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Pensée found some relief in the thought that Sara was not herself a state into which most people are presumed to fall whenever, from stress or emotion, they become either strictly candid or perfectly natural. "It is a fancy. Fancies are in my blood," said Sara; "you need not be anxious." "But but what feeling have you for Marshire?" murmured Pensée.
"Have you seen him?" "No," he replied; "but, in any case, I think he would have avoided me to-day." "Why?" "From motives of delicacy. Henry Marshire is a man of the nicest feeling. He is never guilty of the least mistake." Sara smiled, and so disguised a blush. "I did not mean Marshire," she said. "I was thinking then of Robert Orange." "Robert Orange," exclaimed Lord Garrow in astonishment.
Every individual has his rule could one but find it out and a rule to which there are no exceptions. With Reckage it was simple enough: he invariably followed the line of his own glory. The distress he suffered really, and not colourably took its rise from the intervention of Marshire.
He walked along toward Almouth House in a mood of many vexations, cursing the impudence of Bradwyn and Ullweather, wondering whether he had done wisely, after all, in engaging himself to the blameless Miss Carillon, sighing a little over a rumour which had reached him about Sara de Treverell and the Duke of Marshire, deploring the obstinacy of Robert Orange where Mrs. Parflete was concerned.
And Marshire, a fellow of middling ability and no experience, has had the sense to perceive her qualities!... My feelings can't be easily defined, nor, indeed, is it necessary they should.... I have gone so far that I cannot see anything for it but to go on." "You mean in your own marriage?"
It was an illustration of that old saying "The appetite, the occasion, and the ripe fruit." Convinced now that his reputation, his career, and his comfort depended on his conduct toward Sara, all hesitation left him. He would have to drive Marshire, in confusion, from the field, and bear away the prize himself.
Lord Garrow, after much cautious consideration, had decided that Lady Sara could not absent herself from the d'Alchingens' party without exciting unfavourable comment, and so prejudicing her future relationship with the Duke of Marshire. His lordship, in his secret heart, was by no means sorry for Reckage's untimely death.
She would be a duchess one of the great duchesses. Little Sara! "She was looking extraordinarily handsome," he exclaimed. "Of course she means to take him. But she liked me at one time. I am speaking of Sara de Treverell. Marshire is by way of being a stick. Who could have imagined him going in for a high-spirited, brilliant girl like Sara?"
There is an old proverb," he added, with a sneer, "'They are not all friends of the bridegroom who seem to be following the bride." Ullweather was still absorbed in his own meditation. "Marshire," said he, "is the man for us. We might do something with Marshire." "Nevertheless," said Penborough, "I have my eye on Orange." "I say," exclaimed Bradwyn, "be careful. Here is Reckage again.
"The friendship of the Duke of Marshire for Lady Sara increases every day, and the little fit of giddiness which seized him when he was dining with my Chief makes me think that admiration is developing into love. I am in great hopes that this match may come off." "As to that," said Hatchett, "her father and the Duke were the night before last at Brooks's, but no conversation passed between them.
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