The Talisman Ring

‘Oh yes, it would !’ agreed Eustacie heartily.

‘Nevertheless,’ pursued Sir Tristram, ‘I believe such marriages as ours often prosper. You have accused me of disliking females, but believe me –’

‘I can see very well that you dislike females,’ interrupted Eustacie. ‘I ask myself why it is that you wish to be married.’

He hesitated, and then answered bluntly: ‘Perhaps if I had a brother I should not wish it, but I am the last of my name, and I must not let it die with me. I shall count myself fortunate if you will consent to be my wife, and so far as it may lie in my power I will promise that you shall not have cause to regret it. May I tell Sylvester that we have agreed to join hands?’

‘Qu’importe? It is his command, and naturally he knows we shall be married. Do you think we shall be happy?’

‘I hope so, cousin.’

‘Yes, but I must tell you that you are not at all the sort of man I thought I should marry. It is very disheartening. I thought that in England one was permitted to fall in love and marry of one’s own choice. Now I see that it is just the same as it is in France.’

He said with a touch of compassion: ‘You are certainly very young to be married, but when Sylvester dies you will be alone, and your situation would be awkward indeed.’

‘That is quite true,’ nodded Eustacie. ‘I have considered it well. And I dare say it will not be so very bad, our marriage, if I can have a house in town, and perhaps a lover.’

‘Perhaps a what ?’ demanded Shield, in a voice that made her jump.

‘Well, in France it is quite comme il faut – in fact, quite à la mode – to have a lover when one is married,’ she explained, not in the least abashed.

‘In England,’ said Sir Tristram, ‘it is neither comme il faut nor à la mode.’

‘Vraiment? I do not yet know what is the fashion in England, but naturally if

you assure me it is not à la mode, I won’t have any lover. Can I have a house in town?’

‘I don’t think you know what you are talking about,’ said Sir Tristram, on a note of relief. ‘My home is in Berkshire, and I hope you will grow to like it as I do, but I can hire a house in town for the season if your heart is set on it.’

Eustacie was just about to inform him that her heart was irrevocably set on it when the butler opened the door and announced the arrival of Mr Lavenham. Eustacie broke off in mid-sentence, and said under her breath: ‘Well, I would much rather be married to you than to him, at all events!’

Her expression did not lead Sir Tristram to set undue store by this handsome admission. He frowned reprovingly at her, and went forward to greet his cousin.

Beau Lavenham, who was two years younger than Shield, did not resemble him in the least. Sir Tristram was a large, lean man, very dark, harsh-featured, and with few airs or graces; the Beau was of medium height only, slim rather than lean, of a medium complexion and delicately-moulded features, and his graces were many. Nothing could have been more exquisite than the arrangement of his powdered curls, or the cut of his brown-spotted silk coat and breeches. He wore a waistcoat embroidered with gold and silver, and stockings of palest pink, a jewel in the snowy folds of his cravat, knots of ribbons at his knees, and rings on his slender white fingers. In one hand he carried his snuff-box and scented handkerchief; in the other he held up an ornate quizzing-glass that hung on a riband round his neck. Through this he surveyed his two cousins, blandly smiling and quite at ease. ‘Ah, Tristram!’ he said in a soft, languid voice, and, letting fall his quizzing-glass, held out his hand. ‘How do you do, my dear fellow?’

Sir Tristram shook hands with him. ‘How do you do, Basil? It’s some time since we met.’

The Beau made a gesture of deprecation. ‘But, my dear Tristram, if you will bury yourself in Berkshire what is one to do? Eustacie – !’ He went to her, and bowed over her hand with incomparable grace. ‘So you have been making Tristram’s acquaintance?’

‘Yes,’ said Eustacie. ‘We are betrothed.’

The Beau raised his brows, smiling. ‘Oh la, la! so soon? Did Sylvester call this tune? Well, you are, both of you, very obedient, but are you quite, quite sure that you will deal well together?’

‘Oh, I hope so!’ replied Sir Tristram bracingly.

‘If you are determined – and I must warn you, Eustacie, that he is the most determined fellow imaginable – I must hope so too. But I do not think I expected either of you to be so very obedient. Sylvester is prodigious – quite prodigious! One cannot believe that he is really dying. A world without Sylvester! Surely it must be impossible!’

‘It will seem odd, indeed,’ Shield said calmly.

Eustacie looked disparagingly at the Beau. ‘And it will seem odd to me when you are Lord Lavenham – very odd!’

There was a moment’s silence. The Beau glanced at Sir Tristram, and then said: ‘Ah yes, but, you see, I shall not be Lord Lavenham. My dear Tristram, do, I beg of you, try some of this snuff of mine, and let me have your opinion of it. I have added the veriest dash of Macouba to my old blend. Now, was I right?’

‘I’m not a judge,’ said Shield, helping himself to a pinch. ‘It seems well enough.’

Eustacie was frowning. ‘But I don’t understand! Why will you not be Lord Lavenham?’

The Beau turned courteously towards her. ‘Well, Eustacie, I am not Sylvester’s grandson, but only his great-nephew.’