San Antonio Daily Light

OR,
HALF A TRUTH.

BI
"the duchess,"
does." Then, touched by the young man's
almost haggard look, he added, with a quite
womanly tenderness of manner:
"It is a heavy blow, Charteris; but, for
Heaven's sake! bear up under it like a man.
Your life may be wrecked if you give way
now. We have our lives to live, come what
may. Forgive me
"No," said Louis, stretching out his hand
"You are a noble fellow for speaking out
straight and plain. Thank you for it."
The hands of the two men who loved
Valerie, both well and truly, yet how differently—the one openly, the other in secret—met in a close clasp. Then Max Beauregard went out, and left the young lover
alone.
Who, seeing these men together in that
hour, would have imagined that the suffering which spoke in passionate words, and
even sobs, was but as the breeze that flutters
a dead leaf to the tempest that changes
the face of a landscape, compared with the
suffering which gave no sign?
But Louis Charteris firmly believed that
"all the to-morrows shall be as to-day." In
six months Max Beauregard will prove a
true prophet; but for the soldier, six months,
six years, twice six years would be but as
one day in his changeless love for Valerie.
There are a few men who love after this
sort; but Max Beauregard was one of the
few.

CHAPTER XXVI.—A PASSED COQUETTE.

Mrs. Langley did not see her niece until
the following morning, and she wisely abstained from asking questions. She saw
that the girl looked very white, and that
her eyes were heavy, as if she had been
weeping.
"She imagines herself broken-hearted,"
thought the lady; "but she will soon get
over that. I am heartily glad this foolish
business is done with."
In the afternoon Aston Lawford called;
but Valerie did not appear. Mrs. Langley
(who called such statements "tarradiddle"
said she was out.
"I think she wants to avoid me," Lawford said. "She puzzles me, Mrs. Langley;
she is so capricious.
"My dear Mr. Lawford," Mrs. Langley
laughed merrily, "you must not expect a
girl of eighteen, in her first season, to behave like a woman of five-and-twenty.
Valerie likes you, I am sure of that. I will
not pledge myself to more."
"You really think she does?" asked Lawford, eagerly. "I don't profess to understand women—still less girls—but sometimes I feel that I am making no way with
her."
"If you will take my advice," said Mrs.
Langley, "try and be patient. Valerie is
difficile—I don't deny it—and consider how
she is flattered and fussed over!"
"She takes her fill of the world," said
Lawford, somewhat grimly. "Pardon me
for saying that few men would care to see
a girl they love flirt so much with others!"
"Ah!" said Mrs. Langley, amiably, "you
have old-world ideas, Mr. Lawford. I don't
say they are wrong, but we can't make a
spoilt beauty see with our eyes! I repeat,
I am convinced that at heart Valerie likes
you!"
A charming fiction, which Aston Lawford was, however, content to accept at its
apparent and not its real value.
Mrs. Langley did not repeat this brief
conversation to Valerie. There was no
saying what—in her present mood—that
young lady might do. "The world and all
that belongs to it," including the "iron
man" and his millions, might be thrown
over in a gust of sentiment by the decidedly
incomprehensible young person.
Lawford had hardly left the house when
there came a note from Lady Elinor Beauregard.
"If you and Valerie are free this evening, will you come and dine with us? Pray
forgive such short notice, but Gerald, who
had decided to leave town early next week,
has suddenly decided to go to-morrow, as
he doesn't feel well."
The servant was waiting for an answer,
and Mrs. Langley accepted the invitation,
and then sent for Valerie, and told her.
"Very well," was all the girl said, but
her heart beat fast. She had not seen
Colonel Beauregard since the ball. She
dreaded meeting him again.
But she had not much more than time to
dress, and then the carriage was announced,
and a few minutes later the two ladies were
ascending the broad stairs of the Beauregard mansion in Whitehall Gardens.
One swift glance as they entered the
drawing-room assured Valerie that Colonel
Beauregard was not there. Perhaps he
was out for the evening. The girl felt half
relieved at the thought; and yet her heart
sank, too.
Lady Elinor came forward with effusion
to receive her guests:
"How good of you to come!" she exclaimed. "How lucky you were disengaged—only
ourselves!"
"And a very dull host, I am afraid," said
Gerald Beauregard, as he shook hands. "I
don't feel well at all."
"You don't look it," said Mrs. Langley.
"I am afraid London doesn't suit you."
"It doesn't, indeed! So I am going to
leave Nellie to Max's care, and she will
run down and see me sometimes."
