À OUTRANCE.
No Amazon, I imagine, in the experience of Herodotus, Sir Walter
Raleigh, or our own, was ever known to be careless of her weapons,
suffering them to grow blunt from neglect or rusty from disuse. The boar
whets his tusks, the stag sharpens his antlers; the nobler beasts of
chase are not dependent for safety on flight alone; and shall not woman
study how she can best bring to perfection that armour with which Nature
provides her for attack, defence, and eventual capture of her prey?
Brighter or more accomplished warriors never entered lists, than the two
now sitting in the drawing-room at No. 40; cool, fragrant, diaphanous;
redoubtable in that style of beauty which is so enhanced and set off by
art.
To these, enter a young gentleman, hot, shy, bewildered; who has
followed into the room a name not the least like his own, with
considerable trepidation; hardly clear if he is on his head or his
heels; and, although worshipping the very pattern of the carpet on which
one of these divinities treads, yet conscious, in his heart of hearts,
that it would be unspeakable relief to wake up and find himself
three-quarters of a mile off at his club.
Mr. Goldthred, whose announcement by a pompous butler as "Mr. Gotobed"
had not served to increase his confidence, was by no means a bold person
in general society, and possessed, indeed, as little of that native
dignity they call "cheek," as any of the rising generation with whom it
was his habit to associate; but on the present occasion he felt nervous
to an unusual degree, because, alas! he had fallen in love with a woman
older, cleverer, more experienced, and altogether of higher calibre than
himself.
He had come early, half hoping to find her alone, yet was it a relief to
be spared the ordeal of a _tête-à-tête_ that seemed so delightful in
fancy. Of course, being her utter bond-slave, he paid his homage to Mrs.
Lascelles with ludicrous stiffness, and blundered at once into an
inconsequent conversation with Miss Ross. That syren took pity on his
embarrassment--the pity a cat takes on a mouse. It amused her to mark
the poor youth's efforts to seem at ease, his uncomfortable contortions,
his wandering replies, and the timid glances he cast on the hem of his
conqueror's garment, who would willingly have met him half-way, had he
only gone up and flirted with her in good earnest.
"We haven't seen you for ages, Mr. Goldthred. What have you been doing?
Where have you been hiding? Rose and I were talking about you this very
afternoon."
How he wished he, too, might call his goddess "Rose;" but she had been
talking about him, blessed thought! that very day. His heart was in his
throat, and he murmured something about "French play."
"You can't have been at the French play day and night," laughed Miss
Ross; "but I'm not going to cross-examine you. Besides, you weren't
asked here to flirt with _me_. I've got my own young man coming, and
he's hideously jealous. I hear him now coughing on the stairs! Only us
four. It's a small party. We shall find each other very stupid, I dare
say."
Gathering encouragement, no doubt, from this supposition, and emboldened
by a fresh arrival, Mr. Goldthred stole a glance in his idol's face
while she rose to welcome Uncle Joseph. The blue eyes rested on their
worshipper very kindly for about half a second. But that half second
did his business as effectually as half an hour. If Uncle Joseph was
also shy, greater age, wisdom, and corpulence rendered him more capable
of concealing such embarrassment. He shook his hostess cordially by the
hand; he told Miss Ross she looked like a "China-rose," a flower of
which he had formed some vague conception, far removed from reality; and
announced that he had spent his day in the City, and was very
hungry,--more like a man in business than a man in love. This gentleman
took down Miss Ross; Mrs. Lascelles followed with young Goldthred,
leaning more weight on his arm than the steepness of the stairs seemed
to necessitate. He wished the journey twice as long, and for half a
minute was half persuaded he felt happy!
I am sorry I cannot furnish the bill of fare: Uncle Joseph put it in his
pocket. It was a way he had, after perusing it solemnly through a pair
of gold eye-glasses, with the intention of working it deliberately to
the end.
A dinner organised for an express purpose is generally a failure. On the
present occasion there was no particular object to be gained beyond the
general discomfiture of two unoffending males, and it went on merrily
enough. Drinking is, no doubt, conducive to sentiment; but eating has, I
think, a contrary tendency, and should never be mixed up with the
affections. Uncle Joseph, though far gone, had not yet lost enough heart
to weaken his appetite, and young Goldthred helped himself to everything
with the indiscriminate and indecent carelessness of a man under thirty.
