CHAPTERLXXIX.THE EARL AND HIS LEGAL ADVISER—A WIFE’S TREPIDATION.Mr. Chicknell knew perfectly well that he would be a welcome visitor to his client’s ancestral home, and he was in the best of spirits when he passed into the vestibule of the grand old mansion.Earl Ethalwood was busily engaged in his laboratory when the lawyer made his appearance.Aveline and Miss Jamblin had been sent to London for a change, under the charge of the good-tempered and vivacious Lady Marvlynn, so that the master of Broxbridge was without the companionship of the young ladies or thegouvernante.He consented to part with them upon the condition that their visit to the metropolis was not of too protracted a duration.To say the truth, Aveline did pretty much as she liked, and her grandfather did not oppose her in anything but the one grand wish of his life—this being a divorce from her low-born husband, as he was pleased to term him.Mr. Chicknell gave his patron a succinct account of those circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted.The earl was thunderstruck.He had never for a moment counted on such an issue, but in the goblet of pleasure he drained there were a few drops of bitterness.His pride was wounded.Although he affected and, indeed, did treat the very name of Gatliffe with unmitigated disgust and contempt, he did not like the idea of his being so faithless to even the memory of his wife.To take up with a woman of Laura Stanbridge’s class was most reprehensible.“He’s a low-bred hound, and in saying this I have said all,” cried the earl. “I always told you so, Chicknell, and we have had many wrangles—if I may so term them—upon this subject. However, the worst is over now, and we have every reason to be thankful that the fellow has acted in such a discreditable way. Nevertheless his conduct rather surprises me.”“It has surprised me, my lord, and it will surprise many others, I expect—more particularly your grand-daughter.”“Poor girl! She clung to his memory with a pertinacity which was most remarkable.”“She is not to be blamed for that, my lord.”“I say she is!” cried the earl, in one of his tantrums—“I say she is! It is the only thing we disagree upon—have always disagreed upon.”The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, but did not offer any observation in reply.“Mr. Wrench has done exceedingly well in this business, as, indeed, he always has done, and he shall not go unrewarded. Now what are your ulterior proceedings.”“Matters are now simplified, and a divorce can be obtained without any difficulty.”“You have enough evidence?”“Wrench says so. It will, of course, be an unopposed suit, that is already understood.”“Dear me, Chicknell, this is indeed joyful news. It seems to remove a weight off my heart, and give me renewed life and vigour. I cannot sufficiently express to you my sense of gratitude. Do, my dear friend, set to work at once. Lose no time, but avoid as much exposure as possible. I don’t want any public scandal.”“You need not be under any apprehension, my lord; we shall run it through the court as quietly and expeditiously as possible. We have a plea, and that will suffice our purpose.”The earl rose from his seat, rang the bell, and ordered wine and refreshments to be served. He was in a perfect delirium of delight, was loquacious, cheerful, and passed many flattering encomiums on the wisdom and zeal displayed by his legal adviser.Chicknell had never seen him in such spirits. The dream of his life was about to be realised, and his darling Aveline would be separated for ever from the connection which he deemed a blot upon his escutcheon.It did not occur to him that Gatliffe was the father of the boy who was destined on some future day to represent the long line of the Ethalwoods; had he thought of this possibly there might have been a few drops more of bitterness in his cup of pleasure.Mr. Chicknell remained at the hall that night, and on the following morning hastened up to London to institute a suit in the Divorce Court, agreeable to the instructions received from his client.Meanwhile Aveline was enjoying an uninterrupted round of pleasure in the metropolis. She was surrounded with hosts of fashionable swains, who flattered her to her heart’s content.Lady Marvlynn knew everybody, and everybody knew Lady Marvlyvn.She was one of those active, quick-witted, good-natured busybodies whom everyone appeared to like. She had the entrée into every coterie of fashionable society, and could say smart things without giving offence to any one.Miss Jamblin was not taken everywhere with Aveline and her chaperon, but she saw more pleasure than she had seen during her whole life at Stoke Ferry Farm. Her position at the earl’s town house was a sort of union of friend, companion, or lady’s maid to the greater star in the firmament, Lady Aveline as she was termed.Of course Aveline and the farmer’s daughter were to pay a visit to the opera before they returned to Broxbridge Hall. Lady Marvlynn had made her two young friends understand that they must see Patti.She