As our friends followed the servant, a child's cry proceeded from one of the salons as they passed; the page had a comedy face, and Vaura thinking his reply might amuse, asked:
"Do the babies take care of each other?"
With a farcical expression, the man answered unlocking the doors:
"Oui, Mademoiselle."
"Women crow everywhere, for men are no where, and babies anywhere." The maids seeing to bath and toilette, their mistresses met in the comfortablesalonwhich was entered on either side from each sleeping chamber and small boudoir; soon in pleasant converse, or pauses of quiet, as friends who know and love each other can indulge in; Lady Esmondet and Vaura passed the time until theentreeof Trevalyon to escort them to thesalle a mangerandtable d'hote; as he sees them he thinks, "how charming they look refreshed and re-robed, each wearing gown and neck-gear, artistic in draping and colour. How is it that some women have (Vaura always had it), some innate gift in robing, causing one's eyes to rest on them and not tire, again both possess a subtle charm of manner; Vaura has as veil a voice that woos one as she speaks. Haughton shall have my warmest thanks for giving me such companionship; dear old fellow, he did not forget my request." And stepping to Vaura, he hands her a bouquet of sweet tea-roses, saying:
"You see, Miss Vernon, your Knight of the Lion Heart, as in days of yore you dubbed me, has not forgotten the button-hole bouquets you used to make as child hostess; it is not aesthetic, as from your fingers; this is only from the basket of one of the people."
"Merci; as your unfashionably retentive memory bring me so much of sweetness, then am I happy in your being unfashionable." And as she fastened a few to her corsage, placing the remainder in a vase, she continued: "See, god-mother dear, my sweet tea-roses with their perfumed voice will remind us of our usual excursion on to-morrow."
"And may I know what this usual excursion is?" asked Trevalyon, as he seated himself between his companions at table.
"Surely, yes," said Vaura; "one we almost invariably make on coming abroad, should we be located at an hotel for many days, where they don't as a rule, cater to one's olfactory nerves, we journey to some of the conservatories and rob them of many odorous blossoms, to brighten our temporary home; this time we carry a large order for Haughton Hall, so large indeed, that I should not wonder; did the vendors take us for market gardeners; robbing sweet sunny Paris to brighten and perfume our London fog."
"Or perhaps," said Lady Esmondet, "as there is so much discussion is Canadian newspapers over Free TradeversusProtection; the great unread may mix us so up that we buy before duty is laid."
"Take my word for it, Lady Alice, did the Frenchman look upon you as despoilers, in the long run, he would not even try to resist making your purse as trash for to-day."
"Were I a flower vendor," said Vaura, "I should be a follower of Bastiat, and gather my roses while I may, by selling cheap as I could and buying cheap."
"Are you feeling better, Lady Alice, though to my eyes you are looking much as when last I saw you; Haughton tells me you are going to Italy for change," he said kindly.
"Yes, I don't feel quite myself, Lionel; and Italy will be sun-warm, what I require, my physician tells me; but the air on the water has given me such an apetite, I feel better already."
"The very scene we are in is enough to cure one; so bright, so gay,chicin every way," said Vaura.
"Yes, 'tis brimful of animation," said Trevalyon; and thesalle a mangeris preferable to privacy; when one travels, 'tis more of a change to live its life, the continuous noise, bustle and excitement take one out of oneself."
"Which is a panacea for all one's ills," said Vaura.
"You have not yet told us your experience in the office; was the major-domo very peremptory?" asked Lady Esmondet.
"No; on the whole she bore her high seat meekly enough."
"Now to me," said Vaura, "it is more preferable to, as women did in days of yore, buckle on the armour for some brave Knight, see that helmet and breast-plate are secure, and send him forth into the world's turmoil; yes, I am content to live my woman life."
"Because you know your power and feel it sweet, is why you are content," he said in low tones, letting his mesmeric eyes rest on her beautiful face.
"But is it true, Lionel," said Lady Esmondet, (as they left the table, followed by many eyes), "is it true that at Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, &c., women fill manly offices?"
"True, 'tis true, and I must tell you a funny incident bearing on this question. My friend, Ross Halton, was over at New York immediately after their recent monster elections; a friend of his was defeated; his agent telling him there was foul play somewhere, for numerous votes promised him were eventually polled for the other side; passing the house of a party man, out of curiosity he went in to ascertain if he had been true to his colours; on asking him, the man looking sheepish, hanging his head, said: 'The wife's democrat, sir,' while a quick determined, little woman stepped forward, saying: 'he,' pointing to her husband, 'sees you or your agent once a year, when you come to buy his vote; he lives with me!'"
"Whither are we drifting?" said Lady Esmondet, sinking into a chair.
"Whither are we drifting," echoed Vaura, with animation, "as sure as Fate, into the 'Gy' and 'An' of Bulwer's New Utopia; but talking of woman's rights, reminds me of the rights of man. Did you say dear uncle gave you your charter to meet us so opportunely, and locate us so pleasantly.".
"I did,ma belle; but you scarcely heard, as at the time you were listening to the adieux of the Douglas."
"Ah, yes, poor Roland," and Trevalyon saw that a little sigh was given, but there is no sadness in the dark eyes turned again to him, as she says, "and poor uncle; I wonder what the county people will think of Madame."
"She can make herself popular if she will; she at all events has the wherewithal to buy their vote," said Lady Esmondet, as she buried herself inLondon Truth.
"Yes, that's true, I suppose she will take," said Vaura, musingly.
"You don't know how delightful I find the being again with you, Miss Vernon," said Trevalyon, earnestly. "Such a lapse of time since the old life at Haughton."
"Yes, I remember well," and the rose deepened in her soft cheek, "so well the last time I saw you there."
"Do you; I am glad you do not forget what I never shall," and he leaned forward, looking at her almost gravely.
Vaura too, in her long look backward, had a tremulous softness in her expression, with a far-away look in the eyes, vividly recalling the lovely child-woman to his memory. Rousing herself, she says: "Lady Esmondet,ma chere, you should bury yourself in your couch instead ofTruth, it grows late; and I am to take care of you."
"In a few moments, dear, I am on something that interests me," she said, without raising her eyes from the paper.
"And I," said Trevalyon, "am forgetting a friend in my apartments; lonely and alone in a strange place."
