CHAPTER XThe first person Delicia saw after her hostess on entering the rooms was her husband. She bowed to him serenely, with a charming smile and playful air, as if she had only just left his company, then passed him by, entering at once into conversation with an artist of note, who came eagerly forward to present his young wife to her. Carlyon, quite taken aback, stared at her half-angrily, half-obsequiously, for there was something very queenly in the way she moved, something very noble in the manner she carried her proud little head, on which the diamond star she wore shone like Venus on a frosty night. He watched her slim figure in its white draperies moving hither and thither; he saw the brilliant smile light up her whole countenance and flash in her violet eyes; he watched men of distinction in art and statesmanship crowd about her with courtly flatteries and elegantly-worded compliments, and the more he watched her, the more morose and ill-humoured he became.'Anyhow,' he muttered to himself, 'she is my wife, and she can't get rid of me. She has no fault whatever to find with me in the eyes of the law!'He had always been vain of his personality, and it irritated him curiously to notice that she never glanced once in his direction. No one could possibly deny his outward attractiveness—he was distinctly what is called a 'beautiful man.' Beautiful in form and physique, manly in bearing, 'god-like' in feature. Nothing could do away with these facts. And he had imagined that when Delicia—tender, worshipping Delicia—set eyes on him again after her temporary absence from him, her ravishment at the sight of his perfections would be so great that she would fling herself into his arms or at his feet, and, as he expressed it to himself, 'make it all right.' But her aspect this evening was rather discouraging to these hopes, for she seemed not to see him or his attractions at all. She was apparently more fascinated with the appearance of a gouty ambassador, who sat far back in a corner carefully resting one foot on a velvet hassock, and who was evidently afraid to move. To this old gentleman Delicia talked in her most charming manner, and Carlyon, as his eyes wandered about the room, suddenly caught the mischievous and mocking glance of 'La Marina'—a glance which said as plainly as words, 'What a fool you are!' Flushing with annoyance, he moved from the position he had taken up near the grand piano and strolled by himself through the rooms, picking out here and there a few of his own friends to speak to, who, however, seemed to have nothing much to say except, 'How charming Lady Carlyon looks this evening!' a phrase which irritated rather than pleased him, simply because it was true. It was true that Delicia looked lovely; it was true that she eclipsed every woman in the room by her intelligence, grace of manner and brilliancy of conversation; and it was true that for a time at least she was the centre of attraction and absorbed the whole interest of everyone present. And Carlyon was distinctly vexed at the sensation she made, because he had no part in it, because he felt himself left out in the cold, and, moreover, because he was forced to understand that she, his wife, had determined that so he should be left. He would not—perhaps by some defect of brain he could not—realise that he had himself forfeited all claim to her consideration or respect, and he was glad when the arrival of another celebrity was announced, who at once distracted the attention of the frivolous throng from Delicia altogether—a lady of brilliant beauty, and of exalted rank, who had distinguished herself by becoming ademi-mondaineof the most open and shameless type, but who, nevertheless, continued to 'move in society,' as the phrase goes, with a considerable amount oféclat, simply because she had money, and was wont to assist churches with it and shower pecuniary benefits on penniless clerics. Deity (through the said clerics) blessed her in spite of her moral backslidings; and instead of denouncing her as it should have done, the Church went to her garden-parties. Lady Brancewith was a clever woman in her way, as well as a beautiful one; she loved her own vices dearly, and was prepared to sacrifice anything for the indulgence of them—husband, children, name, fame, honour; but she took a great deal of pains to keep in with 'pious' people, and she knew that the best way to do that was continually to givelargesseall round. The worthy clergyman of the parish in which her great house was the chiefest of the neighbourhood, shut his eyes to her sins and opened them to her cheques; so all went well and merrily with her. Her entrance into Lady Dexter's drawing-room was the signal for a complete change in the attitude of the fashionable throng. Everybody craned their necks to look at her and comment on her dress and diamonds; people began to whisper to each other the newest bits of scandal about her, and Delicia, with her fair face and unsullied character, was soon deserted and forgotten. She was rather glad of this, and she sat down in a retired corner to rest, near the entrance to the great conservatory, where the curtains shaded her from the light, and where she could see without being seen. She watched the smiles and gestures of Lady Brancewith with a good deal of inward pain and contempt.'That is the kind of "society woman" men like,' she mused, 'One who will go down into the mud with them and never regret the loss of cleanliness. I think she is a worse type than "La Marina," for "La Marina" does not pretend to be good; but this woman's whole life is occupied in the despicable art of feigning virtue.'She remained in her quiet nook looking at the restless, talking, giggling throng, and now and then turning her eyes towards the flowers in the conservatory—tall lilies, brilliant azaleas, snowy Cape jessamine, drooping passion flowers—all exquisite creations of perfect beauty, yet silent and seemingly unconscious of their own charms.'How much more lovely and worthy of love flowers are than human beings!' she thought. 'If I had been the Creator, I think I would have given the flowers immortal souls, rather than to men!'At that moment her husband passed her without perceiving her. Lady Brancewith was on his arm, evidently delighted to be seen in the company of so physically handsome a person. The little diamonds sewn on her priceless lace flashed in Delicia's eyes like sparks of light; the faint, sickly odour of patchouli was wafted from her garments as she moved; the hard lines which vice and self-indulgence had drawn on that fair face were scarcely perceptible in the softened light, and her little low laugh of coquettish pleasure at some remark of Lord Carlyon's sounded musical enough even to Delicia, who, though she knew and detested the woman's character, could not refrain from looking after her half in wonderment, half in aversion. Within a few paces of where she sat they stopped,—Lord Carlyon placed a chair for his fair companion near a giant palm, which towered up nearly to the roof of the conservatory, and then, drawing another to her side, sat down himself.'At last in my wretched life I am allowed a moment's pleasure!' he said, conveying into his fine eyes a touch of the Beautiful Sullenness expression which he generally found answer so well with women.Lady Brancewith laughed, unfurling her fan.'Dear me, how very tragic!' she said. 'I had, no idea you were so wretched, Lord Carlyon! On the contrary, I thought you were one of the most envied of men!'Carlyon was silent a moment, looking at her intently.'The only man in the world to be really envied is your husband,' he said morosely.Delicia, hidden by the protecting curtain, kept herself quite still. A smile of disdain came on her proud mouth as she thought within herself, 'What liars men are! I have heard him say often that Lord Brancewith ought to be hounded out of the clubs for allowing his wife to dishonour his name! And now he declares him to be the only man in the world to be really envied!'But Carlyon was speaking again, and some force stronger than herself held her there motionless, an unwilling listener.'You have never been kind to me,' he complained, the Beautiful Sullenness look deepening in his eyes. 'Lots of other fellows get a chance to make themselves agreeable to you, but you never give me the ghost of one. You are awfully hard on me—Lily!'He paused a moment before uttering Lady Brancewith's Christian name, then spoke it softly and lingeringly, as though it were a caress. She, by way of reply, gave him a light tap on the cheek with her fan.'And you are awfully impertinent,' she said, smiling. 'Don't you remember you are a married man?''I do, to my cost,' he answered. 'And you are a married woman!''Oh, but I am so different,' she declared naïvely. 'You see, you have got a wonderful celebrity for a wife—clever and brilliant, and all that. Now, poor Brancewith is a dreadful, dear old dunce, and I should really die if I hadn't some other man to speak to sometimes—''Or several other men!' he put in, taking her fan from her hand and beginning to wave it to and fro.She laughed.'Perhaps! How jealous you are! Do you treat your wife to these sort of sarcasms?''I wish you wouldn't talk about my wife,' he said pettishly. 'My wife and I have nothing in common.''Really!' Lily Brancewith yawned slightly. 'How often that happens in married life, doesn't it? She is here to-night, isn't she?''Yes, she is in the rooms somewhere,' and Carlyon began to look decidedly cross. 'She was quite the centre of attraction till you came in. Then, of course, it was a case of a small star paling before the full moon in all her splendour!''How sweetly poetical! But please don't break my fan,' and she took the delicate toy in question from him. 'It cost twenty guineas, and it isn't paid for yet.''Let me settle the bill,' said Carlyon, looking adoringly into her eyes, 'or any amount of bills!'A faint tremor ran through Delicia's body, as though a cold wind were playing on her nerves. Bending a little forward, she listened more intently.'Generous man!' laughed Lady Brancewith. 'I know your wife has made you rich, but I remember the time when you were not a bit flush of money, were you, poor boy! But you were always very nice and very complimentary, even then.''Glad you admit it,' said Carlyon, drawing a little nearer to her. 'The memory of it may decide you not to throw me over now!''What nonsense you talk!' and Lady Brancewith gave him her hand to hold. 