The Lovely Malincourt

Front matter

DHE LOVELY MALINCOURT by HELEN MATHERS

_ This is another book from the popular pen of Helen Mathers, and is written with the same delightful charm that has brought her other books into so many homes.

THE INTERNATIONAL FICTION LIBRARY CLEVELAND

Chapter II

THE roar of conversation rose and fell like the lions’ voices at feeding time in the Zoo. There were no carpets on the polished floors of Green Park House, and it was curious to mote how a lull would come, in which you might almost hear a pin drop, then out would. swell the raucous sounds again, though apparently the menagerie-like effect was observed by only one person present, and that was Lesley.

There was never any music here, which made the house extremely popular, the music of our own voices being so much sweeter than any other sound we ever heard, or are ever likely to hear.

“You neednt worry, mother,’ said Ronny, when presently he found her looking round for Lesley, “she is going like hot cakes. The men here seem to be in the same condition as the county—one half jilted, and the other wanting to be.”

And I don’t know what Lesley’s quality was, if she were magnetic, or only human, but when she came into a room, it seemed to grow brighter and fresher, and people began to smile after the first half-dozen words with her, and heartily to dislike leaving her company.

“She is like a glass of tip-top champagne, only you dont get a headache afterwards,” said one of her fox-hunting lovers, not very elegantly; and tonight men smiled under their bearded lips at the irresponsible gaity and youth of this country girl, who had appeared on the scene just as all the other women’s bloom was fading, and who wore a gauzy white frock that only an artist genuinely in love with youth could have created.

Through the jaded assemblage a rustle, a freshness went with her, and a rustle of another kind accompanied Ronald, who was stopped at every step, praised, congratulated, and made generally to feel as sick as the average Briton does on being begged to roar, when all he longs for, is to be let alone.

“Why do they all run after my cousin like sheep?” inquired Lesley, a little indignant, as most women would be, at seeing a mere man create a greater sensation than herself.

The quiet, distinguished-looking man she addressed, whose breast was crossed by a star and ribbon, and who enjoyed to the full this tripping vision of youth and brightness, smiled and said— “He is a very brave man.”

“All men should be brave. Do you mean to say that the others here are cowards?”

“Some would be if they dared.’

“And you?”

His Excellency turned to look at her meditatively.

For all her exquisite freshness, which was able subtly to suggest the fragrance of a dew- — pearled morning meadow, there was a total lack of rusticity in her, and a fearless knowledge of the heart of man and his foibles, that astonished him.

“You flatter me,” he said, and smiled again, when she lifted her head with that proud little gesture which distinguished her, and actually blushed. “And yet you have never been in town before?” he said tentatively. “It was wise of you to wait till the season has tired most of us, and then come to our refreshment.” .

“Tt was not that,” she said. “Father knows nothing about the seasons; he only recognizes the hunting, the shooting, and the fishing ones. When he sent me up here, he had no wif ee ee

SES idea. ” she stopped abruptly.

“He sent you? You did not wish to come then?”

“Oh, no; it was a punishment!”

“And what had you done?” inquired His Excellency, smiling, with a pretty good idea of what her delinquencies had been.

“Nothing.”

If she had been nearer five feet, than five feet seven, she would have looked a very sprite of mischief and devilry as she turned her face upon him; and it struck Ronny vividly, who just then came up, that she did not look as if she had ever been ashamed of herself, or sorry in her life, and that she was up to her country tricks already.

“Are you getting tired?” he said, when he had saluted her companion. “I think mother is quite ready to go home,’”’—which was untrue: Lady Appuldurcombe shone glorious among mothers that night, and was enjoying herself au bout des ongles.

“No,” said Lesley, “I am not ready. Who is the red woman in scarlet behind you?” she inquired of His Excellency, and while he was putting up his eyeglass, and turning about to see, she neatly slipped off, making a sign to Ronny to follow.