"Your friend," said Vaura, with a swift thought to the hidden wife, "must think you the extreme of fashionable to receive at the witching hour of midnight."
"My friend does not care whether I be fashionable, but worships me, and would be with me morning, noon and night."
"You speak as if you believe," she said, veiling her eyes, and idly picking off the leaves of the roses.
"Yes, past doubting; not being a Christian, I am the only god my friend worships."
"Women have spoiled you, Capt. Trevalyon; you boast of our idolatry." For the first time he partly reads her latent thought; and saying, hurriedly, "Stay here five minutes," rising quickly, left the boudoir.
"What has he gone away so hastily for?" enquired Lady Esmondet, turning from the newspaper. "Lionel, dear fellow, is usually so easy in his gait."
"To see some one who worships at his shrine; said he would return in five minutes;" she answered, carelessly.
"Oh! he did not say who?"
"No, it might have been awkward."
"Why? what do you mean,ma chere?"
"It might relate to the hidden wife story."
"Nonsense, Vaura; mark my words, he has no more a hidden wife than you have a hidden husband."
"Yes, yes, I know, and should not be hasty, forerrare est humanum," she said quickly, brushing something very like a tear from her bright eyes.
"I am so glad, dear," said Lady Esmondet, apparently not noticing her emotion, "that your uncle hit upon this plan of Lionel being our travelling companion, there is so much adaptability in him, he gives one quite a restful feeling."
"Own at once," she answered, recovering herself, "that 'tis pleasant to have a man about one, and that we have not drawn a blank in our present squiredes dames."
"Just my thought, dear; but he is coming, or it may be they, forLionel is talking to some one."
"The deity and his votary; now do you forgive my faith and credulity,Miss Vernon," he said, sauntering in with a noble dog at his heels.
"Splendid fellow," cried Vaura, impulsively, drawing his head to her knee, laying her cheek against it; looking up at his master she said: "Forgive me, I misunderstood you; remembering you only as my old-time Knight of the Lion Heart, I feared the world of women had spoiled you."
"You know how to heal when you wound," he answered gently.
"Is he not a Leonberg?" said Lady Esmondet, as the dog went to her side to be caressed.
"Yes, and they are the best dogs in existence; dear old Mars, it would be strange indeed were I not attached to him, he never tires; in all my wanderings is always faithful."
"And 'man is the god of the dog,' which a moment ago I did not remember; you will not have to remind us of the old adage, 'love me, love my dog,' for we shall love the dear old fellow for his own sake," said Vaura.
"Yes, indeed, Lionel," said Lady Esmondet; "you need have no fear of banishment on his account."
"Thank you," he said, receiving and giving to both a warm hand-clasp. "Depend upon it, if Mars has any battles to fight for you, he will not put to shame his name; and now we leave you to woo the god of slumber."
The following morn the sun arose and smiled his greeting on gay Paris—methinks Old Sol weeps, when clouds come between his beams and the gayest of cities. Lady Esmondet and Vaura enjoyed their drive through the beautiful boulevards out into the suburbs, and to one of the largest public conservatories; the gardens were a scene of enchanting loveliness, laid out in the perfection of artistic taste; the friends roamed whither their will led, revelling in the perfumed air and beauty of colouring.
"Here," said Vaura, "one could be content to sing, 'I'd be a butterfly,' all day long."
"Yes, but only,ma chere, for a summer day."
"I am afraid you are right, godmother mine, and that when winter with the gay season came on the boards of life, I should prove faithless and sing, Oh, for the sights and the sounds of the season for me!"
"But we cannot linger longer, Vaura; we must go to the office and leave our order."
Having left an order that astonished the clerk, they took a reluctant leave of this lovely floral nest. They ordered the man drive towards the city in the immediate vicinity, of which Vaura alighted at a neat cottage to visit a blindprotegee, one Marie Perrault, daughter of a one-time actor of no mean repute, who had taught elocution at the Seminaire where Miss Vernon had finished her education. Monsieur Perrault had assisted Vaura in the getting up of theatricals, she having developed such excellent histrionic powers. Perrault secretly hoped she would yet make herdebutfrom the boards of his favourite Lyceum Theatre Francais.
Marie was overjoyed at the pleasant surprise of a visit from her benefactress, whose face, lovely as it was, and lit up with the joy of living, gay chit-chat, and sweet-scented blossoms she carried seemed to brighten, as with sunbeams, her darkened life. Vaura stayed long enough to leave her gifts of fruit, flowers, and kind words for M. Perrault; and left for the Seminaire of Madame Rocheforte, there she lunched, and learned that Isabel Douglas had left for England, immediately on the arrival of Roland.
"Isabel is a sweet girl, and her brother a noble fellow," said Madame, earnestly; "and I conclude from what she tells me that her brother loves you with one great love. I feel for you like a mother, Vaura, so you will understand my speaking, and I hope love will creep into your heart for him."
"I trust you are mistaken, Madame, for it would grieve me very much, more indeed than I can express to cause him pain."
"I hope you will change,ma chere; woman is fickle; and when he pleads, as I am sure he can, you will not look on his handsome face unmoved."
"He has made a conquest of you,chere madame," said Vaura, gravely kissing her on both cheeks in adieu.
"Oui, ma chere, but,—for you."
"N'importe, madame; remember 'that men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love.'"
"You know better, Vaura."
And as she walked in the direction of her hotel (attended by one of the school servants) she told herself that there was not always truth in the words, witness dear Guy and others; poor Roland too; she hoped he would not take it to heart. On entering the hotel her maid met her with a message from Lady Esmondet bidding her dress at once for Mr. Bertram's dinner. Vaura, telling Saunders to be expeditious—she would wear her biscuit colored satin, old lace, coral ornaments—is soon robed; her fluffy hair, almost bronze in its brightness and so luxuriant giving her maid no trouble, is as an old time saint hath it, 'a glory to her,' while the warm tints of her rich beauty is set off by the colour of her gown.
"You are a treasure, Saunders," said her mistress; "I find you have dressed me so quickly I shall have time for a little reading; go tell Lady Esmondet I now await her pleasure to leave."