was the rage at the time. People felt disposed to fall down and worship her, and declared that there never was such a singer.The same remark has been made when other celebrities have been alluded to, but that does not much matter. Patti was in the zenith of her popularity, and possibly she was at her best about this time.So the two young ladies, Lady Marvlynn, and the Honourable Tufnel Oxmoor seated themselves in the earl’s carriage, which made direct for the grand entrance to Covent Garden.It is needless to say that the house was crammed—it being a Patti night.The opera was “La Somnambula,” one of her earliest triumphs—the opera in which Malibran, many years before, had so entranced the town by her matchless vocalisation and marvellous histrionic powers.Lady Marvlynn, having adjusted her opera-glass to the right focus, began to proceed to take a survey of the leading notabilities in the stalls and boxes. She pointed out to Aveline many distinguished persons, and gave a running commentary on them.“Ah!” she exclaimed, “as I live, there is my old friend, the Marquis of Fincairn. I’ve not seen him for an age, indeed; but he’s looking remarkably well. I wonder who the lady is he has got with him?”“Don’t you know?” said Oxmoor.“No. I confess I do not.”“It’s Totty Pinkstream, who was the reigning belle in Paris some short time since,” observed Oxmoor, in a whisper. “He doats on her—so I’m told.”“Bah! he’s an old fool then.”“Oh, Lady Marvlynn!” cried the gentleman.“Hush, don’t speak so loud—and that’s the Totty we have heard so much of. Well, she’s distinguished in appearance, but not particularly beautiful.”“She’s not bad-looking, and has a lovely pair of eyes.”“I allow you gentlemen to be the best judges of female loveliness,” said Lady Marvlynn, hiding her face coquettishly behind her capacious fan.Her companion bowed, but made no reply.“Who is that lady in the second box from the stage?” inquired Aveline.“Who, my dear? Well, that’s the Countess of Lanfoil—very charming, isn’t she, and dressed in such good taste? Her husband chooses her dresses, I have been told, and is very proud of her, but she is cold and unimpressionable, and cares but little for him. She has, however, hosts of admirers.”“What! a married woman have admirers!” said Patty Jamblin. “How very odd.”“Not at all, my dear; but hush, they are about to begin.”The band struck up and played the overture, the curtain was raised, and the performance commenced. When Patti made her appearance she received a perfect ovation—the applause was prolonged to an inordinate extent.Aveline and Miss Jamblin were both delighted with her. No wonder, seeing that they had never heard her equal.When the first act was over, Aveline said—“She’s grand—truly magnificent!”“Yaas,” drawled Oxmoor, “very good, indeed. A most delightful creature—a child of impulse.”“And cultivation,” suggested Lady Marvlynn.“Oh, of course, she has cultivation—that’s generally admitted.”“Nature has something to do in forming a singer, and art also. It is the union of the two that helps to form a great artiste.”“Spoken like an oracle,” said the gentleman. “Upon my word, you are a practical philosopher, a critic, and a commentator all in one.”“You flatter.”A gentleman opened the door of the box and peered in.“Ah, Rolf, how are you? Come in,” said Oxmoor, addressing the newcomer.“Let me introduce you. Lady Marvlynn, Mr. Rolf, theatrical critic to thePortsoken Gazette—Lady Aveline, Miss Jamblin.”They all bowed and smiled, as is usual in such cases.“She’s very fine to-night, better than usual, I think—is she not?”“Yes, excellent,” returned the critic.“Wonderful singer, is she not, sir?” observed Lady Marvlynn, not knowing very well what to say.“Yes, has a magnificent organ.”“There you go again,” cried Oxmoor. “A magnificent organ! A voice is not an organ.”“It is not a barrel organ, I admit,” said Rolf.“No, nor is it an organ at all. It is produced by the vocal and respiratory organs. By means of these organs a sound, or a series of sounds, either better or worse, as the case may be; but the voice itself is not an organ. I positively and emphatically deny that it is.”“I have heard you say something of the kind before,” returned Rolf. “Perhaps you are correct in your theory. After all, it is but a figure of speech. It is necessary to speak by the card, it would appear, when addressing the Honourable Tufnel Oxmoor.”“Oh, I can’t cope with you fellows of the press, you know,” observed the young aristocrat, twirling his moustache.His friend laughed.“I should like to have a voice, or organ as you term it,” said Oxmoor. “I would astonish their weak nerves.”“You can’t astonish any person’s nerves,” cried Lady Marvlynn, “that is impossible.”“And why not, pray?”“Astonishment must proceed from the brain, or sensorium. Nerves are but threads of communication from the brain, and are not sentient. There are, it is true, nerves of voluntary and involuntary action, but they are incapable of being astonished. The phrase is, therefore, quite incorrect.”