A DRAWN BATTLE.
Mrs. Lascelles, retiring for the night, or rather morning, on her return
from the Opera, found herself beset with troubles and perplexities of
unusual gravity. Taking off her ornaments, and laying them one by one on
the dressing-table, she reflected sadly on the relative positions of her
two greatest friends, Jin Ross and Helen Hallaton. The longer she looked
at the complication the less she liked it. For a woman to entertain two
lovers, as a game-keeper hunts a brace of pointers, she considered
natural enough. They should be made to range in different directions at
her bidding, back each other without hesitation on her behalf, and,
above all, come meekly to heel at the shortest notice when desired. This
seemed only the normal condition of humanity, and, in her own case, she
had hitherto found such amicable arrangements answer remarkably well.
Sir Henry, indeed, proved wilder than any she had hitherto endeavoured
to train; but Goldthred, again, if not the most sagacious, was by far
the meekest and most docile she had ever taken in hand. For a moment,
she laid down her brushes, smiled at her own comely face in the glass,
and by some unaccountable association of ideas, found herself wishing
this last admirer would show a little more self-assertion, more
enterprise, altogether borrow a leaf or two out of the black books
studied over-diligently by the former.
Then she reproached herself for giving a thought to her own concerns,
while Helen Hallaton looked so pale and sad, resuming the thread of her
regrets with the use of her hair-brushes, and cherishing a certain
impulse of womanly indignation at the idea of two young ladies being in
love with one man.
The proverb affirming that "What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the
gander," cannot assuredly be of feminine invention. The code of our fair
aggressors seems framed by a justice whose scales are not duly
registered, and whose bandage does not entirely cover both eyes. "If I
kill _you_," seems the ladies' verdict, "justifiable homicide, and it
serves you right! But if you kill _me_, it's premeditated
woman-slaughter, and penal servitude for life!"
How many of us are thus transported, without really deserving it, I
refrain from speculating; but I am informed by convicts themselves that
good conduct is powerless to obtain any remission of sentence, and that
there is no such thing as a ticket-of-leave.
Before Mrs. Lascelles got into bed, she resolved to make a touching
appeal to Jin's generosity directly after breakfast, and if need were,
to back it with all the force of her own authority and moral influence.
"Moral influence!" the phrase carried with it a weight and dignity of
which she herself felt conscious, even in bed; and must be overwhelming,
she thought, to "dear Jin," who owed so much to their friendship, and
who had not a bad disposition after all, though too reckless, and
dreadfully wedded to her own opinion, right or wrong.
Turning her back on a ridiculous little night-light, utterly useless now
that morning was already streaming through heavy curtains and
close-drawn window-blinds, she became more and more impressed with the
difficulty of her task, as she courted sleep in vain. So many instances
recurred to her of Jin's superiority in argument, of Jin's readiness in
repartee, of Jin's independence of spirit and inflexible persistency in
taking her own line, that she was fain to dismiss the subject from her
mind, and let her thoughts wander at will through more congenial
topics--her dresses, her beauty, her widowhood, her rich brown hair, the
Opera, the fiddles, the conductor's gloves, the tenor's eye-brows,
Goldthred's good night, Sir Henry's back, a haze of lights, music,
attentions, admiration, whiskers, boots and broadcloth, fading dimly
into chaos, till they left Mrs. Lascelles fast asleep.
Miss Ross, too, laid her black head on the pillow with a sensation at
her heart, so new, so strange, that it took away her breath--not
triumph, for it was mingled with apprehension, misgivings, and a sense
of unworthiness, as humiliating as it was unexpected;--not content, for
everything seemed still to gain, except the one step made to-night, that
yet to lose would be simply destruction and despair;--not happiness,
surely, the uncertainty was even now too painful, the rush of joy too
wild and keen. How useless, how idiotic it seemed, above all, how
contemptible and unlike herself, to lock the door when she reached her
room, rest her brow against the window frame, and cry for two whole
minutes like a child!
"Not for sorrow, though. Certainly not for sorrow," she murmured,
recovering herself with a great sob, while she resolved to yield to such
absurdity no longer.
She could hardly bring herself to believe in the reality of the last few
hours. The whole thing seemed wild and improbable as a dream. It was
dreadful to think she might wake up at any moment, to discover that she
had _not_ known Captain Vanguard for a few weeks; that she had _not_ set
her heart on him, during the last few days, till he had become the one
necessity of her existence; that she had _not_ sat by his side this very
evening in the gloomy back of an opera-box, and leant on his arm in the
crush-room, and gathered from his looks, his gestures, nay, from his
very words, that he loved her. _Her_, the outcast, the adventurer, the
woman warring and warred against, who had vowed vengeance for her
wrongs, on the whole of his base and treacherous sex. Ah! if she were
indeed to wake and find so cold a reality awaiting her, would it not be
better to end it all and go to sleep for ever? No; like a ray of light
through a cloud, like a breath of air in the noon-day heat, like the
song of a bird in a desert-place, came the recollection of her boy. What
had she done to be so blessed? To have found her child, to have found
her heart, to have found, even at the same moment, the love that makes a
woman humble, and the love that makes a woman proud! It seemed too much,
and, for a space, Jin was so happy that she felt almost good.
