It was nearly four o'clock. Sir Wilfrid had just closed Lady Henry's
door behind him, and was again walking along Bruton Street.
He was thinking of the little scene of Mademoiselle Le Breton's
appearance on the threshold of Lady Henry's dining-room; of the insolent
sharpness with which Lady Henry had given her order upon order--as to
the dogs, the books for the circulating library, a message for her
dressmaker, certain directions for the tradesmen, etc., etc.--as though
for the mere purpose of putting the woman who had dared to be her rival
in her right place before Sir Wilfrid Bury. And at the end, as she was
departing, Mademoiselle Le Breton, trusting no doubt to Lady Henry's
blindness, had turned towards himself, raising her downcast eyes upon
him suddenly, with a proud, passionate look. Her lips had moved; Sir
Wilfrid had half risen from his chair. Then, quickly, the door had
closed upon her.
Sir Wilfrid could not think of it without a touch of excitement.
"Was she reminding me of Gherardtsloo?" he said to himself. "Upon my
word, I must find some means of conversation with her, in spite of
Lady Henry."
He walked towards Bond Street, pondering the situation of the two
women--the impotent jealousy and rancor with which Lady Henry was
devoured, the domestic slavery contrasted with the social power of
Mademoiselle Le Breton. Through the obscurity and difficulty of
circumstance, how marked was the conscience of race in her, and, as he
also thought, of high intelligence! The old man was deeply interested.
He felt a certain indulgent pity for his lifelong friend Lady Henry; but
he could not get Mademoiselle Julie out of his head.
"Why on earth does she stay where she is?"
He had asked the same question of Lady Henry, who had contemptuously
replied:
"Because she likes the flesh-pots, and won't give them up. No doubt she
doesn't find my manners agreeable; but she knows very well that she
wouldn't get the chances she gets in my house anywhere else. I give her
a foothold. She'll not risk it for a few sour speeches on my part. I may
say what I like to her--and I intend to say what I like! Besides, you
watch her, and see whether she's made for poverty. She takes to luxury
as a fish to water. What would she be if she left me? A little visiting
teacher, perhaps, in a Bloomsbury lodging. That's not her line at all."
"But somebody else might employ her as you do?" Sir Wilfrid had
suggested.
"You forget I should be asked for a character," said Lady Henry. "Oh, I
admit there are possibilities--on her side. That silly goose, Evelyn
Crowborough, would have taken her in, but I had a few words with
Crowborough, and he put his foot down. He told his wife he didn't want
an intriguing foreigner to live with them. No; for the present we are
chained to each other. I can't get rid of her, and she doesn't want to
get rid of me. Of course, things might become intolerable for either of
us. But at present self-interest on both sides keeps us going. Oh, don't
tell me the thing is odious! I know it. Every day she stays in the house
I become a more abominable old woman."
A more exacting one, certainly. Sir Wilfrid thought with pity and
amusement of the commissions with which Mademoiselle Julie had been
loaded. "She earns her money, any way," he thought. "Those things will
take her a hard afternoon's work. But, bless my soul!"--he paused in his
walk--"what about that engagement to Duchess Evelyn that I heard her
make? Not a word, by-the-way, to Lady Henry about it! Oh, this
is amusing!"
He went meditatively on his way, and presently turned into his club to
write some letters. But at five o'clock he emerged, and told a hansom to
drive him to Grosvenor Square. He alighted at the great red-brick
mansion of the Crowboroughs, and asked for the Duchess. The magnificent
person presiding over the hall, an old family retainer, remembered him,
and made no difficulty about admitting him.
"Anybody with her grace?" he inquired, as the man handed him over to the
footman who was to usher him up-stairs.
"Only Miss Le Breton and Mr. Delafield, Sir Wilfrid. Her grace told me
to say 'not at home' this afternoon, but I am sure, sir, she will
see you."
Sir Wilfrid smiled.
As he entered the outer drawing-room, the Duchess and the group
surrounding her did not immediately perceive the footman nor himself,
and he had a few moments in which to take in a charming scene.
