CHAPTER 23
IN A HANSOM_(Julian Eversleigh's narrative continued)_
I spent a pleasant week in my hammock awaiting developments.
At the end of the week came a letter from Eva. She wrote:--
_My Dear Julian_,--You haven't been to see us for ages. Is Kensington Lane beyond the pale? _Your affectionate cousin_, _Eva._
"You vixen," I thought. "Yes; I'll come and see you fast enough. Itwill give me the greatest pleasure to see you crushed and humiliated."
I collected my evening clothes from a man of the name of Attenborough,whom I employ to take care of them when they are not likely to bewanted; found a white shirt, which looked presentable after a littlepruning of the cuffs with a razor; and drove to the Gunton-Cresswells'sin time for dinner.
There was a certain atmosphere of unrest about the house. I attributedthis at first to the effects of the James Orlebar Cloyster bomb-shell,but discovered that it was in reality due to the fact that Eva wasgoing out to a fancy-dress ball that night.
She was having dinner sent up to her room, they told me, and wouldbe down presently. There was a good deal of flitting about going on.Maids on mysterious errands shot up and down stairs. Old Mr.Gunton-Cresswell, looking rather wry, was taking cover in his studywhen I arrived. Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell was in the drawing-room.
Before Eva came down I got a word alone with her. "I've had a nice,straight-forward letter from James," she said, "and he has done all hecan to put things straight with us."
"Ah!" said I.
"That telegram, he tells me, was the outcome of a sudden panic."
"Dear me!" I said.
"It seems that he made some most ghastly mistake about his finances.What exactly happened I can't quite understand, but the gist of it is,he thought he was quite well off, whereas, really, his income isinfinitesimal."
"How odd!" I remarked.
"It sounds odd; in fact, I could scarcely believe it until I got hisletter of explanation. I'll show it to you. Here it is."
I read James Orlebar Cloyster's letter with care. It was notparticularly long, but I wish I had a copy of it; for it is the finestwork in an imaginative vein that has ever been penned.
"Masterly!" I exclaimed involuntarily.
"Yes, isn't it?" she echoed. "Enables one to grasp thoroughly how themistake managed to occur."
"Has Eva seen it?"
"Yes."
"I notice he mentions five years as being about the period----"
"Yes; it's rather a long engagement, but, of course, she'll wait, sheloves him so."
Eva now entered the room. When I caught sight of her I remembered I hadpictured her crushed and humiliated. I had expected to gloat over acertain dewiness of her eyes, a patient drooping of her lips. I willsay plainly there was nothing of that kind about Eva tonight.
She had decided to go to the ball as Peter Pan.
The costume had rather scandalised old Mr. Gunton-Cresswell, a venerableTory who rarely spoke except to grumble. Even Mrs. Gunton-Cresswell,who had lately been elected to the newly-formed _Les Serfsd'Avenir_, was inclined to deprecate it.
But I was sure Eva had chosen the better part. The dress suited her toperfection. Her legs are the legs of a boy.
As I looked at her withconcentrated hatred, I realised I had never seen a human soul soradiant, so brimming with _espieglerie_, so altogether to bedesired.
"Why, Julian, is it you. This _is_ good of you!"
It was evident that the past was to be waived. I took my cue.
"Thanks, Eva," I said; "it suits you admirably."
Events at this point move quickly.
Another card of invitation is produced. Would I care to use it, andtake Eva to the ball?
"But I'm not in fancy dress."
Overruled. Fancy dress not an essential. Crowds of men there inordinary evening clothes.
So we drove off.
We hardly exchanged a syllable. No one has much to say just before adance.
I looked at Eva out of the corner of my eye, trying to discover justwhat it was in her that attracted men. I knew her charm, though Iflattered myself that I was proof against it. I wanted to analyse it.
Her photograph is on the table before me as I write. I look at itcritically. She is not what I should describe as exactly a type ofEnglish beauty. You know the sort of beauty I mean? Queenly,statuesque, a daughter of the gods, divinely fair. Her charm is not inher features. It is in her expression.