“Ha, ha!” laughed the critic. “You’ve got your answer now, Oxmoor. I would not presume to contradict her ladyship. The only answer I can give is that it is like your ‘organ,’ a mere figure of speech.”“As you are so very particular, it is just as well to be correct, you know,” said her ladyship, tapping her friend on the elbow with the end of her fan. “Don’t you see, Oxmoor, dear boy?”“Ah, I see and feel, too,” he returned, with a good-humoured smile.The curtain drew up for the second act, and cut short this playful badinage.Aveline Gatliffe had been charmed with the magnificent vocalisation of the prima donna, with the admirable orchestral effects, and the grandeur of the scenery; indeed, her attention had been so fixed upon the performance that she had given but little heed to the conversation which had been going on in the box.Now she had no longer ears and eyes for the performers on the stage.She turned deadly pale, and something seemed to deaden the pulsations of her heart.She saw a gentleman in the fourth or fifth row of stalls; by his side sat a lady dressed in the height of fashion.The gentleman was whispering soft words into her ear—so Aveline judged, for ever and anon she turned her face towards his and smiled.At first she could not bring herself to believe that the gentleman was her husband, Tom Gatliffe, but she was but too well assured of this fact when she scanned the pair through her opera-glass.She saw that he was attired in a dress suit, and that his companion was a woman of extreme beauty. She saw also, with the penetrating eye of a jealous woman, that they were on the most friendly and familiar terms.She felt like one who is about to swoon. Her colour came and went, and the very tremour seemed to pass through her frame, and her evening’s amusement was at an end. She would have given worlds to be at home in her own boudoir.How to sit out the performance she could not divine. Had she been by herself she would have left there and then, but, situated as she was, such a course was quite impracticable.It was in vain that the voice of the gifted singer gave expression to the most seductive and entrancing strains. It was in vain that the chorus and orchestra poured forth a flood of melody.Aveline heard them not. Her attention was revitted upon her husband and his fair partner.“The green-eyed monster” was pressing with a leaden and oppressive weight upon the jealous wife, who forgot at this trying hour that she had deserted her husband for wealth and luxury.“I hate and despise him,” she murmured, with supreme bitterness. “He never was my equal. Now he is a false, deceitful monster. How I despise him!”“What is the matter with my darling pet?” exclaimed Lady Marvlynn, leaning forward, and whispering in the ear of her young charge.“Oh nothing-nothing at all.”“Nay, my dear, something seems amiss. You look pale, and do not seem yourself. Tell me what it is? Do you feel faint?”“I have a headache—the heat is oppressive,” cried Aveline, not knowing what excuse to make.“Ah, you cannot deceive me, my child. I feel assured that you are not well. When this act is over we will retire for a while.”“I shall do very well where I am.”But Lady Marvlynn was of a different opinion; so when the act drop fell she conducted her friend into the lobby, and from thence to the refreshment stall, where Aveline had some cooling drink.“You are not looking at all well, dear,” said her ladyship. “And there must be some reason for this.”“There is a reason,” whispered Aveline, “and a powerful one, but do not breathe a syllable to anyone.”“My dear, do you suppose——”“No, no! I do not suppose. You have too much discretion.”“What is it, then?”“In the stalls my husband is seated.”Lady Marvlynn gave a prolonged “Ah!” and looked astonished.No.42.Illustration: PEACE ENTERTAINS.PEACE ENTERTAINS HIS FRIENDS.“And is he alone?” she inquired.“No, he is not; he has a lady—I mean a female—with him; but take no more notice of this—I am better now.”They returned to the box, and secretly, unobserved by any one, Aveline directed Lady Marvlynn’s attention to Gatliffe and Laura Stanbridge.Her ladyship nodded, but said nothing.“Lady Aveline is overcome with the heat, which, to say the truth, is most oppressive,” observed Oxmoor.“Yes, no doubt. She’s fresh from the country, and not used to London life, hot theatres, overpowering gaslights, and all that sort of thing, you know,” said her ladyship, coming to the rescue.When the third act was over Oxmoor, to the great relief of Aveline, took his departure, upon the plea that he had to meet someone at his club who was about to depart for Calcutta, and prior to his departure the members of the aforesaid club had invited him to a farewell supper.Whether this plea was a pure invention mattered but little. The troubled wife was but too glad to be relieved of his company, for she felt that he had his eyes upon her for nearly the whole of the time he remained in the box.It was a great relief to her when the curtain fell upon the performance, the last two acts of which had been entirely lost upon