Frank Eardley was punctual to his appointment with Sir Nugent Uffington, and the friends started at once for their proposed drive to Richmond.
During this drive, the stroll under the trees and through the fern which followed it, and the dinner which crowned the day's amusement, Sir Nugent Uffington was much more companionable, and took far greater interest in his friend's remarks. The fact was that he had skilfully led the conversation in the direction of Lady Forestfield, and induced Eardley to chat to him unreservedly about that lady and the manner of her life before and after her marriage. On such matters Eardley was just the man to be the mouthpiece of that portion of the world which hears everything that is going on in society, and comments upon it in a broad and genial spirit, untinged by envy or jealousy, but sufficiently flavoured with that sarcasm which comes natural to worldlings in this age of cynicism and disbelief. He had known Lord Stortford; indeed, the worthy peer, who had inherited his father's love of art of all kinds, had been one of the first to discover early indications of the talent which had raised the Royal Academician to his present rank in art, and had given him his earliest commission. Eardley was received in Grosvenor-square on those pleasant terms of equality which were always extended by the host to those whose social manners permitted it, had made May's acquaintance even before she was presented, and had struck up a pleasant friendship with her. Frank Eardley knew too well his own position and the girl's destiny to attempt to convert this friendship into any stronger alliance; and May, who appreciated the state of affairs with equal correctness, made the kindly artist the confidant of many of her hopes and fears. Of Lord Forestfield, who proposed to Miss Dunmow very shortly after his return from a protracted residence abroad, Frank Eardley knew nothing; but he saw enough of him during the few weeks previous to the marriage, to make up his mind that the intended bridegroom was by no means all that could be looked for in the husband of so charming a girl. What May required to guide her aright was a man of sound common sense with a very light hand, who would keep herself sufficiently in check while never allowing her to feel the curb; a man to whom she could look up with respect and admiration, and to whom she could defer even when her wishes were most strongly engaged, knowing that he would be in the right. To Eardley, Lord Forestfield's character seemed wholly different from this: he was at the same time narrow-minded and impetuous, with a strong belief in himself, and an undisguised contempt for the opinion of others. Moreover, the clubs rang with rumours of his previous life, and of his ideas as to domestic loyalty; which argued but ill for the future peace of mind of the girl whose lot in life he was destined to control. After their marriage, Eardley had seen but little of them. He paid his duty call, but May's suggestion that he should be asked to dinner was met with a prompt negative from her husband, who declared his intention of eliminating all 'such kind of people' from his house. They met, however, pretty frequently in society, and though May, in obedience to Lord Forestfield's wishes, restricted her conversation with her old friend to ordinary conventionalities, Eardley saw from her manner that she was unhappy, and soon gathered from general gossip that she was ill-treated. He had seen so many affairs of this kind, that when the gossip further informed him that Lady Forestfield was avenging herself, the kind-hearted artist was thoroughly sorry, but very little surprised. 'Tu l'as voulu, Georges Dandin,' he muttered to himself with a shrug, as the purveyor of scandal left his studio to proceed further on his self-imposed generous mission. 'I guessed it would come to that, and there is no use in my attempting to stop this stream of poached filth which floods the middle street, which that rascal who has just left is assiduously helping in its course;' but he did what he could to stem the current nevertheless, and there were some people who hesitated to believe the stories whispered against Lady Forestfield's fair fame, simply because Frank Eardley declared them to be false.
He told all this in his simple quiet manner to his friend as they sat over their bottle of claret in the calm evening.
'I have not seen Lady Forestfield since the smash,' he said, 'though, of course, I would do anything in the world I could to be of service to her. But,' he added, looking steadily at Uffington, 'I don't believe, Nugent, in interference in such matters, at all events by men. I am delighted to think that she has Eleanor Irvine with her. A straightforward right-thinking girl like that, whatever the Mrs. Grundys may choose to say, cannot come to any grief herself in keeping up her old friendship with this poor lady, while she may be the means of doing her an infinity of good; but a man who sought to take up any position in the matter would only compromise Lady Forestfield and himself; and is far better out of the scrape. Don't you think so?'
'Yes,' said Sir Nugent; 'it depends a good deal on the kind of assistance intended, and upon the manner in which it is proffered; but I think upon the whole you are right. Now let us go.'
Nevertheless, when he found himself alone in his chambers, thinking over the occurrences of the previous night, and over all that he had so recently heard of Lady Forestfield's trials and temptations, the desire to know something more of her and of the league which bound Eleanor Irvine to her arose more strongly than ever within him. He had chosen to express his agreement with what Frank Eardley had said about interference, partly in order to avoid a further discussion on the subject, and partly that he might not be suspected of carrying out his decided intention of moving in the matter. If he had been called upon to define the impulse which prompted him he could not have done so; but he had a vague idea that he might be able in some way and at some future time to be of assistance to this stricken woman; and under that influence he sat down and wrote the following letter:
'The Albany, Thursday night.
'Dear Lady Forestfield,--I have just returned to England, after a long absence, and, as is usually the case with wanderers, find that many of my familiar friends are no longer here to greet me, and many of the houses where I once was welcome are now in the hands of strangers. In my early days in London, when you were a very little child, Lady Stortford was good enough to distinguish me with her notice and her friendship, and it is impossible for me ever to forget the kindness which I received at her hands. Very frequently in my travels I had looked forward with sincere pleasure to the thought of meeting her again. As this is not to be, I have ventured to ask my friend Mr. Eardley for your address, and I write to express a hope that you will allow me as your mother's old friend to call upon you.--Sincerely yours,
'NUGENT UFFINGTON.'
'That reference to Eardley,' said Uffington to himself as he folded the letter, 'will let her know that I am in full possession of the facts of her story, and am not writing under any misapprehension. Take this,' he added, giving the note to his servant, 'early in the morning; and be sure to bring me back an answer.'
The next morning he found a small hand-delivered note lying on his breakfast table amongst the correspondence which the post had brought him. He seized upon it at once, and read as follows:
'Lady Forestfield will be happy to receive Sir Nugent Uffington between the hours of three and five on this or any other afternoon.'
To his own surprise and amusement, Uffington found himself making a more elaborate toilette than usual, and at the hour named he presented himself in Podbury-street.
