It was the nearest thing to a profession of love he had ever made, but she was preoccupied with other thoughts, and had to send him away for a last time to study the dialogue before the glass.
'Try to put a little gaiety into the part. Serpolette is a romp, you know.'
'Yes, a romp; but what is a romp?' Kate asked herself; and she strove to realize in detail that which she had accepted till now in outline.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' said Mr. Hayes, who had been pushed, much against his will, before the curtain of the Theatre Royal, Bristol, to make the following statement, 'I'm sorry to inform you that in consequence of indisposition—that is to say, the accidental spraining of her ankle—Miss Leslie will not be able to appear to-night. Your kind indulgence is therefore requested for Miss D'Arcy, who has, on the shortest notice, consented to play the part of Serpolette.'
'Did yer ever 'ear of anyone spraining an ankle on purpose?' asked a scene-shifter.
'Hush!' said the gas-man, 'he'll 'ear you.'
Amid murmurs of applause, Mr. Hayes backed into the wings.
'Well, was it all right?' he asked Dick.
'Right, my boy, I should think it was; there was a touch of Gladstone in your accidentally sprained ankle.'
'What do you mean?' said the discomfited acting manager.
'I haven't time to tell you now. Now then, girls, are you ready?' he said, rushing on to the stage and hurriedly changing the places of the choristers. Putting his hand on a girl's shoulder, he moved her to the right or left as his taste dictated. Then retiring abruptly, he cried, 'Now then, up you go!' and immediately after thirty voices in one sonority sang:
'"In Corneville's wide market-pla-a-ces,Sweet servant-girls, with rosy fa-a-ces,Wait here, wait here."'
'Now, then, come on. You make your entrance from the top left.'
'I don't think I shall ever be able to do that run in.'
'Don't begin to think about anything. If you don't like the run, I'll tell you how to do it,' said Dick, his face lighting up with a sudden inspiration; 'do it with a cheeky swagger, walking very slowly, like this; and then when you get quarter of the way down the stage, stop for a moment and sing, "Who speaks ill of Serpolette?" Do you see?'
'Yes, yes, that will suit me better; I understand.'
Then standing under the sloping wing, they both listened anxiously for the cue.
'She loves Grenicheux.'
'There's your cue. On you go; give me your shawl.'
The footlights dazzled her; a burst of applause rather frightened than reassured her, and a prey to a sort of dull dream, she sang her first lines. But she was a little behind the beat. Montgomery brought down his stick furiously, therépliquesof the girls buffeted her ears like palms of hands, and it was not until she was halfway through the gossiping couplets, and saw Montgomery's arm swing peacefully to and fro over the bent profiles of the musicians that she fairly recovered her presence of mind. Then came the little scene in which she runs away from her uncle Gaspard and hides behind the Baillie. And she dodged the old man with such sprightliness from one side of the stage to the other that a murmur of admiration floated over the pit, and, arising in echoes, was prolonged almost until she stepped down to the footlights to sing the legend of Serpolette.
The quaintly tripping cadences of the tune and the humour of the words, which demanded to be rather said than sung, were rendered to perfection. It was impossible not to like her when she said:
'"I know not much of my relations,I never saw my mother's face;And of preceding generationsI never found a single trace.
'"I may have fallen from the sky,Or blossomed in a rosebud sweet;But all I know is this, that IWas found by Gaspard in his wheat."'
A smile of delight filled the theatre, and Kate felt the chilling sense of separation which exists between the public and a debutante being gradually filled in by a delicious but almost incomprehensible notion of contact—a sensation more delicate than the touch of a lover's breath on your face. This reached a climax when she sang the third verse, and had not etiquette forbade, she would have had an encore for it alone.
'"I often think that perhaps I mayThe heiress to a kingdom be,But as I wore no clothes that dayI brought no papers out with me."'
These words, that had often seemed coarse in Leslie's mouth, in Kate's seemed adorably simple. So winning was the smile and so coquettishly conscious did she seem of the compromising nature of the statement she was making, that the entire theatre was actuated by the impulse of one thought: Oh! what a little dear you must have been lying in the wheat-field! The personality of the actress disappeared in the rosy thighs and chubby arms of the foundling, and notwithstanding the length of the song, she had to sing it twice over. Then there was an exit for her, and she rushed into the wings. Several of the girls spoke to her, but it was impossible for her to reply to them. Everything swam in and out of sight like shapes in a mist, and she could only distinguish the burly form of her lover. He wrapped a shawl about her, and a murmur of amiable words followed her, and, with her thoughts fizzing like champagne, she tried to listen to his praises.
Then followed moments in which she anxiously waited for her cues. She was nervously afraid of missing her entrance, and she dreaded spoiling her success by some mistake. But it was not until the end of the act when she stepped out of the crowd of servant-girls to sing the famous coquetting song that she reached the summit of her triumph.
Kate was about the medium height, a shade over five feet five. When she swung her little dress as she strutted on the stage she reminded you immediately of a pigeon. In her apparent thinness from time to time was revealed a surprising plumpness.
For instance, her bosom, in a walking dress no more than an indication, in a low body assumed the roundness of a bird's, and the white lines of her falling shoulders floated in long undulations into the blue masses of her hair. The nervous sensibility of her profession had awakened her face, and now the brown eyes laughed with the spiritual maliciousness with which we willingly endow the features of a good fairy. The hips were womanly, the ankle was only a touch of stocking, and the whole house rose to a man and roared when coquettishly lifting the skirt, she sang:
'"Look at me here! look at me there!Criticize me everywhere!From head to feet I am most sweet,And most perfect and complete."'
The audience, principally composed of sailors—men home from months of watery weariness, nights of toil and darkness, maddened by the irritating charm of the music and the delicious modernity of Kate's figure and dress, looked as if they were going to precipitate themselves from the galleries. Was she not the living reality of the figures posted over the hammocks in oil-smelling cabins, the prototype of the short-skirted damsels that decorated the empty match-boxes which they preserved and gazed at under the light of the stars?
Her success was enormous, and she was forced to sing
'Look at me here!'
five times before her friends would allow the piece to proceed. At the end of the act she received an ovation. Two reporters of the local newspapers obtained permission to come behind to see her. London engagements were spoken of, and in the general enthusiasm someone talked about grand opera. Even her fellow artists forgot their jealousies, and in the nervous excitement of the moment complimented her highly. Beaumont, anxious to kick down her rival, declared, 'That, to say the least of it, it was a better rendering of the part than Leslie's.' And on hearing this, Bret, whose forte was not repartee, moved away; Mortimer, in his least artificial manner, said that it was not bad for a beginning and that she'd get on if she worked at it. Dubois strutted and spoke learnedly of how the part had been played in France, and he was pleased to trace by an analysis which was difficult to follow a resemblance between Kate and Madame Judic.
