DESVOEUX IN DESPAIR.
All through, love
Protested in a world of ways save one
Hinting at marriage----
The news of Maud's engagement was naturally a congenial topic for gossip
in Dustypore. The romantic circumstances under which it had come about
lent themselves readily to the superaddition of any details, necessary,
in the teller's opinion, in order to bring the story to the correct
pitch of embellishment. Everybody considered Maud a lucky girl; some
cynics remarked that once again Sutton had shown himself the most
courageous of mankind; and Mrs. Vereker said, sentimentally, that she
feared poor Desvoeux would _this time_ be really broken-hearted. There
was some satire lurking in the words 'this time,' because the present
occasion was by no means the first on which the same sort of thing had
occurred. Desvoeux's was one of those inconveniently adjusted
temperaments to which no woman is completely delightful till she has
become unattainable. His relations to the opposite sex did not as a
general rule appear to involve anything of a seriously pathetic order;
but no sooner was a girl engaged to some one else than he awoke to the
terrible discovery that he was deeply in love with her himself and
deeply aggrieved by her betrothal to another. He was known not to be a
marrying man; he made no secret of his dislike of matrimony as an
institution; still he greatly resented other people's marriages.
Whenever any ladies of his acquaintance got married he used to send them
the most lovely bridal presents, with beautiful little gilt-edged notes
on the finest satin paper, politely intimating that he was
broken-hearted. Sometimes his feelings were too much for prose and his
melancholy would break out into epigrammatic versicles; sometimes the
gift bore only an inscription eloquent in its reticence--'_Le don d'un
triste célibataire_,' or '_Avec un soupir_.' The presents, however, were
so very pretty (for Desvoeux's tastes were of the extravagant order),
that their fair recipients, for the most part, were glad enough to take
them, sighs, poetry and all, without inquiring too rigidly into the
giver's actual frame of mind. As most of the young ladies who had for
some years past been married at Dustypore had experienced something of
the sort, they probably compared notes and reassured each other as to
the probability of a disease, from which Desvoeux had already more than
once recovered, not proving fatal on any subsequent occasion.
Maud's engagement, however, touched Desvoeux more nearly than any
previous blow of the same description. Her joyous, childish beauty, the
readiness of her wit, the quickness of her replies, the great fun which
they always had whenever Fortune was kind enough to throw them together,
Maud's unconcealed appreciation of himself, despite the coquettish airs
in which she now and then indulged; the ready frankness which invited
intimacy so pleasantly--all had gone deep into Desvoeux's heart, and he
had grown to feel a sort of proprietorship in them, which it vexed him
terribly to feel suddenly at an end. He felt certain that Maud liked him
very much; and certain, doubly certain now, that he intensely admired
her. No one else, he felt bitterly, had an equal right to do so. That
Sutton, too, should be the fortunate rival made defeat all the bitterer.
Sutton's good qualities were precisely those which Desvoeux could least
appreciate; his military prowess did not impress him in the least; his
chivalry touched no corresponding chord; his ideas of duty seemed
pedantic, his feelings about women an anachronism.
If there was one thing in which it was especially irritating that such a
man should have carried the day, it was in the ascendancy over women,
which Desvoeux considered as his especial forte. He piqued himself not a
little on his knowledge of the sex, his insight into their weaknesses,
his experienced tact in dealing with them to the best account. He had
established what he considered a perfectly satisfactory footing with
Maud, and had spent no little time, trouble, and sentiment in the
process. It was a cruel humiliation to be rudely displaced from this
agreeable eminence by a mere commonplace soldier, who had lived all his
life in a camp and talked about women like a child.
Women are, Desvoeux came bitterly to feel, inscrutable, and the
cleverest or stupidest of mankind alike puppets in their hands when they
have a passion to gratify or a secret to conceal. Anyhow, the news of
Maud's engagement set his heart a-beating and sent his spirits down to
zero. He was dining with the officers in the Fort when the announcement
was made. One of them had been calling at the Vernons', and had heard
the interesting fact from Felicia's own lips. 'Honneur aux braves!'
cried Desvoeux, with ostentatious merriment, tossing off his glass;
'here's to their very good healths.' He was an adept at concealing his
feelings, but a near observer might have seen that his hand trembled so
that it was with difficulty he could carry his glass to his lips, and
that, despite his jovial tones, he had turned deadly pale.
'I am glad she has come into the Army, at any rate,' said some one.
'Of course,' said Desvoeux; 'it is the old story. "J'aime beaucoup les
militaires." What chance have we poor civilians when a red jacket is in
the field?'
