esmeralda started, and her hand closed tightly over her fan. this gentleman, who had thanked her so fervently in the park, this nephew of lord selvaine’s, was the “trafford” of whom norman druce had talked in his delirium, whose praises he had sung so enthusiastically! would he recognize her? she raised her eyes to his almost apprehensively; but he, as he bowed, looked at her with grave, absent-minded eyes, and it seemed to esmeralda as if he scarcely saw her.

“miss chetwynde is lady wyndover’s ward,” said lord selvaine. “she has only just arrived in england, and this is her first acquaintance with vanity fair. i ought to add that she is wise enough not to dance, and so is reveling in the easy joys of the mere spectator.”

with a little smile and bow he moved away, and left them alone. lord trafford leaned against the wall, and gazed gravely at the crowd, almost as if he had forgotten esmeralda. she did not know that he was trying to remember where he had seen her before.

she looked at him from under her long lashes with a curious and intense interest. this, then, was the lord trafford, the eldest son of the great duke of belfayre, who would some day himself be the great duke of belfayre. yes, he was very handsome. lord norman had not exaggerated. and she understood, as she scanned him, with a woman’s comprehensive glance, what norman had meant when he had said that his cousin was far and away above all other men. she felt, though she could not have explained why, that he was the most distinguished-looking man in the room, though there was no broad blue ribbon across his breast, and only a dark-looking stone—she did not know that it was a black pearl—in his shirt-front for jewelry. suddenly he looked down at[80] her; so suddenly—and yet not abruptly—that she lowered her eyes quickly.

“you are sitting in a draught, miss chetwynde,” he said. “come into this seat,” and he indicated one a little further into the conservatory.

esmeralda obeyed.

“was there a draught?” she said. “it didn’t matter. lady wyndover minds them, but it makes no difference to me; i never catch cold. i suppose it is because i am used to draughts.”

as she spoke, he looked at her intently, and seemed to listen eagerly, and with a slight frown, as if he were puzzled.

“you have only just come to england?” he said.

“only a little while ago—about a week,” said esmeralda.

“and you have been away, on the continent?” he asked.

“no; i came straight from australia,” she said. “i have never been anywhere else.”

his brows contracted, and he looked still more puzzled. a faint smile curved esmeralda’s lips. she knew that he was trying to remember where he had seen her.

“australia—i have never been there,” he said, musingly. “and do you like england—what you have seen of it, miss chetwynde?”

“for some things, yes; for others, no,” said esmeralda. “but that is, perhaps, because i’m strange, and things are so different.”

“so different?” he echoed, invitingly. something of the charm of her freshness attracted him, as it attracted all who came in contact with her. he looked at her more attentively, and began to realize how beautiful she was, and how girlish and unsophisticated. he did not read the society papers, and had heard nothing, knew nothing about her, beyond the knowledge which lord selvaine’s introductory words conveyed.

“yes,” said esmeralda. “people talk and behave differently to what i’ve been used to, and it is strange, at first; but i dare say i shall get used to it. don’t you want to dance?” she broke off. “everybody must want to dance who can; don’t let me keep you standing here.”

he did not smile at her candor as another man might have done.

“i don’t dance very often,” he said. “and i am glad to stand here, if you will allow me. like you, i enjoy being a spectator.”

[81]

“oh, but i don’t enjoy it,” said esmeralda. “i’d dance if i could. i’m going to learn. i’ve got a lot to learn.”

he looked at her thoughtfully, gravely, but said nothing. it was said that lord trafford had, like hawthorne, “flashes of eloquent silence.” this was one of them. a waltz was just over, and several couples passed them into the conservatory, into which there were two or three entrances. the buzz of chatter and laughter surrounded them; now and again some one could be heard distinctly. a voice, coming from a cluster of palms, just then reached them. it was a woman’s voice, and she was saying:

“have you seen her, my dear? she is one of the most beautiful girls i ever saw. she is perfectly lovely! with the most wonderful hair and eyes.”

“a kind of ‘belle sauvage,’ i suppose?”

“no, indeed! she looks just like any one else,” rejoined the first lady. “she is perfectly dressed—of course lady wyndover would see to that—and she seems quite—quite quiet and well behaved. i haven’t spoken to her yet.”

“ah,” said the second voice, “i expect if you had your enthusiasm would have evaporated. you would find that she dropped her h’s, or talked through her nose.”

the other lady laughed.

“i dare say; she comes from the wilds of australia. but it does not matter; she will become the rage, however she talks, or whatever she does, mark my words. over two millions of money! think of it! oh, we shall have her photographs in all the shop-windows presently! lord selvaine has approved of her, he has been sitting beside her, and promenading with her half the evening. yes, before long we shall all be wearing the ‘chetwynde’ hat, or the ‘chetwynde’ cape. two millions! think of it, dear!”

lord trafford, who had heard every word, colored, and looked down at esmeralda.

“shall we go into the ball-room?” he said, quietly.

“no!” said esmeralda. there was a dash of color in her cheek, and her glorious eyes flashed under their lashes. “yes, they are talking about me. it is not very kind, is it? i can’t help being born in australia; and”—with a sudden thrill in her voice—“i wouldn’t if i could! and i can’t help having all this money! oh, i hate england, and—and all the english people!”

she rose with a sudden gesture which, it must be confessed, had something savage in it. the words, the tone, the[82] gesture, inexplicably recalled her to trafford’s memory. he took her hand and drew it upon his arm.

“i know now!” he said in the tone of triumph and satisfaction we use when we have succeeded in remembering. “it was you who caught lady ada’s horse in the park yesterday.”

esmeralda’s face grew hot, and she looked straight before her.

“you have been a long while remembering,” she said.

“forgive me!” he pleaded. “please, please forgive me! the difference in dress, the— how brave it was of you!”

“oh!” she said, quietly, but with an upraising of her brows. “i thought it was very foolish! i’ve been told that it was—was unlady-like to interfere. another time i shall stand quite still, and let happen what will.”

he looked at her.

“no, you will not!” he said. “you could not, miss chetwynde. i am glad i have met you to-night; i want to tell you how much i admired—appreciated—your courage, your presence of mind! another woman, girl, would have screamed or run away.”

“i never scream; and i don’t run away,” said esmeralda, as if she were stating a mere matter of fact.

“i can believe it!” he said. “i can believe anything of you that is brave and noble. and i beg you, on your part, to believe that we, in england, are not all like these silly, brainless chatterers.” he waved his hand toward the palms.

esmeralda’s heart beat tumultuously. his voice, his manner—now so full of life and spirit—affected her strangely. she could not look at him, but gazed straight before her; and as she looked—through a mist, as it were—she saw a tall, graceful girl, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, coming toward them, on the arm of lord blankyre. it was the lady whom she had saved in the park.

lord trafford did not see her; he was intent upon esmeralda’s face.

“oh, here you are, trafford,” said lord blankyre; “i am sorry to have found you, for lady ada promised me this dance, if i failed to do so.”

esmeralda looked fixedly at the fair girl she had saved from a broken limb or worse—looked with a kind of wonder, for lady ada lancing, in ball-room costume, was a vision lovely enough to evoke wonder from any heart, male or female. she wore a dress of palest blue, covered with a cream lace of finest spider-web, and, with her delicate complexion, looked like a chef d’?uvre in biscuit china.

[83]

lord trafford bowed to esmeralda.

“i hope we shall meet again, miss chetwynde,” he said, and went off with lady ada on his arm.

esmeralda nodded—the free-and-easy three star nod—and sunk into her chair. she was instantly surrounded by men who had been waiting for their opportunity, and when lady wyndover found her she was hemmed in by a circle of courtiers competing for her smiles.

the ball was almost over, and lord trafford had conducted lady ada to the brougham which she shared with her watch-dog and cousin, lady grange, and was hesitating between his club and bed, when lord selvaine came up and touched him on the shoulder.

“going home, trafford? take me with you, and give me a soda and whisky, will you?”

“certainly,” he said in his grave fashion.

they got into a hansom, and were driven to lord trafford’s chambers in the albany. lord trafford turned up the incandescent light, and motioned his uncle into the most comfortable chair, and produced the spirit-stand and syphon. his man had gone to his virtuous couch hours ago; for lord trafford was eccentric enough to study his servant’s comfort.

lord selvaine leaned back and sipped his whisky and soda, and smoked delicately.

“nice evening, traff?” he said.

lord trafford leaned against the mantel-piece and looked absently at the smoke from his cigarette.

“yes; oh, yes! lady blankyre’s parties are always successful. does that cigarette suit you, or will you have a turkish?”

“quite satisfactory, thanks,” said lord selvaine. “delightful evening! but i was particularly lucky, for i spent a great portion of it with miss chetwynde.” he knocked the ashes from his cigarette, and nestled still closer in the luxurious chair. “what a wonderful girl! really, my dear boy, i have never seen a more beautiful woman! those eyes of hers are—are a revelation! and her hair! titian and murillo, to say nothing of burne-jones!”

“she is very beautiful,” said lord trafford, absently.

“she is lovely!” exclaimed lord selvaine, softly. “and she is as charming as she is beautiful. such innocence and—and freshness! i declare to you that if i were a marrying man, and, say, a trifle of twenty years younger, i should be in love with her. by jove! i am in love with her as it is!”

trafford smiled.

[84]

“where is there a woman who can compare with her?” demanded lord selvaine in the same soft voice, and looking, not at his nephew, but at the smoke which rose from his own cigarette. “i grant you that she is—well, rather green, but it is the green of the lily, the freshness of the mountain ash, which will wear off, alas! before the season has passed.”

“miss chetwynde is very innocent—yes,” assented lord trafford.

“and she is worth—what is it?—a couple of millions?” murmured lord selvaine.

“so i understand,” said trafford.

lord selvaine smoked leisurely, and eyed, through his half-closed eyes, his nephew.

“have you been down to belfayre lately, traff?” he asked.

trafford shook his head.

“not lately.”

“better come down with me to-morrow,” said lord selvaine. “there is a kind of conference on. things are very bad, you know.”

“i know,” assented trafford, with a sigh.

“yes; and the worst of it is that the duke doesn’t realize how bad they are. he has been going into this scheme for making a fashionable watering-place of belfayre bay, and talks and acts as if we had half a million at our backs.”

“i know,” said lord trafford again, sadly.

“yes,” continued lord selvaine, smoothly. “i dare say there is something in it, but it would take a million, or thereabouts, to put it right. the question is—where is that million to come from?”

“i do not know,” said trafford.

lord selvaine leaned forward, still smoking.

“what will you give me, traff, if i tell you?” he asked, with a smile.

trafford looked at him gravely.

“what do you mean?” he said, wearily. “where is a million of money to come from?”

lord selvaine fell back, and regarded his nephew with half-closed lids.

“let us be plain with each other, traff,” he said. “it is what no other members of the family are. the house of belfayre is on the brink of ruin. your father is in his dotage, and does not recognize the fact; in fact, has forgotten it. but you and i know it. now, the question is, whether we shall bow to fate, and consent to sink into the mud, or make an effort to extricate ourselves. personally, the question does[85] not affect me. i am a bachelor, and have enough for my few and simple wants. but with you, dear boy, it is different. you are the next duke, the head of the family. with you it is a duty and tradition to keep up the old name, the old position.”

“i know,” said trafford, with a sigh.

“you can’t stand aside, with a shrug of your shoulders, and see the family title go down. rank has its obligations and duties as well as its privileges.”

lord trafford sighed again. all this was a truism which he had learned in his cradle.

“there is only one way in which you can pick the house of belfayre from the dust,” continued lord selvaine; “only one way in which you can save the good old name and the good old acres. you must marry.”

trafford flung his cigarette in the fire, and made an impatient movement. lord selvaine looked at him through half-closed lids.

“my dear boy, i know exactly what you feel. i have been through the fire. but i have drawn back in time. i know, when i speak of marrying, your thoughts, your heart at once fly to ada lancing.”

trafford started, and frowned.

“forgive me, my dear traff! one must speak sometimes with the muzzle off. i admire, i adore ada lancing; she has only one defect. she is as beautiful as a dream, as imperial as an empress, but, unfortunately, she has no money. and what we want is money. money! not a little, but a large sum. an enormous sum!” he sipped his soda and whisky, and settled himself more comfortably in his easy-chair. trafford went to the window, and looked out at the night. every word this worldly wise uncle of his spoke jarred upon him. and yet, how worldly wise, how unanswerable it was!

“with a large sum of money,” continued lord selvaine, “we could recover ourselves. the mortgages could be paid off. belfayre could expand itself; in short, the family could hold up its head again, and you, my dear traff, instead of being the heir to one of the oldest titles and an ocean of debts and incumbrances, would be a real duke with a real dukedom.”

“what is it you are driving at?” asked lord trafford, impatiently.

“only this,” said his uncle, blandly, “that to-night i have seen a way to removing all our difficulties.”

lord trafford looked at the smooth face questioningly.

[86]

“yes; an easy way, as i take it. you must, my dear traff, marry money. well, money—and a most charming girl—are ready to your hand. two millions of money! think of it!”

“two millions!” echoed trafford, grimly.

“yes; that is what miss chetwynde is worth.”

“miss chetwynde!”

“yes; the girl i introduced you to. you must admit that she is beautiful enough—”

“beautiful! but—but—”

“but what, my dear traff? you don’t imagine that the millions are to be obtained without certain disadvantages? bah! of course there are disadvantages! but you must swallow them. they will be sugared pills, anyhow! think of two millions! it will redeem belfayre; it will restore the house to its old stability; it will be the making of us! yes, traff, you will have to marry miss chetwynde!”