Hitherto he had only had slight opportunity of seeing Lady Forestfield, and he had no idea she was so beautiful. She was very simply dressed in a plain muslin morning gown, and her whole appearance coincided with the neat and modest rooms in which she was living. Uffington was struck at once with the classical beauty of her head, with her wavy dark hair, taken off from her forehead and gathered in a clump behind, with her large lustrous melancholy eyes, and with her bright fresh colour. She received him kindly, but with some embarrassment, which he endeavoured at once to dissipate.
'You will probably have been surprised at the receipt of my letter, Lady Forestfield,' he said; 'but I fear it must be self-explanatory, as I have very little to add to it in justification of my desire to see you. I have always had the keenest remembrance of Lady Stortford's kindness, at a time when her support and countenance were most valuable to me; have always had a hope of thanking her for it; and when I found that was beyond my power, I desired to thank her representative.'
'I am scarcely in that position, Sir Nugent Uffington, I fear,' said Lady Forestfield, flushing deeply.
'You are her ladyship's daughter, Lady Forestfield,' said Uffington quickly, 'and as such worthy of all respect from me.'
'I am grateful to Providence that my mother is no longer alive to see me as I am,' said May with bitter emphasis. 'It would be worse than useless for me to disguise from myself that you are perfectly well acquainted with my present position, Sir Nugent Uffington.'
'If I had not been, had your position been other than it is, Lady Forestfield,' said Nugent, 'I scarcely think I should be here now. Believe me, my earnest desire is to serve you in any possible way.'
'I am grateful to you for these expressions, Sir Nugent Uffington, but I do not see how you can aid me. There is nothing to be done,' she added with a sigh; 'I have taken my own course, and I must abide the consequences.'
'There is much to be done,' said Uffington gently, 'in mitigating the severity of your sentence, though the person with whom one has to deal renders the operation somewhat difficult.'
'I can look for no mercy at Lord Forestfield's hands,' said May, shaking her head; 'from him I can only expect the worst that could befall me.'
'Under compulsion a man has to set aside his own wishes and desires, and one might find means of making even Lord Forestfield do much that would be naturally disagreeable to him,' said Nugent. 'I know nothing of him, but from what I have heard, I cannot imagine how Lady Stortford, with her knowledge of the world, could have permitted you, child as you were, to make such a marriage.'
'Child as I was, I had a strong will of my own,' said May--'a will which I was accustomed to indulge, no matter what opposition was made to it or by whom. My poor mother, who, in this instance at least, seemed to be endowed with strange foresight, prayed me to reject Lord Forestfield's advances, urging as a reason that she was sure I was but temporarily infatuated, and that I should soon repent my determination. I would not listen to her, I would not hear a word against him; I had my own way, and--this is the result.'
'Temporarily infatuated. Was Lady Stortford right? were you, then, so deeply fascinated by this man?'
May paused an instant. 'All that you have ever heard or read of insane infatuation was nothing to mine,' she said; 'I worshipped him with all my soul. Brought up strictly as I had been, I believed there was no position in the world I would not have gladly accepted to insure always being at his side. I cannot tell,' she said, after another pause, 'why I am speaking thus freely to you, except that I have had no one in the world to open my heart to; and though I have never seen you before, I have instinctive confidence in you.'
'You will find that confidence is not misplaced,' said Uffington gravely. 'When did you first find your mother's words come true?'
'Not until some little time after she was dead, not until my husband had begun to weary of his plaything; for that I was, and nothing more. During the first months of our marriage, my life was one of perfect happiness; the man whom I adored was constant in his attentions to me; I was indulged in every whim, and flattered to the top of my bent. Money was recklessly lavished upon me, and as I had all I wished and all my pleasures were shared by my husband, my happiness was greater than even I ever deemed possible.'
'And that happiness lasted?'
'Just as long as pleased Lord Forestfield's fancy, and no longer. He told me afterwards, with much bitter frankness, that I ought to be very proud of having kept him in thrall for such a length of time, adding that he was changeable by nature, and had never before worshipped so long at one shrine.'
'What an infernal scoundrel!' muttered Uffington, under his breath. Then aloud: 'Did he break with you at once?'
'O no,' said May. 'So long as he cared for me in his own peculiar way, he had given me the fullest liberty, knowing that I never had any thought but for him; but after he wearied of me he began to grow, or to pretend to grow, absurdly jealous. It has been truly said that there is no love without jealousy, and could I have persuaded myself that my husband's passion for me had not changed, I should not have minded jealousy and suspicion, even misplaced as his were, but should rather have regarded them as proofs of his attachment; but knowing what I did, it was easy for me to perceive that this jealousy sprang from temper, and not from love, and was a degradation instead of what it would otherwise have been, a tribute.'
'Your sad experience seems to have taught you much,' said Uffington, looking at her compassionately.
'So I thought myself; and yet it failed me in my direst end,' said May. 'My sad experience stripped the mask from my demigod, and showed him to me as he was, simply a libertine, cold, selfish, and exacting. Having no fault to find with me, save that I had failed any longer to please or amuse him, he vented his rage on me under the frivolous pretext of being jealous, when he knew that I had no eyes or voice for any one in the world but him.'
'To a man of this stamp the possession of such a wife must always be a matter of congratulation; he must at least have been proud of you, though you say you no longer pleased his fancy.'
'I suppose so,' said May sadly; 'for though his insults to me in private were constant and unsparing, he always paraded me in public, and seemed to look upon me as a portion of his state. There came a time when these insults were not confined to our private interviews, when he would not scruple to outrage and humiliate me before our own acquaintances, and those acquaintances did not hesitate to say that he wanted to get rid of me. This, of course, I did not know until later. Up to that time I had suffered silently, hoping, believing that some change would take place, that what I still fancied had been his genuine love for me would return, and that all would go on as in the first days of our marriage; but when I found from looks and half-dropped hints that I had become a subject of pity for my friends, my pride stepped in to my assistance, and I revolted.'
'The old story,' muttered Nugent Uffington, shrugging his shoulders, and speaking more to himself than his companion; 'that was the time when above all others you wanted some one at hand to help and sustain you.'
'You are right,' said May. 'And some one was there, though with other plans and other motives. My pride was outraged, my heart was lacerated, and there was some one ready if necessary to avenge the one and to bind up the other, to sympathise, sentimentalise, and console.'
'Always so, always so!' muttered Uffington. 'And you accepted this sympathy and consolation?'
