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Lady Henry gave her consent that Mademoiselle Le Breton should accompany the Duchess to Lady Hubert's party almost with effusion. "It will be very dull," she said. "My sister-in-law makes a desert and calls it society. But if you want to go, go. As to Evelyn Crowborough, I am engaged to my dentist to-morrow morning."
He is most likely to outlive me; and, moreover, may marry and put an end to the difficulty. Meantime, till my charge is relieved, I must go and see after him, and try if I can fulfil Hubert's polite request that I would take him away. Rosie, my woman, I have hardly spoken to you. I have some hyacinth roots to bring you to-morrow."
But she had to take her share of the felicitations which the whole far-reaching circle of friends and relations distributed to every member of Hubert's family on the approach of the happy event. Nor was this the hardest of her trials.
You have deprived me of my betrothed bride." "Your betrothed bride!" said the queen of the gypsies. "Behold her!" She waved her hand, and Myra stood before the sexton of St. Hubert's. "There she stands," said the gypsy. "Have you forgotten that your troth is plighted to her? The bride and the priest are ready. Man of guilt and passion, wed her you may, wed her you must!"
That smile is like a sunbeam to my heart; it thaws the frost of age. Believe me, Myra, the sexton of St. Hubert's shall adore you." "Then you must have love charms," said the gypsy girl, blushing. "Love charms I have," said the old woman, "and those of wondrous potency. We are a favored race, Myra. Descended from the old Egyptians, we inherit their mysterious learning.
I am still so young; a long life may be in store for me; a cruel, wretched life with Thornton Rush, who assumed the guise of an angel of light to win me to destruction. A peaceful, happy life with Hubert, for whom heaven itself must have intended me. The sin is Thornton's, not mine, nor Hubert's. On the contrary, to continue to live with Thornton would be a sin.
Hubert's brain was in a fog. "Berenice!" said he. "Yes Berenice. Why not? She loves you." "Then you Madame Mineur " stammered Hubert. The Frenchman placed his finger on his nose and slyly whispered: "Don't be afraid! I'll not tell my wife that I caught Berenice with you alone in the park you Don Juan! Now to the portrait I must see that masterpiece of yours. Berenice wrote me about it."
Her voice was quite even and expressionless, but Hubert's face contracted at the sound of her words as if they hurt him. He raised his cigar mechanically to his lips, found that it had gone out, and, instead of relighting it, threw it away angrily from him amongst the flowers. His sister, her eyes keen notwithstanding the velvety softness of their glance, saw that his hands trembled as he did so.
He had read portions of this play to his friends, who at last succeeded in driving Montague Ford, the popular actor-manager, to Hubert's door; and after hearing some few scenes he had offered a couple of hundred pounds in advance of fees for the completed manuscript. 'But when can I have the manuscript? said Ford, as he was about to leave.
Things look different by the cold light of day, especially if the day be rainy, from the same things seen by gaslight. With Hubert's instant memory of the night before, came the temptation to dismiss its happenings as a dream and go back to his former way of living. But he could not do so in honesty.
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