by Elinor Glyn
300 PARK STREET,
_Friday night._
Luncheon passed off very well. Sir Charles returned from the City improvedin temper, and, as Lady Ver had predicted, presented her with a Cartierjewel. It was a brooch, not a ring, but she was delighted, and purred tohim.
He was a little late, and we were seated, a party of eight, when he camein. They all chaffed him about Paris, and he took it quitegood-humoredly--he even seemed pleased. He has no wit, but he looks like agentleman, and I dare say as husbands go he is suitable.
I am getting quite at home in the world, and can speak to any one. Ilisten, and I do not talk much, only when I want to say something thatmakes them think.
A very nice man sat next me to-day; he reminded me of the old generals atBranches. We had quite a war of wits, and it stimulated me.
He told me, among other things, when he discovered who I was, that he hadknown papa--papa was in the same Guards with him--and that he was thebest-looking man of his day. Numbers of women were in love with him, hesaid, but he was a faithless being, and rode away.
"He probably enjoyed himself--don't you think so?--and he had the goodluck to die in his zenith," I said.
"He was once engaged to Lady Merrenden, you know. She was Lady SophiaVavasour then, and absolutely devoted to him, but Mrs. Carruthers camebetween them and carried him off--she was years older than he was, too,and as clever as paint."
"Poor papa seems to have been a weak creature, I fear."
"All men are weak," he said.
"And then he married and left Mrs. Carruthers, I suppose?" I asked. Iwanted to hear as much as I could.
"Ye-e-s," said my old colonel. "I was best man at the wedding."
"And what was she like, my mamma?"
"She was the loveliest creature I ever saw," he said--"as lovely as you,only you are the image of your father, all but the hair--his was fair."
"No one has ever said I was lovely before. Oh, I am so glad if you thinkso," I said. It did please me. I have often been told I am attractive andextraordinary, and wonderful and divine, but never just lovely. He wouldnot say any more about my parents, except that they hadn't a sou to liveon, and were not very happy--Mrs. Carruthers took care of that.
Then, as every one was going, he said: "I am awfully glad to have met you.We must be pals, for the sake of old times," and he gave me his card forme to keep his address, and told me if ever I wanted a friend to send hima line--Colonel Tom Carden, The Albany.
I promised I would.
"You might give me away at my wedding," I said, gayly. "I am thinking ofgetting married, some day!"
"That I will," he promised; "and, by Jove! the man will be a fortunatefellow."
Lady Ver and I drove after luncheon--me paid some calls, and went in totea with the Montgomeries, who had just arrived at Brown's Hotel for aweek's shopping.
"Aunt Katherine brings those poor girls up always at this time, and takesthem to some impossible old dressmaker of her own in the daytime, and toShakespeare or a concert at night, and returns with them equipped in morehideous garments each year. It is positively cruel," said Lady Ver, as wewent up the stairs to their _appartement_.
There they were, sitting round the tea-table just as at Tryland--Kirstieand Jean embroidering and knitting, and the other two reading newcatalogues of books for their work.
Lady Ver began to tease them. She asked them all sorts of questions abouttheir new frocks, and suggested they had better go to Paris once in a way.Lady Katherine was like ice. She strongly disapproved of my being with herniece, one could see.
The connection with the family she hoped would be ended with my visit toTryland. Malcolm was arriving in town, too, we gathered, and Lady Ver lefta message to ask him to dine to-night.
Then we got away.
"If one of those lumps of suet had a spark of spirit they would gostraight to the devil," Lady Ver said as we went down the stairs. "Thinkof it--ties and altar-cloths in London! Mercifully they could not dineto-night. I had to ask them, and they generally come once while they areup--the four girls and Aunt Katherine--and it is with the greatestdifficulty I can collect four young men for them if they get the leasthint whom they are to meet. I generally secure a couple of sociallybudding Jews, because I feel the subscriptions for their charities whichthey will pester whoever they do sit next for are better filched from theHebrew than from some pretty, needy Guardsman. Oh, what a life!"
She was so kind to me on the way back; she said she hated leaving me aloneon the morrow, and that I must settle now what I was going to do or shewould not go. I said I would go to Claridge's, where Mrs. Carruthers and Ihad always stayed, and remain quietly alone with Veronique. I could affordit for a week. So we drove there and made the arrangement.
"It is absolutely impossible for you to go on like this, dear child," shesaid. "You must have a chaperone; you are far too pretty to stay alone ina hotel. What _can_ I do for you?"
I felt so horribly uncomfortable I was really at my wits' end. Oh, it isno fun being an adventuress, after all, if you want to keep your friendsof the world as well.
"Perhaps it won't matter if I don't see any one for a few days," I said."I will write to Paris. My old mademoiselle is married there to aflourishing poet, I believe--perhaps she would take me as a paying guestfor a little."
"That is very visionary--a French poet! Horrible, long-haired, frowsycreature! Impossible! Surely you see how necessary it is for you to marryChristopher as soon as you can, Evangeline, don't you?" she said, and Iwas obliged to admit there were reasons.
"The truth is, you can't be the least eccentric or unconventional if youare good-looking and unmarried," she continued. "You may snap your fingersat society, but if you do you won't have a good time, and all the men willeither foolishly champion you or be impertinent to you."
"Oh, I realize it," I said, and there was a lump in my throat.