"You are so easy to dress, miss; you see, Mademoiselle, your eyes and complexion don't want doing up; now when I was maid to the Misses Verlingham—"
"Spare me the mysteries of thetoilette, Saunders, and do my bidding; mysteries indeed," thought she, half-laughing, "what would the poor men say could they see the war-paint putting on for their slaughter," and picking up one of W. H. Mallock's novels she sank into a cosy corner. In half an hour Saunders returned, saying that Lady Esmondet with Capt. Trevalyon were waiting in thesalon. Enveloped in a carriage wrap of white wool, with the dainty hood of satin of her gown covered with old lace, she joins her companions, with a "may I." Capt. Trevalyon loosens the fleecy wrap and fastens with a diamond pin some damask-roses and yellow pansies to her corsage. As they roll speedily along, Lady Esmondet calls on Vaura to give an account of herself in the hours of her absence.
"I was beginning to think, dear, that M. Perrault was renewing his entreaties that you should take to the boards of the Theatre Francais."
"I did not meet him, else doubtless he would," she answered.
On Lady Esmondet's remark, she thought (in the flickering light) a cloud came to Trevalyon's brow, and now that a converse sweet, broken and changeful was taking place between Vaura and he; Lady Esmondet gave herself up to thoughts of the past engendered by the cloud on the brow of her friend, usually so calmly careless, and she thought he naturally would dread one so lovely and gifted living the life of theatres, if it were only that in his interest in her, she would drift away from them; and home life in the fascinations of an actress existence. And a divorce suit of some thirty years ago, which as a very young girl of fourteen, she remembered—all now came again to her memory,—in which the principal actors were Lionel's father, Hugh Trevalyon and his beautiful wife Nora. Both were passionate lovers of the drama; the Trevalyons frequently wintered at Paris, where they made the acquaintance of one of the principal actors of the day. He was a handsome man with a charm of manner none could resist, and as fate would have it, living at the same hotel, he so ingratiated himself into favour with both, who in their admiration of his talents almost deified him, that he was the recipient of an invitation in his idle days to the Towers; while there, an overwhelming passion for his beautiful hostess completely mastered him. She, always fascinated by his seductive manner, when he pleaded, gave way, feeling that she had met her master; accustomed to worship his talents, she simply felt she was his if he willed; finally at the close of a night of revelry, ball and theatricals at the Towers she gave up, consenting, nay willing, to elope at his wish, with only a passing thought to her little boy and once loved husband; she was his; he was her god, and she never dreamed of the man she had taken for better or for worse; her husband sued for and obtained a divorce, the actor marrying his love at once, but she only lived for two short years passing in her beauty and frailty from the judgment of society to the judgment of high heaven. "Poor fool," said many a fair dame with a contemptuous shrug of shoulders, "why was she so verdant as to elope? with a husband as adoring she might easily have kept her place in society and her actor too." And so when they met they passed her by, she not having the wisdom of the world. And Lady Esmondet from the corner of the carriage thought on; of how Lionel's father on his wife's desertion of him had gone to the dogs, rushing into all kinds of mad dissipation up to the time of his wife's death, when he became a confirmed misanthrope, living in absolute seclusion until his own death some two years agone; while going to destruction for distraction's sake, poor man, he had reduced his income to about L8,000 per annum. Before his death he had imbued Lionel with a distrust of women, endeavouring to extract an oath of celibacy from the son whom he loved, and who loved him. "Never trust one of the frail sex with your name and honor, my son," he would never tire of saying. Lionel did not make an oath as his father prayed, but said wearily, "Never fear, father, I shall trust none of the gay butterflies further than I can see the brightness of their wings; much less give them, any one of them, the chance to sully our escutcheon with another blot," and continuing he would woo his poor father to quiet by saying, "No, I know them too well; our motto is theirs, they are "always the same, always.Toedet tandem, eadem fecisse," and again he would woo him to quiet by "No, do not grieve for me, father, I shall not wed unless an angel descends for my benefit; but did she, she would be then a fallen angel," and the poor, broken-hearted man died in his son's arms, contented in his wish. But even now, Lionel feels that as the child Vaura had a charm for him, so the fair woman opposite him has, and that if he but yields to it, it may master him; for his race are "always the same, always" in one thing which is, a love lasting as time for one woman; though having manyaffaires de coeur; they feel onegrande passion, one wedded love, never marrying a second time. And thecarrosserolls along, and Lionel with an irresistible craving, even if he comes to grief, which he tells himself there is no fear of, feels the pulse, as it were, of Vaura's heart, to see if the world has left unspoiled the tender, sympathetic, true and loving nature of the child he knew so well. "You are right, Capt. Trevalyon, sympathy, true, soul-felt, and earnest, never dies; it is therootof wedded happiness; alas, how many lives are wrecked through the absence of it," she says sadly, but he feels, and not without a heartache, that she is oblivious almost of his presence; her lovely face in its frame-work of lace is turned from him, as she thinks, "and yet, pity is divine! yet; knowing this, what have I shown poor Guy." The erratic life poor Lionel led, and which had been almost compulsory, the weary cynicism which was the outcome of the life enforced upon him, by his mother's frailty and his father's lasting grief thereat, often palled upon his real nature. But as he never expected to meet a woman who could hold him, he frequently gave himself, epicurean-like, to the pleasure of the hour.
After leaving the army, and when the glittering wings of butterflies and their surroundings wearied him, he would leave the gay cities, and travel much in foreign lands, in cold bleak northern latitudes, or sunny climes, studying human nature, and giving some thought to its many phases, with the different creeds men hold at times on seeing the self sacrificing lives of the sisters of charity, on witnessing noble deeds which should be written in characters of gold, but which they did in the most humble self abnegation. When he looked upon these and knew them to be the outcome of the Roman Catholic Church he would think surely the Church that gives birth to such lives must be the Church for the saving of men. But then some glaring inconsistency of those within her pale would recur to his memory, and he would turn with a sigh from some pictured Christ, or the peaceful beauty of the madonna. Well might Lionel exclaim, "In this age of seeming, what is truth! for what grade of society has not its shams! in what church are there not hypocrites as saints! in what government is there not imperfection! in what political campaign is there not a bribe given! in what age were there so many Churches." In what age was religion so fashionable! Yes, to-day, it is not charity which covers the multitude of sins, it is the cloak of religion, and yet 'tis not the fault of creeds, 'tiserrare est humanum. Ah me! we gay nineteenth century butterflies are a favoured generation; we are so respectable you know; we give the Church her innings, and that ancient firm of Bacchus and Comus have their innings also. Such thoughts as the above often came to Lionel, in his lonely wanderings far away from the gay cities, a life which he adorned with such gay abandon when one of them.