“His Excellency,” he began.

iy Ww as “growing inquisitive, ‘i ghe’ Ss ‘Would you mind telling me,” she add maively, “why all these people are running ~ after you more than any woman here? Itisn’t — it - fair, it isn’t even decent.”—this after Ronny ; had been violently laid hands on half a ayes times in half as many steps. ¢ “For no earthly reason,” he replied econ “but that I ne ae what any acho would—his du ‘ “And to cap it all,” said a voice behings a them, in one of the Wwikd: beast pauses of con-— versation, “he is cousin to The Lovely Malin- | Bi: court! Really, the way that girl’s head is ack on her shoulders—— : “All this comes of being Lady Appulaues combe’s niece,” said Lesley ruefully, as hers and Ronny’s eyes met. “Oh, poor Dad! to let me have my frocks made in Paris, and send me as a penitent to enjoy myself under’the wing of one of the greatest ladies in town!” “How did you find that out?” he said, ert ly amused.

“Come for a walk,” she said gaily; and as he smiled and went, somehow he seemed to ‘ stare at, and admire. N “Tf Bob Heatherly could ae see you now, om

Re cS ee he said softly.

~ “Who told you about Bob?” she said faintly, and for a moment looking somewhat as she did on her arrival.

But he only laughed, and said that he intended to watch over Bob’s interests in his absence; for which she thanked him maliciously, and said Bob was able to take excellent care of his own.

The rooms were thinning, persons stood out with greater distinctness, and Lesley presently caught sight of something that made her exclaim—

“How wonderful! Who is she?”

Ronny looked everywhere but in the right direction, though in every nerve of his body he knew what was there and the exact spot where she was standing.

“A woman in an orange gown whit—barbaric gleams of red and orange embroidery— she is looking at you—she is coming towards you!”

Alas! for the bravery of the bravest! If a trap door had opened at his feet down which he could have shot, Ronny the hero would have vanished through it there and then; but, as it was, he bowed, and advanced unwillingly.

“How do you do, Major Kilmurry?”

Tf there be sermons in stones, there are lifetragedies in voices, and Lesley knew in a flash that the woman before her had given boundless treasures of love to this man who had mothing particularly striking about his appearance, except, perhaps, the eyes that had seen so much—seen most of the great, and passed all the littlenesses of life, by.

“How do you do, Miss De Salis?” he said coldly ; then introduced Lesley as “My cousin, Miss Malincourt.”

As Cynthia’s glance coldly swept the girl from head to foot, Lesley could scarcely have told why her heart went out to this poor woman, poor in her gorgeous robes of red and orange except that she had always been nice to her own sex, and never wilfully taken their lovers away from them, or done them any sort of mean trick, yet the friendliness she now displayed, did not wholly bridge over the discomfort of the situation, and Lady Appuldurcombe’s sudden descent upon them was hailed by all as that of an angel from Heaven—an angel in three shades of mauve, illuminated. by diamond drops of dew.

She was really happy, and much pleased with the lightness of her duties as chaperone to Lesley, feeling, indeed that Malincourt and Nature had managed things very nicely between them, and now here was Ronny being kind to Cynthia, and her cup of happiness was full.

“I’m quite shocked,” she said, looking radiant, and touching Cynthia’s arm affection- _ ately; “we must have been here a whole hour,

and will soon be the last survivors!” but here a chilliness in the air struck her, and her face changed, as Cynthia, with some light words of farewell, moved away to rejoin her mother.

“You have been unkind to her, Ronald,” she said, in a reproachful whisper; but she addressed thin air, for he had already made his escape.

“My dear,” she said presently, as the carriage moved at a foot pace the few yards to Park Lane, “I think you have come to save the county at the expense of Town. But the most wonderful thing about you is, not your complexion, but your clothes.”

“T think those of Miss De Salis much more wonderful,” said Lesley. ““Why won’t Ronny love her?” she broke out suddenly.

“My dear! Ronny will never marry. All my other children have done so—but he never will.”

“Oh, how mad, how silly of her, to let him see how she cares!” cried Lesley, passionate- Iq. “Doesn’t she know?” She paused again,

‘then Want on pealevantly, Repeat a woman can make a man suffer is somethin; off their tremendous debt of cruelty to u - women!” | _ “My dear!” said Lady Appuldurcomb horrified, “Malincourt was always a kind ~ - man—and you do not read the newspapers!” The carriage stopped at that moment, anc Ronny was in waiting to hand them out.

pavement, ; a foam of white, looking back at a the dawn that was already breaking, “be- ea cause Yelverton wants you both to go down on his coach to see those absurd new sport they call Gymkhana, at Ranelagh.”

ride well to be able to do any of the ridiculou tasks that are set. And now, my dear, I thin we'll go to bed.”