The second act went equally well. And after seeing the ghosts she got a bouquet thrown to her, so cheekily did she sing the refrain:
'For a regiment of soldiers wouldn't make me afraid.'
She had therefore now only to maintain her prestige to the end, and when she had got her encore for the cider song, and had been recalled before the curtain at the end of the third act, with unstrung nerves she wandered to her dressing-room, thinking of what Dick would say when they got home. But the pleasures of the evening were not over yet: there was the supper, and as she came down from her dressing-room she whispered to Montgomery in the wings that they hoped to see him at their place later on. He thanked her and said he would be very glad to come in a little later on, but he had some music to copy now and must away, and feeling a little disappointed that he had to leave she walked up and down the rough boards, stepping out of the way of the scene-shifters. 'By your leave, ma'am,' they cried, going by her with the long swinging wings. She was glad now that Montgomery had left her, for alone she could relive distinctly every moment of the performance.
As the chorus-girls crossed the stage they stopped to compliment her with a few mechanical words and a hard smile. Kate thanked them and returned to her dream all aglow and absorbed in remembrances of her success. The word 'success' returned in her thoughts like the refrain of a song. Yes, she had succeeded. Wherever she went she would be admired. There was something to live for at last.
The T-light flared, and she stopped and began to wonder at the invention, so absurd did it seem; and then feeling that such thoughts were a waste of time, she took up the thread of her memories and had just begun to enjoy again a certain round of applause when Beaumont and Dolly Goddard awoke her with the question, had she seen Dick? Kate tried to remember. A scene-shifter going by said that he had seen Mr. Lennox leave the theatre some twenty minutes ago.
'I suppose he will come back for me,' Kate said; 'or perhaps I'd better go on? Are you coming my way?'
Beaumont and Dolly said they were and proposed that they should pop into a pub before closing time. Kate hesitated to accept the invitation, but Beaumont insisted, and as it was a question of drinking to the night's success she consented to accompany them.
'No, not here,' said Beaumont, shoving the swing-doors an inch or so apart: 'it's too full. I'll show you the way round by the side entrance.'
And giggling, the girls slipped into the private apartment.
'What will you have, dear?' asked Beaumont in an apologetic whisper.
'I think I'll have a whisky.'
'You'll have the same, Dolly?'
'Scotch or Irish?' asked the barman.
The girls consulted a moment and decided in favour of Irish.
With nods and glances, the health of Serpolette was drunk, and then fearing to look as if she were sponging, Kate insisted on likewise standing treat. Fortunately, when the second round had been drunk, closing time was announced by the man in the shirtsleeves, and bidding her friends good-bye, Kate stood in the street trying to think if she ought to return to the theatre to look after Dick or go home and find him there.
She decided on the latter alternative and walked slowly along the street. A chill wind blew up from the sea, and the sudden transition from the hot atmosphere of the bar brought the fumes of the whisky to her head and she felt a little giddy. An idea of drunkenness suggested itself; it annoyed her, and repulsing it vehemently, her thoughts somewhat savagely fastened on to Dick as the culprit. 'Where had he gone?' she asked, at first curiously, but at each repetition she put the question more sullenly to herself. If he had come back to fetch her she would not have been led into going into the public-house with Beaumont; and, irritated that any shadow should have fallen on the happiness of the evening, she walked sturdily along until a sudden turn brought her face to face with her lover.
'Oh!' he said, starting. 'Is that you, Kate? I was just cutting back to the theatre to fetch you.'
'Yes, a nice time you've kept me waiting,' she answered; but as she spoke she recognized the street they were in as the one in which Leslie lived. The blood rushed to her face, and tearing the while the paper fringe of her bouquet, she said, 'I know very well where you've been to! I want no telling. You've been round spending your time with Leslie.'
'Well,' said Dick, embarrassed by the directness with which she divined his errand, 'I don't see what harm there was in that; I really thought that I ought to run and see how she was.'
Struck by the reasonableness of this answer, Kate for the moment remained silent, but a sudden remembrance forced the anger that was latent in her to her head, and facing him again she said:
'How dare you tell me such a lie! You know very well you went to see her because you like her, because you love her.'
Dick looked at her, surprised.
'I assure you, you're mistaken,' he said. But at that moment Bret passed them in the street, hurrying towards Leslie's. The meeting was an unfortunate one, and it sent a deeper pang of jealousy to Kate's heart.
'There,' she said, 'haven't I proof of your baseness? What do you say to that?'
'To what?'
'Don't pretend innocence. Didn't you see Bret passing? You choose your time nicely to pay visits—just when he should be out.'
'Oh!' said Dick, surprised at the ingenuity of the deduction. 'I give you my word that such an idea never occurred to me.'
But before he could get any further with his explanation Kate again cut him short, and in passionate words told him he was a monster and a villain. So taken aback was he by this sudden manifestation of temper on the part of one in whom he did not suspect its existence, that he stopped, to assure himself that she was not joking. A glance sufficed to convince him; and making frequent little halts between the lamp-posts to argue the different points more definitely, they proceeded home quarrelling. But on arriving at the door, Kate experienced a moment of revolt that surprised herself. The palms of her hands itched, and consumed with a childish desire to scratch and beat this big man, she beat her little feet against the pavement. Dick fumbled at the lock. The delay still further irritated her, and it seemed impossible that she could enter the house that night.
'Aren't you coming in?' he said at last.
'No, not I. You go back to Miss Leslie; I'm sure she wants you to attend to her ankle.'
This was too absurd, and Dick expostulated gently. But nothing he could say was of the slightest avail, and she refused to move from the doorstep. Then began a long argument; and in brief phrases, amid frequent interruptions, all sorts of things were discussed. The wind blew very cold; Kate did not seem to notice it, but Dick shivered in his fat; and noticing his trembling she taunted him with it, and insultingly advised him to go to bed. Not knowing what answer to give to this, he walked into the sitting-room and sat down by the fire. How long would she remain on the doorstep? he asked himself humbly, until his reflections were interrupted by the sound of steps. It was Montgomery, and chuckling, Dick listened to him reasoning with Kate. The cold was so intense that the discussion could not be continued for long; and when the two friends entered Dick was prepared for a reconciliation. But in this he was disappointed. She merely consented to sit in the armchair, glaring at her lover. Montgomery tried to argue with her, but he could scarcely succeed in getting her to answer him, and it was not until he began to question Dick on the reason of the quarrel that she consented to speak; and then her utterances were rather passionate denials of her lover's statements than any distinct explanation. There were also long silences, during which she sat savagely picking at the paper of the bouquet, which she still retained. At last Montgomery, noticing the supper that no one cared to touch, said:
'Well, all I know is, that it's very unfortunate that you should have chosen this night of all others, the night of her success, to have a row. I expected a pleasant evening.'
