Our Admirable Betty

Chapter 23

Lady Belinda leaning back upon her cushioned day-bed, glanced up from the open book before her and surveyed her niece's lovely, down-bent head with curious solicitude.

"Betty, love," said she at last, "Bet, my sweet witch, you're vapourish! So will I read to thee-list to this," and lifting her book, Lady Belinda read as follows: "'It must be granted that delicacy is essential to the composition of female beauty and that strength and robustness are contrary to the idea of it.' Alack, Betty, dear child and my sweet, I do fear you are dreadfully robust and almost repulsively strong! Hearken again: 'The beauty of women is greatly owing to their delicacy and weakness'-O my love, how just! I myself was ever most sincerely delicate and weak! How very, very true!" Here Lady Belinda paused, eyeing her niece expectantly, but, in place of indignant outburst, was silence; Betty sat apparently lost in mournful reverie.

"You like Mr. Dalroyd, I think, aunt?" she enquired suddenly.

"Indeed-a charming man! So elegant! Such an air-and such-O my dear-such a leg!"

"Major d'Arcy has a leg also, aunt-two of 'em!"

"And limps!" added Lady Belinda, "Limps woefully at times!"

"'Tis a mark of distinction in a soldier!" exclaimed Betty, flushing.

"True, dear Bet, very true-a mark of distinction as you say, though it quite spoils his grace of carriage. Still, despite his limp, the Major hath admirable limbs-a leetle robust and ultra-developed perhaps, child, doubtless due to his marching and counter-marching, whatever that may be. None the less, though I grant you his leg, Bet-he limps! Now Mr. Dalroyd, on the other hand--"

"Leg, aunt!"

"Lud, child--!"

"His leg, dear aunt, keep to his leg!"

"Gracious me, miss-what under heaven--"

"Legs, aunt, legs!"

"Mercy on us, Betty, what of his legs?"

"They are bearing him hither at this moment, dear aunt."

"O Gemini!" wailed the Lady Belinda, starting up from her cushions. "Heaven's mercy, Bet, how can you! And me in this gown-behold me-so faded and woebegone--"

"Nay, dear aunt, a little rouge--"

"I meant my garments, miss-look at 'em! And my hair! Ring the bell-call the maids! I vow I shall swoon an' he catch me so--"

"Nay, aunt, you do look very well and Sir Benjamin--"

"He too!" shrieked Lady Belinda, "I faint! I'm all of a twitter-I--

"And Lord Alvaston, aunt, and the Marquis, and Mr. Marchdale, and Major d'Arcy--" but Lady Belinda had fled, twittering.

Left alone, Betty grew restless, crossed to the open lattice and frowned at the flowers on the terrace, crossed to her harp in the corner and struck a discord with petulant fingers, took up her aunt's discarded book, frowned at that, dropped it; finally she sat down and propping white chin on white fist, stared down at her own pretty foot.

"I wonder if you'll come?" she murmured. "Major John, O John, you cruel Jack, I wonder if-all night long-you lay wakeful, too? I wonder--ah, I wonder if--"

A tapping at the door and, starting up, she stood bright-eyed, rosy lips apart, all shy expectancy from head to foot then, sighing, sank gracefully upon the day-bed and took up her aunt's discarded book as the door opened and the large menial announced:

"Mr. Dalroyd!"

My lady rose majestically and never had she greeted Mr. Dalroyd with such a radiant smile.

"You are come betimes, sir!" she said gently as he bowed to kiss her hand.

"Is that so great matter for wonder?" he enquired, his ardent gaze drinking in her loveliness. "You know full well, sweet Lady Coquetry, 'tis ever my joy and constant aim to-be alone with you, to touch this white hand, to kiss--"

"Fie, sir!" she sighed, but provocation was in the droop of eyelash, the tremulous curve of lip and in all the soft, voluptuous languor of her.

Mr. Dalroyd's usually pale cheek glowed, his long, white hands twitched restless fingers and he seated himself beside her.

"Betty," he murmured, "O Betty, how delicious you are! From the first moment I saw you I--"

"'Twas at Bath, I think, sir, or was it at Tunbridge?"

"Nay, my lady, since we're alone, have done with trifling--"

"But indeed, sir, 'tis a trifling matter since you and I are but trifles in a trifling world. And 'tis a trifling day-and mine is a trifling humour so, since we're alone, let us trifle. And speaking of trifles-have you writ me the trifling ode I did command, sir?"

"Faith no, madam, there are so many to do that and I would fain be exempt. Where others scribble bad verses to your charms I would feast my sight upon them. Look you, Betty," he continued, leaning nearer, his languid eyes grown suddenly wide, his thin nostrils quivering. "I'm no tame dog to run in leash like the rest of your train of lovers, to come at your call and go when you are weary-content with a word, a glance-treasuring a rose from your bosom, a riband from your hair and seeking nought beyond-no, by God! 'tis you I want-fast in my arms, close on my heart, panting 'neath my kisses--" As he spoke he drew yet nearer until his hot breath was upon her cheek, wherefore my lady put up her fan and, leaning there all gracious ease surveyed him with clear, unswerving gaze, his ill-restrained ferocity, his clutching fingers, his eyes aflame with passionate desire; and beholding all this, my lady dazzled him with her smile and nodded lovely head:

"O excellently done!" she laughed lightly. "Indeed, sir, now you do trifle to admiration!"

