BOSWELL AS CHAPERON.
But Mrs. Van Adam cared nothing for such high matters. Though a
charming, she was perhaps not strictly an intellectual woman. And,
besides, at the moment she was full of purpose.
"Daisy—Daisy dear!" she cried, gently and persuasively shaking her
dreaming friend. "Is Mr. Bush in society?"
Mrs. Verulam turned pale.
"He—never!" she exclaimed.
"Oh," said Mrs. Van Adam, losing all interest in him, "then don't let
us talk about him any more. But, Daisy, you will—you will take me out,
won't you? You can, I know."
"Yes, I can. People will like you. But——"
"Then it's settled. Oh, how happy I am!"
She sprang up and almost danced round the room.
"But, Chloe, only for the next two months, or indeed less. For you must
know that I have come to a great resolution."
Chloe choked a pirouette, which left her posed on tiptoe, with the
skirt of her red gown swinging like a poppy in a wind.
"What is it?"
"Simply that this season is my last. Wait!" She held up one hand to
check her friend's exclamation. "And," she added, "that I shall leave
town at least by the first of July, if not sooner."
Chloe's face fell for a moment. But then she recovered from the shock.
"The first of July. Oh, by that time I shall know everybody, and——"
"Be as weary of everybody as I am."
"Be able to manage for myself. Besides, you darling, society won't let
you leave it."
At these words Mrs. Verulam's face became almost as deplorable
in expression as that of an undertaker who is obliged by cruel
circumstance to attend to business on a Bank Holiday.
"That is what I fear," she said. "That is the terror which pursues
me night and day. But it must, Chloe—it shall! And yet nobody
knows—except those who have tried it—how terribly, how appallingly
difficult it is to get out of society. To get into it is nothing. There
are a thousand ways of doing that. Be a German Jew or a brewer, and you
are there. I knew a man who got into it by merely going out to South
Africa and coming back at once in the disguise of a millionaire. And he
only spent a couple of hours at Cape Town. But once you are in society
and popular, the cage-door is shut. And then what can the squirrel do?"
Tears flooded her dark grey eyes. Chloe pressed her friend's hand
with forced sympathy for a misfortune which she found it difficult to
understand. Mrs. Verulam cleared her throat and continued:
"I have made many attempts, but each one seems to give me a more secure
footing in the great world. Once I lost all my money."
"What?"
"Gave out that I had, you know."
"And what happened?"
"Oh, it was so dreadful. My acquaintances rallied round me. Have you
ever been rallied round?"
"I don't know that I have."
"It is most fatiguing. It is worse than the Derby, although, of
course, you avoid the coaches. Another time I tried to become
unfashionable—did my hair on the nape of my neck, wore a pelerine and
elastic-sided boots."
"Surely they let you go then?"
"No. On the contrary, the Park was full of pelerines, and you met
elastic-sided boots everywhere, even at Marlborough House."
"Marlborough House! You visit there?"
"Oh, naturally! Then, as a last resource, I took a really desperate
step."
"What was that?"
"I went to live in St John's Wood."
Mrs. Verulam gazed firmly at Mrs. Van Adam, as if expectant of a fit on
her friend's part. But Mrs. Van Adam merely repeated:
"St. John's Wood! Where is that?"
"Well, where it oughtn't to be, you understand."
"Oh!"
The word expressed mystification. Chloe was evidently at sea. Mrs.
Verulam did not shed light through the clouds, but continued rapidly:
"The only effect of that was that I founded a colony."
"I thought only Mr. Chamberlain did that sort of thing."
"You don't understand. I mean that others followed me there, instead of
leaving me there. Lady Crichton came to Selina Place. Lord Bray and his
girl settled in Upsilon Road, and the old Duchess of Worcester sat down
just round the corner in Maud Crescent. Oh, it was monstrous!"
Chloe's eyes shone.
"What would I give to be you?" she cried. "A Duchess sitting down just
round the corner for one! How glorious!"
