Діамант Раджі=The Rajah’s Diamond. Роберт Луїс Стівенсон

was unable to continue, for his emotion choked him, and he began to weep.

      Lady Vandeleur looked at him with a curious expression.

      “This little fool,” she thought, “imagines himself to be in love with me. Why should he not become my servant instead of the General’s? He is good-natured, obliging, and understands dress; and besides it will keep him out of mischief. He is positively too pretty to be unattached.”

      That night she talked over the General, who was already somewhat ashamed of his vivacity; and Harry was transferred to the feminine department, where his life was little short of heavenly. He was always dressed with uncommon nicety, wore delicate flowers in his button-hole, and could entertain a visitor with tact and pleasantry. He took a pride in servility to a beautiful woman; received Lady Vandeleur’s commands as so many marks of favour; and was pleased to exhibit himself before other men, who derided and despised him, in his character of male lady’s-maid and man milliner. Nor could he think enough of his existence from a moral point of view. Wickedness seemed to him an essentially male attribute, and to pass one’s days with a delicate woman, and principally occupied about trimmings, was to inhabit an enchanted isle among the storms of life.

      One fine morning he came into the drawing-room and began to arrange some music on the top of the piano. Lady Vandeleur, at the other end of the apartment, was speaking somewhat eagerly with her brother, Charlie Pendragon, an elderly young man, much broken with dissipation, and very lame of one foot. The private secretary, to whose entrance they paid no regard, could not avoid overhearing a part of their conversation.

      “To-day or never,” said the lady. “Once and for all, it shall be done to-day.”

      “To-day, if it must be,” replied the brother, with a sigh. “But it is a false step, a ruinous step, Clara; and we shall live to repent it dismally.”

      Lady Vandeleur looked her brother steadily and somewhat strangely in the face.

      “You forget,” she said; “the man must die at last.”

      “Upon my word, Clara,” said Pendragon, “I believe you are the most heartless rascal in England.”

      “You men,” she returned, “are so coarsely built, that you can never appreciate a shade of meaning. You are yourselves rapacious, violent, immodest, careless of distinction; and yet the least thought for the future shocks you in a woman. I have no patience with such stuff. You would despise in a common banker the imbecility that you expect to find in us.”

      “You are very likely right,” replied her brother; “you were always cleverer than I. And, anyway, you know my motto: The family before all.”

      “Yes, Charlie,” she returned, taking his hand in hers, “I know your motto better than you know it yourself. ‘And Clara before the family!’ Is not that the second part of it? Indeed, you are the best of brothers, and I love you dearly.”

      Mr. Pendragon got up, looking a little confused by these family endearments.

      “I had better not be seen,” said he. “I understand my part to a miracle, and I’ll keep an eye on the Tame Cat.”

      “Do,” she replied. “He is an abject creature, and might ruin all.” She kissed the tips of her fingers to him daintily; and the brother withdrew by the boudoir and the back stair.

      “Harry,” said Lady Vandeleur, turning towards the secretary as soon as they were alone, “I have a commission for you this morning. But you shall take a cab; I cannot have my secretary freckled.”

      She spoke the last words with emphasis and a look of half-motherly pride that caused great contentment to poor Harry; and he professed himself charmed to find an opportunity of serving her. “It is another of our great secrets,” she went on archly, “and no one must know of it but my secretary and me. Sir Thomas would make the saddest disturbance; and if you only knew how weary I am of these scenes! Oh, Harry, Harry, can you explain to me what makes you men so violent and unjust? But, indeed, I know you cannot; you are the only man in the world who knows nothing of these shameful passions; you are so good, Harry, and so kind; you, at least, can be a woman’s friend; and, do you know? I think you make the others more ugly by comparison.”

      “It is you,” said Harry gallantly, “who are so kind to me. You treat me like—”

      “Like a mother,” interposed Lady Vandeleur; “I try to be a mother to you. Or, at least,” she corrected herself with a smile, “almost a mother. I am afraid I am too young to be your mother really. Let us say a friend – a dear friend.”

      She paused long enough to let her words take effect in Harry’s sentimental quarters, but not long enough to allow him a reply.

      “But all this is beside our purpose,” she resumed. “You will find a bandbox in the left-hand side of the oak wardrobe; it is underneath the pink slip that I wore on Wednesday with my Mechlin. You will take it immediately to this address,” and she gave him a paper, “but do not, on any account, let it out of your hands until you have received a receipt written by myself. Do you understand? Answer, if you please – answer! This is extremely important, and I must ask you to pay some attention.”

      Harry pacified her by repeating her instructions perfectly; and she was just going to tell him more when General Vandeleur flung into the apartment, scarlet with anger, and holding a long and elaborate milliner’s bill in his hand.

      “Will you look at this, madam?” cried he. “Will you have the goodness to look at this document? I know well enough you married me for my money, and I hope I can make as great allowances as any other man in the service; but, as sure as God made me, I mean to put a period to this disreputable prodigality.”

      “Mr. Hartley,” said Lady Vandeleur, “I think you understand what you have to do. May I ask you to see to it at once?”

      “Stop,” said the General, addressing Harry, “one word before you go.” And then, turning again to Lady Vandeleur, “What is this precious fellow’s errand?” he demanded. “I trust him no further than I do yourself, let me tell you. If he had as much as the rudiments of honesty, he would scorn to stay in this house; and what he does for his wages is a mystery to all the world. What is his errand, madam? and why are you hurrying him away?”

      “I supposed you had something to say to me in private,” replied the lady.

      “You spoke about an errand,” insisted the General. “Do not attempt to deceive me in my present state of temper. You certainly spoke about an errand.”

      “If you insist on making your servants privy to our humiliating dissensions,” replied Lady Vandeleur, “perhaps I had better ask Mr. Hartley to sit down. No?” she continued; “then you may go, Mr. Hartley. I trust you may remember all that you have heard in this room; it may be useful to you.”

      Harry at once made his escape from the drawing-room; and as he ran upstairs he could hear the General’s voice upraised in declamation, and the thin tones of Lady Vandeleur planting icy repartees at every opening. How cordially he admired the wife! How skilfully she could evade an awkward question! with what secure effrontery she repeated her instructions under the very guns of the enemy! and on the other hand, how he detested the husband!

      There had been nothing unfamiliar in the morning’s events, for he was continually in the habit of serving Lady Vandeleur on secret missions, principally connected with millinery. There was a skeleton in the house, as he well knew. The bottomless extravagance and the unknown liabilities of the wife had long since swallowed her own fortune, and threatened day by day to engulf that of the husband. Once or twice in every year exposure and ruin seemed imminent, and Harry kept trotting round to all sorts of furnishers’ shops, telling small fibs, and paying small advances on the gross amount, until another term was tided over, and the lady and her faithful secretary breathed again. For Harry, in a double capacity, was heart and soul upon that side of the war; not only did he adore Lady Vandeleur and fear and dislike her husband, but he naturally sympathised with the love of finery, and his own single extravagance was at the tailor’s.

      He found the bandbox where it had been described, arranged his toilette with care, and left the