'I want to see your wife; do introduce me to her! I have often been on the point of meeting her, but never have done so.Shedoesn't know the people I know, andIdon't know the people she knows, so we've always missed each other. She is such a genius! Dunce as you are, you must have sense enough to be very proud of her!'Carlyon looked dubious. Then he suddenly said,—'Well, I don't know! I think a clever woman—a writer of books, you know, like my wife—is a mistake. She is alwaysunsexed.'As the word passed his lips, Delicia rose, pale, fair and calm in her glistening robes, and confronted them. Like an austere white angel suddenly descended from heaven to earth she stood,—quite silent,—looking straight at her husband and his companion with such a grand scorn in her dark violet eyes as made Carlyon shrink within himself like a beaten hound. Lady Brancewith glanced up at her with a half-impertinent, half-questioning smile, but not a word did Delicia utter. One moment she stood surveying the disloyal, ungracious and ungrateful churl who owed all he possessed in the world to her tenderness and bounty; then coldly, quietly, and with an unshaken grace of bearing and queenliness of movement, she turned away, her soft satin train sweeping them by as she moved forward into the crowded rooms and disappeared.'Who was that wonderful-looking woman?' asked Lady Brancewith, eagerly.Carlyon flushed, anon grew deadly pale.'That was Delicia—my wife,' he answered curtly.'That! That the novelist!' almost screamed Lady Brancewith. 'Why didn't you say so? Why didn't you introduce me? I had no idea she was like that! I thought all literary women wore short hair and spectacles! Good gracious me! And she must have heard you say you considered her "unsexed!" Billy, what a brute you are!'Carlyon started angrily. The fair Lily and he used in former days to call each other 'Billy' and 'Lily' so frequently that a wag among their acquaintance made a rhyme on them, running thus:—'Lily and BillyAre invariably silly!and at that time he did not mind it. But now, considering that he was 'Lord' Carlyon, he did not care to be addressed as 'Billy,' and his resentment showed itself pretty plainly on his darkened countenance. But Lady Brancewith was too much excited to heed his annoyance.'The idea!' she continued. 'If she was sitting there all the while she must have heardeverything! A nice mess you have made of it! If I were in her place, I'd throw you off like a pair of old shoes!''I haven't the least doubt you would,' he said with temper. 'It's the way you behave with most men who have the honour of sharing your favour!'Lily Brancewith showed her pearly teeth in a savage little smile.'You were always what is called "rather shady," Billy,' she observed calmly. 'But I didn't give you credit for beingquitea cad! Ta-ta! I'm going to find your wife and introduce myself to her. You know in society people said you were to be pitied for marrying a "literary" celebrity, but I shall put the gossips right on that point—I shall tell everybody it is she who is to be pitied for marrying a military nonentity!'With a light laugh at her own sarcasm she left him, and started on a voyage of discovery after Delicia. The people were wedged together in groups at every available point to watch the dancing of "La Marina," who had commenced her performance, and who was announced for that evening as 'Mademoiselle Violet de Gascon' out of deference to the 'proprieties,' who might possibly have been shocked had they been too openly told that thefigurantewas the 'Empire's' famous 'Marina,' though they were quite aware of the fact all the time. For in the strange motley we call society, one of the chief rules is that if you know a truth you must never say it; you must say something else, as near to a lie as possible. For example, if you are aware, and everybody else is aware, that a lady of exalted title has outraged, or is outraging, every sense of decency and order in her social and private life, you must always say she is one of the purest and most innocent creatures living.Ofcourse, if she is a nobody, without any rank at all, you are at liberty to give her poor name over to the dogs of slander to rend at will; but if she is a countess or a duchess, you must entirely condone her vulgar vices. Think of her title! Think of her family connections! Think of the manner in which her influence might be brought to bear on some little matter in which you personally have an interest! Lady Brancewith knew all this well enough; she knew exactly how to play her cards, and she was sufficiently a woman of the world to salute 'La Marina' with a pretty bow and compliment as soon as her dance was finished, and to express the plaintive wish, uttered sighingly, 'How glad I should be if I were half so clever!'Whereat Marina sniffed the air dubiously and said nothing. 'Jewlia Muggins,'alias'Violet de Gascon,' knew a thing or two, and was not to be taken in by Lady Brancewith or any of her set. She was keenly disappointed. Delicia had not been present to see her dance, and she had very much wished to create a favourable impression on that 'sweet thing in white' as she called her. She had danced her best, gracefully, and with an exquisite modesty; too exquisite for many of the gentlemen assembled, some of whom whispered to each other that she was 'going off' a bit, simply because they could not see much above her slender ankles. She herself, however, cared nothing for what they said or thought, and at the conclusion of her dance she boldly asked her hostess where Lady Carlyon was.'She has gone home, I am sorry to say,' was the reply. 'She is not very well, she tells me; and she found the heat of the room rather trying.''Are you speaking of the guest of the evening—Lady Carlyon?' inquired Lady Brancewith, sweetly.'Yes. She extremely regretted having to leave so early, but she works hard, you know, and she is not at all robust.'Here Lady Dexter's attention was distracted by the claims of a long-haired violinist desirous of performing a 'classical' piece immediately, which, when it did begin, had the effect of driving many people down to supper or out of the house altogether; and in the general scrimmage on the stairs 'La Marina' found herself elbowing Lord Carlyon.'Your wife's gone home,' she said curtly. 'Why didn't you go with her?''I have another engagement,' he answered coldly.'Not with me!' she said, showing all her even white teeth in a broad grin. 'I talked ever so long to Lady Carlyon this evening, and told her just what I thought of you!'His eyes darkened furiously, and the lines of his mouth grew hard and vindictive.'You wild cat!' he said savagely. 'If you havedared—''Puss, puss! Pretty puss!' laughed Marina. 'Cats have claws, my Lord Bill, and they scratch occasionally!'With a swish of her silken skirts she darted past him into the supper-room, where she immediately became surrounded by a circle of young noodles, who evidently deemed it a peculiar glory and honour to be allowed to hand chicken salad to the gifted creature who nightly knocked her own nose with her foot in the presence of a crowded house. What was any art compared to this? What was science? What was learning? What was virtue? Nothing,—less than nothing! To have a shapely leg and know how to hit your nose with your foot, is every day proved to be the best way for a woman to have what is called a 'good time' in this world. She needn't be able to spell, she may drop her h's broadcast, she may 'booze' on brandy,—but so long as the nose is hit every night with the foot in an accurate and rhythmic manner, she will always have plenty of jewels and more male admirers than she can conveniently manage. For there is no degradation that can befall a woman which man will not excuse and condone; equally there is no elevation or honour she can win which he will not grudge and oppose with all the force of his nature! For man loves to hold a strangulation-grip on the neck of all creation, women included; and the idea that woman should suddenly wrench herself out of his grasp and refuse to be either trapped like a hare, hunted like a fox, or shot like a bird, is a strange, new and disagreeable experience for him. And very naturally he clings to the slave type of womanhood, and encourages the breed of those who are willing to become dancers and toys of his 'harem,' for, if all women were to rise to the height of their true and capable dignity, where should he go to for his so-called 'fun'?Some thoughts of this kind were in Lord Carlyon's head as he threw on his opera-coat and prepared to leave the scene of revelry at the Dexters. The pale, noble face of Delicia haunted him; the disdain of her clear eyes still rankled in his soul; and he was actually indignant with her for what he considered 'that offensive virtue of hers,' which shamed him, and which had, for a moment at least, made 'the most distinguished Lady Brancewith' seem nothing but a common drab, daubed with paint and powder. Even as he thought of her thus, the fair and faithless Lily approached him, smiling, with a coaxing and penitent air.'Still huffy?' she inquired sweetly. 'Poor, dear thing! Did it fret and fume and turn nasty?' She laughed, then added, 'Don't be cross, Billy! I was very rude to you just now—I'm sorry! See!' and she folded her hands with an appealing air. 'Drive home with me, will you? I'm so lonely! Brancewith's at Newmarket.'Carlyon hesitated, looking at her. She was undoubtedly very lovely, despite her artificial flesh tints and distinctly dyed hair.'All right!' he said with a stand-offish manner of coldness and indifference, 'I don't mind seeing you home.''How sweet and condescending of you!' and Lady Brancewith threw on her mantle gleaming with iridescent jewels and showered with perfumed lace. 'So good of you to bore yourself with my company!'Her eyes flashed; she was in a dangerous mood, and Carlyon saw it. In silence he piloted her through the ranks of attendant flunkeys, and when her carriage came bowling up to the door assisted her into it.'Good-night!' he then said, raising his hat ceremoniously.Lily Brancewith turned white with sudden passion.'Aren't you coming in?' she asked.He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the position.'No, I have changed my mind. I am going home—to my wife!'Lady Brancewith trembled, but quickly controlled herself.'So right of you,' she said, smiling. 'So proper!' Then, putting out her hand, she caught him by the coat-sleeve. 'Do you know what I wish for you?' she said slowly.'Can't imagine!' he responded carelessly. 