"Married for love! Hach! fool that I've been!"
The man who muttered these words was seated with elbows resting upon a
table, and hands thrust distractedly through his hair.
"Fool that I've been, and for a similar reason!" The rejoinder, in a
female voice, came from an inner apartment. At the same instant the
door, already ajar, was spitefully pushed open, disclosing the speaker
to view: a woman of splendid form and features, not the less so that
both were quivering with indignation.
The man started, and looked up with an air of embarrassment. "You heard
me, Frances?" he said, in a tone half-surly, half-ashamed.
"I heard you, Richard," answered the woman, sweeping majestically into
the room. "A pretty speech for a man scarce twelve months married--for
you! Villain!"
"That name is welcome!" doggedly retorted the man. "It's enough to make
one a villain?"
"What's enough, sir?"
"To think that but for you I might have had my thousands a year, with a
titled lady for my wife!"
"Not worse than to think that but for you I might have had my tens of
thousands, with a lord for my husband! ay, a coronet on my crown, where
you are barely able to stick a bonnet?"
"Bah! I wish you had your lord."
"And bah to you! I wish you had your lady." The dissatisfied benedict,
finding himself more than matched in the game of recrimination, dropped
back into his chair, replanted his elbows on the table, and resumed the
torturing of his hair.
Back and forth over the floor of the apartment paced the outraged wife,
like a tigress chafed, but triumphant.
Man and wife, they were a remarkable couple. By nature both were highly
endowed; the man handsome as Apollo, the woman beautiful as Venus.
Adorned with moral grace, they might have challenged comparison with
anything on earth. In the scene described, it was more like Lucifer
talking to Juno enraged.
The conversation was in the English tongue, the accent was English, the
speakers apparently belonging to that country--both of them. This
impression was confirmed by some articles of travelling gear, trunks and
portmanteaus of English manufacture, scattered over the floor. But the
apartment was in the second storey of a second-class boarding-house in
the city of New York.
The explanation is easy enough. The amiable couple had but lately
landed from an Atlantic steamer. The "O.K." of the Custom House chalk
was still legible on their luggage.
Looking upon the pair of strange travellers--more especially after
listening to what they have said--one skilled in the physiognomy of
English life would have made the following reflections:--
The man has evidently been born "a gentleman," and as evidently brought
up in a bad school. He has been in the British army. About this there
can be no mistake; no more than that he is now out of it. He still
carries its whisker, though not its commission. The latter he has lost
by selling out; but not until after receiving a hint from his colonel,
or a "round robin" from his brother officers, requesting him to
"resign." If ever rich, he has long since squandered his wealth;
perhaps even the money obtained for his commission. He is now poor.
His looks proclaim him an adventurer.
Those of the woman carry to a like conclusion, as regards herself. Her
air and action, the showy style of her dress, a certain recklessness
observable in the cast of her countenance, bring the beholder, who has
once stood alongside "Rotten Row," back to the border of that
world-renowned ride. In the fair Fan he sees the type of the "pretty
horse-breaker"--the "Anonyma" of the season.
It is an oft-repeated experience. A handsome man, a beautiful woman,
both equally heart-wicked, inspiring one another with a transient
passion, that lasts long enough to make man and wife of them, but rarely
outlives the honeymoon. Such was the story of the couple in question.
The stormy scene described was far from being the first. It was but one
of the squalls almost daily occurring between them.
The calm succeeding such a violent gust could not be continuous. A
cloud so dark could not be dissipated without a further discharge of
electricity.
It came; the last speaker, as if least satisfied, resuming the
discourse.
"And supposing you _had_ married your lady--I know whom you mean--that
old scratch, Lady C--, what a nice time the two of you would have had of
it! She could only have kissed you at the risk of losing her front
teeth, or swallowing them. Ha! ha! ha!"
"Lady C--be hanged! I could have had half a score of titled ladies;
some of them as young, and just as good-looking, is you!"
"Boasting braggart! 'Tis false, and you know it! Good-looking as _me_!
