"Our good friend's ideas are somewhat antiquated," said Pottersleigh to Guilfoyle, who now stuck to him pretty closely; "but he is a thorough gentleman of an old school that is passing away."
His lordship, however, looked the older man of the two.
"Antiquated! By Jove, I should think so," responded the other, who instinctively disliked his host; "ideas old as the days when people made war without powder and shot, went to sea without compasses, and pegged their clothes for lack of buttons; but he is an hospitable old file, and his wine--this Château d'Yquem, for instance, is excellent."
Pottersleigh gave the speaker a quiet stare, and then, as if disliking this style of comment, turned to Lady Naseby for the remainder of the repast.
The overcasting of the day and a threatening of rain had put an end to much of the dancing on the flower-terrace, and of the promenading in the garden and grounds. The proposal of Dora's health had been deemed the close of the fête; the servants had begun to prepare for the ball, and many of the guests, whose invitation did not include that portion of the festivities--for the grounds of course, would hold more than the hall--were beginning to depart, while a few still lingered in the conservatories, the library, or the picture gallery; thus, though Caradoc was looking through them for me, with a shrewd idea that I was with Lady Estelle, he could not for the life of him imagine _where_; besides, Phil was anxious to make the most of his time with Miss Lloyd.
The breaking of the guests into groups caused our absence to be long unnoticed, especially while carriages, gigs, drags, wagonnettes, and saddle-horses were brought in succession to the door; cloaks and shawls put on, ladies handed in, and the stream of vehicles went pouring down the long lime avenue and out of the park.
"You have danced but once to-day with Mr. Caradoc, he has told me," said Dora in a low voice, as she passed her sister.
"I had so many to dance with--so many to introduce; and then, think of the evening before us."
"He loves you quite passionately, I think, Winny dear; more than words can tell."
"So it would seem," replied Winifred, smiling over her fan. "Why--how?"
"He has never spoken to me on the subject."
"He will do so before this evening is over, or I am no true prophetess," said Dora, as she threw back the bright masses of her hair.
"That I don't believe."
"Why?"
"Because he wears at his neck a gold locket, the contents of which no one has seen; and Mr. Guilfoyle assures me that it holds the likeness of a lady."
"Well time will prove," replied Dora, as she was again led away by her new admirer, the little sub from Chester; but her prediction came true.
Winifred felt instinctively that she was the chief attraction to Caradoc, and was exciting in his breast emotions to which she could not respond. Again and again when asking her to dance, she had urged in reply, that he would please her more by dancing with others, as there were present plenty of country girls to whom a red coat was quite a magnet; so poor Caradoc found plenty of work cut out for him. Pressed at last by him, Winifred said, while fanning herself,
"Do excuse me; to-night I shall reward you fully; but meanwhile we may take a little promenade. I think all who are to remain must know each other pretty well now;" and taking his arm they passed from the great marquee along the now deserted terrace, to find that the sky was so overcast and the wind so high, that they turned into an alley of the conservatory, where she expected to find some of their friends, but it was empty; and as Caradoc's face, and the tremulous inflections of his voice, while he was uttering mere commonplaces about the sudden change of the weather, the beauty of the flowers, the elegance of the conservatory, and so forth, told her what was passing in his mind, she became perplexed annoyed with herself, and said hurriedly,
"Let us seek Lady Naseby; I fear that we are quite neglecting her--and she is somewhat particular."
"One moment, Miss Lloyd, ere we go; I have so longed for an opportunity to speak with you--alone, I mean--for a moment--even for a moment," said he.
Winifred Lloyd knew what was coming; there was a nervous quivering of her upper lip, which was a short one, and showed a small portion of her white teeth, usually imparting an expression of innocence to her face, while its normal one was softness combined with great sweetness. Caradoc had now possessed himself of her right hand, thus without breaking away from him, and making thereby a species of "scene" between them, an episode to be avoided, she could not withdraw, but stood looking shyly and blushingly half into his handsome face, while he spoke to her with low and broken but earnest utterances.
