CHAPTER XLI.

AN EXPOSE, SOCIETY ON TIP-TOE.

Immediately after dinner, Blanche, who wished to perfect her own

little plot, had commanded the attendance of that squire of dames,

Everly, down at Rose Cottage, for half an hour, saying to him:

"Everyone will be at the Hall; cook Ellen is my friend; her plot being

that I marry the Major; she is sure he talks to Mrs. Haughton for my

sake (shows how perfect their tricks have been), and she (Ellen) is to

be my maid and marry Simon; she's a good creature, Baronet, so she

won't have her way; they never do down here; we gobble up all the

_bon-bons_; so you be up to time; slip off after you lead Cis back

from dinner; my plot wants trimming; and walls have ears here; there

won't be a soul down there, or a body which would be worse."

"But I shall be missed," whined small Everly.

"Spoken like an English baronet, who don't see how small it is; you've

_got_ to come to help me fix my plot."

So after dinner, and in the corridor to the _salons_ the wee white

mouse excusing herself to her cavalier, flew softly to a cloak-room;

it was only a minute, and the cloak enveloped _la petite_; when, with

hood drawn well over the forehead, and the satin-dressed feet pushed

into over-boots, she is off. Quickly she sped in and out among the

trees, the wind blowing her cloak open, giving her the appearance in

the shadow of a white-breasted bird on the wing, now flying, now

resting in the shade, to listen for the footsteps of her expected

companion when within a stone's throw of the cottage she stood.

"He's too utterly mean for anything; I see I shall have to bribe him

every time," she thought; "but here he comes; I'll give him a fright,"

and throwing her cloak off, though chilled, she hid in the shadow and

waited; but, no; it is not the expected, but Delrose flying, as we

have seen him, to speak to his man.

"What's to pay now? I'll step in and hide, and not pad my ears either;

he's expected too, I see, for the parlour is lit up."

In a moment Everly is forgotten in her loved game of detective. First,

under the window where she was almost discovered by Delrose (as we are

aware), next, the back door is entered, housemaid and small boy at the

Hall, no one sees her enter, Ellen's loud breathing covering her

footstep; in a few seconds she is in a pantry between dining-room and

parlour. Here she heard every word that passed between them, master

and man.

"The plot thickens, you bet; what a lovely time I am having, and what

a thunder and lightning wretch the Major is; I don't suppose I can

save those poor people, they have got ahead of me this time, in more

ways than one," murmured wee Blanche, now leaving the cottage, only

having given the others time to be out of sight. Half way to the Hall

she meets the tardy little Everly, to whom Mrs. Forester had said,

"What's up, Sir Tilton? you're as absent as a hound that's lost the

scent; you are all cut up, your eyes are Miss Vernon's, your

personality is the sofa's, away and find yourself, you're too tame for

me, and send me Major Delrose."

"How awfully late you are," exclaimed Blanche, breathlessly, "here

give me your arm."

"I regret what has been unavoidable, so many men buttonholed me" (he

did not say they were duns).

"All right, Baronet, we havn't time to talk much, I'm out of breath,

but I am going to have that show tonight."

"Oh! Blanche, I do wish you would wait, say even for a day or two,"

implored small Everly.

"Well, I guess perhaps I will," she said cunningly, not meaning to

defer her intention for even an hour, "but you must do something for

me then."

"Anything, anything," he cried eagerly.

"That's all O.K.; first, I must have surgeon Strange from the village

double quick."

"Why, you are not ill! if so, Sir Andrew Clarke is--"

"I know he is at the Hall; don't interrupt me, he is too big a man for

what I want; you must send one of the servants for Strange; I know he

is to come to the ball, but if he hasn't come, fetch him right along;

next, you are to be too awfully sweet for anything to Mrs. Haughton."

"Oh! Blanche, not too pronounced. I owe half the men money and want to

keep in the back ground."

"I'll pay them all off to-morrow."

