Venetia Read Free

don’t know how you can read such stuff!”
    “Of course you don’t, love—and I must own I wish Oswald had found himself unable to do so. I wonder what excuse Edward will offer us for this visit? Surely there cannot have been another Royal marriage, or General Election?”
    “Or that he should think we care for such trash.” Aubrey turned away from the window. “Are you going to marry him?” he asked.
    “No—oh, I don’t know! I am sure he would be a kind husband, but try as I will I can’t hold him in anything but esteem,” she replied, in a comically despairing tone. “Why do you try?”
    “Well, I must marry someone, you know! Conway will certainly do so, and then what is to become of me? It wouldn’t suit me to continue living here, dwindling into an aunt—and I daresay it wouldn’t suit my unknown sister either!”
    “Oh, you may live with me! I shan’t be married, and I shouldn’t at all object to it: you never trouble me!”
    Her eyes danced, but she assured him gravely that she was very much obliged to him.
    “You would like it better than to be married to Edward.”
    “Poor Edward! Do you dislike him so much?” He replied, with a twisted smile: “I never forget, when he’s with us, that I’m a cripple, m’dear.”
    A voice was heard to say, beyond the door: “In the breakfast-parlour, are they? Oh, you need not announced me: I know my way!”
    Aubrey added: “And I dislike his knowing his way!”
    “So do I, indeed! There is no escape!” she agreed, turning to greet the visitors.
    Two gentlemen of marked dissimilarity came into the room, the elder, a solid-looking man in his thirtieth year, leading the way, as one who did not doubt his welcome; the younger, a youth of nineteen, with a want of assurance imperfectly concealed by a slight, nonchalant swagger.
    “Good-morning, Venetia! Well, Aubrey!” said Mr. Edward Yardley, shaking hands. “What a pair of slugabeds, to be sure! I was afraid I shouldn’t find you in on such a day, but came on the chance that Aubrey might care to try his luck with the carp in my lake. What do you say, Aubrey? You may fish from the boat, you know, and not suffer any fatigue.”
    “Thank you, but I shouldn’t expect to get a rise in such weather.”
    “It would do you good, however, and you may drive your gig to within only a few yards of the lake, you know.”
    It was kindly said, but there was a suggestion of gritted teeth in Aubrey’s reiterated refusal. Mr. Yardley noticed this, and supposed, compassionately, that his hip was paining him. Meanwhile, young Mr. Denny was informing his hostess, rather more impressively than the occasion seemed to warrant, that he had come to see her. He added, in a low, vibrant voice, that he could not keep away. He then scowled at Aubrey, who was looking at him with derision in his eyes, and relapsed into blushful silence. He was nearly three years older than Aubrey, and had seen much more of the world, but Aubrey could always put him out of countenance, as much by his dispassionate gaze as by the use of his adder’s tongue. He could not be at ease in the boy’s presence, for besides being no match for him in a battle of wits he had a healthy young animal’s dislike of physical deformity, and considered, moreover, that Aubrey traded on this in a very shabby way. But for that halting left leg he could have been speedily taught what civility was due to his elders. He knows himself to be safe from me, thought Oswald, and curled his lip.
    Upon being invited to sit down he had assumed a careless pose upon a small sofa. He now found that his fellow-guest was steadfastly regarding him, and with unmistakeable reprobation, and he was at once torn between hope that he presented a romantic figure and fear that he had a trifle overdone the nonchalant attitude. He sat up, and Edward Yardley transferred his gaze to Venetia’s face.
    Mr. Yardley, with no wish to appear romantic, would never have been guilty of lounging in a