'Something nasty, no doubt.''Yes, it is something nasty!' She laughed under her breath as she spoke. 'Something nasty, yet very commonplace, too. I wish your wife may discover the kind of man you are,—andstop your allowances! Good-night!She smiled brilliantly; the horses started suddenly and he drew back, smothering an angry oath. Another moment and the carriage had rolled away, leaving him alone staring at the pavement. He stood for a little lost in gloomy meditation; then, summoning a hansom, was driven home at a brisk pace, having made up his mind to 'face it out,' as he inwardly said, with Delicia.'She can't help loving me,' he mused. 'She always has loved me, and she is not a woman likely to change her feelings in a hurry. I'm sorry she saw me with Lily Brancewith; and of course, if that jade Marina has really been talking to her there'll be a devil of a row. I must make it right with her somehow, and I think I know the best way to go to work.' Here he smiled. 'Poor little woman! I daresay she feels awfully sore; but I know her character—a few loving words and plenty of kisses and embraces, and she'll be just the same as ever she was, and—and—by Jove! I'll see if I can't turn over a new leaf. It'll be infernally dull, but I'll try it!'And perfectly satisfied with the plan he had formulated in his own mind for setting things straight, he arrived at his own house. The door was opened to him by Robson, who informed him that her ladyship had returned about an hour ago and was waiting to see him in her study.'In her study, did you say?' he repeated.'Yes, my lord. Her ladyship said, would you kindly go up at once, as soon as you came in.'A touch of 'nerves' affected him as he threw off his coat and began to ascend the stairs. He saw Robson extinguish the gas in the hall and descend kitchenwards, and a great silence and darkness seemed to encompass the house as he paused for a moment outside his wife's room. Then, slowly and with some hesitation, he lifted the velvetportièreand entered.CHAPTER XIDelicia was at her desk, writing. She had taken off her rich evening costume and was clad in a loose robe of white cashmere that fell down to her feet, draping her after the fashion of one of Fra Angelico's angels. Her hair was unbound from its 'dress coiffure' of elaborate twists and coils, and was merely thrust out of her way at the back of her head in one great knot of gold. She rose as her husband entered, and turned her face, deadly pale and rigid as a statue's, full upon him. He paused, looking at her, and felt his braggart courage oozing out at his fingers' ends.'Delicia,' he began, making a poor attempt at smiling. 'Delicia, I am awfully sorry—'Her eyes, full of a burning indignation, flashed upon him like lightning and struck him, despite himself, into silence.'Spare yourself and me any further lies!' she said, in a low voice that vibrated with intense passion. 'There is no longer any need of them. You have shown me yourself as you are, in your true colours—the mask has fallen, and you need not stoop to pick it up and put it on again. It is mere waste of time!'He stared at her, foolishly pulling at his moustache and still trying to smile.'You called me "unsexed" to-night,' she went on, never removing her steadfast gaze from his face. 'Do you know what the word means? If not, I will tell you. It is to be like the women you admire!—to be like "La Marina," who strips her body to the gaze of the public without either shame or regret; it is to be like Lady Brancewith, who flings her husband's name and honour to the winds for any fool to mock at, and who in her high position is worse, yes, worse than "La Marina," who at any rate is honest in so far that she admits her position and makes no pretence of being what she is not! But I,—what haveIdone that you should call me "unsexed?"'She paused, breathing quickly.'I didn't sayyouwere "unsexed," he stammered awkwardly. 'I said clever women were, as a rule, unsexed.''Pardon me,' she interrupted him coldly. 'You said "women who write books, like my wife." Those were your exact words. And, I repeat, what have I done to deserve them? Have I ever dishonoured your name? Have you not been the one thought, the one pride, the one love of my life? Has not every beat of my heart, together with every stroke of my pen, been for you and you only? While all the time to me you have played traitor—your very looks have been lies, you have deceived and destroyed all my most sacred beliefs and hopes; you have murdered me as thoroughly as if you had thrust a knife through my heart and hurled me down dead at your feet!'Her voice vibrated with passion—strong, deeply-felt passion, unshaken by the weakness of sobs or tears.He made a step towards her.'Look here, Delicia,' he said, 'don't let us have a scene! I have been a fool, I daresay—I am quite willing to admit it—but can't you forget and forgive?' And undeterred by the chill aversion in her face, he held out his arms. 'Come, I am sure your own heart cannot tell you to be unkind to me! You do love me—''Love you!' she cried, recoiling from him; 'I hate you! Your very presence is hideous to my sight; and just as I once thought you the noblest of men, so I think you now the lowest, the meanest! You have been a fool, you say; oh, if you were only that! Only a fool! There are so many of them! Some of them such good fellows, too, in their folly. Fools there are in plenty who, nevertheless, do manage to preserve some cleanliness in their lives; who would not wrong a woman or insult her for the world—fools whom, mayhap, it might be good to love and to work for, and who at any rate are not cads or cowards!'He started, and the colour leapt to his face in a shamed red, then died away, leaving him very pale.'Oh, if you are going to rant and scream—' he began.She turned upon him with a regal air.'Lord Carlyon, to rant and scream is not mymétier,' she said. 'I leave that to the poor "Marina," when you have dosed her with too much champagne. There is no need to go over the cause of our present conflict; what I have to say can be said in very few words. Your "unsexed" wife, who has had the honour of maintaining you ever since your union with her, by the ungrudging labour of her brain and hand, has sufficient sense of justice and self-respect to continue no longer in that eminently unpractical mode of action. We must for the future live apart; for I cannot consent to share your attentions with one stageartisteor any number of stageartistes. I do not choose to pay for their jewels; and your generous offer to settle Lady Brancewith's bills for her does not meet with my consent or approval.Her face grew colder and more contemptuous as she continued,—'Your estimate of what is called a "clever" woman is as low as that of most men. I do not especially blame you for being like the rest of your sex in that one particular. Women who will not become as dirt under a man's foot, to be trodden on first, then kicked aside, are generally termed "unsexed," because they will not lower themselves to the man's brute level. Nothing is more unnatural from a man's point of view than that a woman should have brains,—and with those brains make money and position often superior to his, and at any rate manage to be independent of him. What men prefer is that their wives should be the slaves of their humour, and receive a five-pound note with deep thankfulness whenever they can get it, shutting their eyes to the fact that people like "Marina" get twenty pounds to their five from the same quarter. But you,—you have had nothing to complain of in the way of a pecuniary position, though I, as bread-winner, might readily have comported myself after approved masculine examples and given you five pounds where I spent twenty on myself and my own pleasure. But I did nothing of this sort; on the contrary, I have trusted you with half of everything I earned, believing you to be honest; believing that, of all men in the world, you would never cheat, defraud, or otherwise deceive me. And not only have you made a mock of me in society, but you have even helped to vilify my name. For it was distinctly your business to chastise the writer of that lying paragraph in the paper; but you left me to be defended by one who shares with me the drawback of being a "public character," and with whom I have no connection whatever beyond that of friendship, as you perfectly well know. Why, I have heard of men, well-born, too, and of considerable social attainment, who have been willing enough to fight for the so-called "honour" of an admitteddemi-mondaine; but for an honest woman and faithful wife, who is there in these days that will stir a finger to defend her from slander! Very few; least of all her husband! To such a height has nineteenth-century morality risen! I, who have been true to you in every thought, word and deed, am rewarded by your open infidelity, and for my work, which has at any rate kept you in ease and comfort, I am called "unsexed," despite my pains! If I chose, I could fling you back your insult; for a man who lives on a woman's earnings is more "unsexed" than the woman who earns. I never thought of this before; my love was too blind, too passionate. Now I do think of it; and thinking, I wonder at myself and you!'He dropped lazily into a chair and looked at her.'I suppose your temper will be over presently,' he said, 'and you will see things in a more reasonable light. You must remember I have given you a great position, Delicia; I think our marriage has been one of perfect mutual benefit. "Literary" women hardly ever get a chance of marrying at all, you know; men are afraid of them—won't marry them on any account;—would rather have a barmaid, really—and when a "literary" woman gets into the aristocracy and all that—well, by Jove!—it's a splendid thing for her, you know, and gives her a great lift! As for being unfaithful to you, why, there is not a man in my "set" who is absolutely immaculate; I am no worse than any of them—in fact, I am much better. You read so much, and you write so much, that you ought to know these things without my telling them to you. "Give and take" is the only possible rule in marriage, and I really thought you would have good sense enough to admit it—'Delicia regarded him with a chill smile.'I think Ihaveadmitted it!' she said ironically. 