her.Before she left the box she observed Gatliffe pass out of the stalls with his female companion. She remained in the cloak-room longer than there was any occasion for, that she might give time sufficient for her husband and Laura to pass out of the theatre.She felt assured that she should faint if by any chance or accident she met them face to face.Enveloping her head and shoulders in a shawl she passed through the grand entrance, and tripped into the earl’s carriage. When once in this vehicle she felt that she was safe.Her husband and his fair enslaver would not be likely to cross her path. She was silent and thoughtful during the journey home, and Lady Marvlynn, who was at no loss to divine her thoughts, had the good sense to refrain from making any observation upon a subject which she knew must be a painful one.She therefore contented herself with giving a running commentary upon the evening’s entertainment, and her conversation was chiefly directed to Miss Jamblin, who was at a loss to understand the reason for the altered demeanour of Aveline.To say the truth, the farmer’s daughter’s experience of fashionable life did not in any way make her discontented with her own humble sphere. The more she saw of the “upper ten,” as they are termed, the more assured she was that real happiness was as little known or experienced by the votaries of fashion as it was by those who could not aspire to so exalted a position.Patty was a simple-minded unsophisticated girl, who had but little taste for the blandishments of wealth and power; nevertheless she had become greatly attached to Aveline, who, throughout their brief acquaintance, had treated her with uniform kindness. She was, as a matter of course, much pained to find her so sad and thoughtful, and had sufficient penetration to comprehend that there was some powerful cause for this.What the cause was she was at a loss to divine.When they returned to the earl’s town mansion Aveline excused herself upon the plea of indisposition, and retired to her own room. She kissed Patty and Lady Marvlynn, and then withdrew.“She’s not well,” said the farmer’s daughter, after she had left the reception-room.“No, not very well. You see, my dear, she is so excitable, so remarkably impressionable, so delicately organised that it does not take much to upset her. Poor Aveline, she’s very sensitive.”“I think she is, but there has been nothing to put her out—that I am aware of—nothing has occurred to-night.”“Ah, dear me, no, nothing—positively nothing—except the heat and over-fatigue, but after a night’s rest she’ll be herself again.”“I hope so, I’m sure,” murmured Patty, who did not, however, see that the excuses offered by the diplomatic Lady Marvlynn were sufficient to account for the distraught manner of Aveline. However, she did not venture to disagree with her ladyship, and so sat down to the supper-table with the best grace she could.We have intimated that Lady Aveline returned to her own chamber. When she had reached this she closed the door, bolted it, threw herself in an easy chair, and burst into a passionate flood of tears.“I never would have believed it,” she exclaimed. “The perfidious monster! I abhor and contemn him, and never wish to set eyes on him again.”With all her affected indifference and love of position, she still had, deep down in the bottom of her heart, some latent love for the man who, in an earlier day, she had sworn to love, honour, and obey.How unmindful she had been of this vow we have already seen; but, notwithstanding that she had cast him on one side and given him up for the new sphere of action which presented itself to her with so much witchery, she could not bear to see him whispering soft words in the ears of a rival—and such a rival!The thought was a maddening one, and as it passed through her brain the tears fell thick and fast from her swollen eyelids.She was glad, however, to have her hour or two of poignant sorrow alone, and under the present circumstances could ill brook companionship.She sat for some time in her bedchamber a prey to tumultuous and agonising thoughts. She would have liked half an hour’s interview with the gentle and good Mrs. Maitland, who had been more than a mother to her. Did she know the sort of life Tom Gatliffe was leading?She upbraided herself for neglecting Mrs. Maitland. If it could be arranged she would like to have her at the hall. She resolved to send her an invitation when she got back to Broxbridge. The earl would give his consent. He would not be cruel enough to make any objection to one who had been so many years the guardian of his grand-daughter.Aveline retired to bed and sobbed herself to sleep, which throughout the life-long night was fretful, broken, and disturbed.On the following day, at her own request, she returned with Lady Marvlynn and Patty Jamblin to Broxbridge Hall.
Mr. Chicknell knew perfectly well that he would be a welcome visitor to his client’s ancestral home, and he was in the best of spirits when he passed into the vestibule of the grand old mansion.
