A PINK BILLET-DOUX.
Mr. Tremain had allowed George Newbold to take him away from Count
Mellikoff without any great regret on his part. He acknowledged himself
interested in the man and in his conversation, and at first as he
listened had almost persuaded himself that his instinctive prejudice
against him was ill-founded and narrow.
But as the Count continued in a perfectly passionless voice and with
what seemed to Philip a grim satisfaction, his circumstantial
revelations regarding Russia's power, and Russia's definition as to what
constituted fatherly protection, he felt all his original doubts
reawaken; and then he had caught that momentary, searching,
comprehensive malevolent expression which crept over Vladimir's face,
though but for a brief second, and this had strengthened him in his
dislike and suspicion.
Therefore he was glad of any excuse to leave him and return to the more
commonplace, if frivolous, topics of the ladies.
In the silence and security of his own room he had promised himself a
somewhat more satisfactory interview with Mdlle. Lamien than had been
his portion since the accident, and with this object in view had shaken
himself out of his half-mesmeric condition, and deserted the hermitage
of his cynical reflections.
But this was destined to be an evening of disappointments, beginning
with Patricia's frigid reception of him, and culminating in the
non-appearance of Mdlle. Lamien, either at dinner or afterwards in the
drawing-room. He had watched in vain for the tall dark figure, with the
falling laces half concealing the pale face and white hair, to come
gliding in unnoticed, and take the accustomed place within the arched
chimney-recess, the slender hands, clasped loosely together, resting on
the black dress, the passionless repose of attitude marking a mind far
away from the gay surroundings of the Folly.
He grew impatient at her absence, for Philip was of that temperament
which, finding most things--men, women, and opportunity--come at his
bidding, resented the smallest deviation from this rule, and chafed
inwardly at so flagrant a dereliction to his will. He desired to see
Mdlle. Lamien in Patricia's presence, and with the cool analysis of
criticism, contrast her feature by feature, attribute by attribute, with
that brilliant woman of the world. It had never entered into his
reasoning that Mdlle. Lamien might frustrate his plans by the simple
device of remaining invisible. He had perhaps imagined her presence
compulsory, and since he had decided that she was to be the object of
his evening's pleasure or amusement, he felt doubly defrauded by her
absence.
Had Mdlle. Lamien desired to feed the flame of the something more than
interest already lighted in Mr. Tremain's mind concerning her, she could
not have chosen a surer method. He was piqued and chagrined at her
evident indifference. It was many years since any advances on his part
had been met by steady rebuff. He had sustained his character of
conquering hero by the very rarity of his attentions, and it gave his
sensibilities something of a moral shock to find himself distanced by
this cold indifferent woman, whose very position made his interest in
her the more anomalous.
It was ten years ago that Patricia had flouted and dismissed him. Was he
to experience like treatment at Mdlle. Lamien's hands? For though Mr.
Tremain had so far scarcely admitted the nature of the interest that
Mimi's governess inspired in him, he was yet candid enough to give it a
somewhat warmer title than mere curiosity in the study of a new
character.
Patricia had distinctly repulsed him, though he had met her with the old
love ready to reawaken at the first sign of desire on her part. Very
well then, let Patricia see that he too was heart-whole and as
indifferent to her as she to him. And then Mdlle. Lamien had failed to
work up to his cue, and Philip felt his sharpest weapon was thus taken
from him, while Patricia triumphed in her insolence and beauty.
The theatricals were to take place in the _bijou_ gem of a theatre which
George Newbold had had put up to please Esther, in the first year of
their marriage. It was a perfect model in miniature of _La Scala_, at
Milan, hung throughout with the softest shade of rose silk, a daring
innovation of Esther's, which rather outvied the classic columns and
severe arches, but which added a charming air of comfort and luxury,
and was as Dick Darling said, "quite far and away the most fetching
thing for the complexion."
The stage was fitted completely with all possible and impossible
"properties," and opened at the back into the other end of the
rose-house, the opposite door of which led into the drawing-room. It was
indeed a royal playhouse, and acting upon its boards became a luxurious
fine art.
