"Is it a Rubens, or is it not? That is the question," drawled Frank
Parselle, as he dropped his eyeglass.
On an easel in Lady Merivale's drawing-room, stood a picture, before
which were grouped a small assembly of her friends, including one or two
artists and connoisseurs.
Lord Merivale was also present, having been dragged away from his
beloved farm, and worried into the purchase of this picture--the usual
"Portrait of a gentleman"--by his beautiful wife. He himself knew
nothing whatsoever about it, either as to its value or its genuineness;
it was worn and dirty-looking, and, in his opinion, would have been dear
at a five-pound note.
"Yes, that is the question," echoed Lord Standon. "It's not a bad face
though. I should vote it genuine right enough."
"It's extremely dirty," yawned Lord Merivale, casting a longing look at
the green grass of the park opposite and thinking of his new shorthorns
in Somersetshire.
"Philistine!" exclaimed his wife, tapping him playfully on the arm. "You
are incorrigible. Dirty! why, that is tone."
"Ah," returned her husband, turning away and gazing admiringly at a
bull by Potter. He was as wise as he had been before; for the jargon of
Art and fashionable society was not one of his accomplishments.
"I tell you who would be a good judge," put in Mr. Paxhorn.
The rest turned inquiring eyes on him.
"Who?" asked Lord Standon.
"Adrien Leroy. He is an artist, though he keeps his talents as secret as
if they were crimes. It was he who did the designs for my last book."
A murmur of astonishment ran through the room. Nearly every one knew
that it was to the illustrations the book owed the greater portion of
its success.
"A modesty quite unfashionable," exclaimed Lady Merivale, whose
beautiful face had flushed ever so slightly at the mention of Adrien's
name.
"Yes," admitted Paxhorn. "Men have to proclaim their gifts very loudly
in the market-place, before they sell their wares nowadays."
"Oh, Adrien is a veritable Crichton," put in Lord Standon. "There is
very little he does not know, and even that is made up by the estimable
Jasper."
"Yes, I saw them together got half an hour ago," said Paxhorn. "If I had
known of this picture, I would have got them to come with me; for
Vermont is a genius at settling any question under the sun."
"He's not always right, though," put in Lord Merivale, quietly. "What
about that horse of Leroy's? Wasn't it Vermont who was so sure of his
winning the race? Yet his Majesty did not win, did he?"
"No, I know that," said Standon, with a rueful smile, as he thought of
his added debts.
"That was not Vermont's lack of judgment," put in Paxhorn, who, for
private reasons of his own, always stood up for that gentleman. "I am
sure the horse would have won had it not been for Adrien's ill-timed
generosity."
"What was that?" inquired Lady Merivale, looking keenly over at him.
"He gave the jockey a ten-pound note the night before the race; and, of
course, the fellow got drunk and pulled the 'King' up at the last
fence."
"And lost his life, did he not?" asked one of the artists.
Lord Standon nodded, thoughtfully. He was attached to his friend Leroy,
and did not see why he should be blamed unnecessarily.
"Yes," he replied; "the strangest part of it all was the way the poor
fellow raved at Vermont."
"What do you mean?" asked Lady Merivale, sharply.
"We were all standing round him," explained Lord Standon, "and when
Vermont came up the man seemed to go off his head, and practically said
he had sold the race. Of course, it was all nonsense, though I believe
Lord Barminster is having some inquiries made."
"But why should Vermont have sold the race? Really, it's too absurd,"
put in Paxhorn scornfully. "Especially as he'd backed him for five
hundred pounds himself. It's hardly likely he'd do such a thing for his
own sake, apart from his sense of honour, and his friendship for Leroy."
Lady Merivale glanced sceptically at the speaker. Her faith in Jasper's
sense of honour was not very strong. Then she gave a deep sigh.
"Why, Eveline," said her husband, looking up, "you seem quite grieved.
Not on your own account, I hope?" The idea of his wife betting was very
repugnant to him, and Lady Merivale always endeavoured to keep her
little flutters, whether on 'Change or on the turf, entirely to herself.
She laughed lightly, therefore, as she answered:
"Oh, no, indeed; I lost a dozen of gloves, that was all." A vision of
the cheque for five hundred pounds, which she had drawn, arose before
her as she spoke.
"I'm afraid it will take a little more than that to settle Leroy's
book," said Lord Merivale carelessly.
At this moment the door opened and Adrien Leroy himself was announced.
There was the usual buzz of welcome, and her ladyship's eyes flashed
just one second, as he bent over her hand.
"I am so glad you have come, Mr. Leroy," she said. "You can settle a
knotty question for us. This is my latest acquisition. Now have I been
deceived, or have I not? Is it a Rubens?"
Adrien smiled at the two artists, who were slight acquaintances of his.