How you've changed your tune! You know I was called the `Belle of
Brompton!' Thank heaven, I don't need you to satisfy me of my good
looks. Men of ten times your taste have pronounced upon them; _and may
yet_!"
The last speech was delivered in front of a cheval glass, before which
the speaker had stopped, as if to admire her person.
Certainly the glass gave out an image that did not contradict what she
had said.
"May yet!" echoed the satiated rake in a drawl, that betokened either
indifference, or its assumption. "I wish some of them _would_!"
"Indeed! Then some of them _shall_!"
"Oh! I'm agreeable. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. Thank
God! we've got into a country whose people take a common-sense view of
these questions, and where divorce can be obtained, not only on the
quiet, but cheaper than the licence itself! So far from standing in
your way, madam, I'll do all I can to assist you. I think we can
honestly plead `incompatibility of temper'?"
"She'd be an angel that couldn't plead that with you."
"There's no danger, then, of your being denied the plea, unless fallen
angels be excepted."
"Mean insulter! Oh, mercy! to think I've thrown myself away on this
worthless man?"
"Thrown yourself away? Ha! ha! ha! What were you when I found you? A
waif, if not worse. The darkest day of my life was that on which I
picked you up!"
"Scoundrel!"
The term "scoundrel" is the sure and close precursor of a climax. When
passed between two gentlemen, it not unfrequently leads to a mutual
pulling of noses. From a lady to a gentleman the result is of course
different, though in any case it conducts to a serious turn in the
conversation. Its effect in the present instance was to end it
altogether.
With only an exclamation for rejoinder, the husband sprang to his feet,
and commenced pacing up and down one side of the room. The wife,
already engaged in like perambulation, had possession of the other.
In silence they crossed and recrossed; at intervals exchanging angry
glances, like a tiger and tigress, making the tour of their cage.
For ten minutes or more was this mute, unsocial promenade continued.
The man was the first to tire of it, and once more resuming his seat, he
took a "regalia" from his case, set fire to the weed, and commenced
smoking.
The woman, as if determined not to be outdone in the way of
indifference, produced _her_ cigar-case, selected from it a tiny
"queen," and, sinking down into a rocking-chair, sent forth a cloud of
smoke that soon rendered her almost as invisible as Juno in her
_nimbus_.
There was no longer an exchange of glances--it was scarce possible--and
for ten minutes more not any of speech. The wife was silently nursing
her wrath, while the husband appeared to be engaged on some abstruse
problem that occupied all his intellect. At length an exclamation,
escaping involuntarily from his lips, seemed to declare its solution;
while the cheerful cast of his countenance, just perceptible through the
smoke, told of his having reached a conclusion that was satisfactory to
him.
Taking the regalia from between his teeth, and puffing away the cloud
that intervened, he leant toward his wife, at the same time pronouncing
her name in diminutive--
"Fan!"
The form, with the accent in which it was uttered, seemed to say that on
his side the storm had blown over. His chafed spirit had become
tranquillised under the influence of the nicotine.
The wife, as if similarly affected, removed the "queen" from her lips;
and in a tone that smacked of forgiveness, gave out the rejoinder:
"Dick!"
"An idea has occurred to me," said he, resuming the conversation in a
shape entirely new. "A grand idea!"
"Of its grandeur I have my doubts. I shall be better able to judge when
you've imparted it. You intend doing that, I perceive."
"I do," he answered, without taking notice of the sarcasm.
"Let's hear it, then."
"Well, Fan, if there's anything in this world clearer than another, it's
that by getting married we've both made a mucker of it."
"That's clear as daylight--to me at least."
"Then you can't be offended if I take a similar view of the question.
We married one another for love. There we did a stupid thing, since
neither of us could afford it."
"I suppose I know all that. Tell me something new."
"More than stupid," pursued the worthless husband; "it was an act of
absolute madness!"
"Most certainly, on my part."
"On the part of both of us. Mind you, I don't say I repent making you
my wife. Only in one way, and that is because I've spoiled your chances
in life. I am aware you _could_ have married richer men."