And so they did, but Lesley found it i impo sible to sleep, this new world was so strange, © so wonderful; and an hour later, fancying she heard a knock, she opened her door to come face to face with Lady Appuldurcombe, who — started at sight of Lesley, and blushed en a

“T have just been in to look at Ronny,” she said, “he sleeps so sound, you know, or I should not venture. You see, my dear, I had only had him with me for twenty-four hours. when you came—and for months and months I was agonizing about him, not knowing if he were killed—like Wilson and the others. Good night, or rather good morning, my child, and God bless you.”

Chapter III

Tu awful moment had arrived. Face to face with her Inquisitor sat Lesley, the Scapegrace; and the fact that the boudoir was delicious with its blue and white walls and Nankin china, that the evening before had been delightful, and that the afternoon’s programme promised equally well, did not make this mauvais quart Wheure a scrap the more bearable, rather the reverse, in fact, to the unrepentant sinner.

“But, my dear, what have you done to be sent away in disgrace like this?” Lady Appuldurcombe was saying in very kind tones.

“Nothing. J didn’t do anything. It was— was the other people who did it all.”

“Did what?”

“Bothered me to marry them, you know, and all that,” said Lesley—adding rather defiantly, “just as if I could marry them all!”

“But your father didn’t complain of their falling in love with you,” said her aunt. “Jilted was the word he used—that you had jilted half the county.”

“Dad’s weak point is his arithmetic: he never could add up anything properly,’ said Lesley, with a fine air of outrage; “and we don’t visit saphvewes like half the county—it’s too big!”

“But, my dear, to jilt a man you must first be engaged to him.”

“Y-e-s,” said Lesley, very slowly ; “but you

_ don’t callit being engaged toa man, when you promise to marry him, just to keep him from worrying you morning, noon, and night?”

“But he would worry you much more if you were engaged to him!”

“Oh no! I used to make it a point of honour with them that if I promised, they were to keep their distance till I—I told them to come nearer. And I never did.”

Lady Appuldurcombe smiled irrepressibly, but shook her head.

“You mean to say they never tried to kiss you?”

“S-sometimes. But they couldn’t, you know,”—nodding triumphantly. “I’m too tall, and too strong,” she added, drawing up her slim white figure audaciously.

“That terrible plural!” said her aunt, trying hard to look severe. “And, pray, was— Bob—neither tall enough, nor strong enough, to kiss you?”

paged ‘to Bob for a little eniea you know.” ; “And did he kiss you?” : | “T never kiss and tell,” said Lesley, looking mischievous, and with a little impertinent up-— | lifting of her chin that her aunt was beginning to know. “Auntie, don’t you think it’s rather silly to sit here asking me rude ques- § tions, when that lovely Park is simply ka ing for me to go and walk in it?” “This is very wrong, when you don’t mean > - tomarry the man,” said her aunt, determined — not to smile and so rejoice the heart of the | graceless young woman before her. “But as | you evidently preferred him to the te jilt him?” ; “Tt was a point of honour with me,” aaien : Lesley, folding her hands demurely ; “+o make > him fall in love with me, I mean. Every one — warned him against me; said I only wanted — to break his heart as I had broken the other — ones—they’re all as right as trivets, and eat and sleep like anything, auntie—not oneman > in a hundred has got a heart—and he didn’t believe them, of course.” Memory, perhaps, | supplied the guileless look with which Lesley glanced up at Lady Appuldurcombe. “But he does now !”

Lady Appuldurcombe gave up the strug:

rm = st or the pieiouse of throwing them over, I | Me said, ‘Do I look that sort of person? And — then, of course, he asked me to marry him,

__ thought they had won!” | _ “Oh, Lesley, Lesley! I pity your father!” “You needn’t, auntie; he doesn’t want me to marry anybody—only he stuck at Bob. For some unearthly man’s reason, he loves Bob, and I don’t,” concluded this extremely unattached young woman, decisively. “Lesley,” said her aunt, meditatively, “do you mean to behave like this in town?” _ The girl laughed, and, springing up, began to dance a measure. a “Moving light as all young things,

As young birds, and early wheat When the wind steals over it .