When Mr. Tremain entered the auditorium, he found the first two rows of
stalls half filled by the house guests; Patricia had betaken herself and
her train of admirers to one of the boxes, where she sat radiant and
lovely, the soft rose colouring of the hangings casting a delicious tint
upon her fair face and upon the shimmering surface of her dress. Philip
was at once conscious of her presence, but passed her by apparently
unnoticed, and made his way to the front row, where sat Esther Newbold
and Dick Darling, with an empty _fauteuil_ beside the former.
Into this Mr. Tremain slipped carelessly, and with the familiarity of
good-fellowship, lifted the great bouquet of roses and hyacinths that
lay unheeded on Esther's lap. Dick Darling leant over and nodded her
brown head at him, while Mrs. Newbold gave him one of her sweet smiles,
but laid her fingers on her lips in token of silence, for _Box and Cox_
held the stage, and Miss James was entering into the spirit of Mrs.
Bouncer with a _verve_ and sprightliness, seemingly incompatible with
her usual irresponsive superciliousness.
The absurd farce played itself out amidst the chilling reproofs of Mr.
Robinson, and the plaudits of the spectators, until at last the curtain
dropped upon the final scene. Philip turned then to Mrs. Newbold, and
restoring her flowers to her, said:
"_A propos_ of nothing, Esther, whose exquisite taste is one supposed
to praise in the arrangement of your posy?"
"Ah," said Mrs. Newbold, smiling again, and touching the great
jacqueminots caressingly with her fingers, "I am very proud of my
bouquet, and I will give you three guesses, Philip, at the donor's
name."
"Yes," broke in Dick Darling, quickly, "and I'll bet you three to five
you don't guess it!"
"Those are very certain odds, Miss Dick," replied Mr. Tremain, laughing,
"considering that never in the course of my long and varied experience
have I been known to elucidate the simplest rebus. Even 'when is a door
not a door?' is beyond my mental powers; how then can I be expected to
divine who is the latest slave to Mrs. Newbold's charms? I must say
however, I consider George a very amiable young man."
"So do I," laughed Esther. "Now could a wife say more? But your three
guesses, Mr. Tremain."
"Miss Darling must put up the stakes first," answered Philip, "I am not
going to bring my powerful legal mind to bear on this problem without
first seeing the stakes. Now then, Miss Dick, out with them."
"Oh, but I have positively nothing," cried Dick Darling, her face
flushed and eager. "What could I possibly have worth Mr. Tremain's
'cheese'?"
"My dear Dick!" exclaimed Esther, "you really must get out a dictionary
of your own terms; your expressions, I am sure, are nowhere to be found
in Lindley Murray."
"Poor old duffer!" replied the incorrigible Dick, "I hope not indeed. I
guess some of them would make his hair curl, even in the cold cold
grave."
Philip laughed, and Esther tried to look scandalised, but failed
utterly; and then Mr. Tremain said, bending slightly forward:
"You might put up that tantalising little note, Miss Dick, that is half
stowed away in your laces. I am perfectly sure it contains 'some
scandal of Queen Elizabeth,' which would amply repay me for my unwonted
efforts, if I win it. Its very colour betrays it; whoever heard of a
pink _billet-doux_ that was not redolent of intrigue? The more bashful
the colour, the more gigantic the scandal."
"What, this?" replied Dick, taking out a small square envelope,
rose-tinted and crested. "Oh, no, this would not be worth your powder;
it's only a note from Mdlle. Lamien, and doesn't contain a cent's worth
of intrigue, Mr. Tremain."
"Then its looks belie it," said Philip, "for it fills me with
apprehension. Let me look at it, Miss Dick, perhaps its tangible
presence may allay my terrors."
But Dick only shook her head, and held the little note still further
away.
"No, no," she cried, "it's not for you, Mr. Tremain, and I'm not going
to give you even so much as a 'glim' at it." Saying this, she put it
back in her dress, and smiled at Philip provokingly.
"I will put up this," she exclaimed, holding out her arm, on which a
ruby and diamond butterfly sparkled in a bangle setting; "and I am sure
it's simply angelic of me, for this is my one and only piece of bang-up
jewellery; all real and no imitation, worth double the money. Now, Mr.
Tremain, three guesses out of five; and oh, ye gods, protect my
cherished bauble!"
