_Which has to do with the Breaking of a Pretty Lady’s Picture_
Horace at this time by letter again urges Noll to get him forthwith and
for awhile to Paris and live amongst the clouds--puts it in terms of
poetry and of romance and of pounds shillings and pence--essaying all
the temptations. His letter ends on the Horatian note: “And, my dear
old Noll, do, for the love of art, go and see my people. My old father
has urgings to speak on the Liberty of the Press--England’s great
Heritage of Freedom--the Source of her Magnificence, of her Benignant
Purity--which through Journalism has built up the Conscience of the
People--Tol-lol-der-rol-lol-der-rol-lay--and all the rest of it. You
know the thumping music of the National Organ when all the stops are
out. Now, do give Doome some aid in educating the dear old sire in
letters. Look what revolution he hath wrought in English furnishments!
The father’s name; is it not become the household word for the artistic
home? And why? Because _he discovered the Man_ who could tell him
what was good furnishment. He himself at inmost heart prefers the
cuckoo-clock.... And the girls too, thou canst widen their view,
enlarge the outlook of their narrow Putney eyes; your good-fellowship
must of a certainty mitigate their cockney ambitions. They write to me
of ‘cutting’ people--‘giving the cold shoulder’ to old friends--they
are bitten with all the smart vulgarities, for all the world like
_déclassé_ duchesses and such as are not of assured position. Get thee
to my father’s house, Noll--and bear with the overplus of marble, the
gaudy boastfulness of the too ornate enrichments. There’s a big heart
at the back of it all, and it loves thee.
HORACE.
P.S.--I never suspected Jonkin of being a prude. He makes me feel
thrillingly immoral--like a school-girl reading her first classic.”
When Noll arrived at the Malahides in the afternoon, Sir Pompey was
away from home; but the ladies of the house greeted him gladly.
He had not been long with the two young women before he was overwhelmed
with the embarrassment of their frank admiration.
The elder girl caused him no little uneasiness by her attitude towards
him; which the buxom Miss Mary further increased by very soon and most
openly expressing her design to find solace in the society of a youth
from the city who was to escort her to some shopping, adding boldly
that the figure of two had in it more likely elements of good company
than the awkward wriggle called three; and, with a suggestive laugh,
she swaggered out of the room.
Noll was never wholly at home amongst the crudities; but he shook off
embarrassment, and made an effort to entertain the comely Judith.
But ordinary converse died a natural death--Judith Malahide was in no
mood for words. She held the handsome young fellow with her handsome
eyes; she was unwontedly quiet, and, for marvellous and becoming
change, her bearing was restrained with the compelling dignity of
passion.
She came and stood by him, and Noll realized, with a catch of the
breath, that he was being drawn into the whirl of a reckless young
woman’s inordinate desire.
“Why have you been so long away, Noll?” she asked.
Noll in a careless moment answered lightly:
“How was I to know that you thought it long, Miss Judith?”
The girl’s mood took flame:
“There are things a man knows without the telling,” she said. “I would
not give a sigh for a man who----”
She turned and gazed out of the window; and added with lowered voice:
“I had better not say what I was going to say; but--your lips provoke
me--to--say things.”
Noll watched her for awhile--the exquisite skin, the undisciplined
full red mouth, the handsome head. He found a strange pleasure in the
nearness of her splendid beauty.
She turned to him suddenly; caught the lingering admiration in his eyes:
“I should like to know exactly what you were thinking,” she said,
commandingly; “do you think you dare tell me?”
“I think I _dare_,” he said lightly; and added seriously: “But I would
rather not.”
“I want to know,” she said.
“I was wondering whether a beautiful woman’s beauty is as much pleasure
to herself as it is to----”
“To whom?” She finished the broken enigma for him.
“To those who look upon it,” he evaded.
“And who was the woman, Noll?”
He smiled:
“Well, to be frank, I would rather not say--it would sound rather
fulsome.”
She laughed, and reddened:
“I think most people, men and women, think they are good-looking--I
think handsome people have pleasure in their good looks.... _I_
have.... But it does not bring me the glow that looking at you gives
me.” She put her hand upon her bosom.
“Miss Judith!”
“Any more wonders to unravel?” she asked.
“No,” he said--“I think we had better not wonder too deeply.”
She laughed sadly:
“So we are to be wise, eh?” She came close to him: “But you have not
told me how _you_ are moved by a woman’s face--so how can I tell
you--what----”
“Miss Judith, I am afraid we are playing with fire.”
She turned, frowning out of the window:
“You are right,” she said. “These things are made of fire--they are
beyond speech.” She turned and came very close to him: “But,” she added
hoarsely, “your lips could tell my lips--without--all this prattle----”
She put her warm hand upon his sleeve:
“I want to know,” she said.
“Tsh!” said he.
She turned swiftly to the window.
A servant entered the room; and the girl, standing still, steadied
herself with sudden self-command.
“Come,” she said at last--“you have not seen the new white boudoir.”
Noll roused, seizing an excuse to leave:
“I must be going,” he said.
But she would have no denial; and led him upstairs to an exquisitely
decorated white room, the beauty of which at once revealed the artistic
taste of Bartholomew Doome.
Noll saw, as the door closed upon him, that he was in the girl’s
boudoir.
She came to him, put her arms about his neck, and kissed him.
“You do not kiss me, Noll,” she complained passionately.
Noll unlocked her arms:
“Hush!” said he, and walked to the window.
She came and nestled against his shoulder.
“Noll, I can’t live this nun’s life----”
He put her gently from him:
“This is madness,” said he--“utter madness----”
He strode to the door--stopped half way:
“My God!” he said hoarsely.
She followed the gaze of his eyes to the white mantel:
“What is it, Noll?”
“There is the picture of the girl--to whom I--am--betrothed.”
She roused, and stepping, catlike, to the mantel, took down the little
portrait of Betty and flung it upon the white marble hearth. The glass
smashed, flying into a hundred tinkling pieces.
Noll watched her coldly:
“Where is Betty Modeyne?” he demanded roughly.
The girl faltered, uttered a moan, and leaning her handsome head on
the white hand that clutched the mantel, gazed down upon the shattered
thing.
“Where is Betty Modeyne?” he asked, putting his hand gently on her
shoulder.
She sighed, and said miserably:
“I’m sorry, Noll--but, thank God, I cannot tell you. She is gone.”