“Dm so happy!” she said aunia cls ; “don’t spoil it all by scolding me, auntie! Just think if you had to take me on a coach when I had. been crying !”

“But, my dear “No one will fall in love with me here,”

one menned ee . “is an eee different . thing to the esa where I live in the ver’

know, and then he has big shoots, and he has got capital trout-fishing —any girl who wasn’t sphinx or a dolly would be bound to | have heaps of lovers! And it’s very catching, : for men are just like sheep—what one man

fancies, they all want, or think they do!” * 1

Lady Appuldercombe shook her head re- — bukingly, She had not nearly got to the bot- J tom of her inquiries yet. =

“But, oh!” cried Lesley, standing in the 4 middle of the room, and throwing out her — arms with a gesture of irrepressible youth | and lightheartedness, “it’s so fascinating to make a man fall in love with you! Once you — itake a real SNe in the game you can’t stop, and—and. _ She smiled, as at Mee memories, look a} ing straight before her, and her long arms | . fell at her sides.

“It must be perfectly delightful for the men, I am sure,” said her aunt, with real dis- _ pleasure. “Well, I give you warning, Miss Lesley, that if you try any of your tricks on — here, I shall pack you back to Malincourt at an hour’s notice, without that good charac: — ter you promised to earn.”

Re Ae - IS EES ~_—

ese

Lesley came near, and looked coaxingly at her with those eyes, exactly the colour of riverside forget-me-nots, and set about with curly black eyelashes, that were perhaps the most uncommon beauty of her face.

“You can’t stop it, dear,” she said, kneeling down. beside her; “the men being nice to me, I mean. I am Lady Appuldurcombe’s niece, you know, and——”

“T give you up,” said her aunt, spreading out two elegant hands, palms downwards. “But to turn toa more agreeable subject, who has educated you, my dear, on the subject of clothes?”

“Tt isn’t another subject; it’s me,” said Lesley, earnestly. “That is where I have always scored over the other girls—besides knowing such lots of men. J don’t do anything, it’s my clothes and my hair—the way it’s dressed, I mean; it’s the rarest thing in the world to

' find a well-dressed head in the country!”

“It is a woman’s first duty,” said Lady Appuldurcombe, with real solemnity; “but you are very young to know it. Then it is not merely choosing the right clothes, or going to the right people, it’s the way you wear them that’s everything—and where did you pick up that way, child?”

“T know an awfully clever woman,” said

Lesley. her eyes kindling, anid among ik ape) things, she gave me this advice: always wear

white if you can, and as long as you can, but — t

if you don’t, be careful not to mix your col- —

ours up any more than you would mix your Ae

wine; or in furnishing a room—she has given .

me no end of wrinkles about all sorts of 1

things.” 4

t

aq q

D

Ey.

“And who is the woman?” said Lady AG ; puldurcombe, approvingly. “Really, my dear, — you are fortunate in such a neighbour, buried, as you are.”

“Lady Cranstoun.” The name came out

_ iwith a certain timid defiance, as her au _ face changed conspicuously. “T have heard of her,” said Lady Appuidaes’ iq —combe, coldly, with whom there was never ~ any question of knowing, or not knowing, | certain people. :

“She had an accident in the hunting-field this year,” continued Lesley, proudly and — coldly, “and she will have to lie down for the ©

rest of her life, which cannot be a long one.” —

“She had some remarkably good innings,” ‘said Lady Appuldurcombe, witha disengaged air, as if totally uninterested in the subject. _

“And a husband who ruined her life,” said a Lesley, with flashing eyes and intense energy. “Perhaps if I had never known her, I should :

he Calkeen to the andow and stood ioste ‘e g out. Her aunt could only see the back of _raven-dark little head, that, for all its art- 1 dressing, would break rebelliously, now and then, into curls. _ “And so she chose your dresses for you, my ear?” said Lady Appuldurcombe, “and your maid. And she has done it very cleverly, I must say. But how did you manage that gown ou had on last night?” - . : “A pattern bodice to Mason,” said the girl, a singularly lifeless tone. “The dress only: rived here after dinner last night. I love er,” she broke out passionately. “You must ot say anything against her to me, auntie, lease, for I could not bear it.” Lady Appuldurcombe had moved away to er writing-table, where, every morning, she ras busy with the business of a woman of fashion, who can always make time for what she pleases.