'Not at first,' said May. 'Stung to madness though I was by mingled pride and sorrow, I still kept my senses sufficiently to discern the fatal gulf that lay before me, and to feel hurt and grieved at the condolence, glossed over as it was in the most specious manner, which was offered to me. But the man, who for his own purposes had constituted himself my champion, from long practice knew every trick and turn of the game he was playing, and was thoroughly well aware of the advantage of waiting. He waited--and won! That is my story, Sir Nugent Uffington. I have told it to you--not because I thought you could in any way assist me, but because I felt it would be a relief to tell it in my own way to any one who could understand it, and because you are the only person of what was once my own social standing--save one, who is even more powerless than yourself--who for weeks has spoken a kind word to me.'
Uffington bowed his head, but affected not to notice that tears were streaming down Lady Forestfield's face. He did not choose to speak for an instant; indeed, he had but little to say--he knew well enough from his own past experience that in such a wreck as that which she described all future hope was almost necessarily lost, and that of thedébriswhich after a time came floating to the surface nothing serviceable could be made. He knew this, and acknowledged it in his own mind, but did not choose at once to acknowledge it to her, so asked her, when he saw that the tears had ceased to flow and that she was somewhat more composed, 'Can anything be done?'
'Nothing,' she replied quietly--'nothing at all. So far as the world is concerned my life is ended. When my child was taken from me I grieved bitterly; now I acknowledge the wisdom of the sentence, and am grateful to Providence that her life was not spared--better far she should be dead than that she should have grown up to know me as I am, and be parted from me, living.' And once more she broke down and buried her face in her hands.
'I am not sure even now that I cannot be of some service to you, Lady Forestfield,' said Uffington, after a pause; 'but my plan, if I form one, will require consideration, and cannot be proceeded with hastily. In the mean time, you can thoroughly depend on my warm friendship and readiness to help you in any way suggested. By the way, you alluded to a friend who has seen you in your trouble. You will not think me impertinent in asking if you were referring to Miss Eleanor Irvine?'
'Yes,' said Lady Forestfield, 'I alluded to Miss Irvine. I have known her for years, and am very much attached to her. Have you ever met her?'
'I dined in her company the night before last, and judged, from something she said, that she was a warm friend of yours.'
'She comes to see me every day,' said Lady Forestfield; 'that is to say, she has done so up to this time.'
'And is she going to discontinue her visits?'
'I fear I must insist upon her doing so,' said May.
'And why? You must find them a pleasant break in the monotony of your life.'
'They are far more than that to me,' said May, 'but when Eleanor was here last, I discovered quite accidentally that she visits me without the knowledge of her sister, with whom she lives, and to whom she is much indebted. Then, for the girl's own sake, I spoke out frankly. I told her this must not be, and that she must either tell her sister where she came to daily, or cease seeing me. Did not I do right?'
'Quite right in theory, but in practice I think you were a little too punctilious towards Mrs. Chadwick, who, though a practical, well-meaning woman, would scarcely be able to appreciate the delicacy of your motives.'
'Let all my misery rest on my own head,' said May. 'I am very fond of Eleanor Irvine, her visits are inexpressibly precious to me, and yet I have doubted whether I ought to let her come to this house.'
'I have not the slightest doubt in the matter,' said Uffington; 'on the contrary, I am certain that from you and from your valuable experience of life, Miss Irvine will learn to avoid much which may be before her in that curious position in society which she now occupies.'
And then he took his leave, promising to see Lady Forestfield again very shortly.
Mr. Eardley lived in St. John's Wood, in a quaint fantastic house which he had built after his own design, on a plot of land which he bought because the situation pleased him. There were big elm-trees in the neighbourhood, peopled by a colony of rooks; and the grounds were so disposed as to shut out all inquisitorial prying, and give plenty of space for Mr. Eardley and his friends to wander about in the eccentric costume which in the privacy of his home the artist rather encouraged, without leading his neighbours to believe that a private asylum had been opened on the premises. Mr. Eardley was a great lover of nature, and even in the height of the season, when the severest calls upon his time were made by duty and pleasure, he invariably found leisure to devote some portion of the day to strolling in his garden, and enjoying the sight and scent of the flowers which had either been planted by his own hands, or under his direction.
The interior of the house was as quaint and fantastic as the exterior, and was furnished and painted in a manner which was pronounced 'perfectly charming' by the ladies, and 'deuced odd' by their husbands. Anything more entirely different from an ordinary mansion arranged by the upholsterer with an unlimited order it would be difficult to conceive. The hall, the passages, and most of the rooms were hung with tapestry, and, where there was wall paper, it was in the wondrous colours and strange devices which Mr. Eardley and his friends occupied their leisure in inventing. Ordinary chairs and tables there were none, but in the course of a stroll through the rooms you would come upon old carved chests; prie-dieus; stately, high-backed, black-oak chairs, the spoil of some Elizabethan manor-house; couches covered with Utrecht velvet, and odd short seats, like the 'settles' in the porch of a country tavern, only in elaborately-carved oak. The walls, the tables, the ledges of the book-cases, were all laden, and throughout the house there seemed to be no vacant space. Objects of art lay about in extraordinary confusion and disorder; the light was reflected from steel mirrors, Venetian glasses, and old looking-glasses with china frames; from ancient armour, in which the rust was gradually eating away the gold and silverniellowork; from Damascus blades and Persian tulwars and Albanian yataghans. Here were Dresden shepherds and shepherdesses smirking painfully at hideous porcelain monsters from China and Japan; a buhl clock on which Louis Quatorze had been accustomed to look was flanked on either side by a coffee-coloured pug-dog in china, while over it was suspended a Japanese paper-lantern; a gauntlet, with the blood and rust of Naseby field for ever eaten into it, lay on a mosaic slab in the immediate vicinity of a carved ivory set of chessmen; and a pair of Moorish slippers had for their supporters on the one side a fan painted on chicken-skin which had once been the property of a beauty of the Regency, and on the other a plaster-of-paris caricature statuette of M. Thiers, by Danton.
At the very time that Frank Eardley was making his way to the Albany, for the purpose of inducing Sir Nugent Uffington to accompany him to the china sale at Dossetor's, and to spend the rest of the day with him, as already recorded, Mr. Spiridion Pratt pulled the loud-sounding bell of the Villa--for such was the name of the artist's house in St. John's Wood--and awaited its answer by Eardley's Italian valet, who was held in high respect by his master's intimates.