She spoke as Wagnerians of "Parsifal," and at that moment she
worshipped her friend. But Mrs. Verulam made a petulant _moue_ and
said, almost with acrimony:
"I really believe there is only one way in which I could do what I
wish; that is, without going to live in some other country, which I
don't care to do."
"What way is that?"
"If I were to compromise myself seriously. Now, if I were married, I
should have a weapon against the assaults of society."
"I don't quite see how."
"Dear Chloe, really you are not quite clever. I could be divorced,
don't you see?"
A shadow came suddenly into Mrs. Van Adam's dark and boyish face.
"Divorced," she faltered. "Would—would that help you much?"
"Help me? It would save me. Nothing further would be needed. I should
be out of everything at once, and in the most perfect peace and quiet."
The shadow deepened perceptibly, and Mrs. Van Adam moved rather
uneasily on her sofa. However, she made no further remark, and Mrs.
Verulam continued:
"Circumstances render that route to what I long for one which I can't
take. And besides, in any case, I doubt if I should have been equal to
it. For I was born respectable, and I shall certainly remain so. Yet,
do you know, Chloe, if there were any way—if only I could compromise
myself in the eyes of the world without compromising myself in my own
eyes, I would do it. I would do anything to get out of my cage."
"As I would do anything to get into it."
Mrs. Verulam sighed deeply, put her handkerchief to her eyes, took it
down, and then seemed with an effort of will to recover herself and to
dismiss the problem that perplexed her. For she sat in a more flexible
attitude, and, turning to Chloe, said ingenuously:
"And now, dear, about Mr. Van Adam."
Chloe jumped, and Mrs. Verulam, observing this, continued:
"Tell me all about him, when he will follow you, how happy you are
together, and why he did not accompany you."
"Well, you see," Mrs. Van Adam said rather faintly, "his oranges."
"Oranges?"
"Yes. You know he grows them on a gigantic scale."
"Well?"
"And—and they can't always be left."
"Chloe, remember I was at school with you in Paris."
The words were very simple, but Mrs. Verulam uttered them without
simplicity, and Chloe flushed quickly.
"I know," she said. "But it is—it is true. Oranges require a great
deal of looking after."
"Oh, dear, if you prefer to keep me in the dark, of course I sha'n't
say another word. Now I am sure you would like to see your room, so I
shall ring for Marriner."
Mrs. Verulam leaned forward to touch the bell, but Chloe suddenly
sprang up, sat down close beside her, and took her hand.
"You are right, Daisy. It's not the oranges."
"Of course not."
"No. It—I—Mr. Van Adam——"
"Yes?"
"Mr. Van Adam and I have parted."
"Parted!"
"We are separated."
"Legally?"
"Yes. We are—divorced."
Mrs. Verulam kissed Chloe pitifully.
"Oh, my poor Chloe! And so soon! How dreadful to have to divorce one's
husband almost before the honeymoon was over."
Chloe's cheeks flushed more darkly.
"How rapidly you jump to conclusions, Daisy!" she said, almost
irritably. "I remember now you used to do the same thing in Paris."
"Jump! But——"
"I did not say I divorced Mr. Van Adam. Now did I? Did I? Oh, I do
dislike these imputations!"
Mrs. Verulam opened her pretty mouth to gasp, shut it without gasping,
and then remarked, severely: "I hope he divorced you for something
American, Chloe."
"Now, what do you mean?"
"For one of those American actions that are considered culpable in
married people in your country: wearing your hair the wrong colour, or
talking without an American accent, or disliking clams or Thanksgiving
Day, or something of that kind."
"No, it was not clams. Besides, I like them rather. No, Daisy, it was
an—an English action I was divorced for."
Mrs. Verulam began to look exceedingly grave.
"English! Then it must have been something bad!"
"No, it wasn't! It was all a mistake. Mr. Van Adam was terribly
jealous. You have never seen him, Daisy. But he is one of those men
with a temperament. Never marry a man with a temperament—that's to
say, if he loves you. And Huskinson did love me."