'Fully and freely! For I have given everything; equally you have taken everything! That is plain enough. And now you insult me afresh by the suggestion that it was really a condescension on your part to marry me at all, I being "literary"! If I had been a music-hall dancer, of course you would have been much prouder of me; it would have been something indeed worth boasting of, to say your wife had originally been famous for a break-down or can-can at the "Empire!" But because I follow, with what force and ability I can, the steps of the truly great, who have helped to mould the thoughts and feelings of men and nations, it is quite extraordinary I should have found a husband at all! Wonderful! And you have given me a great position, you assert. I confess I fail to perceive it! If you consider your title something of value, I am sorry for you; to me it is a nothing. In the old days of chivalry titles meant honour; now they have become, for the most part, the mere results of wealth and back-stair influence. Yours is an old title, I grant you that; but what does it matter? The latest brewer raised to the peerage puts himself on an equality with you, whether you like it or not. But between me—untitled Delicia Vaughan—and the self-same peer of the ale-cask, there is a great gulf fixed; and not all his wealth can put him on an equality withme, or with any author who has once won the love of nations. And so, Lord Carlyon, permit me to return your title, for I shall not wear it. When we separate I shall keep to my own name simply; thus I shall owe you nothing, not evenprestige!'Carlyon suddenly lifted his fine eyes and flashed them effectively at her.'You are talking nonsense, Delicia,' he said impatiently. 'You know you don't really mean that we are to separate. Why,' this with the most naïve conceit, 'what will you do without me?'She met his gaze without the least emotion.'I shall continue to live, I suppose,' she replied, 'or I shall die, one of the two. It really doesn't matter which.'There was a slight tremor in her voice, and emboldened by it he sprang up and tried to put his arm round her. She recoiled from him swiftly, thrusting him back.'Don't touch me,' she cried wildly. 'Don't dare to come near me! I cannot answer for myself if you do; this shall defend me from you if necessary!'And almost before he could realise it she had snatched a small, silver-mounted pistol from its case on a shelf hard by, and, holding it in her hand, she stood as it were at bay.He gave a short, embarrassed laugh.'You have gone mad, Delicia!' he said. 'Put down that thing. It isn't loaded, of course; but it doesn't look pretty to see you with it.''No, it doesn't look pretty,' she responded slowly. 'But itisloaded! I took care of that before you came in! I don't want to injure either you or myself; but I swear to you that if you come closer to me by one step, presume to offer me such an insult as your caress would be to menow, I will kill you!'Her white figure was firm as that of some menacing fate carved in marble; her pale face, with the violet eyes set in it like flashing stars, had a marvellous power and passion imprinted on its every line, and despite himself he fell back startled and in a manner appalled.'I have gone mad, you think?' she went on. 'If I had, would it be wonderful? To have one's dearest hopes ruined, one's heart broken, one's life made waste—is that not something of a cause for madness? But I am not mad; I am simply resolved that your lips, which have bestowed their kisses on "la Marina," shall never touch mine again; that your arms, which have embraced her, shall never embrace me, and that, come what will, I will keep my self-respect if I die for it! Now you know my mind, you will go your way; I mine. I cannot divorce you; for though you have murdered my very soul in me, brutally and pitilessly, you have not been "cruel" according to legal opinion. But I can separate from you—thank God for that! I cannot marry again. Heaven forbid that I should ever desire to do so! Neither can you; but you will not wish for that unless you meet with an American heiress with several millions, which you may have the chance of doing when I am dead—someone who has inherited her money and has notworkedfor it as I have,—honestly,—thereby becoming "unsexed!"'He stood silent for a minute.'You actually mean to say you want a judicial separation?' he inquired at last, sullenly.She bent her head in the affirmative.'Well, you can get that, of course. But I must say, Delicia, of all the ungrateful, heartless women, you are the very worst! I should never have thought it of you! I imagined you had such a noble nature! So sweet and loving and forgiving! Good heavens! After all, what have I done? Just had a bit of fun with a dancing girl! Quite a common amusement with men of my class!'I have no doubt of it,' she answered; 'Very common! All the same, I do not choose to either tolerate it or pay for it. Ungrateful, heartless "unsexed"! This is my character, according to your estimate of me. I thank you! Poor Love's last breath went in that final blow from the rough fist of ingratitude! I will not detain you any longer; in truth, you need not have stayed so long. I merely wished to let you know my decision. I had no intention to either upbraid you or condemn. Reproaches or complaints, however just, could leave no impression on a temperament like yours. I will see my lawyers to-morrow, and in a very short space of time you will be free of my company for ever. Shall we say good-bye now?'She raised her eyes,—her gold hair shone about her like an aureole, and a sudden sweetness softened her face, though its gravity was unchanged. A sharp pang of remorse and sorrow stabbed him through and through, and he looked at her in mingled abasement and yearning.'Delicia—must we part?'He whispered the question, half in hope half in fear.She regarded him steadily.'Dare you ask it? Can you imagine I could love you again after what has passed? Some women might do so—I could not.'He stood irresolute; there was a mean and selfish trouble at his heart to which he could not give utterance for very shame's sake. He was really wondering what arrangements she meant to make for his future, but some few of the better instincts of manhood rose up within him protestingly, and bade him hold his peace. Still the brooding egotistical thought lingered in him and made him angry; he grew more and more wrathful as he realised that she,—this woman, whose whole life and devotion he had had so recently in his keeping,—had suddenly fathomed his true nature and cast him from her as something contemptible, and that she—she had the power to maintain herself free of him in wealth and ease, whilst he, if she were at all malevolently inclined, would have to return to the state of semi-poverty and 'living on tick,' which had been his daily and yearly lot before he met her. Inwardly he cursed 'la Marina,' Lily Brancewith and everybody, except himself. He never thought of including his own vices in the general big 'Damn!' he was mentally uttering. And as he hesitated, shuffling one foot against the other, a prey to the most disagreeable reflections, Delicia advanced a step and held out her hands.'Good-bye, Will! I loved you once very deeply; a few days ago you were everything to me, and for the sake of that love, which has so suddenly perished and is dead for ever, let us part in peace!'But he turned from her roughly.'Oh, it is all very well for you!' he said. 'You can afford to talk all this high-falutin' rubbish, and give yourself airs and graces, but I am a poor devil of a fellow always getting into a hole; and it isn't to be supposed that I am going to take my dismissal in this way, just as if I were a lackey. I am your husband, you know; you can't undo that!''Not at present,' said Delicia, drawing back from him quickly, the tenderness passing from her face and leaving it coldly disdainful. 'But it is very possible the Gordian knot of marriage may be cut for me sooner or later. Death may befriend me in this matter, if nothing else will.''Death! Nonsense! I am not likely to die, nor are you. And I don't see what you want to get a separation for. I will go away for a time if you like. I will make any promises you want me to make; but why you should bring a lawyer into it, I cannot imagine. The fact is, you are making a fuss about nothing, and I am not going to say good-bye at all. I will take a trip abroad, and by the time I come back I daresay all this will have blown over and you will be glad to see me.'She said nothing, but simply turned from him, and sitting quietly down at her desk resumed the letter she had been writing when he entered.'Do you hear me?' he repeated querulously. 'I sha'n't say good-bye.'She did not speak; her pen moved swiftly over the paper before her, but otherwise she never moved.'I am sure it is no wonder,' he continued crossly, 'that the Government protests against too much independence being allowed to women! What tyrants they would all become if they could have everything their own way as much as you can! Women ought to be gentle and submissive; and if they are fortunate enough to be wealthy, they ought to use their wealth for their husbands' benefit. That is the natural order of creation—woman was made to be subservient to man, and when she is not, things always go wrong.'Still Delicia wrote on without uttering a word.He paused a moment, then observed,—'Well, I'm quite worn out with all this rumpus! I shall go to bed. Good-night, Delicia!'At this she turned and looked at him fully.'Good-night!' she said.Something in the transparent beauty of her face and the dark tragedy of her eyes awed him. She looked as if during the past few minutes she had risen above and beyond him to a purer atmosphere than that of earth. The majority of men hate women who look so; and Carlyon was painfully conscious that he had suddenly grown to hate Delicia. She had entirely changed, he thought. From a loving, tender idolater of his manly graces and perfections, she had become a proud, cynical, fault-finding, unforgiving 'virago.' This latter term did not suit her at all, but he considered that it did; for, as usual, by the aid of man's logic, he deemed himself the injured party and she the injuring. And irritated beyond measure at the queenly tranquillity of her demeanour, he muttered something profane under his breath, and dashing aside theportièrewith a clatter of its brazen rings and a violence that threatened to tear its very substance, he left the room.As soon as he had gone, Delicia moved slowly to the door and shut and locked it after him; then as slowly returned to her chair, where, leaning her head back against the carved escutcheon, she quietly fainted.
