CHAPTER IVSome days after the war of words between Valdis and Aubrey Grovelyn at the 'Bohemian,' Delicia was out shopping in Bond Street, not for herself, but for her husband. She had a whole list of orders to execute for him, from cravats and hosiery up to a new and expensive 'coach-luncheon-basket,' to which he had taken a sudden fancy; and besides this, she was looking about in all the jeweller's shops for some tasteful and valuable thing to give him as a souvenir of the approaching anniversary of their marriage day. Pausing at last in front of one glittering window, she saw a rather quaint set of cuff-studs which she thought might possibly answer her purpose, and she went inside the shop to examine them more closely. The jeweller, not knowing her personally, but judging from the indifferent way in which she took the announcement of his rather stiff prices, that she must be a tolerably rich woman, began to show her some of his most costly pieces of workmanship, hoping thereby to tempt her into the purchase of something for herself. She had no very great love for jewels, but she had for artistic design, and she gratified the jeweller by her intelligent praise of some particularly choice bits, the merits of which could only be fully recognised by a quick eye and cultivated taste.'That is a charming pendant,' she said, taking up a velvet case, in which rested a dove with outspread wings, made of the finest diamonds, carrying in its beak the facsimile of a folded letter in finely-wrought gold, with the words, 'Je t'adore ma mie!' set upon it in lustrous rubies. 'The idea is graceful in itself, and admirably carried out.'The jeweller smiled.'Ah, that's a very unique thing,' he said, 'but it's not for sale. It has been made to special order for Lord Carlyon.'A faint tremor passed over Delicia like the touch of a cold wind, and for a moment the jewels spread out on the glass counter before her danced up and down like sparks flying out of a fire, but she maintained her outward composure. And in another minute she smiled at herself, wondering why she had been so startled, for, of course, her husband had ordered this pretty piece of jewellery as a gift for her, on the very anniversary she was preparing to celebrate by a gift to him! Meanwhile the jeweller, who was of an open mind, and rather fond of confiding bits of gossip to stray customers, took the diamond dove out of its satin-lined nest, and held it up in the sunlight to show the lustre of the stones.'It's a lovely design!' he said enthusiastic-ally; 'It will cost Lord Carlyon a little over five hundred pounds. But gentlemen of his sort never mind what they pay, so long as they can please the lady they are after. And the lady in this case isn't his lordship's wife, as you may well suppose!'He sniggered, and one of his eyelids trembled as though it were on the point of a profane wink. Delicia regarded him with a straight, clear look.'Why should I suppose anything of the sort?' she queried calmly. 'I should, on the contrary, imagine that it was just the tasteful gift a man would wish to choose for his wife.'The jeweller made a curious little bow over his counter, implying deference towards Delicia's unsuspicious nature.'Would you really?' he said. 'Well, now, as a matter of fact, in our trade, when we get special orders from gentlemen for valuable jewels, they are never by any chance intended for the gentlemen's wives. Of course it is not our business to interfere with, or even comment upon the actions of our customers; but as far as our own artistic work goes, it often pains us—yes, I may say it pains us—to see some of our finest pieces being thrown away on dancers and music-hall singers, who don t really know how to appreciate them, because they haven't the taste or culture for it. They know the money's worth of jewels—oh, you may trust them for that. And whenever they want to raise cash, why, of course their jewels come handy. But it's not satisfactory to us as a firm, for we take a good deal of pride in our work. This dove, for instance,' and again he dangled the pendant in the sunbeams, 'It's a magnificent specimen of diamond-setting, and of course we, as the producers of such a piece, would far rather know it was going to Lady Carlyon than to La Marina.'Delicia began to feel as if she were in a kind of dull dream; there were flickering lines of light flashing before her eyes, and her limbs trembled. She heard the jeweller's voice, going on again in its politely gossiping monotone, as though it were a long way off.'Of course La Marina is a wonderful creature, a marvellous dancer, and good-looking in her way, but common. Ah! common's no word for it! She was the daughter of a costermonger in Eastcheap. Now, Lady Carlyon is a very different person; she is best known by her maiden name, Delicia Vaughan. She's the author of that name; I daresay you may have read some of her books?''I believe—yes, I think I have,' murmured Delicia, faintly.'Well, there you are! She's a really famous woman, and very much loved by many people, I've heard say; but, lord! her husband hardly gives her a thought! I've seen him in this very street walking with females that even I'd be ashamed to know; and it's rumoured that he hasn't got a penny of his own, and that all the money he throws about so lavishly is his wife's; and if that's the case, it's really shameful, because of course she, without knowing it, pays for Marina's jewels! However, there's no accounting for tastes. I suppose Lady Carlyon's too clever, or else plain in her personal appearance; and that's why this diamond dove is going to La Marina instead of to her. Will you take the cuff-studs?''Yes, thank you, I will take them,' said Delicia, opening her purse with cold, trembling fingers, and counting out crisp bank-notes to the value of twenty pounds. 'They are pretty, and very suitable for a—a gentleman.'Unconsciously she laid an emphasis on the word 'gentleman,' and the jeweller nodded.'Exactly! There's nothing vulgar about them, not the least suspicion of anything 'fast'! Really you can't be too particular in the choice of studs, for what with the sporting men, and the jockeys and trainers who get presents of valuable studs from their turf patrons, it's difficult to hit upon anything really gentlemanlyfora gentleman. But'—and the worthy man smiled as he packed up the studs—'after all, real gentleman are getting very scarce! Allow me!' Here he flung open the door of his establishment with the grace of a Sir Charles Grandison, and royally issued his command to the small boy in buttons attached to the shop, 'See this lady to her carriage!'How 'this lady' got into that carriage she never quite knew. The page boy did his part in carefully attending to her dress that it should not touch the wheel, in wrapping her round with the rich bear-skin rug that protected her from side winds, and in quietly grasping the shilling she slipped into his palm for his services, but she herself felt more like a mechanical doll moving on wires than a living, feeling woman. Her coachman, who always had enough to do in the management of the spirited horses which drew her light victoria, glanced back at her once or twice doubtfully, as he guided his prancing animals out of the confusion of Bond Street and drove towards the Park, considering within himself that, if he were going in an undesired direction, 'her ladyship' would speedily stop him; but her ladyship lay back in her cushioned seat, inert, indifferent, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. The fashionable pageant of the Park 'season' seemed to her a mere chaotic whirl; and several eager admirers of her beauty and her genius raised their hats to her in vain—she never perceived them. A curious numbness had crept over her; she wondered, as she felt the movement of the carriage, whether it was not a hearse, and she the dead body within it being carried to her grave! Then, quite suddenly, she raised herself and sat upright, glancing about at the rich foliage of the trees, the gay flower-beds and the up-and-down moving throng of people; a bright flush reddened her face, which for the past few minutes had been deadly pale, and as two or three of her acquaintances passed her in their carriages or on foot, she saluted them with her usual graceful air of mingled pride and sweetness, and seemed almost herself again. But she was not long able to endure the strain she put upon her nerves, and after one or two turns in the Row, she bade her coachman drive home. Arrived there, she found a telegram from her husband, running thus:—'Shall not return to dinner. Don't wait up for me.'Crushing the missive in her hand, she went to her own study immediately, the faithful Spartan following her, and there she shut herself up alone with her dog friend for a couple of hours. The scholarly peace of the place had its effect in soothing her, and in allaying the burning smart of her wounded spirit; and with a sigh of relief she sat down in her favourite arm-chair with her back purposely turned to the white marble 'Antinous,' whose cruel smile had nothing but mockery in it for a woman's pain. Spartan laid his head on her knee, and she rested one hand caressingly on his broad brow.'I must think this worry out, Spartan!' she said gently. 