Earl Ethalwood was busily engaged in his laboratory when the lawyer made his appearance.
Aveline and Miss Jamblin had been sent to London for a change, under the charge of the good-tempered and vivacious Lady Marvlynn, so that the master of Broxbridge was without the companionship of the young ladies or thegouvernante.
He consented to part with them upon the condition that their visit to the metropolis was not of too protracted a duration.
To say the truth, Aveline did pretty much as she liked, and her grandfather did not oppose her in anything but the one grand wish of his life—this being a divorce from her low-born husband, as he was pleased to term him.
Mr. Chicknell gave his patron a succinct account of those circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted.
The earl was thunderstruck.
He had never for a moment counted on such an issue, but in the goblet of pleasure he drained there were a few drops of bitterness.
His pride was wounded.
Although he affected and, indeed, did treat the very name of Gatliffe with unmitigated disgust and contempt, he did not like the idea of his being so faithless to even the memory of his wife.
To take up with a woman of Laura Stanbridge’s class was most reprehensible.
“He’s a low-bred hound, and in saying this I have said all,” cried the earl. “I always told you so, Chicknell, and we have had many wrangles—if I may so term them—upon this subject. However, the worst is over now, and we have every reason to be thankful that the fellow has acted in such a discreditable way. Nevertheless his conduct rather surprises me.”
“It has surprised me, my lord, and it will surprise many others, I expect—more particularly your grand-daughter.”
“Poor girl! She clung to his memory with a pertinacity which was most remarkable.”
“She is not to be blamed for that, my lord.”
“I say she is!” cried the earl, in one of his tantrums—“I say she is! It is the only thing we disagree upon—have always disagreed upon.”
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, but did not offer any observation in reply.
“Mr. Wrench has done exceedingly well in this business, as, indeed, he always has done, and he shall not go unrewarded. Now what are your ulterior proceedings.”
“Matters are now simplified, and a divorce can be obtained without any difficulty.”
“You have enough evidence?”
“Wrench says so. It will, of course, be an unopposed suit, that is already understood.”
“Dear me, Chicknell, this is indeed joyful news. It seems to remove a weight off my heart, and give me renewed life and vigour. I cannot sufficiently express to you my sense of gratitude. Do, my dear friend, set to work at once. Lose no time, but avoid as much exposure as possible. I don’t want any public scandal.”
“You need not be under any apprehension, my lord; we shall run it through the court as quietly and expeditiously as possible. We have a plea, and that will suffice our purpose.”
The earl rose from his seat, rang the bell, and ordered wine and refreshments to be served. He was in a perfect delirium of delight, was loquacious, cheerful, and passed many flattering encomiums on the wisdom and zeal displayed by his legal adviser.
Chicknell had never seen him in such spirits. The dream of his life was about to be realised, and his darling Aveline would be separated for ever from the connection which he deemed a blot upon his escutcheon.
It did not occur to him that Gatliffe was the father of the boy who was destined on some future day to represent the long line of the Ethalwoods; had he thought of this possibly there might have been a few drops more of bitterness in his cup of pleasure.
Mr. Chicknell remained at the hall that night, and on the following morning hastened up to London to institute a suit in the Divorce Court, agreeable to the instructions received from his client.
Meanwhile Aveline was enjoying an uninterrupted round of pleasure in the metropolis. She was surrounded with hosts of fashionable swains, who flattered her to her heart’s content.
Lady Marvlynn knew everybody, and everybody knew Lady Marvlyvn.
She was one of those active, quick-witted, good-natured busybodies whom everyone appeared to like. She had the entrée into every coterie of fashionable society, and could say smart things without giving offence to any one.
Miss Jamblin was not taken everywhere with Aveline and her chaperon, but she saw more pleasure than she had seen during her whole life at Stoke Ferry Farm. Her position at the earl’s town house was a sort of union of friend, companion, or lady’s maid to the greater star in the firmament, Lady Aveline as she was termed.
Of course Aveline and the farmer’s daughter were to pay a visit to the opera before they returned to Broxbridge Hall. Lady Marvlynn had made her two young friends understand that they must see Patti.
She was the rage at the time. People felt disposed to fall down and worship her, and declared that there never was such a singer.
The same remark has been made when other celebrities have been alluded to, but that does not much matter. Patti was in the zenith of her popularity, and possibly she was at her best about this time.