She drooped pensively. But Mrs. Verulam's severity of expression
increased.
"A temperament!" she said. "Now, Chloe, please don't abuse a man for
not being deformed. I'm afraid you've done something dreadful."
"I haven't. I've done nothing. But I wouldn't defend the case. I was
too proud. Huskinson——"
"Why is your husband's name Huskinson?"
"Ah! that's one of the things I've often and often wondered. It does
seem so unnecessary. I feel that, too."
She checked the natural tendency to muse created by this strange
problem, and went on:
"At first we were only pleasantly unhappy together. I liked his fury,
and when he was good-tempered I bitterly resented it, and tried to
check it by every means in my power. I generally succeeded in doing so.
We women can do these things, you know, Daisy; and that's something."
"Yes."
"But as time went on, Huskinson——"
"I wonder why that's his name," Mrs. Verulam murmured uncontrollably.
"Got so accustomed to being angry that it became very monotonous. There
was no variety in him at all. And one does look for variety in a man."
"Not if he's a London man."
"Huskinson isn't."
"Oh, with his name—no! Go on, darling."
"We were in New York at first, you know. And while we were there it
was all right. I like a man angry in the street very well, or in a
hotel. It shows people he's really fond of you. But then we went to the
oranges—Florida, you see. And it was understood between us that we
were to live an idyllic life there. The climate was suited to that sort
of thing, and Huskinson's——"
"I do wonder——"
"Bungalow was specially constructed for peace, with verandas and
rocking-chairs and a pet monkey, all complete. It was pretty."
She sighed.
"I never saw a pretty monkey yet," said Mrs. Verulam meditatively.
"Boswell was."
"Who on earth was Boswell?"
"Huskinson's monkey. It fed out of his hand."
"How greedy!"
"He didn't think so. Well, I meant Huskinson to become good-tempered
now. He had been angry for two months or more, and it was right there
should be a little change. Besides, we were to be quite alone, we and
Boswell, so that I didn't require him to be jealous, as I had in New
York City. But Huskinson is the sort of man who can't stop when once he
has got into the way of a thing. He must go right on with it, wherever
he is. That isn't artistic. Now, is it, Daisy dear?"
"I suppose not—no."
"Well, in Florida he was just as he was in New York. That man would
sit in a rocking-chair with Boswell on his knee or in his hair, and be
as furiously jealous as Othello. Even that monkey couldn't soothe him.
It was too monotonous. I told him so. But he didn't seem to see it. I
said being abused and watching oranges grow was all right for a certain
time, but if it continued for eternity I should wish I hadn't married."
"That was rather cruel."
"That was what he said. He beat Boswell with a cane, and cried, and
told the men on the plantation that if I said such a thing again he
should cut down their wages. That set them against me. And Boswell took
a hatred for me, too. I was beginning to grow quite weary of it all
when Bream Rockmetteller came."
"Bream Rockmetteller!"
"Huskinson's dearest chum, Bream Rock——"
"I do wonder——"
"——Metteller was to sympathise with Huskinson; that was why he was
invited. He travelled nearly two thousand miles to do it, but as soon
as he was in the bungalow Huskinson became furiously jealous of him.
You see, Bream didn't think me ugly; that was his first mistake. Oh,
how that man did blunder! He admired the way I put my clothes on too,
and thought it suited me quite well to wear my hair short. In fact, he
went from one crime to another—so Huskinson considered."
"Then, was Bream the——"
"Yes. Oh, Daisy, a little man with one of those beards you see in a
nonsense book, and a voice that shook him when he spoke, it was so much
too large for him, and feet as small as yours, and stocks and shares in
all his pockets, and even up his sleeves. How could anyone suppose that
I——"
"Then, why didn't you defend it?"
Chloe put her lips together. When she did that she looked like a very
determined boy.
"Because I was in the right."
"I see," said Mrs. Verulam, accepting a good reason in the usual sweet
womanly way.