"Max is going down with him to-morrow," added Lady Elinor,
"Yes? Shall we not have the pleasure of
seeing him this evening?" asked Mrs. Langley.
"Oh, yes! Here he is, I believe!"
The door opened, and Colonel Beauregard came in. He shook hands with Mrs.
Langley, and then turned to Valerie, who
sat on a low chair near.
But she was quite self-possessed now,
and gave him her hand without a tremor.
He sat down near her, and began talking
about ordinary topics, without anything
in his manner to indicate that she had offended or wounded him the other evening.
Only there was the same change she had
noticed then: the old, half-tender, brightness had gone—they might have been acquaintances of this season only—and
though Valerie would have found it hard
to say that he deliberately avoided any
allusions to a former friendship, he certainly never made one; and she, poor child,
dared not.
How often, during these few minutes,
she thought of the mermaid and the naked
swords; and yet it was strange happiness
only to have him near her, to hear his
voice, though he must despise and condemn her in his heart.
More than once Mrs. Langley glanced
covertly and anxiously toward the two.
She was always a good bit afraid of Max
Beauregard; he was so dangerously attractive a man; and it would never do for Valerie to throw over one poor man only to
fall in love with another.
But there was nothing in the soldier's
manner now to affright the wise matron,
no suspicious lowering of the voice on either his part or Valerie's, no drooping of her
eyes or change of color; and when the butler announced dinner, and Lady Elinor
said: "Max, will you take Valerie down?"
he rose and gave his companion his arm
with some careless remark about a play
they had been talking of.
At dinner he sat next her; but all the
time, while conversing with her on general
topics, Colonel Beauregard was covertly
watching the girl's beautiful face, saying
again and again to himself:
"She is sacrificing herself for money, but
she is not happy. Had she grown to love
Charteris? She cannot love Aston Lawford!"
After dinner, when they were all in the
drawing-room, and Valerie was talking to
Gerald Beauregard, Aston Lawford was
announced. Max, under the shelter of his
long lashes, glanced keenly at Valerie, and
saw in her face a flash that was surely not
pleasure; yet when Lawford came forward
she greeted him with a bright smile, and
made room for him on the couch beside
her; and presently Mr. Beauregard crossed
the room to speak to Mrs. Langley, and
Valerie was left to Lawford's companionship. Gerald's place remained vacant.
Max might have taken it; but he stood by
Mrs. Langley's chair; and seemed either to
think he was not wanted elsewhere, or did
not care to seek Valerie's society. Why
should he? the girl asked herself, bitterly;
and yet her whole soul rose up in resentment against the tacit consignment of her
to Aston Lawford. She would snub him,
she said to herself; and then came a reaction. No. Max Beauregard might think it
was done to draw him on.
In her terror of Scylla the girl plunged
into Charybdis, and put on her brightest
manner for Aston Lawford, raising him to
the seventh heaven, and filling Max Beauregard with a keen desire to run the "iron
man" through the body.
Presently, however, Lady Elinor said
something to her brother-in-law, and he
crossed over to Valerie.
"My sister wished me to speak to you,
Miss Herbert," he said, "if you would make
one of our party next Tuesday at the Lyceum?"
"Who are going besides Lady Elinor?"
asked Valerie, playing with her fan, trembling inwardly, her young heart fluttering
like an imprisoned bird.
"Hal Dallas and myself."
"I shall be very happy—" Valerie was
beginning, when Lawford interposed:
"I thought next Tuesday was engaged?"
Valerie looked at him.
"Engaged?" she repeated. "Is it?"
"Oh! if that is the case," said Colonel
Beauregard, a little coldly, "forgive me;
only your aunt told Nellie you were free."
Aston Lawford looked with a frown on
the handsome soldier—there was no love
lost between these two men—and said to
Valerie:
"You half promised to go with Lettice
and me to the German Opera!"
"Did I? Oh, well, a half promise is not
a whole one," returned the girl, with a
careless laugh. "Please tell Lady Elinor
Colonel Beauregard, that I shall be very
happy to join your party on Tuesday.
Beauregard bowed gravely, and turned
away; but he heard Lawford's quick, low
question, and the girl's reply:
"Surely, Valerie, you cannot prefer to go
with them?"
"Surely, Mr. Lawford, I am not going to
give rhyme and reason for all I do, to any
one. Pray understand that!"
And Max set his teeth like a vise.
Was Valerie an inborn coquette, selling
herself to one man, yet bent on the conquest of all? Truly, it seemed as if she
was.