'Good-morning, Gaetano,' said he, when the man appeared. 'Is Mr. Eardley at home?'
'No, signor,' replied the valet; 'he started out about half an hour ago.'
'Indeed!' said Spiridion, shaking his head with a smile. 'Is this the way he makes up for the time lost during the season? I am afraid the master is growing idle again, Gaetano?'
'The master had an idle fit on him this morning, signor,' said Gaetano; 'but recently he has been wonderfully attentive to his work. Will not the signor walk in and see what progress has been made with the Aspasie?'
'Well,' said Spiridion, 'I have nothing to do just now, and I am a little tired with my walk. I may just as well rest myself for a few minutes. Mr. Eardley did not say at what time he would return, did he, Gaetano?'
'No, signor,' replied the valet; 'it is seldom that the master gives any hint of his movements; he likes to come and go without the knowledge of his people.'
'He is quite right,' muttered Spiridion to himself as he entered the house, and, followed by the servant, made his way to the studio, which was in the rear of the premises.
A splendid room, the walls hung with deep maroon-coloured cloth; on one side a huge oaken press, with its open doors showing anomnium gatherumof all kinds of costumes, some of which had overflowed their receptacle, and were lying on the floor; on the other side a second oaken cabinet, almost equally huge, and devoted to the reception of tobacco and cigars: an artistic pipe-rack, consisting of a number of heads cast in plaster-of-paris, was nailed against the wall, and pipes of all kinds, from the narghile of the Turk and the painted porcelain of the German to the humble cutty of the Irish labourer, were to be found about the room. At the end opposite to that by which Spiridion Pratt had entered was an open glass door leading into a lovely circular conservatory, where in the midst of a tesselated pavement a fountain was plashing, and where sweet singing birds were hanging amidst the ferns and flowers. In various parts of the room were three easels of different sizes, on one of which was a half-finished picture of a woman of great beauty and intellectual expression, but of a large size and commanding type. The colours on this picture were still wet, and on the ledge of the easel were the unclean palette and the sheaf of brushes.
'There is the Aspasie,' said the valet, pointing to the picture; 'and here,' producing them, 'are the cigarettes. Will not the signor take something to drink after his walk--a cup of coffee, or some Rhine wine and seltzer-water? It is here, close at hand.'
'No, thanks, Gaetano,' said Spiridion. 'I have a poor head, you know, and should never be able to do anything if I drank in the morning, but I will smoke a cigarette or two with pleasure, and will wait here, at all events, for half an hour to see if Mr. Eardley returns.'
Then the valet bowed and left the room.
'So this is the Aspasie, is it,' said Spiridion, lighting a cigarette and seating himself in a chair opposite the easel; 'this is the picture which next spring is to bring our friend two or three thousand pounds and a large addition to his fame? I cannot say with Browning, "I could have painted pictures like this youth's," for everything he does is immeasurably beyond me. This head, for instance, is remarkably fine, and there is a certain calm dignity, and sense of power about it which pleases me very much. Eardley has caught the right idea, no doubt. One can fancy that being the sort of woman to whom Socrates would give way, and whom Pericles would adore. A delightful person in her way,' he murmured, leaning back in his chair and shading his eyes with his hands, 'but scarcely the kind of person to have always about with you--to make one's wife, for instance. My idea of a wife is a little lovable creature like Eleanor Irvine, kind and gentle, but with plenty of spirit about her, as she showed last night at dinner in her defence of Lady Forestfield. If I am to marry, I do not see that I could do better than choose that little girl. She has no money, to be sure, but I have plenty, and she is quite the sort of person who will do one credit by her appearance. There is nothing objectionable in her surroundings either, which is a great point; for though Chadwick is not polished, every one knows him and he receives the best people, and there would be no real reason for seeing more of him than we chose. The question is, whether I ought to marry at all? I am not growing younger,' said Mr. Pratt, rising and surveying himself in the glass, 'and I have begun to get deuced liney round the mouth and eyes, and if I intend to do it at all, I had better do it now. It is a mistake, I believe, to suppose that marriage destroys your prestige with women. There are a lot of fellows of my acquaintance who seem to have infinitely more on their hands since their marriage than they had before--not that I think I should go in for that sort of thing myself. I should not either object, if I were once married, to settling down and becoming the most exemplary husband, that is to say, if people would only let me. When one has a certain amount of good looks and romantic feeling, and that kind of thing, it is almost impossible to go straight, and I know I have never had the heart to join in any of the abuse which I have heard showered upon the Forestfields, and wretched people of that kind, knowing how deserving I am of it myself. That is another reason, too, which makes me think it would be advisable to marry and get out of the way of temptation--the fear of anyéclaircissement, and being dragged up before the world and written about in the newspapers. When a man regularly goes in forbonne fortune, such a thing does him no harm, and the more he is talked about the better he likes it; but I am not strong, and the mere worry of the thing would wear me to a shadow. I don't know how I am to get clear of my present entanglement; and yet if I am to fall in with Mrs. Chadwick's views, and propose to Eleanor, of course it must be done somehow. This picture,' he continued, turning back to the easel, 'reminds me uncommonly of Margaret. It has just her broad brow and queenly air; just her flashing eyes, and they will flash like the deuce when she hears what I am going to do. I wish I had never made her acquaintance. I was uncommonly proud of her at first, and used to like to be seen everywhere with her; but when that kind of thing is beginning, one never imagines or chooses to think what the end of it is to be. I have a strong idea, too, that Mrs. Chadwick has her suspicions in that direction. The persistent way in which she talked to me about the Hamblins last night--asking why they remained in town, and what was their probable destination when they left--could not have been mere chance work. She is, however, too much a woman of the world to allow an intrigue that was past and dead to interfere with my marriage with her sister, but would be sure to convince herself that it was very dead indeed before she sanctioned such a step. She is a very clear-sighted woman, whom one could not possibly hoodwink about such a matter, and I must therefore take some very decisive step with regard to Margaret.'
Mr. Spiridion Pratt's soliloquy was interrupted by the opening of the door; Gaetano appeared ushering in a lady.
'No, madame,' he said, 'I was mistaken; the master has not returned. Here is a signor who is still awaiting him--a signor who is, I think, known to madame.'
And the valet retired at once, closing the door carefully behind him.
