The Project Gutenberg eBook ofLove's ShadowThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Love's ShadowAuthor: Ada LeversonRelease date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9786]Most recently updated: January 2, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Virginia Paque, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE'S SHADOW ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Love's ShadowAuthor: Ada LeversonRelease date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9786]Most recently updated: January 2, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Virginia Paque, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Title: Love's Shadow
Author: Ada Leverson
Author: Ada Leverson
Release date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9786]Most recently updated: January 2, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Virginia Paque, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE'S SHADOW ***
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Virginia
Paque, and the Project Gutenberg Online DistributedProofreading Team
First Published London, 1908.
(Book One of THE LITTLE OTTLEYS)
[Illustration: Love's Shadow]
Love like a shadow fliesWhen substance love pursues;Pursuing that that flies,And flying what pursues.
Hyacinth
'There's only one thing I must really implore you, Edith,' said Bruce anxiously. 'Don'tmake me late at the office!'
'Certainly not, Bruce,' answered Edith sedately. She was seated opposite her husband at breakfast in a very new, very small, very white flat in Knightsbridge—exactly like thousands of other new, small, white flats. She was young and pretty, but not obvious. One might suppose that she was more subtle than was shown by her usual expression, which was merely cheerful and intelligent.
'Now I have to write that letter before I go,' Bruce exclaimed, starting up and looking at her reproachfully. 'Why didn't I write it last night?'
Edith hadn't the slightest idea, as she had heard nothing of the letter before, but, in the course of three years, she had learnt that it saved time to accept trifling injustices. So she looked guilty and a little remorseful. He magnanimously forgave her, and began to write the letter at a neat white writing-table.
'How many g's are there in "Raggett"?' he asked suspiciously.
She didn't answer, apparently overtaken by a sudden fit of absence of mind.
'Only one, of course. How absurd you are!' said her husband, laughing, as he finished the letter and came back to the table.
She poured out more coffee.
'It's a curious thing,' he went on in a tone of impartial regret, 'that, with all the fuss about modern culture and higher education nowadays, girls are not even taught to spell!'
'Yes, isn't it? But even if I had been taught, it might not have been much use. I might just not have been taught to spell "Raggett". It's a name, isn't it?'
'It's a very well-known name,' said Bruce.
'I daresay it is, but I don't know it. Would you like to see the boy before you go?'
'What a question! I always like to see the boy. But you know perfectly well I haven't time this morning.'
'Very well, dear. You can see him this afternoon.'
'Why do you say that? You know I'm going golfing with Goldthorpe! It really is hard, Edith, when a man has to work so much that he has scarcely any time for his wife and child.'
She looked sympathetic.
'What are you doing today?' he asked.
'Hyacinth's coming to fetch me for a drive in the motor.'
His face brightened. He said kindly, 'Iamso glad, darling, that you have such a delightful friend—when I can't be with you. I admire Hyacinth very much, in every way. She seems devoted to you, too, which is really very nice of her. What I mean to say is, that in her position she might know anybody. You see my point?'
'Quite.'
'How did you meet her originally?'
'We were school-friends.'
'She's such a lovely creature; I wonder she doesn't marry.'
'Yes, but she has to find someone else whomshethinks a lovely creature, too.'
'Edith, dear.'
'Yes, Bruce.'
'I wish you wouldn't snap me up like that. Oh, I know you don't mean it, but it's growing on you, rather.'
She tried to look serious, and said gently, 'Is it, really? I am sorry.'
'You don't mind me telling you of it, do you?'
'Not at all. I'm afraid you will be late, Bruce.'
He started up and hurried away, reminding Edith that dinner was to be at eight. They parted with affectionate smiles.
When he had gone down in the lift, Edith took an inextensive walk through the entire flat, going into each room, and looking at herself in every looking-glass. She appeared to like herself best in the dining-room mirror, for she returned, stared into it rather gravely for some little time, and then said to herself: 'Yes, I'm beginning to look bored.'
Then she rang the bell, and the nurse brought in a pretty little boy of nearly two, Huffily dressed in white, who was excited at the prospect of his great morning treat—going down in the lift. Speaking of him with some formality as Master Archie, she asked the nurse a few questions, which she mistakenly supposed gave that personage the impression that she knew all that there was to be known about children. When she was alone with him for a minute she rushed at him impulsively, saying, privately, 'Heavenly pet! Divine angel! Duck!' in return for which he pulled her hair down and scratched her face with a small empty Noah's Ark that he was taking out with him for purposes of his own.
When he had gone she did her hair up again in a different way—parted in the middle. It was very pretty, wavy, fair hair, and she had small, regular features, so the new way suited her very well. Then she said again—
'Yes, if it were not for Hyacinth I should soon look bored to death!'
Hyacinth Verney was the romance of Edith's life. She also provided a good deal of romance in the lives of several other people. Her position was unusual, and her personality fascinating. She had no parents, was an heiress, and lived alone with a companion in a quaint little house just out of Berkeley Square, with a large studio, that was never used for painting. She had such an extraordinary natural gift for making people of both sexes fond of her, that it would have been difficult to say which, of all the persons who loved her, showed the most intense devotion in the most immoderate way. Probably her cousin and guardian, Sir Charles Cannon, and her companion, Anne Yeo, spent more thought and time in her service than did anybody else. Edith's imagination had been fired in their school-days by her friend's beauty and cleverness, and by the fact that she had a guardian, like a book. Then Hyacinth had come out and gone in for music, for painting, and for various other arts and pursuits of an absorbing character. She had hardly any acquaintances except her relations, but possessed an enormously large number of extremely intimate friends—a characteristic that had remained to her from her childhood.
Hyacinth's ideal of society was to have no padding, so that most of the members of her circle were types. Still, as she had a perfect passion for entertaining, there remained, of course, a residue; distant elderly connections with well-sounding names (as ballast), and a few vague hangers-on; several rather dull celebrities, some merely pretty and well-dressed women, and a steadily increasing number of good-looking young men. Hyacinth was fond of decoration.
As she frankly admitted, she had rather fallen back on Edith, finding her, after many experiments, the most agreeable of friends, chiefly because in their intercourses everything was always taken for granted. Like sisters, they understood one another without explanation—à demi-mot.