In such a frame of mind people's slumbers are light and easily
disturbed. Long before the maid came in to call her, Miss Ross was wide
awake, and shaping for herself a plan, to be facilitated, and even
rendered necessary, by subsequent events.
Breakfast at No. 40 was a late and unpunctual meal. It was laid in the
boudoir, and each lady dawdling into that apartment at her own time,
rang independently for the strip of dry toast and cup of coffee that
constituted her repast. Miss Ross, earlier than usual, was surprised to
find her hostess already down, making pretence of breakfasting, with
obvious want of appetite, and a restlessness of manner denoting that
uncomfortable state of mind which the sufferer calls "worry," and the
bystander "fuss."
Jin entered radiant. Fresh from her bath and morning toilet, she had
even a tinge of colour in her cheek, the one thing usually wanting to
complete her beauty. There was a light, too, dancing in her eyes, a
buoyancy in her step and gesture, a sparkle, as it were, of joy and
triumph in her whole bearing, that did not escape the notice of her
friend.
"Late hours seem to suit you, my dear," said Mrs. Lascelles languidly.
"I never saw you looking so well."
"I am a fool about music," answered the other demurely, "and I did enjoy
the opera last night more than I can describe."
"The opera," asked Mrs. Lascelles quietly, "or the company?"
Jin must have been hard hit, for she actually blushed.
"Both, of course," was her reply. "Everything is pleasanter, I suppose,
when it's done with pleasant people."
The tone was rather too careless, and her hand shook while she poured
out a cup of coffee. Mrs. Lascelles, noticing this trepidation, felt her
heart sink within her.
"The company was pleasant enough last night," said she, "as far as _our_
box was concerned; but I don't think people all amused themselves
equally. Helen, for instance, seemed bored to death. She does _not_ look
well, and I am sure she is not happy. I'm very fond of her, Jin, and so
are you. What _is_ it, do you think? and how can we do her good?"
These ladies were not fairly matched. Mrs. Lascelles became flurried and
nervous as she neared the point of collision. Miss Ross, on the
contrary, grew steadier and cooler with the immediate approach of
danger.
"I don't think Helen knows her own mind," she replied; "girls very
seldom do. You must surely have observed in your personal experience,
Rose, that
"Too many lovers will puzzle a maid."
Mrs. Lascelles accepted the implied compliment with a forced smile, but
it did not turn her from her object.
"Helen is unlike most girls," she answered; "and I don't fancy any
number of lovers would make amends to her for losing the one she has set
her heart on. People are so different, you know, and Helen's is one of
those deep, quiet, reserved natures that suffer awfully, though they
suffer in silence. I think, Jin, between you and me, that Helen likes
Somebody, and that Somebody would like her if it wasn't for Somebody
else!"
Though almost sublime in its ambiguity, Miss Ross understood this "dark
sentence" perfectly, and scorned to affect misconception of its purport.
"You mean Captain Vanguard!" She came out with his name in a burst of
defiance. "Well, how can I help _that_?"
"Oh, Jin, as you are strong be merciful!" pleaded Mrs. Lascelles. "You
know your own power. You know you are one of the most taking creatures
in the world if you only try. Look at Uncle Joseph, look at even Mr.
Goldthred, though I consider him the truest of the true. Look at Sir
Henry. To be sure, it's no compliment from _him_, for he's the same to
everybody. Look at all the men who come near us. You needn't even take
the trouble of shooting, like Mr. Picard's American colonel and his
squirrel--down they come at once. Can't you let this squirrel alone?
Can't you leave him to Helen, dear? Everybody will be so pleased, and I
should be _so_ much obliged to you, Jin, if you would!"
Miss Ross laughed. "The last is certainly a strong inducement," said
she; "but it seems to me you are leaving the squirrel's own inclinations
out of the question. Because he comes down for Colonel Crockett, does it
follow he'll be so obliging to everybody else? I suppose Frank--I mean
Captain Vanguard--has a perfect right to talk to me instead of Miss
Hallaton, if he is more amused in my society than in hers."
"Amused!" repeated Mrs. Lascelles, growing warm. "This is no question of
amusement. It is a life's happiness or misery for two people who ought
never to have been interfered with. You have no right to supplant her;
you have no right to trifle with _him_!"
"Suppose I am _not_ trifling," retorted the other. "Suppose I am in
earnest, just for once, by way of change. You have complimented me on my
powers, in sport. Do you think I should be a less dangerous enemy, Rose,
if I were fighting for my life?"
"You remember our agreement," exclaimed Mrs. Lascelles with rising
colour, and a shake in her voice, denoting wrath no less than a nervous
dread of its indulgence. "You are not acting fairly by me; you're not
acting fairly by any of us. If you turn round now, after what you've
told me, after what we agreed, I can never trust you again, Jin. I shall
think you've been sailing under false colours all through."
"Explain yourself, Rose," said Miss Ross, very quietly, but with an
ominously steady expression about the lower part of her face, in strong
contrast with the quivering lips and tremulous chin of her companion.