CHAPTER X
The first person Delicia saw after her hostess on entering the rooms was her husband. She bowed to him serenely, with a charming smile and playful air, as if she had only just left his company, then passed him by, entering at once into conversation with an artist of note, who came eagerly forward to present his young wife to her. Carlyon, quite taken aback, stared at her half-angrily, half-obsequiously, for there was something very queenly in the way she moved, something very noble in the manner she carried her proud little head, on which the diamond star she wore shone like Venus on a frosty night. He watched her slim figure in its white draperies moving hither and thither; he saw the brilliant smile light up her whole countenance and flash in her violet eyes; he watched men of distinction in art and statesmanship crowd about her with courtly flatteries and elegantly-worded compliments, and the more he watched her, the more morose and ill-humoured he became.
'Anyhow,' he muttered to himself, 'she is my wife, and she can't get rid of me. She has no fault whatever to find with me in the eyes of the law!'
He had always been vain of his personality, and it irritated him curiously to notice that she never glanced once in his direction. No one could possibly deny his outward attractiveness—he was distinctly what is called a 'beautiful man.' Beautiful in form and physique, manly in bearing, 'god-like' in feature. Nothing could do away with these facts. And he had imagined that when Delicia—tender, worshipping Delicia—set eyes on him again after her temporary absence from him, her ravishment at the sight of his perfections would be so great that she would fling herself into his arms or at his feet, and, as he expressed it to himself, 'make it all right.' But her aspect this evening was rather discouraging to these hopes, for she seemed not to see him or his attractions at all. She was apparently more fascinated with the appearance of a gouty ambassador, who sat far back in a corner carefully resting one foot on a velvet hassock, and who was evidently afraid to move. To this old gentleman Delicia talked in her most charming manner, and Carlyon, as his eyes wandered about the room, suddenly caught the mischievous and mocking glance of 'La Marina'—a glance which said as plainly as words, 'What a fool you are!' Flushing with annoyance, he moved from the position he had taken up near the grand piano and strolled by himself through the rooms, picking out here and there a few of his own friends to speak to, who, however, seemed to have nothing much to say except, 'How charming Lady Carlyon looks this evening!' a phrase which irritated rather than pleased him, simply because it was true. It was true that Delicia looked lovely; it was true that she eclipsed every woman in the room by her intelligence, grace of manner and brilliancy of conversation; and it was true that for a time at least she was the centre of attraction and absorbed the whole interest of everyone present. And Carlyon was distinctly vexed at the sensation she made, because he had no part in it, because he felt himself left out in the cold, and, moreover, because he was forced to understand that she, his wife, had determined that so he should be left. He would not—perhaps by some defect of brain he could not—realise that he had himself forfeited all claim to her consideration or respect, and he was glad when the arrival of another celebrity was announced, who at once distracted the attention of the frivolous throng from Delicia altogether—a lady of brilliant beauty, and of exalted rank, who had distinguished herself by becoming ademi-mondaineof the most open and shameless type, but who, nevertheless, continued to 'move in society,' as the phrase goes, with a considerable amount oféclat, simply because she had money, and was wont to assist churches with it and shower pecuniary benefits on penniless clerics. Deity (through the said clerics) blessed her in spite of her moral backslidings; and instead of denouncing her as it should have done, the Church went to her garden-parties. Lady Brancewith was a clever woman in her way, as well as a beautiful one; she loved her own vices dearly, and was prepared to sacrifice anything for the indulgence of them—husband, children, name, fame, honour; but she took a great deal of pains to keep in with 'pious' people, and she knew that the best way to do that was continually to givelargesseall round. The worthy clergyman of the parish in which her great house was the chiefest of the neighbourhood, shut his eyes to her sins and opened them to her cheques; so all went well and merrily with her. Her entrance into Lady Dexter's drawing-room was the signal for a complete change in the attitude of the fashionable throng. Everybody craned their necks to look at her and comment on her dress and diamonds; people began to whisper to each other the newest bits of scandal about her, and Delicia, with her fair face and unsullied character, was soon deserted and forgotten. She was rather glad of this, and she sat down in a retired corner to rest, near the entrance to the great conservatory, where the curtains shaded her from the light, and where she could see without being seen. She watched the smiles and gestures of Lady Brancewith with a good deal of inward pain and contempt.
'That is the kind of "society woman" men like,' she mused, 'One who will go down into the mud with them and never regret the loss of cleanliness. I think she is a worse type than "La Marina," for "La Marina" does not pretend to be good; but this woman's whole life is occupied in the despicable art of feigning virtue.'
She remained in her quiet nook looking at the restless, talking, giggling throng, and now and then turning her eyes towards the flowers in the conservatory—tall lilies, brilliant azaleas, snowy Cape jessamine, drooping passion flowers—all exquisite creations of perfect beauty, yet silent and seemingly unconscious of their own charms.
'How much more lovely and worthy of love flowers are than human beings!' she thought. 'If I had been the Creator, I think I would have given the flowers immortal souls, rather than to men!'
At that moment her husband passed her without perceiving her. Lady Brancewith was on his arm, evidently delighted to be seen in the company of so physically handsome a person. The little diamonds sewn on her priceless lace flashed in Delicia's eyes like sparks of light; the faint, sickly odour of patchouli was wafted from her garments as she moved; the hard lines which vice and self-indulgence had drawn on that fair face were scarcely perceptible in the softened light, and her little low laugh of coquettish pleasure at some remark of Lord Carlyon's sounded musical enough even to Delicia, who, though she knew and detested the woman's character, could not refrain from looking after her half in wonderment, half in aversion. Within a few paces of where she sat they stopped,—Lord Carlyon placed a chair for his fair companion near a giant palm, which towered up nearly to the roof of the conservatory, and then, drawing another to her side, sat down himself.
'At last in my wretched life I am allowed a moment's pleasure!' he said, conveying into his fine eyes a touch of the Beautiful Sullenness expression which he generally found answer so well with women.
Lady Brancewith laughed, unfurling her fan.
'Dear me, how very tragic!' she said. 'I had, no idea you were so wretched, Lord Carlyon! On the contrary, I thought you were one of the most envied of men!'
Carlyon was silent a moment, looking at her intently.
'The only man in the world to be really envied is your husband,' he said morosely.
Delicia, hidden by the protecting curtain, kept herself quite still. A smile of disdain came on her proud mouth as she thought within herself, 'What liars men are! I have heard him say often that Lord Brancewith ought to be hounded out of the clubs for allowing his wife to dishonour his name! And now he declares him to be the only man in the world to be really envied!'
But Carlyon was speaking again, and some force stronger than herself held her there motionless, an unwilling listener.
'You have never been kind to me,' he complained, the Beautiful Sullenness look deepening in his eyes. 'Lots of other fellows get a chance to make themselves agreeable to you, but you never give me the ghost of one. You are awfully hard on me—Lily!'
He paused a moment before uttering Lady Brancewith's Christian name, then spoke it softly and lingeringly, as though it were a caress. She, by way of reply, gave him a light tap on the cheek with her fan.
'And you are awfully impertinent,' she said, smiling. 'Don't you remember you are a married man?'
'I do, to my cost,' he answered. 'And you are a married woman!'
'Oh, but I am so different,' she declared naïvely. 'You see, you have got a wonderful celebrity for a wife—clever and brilliant, and all that. Now, poor Brancewith is a dreadful, dear old dunce, and I should really die if I hadn't some other man to speak to sometimes—'
'Or several other men!' he put in, taking her fan from her hand and beginning to wave it to and fro.
She laughed.
'Perhaps! How jealous you are! Do you treat your wife to these sort of sarcasms?'
'I wish you wouldn't talk about my wife,' he said pettishly. 'My wife and I have nothing in common.'
'Really!' Lily Brancewith yawned slightly. 'How often that happens in married life, doesn't it? She is here to-night, isn't she?'
'Yes, she is in the rooms somewhere,' and Carlyon began to look decidedly cross. 'She was quite the centre of attraction till you came in. Then, of course, it was a case of a small star paling before the full moon in all her splendour!'
'How sweetly poetical! But please don't break my fan,' and she took the delicate toy in question from him. 'It cost twenty guineas, and it isn't paid for yet.'
'Let me settle the bill,' said Carlyon, looking adoringly into her eyes, 'or any amount of bills!'
A faint tremor ran through Delicia's body, as though a cold wind were playing on her nerves. Bending a little forward, she listened more intently.
'Generous man!' laughed Lady Brancewith. 'I know your wife has made you rich, but I remember the time when you were not a bit flush of money, were you, poor boy! But you were always very nice and very complimentary, even then.'
'Glad you admit it,' said Carlyon, drawing a little nearer to her. 'The memory of it may decide you not to throw me over now!'
'What nonsense you talk!' and Lady Brancewith gave him her hand to hold. 'I want to see your wife; do introduce me to her! I have often been on the point of meeting her, but never have done so.Shedoesn't know the people I know, andIdon't know the people she knows, so we've always missed each other. She is such a genius! Dunce as you are, you must have sense enough to be very proud of her!'
