A CHANCE MEETING.
Some few weeks went by. On a fine June morning Lord and Lady Hartledon
were breakfasting at their hotel in the Rue Rivoli. She was listlessly
playing with her cup; he was glancing over _Galignani's_.
"Maude," he suddenly exclaimed, "the fountains are to play on Sunday at
Versailles. Will you go to see them?"
"I am tired of sight-seeing, and tired of Paris too," was Lady
Hartledon's answer, spoken with apathy.
"Are you?" he returned, with animation, as though not sorry to hear the
avowal. "Then we won't stay in Paris any longer. When shall we leave?"
"Are the letters not late this morning?" she asked, allowing the question
to pass.
Lord Hartledon glanced at the clock. "Very late: and we are late also.
Are you expecting any in particular?"
"I don't know. This chocolate is cold."
"That is easily remedied," said he, rising to ring the bell. "They can
bring in some fresh."
"And keep us waiting half-an-hour!" she grumbled.
"The hotel is crammed up to the mansarde," said good-natured Lord
Hartledon, who was easily pleased, and rather tolerant of neglect in
French hotels. "Is not that the right word, Maude? You took me to task
yesterday for saying garret. The servants are run off their legs."
"Then the hotel should keep more servants. I am quite sick of having to
ring twice. A week ago I wished I was out of the place."
"My dear Maude, why did you not say so? If you'd like to go on at once to
Germany--"
"Lettres et journal pour monsieur," interrupted a waiter, entering with
two letters and the _Times_.
"One for you, Maude," handing a letter to his wife. "Don't go," he
continued to the waiter; "we want some more chocolate; this is cold. Tell
him in French, Maude."
But Lady Hartledon did not hear; or if she heard, did not heed; she was
already absorbed in the contents of her letter.
"Ici," said Hartledon, pushing the chocolate-pot towards the man, and
rallying the best French he could command, "encore du chocolat. Toute
froide, _this_. Et puis dépêchez vous; il est tarde, et nous avons besoin
de sortir."
The man was accustomed to the French of Englishmen, and withdrew without
moving a muscle of his face. But Lady Hartledon's ears had been set on
edge.
"_Don't_ attempt French again, Val. They'll understand you if you speak
in English."
"Did I make any mistake?" he asked good-humouredly. "I could speak French
once; but am out of practice. It's the genders bother one."
"Fine French it must have been!" thought her ladyship. "Who is your
letter from?"
"My bankers, I think. About Germany, Maude--would you like to go there?"
"Yes. Later. After we have been to London."
"To London!"
"We will go to London at once, Percival; stay there for the rest of the
season, and then--"
"My dear," he interrupted, his face overcast, "the season is nearly over.
It will be of no use going there now."
"Plenty of use. We shall have quite six weeks of it. Don't look cross,
Val; I have set my heart upon it."
"But have you considered the difficulties? In the first place, we have no
house in town; in the second--"
"Oh yes we have: a very good house."
Lord Hartledon paused, and looked at her; he thought she was joking.
"Where is it?" he asked in merry tones; "at the top of the Monument?"
"It is in Piccadilly," she coolly replied. "Do you remember, some days
ago, I read out an advertisement of a house that was to be let there for
the remainder of the season, and remarked that it would suit us?"
"That it might suit us, had we wanted one," put in Val.
"I wrote off at once to mamma, and begged her to see after it and engage
it for us," she continued, disregarding her husband's amendment. "She now
tells me she has done so, and ordered servants up from Hartledon. By the
time this letter reaches me she says it will be in readiness."
Lord Hartledon in his astonishment could scarcely find words to reply.
"You wrote--yourself--and ordered the house to be taken?"
"Yes. You are difficult to convince, Val."
"Then I think it was your duty to have first consulted me, Lady Maude,"
he said, feeling deeply mortified.
"Thank you," she laughed. "I have not been Lady Maude this two months."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon."
"Now don't pretend to be offended, Val. I have only saved you trouble."
"Maude," he said, rallying his good humour, "it was not right. Let
us--for Heaven's sake let us begin as we mean to go on: our interests
must be _one_, not separate. Why did you not tell me you wished to return
to London, and allow me to see after an abode for us? It would have been
the proper way."
"Well, the truth is, I saw you did not want to go; you kept holding back
from it; and if I _had_ spoken you would have shillyshallied over it
until the season was over. Every one I know is in London now."
