The Swindler - Ethel May Dell (inspiring books for teens .txt) 📗

to alter. He had a little money, but no prospects to mention, and had never done anything worth doing in all his five-and-thirty years. And yet he seemed to think himself an eligible _parti_ for one of the most popular women in the district. His social position gave him a certain precedence among her other admirers, but Beryl herself refused to recognise this. She thought him presumptuous, and snubbed him accordingly.
But Lord Ronald's courtship seemed to thrive upon snubs. He was never in the least disconcerted thereby. He hadn't the brains to take offence, she told herself impatiently, and yet somewhere at the back of her mind there lurked a vagrant suspicion that he was not always as obtuse as he seemed.
She had been rude to him on the present occasion and he had retaliated with his smiling speech regarding her intellect which had made her feel vaguely uncomfortable. It might have been--it probably was--an effort at bluff on his part, but, uttered by any other man, it would have had almost a hectoring sound.
"I haven't the smallest notion what you mean," she said, after a decided pause.
"Charmed to explain," he murmured.
"Pray don't trouble!" she rejoined severely. "It doesn't signify in the least. Explanations always bore me."
Lord Ronald smiled his imperturbable smile and flicked a gnat from his sleeve.
"Especially when they are futile, eh, Mrs. Denvers? I'm not fond of 'em myself. Haven't much ability for that sort of thing."
"Have you any ability for anything, I wonder?" she said.
He turned his smooth, good-humoured countenance towards her. It wore a speculative look, as though he were wondering if by any chance she could have meant to be nasty.
"Oh, rather!" he said. "I can do quite a lot of things--and decently, too--from boiling potatoes to taming snakes. Never heard me play the cornet, have you?"
Beryl remarked somewhat unnecessarily that she detested the cornet. She seemed to be thoroughly exasperated with him for some reason, and evidently wished that he would take his leave. But this fact had not apparently yet penetrated to Lord Ronald's understanding, for he was the most obliging of men at all times, and surely would never have dreamed of intruding his presence where it was unwelcome.
He sat on his favourite perch, the music-stool, and swung himself gently to and fro while he mildly upheld the virtues of the instrument she had slighted.
"I was asked to perform at a smoker the other night at the barracks," he said. "The men seemed to enjoy it immensely."
"Soldiers like anything noisy," said Beryl Denvers scathingly.
And then--because he had no retort ready--her heart smote her.
"But it was kind of you to go," she said. "I am sure you wouldn't enjoy it."
"Oh, but I did," he said, "on the whole. I should have liked it better if Fletcher hadn't been in the chair, and so, I think, would they. But it passed off very fairly well."
"Why do you object to Major Fletcher?" Beryl's tone was slightly aggressive.
Lord Ronald hesitated a little.
"He isn't much liked," he told her vaguely.
She frowned.
"But that is no answer. Are you afraid to answer me?"
He laughed at that, laughed easily and naturally, in the tolerant fashion that most exasperated her.
"Oh, no; I'm not afraid. But I don't like hurting people's feelings--especially yours."
"I do not see how that is possible," she rejoined, with dignity, "where my feelings are not concerned."
"Ah, but that's where it is," he responded. "You like Fletcher well enough to be extremely indignant if anyone were to tell you that he is not a nice person for you to know."
"I object to unpleasant insinuations regarding any one," she said, with slightly heightened colour. "They always appear to me cowardly."
"Yes; but you asked, you know," Lord Ronald reminded her gently.
Her colour deepened. It was not often that he got the better of her; not often, indeed, that he exerted himself to do so. She began to wish ardently that he would go. Really, he was quite insufferable to-day.
Had he been a man of any perception whatever she would almost have thought that he fathomed her desire, for at this point he rose in a leisurely fashion as though upon the point of departure.
She rose also from behind the tea-table with a little inward pricking of conscience for wishing him gone. She wondered if he deemed her inhospitable, but if he did he disguised it very carefully, for his eyes held nothing but friendliness as they met her own.
"Has it never occurred to you," he said, "that you lead a very unprotected existence here?"
Something in his expression checked her first impulse to resent the question. Her lip quivered unexpectedly.
"Now and then," she said.
"Are you a man-hater?" he asked deliberately.
She laughed a little.
"Why do you ask such an absurd question?"
He seemed to hesitate momentarily.
"Because--forgive me--wouldn't you be a good deal happier if you were to marry again?"
Again her colour rose hotly. What did the man mean by assuming this attitude? Was he about to plead his own cause, or that of another?
"I think it exceedingly doubtful," she replied stiffly, meeting his steady eyes with a hint of defiance.
"You have never thought of such a thing perhaps?" he suggested.
She smiled a woman's pitying smile.
"Of course I have thought of it."
"Then you have not yet met the man to whom you would care to entrust yourself?" he asked.
She took fire at this. It was an act of presumption not to be borne.
"Even if I had," she said, with burning cheeks, "I do not think I should make Lord Ronald Prior my confidant."
"No?" he said. "Yet you might do worse."
Her eyes shot scorn.