While Edith waited impatiently in the hall of the flat, Anne Yeo, her unacknowledged rival in Hyacinth's affections, was doing needlework in the window-seat of the studio, and watching Hyacinth, who, dressed to go out, was walking up and down the room. With a rather wooden face, high cheek-bones, a tall, thin figure, and no expression, Anne might have been any age; but she was not. She made every effort to look quite forty so as to appear more suitable as a chaperone, but was in reality barely thirty. She was thinking, as she often thought, that Hyacinth looked too romantic for everyday life. When they had travelled together this fact had been rather a nuisance.
'Why, when you call at the Stores to order groceries, must you look as if you were going to elope?' she asked dryly. 'In an ordinary motorveil you have the air of hastening to some mysterious appointment.'
'But I'm only going to fetch Edith Ottley for a drive,' said Hyacinth. 'How bored she must get with her little Foreign Office clerk! The way he takes his authority as a husband seriously is pathetic. He hasn't the faintest idea the girl is cleverer than he is.'
'You'd far better leave her alone, and not point it out,' said Anne. 'You're always bothering about these little Ottleys now. But you've been very restless lately. Whenever you try to do people good, and especially when you motor so much and so fast, I recognise the symptoms. It's coming on again, and you're trying to get away from it.'
'Don't say that. I'm never going to care about anyone again,' saidHyacinth.
'You don't know it, but when you're not in love you're not yourself,'Anne continued. 'It's all you live for.'
'Oh, Anne!'
'It's quite true. It's nearly three months since you—had an attack. Blair was the last. Now you're beginning to take the same sort of interest in Cecil Reeve.'
'How mistaken you are, Anne! I don't take at all the same interest in him. It's a totally different thing. I don't really even like him.'
'You wouldn't go out today if you were expecting him.'
'Yes, but I'm not … and he doesn't care two straws about me. Once he said he never worshipped in a crowded temple!'
'It's a curious coincidence that ever since then you've been out to everyone else,' said Anne.
'I don't really like him—so very much. When hedoessmile, of course it's rather nice. Why does he hate me?'
'I can't think,' said Anne.
'He doesn't hate me! How can you say so?' cried Hyacinth.
'Doesn't he?'
'Perhaps it's because he thinks I look Spanish. He may disapprove of looking Spanish,' suggested Hyacinth.
'Very likely.'
Hyacinth laughed, kissed her, and went out. Anne followed her graceful figure with disapproving, admiring eyes.
The Anxieties of Sir Charles
Like all really uncommon beauties, Hyacinth could only be adequately described by the most hackneyed phrases. Her eyes were authentically sapphire-coloured; brilliant, frank eyes, with a subtle mischief in them, softened by the most conciliating long eyelashes. Then, her mouth was really shaped like a Cupid's bow, and her teethweredazzling; also she had a wealth of dense, soft, brown hair and a tall, sylphlike, slimly-rounded figure. Her features were delicately regular, and her hands and feet perfection. Her complexion was extremely fair, so she was not a brunette; some remote Spanish ancestor on her mother's side was, however, occasionally mentioned as an apology for a type and a supple grace sometimes complained of by people with white eyelashes as rather un-English. So many artistic young men had told her she was like La Gioconda, that when she first saw the original in the Louvre she was so disappointed that she thought she would never smile again.
About ten minutes after the pretty creature had gone out, Anne, who had kept her eyes steadily on the clock, looked out of the window, from which she could see a small brougham driving up. She called out into the hall—
'If that's Sir Charles Cannon, tell him Miss Verney is out, but I have a message for him.'
A minute later there entered a thin and distinguished-looking, grey-haired man of about forty-five, wearing a smile of such excessive cordiality that one felt it could only have been brought to his well-bred lips by acute disappointment. Anne did not take the smile literally, but began to explain away the blow.
'I'm so sorry,' she said apologetically. 'I'm afraid it's partly my fault. When she suddenly decided to go out with that little Mrs Ottley, she told me vaguely to telephone to you. But how on earth could I know where you were?'
'How indeed? It doesn't matter in the least, my dear Miss Yeo. I mean, it's most unfortunate, as I've just a little free time. Lady Cannon's gone to a matinée at the St James's. We had tickets for the first night, but of course she wouldn't use them then. She preferred to go alone in the afternoon, because she detests the theatre, anyhow, and afternoon performances give her a headache. And if she does a thing that's disagreeable to her, she likes to do it in the most painful possible way. She has a beautiful nature.'
Anne smiled, and passed him a little gold box.
'Have a cigarette?' she suggested.
'Thanks—I'm not really in a bad temper. But why this relapse of devotion to little Mrs Ottley? And why are you and I suddenly treated with marked neglect?'
'Mrs Ottley,' said Anne, 'is one of those young women, rather bored with their husbands, who are the worst possible companions for Hyacinth. They put her off marrying.'
'Bored, is she? She didn't strike me so. A pleasant, bright girl. I suppose she amuses Hyacinth?'
'Yes; of course, she's not a dull old maid over forty, like me,' saidAnne.
'No-one would believe that description of you,' said Sir Charles, with a bow that was courtly but absent. As a matter of fact, he did believe it, but it wasn't true.
'If dear little Mrs Ottley,' he continued, 'married in too great a hurry, far be it from me to reproach her. I married in a hurry myself—when Hyacinth was ten.'
'And when she was eighteen you were very sorry,' said Anne in her colourless voice.
'Don't let us go into that, Miss Yeo. Of course, Hyacinth is a beautiful—responsibility. People seem to think she ought to have gone on living with us when she left school. But how was it possible? Hyacinth said she intended to live for her art, and Lady Cannon couldn't stand the scent of oils.' He glanced round the large panelled-oak room in which not a picture was to be seen. The only indication of its having ever been meant for a studio was the north light, carefully obstructed (on the grounds of unbecomingness) by gently-tinted draperies of some fabric suggesting Liberty's. 'Life wasn't worth living, trying to keep the peace!'
'But you must have missed her?'
'Still, I prefer coming to see her here. And knowing she has you with her is, after all, everything.'
He looked a question.
'Yes, she has. I mean, she seems rather—absorbed again lately,' saidAnne.
'Who is it?' he asked. 'I always feel so indiscreet and treacherous talking over her private affairs like this with you, though she tells me everything herself. I'm not sure it's the act of a simple, loyal, Christian English gentleman; in fact, I'm pretty certain it's not. I suppose that's why I enjoy it so much.'
