Edith Nesbit - 30 Occult and Supernatural Masterpieces in One Book

“You are very kind and very welcome. I do find pleasures to beguile my loneliness, which gayer people would not enjoy, and it is well that I can, else I should turn morose and tyrannical, and doom some unfortunate to entertain me all day long.” He answered with a gentle courtesy which was his chief attraction to womankind.

“Pray tell me some of your devices, I’m often alone in spirit, if not so in the flesh, for Rose, though a dear girl, is not congenial, and I find no kindred soul.”

A humorous glimmer came to Treherne’s eyes, as the sentimental damsel beamed a soft sigh and drooped her long lashes effectively. Ignoring the topic of “kindred souls,” he answered coldly, “My favorite amusement is studying the people around me. It may be rude, but tied to my corner, I cannot help watching the figures around me, and discovering their little plots and plans. I’m getting very expert, and really surprise myself sometimes by the depth of my researches.”

“I can believe it; your eyes look as if they possessed that gift. Pray don’t study me .” And the girl shrank away with an air of genuine alarm.

Treherne smiled involuntarily, for he had read the secret of that shallow heart long ago, and was too generous to use the knowledge, however flattering it might be to him. In a reassuring tone he said, turning away the keen eyes she feared, “I give you my word I never will, charming as it might be to study the white pages of a maidenly heart. I find plenty of others to read, so rest tranquil, Miss Blanche.”

“Who interests you most just now?” asked the girl, coloring with pleasure at his words. “Mrs. Snowdon looks like one who has a romance to be read, if you have the skill.”

“I have read it. My lady is my study just now. I thought I knew her well, but of late she puzzles me. Human minds are more full of mysteries than any written book and more changeable than the cloud shapes in the air.”

“A fine old lady, but I fear her so intensely I should never dare to try to read her, as you say.” Blanche looked toward the object of discussion as she spoke, and added, “Poor Tavia, how forlorn she seems. Let me ask her to join us, may I?”

“With all my heart” was the quick reply.

Blanche glided away but did not return, for my lady kept her as well as her daughter.

“That test satisfies me; well, I submit for a time, but I think I can conquer my aunt yet.” And with a patient sigh Treherne turned to observe Mrs. Snowdon.

She now stood by the fire talking with Sir Jasper, a handsome, reckless, generous-hearted young gentleman, who very plainly showed his great admiration for the lady. When he came, she suddenly woke up from her listless mood and became as brilliantly gay as she had been unmistakably melancholy before. As she chatted, she absently pushed to and fro a small antique urn of bronze on the chimneypiece, and in doing so she more than once gave Treherne a quick, significant glance, which he answered at last by a somewhat haughty nod. Then, as if satisfied, she ceased toying with the ornament and became absorbed in Sir Jasper’s gallant badinage.

The instant her son approached Mrs. Snowdon, Madame Mère grew anxious, and leaving Octavia to her friends and lover, she watched Jasper. But her surveillance availed little, for she could neither see nor hear anything amiss, yet could not rid herself of the feeling that some mutual understanding existed between them. When the party broke up for the night, she lingered till all were gone but her son and nephew.

“Well, Madame Ma Mère, what troubles you?” asked Sir Jasper, as she looked anxiously into his face before bestowing her good-night kiss.

“I cannot tell, yet I feel ill at ease. Remember, my son, that you are the pride of my heart, and any sin or shame of yours would kill me. Good night, Maurice.” And with a stately bow she swept away.

Lounging with both elbows on the low chimneypiece, Sir Jasper smiled at his mother’s fears, and said to his cousin, the instant they were alone, “She is worried about E.S. Odd, isn’t it, what instinctive antipathies women take to one another?”

“Why did you ask E.S. here?” demanded Treherne.

“My dear fellow, how could I help it? My mother wanted the general, my father’s friend, and of course his wife must be asked also. I couldn’t tell my mother that the lady had been a most arrant coquette, to put it mildly, and had married the old man in a pet, because my cousin and I declined to be ruined by her.”

“You could have told her what mischief she makes wherever she goes, and for Octavia’s sake have deferred the general’s visit for a time. I warn you, Jasper, harm will come of it.”

“To whom, you or me?”

“To both, perhaps, certainly to you. She was disappointed once when she lost us both by wavering between your title and my supposed fortune. She is miserable with the old man, and her only hope is in his death, for he is very feeble. You are free, and doubly attractive now, so beware, or she will entangle you before you know it.”

“Thanks, Mentor. I’ve no fear, and shall merely amuse myself for a week— they stay no longer.” And with a careless laugh, Sir Jasper strolled away.

“Much mischief may be done in a week, and this is the beginning of it,” muttered Treherne, as he raised himself to look under the bronze vase for the note. It was gone!

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