The waiter entered with the fresh chocolate, and retired again. Lord
Hartledon was standing at the window then. His wife went up to him, and
stole her hand within his arm.
"I'm sorry if I have offended you, Val. It's no great matter to have
done."
"I think it was, Maude. However--don't act for yourself in future; let me
know your wishes. I do not think you have expressed a wish, or half a
wish, since our marriage, but I have felt a pleasure in gratifying it."
"You good old fellow! But I am given to having a will of my own, and to
act independently. I'm like mamma in that. Val, we will start to-morrow:
have you any orders for the servants? I can transmit them through mamma."
"I have no orders. This is your expedition, Maude, not mine; and, I
assure you, I feel like a man in utter darkness in regard to it. Allow
me to see your mother's letter."
Lady Hartledon had put the letter safely into her pocket.
"I would rather not, Percival: it contains a few private words to myself,
and mamma has always an objection to her letters being shown. I'll read
you all necessary particulars. You must let me have some money to-day."
"How much?" asked he, from between his compressed lips.
"Oceans. I owe for millinery and things. And, Val, I'll go to Versailles
this afternoon, if you like. I want to see some of the rooms again."
"Very well," he answered.
She poured out some chocolate, took it hurriedly, and quitted the room,
leaving her husband in a disheartening reverie. That Lady Hartledon and
Maude Kirton were two very distinct persons he had discovered already;
the one had been all gentleness and childlike suavity, the other was
positive, extravagant, and self-willed; the one had made a pretence of
loving him beyond all other things in life, the other was making very
little show of loving him at all, or of concealing her indifference.
Lord Hartledon was not the only husband who has been disagreeably
astonished by a similar metamorphosis.
The following was the letter of the countess-dowager:
"Darling Maude,
"I have _secured_ the _house_ you write about and send by this _post_
for Hedges and a few of the rest from _Hartledon_. It won't accommodate
a large _establishment_ I can tell you and you'll be _disappointed_
when you come over to take _possession_ which you can do when you
_choose_. Val was a _fool_ for letting his town house in the spring but
of course we know he is _one_ and must put up with it. Whatever you
_do_, don't _consult_ him about _any earthly thing_ take _your own
way_, he never did have _much_ of a will and you must let him _have
none_ for the future. You've got a splendid _chance_ can spend _what
you like_ and rule in _society_ and he'll subside into a _tame
spaniel_.
"Maude if you are such an idiot I'll _shake_ you. Find you've made a
_dredful_ mistake?--can't bear your husband?--keep thinking always of
_Edward_? A child might write such utter _rubish_ but not you, what
does it matter whether one's husband is _liked_ or _disliked_, provided
he gives one _position_ and _wealth_? Go to Amiens and stop with _Jane_
for a _week_ and see her _plight_ and then grumble at your own, you
_are_ an idiot.
"I'm quite _glad_ about your taking this town-_house_, and shall enter
into _posession_ myself as soon as the servants are up, and await you.
_Bob's_ quite _well_ and joins to-day and of course _gives up_ his
lodgings, which have been _wretchedly confined_ and uncomfortable and
where I should have gone to but for this _move_ of yours I don't know.
Mind you bring me over a Parisian _bonnet_ or two or some articles of
that _sort_. I'm nearly in _rags_, Kirton's as undutiful as he _can_ be
but it's that _wife_ of his.
"Your affectionate mother,
"C. Kirton."
The letter will give you some guide to the policy of Maude Hartledon
since her marriage. She did find she had made a mistake. She cared no
more for her husband now than she had cared for him before; and it was a
positive fact that she despised him for walking so tamely into the snare
laid for him by herself and her mother. Nevertheless she triumphed; he
had made her a peeress, and she did care for that; she cared also for the
broad lands of Hartledon. That she was unwise in assuming her own will so
promptly, with little regard to consulting his, she might yet discover.
At Versailles that day--to which place they went in accordance with
Maude's wish--there occurred a rencontre which Lord Hartledon would
willingly have gone to the very ends of the earth to avoid. It happened
to be rather full for Versailles; many of the visitors in Paris
apparently having taken it into their minds to go; indeed, Maude's wish
was induced by the fact that some of her acquaintances in the gay capital
were going also.
You may possibly remember a very small room in the galleries, exceedingly
small as compared with the rest, chiefly hung with English portraits.