A baby girl in a white satin gown down to her heels, and a white satin
cap, lace-edged and tied under her chin, was holding out her tiny skirt
with one hand and dancing before the Duchess and Miss Le Breton, who was
at the piano. The child's other hand held up a morsel of biscuit
wherewith she directed the movements of her partner, a small black
spitz, of a slim and silky elegance, who, straining on his hind legs,
his eager attention fixed upon the biscuit, followed every movement of
his small mistress; while she, her large blue eyes now solemn, now
triumphant, her fair hair escaping from her cap in fluttering curls, her
dainty feet pointed, her dimpled arm upraised, repeated in living grace
the picture of her great-great-grandmother which hung on the wall in
front of her, a masterpiece from Reynolds's happiest hours.
Behind Mademoiselle Le Breton stood Jacob Delafield; while the Duchess,
in a low chair beside them, beat time gayly to the gavotte that
Mademoiselle Julie was playing and laughed encouragement and applause to
the child in front of her. She herself, with her cloud of fair hair, the
delicate pink and white of her skin, the laughing lips and small white
hands that rose and fell with the baby steps, seemed little more than a
child. Her pale blue dress, for which she had just exchanged her winter
walking-costume, fell round her in sweeping folds of lace and silk--a
French fairy dressed by Wörth, she was possessed by a wild gayety, and
her silvery laugh held the room.
Beside her, Julie Le Breton, very thin, very tall, very dark, was
laughing too. The eyes which Sir Wilfrid had lately seen so full of
pride were now alive with pleasure. Jacob Delafield, also, from behind,
grinned applause or shouted to the babe, "Brava, Tottie; well done!"
Three people, a baby, and a dog more intimately pleased with one
another's society it would have been difficult to discover.
"Sir Wilfrid!"
The Duchess sprang up astonished, and in a moment, to Sir Wilfrid's
chagrin, the little scene fell to pieces. The child dropped on the
floor, defending herself and the biscuit as best she could against the
wild snatches of the dog. Delafield composed his face in a moment to its
usual taciturnity. Mademoiselle Le Breton rose from the piano.
"No, no!" said Sir Wilfrid, stopping short and holding up a deprecating
hand. "Too bad! Go on."
"Oh, we were only fooling with baby!" said the Duchess. "It is high time
she went to her nurse. Sit here, Sir Wilfrid. Julie, will you take the
babe, or shall I ring for Mrs. Robson?"
"I'll take her," said Mademoiselle Le Breton.
She knelt down by the child, who rose with alacrity. Catching her skirts
round her, with one eye half laughing, half timorous, turned over her
shoulder towards the dog, the baby made a wild spring into Mademoiselle
Julie's arms, tucking up her feet instantly, with a shriek of delight,
out of the dog's way. Then she nestled her fair head down upon her
bearer's shoulder, and, throbbing with joy and mischief, was
carried away.
Sir Wilfrid, hat in hand, stood for a moment watching the pair. A bygone
marriage uniting the Lackington family with that of the Duchess had just
occurred to him in some bewilderment. He sat down beside his hostess,
while she made him some tea. But no sooner had the door of the farther
drawing-room closed behind Mademoiselle Le Breton, than with a dart of
all her lively person she pounced upon him.
"Well, so Aunt Flora has been complaining to you?"
Sir Wilfrid's cup remained suspended in his hand. He glanced first at
the speaker and then at Jacob Delafield.
"Oh, Jacob knows all about it!" said the Duchess, eagerly. "This is
Julie's headquarters; _we_ are on her staff. _You_ come from the enemy!"
Sir Wilfrid took out his white silk handkerchief and waved it.
"Here is my flag of truce," he said. "Treat me well."
"We are only too anxious to parley with you," said the Duchess,
laughing. "Aren't we, Jacob?"
Then she drew closer.
"What has Aunt Flora been saying to you?"
Sir Wilfrid paused. As he sat there, apparently studying his boots, his
blond hair, now nearly gray, carefully parted in the middle above his
benevolent brow, he might have been reckoned a tame and manageable
person. Jacob Delafield, however, knew him of old.
"I don't think that's fair," said Sir Wilfrid, at last, looking up. "I'm
the new-comer; I ought to be allowed the questions."
"Go on," said the Duchess, her chin on her hand. "Jacob and I will
answer all we know."