She swung the pretty ornament between her finger and thumb, and the
light from the wax-candles in the girandoles caught at it eagerly, as it
shot forth rays tipped with rainbow gleams.
Mr. Tremain sat back with a mock air and sigh of fatigue, and the two
women watched him interestedly; Esther with a little smile of amusement
on her softly-tinted face, and Dick with a frown of anxiety knitting her
forehead.
"Let me consider," said Philip, reflectively, putting the tips of his
fingers together somewhat awkwardly on account of his sling, and
contemplating them attentively, "only three random shots at three-score
recognised admirers! Long odds in your favour, Miss Dick. Now had I but
the language of flowers at my tongue's end, I might be able to make such
conjunctions with the unwritten but supposable affinities, as to read at
once the hidden meaning in the subtle juxtaposition of jacque roses and
hyacinths. Question: Did the donor know any more about their meanings
than I do?"
"I can supply you with posy lore, Mr. Tremain," broke in Mrs. Newbold,
"if that will be of any assistance. Know then that the red red rose
expresses love, the hyacinth sport or play."
"Ah, the one is contradictory of the other," replied Philip. "Your
nameless admirer, Esther, could scarcely be guilty of so bold a play
upon definitions as to make game of his love by his flowers. Rather let
us suppose him ignorant of any deeper knowledge than their price."
"I think that an equally impertinent suggestion," answered Mrs. Newbold.
"A man should never count the cost where a woman is concerned."
"Granted, my dear Esther; in theory you are absolutely right, in
practice you are lamentably wrong. But I see wrath mantling on Miss
Dick's brow, and scorn flashing from her eyes at our persiflage; let me
appease her and make a desperate plunge into the depths of incertitude.
And first of all, to be courteous and French, I throw away deliberately
one chance in suggesting that it may have been _M. le mari_ who sent the
flowers? Ah, no, believe me, I did not need your silent denial, Esther,
to be assured of my mistake; that would be far too commonplace and
_bourgeois_ a reading for our ethics of this nineteenth century. The
lover sinks such attentions in the husband, and is better employed in
sending flowers to some other man's wife, rather than to his own."
"How very cynical you can be, Philip," exclaimed Mrs. Newbold, turning
her blue eyes full upon him. "I am sure George often gives me flowers;
why, these very buds I am wearing are his gift," and she touched some
half-open blossoms that formed her _bouquet de corsage_.
"That was very gallant of George," replied Mr. Tremain, gravely,
"especially as he had the arduous task of gathering them from his own
rosery, and the virtuous satisfaction of knowing that they cost him far
more than the roses of your posy cost the other fellow. Well, let me try
again. Was it Freddy Slade? I have noticed that innocent youth casting
furtive glances in your direction, Mrs. Esther, too often of late. It is
possible that his ardour may have over-stepped his prudence and his
income, and your jacques been the result."
"Wrong again, Mr. Tremain," cried Dick Darling; "oh, I do hope, with all
my soul, you may miss each time."
"Considering that I have but one chance more, that is rather ungenerous,
Miss Dick. I should not have believed so rancorous a spirit dwelt within
your breast. To wish to further humiliate a two-thirds vanquished foe!"
"But I don't want to lose my bangle, you see," said Dick, naïvely, at
which remark both Mr. Tremain and Esther laughed, and the former
continued:
"Well, here goes my last and only try for your pretty bauble, Miss Dick.
Was it Sir Piers Tracey? To be sure it is not quite in his line, and I
never saw an Englishman yet who appreciated an American woman's love of
flowers, still it might have been Sir Piers, and in that case George
could not even try to appear jealous."
"Poor dear Sir Piers!" laughed Esther, "the idea of his sending any one
flowers! He's old enough to be one's grandfather!"
"I don't know that that makes him ineligible," answered Mr. Tremain, "I
dare say 'old Q.' and Beau Brummel showered roses upon the youthful
Esthers of their decrepitude; it isn't age, my dear Mrs. Esther, that
counts in such things, it's temperament."
"Well, in any case I am glad you have not won my bangle," cried Dick
Darling, as she slipped it over her dimpled wrist. "I always make it a
point to pay up my debts of honour on the spot, I can't bear a
'Welcher,' so you would have been obliged to take my ruby fly, had you
been successful, Mr. Tremain, and that would have been death to me,
simply death."