CHAPTER XXVII.—AT THE LYCEUM.

Lady Elinor Beauregard's carriage drew
up at the door of Mrs. Langley's house in
Upper Brook Street, and the lady turned
to Colonel Beauregard who sat by her
"Go up, Max, and fetch Valerie, please.
There is no need for me to go in. She is
sure to be ready, for she inherits the military virtue of punctuality.
The footman had already knocked, and
the door was opened as Max stepped out of
the brougham. He was shown into the
drawing-room, and was for a minute alone.
Instinctively he glanced around for signs
of Valerie's presence; a piece of music lay
on the piano. He crossed the room and
looked at the music—a song by Gounod,
dedicated by permission to Miss Valerie
Herbert," and set to words by Elizabeth
Barrett Browning. The music was fresh,
and he was closing the page without further notice, when some words caught his
eyes:
"Ye weep for these who weep? she said—
Ah! fools! I bid you pass them by.
Go weep for these whose hearts have bled
What time their eyes were dry.
Whom sadder can I say? she said."
"True, true! Heaven knows it!" the
man muttered, pressing his hand over his
eyes for a moment; and then he turned,
with quickening pulse, as the door opened,
and there was a soft frou-frou of woman's
garments, and Valerie came in, in cream
cashmere and amber satin, exhaling perfume of hyacinth and heliotrope.
"I have not kept you a minute, Colonel
Beauregard, have I?" she said, holding out
her hand.
"Scarcely a minute; I hope you have not
hurried," he answered, taking the rich
opera-cloak from the hands of Fanchon,
who followed, to place round Valerie's
shoulders.
"There was no need. I was just ready."
Max wrapped the mantle carefully about
her, bringing back to her the night at Donnington, when he had told her that fairy
queens were scarce. Did he, too, recall
that episode? Then he drew the little hand
on his arm, and led her down to the carriage.
Lady Elinor shook hands with her warmly, told her she was as punctual as Max
himself, and then the carriage drove off.
"Have you heard from Mr. Beauregard
lately?" Valerie asked his wife, en route.
"Yes, this morning. He was still not
very well; but nothing really the matter.
Max and I are going down to Abbot's
Leigh on Saturday to stay over Monday,"
Lady Elinor (or rather Colonel Beauregard for her) had secured a first-tier box,
and they found Dallas waiting for them in
the vestibule of the Lyceum. Lady Elinor
placed Valerie in the center of the box between the two men, Max nearest the stage,
herself taking the opposite corner next to
Dallas; and the moment she was settled,
she began to look about for people she
knew, while everybody in the house who
could see the Beauregard box, stared at
Valerie. But Valerie cared nothing who
was here or who wasn't, or whether she
was looked at or not. She only knew that
Max Beauregard was beside her, and it
was the mermaid and the swords again.
Her heart felt breaking, but she was happy,
a happiness that was full of ineffable pain,
and yet was happiness. She knew Beauregard must despise her; he was disappointed in her; she had been (to all seeming) unjust, unkind, ungrateful to him; the
effort to talk, and appear as usual in his
presence, to look at him, was so great that
it produced actual physical as well as intense mental exhaustion; still, it was the
only happiness her life knew now—to be
with him. Truly love is the strangest, the
most inexplicable of all passion:
"I thought I saw Aston Lawford," said
Lady Elinor, and Max saw Valerie start
slightly.
"Where?" asked Dallas.
"Over there, at the back of the opposite
stage-box," leveling her opera-glass. Beauregard's eyes followed the direction indicated.
"That isn't Lawford," he said; "that's
the manager of the
Theatre."
"Mr. Lawford was going to the German
opera to-night," said Valerie, nonchalantly.
"He might not have gone after all, as you
were not going, my dear," replied Lady
Elinor, laughing.
Max glanced at Valerie. The girl colored,
but shrugged her shoulders.
It was clear to him that she had no love
for Lawford (how, indeed, could she have?)
and yet she was going to sacrifice herself
to him;
The rising of the curtain put a term to
Lady Elinor's chatter, and the stage gave
both Valerie and Colonel Beauregard a
good excuse for silence. Neither cared to
talk, but Max took little heed of what
(To be Continued)