And now lady Esmondet awakes to the present with a start (as the carriage stops,) and from her silent thoughts on the past, as she had gathered it from Eric Haughton and from Lionel himself.
Captain Trevalyon assisted his friends to alight in front of a handsome house in a fashionable avenue.
"Can this be the right address," said Lady Esmondet. "It is a private residenceet regardez, by the gas-light in the entrance one can see the arms of a noble house cut in the stone."
"Yes," answered Trevalyon, "we are all right; a patrician mansion knocked down by the hammer, now simplynumero troisieme, Avenue de l'Imperatrice, and if Bertram is as comfortable inside as he is fashionable outside then we may expect turtle's liversa la Francaise, the choicest of wines in this hot-bed of grapes, this land of vineyards, dishes that would tickle the palate of a Lucullus, the cosiest of after dinner chairs, French coffee, which means a good deal, the brightest of fires, and faces, sweet notes of song," with a glance at Vaura, "and the most delicate of cigarettes, so delicate as not to entail the punishment of banishment from two ladies fair."
"What a luxurious picture you draw, Captain Trevalyon," said Vaura gayly, "and what an epicure! you dwell with such pleasure upon each dish, your livers, your—"
"Pardonnez," answered Trevalyon, laughing; "not mine, the turtle's" and continuing with mock gravity, "I never expect mine to be dressed at Voisin's."
"Horrible! a too warm anticipation of torment," cried Vaura.
"Torment!" said their host, stepping forward as a servant announced them, and tortures are obsolete words in gay Paris and even in the reign of terror, such a fair vision would surely have escaped. "A hundred thousand welcomes," he continued, shaking hands with all, "and I feel sure no bachelor under the McMahonregimeis so highly favoured as Edward F. Bertram to-night."
"Listen," cried Vaura, "Mr. Bertram will put to shame the gay gallants of Paris, in the making of pretty speeches; I believe the air of this room is conducive to that sort of thing; I feel inclined to say something complimentary on the beauty and comfort of our host's surroundings myself.
"Relieve my curiosity, Mr. Bertram, and tell me where you are?" said Lady Esmondet, as she leaned back and placed her feet on the softest of fender stools; "we came to dine with a bachelor in something of bachelor, live-by-myself style, and we find ourselves in a noble mansion."
"Yes, Bertram," said Trevalyon; "I was aware of the capacity of aLondon alderman, in catering to the comfort of his pampered body; but,I repeat Lady Esmondet's question of where are you."
"And I answer," said the voice of gay Mrs. Eustace Wingfield, as she entered, "in one of the most fashionable of French flats on Avenue de l'Imperatrice, the fourth flat of said number Eustace and I are fortunate denizens of, and I can assure you, the inmates are such pleasant people that, yours truly, with Eustace, are oftener to be found in these sunny quarters than at Eaton Square, London."
"You are happy," said Vaura, "never out of the sunshine."
"Yes, I like it," said Mrs. Wingfield; "I can't live in the shade, and Mr. Bertram has me to adore for giving him the sun-light of this dwelling. I saw by the papers he was to make his exodus from London, so I telegraphed him to come here, and bring on a box of French novels we had forgotten."
"One does sometimes forget the most important part of one's luggage," said Vaura.
"But," said Trevalyon, "I'll wager Bertram did not forget your mental food."
"Not he, with his aldermanic taste for spicy dishes," said Vaura.
"No, the temptation would be too much for him, with thepiece de resistance, an uninteresting husband, side dish, paragon lover,entree, neglected wife with flavourings thrown in, scandals, duels, etc.," said Trevalyon.
"How well he knows the condiments," remarked their host in sly tones, and rubbing his hands softly; "but talking of condiments, reminds one of dinner, and that Everly should be here."
"I hear a footstep on the hill which doesn't grow fainter, fainter still," said Mrs. Wingfield.
"Here we are again," said Sir Tilton Everly, entering, and shaking hands with all, continued: "I hope, Bertram, I havn't kept your dinner waiting."
"No, no, my dear fellow, my dinner waits for no man."
"You see our gallant host makes an exception in our favour, SirTilton," said Lady Esmondet.
"He considers the length of our toilette," said Mrs. Wingfield.
"And train," laughed Vaura, as Trevalyon caught his foot in her trailing skirts, in crossing behind to offer his arm.
"Go where one will," said Trevalyon, covered by the hum of voices; "one is sure to fall in with Everly."
"Yes, uncle Eric says he reminds him of the clown at a circus, with his cherry cry of 'here I am again.'"
"He seemed to me to be a sort of pet monkey of Mrs. Haughton; I hope he will not deem it necessary to transfer his little attentions to you, or I shall feel inclined to tell him that I am your knightpour le present, and show him my colours, in shape of telegram from your uncle (if I may not wear yours)," he added in persuasive tones.
"You can still be my knight errant," and her soulful eyes turn to his face, "he, one of my retainers."
"No divided honours for me,ma belle."
Here their chit-chat is interrupted by the subject of their converse, addressing Miss Vernon, across the table.
"Just come from Haughton Hall, Miss Vernon?"
"Yes."
"All well I hope? more especially my uncle."
"Never saw him looking better; I just ran down for twenty-four hours."
"How is the place looking? I don't mean the exterior, the park and grounds are always beautiful (and thank heaven cannot change), but the interior."
"Gorgeous! never saw anything to equal it."
"The festivities were brilliant, I presume?"
"Should say so; the county were tongue-tied in admiration; couldn't find words."
"You had no time for the birds, Everly, I suppose," said Trevalyon.
"Yes, a couple of hours of it; and what with the ball, dinner, fireworks, hurrahs, &c., and killing of birds—"
"And young women," cried Mrs. Wingfield.
"But in the time," laughed small Everly, "we really made some fine running on the feathered tribe."
"Ostrich feathered?" said Vaura.
"Nay, let him alone for that; else would Mrs. Haughton have made some running or gone for him? excuse the slang," said Mrs. Wingfield, mischievously.
"Many of us would be sportsmen in the case of a rival," said Vaura.