"You ask me while such judges are near? Cannot you decide, Alford--nor
you, Colman?"
"Well, I say it is," said the first.
"While I think it is forgery," laughed the second; and thereupon ensued
a lengthy and detailed criticism.
Adrien bent nearer to the picture under examination; then he said
quietly:
"Where two such lights cannot discover the truth, who may? I agree with
you, Alford, and so I do with you, Colman. Both your arguments are so
convincing that if Rubens had painted it, and were present, to hear you,
Colman, he'd be persuaded he hadn't; and if he had not painted it, you,
Alford, could almost convince him that he had."
There was a general smile at the artists' expense; and Adrien continued:
"Rubens' touch"--examining the face--"but--what is this?" He pointed to
a small weapon thrust into the girdle of the figure.
"That is a dagger," said Alford. "Here, where are the glasses?"
"Thanks," said Adrien, "but I don't require them. It is a dagger, and a
Florentine one at that. Ah! Lady Merivale, I'm afraid your picture is
more a specimen of what a modern impostor can rise to than that of an
old master. That dagger is of comparatively modern fashion, certainly
not earlier than the eighteenth century, while Rubens died in 1640."
The two artists stared, as well they might, but were neither
sufficiently acquainted with Leroy to express their surprise at his
knowledge, nor had knowledge enough themselves to challenge his dates.
It was Lord Standon who spoke first.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Adrien going in for history! Who would have
thought it? My dear fellow, why not give a lecture?"
"On the vanity of human hopes and the folly of friendship?" inquired
Adrien, so coldly as to startle both the company and Lord Standon
himself, who not being in Lady Constance's confidence, was naturally at
a loss for the reason of this sudden anger on the part of Leroy. He drew
back in surprise, but any further reference to the matter was stopped by
the entry of Jasper Vermont. As a matter of fact, he had arrived just in
time to overhear Adrien's last words.
"What's that?" he cried, after he had greeted Lady Merivale. "Was that
Leroy declaiming against the world? It's for those in his position to
bewail its vanities, while poor dev--I beg your pardon, Lady
Merivale--poor men like myself can only cry for them."
Adrien smiled.
"Quite right, Jasper. I'm wrong, as usual.
"Mr. Vermont," said Lord Merivale, "you remind me of the clown in the
beloved pantomime of my youth."
"An innocent memory that, at least, my lord," returned Vermont, who
never stayed his tongue in the matter of a repartee for lord or
commoner. "May I ask why?"
"You always enter the room with a joke or an epigram," was the answer.
Mr. Vermont smiled.
"'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,'"
he quoted lightly, as he turned his attention to the unfortunate
"Portrait of a gentleman." "Ah, what have we here--another picture? An
old master, I presume?"
The artists looked pleased; it would seem as if even the great
connoisseur himself was liable to make mistakes.
"It is ugly enough, in all conscience," he continued bluntly. "For my
part, I am an utter philistine, and like my art to be the same as my
furniture--new, pretty to look at, and comfortable, and, for the life of
me, I can't fall in love with a snub-nosed Catherine de Medici, or a
muscular apostle. What is this?" He bent down to read the title. "Ah!
'Portrait of a gentleman of the sixteenth century.' Very valuable, I
daresay, Lady Merivale?"
Lady Merivale, who looked upon Mr. Vermont as one of her ancestors would
have regarded the Court jester, smiled indifferently.
"It all depends on the point of view," she said. "I have paid three
hundred pounds for it."
Mr. Vermont looked up with an air of innocent surprise; but a keen
observer might have been tempted to regard it as one of satirical
enjoyment.
"Three hundred pounds! I daresay these gentlemen, good judges all, have
declared it a bargain?" He motioned to the little group on the other
side of Lord Merivale.
"Not at all," returned his hostess. "On the contrary, Mr. Leroy declares
it an imposture."
Vermont raised his eyebrows.
"Indeed," he said. "How did he detect the fraud?"
"By the one weak point," said Colman. "That dagger; Rubens never lived
to see such a dagger as that, so could not possibly have painted it!"
Mr. Vermont smiled, an approving smile that seemed to mock the picture
as if it were a living thing.
"Capital," he said. "The rogue who palmed this forgery on you was
evidently not a student of the antique. Poor fellow, how was he to guess
who was to be his judge? You will, of course, institute proceedings
against him, or send the picture back?"
"Impossible," said Lord Merivale, with a rueful smile; "I wrote the
cheque last night; by this time it will have been cashed, and so the
swindle is complete."
"Dear! dear!" ejaculated Mr. Vermont, in tones of the deepest
commiseration, though he smiled as he added: "There's only one thing to
be said, my lord. If that picture is clever enough to deceive such great
experts, surely it has achieved its object. It certainly looks old
enough to satisfy the most exacting of second-hand furniture shops."