They were in this room, amidst the little crowd that filled it, when Lord
Hartledon became aware that his wife had encountered some long-lost
friend. There was much greeting and shaking of hands. He caught the
name--Kattle; and being a somewhat singular name, he recognised it for
that of the lady who had been sojourning at Cannes, and had sent the news
of Miss Ashton's supposed engagement to the countess-dowager. There was
the usual babble on both sides--where each was staying, had been staying,
would be staying; and then Lord Hartledon heard the following words from
Mrs. Kattle.
"How strange I should have seen you! I have met you, the Fords, and the
Ashtons here, and did not know that any of you were in Paris. It's true
I only arrived yesterday. Such a long illness, my dear, I had at Turin!"
"The Ashtons!" involuntarily repeated Maude. "Are they here?--in the
château?" And it instantly occurred to her how she should like to meet
them, and parade her triumph. If ever a spark of feeling for her husband
arose within Maude's heart, it was when she thought of Anne Ashton. She
was bitterly jealous of her still.
"Yes, here; I saw them not three minutes ago. They are only now on their
road home from Cannes. Fancy their making so long a stay!"
"You wrote mamma word that Miss Ashton was about to marry some Colonel
Barnaby."
Mrs. Kattle laughed. It is possible that written news might have been
_asked for_ by the countess-dowager.
"Well, my dear, and so I did; but it turned out to be a mistake. He did
admire her; there was no mistake about that; and I dare say she might
have had him if she liked. How's your brother and his poor leg?"
"Oh, he is well," answered Maude. "Au revoir; I can't stand this crush
any longer."
It was really a crush just then in the room; and though Maude escaped
from it dexterously, Lord Hartledon did not. He was wedged in behind some
stout women, and had the pleasure of hearing another word or two from
Mrs. Kattle.
"Who was that?" asked a lady, who appeared to be her companion.
"Lady Hartledon. He was only the younger brother until a few months ago,
but the elder one got drowned in some inexplicable manner on his own
estate, and this one came into the title. The old dowager began at once
to angle for him, and succeeded in hooking him. She used to write me word
how it progressed."
"She is very beautiful."
"Very."
Lord Hartledon made his escape, and found his wife looking round for him.
She was struck by the aspect of his face.
"Are you ill, Percival?"
"Ill? No. But I don't care how soon we get out of these rooms. I can't
think what brings so many people in them to-day."
"He has heard that _she's_ here, and would like to avoid her," thought
Maude as she took the arm he held out. "The large rooms are empty enough,
I'm sure," she remarked. "Shall we have time to go to the Trianon?"
"If you like. Yes."
He began to hurry through the rooms. Maude, however, was in no mood to be
hurried, but stopped here and stopped there. All at once they met a large
party of friends; those she had originally expected to meet. Quitting her
husband's arm, she became lost amongst them.
There was no help for it; and Lord Hartledon, resigning himself to the
detention, took up his standing before the pictures and stared at them,
his back to the room. He saw a good deal to interest him, in spite of his
rather tumultuous state of mind, and remained there until he found
himself surrounded by other spectators. Turning hastily with a view to
escaping, he trod upon a lady's dress. She looked up at his word of
apology, and they stood face to face--himself and Miss Ashton!
That both utterly lost their presence of mind would have been conclusive
to the spectators, had any regarded them; but none did so. They were
strangers amidst the crowd. For the space of a moment each gazed on the
other, spell-bound. Lord Hartledon's honest blue eyes were riveted on her
face with a strangely yearning expression of repentance--her sweet face,
which had turned as white as ashes. He wore mourning still for his
brother, and was the most distinguished-looking man in the château that
day. Anne was in a trailing lilac silk, with a white gossamer-bonnet.
That the heart of each went out to the other, as it had perhaps never
gone out before, it may be no sin to say. Sin or no sin, it was the
truth. The real value of a thing, as you know, is never felt until it
is lost. For two months each had been dutifully striving to forget the
other, and believed they were succeeding; and this first accidental
meeting roused up the past in all its fever of passion.
No more conscious of what he did than if he had been in a dream, Lord
Hartledon held out his hand; and she, quite as unconscious, mechanically
met it with hers. What confused words of greeting went forth from his
lips he never knew; she as little; but this state of bewildered feeling
lasted only a minute; recollection came to both, and she strove to
withdraw her hand to retreat.
"God bless you, Anne!" was all he whispered, his fervent words marred by
their tone of pain; and he wrung her hand as he released it.
