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"I know. I have faced that."
She was breathless for a moment. He knew! He had faced it! He had takenher seriously--he always expected her to leave him! Oh, he must indeedbe tired of her, and wanted her to go! What was he saying?
"I know that you love Lovelace. I--I have known it for some time."
Lavinia sank into the nearest chair. To what depths had her folly ledher?
"I shall put no obstacle in the way of your flight, of course...."
This was dreadful! Lady Lavinia buried her face in her hands and burstinto tears. It was true then--he did not love her--he loved Mrs.Fanshawe--_she_ was to elope. She sobbed pitifully as the full horror ofthe situation struck her.
The temptation to gather her into his arms almost overmastered Richard,but he managed to choke it down. If he allowed himself to kiss her, shewould try to break his resolution--mayhap, she would succeed. So helooked away from her, tortured by the sound of her crying.
Lavinia wept on, longing to feel his arms about her, ready to consent toanything if only he would show that he loved her. But when he made nomovement towards her, pride came back, and flicking her handkerchiefacross her eyes, she rose to her feet.
"You are cruel!--cruel!--cruel! If you do this thing I _shall_ leaveyou!"
Now surely he would say something--contradict her!
With an immense effort, Richard controlled himself.
"I am--sorry--Lavinia," he said in a queer, constrained voice.
It was of no avail. She had killed his love, and he was longing to berid of her. She walked to the door, and turned.
"I see that you do not love me," she said, with deadly calmness. "Iunderstand perfectly." Then, as she wrenched the handle round: "I hateyou!" she cried, and fled, her silken skirts rustling furiously down thecorridor. A door slammed in the distance, and there was silence.
Carstares stood very still, staring down at her crumpled broidery.Presently he stooped to pick it up, and her violet scent was wafted upto him. He carried it to his lips, passionately.
If Lavinia had been able to see him, it would have changed the wholestate of affairs; as it was she locked herself into her room andcontinued her cry in private. When she had no more tears to shed, shesat up and tried to think that she wanted to elope. Harold would be verygood to her, she was sure, and she would doubtless lead a very excitinglife, but--somehow the more she thought of it, the less she wanted toelope. Then she remembered that Dicky--why had she never realised howmuch she cared for him?--was in love with some horrid widow, and did notwant her to remain with him. The idea was not to be borne, she was notgoing to be the unwanted wife. She would have to go away, though notwith Lovelace. Dicky should _not_ force her to elope with another man.She would go somewhere alone--she had forgotten--she had no money. Thedowry that had been hers was spent years ago. She was utterly dependenton her husband. That settled it: she _must_ elope with Harry!
"Oh, was anyone ever so beset!" she sobbed as her misery swept in uponher with full force. "Why should I run away if I don't want to?"
CHAPTER XXIII
LADY LAVINIA GOES TO THE PLAY
Richard was away from home all next day, and his wife had plenty of timein which to meditate upon her situation. She had quite come to theconclusion that she must elope with Lovelace, and was only waiting forto-night to tell him so. She would never, never ask Richard to let herstay with him now that she knew he loved another. Truly a most tryingpredicament. The Carstares were going to-night to Drury Lane to seeGarrick play one of his most successful comedies: the _Beaux'Stratagem_. The _monde_ that would flock to see the inimitable Archerwas likely to be a very distinguished one, especially as the cast heldthe added attraction of Mrs. Clive, and ordinarily Lady Lavinia wouldhave looked forward with much excitement to seeing the piece. To-day,however, she felt that she would far rather go to bed and cry. ButLovelace had to be answered, and besides that, she had invited twocousins, new come from Scotland, to accompany her, and she could notfail them.
So that evening saw her seated in her box, wonderfully gowned as usual,scanning the house. Behind her stood her husband--when she thought thatthis was the last time she would ever go with him to the theatre she hadmuch ado to keep from bursting into tears before them all--and in thechair at her side was the cousin, Mrs. Fleming. Mr. Fleming stood withhis hands behind his back, exclaiming every now and then as his kinsman,young Charles Holt, pointed out each newcomer of note. He was a short,tubby little man, dressed in sober brown, very neat as regards hiswrists and neckband, but attired, so thought Lavinia, for the country,and not for town. His dark suit contrasted strangely with Mr. Holt'srather garish mixture of apple-green and pink, with waistcoat of yellow,and Richard's quieter, but far more handsome apricot and silver. Hiswig, too, was not at all modish, being of the scratch type that countrygentlemen affected. His wife was the reverse of smart, but she was loudin her admiration of her more affluent cousin's stiff silks and laces.
She had married beneath her, had Mrs. Fleming, and the Belmanoirs hadnever quite forgiven the shocking _mesalliance_. William Fleming wasnought but a simple Scotsman, whose father--even now the familyshuddered at the thought--had been a farmer!
Lavinia was not over-pleased that they should have elected to visitLondon, and still less pleased that they should evince such an affectionfor the Hon. Richard and his wife.
"Well, to be sure, Lavvy, 'tis pleasant to sit here and admire all thepeople!" exclaimed Mrs. Fleming, for perhaps the twentieth time. "Ideclare I am grown positively old-fashioned from having lived for solong in the country!--yes, my dear, positively old-fashioned! ... Icannot but marvel at the great hoops everyone is wearing! I am sure mineis not half the size of yours, and the lady down there in the stage-boxhas one even larger!"
Lavinia directed her gaze towards the box in question. At any other timeshe would have been annoyed to see that the occupant was Lady Carlyle,her pet rival in all matters of fashion. Now she felt that nothingsignified, and merely remarked that she considered those absurd garlandsof roses on the dress quite grotesque.
Behind, Holt was directing Mr. Fleming's attention to a box at the backof the house.
"'Pon my soul, William! 'Tis the Duchess of Queensberry and herson--March, you know. I assure you there is no one more amiable in town.When I last visited her--"
"Charles knows well-nigh everyone here," remarked Mrs. Flemingingenuously, and wondered why her cousin laughed.
When the curtain rose on the first act, Lovelace was nowhere to be seen,and Lavinia tried to interest herself in the play. But it is difficultto be interested in anything when one's whole mind is occupied withsomething else far more overwhelming. She was not the only one of theparty that Garrick failed to amuse. Richard sat wretchedly in the shadowof the box, thinking how, in a short while, he would never again conducthis wife to the theatre and never again sit at her side watching herevery change of expression.
In the first interval Lovelace had still not arrived, but many otheracquaintances had arrived and called to see the Carstares. Markham,Wilding, Devereux, Sir John Fortescue--all came into the box atdifferent times, paid homage to Lavinia, were introduced to Mrs.Fleming, laughed and cracked jokes with the men, and drifted away again.