He turned to Lady Merivale.
"Before I forget," he said, "let me discharge the object of my visit.
Melba sings to-morrow at the Duke of Southville's party."
Her ladyship's face lighted up with real gratitude. Music was her one
sincere passion; and, as she had been unable to hear that divine
songstress during the season owing to various engagements, this news was
welcome.
"Thank you," she said warmly. "How good of you to find out for me. It
was kept such a secret. How did you discover it?"
"Ah!" said Mr. Vermont, raising his eyebrows. "If I tell you that, it
would be bad policy. I may have discovered it so easily that my services
as a solver of mysteries would sink to insignificance, or again I may
have had to commit a crime; in either case, it is best to 'draw a veil
of silence,' shall we say; sufficient be it that Melba sings, and Lady
Merivale deigns to listen."
"Flatterer," she said lightly, as he rose, hat in hand. He glanced
across at Adrien, who was talking to Lord Merivale. "I am off on another
mission," he said, lowering his voice. "I fancy my friend must be
thinking of his honeymoon."
Lady Merivale started violently. "What do you mean?" she asked, striving
to maintain her usual cool, indifferent tones.
He looked down at her in innocent surprise.
"I am commissioned to buy a residence in the Swiss Lakes district for
Leroy; and as I happen to know Lady Constance Tremaine is devoted to
mountaineering--most exhausting work, I consider--well, there is only
one construction to be laid. But, of course, this is in strictest
confidence; you will not betray me, I know."
"Of course not," said her ladyship mechanically; her mind was working
rapidly, so that she hardly heard the rest of Jasper's purring speech;
and that gentleman, highly pleased at the pain he had so evidently
inflicted, made a parting epigram and left his poison to do its work in
Lady Merivale's mind.
One by one, the others followed; and Lord Merivale, with an apology to
Leroy, returned to his study and the Agricultural Gazette, having his
wife and Adrien alone.
With flushed face and outstretched hands, she turned to him
reproachfully.
"I thought you had forgotten me."
"Impossible," he murmured, as he raised her hand to his lips. "I have
been so bothered with various business matters, and have had so many
engagements----"
"But yet had the time to go to the theatre with that awful creature,"
she retorted. "Then you have been spending a day or two at Barminster."
She bit her lip savagely in her jealous pain and wounded vanity.
"Adrien," she entreated, "tell me it isn't true."
"To what do you refer?" he asked steadily.
He knew that the struggle had commenced, and he was determined to bring
this mock phantasy of love to an end. If he could not marry the one
woman who had shown him what love really meant, he would at least have
done with this foolish dalliance.
"Your engagement to that pink-and-white cousin--Lady----"
"Be silent," he commanded, more sternly than he had ever spoken to any
man, woman or child in his life. His face had paled; his eyes were like
steel. The very thought of hearing her name reviled by the jealous woman
before him filled him with wrath.
She stood silent, but with flashing eyes, her breast heaving with
excitement.
"It is true, then?" she panted. "You are going to marry her--tell me the
truth----"
"I did not say so," he returned, slowly and painfully.
"Then you don't love her. Ah, I knew it!" she cried triumphantly.
He did not reply; and she read in his silence the confirmation of her
fears.
"Adrien, is it possible--you love her, and she----"
"Eveline," he said, "for the sake of our past friendship"--she started
at the words--"do not say any more. You know we have only played with
the divine passion. It has beguiled many a pleasant hour, but I do not
think it has been anything more than a pastime."
"Not to you," she said almost sullenly. "But how dare you doubt my
feelings? How dare you insult me?"
"I did not mean to hurt you," he said gently, and her voice softened at
his tone.
"Ah, Adrien," she cried beseechingly, "you do hurt me when you treat me
like this. Try and forget her, unless"--she broke off abruptly--"unless
you are really going to marry her. Is that so?"
"I told you," he answered wearily. "I shall never marry Constance. She
is engaged to another."
"Thank Heaven!" was her, ladyship's mental ejaculation, but she said
nothing aloud.
Leroy roused himself. "I must go," he said.
"So soon?" she asked tremulously. "Where are you going?"
"To the theatre."
She frowned, and, seeing it, he stopped to explain.
"It is no longer mine," he said with a faint smile.
"Not yours!" she cried in surprise.
"No, it belongs to Miss Lester."
Her quick intellect grasped his meaning at once.
"Henceforth, you mean to retire from the gay world, then?" she said,
with a faint sneer, adding quickly, as his face darkened, "Ah, forgive
me, if am bitter! I hate to see you unhappy. Try and forgive my
ill-humour."
"You are, as ever, my queen," he said, "and can, therefore, do no
wrong."
Lifting her hand to his lips, he turned and strode hastily from the
room.