Delafield nodded. Sir Wilfrid, looking from one to the other, quickly
reminded himself that they had been playmates from the cradle--or might
have been.
"Well, in the first place," he said, slowly, "I am lost in admiration at
the rapidity with which Mademoiselle Le Breton does business. An hour
and a half ago"--he looked at his watch--"I stood by while Lady Henry
enumerated commissions it would have taken any ordinary man-mortal half
a day to execute."
The Duchess clapped her hands.
"My maid is now executing them," she said, with glee. "In an hour she
will be back. Julie will go home with everything done, and I shall have
had nearly two hours of her delightful society. What harm is there
in that?"
"Where are the dogs?" said Sir Wilfrid, looking round.
"Aunt Flora's dogs? In the housekeeper's room, eating sweet biscuit.
They adore the groom of the chambers."
"Is Lady Henry aware of this--this division of labor?" said Sir Wilfrid,
smiling.
"Of course not," said the Duchess, flushing. "She makes Julie's life
such a burden to her that something has to be done. Now what _has_ Aunt
Flora been telling you? We were certain she would take you into
council--she has dropped various hints of it. I suppose she has been
telling you that Julie has been intriguing against her--taking
liberties, separating her from her friends, and so on?"
Sir Wilfrid smilingly presented his cup for some more tea.
"I beg to point out," he said, "that I have only been allowed _two_
questions so far. But if things are to be at all fair and equal, I am
owed at least six."
The Duchess drew back, checked, and rather annoyed. Jacob Delafield, on
the other hand, bent forward.
"We are _anxious_, Sir Wilfrid, to tell you all we know," he replied,
with quiet emphasis.
Sir Wilfrid looked at him. The flame in the young man's eyes burned
clear and steady--but flame it was. Sir Wilfrid remembered him as a
lazy, rather somnolent youth; the man's advance in expression, in
significant power, of itself, told much.
"In the first place, can you give me the history of this lady's
antecedents?"
He glanced from one to the other.
The Duchess and Jacob Delafield exchanged glances. Then the Duchess
spoke--uncertainly.
"Yes, we know. She has confided in us. There is nothing whatever to her
discredit."
Sir Wilfrid's expression changed.
"Ah!" cried the Duchess, bending forward. "You know, too?"
"I knew her father and mother," said Sir Wilfrid, simply.
The Duchess gave a little cry of relief. Jacob Delafield rose, took a
turn across the room, and came back to Sir Wilfrid.
"Now we can really speak frankly," he said. "The situation has grown
very difficult, and we did not know--Evelyn and I--whether we had a
right to explain it. But now that Lady Henry--"
"Oh yes," said Sir Wilfrid, "that's all right. The fact of Mademoiselle
Le Breton's parentage--"
"Is really what makes Lady Henry so jealous!" cried the Duchess,
indignantly. "Oh, she's a tyrant, is Aunt Flora! It is because Julie is
of her own world--of _our_ world, by blood, whatever the law may
say--that she can't help making a rival out of her, and tormenting her
morning, noon, and night. I tell you, Sir Wilfrid, what that poor girl
has gone through no one can imagine but we who have watched it. Lady
Henry owes her _every_thing this last three years. Where would she have
been without Julie? She talks of Julie's separating her from her
friends, cutting her out, imposing upon her, and nonsense of that kind!
How would she have kept up that salon alone, I should like to know--a
blind old woman who can't write a note for herself or recognize a face?
First of all she throws everything upon Julie, is proud of her
cleverness, puts her forward in every way, tells most unnecessary
falsehoods about her--Julie has felt _that_ very much--and then when
Julie has a great success, when people begin to come to Bruton Street,
for her sake as well as Lady Henry's, then Lady Henry turns against her,
complains of her to everybody, talks about treachery and disloyalty and
Heaven knows what, and begins to treat her like the dirt under her feet!
How can Julie help being clever and agreeable--she _is_ clever and
agreeable! As Mr. Montresor said to me yesterday, 'As soon as that woman
comes into a room, my spirits go up!' And why? Because she never thinks
of herself, she always makes other people show at their best. And then
Lady Henry behaves like this!" The Duchess threw out her hands in
scornful reprobation. "And the question is, of course, Can it go on?"
