THE SHADOW.
The process of disenchantment is one of the saddest and one of the
commonest things in life; whether the cause of it be the golden youth
who, apparently a very Bayard before marriage, after marriage gradually
reveals himself to be hopelessly selfish, or develops a craving for
brandy, or becomes merely brutal and ill-tempered; or whether it is the
creature of all angelic gifts and graces who, after her marriage,
destroys the romance of domestic life by her slatternly ways, or sinks
into the condition of a confirmed sigher, or in time discovers to her
husband that he has married a woman comprising in herself, to use the
American phrase, nine distinct sorts of a born fool. These discoveries
are common in life; but they generally follow marriage, which gives
ample opportunities for study. Before marriage man and maid meet but
at intervals; and then both are alike on their best behaviour. The
slattern is no slattern now; she is always dainty and nice and neat;
the golden youth is generous to a fault, and noble in all his ways; and
if either or both should be somewhat foolish, or even downright stupid,
the lack of wisdom is concealed by a tender smile or a soft touch of
the hand. It is the dream-time of life; and it is not usual for one to
awake until it is over.
But it was different with Frank King. The conditions in which he was
placed were altogether peculiar. He had made two gigantic
mistakes--the first in imagining that any two human beings could be
alike: the second in imagining that, even if they were alike, he could
transfer his affection from the one to the other--and he was now
engaged in a hopeless and terrible struggle to convince himself that
these were not mistakes. He would not see that Madge Beresford was
very different from Nan. He was determined to find in her all he had
hoped to find. He argued with himself that she was just like Nan, as
Nan had been at her age. Madge was so kind, and good, and nice; of
course it would all come right in the end.
At the same time, he never wished to be alone with Madge, as is the
habit of lovers. Nor if he was suddenly interested in anything did he
naturally turn to her, and call her attention. On the other hand, the
little social circle did not seem complete when Nan, with her grave
humour, and her quiet smile, and her gentle, kindly ways, was absent.
When she came into the room, then satisfaction and rest were in the
very air. If there was a brighter green on the sea, where a gleam of
wintry sunshine struck the roughened waters, whose eyes but Nan's could
see that properly? It was she whom he addressed on all occasions;
perhaps unwittingly. It seemed so easy to talk to Nan. For the rest,
he shut his eyes to other considerations. From the strange fascination
and delight that house in Brunswick Terrace always had for him, he knew
he must be in love with somebody there; and who could that be but Madge
Beresford, seeing that he was engaged to her?
Unhappily for poor Madge, Frank King was now called home by the old
people at Kingscourt; and for a time, at least, all correspondence
between him and his betrothed would obviously have to be by letter.
Madge was in great straits. A look, a smile, a touch of the fingers
may make up for lack of ideas; but letter-writing peremptorily demands
them, of some kind or another. As usual, Madge came to her elder
sister.
'Oh, Nan, I do so hate letter-writing. I promised to write every
morning. I don't know what in the world to say. It is such a
nuisance.'
Nan was silent; of late she had tried to withdraw as much as possible
from these confidences of her sister's; but not very successfully.
Madge clung to her. Lady Beresford would not be bothered. Edith was
busy with her own affairs. But Nan--old Mother Nan--who had nothing to
think of but other people, might as well begin and play the old maid at
once, and give counsel in these distressing affairs.
'I wish you would tell me what to say,' continued Madge, quite coolly.
'I? Oh, I cannot,' said Nan, almost shuddering, and turning away.
'But you know what interests him; for he's always talking to you,'
persisted Madge, good-naturedly. 'Anybody but me would be jealous; but
I'm not. The day before yesterday Mrs. ---- went by; and I asked him
to look at her hair, that every one is raving about; and he plainly
told me your hair was the prettiest he had ever seen. Now, I don't
call that polite. He might have said "except yours," if only for the
look of the thing. But I don't mind--not a bit I'm very glad he likes
you, Nan----'
'Madge! Madge!'
It was almost a cry wrung from the heart. But in an instant she had
controlled herself again. She turned to her sister, and said with
great apparent calmness,
'Surely, dear, you ought to know what to write. These are things that
cannot be advised about. Letters of that kind are secret----'
'Oh, I don't care about that. I think it is stupid,' said Madge at
once. 'There is no use having any pretence about it. And I don't know
in the world what to write about. Look,--I have begun about the
Kenyons' invitation, and asked him whether he'd mind my going. I like
those little dances better than the big balls----'
She held out the letter she had begun. But Nan would not even look at
it.
'It isn't usual, is it, Madge,' she said, hurriedly, 'for a girl who is
engaged to go out to a dance by herself?'
'But we are all going!'
'You know what I mean. It is a compliment you should pay him not to
go.'