"You ought to see it yourself," whimpered the latter, now in a sore
predicament between her feelings of friendship and generosity. "I shall
say something to be sorry for afterwards. I know I shall. You'll drive
me to it, Jin! and when I am driven, I can't and won't stop!"
"You seem to expect that my thoughts, feelings, and opinions are to be
under your control, as you would have my actions and conversation," was
the grave and rather stern rejoinder. "This is not dependence, Mrs.
Lascelles, but slavery. You are not only unkind, but unreasonable and
unjust."
Mrs. Lascelles turned very red. She was now obviously "driven," as she
called it, and not likely to stop.
"What I expect," she retorted, "is nothing to the purpose; for there
seems little chance of my obtaining it. What I _insist_ on is common
propriety of demeanour and the merest fair-play. You would never have
met these people at all--you would never have been in a position to know
any one of them, but for _me_. You are received amongst them
as--as--like anybody else, and you throw down the apple of discord to
set us all at sixes and sevens. You seem to forget, Miss Ross, that your
victims are my personal friends."
"And what am I?" retorted Jin, with an angry flash from her black eyes.
"Something between a companion and a servant! A piece of furniture good
enough for the drawing-room, though occasionally useful in the kitchen!
The obligations are not perhaps so entirely on one side as you would
like to make out. When people hunt in couples, a good deal may be done
that it would be madness to attempt singly. It cannot but be convenient
for an independent lady to have a friend at her elbow who is always well
disposed, always ready to go anywhere, or do anything, generally
good-tempered, and, above all, afflicted with an intermittent defect of
sight or hearing as required. I think I have earned my wages, and
returned adequate value in kind for board and lodging--both, I must
admit of the best--and treatment, I am happy to think, of the kindest
and most considerate, till to-day!"
Touched to the quick by this last reproach, Mrs. Lascelles was already
crying vehemently.
"It's not that!" she sobbed out. "It's not that! I don't want to remind
you of anything that's past and gone. But you ought to do what I ask you
in common gratitude because--because--you know you ought!"
Seeing the adversary wavering, Miss Ross stood firm to her guns.
"Gratitude," said she, "is one thing, and obedience another. I admit
that I owe the first, and hoped I had shown some consciousness of the
debt. The last is a different question, and I am not naturally very
submissive. But, come. Let us have a clear understanding. I am ready to
receive your orders!"
"Orders!" Mrs. Lascelles fired up once more. "You've no right to put it
in that way. But it's no use talking the thing over backwards and
forwards. You've barely known him a fortnight. In plain English, will
you or will you _not_ give Frank Vanguard up?"
Jin laughed scornfully.
"Suppose he won't give _me_ up?"
"That's nothing to do with it," retorted the other. "Once for all, Miss
Ross, will you or will you _not_?"
"No, I won't! There!"
Jin looked very handsome while she thus raised the standard of revolt,
with her head up, her eyes flashing, and a little spot of colour in each
cheek.
Mrs. Lascelles now lost all control over her temper. Totally unused to
anger, she trembled violently under its influence, and felt, indeed,
that no victory, however triumphant, could repay her for the tumult of
such a contest.
"Under these circumstances," said she, vainly endeavouring to steady her
voice, and assume that dignity of bearing to which only last night her
"moral influence" had seemed to entitle her, "it is impossible that you
and I can continue on the same terms. It is impossible that we can
remain under the same roof. You will see the propriety, Miss Ross, at
your earliest convenience of making arrangements to reside elsewhere."
"The sooner the better," answered Jin calmly. "I'll go directly. My
things are packed. We won't part in anger, Mrs. Lascelles. Rose, you've
been very, _very_ good to me, and I shall think kindly of you as long as
I live!"
The tide of battle was now completely turned. It may be that the
conqueror was eagerly looking for an opportunity to lay down her
arms--it may be that Mrs. Lascelles had only meant to threaten, and
hated herself for the menace even while it crossed her lips. She was, at
any rate, quite incapable of hitting an adversary when down, and far
more inclined to set a fallen foe upright, and make friends, than, like
some Amazons, to crush and trample the unfortunate into the dust. She
literally fell on Miss Ross's neck, and wept.
"I didn't mean it!" she sobbed. "I didn't mean it! Jin, dear Jin, I was
angry, and didn't know what I was saying! I am a wretch and a heathen
and a beast! Think no more of it, dear, I implore you! And promise me
that you won't dream of packing up your things and leaving me. What
should I do without you, Jin? Indeed--indeed--I should be perfectly
miserable, dear, if you were to go away!"
So the ladies embraced, and cried, and laughed, and cried again, as is
the manner of their sex in the ratification of all treaties, permanent
or otherwise, arriving at the conclusion that their friendship was
imperishable, that they were all in all to each other, and that
henceforth nothing should part them but the grave. None the less,
however, did Miss Ross determine that she would subject herself no more
to such scenes of reproach and recrimination; that she would take a
certain step, only, after all, a little sooner than expected, which she
had already vaguely contemplated as a possibility, a probability, nay, a
positive necessity, for her happiness; and, if he would only open them
to receive her, throw herself, without delay, into the arms of Frank
Vanguard.