"I don't gather," said Sir Wilfrid, hesitating, "that Lady Henry wants
immediately to put an end to it."
Delafield gave an angry laugh.
"The point is whether Mademoiselle Julie and Mademoiselle Julie's
friends can put up with it much longer."
"You see," said the Duchess, eagerly, "Julie is such a loyal,
affectionate creature. She knows Lady Henry was kind to her, to begin
with, that she gave her great chances, and that she's getting old and
infirm. Julie's awfully sorry for her. She doesn't want to leave her all
alone--to the mercy of her servants--"
"I understand the servants, too, are devoted to Mademoiselle Julie?"
said Sir Wilfrid.
"Yes, that's another grievance," said Delafield, contemptuously. "Why
shouldn't they be? When the butler had a child very ill, it was
Mademoiselle Julie who went to see it in the mews, who took it flowers
and grapes--"
"Lady Henry's grapes?" threw in Sir Wilfrid.
"What does it matter!" said Delafield, impatiently. "Lady Henry has more
of everything than she knows what to do with. But it wasn't grapes only!
It was time and thought and consideration. Then when the younger footman
wanted to emigrate to the States, it was Mademoiselle Julie who found a
situation for him, who got Mr. Montresor to write to some American
friends, and finally sent the lad off, devoted to her, of course, for
life. I should like to know when Lady Henry would have done that kind of
thing! Naturally the servants like her--she deserves it."
"I see--I see," said Sir Wilfrid, nodding gently, his eyes on the
carpet. "A very competent young lady."
Delafield looked at the older man, half in annoyance, half in
perplexity.
"Is there anything to complain of in that?" he said, rather shortly.
"Oh, nothing, nothing!" said Sir Wilfrid, hastily. "And this word
intrigue that Lady Henry uses? Has mademoiselle always steered a
straightforward course with her employer?"
"Oh, well," said the Duchess, shrugging her shoulders, "how can you
always be perfectly straightforward with such a tyrannical old person!
She _has_ to be managed. Lately, in order to be sure of every minute of
Julie's time, she has taken to heaping work upon her to such a
ridiculous extent that unless I come to the rescue the poor thing gets
no rest and no amusement. And last summer there was an explosion,
because Julie, who was supposed to be in Paris for her holiday with a
school-friend, really spent a week of it with the Buncombes, Lady
Henry's married niece, who has a place in Kent. The Buncombes knew her
at Lady Henry's parties, of course. Then they met her in the Louvre,
took her about a little, were delighted with her, and begged her to come
and stay with them--they have a place near Canterbury--on the way home.
They and Julie agreed that it would be best to say nothing to Lady Henry
about it--she is too absurdly jealous--but then it leaked out,
unluckily, and Lady Henry was furious."
"I must say," said Delafield, hurriedly, "I always thought frankness
would have been best there."
"Well, perhaps," said the Duchess, unwillingly, with another shrug. "But
now what is to be done? Lady Henry really must behave better, or Julie
can't and sha'n't stay with her. Julie has a great following--hasn't
she, Jacob? They won't see her harassed to death."
"Certainly not," said Delafield. "At the same time we all see"--he
turned to Sir Wilfrid--"what the advantages of the present combination
are. Where would Lady Henry find another lady of Mademoiselle Le
Breton's sort to help her with her house and her salon? For the last two
years the Wednesday evenings have been the most brilliant and successful
things of their kind in London. And, of course, for Mademoiselle Le
Breton it is a great thing to have the protection of Lady
Henry's name--"
"A great thing?" cried Sir Wilfrid. "Everything, my dear Jacob!"
"I don't know," said Delafield, slowly. "It may be bought too dear."
Sir Wilfrid looked at the speaker with curiosity. It had been at all
times possible to rouse Jacob Delafield--as child, as school-boy, as
undergraduate--from an habitual carelessness and idleness by an act or a
tale of injustice or oppression. Had the Duchess pressed him into her
service, and was he merely taking sides for the weaker out of a natural
bent towards that way of looking at things? Or--
"Well, certainly we must do our best to patch it up," said Sir Wilfrid,
after a pause. "Perhaps Mademoiselle Le Breton will allow me a word with
her by-and-by. I think I have still some influence with Lady Henry. But,
dear goddaughter"--he bent forward and laid his hand on that of the
Duchess--"don't let the maid do the commissions."