'Success, indeed!' said Kate, starting to her feet. 'Was it for such a success as this that he took me away from my home? Oh, what a fool I was! Success! A lot I care for the success, when he has been spending the evening with Leslie.' And unable to contain herself any longer, she tore a handful of flowers out of her bouquet and threw them in Dick's face. Handful succeeded handful, each being accompanied by a shower of vehement words. The two men waited in wonderment, and when passionate reproaches and spring flowers were alike exhausted, a flood of tears and a rush into the next room ended the scene.
As soon as it was announced that Miss Leslie suffered so much with her ankle that she would be unable to travel, the whole company called to see the poor invalid; the chorus left their names, the principals went up to sit by the sofa-side, and all brought her something: Beaumont, a basket of fruit; Dolly Goddard, a bouquet of flowers; Dubois, an interesting novel; Mortimer, a fresh stock of anecdotes. Around her sofa sprains were discussed. Dubois had known apremière danseuseat the Opera House, in Paris, but the handing round of cigarettes prevented his story from being heard, and Beaumont related instead how Lord Shoreham in youth had broken his legs out hunting. The relation might not have come to an end that evening if Leslie had not asked Bret to change her position on the sofa, and when he and Dick went out of the room a look of inquiry was passed round.
'You needn't be uneasy. I wouldn't let Bret stop for anything. I shall be very comfortable here. My landlady is as kind as she can be and the rooms are very nice.'
A murmur of approval followed these words, and continuing Miss Leslie said, laying her hand on Kate's:
'And my friend here will play my parts until I come back. You must begin to-night, my dear, and try to work up Clairette. If you're a quick study you may be able to play it on Wednesday night.'
This was too much; the tears stood in Kate's eyes. She had in her pocket a little goldporte-bonheurwhich she had bought that morning to make a present of to her once hated rival, but she waited until they were alone to slip it on the good natured prima donna's wrist. The parting between the two women was very touching, and being in a melting mood Kate made a full confession of her quarrel with Dick, and, abandoning herself, she sought for consolation. Leslie smiled curiously, and after a long pause said:
'I know what you mean, dear, I've been jealous myself; but you'll get over it, and learn to take things easily as I do. Men aren't worth it.' The last phrase seemed to have slipped from her inadvertently, and seeing how she had shocked Kate she hastened to add, 'Dick is a very good fellow, and will look after you; but take my advice, avoid a row; we women don't gain anything by it.'
The words dwelt long in Kate's mind, but she found it hard to keep her temper. Her temper surprised even herself. It seemed to be giving way, and she trembled with rage at things that before would not have stirred an unquiet thought in her mind. Remembrances of the passions that used to convulse her when a child returned to her. As is generally the case, there was right on both sides. Her life, it must be confessed, was woven about with temptations. Dick's character easily engendered suspicion, and when the study of the part of Clairette was over, the iron of distrust began again to force its way into her heart. The slightest thing sufficed to arouse her. On one occasion, when travelling from Bath to Wolverhampton, she could not help thinking, judging from the expression of the girl's face, that Dick was squeezing Dolly's foot under the rug; without a word she moved to the other end of the carriage and remained looking out of the window for the rest of the journey. Another time she was seized with a fit of mad rage at seeing Dick dancing with Beaumont at the end of the second act ofMadame Angot. There were floods of tears and a distinct refusal 'to dress with that woman.' Dick was in despair! What could he do? There was no spare room, and unless she went to dress with the chorus he didn't know what she'd do.
'My God!' he exclaimed to Mortimer, as he rushed across the stage after the 'damned property-man,' 'never have your woman playing in the same theatre as yourself; it's awful!'
For the last couple of weeks everything he did seemed to be wrong. Success, instead of satisfying Kate, seemed to render her more irritable, and instead of contenting herself with the plaudits that were nightly showered upon her, her constant occupation was to find out either where Dick was or what he had been doing or saying. If he went up to make a change without telling her she would invent some excuse for sending to inquire after him; if he were giving some directions to the girls at one of the top entrances, she would walk from the wing where she was waiting for her cue to ask him what he was saying. This watchfulness caused a great deal of merriment in the theatre, and in the dressing-rooms Mortimer's imitation of the catechism the manager was put to at night was considered very amusing.
'My dear, I assure you you're mistaken. I only smoked two cigarettes after lunch, and then I had a glass of beer. I swear I'm concealing nothing from you.'
And this is scarcely a parody of the strict surveillance under which Dick lived, but from a mixture of lassitude and good nature it did not seem to annoy him too much, and he appeared to be most troubled when Kate murmured that she was tired, that she hated the profession and would like to go and live in the country. For now she complained of fatigue and weariness; the society of those who formed her life no longer interested her, and she took violent and unreasoning antipathies. It was not infrequent for Mortimer and Montgomery to make an arrangement to grub with the Lennoxes whenever a landlady could be discovered who would undertake so much cooking. But without being able to explain why, Kate declared she could not abide sitting face to face with the heavy lead. She saw and heard quite enough of him at the theatre without being bothered by him in the day-time. Dick made no objection. He confessed, and, willingly, that he was a bit tired of disconnected remarks, and the wit of irrelevancies; and Mortimer, he said, fell to sulking if you didn't laugh at his jokes. Montgomery continued to board with them, the young man very uncertain always whether he would be as unhappy away from her as he was with her. He often dreamed of sending in his resignation, but he could not leave the company, having begun to look upon himself as her guardian angel; and, without consulting Dick, they arranged deftly that Dubois should be asked to take Mortimer's place. Dick approved when the project was unfolded to him, the natty appearance of the little foreigner was a welcome change after Mortimer's draggled show of genius. He could do everything better than anybody else, but that did not matter, for he was amusing in his relations. Whether you spoke of Balzac's position in modern fiction or the rolling of cigarettes, you were certain to be interrupted with, 'I assure you, my dear fellow, you're mistaken' uttered in a stentorian voice. On the subject of his bass voice a child could draw him out, and, under the pretext of instituting a comparison between him and one of the bass choristers, Montgomery never failed to induce him to give the company an idea of his register. At first to see the little man settling the double chin into his chest in his efforts to get at the low D used to convulse Kate with laughter, but after a time even this grew monotonous, and wearily she begged Montgomery to leave him alone. 'Nothing seems to amuse you now' he would say with a mingled look of affection and regret. A shrug of the shoulder she considered a sufficient answer for him, and she would sink back as if pursuing to its furthest consequences the train of some far-reaching ideas.
And in wonder these men watched the progress of Kate's malady without ever suspecting what was really the matter with her. She was homesick. But not for the house in Hanley and the dressmaking of yore. She had come to look upon Hanley, Ralph, Mrs. Ede, the apprentices and Hender as a bygone dream, to which she could not return and did not wish to return. Her homesickness was not to go back to the point from which she had started, but to settle down in a house for a while.