'I feel as if I had swallowed poison and needed an antidote.'Spartan wagged his bushy tail and looked volumes. Had he been able to speak, he might have said, 'Why did you ever trust a man? Dogs are much more faithful!'She sank into a profound reverie. Her brain was clear, logical and evenly balanced, and she had none of the flighty, fantastical, hysterical notions common to many of her sex. She had been trained, or rather, she had trained herself, in the splendid school of classic philosophy; and in addition to this, she was a devout Christian, one of the old-world type, who would have willingly endured martyrdom for the faith had it been necessary. She was not a church-goer, and she belonged to no special 'sect;' she had no vulgar vices to hide by an ostentatious display of public charities, but she had the most absolute and passionate belief in, and love for Christ, as the one Divine Messenger from God to man; and now she was bringing both her faith and her philosophic theories to bear on the present unexpected crisis in her life.'If I were a low woman, a vulgar woman, a virago in domestic life, or what the French callune femme impossible, I could understand his seeking a change from my detestable company anywhere and everywhere,' she mentally argued; 'but as things are, what have I done that he should descend from me to La Marina? Men will amuse themselves—I know that well enough—but need the amusement be obtained on such a low grade! And is it fair that my earnings should keep La Marina in jewels?'At this latter thought she started up and began to pace the room restlessly. In so doing she came face to face with the marble bust of 'Antinous,' and she stopped abruptly, looking full at it.'Oh men, what were you made for?' she demanded, half aloud. 'To be masters of the planet? Then surely your mastership should be characterised by truth and nobility, not vileness and fraud! Surely God originally intended you for better things than to trample under your feet all the weak and helpless, to work ravage on the fairest scenes in nature, and to make miserable wrecks of all the women that love you! Yes, Antinous, I can read in your sculptured face the supreme Egotism of manhood, an Egotism which fate will avenge in its own good time! No wonder so few men are real Christians; it is too sublime and spiritual a creed for the male nature, which is a composition of wild beast and intellectual pagan. Now, what shall be my course of action? Shall I, Delicia, seeing my husband in the mud, go down into the mud also? Or shall I keep clean—not only clean in body but clean in mind? Clean from meanness, clean from falsehood, clean from spite, not only for his sake, but for the sake of my own self-respect? Shall I let things take their course until they culminate of themselves in the pre-ordained catastrophe that always follows evil? Yes, I think I will! Life after all is a shadow; and love, what is it?' She sighed and shuddered. 'Less than a shadow, perchance; but there is something in me which must outlast both life and love—something which is the real Delicia, who must hereafter answer to a Supreme Judge for the thoughts which have elevated or degraded her soul!'She resumed her pacing to and fro.'How easy it would be to act like other women!' she mused; 'to rant and weep, and hysterically shriek complaints in the ears of "my lord" when he returns to-night; or begin the day to-morrow with fume and fuss as hot and steaming as the boiling water with which I make the breakfast tea! Or to go and grumble to a femaleconfidantewho would at once sell her information for five shillings to the most convenient "society journal!" Or to sink right down into the deepest mire of infamy and write anonymous letters to La Marina, daughter of the green-grocer in Eastcheap! Or employ a detective to dodge his movements and hers! Heavens! How low we can fall if we choose! and equally how high we can stand if we determine to take a firm footing on'"Some snow-crowned peak,Lofty and glittering in the golden glowOf summer's ripening splendour."Some people ask what is the good of "standing high?" Certainly you get on much better, in society at least, if you creep low, and crawl on very humble all-fours to the feet of the latestdemi-mondaine, provided she be of the aristocracy. If you know how to condone the vulgarity of a prince and call his vices virtue, if you can pardon the blackguardism of a duke and speak of him as a "gentleman," in spite of the fact that he is not fit to be tolerated among decent-minded people, you are sure to "get on," as the phrase goes. To keep oneself morally clean is a kind of offence nowadays; but methinks I shall continue to offend!' She passed her hand across her forehead dreamily. 'Something has confused and stunned me; I cannot quite realise what it is. I think I had an idol somewhere, set up on a pedestal of gold; it has suddenly tumbled down of its own accord!' She smiled vaguely. 'It is not broken yet, but it has certainly fallen!'That night, when Lord Carlyon returned about one o'clock, he found the house dark and silent. No one was waiting up for him but his valet, a discreet and sober individual who knew his master's secrets and kept them; not at all because he respected his master, but because he respected his master's wife. And the semi-obscurity and grave solitude of his home irritated 'Beauty' Carlyon to a most inconsistent degree, inasmuch as he had himself telegraphed to Delicia that she was not to sit up for him.'Where is her ladyship?' he demanded haughtily. 'Did she go out this evening?'Gravely the valet assisted him to pull off his opera coat as he replied,—'No, sir—my lord, I mean—her ladyship dined alone, and retired early. I believe the maid said her ladyship was in bed by ten.'Carlyon grumbled something inaudible and went upstairs. Outside his wife's room he paused and tried the handle of her bedroom door; it was locked. Surprised and angry, he rapped smartly on the panels; there was no answer save a low, fierce growl from Spartan, who, suddenly rising from his usual post on the landing outside his mistress's sleeping chamber, manifested unusual and extraordinary signs of temper.'Down, you fool!' muttered Carlyon, addressing the huge beast. 'Lie down, or it will be the worse for you!'But Spartan remained erect, with ears flattened and white teeth a-snarl, and Carlyon, after rapping once more vainly at the closed door, gave it up as a bad job and retired to his own private room.'Never knew her so dead asleep before,' he grumbled. 'She generally stays awake till I come home.'He flung himself into his bed with a kind of sullen rage upon him; things had gone altogether very wrong with him that evening. He had lost money (Delicia's money) at play, and La Marina had been in what her intimates called 'one of her nasty humours.' That is, she had drunk a great deal more champagne than was good for her, and had afterwards exhibited a tendency to throw wine glasses at her admirers. She had boxed Carlyon's ears, put a spoonful of strawberry ice down his back, and called him 'a ha'porth of bad aristocrat.''What do you suppose weartistesmarry such fellows as you for?' she had yelled, with a burst of tipsy laughter. 'Why, to make you look greater fools than ever!'And then she had shot a burnt almond nearly into his eye. And he had endured all this stoically, for the mere stupid satisfaction of having the other men round La Marina's supper-table understand that she was his property at present, no matter to whom she might hereafter belong. But she had behaved so badly, and she had treated him with such ingratitude, that he, unconsciously to himself, longed for the fair, calm presence of Delicia, who always received him with the honour and worship he considered due to him as a man, a lord, and an officer in the Guards; and now when he came home, expecting to be charmed and flattered and caressed by her, she had committed the unwarrantable indiscretion of going to bed and falling sound asleep! It was really too bad!—enough to sting the lofty spirit of a Carlyon! And such is the curious self-pity and egotism of some men at their worst, that 'his lordship' felt himself to be a positively injured man as he settled his 'god-like' head upon his lonely pillow, and fell into an uneasy slumber, disturbed by very unpleasant dreams of his losses at baccarat, and the tipsy rages of Marina.CHAPTER VNext morning Delicia rose at about six o'clock and went out riding in the Row long before the fashionable world was astir. Attended by her groom and Spartan, who took long racing gambols on the grass beyond the railings of the 'Ladies' Mile,' she cantered under the deep, dewy shade of the trees, and thought out her position in regard to her husband. In spite of inward grief and perplexity, she had slept well; for to a clear conscience and pure heart, combined with a healthy state of body, sleep is never denied. Mother Nature specially protects her straightforward and cleanly children; she keeps their faces young, their eyes bright, their spirits elastic, their tempers equable, and for the soothing of Delicia's trouble this morning, the sunbeams danced about her in a golden waltz of pleasure, the leaves rustled in the wind, the flowers exhaled their purest fragrance and the birds sang. Riding easily on her beautiful mare 'Phillida'—who was almost as much a personal friend of hers as Spartan himself, and whom she had purchased out of the 'royalties' accumulating on one of her earlier works—she found herself more than usually receptive of the exquisite impressions of natural loveliness. She was aware of everything; from the white clouds that were heaped in snowy, mountainous ranges along the furthest visible edge of the blue sky, to the open-hearted daisies in the grass that stared up at the lately-risen sun with all the frankness of old friendship and familiarity. The fresh morning air and the exhilarating exercise sent a lovely colour to her cheeks, and as her graceful form swayed lightly to the half-coquettish, gay cantering of 'Phillida,' who was also conscious that it was a very agreeable morning, she felt as if the information she had so unexpectedly and reluctantly received in the jeweller's shop in Bond Street on the previous day was a bad dream and nothing more. After about an hour's riding she returned home at a quick trot, and on entering the house heard that her 'lord and master' had not yet risen. She changed her riding habit for one of her simple white morning gowns, and went into her study to open and read her numerous letters, and mark them in order for her secretary to answer. She was still engaged in this occupation when Lord Carlyon came down, slowly, sleepily, and in no very good humour.'Oh, there you are at last, Will!' she said, looking up at him brightly. 'You came home late last night, I suppose, and are tired?'He stood still for a moment, wondering within himself why she did not give him her usual good-morning kiss.'It was not so very late,' he said crossly. 