A GRASS WIDOW.
Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop
Not to outsport discretion----
Maud found Mrs. Vereker's promises of hospitality and enjoyment fully
verified. The change from the Camp was delightful; the extra four
thousand feet of altitude made life a luxury. Energy, in a hundred
different forms, returned to her: some new spring of life quickened her
powers alike of mind and body. Mere existence once again became
delightful; the pleasant consciousness of health and strength again put
her in high spirits. The dull routine in which she had been living of
late seemed in retrospect extremely dull. She missed her husband and
wrote him enthusiastic letters to tell him so; but a hundred fresh
pleasures and interests rushed in to fill the vacant space and to deaden
the feeling of regret. And then it had been settled that as soon as the
inspection was finished Sutton should get leave to come up and write
his report at Elysium, so that their separation promised to be a very
short one.
Mrs. Vereker's cottage was the scene of a great many quiet but enjoyable
festivities. She had the most charming little luncheon parties, over
which she presided with a modesty, liveliness, and grace which her
guests found irresistible. There was not much to eat, but each one in
his turn received a smile and a glance from the purple eyes and found
his glass of sherry turning into nectar before him. These happy guests
were mostly military; and he must have been a severe critic indeed who
would have denied them the merit of faultless attire, good looks and
chivalrous dispositions. The very atmosphere was infectious with
flirtation. Mrs. Vereker kept a little court of gentlemen, each with his
acknowledged position in the hierarchy of adorers. Nor did she appear to
question that her guest would do the same. She took for granted that
Maud would accept Desvoeux's proffered politeness; she laughed a little
gentle laugh at her girlish scruples, and turned her sweet eyes upon her
in amused wonderment at such innocent prudery.
'My dear child,' she said, 'what are we poor wives to do? Sit, with our
hands crossed, singing hymns and thinking of our _cari sposi_ in the
Plains? How would my good man be the better if I went out moping for
rides all alone, instead of being attended by my cavalier? Besides, no
one ever would believe that one was alone, and one would be gossiped
about as much as ever. And then did not your old Othello wish that
Boldero was here to look after you? No, no, I don't find "moping" among
the other disagreeable things we vowed to do when matrimony marked us
for its own. And then you must know that three is quite an impossible
number at the Hills--the paths are too narrow, happily--and three is an
odious number, which ought to be turned out of the arithmetic-books. So
you must start a flirtation not to interfere with mine. Besides, Mr.
Desvoeux is too charming. I only wish that he would flirt with me!'
So Maud found herself taken possession of by Desvoeux, and assigned to
him as a matter of course in the set in which she was living. The worst
of it was that she found it rather pleasant. It was, of course,
convenient to have some one ready to fetch and carry, who was always on
the look-out for one at parties and only too delighted at having any
command to obey. It was all above-board and recognised as right. Every
one knew that there was not the least harm in it. The only drawback was
that Maud found it very difficult to describe the state of things to
Jem, and her letters grew shorter than was right. Mrs. Vereker was too
volatile, too frivolous, too much in love with herself and the world
around her, to allow of her companion lapsing into a serious mood. She
spent hours over a succession of toilettes, each of which was
perfection; hours more in designing how such perfection should be
achieved. High spirits and fun pervaded her every thought, but dress was
the matter about which Mrs. Vereker was most nearly feeling serious. The
two ladies had a long discussion over the attire which would do most
justice to their charms at the Viceroy's Fancy Ball.
'I can't go as a Marquise,' said Mrs. Vereker, 'because powder does not
set my eyes off well, and paint spoils my complexion. I mean to be
Night--holy, peaceful Night--black tulle, you know, with a crescent moon
glittering on my forehead, and little diamond stars twinkling, twinkling
in both my ears, which you know are loves. See, now!' And Mrs. Vereker
caught up a great piece of muslin which was lying on the sofa, threw it
over her shoulders, turned her beautiful violet eyes to the ceiling, and
went sliding across the room with a sweet, demure smile and graceful
undulations.
'See, now!' she cried, 'don't you feel the moonlight and the
nightingales and the tinkling folds, and how very sacred and peaceful it
all is? I shall be furious if at least sixteen men don't break their
hearts about me. But, my dear, you shall be a _vivandière_ and show your
pretty ankles; or a Normandy flower-girl, with a high cap and crimson
petticoat. Or why not be Morning, and dance in my quadrille; a Rising
Sun, with rays?'
'Oh no, thank you,' Maud answered; 'I intend to have a quadrille of my
own. I leave you the sun, moon, and stars to yourself. Mr. Desvoeux is
arranging one for me out of Sir Walter Scott--something historical and
romantic.'
Then Desvoeux would come (oftener than ever, since this Historical
Quadrille gave a new excuse for frequent calls) and turn everything into
ridicule. 'As usual,' he told them, 'Mrs. Fotheringham has been trying
to drive a bargain. The two young ladies are to go as Mediæval
Princesses; and poor Giroflont, who had come all the way from Calcutta
to dress the ladies' hair for the Fancy Ball, stipulated for his
accustomed five rupees a-head. Fotheringham _mère_ stuck out for three.
Giroflont rejected the suggestion with scorn. "Impossible, madame," he
said, "ce sont des coiffures historiques!" So exit Mrs. Fotheringham in
a fury.'
'And the poor girls will have to go as milkmaids,' said Mrs. Vereker.
'What a shame! And what a mother!'
'And what a father!' said Desvoeux. 'He has just been to interview the
Agent and has made us both extremely ill. Such vapid dulness!
He spoke of virtue--not the gods
More purely when they wish to charm
Pallas and Juno sitting by;
And with a sweeping of the arm,
And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye
Devolved his rounded periods.'
'What a comfort you must find it, Mr. Desvoeux,' said Mrs. Vereker, 'to
fly for refuge to eyes that are neither lack-lustre nor dead-blue! Now I
come to think of it, though, I believe dead-blue is just the shade of
mine.'
'Yours!' said Desvoeux, in a tone of fervour which spoke volumes.
'These poor girls!' cried Maud, 'how shamefully they are dressed!
Perfect Quakeresses!'
'Quakeresses!' answered Desvoeux; 'but Quakeresses are too charming,
dear little tender doves, in the softest silk and freshest muslin. I
suffered agonies once upon a time on account of one.'
'Profane!' cried Mrs. Vereker; 'Quakers are really a sort of monks and
nuns, only that they happen to have husbands and wives.'
'Yes,' said Desvoeux, 'monasticism without its single recommendation!'
'Rude man!' Mrs. Vereker cried; 'let us send him away, Maud. I should
like to know, sir, what would become of you without us married women?'
'What indeed?' cried Desvoeux; 'but, you know, when the Pope offered
Petrarch a dispensation to marry, he declined on the ground that he
could not write poetry to his wife.'
'That reminds me,' said Mrs. Vereker, 'that I must write some prose to
my husband, and Mrs. Sutton some to hers; and the post goes in
half-an-hour. Mr. Desvoeux, you must really go.'
'I obey,' said Desvoeux, with a sigh; 'my exile from paradise is cheered
by the thought that I am coming back at four to take Mrs. Sutton for a
ride.'