So the two young ladies, Lady Marvlynn, and the Honourable Tufnel Oxmoor seated themselves in the earl’s carriage, which made direct for the grand entrance to Covent Garden.
It is needless to say that the house was crammed—it being a Patti night.
The opera was “La Somnambula,” one of her earliest triumphs—the opera in which Malibran, many years before, had so entranced the town by her matchless vocalisation and marvellous histrionic powers.
Lady Marvlynn, having adjusted her opera-glass to the right focus, began to proceed to take a survey of the leading notabilities in the stalls and boxes. She pointed out to Aveline many distinguished persons, and gave a running commentary on them.
“Ah!” she exclaimed, “as I live, there is my old friend, the Marquis of Fincairn. I’ve not seen him for an age, indeed; but he’s looking remarkably well. I wonder who the lady is he has got with him?”
“Don’t you know?” said Oxmoor.
“No. I confess I do not.”
“It’s Totty Pinkstream, who was the reigning belle in Paris some short time since,” observed Oxmoor, in a whisper. “He doats on her—so I’m told.”
“Bah! he’s an old fool then.”
“Oh, Lady Marvlynn!” cried the gentleman.
“Hush, don’t speak so loud—and that’s the Totty we have heard so much of. Well, she’s distinguished in appearance, but not particularly beautiful.”
“She’s not bad-looking, and has a lovely pair of eyes.”
“I allow you gentlemen to be the best judges of female loveliness,” said Lady Marvlynn, hiding her face coquettishly behind her capacious fan.
Her companion bowed, but made no reply.
“Who is that lady in the second box from the stage?” inquired Aveline.
“Who, my dear? Well, that’s the Countess of Lanfoil—very charming, isn’t she, and dressed in such good taste? Her husband chooses her dresses, I have been told, and is very proud of her, but she is cold and unimpressionable, and cares but little for him. She has, however, hosts of admirers.”
“What! a married woman have admirers!” said Patty Jamblin. “How very odd.”
“Not at all, my dear; but hush, they are about to begin.”
The band struck up and played the overture, the curtain was raised, and the performance commenced. When Patti made her appearance she received a perfect ovation—the applause was prolonged to an inordinate extent.
Aveline and Miss Jamblin were both delighted with her. No wonder, seeing that they had never heard her equal.
When the first act was over, Aveline said—
“She’s grand—truly magnificent!”
“Yaas,” drawled Oxmoor, “very good, indeed. A most delightful creature—a child of impulse.”
“And cultivation,” suggested Lady Marvlynn.
“Oh, of course, she has cultivation—that’s generally admitted.”
“Nature has something to do in forming a singer, and art also. It is the union of the two that helps to form a great artiste.”
“Spoken like an oracle,” said the gentleman. “Upon my word, you are a practical philosopher, a critic, and a commentator all in one.”
“You flatter.”
A gentleman opened the door of the box and peered in.
“Ah, Rolf, how are you? Come in,” said Oxmoor, addressing the newcomer.
“Let me introduce you. Lady Marvlynn, Mr. Rolf, theatrical critic to thePortsoken Gazette—Lady Aveline, Miss Jamblin.”
They all bowed and smiled, as is usual in such cases.
“She’s very fine to-night, better than usual, I think—is she not?”
“Yes, excellent,” returned the critic.
“Wonderful singer, is she not, sir?” observed Lady Marvlynn, not knowing very well what to say.
“Yes, has a magnificent organ.”
“There you go again,” cried Oxmoor. “A magnificent organ! A voice is not an organ.”
“It is not a barrel organ, I admit,” said Rolf.
“No, nor is it an organ at all. It is produced by the vocal and respiratory organs. By means of these organs a sound, or a series of sounds, either better or worse, as the case may be; but the voice itself is not an organ. I positively and emphatically deny that it is.”
“I have heard you say something of the kind before,” returned Rolf. “Perhaps you are correct in your theory. After all, it is but a figure of speech. It is necessary to speak by the card, it would appear, when addressing the Honourable Tufnel Oxmoor.”
“Oh, I can’t cope with you fellows of the press, you know,” observed the young aristocrat, twirling his moustache.
His friend laughed.
“I should like to have a voice, or organ as you term it,” said Oxmoor. “I would astonish their weak nerves.”
“You can’t astonish any person’s nerves,” cried Lady Marvlynn, “that is impossible.”
“And why not, pray?”