'And what, pray,' said one of the guests, a new arrival, 'is the lady's
name?'
Desvoeux had risen from the table, and was moving towards the
billiard-room. 'Her name,' he said, stopping in the act of lighting a
cigar, 'is that of the rest of her sex--frailty.'
'Desvoeux is hard hit this time,' observed one of a little knot who
lingered behind the rest over their wine; 'he really loved her.'
'Fiddlededee!' said another. 'Desvoeux love her, indeed!'
'He will have to drop all that now,' observed a third; 'Sutton would
wring his neck for him or pitch him out of the window, if he as much as
dared look at her!'
The fact, however, was that, conceal it as he would, Desvoeux was hard
hit. His usual expedient of buying a handsome wedding present and
writing the lady some poetry quite broke down. Maud's bright eyes and
glowing cheeks, her beautiful upper lip--now full of pretty scorn, now
melting into a smile that was sweetness itself--haunted him in his
dreams. He lit his pipe, he raged about the room, he denounced the
perfidy of womankind, he read all the most horrible passages in all the
worst French novels in his possession, he quoted all the fiercest
cynicism of Chamfort and Rochefoucauld in vain; there was Maud,
enthroned unquestioned mistress of his heart, and it was labour lost to
endeavour to displace her.
In course of time Desvoeux lashed himself into a highly uncomfortable
state of mind and became perfectly convinced that Maud had treated him
most cruelly. Accordingly, when next they met, his appearance was
suggestive of a Byronic gloom of the very deepest dye; his handkerchief
was tied with the negligence which spoke of shattered hopes, and his
general demeanour was that of a man for whom the world was over. Maud
was really in consternation at her friend's metamorphosis and felt
herself growing inconveniently shy. She was conscious of an instinctive
apprehension that Desvoeux was going to bring about a scene. His face of
martyrdom was a study in the completeness of its woe.
'You expect me to wish you joy,' he said, 'and so I do. May all bright
things attend you wherever you go, and wherever you are! The news of
your engagement surprised and hurt me, of course.'
'Surprised and hurt you, Mr. Desvoeux!' cried Maud, with increased
alarm, 'I can't think why it should do that or why you should look so
very odd and--untidy.'
'Cannot you?' cried the other, stalking about the room and fanning the
flame of his excitement; 'I suppose not; you women are all so
heartless.'
'No, we are not,' said Maud; 'and if we were, I do not see that you, of
all people in the world, have any right to complain. Come now, tell me
what is the matter. Has the Agent been scolding you?'
'The Agent!' cried Desvoeux, in tones of the profoundest disgust; 'you
little traitress, don't you know as well as possible that there is only
one thing in the world that could really hurt me, and that you have done
it?'
'I!' exclaimed Maud, in horror. 'I'm sure I am very sorry. You must try
and forget me.'
'Try and fly to the moon!' said Desvoeux; 'I shall remember you all my
life, to my cost, as the most bewitching little piece of mischief in
existence. Why am I so unfortunate? I wish to goodness I had never seen
you.'
'I am sure,' said Maud, fervently, 'I wish to goodness you never had,
since it makes you so unhappy. But remember, if you please, that I had
no idea of what you were feeling. You never told me, you know.'
'Who was to guess that Sutton would be so abominably precipitate? I
thought he was safe with his soldiers and out of harm's way. Besides, I
told you! Why, you knew as well as possible that I adored you. Don't you
remember how I squeezed your hand at the last Government House ball?'
'And don't you remember,' cried Maud, indignantly, 'how I refused to
dance a single round dance with you all the evening in consequence, and
only gave you a Lancers to prevent your being laughed at?'
'I only wish you could feel my heart beating,' said Desvoeux, feeling
that interesting organ, and apparently horrified at its activity.
'That is because you will go stamping about the room in that absurd way
instead of sitting still and talking quietly. Come now, Mr. Desvoeux,
come and sit down and wish me joy kindly and pleasantly, or I never will
speak to you again.'
'Little tyrant!' said the other, doing as he was bid as meekly as could
be wished; 'and to think that you should be growing lovelier every day
and more charming, if possible, and all for Sutton! Speak to me, indeed!
Why, you will not dare open your mouth for fear of a scandal. Sutton
will make you cut me, you will see, as an old admirer.'
'Indeed,' said Maud, upon whom Desvoeux's flattery always told with some
effect, 'I have not the slightest intention of giving up my old friends.
Why should I? Only you will not make love to me, of course.'