'Not for long, Dick,' she said, 'a month; even a fortnight would make all the difference. We spent a fortnight at Blackpool, but we have never stayed a fortnight at the same place since.'
'I know what's the matter with you, Kate,' he answered; 'you want a holiday; so do I; we all want a holiday. One of these days we shall get one when the tour comes to an end.'
It did not seem to Kate that the tour would ever come to an end: she would always be going round like a wheel.
Dick begged her to have patience, and she resolved to have patience, but one Saturday night in the middle of her packing the vision of the long railway journey that awaited her on the morrow rose up suddenly in her mind, and she could not do else than spring to her feet, and standing over the half-filled trunk she said:
'Dick, I cannot, I cannot; don't ask me.'
'Ask you what?' he said.
'To go to Bath with you to-morrow morning,' she answered.
'You won't come to Bath!' he cried. 'But who will play Clairette?'
'I will, of course.'
'I don't understand, Kate,' Dick replied.
'I only want one day off. Why shouldn't I spend the Sunday in Leamington and go to church? I want a little rest. I can't help it, Dick.'
'Well, I never! You seem to get more and more capricious every day.'
'Then you won't let me?' said Kate, with a flush flowing through her olive cheeks.
'Won't let you! Why shouldn't you stay if it pleases you, dear? Montgomery is staying too; he wants to see an aunt of his who lives in the town.'
Dick's unaffected kindness so touched Kate's sensibilities that the tears welled up into her eyes, and she flung herself into his arms sobbing hysterically. For the moment she was very happy, and she looked into the dream of the long day she was going to spend with Montgomery, afraid lest some untoward incident might rob her of her happiness. But nothing fell out to blot her hopes, everything seemed to be happening just as she had foreseen it, and trembling with pleasurable excitement the twain hurried through the town inquiring out the way to the Wesleyan Church. At last it was found in a distant suburb, and her emotion almost from the moment she entered into the peace of the building became so uncontrollable that to hide the tears upon her cheeks she was forced to bury her face in her hands, and in the soft snoring of the organ, recollections of her life frothed up; but as the psalm proceeded her excitement abated, until at last it subsided into a state of languid ecstasy. Nor was it till the congregation knelt down with one accord for the extemporary prayer that she asked pardon for her sins. 'But how could God forgive her her sins if she persevered in them?' she asked herself. 'How could she leave Dick and return to Hanley? Her husband would not receive her; her life had got into a tangle and might never get straight again. But all is in the hands of God,' and thinking of the woman that had been and the woman that was, she prayed God to consider her mercifully. 'God will understand,' she said, 'how it all came about; I cannot.'
Montgomery was kneeling in the pew beside her, and he wondered at seeing her so absorbed in prayer; he did not know that she was so pious, and thought that such piety as hers was not in accord with the life she had taken up and the company with which they were touring. But perhaps it was a mere passing emotion, a sudden recrudescence of her past life which would fade away and never return again; he hoped that this was the case, for he believed in her talent, and that a London success awaited her. He kept his eyes averted from her, knowing that his observation would distress her, and after church she said she would like to go for a walk and he suggested the river.
In the shade of spreading trees they watched the boats passing, and in the course of the afternoon talked of many things and of many people, and it pleased and surprised them to find that their ideas coincided, and in the pauses of the conversation they wondered why they had never spoken to each other like this before. He was often tempted to hold out prospects of a London success with a view to cheering her, but he felt that this was not the moment to do so. But she, being a little less tactful, spoke to him of his music with a view to pleasing him, but he could not detach his thoughts from her, and could only tell her that he heard her voice in the music as he composed it.
'The afternoon is passing,' he said; 'it's time to begin thinking of tea.' Whereupon they rose to their feet and walked a long way into the country in search of an inn, and finding one they had tea in a garden, and afterwards they dined in a sanded parlour and enjoyed the cold beef, although they could not disguise from themselves the fact that it was a little tough. But what matter the food? It was the close intimacy and atmosphere of the day that mattered to them, and they returned to Leamington thinking of the day that had gone by, a day unique in their experience, one that might never return to them.
The ways were filled with Sunday strollers—mothers leading a tired child moved steadily forward; a drunken man staggered over a heap of stones; sweethearts chased each other; occasionally a girl, kissed from behind as she stretched to reach a honeysuckle, rent the airless evening with a scream.
Kate had not spoken for a long while, and Montgomery's apprehensions were awakened. Of what could she be thinking? 'Something was on her mind,' he said to himself. 'Something has been on her mind all day,' he continued, and he began to ask himself if he should put his arm around her and beg of her to confide in him. He would have done so if the striking of a clock had not reminded him that they had little time before them if they wished to catch the train, so instead of asking her to confide in him he asked her to try to walk a little faster. She was tired. He offered her his arm.
'We've just time to get to the station and no more; it's lucky we have our tickets.'
The guard on the platform begged them to hasten and to get in anywhere they could. A moment afterwards they jumped into the carriage, and the train rolled with a slight oscillating motion out of the station into the open country. Dim masses of trees, interrupted by spires and roofs, were painted upon a huge orange sky that somehow reminded them of anopéra bouffe.
'What are you crying for?' Montgomery asked, bending forward.
'Oh, I don't know!—nothing,' exclaimed Kate, sobbing; 'but I'm very unhappy. I know I've been very wicked, and am sure to be punished for it.'
'Nonsense! Nonsense!'
'God will punish me—know He will. I felt it all to-day in church. I'm done for, I'm done for.'
'You've made a success on the stage. I never saw anyone get on so well in so short a time; and you're loved,' he added with a certain bitterness, 'as much as any woman could be.'
'That's what you think, but I know better. I see him flirting every day with different girls.'
'You imagine those things. Dick couldn't speak roughly to anyone if he tried; but he doesn't care for any woman but you.'
'Of course, you say so. You're his friend.'
'I assure you 'pon my word of honour; I wouldn't tell you so if it weren't true. You're my friend as much as he, aren't you?' and then, as if afraid that she should read his thoughts, he added:
'I'm sure he hasn't kissed anyone since he knew you. I can't put it plainer than that, can I?'
'I'm glad to hear you say so. I don't think you'd tell me a lie; it would be too cruel, wouldn't it? For you know what a position I am in: if Dick were to desert me to-morrow what should I do?'
'You're in a mournful humour. Why should Dick desert you? And even if he did, I don't see that it would be such an awful fate.'
Startled, Kate raised her eyes suddenly and looked him straight in the face.
'What do you mean?' she said.
The abruptness of her question made him hesitate. In a swift instant he regretted having risked himself so far, and reproached himself for being false to his friend; but the temptation was irresistible, and overcome by the tenderness of the day, and irritated by the memory of years of vain longing, he said:
'Even if he did desert you, you might, you would, find somebody better—somebody who'd marry you.'
Kate did not answer and they sat listening to the rattle of the train. At last she said:
'I could never marry anyone but Dick.'