'I daresay,' said Anne; 'but she wouldn't mind it.'
'What has been happening?'
'Nothing interesting. Hazel Kerr came here the other day and brought with him a poem in bronze lacquer, as he called it. He read it aloud—the whole of it.'
'Good heavens! Poetry! Do people still do that sort of thing? I thought it had gone out years ago—when I was a young man.'
'Of course, so it has. But Hazel Kerr is out of date. Hyacinth says he's almost a classic.'
'His verses?'
'Oh no! His method. She says he's an interesting survival—he's walked straight out of another age—the nineties, you know. There were poets in those days.'
'Method! He was much too young then to have a style at all, surely!'
'Thatwasthe style. It was the right thing to be very young in the nineties. It isn't now.'
'It's not so easy now, for some of us,' murmured Sir Charles.
'But Hazel keeps it up,' Anne answered.
Sir Charles laughed irritably. 'He keeps it up, does he? But he sits people out openly, that shows he's not really dangerous. One doesn't worry about Hazel. It's that young man who arrives when everybody's going, or goes before anyone else arrives, that's what I'm a little anxious about.'
'If you mean Cecil Reeve, Hyacinth says he doesn't like her.'
'I'm sorry to hear that. If anything will interest her, that will. Yet I don't know why I should mind. At any rate, he certainly isn't trying to marry her for interested reasons, as he's very well off—or perhaps for any reasons. I'm told he's clever, too.'
'His appearance is not against him either,' said Anne dryly; 'so what's the matter with him?'
'I don't know exactly. I think he's capable of playing with her.'
'Perhaps he doesn't really appreciate her,' suggested Anne.
'Oh, yes, he does. He's a connoisseur—confound him! He appreciates her all right. But it's all for himself—not for her. By the way, I've heard his name mentioned with another woman's name. But I happen to know there's nothing in it.'
'Would you really like her to marry soon?' Anne asked.
'In her position it would be better, I suppose,' said her guardian, with obvious distaste to the idea.
'Has there ever been anyone that you thoroughly approved of?' askedAnne.
He shook his head.
'I rather doubt if there ever will be,' Anne said.
'She's so clever, so impulsive! She lives so much on her emotions. If she were disappointed—in that way—it would mean so much to her,' Sir Charles said.
'She does change rather often,' said Anne.
'Of course, she's never really known her own mind.' He took a letter out of his pocket. 'I came partly to show her a letter from Ella—my girl at school in Paris, you know. Hyacinth is so kind to her. She writes to me very confidentially. I hope she's being properly brought up!'
'Let me read it.'
She read—
'I'm having heavenly fun at school. Last night there was a ball for Madame's birthday. A proper grown-up ball, and we all danced. The men weren't bad. I had a lovely Easter egg, a chocolate egg, and inside that another egg with chocolate in it, and inside that another egg with a dear little turquoise charm in it. One man said I was a blonde anglaise, and had a keepsake face; and another has taken the Prix de Rome, and is going to be a schoolmaster. There were no real ices. Come over and see me soon. It's such a long time to the holidays. Love to mother.
'Your loving,
'A curious letter—for her age,' said Ella's father, replacing it. 'I wish she were here. It seems a pity Lady Cannon can't stand the noise of practising—and so on. Well, perhaps it's for the best.' He got up. 'Miss Yeo, I must go and fetch Lady Cannon now, but I'll come back at half-past six for a few minutes—on my way to the club.'
'She's sure to be here then,' replied Anne consolingly; 'and do persuade her not to waste all her time being kind to Edith Ottley. It can't do any good. She'd better leave them alone.'
'Really, it's a very innocent amusement. I think you're overanxious.'
'It's only that I'm afraid she might get mixed up in—well, some domestic row.'
'Surely it can't be as bad as that! Why—is Mr Ottley in love with her?' he asked, smiling.
'Very much indeed,' said Anne.
'Oh, really, Miss Yeo!—and does Mrs Ottley know it?'
'No, nor Hyacinth either. He doesn't know it himself.'
'Then if nobody knows it, it can't matter very much,' said Sir Charles, feeling vaguely uncomfortable all the same. Before he went he took up a portrait of Hyacinth in an Empire dress with laurel leaves in her hair. It was a beautiful portrait. Anne thought that from the way he looked at it, anyone could have guessed Lady Cannon had tight lips and wore a royal fringe…. They parted with great friendliness.
Anne's wooden, inexpressive countenance was a great comfort to Sir Charles, in some moods. Though she was clever enough, she did not have that superfluity of sympathy and responsiveness that makes one go away regretting one has said so much, and disliking the other person for one's expansion. One never felt that she had understood too accurately, nor that one had given oneself away, nor been indiscreetly curious…. It was like talking to a chair. What a good sort Anne was!
Anne Yeo
'Would you like me to play to you a little?' Anne asked, when Hyacinth had returned and was sitting in the carved-oak chimney-corner, looking thoughtful and picturesque.
'Oh no, please don't! Besides, I know you can't'
'No, thank goodness!' exclaimed Anne. 'I know I'm useful and practical, and I don't mind that; but anyhow, I'm not cheerful, musical, and a perfect lady, in exchange for a comfortable home, am I?'
'No, indeed,' said Hyacinth fervently.
'No-one can speak of me as "that pleasant, cultivated creature who lives with Miss Verney," can they?'
'Not, at any rate, if they have any regard for truth,' said Hyacinth.
'I wish you wouldn't make me laugh. Why should I have a sense of humour? I sometimes think that all your friends imagine it's part of my duty to shriek with laughter at their wretched jokes. It wasn't in the contract. If I were pretty, my ambition would have been to be an adventuress; but an adventuress with no adventures would be a little flat. I might have the worst intentions, but I should never have the chance of carrying them out. So I try to be as much as possible like Thackeray's shabby companion in a dyed silk.'
'Is that why you wear a sackcloth blouse trimmed with ashes?' saidHyacinth, with curiosity.
'No, that's merely stinginess. It's my nature to be morbidly economical, though I know I needn't be. If I hadn't had £500 a year left me, I should never have been able to come and live here, and drop all my horrid relations. I enjoy appearing dependent and being a spectator, and I've absolutely given up all interest in my own affairs. In fact, I haven't got any. And I take the keenest interest in other people's—romances. Principally, of course, in yours.'