'Well,' said Madge somewhat defiantly, 'I don't know about that. One
does as one is done by. And I don't think he'd care if I went and
danced the whole night through--even with Jack Hanbury.'
'Oh, how can you say such a thing!' said her sister, staring at her;
for this was a new development altogether.
But Madge was not to be put down.
'Oh, I am not such a fool. I can see well enough. There isn't much
romance about the whole affair; and that's the short and the long of
it. Of course it's a very good arrangement for both of us, I believe;
and that's what they say now-a-days--marriages are "arranged."'
'I don't know what you mean Madge! You never spoke like that before.'
'Perhaps I was afraid of frightening you; for you have high and mighty
notions of things, dear Nan, for all your mouse-like ways. But don't I
see very well that he is marrying to please his parents; and to settle
down and be the good boy of the family? That's the meaning of the
whole thing----'
'You don't mean to say, Madge,' said the elder sister, though she
hesitated, and seemed to have to force herself to ask the question,
'You don't mean to say you think he does not--love you?'
At this Madge flushed up a little, and said--
'Oh, well, I suppose he does, in a kind of way, though he doesn't take
much trouble about saying it. It isn't of much consequence; we shall
have plenty of time afterwards. Mind, if only Jack Hanbury could get
invited by the Kenyons, and I were to dance two or three times with
him, and Frank get to hear of it, I suppose there would be a noble
rampage: _then_ he might speak out a little more.'
'Have you been dreaming Madge?' said Nan, again staring at her sister.
'What has put such monstrous things into your head? Mr. Hanbury--at
the Kenyons'--and you would dance with him!'
'Well, why not?' said Madge, with a frown; for this difficulty about
the letter-writing had clearly operated on her temper and made her
impatient. 'All the world isn't supposed to know about the
Vice-Chancellor's warning. Why shouldn't he be invited by the Kenyons?
And why should he know that I am going? And why, if we both happen to
be there, shouldn't we dance together? Human beings are human beings,
in spite of Vice-Chancellors. They can't lock up a man for dancing
with you? At all events, they can't lock me up, even if Jack is there.'
'Madge, put these things out of your head. You won't go to the
Kenyons', for Captain King would not like it----'
'I don't think he'd take the trouble to object,' Madge interjected.
'And Mr. Hanbury won't be there; and there will be no dancing, and no
quarrel. If you wish to write to Captain King about what will interest
him, write about what interests yourself. That he is sure to be
interested in----'
'Well, but that is exactly what I can't write to him about. I know
what I am interested in well enough. Edith has just told me Mr.
Roberts has been pressing her to fix a time for their marriage. She
thinks the end of April; so that they could be back in London for the
latter end of the season. Now I think that would do very well for us
too--and it is always nice for two sisters to get married on the same
day--only Frank has never asked me a word about it, and how am I to
write to him about it? So you see, wise Mother Nan, I can't write to
him about what interests me.'
Nan had started somewhat when she heard this proposal; it seemed
strange to her.
'April?' she said. 'You've known Captain King a very short time,
Madge. You were not thinking of getting married in April next?'
'Perhaps I'd better wait until I'm asked,' said Madge, with a laugh, as
she turned to go away. 'Well, if you won't tell me what to write
about, I must go and get this bothered letter done somehow. I do
believe the best way will be to write about you; that will interest him
anyway.'
Frank King remained away for a few weeks, and during this time the
first symptoms appeared of the coming spring. The days began to
lengthen, there were crocuses in the gardens, there were reports of
primroses and sweet violets in the woods about Horsham; in London
Parliament was sitting, and in Brighton well-known faces were
recognisable amongst the promenaders on the Saturday afternoons. Then
Mr. Roberts, as Edith's accepted suitor, received many invitations to
the house in Brunswick Terrace; and in return was most indefatigable in
arranging riding-parties, driving-parties, walking-parties, with in
each case a good hotel for luncheon as his objective point. Madge
joined in these diversions with great good-will; and made them the
excuse for the shortness of the letters addressed to Kingscourt. Nan
went also; she was glad to get into the country on any pretence; and
she seemed merry enough. When Mr. Roberts drove along the King's Road
with these three comely damsels under his escort, he was a proud man;
and he may have comforted himself with the question, that as beer
sometimes led to a baronetcy, why shouldn't soda-water?
Strangely enough, Nan had entirely ceased making inquiries about
sisterhoods and institutions for the training of nurses. She seemed
quite reconciled to the situation of things as they were. She did not
cease her long absences from the house; but every one knew that on
these occasions she was off on one of her solitary wanderings; and she
came home in the evening apparently more contented than ever. She had
even brought herself to speak of Madge's married life, which at first
she would not do.