'Why? Do you love him so much?'
'Yes, I love him better than anything in the world; but even if I didn't, there are reasons which would prevent my marrying anyone but him.'
'What reasons?'
A desire that someone should know of her trouble smothered all other considerations, and after another attempt to speak she again dropped into silence.
Montgomery tried to rouse her: 'Tell me,' he said, 'tell me why you couldn't marry anyone but Dick.'
The sound of his voice startled her, and then, in a moment of sudden naturalness, she answered:
'Because I'm in the family way.'
'Then there's nothing else for him to do but to marry you.'
She knew he was at that moment his own proper executioner, but the intensity of her own feelings did not leave her time for pity.
Why after all shouldn't she marry Dick? Why hadn't she asked for this reparation before? 'I dare say you're right,' she said. 'When I tell him——'
'What! haven't you told him yet?' Montgomery cried.
'No,' Kate answered timidly, 'I was afraid he wouldn't care to hear it.'
'Then you must do so at once,' Montgomery said, and the poor vagrant musician, whom nobody had ever loved, said: 'I will speak to him about it the first time I get a chance. It would be wicked of him not to. He couldn't refuse even if he didn't love you, which he does.'
The last streak of yellow had died out of the sky telling of the day that had gone by, and in a deep tranquillity of mind Kate inhaled the sweetness of her luck as a convalescent might a bunch of freshly culled violets.
It never rains but it pours. She was called before the curtain after every act inMadame AngotandLes Cloches de Corneville, and Dick told her that she would cut out all the London prima donnas, giving them the go-by, and establish herself one of the great Metropolitan favourites if he could get a new work over from France.
'Why a new work?' she asked, and he told her that to draw the attention of the critics and the public upon her, she must appear in a new title role, and sitting in his armchair when they came home from the theatre at night, he brooded many projects, the principal one of which was to obtain a new work from France. But which of the three illustrious composers, Hervé, Offenbach and Lecocq, should he choose to write the music? The book of words would have to be written before the music was composed, and so far as he knew the only French composer who could set English words was Hervé.
It seemed to Kate that he never would cease to draw forth a cigarette case, or to cross and uncross his legs. Did this man never wish to go to bed? She hated stopping up after one o'clock in the morning. But, anxious to be a serviceable companion to him on all occasions, she strove against her sleepiness and listened to him whilst he considered whether her voice was heard to most advantage in Offenbach or in Hervé. She had not yet played theGrande Duchesse, and there were parts in that opera that would suit her very well. He would like to see her inLa Belle Hélèneand thePrincess of Trebizond, but the last-named opera was never a success in England, and he was not certain about the power ofLa Péricholeto draw audiences in the provinces.
It was pleasant to Kate to hear her talent discussed, analyzed, set forth in the works of great men, but her thought had now turned from her artistic career to her domestic. She wanted to be married.
It had always been vaguely understood that they were to be married, that is to say, it had been taken for granted that when a fitting occasion presented itself they would render their cohabitation legal. This understanding had satisfied her till now. In the first months, in the first year after the escape from Hanley, her happiness had been so great that she had not had a thought of pressing matters further. She had feared to do anything lest she might destroy her happiness by doing so, and Dick, who let everything slide until necessity forced him to take steps, had not troubled himself about his marriage, although quite convinced that he would end by marrying Kate. He had treated his marriage exactly as he did his theatrical speculations.
'There is no hurry,' he answered her, and proposed that they should be married in London.
'But why in London?'
He spoke of his relations and his friends. He would like Kate to know his old mother.
'But, Dick, dear, why not at once? We're living in a life of sin, and at times the thought of the sin makes me miserable.'
Out of his animal repose Dick smiled at the religious argument, and being on the watch always for a sneer, the blood rushed to her face instantly and she exclaimed:
'If you did seduce me, if you did drag me away from my peaceful home, if you did make a travelling actress of me, you might at least refrain from insulting my religion.'
Dick looked up, surprised. Kate had put down her knife and fork and was pouring herself out a large glass of sherry. She was evidently going to work herself up into one of her rages.
'I assure you, my dear, I never intended to insult your religion; and I wish you wouldn't drink all that wine, it only excites you.'
'Excites me! What does it matter to you if I excite myself or not?'
'My dear Kate, this is very foolish of you. I don't see why—if you'll only listen to reason——'
'Listen to reason!' she said, spilling the sherry over the table, 'ah! it would have been better if I'd never listened to you.'
'You really mustn't drink any more wine; I can't allow it,' said Dick, passing his arm across her and trying to take away the decanter.
This was the climax, and her pretty face curiously twisted, she screamed as she struggled away from him:
'Leave me go, will you! leave me go! Oh! I hate you!' Then clenching her teeth, and more savagely, 'No, I'll not be touched! No! no! no! I will not!'
Dick was so astonished at this burst of passion that he loosed for a moment the arms he was holding, and profiting by the opportunity Kate seized him by the frizzly hair with one hand and dragged the nails of the other down his face.
At this moment Montgomery entered; he stood aghast, and Kate, whose anger had now expended itself, burst into a violent fit of weeping.
'What does this mean?' Montgomery said, speaking very slowly.
Neither answered. The man sought for words; the woman walked about the room swinging herself; and as she passed before him Montgomery stopped her and begged for an explanation. She gave him a swift look of grief, and breaking away from him, shut herself in the bedroom.
'What does this mean?'
Dick looked round vaguely, astonished at the authoritative way the question was put, but without inquiring he answered:
'That's what I want to know. I never saw anything like it in my life. We were speaking of being married, when suddenly Kate accused me of insulting her religion, and then—well, I don't remember any more. She fell into such a passion—you saw it yourself.'
'Did you say you wouldn't marry her?'
'No, on the contrary. I can't make it out. For the last month her caprices, fancies, and jealousies have been something awful!'
Montgomery made a movement as if he were going to reply, but checking himself, he remained silent. His face then assumed the settled appearance of one who is inwardly examining the different sides of a complex question. At last he said:
'Let's come out for a walk, Dick, and we'll talk the matter over.'
'Do you think I can leave her?'
'It's the best thing you can do. Leave her to have her cry out,' and adopting the suggestion, Dick picked up his hat, and without further words the men went out of the house, walking slowly arm in arm.
'I cannot understand what is the matter with Kate. When I knew her first she hadn't a bad temper.'
To this Montgomery made no answer. He was thinking.
After a pause Dick continued, as if speaking to himself:
'And the way she does badger me with her confounded jealousies; I'm afraid now to tell a girl to move up higher on the stage. There are explanations about everything, and I can't think what it's all about. She has everything she requires. She hasn't been a year on the stage, and she's playing leading parts, and scoring successes too.'
'Perhaps she has reasons you don't know of.'
'Reasons I don't know of? What do you mean?'
'Well, you haven't told me yet what the row was about.'