'I'm sure I don't want you to be so vicarious as all that—thanks awfully,' said Hyacinth. 'At any rate, don't dress like a skeleton at the feast tomorrow, if you don't mind. I've asked the little Ottleys to dinner—and, I want Charles to come.'
'Oh, of course, if you expect Cecil Reeve!—I suppose you do, as you haven't mentioned it—I'll put on my real clothes to do you credit.' She looked out of the window. 'Here's poor old Charles again. How he does dislike Lady Cannon!'
'What a shame, Anne! He's angelic to her.'
'That's what I meant,' said Anne, going out quickly.
'Charles, how nice of you to call and return your own visit the same day! It's like Royalty, isn't it? It reminds me of the young man who was asked to call again, and came back in half an hour,' said Hyacinth.
'I didn't quite see my way to waiting till Monday,' he answered. 'We're going away the end of the week. Janet says she needs a change.'
'It would be more of a change if you remained in town alone; at least, without Aunty.'
From the age of ten Hyacinth had resented having to call Lady Cannon by this endearing name. How a perfect stranger, by marrying her cousin, could become her aunt, was a mystery that she refused even to try to solve. It was well meant, no doubt; it was supposed to make her feel more at home—less of an orphan. But though she was obedient on this point, nothing would ever induce her to call her cousin by anything but his Christian name, with no qualification. Instinctively she felt that to call them 'Charles and Aunty', while annoying the intruder, kept her guardian in his proper place. What that was she did not specify.
'Well, can't you stay in London and come here, and be confided in and consulted? You know you like that better than boring yourself to death at Redlands.'
'Never mind that. How did you enjoy your drive?'
'Immensely, and I've asked both the little Ottleys to come to dinner tomorrow—one of those impulsive, unconsidered invitations that one regrets the second after. I must make up a little party. Will you come?'
'Perhaps, if I arranged to follow Janet to Redlands the next day, I might. Who did you say was the other man?'
'I expect Cecil Reeve,' she said. 'Don't put on that air of marble archness, Charles. It doesn't suit you at all. Tell me something about him.'
'I can't stand him. That's all I know about him,' said Sir Charles.
'Oh, is that all? That's just jealousy, Charles.'
'Absurd! How can a married man, in your father's place, a hundred years older than you, be jealous?'
'It is wonderful, isn't it?' she said. 'But you must know something about him. You know everyone.'
'He's Lord Selsey's nephew—and his heir—if Selsey doesn't marry again. He's only a young man about town—the sort of good-looking ass that your sex admires.'
'Charles, what a brute you are! He's very clever.'
'My dear child, yes—as a matter of fact, I believe he is. Isn't he ever going todosomething?'
'I don't know,' she said. 'I wish he would. Oh,whydon't you like him?'
'What can it matter about me?' he answered. 'Why are you never satisfied unless I'm in love with the same people that you are?'
'Charles!' she exclaimed, standing up. 'Don't you understand that not a word, not a look has passed to suggest such a thing? I never met anyone so—'
'So cautious?'
'No, so listless, and so respectful; and yet so amusing…. But I'm pretty certain that he hates me. I wish I knew why.'
'And you hate him just as much, of course?'
'No, sometimes I don't. And then I want you to agree with me. No-one sympathises really so well as you, Charles.'
'Not even Miss Yeo?'
'No, I get on so well with Anne because she doesn't She's always interested, but I prefer her never to agree with me, as she lives here. It would be enervating to have someone always there and perpetually sympathetic. Anne is a tonic.'
'You need a little opposition to keep you up,' said Sir Charles.
'Didn't I once hear something about his being devoted to someone? Wasn't there a report that he was going to be married to a Mrs. Raymond?'
'I believe it was once contradicted in theMorning Postthat he was engaged to her,' said Sir Charles. 'But I'm sure there's no truth in it. I know her.'
'No truth in the report? Or the contradiction?'
'In either. In anything.'
'So you know her. What's she like?' Hyacinth asked anxiously.
'Oh, a dear, charming creature—you'd like her; but not pretty, nor young. About my age,' he said.
'Oh, I see!That'sall right, then!' She clapped her hands.
'Well, I must go. I'll arrange to turn up to dinner tomorrow.' He took his hat, looking rather depressed.
'And try to make him like me!' she commanded, as Sir Charles took leave.
The Sound Sense of Lady Cannon
Lady Cannon had never been seen after half-past seven except in evening dress, generally a velvet dress of some dark crimson or bottle-green, so tightly-fitting as to give her an appearance of being rather upholstered than clothed. Her cloaks were always like well-hung curtains, her trains like heavy carpets; one might fancy that she got her gowns from Gillows. Her pearl dog-collar, her diamond ear-rings, her dark red fringe and the other details of her toilette were put on with the same precision when she dined alone with Sir Charles as if she were going to a ceremonious reception. She was a very tall, fine-looking woman. In Paris, where she sometimes went to see Ella at school, she attracted much public attention asune femme superbe. Frenchmen were heard to remark to one another that her husbandne devrait pas s'embêter(which, as a matter of fact, was precisely what he did—to extinction); and even in the streets when she walked out the gamins used to exclaim, 'Voilà l'Arc de Triomphe qui se promène!'—to her intense fury and gratification. She was still handsome, with hard, wide-open blue eyes, and straight features. She always held her head as if she were being photographed in a tiaraen profil perdu. It was in this attitude that she had often been photographed and was now most usually seen; and it seemed so characteristic that even her husband, if he accidentally caught a glimpse of her full-face, hastily altered his position to one whence he could behold her at right angles.
As she grew older, the profile in the photographs had become more and moreperdu; the last one showed chiefly the back of her head, besides a basket of flowers, and a double staircase, leading (one hoped) at least to one of the upper rooms in Buckingham Palace.
Lady Cannon had a very exalted opinion of her own charms, virtues, brilliant gifts, and, above all, of her sound sense. Fortunately for her, she had married a man of extraordinary amiability, who had always taken every possible precaution to prevent her discovering that in this opinion she was practically alone in the world.
Having become engaged to her through a slight misunderstanding in a country house, Sir Charles had not had the courage to explain away the mistake. He decided to make the best of it, and did so the more easily as it was one of those so-called suitable matches that the friends and acquaintances of both parties approve of and desire far more than the parties concerned. A sensible woman was surely required at Redlands and in the London house, especially as Sir Charles had been left guardian and trustee to a pretty little heiress.