“You could not have a safer guide than Lady Cranstoun pales she said drily.

Sin le Christian w woman? You know her story. How she committed one fault—one. How she

Grenstonn's fault, does it not?” said a Appuldurcombe, arranging the writing ma-_ terials before her; but her face was grave. — She was thinking it was no wonder Cecelia’s — child had been up to so many tricks with such companionship as her father had suffered her to fall into.

“We shall never agree on this point, auntie,” said the girl, in young, vibrating ‘ tones. “I shall always stand up for the Wwomen, through thick and thin, and, if I can ever do one a good turn, I will. When. I see

the suffering caused by men. N wa

“And when [ see the suffering caused ap women,” said Lady Appuldurcombe, softly. —

“Dye got to see it yet. Meanwhile——”

“Meanwhile, my dear, go down to the draw- | ing-room and try and forget you are very an-

ery with me just now. Ronny is seeing about a horse for you, I know, so you will have your gallop in the park tomorrow morning. We

don’t go down to Ranelagh till after lunch.” |

The door closed. Lesley was gone. ASRS “She is a good hater,” said Lady Appulaues combe, as she dipped her pen in the ink, “and

a warm friend,” she added, in the same breath.

Chapter IV

RANELAGH, nowadays, stands in much the same relation to Hurlingham as a young beauty, in a-‘mob-cap and cotton gown, washing her face in the morning dew, does to a Court belle, all powder and patches, and: trailing brocaded skirts ; and the world seems to prefer the sweet rustic, for the present, though for all her unsophisticated air, she is at heart very much the same.

The quaint house, through which you pass to the grounds, sets your thoughts and memory working, and many a famous scene rises unbidden to the eye; but, to young folks, who have not destroyed the pleasures of reality by the over-study of books, Ranelagh is simply a charmingly sylvan spot, conveniently near town, in which one may spend a few hours very pleasantly, without the inducement of those eccentric sports that everybody has ostensibly come to see, and laugh at.

By the time Mr. Yelverton had brought his team, with a flourish, round the wide sweep of grass opposite the seats arranged for specin a way the latter felt unkind, when they were starting from Park Lane.

Lesley was herself again—a most refresh- * ing self, judging by Yelverton’s fits of laugh-

_ ter, and the occasional difficulties he had got into coming down, through listening to her, instead of minding his own business; but luckily the horses knew theirs, and when, at

Jast, thep stopped, Ronny climbed up behind the boxseat, and promptly asked the two — what they had been laughing at.

Lesley refused to tell, and Mr. Yelverton — backed her up, while his mother, now the — grooms were gone, was at liberty to impart — such information as she thought fit, to the men on the coach, who displayed a great thirst for information about “The Lovely

Malincourt,” as the world had already named.

her.

“She has a eit of her own, and she had. 3 never heard of Ronny in her life,” she confided, by-and-by, to a vieille moustache, when.

the others had got down to examine the © ponies, and dummies, and other odds and ends that make Gymkhana such a huge joke — to the lookers on.

oe yet. _“T believe you were laughing at my expense, Fe Se ny OS insisting, and addressing

“You!”

Lesley turned a little scornful face ever so

“T shall call you Aristides,” she said. “Didn’t the people banish him because they were sick of hearing of his virtues?”

The words were rude, but a certain quality

n her voice made them merely piquante. _ “Meaning that I’ma dull dog,” said Ronny, im imperturbably. “Well, sol am. But I’m very enacious, too. What were you laughing at?”

could not dislodge him, | “Tf you really must know,” she said, “we

“Frills?”

half the wife desertions, and domestic ree

He had met nothing so much to his taste 4 Lesley the entire season, or, indeed, any otaay season that he could remember.