"The divided skirt would come to the front with pistols and coffee for two," cried Bertram.
"Yes, I should give her all the mud my tongue could throw," said gayMrs. Wingfield.
"There will be sport in Hall as field, when the hounds meet, if I'm not mistaken," said the newsy little baronet.
"Why, how so? Sir Tilton," exclaimed Vaura.
"Well, you see, Miss Vernon, there was a lively discussion at luncheon one day as to the next meet; when Mrs. Haughton announced her intention of following the hounds, the Colonel objected on the ground of non-experience."
"No," said Lady Esmondet; "Rotten Row is her experience, and 'tis scarcely a hunting field."
"Unless for the praise of men," said Vaura.
"Or a husband," cried Mrs. Wingfield.
"But about the field, Sir Tilton; do you think Mrs. Haughton will take it?" asked Vaura.
"I am sure she will, for I overheard her the same day make a bet ofL500 that she'd ride grey Jessie with the hounds next meet."
"So, so!" exclaimed Bertram, "the lady means it."
"And who might the favoured participator in her bet be, Everly?" enquired Trevalyon carelessly.
"With Major Delrose, late of the —th Middlesex Lancers."
"With Delrose!" exclaimed Trevalyon, now fully aroused; "is Delrose at Haughton?" and as he spoke he gave a swift glance at Lady Esmondet, who thought silently, "Delrose, the man who was mixed up in some way with Lionel in the Fanny Clarmont scandal; there will be mischief."
"No, left same train as I did, very unwillingly though; extracted a promise from Mrs. Haughton, that if time hangs heavy, he may return; amusing fellow, though the Colonel doesn't seem to take to him."
"Not the same stamp of man," said Bertram.
"But Haughton is right about the field, Everly," said Trevalyon; "one requires other experience than the Row."
"Better not curb her, though," answered Everly sagely.
"She thinks it as easy to run down the hare as the men; but the hare wants other bait than gold," said Lady Esmondet.
"So do we," said Bertram, decidedly.
"Yes, I do not think by any means that men, as a rule, are sordid."
"Before I met Eustace," said Mrs. Wingfield, "I made up my mind only to marry a horsey man, to make sure of one common interest, which there is often an absence of."
"Mrs. Wingfield! Mrs. Wingfield!" cried Bertram.
"Mr. Bertram! Mr. Bertram! were you a benedict, you would say my forethought was sweetly touching."
"And here have I, a lonely bachelor," he continued; "been regretting the non-existence of my Madame Bertram, though none could grace the head of my table better than the lady now seated there."
"Merci," said Lady Esmondet, "you are such a host in yourself that you leave us nothing to regret in the absence of Mrs. Bertram."
"Why," said Trevalyon sadly, in a low tone to Vaura; "why, will we continually make a jest over those poor creatures unequally yoked together."
"Very frequently, I think," she said softly, "to hide a deeper feeling; though it hurts us painfully to do so."
"I vow I'd rather be a jolly old bachelor like Mr. Bertram, with plenty of money, than husband to the Queen of Sheba, were she not defunct," exclaimed Mrs. Wingfield.
"What a boon to men and society is a woman without marriageable daughters," laughed Vaura.
"Yes," said Everly; "she can air her private opinions on the marriage question."
"With the right one, what a restful paradise it would be," said Trevalyon to Vaura's ear alone. And there was such a weariness in his tone, that she gave him one swift sympathetic glance; for in spite of herself her heartstrings were stirred, but she must not give way, so says lightly, as following Lady Esmondet's signal, they leave the table, the gentlemen refusing to linger:
"To say 'marriage' underanycircumstances to be 'bliss,' is rank heresy to your well-known views; but I understand your present impulse is engendered by seeing our dear friend playing hostess."
"Not so altogether; you also are near," and her arm is involuntarily pressed to his side.
"Well, ladies fair and gallants gay," said Mr. Bertram, as he found a comfortable lounging chair for Lady Esmondet, "we have just time for a cup of coffee and a cigarette, ere we roll away in acarrosseto the Theatre Francais."
"To the theatre!" exclaimed Trevalyon; "I was not aware this was on thetapisfor this evening."
"Yes," said Lady Esmondet, "Mr. Bertram and I arranged it; M. Octave Feuillet's play, the "Sphynx," is on. I begin to think it was selfish on my part, you all look so comfortable; perhaps we had better abandon it."
"Put it to the vote," cried Mrs. Wingfield.
"And no bribery," echoed Vaura.
"I fear if it is put to the vote," said Lady Esmondet, "mine will be bought, by the beseeching look of Capt. Trevalyon, for a stay at home."
"See what it is to have an expressive face, Trevalyon," said Everly; "it has gained you one vote, in spite of the rule Miss Vernon made of no bribery."
"I thank you for your sympathy, Lady Esmondet; but I fear yours would be the only vote recorded in my favor, so the 'Sphynx' must needs make us her own."
"As she did many an unhappy mortal in days of yore, in her Theban home. I wonder if they looked as resigned in their martyrdom as poor Capt. Trevalyon does," said Vaura.
"I used to think Oedipus finished her," said Trevalyon.
"Only for his day," said Vaura; "'twas too long a look till OctaveFeuillet; he should have asked Lynceus to give a glance."
"The Cyclops might have lent him an eye," said Bertram.
"Are you always as indifferent to the stars of the stage Captain?" enquired Mrs. Wingfield, as she gently puffed away her delicate cigarette. "What Eustace would do without his distractions in that way, heaven only knows."
"He will outgrow it; most men have stage fever, as most babies have measles," he answered evasively.
"And now for our mantles and away," said Lady Esmondet, rising.
"And may the mantle of resignation fall on the shoulders of poor Capt. Trevalyon," said Vaura, taking his offered arm, and as the hand leaning on his arm pressed closely, she said in low tones, "you had my unregistered vote."
"Merci," he said, pressing her hand.
They found the theatre crowded from pit to dome. And the advent of our little party, as they took possession of their box, caused no little sensation even in that galaxy of beauty and fashion.
"By the lilies of France," said a Parisian, putting up his glass; "though not the three graces, one of them is there."
"Yes, by the memory of Bonaparte, she is worth a long look," said his companion, gazing at Vaura.