"I have decoyed you hither," said he, "and you will surely pardon me for doing so, when you think how brief is my time now, here, in this happy home of yours--even in England itself; and when I tell you how anxious I have been to--to address you--"
"Mr. Caradoc," interrupted the girl, now blushing furiously behind her fan, "your moments will soon become minutes!"
"Would that the minutes might become hours, and the hours, days and years, could I but spend them with you! Listen to me, Miss Lloyd--"
"Not at present--do, pray, excuse me--I wish to speak with Dora."
But instead of having her hand released, it was now pressed by Caradoc between both of his.
"I will not detain you very long," said he, sadly, almost reproachfully; "you know that I love you; every time my eyes have met yours, every time I have spoken, my voice must have told you that I do dearly, and if the fondest emotions of my heart--"
"A soldier's heart, of which little scraps and shreds have been left in every garrison town?"
"Do not laugh at my honest earnestness!" urged Caradoc, with a deep sigh.
"Pardon me, I do not laugh; O think not that I could be guilty of such a thing!" replied Winifred, colouring deeper than ever.
Beautiful though she was, and well dowered too, this was the first proposal or declaration that had been made to her. The speaker was eminently handsome, his voice and eyes were full of passion and earnestness, and she could not hear him without a thrill of pleasure and esteem.
"I know that I am not worthy of you, perhaps; but--"
"I thank you, dear Mr. Caradoc, but--but--more is impossible."
"Impossible--why?"
She grew quite pale now, but he still retained her hand; and her change of colour was, perhaps, unseen by him, for there was little light in the conservatory, the evening clouds being dark and dense without.
"Miss Lloyd--Winifred--dearest Winifred--I love you, love you with all my heart and soul!"
"Do not say so, I implore you!" said she in an agitated voice, and turning away her head.
"Do you mean to infer that you are already engaged?"
"No."
"Or that you love another?"
"That is not a fair question," she replied, with a little hauteur of manner.
"It is, circumstanced as I am, and after the avowal I have made."
"Well, I do--not."
"And yet you cannot love me? Alas, I am most unfortunate!"
"Let this end, dear Mr. Caradoc," said Winifred, almost sobbing, and deeply repenting that she had taken his arm for a little promenade that was to end in a proposal. Phil, being in full uniform, played with, or swung somewhat nervously, the tassels of his crimson sash, a favourite resort of young officers when in any dubiety or dilemma. After a little pause--
"May I speak to Sir Madoc on the subject?" he asked.
"No."
"Perhaps my friend Harry Hardinge might advise--"
"Nay, for Heaven's sake don't confer with him on the matter at all!"
"Why?" said he, startled by her earnestness.
"Would you make love to me through _him_--through another?"
"You entirely mistake my meaning."
"What _do_ you mean?"
"Simply what I have said; that I love you, esteem and admire you; that you are, indeed, most dear to me, and that if I had the approval--"
"Of the lady whose likeness is in your locket; so treasured that a secret spring secures it!" said she, suddenly remembering Dora's words as a means of escape.
"Yes, especially with her approval. I should then be happy, indeed. I know not how you came to know of it; but shall I show you the likeness?"
"If you choose," said Winifred, thinking in her heart, "Poor fellow, it must be his mother's miniature;" but when Phil touched a spring and the locket flew open she beheld a beautiful coloured photo of _herself_.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, "how came you by this?"
"Hardinge had two in the barracks, and I begged one from him."
"Hardinge--Harry Hardinge! That was most unfair of him," said she, her agitation increasing; "he is one of our oldest friends."
"May I be permitted to keep it?"
"O, no; not there--not there, in a locket at your neck."
"Be it so; your slightest wish is law to me; but be assured, Miss Lloyd, the heart near which it lies was never offered to woman before."
"I can well believe you; but--hush, here are people coming!"
Sir Madoc and Lady Naseby entered the conservatory somewhat hurriedly, followed by two or three of the guests.