"Well, I suppose I must; first, you want Strange, but you don't seem

ill, too bad if you have to miss the dance."

"Oh, he'll fix me up in no time; there, _ta-ta_, you go that way to

the stables; mind, right along to me, that will fetch him."

And the wee innocent-faced this time, white mouse is in the salons

quicker than it takes to tell it, even though she had first paid a

flying visit to the apartments of Mrs. Haughton. "Wonder if the

Colonel will dream on the cake, or take to tragedy," was her mental

ejaculation on what she saw there.

Just as she entered the drawing-rooms, Trevalyon, who had evidently

had a word with Delrose, judging from the look of defiance on the face

of the latter as he left his side, now walked up to Colonel Haughton,

seated at the end of the rooms beside Lady Esmondet, with whom he had

been conversing earnestly, and said:

"Haughton, dear friend, kindly ask your guests to give me their

attention for a few minutes."

On the Colonel complying with his request, Trevalyon meanwhile

glancing at the gems of art around him; behind him in a niche stood a

statue of Venus smiling down upon the blind god who had been making a

target of her breast in which were many arrows. Vaura giving him

strength by being so near, what woman whom Lionel Trevalyon would

love, but would be near him. Ah! heaven, thou hast given such bliss to

a few of us, as makes us long for immortality.

But Lionel is about to speak; looking around him, a settled purpose in

his handsome face, he said in his musical voice:

"One could not, even in one's dreams, picture a fairer garden of

society's flowers as listeners, while one tells of a plot nourished by

the sting of its wasp, and smiles of its beauteous butterflies; each

of our plots has its name, you all know the name of your last, you

have given it to the _News_ and _Truth_, and have designated it

'Trevalyon's hidden wife;' while I have come to the conclusion that,

here and now, I shall introduce the wife you have given me; her

_entree_ and recital of how you have come to give her to me will be as

fragrant spice to your dish of small talk, as you tread a measure in

yonder ball-room."

On Trevalyon speaking of his purpose to introduce his 'hidden wife,'

Delrose, who seemed to have lost all control over himself, with

muttered oath, left Mrs. Forester's side, and, with rapid strides,

went down the room and seated himself behind a small sofa on which

were seated Mrs. Haughton and Lord Rivers, seeming too comfortable,

Delrose thought; overhearing Rivers say lazily, "I wish we lived in

Utah," pressing the hand concealed in the folds of scarlet satin.

"I wonder how Lady Rivers would like me; as the last, the dearest

one," had said Madame, her white teeth showing.

Lord Rivers gave her a side-long glance.

"There'd be the devil to pay," said Delrose, savagely, as he sank

heavily into the chair behind them; folding his arms on the back of

their sofa, and between them, and leaning forward.

"You look black enough to be his dun," said Lord Rivers, carelessly.

As Sir Lionel ceased speaking, a lady, in the garb of a cloistered

nun, and closely veiled, had entered with slow, uncertain step; Sir

Andrew Clarke, stepping forward, offered a seat, saying, "Allow me;

you seem about to faint."

"No; I thank you," she said hurriedly, "I feel quite well again, with

the exception of a slight dizziness."

But in a moment, Trevalyon is beside her, whose arm she quietly takes,

while he led her up the long drawing rooms, the _cynosure_ of all

eyes, giving her at the head of the room, an easy chair. At the first

sound of the voice of the nun, Delrose had started violently,

muttering,

"By thunder, her voice, but no! not from behind a nun's veil."

"Unveil the statue, Delrose," whispered Lord Rivers; for society was

watching and listening with itching ears for more, and a pinfall could

have been heard.

"Unveil her, she'll let you, if she have any charms to show," he

continued lazily.

"My dear boy, do keep quiet; or perhaps you'd like to run away till

the farce is over," said Madame, caressingly, for she has a _penchant_

for the peer beside her; he is a new distraction and will amuse her

until she can secure a _tete-a-tete_ with the man who has some rare

fascination for her, as Lionel Trevalyon has for many. But no, Delrose

will not stir from beside the woman who has magnetised him for years.