“Astonishment must proceed from the brain, or sensorium. Nerves are but threads of communication from the brain, and are not sentient. There are, it is true, nerves of voluntary and involuntary action, but they are incapable of being astonished. The phrase is, therefore, quite incorrect.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the critic. “You’ve got your answer now, Oxmoor. I would not presume to contradict her ladyship. The only answer I can give is that it is like your ‘organ,’ a mere figure of speech.”
“As you are so very particular, it is just as well to be correct, you know,” said her ladyship, tapping her friend on the elbow with the end of her fan. “Don’t you see, Oxmoor, dear boy?”
“Ah, I see and feel, too,” he returned, with a good-humoured smile.
The curtain drew up for the second act, and cut short this playful badinage.
Aveline Gatliffe had been charmed with the magnificent vocalisation of the prima donna, with the admirable orchestral effects, and the grandeur of the scenery; indeed, her attention had been so fixed upon the performance that she had given but little heed to the conversation which had been going on in the box.
Now she had no longer ears and eyes for the performers on the stage.
She turned deadly pale, and something seemed to deaden the pulsations of her heart.
She saw a gentleman in the fourth or fifth row of stalls; by his side sat a lady dressed in the height of fashion.
The gentleman was whispering soft words into her ear—so Aveline judged, for ever and anon she turned her face towards his and smiled.
At first she could not bring herself to believe that the gentleman was her husband, Tom Gatliffe, but she was but too well assured of this fact when she scanned the pair through her opera-glass.
She saw that he was attired in a dress suit, and that his companion was a woman of extreme beauty. She saw also, with the penetrating eye of a jealous woman, that they were on the most friendly and familiar terms.
She felt like one who is about to swoon. Her colour came and went, and the very tremour seemed to pass through her frame, and her evening’s amusement was at an end. She would have given worlds to be at home in her own boudoir.
How to sit out the performance she could not divine. Had she been by herself she would have left there and then, but, situated as she was, such a course was quite impracticable.
It was in vain that the voice of the gifted singer gave expression to the most seductive and entrancing strains. It was in vain that the chorus and orchestra poured forth a flood of melody.
Aveline heard them not. Her attention was revitted upon her husband and his fair partner.
“The green-eyed monster” was pressing with a leaden and oppressive weight upon the jealous wife, who forgot at this trying hour that she had deserted her husband for wealth and luxury.
“I hate and despise him,” she murmured, with supreme bitterness. “He never was my equal. Now he is a false, deceitful monster. How I despise him!”
“What is the matter with my darling pet?” exclaimed Lady Marvlynn, leaning forward, and whispering in the ear of her young charge.
“Oh nothing-nothing at all.”
“Nay, my dear, something seems amiss. You look pale, and do not seem yourself. Tell me what it is? Do you feel faint?”
“I have a headache—the heat is oppressive,” cried Aveline, not knowing what excuse to make.
“Ah, you cannot deceive me, my child. I feel assured that you are not well. When this act is over we will retire for a while.”
“I shall do very well where I am.”
But Lady Marvlynn was of a different opinion; so when the act drop fell she conducted her friend into the lobby, and from thence to the refreshment stall, where Aveline had some cooling drink.
“You are not looking at all well, dear,” said her ladyship. “And there must be some reason for this.”
“There is a reason,” whispered Aveline, “and a powerful one, but do not breathe a syllable to anyone.”
“My dear, do you suppose——”
“No, no! I do not suppose. You have too much discretion.”
“What is it, then?”
“In the stalls my husband is seated.”
Lady Marvlynn gave a prolonged “Ah!” and looked astonished.
No.42.
Illustration: PEACE ENTERTAINS.PEACE ENTERTAINS HIS FRIENDS.
PEACE ENTERTAINS HIS FRIENDS.
“And is he alone?” she inquired.
“No, he is not; he has a lady—I mean a female—with him; but take no more notice of this—I am better now.”
They returned to the box, and secretly, unobserved by any one, Aveline directed Lady Marvlynn’s attention to Gatliffe and Laura Stanbridge.
Her ladyship nodded, but said nothing.
“Lady Aveline is overcome with the heat, which, to say the truth, is most oppressive,” observed Oxmoor.
“Yes, no doubt. She’s fresh from the country, and not used to London life, hot theatres, overpowering gaslights, and all that sort of thing, you know,” said her ladyship, coming to the rescue.
When the third act was over Oxmoor, to the great relief of Aveline, took his departure, upon the plea that he had to meet someone at his club who was about to depart for Calcutta, and prior to his departure the members of the aforesaid club had invited him to a farewell supper.