It had taken him a very short time to find out that the reputation for sound sense was, like most traditions, founded on a myth, and that if his wife's vanity was only equalled by her egotism, her most remarkable characteristic was her excessive silliness. But she loved him, and he kept his discovery to himself.
'Twenty-five minutes to eight!' she exclaimed, holding out a little jewelled watch, as Sir Charles came in after his visit to Hyacinth. 'And we have a new cook, and I specially,mostspecially told her to have dinner ready punctually at half-past seven! This world is indeed a place of trial!'
Sir Charles's natural air of command seemed to disappear in the presence of Lady Cannon. He murmured a graceful apology, saying he would not dress. Nothing annoyed, even shocked her more than to see her husband dining opposite her in a frock-coat. However, of two evils she chose the less. They went in to dinner.
'I haven't had the opportunity yet of telling you my opinion of the play this afternoon,' she said. 'I found it interesting, and I wonder I hadn't seen it before.'
'You sent back our stalls for the first night,' remarked Sir Charles.
'Certainly I did. I dislike seeing a play until I have seen in the papers whether it is a success or not.'
'Those newspaper fellows aren't always right,' said Sir Charles.
'Perhaps not, but at least they can tell you whether the thing is a success. I should be very sorry to be seen at a failure. Very sorry indeed.'
She paused, and then went on—
'James Wade's Troublehas been performed three hundred times, so it must be clever. In my opinion, it must have done an immense amount of harm—good, I mean. A play like that, so full of noble sentiments and high principles, is—to me—as good as a sermon!'
'Oh, is it? I'm sorry I couldn't go,' said Sir Charles, feeling very glad.
'I suppose it was the club, as usual, that made you late. Do you know, I have a great objection to clubs.'
He nodded sympathetically.
'That is to say, I thoroughly approve of your belonging to several. I'm quite aware that in your position it's the right thing to do, but I can't understand why you should ever go to them, having two houses of your own. And that reminds me, we are going down to Redlands tomorrow, are we not? I've had a little' (she lowered her voice) 'lumbago; a mere passing touch, that's all—and the change will cure me. I think you neglect Redlands, Charles. You seem to me to regard your responsibilities as a landowner with indifference bordering on aversion. You never seem amused down there—unless we have friends.'
'We'll go tomorrow if you like,' said he.
'That's satisfactory.'
'I can easily put off the Duke,' he said thoughtfully, as he poured out more wine.
She sprang up like a startled hare.
'Put off the … what are you talking about?'
'Oh, nothing. The Duke of St Leonard's is giving a dinner at the club tomorrow, and I was going. But I can arrange to get out of it.'
'Charles! I never heard of anything so absurd! You must certainly go to the dinner. How like you! How casual of you! For a mere trifle to offend the man who might be of the greatest use to you—politically.'
'Politically! What do you mean? And it isn't a trifle when you've set your mind on going away tomorrow. I know you hate to change your plans, my dear.'
'Certainly I do, but I shall not change my plans. I shall go down tomorrow, and you can join me on Friday.'
'Oh, I don't think I'll do that,' said Sir Charles, rather half-heartedly. 'Why should you take the journey alone?'
'But I shall not be alone. I shall have Danvers with me. You need have no anxiety. I beg of you, Iinsist, that you stay, and go to this dinner.'
'Well, of course, if you make a point of it—'
She smiled, well pleased at having got her own way, as she supposed.
'That's right, Charles. Then you'll come down on Friday.'
'By the early train,' said Sir Charles.
'No, I should suggest your coming by the later train. It's more convenient to meet you at the station.'
'Very well—as you like,' said he, inwardly a little astonished, as always, at the easy working of the simple old plan, suggesting what one does not wish to do in order to be persuaded into what one does.
'And, by the way, I haven't heard you speak of Hyacinth lately. You had better go and see her. A little while ago you were always wasting your time about her, and I spoke to you about it, Charles—I think?'
'I think you did,' said he.
'But, though at one time I was growing simply tired of her name, I didn't mean that you need not look after her atall. Go and see her, and explain to her I can't possibly accompany you. Tell her I've got chronic lumbago very badly indeed, and I'm obliged to go to the country, but I shall certainly make a point of calling on her when I return. You won't forget, Charles?'
'Certainly not.'
'I should go oftener,' she continued apologetically, 'but I have such a great dislike to that companion of hers. I think Miss Yeo a most unpleasant person.'
'She isn't really,' said Sir Charles.
'I do wish we could get Hyacinth married,' said Lady Cannon. 'I know what a relief it would be to you, and it seems to me such an unheard-of thing for a young girl like that to be living practically alone!'
'We've been through that before, Janet. Remember, there was nothing else to do unless she continued to live with us. And as your nerves can't even stand Ella—'
Lady Cannon dropped the point.
'Well, we must get her married,' she said again. 'What a good thing Ella is still so young! Girls are a dreadful responsibility,' and she swept graciously from the dining-room.
Sir Charles took out an irritating little notebook of red leather, the sort of thing that is advertised when lost as 'of no value to anyone but the owner.' It was full of mysterious little marks and unintelligible little notes. He put down, in cabalistic signs, 'Hyacinth's dinner, eight o'clock.' He enjoyed writing her name, even in hieroglyphics.
A Proposal
'I say, Eugenia.'
'Well, Cecil?'
'Look here, Eugenia.'
'What is it, Cecil?'
'Will you marry me?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Will you many me, Eugenia?'
'What?'
'You heard what I said. I asked you to marry me. Will you?'
'Certainlynot! Most decidedly not! How can you ask such a ridiculous question!'
The lady who thus scornfully rejected a proposal was no longer young, and had never been beautiful. In what exactly her attraction consisted was perhaps a mystery to many of those who found themselves under the charm. Her voice and smile were very agreeable, and she had a graceful figure. If she looked nearly ten years younger than her age (which was forty-four), this was in no way owing to any artificial aid, but to a kind of brilliant vitality, not a bouncing mature liveliness, but a vivid, intense, humorous interest in life that was and would always remain absolutely fresh. She was naturalness itself, and seemed unconscious or careless of her appearance. Nor did she have that well-preserved air of so many modern women who seem younger than their years, but seemed merely clever, amiable, very unaffected, and rather ill. She had long, veiled-looking brown eyes, turned up at the corners, which gave to her glance an amusing slyness. It was a very misleading physiognomical effect, for she was really unusually frank. She wore a dull grey dress that was neither artistic, becoming, nor smart. In fact, she was too charming to be dowdy, and too careless to be chic; she might have been a great celebrity.