'It was only half-past twelve. You've often stayed awake waiting for me later than that. But last night, when I knocked at your door, you never answered me—you must have been dead asleep.'This in a tone of injury.Delicia read calmly through the letter she held in her hand, then set it aside.'Yes, I must have been,' she replied tranquilly. 'You see I work pretty hard, and nature is good enough to give me rest when I need it. You work hard too, Will, but in quite another way—you toil after amusement. Now that's the hardest form of labour I know! Treadmills are nothing to it! No wonder you're tired! Breakfast's ready; let us go and have it; I've been out riding for an hour this morning, and I feel desperately hungry. Come along!'She led the way downstairs; he followed slowly and with a vague feeling of uneasiness. He missed something in his wife's manner—an indefinable something which he could not express—something that had always characterised her, but which now had unaccountably disappeared. It was as if a wide river had suddenly rolled in between them, forcing her to stand on one side of the flood and he on the other. He studied her observantly from under his fine eyelash growth, as she made the tea and with a few quick touches here and there altered the decorous formality of the breakfast-table into the similitude of an Arcadian feast of beauty by the mere artistic placing of a vase of flowers or a dish of fruit, and this done, handed him the morning's newspaper with smiling and courteous punctilio.'Spartan seems to be turning crusty,' he remarked as he unfolded the journal. 'Last night, when I knocked at your door, he showed his teeth and growled at me. I didn't know he had such an uncertain temper.'Delicia looked round at her canine friend with a pretty air of remonstrance.'Oh, Spartan! What is this I hear?' she said, whereat Spartan hung his head and tucked his tail well under his haunches. 'Don't you know your master when he comes home late? Did you take him for a regular "rake," Spartan? Did you think he had been in bad company? Fie, for shame! You ought to know better, naughty boy!'Spartan looked abashed, but not so abashed as did Lord Carlyon. He fidgeted on his chair, got red in the face, and made a great noise in folding and unfolding the newspaper; and presently, finding his own thoughts too much for him, he began to get angry with nobody in particular, and, as is the fashion with egotistical men, turned a sudden unprovoked battery of assault on the woman he was hourly and daily wronging.'I heard something last night that displeased me very much, Delicia,' he said, affecting a high moral tone. 'It concerns you, and I should like to speak to you about it.''Yes?' said Delicia, with the very slightest lifting of her delicate eyebrows.'Yes.' And Lord Carlyon hummed and hawed for a couple of dubious seconds. 'You see, you are a woman, and you ought to be very careful what you write. A man told me that in your last book there were some very strong passages,—really strong—you know what I mean—and he said that it is very questionable whether any woman with a proper sense of delicacy ought to write in such a manner.'Delicia looked at him steadily.'Who is he? My book has probably touched him on a sore place!'Carlyon did not answer immediately; he was troubled with an awkward cough.'Well,' he said at last, 'it was Fitz-Hugh; you know him—an awfully good fellow,—has sisters and all that—says he wouldn't let his sisters read your book for the world, and it was deuced disagreeable for me to hear, I can tell you.''You have read my book,' said Delicia, slowly; 'and did you discover anything of the nature complained of by Captain Fitz-Hugh?'Again Lord Carlyon coughed uncomfortably.'Well, upon my word, I don't exactly remember now, but I can't say I did!'Delicia still kept her eyes fixed upon him.'Then, of course, you defended me?'Carlyon flushed, and began to butter a piece of toast in nervous haste.'Why, there was no need for defence,' he stammered. 'The whole thing is in a nutshell—an author's an author, man or woman, and there's an end of it. Of course you're alone responsible for the book, and, as I said, if he don't like it he needn't read it, and no one asked him to give it to his sisters!''You prevaricate,' interrupted Delicia, steadily; 'But perhaps it is as well you did not think it necessary to defend me to such a man as Captain Fitz-Hugh, who for years has been the notorious lover of Lady Rapley, to the disgrace of her husband who permits the scandal. And for Captain Fitz-Hugh's sisters, who are the chief purveyors of slander in the wretched little provincial town where they live, each one of them trying her best to catch the curate or the squire, I shall very willingly write a book some day that deals solely with the petty lives lived by such women—women more unclean in mind than a Swift, and lower in the grade of intellect than an aspiring tadpole, who at any rate has the laudable ambition and intention of becoming an actual frog some day!'Carlyon stared, vaguely startled and chilled by her cold, calm accents.'By Jove! Youarecutting, you know, Delicia!' he expostulated. 'Poor Fitz-Hugh! he can't help himself falling in love with Lady Rapley—''Can't help himself!' echoed Delicia, with supreme scorn. 'Can he not help disgracing her? Is it not Possible to love greatly and nobly, and die with the secret kept? Is there no dignity left in manhood? Or in womanhood? Do you think, for instance, thatIwould permit myself to love any other man but you?'His handsome face flushed, and his eyes kindled. He smiled a self-satisfied smile.'Upon my life, that's splendid—the way you say that!' he exclaimed. 'But all women are not like you—''I know they are not,' she replied. 'Captain Fitz-Hugh's sisters, for example, are certainly not at all like me! They do well to avoid my book; they would find female cant and hypocrisy too openly exposed there to please them. But with regard to your complaint—for I regard it to be a complaint from you—you may challenge the whole world of slander-mongers, if you like, to point to one offensive expression in my writings—they will never find it.'He rose and put his arm round her. At his touch she shuddered with a new and singular aversion. He thought the tremor one of delight.'And so you will never permit yourself to love any other man but me?' he asked caressingly, touching the rich masses of her hair with his lips.'Never!' she responded firmly, looking straight into his eyes. 'But do not misunderstand my meaning! It is very possible that I might cease to love you altogether—yes, it certainly might happen at any moment; but I should never, because of this, love another man. I could not so degrade myself as to parcel my affections out in various quarters, after the fashion of Lady Rapley, who has descended voluntarily, as one of our latter-day novelists observes, "to the manners and customs of the poultry yard." If I ceased to love you, then love itself for me would cease. It could never revive for anyone else; it would be dead dust and ashes! I have no faith in women who love more than once.'Carlyon still toyed with her hair; the undefinable something he missed in her fretted and perplexed him.'Are you aware that you look at me very strangely this morning, Delicia?' he said at last; 'Almost as if I were not the same man! And this is the first time I have ever heard you speak of the possibility of your ceasing to love me!'She moved restlessly in his embrace, and presently, gently putting him aside, rose from the breakfast-table and pretended to busy herself with the arrangement of some flowers on the mantelpiece.'I have been reading philosophy,' she answered him, with a tremulous little laugh. 'Grim old cynics, both ancient and modern, who say that nothing lasts on earth, and that the human soul is made of such imperishable stuff that it is always out-reaching one emotion after another and striving to attain the highest perfection. If this be true, then even human love is poor and trifling compared to love divine!' Her eyes darkened with intensity of feeling. 'At least, so say some of our sage instructors; and if it be indeed a fact that mortal things are but the passing shadow of immortal ones, it is natural enough that we should gradually outlive the temporal in our desire for the eternal.'Carlyon looked at her wonderingly; she met his gaze fully, her eyes shining with a pure light that almost dazzled him.'I can't follow all your transcendental theories,' he said, half pettishly; 'I never could. I have always told you that you can't get reasoning men to care about any other life than this one—they don't see it; they don't want it. Heaven doesn't suggest itself to them as at all a jolly sort of place, and you know, if you come to think of it, you'd rather not have an angel to love you; you'd much rather have a woman.''Speak for yourself, my dear Will,' answered Delicia, with a slight smile. 'If angels, such as I imagine them to be, exist at all, I should much prefer to be loved by one of them than by a man. The angel's love might last; the man's would not. We see these things from different points of view. And as for this life, I assure you I am not at all charmed with it.''Good heavens! You've got everything you want,' exclaimed Carlyon, 'Even fame, which so rarely attends a woman!''Yes, and I know the value of it!' she responded. 'Fame, literally translated, means slander. Do you think I am not able to estimate it at its true worth? Do you think I am ignorant of the fact that I am followed by the lies and envies and hatreds of the unsuccessful? Or that I shut my eyes to the knowledge of the enmity that everywhere pursues me? If I were old, if I were poor, if I were ugly, and had scarcely a gown to my back, and still wrote books, I should be much more liked than I am. I daresay some rich people might even be found willing to "patronise" me!' She laughed disdainfully. 