Tonight, for instance, as we drove to the ball, there sparkled in hereyes a light such as I had never seen in them before. Every girl isanimated at a ball, but this was more than mere animation. There was alatent devilry about her; and behind the sparkle and the glitter afilm, a mist, as it were, which lent almost a pathos to her appearance.The effect it had on me was to make me tend to forget that I hated her.
We arrive. I mutter something about having the pleasure.
Eva says I can have the last two waltzes.
Here comes a hiatus. I am told that I was seen dancing, was observed toeat an excellent supper, and was noticed in the smoking-room with acigarette in my mouth.
At last the first of my two waltzes. The Eton Boating Song--one of myfavourites. I threaded my way through the room in search of her. Shewas in neither of the doorways. I cast my eyes about the room. Hercostume was so distinctive that I could hardly fail to see her.
I did see her.
She was dancing my waltz with another man.
The thing seemed to numb my faculties. I stood in the doorway, gaping.I couldn't understand it. The illogical nature of my position did notstrike me. It did not occur to me that as I hated the girl so much, itwas much the best thing that could happen that I should see as littleof her as possible. My hatred was entirely concentrated on the bounderwho had stolen my dance. He was a small, pink-faced little beast, andit maddened me to see that he danced better than I could ever havedone.
As they whirled past me she smiled at him.
I rushed to the smoking-room.
Whether she gave my other waltz to the same man, or whether she chosesome other partner, or sat alone waiting for me, I do not know. When Ireturned to the ballroom the last waltz was over, and the orchestra wasbeginning softly to play the first extra. It was _"Tout Passe,"_an air that has always had the power to thrill me.
My heart gave a bound. Standing in the doorway just in front of me wasEva.
I drew back.
Two or three men came up, and asked her for the dance. She sent themaway, and my heart leaped as they went.
She was standing with her back towards me. Now she turned. Our eyesmet. We stood for a moment looking at one another.
Then I heard her give a little sigh; and instantly I forgoteverything--my hatred, my two lost dances, the pink-facedblighter--everything. Everything but that I loved her.
"Tired, Eva?" I said.
"Perhaps I am," she replied. "Yes, I am, Julian."
"Give me this one," I whispered. "We'll sit it out."
"Very well. It's so hot in here. We'll go and sit it out in a hansom,shall we? I'll get my cloak."
I waited, numbed by her absence. Her cloak was pale pink. We walked outtogether into the starry night. A few yards off stood a hansom. "Driveto the corner of Sloane Street," I said to the man, "by way of thePark."
The night was very still.
I have said that I had forgotten everything except that I loved her.Could I remember now? Now, as we drove together through the emptystreets alone, her warm, palpitating body touching mine.
James, and his awful predicament, which would last till Eva gave himup; Eva's callous treatment of my former love for her; my ownnewly-acquired affection for Margaret; my self-respect--these thingshad become suddenly of no account.
"Eva," I murmured; and I took her hand.
"Eva...."
Her wonderful eyes met mine. The mist in them seemed to turn to dew."My darling," she whispered, very low
.
The road was deserted. We were alone.
I drew her face to mine and kissed her.
* * * * *
My love for her grows daily.
Old Gunton-Cresswell has introduced me to a big firm of linoleummanufacturers. I am taking over their huge system of advertising nextweek. My salary will be enormous. It almost frightens me. Old Mr.Cresswell tells me that he had had the job in his mind for me for sometime, and had, indeed, mentioned to his wife and Eva at lunch that daythat he intended to write to me about it. I am more grateful to himthan I can ever make him understand. Eva, I know, cares nothing formoney--she told me so--but it is a comfort to feel that I can keep heralmost in luxury.
I have given up my rooms in Rupert Street.
I sleep in a bed.
I do Sandow exercises.
I am always down to breakfast at eight-thirty sharp.
I smoke less.
I am the happiest man on earth.
_(End of Julian Eversleigh's narrative.)_
Narrative Resumedby James Orlebar Cloyster
Not George Washington — an Autobiographical Novel Page 26