And two of the occupants of Mr. Bertram's box were indulging much the same thought. Lionel's handsome face wore a warmer look than ordinarily, as he chatted to Vaura, leaning on the back of her chair.
"She has the vivacity of the French woman, with a beauty all her own," he thought. "Her voice holds me, and my love of the beautiful is satisfied, as I look on her sweet mouth and warm eyes; but, pshaw, she is a flirt, and I am almost in her toils! what is coming over me?" and he gave a start as he almost spoke the last thought aloud.
"Why, what is the matter Capt, Trevalyon?" asked Vaura; "you started just now as though you had seen a ghost of the departed; a moment ago you seemed to be enjoying the play, but now you look melancholy; go over to Mrs. Wingfield. You see,cher ami, you do not credit to my powers of pleasing; so avaunt. But," she added, "you may come back some other time."
"You deserve better company than I, just now,ma belle, and Everly is aching to be with you." And rising, he took the chair Everly vacated, near Mrs. Wingfield.
"What have you done to Trevalyon? Miss Vernon," said Everly, as he seated himself beside her. "In five minutes his expression changed from unclouded happiness to the blackness of despair; queer fellow to wear such a look beside you."
"What a flattering tongue is yours, Sir Tilton; but I shall not be astonished at any outpourings of that sort from you; considering you have come from Haughton Hall, and the practice you have had in soft nothings while there."
"Hadyoubeen there I should have been inspired to say something original."
"It would be a treat, for compliments do grow so hackneyed; I sometimes agree with the poet," she added gaily, "'that there is nothing original in us, excepting original sin.'"
"Your uncle wished for your presence often."
"I take it quiet as a compliment, and his bride so new."
"And many others wished to sun themselves in your presence."
"I am glad they remember me, and if Old Sol will give England plenty of his gleams, and we have a mild winter to suit Lady Esmondet, we shall be at Haughton Hall for the Christmas festivities."
"If the clerk of the weather be a decent fellow, who will take a bribe, Tilton's the boy to stuff him, and my reward will be a waltz at the ball, and do please let me make sure of it now." Taking out his tablets, "just write your name and the date here; oh, thanks abundantly, and I'm sure, the weather fellow will be all square."
"And now I incur the jealousy of woman; cruel man to bring upon me such punishment, but I forgive you as you know nothing of womanly sweetness to woman, so here is my name for number four waltz. Butregardez, we have missed a point, every eye is turned to the stage, Mlle. Croizette looks for the moment as though transformed into one of the Furies. So fierce her looks, such terrors from her eyes."
"Poor thing, so she does," said Sir Tilton laughing.
"But really Sir Tilton, I wish we could guess what its about. Another riddle from the Sphynx, you must be a second Oedipus and guess for me; or go over and ask some of the others, they look as though they have been feeding ravenously of the tree of knowledge."
"Draw your chair a little this way, Vaura,ma chere," said Lady Esmondet, who came over as Sir Tilton arose. "We shall all form one little group then, and it will be more pleasant."
Here Sir Tilton coming up, decidedly objected to the move, wishing to monopolise Vaura.
"You are cruel, Lady Esmondet; ask Miss Vernon, if I have not been more amusing than the Sphynx. You know," he said audaciously, "we actually did not see the little by-play between the rivals Mlle. Croizette and Sara Bernhardt, which is a proof we were not doing badly in the way of entertaining each other."
"Fie! Sir Tilton," said Vaura merrily, "acknowledge the compliment paid you, though our gay friends have had the Sphynx, they also have had time to long for our society," and as she drew near a few paces, Everly had time to say softly:
"One thing to be thankful for, we did not miss them."
"Small men make large boasts," thought Vaura amusedly.
"Miss Vernon," said Bertram, "you missed the best thing of the evening, or I suppose so by the fact of Everly having come over with his finger in his mouth to ask what the house came down for."
"You will relieve my woman curiosity," she answered smiling, "of course Sir Tilton will not own to the being curious, save on my account."
"No man could refuse a request of yours, else you deserve a punishment for," he added in a low tone, "making game of small hearts."
"Vaura dear, you have missed such a passage-at-arms, between CroszetteAnd Bernhardt," said Lady Esmondet.
"Oh, such fun," exclaimed Mrs. Wingfield, "in the middle of a telling speech by Mlle. Croizette, the wicked little Bernhardt, came coolly up and asked her 'where she lived?' or something of that sort; Croizette, livid with rage, forgot her part—something we never saw her do before, but answered Sara in words that told, for though triumphant she trembled."
"Her sister Fury trembled and retired," said Trevalyon, "strange freaks rivalry leads its victims into—"
"I could almost imagine," said Vaura, "you all to be mistaken for the Croizette has immense influence at the Conservatory, where they both studied, and is a complete child of the stage, but if your ears have played you no tricks, if I mistake not, Sara has had her fun."
"Not a doubt of it," said Bertram.
"Oh, that is too real," said Lady Esmondet, turning pale and looking from the stage, referring to the death-scene by poison of the wicked heroine of the play.
"Yes, her struggles are so natural as to be anything but pleasant to witness," said Vaura.
"If it were good form for a woman to retire for a stimulant," said Mrs. Wingfield, "then would I make my exit, for I feel quite overcome at the sight."
"What inestimable privileges lordly man enjoys," said Vaura.
"What a talented littlemorceauis Sara," said Trevalyon.
"She is smaller since la Croizette looked to kill," said LadyEsmondet.
"The fire from the eyes of Croizette was too much for her; she has gone to hide within herself," said Vaura.
"No wonder she doesn't show even through a glass," said the little baronet.
"Else," continued Vaura, "theroleof 'Forgiving Virtue' is too much for her; sheshrinksfrom it."
"She might be more expansive in the otherrole," laughed Bertram.
"She is a handful of the essence of talent," said Trevalyon, "and always good form whether the form of a Venus or no."
"True," said Lady Esmondet, though she cannot quote in a personal sense of the "heavy cloak of the body still as weighed against a cultivated intellect, roundness of form is a mere bagatelle."
"I humbly appeal to you all," said Bertram in seriocomic tone, "is my rotundity a mere bagatelle?"
"Lady Esmondet says so, and it must be true," said Trevalyon laughingly.
"Of course it is; anyone to look at you would say the same," saidEverly.