"Trifle?" he exclaimed hoarsely, "Trifle is it? Not I, by heaven-ah Betty-maddening witch--" His arms came out fiercely but, before he could clasp her, she had risen and stepped back out of reach, looking down at him with the same steady gaze, the same bewildering smile.

"Nay, sir," she said gently, "though in this trifling world you are but a trifle, 'tis true, yet your trifling offends me like your neighbourhood!" and crossing to the open lattice she leaned there, staring out into the sunny garden. Mr. Dalroyd watched her awhile beneath drooping lids then, rising, sauntered after her.

"And pray, madam, why this sudden, haughty repugnance?" he demanded softly, "you know and have known from the first, that I love you."

"Why then, 'tis an ugly thing, your love!"

"'Tis very real, Betty, I live but to win you and-win you I shall."

"You are vastly confident, sir."

"Truly," he smiled, "'tis so my nature. And I am determined to possess you-soon or late, Betty."

"Even against my will?" she questioned.

"Aye, against your will!" he murmured.

"Even supposing that I-despised you?"

"'Twould but make you the more adorable, Betty."

"Even though you knew I-loved another man?"

"'Twould make you the more desirable, Betty."

At this she turned and looked at him and, under that look, Mr. Dalroyd actually lowered his eyes; but his laugh was light enough none the less.

"Betty," he continued softly, "I would peril my immortal soul to possess you and, despite all your haughty airs and graces-win you I will--"

"Enough, sir!" she retorted, "Am I so weak of will, think you, to wed where I so utterly-despise?" And, viewing him from head to foot with her calm gaze, she laughed and turned from him as from one of no account. For one breathless moment Mr. Dalroyd stood utterly still then, stung beyond endurance, his modish languor swept away on a torrent of furious anger, he came close beside her and stood striving for speech; and she, leaning gracefully at the open casement, hummed the lines of a song to herself very prettily, heeding him not at all.

"Madam!" said he, thickly, "By God, madam, none hath ever scorned me with impunity-or ever shall! Hark'ee madam--"

My lady gazed pensive upon the sunny garden and went on humming.

"Ha, by heaven!" he exclaimed, "I swear you shall humble yourself yet-you shall come to me, one o' these days soon and leave your pride behind. D'ye hear madam, d'ye hear my will shall be your law yet--"

Now at this she turned and laughed full-throated and ever as she laughed she mocked him:

"Indeed, sir, and indeed? Shall I run humbly to your call? Must I creep to you on lowly knees--"

"Aye-by God, you shall!" he cried, his passion shaking him.

"And must I plead and beg and sue, must I weep and sigh and moan and groan? And to you-you, of all trifling things? I wonder why?"

"For your brother's sake!" he answered between white teeth, stung at last out of all restraint.

"My brother-my Charles? What can you know of him-you?"

"Enough to hang him!"

Once again her laughter rang out, a joyous, rippling peal:

"O Mr. Dalroyd!" she cried at last, dabbing at her bright eyes with dainty handkerchief, "O, indeed, sir, here is trifling more to my mind-nay, prithee loose my hand!"

Mr. Dalroyd obeyed and stepped back rather hastily as the door opened and the footman announced:

"Major d'Arcy!"

The Major advanced a couple of strides then halted, fumbled with his laced hat and looked extremely uncomfortable; next moment my lady was greeting him gaily:

"Welcome, dear Major! You know Mr. Dalroyd, I think-so gay, so witty! Just now he is at his very gayest and wittiest, he is about telling me something extreme diverting in regard to my brother, my dear, wilful Charles-but you have never met my brother, I think, Major d'Arcy?"

"Never, madam!" he answered, bowing over her hand and dropping it rather as if it had stung him.

"Why then, sir," she laughed, "Mr. Dalroyd shall tell you all about him. Pray proceed, Mr. Dalroyd."

But hereupon Mr. Dalroyd having acknowledged the Major's stiff bow, stood fingering the long curls of his peruke and, for once in his life, felt himself entirely at a loss; as for the Major, he stood in wondering amazement, staring at my lady's laughing face as if he had never seen it before in all his days.

"Come, sir, come!" she commanded, viewing Mr. Dalroyd's perplexity with eyes very bright and malicious, "Charles is for ever playing some naughty trick or other, tell us his latest."

"Faith, madam," said Mr. Dalroyd at last, "I, like Major d'Arcy, have never had the good fortune to meet your brother."

"But you have seen him and very lately, I think-yes, I'm sure you have-confess!"

"Nay indeed, my lady, how-where should I see him--"

"Why with me of course, sir, last night-in the arbour."

Mr. Dalroyd recoiled a slow step, his heavy eyelids fluttered and fell, then happening to glance at the Major, he saw his face suddenly transfigured with a radiant joy, beholding which, Mr. Dalroyd's delicate nostrils twitched again and his long white fingers writhed and clenched themselves; then he turned upon my lady, seemed about to burst into passionate speech but bowed instead and strode from the room.

Left alone, the Major dropped his hat and my lady turning back to the casement, leaned there and began to sing softly to herself, an old, merry song: