Sir Percy ask for me or send me any message?"
Senator March tried to recall.
"I really can't remember anything special. Both of them were most
cordial, and Lady Carlyon particularly said she hoped to see us very
soon."
Mrs. March smiled.
"Sir Percy has forgotten, perhaps," she said softly after a moment, "his
first six months in India."
"Oh, I think not! He told me during our first acquaintance all about
that and the enormous obligations he was under to your father. We must
call and see the Carlyons very soon, and have them here to dinner."
Then Alicia suddenly changed the subject, and began to ask him about his
day's work.
"There is a tremendous amount of work on hand for the committee, as
there is a great mass of information to be mastered before one can treat
intelligently this whole railway subject, for instance."
Then Senator March went on to describe the pitfalls and obstacles in the
way of certain intended legislation concerning railways. His wife
listened with the deepest attention, occasionally putting in an
intelligent question. Presently the Senator said:
"I believe you know as much about the matter as I do. You should be an
interstate commerce commissioner."
Alicia smiled, she rarely laughed.
"That is the way with Englishwomen: we accommodate ourselves to our
husbands instead of requiring them to mould themselves to us."
"It is a very pleasant way," replied Senator March gallantly, and then,
being full of his subject, he went on talking about it until, suddenly
recalling himself, he said: "You have not been for your drive and it is
already growing dark. I can't go with you to-day; I have a lot more of
this business on hand in my study."
"I don't think I shall drive this afternoon," replied Mrs. March. "I
think I shall walk for half-an-hour. You wish to be undisturbed until
dinner?"
"Yes," said Senator March, going into his own quarters.
Ten minutes later Mrs. March, in a plain walking dress, with a thin
black veil over her face, went out of her own door, and when she was
well around the corner called a cab and gave the address of a plain
hotel in the lower part of the city. As she leaned back in the
ramshackle cab she drew her veil still more closely over her face and
tried to collect her thoughts for the interview which she sought, but
her mind wandered to all manner of subjects. How strange it was that
she, the wife of one of the richest men in the Senate, with an allowance
which was a fortune in itself, should be at that moment harassed for
money! She never remembered the time in her life that such had not been
the case. When she married Senator March it was with the expectation
that never again as long as she lived would she ever want for money, but
within the year the old emptiness of purse returned. Money slipped
through her fingers she knew not how. She loved pearls and diamonds and
beautiful things with an insatiable love. Senator March had loaded her
with jewels, but she wanted more. It seemed to her that wealth was not
wealth if one had to consider how it was spent. That principle had
caused her to spend not only a splendid income, but had piled up debts
to which her old burdens were a mere nothing. The same principle of
shame and even fear that she had felt toward her father prevented her
from opening her heart to her husband, the soul of indulgence. There
was a kind of rigid morality about Roger March, and the idea that she
had made debts which she concealed from him she knew would appear as a
crime in his eyes. He would, of course, pay them--of that she felt
quite certain--but in spite of her husband's love and gentleness, he had
always inspired her with a certain fear, just as her father did, and
General Talbott would know the whole story which she so shrank from
telling. She found a curious lack of power in herself to stop spending
money. Then came Nicholas Colegrove's opportunity.
He had seen Alicia March several times during the first winter of her
marriage, when she immediately became one of the great hostesses of
Washington. Colegrove was by nature social, and liked, as well as any
one, a good dinner, a good glass of wine and a pretty woman on each side
of him. His position as the moving spirit of an association of great
railways, which some people called a conspiracy, placed him somewhat at
a disadvantage with public men in Washington. Senator March, however,
liked Colegrove well enough, and was by no means afraid of him, and if
Alicia March wanted to have him at her brilliant dinners her husband
made no objection. Senator March was chairman of the committee which
was dealing with Colegrove and his associates, but so far nothing had
been discovered of a nature damaging to Colegrove or his friends. As he
good-humouredly told Senator March, the railways asked only to be let
alone; and Senator March, with equal good humour, replied that was the
very thing that the committee did not mean to do.
As the committee would not agree to let Colegrove alone, but persisted
in asking prying questions, the next best thing for him was to find out
exactly what the committee knew, and how it proposed to act. Alicia
March was the instrument ready to his hand. Colegrove, who had a vast
quantity of that semi-divine gift known as common-sense, was under no
illusion respecting Alicia March's influence over her husband. Senator
March was deeply devoted to his wife, but neither she nor any other
human being who ever lived could swerve Roger March from his duty, or
cause him to betray the smallest trust. He was not, however, on guard
against his wife, and Colegrove knew it.
When he passed the March house late at night and saw the lights burning
in Senator March's study, and knew that he was at work there with his
clerk and a stenographer, Colegrove longed to know what they were
writing. How easy it would be for Mrs. March to make a few copies of
the letters and memoranda, which would be immensely useful to the
A.F.&O.! Reflecting on this, Colegrove cultivated Mrs. March's society.
Being a man of acute observation, he found out some things about Alicia
March which not even her husband knew. He discovered that she had a
strange sense of dislocation in her new place. She had been forced, as
she thought, in her previous life to have many concealments, and she
still had them, but they gave her a vague sense of discomfort which she
had never known before. Still the habit was upon her, and she had the
conviction that concealment, however wrong, was absolutely necessary.
Colegrove alone of all the men she had ever known seemed to penetrate at
once into everything which she wished to keep secret. He had got out of
her the fact that she was pressed for money within a year of her
marriage. This he proposed to remedy in a manner at once easy, simple
and honourable: to get hold of stocks which would cost next to nothing
to buy, and would sell for a fortune, and this he would do for Alicia
March in his own name. He made the condition, however, that she should
not mention it to her husband, and to this Alicia March agreed readily
enough, knowing the transaction could not take place unless it were kept
a secret from Senator March. Then money flowed into her hands, not
enough to make her independent of Colegrove, but enough to ease the
perpetual strain. At this point Colegrove had asked her to get copies of
certain letters which he knew were in Senator March's desk in his study.
At this Alicia recoiled and then refused, but when payment was demanded
for a couple of black pearls which she had bought, and her dividends
from her stocks were not forthcoming, Colegrove told her plainly that he
must have copies of those letters before any more money was paid.
Alicia had realised some time before that she was playing a dangerous
game, but who fears the danger of a game as long as one is winning? It
was ridiculously easy to get what Colegrove wanted, and love for the
black pearls was stronger in Alicia March than honour or fear. Colegrove
got his copies and Alicia's stock suddenly, according to Colegrove,
declared a tremendous dividend.
Colegrove congratulated himself on what he had accomplished with Mrs.
March and incidentally was scorched. All men are dreamers of dreams,
and at last the dream took shape with Colegrove that he should force a
wedge between Roger March and his wife. As for Colegrove's own wife,
the fretful lady in a far-away western city, that was easily managed--he
could drive her into a divorce any day he liked. He was the last man on
earth who would betray himself, and what seemed an unguarded outbreak of
passion for Alicia March was really a carefully calculated procedure.
Alicia received it with a calmness and capacity to deal with the
situation which showed him that she was no apprentice in such matters.
She held him off, but she did not break with him. Each was too useful
to the other to come to an open rupture, and so matters had gone on for
more than three years.
In that time no human being, not even Roger March, suspected that Alicia
March and Colegrove ever met except in the presence of others, and
generally at dinners. Nevertheless, they had brief interviews, chiefly
relating to bills and their payment, and papers were handed over to
Colegrove, and crisp new bills for considerable amounts were received by
Alicia. These meetings generally took place in unfrequented streets and
parks at twilight, and might easily be explained as accidental. Those
were not occasions of sentiment, but when Alicia and Colegrove met in
drawing-rooms Colegrove then said things which conveyed to Alicia that
her husband was puritanical in his ideas, which Colegrove was not, and
when she should find Roger March intolerable there was a refuge waiting
her. It seemed quite natural to Alicia March to hear these veiled
declarations from Colegrove. She admired the ingenuity with which he
made them and listened to them with a smiling composure, the meaning of
which not all Colegrove's acuteness could discover. Alicia herself did
not know her own feeling towards her husband, nor had the brilliant life
upon which she had entered acquired any true sense of reality and
proportion. She felt as if she were living in a dream, silent,
changeful, exciting, but still a dream.
As the cab jogged along over the streets Alicia turned all these things
over in her mind. It was the first time she had ever had a meeting with
Colegrove which was open to the slightest suspicion, but Colegrove had
written to her that he did not desire it to be known that he was in
Washington while the great railroad legislation was pending until he
should be called as a witness, and for that reason he would come to
Washington for a few hours, stopping at a plain hotel where he was not
known, when he was supposed to be on a hunting trip in Pennsylvania.
It was almost dark when she stepped out of the cab in front of the hotel
where Colegrove was staying. He was watching for her and came down the
steps to meet her. Time had dealt lightly with him, and he was the same
strong, supple, keen-eyed man of four years before, with the same
captivating frankness of manner, which did not reveal himself, but
revealed others to him.
"Now," he said, when Alicia and he were in the lobby of the little
hotel, "you won't mind coming to my sitting-room, where we can talk
privately?"
"I mind very much," replied Alicia coolly. "There must be a public
drawing-room somewhere about, and we can talk there."
"Here it is," replied Colegrove, opening a door near by and entering a
large, showily furnished room glaring with gas. "But this is a very
public drawing-room," said Colegrove, smiling, "and it is not to be
supposed that Mrs. March is not known by sight to a great many people
who are not on her visiting list. You had better come to my
sitting-room."
Without a word Alicia followed him to the lift and they ascended one
flight. Colegrove's sitting-room was a small replica of the
drawing-room below.
"It is a good many years since I entertained a lady in a place like
this, but I hope you will excuse it. I don't want your husband's
committee to know that I am within a hundred miles of this town. Before
we begin talking business, tell me how you have been. You are looking
blooming, as well as I can see under that veil."
"I remembered that you told me," was Alicia's reply, "that you must have
copies of the correspondence. I never have any trouble in getting
copies, but it always makes me ashamed."
Colegrove paid no attention to the latter sentence, but stored up the
first, and thought it a lucky admission on Alicia's part. She opened
the costly little bag which she carried in her hand, and took out
half-a-dozen letters, which Colegrove read rapidly, and with an air of
satisfaction. Then, putting them in his breast pocket, he said
pleasantly:
"By the way, that A.F.&O. stock has gone sky-high, and will soon go down
in a hole in the ground. I sold a thousand shares of that investment of
yours which stands in my name, and here is the money for it. You
understand why I am obliged to give it to you in money instead of a
cheque?"
He handed out a roll of bills, naming a considerable sum, and Alicia,
without counting it, put it into her bag. Colegrove, having transacted
the business part of the interview, would have liked to have had
half-an-hour's conversation with Mrs. March, whose charming voice and
speaking eyes had a steady and increasing fascination for him, but
Alicia would not stay.
"We can talk," she said, "when you come to Washington openly. My
husband, I think, likes you very much, and he says he is warring on the
corporation, not on individuals."
"Will you ask me to dinner, Mrs. March?"
"With pleasure," replied Alicia, smiling faintly.
"I am glad it gives you a little pleasure; it gives me a great deal,"
replied Colegrove. "When a man has led the life that I have led, and has
to do with large affairs, most women appear to him like children whose
range of ideas is soon exhausted. Not so with you, however."
"I never was reckoned a clever woman," responded Alicia.
"Oh, Lord! I hate cleverness in both men and women. It assumes to be
everything and takes the place of nothing. But you have lived from the
very hour you made that unlucky first marriage. No one admires Senator
March more than I do, but he ought to have married a purely conventional
person, like Miss Chantrey, for example, whom I have met at your house.
There must be a good many things you can't talk about to your husband."
Colegrove's words were guarded, but something in his tone expressed a
subtle contempt for Senator March. Suddenly, and without the slightest
premonition, Alicia March felt herself colouring with anger at
Colegrove's words. He dared to say one word against her husband in her
presence! It was the first strong feeling she had ever experienced
where Roger March was concerned, and it lighted up her eyes, and brought
the blood to her face, and she answered him sharply:
"I am not worthy of my husband, you and I both know it," and walked out
of the room.
Colegrove followed her, hat in hand, and full of apologies, professing
ignorance as to how he had offended her. She allowed him to assist her
into the cab, but merely bade him a chilly good-bye. Colegrove watched
the cab as it fumbled off in the dusk and then said to himself:
"I shall let her get into a tighter place than ever for money before I
give her another lift. But, by Jove! if I were in March's place I would
have had that woman's confidence long ago."
Then it occurred to him that there was in reality a great gulf between
Senator March and the woman who was his wife, and a man like himself.
This did not disconcert Colegrove in the least, as it was his invariable
practice to see things as they were and never to blink the truth.
It was half-past six o'clock before Alicia March entered the door of her
home. Instead of going to her boudoir, she went into Senator March's
study. He was at his desk hard at work--he was known as the hardest
worked man in the Senate--but he had not failed to notice his wife's
absence.
"Really," he said, turning in his chair and taking her hand as she came
forward into the circle of light cast by the old-fashioned student lamp
which burned upon his desk, "you must not stay out so late. If I had
known in what direction you had walked, I should have gone to meet you
at six o'clock."
"You are fanciful," replied Alicia, and, for almost the first time in
their married life, gave him an unasked caress, passing her arm around
his neck and stooping to kiss him. It was not lost on Senator March.
"You know how to win pardon," he said, "but--but don't do it again.
Since you have been gone I have been studying up some of the
performances of your friend Colegrove, and I can't make out whether he
is a virtuous sufferer or a very able and accomplished scamp."
"I met Mr. Colegrove while I was out," said Alicia, remembering the sum
in her little bag, which would by no means pay all her bills, "and I
promised to ask him to dinner," and then suddenly remembered that
Colegrove had told her not to mention his presence in Washington. She
had in truth been thinking more of her husband than of Colegrove for the
last half-hour.
Senator March, however, did not observe any significance in his wife's
casual words, and answered:
"Oh, very well! I am not down on Colegrove personally; he is a very
good dinner guest, and there isn't any reason why you shouldn't ask him
if you wish to. Will you invite him to meet the Carlyons?"
Alicia March turned a little pale at the suggestion. She had begun to
be somewhat afraid of Colegrove's singular acuteness and power to make
her tell things she did not mean to tell him. He might divine something
of that past which had existed between Sir Percy Carlyon and herself.
And Sir Percy, having known her long before either Colegrove or her
husband, might suspect something between Colegrove and herself. She
had, however, been used to these complications for many years, and could
readily bring herself to meet them. Her sense of humour was small, but
she had a glimmer when she said to her husband:
"Yes; we can have Mr. Colegrove and the Carlyons together."
*X*
Within a week Senator and Mrs. March one afternoon paid their first
visit to the British Embassy. At the moment of greeting, Mrs. March saw
that Lady Carlyon knew all of the story of what had occurred sixteen
years before. Not that Lady Carlyon showed the slightest haughtiness or
restraint on meeting Mrs. March; on the contrary, her bearing was
perfect and her dignity and grace could not have been surpassed. Lady
Carlyon was by no means the Lucy Armytage whom Mrs. March, as Alicia
Vernon, had cross-examined so easily four years before. But there is a
psychic understanding between women, a glance of the eye, a note of the
voice, which tells the story to which the words may give a flat
contradiction.