"My advice, Bertram," said Trevalyon, "is, on your return to England, to retire to the cool shades of oblivion and try the 'Bantam' system: that is if Owen Cunliffe does not send you there, for having while in Paris been attentive to the fair sex instead of to the interests of our Isle."
"Don't follow any such advice, Mr. Bertram!" exclaimed Mrs. Wingfield.
"Your fat makes you so jolly."
"Fat! did you call me fat, Mrs. Wingfield? If the play was not opportunely over I should be obliged to tear myself away from your fascinating presence, in grief, at such an epithet hurled at my devoted head, I—I mean body. I may well exclaim, 'save me from my friends' when these are the unctuous compliments they pay me," the victim exclaimed with averted face and uplifted hands.
On our friends rising to leave the theatre, Sir Tilton, making sure of escorting Vaura to the carriage, was in the act of putting her cloak over her shoulders, when Lionel offered his arm; Vaura taking it turned her head smiling her sweetest, with a word of thanks to small Everly, who returned it with a look of half-comical disappointment, and with one long step was at Mrs. Wingfield's side, saying:
"Never mind your cloak, Mrs. Wingfield; cool and easy does it; take my arm, Mr. Bertram will probably come up at an opportune moment and robe you, this is the latest and most successful manner of escorting a lady to her carriage."
"There is many a slip 'twixt cup and lip," said Mrs. Wingfield, laughingly; "you had your innings the early part of the evening, it is only fair herpreux chevaliershould have his revenge."
"Yes, I've been bowled out this time, but Don Juan isn't going to have any more innings if Tilton knows anything."
"What courage the atom has," thought Mrs. Wingfield, but she said,"Don Juan, indeed, 'Satan reproving sin,' what about a certain Mrs.H., that you sigh to the inconstant moon for. But we are nearing theothers and the carriage; so a truce to confidentials. Adieu."
On the ladies entering the carrosse, the gentlemen bidding adieupour le present, saying they would walk, Sir Tilton stepping back a pace enquired of Vaura "If he should have the pleasure of seeing her on that night week at the de Hauteville ball?"
"Yes, we are due there, and make an exception of their ball, we are such friends, but go to no more crushes presided over by Terpsichore whilea Paris.Au revoir."
"What an irrepressible fellow Everly is," thought Trevalyon, as he sauntered along the avenue towards his hotel; having heard his question to Vaura (as to the ball), "he manages to get a card for everything. I should not regret his departure for anywhere; our littlecoteriewas perfect without him. Vaura is extremely lovely and fascinating, she, of course, is the magnet that draws him; what a presumptuous little poppet he is, a mere fortune-hunter, hanger-on of society to dare turn his eyes in her direction. But am I not taking too deep an interest in this sweet Vaura Vernon. I must guard my heart; she is a flirt, I must beware. Another tender billet from Mrs. Haughton, and full of this hidden-wife falsehood; I have been careless, never even having told Haughton the truth of the matter. Every seven years, it seems to me, there is a rehash of by-gone villifications; one must only grin and bear it, but I do feel it terribly just now, not because it is what it always was, 'a lie direct,' but because of my close companionship with my dear friend and bewitching Vaura."
Let us now follow small Everly, and read some of his thoughts; with rapid steps he is soon at his destination, where, seating himself in a huge easy chair which almost hides his small body, draws a table to his side, on which are placed his pipe, glass of punch, with some letters.
"Gad, a missive from Aunt Martha," he exclaimed. "Whether it be sugar or vinegar it will keep until I do the others."
One was from his lawyer telling him the Jews were after him; with a muttered exclamation of "they must wait," he threw it aside. The others were from acquaintances—mere chit-chat; "and now for the old girls," he thought, which on opening a bank draft for L50 dropped out. "Gad! almost a holocaust," he said, picking it from the dying embers in the grate. "And now for the letter."
"MY DEAR NEPHEW,—Enclosed you will find a draft for fifty pounds; it is extremely inconvenient to remit you even such a small sum, but I promised your mother on her death-bed to give you all the assistance in our power, as also did your sister Amy; and so please heaven we shall, as we are quite aware that the trifle you inherit from your father is extremely small for the maintenance of an English baronet. Moreover, considering it an honour to the house of Morton that an Everly should have linked himself thereto, we have decided to let you have Johnston's rent for the future, and regularly. But, dear nephew, remember you cannot afford to make a mere love-match; you must marry an heiress. Your setter Hecate has had pups, which we shall nurse tenderly for you, as they represent money. But the school bell rings me away, and, dear nephew, from you I go with my pupils into the mysteries of pounds, shillings and pence. You will laugh and say you and they are always associated in my mind; and it is so, for, you are both things of worth. When you marry some rich young lady (you know whom I tell you you can win), I shall pay a master to take the arithmetic class. Make your old aunts glad with the news of a wealthy marriage being arranged for you. Acknowledge draft.
"With much love, from your affectionate Aunt,"MARTHA MORTON.
"Sir Tilton Everly, "Paris, Hotel European, 2nd Nov., 1887."
"It will please the aunts if I write instanter, so here goes."
"DEAR AUNT MARTHA,—Draft received, came in handy, can assure you. You are a jolly pair of relations for a fellow to have; never wanted the needful more. I know I shall have to marry money; I expect I guess correctly as to the girl you mean, but tallow candles are out of fashion. I know the gilding is thick, and debts are a bother. But you never fear for Tilton, he may yet win a glorious beauty and great expectations from a titled relation. Eureka! I can tell you; aunts you have no idea what a fuss society makes over me. Glad Hecate has done something for a living, or rather for mine. Goodnight or morning, for it is one a.m.
"Your devoted Nephew,"TILTON EVERLY.
"Miss Morton's Seminary,"Bayswater, Suburbs, London Eng.Nov., 5th, 1877."
"Yes, 'pon my life, the old girls are right, I must have the sovereign for my name; pity I was born with a taste for the beautiful; my father was wanting in forethought on my account, or he would never have wed penniless Rose Morton; here am I over head and ears in love with a peerless beauty, with not much or not enough of the needful to keep us both in style; there is not a doubt though that she will inherit from that stately godmother of hers. Never say die, Tilton, my boy; she smiled on you to-night, go in and win; why, the very thought of her sends the blood dancing through my veins; splendid figure, perfect as a Venus. She knows naught of my relations to that young schemer, and if my love by a stern fate says nay, she is too much accustomed to conquests to boast; and the other who is ready to marry me any day will, never know anything to erect her spine about; a week from tonight the de Hauteville ball, I shall there know the best or worst; if I fail it won't be because of aught wanting in myself, but because I cannot win over the Lady of Esmondet; then, if so, I shall hide my groans under an M.P., and the gold of my lemon-face, to whom I shall not exactly play count to her, Miss Kilmansegg, for I could not act such a villain's part; but I must have some hobby to ride, to make up for the sacrifice of self; and now to bed and sleep or dream."