"I was perfectly innocent. I had to sit with Bream while Huskinson was
seeing about the oranges."
"Of course."
"And when Huskinson attacked Bream it was my duty to say that Bream was
harmless."
"Certainly."
"But my doing this brought Huskinson to the verge of madness. He went
away suddenly for a week."
"Leaving Bream?"
"Yes. And then he came back, and said that we had deceived him by being
together alone."
"How unreasonable!"
"That the whole plantation was talking about us, and that Boswell was
nothing at all in the way of a chaperon. This was too much. While Bream
was in the billiard-room, arguing with Huskinson and locking up the
revolvers, I packed my trunks, got into the buggy, and proceeded. I
thought that my woman's dignity required it of me. The next thing was
that Huskinson sued for a divorce. I wouldn't defend it, for I was real
angry. Bream was down with fever. And the end of it was that Huskinson
got the case."
"Dreadful!"
Chloe, who had been looking very emotional during the latter part
of her tragic narrative, changed her expression to one of calm
indifference at this remark.
"Why dreadful? I don't think so. It was all done very quietly, right
away from New York. Nobody will hear of it over this way. Even in New
York they don't know it, for Huskinson turned sulky when he'd done it,
went back to his oranges, and won't say a word to anyone. Bream's still
down with fever somewhere in California. And though he's got that big
voice he scarcely ever speaks. Besides, I'm innocent."
She looked hard at Mrs. Verulam.
"Yes, dear; I know that."
Chloe winked away something that might have been the usual thing that
is winked away on such an occasion. Then she said with a gay smile:
"So I've packed my trunks, and come over here to forget it all and have
a good time."
Mrs. Verulam gazed at her meditatively, and said "Oh!"
Chloe, her narrative over, seemed to desire movement. She got up
and wandered about the room in a slightly reckless manner, touching
ornaments with fingers that seemed deliberately dare-devil, and
examining pictures with eyes that were self-consciously bold.
Occasionally she shot a side-glance towards Mrs. Verulam, who remained
with her feet planted on the satin footstool in an attitude of profound
and rather grievous thought. Presently, in her peregrinations, Chloe
reached the _World_, which Mrs. Verulam had flung down in her wrath of
ennui. Chloe bent and picked it up.
"Ah, this is your great paper!" she cried. "I love it. I want to see my
name in it some day."
While she spoke, she had been idly turning the pages. And now she gave
a great cry, such as Marguerite gives over the dead body of Valentine
in the fourth act of "Faust."
Mrs. Verulam started round on her sofa, and saw that Chloe's face was
pale as death, and that the _World_ was fluttering upside down in her
nerveless hand.
"Chloe, what is the matter? Are you ill? Oh, I must ring for Marriner!"
But Chloe pointed to the paper.
"Read—read!" she muttered.
Mrs. Verulam snatched the _World_ from her, and read this innocent
little paragraph:
"'A considerable sensation has been caused in the neighbourhood of
Florida by the Van Adam divorce, the details of which have only just
become generally known. They are, unfortunately, very unfavourable
to the beautiful Mrs. Van Adam, from whom the famous orange-grower
and millionaire has been freed by the action of the court. A great
deal of sympathy is expressed for Mr. Van Adam, whose honeymoon had
scarcely concluded when the sad circumstances arose which obliged him
to condemn, not merely his wife, but also his trusted friend, Mr. Bream
Rockmetteller, the well-known stockbroker. Mr. Van Adam is staying at
present at his bungalow in the midst of his orange-groves in Florida.
His only companion is said to be the monkey which used in former days
to accompany him on all his wanderings.'"
"That's Boswell," Chloe murmured hysterically.
Mrs. Verulam laid the paper down rather impressively.
"Chloe," she said, "you can never get into the cage now, that is
certain."
Chloe sobbed. It was a bitter moment for her. She looked at the
invitation-cards. She thought of the panthers and of the Prince and
Princess, and became rapidly, and very naturally, hysterical.