'But when these same rich people discover that I can afford to patronisethem,—who is there that can rightly estimate the measure or the violence of their antipathy for me? Yet when I say I am not charmed with life, I only mean the "social" life; I do not mean the life of nature—of that I am never tired.''Well, this morning, at any rate, you appear to be tired of me,' said Carlyon, irritably. 'So I suppose I'd better get out of your way!'She made no answer whatever. He fidgeted about a little, then began to grumble again.'I'm sorry you're in such a bad humour.' At this she raised her eyebrows in smiling protest. 'Yes, you know you're in a bad humour,' he went on obstinately; 'you pretend you're not, but you are. And I wanted to ask you a question on your own business affairs.''Pray ask it!' said Delicia, still smiling. 'Though, before you speak, let me assure you my business affairs are in perfect order.''Oh, I don't know,' he went on uneasily; 'these d——d publishers often wriggle out of bargains, and try to "do" a woman. That firm, now—the one that has just published your last book—have they paid you?''They have,' she answered with composure. 'They are, though publishers, still honourable men.''It was to be eight thousand, wasn't it?' he asked, looking down at the lapels of his well-fitting morning-coat and flicking a speck of dust off the cloth.'It was, and it is,' she answered. 'I paid four thousand of it into your bank yesterday.'His eyes flashed.'By Jove! What a clever little woman you are!' he exclaimed. 'Fancy getting all that cash out of your brain-pan! It's quite a mystery to me how you do it, you know! I can never make it out—''There's no accounting for the public taste,' said Delicia, watching him with the pained consciousness of a sudden contempt. 'But you need not puzzle yourself over the matter.''Oh, I never bother my head over literature at all!' laughed Carlyon, becoming quite hilarious, now that he knew an extra four thousand pounds had been piled into his private banking account. 'People often ask me, "How does your wife manage to write such clever books?" And I always reply, "Don't know, never could tell. Astonishing woman! Shuts herself up in her own room like a silkworm, and spins a regular cocoon!" That's what I say, you know; yet nobody ever seems to believe me, and lots of fellows swear youmustget a man to help you.''It is part of man's conceit to imagine his assistance always necessary,' said Delicia, coldly smiling. 'Considering how loudly men talk of their own extraordinary abilities, it is really astonishing how little they manage to do. Good-bye! I'm going upstairs to spin cocoons.'He stopped her as she moved to leave the room.'I say, Delicia, it's awfully sweet of you to hand over that four thousand—'She gave a little gesture of offence.'Why speak of it, Will? You know that half of every sum I earn is placed to your account; it has been my rule ever since our marriage, and there is really no need to allude to what is now a mere custom of business.'He still held her arm.'Yes, that's all very well; but look here, Delicia, you're not angry with me for anything, are you?'She raised her head and looked straightly at him.'No, Will—not angry.'Something in her eyes intimidated him. He checked himself abruptly, afraid to ask her anything more.'Oh, that's all right,' he stammered hurriedly. 'I'm glad you're not angry. I thought you seemed a little put out; but it's jolly that I'm mistaken, you know. Ta-ta! Have a good morning's grind.''And as she went, he drew out a cigar from his silver case with rather shaking fingers, and pretended to be absorbed in lighting it. When it was finally lit and he looked up, she was gone. With a sigh, he flung himself into an arm-chair and puffed away at his choice Havana in a sore and miserable confusion of mind. No human being, perhaps, is quite so sore and miserable as a man who is born with the instincts of a gentleman and yet conducts himself like a cad. There are many such tramps of a decayed and dying gentility amongst us—men with vague glimmerings of the ancient chivalry of their race lying dormant within them, who yet lack the force of will necessary to plan their lives resolutely out upon those old-fashioned but grand foundations known as truth and loyalty. Because it is 'the thing' to talk slang, they pollute the noble English language with coarse expressions copied from stable conversation; and because it is considered 'swagger' to make love to other men's wives, they enter into this base form of vulgar intrigue almost as if it were a necessary point of dignity and an added grace to manhood. If we admit that men are the superior and stronger sex, what a pitiable thing it is to note how little their moral forces assist in the elevation of woman, their tendency being to drag her down as low as possible! If she be unwedded, man does his best to compromise her; if he has married her, he frequently neglects her; if she be another's wife, he frequently tries to injure her reputation. This is 'modern' morality, exhibited to us in countless varying phases every day, detailed every morning and evening in our newspapers, witnessed over and over again through every 'season's' festivities; and this, combined with atheism, and an utter indifference as to the results of evil, is making of 'upper class' England a something worse than pagan Rome was just before its fall. The safety of the country is with what we elect to call the 'lower classes,' who are educating themselves slowly but none the less surely; but who, it must be remembered, are not yet free from savagery,—the splendid brute savagery which breaks out in all great nations when aristocratic uncleanness and avarice have gone too far,—a savagery which threw itself panting and furious upon the treacherous Marie Antoinette of France, with her beauty, her wicked wantonness, her thoughtless extravagance and luxury, and her cruel contempt for the poor, and never loosened its fangs till it had dragged her haughty head to the level of the scaffold, there to receive the just punishment of selfishness and pride. For punishment must fall sooner or later on every wilful misuser of life's opportunities; though had anyone told Lord Carlyon this by way of warning, he would have bidden him, in the choicest of 'swagger' terms, to 'go and be a rotten preacher!' And in saying so, he would have considered himself witty. Yet he knew well enough that his 'little affair' with La Marina was nothing but a deliberate dishonour done to his blameless wife; and he was careful to avoid thinking as to where the money came from as he flung it about at cards, or in restaurants, or on race-courses.'After all,' he considered now, as he smoked his cigar leisurely, and allowed his mind to dwell comfortably on the reflection of that four thousand pounds placed to his account, 'she likes her work; she couldn't get on without it, and there's nothing so much in her handing me over half the "dibs" as she's got all the fame.'And through some curious process of man's logic he managed to argue himself into a perfect state of satisfaction with the comfortable way the world was arranged for him through his wife's unremitting toil.'Poor little soul!' he murmured placidly, glancing at his handsome face in an opposite mirror, 'She loves me awfully! This morning she half pretends she doesn't, but she would give every drop of blood in her body to save me from a pin-prick of trouble. And why shouldn't she? Women must have something to love; she's perfectly happy in her way, and so am I in mine.'With which consoling conclusion he ended his meditations, and went out for the day as usual.On returning home to dinner, however, he was considerably put out to find a note waiting for him in the hall; a note from his wife, running thus:—'Shall not return to dinner. Am going to the "Empire" with the Cavendishes; do not wait up for me.''Well, I call that pretty cool!' he muttered angrily. 'Upon my word, I call that infernally cool!'He marched about the hall, fuming and fretting for a minute or two, then he called his valet.'Robson, I sha'n't want dinner served,' he said snappishly; 'I'm going out.''Very good, my lord.''Did her ladyship leave any message?''None, my lord. She merely said she was going to dine with Mr and Mrs Cavendish, and would probably not be back till late.'He frowned like a spoilt child.'Well, I sha'n't be back till late either, if at all,' he said fretfully. 'Just come and get me into my dress suit, will you?'Robson followed him upstairs obediently, and bore with his caprices, which were many, during the business of attiring him for the evening. He was in an exceedingly bad humour, and gave vent to what the children call a 'bad swear' more than once. Finally he got into a hansom and was driven off at a rattling pace, the respectable Robson watching his departure from the open hall door.'You're a nice one!' remarked that worthy personage, as the vehicle containing his master turned a sharp corner and disappeared. 'Up to no end of pranks; as bad and worse than if you was the regular son of a king! Yes, taking you on and off, one would almost give you credit for being a real prince, you've got so little conscience! But my lady's one too many for you, I fancy; she's quiet but she's clever; and I don't believe she'll keep her eyes shut much longer. She can't, if you're a-going on continual in the way you are.'Thus Robson soliloquised, shutting the street door with a bang to emphasise the close of his half-audible observations. Then he went up into Delicia's study to give Spartan some dinner. Spartan received the plateful brought to him with majestic indifference, and an air which implied that he would attend to it presently. He had a little white glove of Delicia's between his paws, and manifested no immediate desire to disturb himself. He had his own canine ideas of love and fidelity; and though he was only a dog, it may be he had a higher conception of honour and truth than is attained by men, who, in the excess of self-indulgence, take all the benefits of love and good fortune as their 'rights,' and are destitute of even the saving grace of gratitude.