'O, how do you do, Mrs. Hamblin?' said Spiridion Pratt, with very crimson cheeks and a rather shaking hand, rising to greet the lady.
A tall handsome woman of some eight-and-thirty years old, with bold black eyes and soft creamy complexion, very dark chestnut hair, and full scarlet lips. A majestic-looking woman, with a splendid figure, whose walk, without any absurd exaggeration, was stately, and whose every pose was perfect. She was dressed in a morning-gown of thick linen, fringed with handsome work, and set off with a blue sash; her bonnet was very plain, of white straw, with white and blue feathers in it. A physiognomist looking at her would have told you that she could experience passion but not love, and that she was an unhappy woman, proud, scornful, and conscious of being misunderstood.
She put out her hand indeed, but advanced towards Spiridion with uplifted eyebrows and with something of a pained expression in her face.
'Why this formality, Tito?' she asked.
'I was not aware that I was guilty of any,' said Mr. Pratt, on whose cheeks the colour still remained.
'You know my Christian name; why do you not call me by it?'
'Not before the servants, my dear Margaret,' said Spiridion, bending over her hand. 'Gaetano's ears are remarkably sharp, and he is peculiarly appreciative in such matters.'
'In such matters,' repeated Mrs. Hamblin scornfully. 'Well, you are doubtless right. What an age since I have seen you!'
'To my sorrow,' said Spiridion. 'The world believes me to be an idle man, but you know how really busy I am.'
'I have observed of late that you have had a great deal to do,' said Mrs. Hamblin, in the same tone. 'We were disappointed in not seeing you at dinner last night.'
'You are very good to say so. It seems almost ludicrous to have had an engagement at this time of year, when there is really nothing going on, but some friends of mine had been kind enough to ask me for last night, and I had pledged myself to them days before.'
'And was it pleasant at the Chadwicks'? You need not start; I don't pretend to any powers of divination,' she said, with a short laugh. 'Mr. Chadwick called in to see my husband at breakfast this morning, and told us you had been dining there.'
'O yes, it was very pleasant,' said Spiridion, on whose cheeks the flush seemed permanently fixed. 'Mr. Chadwick, you know, always gives such excellent dinners.'
'And has such pleasant guests. Had you any ladies present?'
'Only the ladies of the family.'
'Ladies of the family,' repeated Mrs. Hamblin. 'I did not know that there was any one except Mrs. Chadwick.'
'O yes, her sister, Miss Eleanor Irvine, was present,' said Spiridion, who began to see plainly that his recent determination had not been taken at all too soon, and to wonder whether he should have pluck enough to carry it out.
'Mrs. Chadwick's sister,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'O yes, I remember; rather a pretty person--pink and white, is she not? I cannot imagine where I have seen her, for she doesn't go out, I believe.'
'She is in mourning for her father, who is recently dead,' explained Spiridion.
'And yet if this young lady is Mrs. Chadwick's sister, Mrs. Chadwick's father must be recently dead too,' said Mrs. Hamblin, looking straight at him. 'If there is any man in the world who knows what real romance is, or, at least, can pretend to know sufficiently to deceive others, it is you. Do you think this girl pretty?'
Two months since Spiridion Pratt would have vowed that he never thought about the girl at all, or, if the point were pressed to him, that he considered her downright ugly; but he had made up his mind now, and perceived that the time to strike had come.
'Yes; I think she is decidedly pretty,' he said.
Mrs. Hamblin was disconcerted; she evidently had not anticipated such a reply. After a moment's pause she asked:
'Was that your first time of seeing her?
'O no; I have met her several times before.'
'And talked with her?'
'Yes, as one talks with a young girl whom one only meets at dinners and dances.'
'Ay, as you say, "with a young girl"--you found her rather missish, then?'
'On the contrary, she is bright and intelligent, and can quite hold her own in conversation.'
Mrs. Hamblin was silent for a few moments. Then she said, looking up at him with as much unconcern as she could throw into her glance, 'Do you remember, Tito, how often we have talked about the time that must come sooner or later when you would marry and settle down?
'Ye-es,' said Mr. Pratt, beginning to feel very uncomfortable. 'I think we have mentioned the subject once or twice.'
'O, we have talked of it very often,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'I recollect that on the night when Mr. Eardley gave his fancy-dress ball, and when I was so absurdly jealous of Miss Harrington, we sat in the conservatory yonder after we had made up our little quarrel, and I then told you that I knew that there would come a time when our pleasant intimacy would be at an end, and when you would give up all your romance and lead an exemplary British married life.'
'Ye-es,' said Spiridion, a little crestfallen, 'I recollect your saying that now; but why do you refer to it?'
'Because I think the time has come,' said Mrs. Hamblin; 'because,' she added, with a half-scornful laugh, 'because I think your knell is sounded, and that you are a doomed man.'
'What makes you think that?' asked Spiridion uncomfortably.
'You yourself give me the clue to the idea--I judge entirely by your own manners,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'You never had the power of concealing your thoughts from me, and I read them now as easily as I read a book.'
'There are some books that are not very easily read,' said Spiridion, plucking up a little. 'But what do you read in my thoughts?'
'I read that this new acquaintance of yours, Miss Eleanor Irvine, has made a great impression on you; not merely a passing impression, which has been made on you by girls a hundred times since I have known you, but something which seems to me to be deeper and more lasting. I never heard you before speak of any young girl's intellect and powers of conversation with enthusiasm, though I have often heard you admire their faces; farther, let me say frankly that if Miss Irvine had not made a deep impression on you, I do not think you would have thrown me over last night to dine in her company.'
'You don't imagine that--' commenced Spiridion.
'My dear Tito,' said Mrs. Hamblin, lifting up her hand, 'do not misjudge me--I am not in the least angry. As I told you before, I always knew that the thing must come, and though of course I regret it, I am prepared for it. I only hope that the young lady is as charming as you seem to think her.'
'You have only to know her to prove that,' said Spiridion. 'I am certain that you even, of all people in the world, would appreciate her.'
'Very likely,' said Mrs. Hamblin quietly. 'Then you acknowledge that I was right in all I said--you have been fascinated by this young lady, and the impression she has produced is likely to be a lasting one?'
'Frankly, yes,' said Spiridion, who was delighted to find matters going apparently so smoothly. 'I do not think I ever saw a young lady who pleased me so much.'
'You have not proposed to her?' said Mrs. Hamblin quickly.
'No, O no!'