'Tell you! That's just what I want to know myself.'
'What were you speaking about when it began?' asked Montgomery, who was still feeling his way.
'About our marriage.'
'Well, what did you say?'
'What did I say? I really don't remember; the row has put it all out of my head. Let me think. I was saying—I mean she was asking me when we should be married.'
'And what did you say to that? Did you fix a day?'
'Fix a day!' said Dick, looking in astonishment at his friend. 'How could I fix a day?'
'I think if I loved a woman and she loved me I could manage somehow to fix a day.'
These words were spoken with an earnestness that attracted Dick's attention, and he looked inquiringly at the young man.
'So you think I ought to marry her?'
'Think you ought to marry her?' exclaimed Montgomery indignantly; 'really,Dick, I didn't think you were—Just remember what she's given up for you.You owe it to her. Good heavens!'
'Well, you needn't get into a passion; I've had enough of passions for one day.'
The impetuousness of the youth had struck through the fat nonchalance of the man, and he said after a pause:
'Yes, I suppose I do owe it to her.'
The apologetic, easy-going air with which this phrase was spoken maddened Montgomery; he could have struck his friend full in the face, but for the sake of the woman he was obliged to keep his temper.
'Putting aside the question of what you owe and what you don't owe, I'd like to ask you where you could find a nicer wife? She's the prettiest woman in the company, she's making now five pounds a week, and she loves you as well as ever a woman loved a man. I should like to know what more you want.'
This was very agreeable to hear, and after a moment's reflection Dick said:
'That's quite true, my boy, and I like her better than any other woman. I don't think I could get anything better. If it weren't for that infernal jealousy of hers. Really, her temper is no joke.'
'Her temper is all right; she was as quiet as a mouse when you knew her first. Take my word for it, there are excellent reasons for her being a bit put out.'
'What do you mean?'
'Can't you guess?'
The two men stopped and looked each other full in the face, and then resuming his walk, Montgomery said:
'Yes, it's so; she told me in the train coming up from Leamington.'
Tears glittered in Dick's eyes, and he became in that moment all pity, kindness, and good-nature.
'Oh, the poor dear! Why didn't she tell me that before? And I'd scolded her for ill-temper.'
His humanity was as large as his fat, and although he had never thought of the joys of paternity, now, in the warmth of his sentiments, he melted into one feeling of rapture. After a pause, he said:
'I think I'd better go back and see her.'
'Yes, I think you'd better; fix a day for your marriage.'
'Of course.'
Nothing further was said; each absorbed in different thoughts the two men retraced their steps, and when they arrived at the door, Montgomery said:
'I think I'd better wish you good-bye.'
'No, come in, old man; she'd like to see you.'
And as if anxious to torture himself to the last, Montgomery entered. Kate was still locked in the bedroom, but there was such an unmistakable accent of trepidation and anxiety in Dick's fingers and voice that she opened immediately. Her beautiful black hair was undone, and fell in rich masses about her. Dick took her in his arms, and held her sobbing on his shoulder. All he could say was, 'Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry; you will forgive me, won't you?'
'Well, what are you going to give her? Do you see anything you like here?'
'Do you think that paper-cutter would do?'
'You can't give anything more suitable, ma'am. Then there are these card-cases; nobody could fail to like them.'
'What are you going to give, Annie?'
'Oh, I'm going to give her the pair of earrings we saw yesterday; but if I were you I wouldn't spend more than half a sovereign: it's quite enough.'
'I should think so indeed—a third of a week's screw,' whispered Dolly, 'but she ain't a bad one, and Dick will like it, and may give me a line or so inOlivette. How do you think she'll do in the part?'
'We'll talk about that another time. Are you going to buy the paper-cutter?'
Casting her eyes in despair around the walls of the fancy-goods shop to see if she could find anything she liked better, Dolly decided in favour of the paper-cutter and paid the money after a feeble attempt at bargaining.
In the street they saw Mortimer, who had now allowed his hair to grow in long, snake-like curls completely over his shoulders.
'For goodness' sake come away,' cried Beaumont, 'I do hate speaking to him in the street, everybody stares so.'
The girls turned to fly, but the heavy lead was upon them, and in his most nasal tones said:
'Well, my dear young ladies, engaged in the charming occupation of buying nuptial gifts?'
'How very sharp you are, Mr. Mortimer,' answered Dolly in her pertest manner; 'and what are you going to give? We should so much like to know.'
After a moment's hesitation he said, throwing up his chin after the manner of a model sitting for a head of Christ:
'My dear young lady, you must not exhibit your curiosity in that way; it's not modest.'
'But do tell us, Mr. Mortimer; you're a person of such good taste.'
The comic tragedian considered for a moment what he could say most ill-natured and so get himself out of his difficulty.
'I tell you, young lady, I'm not decided, but I think that a copy of Wesley's hymns bound up with the book of theGrand Duchessmight not be inappropriate.'
'But how do you think she'll play the Countess?' asked Beaumont.
'Oh, we mustn't speak of that now she's going to be married,' and, thinking he could not better this last remark, Mortimer bade the ladies good-bye and went off with curls and coat-tails alike swinging in the breeze. Farther up the street Beaumont and Dolly were joined by Leslie, Bret, and Dubois, and the same topics were again discussed. 'What are you going to give?' 'Have you bought your present?' 'Have you seen mine?' 'Do you know who's going to be at the wedding breakfast? They can't ask more than a dozen or so.' 'Have you heard that the chorus have clubbed together to buy Dick a chain?' 'It's very good of them, but they'll feel hurt at not being asked to the breakfast.' 'What will the Lennoxes do?' These and a hundred other questions of a similar sort had been asked in the dressing-rooms, in the wings, in the streets at every available moment since Morton and Cox'sopéra bouffecompany had arrived in Liverpool. Everybody professed to consider the event the happiest and most fortunate that could have happened, but Mortimer's words, 'There's many a slip between the ring and the finger,' recurred to them whenever the conversation came to a pause, and they hoped the marriage might yet be averted, even when they stood one bright summer morning assembled on the stage, awaiting the arrival of the bride and bridegroom. The name of the church had been kept a secret, and all that was known was that Leslie—who had joined another company in Liverpool—Bret, Montgomery, and Beaumont had gone to attend as witnesses, and that they would be back at the theatre at twelve to run through the third act ofOlivettebefore producing it that night.
Many false alarms were given, but when at last the bridal party walked from the wings on to the stage, Dick's appearance provoked a little good-natured laughter, so respectable did he look in a spick-and-span new frock-coat and his tall hat. Kate never looked prettier; Mortimer said her own husband wouldn't know her.
She wore a dark green silk pleated down the front, from underneath which a patent-leather boot peeped as she walked; a short jacket showed the drawing of her shoulders, the delicacy of her waist, and the graceful fall of the hips. She carried in her hand a bouquet of yellow and pink roses, a present from Montgomery.