And as he keeps his position, he mentally curses Lord Rivers for his

temporary monopoly of her.

Trevalyon had stepped over to Vaura on pretence, or with the excuse of

borrowing her fan for the nun, he not feeling strong enough to wait

any longer for a pressure of the hand; as she turned her exquisite

face upwards, oh, the torture that he could not take her to his heart;

but, his "hidden wife," and all the eyes. But he managed while, as if

learning how to open the fan and while the attention of Chancer was

momentarily engaged, to whisper, "oh darling, this ordeal is too much,

why did I not fly away with you."

"My own darling," was all her eyes and lips could silently frame. But

his hand brushed her arm, and with a sweet pain from heart to heart,

he went from her side strengthened for the fight.

"Shall I introduce you, sister, to Mrs. Haughton and a few of my

personal friends?"

"Not so, Sir Lionel, I thank you; I am dead to the world and am only

here to perform a duty; the hearing of names would stir sad memories

in my heart and unfit me for my task," and motioning him to bend down

towards her, she said in tones only heard by him:

"Your kind heart requires sympathy; go and stay near that lovely lady

you spoke to just now."

"I shall, and shall be near you also."

And though by this time half a dozen men had grouped themselves about

the beauty, he got into a corner behind her, where, when they spoke,

her breath fanned his cheek, or in turning, the soft bronze of her

hair brushed his face.

The nun now standing up, spoke in quick, nervous tones, as follows:

"You all know why I am here; an odd figure truly in such a scene. I

have been one of you, so know exactly how out of place is one in my

garb, where all is gold lace and revelry. I regret to have detained

you, but you gentlemen will not mind when beauty and grace are so

near; and you ladies will not tire, as curiosity, your strongest trait

(pardon, I, too, am a woman) is about to be gratified in my words.

Vanity has been my curse, and even now it hurts me to humiliate myself

to you all, so much so, that, though I pity a man who has wrongfully

suffered condemnation through me for many years, I would not exonerate

him were it not at the command of the church. Twelve years ago I was a

young bride, and with my husband, an officer high in rank in our army,

was at London. I was called pretty; I know I was worldly, foolish and

vain. My husband, a very superior man (as I see men now), might have

done something with me had I submitted to his guidance, but I was but

seventeen, if that is any excuse for my wickedness. The officers of

our regiment were as gay as their kind. I thought them all in love

with me; I know men well enough since to be aware that their love was

winged, and lighted where fancy willed, and _pour passer le temps_. My

own fickle fancy," and her voice faltered, "was held by two men,

antipodes each of the other; the one fair as an angel of day, who, had

he bid me to his arms, ah well' though I shame to tell you, his will

would have only been my wish."

Here Delrose's face grew black as he muttered, "there, too."

"The other man, dark as a storm-tossed sky, bewitched me also, and he

did will that I should be wholly his, and conquered; I, at last,

giving him my whole heart, and passionately loving him and him alone."

Here the slight figure swayed and would have fallen, but Vaura and

others were beside her; in a moment she again stood erect, waving them

away saying: "'Tis the weakness of the flesh; but let me do my poor

weak nature justice, I could conquer my feelings better, but that the

wine I drank on entering after my journey, and to nerve me to my task,

was drugged."--sensation--"but to my penance; I consented to leave my

husband, and with the man of whom I last spoke; on pretence of

visiting friends, I went to Paris; my lover obtaining leave of absence

at the same time for himself, and with deep cunning, inducing his

brother officer to do likewise; for though unlike, still, both as gay

society men and of the same regiment, were a good deal together.

The one honourable, the other, as I have found him to my sorrow.

The one 'in all his gay _affaires de coeur_, never desecrating a

hearth-stone;' this he told me on seeing" here her voice broke, "on

seeing my love for him; I hope he will forgive my breach of

confidence; this was previous to my dark lover having gained my heart.