The young man who made the suggestion above recorded was fair and clean-shaven, tall and well-made, with clear-cut feature; in fact, he was very good-looking—good-looking as almost only an Englishman can be. Under a reserved, dandified manner, he tried unsuccessfully to conceal the fact that he was too intelligent for his type. He did not, however, quite attain his standard of entire expressionlessness; and his bright, light-blue eyes and fully-curved lips showed the generous and emotional nature of their owner. At this moment he seemed very much out of temper.
They were sitting in a dismal little drawing-room in one of the smallest houses in a dreary street in Belgravia. The room was crowded with dateless, unmeaning furniture, and disfigured by muddled, mistaken decoration. Its designer, probably, had meant well, but had been very far from carrying out his meaning. There were too many things in the room, and most of them were wrong. It would be unjust, however, to suppose Mrs Raymond did not know this. Want of means, and indifference, or perhaps perverseness, had caused her to leave the house unchanged since his death as a sort of monument to poor Colonel Raymond's erring taste.
'You might just as well marry me as not,' said Cecil, in his level voice, but with pleading eyes. He made the gesture of trying to take her hand, but she took hers away.
'You are very pressing, Cecil, but I think not. You know perfectly well—I'm sure I make no secret of it—that I'm ten years older than you. Old enough to be your mother! Am I the sort of person who would take advantage of the fancy of a gilded youth? And, now I come to think of it, your proposal's quite insulting. It's treating me like an adventuress! It's implying that you think Iwouldmarry you! Apologise, and withdraw it at once, or I'll never speak to you again.'
'This is nonsense. To begin with,' said Cecil, 'I may be a little gilded—not so very—but I'm far from being a youth. I'm thirty-four.'
'Yes, I know! That's just the absurd part,' she answered inconsequently. 'It's not as if you were a mere boy and didn't know better! And you know how Ihatethis sort of thing.'
'I know you do, and very likely I wouldn't have worried about marrying at all if you had been nicer to me—in other ways. You see, you brought it on yourself!'
'Whatdoyou mean? Iamnice. Don't you come here whenever you like—or nearly? Didn't I dine with you once—a year or two ago? I forget, but I think I did.'
'You never did,' he answered sharply.
'Then it must have been with somebody else. Of course I didn't. I shouldn't dream of such a thing.'
'Someone else! Yes, of course; that's it. Well, I want you to marry me, Eugenia, because I want to get you away from everyone else. You see my point?'
She laughed. 'Oh, jealousy! That's the last straw. Do you know that you're a nuisance, Cecil?'
'Because I love you?' he said, trying to look into her sly Japanese eyes.
She avoided his glance.
'Because you keep on bothering. Always writing, always telephoning, always calling! As soon as I've disposed ofoneinvitation or excuse to meet, you invent another. But this last idea is quite too exasperating.' She spoke more gently. 'Don't you know, Cecil, that I've been a widow for years? Would I be so ridiculous as to marry again? Why, the one thing I can't stand is being interfered with! I prefer, far prefer, being poor and alone to that. Now what I want you to do is to marry someone else. I have an idea who I should like it to be, but I won't talk about it now. It's the most charming girl in the world. I shan't tell you her name, that would be tactless. It's that lovely Miss Verney, of course. She's much too good for you—an heiress, a beauty, and an orphan! But she's wonderful; and she really deserves you.'
He stopped her.
'How heartless you are!' he said admiringly.
'Really not, Cecil. I'm very fond of you. I'd be your best friend if you'd let me, but I shan't speak to you again or receive you at all unless you promise not to repeat that nonsense about marrying. I know how horridly obstinate you are! Please remember it's out of the question.'
At this moment the servant brought in a letter to Mrs Raymond. As she read it, Cecil thought she changed colour.
'It's only a line from Sir Charles Cannon,' she said.
'What's he writing about?'
'Really, Cecil! What right have you to ask? I certainly shan't say. It's about his ward, if you must know. And now I think you'd better go, if you will make these violent scenes.'
He stood up.
'You must let me come soon again,' he said rather dejectedly. 'I'll try not to come tomorrow. Shall I?'
'Yes, do try—not to come, I mean. And will you do everything I tell you?'
'I suppose it will please you if I dine with Hyacinth Verney this evening? She asked me yesterday. I said I was half-engaged, but would let her know.'
'Yes, itwouldplease me very much indeed,' said Mrs Raymond. 'Please do it, and try to know her better. She's sweet. I don't know her, but—'
'All right. If you'll be nice to me. Will you?'
She was reading the letter again, and did not answer when he said good-bye and left the room.
The Little Ottleys
'Edith, I want you to look nice tonight, dear; what are you going to wear?'
'My Other Dress,' said Edith.
'Is it all right?'
'It ought to be. Would you like to know what I've done to it? I've cut the point into a square, and taken four yards out of the skirt; the chiffon off my wedding-dress has been made into kimono sleeves; then I'm going to wear my wedding-veil as a sort of scarf thrown carelessly over the shoulders; and I've turned the pointed waist-band round, so that it's quiterightand short-waisted at the back now, and—'
'Oh, don't tell me the horrible details! I think you might take a little interest inme. I thought of wearing a buttonhole. Though you may have forgotten it now, before I was a dull old married man, I was supposed to dress rather well, Edith.'
'I know you were.'
'I thought I'd wear a white carnation.'
'I should wear two—one each side. It would be more striking.'
'That's right! Make fun of me! I hope you'll be ready in time. They dine at eight, you know.'
'Bruce, you're not going to begin to dress yet, are you? It's only just four.'
He pretended not to hear, and said peevishly—
'I suppose they don't expectusto askthem? I daresay it's well known we can't return all the hospitality we receive.'
'I daresay it is.'
'It's awful not having a valet,' said Bruce.
'But it would be more awful if we had,' said Edith. 'Where on earth could we put him—except in the bathroom?'
'I don't think you'll look you're best tonight,' he answered rather revengefully.
