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Page 6
Every day and all day long there is nothing but rehearsing. In every
corner two or more may be seen studying together the parts they have to
play. Florence Delmaine alone refuses to rehearse her part except in
full company, though Mr. Dynecourt has made many attempts to induce her
to favor him with a private reading of those scenes in which he and she
must act together. He has even appealed to Dora Talbot to help him in
this matter, which she is only too willing to do, as she is secretly
desirous of flinging the girl as much in his way as possible. Indeed
anything that would keep Florence out of Sir Adrian's sight would be
welcome to her; so that she listens kindly to Arthur Dynecourt when he
solicits her assistance.
"She evidently shuns me," he says in an aggrieved tone to her one
evening, sinking into the seat beside hers. "Except a devotion to her
that is singularly sincere, I know of nothing about me that can be
regarded by her as an offense. Yet it appears to me that she dislikes
me."
"There I am sure you are wrong," declares the widow, tapping his arm
lightly with her fan. "She is but a girl--she hardly knows her own mind."
"She seems to know it pretty well when Adrian addresses her," he says,
with a sullen glance.
At this Mrs. Talbot can not repress a start; she grows a little pale,
and then tries to hide her confusion by a smile. But the smile is
forced, and Arthur Dynecourt, watching her, reads her heart as easily
as if it were an open book.
"I don't suppose Adrian cares for her," he goes on quietly. "At
least"--here he drops his eyes--"I believe, with a little judicious
management, his thoughts might be easily diverted into another channel."
"You think so?" asks Mrs. Talbot faintly, trifling with her fan. "I can
not say I have noticed that his attentions to her have been in any way
particular."
"Not as yet," agrees Dynecourt, studying her attentively; "and if I
might be open with you," he adds, breaking off abruptly and assuming an
air of anxiety--"we might perhaps mutually help each other."
"Help each other?"
"Dear Mrs. Talbot," says Dynecourt softly, "has it never occurred to you
how safe a thing it would be for my cousin Sir Adrian to marry a
sensible woman--a woman who understands the world and its ways--a woman
young and beautiful certainly, but yet conversant with the _conv�nances_
of society? Such a woman would rescue Adrian from the shoals and
quicksands that surround him in the form of mercenary friends and
scheming mothers. Such a woman might surely be found. Nay, I think
I myself could put my hand upon her, if I dared, at this moment."
Mrs. Talbot trembles slightly, and blushes a good deal, but says nothing.
"He is my nearest of kin," goes on Dynecourt, in the same low impassive
voice. "Naturally I am interested in him, and my interest on this point
is surely without motive; as, were he never to marry, were he to leave
no heir, were he to die some sudden death"--here a remarkable change
overspreads his features--"I should inherit all the land you see around
you, and the title besides."
Mrs. Talbot is still silent. She merely bows her head in assent.
"Then, you see, I mean kindly toward him when I suggest that he should
marry some one calculated to sustain his rank in the world," continues
Dynecourt. "As I have said before, I know one who would fill the
position charmingly, if she would deign to do so."
"And who?" falters Dora Talbot nervously.
"May I say to whom I allude?" he murmurs. "Mrs. Talbot, pardon me if I
have been impertinent in thinking of you as that woman."
A little flickering smile adorns Dora's lips for a moment, then,
suddenly remembering that smiles do not become her, she relapses into
her former calm.
"You flatter me," she says sweetly.
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