The Yellow Holly. Hume Fergus
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under her rouge when she heard this. "Oh, no, no! Lord Derrington is a terrible old man. Were Walter such as he is, I should not ask you to marry him."
"You would marry me to the Prince of Darkness himself if it suited your purpose," said her daughter, calmly, from which speech it will be seen that Miss Ward had small respect for her fascinating mother.
The two did not assimilate, as their dispositions were so different. Mrs. Ward complained that Dorothy was too religious, and Dorothy found the frivolous world in which her mother moved dull beyond words. It so happened that Dorothy stayed mostly at home or went out with one of her aunts, who was something of her type, while Mrs. Ward enjoyed herself at Hurlingham and Monte Carlo. The little woman always managed to keep on the right side, as she had no notion of losing her position in society, or the income which Lord Ransome allowed her; but within limits she was extremely fast. She generally had a number of young men at her heels, and made use of them in betting and in getting boxes for the theaters, for suppers at the Cecil, and gloves, when nothing else was to be had. But she managed all these things so discreetly that no one had a word to say, and the general impression was that she was a dear little woman with a stiff daughter-quite a trial. And if some old frumps did praise up Dorothy and condemn the mother, they were in the minority.
Things were in this position when the murder of Mrs. Jersey took place. Dorothy read about it in the papers, and knowing that George had gone to stop in the house with Train, was extremely anxious to hear particulars. She wrote to his Kensington address asking him to call, but received no reply. Then she saw that he gave evidence at the inquest, and two days later George made his appearance at the Curzon Street house. Mrs. Ward, who had been voluble in her expressions regarding Brendon's "love for low company," so she put it, sailed toward him with open hands. She always welcomed Brendon in this bright, girlish, kittenish way, as it was part of her scheme. She thought so serious a man would never relish a frivolous mother-in-law, and hoped to get rid of him in this way. But Brendon was too much in love with Dorothy to mind the vagaries of her fashionable parent.
"My dear Mr. Brendon," cried Mrs. Ward in her usual gushing manner, "I am so glad to see you. The murder, you know. I saw your name in the papers. How exciting! how romantic! Tell us all about it."
"There is nothing to tell, Mrs. Ward," said George, glancing round the room and seeing that Dorothy was absent. "All I know is set forth in the papers."
Mrs. Ward arranged herself on the sofa and laughed joyously. "Quite exciting it is," she said. "I wonder who killed the poor woman, and how did you come to be there on the very night she died?"
This last question was asked sharply, and with a keen glance. George was rather taken aback, but not thinking she had any intention in what she said, answered, soberly enough: "I went to see a friend, Mrs. Ward. It was unfortunate that I chose that night."
"Well, of course you didn't know," said Mrs. Ward, artlessly. "But fancy knowing any one living in an out-of-the-way place like that. But you do know such queer people."
George thought he knew none queerer than Mrs. Ward herself, but he suppressed this speech as impolite. "My friend is Mr. Leonard Train."
"Really! I think I have met him. His father made a fortune out of mustard, or coke, or something horrid. What was he doing there?"
"Looking for characters for a book."
"Oh!" Mrs. Ward opened her eyes. "Did he find any?"
"I believe so. But he has left the house now."
"I should think every one would leave it after the murder," said Mrs. Ward. "Dorothy will be down soon, but meantime tell me the whole thing from your own clever point of view."
She was so pertinacious that Brendon had reluctantly to yield. He detailed events as they had been reported by the press, but concerning the confidence of Leonard he kept silent. Mrs. Ward expressed her disappointment when he finished. "You tell me nothing new."
"I warned you that I would not," replied Brendon, wondering at her petulant speech.
"But surely you can throw some light on the matter?" said Mrs. Ward.
Brendon shook his head. "I fear not. I went to bed at eleven and slept soundly until I was awakened by the clamor."
Mrs. Ward thought for a moment. "Does Mr. Train know anything?"
"Nothing more than I have told you," declared Brendon, uncomfortably. He disliked deviating from the truth even in the smallest particular, but he dare not risk the story of his birth becoming public property. It was strange, he thought, that Mrs. Ward should take such a profound interest in this case. He had never before heard her talk on such a subject. To add to his perplexity, he saw that, in spite of her rouge, in spite of the shaded windows, she looked haggard. Yet it was impossible that she could be connected with the matter in any way. He ventured a leading question. "Why are you so anxious to know about this case?"
Mrs. Ward's reply rather astonished him. "I am not blind," she said quietly, "and I know well enough that you admire my daughter. You are poor, you are unknown, and should Dorothy marry you she would make a very bad match."
"I am aware of that," began George, "but-"
"Wait," cried Mrs. Ward, raising her hand, "I have not yet done. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, I made up my mind to place no bar to your union with my daughter, as she seems to like you-"
"She loves me, Mrs. Ward."
"Nonsense. Dorothy is too young to know the meaning of the word. I say she likes you, so we can let it stand at that. But in spite of your poverty and obscurity-" Brendon winced, for Mrs. Ward's tone was insolent in the extreme-"I am not willing that you should marry Dorothy, unless-" She hesitated.
"Unless?" queried George, looking steadily at her. "Now we come to the point. Unless your character is above suspicion."
"What do you mean?"
"You know well enough. Here you go to a low house, and while you are there the mistress of it is murdered."
George rose with some indignation. "Good heavens, Mrs. Ward, you don't suspect me!" he cried.
"Oh, dear, no. But it would be unpleasant for my daughter to have a husband mixed up with such a shady affair."
"I am not mixed up with it, Mrs. Ward."
"It's unpleasant," said Mrs. Ward, willfully holding to her opinion. "I don't like it. Find out who killed that woman and I say nothing. But until you do find out, and until the assassin is brought to justice, I must ask you to discontinue your visits to Dorothy."
Brendon saw that she was simply making an excuse to rid herself of his presence so as to leave the way clear for Walter Vane. But he was too strong a man to be foiled in this way, and speedily made up his mind how to act. "Shall we leave the matter to Miss Ward?"
"That means you wish to see her," said the mother cleverly. "Oh, well, there is no reason why you should not. But it will be for the last time, remember. Your character must bear inspection."
"I think it does," cried George, rather nettled.
Mrs. Ward, who by this time was nearly at the door, turned lightly and replied, in her most kittenish way, "Ah, my dear Mr. Brendon, I know more than you think. Lola Velez-"
"Lola Velez." George looked and felt uneasy.
"You change color. Oh, I have heard all about you and that dancer."
"I assure you that my connection with that lady is perfectly innocent."
Mrs. Ward scoffed. "Lady!" she said, sneering. "What next? However, I do not wish to hear the particulars. Such creatures are nothing to me. And if you clear yourself of this very shady business in Amelia Square by discovering the true assassin, I shall overlook Lola Velez."
"There is no need to overlook her or me."
"I think there is," said Mrs. Ward, frigidly, and with a wave of her slim hand. "There is no more to be said, Mr. Brendon. You know my decision, and as Dorothy's mother I have some power, I hope. Now I will send her to you, and you can say what you like-in fact, you can communicate to her the state of my feelings. But," added Mrs. Ward, shooting a Parthian arrow, "I should not mention