“Oh! you are funny!” I said. “You, a clever diplomat, to know so little
of women. Who in the world would accept such an offer!” and I laughed,
and laughed.
“What am I to do with you!” he exclaimed, angrily.
“Nothing!” I laughed still, and I looked at him with my “affair of the
devil” look. He came over, and forcibly took my hand.
“Yes, you are a witch,” he said. “A witch who casts spells, and
destroys resolutions and judgements. I determined to forget you, and
put you out of my life--you are most unsuitable to me, you know, but as
soon as I see you I am filled with only one desire. I _must_ have you
for myself--I want to kiss you--to touch you. I want to prevent any
other man from looking at you--do you hear me, Evangeline?”
“Yes, I hear,” I said. “But it does not have any effect on me. You
would be awful as a husband. Oh! I know all about them!” and I looked
up. “I saw several sorts at Tryland, and Lady Verningham has told me of
the rest; and I know you would be no earthly good in that _rôle_!”
He laughed, in spite of himself, but he still held my hand.
“Describe their types to me, that I may see which I should be,” he
said, with great seriousness.
“There is the Mackintosh kind--humble and ‘titsy-pootsy,’ and a sort of
under nurse,” I said.
“That is not my size, I fear.”
“Then there is the Montgomerie, selfish and bullying, and near about
money----”
“But I am not Scotch.”
“No--well, Lord Kestervin was English, and he fussed and worried, and
looked out trains all the time.”
“I shall have a groom of the chambers.”
“And they were all casual and indifferent to their poor wives! and
boresome, and bored!! And one told long stories, and one was stodgy,
and one opened his wife’s letters before she was down!”
“Tell me the attributes of a perfect husband, then, that I may learn
them,” he said.
“They have to pay all the bills.”
“Well, I could do that.”
“And they have not to interfere with one’s movements. And one must be
able to make their hearts beat.”
“Well, you could do _that_!” and he bent nearer to me. I drew back.
“And they have to take long journeys to the Rocky Mountains for months
together, with men friends.”
“Certainly not!” he exclaimed.
“There, you see!” I said, “the most important part you don’t agree to.
There is no use talking further.”
“Yes, there is! You have not said half enough--have they to make your
heart beat, too?”
“You are hurting my hand.”
He dropped it.
“Have they?”
“Lady Ver said no husband could do that--the fact of there being one
kept your heart quite quiet, and often made you yawn--but she said it
was not necessary, as long as you could make theirs, so that they would
do all you asked.”
“Then do women’s hearts never beat--did she tell you?”
“Of course they beat! How simple you are for thirty years old. They
beat constantly for--oh--for people who are not husbands.”
“That is the result of your observations, is it? You are probably
right, and I am a fool.”
“Some one said at lunch yesterday that a beautiful lady in Paris had
her heart beating for you,” I said, looking at him again.
He changed--so very little, it was not a start, or a wince even--just
enough for me to know he felt what I said.
“People are too kind,” he said. “But we have got no nearer the point.
When will you marry me?”
“I shall marry you--never, Mr. Carruthers,” I said, “unless I get into
an old maid soon, and no one else asks me. Then if you go on your knees
I may put out the tip of my finger, perhaps!” and I moved towards the
door, making him a sweeping and polite curtsey.
He rushed after me.
“Evangeline!” he exclaimed, “I am not a violent man as a rule, indeed
I am rather cool, but you would drive any one perfectly mad. Some day
some one will strangle you--Witch!”
“Then I had better run away to save my neck,” I said, laughing over my
shoulder as I opened the door and ran up the stairs, and I peeped at
him from the landing above. He had come out into the hall. “Good-bye,”
I called, and without waiting to see Lady Ver he tramped down the
stairs and away.
“Evangeline, what _have_ you been doing?” she asked, when I got into
her room, where her maid was settling her veil before the glass, and
trembling over it--Lady Ver is sometimes fractious with her, worse than
I am with Véronique, far.
“Evangeline, you look naughtier than ever; confess at once.”
“I have been as good as gold,” I said.
