conventional parlance, the happiest of men. Butalthough he would know he had chosen very wisely, and look forward to aplacid kind of happiness, he was doubtful if Nina's smiles and kisseswould ever thrill him, if with her he would ever learn the meaning ofreal love.
He was not by any means sure that he was capable of very strongattachment. He had indulged in a few fancies, but they had onlyexercised a very small portion of his thoughts. Up to the present, hehad certainly not experienced the wild ecstasies, the mingled joy andpain of the true lover.
For the first time in his life, he had been seriously perturbed by theadvent of Stella Keane. He had not fashioned in his imagination anyparticular ideal, any special type of woman who would make to him anirresistible appeal. But, if she had been Lady Nina, if he had met herin his own world, he would have owned at once this was the girl for whomhe had been waiting.
Her image pursued him persistently in his waking and his leisure hours.He could recall every word she had spoken during the short time they hadspent together. He could see her a dozen times a day standing in the"Excelsior" dining-room, paralysed with terror.
He remembered the break in her voice, the mist in her beautiful eyes,when she had thanked him. And ever and again, he longed to fathom themystery of her loneliness, the cause of that sadness that was alwayslurking underneath.
Was it wise to pursue the acquaintance, with the pretty certain resultof intensifying the interest he already felt in her? He had no likingfor Mrs L'Estrange, a woman merely on the fringe of his world, or hergambling circle. If he wanted to lose or win money, there were plentyof other houses where he could indulge his fancy.
And he knew nothing of Miss Keane's antecedents. The only thing he didknow was that she had a cousin who was obviously a bounder of the firstwater. Tommy Esmond knew nothing about her either, or, if he did know,would not tell.
For three days he wavered, one moment eager to rush off to the flat, thenext determining that it would be better not to renew the briefacquaintance.
On the fourth day, his impulse conquered his prudence. He told himselfsoothingly that his visit was due to curiosity, that he merely wanted topenetrate the mystery of her loneliness, her unprotected position.
The bounder cousin was coming out as he entered. Mr Dutton noddedaffably to him with a greasy and familiar smile. Spencer acknowledgedhim in the coolest fashion compatible with bare civility. Why werethere people, he wondered, whom you instinctively wanted to kick, for noapparently sufficient reason?
Miss Keane was alone. Mrs L'Estrange, she explained, was in bed with aracking headache. She had lost heavily the night before, and this wasthe usual penalty she paid for losing.
"Hardly worth the candle, is it?" he said lightly, as he took his cup oftea from her. A slight frown crossed his brow as he observed the emptycup of "the bounder" on the table. Did he come here often? was histhought. Perhaps he was in love with her. But it was surely beyond thelimits of possibility that she could ever return the affection of such acreature.
He would see what he could get out of her. "I met your cousin as I camein. I suppose he is a frequent visitor?"
She did not look in the least conscious or embarrassed by the question."Oh yes, he comes very often. He is about the only one of my relativesI have any acquaintance with. My father's mode of life estranged allthe others."
Spencer thought it would have been a good thing if Mr Dutton had beenas sensitive to the disqualifications of t
he late Mr Keane as the restof her connections. But, of course, he could not say so.
"He is not in the least like you." Then, after a pause, he addedboldly, and perhaps a little rudely: "I should never have dreamed youwere related."
She quite understood what he meant, and there was a lurking humour inher smile, as she answered:
"Poor old George, he is a good sort, but quite a rough diamond. Hismother married a self-made man, of course, for his money. That mayaccount for a great deal you have noticed." Spencer had the grace tolook confused. It was evident he had conveyed his private impression ofMr Dutton very distinctly to her clear young vision. But she did notseem offended, only slightly amused, at the poor figure cut by CousinGeorge in the estimation of a person in a superior world.
Anyway, that little mystery was explained. There was nothing unusual inpoor gentlewomen