Chapter 12

MRS. DOLLY ROVER.

Shortly after the reference to the unknown lady, Lord Prelice took a hasty leave. There was nothing more to be said, as matters up to date had been threshed out thoroughly between them. Until the inquest had been held on the body of Agstone, and Shepworth's immediate future was decided, no move could be made towards elucidating the mysteries. Moreover, Prelice was mortally afraid lest Shepworth should alter his mind about making him ambassador to Miss Chent at Hythe. Strong-willed as the young man was, when he chose to exercise that same will he could not deny himself the pleasure of being in Mona's company, if only for ten minutes. Besides, he very much wished to learn if she truly loved Ned, for by this time he felt sure that Ned had no very deep affection for her.

In his hurry to catch a train to Hythe, Prelice quite forgot his determination to see Mrs. Rover, and learn how matters stood between her and the barrister. But the powers that direct the actions of men, and the lives that are made by such actions, brought about a meeting with the lady almost immediately. After shaking hands with the pseudo-prisoner, Prelice left the flat, to find Mrs. Rover arguing vehemently with the constable posted at the outer door. She wished to enter and see Shepworth; the constable, pursuant to strict orders, was trying to point out that his duty lay in stopping her, a point which Mrs. Rover obstinately refused to see.

"I wish to enter," she kept repeating. "It is necessary that I should see Mr. Shepworth, and——"

"Will I do instead?" said Prelice, suddenly appearing at the open door.

"Dorry!" cried Mrs. Rover, giving him the pet name of his youth. "What are you doing here?"

"I am talking to you," said the young man, shaking hands, "but just now I have been chatting with Ned."

"Then why can't I chat with him also?" demanded the lady.

Prelice shrugged his shoulders. "Ned is allowed to see no one, unless Inspector Bruge gives permission."

"What rubbish! Let me go in!" And Mrs. Rover, in a flaming temper, tried to push past the policeman.

"You can't, ma'am," he said firmly and respectfully; adding to the pale parlour-maid, who still lingered, out of sheer curiosity: "Close that door straight away."

"I'll report you," cried Mrs. Rover, when she saw the door practically banged in her angry face.

"All right, ma'am. But dooty is dooty."

"Constance! Constance!" whispered Prelice, touching her arm. "Don't make an exhibition of yourself before the servants. The man is only doing his duty. Come upstairs, and we can have a chat."

"What about?" demanded Mrs. Rover swiftly; and Prelice saw, or thought he saw, a glint of fear in her eyes.

"Well," he answered, smiling, "I have not had an opportunity of talking to you since I returned to town, so it is natural that I should wish for a short conversation."

Mrs. Rover, who apparently was an extremely obstinate woman, paused irresolutely, looking at the stolid policeman with a battle light in her eyes. But the constable met her gaze firmly, so finding that feminine persistence could do nothing in the face of an official barrier, she turned away biting her lip. "Come upstairs, Dorry," she said, beginning to ascend; "I can do nothing with that fool."

Prelice smiled at this Parthian arrow, and slipped a florin into the constable's hand to pacify him for the parting insult. Then he ran up after the lady, and reached her on the next landing. "You ought to be pleased, Constance," he said slyly; "you've had the last word."

"I should like to have had the last half-dozen," she retorted, putting a Yale latch-key into the lock.

"I think that you have even achieved that," replied Prelice dryly. "It is extraordinary that women never will learn that the law is stronger than sheer temper."

"I am not in a temper," snapped Mrs. Rover, sweeping into her flat. "I never was calmer in my life—never, never, never."

"I am quite content to believe that," said her companion acidly; for as Constance Newton, Mrs. Rover had not been noted for imperturbability. It was all the better, in Prelice's opinion, that her temperament should be thus fiery, as he would discover from her rash tongue much that a more cautious and composed woman would withhold. Moreover, Constance and her visitor had been friends for many a long year—witness her calling him Dorry—and she was accustomed to speak frankly to him about her troubles. Had Prelice been in England when the stockbroker was courting the lady, it is doubtful if Constance would ever have become Mrs. Rover. And Prelice strongly suspected that Mr. Rover found Ned Shepworth an inconvenient third in his married state.

"You are looking very well, Constance," said Prelice when the two were seated in the drawing-room, which was more gorgeous than artistic.

"I'm not well then. I'm nearly worried to death."

"So sorry. Tell me all about it."

"I'll do nothing of the sort."

"I beg your pardon. Let us chat about the weather."

"Do you think that I have time to waste in discussing barometers?" She rose, impetuously.

"Don't know, I'm sure," replied Prelice, keeping his temper admirably.

"Well then, I haven't."

"Would it do any good if I gave you a thorough shaking?"

"Yes, it would. If Dolly shook me I should respect him; but he lets me lead him the life of a dog, and doesn't even bark, much less bite."

"I see, you prefer a bull-dog to a poodle."

"Ned isn't a——" Mrs. Rover stopped in the centre of the room, grew red, and could have bitten out her tongue for so incautious a speech. "What rubbish you talk!" she said, trying to smile carelessly.

Prelice looked at her gravely. "I hope you are talking rubbish too."

"I wish I were dead and buried!" whispered Mrs. Rover, and once more sat down to burst into violent tears.

Expert in the handling of the sex, Prelice knew better than to offer a single word of consolation. He lay back in his chair, quietly watching the progress of the storm. Mrs. Rover was going through the usual programme of upset woman. She had raged, now she wept, and would shortly be offering an apology for her conduct on the plea of nerves.

Constance had certainly grown into a handsome woman. When Prelice had left England seven years before she was merely a school-girl, very gawky and very awkward. Now she appeared tall, majestic, and beautiful after the voluptuous style of Juno, Queen of Olympus. Her hair and eyes were dark, her features delicate and regular, and her figure was finely formed, even if a trifle inclined to stoutness, as it assuredly was. Prelice had somewhere seen an old print of Catherine II. of Russia, and it struck him that Mrs. Rover greatly resembled the Empress, although she was undeniably a more lovely woman. It was unfortunate that her face should have been marred by a sullen expression, hinting at a superlatively bad temper. But many people—unobservant as most people are—never noted this defect. They only saw before their ravished eyes a handsome, well-bred, graceful woman, perfectly dressed, and quite able to hold her own in the most exacting society. Yes, Constance had improved greatly. Prelice admitted that, but he wished to find out if she possessed the same beauty of character as of person. From what he had heard and what he had seen, he had grave doubts on this point.

"Pray excuse me," said Mrs. Rover, offering the expected social apology in a faint voice. "I'm rather upset; my nerves are out of order. The season has been trying, and then that horrid ball bowled me over, with its robberies and murders; not to speak of Dolly, who is—who is—— Oh, I don't know what he is."

"Do you think it is good taste to discuss your husband with me?" asked Prelice rather tartly.

"You are the only true friend I have in the world, Dorry."

"Then you have made no acquaintances since I left England seven years ago, Constance?"

"Oh, acquaintances?" she echoed contemptuously, rolling her damp handkerchief into a ball. "I have hundreds of these. But a friend—oh, Dorry, there isn't a single person I'd trust with a shoe-lace."

"He or she would not thank you if you did," replied Prelice, smiling; "a shoe-lace is not good security for anything."

"That's just it," wailed Mrs. Rover, dabbing her red eyes with the handkerchief; "people like one for what they can get out of one. But there isn't a soul to help me—poor me."

"Won't Ned?" asked her companion very deliberately.

Mrs. Rover darted a keen glance at him, and rose to alter the position of her hat in front of the mirror over the fireplace. Prelice knew quite well that she was watching him in the mirror, and carefully smoothed all expression out of his good-humoured face. "Ned!" repeated Mrs. Rover, patting her back hair; "oh yes, Ned, of course. Do you think they will hang him?" she demanded, wheeling round, rather white, and breathing hard.

"Good heavens, no. What put that into your head?"

"He isn't allowed to see me. The arrest——"

"Ned hasn't been arrested. The fact that he was seen insensible by heaps of people proves his innocence. Bruge is simply detaining him as a necessary witness, although I admit that Bruge is taking a somewhat high hand in the matter. Don't bother your head about Ned, Constance. He'll soon be free to marry that girl."

"Mona Chent!" Mrs. Rover clenched her hands, and breathed still harder, while Prelice anxiously watched the effect of his deliberate introduction of the name. "Oh yes." She went off into a meaningless trill of laughter. "She's free, isn't she? Lucky girl, for I quite believe that she killed her uncle."

"Why do you believe that?" demanded Prelice.

"Everyone says so."

"Everyone does not say so. The majority of people think that the verdict is a just one. I do myself."

"Do you know her?"

"No. What has that to do with it?"

"You won't like her when you do know her," said Mrs. Rover spitefully. "She's a horrid girl; I never liked her."

"That's a pity; you won't be able to visit Ned's wife."

"She isn't his wife yet," breathed Mrs. Rover, trying to keep her temper in check; "perhaps she never will be."

"Oh," Prelice spoke with calculated daring and cruelty, "do you then think that Mr. Rover will die?"

"You coward—you——" She broke off. "What do you mean by that?"

"I would rather you explained, Constance."

"I have nothing to explain. Did you come here to insult me?"

"Of course," replied Prelice, rising; "and now that I have done so, I may as well take my leave."

She seized him by the lapels of his coat before he could reach the door. "Don't go, don't go," she panted; "I do so want a friend. I'll tell you all; you shall know everything."

"If it is against your husband, I sha'n't listen."

"You shall! Sit down, and hear what I have to say."

Prelice was a strong young man, but for the moment her feminine strength prevailed, and he found himself forced into his former seat.

"I wouldn't say what I'm going to say to everyone," panted Mrs. Rover, who was very strongly moved, "but, even though we have been apart for so many years, I still regard you as my best friend. You and I were boy and girl together, Dorry—you remember——"

"Ned also," interposed Prelice pointedly.

"Yes! Yes. Of course. I always loved Ned."

"Constance, what are you saying?"

She rose, and beat her hands together. "The truth—the truth! I liked you, Dorry, I always liked you, but I loved Ned, and I shall love him until I die!" She looked like a tragedy queen.

Prelice grew impatient, being a very matter-of-fact young man. "Don't be melodramatic, Constance. Sit down, and explain quietly."

With that wonderful adaptability of women, at which man never ceases to marvel, Mrs. Rover sat down, and composed herself with a violent effort. When next she spoke it was in so cold and icy a tone that Prelice, had his eyes been closed, could have sworn that another person had joined in the dialogue. "You know that my father, the General, was not rich, and that my mother was extravagant. I was the only child, and my parents wished me to make a wealthy marriage, so that their affairs might be put right. That is, my mother wished it, for my father, dear old man, desired me to consult my own heart. I did, and it told me to marry Ned. We were half engaged. My father was willing in spite of his difficulties, but my mother would not consent. Ned was poor, you know; he had only five hundred a year of his own, and has not yet made a success at the Bar. Then Dolly Rover came along." She stopped, and bit her lip, while her hands moved restlessly, as though boxing her husband's ears.

"What about Mr. Rover?" asked Prelice soothingly.

Then the natural woman came out, and she rose in a rage. "I hate Dolly like poison," she cried, pacing up and down the room, twisting her hands together; "he's a horrid, sneaky little cur, who——"

"Don't abuse your husband, Constance," interrupted Prelice impatiently; "it does no good. You married him of your own free will."

"I did nothing of the sort. I married him to save my father from going through the Bankruptcy Court. It would have broken his heart, dear old father, and he would have died. Dolly knew that I hated him, and that I loved Ned. But he demanded his price, like the mean dog that he is. My mother was on his side too, and I could not bear to see my father suffer. I parted with Ned, and married Dolly. That is, I sold myself, on condition that father's debts were paid. I kept to my part of the bargain——"

"And didn't your husband keep to his?"

"No," Mrs. Rover stamped violently; "he paid a portion of the debts; enough to avert bankruptcy merely. But he left father the worry, and of that worry father died. My mother has married again—a rich man—so she is happy. And here am I tied to Dolly—ugh! the name—while my heart is breaking for Ned."

"It is a hard case," said Prelice, sorry for the miserable woman; "still, your self-respect, Constance."

"That is right—preach, preach, preach. So like a man," she mocked. "I have kept my self-respect as you term it. I am a good wife to Dolly, although I detest him. I have never said a word against him to anyone, and I wouldn't to you, but that I must speak or suffocate. I can trust you, Dorry, and you understand how I feel, and what I feel. I love Ned. I want to marry Ned, and here I'm tied to—to——"

Prelice interrupted. "It is hard on you, Constance, I admit," he said, "but you must make the best of it. You say that you lead your husband the life of a dog."

"Of a pet dog, of a poodle. He's so meek and mild and sneaky that I can't respect him. He merely sniggers when I grow angry, and chuckles how he got the best of me over the marriage by not paying all father's debts. Oh, what is the use of talking! I love Ned, and Ned loves me."

Prelice jumped up. "I can't believe that," he declared, growing angry, "for Ned is engaged to Miss Chent. If he loves you, why is he——"

"Don't ask questions," interrupted Mrs. Rover angrily; "or if you must ask them, go to Ned; or better still, to Mona Chent herself."

"What can I ask Miss Chent?" demanded Prelice sharply.

"It's very warm weather," mocked Mrs. Rover, "and I think there will be a thunder-storm."

The young man looked at her, and saw her mouth set obstinately. He knew as well as if she had spoken that there was nothing more to be got out of her for the time being. But what she had said made him all the more determined to see Miss Chent, and learn the truth about the engagement to Shepworth. Meanwhile he took the wind out of Mrs. Rover's sails by falling in with her humour. "It will be a good thing if it does thunder and rain," he remarked, glancing out of the window; "it will clear the air."

Mrs. Rover looked as though she would have struck him, but being unable to parry his thrust, threw herself sulkily on the sofa. Prelice took up hat and gloves to depart, but halted at the door with premeditated craft. A sudden thought had struck him. "Constance," he said in a natural tone, "I am in love."

"Indeed," she said indifferently.

"Yes; with a lady who was at your ball."

The remark made her rouse herself, and she sat up with a look of curiosity. "Who is she?"

"I want you to tell me that. I could not see her face, and very little of her figure, owing to the domino, but she seemed to be so charming when we talked together"—this was a lie to gain information—"that I quite lost my heart."

"It's easy lost," said Mrs. Rover, curling her lip. "The woman may be as ugly as sin under her mask. How was she dressed?"

"In a green mask and domino," Mrs. Rover stiffened, "and with a white dress streaked with lines of red velvet. Why do you laugh?" he asked, for Mrs. Rover was trying to suppress her mirth.

"Why?" she cried, shaking with merriment, "because I wore that dress and mask and domino."

"You?" Prelice looked horrified.

"Yes. Why do you look at me like that?"

"You?" Prelice backed to the door in silent horror. He could not trust himself to speak, and finally disappeared, leaving Mrs. Rover petrified with amazement, perhaps with dread.