'But you have let her see that you are very much taken with her?'
'Scarcely even that,' said Spiridion. 'I have merely paid her the ordinary attentions of society; but her sister--'
'Ah, yes, her sister, Mrs. Chadwick--clever managing woman that; you have talked with her about it?'
'Not in so many words; but from certain hints which she has given me, I am led to believe that the alliance would not be disagreeable to her.'
'I should think not,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'Well, now that we have had this frank talk, you must make me acquainted with your idol, and avail yourself of any help I can give you towards winning her.'
'Margaret,' said Mr. Pratt, springing up and seizing her hand romantically, 'you were always generous and--'
'Not at all, my dear Tito,' said Mrs. Hamblin, disengaging herself with a smile; 'however we may be situated, there will always be a great bond ofcamaraderiebetween us.'
There was no smile, however, upon her face when, five minutes afterwards, she threw herself into the corner of her brougham, and lay back revolving plans of vengeance.
Mrs. Hamblin, although she spoke so fairly to Spiridion Pratt, and seemed to experience so little annoyance at the idea of his proposing for Eleanor Irvine, was by no means prepared to let the matter run on smoothly and in an even course. Spiridion himself, who knew the passionate nature of the woman, and whose vanity induced him to believe that her existence without his devotion was almost impossible, had been wonderfully relieved when he found not merely that there was no necessity for him to break the real facts of the case to her, but that when he had confirmed her impression she received his candid declaration with more than calmness, and with the expression of a desire to help him in the attainment of his wishes. He was too foolish and too vain to believe that this woman with whom he had been intriguing would grow tired of him as he had grown tired of her; and yet such little knowledge of the world had he gained during all his six-and-thirty years of life as to think it possible that a woman's affection could be strong enough not only to permit her to give up the man whom she loved, feeling it was for his good, but actually to help him in his attempt to win the hand of another.
Mrs. Hamblin's character was not easily to be fathomed by such a superficial observer as Spiridion Pratt; and when she quitted the Villa after the interview in which her quondam admirer had suffered his secret to be so easily extracted from him, however calm she appeared outwardly, she was inwardly raging with spite and jealousy. Not that she particularly regretted the loss of Spiridion as an admirer. She had originally conceived the idea of allowing him to pay her attention at a time when the publication of his book of poems had given him a little temporary popularity amongst people in society, and when, consequently, many women of a certain class would have been glad to have entangled the lion in their net; and once entangled, Mr. Pratt was one of those tea-table Lovelaces whose romantic outpourings in private, and perpetual attentions in public, are so agreeable to some women. Mrs. Hamblin, however, who in far-seeing appreciation was in advance of the generality of her sex, had long since become somewhat weary of her adorer's inanity, and had more than once meditated on the desirability of giving him hiscongé; when, however, she discovered that the man of whom she thought it would be difficult to rid herself had actually transferred his devotion to another shrine, she was furious; and though she cared nothing at all about him for herself, she determined as far as possible to thwart his plans with regard to Eleanor Irvine solely to gratify her revenge.
Whirling away from the Villa, Mrs. Hamblin lay back in her brougham, pondering how her purpose could best be accomplished.
'Very bright and intelligent, is she?' she muttered. 'That may or may not be. A man in love not merely finds a Venus in the object of his admiration, but credits her with innumerable qualities which she never possessed; and Tito in this respect is worse than the majority of men, for he allows his folly, which he calls his fancy, completely to run away with him. The girl is pretty--I remember that distinctly--but I cannot call to mind anything else about her, and it is just such an alliance as would please that weak-minded Tito; to have a young girl sit and worship him all day, and to realise all his romantic aspirations of love in a cottage, with the cottage left out and a charming villa with all kinds of luxury instead, would render him supremely happy. And I am to sit by actually; and when we meet I am to be specially introduced, and to hear told before my face what a dear friend I have been, and under what obligations he is to me; and to imagine her being told behind my back--for the man is vain and weak and boastful, like most of them--what a conquest he had made of me, and how I had followed at the wheels of my lord's chariot. No, I do not think that I can quite brook that from any man. One might put up with a good deal from a great creature who was obviously one's master, but from Tito, who was my slave, and whose every thought and action I have directed since I first knew him, it is too absurd. I always knew that he would marry, for his romance, like his cynicism, and most of his other self-asserted characteristics, is a sham, and he would be far happier in the honest prose of domestic life; but I intended that his wife should be one of my choosing; and if this young lady really answers his description, she is by no means what I should have selected for him. He would be convenient for many reasons, even as a married man, under one's thumb; and with a wife of any sort of intelligence that would of course be impossible.
'Very bright and intelligent, and can quite hold her own in conversation. That I can perfectly understand; her sister, Mrs. Chadwick, is one of those women who have the superficial knowledge and the taking manner which would please a man like Tito, and the girl no doubt has caught it from her. But, in addition to this, Mrs. Chadwick is a keen woman of the world, who conducted her own marriage on the cleverest commercial principles, and who wishes to see her sister as safely and as reputably landed. To such a person Tito is a catch, and his alliance very desirable; so that I shall have no assistance from her. The girl may possibly have the same views; but I should have a better chance with her than with her sister. If she be as described, it is impossible she can have any real feeling for Tito, but is simply prepared to accept him from a worldly point of view; and it seems to me that there are two ways by which I can spoil the plan on which my faithless Tito has set his heart. To carry out either I must make the acquaintance of the young lady, and find out all about her. If she does not care for Tito, it will be easy enough to introduce her to some one who will soon obliterate any recollection of that romantic youth; and if she does care for him, it will not be difficult to lead her into such an entanglement as, once proved to him, will prevent his having any further thought of her.'
Actuated by these benevolent intentions, Mrs. Hamblin determined upon calling upon Mrs. Chadwick as soon as possible.