'Give me a chancel Wait till I've waved my hair!'
He read the paper for a little while, occasionally reading aloud portions of it that she had already read, then complained that she took no interest in public events.
'What do you think Archie brought home today,' she said to change the subject, 'in his Noah's Ark? Two snails!' She laughed.
'Revolting!Idon't know where he gets his tastes from. Not frommyfamily, that I'm quite sure.' He yawned ostentatiously.
'I think I shall have a rest,' Bruce said presently. 'I had a very bad night last night. I scarcely slept at all.'
'Poor boy!' Edith said kindly. She was accustomed to the convention of Bruce's insomnia, and it would never have occurred to her to appear surprised when he said he hadn't closed his eyes, though she happened to know there was no cause for anxiety. If he woke up ten minutes before he was called, he thought he had been awake all night; if he didn't he saw symptoms of the sleeping sickness.
She arranged cushions on the sofa and pulled the blinds down. A minute later he turned on the electric light and began to read again. Then he turned it out, pulled up the blinds, and called her back.
'I want to speak to you about my friend Raggett,' he said seriously.'I've asked him to dinner here tomorrow. What shall we have?'
'Oh, Bruce! Let's wait and settle tomorrow.'
'You don't know Raggett, but I think you'll like him. Ithinkyou will. In any case, there's no doubt Raggett's been remarkably decent to me. In fact, he's a very good sort.'
'Fancy!' said Edith.
'Why do you say fancy?' he asked irritably.
'I don't exactly know. I must say something. I'm sure he's nice if he's a friend of yours, dear.'
'He's a clever chap in his way. At least, when I say clever, I don't mean clever in the ordinary sense.'
'Oh, I see,' said Edith.
'He's very amusing,' continued Bruce. 'He said a very funny thing to me the other day. Very funny indeed. It's no use repeating it, because unless you knew all the circumstances and thecharactersof the people that he told the story of, you wouldn't see the point. Perhaps, after all, I'd better ask him to dine at the club.'
'Oh no! Let him come here. Don't you think I'm worthy to see Raggett?'
'Oh nonsense, dear, I'm very proud of you,' said Bruce kindly. 'It isn't exactly that…. Mind you, Raggett's quite a man of the world—and yet heisn'ta man of the world, if you know what I mean.'
'I see,' said Edith again.
'I can't decide whether to ask him here or not,' said Bruce, walking up and down the room in agitation.
'Well, suppose we leave it till tomorrow. You can make up your mind then,' she said good-naturedly.
Edith was dressed, when she found Bruce still in the throes of an agitated toilet. Having lost his collar-stud, he sat down and gave himself up to cold despair.
'You go without me,' he said in a resigned voice. 'Explain the reason—no, don't explain it. Say I've got influenza—but then perhaps they'll think you ought to look after me, and—'
'Here it is!' said Edith.
In the cab he recovered suddenly, and told her she looked awfully pretty, which cheered her very much. She was feeling rather tired. She had spent several hours in the nursery that day, pretending to be a baby giraffe with so much success that Archie had insisted upon countless encores, until, like all artists who have to repeat the same part too often, she felt the performance was becoming mechanical.
Hyacinth's Little Dinner
'The little Ottleys,' as they were called (they were a tall, fine-looking couple), found themselves in a small circle of people who were all most pleasing to the eye, with the single exception of Miss Yeo. And even she, in a markedly elegant dress of a peculiarly vicious shade of green, had her value in the picture. A little shocked by the harshness of the colour, one's glance turned with relief to Hyacinth, in satin of a blue so pale that it looked like the reflection of the sky in water. A broad, pale blue ribbon was wound in and out of her brown hair in the Romney fashion. Of course she looked her best. Women always do if they wish to please one man when others are there, and she was in the slightly exalted frame of mind that her reflection in the mirror had naturally given her.
The faint atmosphere of chaperonage that always hung about Sir Charles in Hyacinth's house did not interfere with his personal air of enjoying an escapade, nor with his looking distinguished to the very verge of absurdity. As to Cecil, the reaction from his disappointment of the afternoon had made him look more vivid than usual. He was flushed with failure.
He talked rather irresponsibly, and looked at Hyacinth, his neighbour at dinner, with such obvious appreciation, that her gaiety became infectious. In the little panelled dining-room which, like all the house, was neither commonplace nor bizarre, but simple and distinguished, floated an atmosphere of delightful ease and intimacy.
Sir Charles admired the red roses, which Anne declared she had bought for two-and-threepence.
'Very ingenious,' said Sir Charles.
'Iamingenious and clever,' said Anne. 'I get my cleverness from my father, and my economy from my mother. My father's a clergyman, but his wife was a little country girl—a sort of Merry Peasant; like Schumann's piece, you know. Peasants are always merry.'
'I fancy that's a myth,' said Cecil. 'If not, I've been singularly unfortunate, for all the peasantsIever ran across seemed most depressed.'
'Of course, if you ran over them!' said Hyacinth.
'But I didn't exactly run over them; I only asked them the way to somewhere. Theywereangry! Now I come to think of it, though, they weren't peasants at all. It was only one man. He was a shepherd. I got to know him better afterwards, and he was rather a good chap. Shepherds don't have a bad time; they just wear ribbons and crooks and dance with shepherdesses, you know.'
'Oh, thencanyou tell me why a red sky at night is a shepherd's delight?' asked Hyacinth. 'Is it because it's a sign of rain, and he needn't look after the sheep, but can go fast asleep like little Bo-peep—or was it little Boy Blue—if he likes?'
'For you, I'll try to find out; but I'm ashamed to say I know very little of natural history—or machinery, or lots of other interesting things. And, what's far worse, I don't even want to know any more. I like to think there are some mysteries left in life.'
'I quite agree with you that it would be rather horrid to know exactly how electricity works, and how trains go, and all that sort of thing. I like some things just tohappen. I never broke my dolls to see what they were made of. I had them taken away themomentany sawdust began to come out,' said Hyacinth.
'You were perfectly right, Miss Verney. You're an Idealist; at least, you don't like practical details. But still you take a great interest in other people psychologically. You want to know, I'm sure, just how a shepherd really feels, and why he feels it. I don't even care for that, and I'm not very keen on scenery, or places either, or even things. My Uncle Ted's so frightfully fond of Things. He's a collector, you know, and I don't sympathise a bit. In fact, I hate things.'