The ladies pecked, and sipped, and simpered, yet managed to take a fair
share of provender on board; and after champagne had been twice round,
the party were thoroughly satisfied with themselves, and with each
other. Even Goldthred mustered courage enough to carry on the siege, and
began making up for lost time. Her fish was so lively, Mrs. Lascelles
thought well to wind in a few yards of line.
"Either you are very romantic, Mr. Goldthred," she objected, "or else
you don't mean us to believe what you say."
"I wish _you_ to believe it," he answered, lowering his voice and
blushing, _really_ blushing, though he was a _man_, "and--and--I never
used to be romantic till I came _here_."
"It's in the air I suppose," she answered, laughing, "and we shall all
catch it in turn--I hope it isn't painful! I sometimes think it must be,
unless one has it in the mildest form. We'll ask Miss Ross. Jin, dear,
Mr. Goldthred wants to know if you've any romance about you. I tell him
I don't think you've an atom."
"How can you say so!" exclaimed Miss Ross. "Don't you know my especial
weakness? Can't anybody see I'm heart all over?"
Uncle Joseph looked up from his cutlet, masticating steadily the while,
and his grave eyes rested on the dark, meaning face of the lady by his
side. Their gaze indicated surprise, incredulity, and the least touch of
scorn.
She was a beautiful fighter, she had practised so much, and knew exactly
when and how to return. Shooting one reproachful glance from her large
dark eyes full into his own, under cover of the others' voices she
murmured two words,--"Strangers yet!"
It was the title of a song she sang to him only the day before in the
boudoir; a song into which she put all the wild, tender pathos of her
flexible and expressive voice. Its burden had been ringing in his ears
half an hour ago, while he dressed for dinner.
The round, you see, was a short one; but Uncle Joseph caught it heavily
and went down! To borrow the language of the prize-ring--"First blood
for Miss Ross."
He came up smiling nevertheless, and finished his glass of champagne.
"I wish you were a little plainer, Miss Ross. I'm not paying you a
compliment, or I should say you could easily afford to be a great deal
plainer than you are. I mean what I say."
"And I mean what I say too--sometimes," she whispered, drooping her
thick black eye-lashes. "I don't think I should like to be thought so
very plain by _you_."
Uncle Joseph went down again, having received, I fancy, no less
punishment in this round than the last.
Meanwhile young Goldthred, fortified by refreshment, and further
stimulated by the interest Mrs. Lascelles either felt or affected,
embarked on a touching recital of his pursuits, belongings, and general
private history. He described in turn, and with strict attention to
details, his schooner, his tax-cart, and his poodle; enlarging on the
trim and rigging of the first, the varnish of the second, the elaborate
shaving of the third--and, indeed, almost soared into eloquence about
his dog.
"It shows he has a good heart," thought the listener; "but none the less
must he take his punishment like the rest!"
With a little more champagne he glided, by an easy transition, into his
possessions, his expectations, his prospects in general; why he had done
well in "Spanish," what a mess he had made of "Peruvians," the advantage
of early information about American politics, and how nearly he had
missed a great uncle's munificent bequest by exposing his ignorance of
the French _Credit Mobilier_. He was not quite a fool, however, and
stopped himself with a laugh.
"What a bore you will think me, Mrs. Lascelles," said he. "One is so apt
to fancy everybody is interested in what one cares for oneself."
"I am," she answered, with her brightest, kindest look. "I always want
to know everything about people I like. When they leave the stage I
follow them in fancy behind the scenes, and I _do_ think I should feel
hurt if I believed they were really so different without their rouge,
wigs, padding, and false calves."
"It's not 'Out of sight, out of mind' with you, eh?" observed the young
gentleman, in considerable trepidation. To do him justice, he saw his
opportunity, but could make no more of it than the above.
"Do you think it is?" she returned. "And what would one be worth if it
was? How little people know each other. We all seem to go about with
masks for faces. I dare say mine is like the rest, but I would take it
off in a minute if I was asked."
Another opening for Goldthred. He felt full of sentiment, up to his
eye-lids; was, indeed, choking with it, but somehow it wouldn't come
out.