'You see,' she said to her sister on one occasion, 'if you and Edith
get married on the same day, I must remain and take care of mamma; she
must not be left quite alone.'
'Oh, as for that,' said Madge, 'Mrs. Arthurs does better than the whole
of us; and I'm not going to have you made a prisoner of. I'm going to
have a room at Kingscourt called "Nan's room," and it shall have no
other name as long as I am there. Then we shall have a proper house in
London by and by; and of course you'll come up for the season, and see
all the gaieties. I think we ought to have one of the red houses just
by Prince's; that would be handy for everything; and you might come up,
Nan, and help me to buy things for it. And you shall have a room there
too, you shall; and you may decorate it and furnish it just as you
like. I know quite well what you would like--the room small; the
woodwork all bluey-white; plenty of Venetian embroidery flung about;
all the fire-place brass; some of those green Persian plates over the
mantelpiece; about thirteen thousand Chinese fans arranged like
fireworks on the walls; a fearful quantity of books and a low
easy-chair; red candles; and in the middle of the whole thing a nasty,
dirty, little beggar-girl to feed and pet----'
'I think, Madge,' her sister said, gravely, 'that you should not set
your heart on a town-house at all. Remember, old Mr. King is giving
his son Kingscourt at a great sacrifice. As I understand it, it will
be a long time before the family estate is what it has been; and you
would be very ungrateful if you were extravagant----'
'Oh, I don't see that,' said Madge. 'They are conferring no favour on
me. I don't see why I should economise. I am marrying for fun, not
for love.'
She blurted out this inadvertently--to Nan's amazement and horror--but
instantly retracted it, with the blood rushing to her temples.
'Of course I don't mean that, Nan--how could I have been so stupid! I
don't mean _that--exactly_. What I mean is that it doesn't seem to me
as if it was supposed to be a very fearfully romantic match, and all
that kind of thing. It's a very good arrangement; but it isn't I who
ought to be expected to make sacrifices----'
'But surely your husband's interests will be yours!' exclaimed Nan.
'Oh yes, certainly,' her sister said, somewhat indifferently. 'No
doubt that's true, in a way. Quite true, in a kind of way. Still,
there are limits; and I should not like to be buried alive for ever in
the country.'
Then she sighed.
'Poor Jack!' she said.
She went to the window.
'When I marry, I know at least one who will be sorry. I can fancy him
walking up and down there--looking at the house as he used to do; and,
oh! so grateful if only you went to the window for a moment. He will
see it in the papers, I suppose.'
She turned to her sister, and said, triumphantly--
'Well, the Vice-Chancellor was done that time!'
'What time?'
'Valentine's morning. You can send flowers without any kind of writing
to be traced. Do you think I don't know who sent me the flowers?'
'At all events, you should not be proud of it. You should be sorry.
It is a very great pity----'
'Yes, that's what I think,' said Madge. 'How can I help pitying him?
It wouldn't be natural not to pity him, Vice-chancellor or no
Vice-chancellor. I hate that man.'
'I say it is a great pity that Mr. Hanbury does not accept his
dismissal as inevitable; and as for you, Madge, you ought not even to
think of him. Captain King sent you that beautiful card-case on
Valentine's morning; that is what you should remember.'
'Captain King could send me a white elephant if he chose,' said Madge,
spitefully. 'There's no danger to him in anything he does. It's
different with poor Jack.'
'Madge,' said her sister, seriously, 'do you know that you are talking
as if you looked forward to this marriage with regret?'
'Oh no, I don't--I'm not such a fool,' said Madge, plainly. 'I know
it's stupid to think about Jack Hanbury; but still, one has got a
little feeling.'
Then she laughed.
'I will tell you another secret, Nan. If he daren't write to me he can
send me things. He sent me a book--a novel--and I know he meant me to
think the hero himself. For he was disappointed in love, too, and
wrote beautifully about his sufferings, and at last the poor fellow
blew his brains out.'
'Well, Mr. Hanbury couldn't do that, at all events--for reasons,' Nan
said.
'Now that is a very bad joke,' said Madge, in a sudden outburst of
temper; 'an old, stupid, bad joke, that has been made a hundred times.
I'm ashamed of you, Nan. They say you have a great sense of humour;
that's when you say things they can't understand; and they pretend to
have a great sense of humour too. But where's the humour in that?'
'But Madge, dear,' said Nan, gently, 'I didn't mean to say anything
against Mr. Hanbury----'
'In any case, there is one in this house who does not despise Mr.
Hanbury for being poor,' said Madge, hotly. 'It isn't his fault that
his papa and mamma haven't given him money and sent him out into the
world to buy a wife!'
And therewith she quickly went to the door and opened it, and went out
and shut it again with something very closely resembling a slam.