Herbert was all unconscious that he had been observed leaving the cottage near the Moorish Castle; still more that he had been overheard addressing Mrs. Larkins, as of old, by the affectionate title of mother. Had he heard what passed between Edith and Captain Mountcharles upon that occasion it might have modified his plans very considerably. For now at length, after much hesitation and delay, he had made up his mind to speak to Edith on the first opportunity, and tell her of his love. Matters had long continued in this most unsatisfactory state with him. He had suffered[135] tortures; he had been continually in suspense, for ever torn by hopes and fears. One day he was in the seventh heaven, the next in the very depths of despair. He could do no work. Edith seemed to come between him and his duty. He thought of her always, everywhere. He was for ever sketching her face upon the official blotting pad in the orderly-room; he was all but giving Edith as the countersign when challenged by the sentries; he very nearly mixed up her name with the words of command upon parade.

Latterly, however, he had been in much better heart. She did not encourage him, perhaps, as much as he would have liked, but she favoured him more, he thought, than any of his fellows. Therefore it was that he had brought himself up to the terrible ordeal of staking his fate upon the throw;[136] and it was with this intention that he approached Miss Prioleau the very next time they met.

It was at a ball at the Convent, at the well known palace or residence of the Governor of the Rock. Edith was seated upon a fauteuil in the patio, or central courtyard, between the dances. Her companion was Captain Mountcharles.

‘May I have the pleasure of a dance, Miss Prioleau?’ Herbert asked.

‘I’m afraid I have none left.’

‘You promised me the second valse—quite a week ago.’

‘Miss Prioleau is engaged for that to me,’ put in Captain Mountcharles, rather rudely.

‘The next, then?’ went on Herbert to Edith, without taking any notice of the A.D.C.

[137]

‘And for that too,’ said Mountcharles, in much the same tone as before.

‘Pardon me, I was speaking to Miss Prioleau, and I trust she will give me the answer herself.’

‘It’s quite—’ true she was going to say, as the easiest way out of the thing. But she was far too honest to tell a lie, even about a dance, and besides there was a mute appealing look in Herbert’s face which went to her heart. ‘I mean that you are rather late in the day, Mr. Larkins.’

She had promised not to dance with him, that was the fact. There had been a scene at the general’s about this Mr. Larkins, as Mrs. Prioleau called him. Edith had been taken rather sharply to task for encouraging him, and both father and mother had begged her to be careful. The man wasn’t half good enough for her, they[138] said. They had no absurd scruples about birth and position, and all that, still she ought to do much better than take a soldier of fortune, about whom and his belongings nothing whatever was known. Edith, remembering the Moorish Castle adventure, thought she could have enlightened her parents as to Herbert’s belongings, but she had no wish to injure him or to blacken him in their eyes. She only hotly repudiated the charge of favouring him, and agreed readily to do anything they wished. She would cut him if they liked. Not necessary? Well, snub him then? Not necessary either. What then? General and Mrs. Prioleau declared they would be satisfied if she would promise not to dance with the objectionable pretender at the Governor’s ball, and Edith gave her word to that effect.

[139]

This was why she had received Herbert so coldly. The other adventure had weighed, perhaps, with her, but not much.

As for Herbert, he was utterly taken aback. What could be the matter with Edith? Why this extraordinary change? Was the girl capricious, a mere flirt, a garrison belle, to whom admiration was everything, and admirers or their feelings simply nothing at all? Herbert did not like to think so hardly of her all at once, and resolved to make another attempt.

‘Is it quite hopeless, Miss Prioleau? May I not have one dance, only one?’ again he pleaded, with such earnest eyes that Edith Prioleau was touched and on the point of giving way.

‘Why did you cut me the other day, Mr. Larkins?’ suddenly asked Captain[140] Mountcharles, with the idea of creating some diversion.

‘I never cut you’—although I probably shall, and the sooner the better—Herbert was disposed to add. ‘When and where was it?’

‘Near the Moorish Cottage; you were coming out of some soldiers’ quarters.’

‘Oh yes, Sergeant Larkins.’

‘Relations, perhaps,’ the other observed impertinently.

‘Very near and very dear,’ Herbert replied promptly. This was not an occasion on which he would deny his old friends.

‘At any rate you are honest, Mr. Larkins,’ Edith said, with a frank smile, but Herbert knew from the speech that Edith had been also present, and he seemed to understand now why she was so different to him.

[141]

‘Honesty is not the exclusive property of high birth, Miss Prioleau, and I can claim at least to have as much as my neighbours.’

‘Come, Edith, the music is playing,’ cried Captain Mountcharles, springing up; ‘we are losing half the dance.’

‘I’m not going to dance this,’ she replied coolly, adding, as he stared at her with indignant surprise, ‘I don’t care whether you’re cross or not. Go and find some other partners; there are plenty upstairs. I mean to stay here. Mr. Larkins will take care of me, I daresay.’

A quick flush of pleasure sprung to Herbert’s cheek. She was relenting; she did not mean to quarrel with him altogether. Perhaps after all she had been only trying him, and was ready to yield if he only took heart of grace to speak up and out to her like a man.

[142]

Mountcharles, with a sulky snort and a very savage look, had risen from his seat and walked off, leaving Herbert considerably elated, master of the field.

Our hero would have been less joyous, perhaps, had he known Edith’s reason for thus appearing to favour him. With the native quick wittedness of a daughter of Eve, she had guessed already what was the matter with Herbert. A man who seeks to disguise his feelings in the presence of the woman he loves may flatter himself that he plays his part to perfection, but it is generally the flimsiest attempt even to ordinary feminine eyes, most of all to those of the beloved object. Edith had seen through him from the first. She knew that he was on the brink of a declaration, that he needed but the slightest encouragement to fall, metaphorically, even practically, at her[143] feet. It was better that he and she should come to an understanding; that he should realise, even at some pain to himself, as well as to her, t............