Turning away he caught the eyes of his wife riveted on them; she had
evidently seen the meeting, and her colour was high. Lord Hartledon
walked straight into the next room, and Maude went up to Anne.
"How do you do, Miss Ashton? I am so glad to meet you. I have just heard
you were here from Mrs. Kattle. You have been speaking to my husband."
Anne bowed; she did not lose her presence of mind at _this_ encounter. A
few civil words of reply given with courteous dignity, and she moved away
with a bright flush on her cheek, towards Dr. and Mrs. Ashton, who were
standing arm-in-arm enraptured before a remote picture, cognizant of
nothing else.
"How thin she looks!" exclaimed Maude, as she rejoined her husband, and
took his arm.
"Who looks thin?"
"Miss Ashton. I wonder she did not fling your hand away, instead of
putting her own into it!"
"Do you wish to see the Trianon? We shall be late."
"Yes, I do wish to see it. But you need not speak in that tone: it was
not my fault that we met her."
He answered never a syllable. His lips were compressed to pain, and his
face was hectic; but he would not be drawn into reproaching his wife by
so much as a word, for the sort of taste she was displaying. The manner
in which he had treated Miss Ashton and her family was ever in his mind,
more or less, in all its bitter, humiliating disgrace. The worst part of
it to Val was, that there could be no reparation.
The following day Lord Hartledon and his wife took their departure from
Paris; and if anything could have imparted especial gratification on his
arriving in London at the hired house, it was to find that his wife's
mother was not in it. Val had come home against his will; he had not
wished to be in London that season; rather would he have buried himself
and his haunting sense of shame on the tolerant Continent; and he
certainly had not wished his wife to make her debut in a small hired
house. When he let his own, nothing could have been further from his
thoughts than marriage. As to this house--Lady Kirton had told her
daughter she would be disappointed in it; but when Maude saw its
dimensions, its shabby entrance, its want of style altogether, she was
dismayed. "And after that glowing advertisement!" she breathed
resentfully. It was one of the smallest houses facing the Green Park.
Hedges came forward with an apology from the countess-dowager. An apology
for not invading their house and inflicting her presence upon them
uninvited! A telegraphic despatch from Lord Kirton had summoned her to
Ireland on the previous day; and Val's face grew bright as he heard it.
"What was the matter, Hedges?" inquired his mistress. "I'm sure my
brother would not telegraph unless it was something."
"The message didn't say, my lady. It was just a few words, asking her
ladyship to go off by the first train, but giving no reason."
"I wonder she went, then," observed Val to his wife, as they looked into
the different rooms. But Maude did not wonder: she knew how anxious her
mother was to be on good terms with her eldest son, from whom she
received occasional supplies. Rather would she quarrel with the whole
world than with him.
"I think it a good thing she has gone, Maude," said he. "There certainly
would not have been room for her and for us in this house."
"And so do I," answered Maude, looking round her bed-chamber. "If mamma
fancies she's going to inflict herself upon us for good she's mistaken.
She and I might quarrel, perhaps; for I know she'd try to control me.
Val, what are we to do in this small house?"
"The best we can. We have made the bargain, you know, and taken
possession now."
"You are laughing. I declare I think you are glad it has turned out what
it is!"
"I am not sorry," he avowed. "You'll let me cater for you another time,
Maude."
She put up her face to be kissed. "Don't be angry with me. It is our
home-coming."
"Angry!" he repeated. "I have never shown anger to you yet, Maude. Never
a woman had a more indulgent husband than you shall have in me."
"You don't say a loving one, Val!"
"And a loving one also: if you will only let me be so."
"What do you mean?"
"Love requires love in return. We shall be happy, I am sure, if you so
will it. Only let us pull together; one mind, one interest. Here's your
maid. I wonder where my dressing room is?"
And thus they entered on what remained of the London season. The
newspapers announced the arrival of Lord and Lady Hartledon, and Maude
read it aloud to her husband. She might have retained peace longer,
however, had that announcement not gone forth to the four corners of the
land.
"Only let us pull together!" A very few days indeed sufficed to dissipate
that illusion. Lady Hartledon plunged madly into all the gaieties of the
dying season, as though to make up for lost time; Lord Hartledon never
felt less inclined to plunge into anything, unless it was the waters of
oblivion. He held back from some places, but she did not appear to care,
going her way in a very positive, off-hand manner, according to her own
will, and paying not the slightest deference to his.