CHAPTER IV
Some days after the war of words between Valdis and Aubrey Grovelyn at the 'Bohemian,' Delicia was out shopping in Bond Street, not for herself, but for her husband. She had a whole list of orders to execute for him, from cravats and hosiery up to a new and expensive 'coach-luncheon-basket,' to which he had taken a sudden fancy; and besides this, she was looking about in all the jeweller's shops for some tasteful and valuable thing to give him as a souvenir of the approaching anniversary of their marriage day. Pausing at last in front of one glittering window, she saw a rather quaint set of cuff-studs which she thought might possibly answer her purpose, and she went inside the shop to examine them more closely. The jeweller, not knowing her personally, but judging from the indifferent way in which she took the announcement of his rather stiff prices, that she must be a tolerably rich woman, began to show her some of his most costly pieces of workmanship, hoping thereby to tempt her into the purchase of something for herself. She had no very great love for jewels, but she had for artistic design, and she gratified the jeweller by her intelligent praise of some particularly choice bits, the merits of which could only be fully recognised by a quick eye and cultivated taste.
'That is a charming pendant,' she said, taking up a velvet case, in which rested a dove with outspread wings, made of the finest diamonds, carrying in its beak the facsimile of a folded letter in finely-wrought gold, with the words, 'Je t'adore ma mie!' set upon it in lustrous rubies. 'The idea is graceful in itself, and admirably carried out.'
The jeweller smiled.
'Ah, that's a very unique thing,' he said, 'but it's not for sale. It has been made to special order for Lord Carlyon.'
A faint tremor passed over Delicia like the touch of a cold wind, and for a moment the jewels spread out on the glass counter before her danced up and down like sparks flying out of a fire, but she maintained her outward composure. And in another minute she smiled at herself, wondering why she had been so startled, for, of course, her husband had ordered this pretty piece of jewellery as a gift for her, on the very anniversary she was preparing to celebrate by a gift to him! Meanwhile the jeweller, who was of an open mind, and rather fond of confiding bits of gossip to stray customers, took the diamond dove out of its satin-lined nest, and held it up in the sunlight to show the lustre of the stones.
'It's a lovely design!' he said enthusiastic-ally; 'It will cost Lord Carlyon a little over five hundred pounds. But gentlemen of his sort never mind what they pay, so long as they can please the lady they are after. And the lady in this case isn't his lordship's wife, as you may well suppose!'
He sniggered, and one of his eyelids trembled as though it were on the point of a profane wink. Delicia regarded him with a straight, clear look.
'Why should I suppose anything of the sort?' she queried calmly. 'I should, on the contrary, imagine that it was just the tasteful gift a man would wish to choose for his wife.'
The jeweller made a curious little bow over his counter, implying deference towards Delicia's unsuspicious nature.
'Would you really?' he said. 'Well, now, as a matter of fact, in our trade, when we get special orders from gentlemen for valuable jewels, they are never by any chance intended for the gentlemen's wives. Of course it is not our business to interfere with, or even comment upon the actions of our customers; but as far as our own artistic work goes, it often pains us—yes, I may say it pains us—to see some of our finest pieces being thrown away on dancers and music-hall singers, who don t really know how to appreciate them, because they haven't the taste or culture for it. They know the money's worth of jewels—oh, you may trust them for that. And whenever they want to raise cash, why, of course their jewels come handy. But it's not satisfactory to us as a firm, for we take a good deal of pride in our work. This dove, for instance,' and again he dangled the pendant in the sunbeams, 'It's a magnificent specimen of diamond-setting, and of course we, as the producers of such a piece, would far rather know it was going to Lady Carlyon than to La Marina.'
Delicia began to feel as if she were in a kind of dull dream; there were flickering lines of light flashing before her eyes, and her limbs trembled. She heard the jeweller's voice, going on again in its politely gossiping monotone, as though it were a long way off.
'Of course La Marina is a wonderful creature, a marvellous dancer, and good-looking in her way, but common. Ah! common's no word for it! She was the daughter of a costermonger in Eastcheap. Now, Lady Carlyon is a very different person; she is best known by her maiden name, Delicia Vaughan. She's the author of that name; I daresay you may have read some of her books?'
'I believe—yes, I think I have,' murmured Delicia, faintly.
'Well, there you are! She's a really famous woman, and very much loved by many people, I've heard say; but, lord! her husband hardly gives her a thought! I've seen him in this very street walking with females that even I'd be ashamed to know; and it's rumoured that he hasn't got a penny of his own, and that all the money he throws about so lavishly is his wife's; and if that's the case, it's really shameful, because of course she, without knowing it, pays for Marina's jewels! However, there's no accounting for tastes. I suppose Lady Carlyon's too clever, or else plain in her personal appearance; and that's why this diamond dove is going to La Marina instead of to her. Will you take the cuff-studs?'
'Yes, thank you, I will take them,' said Delicia, opening her purse with cold, trembling fingers, and counting out crisp bank-notes to the value of twenty pounds. 'They are pretty, and very suitable for a—a gentleman.'
Unconsciously she laid an emphasis on the word 'gentleman,' and the jeweller nodded.
'Exactly! There's nothing vulgar about them, not the least suspicion of anything 'fast'! Really you can't be too particular in the choice of studs, for what with the sporting men, and the jockeys and trainers who get presents of valuable studs from their turf patrons, it's difficult to hit upon anything really gentlemanlyfora gentleman. But'—and the worthy man smiled as he packed up the studs—'after all, real gentleman are getting very scarce! Allow me!' Here he flung open the door of his establishment with the grace of a Sir Charles Grandison, and royally issued his command to the small boy in buttons attached to the shop, 'See this lady to her carriage!'
How 'this lady' got into that carriage she never quite knew. The page boy did his part in carefully attending to her dress that it should not touch the wheel, in wrapping her round with the rich bear-skin rug that protected her from side winds, and in quietly grasping the shilling she slipped into his palm for his services, but she herself felt more like a mechanical doll moving on wires than a living, feeling woman. Her coachman, who always had enough to do in the management of the spirited horses which drew her light victoria, glanced back at her once or twice doubtfully, as he guided his prancing animals out of the confusion of Bond Street and drove towards the Park, considering within himself that, if he were going in an undesired direction, 'her ladyship' would speedily stop him; but her ladyship lay back in her cushioned seat, inert, indifferent, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. The fashionable pageant of the Park 'season' seemed to her a mere chaotic whirl; and several eager admirers of her beauty and her genius raised their hats to her in vain—she never perceived them. A curious numbness had crept over her; she wondered, as she felt the movement of the carriage, whether it was not a hearse, and she the dead body within it being carried to her grave! Then, quite suddenly, she raised herself and sat upright, glancing about at the rich foliage of the trees, the gay flower-beds and the up-and-down moving throng of people; a bright flush reddened her face, which for the past few minutes had been deadly pale, and as two or three of her acquaintances passed her in their carriages or on foot, she saluted them with her usual graceful air of mingled pride and sweetness, and seemed almost herself again. But she was not long able to endure the strain she put upon her nerves, and after one or two turns in the Row, she bade her coachman drive home. Arrived there, she found a telegram from her husband, running thus:—
'Shall not return to dinner. Don't wait up for me.'
Crushing the missive in her hand, she went to her own study immediately, the faithful Spartan following her, and there she shut herself up alone with her dog friend for a couple of hours. The scholarly peace of the place had its effect in soothing her, and in allaying the burning smart of her wounded spirit; and with a sigh of relief she sat down in her favourite arm-chair with her back purposely turned to the white marble 'Antinous,' whose cruel smile had nothing but mockery in it for a woman's pain. Spartan laid his head on her knee, and she rested one hand caressingly on his broad brow.
'I must think this worry out, Spartan!' she said gently. 'I feel as if I had swallowed poison and needed an antidote.'
Spartan wagged his bushy tail and looked volumes. Had he been able to speak, he might have said, 'Why did you ever trust a man? Dogs are much more faithful!'
She sank into a profound reverie. Her brain was clear, logical and evenly balanced, and she had none of the flighty, fantastical, hysterical notions common to many of her sex. She had been trained, or rather, she had trained herself, in the splendid school of classic philosophy; and in addition to this, she was a devout Christian, one of the old-world type, who would have willingly endured martyrdom for the faith had it been necessary. She was not a church-goer, and she belonged to no special 'sect;' she had no vulgar vices to hide by an ostentatious display of public charities, but she had the most absolute and passionate belief in, and love for Christ, as the one Divine Messenger from God to man; and now she was bringing both her faith and her philosophic theories to bear on the present unexpected crisis in her life.
'If I were a low woman, a vulgar woman, a virago in domestic life, or what the French callune femme impossible, I could understand his seeking a change from my detestable company anywhere and everywhere,' she mentally argued; 'but as things are, what have I done that he should descend from me to La Marina? Men will amuse themselves—I know that well enough—but need the amusement be obtained on such a low grade! And is it fair that my earnings should keep La Marina in jewels?'
