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Jean d'Alberg herself had caught the contagion, and smiled pleasant greetings to him when he visited at Mr. Rayne's house; there was only Honor who evaded the cunning trap, but even she was blinded a good deal.
Honor flung her arms round the old creature's neck and drowned her reproaches in a volley of kisses. "Don't mind that Nanny dear, say you wish me a good Christian life for the next year and you will have done your duty." "God grant it you, my pretty child." "Amen," answered Mr. Rayne's deep voice as he left the room.
A week later I learned how, by Rayne's devilish cunning, I had been tricked. When I knew the truth, I bit my lips to the blood. The widow Rodanet had, it appeared, been staying at the Palais, in Biarritz, when Duperré and I had been there. She had been marked down by Rayne as a victim, for the Dent du Chat was a stone of enormous value.
Rayne's study, in sore trouble as to how he could evade the task set him, and join his rioting friends in their proposed amusement. He scratched his head and made countless agonizing grimaces; he walked the room in long strides, until his patience had reached an almost impossible limit. Then he thought better of it, and decided to hold a calm, cool and collected council with himself.
"Yes, I saw her face in church under the ugliest bonnet you ever saw, and I met her on the Richmond Road the other day, driving Mr Rayne's ponies. She looked reserved, but perhaps she is a nice girl. Hardly the kind that Guy Elersley would like though, he's such a flirt, he flirted with me once till mamma thought "
One is quiet, usual, familiar; the other is noisy, glittering, but also familiar. One is the drawing-room in Mr. Rayne's comfortable house, with the gaslight falling gently over the silent room it is not turned very high. Mr. Rayne is dozing in an arm-chair. His hands are folded across his breast, and his limbs are extended at full length he is dreaming.
One feels all the satisfaction of a deed accomplished in anticipation, and God be thanked for this, for how many weary souls must have made their last night on earth endurable, by the peace of mind that such resolutions infallibly bring. This explains the comfort and utter heedlessness of Mr Rayne's slumber after such a miserable time as he passed arguing against himself in his drawing-room.
Under the roof of Henry Rayne's comfortable house everything has undergone a change, there is a primness and a fitness about the rooms that used not to be there, a cosy look peeps out from every turn and corner of the well-furnished apartments. The pantry shelves are whole rows of temptations.
Some two months after that curious experience in Sofia, we were guests of some friends of Rayne's called Baynes, who lived at Enderby Manor, a few miles out of Winchester. The reason of our visit was somewhat obscure, yet as far as I could gather it had no connection with "business."
The usual broad smile came over Rayne's face, as he recognized his nephew's handwriting. "So he's in town," he soliloquized, as he opened the folds of the crisp paper and read: "Dear Uncle, I came to town last evening, and wish to see you when you will be quite alone. Guy." "There's an ansur wanted, sur," Fitts said timidly. "Oh, say this afternoon at five, Fitts, that will do."
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