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"He is a rich man."

"And you won't trust me with his name?"

"Please understand me. I want no one to know it through me. Please, Thorold, don't ask me."

He kissed her hand. "Everything shall be as you wish. Now and for ever."

Mrs. Lavender said: "Mr. Lavender and I are going into the country for a few days, Martin."

"Oh yes, Madam."

"I thought of taking you, but I have decided against it. I shall manage without you for two or three nights." Mrs. Lavender looked sharply at Melisande. "Of course I don't expect you to be idle while I'm away. There is my lace dress which needs mending; there is a tear in the skirt. You'll need to be very careful with that. You might go through all my clothes while I'm away. Make sure that everything is in order. And you can wash those nightgowns and petticoats that need it. Oh ... and make me a flower of those pieces of velvet. .. mauve and green. It will go with my mauve gown."

"Yes, Madam. But I should like to make a black rose for the mauve dress."

"A black one!"

"I think so, Madam."

"Hideous!" said Mrs. Lavender. "Who ever heard of a black rose?"

"Perhaps it is just because one does not hear of them that they seem attractive. Besides, I was thinking how well the black would look on the mauve."

Mrs. Lavender clicked her tongue; but after a while she said: "Well, make the black flower. We can try it."

284 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

Melisande felt happy as she packed Mrs. Lavender's bag.

"No need to pack for Mr. Lavender," said Mrs. Lavender. "He'll do that himself."

"Yes, Madam."

She was so happy, she could have sung, but the only songs which came to her mind were those which she had heard Fermor sing. "Go lovely rose" and "The Banks of Allan Water"—and most poignant of all "O, wert thou in the cauld blast."

A feeling of relief swept through the house when the Lavenders left.

"Two days of peace and quiet," said Mrs. Gunter. "That will be nice. Let's drink to the next two days in a glass of my ginger."

Sarah came down and they were very merry.

And that afternoon Thorold called for Melisande, and they walked in the Park together. He looked a little sad, a little melancholy.

"Is something wrong, Thorold?" she asked.

"No . . . not if you love me."

"But I have said I will marry you."

"You told me about the young man your father wished you to marry, and how hurt you were because you realized your dowry had played a deciding factor. I have wondered whether, if you were in a happy home, your future assured, brothers and sisters and fond parents about you . . . you would marry me?"

"Oh, Thorold," she said impulsively, "I am so sorry."

"Forget I said it. If I can be the means of rescuing you from what is uncongenial, I shall be only too glad to do so."

"But ... I am fond of you. I am sure of it."

"You don't trust me, Melisande."

"But I do. I do."

"Not completely. You won't even tell me the name of your father."

"Oh, Thorold, so it is that! I understand how you feel. It is a hateful feeling. I will tell you my father's name. Of course I will. There shall be no secrets between us. He is Sir Charles Trevenning of Trevenning in Cornwall. He is a man of importance in his own county, and known in London too. You understand why I did not want to tell. Not because I did not trust you, but because I knew that he so ardently wished our relationship to be kept a secret."

"I understand. Of course I understand. You shouldn't have told me, Melisande. I shouldn't have put it like that. But I am glad, glad because you trust me now. We are going to be happy, my darling. Everything will be all right for us now."

That was the end of peace; the end of her brief dream. And now she could wonder at her own folly, at her own naivety which had led her into the trap. There was no excuse this time. It was not her first glimpse of the world. The world was full of evil and she could not, it seemed, learn her lesson.

They met in the Park next day.

Did she notice the difference in him as soon as they met? Was that tenderness, which had warmed and comforted her, replaced by hardness, cupidity, meanness . . . criminality?

"My dear," he said; and he took her hand and kissed it.

They walked arm in arm. She sensed that he was trying to tell her something.

"Melisande," he said at length, "I have a confession to make."

She was startled. She turned to him; he was smiling and she looked in vain for that gentleness which she had loved.

"I am in debt. Deeply in debt. In fact I'm in a bit of a mess."

"Oh, Thorold . . . money?"

"Money, of course. It's that fool Lavender's fault. He has so many tips to give away ... so many 'certainties'. He is all right. He has a rich wife, and he knows how to get round her. Melisande, I'm afraid that if I don't seitle up some of these debts I shall have to resign my commission."

"But surely it's not as bad as that."

"It's as bad as it can be."

"You have never mentioned these debts before."

"I didn't want to worry you. I was afraid you'd despise me. You see, life in the Brigade of Guards is expensive, and for a man with such a small income as I have ..." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose so . . . if you bet on horses."

"One has to be in the swim, you know."

"I am sorry, Thorold."

"I knew you would be. . . . That's why I'm sure you'll help me."

"I. . . help? But I have no money. If I had, gladly would I help."

He smiled at her. "Why, my dear, you can help. There's your dowry. That'll settle everything and set us up nicely."

"My dowry! I don't understand."

"But your father was ready to give you a dowry before. He'll do so now."

"But ... I do not see him. I ... I could not accept. I ... It is so different."

"It is not different at all. He chose someone for you to marry, and there was a dowry waiting for you. Now you've made your own choice, but the dowry will still be forthcoming."

"I do not think so."

"But why not, Melisande? Be reasonable."

"So you, too, are eager to marry me because I might have a dowry!"

"My dear girl, how did I know your father was a rich man? You only told me yesterday that he is Sir Charles Trevenning."

"Oh, what a fool I was to tell you that!"

"Listen to me, please, Melisande. I love you. I wanted to marry you the moment I first set eyes on you. I knew there would be difficulties about money. They worried me considerably, so I put off telling you the position. I didn't want to worry you too. And then . . . you tell me that you have a rich father who was ready to give you a dowry. Don't you see! It's like the answer to a prayer."

"How attractive that dowry is!"

"When I asked you to marry me I had no notion that there would be a dowry. You know that. I would be ready to marry you— as you must realize—if you hadn't a penny in the world. But . . . since it is not the case ... I am delighted. Who wouldn't be—and say so if he were an honest man?"

"I do not wish to talk of this any more."

"Let us be calm. You do believe that if you were penniless I would marry you just the same?"

"I am penniless."

"You need not be when you have a father whose conscience is crying out to be soothed."