It cannot be said, however, that Sir Percy Carlyon's demeanour was
perfect in spite of his sixteen years' training in diplomacy. The deep
resentment which burned within him against Mrs. March was kindled into
new life when he saw her shaking hands with his wife, and his greeting
showed a certain restraint; nor was he over-cordial to Senator March,
but this passed unobserved. There were other visitors present, and
nothing in the least awkward occurred. Alicia had one moment of that
revenge which is the sweetest draught a woman can quaff when, as the
visit drew to a close, she said smilingly to Lady Carlyon and Sir Percy:
"Senator March tells me that you have promised to give us the pleasure
of dining with us before long. Can you fix the date now?"
Sir Percy remained silent, but Lady Carlyon replied readily:
"I shall have to look at our book of engagements and I will write. You
are most kind to ask us."
"Thank you," answered Alicia, with a peculiar inflection of pleasure in
her voice.
It would be one of the most triumphant moments of her life when she
forced Sir Percy Carlyon to bring his wife to dine with her. Senator
March, standing by, expressed a frank and cordial pleasure at the
prospect of seeing the Carlyons under his own roof. Man-like, he had
observed nothing in the attitude of Sir Percy and Lady Carlyon, either
towards himself or his wife, and Alicia was the last person on earth to
enlighten him.
Within a day or two a pretty note came from Lady Carlyon saying that she
and Sir Percy would have the pleasure of dining with Senator and Mrs.
March on the thirtieth of January, if that date would be convenient to
their hostess. Alicia passed the note over to her husband across the
tea-table in her boudoir, and smiled as she tried to realise the effort
it had caused the wife of the British Ambassador to write it.
Every incident connected with the dinner was an added triumph to Mrs.
March. She collected a brilliant company, even in that place of
brilliant dinners--Washington--and Colegrove was among the invited
guests. She had engaged a great singer to lend the magic of his voice
to the evening afterwards. In every detail she had the kindest interest
of her husband. She was an Englishwoman entertaining, for the first
time, the Ambassador from her own country, and Senator March determined
that she should do it well. He even gave his attention to his wife's
gown and jewels, which were consequently superb.
On the evening of the dinner, Alicia March was dressed and in her
splendid drawing-room half-an-hour before the guests were due. She was
conscious of looking her best; splendour became her mature beauty. Like
most Englishwomen of her class she knew how to wear jewels, her hair
glittered with diamonds which fell in a glorious _riviere_ upon her
bosom, and sparkled on her arms. Senator March, coming down later, paid
her a sincere compliment in saying that he had never seen her look so
handsome. They went into the dining-room, a superb apartment in
Pompeian red, and glanced into the ball-room, where the music was to
take place after dinner. All was satisfactory to Senator March and more
than satisfactory to his wife. With the nicety of courtesy, the first
guests to arrive were the Carlyons. Lady Carlyon seemed, as Senator
March had said, to have grown taller, certainly her air and figure had
gained great beauty in the four years of her married life. She wore an
exquisitely fitting, but perfectly simple, white gown, with a bouquet of
violets on her breast; not a jewel of any description shone upon her.
She had jewels, of course, as every woman of position would have, and
Mrs. March happened to know that there were some very nice family jewels
which Sir Percy's wife must have, but not one of them did Lady Carlyon
wear on this occasion. She was a good diplomatist, as Lord Baudesert
predicted she would become, but, like all women, there was a point with
her where diplomacy gave way to feeling. Lady Carlyon had schooled
herself to meet Alicia March, had fought and outwardly conquered the
deep repugnance and disdain she felt for the woman who had made a blot
upon her husband's life; but when she had the chance Lady Carlyon, like
Achilles, could not forbear dragging her dead enemy at her chariot
wheels. She knew that Alicia March would blaze with splendour, and
therefore elected to dress with marked simplicity. She was as simply
gowned as on that memorable night in her girlhood when she attended her
first Embassy ball, and met her fate.