'Oh, of course not,' said the other, with a laugh. 'But tell me now, are
you not a wee bit sorry for a poor fellow who is breaking his heart
about you?'
'Breaking his fiddlestick!' cried Maud, bursting out laughing. 'Why, Mr.
Desvoeux, you don't, I assure you, know what you say. It is very kind of
you to like me, and admire me, and so forth, and I am very much
obliged.'
'Don't, don't, for heaven's sake, talk like that,' cried the other; 'it
is not kind of me at all to be over head and ears in love with you, but
just my misfortune. But, tell me: they teased you into it, did they
not?'
'Teased me into it!' cried Maud, tossing her head indignantly; 'how
little you know!'
'Yes,' said the other, positively, 'it is obvious. You are an
orphan--you have that sweet, interesting, dependent look that orphans
have; and Mrs. Vernon made it up; set Sutton to flirt with you;
everybody observed that much last summer; and then, no doubt, told you
that you had been flirting and were bound to accept him. Why didn't you
pluck up heart of grace and say "No"?'
'Because I plucked up heart of grace to say "Yes." Do you think that
Colonel Sutton is a sort of man who needs any one to help his wooing?'
'I do,' said Desvoeux, with provoking persistency, 'and Mrs. Vernon gave
him every assistance. I only wish she would have done half as much for
me.'
'Well, then,' cried Maud in a passion, 'if you must know, it was I that
proposed to him--not he to me; and I adore the tip of his little finger
more than all the other men and women in the world. Now do you think
they teased me into it?'
'No; but if you begin with so much enthusiasm you will come to dislike
him very much before long. His little finger indeed! And here am I left
out in the cold! What am I to do?'
'Write and consult Mrs. Vereker,' said Maud. From which unfeeling remark
it may be inferred that she believed less in Desvoeux's
broken-heartedness than he was inclined to do himself.
'Well,' said her companion, with a resigned air, which Maud felt had a
touch of reproachful dignity in it, 'laugh at me as you will. I love
you, and always shall.'
'Nonsense!' said Maud. 'Here comes my cousin. I have a great mind to
tell her, and get her to comfort you.'
The interview was over. Maud had stuck to her programme, which was to
treat Desvoeux with an airy indifference and his protestations with
ostentatious disbelief. Nevertheless his words were not without effect.
Had she been less inexperienced Maud would have known that she had
allowed him to leave off in a most dangerous position; that of an
admirer whose homage was sufficiently congenial to be allowed a hearing;
whom it was within her power to have at any moment at her feet, and who,
whether rightly or wrongly, felt he had some show of right to be
aggrieved and disappointed at her declared preference for another man.
There was another person, however, besides Desvoeux to whom the news of
Maud's engagement gave a serious shock.
One of Sutton's first acts, after Maud and he had mutually ascertained
each other's views, was to scribble a line to Boldero, announcing the
joyful event; and he had done so, too full of his own happiness to pay
much attention, even had he known more than he did, to the view his
friend might take of it. All that he knew was that Boldero, like all
the world, was a great admirer of his future wife. This was but natural,
and Sutton without the least misgiving accepted the position. 'My dear
old boy,' he wrote, 'you will, I know, be pleased to hear a good piece
of news of me, to make up for my bad luck the other day. Come over as
soon as you can and wish me joy. Meanwhile, remember, of course, that
you must be my groomsman.'
'His groomsman!' Boldero sat, pale and speechless and stunned by the
sudden overthrow of all his hopes. The day-dream of his existence was
ended by this stern awakening. Life--all that part of life, at least,
which is worth living--was, he felt bitterly, over for him. It was, to
use Heine's expressive figure, as if some one had climbed up a celestial
ladder, rolled up the bright blue sky and taken down the sun. Only the
dismal scaffolding, the dust, the gloom remained. Maud, though she had
never quite encouraged him to hope, had never bidden him despair, and
figured, we may be certain, the lovely chatelaine of all his castles in
the air. He found out now to his cost how full his thoughts had been of
her. And now it was all over. His pleasant hope lay shattered on the
ground. The blow was hard to bear; none the easier, perhaps, that it was
his dearest friend's hand that struck it.
Being, however, a man of pluck and determination, he sat down
courageously, wrote a cheery note of congratulation to the fortunate
winner of the prize, promised his services as groomsman or anything else
which Sutton wished, and then ordered his horse and rode twenty miles to
an outlying village, where there was a troublesome boundary dispute to
be settled, which he had had in his eye for weeks past as wanting a
visit from the Collector.