"But I must!" cried the Duchess. "Just think, there is my big bazaar on
the 16th. You don't know how clever Julie is at such things. I want to
make her recite--her French is too beautiful! And then she has such
inventiveness, such a head! Everything goes if she takes it in hand. But
if I say anything to Aunt Flora, she'll put a spoke in all our wheels.
She'll hate the thought of anything in which Julie is successful and
conspicuous. Of course she will!"
"All the same, Evelyn," said Delafield, uncomfortable apparently for the
second time, "I really think it would be best to let Lady Henry know."
"Well, then, we may as well give it up," said the Duchess, pettishly,
turning aside.
Delafield, who was still pacing the carpet, suddenly raised his hand in
a gesture of warning. Mademoiselle Le Breton was crossing the outer
drawing-room.
"Julie, come here!" cried the Duchess, springing up and running towards
her. "Jacob is making himself so disagreeable. He thinks we ought to
tell Lady Henry about the 16th."
The speaker put her arm through Julie Le Breton's, looking up at her
with a frowning brow. The contrast between her restless prettiness, the
profusion of her dress and hair, and Julie's dark, lissome strength,
gowned and gloved in neat, close black, was marked enough.
As the Duchess spoke, Julie looked smiling at Jacob Delafield.
"I am in your hands," she said, gently. "Of course I don't want to keep
anything from Lady Henry. Please decide for me."
Sir Wilfrid's mouth showed a satirical line. He turned aside and began
to play with a copy of the _Spectator_.
"Julie," said the Duchess, hesitating, "I hope you won't mind, but we
have been discussing things a little with Sir Wilfrid. I felt sure Aunt
Flora had been talking to him."
"Of course," said Julie, "I knew she would." She looked towards Sir
Wilfrid, slightly drawing herself up. Her manner was quiet, but all her
movements were somehow charged with a peculiar and interesting
significance. The force of the character made itself felt through all
disguises.
In spite of himself, Sir Wilfrid began to murmur apologetic things.
"It was natural, mademoiselle, that Lady Henry should confide in me. She
has perhaps told you that for many years I have been one of the trustees
of her property. That has led to her consulting me on a good many
matters. And evidently, from what she says and what the Duchess says,
nothing could be of more importance to her happiness, now, in her
helpless state, than her relations to you."
He spoke with a serious kindness in which the tinge of mocking habitual
to his sleek and well-groomed visage was wholly lost. Julie Le Breton
met him with dignity.
"Yes, they are important. But, I fear they cannot go on as they are."
There was a pause. Then Sir Wilfrid approached her:
"I hear you are returning to Bruton Street immediately. Might I be your
escort?"
"Certainly."
The Duchess, a little sobered by the turn events had taken and the
darkened prospects of her bazaar, protested in vain against this sudden
departure. Julie resumed her furs, which, as Sir Wilfrid, who was
curious in such things; happened to notice, were of great beauty, and
made her farewells. Did her hand linger in Jacob Delafield's? Did the
look with which that young man received it express more than the
steadfast support which justice offers to the oppressed? Sir Wilfrid
could not be sure.
[Illustration: "'INDEED I WILL!' CRIED SIR WILFRID, AND THEY WALKED ON"]
As they stepped out into the frosty, lamp-lit dark of Grosvenor Square,
Julie Le Breton turned to her companion.
"You knew my mother and father," she said, abruptly. "I remember your
coming,"
What was in her voice, her rich, beautiful voice? Sir Wilfrid only knew
that while perfectly steady, it seemed to bring emotion near, to make
all the aspects of things dramatic.
"Yes, yes," he replied, in some confusion. "I knew her well, from the
time when she was a girl in the school-room. Poor Lady Rose!"
The figure beside him stood still.
"Then if you were my mother's friend," she said, huskily, "you will hear
patiently what I have to say, even though you are Lady Henry's trustee."
"Indeed I will!" cried Sir Wilfrid, and they walked on.