"Oh, you admit that, do you?"
"I do. And you must admit I could have married richer women."
"Lady Scratch, for example."
"No matter. Lady Scratch could have kept me from this hard scratch for
a living, which promises to be still harder. You know there's no
resource left me but the little skill I've acquired in manipulating
pasteboard. I've come over here under the pleasant hallucination I
should find plenty of pigeons, and that the hawks only existed on our
side of the Atlantic. Well, I've been round with my introductions, and
what's the result? To discover that the dullest flat in New York would
be a sharp in the saloons of London. I've dropped a hundred pounds
already, and don't see much chance of taking them up again."
"And what _do_ you see, Dick? What's this grand idea?"
"Are you prepared to listen to a proposal?"
"How condescending of you to ask me! Let me hear it. Whether I may
feel inclined to agree to it is another thing."
"Well, my dear Fan, your own words have suggested it, so you can't
reproach me for originating it."
"If it be an _idea_, you needn't fear that. What words, may I ask?"
"You said you wished I _had_ married my lady."
"I did. What is there in that?"
"More than you think for. A whole world of meaning."
"I meant what I said."
"In spite only, Fan."
"In earnest."
"Ha, ha! I know you too well for that."
"Do you? You flatter yourself, I think. Perhaps you may some day find
your mistake."
"Not a bit of it. You love me too well. Fan, as I do you. It is just
for that I am going to make the proposal."
"Out with it! I shan't like you any the better for thus tantalising me.
Come, Dick; you want me to grant something? What is it?"
"Give me your permission to--"
"To do what?"
"_To get married again_!"
The wife of twelve months started, as if struck by a shot. In her
glance there was anger and surprise, only subdued by interrogation.
"Are you in earnest, Dick?"
The inquiry was mechanical. She saw that he was.
"Wait till you've heard me out," he rejoined, proceeding to the
explanation.
She waited.
"What I propose, then, is this: You leave me free to _get married
again_. More than that, give me your help to accomplish it--for our
mutual benefit. It's the very country for such a scheme; and I flatter
myself I'm the very man who may bring it to a satisfactory conclusion.
These Yankees have been growing rich. There are now scores--hundreds of
heiresses among them. Strange if I can't pick one of them up! They
must either be daintier than you, Fan, or else I've lost my
attractions."
The appeal to her vanity, skilful though it was, failed to elicit a
rejoinder. She remained silent, permitting her husband to continue his
explanation. He continued:
"It's no use shutting our eyes to the situation. We've both been
speaking the truth. We've made fools of ourselves. Your beauty has
been the means of spoiling _my_ chances in life; and my--well, good
looks, if I must say it--have done the same for _you_. It's been a
mutual love, and a reciprocal ruin--in short, a sell on both sides."
"True enough. Go on?"
"The prospect before us! I, the son of a poor prebend; you--well, it's
no use to talk of family affairs. We came over here in hopes of
bettering our condition. The land of milk and honey turns out to be but
gall and bitterness. We've but one hundred pounds left. When that's
gone, what next, Fan?"
Fan could not tell.
"We may expect but slight consideration for gentility here," continued
the adventurer. "Our cash once spent, what can I do--or what you? I
know of nothing, except to take hold of the delicate ribbons of a street
hack; while you must attune your musical ear to the tinkle of a
sewing-machine, or the creaking of a mangle. By heaven! there'll be no
help for it?"
The _ci-devant_ belle of Brompton, appalled by the prospect, started up
from the rocking-chair, and once more commenced pacing the room.
Suddenly she stopped, and, turning to her husband, inquired:
"_Do you intend to be true to me, Dick_?"
The question was put in an eager, earnest tone.
Equally earnest was the answer:
"Of course I do. How can you doubt me, Fan? We're both alike
interested in the speculation. You may trust me as steel!"
"I agree to it, then, Dick. But dread steel if you betray me!"
Dick answered the threat with a light laugh; at the same time imprinting
a Judas kiss on the lips that had pronounced it!