On the morning of the de Hauteville ball, Trevalyon broke his fast somewhat earlier than usual, purposing to indulge in a long ride. In passing the salon of Lady Esmondet and Vaura, the door of which had been pushed open by his dog Mars half an hour previously. Trevalyon made a momentary pause, he could not see Lady Esmondet through the opening, only our sweet Vaura, who listening to her godmother, idly ate of some fresh fruit, while the other fair hand caressed Mars. She looked a very child of the morning, so charmingly bright, in a pale blue quilted satin dressing gown, with low turned down collar; not wishing to interrupt her godmother who read aloud an English letter she spoke to Trevalyon silently, standing in the opening door-way, only with the eyes and her own syren smile; the temptation to linger was too much for him, and he was about to enter when turning, as he heard a step coming quickly along the corridor from the visitors grand elevator, saw Sir Tilton coming towards him carrying a huge bouquet. And knowing for whom it was intended, preferring not to be a witness to the presentation with a "Bonjour, Everly," and "How do, Trevalyon;" they went their different ways, the one into the light of woman's eyes, the other into the lights of the streets of Paris.
Sir Tilton, with a laughing "Any admittance to a devoted subject," and a gayentrezfrom Vaura was in the boudoir.
"I thought I heard Captain Trevalyon's voice; was he not with you?" enquired Lady Esmondet as she shook hands with Everly.
"Yes, Lady Esmondet, he was outside and lingered a moment, but was able to resist the temptation to enter to which I had to succumb," with an admiring glance at Vaura.
After half an hour spent in gay chit-chat, Lady Esmondet, consulting her watch, reminded Vaura of their purposed drive; and with a promise asked by Sir Tilton, and given by Vaura, that she would wear one of his flowers on that evening, they parted.
In a short time Lady Esmondet and Vaura were seen driving along the fashionable parks and streets of Paris, and no carriage attracted more attention than the one in which they were seated. They met many friends and acquaintances among whom were Mr. and Mrs. Eustace Wingfield.
"One does not often see them together," said Lady Esmondet. "Still, I am sure, they suit each other better than most married people."
"What a queer world it is," remarked Vaura; "evenma cheregodmother is rather cynical as regards the happiness of most married lives. What is the reason of it all? Is it that man who, as Charles Reade says, is 'born to hunt something,' is no longer happy when the chase is over. And woman, what of her? Is it that 'tis only the excitement of the hunt we care for, that our heart has no part in the matter."
"You know the world, Vaura, and you know you are right—still you will marry, and be happy; for your heart will go with your hand, and you know your power to make the man you will love happy."
"Sympathy, soul-felt and earnest, is more than love which sometimes changes, or passion and fancy which always evaporate," answered Vaura, seriously; "but," she added, "who, among the butterflies of to-day, cares for all this: A. marries B., because he can give her a title; B. marries A., because she brings him money—it's all a debit and credit system."
"Yes, Vaura, dear, Tennyson says truly, 'we men are a little breed.'"
But a warmer light deepens in Vaura's eyes as a vision of a handsome face, wearing at times a weary look, flashes across her memory, and she thinks some men are worth loving, and are not of the "little breed."
"What a bold-looking woman; I wonder who she is," said Lady Esmondet. "She's passed us several times; that was an aristocratic man beside her, and quite a youth. She wears her rouge too extravagantly."
"She has yet to come to the knowledge that she's anybody," answered Vaura, contemptously; "looks to me like greed and vice, and man is not the worse animal of the two."
"Thanks, Miss Vernon," said the voice of Trevalyon, riding up beside the carriages as he lifted his hat.
"Thanks, though it is rather a doubtful compliment, for I am all at sea as to what animal you are so kind as to give us the preference to."
"I don't know that I shall tell you, Captain Trevalyon, for you men make it your boast, that we only are curious."
Here the same smart turn-out, with its pair of beautiful bays come again towards them, and to the surprise of Lady Esmondet and Vaura, the woman smiled and nodded to Trevalyon. Vaura turning quickly towards him, saw that he took no notice of the recognition and that his face wore a stern look.
Everly driving with a friend, passed them at the moment, saw the nod and smile and of how they were received. "That little smile from Ninon Tournette, puts a spoke into your wheel, my fine fellow," he thought; "no matter though your face did look as though hewn out of stone." Aloud he said, "Miss Vernon will see he is donning the garb of modesty in her honour."
"So Vernon is Mademoiselle's name," said his friend de Vesey; "I saw her at the theatre the other night, and by the lilies of France, she is lovely enough to make a man play the saint for one look from her eyes."
There was a second or two of rather an awkward pause which LadyEsmondet broke by saying—
"The bays are lovely, but I'd rather keep the woman at bay, Lionel; or perhaps she thought you an acquaintance."
"Yes and no,chereLady Esmondet; a dozen years or so ago, I was going through my stage fever, which most men take to in a natural sort of way, though I scorn to make it any excuse for my folly; for you, dear Lady Esmondet," he added with a weary sigh, "are aware I, above all men, should have given way to no such weakness, it was not that it bore any fascination for me, on the contrary, I was as one who never lays his opera glass aside; but, Old Time was leaning on his staff just then and everything went slow; so to make things more lively, I was persuaded by some men to go in with them into a new scheme, viz., lease a theatre; the woman who has just past then, a handsome young woman, was one of the actresses; I sold out at the close of one season, since, going very occasionally I have seen this woman,laTournette, act a few times. She has severed her connection or rather the management did with her some six or seven years ago. I know nothing of her life now; she isoutreein style and presuming to bow to me, especially in your company."
"Her bow was a feeler to find out where she is, in society, or out," said Lady Esmondet; "and," she continued, "we are to blame; we show her every day that the mighty god society accepts gold."