"Can a man be worse than inept?" she asked.
"Yes," he answered. "Since you ask me, I think he can--a good deal worse."
"I detest colourless people!" she broke in vehemently.
He smiled.
"In fact, you prefer black sheep to grey sheep. A good many women do. But it doesn't follow that the preference is a wise one."
The colour faded suddenly from her face. Did he know how ghastly a failure her first marriage had been? Most people knew. Could it be to this that he was referring? The bare suspicion made her wince.
"That," she said icily, "is no one's affair but my own. I am not wholly ignorant of the ways of the world. And I know whom I can trust."
"You trust me, for instance?" said Lord Ronald.
She looked him up and down witheringly.
"I should say you are quite the most harmless man I know."
"And you don't like me in consequence," he drawled, meeting the look with eyes so intent that, half-startled, she lowered her own.
She turned away from him with an impatient gesture. He had never managed to embarrass her before.
"I should like you better if you weren't so officious," she said.
"But you have no one else to look after you," objected Lord Ronald.
"Well, in any case, it isn't your business," she threw back, almost inclined to laugh at his audacity.
"It would be if you married me," he pointed out, as patiently as if he were dealing with a fractious child.
"If I----"
She wheeled abruptly, amazed out of her disdain. It was the most prosaic proposal she had ever had.
"If you married me," he repeated, keeping his eyes upon her. "You admit that I am harmless, so you would have nothing to fear from me. And as a watch-dog, I think you would find me useful--and quite easy to manage," he added, with his serene smile.
Beryl was staring at him in wide astonishment. Was the man mad to approach her thus?
"No," he said. "I am quite sane; eccentric perhaps, but--as you are kind enough to observe--quite harmless. I never proposed to any woman before in my life, or so much as wanted to, so that must be my excuse for doing it badly. Really, you know, Mrs. Denvers, you might do worse than marry me. You might indeed."
But at that her indignation broke bounds. If he were not mad, it made him the more intolerable. Did he fancy himself so desirable, then, that he had merely to fling her the handkerchief--to find her at his feet? His impertinence transcended belief. But she would pay him back in his own coin. He should never again imagine himself irresistible.
"Really, Lord Ronald," she said, "if I actually needed a protector--which I do not--you are the very last person to whom I should turn. And as to a husband----"
She paused a moment, searching for words sufficiently barbed to penetrate even his complacency.
"Yes?" he said gently, as if desirous to help her out.
"As to a husband," she said, "if I ever marry again, it will be a man I can respect--a man who can hold his own in the world; a man who is really a man, and not--not a nonentity!"
Impetuously she flung the words. For all his placidity, he seemed to possess the power to infuriate her. She longed intensely to move him to anger. She felt insulted by his composure, hating him because he remained so courteously attentive.
He made no attempt to parry her thrust, nor did he seem to be disconcerted thereby. He merely listened imperturbably till she ceased to speak. Then:
"Ah, well," he said good-humouredly, "you mustn't take me too seriously. It was only a suggestion, you know." He picked up his hat with the words. "A pity you can't see your way to fall in with it, but you know best. Good-bye for the present."
Reluctantly, in response to his evident expectation, she gave him her hand.
"I wish you to understand, Lord Ronald," she said stiffly as she did so, "that my reply is final."
He lifted his eyebrows for a second, and she fancied--could it have been mere fancy?--that the grey eyes shone with a certain steely determination that was assuredly foreign to his whole nature as he made deliberate reply:
"That is quite understood, Mrs. Denvers. It was awfully kind of you to be so explicit. As you know, I am not good at taking hints."
And with that he was gone, unruffled to the last, perfectly courteous, almost dignified, while she stood and watched his exit with a vague and disquieting suspicion that he had somehow managed to get the best of it after all.


II

When Beryl Denvers first came to Kundaghat to be near her friend Mrs. Ellis, the Commissioner's wife, society in general openly opined that she had come to the populous Hill station to seek a husband. She was young, she was handsome, and she was free. It seemed the only reasonable conclusion to draw. But since that date society had had ample occasion to change its mind. Beryl Denvers plainly valued her freedom above every other consideration, and those who wooed her wooed in vain. She discouraged the attentions of all mankind with a rigour that never varied, till society began to think that her brief matrimonial experience had turned her into a man-hater. And yet this was hard to believe, for, though quick-tempered, she was not bitter. She was quite willing to be friendly with all men, up to a certain point. But beyond this subtle boundary few dared to venture and none remained. There was a wonderful fascination about her, a magnetism that few could resist; but notwithstanding this she held herself aloof, never wholly forgetting her caution even with those who considered themselves her intimates.
Having dismissed Lord Ronald Prior, with whom she was almost unreasonably angry, she ordered her rickshaw and went out to cool her hot cheeks. The recent interview had disquieted her to the depths. She tried to regard