"Won't you sit by me? I am very lonely. Those other two can talk to one
another."
So I carried my cup and sat down by Mabel. The "other two," as Mabel put
it, were talking and laughing. Tod was taking a lesson in tea-making
from her, and she called him awkward.
"Are you living here?" I asked of Mabel under cover of the noise.
"Living here! no," she replied in her old abrupt fashion. "Do you think
papa would let me be living over a shop in Oxford? My grandmamma lives
near the town, and she invited me down on a visit to her. There was no
one to bring me, and she said _she_ would"--indicating Sophie--"and we
came yesterday. Well, would you believe it? Grandmamma had meant _next_
Saturday, and she could not take us in, having visitors already. I
wanted to go back home; but she said she liked the look of Oxford, and
she took these rooms for a week. Two guineas without fires and other
extras: I call it dear. How came she to find you out, Johnny?"
"We met just now. She tells us she is Mrs. Everty now."
"Oh yes, they are married. And a nice bargain Mr. Everty has in her! Her
dresses must cost twenty pounds apiece. Some of them _thirty_ pounds!
Look at the lace on that one. Mrs. Smith, papa's wife, gives her a good
talking-to sometimes, telling her Mr. Everty's income won't stand it.
I should think it would not!--though I fancy he has a small share in
papa's business now."
"Do they live in London?"
"Oh yes, they live in London. Close to us, too! In one of the small
houses in Torriana Street. _She_ wanted to take a large house in the
square like ours, but Mr. Everty was too wise."
Talking to this girl, my thoughts back in the past, I wondered whether
Sophie's people had heard of the abstraction of Miss Deveen's emeralds.
But it was not likely. To look at her now: watching her fascinating
ease, listening to her innocent reminiscences of the time we had all
spent together at Lady Whitney's, I might have supposed she had taken
a dose of the waters of Lethe, and that Sophie Chalk had always been
guileless as a child; an angel without wings.
"She has lost none of her impudence, Tod," I said as we went home. "In
the old days, you know, we used to say she'd fascinate the hair off our
heads, give her the chance. She'd wile off both ears as well now. A good
thing she's married!"
Tod broke into a whistle, and went striding on.
Before the week was out, Sophie Chalk--we generally called her by
the old name--had become intimate with some of the men of different
colleges. Mabel Smith went to her grandmother's, and Sophie had nothing
to do but exhibit her charms in the Oxford streets and entertain her
friends. The time went on. Hardly an evening passed but Tod was there;
Bill Whitney went sometimes; I rarely. Sophie did not fascinate me,
whatever she might do by others. Sophie treated her guests to wine and
spirits, and to unlimited packs of cards. Bill Whitney said one night
in a joking way that he was not sure but she might be indicted for
keeping a private gaming-house. Richardson was one of her frequent
evening visitors, and she would let him take his bull-dogs to make a
morning call. There would be betting over the cards in the evenings,
and she did not attempt to object. Sophie would not play herself; she
dispersed her fascinations amidst the company while they played, and
sang songs at the piano--one of the best pianos to be found in Oxford.
There set in a kind of furore for pretty Mrs. Everty; the men who had
the entrée there went wild over her charms, and vied with each other in
making her costly presents. Sophie broke into raptures of delight over
each with the seeming simplicity of a child, and swept all into her
capacious net.
I think it was receiving those presents that was keeping her in Oxford;
or helping to keep her. Some of them were valuable. Very valuable indeed
was a set of diamonds, brooch and ear-rings, that soft young calf,
Gaiton, brought her; but what few brains the viscount had were clean
dazzled away by Sophie's attractions: and Richardson gave her a
bejewelled fan that must have cost a small fortune. If Sophie Chalk did
spend her husband's money, she was augmenting her stock of precious
stones--and she had not lost her passion for them.
One morning my breakfast was brought in by a strange fellow, gloomy and
grim. Tod had gone to breakfast with Mayhew.
"Where's Charley?" I asked.
"Sick," was the short answer.
"What's the matter with him?"
"Down with a cold, or something."
And we had this surly servant for ever so long to come: and I'm sorry
to say got so accustomed to seeing his face as to forget sick Charley.