Carlyon looked dubious. Then he suddenly said,—
'Well, I don't know! I think a clever woman—a writer of books, you know, like my wife—is a mistake. She is alwaysunsexed.'
As the word passed his lips, Delicia rose, pale, fair and calm in her glistening robes, and confronted them. Like an austere white angel suddenly descended from heaven to earth she stood,—quite silent,—looking straight at her husband and his companion with such a grand scorn in her dark violet eyes as made Carlyon shrink within himself like a beaten hound. Lady Brancewith glanced up at her with a half-impertinent, half-questioning smile, but not a word did Delicia utter. One moment she stood surveying the disloyal, ungracious and ungrateful churl who owed all he possessed in the world to her tenderness and bounty; then coldly, quietly, and with an unshaken grace of bearing and queenliness of movement, she turned away, her soft satin train sweeping them by as she moved forward into the crowded rooms and disappeared.
'Who was that wonderful-looking woman?' asked Lady Brancewith, eagerly.
Carlyon flushed, anon grew deadly pale.
'That was Delicia—my wife,' he answered curtly.
'That! That the novelist!' almost screamed Lady Brancewith. 'Why didn't you say so? Why didn't you introduce me? I had no idea she was like that! I thought all literary women wore short hair and spectacles! Good gracious me! And she must have heard you say you considered her "unsexed!" Billy, what a brute you are!'
Carlyon started angrily. The fair Lily and he used in former days to call each other 'Billy' and 'Lily' so frequently that a wag among their acquaintance made a rhyme on them, running thus:—
'Lily and BillyAre invariably silly!
'Lily and BillyAre invariably silly!
'Lily and Billy
Are invariably silly!
and at that time he did not mind it. But now, considering that he was 'Lord' Carlyon, he did not care to be addressed as 'Billy,' and his resentment showed itself pretty plainly on his darkened countenance. But Lady Brancewith was too much excited to heed his annoyance.
'The idea!' she continued. 'If she was sitting there all the while she must have heardeverything! A nice mess you have made of it! If I were in her place, I'd throw you off like a pair of old shoes!'
'I haven't the least doubt you would,' he said with temper. 'It's the way you behave with most men who have the honour of sharing your favour!'
Lily Brancewith showed her pearly teeth in a savage little smile.
'You were always what is called "rather shady," Billy,' she observed calmly. 'But I didn't give you credit for beingquitea cad! Ta-ta! I'm going to find your wife and introduce myself to her. You know in society people said you were to be pitied for marrying a "literary" celebrity, but I shall put the gossips right on that point—I shall tell everybody it is she who is to be pitied for marrying a military nonentity!'
With a light laugh at her own sarcasm she left him, and started on a voyage of discovery after Delicia. The people were wedged together in groups at every available point to watch the dancing of "La Marina," who had commenced her performance, and who was announced for that evening as 'Mademoiselle Violet de Gascon' out of deference to the 'proprieties,' who might possibly have been shocked had they been too openly told that thefigurantewas the 'Empire's' famous 'Marina,' though they were quite aware of the fact all the time. For in the strange motley we call society, one of the chief rules is that if you know a truth you must never say it; you must say something else, as near to a lie as possible. For example, if you are aware, and everybody else is aware, that a lady of exalted title has outraged, or is outraging, every sense of decency and order in her social and private life, you must always say she is one of the purest and most innocent creatures living.Ofcourse, if she is a nobody, without any rank at all, you are at liberty to give her poor name over to the dogs of slander to rend at will; but if she is a countess or a duchess, you must entirely condone her vulgar vices. Think of her title! Think of her family connections! Think of the manner in which her influence might be brought to bear on some little matter in which you personally have an interest! Lady Brancewith knew all this well enough; she knew exactly how to play her cards, and she was sufficiently a woman of the world to salute 'La Marina' with a pretty bow and compliment as soon as her dance was finished, and to express the plaintive wish, uttered sighingly, 'How glad I should be if I were half so clever!'
Whereat Marina sniffed the air dubiously and said nothing. 'Jewlia Muggins,'alias'Violet de Gascon,' knew a thing or two, and was not to be taken in by Lady Brancewith or any of her set. She was keenly disappointed. Delicia had not been present to see her dance, and she had very much wished to create a favourable impression on that 'sweet thing in white' as she called her. She had danced her best, gracefully, and with an exquisite modesty; too exquisite for many of the gentlemen assembled, some of whom whispered to each other that she was 'going off' a bit, simply because they could not see much above her slender ankles. She herself, however, cared nothing for what they said or thought, and at the conclusion of her dance she boldly asked her hostess where Lady Carlyon was.
'She has gone home, I am sorry to say,' was the reply. 'She is not very well, she tells me; and she found the heat of the room rather trying.'
'Are you speaking of the guest of the evening—Lady Carlyon?' inquired Lady Brancewith, sweetly.
'Yes. She extremely regretted having to leave so early, but she works hard, you know, and she is not at all robust.'
Here Lady Dexter's attention was distracted by the claims of a long-haired violinist desirous of performing a 'classical' piece immediately, which, when it did begin, had the effect of driving many people down to supper or out of the house altogether; and in the general scrimmage on the stairs 'La Marina' found herself elbowing Lord Carlyon.
'Your wife's gone home,' she said curtly. 'Why didn't you go with her?'
'I have another engagement,' he answered coldly.
'Not with me!' she said, showing all her even white teeth in a broad grin. 'I talked ever so long to Lady Carlyon this evening, and told her just what I thought of you!'
His eyes darkened furiously, and the lines of his mouth grew hard and vindictive.
'You wild cat!' he said savagely. 'If you havedared—'
'Puss, puss! Pretty puss!' laughed Marina. 'Cats have claws, my Lord Bill, and they scratch occasionally!'
With a swish of her silken skirts she darted past him into the supper-room, where she immediately became surrounded by a circle of young noodles, who evidently deemed it a peculiar glory and honour to be allowed to hand chicken salad to the gifted creature who nightly knocked her own nose with her foot in the presence of a crowded house. What was any art compared to this? What was science? What was learning? What was virtue? Nothing,—less than nothing! To have a shapely leg and know how to hit your nose with your foot, is every day proved to be the best way for a woman to have what is called a 'good time' in this world. She needn't be able to spell, she may drop her h's broadcast, she may 'booze' on brandy,—but so long as the nose is hit every night with the foot in an accurate and rhythmic manner, she will always have plenty of jewels and more male admirers than she can conveniently manage. For there is no degradation that can befall a woman which man will not excuse and condone; equally there is no elevation or honour she can win which he will not grudge and oppose with all the force of his nature! For man loves to hold a strangulation-grip on the neck of all creation, women included; and the idea that woman should suddenly wrench herself out of his grasp and refuse to be either trapped like a hare, hunted like a fox, or shot like a bird, is a strange, new and disagreeable experience for him. And very naturally he clings to the slave type of womanhood, and encourages the breed of those who are willing to become dancers and toys of his 'harem,' for, if all women were to rise to the height of their true and capable dignity, where should he go to for his so-called 'fun'?
Some thoughts of this kind were in Lord Carlyon's head as he threw on his opera-coat and prepared to leave the scene of revelry at the Dexters. The pale, noble face of Delicia haunted him; the disdain of her clear eyes still rankled in his soul; and he was actually indignant with her for what he considered 'that offensive virtue of hers,' which shamed him, and which had, for a moment at least, made 'the most distinguished Lady Brancewith' seem nothing but a common drab, daubed with paint and powder. Even as he thought of her thus, the fair and faithless Lily approached him, smiling, with a coaxing and penitent air.
'Still huffy?' she inquired sweetly. 'Poor, dear thing! Did it fret and fume and turn nasty?' She laughed, then added, 'Don't be cross, Billy! I was very rude to you just now—I'm sorry! See!' and she folded her hands with an appealing air. 'Drive home with me, will you? I'm so lonely! Brancewith's at Newmarket.'
Carlyon hesitated, looking at her. She was undoubtedly very lovely, despite her artificial flesh tints and distinctly dyed hair.
'All right!' he said with a stand-offish manner of coldness and indifference, 'I don't mind seeing you home.'
'How sweet and condescending of you!' and Lady Brancewith threw on her mantle gleaming with iridescent jewels and showered with perfumed lace. 'So good of you to bore yourself with my company!'
Her eyes flashed; she was in a dangerous mood, and Carlyon saw it. In silence he piloted her through the ranks of attendant flunkeys, and when her carriage came bowling up to the door assisted her into it.
'Good-night!' he then said, raising his hat ceremoniously.
Lily Brancewith turned white with sudden passion.
'Aren't you coming in?' she asked.
He smiled, thoroughly enjoying the position.
'No, I have changed my mind. I am going home—to my wife!'
Lady Brancewith trembled, but quickly controlled herself.