“Frills!” repeated Lesley, solemnly, whew like a real woman, chose to visit on Ronny — some of the discomfort his mother had caused — her that morning. “You men are so fond of | them. You like heaps and heaps of them; and — the more frills, and the more lace, we can — cram on to our skirts, the nicer you think we look, and the more you love us! ’'m sure that dies in the world are caused by a scarcity of —trills. It’s the contrast, I suppose, of your strength and the frivolity of our—frills, thas intoxicates you!” | ‘’Pon my word, Miss Malincourt,” said Mr. _ Yelverton, gravely, “I’ve often thought that — it’s all that foam of lace makes the dancing | girls catch on so; and you’ve hit the rightnail — on the head—it’s not them we love, it’s their frills! Just as the more respectable a woman | .

is, the more stout leg she shows in the street _ >

But Lesley did not seem to hear, and Ron- — ny, at the risk of breaking his neck, had pre- — cipitously descended, andy Was seen marching — off with disgust strongly imprinted all down 4|

_ his back. | Lesley drew in her breath.

“Pve done it now!” she said, nodding, and

_ looking up into the kind, ugly face of her

- companion like a naughty child who is asking a bigger and a naughtier one what he thinks her punishment will be. “TI did it on purpose, you know, to shock him. You’ll forget it all, every word, won’t you?”

“And pray, what harm was there in it?” inquired Mr. Yelverton stoutly. “You should hear some of ’em talk x

“Only I’m not some of ’em,” said Lesley, coldly, and lifting her proud little head after her own distinctive fashion. “You were telling me, when Major Kilmurry came——”

“About that bay mare? She’s rippin’. If I bring her round to Park Lane tomorrow, at ten, will Lady Appuldurcombe mind your trying her?”

“Of course not,” said Lesley, then remembered that she was, to a certain extent, in pawn, or at least baggage to be disposed of _ as her temporary owners pleased.

“When are they going to begin?” she exclaimed. “It seems a lot of running about,

- and nothing done; like a Punch and Judy show with dog Toby and the Baby left out!” Mr. Yelverton grinned.

. “Wait till you see the Johnnies bein

> said. “It is silly. That’s why people like it. | Makes them feel so superior, you know. It’s an when they’re asked to enjoy things a cut above ’em and feel small, they get mad. Just you wait for the refreshment stakes ! Competitors have to light a cigar, which must be kept alight the whole time, jump a hurdle, rigged up in fancy dress by their Donahs,’he_ | dismount at table, eat a sponge cake, open a — bottle of soda-water, mix with whisky or brandy, and drink it, remount, jump hurdle, © and gallop in. But this one isn’t such a tommy-rot; they Start in pairs, jump a hurdle, and one man takes tent-peg and the other a ring—if they can get it. Here they come at last!”

Lesley leaned over as the ponies dashed past, then clapped her hands.

“That was clever!” she said, as one of the | riders, going at full speed, picked off, with a long, spear-like weapon, the ring suspended from a wooden staple on his left, “And that — was stupid,” she added, as the other man | missed tent-peg on the right. “Let us get down,” and, without waiting for the ladder, — did so, with a nimbleness and dexterity that — argued a long acquaintance with coaches, and joints of extreme suppleness.

aA i = sac i Na ey iar ne ne ae os oe ee ee iimtigs pee Re

“Ti elieve you drive a team ponsaele » said " Ir. Yelverton, when he had joined her, and | ady Appuldurcombe was also descending, ut in more leisurely style. ne _ No; but a friend of ours, Mr. Heath”>— __ _ She stopped abruptly—“has, and Dad andI often go out with him on it.” _ “Same old game,” he thought. “Where sya there’sa pretty girl, there’ssuretobeacoach —no, I mean—” ie This was the last he saw of Lesley for some time. She was pounced upon, appropriated, _ _ divided, and introduced, till she began to _ think of climbing the coach again, just toget _ rid of those men, who all seemed to her exactly alike, and left no permanent impression on her mind. _ Once she saw Cynthia de Salis, at a little _ distance, who did not appear to see her. She (was dressed i in white, and her beauty had the _ same troubling effect on Lesley’s mind that it _had on so many others, for it was as impossi- _ ble to overlook, as to forget her. “T should go mad about her, if I were a - man,” Leslie thought; “but what a pity she has that dash of red in her hair! Red-haired women are so terribly faithful! What were you saying, Excellency?” to her friend of _over-night, who had quietly made his way