At this latter thought she started up and began to pace the room restlessly. In so doing she came face to face with the marble bust of 'Antinous,' and she stopped abruptly, looking full at it.
'Oh men, what were you made for?' she demanded, half aloud. 'To be masters of the planet? Then surely your mastership should be characterised by truth and nobility, not vileness and fraud! Surely God originally intended you for better things than to trample under your feet all the weak and helpless, to work ravage on the fairest scenes in nature, and to make miserable wrecks of all the women that love you! Yes, Antinous, I can read in your sculptured face the supreme Egotism of manhood, an Egotism which fate will avenge in its own good time! No wonder so few men are real Christians; it is too sublime and spiritual a creed for the male nature, which is a composition of wild beast and intellectual pagan. Now, what shall be my course of action? Shall I, Delicia, seeing my husband in the mud, go down into the mud also? Or shall I keep clean—not only clean in body but clean in mind? Clean from meanness, clean from falsehood, clean from spite, not only for his sake, but for the sake of my own self-respect? Shall I let things take their course until they culminate of themselves in the pre-ordained catastrophe that always follows evil? Yes, I think I will! Life after all is a shadow; and love, what is it?' She sighed and shuddered. 'Less than a shadow, perchance; but there is something in me which must outlast both life and love—something which is the real Delicia, who must hereafter answer to a Supreme Judge for the thoughts which have elevated or degraded her soul!'
She resumed her pacing to and fro.
'How easy it would be to act like other women!' she mused; 'to rant and weep, and hysterically shriek complaints in the ears of "my lord" when he returns to-night; or begin the day to-morrow with fume and fuss as hot and steaming as the boiling water with which I make the breakfast tea! Or to go and grumble to a femaleconfidantewho would at once sell her information for five shillings to the most convenient "society journal!" Or to sink right down into the deepest mire of infamy and write anonymous letters to La Marina, daughter of the green-grocer in Eastcheap! Or employ a detective to dodge his movements and hers! Heavens! How low we can fall if we choose! and equally how high we can stand if we determine to take a firm footing on
'"Some snow-crowned peak,Lofty and glittering in the golden glowOf summer's ripening splendour."
'"Some snow-crowned peak,Lofty and glittering in the golden glowOf summer's ripening splendour."
'"Some snow-crowned peak,
Lofty and glittering in the golden glow
Of summer's ripening splendour."
Some people ask what is the good of "standing high?" Certainly you get on much better, in society at least, if you creep low, and crawl on very humble all-fours to the feet of the latestdemi-mondaine, provided she be of the aristocracy. If you know how to condone the vulgarity of a prince and call his vices virtue, if you can pardon the blackguardism of a duke and speak of him as a "gentleman," in spite of the fact that he is not fit to be tolerated among decent-minded people, you are sure to "get on," as the phrase goes. To keep oneself morally clean is a kind of offence nowadays; but methinks I shall continue to offend!' She passed her hand across her forehead dreamily. 'Something has confused and stunned me; I cannot quite realise what it is. I think I had an idol somewhere, set up on a pedestal of gold; it has suddenly tumbled down of its own accord!' She smiled vaguely. 'It is not broken yet, but it has certainly fallen!'
That night, when Lord Carlyon returned about one o'clock, he found the house dark and silent. No one was waiting up for him but his valet, a discreet and sober individual who knew his master's secrets and kept them; not at all because he respected his master, but because he respected his master's wife. And the semi-obscurity and grave solitude of his home irritated 'Beauty' Carlyon to a most inconsistent degree, inasmuch as he had himself telegraphed to Delicia that she was not to sit up for him.
'Where is her ladyship?' he demanded haughtily. 'Did she go out this evening?'
Gravely the valet assisted him to pull off his opera coat as he replied,—
'No, sir—my lord, I mean—her ladyship dined alone, and retired early. I believe the maid said her ladyship was in bed by ten.'
Carlyon grumbled something inaudible and went upstairs. Outside his wife's room he paused and tried the handle of her bedroom door; it was locked. Surprised and angry, he rapped smartly on the panels; there was no answer save a low, fierce growl from Spartan, who, suddenly rising from his usual post on the landing outside his mistress's sleeping chamber, manifested unusual and extraordinary signs of temper.
'Down, you fool!' muttered Carlyon, addressing the huge beast. 'Lie down, or it will be the worse for you!'
But Spartan remained erect, with ears flattened and white teeth a-snarl, and Carlyon, after rapping once more vainly at the closed door, gave it up as a bad job and retired to his own private room.
'Never knew her so dead asleep before,' he grumbled. 'She generally stays awake till I come home.'
He flung himself into his bed with a kind of sullen rage upon him; things had gone altogether very wrong with him that evening. He had lost money (Delicia's money) at play, and La Marina had been in what her intimates called 'one of her nasty humours.' That is, she had drunk a great deal more champagne than was good for her, and had afterwards exhibited a tendency to throw wine glasses at her admirers. She had boxed Carlyon's ears, put a spoonful of strawberry ice down his back, and called him 'a ha'porth of bad aristocrat.'
'What do you suppose weartistesmarry such fellows as you for?' she had yelled, with a burst of tipsy laughter. 'Why, to make you look greater fools than ever!'
And then she had shot a burnt almond nearly into his eye. And he had endured all this stoically, for the mere stupid satisfaction of having the other men round La Marina's supper-table understand that she was his property at present, no matter to whom she might hereafter belong. But she had behaved so badly, and she had treated him with such ingratitude, that he, unconsciously to himself, longed for the fair, calm presence of Delicia, who always received him with the honour and worship he considered due to him as a man, a lord, and an officer in the Guards; and now when he came home, expecting to be charmed and flattered and caressed by her, she had committed the unwarrantable indiscretion of going to bed and falling sound asleep! It was really too bad!—enough to sting the lofty spirit of a Carlyon! And such is the curious self-pity and egotism of some men at their worst, that 'his lordship' felt himself to be a positively injured man as he settled his 'god-like' head upon his lonely pillow, and fell into an uneasy slumber, disturbed by very unpleasant dreams of his losses at baccarat, and the tipsy rages of Marina.
CHAPTER V
Next morning Delicia rose at about six o'clock and went out riding in the Row long before the fashionable world was astir. Attended by her groom and Spartan, who took long racing gambols on the grass beyond the railings of the 'Ladies' Mile,' she cantered under the deep, dewy shade of the trees, and thought out her position in regard to her husband. In spite of inward grief and perplexity, she had slept well; for to a clear conscience and pure heart, combined with a healthy state of body, sleep is never denied. Mother Nature specially protects her straightforward and cleanly children; she keeps their faces young, their eyes bright, their spirits elastic, their tempers equable, and for the soothing of Delicia's trouble this morning, the sunbeams danced about her in a golden waltz of pleasure, the leaves rustled in the wind, the flowers exhaled their purest fragrance and the birds sang. Riding easily on her beautiful mare 'Phillida'—who was almost as much a personal friend of hers as Spartan himself, and whom she had purchased out of the 'royalties' accumulating on one of her earlier works—she found herself more than usually receptive of the exquisite impressions of natural loveliness. She was aware of everything; from the white clouds that were heaped in snowy, mountainous ranges along the furthest visible edge of the blue sky, to the open-hearted daisies in the grass that stared up at the lately-risen sun with all the frankness of old friendship and familiarity. The fresh morning air and the exhilarating exercise sent a lovely colour to her cheeks, and as her graceful form swayed lightly to the half-coquettish, gay cantering of 'Phillida,' who was also conscious that it was a very agreeable morning, she felt as if the information she had so unexpectedly and reluctantly received in the jeweller's shop in Bond Street on the previous day was a bad dream and nothing more. After about an hour's riding she returned home at a quick trot, and on entering the house heard that her 'lord and master' had not yet risen. She changed her riding habit for one of her simple white morning gowns, and went into her study to open and read her numerous letters, and mark them in order for her secretary to answer. She was still engaged in this occupation when Lord Carlyon came down, slowly, sleepily, and in no very good humour.
'Oh, there you are at last, Will!' she said, looking up at him brightly. 'You came home late last night, I suppose, and are tired?'
He stood still for a moment, wondering within himself why she did not give him her usual good-morning kiss.
'It was not so very late,' he said crossly. 'It was only half-past twelve. You've often stayed awake waiting for me later than that. But last night, when I knocked at your door, you never answered me—you must have been dead asleep.'