"I've never been to a regular masquerade," said he simply; "I should
think it was capital fun."
Miss Ross, whom nothing escaped, whatever she had on hand, saw his
discomfiture, and came to the rescue.
"You're at one every day of your life," she broke in. "Rose is quite
right. Nobody speaks the whole truth, except Mr. Groves, who has just
told me I'm hideous. You know you did, and you think you're a capital
judge. I shall not forgive you till after coffee. I must say I can't
agree with Rose about one's friends. As for mine, with a few brilliant
exceptions, the less I see of them the better I like it."
"If that's the case, Jin, we'll go up-stairs," said the hostess, rising
slowly and gracefully, as she fastened the last button of her glove.
"Uncle Joseph," she added, with her sweetest smile, "you're at home, you
know. You must take care of Mr. Goldthred;" and so swept out, keeping
the blue eyes Goldthred so admired steadily averted from his eager face.
He returned to the table after shutting the door quite crest-fallen and
disappointed. He had counted on one more look to carry him through the
tedious half-hour that must intervene ere he could see her again, and
she probably knew this as well as he did. Ladies are sometimes
exceedingly liberal of such small encouragements; sometimes, as if from
mere caprice, withhold them altogether. No doubt they adapt their
treatment to the symptoms shown by the sufferer.
It _was_ a long half-hour for the two gentlemen thus left over their
dessert, without a subject of interest in common. Uncle Joseph's mature
prudence, over-reaching itself, mistrusted a single lady's cellar, and
he stuck faithfully to pale sherry; while Goldthred, with youthful
temerity, dashed boldly at the claret, and was rewarded by finding an
exceedingly sound and fragrant vintage. Not that he knew the least what
he was drinking, but swallowed sweetmeats and filled bumpers with a
nervous impatience for release, that lengthened every minute into ten.
The other, wondering why his relative had asked this guest to dinner,
and what merit she could see in him, thought him the stupidest young man
he had ever come across, and was sorely tempted to tell him so.
They tried the usual topics in vain--the instability of the Government,
the good looks of the Princess, the disgraceful uncertainty of the
weather. At last, Goldthred, driven to despair, propounded the
comprehensive question, "What were they doing to-day in the City?" and
the companions got on better after so suggestive an inquiry.
Uncle Joseph delivered his opinions solemnly on certain doubtful
securities; the younger man made a shrewd observation concerning his own
investments. Obviously they had in one respect a similarity of tastes,
and each found his dislike of the other decreasing every moment. Uncle
Joseph even began to debate in his own mind, whether he ought not to ask
his new acquaintance to dinner. He had drunk five glasses of sherry, and
I think one more would have settled the point; but the welcome moment
of release chimed out with the half-hour from a clock on the
chimney-piece, so flinging down his napkin he pointed to the empty
claret-jug, and suggested they should proceed up-stairs.
There was nothing Goldthred desired so much. He pulled his tie
straight,--it had a tendency to get under his left ear,--bounced into
the passage, whisked his hat off the hall table, weathered the butler
coming out with tea, and was already engaged with the enemy, before
Uncle Joseph had fairly extricated himself from the dining-room.
The ladies were wrapped in silence; they generally are when the men come
up after dinner. They had disposed themselves, also, very judiciously.
Mrs. Lascelles sat at the open window, not quite in the room, not quite
on the balcony. Jin, with considerable forethought, had entrenched
herself in a corner near the pianoforte, free from draughts. The soft
mellow lamp-light threw a very becoming lustre on these bewitching
individuals. Each knew she was looking well, and it made her look better
still. After a bottle of sound claret, it was not to be expected that a
man should enact "his grandsire cut in alabaster" in such company.
Goldthred, armed with a flat hat and a coffee-cup, advanced in tolerably
good order to the attack.
It was a fine night even in London. The moon sailed broad and bright in
a clear, fathomless sky. The very gas-lamps, studding street and square,
through the flickering leaves of spring flashed out a diabolical
enchantment of their own, half revelry, half romance. The scent of
geraniums and mignionette stole with a soft, intoxicating fragrance on
the rebellious senses; and a German band, round the corner, was playing
a seductive measure of love and languor and lawlessness from the last
new opera. Mrs. Lascelles, moving out on the balcony, drank in the soft
night-air with a deep-drawn breath that was almost a sigh. Young
Goldthred followed as the medium follows the mesmerist, the bird the
rattlesnake. His heart beat fast, and the coffee-cup clattered in his
hand. Time and scene were adapted, no doubt, for sentiment, especially
out of doors.