We lived as man and wife at Paris; he, returning to his regiment

before his leave had expired, told me I must write to his brother

officer at his hotel to come and see me on a certain day; I obeyed

blindly; he came, and my lover managed so that his own servant should

call at the same time with messages from England, bogus and with no

reference to himself. The servant (the same man who drugged my wine

to-night) returned to his regiment with the information that I was

living _a_ Paris with the other officer, who, returning to England, on

his furlough lapsing, was called out by my husband, who was worsted in

the duel. My lover was waited on by the man he had wronged (I mean his

brother officer, not my husband), who implored him to own up. My lover

said it would ruin him; he had nothing but his sword; he must get his

promotion; he would marry me as soon as his Colonel secured a divorce,

etc. The other man consented to bear the stigma, as it would be best

for me, and until a divorce was obtained, the man of honour sold out;

my lover was promoted. So does the green bay tree flourish. The

divorce was obtained; my lover, though visiting me frequently, and

always unsuspected, at each visit swore to marry me at the next, but

instead, deserted me just three months previous to the birth of our

child, with no means of support, moving from lodging to lodging,

living by the sale of my jewels; at last when these failed, getting

bread for myself and child by giving a few music lessons to the poor

people's children. But now, hearing that the man for whom I had given

up all, had sold out, and now the avowed admirer of a wealthy American

at New York, U.S.A., I gave up; my pitiable loneliness, poverty,

failing health were too much and I completely broke down. You will

wonder how I, in my retirement, heard of his unfaithfulness. Just

about eight years ago, a creature who had once paid me compliments, a

dissolute man, found me out, telling me my lover had sent him; he

renewed his odious addresses. Some of my women hearers will be shocked

to hear me tell of declarations of love of this kind, but when a woman

takes the step I did, she must accept such; one cannot play with pitch

and escape defilement, and though I loathed the messenger and his

words it would have been an incongruity to say so; so when he said I

had best take the sunny side of life's boulevard with him, with forced

calmness I refused and decidedly. On his taking a reluctant leave, I

fell into a death-like swoon, and so, good Father Lefroy, the parish

priest found me. But to hasten (you can easily I believe I had been an

extremely careless religionist). The kind sisters of a neighbouring

convent brought me and my little son to their hospital, and nursed me

back to more than my former health. I embraced their faith, and at my

earnest entreaty they accepted me as a member of their order, and I

trust by zeal in good works to atone for the wickedness of my past

life. My boy, I have given as a sin offering to the church. And now

the penance imposed upon me is finished, save in a few concluding

words. I say most solemnly, upon oath, that what I have said and am

about to say is the truth. The man I spoke of at first, as handsome as

an angel of day, and to whom you have given me as hidden wife, is Sir

Lionel Trevalyon. The man with whom I eloped, and who finally won my

love, is the father of my child and is Major Delrose; for I am none

other than Fanny Ponton, at one time wife to Colonel Clarmont." At

these words, the poor thing gave way, but the wee white mouse, who had

gradually from pillar to post reached the head of the room is beside

her, first sending Everly to the side of Madame, saying, "Make love to

her openly, to-night, and to my banker to-morrow." And now the pink

eyes peer through the black veil as she whispers, "you'll have another

'pick me up;' where's the small bottle? I saw them and the priest is

aching to come right along. What a dear little boy, but the bottle,

quick!"

"You are very kind; it is in my pocket." A wine-glass is brought and

the contents swallowed.

In the meantime Colonel Haughton, Claxton, Wingfield, and others came

forward, congratulating Sir Lionel, while some of the loveliest women,

glad of his freedom, did likewise. Meanwhile Sir Peter Tedril had

«come hastily to the little group around Madame, just as she was

saying jestingly to Delrose--

"Come, George, own up, you and the nun are a black pair. Hadn't I

better go and pat and purr over _dear_ Sir Lionel?"

