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Millicent had read this letter more than once. She liked it because it was evidently sincere. The man's heart could be heard beating in every line of it. Moreover, she had made inquiries that very morning at the Post Office about the African mail. She wanted the excitement of another letter like that. "Oh, Guy Oscard!" she replied innocently to Lady Cantourne; "that was nothing."
"How strange," said Lady Cantourne, "to think that you are actually living in Loango, and that you are the last person who has spoken to Jack Meredith! There are two people in this house to-night who would like to ask you questions from now till morning, but neither of them will do it. Did you see me go through the room just now with a tall gentleman rather old." "Yes," answered Jocelyn.
It may have hurt Millicent, but it hurt Jocelyn more for the smile had left her hearer's face. She was off her guard, as she had been once before when Sir John was near, and Millicent's face betrayed something which Jocelyn saw at once with a sick heart something that Sir John knew from the morning when he had seen Millicent open two letters something that Lady Cantourne had known all along.
"The fashion-papers must be able to write about the gift of the bridegroom's father." "Ah and they prefer a diamond crescent?" "Yes," answered Lady Cantourne. "That always seems to satisfy them." He bowed gravely and continued to watch the polo with that marvellously youthful interest which was his. "Does the world expect anything else?" he asked presently.
Of course, Lady Cantourne would have liked you to marry a title; but if you cared for me she would be ready to listen to reason." In which judgment of the good lady he was no doubt right especially if reason spoke with the voice of three thousand pounds per annum. "Do you care for me?" he asked, coming a little closer.
"I rather expect Lady Cantourne," said Sir John to his servants when he returned home, "any time between now and ten o'clock." The butler, having a vivid recollection of an occasion when Lady Cantourne was shown into a drawing-room where there were no flowers, made his preparations accordingly.
Despite his assertion to Lady Cantourne, Guy Oscard stayed on in the gloomy house in Russell Square. He had naturally gone thither on his return from Africa, and during the months that followed he did not find time to think much of his own affairs. Millicent Chyne occupied all his thoughts all his waking moments. It is marvellous how busily employed an active-minded young lady can keep a man.
But this difficulty was obviated by requesting Lady Cantourne to tell everybody. Everybody would tell everybody else, and would, of course, ask if these particular persons in question had been told; if not, they would have to be told at once. Indeed there would be quite a competition to relieve Millicent of her little difficulty. Besides, she could not marry more than one person.
She had married a rich man who had retained his riches while he lived and had left them to her when he died. And that was all the world knew of Lady Cantourne. Like the majority of us, she presented her character and not herself to her neighbours; and these held, as neighbours do, that the cheery, capable little woman of the world whom they met everywhere was Lady Cantourne.
Jocelyn Gordon, sitting near the fire, talking to a white-moustached explorer, and listening good-naturedly to a graphic account of travels which had been put in the background by more recent wanderers, was somewhat astounded when the hostess came up to her a few minutes later, and introduced a stout little lady, with twinkling, kindly eyes, by the name of Lady Cantourne.
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