"With such an alternative, Miss Dick," replied Philip, with increased
gravity, and bowing across Esther, "I am devoutly thankful to have lost,
for to have been the indirect cause of your untimely decease, would
have branded me for ever in my own eyes!"
Then Mrs. Newbold said time was up, and she must go; the _Ladies'
Battle_ would be called in five minutes, and she was wanted behind the
scenes; was Mr. Tremain going through with his rôle?
But Philip begged off on account of his still lame wrist which he wore
bandaged and in a sling; it would be quite effort enough to act when the
real representation took place, Mr. Robinson could read his lines and he
would imbibe valuable hints from his superior method. Was Mdlle. Lamien
to take the Countess d'Autreval's part?
"No," replied Esther, fingering her roses a trifle nervously, and
looking at him from under her eyelids, "Miss Hildreth has elected to act
her own rôle at the rehearsal, consequently Mdlle. Lamien's services
will not be required. Ah, Patricia has already left her box, I must go,"
she added, hastily; and with a hurried gesture she walked towards a
side exit, her pale pink draperies sweeping after her, and making a
little _frou-frou_ with their silks and laces.
Mr. Tremain reseated himself, changing his _fauteuil_ for the one Esther
had vacated next to Miss Darling. He leant back negligently and turning
his face towards that young lady said carelessly:
"Since we neither of us appear on the boards, Miss Dick, let us console
one another off them. By the way, where is Miss James? I did not see her
come into the theatre after her very capital bit of acting."
"Oh, I don't know," answered Miss Darling, with a shrug of her
shoulders. "I suppose she is improving her mind somewhere, at the
expense of some one. To speak frankly, Mr. Tremain, Rosalie and I are
bad friends just now, and I give her as wide a berth as possible."
"Oh, indeed," answered Philip, rather bored, and not at all
understanding that he was the cause of this bad friendship, since Dick,
reading Rosalie's schemes and wishes, had denounced them hotly; and Miss
James, with the remembrance of Perkins's slighting remarks still fresh,
had replied with equal vigour; and so the breach widened between them
day by day.
Dick sat silent for several moments, the colour coming and going in her
cheeks; she was a very chivalrous little girl, and her whole heart had
gone out in unreasoning admiration to Patricia, when first she saw her;
her beauty, her brilliancy, her sparkling vivacity making an absolute
captive of the maiden, who, as she looked at her, felt all her own
shortcomings rise up and confront her in formidable array.
She had heard the story of Philip's and Patricia's engagement, and its
unhappy termination, and she had secretly admired him, in her own mind,
for a long time, and had felt Patricia's reception of him as a personal
injury, which she longed to put right by a few judicious words. She felt
sure they would be judicious because they would be honest. Now if he
would only name Patricia, only ask some question, no matter how trivial,
that she might introduce this one absorbing subject.
But Mr. Tremain, with that perverted obstinacy so often displayed, which
consists in saying the wrong thing at the right moment, when he did
speak, propounded a question so diametrically opposite to Dick Darling's
thoughts that that young lady was actually taken aback, and stared at
him blankly for a full second without answering. And yet Philip had only
inquired if Miss Dick could say why Mdlle. Lamien had not appeared that
evening? It was a simple enough question, but Miss Darling seemed
incapable of replying to it, so he spoke again.
"My dear Miss Dick, what have I said? You look as though you had either
not heard, or not understood me. Pray let me repeat myself. Can you tell
me why Mdlle. Lamien has absented herself all this evening?"
Miss Darling by this time had come back from her vain imaginings, and
answered him readily enough.
"Oh, I beg your pardon; I guess I must have been 'in Japan' when you
first spoke. Why hasn't Mdlle. Lamien come down this evening? For a very
simple reason: she has gone away."
"Gone away!" echoed Philip. "But I saw her late this afternoon in the
corridor." He did not add, and _heard_ her; since, if Esther Newbold
spoke truly, it was she who had startled him by her sad, monotonous
song, and her voice that had an echo of Patty's in its notes.
"Oh, no doubt," replied Miss Darling, "she only went away while we were
at dinner; I heard the wheels of the dog-cart just as we had eaten our
way up to the _suprême de volaille_."