"Is it—oh, is it quite impossible?" she said in a broken voice.
"Quite. If you were a man, now!"
Chloe lifted her head.
"If you were a man," Mrs. Verulam continued, in the voice of a
philosopher, "that paragraph might open the cage-door for you. London
is very fond of wicked men—forgive me, darling!—of men who are
supposed, and hoped, to be wicked. With your wealth, your history, and
a different sex, you would be a great success this season."
"Oh, why am I not a man?"
"Marriner—she's my maid, and marvellously well informed about
everything—Marriner might know. I can't tell."
"And I have been a man. How cruel it all is!"
Mrs. Verulam was really surprised this time. For a moment she thought
that Chloe's brain was turned by Huskinson's action and its results.
"Chloe dear, collect yourself," she said firmly. "Pull yourself
together, darling. Don't deceive yourself even for a moment You have
always been what you are now—a woman."
"No, no!" Chloe repeated doggedly; "I was a man. They all thought so."
Mrs. Verulam became seriously alarmed.
"I think, dear, you had better lie down quietly, and put on a cold
compress. I shall send you up some strong tea in a few minutes, and——"
"Don't be foolish, Daisy. I was a man at a fancy ball in Chicago once,
just before I married Huskinson. I went in a man's ordinary morning
costume, and took in everyone. Even Huskinson didn't know me! Ah, that
suit—it was such a neat tweed, Daisy!—it reminds me of happy days. I
carry it everywhere with me."
She spoke sentimentally, and Mrs. Verulam was led to observe:
"I'm afraid you love Bream—I mean Huskinson?"
"No, I don't; no, no!" Chloe said vehemently. "No, I don't!"
"Oh, I'm glad to hear it, under the circumstances."
"But naturally I look back to the days before—before——"
"Yes, yes, dear. I know, I know!"
Mrs. Verulam patted Chloe's hands gently. Then she smiled, and said:
"You should have come over in the tweed suit, Chloe, then London would
have been at your feet."
She spoke without definite intention, merely anxious to tide over an
awkward moment. She heard no strange echo of her remark replying from
the future in tones to mock her. She saw no little cloud rising upon
the horizon. She thrilled with no convulsive premonition of a marching
destiny approaching stealthily with slippered feet. And when Chloe
looked at her fixedly for the space of three minutes, and then said
slowly, "Should I? Should I?" she thought nothing of it. Nor did she
specially remark her friend's sudden absence of mind, or the expression
of curious whimsicality that stole into her face. The human soul is
sometimes strangely unobservant in great crises.
"Are you at home this afternoon?" Chloe remarked abruptly.
"No, not to anyone."
"I'm glad. Let me go upstairs and change my dress, and then I want to
talk to you ever so much more. Oh, that horrible, wicked paragraph!"
Mrs. Verulam touched the bell. Francis answered it.
"Please send Mrs. Marriner to me," she said.
Francis retired smiling, and in a moment the faithful Marriner appeared
sedately in the aperture of the door.
"Marriner," said Mrs. Verulam, "this is Mrs. Van Adam. I want you to
take great care of her. She has come from Florida."
"A long distance, indeed, ma'am. I trust the oranges are doing well,
ma'am?"
Chloe turned paler, and Mrs. Verulam said hastily:
"Never mind the oranges, Marriner. Mrs. Van Adam is going to engage a
maid in London. Meanwhile I know you will see that she is perfectly
comfortable in every way."
"Certainly, ma'am."
"Marriner will show you your room, Chloe; and tea will be ready as soon
as you are."
Mrs. Van Adam followed the faithful Marriner towards the door. Reaching
it, she looked back at Mrs. Verulam, exclaimed, "I am going to put on a
tailor-made costume," and vanished.
Just as the door shut, Mrs. Verulam heard the voice of Marriner saying:
"I trust, ma'am, the stairs will not inconvenience you. In Florida I am
aware that the one-storey residence and the ample veranda are quite the
mode."