What other guest would be likely to enter in that unceremonious fashion? Strictly speaking, Jan was not a guest—at any rate, not an invited one.
“I had got a minute to spare this evening, so thought I’d come up and have a look at you,” proclaimed unfashionable Jan to the room, but principally addressing Lionel and Sibylla.
And so Jan had come, and stood there without the least shame in drab trousers and a loose, airy coat, shaking hands with Sir Rufus, shaking hands with anybody who would shake hands with him. Sibylla looked daggers at Jan, and Lionel cross. Not from the same cause. Sibylla’s displeasure was directed to Jan’s style of evening costume; Lionel felt vexed with him for alarming Lucy. But Lionel never very long retained displeasure, and his sweet smile stole over his lips as he spoke.
“Jan, I shall be endorsing Lady Verner’s request—that you come into) a house like a Christian—if you are to startle ladies in this fashion.”
“Whom did I startle?” asked Jan.
“You startled Lucy.”
“Nonsense! Did I, Miss Lucy?”
“Yes, you did a little, Jan,” she replied.
“What a stupid you must be!” retorted gallant Jan. “I should say you want doctoring, if your nerves are in that state. You take—”
“Oh, Jan, that will do,” laughed Lucy. “I am sure I don’t want medicine. You know how I dislike it.”
They were standing together within the large window, Jan and Lionel, Lucy sitting close to them. She sat with her head a little bent, scenting her verbena.
“The truth is, Jan, I and Lucy have been watching some intruder who had taken up his station on the lawn, underneath the yew-tree,” whispered Lionel. “I suppose Lucy thought he was bursting in upon us.”
“Yes, I did really think he was,” said Lucy, looking up with a smile.
“Who was it?” asked Jan.
“He did not give us the opportunity of ascertaining,” replied Lionel. “I am not quite sure, mind, that I did see him; but Lucy is positive upon the point. I went to the tree, but he had disappeared. It is rather strange who it could be, and why he was watching.”
“He was watching this room attentively,” said Lucy, “and I saw him move away when Mr. Verner went on the lawn. I am sure he was a spy of some sort.”
“I can tell you who it was,” said Jan. “It was Roy.”
“Roy!” repeated Lionel. “Why do you say this?”
“Well,” said Jan, “as I turned in here, I saw Roy cross the road to the opposite gate. I don’t know where he could have sprung from, except from these grounds. That he was neither behind me nor before me as I came up the road, I can declare.”
“Then it was Roy!” exclaimed Lionel. “He would have had about time to get into the road, from the time we saw him under the tree. That the fellow is prying into my affairs and movements, I was made aware of to-day: but why he should watch my house I cannot imagine. We shall have an account to settle, Mr. Roy!”
Decima came up, asking what private matter they were discussing, and Lionel and Lucy went over the ground again, acquainting her with what had been seen. They stood together in a group, conversing in an under-tone. By and by, Mrs. Verner passed, moving from one part of the room to another, on the arm of Sir Rufus Hautley.
“Quite a family conclave!” she exclaimed, with a laugh. “Decima, however much you may wish for attention, it is scarcely fair to monopolise that of Mr. Verner in his own house. If he forgets that he has guests present, you should not help him in the forgetfulness.”
“It would be well if all wished for attention as little as does Miss Verner,” exclaimed Lord Garle. His voice rung out to the ends of the room, and a sudden stillness fell upon it: his words may have been taken as a covert reproof to Mrs. Verner. They were not meant as such. There was no living woman of whom Lord Garle thought so highly as he thought of Decima Verner; and he had spoken in his mind’s impulse.
Sibylla believed he had purposely flung a shaft at her. And she flung one again—not at him, but at Decima. She was of a terribly jealous nature, and could bear any reproach to herself, better than that another woman should be praised beside her.
“When young ladies find their charms have been laid out in vain, wasted on the desert air, they naturally do covet attention, although it be but a brother’s. Poor Decima’s growing into an old maid: of course she cannot help the neglect, and may be excused for being sore upon the point.”
Perhaps the first truly severe glance that Lionel Verner ever gave his wife he gave her then. Disdaining any defence of his sister, he stood, haughty, impassive, his lips drawn in, his eyes fixed sternly on Sibylla. Decima remained quiet under the insult, save that she flushed scarlet. Lord Garle did not. Lord Garle spoke up again, in the impetuosity of his open, honest nature.
“I can testify that Miss Verner might have ceased to be Miss Verner long ago, had she so willed it. You are mistaken in your premises, Mrs. Verner.”
The tone was pointedly significant, the words were unmistakably clear, and the room could not but become enlightened to the fact that Miss Verner might have been Lady Garle. Sibylla laughed a little laugh of disbelief, as she went onwards with Sir Rufus Hautley; and Lionel remained enshrined in his terrible mortification. That his wife should so have forgotten herself!
“I must be going off,” cried Jan, good naturedly interrupting the unpleasant silence.
“You have not long come,” said Lucy.
“I didn’t leave word where I was coming, and somebody may be going dead while they are scouring the parish for me. Good-night to you all; good-night, Miss Lucy.”
With a nod to the room, away went Jan as un-