HAIL TO THE LOVERS!
When he had left Donald Megbie, Sir William Gouldesbrough went back to
the room in which he had last seen Marjorie Poole.
He found her the centre of a circle of friends and acquaintances. Lady
Poole was sitting by her daughter's side, and was in a high good humour.
Gouldesbrough saw at once that while he had been talking with Donald
Megbie in the conservatory, Lord Malvin had done as Gouldesbrough had
asked him. Every one knew, with more or less accuracy, of what the new
invention consisted.
If the excitement and stir of expectation had been noticeable at the
beginning of the evening, it was now doubly apparent. The rooms hummed
like a hive with excited talk, and it was obvious that society
considered it had received a remarkable sensation. Sir William knew that
things were moving in the direction he wished, when he saw Marjorie
Poole holding a little court in this manner. She was always a very
popular girl and knew everybody. But to-night was not ordinary. It was
plain that both Marjorie and Lady Poole were being courted because of
their relationship to Sir William Gouldesbrough. Of course everybody
knew the past history of the engagement. But now it seemed almost
certain that it would be renewed. Gouldesbrough realized all this in a
moment, and with intense satisfaction. The assumption that he and
Marjorie were once more engaged, or on the verge of being so, could not
but contribute towards the fact.
Yes, it was a propitious hour. Everything was in his favour; this was
his grand night, and he meant that it should be crowned by the renewal
of the promise of the girl he loved.
As he went up to the group he seemed wonderfully strong and dominant.
Marjorie's eyes fell upon him and brightened as they did so. Certainly
there was no one else like this man!
Gouldesbrough wanted to carry Marjorie away to the supper-room at once,
but he was not to escape so easily. He was surrounded at once, and
congratulations were fired at him from every side.
The old Duchess of Marble Arch, an ancient dame painted to resemble a
dairy-maid of one and twenty, laid a tremulous claw-like hand, blazing
with rings, upon Gouldesbrough's arm. She was a scandal-monger who had
ruined homes, a woman who had never done an unselfish action or ever had
a thought that was not sordid, malevolent or foul. Yet she was a great
lady, a Princess in Vanity Fair, and even Sir William could not
disregard her, so great and important was this venerable hag.
"Well," she began in her high impertinent voice, "so you have outdone
Aladdin, I hear, Sir William. Really I congratulate you on your
thought-trap or whatever it is. I suppose we shall have you in the Upper
House soon! I wish you could manage to catch some thoughts for me on the
Stock Exchange. Couldn't you have your machine taken down to Capel
Court? I should very much like to know what some of the gentlemen who
deal in South Africans are thinking just now. The market is really in
the most abominable state. And do please bring the machine to one of my
At Homes. It would give me intense pleasure to know what is going on in
the minds of some of my friends. We could install it in one of the
smaller drawing-rooms, behind a screen. No one would know, and we could
catch thoughts all the evening--though I expect the machine would want
disinfecting after the first half-hour. I will see that there is some
Condy's fluid ready."
She moved away chattering shrilly. Young Lord Landsend succeeded her.
That nobleman showed very evident traces of living as hard as his purse
and his doctor would let him, and his pale countenance was stamped with
a congratulatory grin. "'Pon my soul, Sir William," he said, "this thing
you've made is really awfully jolly, you know. Topping idea really. Hope
you wont go fishin' round for my thoughts!"
There was a general laugh at this, and some one was heard to remark that
they didn't think that Sir William Gouldesbrough would make any very big
hauls in that quarter!
"But how splendid of you, Sir William!" said Mrs. Hoskin-Heath, a pretty
dark-haired woman with beautiful eyes. "It is really marvellous. Now
there will be a real meaning in the saying 'a penny for your thoughts!'
Shall you have penny-in-the-slot machines on all the stations of the
Twopenny Tube? So nice while one is waiting for a train. Just imagine
how nice it will be to let your _cher ami_ know how much you like him
without having to say any actual compromising words! You are a public
benefactor, Sir William."
Another voice broke in upon Gouldesbrough's impatient ear.
"How do you do, Sir William? It is a great pleasure to meet you on such
an occasion as this, an occasion which, if I may say so, is really
historic! You may not remember me, but I had the privilege of meeting
you at Brighton not long ago. My name is Charliewood, Sir Miles
Charliewood; we met on the melancholy occasion of my poor second
son's--er--death. You were very kind and helpful."
Gouldesbrough shook hands with the old baronet. A shadow passed over his
face as he did so, and he would have given much to have avoided the
sight of him--not to have known at all that Sir Miles was in Portland
Place on this night of triumph.
Gouldesbrough was one of those men who had solved the chief problem of
life. Like Napoleon, he was master of his own mind. His mind did not
dominate him, as the minds of most of us do. He controlled it absolutely
and never allowed thoughts of one part of his life to intrude upon those
of another.
And now, with the frightful egotism of supreme self-will, he actually
felt aggrieved at this sudden meeting. It was, he thought, hard at this
radiant, happy moment! He did not want to be reminded of the past or of
the terrible and criminal secret of the present. Why should the pale
ghost of Eustace Charliewood come to trouble him now? His partner in an
unspeakable infamy, the tool he had used for the satisfaction of his
devilish desires was dead. Dead, gone away, no longer in existence. That
he, Gouldesbrough, was morally the murderer of the distracted man whom
he had forced into crime troubled him not at all. It never had troubled
him--he had learned to be "Lord of Himself." And now, in this moment of
unprecedented triumph, the wraith of the dead man rose up swiftly and
without warning to be a spectre at the feast. It was hard!