“Then why are those two emeralds sparkling so, may one ask?”
“They are sparkling with conscious virtue,” I said, demurely.
“You have quarrelled with Mr. Carruthers. Go away, Welby! Stupid woman,
can’t you see it catches my nose?”
Welby retired meekly (after she is cross Lady Ver sends Welby to the
theatre--Welby adores her).
“Evangeline, how dare you! I see it all. I gathered bits from Robert.
You have quarrelled with the very man you must marry!”
“What does Lord Robert know about me?” I said. That made me angry.
“Nothing; he only said Mr. Carruthers admired you at Branches.”
“Oh!”
“He is too attractive, Christopher! he is one of the ‘married women’s
pets,’ as Ada Fairfax says, and has never spoken to a girl before. You
ought to be grateful we have let him look at you!--minx!--instead of
quarrelling, as I can see you have.” She rippled with laughter, while
she pretended to scold me.
“Surely I may be allowed that chastened diversion,” I said, “I can’t go
to theatres!”
“Tell me about it,” she commanded, tapping her foot.
But early in Mrs. Carruthers’ days, I learnt that one is wiser when one
keeps one’s own affairs to oneself--so I fenced a little, and laughed,
and we went out to drive finally, without her being any the wiser.
Going into the Park, we came upon a troop of the 3rd Life Guards, who
had been escorting the King to open something, and there rode Lord
Robert in his beautiful clothes, and a floating plume--he did look so
lovely--and _my_ heart suddenly began to beat; I could feel it, and was
ashamed, and it did not console me greatly to reflect that the emotion
caused by a uniform is not confined to nursemaids.
Of course, it must have been the uniform, and the black horse--Lord
Robert is nothing to me. But I hate to think that mamma’s mother having
been nobody, I should have inherited these common instincts.
300, PARK STREET,
_Thursday, November 24th._
_Evening_.
LADY MERRENDEN is so nice--one of those kind faces that even a tight
fringe in a net does not spoil. She is tall and graceful, past fifty
perhaps, and has an expression of Lord Robert about the eyes. At
luncheon she was sweet to me at once, and did not look as if she
thought I must be bad just because I have red hair, like elderly ladies
do generally.
I felt I wanted to be good and nice directly. She did not allude to my
desolate position, or say anything without tact, but she asked me to
lunch, as if I had been a queen, and would honour her by accepting. For
some reason I could see Lady Ver did not wish me to go, she made all
sorts of excuses about wanting me herself, but also, for some reason,
Lady Merrenden was determined I should, and finally settled it should
be on Saturday, when Lady Ver is going down to Northumberland to her
father’s, and I am going--where? Alas, as yet I know not.
When she had gone, Lady Ver said old people without dyed hair or bridge
proclivities were tiresome, and she smoked three cigarettes, one after
the other, as fast as she could. (Welby is going to the theatre again
to-night!)
I said I thought Lady Merrenden was charming. She snapped my head off,
for the first time, and then there was silence--but presently she began
to talk, and fix herself in a most becoming way on the sofa--we were
in her own sitting-room, a lovely place, all blue silk and French
furniture, and attractive things. She said she had a cold, and must
stay indoors. She had changed immediately into a tea-gown--but I could
not hear any cough.
“Charlie has just wired he comes back to-night,” she announced at
length.
“How nice for you!” I sympathized. “You will be able to make his heart
beat!”
“As a matter of fact it is extremely inconvenient, and I want you to
be nice to him and amuse him, and take his attention off me, like a
pet, Evangeline,” she cooed--and then, “What a lovely afternoon for
November! I wish I could go for a walk in the Park,” she said.
I felt it would be cruel to tease her further, and so announced my
intention of taking exercise in that way with the angels.
“Yes, it will do you good, dear child,” she said, brightly, “and I will
rest here, and take care of my cold.”
“They have asked me to tea in the nursery,” I said, “and I have
accepted.”
“Jewel of a Snake-girl!” she laughed--she is not thick.
“Do you know the Torquilstone history?” she said, just as I was going
out of the door.