This in a tone of injury.
Delicia read calmly through the letter she held in her hand, then set it aside.
'Yes, I must have been,' she replied tranquilly. 'You see I work pretty hard, and nature is good enough to give me rest when I need it. You work hard too, Will, but in quite another way—you toil after amusement. Now that's the hardest form of labour I know! Treadmills are nothing to it! No wonder you're tired! Breakfast's ready; let us go and have it; I've been out riding for an hour this morning, and I feel desperately hungry. Come along!'
She led the way downstairs; he followed slowly and with a vague feeling of uneasiness. He missed something in his wife's manner—an indefinable something which he could not express—something that had always characterised her, but which now had unaccountably disappeared. It was as if a wide river had suddenly rolled in between them, forcing her to stand on one side of the flood and he on the other. He studied her observantly from under his fine eyelash growth, as she made the tea and with a few quick touches here and there altered the decorous formality of the breakfast-table into the similitude of an Arcadian feast of beauty by the mere artistic placing of a vase of flowers or a dish of fruit, and this done, handed him the morning's newspaper with smiling and courteous punctilio.
'Spartan seems to be turning crusty,' he remarked as he unfolded the journal. 'Last night, when I knocked at your door, he showed his teeth and growled at me. I didn't know he had such an uncertain temper.'
Delicia looked round at her canine friend with a pretty air of remonstrance.
'Oh, Spartan! What is this I hear?' she said, whereat Spartan hung his head and tucked his tail well under his haunches. 'Don't you know your master when he comes home late? Did you take him for a regular "rake," Spartan? Did you think he had been in bad company? Fie, for shame! You ought to know better, naughty boy!'
Spartan looked abashed, but not so abashed as did Lord Carlyon. He fidgeted on his chair, got red in the face, and made a great noise in folding and unfolding the newspaper; and presently, finding his own thoughts too much for him, he began to get angry with nobody in particular, and, as is the fashion with egotistical men, turned a sudden unprovoked battery of assault on the woman he was hourly and daily wronging.
'I heard something last night that displeased me very much, Delicia,' he said, affecting a high moral tone. 'It concerns you, and I should like to speak to you about it.'
'Yes?' said Delicia, with the very slightest lifting of her delicate eyebrows.
'Yes.' And Lord Carlyon hummed and hawed for a couple of dubious seconds. 'You see, you are a woman, and you ought to be very careful what you write. A man told me that in your last book there were some very strong passages,—really strong—you know what I mean—and he said that it is very questionable whether any woman with a proper sense of delicacy ought to write in such a manner.'
Delicia looked at him steadily.
'Who is he? My book has probably touched him on a sore place!'
Carlyon did not answer immediately; he was troubled with an awkward cough.
'Well,' he said at last, 'it was Fitz-Hugh; you know him—an awfully good fellow,—has sisters and all that—says he wouldn't let his sisters read your book for the world, and it was deuced disagreeable for me to hear, I can tell you.'
'You have read my book,' said Delicia, slowly; 'and did you discover anything of the nature complained of by Captain Fitz-Hugh?'
Again Lord Carlyon coughed uncomfortably.
'Well, upon my word, I don't exactly remember now, but I can't say I did!'
Delicia still kept her eyes fixed upon him.
'Then, of course, you defended me?'
Carlyon flushed, and began to butter a piece of toast in nervous haste.
'Why, there was no need for defence,' he stammered. 'The whole thing is in a nutshell—an author's an author, man or woman, and there's an end of it. Of course you're alone responsible for the book, and, as I said, if he don't like it he needn't read it, and no one asked him to give it to his sisters!'
'You prevaricate,' interrupted Delicia, steadily; 'But perhaps it is as well you did not think it necessary to defend me to such a man as Captain Fitz-Hugh, who for years has been the notorious lover of Lady Rapley, to the disgrace of her husband who permits the scandal. And for Captain Fitz-Hugh's sisters, who are the chief purveyors of slander in the wretched little provincial town where they live, each one of them trying her best to catch the curate or the squire, I shall very willingly write a book some day that deals solely with the petty lives lived by such women—women more unclean in mind than a Swift, and lower in the grade of intellect than an aspiring tadpole, who at any rate has the laudable ambition and intention of becoming an actual frog some day!'
Carlyon stared, vaguely startled and chilled by her cold, calm accents.
'By Jove! Youarecutting, you know, Delicia!' he expostulated. 'Poor Fitz-Hugh! he can't help himself falling in love with Lady Rapley—'
'Can't help himself!' echoed Delicia, with supreme scorn. 'Can he not help disgracing her? Is it not Possible to love greatly and nobly, and die with the secret kept? Is there no dignity left in manhood? Or in womanhood? Do you think, for instance, thatIwould permit myself to love any other man but you?'
His handsome face flushed, and his eyes kindled. He smiled a self-satisfied smile.
'Upon my life, that's splendid—the way you say that!' he exclaimed. 'But all women are not like you—'
'I know they are not,' she replied. 'Captain Fitz-Hugh's sisters, for example, are certainly not at all like me! They do well to avoid my book; they would find female cant and hypocrisy too openly exposed there to please them. But with regard to your complaint—for I regard it to be a complaint from you—you may challenge the whole world of slander-mongers, if you like, to point to one offensive expression in my writings—they will never find it.'
He rose and put his arm round her. At his touch she shuddered with a new and singular aversion. He thought the tremor one of delight.
'And so you will never permit yourself to love any other man but me?' he asked caressingly, touching the rich masses of her hair with his lips.
'Never!' she responded firmly, looking straight into his eyes. 'But do not misunderstand my meaning! It is very possible that I might cease to love you altogether—yes, it certainly might happen at any moment; but I should never, because of this, love another man. I could not so degrade myself as to parcel my affections out in various quarters, after the fashion of Lady Rapley, who has descended voluntarily, as one of our latter-day novelists observes, "to the manners and customs of the poultry yard." If I ceased to love you, then love itself for me would cease. It could never revive for anyone else; it would be dead dust and ashes! I have no faith in women who love more than once.'
Carlyon still toyed with her hair; the undefinable something he missed in her fretted and perplexed him.
'Are you aware that you look at me very strangely this morning, Delicia?' he said at last; 'Almost as if I were not the same man! And this is the first time I have ever heard you speak of the possibility of your ceasing to love me!'
She moved restlessly in his embrace, and presently, gently putting him aside, rose from the breakfast-table and pretended to busy herself with the arrangement of some flowers on the mantelpiece.
'I have been reading philosophy,' she answered him, with a tremulous little laugh. 'Grim old cynics, both ancient and modern, who say that nothing lasts on earth, and that the human soul is made of such imperishable stuff that it is always out-reaching one emotion after another and striving to attain the highest perfection. If this be true, then even human love is poor and trifling compared to love divine!' Her eyes darkened with intensity of feeling. 'At least, so say some of our sage instructors; and if it be indeed a fact that mortal things are but the passing shadow of immortal ones, it is natural enough that we should gradually outlive the temporal in our desire for the eternal.'
Carlyon looked at her wonderingly; she met his gaze fully, her eyes shining with a pure light that almost dazzled him.
'I can't follow all your transcendental theories,' he said, half pettishly; 'I never could. I have always told you that you can't get reasoning men to care about any other life than this one—they don't see it; they don't want it. Heaven doesn't suggest itself to them as at all a jolly sort of place, and you know, if you come to think of it, you'd rather not have an angel to love you; you'd much rather have a woman.'
'Speak for yourself, my dear Will,' answered Delicia, with a slight smile. 'If angels, such as I imagine them to be, exist at all, I should much prefer to be loved by one of them than by a man. The angel's love might last; the man's would not. We see these things from different points of view. And as for this life, I assure you I am not at all charmed with it.'
'Good heavens! You've got everything you want,' exclaimed Carlyon, 'Even fame, which so rarely attends a woman!'
'Yes, and I know the value of it!' she responded. 'Fame, literally translated, means slander. Do you think I am not able to estimate it at its true worth? Do you think I am ignorant of the fact that I am followed by the lies and envies and hatreds of the unsuccessful? Or that I shut my eyes to the knowledge of the enmity that everywhere pursues me? If I were old, if I were poor, if I were ugly, and had scarcely a gown to my back, and still wrote books, I should be much more liked than I am. I daresay some rich people might even be found willing to "patronise" me!' She laughed disdainfully. 'But when these same rich people discover that I can afford to patronisethem,—who is there that can rightly estimate the measure or the violence of their antipathy for me? Yet when I say I am not charmed with life, I only mean the "social" life; I do not mean the life of nature—of that I am never tired.'