Whether this plea was a pure invention mattered but little. The troubled wife was but too glad to be relieved of his company, for she felt that he had his eyes upon her for nearly the whole of the time he remained in the box.
It was a great relief to her when the curtain fell upon the performance, the last two acts of which had been entirely lost upon her.
Before she left the box she observed Gatliffe pass out of the stalls with his female companion. She remained in the cloak-room longer than there was any occasion for, that she might give time sufficient for her husband and Laura to pass out of the theatre.
She felt assured that she should faint if by any chance or accident she met them face to face.
Enveloping her head and shoulders in a shawl she passed through the grand entrance, and tripped into the earl’s carriage. When once in this vehicle she felt that she was safe.
Her husband and his fair enslaver would not be likely to cross her path. She was silent and thoughtful during the journey home, and Lady Marvlynn, who was at no loss to divine her thoughts, had the good sense to refrain from making any observation upon a subject which she knew must be a painful one.
She therefore contented herself with giving a running commentary upon the evening’s entertainment, and her conversation was chiefly directed to Miss Jamblin, who was at a loss to understand the reason for the altered demeanour of Aveline.
To say the truth, the farmer’s daughter’s experience of fashionable life did not in any way make her discontented with her own humble sphere. The more she saw of the “upper ten,” as they are termed, the more assured she was that real happiness was as little known or experienced by the votaries of fashion as it was by those who could not aspire to so exalted a position.
Patty was a simple-minded unsophisticated girl, who had but little taste for the blandishments of wealth and power; nevertheless she had become greatly attached to Aveline, who, throughout their brief acquaintance, had treated her with uniform kindness. She was, as a matter of course, much pained to find her so sad and thoughtful, and had sufficient penetration to comprehend that there was some powerful cause for this.
What the cause was she was at a loss to divine.
When they returned to the earl’s town mansion Aveline excused herself upon the plea of indisposition, and retired to her own room. She kissed Patty and Lady Marvlynn, and then withdrew.
“She’s not well,” said the farmer’s daughter, after she had left the reception-room.
“No, not very well. You see, my dear, she is so excitable, so remarkably impressionable, so delicately organised that it does not take much to upset her. Poor Aveline, she’s very sensitive.”
“I think she is, but there has been nothing to put her out—that I am aware of—nothing has occurred to-night.”
“Ah, dear me, no, nothing—positively nothing—except the heat and over-fatigue, but after a night’s rest she’ll be herself again.”
“I hope so, I’m sure,” murmured Patty, who did not, however, see that the excuses offered by the diplomatic Lady Marvlynn were sufficient to account for the distraught manner of Aveline. However, she did not venture to disagree with her ladyship, and so sat down to the supper-table with the best grace she could.
We have intimated that Lady Aveline returned to her own chamber. When she had reached this she closed the door, bolted it, threw herself in an easy chair, and burst into a passionate flood of tears.
“I never would have believed it,” she exclaimed. “The perfidious monster! I abhor and contemn him, and never wish to set eyes on him again.”
With all her affected indifference and love of position, she still had, deep down in the bottom of her heart, some latent love for the man who, in an earlier day, she had sworn to love, honour, and obey.
How unmindful she had been of this vow we have already seen; but, notwithstanding that she had cast him on one side and given him up for the new sphere of action which presented itself to her with so much witchery, she could not bear to see him whispering soft words in the ears of a rival—and such a rival!
The thought was a maddening one, and as it passed through her brain the tears fell thick and fast from her swollen eyelids.
She was glad, however, to have her hour or two of poignant sorrow alone, and under the present circumstances could ill brook companionship.
She sat for some time in her bedchamber a prey to tumultuous and agonising thoughts. She would have liked half an hour’s interview with the gentle and good Mrs. Maitland, who had been more than a mother to her. Did she know the sort of life Tom Gatliffe was leading?
She upbraided herself for neglecting Mrs. Maitland. If it could be arranged she would like to have her at the hall. She resolved to send her an invitation when she got back to Broxbridge. The earl would give his consent. He would not be cruel enough to make any objection to one who had been so many years the guardian of his grand-daughter.
Aveline retired to bed and sobbed herself to sleep, which throughout the life-long night was fretful, broken, and disturbed.
On the following day, at her own request, she returned with Lady Marvlynn and Patty Jamblin to Broxbridge Hall.