"I shall write to Christopher to-morrow," she went on, "and thank him forour outing last night, and I shall say something nice about you and yourloneliness, and that he, as a kind of relation, may go and see you onSunday, as long as he doesn't make love to you, and he can take you to theZoo--don't see him in your sitting-room. That will give him just the extrafillip, and he will go, and you will be demure, and then by thosestimulating lions' and tigers' cages you can plight your troth. It will bequite respectable. Wire to me at once on Monday to Sedgwick, and you mustcome back to Park Street directly I return on Thursday, if it is allsettled."
I thanked her as well as I could. She was quite ingenuous and quitesincere. I should be a welcome guest as Christopher's fiancee, and therewas no use my feeling bitter about it--she was quite right.
As I put my hand on Malcolm's skinny arm going down to the dining-room,the only consolation was my fate had not got to be him. I would rather beanything in the world than married to that!
I tried to be agreeable to Sir Charles. We were only a party of six. Anold Miss Harpenden, who goes everywhere to play bridge, and Malcolm, andone of Lady Ver's young men, and I. Sir Charles is absent, and bringshimself back. He fiddles with the knives and forks, and sprawls on thetable rather, too. He looks at Lady Ver with admiration in his eyes. It istrue, then, in the intervals of Paris, I suppose, she can make his heartbeat.
Malcolm made love to me after dinner. We were left to talk when the otherssat down to bridge in the little drawing-room.
"I missed you so terribly, Miss Travers," he said, priggishly, "when youleft us that I realized I was extremely attracted by you."
"No, you don't say so!" I said, innocently. "Could one believe a thinglike that?"
"Yes," he said, earnestly. "You may, indeed, believe it."
"Do not say it so suddenly, then," I said, turning my head away so that hecould not see how I was laughing. "You see, to a red-haired person like methese compliments go to my head."
"Oh, I do not want to flurr
y you," he said, affably. "I know I have been agood deal sought after--perhaps on account of my possessions"--this witharrogant modesty--"but I am willing to lay everything at your feet if youwill marry me."
"Everything?" I asked.
"Yes, everything."
"You are too good, Mr. Montgomerie--but what would your mother say?"
He looked uneasy and slightly unnerved.
"My mother, I fear, has old-fashioned notions, but I am sure if you wentto her dressmaker--you--you would look different."
"Should you like me to look different, then? You wouldn't recognize me,you know, if I went to her dressmaker."
"I like you just as you are," he said, with an air of great condescension.
"I am overcome," I said, humbly. "But--but--what is this story I hearabout Miss Angela Grey? A lady, I see in the papers, who dances at theGaiety, is it not? Are you sure she will permit you to make thisdeclaration without her knowledge?"
He became petrified.
"Who has told you about her?" he asked.
"No one," I said. "Jean said your father was angry with you on account ofa horse of that name, but I chanced to see it in the list of attractionsat the Gaiety, so I conclude it is not a horse; and if you are engaged toher, I don't think it is quite right of you to try and break my heart."
"Oh, Evangeline--Miss Travers!" he spluttered. "I am greatly attached toyou--the other was only a pastime--a--a--Oh, we men, you know--youngand--and--run after--have our temptations, you know. You must thinknothing about it. I will never see her again, except just to finally saygood-bye. I promise you."
"Oh, I could not do a mean thing like that, Mr. Montgomerie," I said. "Youmust not think of behaving so on my account. I am not altogetherheartbroken, you know; in fact, I rather think of getting married,myself."
He bounded up.
"Oh, you have deceived me, then!" he said, in self-righteous wrath. "Afterall I said to you that evening at Tryland, and what you promised then!Yes, you have grossly deceived me."
I could not say I had not listened to a word he had said that night andwas utterly unconscious of what I had promised. Even his self-appreciationdid not deserve such a blow as that, so I softened my voice and naturalanger at his words, and said, quite gently:
"Do not be angry. If I have unconsciously given you a wrong impression Iam sorry, but if one came to talking of deceiving, you have deceived meabout Miss Grey, so do not let us speak further upon the matter. We arequits. Now, won't you be friends as you have always been?" and I put outmy hand and smiled frankly in his face. The mean little lines in itrelaxed, he pulled himself together, and took my hand and pressed itwarmly. From which I knew there was more in the affair of Angela Grey thanmet the eye.
"Evangeline," he said. "I shall always love you; but Miss Grey is anestimable young woman--there is not a word to be said against her moralcharacter--and I have promised her my hand in marriage, so perhaps we hadbetter say good-bye."
"Good-bye," I said; "but I consider I have every reason to feel insultedby your offer, which was not, judging from your subsequent remarks, wortha moment's thought."
"Oh, but I love you!" he said, and by his face, for the time, this wasprobably true. So I did not say any more, and we rose and joined thebridge players. And I contrived that he should not speak to me again alonebefore he said good-night.
"Did Malcolm propose to you?" Lady Ver asked as we came up to bed. "Ithought I saw a look in his eye at dinner."
I told her he had done it in a kind of a way, with a reservation in favorof Miss Angela Grey.
"That is too dreadful!" she said. "There is a regular epidemic in some ofthe Guards regiments just now to marry these poor, common things with highmoral characters and indifferent feet. But I should have thought thecuteness of the Scot would have protected Malcolm from their designs. PoorAunt Katherine!"