"None of your chaff, Kate, I am in no mood to stand it; the ball is at

_his_ feet now, it will be at _mine_ ere sunrise," he said savagely,

and with latent meaning.

"That's right, Delrose," said Tedril, mistaking his purpose. "Whether

she is yours or his does not signify; throw down the gauntlet; give

her the lie; tell her she is an adventuress; anything! to put a spoke

in Trevalyon's wheel; all the women go with him; a man has no chance,"

drawing himself up to his full height of five feet five inches, and

pulling his whiskers furiously; "even with a handle to his name, and

an M.P.; if you don't care to go in yourself, let Rivers, Everly, or

myself be your spokesman."

"Leave me out, Tedril, please," said Lord Rivers lazily; "I'd rather

be all eyes and ears just at present," drawing closer to Madame, and

being for the moment proprietor of her fine arm, lace wraps telling no

tales. "I vote Delrose kiss and make up, so we see the statue unveil."

At this there was laughter, when Rivers continued: "Don't look black

as a storm-tossed sky, Delrose, as the veiled lady hath it. I dare say

honours were divided between you and Trevalyon."

"Both soldiers, they went to war and vanquished a woman, eh, Georgie?"

said Kate, still laughing; "they all do it. Even my spouse, Saint

Eric, is laying siege to that women in violet velvet."

"While scarlet is our colour," cried Everly, gallantly, as Mrs.

Forester and others joined the group, while the huntress exclaimed--

"Speak, Major; say you deny the wooing and the wooer. Black isn't our

colour, so for fun we'll pelt the robed one."

Delrose, pushed to it and full of hate to Trevalyon, excited, and as

was usual, reckless (knowing also what his plot was for this very

night; knowing, too, how that act would be canvassed at dawn; when

society! in her chaste morning robe would look shocked at what she

would wink at at midnight, and in her _robe de chambre_), electrified

the groups of wasps and butterflies, in their musical mur-mur and

whirr-whirr, by standing up and saying, in a tone of bravado--

"A pretty plot and well got up for a fifth-rate theatre, but not for a

drawing-room in Belgravia I need scarcely say I deny the charge, the

object of which is to free a man from a 'hidden wife' to enable him to

wed a new beauty with us to-night. (Sensation). Sir Lionel Trevalyon

has lately come into the possession of much gold; the Church of Rome

hath a fancy for the yellow metal; if the woman robed as a nun be a

nun, then she is only adding to the coffers of the church by speaking

the words we have heard. If she even be the one-time wife of poor

Colonel Clarmont, society, knowing a thing or two (excuse the slang),

will place no reliance on the story of such an one."

To attempt to describe the effects of the words of Delrose on the gay

groups of revellers would be impossible. Butterflies and wasps forgot

for a moment their beauty and their sting. It was as though Dame

Rumour and Mrs. Grundy were struck blind and dumb, their lovers

faithless, or Worth dead! But now the Babel of tongues fills the air,

and silence lays down her sceptre to go forth into the night alone.

"Isn't it too delightful! a double scandal!" cried one.

"Alas! alas! that my day should be in such an age," said Lord

Ponsonby.

"I wonder who it is darling Sir Lionel wishes to marry," said another.

At this remembering rivalry got on the war path, as each looked

critically at the other.

"Trevalyon would be a decent fellow enough if you did not all kneel to

him," growled a county magnate. "I wish he would go to Salt Lake city

and take his harem with him."

"I wonder if he has his eye on me," cried gay Mrs. Wingfield; "you men

do sometimes take a fancy to other men's belongings. If he does I

shall have to succumb instanter. Eustace, dear fellow, has rather a

consumptive look, now I come to notice him."

"He may drop off in time," laughed the huntress; "but I am afraid I've

lost my whip," she added, dolefully, brushing past Colonel Haughton,

standing beside Lady Esmondet, and conversing in an undertone with

Claxton and Trevalyon.