'So right of you,' she said, smiling. 'So proper!' Then, putting out her hand, she caught him by the coat-sleeve. 'Do you know what I wish for you?' she said slowly.
'Can't imagine!' he responded carelessly. 'Something nasty, no doubt.'
'Yes, it is something nasty!' She laughed under her breath as she spoke. 'Something nasty, yet very commonplace, too. I wish your wife may discover the kind of man you are,—andstop your allowances! Good-night!
She smiled brilliantly; the horses started suddenly and he drew back, smothering an angry oath. Another moment and the carriage had rolled away, leaving him alone staring at the pavement. He stood for a little lost in gloomy meditation; then, summoning a hansom, was driven home at a brisk pace, having made up his mind to 'face it out,' as he inwardly said, with Delicia.
'She can't help loving me,' he mused. 'She always has loved me, and she is not a woman likely to change her feelings in a hurry. I'm sorry she saw me with Lily Brancewith; and of course, if that jade Marina has really been talking to her there'll be a devil of a row. I must make it right with her somehow, and I think I know the best way to go to work.' Here he smiled. 'Poor little woman! I daresay she feels awfully sore; but I know her character—a few loving words and plenty of kisses and embraces, and she'll be just the same as ever she was, and—and—by Jove! I'll see if I can't turn over a new leaf. It'll be infernally dull, but I'll try it!'
And perfectly satisfied with the plan he had formulated in his own mind for setting things straight, he arrived at his own house. The door was opened to him by Robson, who informed him that her ladyship had returned about an hour ago and was waiting to see him in her study.
'In her study, did you say?' he repeated.
'Yes, my lord. Her ladyship said, would you kindly go up at once, as soon as you came in.'
A touch of 'nerves' affected him as he threw off his coat and began to ascend the stairs. He saw Robson extinguish the gas in the hall and descend kitchenwards, and a great silence and darkness seemed to encompass the house as he paused for a moment outside his wife's room. Then, slowly and with some hesitation, he lifted the velvetportièreand entered.
CHAPTER XI
Delicia was at her desk, writing. She had taken off her rich evening costume and was clad in a loose robe of white cashmere that fell down to her feet, draping her after the fashion of one of Fra Angelico's angels. Her hair was unbound from its 'dress coiffure' of elaborate twists and coils, and was merely thrust out of her way at the back of her head in one great knot of gold. She rose as her husband entered, and turned her face, deadly pale and rigid as a statue's, full upon him. He paused, looking at her, and felt his braggart courage oozing out at his fingers' ends.
'Delicia,' he began, making a poor attempt at smiling. 'Delicia, I am awfully sorry—'
Her eyes, full of a burning indignation, flashed upon him like lightning and struck him, despite himself, into silence.
'Spare yourself and me any further lies!' she said, in a low voice that vibrated with intense passion. 'There is no longer any need of them. You have shown me yourself as you are, in your true colours—the mask has fallen, and you need not stoop to pick it up and put it on again. It is mere waste of time!'
He stared at her, foolishly pulling at his moustache and still trying to smile.
'You called me "unsexed" to-night,' she went on, never removing her steadfast gaze from his face. 'Do you know what the word means? If not, I will tell you. It is to be like the women you admire!—to be like "La Marina," who strips her body to the gaze of the public without either shame or regret; it is to be like Lady Brancewith, who flings her husband's name and honour to the winds for any fool to mock at, and who in her high position is worse, yes, worse than "La Marina," who at any rate is honest in so far that she admits her position and makes no pretence of being what she is not! But I,—what haveIdone that you should call me "unsexed?"'
She paused, breathing quickly.
'I didn't sayyouwere "unsexed," he stammered awkwardly. 'I said clever women were, as a rule, unsexed.'
'Pardon me,' she interrupted him coldly. 'You said "women who write books, like my wife." Those were your exact words. And, I repeat, what have I done to deserve them? Have I ever dishonoured your name? Have you not been the one thought, the one pride, the one love of my life? Has not every beat of my heart, together with every stroke of my pen, been for you and you only? While all the time to me you have played traitor—your very looks have been lies, you have deceived and destroyed all my most sacred beliefs and hopes; you have murdered me as thoroughly as if you had thrust a knife through my heart and hurled me down dead at your feet!'
Her voice vibrated with passion—strong, deeply-felt passion, unshaken by the weakness of sobs or tears.
He made a step towards her.
'Look here, Delicia,' he said, 'don't let us have a scene! I have been a fool, I daresay—I am quite willing to admit it—but can't you forget and forgive?' And undeterred by the chill aversion in her face, he held out his arms. 'Come, I am sure your own heart cannot tell you to be unkind to me! You do love me—'
'Love you!' she cried, recoiling from him; 'I hate you! Your very presence is hideous to my sight; and just as I once thought you the noblest of men, so I think you now the lowest, the meanest! You have been a fool, you say; oh, if you were only that! Only a fool! There are so many of them! Some of them such good fellows, too, in their folly. Fools there are in plenty who, nevertheless, do manage to preserve some cleanliness in their lives; who would not wrong a woman or insult her for the world—fools whom, mayhap, it might be good to love and to work for, and who at any rate are not cads or cowards!'
He started, and the colour leapt to his face in a shamed red, then died away, leaving him very pale.
'Oh, if you are going to rant and scream—' he began.
She turned upon him with a regal air.
'Lord Carlyon, to rant and scream is not mymétier,' she said. 'I leave that to the poor "Marina," when you have dosed her with too much champagne. There is no need to go over the cause of our present conflict; what I have to say can be said in very few words. Your "unsexed" wife, who has had the honour of maintaining you ever since your union with her, by the ungrudging labour of her brain and hand, has sufficient sense of justice and self-respect to continue no longer in that eminently unpractical mode of action. We must for the future live apart; for I cannot consent to share your attentions with one stageartisteor any number of stageartistes. I do not choose to pay for their jewels; and your generous offer to settle Lady Brancewith's bills for her does not meet with my consent or approval.
Her face grew colder and more contemptuous as she continued,—
'Your estimate of what is called a "clever" woman is as low as that of most men. I do not especially blame you for being like the rest of your sex in that one particular. Women who will not become as dirt under a man's foot, to be trodden on first, then kicked aside, are generally termed "unsexed," because they will not lower themselves to the man's brute level. Nothing is more unnatural from a man's point of view than that a woman should have brains,—and with those brains make money and position often superior to his, and at any rate manage to be independent of him. What men prefer is that their wives should be the slaves of their humour, and receive a five-pound note with deep thankfulness whenever they can get it, shutting their eyes to the fact that people like "Marina" get twenty pounds to their five from the same quarter. But you,—you have had nothing to complain of in the way of a pecuniary position, though I, as bread-winner, might readily have comported myself after approved masculine examples and given you five pounds where I spent twenty on myself and my own pleasure. But I did nothing of this sort; on the contrary, I have trusted you with half of everything I earned, believing you to be honest; believing that, of all men in the world, you would never cheat, defraud, or otherwise deceive me. And not only have you made a mock of me in society, but you have even helped to vilify my name. For it was distinctly your business to chastise the writer of that lying paragraph in the paper; but you left me to be defended by one who shares with me the drawback of being a "public character," and with whom I have no connection whatever beyond that of friendship, as you perfectly well know. Why, I have heard of men, well-born, too, and of considerable social attainment, who have been willing enough to fight for the so-called "honour" of an admitteddemi-mondaine; but for an honest woman and faithful wife, who is there in these days that will stir a finger to defend her from slander! Very few; least of all her husband! To such a height has nineteenth-century morality risen! I, who have been true to you in every thought, word and deed, am rewarded by your open infidelity, and for my work, which has at any rate kept you in ease and comfort, I am called "unsexed," despite my pains! If I chose, I could fling you back your insult; for a man who lives on a woman's earnings is more "unsexed" than the woman who earns. I never thought of this before; my love was too blind, too passionate. Now I do think of it; and thinking, I wonder at myself and you!'
He dropped lazily into a chair and looked at her.
'I suppose your temper will be over presently,' he said, 'and you will see things in a more reasonable light. You must remember I have given you a great position, Delicia; I think our marriage has been one of perfect mutual benefit. "Literary" women hardly ever get a chance of marrying at all, you know; men are afraid of them—won't marry them on any account;—would rather have a barmaid, really—and when a "literary" woman gets into the aristocracy and all that—well, by Jove!—it's a splendid thing for her, you know, and gives her a great lift! As for being unfaithful to you, why, there is not a man in my "set" who is absolutely immaculate; I am no worse than any of them—in fact, I am much better. You read so much, and you write so much, that you ought to know these things without my telling them to you. "Give and take" is the only possible rule in marriage, and I really thought you would have good sense enough to admit it—'
Delicia regarded him with a chill smile.