"Is she to be gone long?" asked Philip, conscious and yet astonished at
the feeling of loss this news created in him.
"I really don't know," replied Dick, looking a little surprised. "She
left this note for me," taking out the pink envelope from its
hiding-place and showing it to him. He bent forward eagerly to scan it
as it lay on her outstretched palm, the superscription hidden, the
reverse side lying uppermost. On this he saw impressed a tiny coronet
and a twisted cypher, "_A. de L._"
"It only tells me about some fancy work she undertook for me," continued
Dick, drawing back her hand with the note, "and thanks me rather over
much for my 'unvarying kindness.' She might stow that," she concluded,
with a grimace.
But Mr. Tremain had eyes and thoughts only for the little note, and its
dainty, aristocratic heraldry.
"Is she a titled _émigrée_ in disguise?" he asked, pointing to the
monogram and coronet; then, with an effort, as he became aware of Miss
Darling's surprised looks, and speaking more lightly: "This grows
exciting, Miss Dick; who knows?--we may have the elements of a three
volume novel ready to our hands, yet lose them all by blundering. What
do you know about Mdlle. Lamien?"
"Only what Esther has told us all, which you heard, I think. As to her
being titled, if you think this indicates it," pointing to the
embellishments on the pink note, "why you know, they go for nothing. It
may be only a blind, or it may be that Mdlle. Lamien prefers to write on
other people's note-paper. I don't think it's very conclusive evidence
one way or the other."
And Miss Darling got up with almost an impatient air.
"I am going to change my seat," she said, "I want to go further back,
where I can better see and admire Miss Hildreth. But before I go, Mr.
Tremain, I will tell you who sent Esther the roses, it was Mdlle.
Lamien; a sentimental and too extravagant outburst of gush on her part,
wasn't it?"
Too surprised to reply, Mr. Tremain made way for Miss Darling,
escorting her to a back row, where George Newbold received her with
_empressement_, and Jack Howard with unqualified relief.
"Give you my word," he whispered in her ear, "I have been bored to
death, Miss Dick; so glad to have you back again!"
But Miss Darling proved very poor company, and Jack Howard for once
voted her tiresome.
"Stupid blind mole!" declared Dick to herself, as Philip made his bow
and left her. "Can't he see how lovely Patricia has grown, that he must
run after that pale Russian woman? Oh, what idiots men are!" and Miss
Darling consoled herself by reducing poor Jack to the verge of despair
by her sharp retorts and acrid replies.
Quite late in the evening, after the rehearsal was over, and the little
theatre empty, Count Vladimir opened the double doors and stepped within
Melpomene's deserted temple. The lights had not yet been put out, and
the stage scenery stood unchanged from the last act; an air of late
occupancy, and a memory of brilliant accessories, of fair women in their
sheen of jewels and gleam of satins still lingered, to which the empty
seats and deserted stage pointed the moral of all transitory glory.
Vladimir stood for a moment contemplating the scene, a fine smile
curving his lips, the light of recent conquest lingering in his eyes.
"I am too late," he murmured; "the drama is played out seemingly, the
actors fled. Ah, well, I can afford to wait."
Then he went forward a few steps, and as he did so his quick eye
evidently detected something unexpected, for he made his way definitely
towards the back row of stalls, stooping when he came to the last but
one, and lifted from the carpet a folded square of paper. He held it up
to the light; it was an envelope, pink in hue, and embellished on the
smooth satin surface by a tiny coronet and a twisted cypher. It was
Dick Darling's rose-coloured _billet-doux_.
Vladimir Mellikoff made no movement of surprise or triumph, but as he
took out his black note-book and laid the envelope safely within its
pages, the smile deepened on his lips and in his eyes. He turned and
walked swiftly away, letting the double doors close noiselessly behind
him.
The little theatre was once more deserted; the wax-lights flickered in
the still air; the rose silk draperies stirred slightly as a passing
breath of soft spring wind floated in from the rose house, bringing a
wave of perfume from the golden blossoms over which it had lingered in
its passage. The mimic comedy was played out, the actors had abandoned
their rôles; only real life and its human tragedy remained uncompleted,
across which none but the Divine hand dare write the word _finis_.