"Lost your whip!" exclaimed her host with forced gaiety; "that

dare-devil has picked it up, then."

"Say that he only has the whip-hand _pour le present_, dear Sir

Lionel,” said Mrs. Wingfield, taking both his hands in a pretty,

beseeching way.

"Or we women shall eat our hearts out in pity for your chains," said

Vaura softly, coming near him.

"You are a pretty group of gamblers," he said, thinking there had been

a wager among them; "but I must win when fair hands throw the dice."

Delrose had unconsciously given his foe some ecstatic moments, for the

crowd so pressed about him to hear what answer he would make to the

bold denial of the black-bearded Major that Vaura was close enough to

hear his heart-beats, and to whom he whispered brokenly--

"All the nun's words will not avail, darling, after his false denial;

I must bring on my other proofs for both our sakes, beloved."

"Poor, tired Lion.; I wish I could help you," she whispered from

behind her fan, and he felt her yield to the pressure of the crowd and

come closer.

"You do, sweet; I feel _just now_ strong and weak; you understand?"

One glance up from her fan and he is satisfied.

But the conjectures as to whether Sir Lionel will or can reply to

Delrose are put to rest by his voice again filling the air--

"To seem, and to be, are as unlike as are the hastily constructed

bulwarks of the savage tribes as compared with a solid British

fortress; we soldiers know this, and that Major Delrose. should still

entrench himself behind the flimsy _seeming_ of days of yore, where he

was safe through my careless good-nature (we shall call it), in

allowing it to be supposed that I had robbed Colonel Clarmont of his

wife, submitting to the stigma so that his act would not stand in the

way of his promotion as this poor nun has told you; you will wonder

why I was careless. Because, for reasons of my own, I had forsworn

matrimony, as I then thought, for all time. But Madame Grundy has

lately revived this scandal, making a lash for my back with it for the

hands of Dame Rumour. I have determined to stamp it out at once, and

for ever! And now to pull down the bulwarks of Major Delrose." And

holding up his hand, a signal agreed on with his servant, Sims at once

ushered a priest and a small boy, who was masked, and who walked, as

if asleep, up to the head of the room. Father Lefroy, saying a word to

the nun in an undertone, lifted the boy to a chair beside her; now,

standing beside them, in calm measured tones, he spoke as follows:--

"We priests of the church have too many strange experiences to be very

much astonished at any new one, yet I must say that to hear the words,

on oath, of one of our pious sisterhood doubted is a novel sensation.

Major Delrose is unwise in his present course of action, as he has by

such prolonged a most painful duty on the part of the church. Sir

Lionel Trevalyon will pardon me for saying he was wrong in wearing the

mantle of dishonour for another; the lining, a good motive, was unseen

by the jealous eye of society, hence, when the lash was put into her

hands by revenge or envy, her motive power, it, the lash, went down;

Sir Lionel Trevalyon has had his punishment. With unwearied exertion

he has found Sister Magdalene through Paris, at London, and she has

spoken the truth, and Major Delrose knows it. Moreover, and in

connection with his name, we have examined papers, letters to Sister

Magdalene, previous to and after her elopement, thus proving her

words. Again, I may say here, for I have grave doubts of his having

done so, six months ago I received from Father O'Brien, of New York

city, same mail as he wrote Major Delrose, whose acquaintance he had

made in that city in 1873, and believing by his words that he was an

intimate friend of the house of Haughton, wrote him, as I say, of

dying messages, and a few lines to a niece of Colonel Haughton, by

name Vaura Vernon, and from Guy Cyril Travers."

At this, Vaura started, turned pale and visibly trembled, putting her

hand to her side, when half a dozen men started to their feet; but

Lionel quietly put her arm within his and led her to a seat behind a

large stand covered with rare orchids and beautiful ferns, where, did

she not revive, the open doors of the conservatory lent a means of

speedy retreat.

"My own love, be brave; it was six months ago," he whispered, bending

over her, and puzzled at her great emotion; "I know it, dear; and yet

dead, poor, poor Guy: I have been always unpitying towards him. But

did he say he was dead! let me hear; he will tell more; but in this

crowd!" And she leaned forward, her large eyes glistening, the rose

mouth quivering. Lady Esmondet silently joined her, as did her uncle,

who, ever and anon shot fiery glances of contempt at Delrose, who,

with bold recklessness, still leaned forward on his folded arms,

between Madame and Lord Rivers. But the priest, instead of continuing

aloud, came to Vaura's side, saying quickly and in low tones:

"Pardon; this is; yes, I see it is society's rarest flower--Miss

Vernon; you have been hidden from me by those who would sun themselves

in your smiles; else had I seen you, whom I know from the London

shop-windows: should have told you quietly of Father O'Brien's letter,

as I see by your emotion, black Delrose has been faithless to his

trust."

"He has; tell me of poor Guy; did you say he is dead?" she asked, in

broken accents, her eyes full; "tell me quickly; now, here; I can bear

it."

"It was only a scrawl; he was dying, and signed your--your husband; he

had been stricken down by fever; your name was ever on his lips; he

said you loved Paris, and he would be buried there; he had loved you

all his life; he was glad to go; you were not to shed one tear for

him, but to make some one blest by your love; your miniature was to be

buried with him; he is in paradise; you must not weep for him, and so

cause others to weep for you."

"I shall not forget to remember your kindness," she said, giving her

hand, the tears welling her eyes; "Sir Lionel Trevalyon will perhaps

bring me out to your monastery."

"I thank you, and for our Order," and moving away to his former

position, he continued:

"I have now finished my task, self-imposed and in the ends of justice;

Sir Lionel Trevalyon is free to go to God's altar with the proudest

and fairest woman in the world; and may the blessing of heaven rest

upon his union. Had he not exposed the facts, he could not have wed,

while your lips framed the word--bigamist!"

Here the boy started violently, put up his hands to his face, tearing

off the mask, and rubbing his eyes.

"Where am I, Father Lefroy? you're not on the square; you said I was

going to see my mother; come, own up; what did you say I was coming

where every one wore masks for?" and he stamped on the one he had torn

off (and which they thought it best he should wear, so that at a

certain point, if necessary, his strong resemblance to his father

should be suddenly revealed).

"So they do wear masks, my son, though you do not see them."

"I am not your son; this is my father," he said with emphasis and

pride, drawing from his pocket a miniature of Delrose; "we're square

now; you hid this from me, but I found it out; you cannot put me on

bread and water, for I've good as cut and run."

"George, dear, be a good boy; I am your mother," said the poor nun,

tearfully.

"You! well, it is your voice; but why didn't you speak to a fellow in

the coach, and lift up that nasty black veil; here, I will."

And before she could stop him, he had mounted the chair and torn the

whole head-gear off, exposing the face of one-time Mrs. Clarmont.

"'Tis she! 'tis she!" echoed many voices;--girls, now matrons,

remembered the pretty little thing in their first season as Mrs.

Clarmont; _chaperons_ and men, who had and hadn't flirted with her,

remembered her as Fanny Ponton.

"Let me go to her," said Vaura, gently; "what is my grief to hers?"

"Ah, poor thing, what a sad fate has yours been; do not hide your face

again from your poor little boy and us; dear me, what a weight it is;

one would almost smother beneath its folds."

"Oh, I must veil," cried the poor thing.

"No; leave it off, daughter; it is my wish society shall see in you

Trevalyon's 'hidden wife;' all have heard your words; mine and this

lad's," said the priest, sternly.

Nearly every inmate of the long rooms had eagerly and excitedly pushed

and crowded, squeezed and crushed as near as possible to the principal

actors in the scenes they had witnessed, making very conspicuous the

attitude taken by the group in and about the curtained recess; namely,

the scarlet-robed hostess; Lord Rivers, pleasantly placed, and too

lazy and epicurean to move; Delrose, in the blackness of alternate

rage, hate and defiance, longing to cut the scene, but unwilling to

leave the field to Lord Rivers, and those he termed his foes; Kate,

afraid to stir, for he had said between his teeth, "You won't go near

them." Tedril, with the huntress, stood beside them; while small

Everly, accustomed to the _role_ and remembering the mutual promise of

Blanche and himself, sat at the feet of Madame, alternating fanning or

saying something pretty to her, nerved to his task by the fact that

Tisdale Follard, who had just bought his M.P., had told him "he must

and would have his money at dawn."

But the boy with eager eyes is pushing his way through the crowds and

down to the sofa of Madame; all gazing after him; but nothing abashed,

he elbows his way (a bold fearless boy, a very Delrose, with nothing

of his mother in him); now with an intent stare at his father, then a

long look at the miniature, said with a great sigh and slowly:

"No; I suppose you're not my _pater_; when I find him he won't scowl

at a fellow," with a loving glance at the likeness, which was of

Delrose in full-dress uniform, smiling and handsome, taken with his

thoughts full of his triumphant _affaire de coeur_ with Mrs. Clarmont.

"I am no mean sneak, sir; so I'll show you the likeness of my father

to excuse my staring at you like a cad;" and he handed it to Delrose

who did not take it, Kate doing so, but he had recognised the case on

the boy taking it from his breast.

"Thanks, no;" he said, with affected bravado, for society eyed him;

"the young monkey plays his part well; if the thing even is of me,

light fingers at times lighten one's belongings."

"It is of you, dear Georgie," said Kate, recklessly; "your family is

increasing."

"If you say so, it must be so," he said, his bold black eyes meeting

hers.

Mrs. Haughton now handed the miniature back to the boy, who, after

returning it carefully to his pocket, said proudly, and looking

fixedly at his father:

"If you were a boy, I'd give you one right out from the shoulder for

what you've said of me;" and turning on his heel, he was making his

way for the head of the room, when Madame, obeying impulse, called out

laughingly:

"How have your owners called you my little man?"

"George Delrose Ponton is my name, Madame;" and with one hand to his

breast, where the miniature lay, he again pushed his way through the

groups of revellers.

"A speech from the throne could not have been given with more dignity

than the poor fatherless little fellow gives his name," said Vaura,

pityingly.

"My dear mother has fainted, sir;" the boy said, ignoring priest and

women, and instinctively choosing the face full of strength and

sweetness, the face men and children trusted and women loved--that of

Lionel Trevalyon.

"Poor boy, poor thing, so she has while our attention has been

diverted."

The meeting of father and son had been more than she could bear, and

at the answer of Delrose to their child, she had fallen back in her

chair in a dead faint.

"Poor creature, no wonder she gave way, I must get her out of this

crowd."

"Bring her to my boudoir, Sir Lionel; touch that bell, Sir Tilton,

please," cried Mrs. Haughton, thinking exultantly, "now is my

opportunity to have him to myself, I shall open the ball with Lord

Rivers at once, and then--" Mason appearing "lead the way to my

boudoir and attend to this lady who has fainted."

"When she revives she will like some one besides a strange maid with

her," said Colonel Haughton, as Lionel picked, the nun up in his

strong arms; "you had better go too, Vaura dear."

Trevalyon looked his approval saying "come."

"Yes, you come, too," and the boy's hand slipped into hers.

And so Vaura, her trailing skirts of cream satin, front width richly

embroidered in gold floss, with the perfume of tea roses from her

corsage and bouquet she carried, in all the fulness of her rich

beauty, with proud head bent as she chatted with the dark-eyed,

black-haired boy beside her, followed Trevalyon with his burden and

the priest who walked at his side.