'I think Ihaveadmitted it!' she said ironically. 'Fully and freely! For I have given everything; equally you have taken everything! That is plain enough. And now you insult me afresh by the suggestion that it was really a condescension on your part to marry me at all, I being "literary"! If I had been a music-hall dancer, of course you would have been much prouder of me; it would have been something indeed worth boasting of, to say your wife had originally been famous for a break-down or can-can at the "Empire!" But because I follow, with what force and ability I can, the steps of the truly great, who have helped to mould the thoughts and feelings of men and nations, it is quite extraordinary I should have found a husband at all! Wonderful! And you have given me a great position, you assert. I confess I fail to perceive it! If you consider your title something of value, I am sorry for you; to me it is a nothing. In the old days of chivalry titles meant honour; now they have become, for the most part, the mere results of wealth and back-stair influence. Yours is an old title, I grant you that; but what does it matter? The latest brewer raised to the peerage puts himself on an equality with you, whether you like it or not. But between me—untitled Delicia Vaughan—and the self-same peer of the ale-cask, there is a great gulf fixed; and not all his wealth can put him on an equality withme, or with any author who has once won the love of nations. And so, Lord Carlyon, permit me to return your title, for I shall not wear it. When we separate I shall keep to my own name simply; thus I shall owe you nothing, not evenprestige!'
Carlyon suddenly lifted his fine eyes and flashed them effectively at her.
'You are talking nonsense, Delicia,' he said impatiently. 'You know you don't really mean that we are to separate. Why,' this with the most naïve conceit, 'what will you do without me?'
She met his gaze without the least emotion.
'I shall continue to live, I suppose,' she replied, 'or I shall die, one of the two. It really doesn't matter which.'
There was a slight tremor in her voice, and emboldened by it he sprang up and tried to put his arm round her. She recoiled from him swiftly, thrusting him back.
'Don't touch me,' she cried wildly. 'Don't dare to come near me! I cannot answer for myself if you do; this shall defend me from you if necessary!'
And almost before he could realise it she had snatched a small, silver-mounted pistol from its case on a shelf hard by, and, holding it in her hand, she stood as it were at bay.
He gave a short, embarrassed laugh.
'You have gone mad, Delicia!' he said. 'Put down that thing. It isn't loaded, of course; but it doesn't look pretty to see you with it.'
'No, it doesn't look pretty,' she responded slowly. 'But itisloaded! I took care of that before you came in! I don't want to injure either you or myself; but I swear to you that if you come closer to me by one step, presume to offer me such an insult as your caress would be to menow, I will kill you!'
Her white figure was firm as that of some menacing fate carved in marble; her pale face, with the violet eyes set in it like flashing stars, had a marvellous power and passion imprinted on its every line, and despite himself he fell back startled and in a manner appalled.
'I have gone mad, you think?' she went on. 'If I had, would it be wonderful? To have one's dearest hopes ruined, one's heart broken, one's life made waste—is that not something of a cause for madness? But I am not mad; I am simply resolved that your lips, which have bestowed their kisses on "la Marina," shall never touch mine again; that your arms, which have embraced her, shall never embrace me, and that, come what will, I will keep my self-respect if I die for it! Now you know my mind, you will go your way; I mine. I cannot divorce you; for though you have murdered my very soul in me, brutally and pitilessly, you have not been "cruel" according to legal opinion. But I can separate from you—thank God for that! I cannot marry again. Heaven forbid that I should ever desire to do so! Neither can you; but you will not wish for that unless you meet with an American heiress with several millions, which you may have the chance of doing when I am dead—someone who has inherited her money and has notworkedfor it as I have,—honestly,—thereby becoming "unsexed!"'
He stood silent for a minute.
'You actually mean to say you want a judicial separation?' he inquired at last, sullenly.
She bent her head in the affirmative.
'Well, you can get that, of course. But I must say, Delicia, of all the ungrateful, heartless women, you are the very worst! I should never have thought it of you! I imagined you had such a noble nature! So sweet and loving and forgiving! Good heavens! After all, what have I done? Just had a bit of fun with a dancing girl! Quite a common amusement with men of my class!
'I have no doubt of it,' she answered; 'Very common! All the same, I do not choose to either tolerate it or pay for it. Ungrateful, heartless "unsexed"! This is my character, according to your estimate of me. I thank you! Poor Love's last breath went in that final blow from the rough fist of ingratitude! I will not detain you any longer; in truth, you need not have stayed so long. I merely wished to let you know my decision. I had no intention to either upbraid you or condemn. Reproaches or complaints, however just, could leave no impression on a temperament like yours. I will see my lawyers to-morrow, and in a very short space of time you will be free of my company for ever. Shall we say good-bye now?'
She raised her eyes,—her gold hair shone about her like an aureole, and a sudden sweetness softened her face, though its gravity was unchanged. A sharp pang of remorse and sorrow stabbed him through and through, and he looked at her in mingled abasement and yearning.
'Delicia—must we part?'
He whispered the question, half in hope half in fear.
She regarded him steadily.
'Dare you ask it? Can you imagine I could love you again after what has passed? Some women might do so—I could not.'
He stood irresolute; there was a mean and selfish trouble at his heart to which he could not give utterance for very shame's sake. He was really wondering what arrangements she meant to make for his future, but some few of the better instincts of manhood rose up within him protestingly, and bade him hold his peace. Still the brooding egotistical thought lingered in him and made him angry; he grew more and more wrathful as he realised that she,—this woman, whose whole life and devotion he had had so recently in his keeping,—had suddenly fathomed his true nature and cast him from her as something contemptible, and that she—she had the power to maintain herself free of him in wealth and ease, whilst he, if she were at all malevolently inclined, would have to return to the state of semi-poverty and 'living on tick,' which had been his daily and yearly lot before he met her. Inwardly he cursed 'la Marina,' Lily Brancewith and everybody, except himself. He never thought of including his own vices in the general big 'Damn!' he was mentally uttering. And as he hesitated, shuffling one foot against the other, a prey to the most disagreeable reflections, Delicia advanced a step and held out her hands.
'Good-bye, Will! I loved you once very deeply; a few days ago you were everything to me, and for the sake of that love, which has so suddenly perished and is dead for ever, let us part in peace!'
But he turned from her roughly.
'Oh, it is all very well for you!' he said. 'You can afford to talk all this high-falutin' rubbish, and give yourself airs and graces, but I am a poor devil of a fellow always getting into a hole; and it isn't to be supposed that I am going to take my dismissal in this way, just as if I were a lackey. I am your husband, you know; you can't undo that!'
'Not at present,' said Delicia, drawing back from him quickly, the tenderness passing from her face and leaving it coldly disdainful. 'But it is very possible the Gordian knot of marriage may be cut for me sooner or later. Death may befriend me in this matter, if nothing else will.'
'Death! Nonsense! I am not likely to die, nor are you. And I don't see what you want to get a separation for. I will go away for a time if you like. I will make any promises you want me to make; but why you should bring a lawyer into it, I cannot imagine. The fact is, you are making a fuss about nothing, and I am not going to say good-bye at all. I will take a trip abroad, and by the time I come back I daresay all this will have blown over and you will be glad to see me.'
She said nothing, but simply turned from him, and sitting quietly down at her desk resumed the letter she had been writing when he entered.
'Do you hear me?' he repeated querulously. 'I sha'n't say good-bye.'
She did not speak; her pen moved swiftly over the paper before her, but otherwise she never moved.
'I am sure it is no wonder,' he continued crossly, 'that the Government protests against too much independence being allowed to women! What tyrants they would all become if they could have everything their own way as much as you can! Women ought to be gentle and submissive; and if they are fortunate enough to be wealthy, they ought to use their wealth for their husbands' benefit. That is the natural order of creation—woman was made to be subservient to man, and when she is not, things always go wrong.'
Still Delicia wrote on without uttering a word.
He paused a moment, then observed,—
'Well, I'm quite worn out with all this rumpus! I shall go to bed. Good-night, Delicia!'
At this she turned and looked at him fully.
'Good-night!' she said.
Something in the transparent beauty of her face and the dark tragedy of her eyes awed him. She looked as if during the past few minutes she had risen above and beyond him to a purer atmosphere than that of earth. The majority of men hate women who look so; and Carlyon was painfully conscious that he had suddenly grown to hate Delicia. She had entirely changed, he thought. From a loving, tender idolater of his manly graces and perfections, she had become a proud, cynical, fault-finding, unforgiving 'virago.' This latter term did not suit her at all, but he considered that it did; for, as usual, by the aid of man's logic, he deemed himself the injured party and she the injuring. And irritated beyond measure at the queenly tranquillity of her demeanour, he muttered something profane under his breath, and dashing aside theportièrewith a clatter of its brazen rings and a violence that threatened to tear its very substance, he left the room.
As soon as he had gone, Delicia moved slowly to the door and shut and locked it after him; then as slowly returned to her chair, where, leaning her head back against the carved escutcheon, she quietly fainted.