But he turned to Sir Miles Charliewood and was as courteous and charming
as ever. His marked powers of fascination did not desert him. That
strange magnetism that was able to draw people to him, to make them his
servants and slaves, surrounded him now like the fabled "aura" of the
Theosophists.
He bent over the pompous little man with a smile of singular sweetness.
"Forget?" he said. "My dear sir, how could I forget? It is charming to
see you again. I hadn't an idea you knew Lord Malvin or were interested
in scientific affairs. Your congratulations are very welcome to me,
though you have said far more than I deserve. I hope we shall meet again
soon. I am generally at home in Regent's Park in the afternoons. It
would have made me very happy if poor Eustace could have been with us
to-night. He was one of my most intimate friends, as you know. And I
may tell you that he took a great interest in the experiments which have
now culminated so satisfactorily for me. Poor dear fellow! It is a great
sorrow to me that he is not with us. Well, well! I suppose that these
things are arranged for us by a Power over which we have no control, a
Force beyond our poor power of measuring or understanding. Good-night,
Good-night, Sir Miles. Do come and see me soon."
He bowed and smiled, with Marjorie upon his arm, and then turned away
towards the supper-room. And he left Sir Miles Charliewood--who had not
cared twopence for his son during his lifetime--full of a pleasing
melancholy and regret for the dead man.
Such is the power of success to awake dormant emotions in flinty hearts.
Such is the aroma and influence which "doth hedge a king" in any sphere
of modern life!
Sir William walked away with the beautiful girl by his side. He felt the
light touch of her fingers upon his arm, and his blood raced and leapt
with joy. He felt a boy again, a happy conquering boy. Yes, all was
indeed well upon this night of nights!
As they entered the supper-room and found a table, Lord Landsend saw
them. He was with Mrs. Pat Argyle, the society actress, and his cousins
the young Duke and Duchess of Perth.
Landsend was a fast young man of no particular intellect. But he was
kind, popular, and not without a certain personal charm. He could do
things that more responsible and important people couldn't do.
As he saw the hero of the occasion and the night come in with Marjorie
Poole, an inspiration came to the rackety young fellow.
He jumped up from his chair and began to clap loudly.
There was a moment's dead silence. Everybody stopped talking, the clink
and clatter of the meal was still.
Then the little Duchess of Perth--she was Miss Mamie Q. Oildervan, of
New York--took Landsend up. She began to clap too. As she had three
hundred thousand a year, was young, cheeky and delightful, she was a
leader of society at this moment.
Every one followed suit. There was a full-handed thunder of applause.
Lord Landsend lifted a glass of champagne high in the air.
"Here's to the wizard of the day!" he shouted merrily. "Here's to the
conqueror of thought!"
There was another second of silence. During it, the Duke of Perth, a boy
fresh from Oxford, caught the infection of the moment. He raised his
glass also--"And to Miss Poole too!" he said.
People who had spent years in London society said that they had never
experienced anything like it. A scene of wild excitement began. Staid
and ordinary people forgot convention and restraint. There was a high
and jocund chorus of congratulation and applause. The painted roof of
the supper-room rang with it.
Society had let itself go for once, and there was a madness of
enthusiasm in the air.
Sir William Gouldesbrough stood there smiling. He entered into the
spirit of the whole thing and bowed to the ovation, laughing with
pleasure, radiant with boyish enjoyment.
He felt Marjorie's hand upon his arm quiver with excitement, and he felt
that she was his at last!
She stood by his side, her face a deep crimson, and it was as though
they were a king and queen returning home to the seat and city of their
rule.
It was so public an avowal, chance had been so kind, fortune so
opportune, that Sir William knew that Marjorie would never retrace her
steps now. It was an announcement of betrothal for all the world to see!
It was just that.
Lady Poole, who was supping with Sir Michael Leeds, the great
millionaire who was the prop and mainstay of the English Church, pressed
a lace handkerchief to her eyes.
The bewildering enthusiasm of the moment caught her too. She rose from
her seat--only a yard or two away from the triumphant pair--and went up
to them with an impulsive gesture.
"God bless you, my dears!" she said in a broken voice.
Marjorie bowed her head. She drooped like a lovely flower. Fate, it
seemed to her, had taken everything out of her hands. She was the
creature of the moment, the toy of a wild and exhilarating environment.
She gave one quick, shy glance at Sir William.
He read in it the fulfilment of all his hopes.
Then old Lord Malvin came down the room, ancient, stately and bland.
"My dears," he said simply, "this must be a very happy night for you."
Sir William turned to the girl suddenly. His voice was confident and
strong.
"My dear Marjorie," he said, "how kind they all are to us!"
A little group of four people sat down to the table beneath the
crimson-shaded light.
Lord Malvin, the most famous scientist and most courtly gentleman of his
time. Sir William Gouldesbrough, the hero of this famous
party--to-morrow, when Donald Megbie had done his work, to be the hero
of the civilized world.
Lady Poole. Sweet Marjorie Poole, in the grip of circumstances that were
beyond her thinking.
And no one of the four--not even Sir William Gouldesbrough, F.R.S.--gave
a thought to the man in the living tomb--to Guy Rathbone who was, even
at that moment, tied up in india-rubber and aluminium bonds for the
amusement of Mr. Guest, the pink, hairless man of Regent's Park. Mr.
Guest was drunk of whisky, and sat happy, mocking his prisoner far down
in the cellars of Sir William's house.
Other folk were drunk of success and applause in Portland Place.
But Donald Megbie was awake in the Inner Temple, and his thoughts were
curious and strange.
Donald Megbie had left the party too early in the evening. He was drunk
of nothing at all!