'Now, ladies and gentlemen, I won't detain you long, but do let us run through the third act, so as to have it right for the night. Montgomery, will you oblige me by playing over that sailor-chorus?'
Dick took the girls in sections and placed them in the positions he desired them to hold.
'Now, then; enter the Countess. Who's in love with the Countess?'
'Well, if you don't know, I don't know who does,' said Mortimer. 'I hear you've been swearing all the morning "till death do us part."'
A good deal of laughter greeted this pleasantry and Dick himself could not refrain from joining in. At last he said:
'Now, Kate, dear, do leave off laughing and run through your song.'
'I-I-ca-n't—can-'t; you—you—are—t-t-too funny.'
'We shall never get through this act,' said Dick, who had just caught Miss Leslie walking off with Bret into the green-room. Now, Miss Leslie, can't you wait until this rehearsal is over?'
'They'll be late for church to-day; they may as well wait.'
Another roar of laughter followed this remark, and Kate said:
'You'd better give it up, Dick, dear; it will be all right at night. I assure you I shall be perfect in my music and words.'
'I must go through the act. The principals are responsible for themselves, but I must look to the chorus. Where's that damned property-master?'
On the subject of rehearsals Dick was always firm, and seeing that it could not be shirked, the chorus pulled themselves together, and the act was run through somehow. Then a few more invitations were whispered in the corners on the sly, and the party in couples and groups repaired to the Lennoxes' lodgings. Mortimer, Beaumont, Dick, and Kate walked together, talking of the night's show. Dubois crushed his bishop's hat over his eyes, straddled his ostler-like legs, and discussed Wagner's position in music with Montgomery and Dolly Goddard. A baronet's grandson, a chorus singer, told how his ancestor had won the Goodwood Cup half a century ago, to three ladies in the same position in the theatre as himself. Bret and Leslie followed very slowly, apparently more than ever enchanted with each other.
For the wedding breakfast, the obliging landlady had given up her own rooms on the ground-floor. The table extended from the fireplace to the cabinet, the panels of which Mortimer was respectfully requested not to break when he was invited to take the foot of the table and help the cold salmon. The bride and bridegroom took the head, and the soup was placed before them; for this was not, as Dick explained, a breakfast served by Gunter, but a dinner suitable to people who had been engaged for some time back. At this joke no one knew if they should laugh or not, and Mortimer slyly attracted the attention of the company to Bret and Leslie, who were examining the cake.
Then all spoke at once of the presents. They were of all sorts, and had come from different parts of the country. Mr. Cox had given a large diamond ring. Leslie had presented Kate with a handsome inkstand. Bret had bought her a small gold bracelet. Dubois, whose fancies were light, offered a fan; Beaumont, a pair of earrings; Hayes, a cigarette case; Dolly Goddard, a paper-knife; Montgomery, a brooch which must have cost him at least a month's salary. Mortimer exclaimed that his wife had been behaving rather badly lately, and that in consequence he had been unable to obtain from her—what he had not been able to obtain Dick did not stop to listen to. At that moment the gold chain, the present from the chorus, caught his eye. The kindness of the girls seemed to affect him deeply, and, interrupting Kate, who was thanking her friends for all their tokens of good-will, he said:
'I must really thank the ladies of the chorus for the very handsome present they made me. How sorry I am that they are not all here to receive my thanks I cannot say; but those who are here will, I hope, explain to their comrades how we were pressed for space.'
'One would think you were refusing a free admission,' snarled Mortimer.
'What a bore that fellow is!' whispered Dick to Mr. Cox, the proprietor of the company, who had come down from London to arrange some business with his manager.
'I'm sure, Mr. Lennox, we were only too glad to be able to give you something to show you how much we appreciate your kindness,' said a tall girl, speaking in the name of the chorus.
'We must have some fizz after the show to-night on the stage. What do you think. Cox?' said Dick. 'And then I shall be able to express my thanks to everyone.'
'And we must have a dance,' cried Leslie. 'My foot is all right now.'
Chairs had to be fetched in from the bedroom and even from the kitchen to seat the fifteen people who had been invited. The ladies did not like sitting together and the supply of gentlemen was not sufficient—drawbacks that were forgotten when the first few spoonfuls of soup had been eaten and the sherry tasted. The women examined Mr. Cox with looks of deep inquiry, but his face told them nothing; it was grave and commercial, and he spoke little to anyone except Kate and her husband. The baronet's son sat in the middle of the table with the three chorus-girls, whom he continued to pester with calculations as to how much he would be worth, but for his ancestor's ambition to win the Derby with Scotch Coast. Leslie and Bret were on the other side of the wedding cake, and they leant towards each other with a thousand little amorous movements. Beaumont spoke of the evening's performance, putting questions to Montgomery with a view to attracting Mr. Cox's attention.
'Do you think, Mr. Montgomery, that to take an encore for my song will interfere with the piece?'
'I never heard of a lady putting the piece before herself,' said Montgomery, with a loud laugh, for he, too, was anxious to attract Mr. Cox's attention, and availing himself of Miss Beaumont's question as a 'lead up,' he said, 'I hope that when my opera is produced I shall find artists who will look as carefully after my interests.'
'But when will you have your opera ready?' Kate asked.
'My opera?' he said, as soon as she averted the brown eyes that burnt into his soul. 'It's all finished. It's ready to put on the stage when Dick likes.'
The ruse proved successful, for Mr. Cox, bending forward, said in an interested voice:
'May I ask what is the subject of your opera, Mr. Montgomery?'
This was charming, and the musician at once proceeded to enter into a complicated explanation, in which frequent allusion was made to a king, a band of conspirators, a neighbouring prince, a beautiful daughter unfortunately in love with a shepherd, and a treacherous minister. Beaumont listened wearily, and, seeing that no mention she could make of her singing would avail her, she commenced to fidget abstractedly with one of her big diamond earrings. In the meanwhile Montgomery's difficulties were increasing. To follow successfully the somewhat intricate story of king, conspirators, and amorous shepherd a sustained effort of attention was necessary, and this Dick, Kate, and Mr. Cox found it difficult to grant; for in the middle of a somewhat involved bit—in which it was not quite clear whether the king or the minister had entered disguised—the landlady would beg to be excused—if they would just make a little way, so that she might remove the soup.
This lady, in her Sunday cap, assisted by the maid-of-all-work, from whose canvas-grained hands soap and water had not been able to extract the dirt, strove to lift large dishes of food over the heads of the company. There was a sirloin of beef that had to be placed before Mortimer. Then came two pairs of chickens, the carving of which Dick had taken upon himself. A piece of bacon with cabbage, and a pigeon-pie, adorned the sides of the table. The cutlets were handed round; and for some time conversation gave way to the more necessary occupation of eating. Even Bret and Leslie left off billing and cooing; the grandson of the baronet, forgetful of his family's misfortunes on the turf, dug vigorously into the pigeon-pie and liberally distributed it. The clattering of knives and forks swelled into a sustained sound, which was only broken by observations such as 'Thanks, Mr. Lennox, anything that's handy—a leg, if you please.' 'May I ask you, Montgomery, for a slice of bacon? No cabbage, thank you.' 'Mr. Mortimer, a little more and some gravy; that'll do nicely.'