It is done every day, and all day long. Also, perhaps, more effectually
still on nights like these. Pull a man's purse, madam, from his
waistcoat-pocket, and although you have Iago's authority for considering
it "trash," you may find yourself picking oakum as a first consequence,
and may finish, in due course, at the penitentiary; but dive those
pretty fingers a thought deeper, take his heart scientifically out of
his pericardium, or wherever he keeps it, squeeze it, drain it, rinse it
quite dry, return him the shrivelled fragments, with a curtsy, and a
"thank you kindly, sir," you will receive applause from the bystanders,
and hearty approbation from the world in general for your skill.
So Mrs. Lascelles, stifling all compunction, played out the pretty game.
They leaned over the balcony, side by side; they smelt the mignionette,
with their heads very close together; they looked at the moon, and into
each other's eyes, and down on the street, where a faded figure, in torn
shawl and tawdry bonnet, flitted past, to be lost in the shadow of
darkness farther on; sighing, smiling, whispering, till the boy's blood
surged madly to his brain; and the woman, despite of craft, science, and
experience, felt that she must practise all her self-command not to be
softer and kinder, if only for a moment, than she desired.
Her white, cool hand lay on the edge of the mignionette box. He covered
it with his own. In another moment he would have seized and pressed it,
hungrily, rapturously, to his lips. She rose just in time, and came full
into the lamp-light from within.
"What nonsense we have been talking!" she exclaimed, with a laugh; "and
what a deal of sentiment! It is nice to talk nonsense sometimes, and
sentiment too, but a little goes a long way."
He was hurt, and, not being a woman, showed it.
"I am sorry," said he, gloomily; "I thought you liked it."
She did not want to snub him too much.
"So I do," she answered, stepping back into the drawing-room, "when it's
the real thing, sweet and strong, little and good. Come and listen to
Jin's song; it's better for you than flirting in the dark on the
balcony."
Though mocking and mischievous, there was yet something kind and playful
in her tone; he felt quite happy again as he followed her in, meekly,
like a lamb to the slaughter.
Miss Ross, although she had taken up a position more adapted to the
comfort of an elderly and rheumatic admirer, did not suffer the shining
hour to pass away unimproved. She possessed a full, sweet voice, of rare
compass, and was a thorough mistress of the musical art, accompanying
her own or other people's songs with equal taste and skill. Uncle
Joseph, in an arm-chair, with a hand on each knee, sat spell-bound by
the Syren,--eyes, ears, and mouth wide open, under the influence of her
strains.
It was but a simple ditty of which she gave him the benefit, yet neither
nature nor art were spared to render it as destructive as she could. He
had never heard it before; but, as he expressed entire approval of its
rhythm, and asked for it again, I feel justified in giving it here. She
called it--
"OVER THE WATER."
I stand on the brink of the river,
The river that runs to the sea;
The fears of a maid I forgive her,
And bid her come over to me.
She knows that her lover is waiting,
She's longing his darling to be,
And spring is the season of mating,
But--she dares not come over to thee!
I have jewels and gold without measure,
I have mountain and meadow and sea;
I have store of possessions and treasure,
All wasting and spoiling for thee.
Her heart is well worthy the winning,
But Love is a gift of the free,
And she vowed from the very beginning,
She'd never come over to thee.
Then lonely I'll wed with my sorrow--
Dead branch on a desolate tree--
My night hath no hope of a morrow,
Unless she come over to me.
Love takes no denial, and pity
Is love in a second degree,
So long ere I'd ended my ditty,
The maiden came over to me!
The two guests left No. 40 together, and parted at the end of the
street; the junior betaking himself to his cigar, the senior to his
whist. Each carried away with him a vague idea that he had spent an
evening in Paradise. Which of the two had been made the greater fool of,
it is not my province to decide; but I have some recollection of an old
couplet in the West of England to the following effect:
"Young man's love soon blazeth and is done,
Old man's love burneth to the bone."