Accordingly, the next day, she made her way to Fairfax-gardens. The acquaintance between the ladies had up to this time been slight, and though Mr. and Mrs. Hamblin had been present at the charades and other entertainments, and Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick had dined once during the season with the Hamblins, there had been no farther intimacy. When the servant brought in Mrs. Hamblin's card, Mrs. Chadwick was a little surprised, as the usual formal visits on either side had been paid, and she was not looking forward to a renewal of such courtesy until the ensuing season. Nevertheless she was gratified, for Mrs. Hamblin stood exceptionally well with society--her husband's official rank, and her own good looks, wealth, andsavoir faire, enabling them to hold their own with the best; while Mrs. Chadwick fancied she had hitherto been only received by them on sufferance as it were, and that they had no intention of farther prosecuting the acquaintance. But Mrs. Chadwick was quite sufficiently clever to know that Mrs. Hamblin would not have come to see her without some motive, and what that motive might be--whether it was the filling up of an idle half-hour at a time when most of her intimates were out of town, or whether it was dictated by some deeper design--the lady of Fairfax-gardens revolved in her mind as she descended to the drawing-room to greet her visitor.
Mrs. Hamblin when she chose had a very fascinating manner, and she used it on this occasion. Mrs. Chadwick could not imagine how she could ever have suspected her guest of formality or frigidity, so thoroughly kind, pleasant, and familiar did she now find her.
'I call this for some reasons really the very pleasantest time of the year in London,' said Mrs. Hamblin, 'for now there is a possibility of seeing something of those people whose tastes are in accordance with one's own, and who therefore one is disposed to look upon as one's friends. In the season, as you know perfectly well, my dear Mrs. Chadwick, one lives in a perfect whirl from morning till night, and from May to July we scarcely have more opportunity for a friendly chat than if we were at opposite poles. Now, however, that all the bustle and party-giving is over, there is an opportunity for real enjoyment, and I was really wicked enough to be glad when I heard from our friend Mr. Pratt that you and Mr. Chadwick were detained in town as well as ourselves; for I thought we should be glad to get you to come and see us in an informal manner, and that I should have the chance, which I have often wished for, of knowing you more intimately.'
Mrs. Chadwick seemed taken aback at this; she nevertheless replied much in the same strain, expressing her obligations at the compliment, and the delight which she and her husband would experience in meeting Mr. and Mrs. Hamblin on the terms suggested. The line taken by her visitor gave her a chance of magnifying her own importance, and she expatiated to Mrs. Hamblin on the vast amount of society which during the season she was compelled to keep up, and on the relief which she, in her turn, experienced when relieved from so much social pleasure. But, like an astute sword-player, she kept her wits about her during all this flourish and preamble, and the mention of Spiridion Pratt's name had aroused her suspicions. Upon Mrs. Chadwick herself the breath of scandal had never blown, but there were few virtuous ladies better posted upon all that was said about their neighbours, and the relations between Mrs. Hamblin and her romantic Tito had been frequently discussed at Fairfax-gardens and elsewhere in Mrs. Chadwick's presence.
'And we hope to have the additional pleasure,' continued Mrs. Hamblin, all smiles, but with a shrewd perception of what was passing across her companion's mind, 'of making the acquaintance of your charming sister. Miss Irvine is quite a stranger to Mr. Hamblin, and though I have seen her once, it is true, it was for a moment only. I have constantly looked forward to meeting her again, but I have always been disappointed. Now you must bring her with you, and I have promised myself a great treat, for I am sure she must be as agreeable as she is pretty.'
Mrs. Chadwick was much confused at this move, and could not understand Mrs. Hamblin's motive for it. Spiridion she knew would naturally be at the dinner, and she could not define Mrs. Hamblin's object in throwing Eleanor in his way.
That there was an object, however, she was certain, and it was accordingly somewhat coldly that she replied, 'I will be the bearer of your message, of course, with much pleasure, but I can hardly hope that it will have any satisfactory result, for my sister resolutely refuses to go into society.'
'That I can perfectly understand,' said Mrs. Hamblin, 'as she is young and inexperienced, and has not the necessity, like you, to hide her own griefs and feelings in order to play an important part in the world; but such a little family gathering as I propose cannot be called society--there will only be ourselves and Mr. Pratt, and perhaps two or three unfortunate men who have been left stranded in town, and whom we can secure at a short notice.'
This frankness was still farther confusing. Spiridion was to be there--what could be the meaning of it? And then Mrs. Chadwick recollected having heard Charley Ormerod say that Mrs. Hamblin would soon get tired of Little Petrarch--the name by which Mr. Pratt was known in the set--and send him flying like the rest of them. Perhaps this had come about; perhaps she had grown tired of Little Petrarch and sent him flying, careless as to who should pick him up.
'I can only repeat that I will give your message to my sister and do all I can to induce her to come, but I have strong doubts about success.'
'Would you let me make my application to Miss Irvine in person, my dear Mrs. Chadwick?' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'Not that I for an instant doubt your good intentions, or am unaware that what I am about to say sounds horribly vain, but I candidly confess I have a great belief in my own powers of persuasion.'
'Such a belief is doubtless merely the result of experience, Mrs. Hamblin, and in accordance with what all the world says of you,' said Mrs. Chadwick half spitefully--for except her honest old husband no one had ever foundherparticularly fascinating--'and I will take care that you have the opportunity of seeing Eleanor.'
'At once?' asked Mrs. Hamblin. 'May I try at once? I feel full of mesmeric influence to-day.'
'I am sorry that you will not have the opportunity of exhibiting your skill to-day, unless you choose to wait for an hour,' said Mrs. Chadwick coldly, 'for Eleanor is not in the house just now, and I have sent the brougham to fetch her.'
'Not in the house,' repeated Mrs. Hamblin; 'O, I am so grieved!'
'She has been very much engaged for the last few weeks,' said Mrs. Chadwick. 'First, in attendance on an old schoolfellow, who required care and attention--which she could not possibly have had but for Eleanor's help--and more recently she has been occupied at the South Kensington Museum.'
'At the South Kensington Museum!' cried Mrs. Hamblin, whose notions of that establishment were confined to an occasional languid stroll through the loan collection, but who had heard of it as a convenient place of meeting for people who wanted accidentally to encounter each other. 'At the South Kensington Museum!' she repeated. 'How very funny! What does she go there for?'
'To study, Mrs. Hamblin,' said Mrs. Chadwick, with virtuous dignity. 'Eleanor has a great idea of independence, and desires to perfect herself in that art of which poor papa was so admirable a professor.'
'Was Mr. Irvine, the great artist, your father?' said Mrs. Hamblin, with well-feigned astonishment--she knew perfectly well all about poor Angus Irvine, to whose assistance she had more than once contributed--'I had no idea of that. And so your sister, who has talent of course, is thinking of following in his footsteps. How noble and courageous of her, and what a reproof to us, who are only fitted to be burdens upon men! But you surely will not permit her to persevere in this idea, my dear Mrs. Chadwick; she is far too pretty and interesting to be doomed to such a life. This is she, is it not?' she added, taking up a coloured photograph which stood upon the table. 'I thought I recognised those lovely eyes and that charming hair, though I had only seen her once; the likeness to you is most remarkable; a girl with a face like that must not be permitted to "wither on a stalk," as some one has said. There is scarcely any position which she might not aspire to if she were seen in society.'
'So I have told her,' said Mrs. Chadwick, delighted at the compliment to herself, 'but it does not seem to be of much use. However, as I said before, I will do my best to induce her to accept your kind invitation.'
'And if you succeed you may leave the rest to me,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'I shall certainly try and dissuade her from this, in her case very natural, but wholly romantic, idea of becoming an artist, and the best means to that end is by encouraging her to go into society and become conscious of the excitement which she will create there. In a small company such as I propose having on Thursday, dear Mrs. Chadwick, there will be even a better chance for a beginner than in a larger assemblage, and you may depend upon my having no detrimentals present.'
'You include Mr. Pratt in your list?' asked Mrs. Chadwick, with a forced titter.
'Certainly,' replied Mrs. Hamblin quickly; 'Mr. Pratt will probably be the most eligible man there.' And soon afterwards she took her leave.
'That woman is decidedly my inferior in every variety of tactics,' said Mrs. Hamblin to herself, as she drove away. 'She could not hide her astonishment when I announced that I should have Tito to dinner to meet this rosebud, and ever since has been turning over in her mind what I meant without ever arriving at a conclusion. I hope the rosebud will come, as I am anxious to see her and form my own opinion about her. I don't choose that these vulgar people should carry all before them in the way they intend, and I am determined that this match, which seems to have been arranged with the greatest coolness and confidence on both sides, shall not take place. It will not require any very intricate scheming to break it off, I should think--I have had many a more difficult task, and have carried it through successfully before now. If the rosebud is not really desperately in love with my poor Tito, it will be easy to make her like some one else. If she is very fond of him, then one must work upon him, depreciate her in his eyes, and finally make him give her up. That would not be difficult in any case, and fortunately, as a means to that end, we get the rosebud's artistic tendencies and her habit of frequenting the South Kensington Museum. What a very weak woman Mrs. Chadwick must be to put any faith in such rodomontade as that! The girl goes there, I have no doubt; but I don't imagine that all she has learnt by the end of the day in the way of art-study would be worth much; though her knowledge of character, if she have the faculty of observation, is greatly increased. It might be as well just to see for oneself whether she really goes there, what she does, and whom she meets. She would not recognise me, and I might pick up some information which would be valuable. James,' she said, opening the front window of the brougham, 'go to the South Kensington Museum.'
The Chadwick brougham, noticeable always for that exaggeration in every particular which in such matters appears peculiar to parvenus--the horses a little too much for the carriage, the plating a little too much for the harness, and the servants' liveries considerably overdone--was standing before the entrance gate of the Museum as Mrs. Hamblin drove up.
'That is the carriage, no doubt,' said Mrs. Hamblin to herself; 'one could recognise it from any distance from its excessive vulgarity. And what on earth do people mean by having cockades in the servants' hats? I suppose the man is a deputy-lieutenant, or something of that sort; but I should have given Mrs. Chadwick credit for better taste than to ape such a distinction on such grounds. The brougham being there, one may take it for granted that the young lady is inside. I have a great mind to go in to see what peculiar form of art-study she may be at present engaged in. If she really is drawing, I don't suppose I should have much difficulty in finding her, and if she were not in the schools, why, that would be a point in my favour. Even were I to see her she would not recognise me, and I should therefore run no risk. I will go in and take my chance.'
Mrs. Hamblin called to the servant to open the door, but she had scarcely placed her foot upon the step before she withdrew it and resumed her seat, for, on looking round, she had perceived a young lady, who was no doubt the person she was seeking, advancing hurriedly from an opposite direction. When this young lady stepped into Mrs. Chadwick's carriage, and was rapidly driven off, Mrs. Hamblin had no farther doubt.
'It was she,' she said to herself. 'Even if I hadn't had such a recent glimpse of the photograph I should have remembered that striking face. There is no doubt she is exceedingly pretty, and I don't wonder at that soft-hearted Tito being captivated. There is much more style about her, too, than I had thought for, and she has quite enough charm to make her a dangerous rival to any one. So much the more reason for putting an end to this elaborate plan. And so that is the way she studies art, is it? How absurd to think that the sister, who fancies herself a thorough woman of the world, should be completely hoodwinked by such an apparently ingenuous creature! It is perfectly plain that the coachman must be in her confidence, and must bring the carriage in here and wait for her whilst she studies art elsewhere. It would not be difficult, I imagine, to learn through the servants what time the carriage is ordered to-morrow, and to see exactly where she goes. Circumstances seem so far to have played into my hands, and I don't think it will be very difficult to produce such a chain of evidence as will tend to render Tito somewhat less confident in the innocence of hisinnamorata.'
The next morning, at a few minutes before eleven o'clock, a hansom cab, in which was a lady with a black-lace veil, drew up in the side street next to Mr. Chadwick's mansion in Fairfax-gardens. Within a quarter of an hour the family brougham drove round to the door, and Miss Irvine having entered it, drove quickly off, followed at a little distance by the cab. After proceeding some way, the coachman changed his direction, and the cabman did the same. Finally, the brougham stopped at the door of Lady Forestfield's lodgings in Podbury-street. Miss Irvine descended and entered the house, the carriage driving away, but the cab remaining at a convenient distance. A few minutes afterwards another cab drove up to Lady Forestfield's door, and a slight good-looking man, with a dark beard, knocked, and was admitted. Then the veiled lady in the hansom ordered the driver to go to the South Kensington Museum, and on arrival instructed him to take up his position close to Mr. Chadwick's brougham, which was duly waiting there.
Two long hours passed, but the veiled lady showed no sign of weariness. Her patience was at last rewarded; Miss Irvine appeared within sight, making her way to the brougham. Just as she was approaching its door Mrs. Hamblin descended from her cab, and stretching out her hand, said, with an air of great delight, 'Miss Irvine, I believe? You will scarcely recollect me. I am Mrs. Hamblin, and I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you with your sister on Thursday next.'