It was not until the first helping had been put away, and eyes began to wander in search of what would be best to go on with, that conversation was resumed. To Mortimer, who had had a good deal of trouble with the beef, Dick said, 'I hope you are satisfied with your part, Mortimer, and that we shall have some good roars. The piece ought to go with a scream.'
'I think I shall knock 'em this time, old boy,' said the comic man, drawling his words slowly through his nose. 'It pretty well killed me when I read it over to myself, so I don't know what it will be when I spit it out at them.'
This was deemed unnecessarily coarse, and for a moment it was feared that Mortimer was as drunk as Mr. Hayes, whose eyes were now beginning to blink pathetically. He awoke up, however, with a start and a smile when the first champagne cork went off, and holding out his glass, said, 'Shall be very glad to drink your health, a wedding only comes once in a lifetime.'
Mortimer tried to turn the embarrassing pause that followed this remark to his profit. The beef having kept him silent during the early part of the dinner, he resolved now to prove what a humorist he was, and by raising his voice he strove to attract the attention of the company to himself. This, however, was not easily done. Dubois had begun to pinch the backside of the canvas-handed maid, who was lifting a plate of custards over his head; but these frivolities did not prevent him from discussing Carlyle's place in English literature with the baronet's son on his left, and arguing from time to time with Montgomery on his right against certain effects employed by Wagner in his orchestration. Kate laid down her spoon and stared vaguely into space and again laid her hand on Dick's.
The past seemed now to be completely blotted out. What more could she desire? She would go on acting, and Dick would continue to love her. By some special interposition of Providence all the hazards of existence over which she might have fallen had been swept aside. What broader road could a woman hope to walk in than the one that lay before her in all its clear and bland serenity? God had been good to her! and He was going to be good to her. What a tie the child would be, what an influence, what a source of future happiness! They would work for their child; a boy or girl, which? Would it not give them courage to work? Would it not give them strength to live? It would be something to hope for. Oh, how good God had been to her; and how wicked she had been to Him! Her heart filled with a fervour of faith she had never felt before; and facing the gracious future which a child and husband promised her, she offered up thanksgivings for her happiness, which she accepted as eternal, so inherent did it seem in herself.
'Oh, just look at him!' said Kate, waking up with a start from her reveries. 'How can he make such a beast of himself?'
'Don't take any notice of him, dear; that's the best way.'
But Mortimer, who had been vainly struggling for the last five minutes to draw Beaumont from the memory of a lord, Dubois from his Wagnerian argument, and Bret and Leslie from their flirtation, now seized on poor Hayes's drunkenness as a net wherein he could capture everybody. Raising his voice so as to ensure silence, he said, addressing himself to Mr. Cox at the other end of the table, 'How very affecting he is now, how severely natural; the innocence of a young girl in her teens is not, to my mind, nearly so touching as that of a boozer in his cups. Have you ever heard how he fancied the waiter was calling him in the morning when the policeman was hauling him off to the station?'
Mr. Cox had not heard; and the whole story of how they bumped in the hotel door at Derby had to be gone through. Having thus got the company by the ear, Mortimer showed for a long time no signs of letting them go. He went straight through his whole repertoire. He told of a man who wanted to post a letter, but not being able to find the letterbox, he applied to a policeman. The bobby showed him something red in the distance, and explained that that was the post. 'Keep the red in your eye, my boy,' said the drunkard; and this he did until he found himself in a public-house trying to force his letter down a soldier's collar. He had mistaken the red coat for the pillar. This was followed by a story of a man who apologized to the trees in St. James's Park, and explained to them that he had come from a little bachelor's party, until he at last sat down saying, 'This is no good; I mus-mush wait till the bloody pro-prochession has passed.' A heavy digestive indifference to everything was written on each countenance; and in the slanting rays of the setting sun the curling smoke vapours assumed the bluest tints. Odours of spirits trailed along the tablecloth. Disconnected fragments of conversation, heard against the uninterrupted murmur of Mortimer's story-telling, struck the ear. The baronet's son was now explaining to his three ladies that no woman could expect to get on in life unless she were very immoral or very rich; Dubois argued across the table with Leslie and Bret concerning the production of the voice: Beaumont cast luminous and provoking glances at Mr. Cox, and tried to engage him in conversation regarding the inartistic methods of most stage-managers in arranging the processions.
'Dick, dear, the cake hasn't yet been cut.'
'No more it hasn't,' Dick answered, and when the white-sugared emblem of love and fidelity was distributed, the wedding party awoke to a burst of enthusiasm. Everyone suggested something, and much whisky and water was spilt on the tablecloth.
But matters, although they were advanced a stage, did not seem to be much expedited. The bride's health had to be drunk, and Dick had to return thanks. He did not say very much, but his remarks concerningOlivettesuggested a good deal of comment. Mortimer took a different view of the question, and Dubois explained at length how the piece had been done in France. Leslie insisted that Bret should say something; and once on his legs, to the surprise of everybody, the silent tenor became surprisingly garrulous.
It was Kate, however, who first guessed the reason of Montgomery's despondency, and in pity for him, she made a sign to the ladies, and the room was left to the flat chests and tweed coats. Montgomery prayed that this after-dinner interval would not prove a long one, for he dreaded the smutty stories. The baronet's son sprang off with a clear lead, watched by Mortimer and Dubois. In the way of anecdotes these two would have been rivals had it not been for the latter's fancy for more serious discussions. Still, in the invention and collection of the most atrocious, they both employed the energy and patience of the entomologist. A chance word, out of which a racy story might be extracted, was pursued like a rare moth or a butterfly. Dubois's were more subtle, but Mortimer's, being more to the point, were more generally effective.
They waited eagerly for the baronet's son to conclude, and he had hardly pronounced the last phrase when Mortimer, coming with a rush, took the lead with 'That reminds me of—' Dubois looked discomfited, and settled himself down to waiting for another chance. This, however, did not come just at once; Mortimer told six stories, each nastier than the last. Everybody was in roars except Montgomery and Dubois; whilst one thought of his opera, the other searched his memory for something that would out-Mortimer Mortimer. This was difficult, but when his turn came he surprised the company. Mr. Cox leaned over the table with a glass of whisky and water in his hand declaring that he had never spent so pleasant a day in his life: and thus encouraged Dubois was just beginning to launch out into the intricacies of a fresh tale when Montgomery, beside himself with despair, said to Dick: