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"No; but there are some cards. Oh yes, there is a note," and she pounced upon an envelope she had overlooked. "It is for you, mother from the Court." Mrs. Boyce came up and took note and cards from her daughter's hand. Marcella watched her with quick breath. Her mother looked through the cards, slowly putting them down one by one without remark. "Oh, mother! do read the note!"
One or two of them half rose, and tried to pull him down. Wharton looked at Marcella; it seemed to him he saw a sort of passionate satisfaction on her pale face, and in the erect carriage of her head. Then she stooped to the side and whispered to her mother. Mrs. Boyce shook her head and sat on, immovable. All this took but a second or two.
"You have had some of my confidence and I think you have not lost by it. You have repaid me with an impudent treachery. I shall arrange that you have no more opportunity at home or abroad." "Pray leave to ask your Grace's pardon," Colonel Boyce muttered. "I swear " "You may be silent," Marlborough said, and turned away from them. "Pray, Mr. Boyce, will you walk?"
Probably he only listened politely. But I think he found comfort in a sympathetic ear. Presently he turned on to Boyce, the real motive of his summons. He repented much that he had told and written to me. His long defamation of the character of a brother-officer had lain on his conscience.
He flung himself across the room upon Colonel Boyce, making some play with a pistol. There was some grappling and wrestling. I recall that they gasped and breathed hard. But it's odd, I believe, that there was no word spoken. Then Colonel Boyce freed himself and bolted through that inner door.
Boyce, almost as white, Marcella now saw, as her husband, moved forward from the fire, where she had been speaking to Hallin, took a cushion from a chair near, exactly similar to the one he missed, and changed his position a little. "It is just the feather's weight of change that makes the difference, isn't it?" said Wharton, softly, sitting down beside the invalid. Mr.
Geoffrey, behind his vanity and his affectation, was no fool. He had also a temper apt to dislike any man who made a show of position or achievement beyond his own. Yet he hung upon the lips of Colonel Boyce. What they gave him was indeed a pleasing mixture secrets about great affairs flavoured with deference to his ingenious criticisms. There was something solid about it, too.
He saw the two seconds standing between the swords and a red scratch on the little man's cheek. "Touche," says he with a bow. "My compliments, if you please. It's some while since a man marked me. I am glad to know you, sir. Pray, what's your name?" "Harry Boyce, sir." "Egad, it's wonderful!" says the little man, with a laugh which appealed to Harry. "Hector McBean, at your service." Harry stared.
It is placed on a hill whose bottom is washed by the sea, and which from its eminence at top, commands a view of great part of the island as well as it does that of the opposite shore. This house was formerly built by one Boyce, who, from a blacksmith at Gosport, became possessed, by great success in smuggling, of forty thousand pound.
Though there were, at most, not above five couples of dancers, and though they who did not dance, such as the squire and Mr Boyce, and a curate from a neighbouring parish, had, in fact, nothing to amuse them, the affair was kept on very merrily for a considerable number of hours.
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