'You seem rather difficult to please, Mr Reeve. What do you like?'
'People; at least, some people. Don't you?'
'Do you like people who talk nonsense?'
'Yes, and still more people who listen to it charmingly,' he answered.'I didn't know before tonight that you ever listened to nonsense ortalked it. I always thought you were the person who solves all the HardCases inVanity Fair—under different names.'
'I wonder you didn't think I won all the prizes in the Limericks,' saidHyacinth.
'I have my faults, Miss Verney, but I'm not blasphemous. Will you have an olive?'
She accepted it. He lowered his voice to say—
'How wonderful you're looking tonight!'
'What am I to say to that? I don't think people should make unanswerable remarks at dinner,' she said, trying to look reproving, but turning pink with pleasure.
'If people will look adorable at dinner—or anywhere—they must take the consequences,' said Cecil, under cover of a very animated discussion between Bruce and Miss Yeo on sixpenny cab-fares.
Then for a second he felt a remorseful twinge of disloyalty. But that was nonsense; wasn't he obeying Mrs Raymond's distinct commands? Nothing would please her so much….
And to flirt with Hyacinth was not at all a disagreeable task. He reflected that Eugenia might have asked him to do something a good deal harder.
Under the combined influence, then, of duty, pique, and a little champagne, he gave way to the curious fascination that Hyacinth had always had for him, and she was only too ready to be happy.
He remembered how he had first met her. He had been dragged to the Burlingtons' dance—he loathed all large parties—and, looking drearily round, he'd been struck by, and asked to be introduced to, Miss Verney. She wasn't Eugenia, of course, and could never, he was sure, be part of his life. He thought that Eugenia appealed to his better nature and to his intellect.
He felt even a little ashamed of the purely sensuous attraction Hyacinth possessed for him, while he was secretly very proud of being in love with Mrs Raymond. Not everyone would appreciate Eugenia! Cecil was still young enough to wish to be different from other people, while desiring still more, like all Englishmen, toappearas much as possible like everybody else.
He did not thoroughly understand Hyacinth; he couldn't quite place her. She was certainly not the colourlessjeune filleidealised by the French, but she had even less of the hard abruptness of the ordinary young unmarried Englishwoman. She called herself a bachelor girl, but hadn't the touch of the Bohemian that phrase usually seems to imply. She was too plastic, too finished. He admired her social dexterity, her perfect harmony with the charming background she had so well arranged for herself. Yet, he thought, for such a young girl, only twenty-two, she was too complex, too civilised. Mrs Raymond, for instance, seemed much more downright and careless. He was growing somewhat bewildered between his analysis of her character and his admiration for her mouth, an admiration that was rather difficult to keep entirely cool and theoretical, and that he felt a strong inclination to show in some more practical manner…. With a sigh he turned to Edith Ottley, his other neighbour.
As soon as Anne had locked up she removed with the greatest care her emerald dress, which she grudged wearing a second longer than was necessary, and put on an extraordinary dressing-gown, of which it was hardly too much to say that there was probably not another one exactly like it in Europe. Hyacinth always said it had been made out of an old curtain from the Rev Mr Yeo's library in the Devonshire Rectory, and Anne did not deny it.
She then screwed up her hair into a tight knot, put one small piece of it into a curling pin, which she then pinned far back on her head (as if afraid that the effect on the forehead would be too becoming), took off her dainty green shoes, put on an enormous pair of grotesque slippers, carpet slippers (also a relic), and went into Hyacinth's room. Anne made it a rule every evening to go in for a few minutes to see Hyacinth and talk against everyone they had seen during the day. She seemed to regard it as a sacred duty, almost like saying her prayers. Hyacinth sometimes professed to find this custom a nuisance, but she would certainly have missed it. Tonight she was smiling happily to herself, and took no notice of Anne's entrance.
'I suppose you think it went off well,' said Anne aggressively.
'Didn't it?'
'I thought the dinner was ridiculous. A young girl like you asking two or three friends needn't have a banquet fit for a Colonial Conference. Besides, the cook lost her head. She sent up the same dish twice.'
'Did she? How funny! How was that?'
'Of course,youwouldn't know. She and the kitchenmaid were playing Diabolo till the last minute in the housekeeper's room. However, you needn't worry; nobody noticed it.'
'That's all right. Didn't Edith look pretty?'
Anne poked the fire spitefully.
'Like the outside of a cheap chocolate-box.'
'Oh, Anne, what nonsense! Bruce seemed irritable, and fatuous. I didn't envy Edith going back with him.'
'Bruce was jealous of Cecil Reeve, of course. You hardly looked at anybody else.'
'Anne, really tonight there were one or two little things that made me think he is beginning to like me. I don't say he's perfect; I daresay he has his faults. But there's something I like about his face. I wonder what it is.'
'I know what it is, he's very good-looking,' said Anne.
'Do you think he cares for me?'
'No, I don't.'
'Oh, Anne!'
'I think, perhaps, he will, in time—in a way.'
'Do you think if I were very careful not to show I liked him it would be better?'
'No, there's only one chance for you.'
'What is it?'
'Keep on hammering.'
'IndeedI shan't! I never heard of such a thing. I suppose you think there's somebody else?' said Hyacinth, sitting up angrily.
'Oh, I daresay he's just finishing off with someone or other, and you may catch him on the rebound.'
'What horrid things you say!'
'I only say what I think,' said Anne. 'Anyhow, you had a success tonight, I could see, because poor Charles seemed so depressed. Why do you have all these electric lights burning when one lamp would be enough?'
'Oh, go away, Anne, and don't bother,' said Hyacinth, laughing.
On his return home, Cecil suddenly felt a violent reaction in favour of Mrs Raymond. Certainly he had enjoyed his evening with Hyacinth, but it was very bitter to him to think what pleasure that enjoyment would have given to Eugenia…. He began to think he couldn't live without her. Something must be done. Further efforts must be made. The idea struck him that he would go and see his uncle, Lord Selsey, about it. He knew Uncle Ted was really fond of him, and wouldn't like to see his life ruined (so he put it to himself), and his heart broken, though he also probably would disapprove from the worldly point of view. Decidedly unhappy, yet to a certain extent enjoying his misery, Cecil went to sleep.