'Well, this morning, at any rate, you appear to be tired of me,' said Carlyon, irritably. 'So I suppose I'd better get out of your way!'
She made no answer whatever. He fidgeted about a little, then began to grumble again.
'I'm sorry you're in such a bad humour.' At this she raised her eyebrows in smiling protest. 'Yes, you know you're in a bad humour,' he went on obstinately; 'you pretend you're not, but you are. And I wanted to ask you a question on your own business affairs.'
'Pray ask it!' said Delicia, still smiling. 'Though, before you speak, let me assure you my business affairs are in perfect order.'
'Oh, I don't know,' he went on uneasily; 'these d——d publishers often wriggle out of bargains, and try to "do" a woman. That firm, now—the one that has just published your last book—have they paid you?'
'They have,' she answered with composure. 'They are, though publishers, still honourable men.'
'It was to be eight thousand, wasn't it?' he asked, looking down at the lapels of his well-fitting morning-coat and flicking a speck of dust off the cloth.
'It was, and it is,' she answered. 'I paid four thousand of it into your bank yesterday.'
His eyes flashed.
'By Jove! What a clever little woman you are!' he exclaimed. 'Fancy getting all that cash out of your brain-pan! It's quite a mystery to me how you do it, you know! I can never make it out—'
'There's no accounting for the public taste,' said Delicia, watching him with the pained consciousness of a sudden contempt. 'But you need not puzzle yourself over the matter.'
'Oh, I never bother my head over literature at all!' laughed Carlyon, becoming quite hilarious, now that he knew an extra four thousand pounds had been piled into his private banking account. 'People often ask me, "How does your wife manage to write such clever books?" And I always reply, "Don't know, never could tell. Astonishing woman! Shuts herself up in her own room like a silkworm, and spins a regular cocoon!" That's what I say, you know; yet nobody ever seems to believe me, and lots of fellows swear youmustget a man to help you.'
'It is part of man's conceit to imagine his assistance always necessary,' said Delicia, coldly smiling. 'Considering how loudly men talk of their own extraordinary abilities, it is really astonishing how little they manage to do. Good-bye! I'm going upstairs to spin cocoons.'
He stopped her as she moved to leave the room.
'I say, Delicia, it's awfully sweet of you to hand over that four thousand—'
She gave a little gesture of offence.
'Why speak of it, Will? You know that half of every sum I earn is placed to your account; it has been my rule ever since our marriage, and there is really no need to allude to what is now a mere custom of business.'
He still held her arm.
'Yes, that's all very well; but look here, Delicia, you're not angry with me for anything, are you?'
She raised her head and looked straightly at him.
'No, Will—not angry.'
Something in her eyes intimidated him. He checked himself abruptly, afraid to ask her anything more.
'Oh, that's all right,' he stammered hurriedly. 'I'm glad you're not angry. I thought you seemed a little put out; but it's jolly that I'm mistaken, you know. Ta-ta! Have a good morning's grind.'
'And as she went, he drew out a cigar from his silver case with rather shaking fingers, and pretended to be absorbed in lighting it. When it was finally lit and he looked up, she was gone. With a sigh, he flung himself into an arm-chair and puffed away at his choice Havana in a sore and miserable confusion of mind. No human being, perhaps, is quite so sore and miserable as a man who is born with the instincts of a gentleman and yet conducts himself like a cad. There are many such tramps of a decayed and dying gentility amongst us—men with vague glimmerings of the ancient chivalry of their race lying dormant within them, who yet lack the force of will necessary to plan their lives resolutely out upon those old-fashioned but grand foundations known as truth and loyalty. Because it is 'the thing' to talk slang, they pollute the noble English language with coarse expressions copied from stable conversation; and because it is considered 'swagger' to make love to other men's wives, they enter into this base form of vulgar intrigue almost as if it were a necessary point of dignity and an added grace to manhood. If we admit that men are the superior and stronger sex, what a pitiable thing it is to note how little their moral forces assist in the elevation of woman, their tendency being to drag her down as low as possible! If she be unwedded, man does his best to compromise her; if he has married her, he frequently neglects her; if she be another's wife, he frequently tries to injure her reputation. This is 'modern' morality, exhibited to us in countless varying phases every day, detailed every morning and evening in our newspapers, witnessed over and over again through every 'season's' festivities; and this, combined with atheism, and an utter indifference as to the results of evil, is making of 'upper class' England a something worse than pagan Rome was just before its fall. The safety of the country is with what we elect to call the 'lower classes,' who are educating themselves slowly but none the less surely; but who, it must be remembered, are not yet free from savagery,—the splendid brute savagery which breaks out in all great nations when aristocratic uncleanness and avarice have gone too far,—a savagery which threw itself panting and furious upon the treacherous Marie Antoinette of France, with her beauty, her wicked wantonness, her thoughtless extravagance and luxury, and her cruel contempt for the poor, and never loosened its fangs till it had dragged her haughty head to the level of the scaffold, there to receive the just punishment of selfishness and pride. For punishment must fall sooner or later on every wilful misuser of life's opportunities; though had anyone told Lord Carlyon this by way of warning, he would have bidden him, in the choicest of 'swagger' terms, to 'go and be a rotten preacher!' And in saying so, he would have considered himself witty. Yet he knew well enough that his 'little affair' with La Marina was nothing but a deliberate dishonour done to his blameless wife; and he was careful to avoid thinking as to where the money came from as he flung it about at cards, or in restaurants, or on race-courses.
'After all,' he considered now, as he smoked his cigar leisurely, and allowed his mind to dwell comfortably on the reflection of that four thousand pounds placed to his account, 'she likes her work; she couldn't get on without it, and there's nothing so much in her handing me over half the "dibs" as she's got all the fame.'
And through some curious process of man's logic he managed to argue himself into a perfect state of satisfaction with the comfortable way the world was arranged for him through his wife's unremitting toil.
'Poor little soul!' he murmured placidly, glancing at his handsome face in an opposite mirror, 'She loves me awfully! This morning she half pretends she doesn't, but she would give every drop of blood in her body to save me from a pin-prick of trouble. And why shouldn't she? Women must have something to love; she's perfectly happy in her way, and so am I in mine.'
With which consoling conclusion he ended his meditations, and went out for the day as usual.
On returning home to dinner, however, he was considerably put out to find a note waiting for him in the hall; a note from his wife, running thus:—
'Shall not return to dinner. Am going to the "Empire" with the Cavendishes; do not wait up for me.'
'Well, I call that pretty cool!' he muttered angrily. 'Upon my word, I call that infernally cool!'
He marched about the hall, fuming and fretting for a minute or two, then he called his valet.
'Robson, I sha'n't want dinner served,' he said snappishly; 'I'm going out.'
'Very good, my lord.'
'Did her ladyship leave any message?'
'None, my lord. She merely said she was going to dine with Mr and Mrs Cavendish, and would probably not be back till late.'
He frowned like a spoilt child.
'Well, I sha'n't be back till late either, if at all,' he said fretfully. 'Just come and get me into my dress suit, will you?'
Robson followed him upstairs obediently, and bore with his caprices, which were many, during the business of attiring him for the evening. He was in an exceedingly bad humour, and gave vent to what the children call a 'bad swear' more than once. Finally he got into a hansom and was driven off at a rattling pace, the respectable Robson watching his departure from the open hall door.
'You're a nice one!' remarked that worthy personage, as the vehicle containing his master turned a sharp corner and disappeared. 'Up to no end of pranks; as bad and worse than if you was the regular son of a king! Yes, taking you on and off, one would almost give you credit for being a real prince, you've got so little conscience! But my lady's one too many for you, I fancy; she's quiet but she's clever; and I don't believe she'll keep her eyes shut much longer. She can't, if you're a-going on continual in the way you are.'
Thus Robson soliloquised, shutting the street door with a bang to emphasise the close of his half-audible observations. Then he went up into Delicia's study to give Spartan some dinner. Spartan received the plateful brought to him with majestic indifference, and an air which implied that he would attend to it presently. He had a little white glove of Delicia's between his paws, and manifested no immediate desire to disturb himself. He had his own canine ideas of love and fidelity; and though he was only a dog, it may be he had a higher conception of honour and truth than is attained by men, who, in the excess of self-indulgence, take all the benefits of love and good fortune as their 'rights,' and are destitute of even the saving grace of gratitude.