Mrs. Shiffney had more money than she knew how to spend, although she
was recklessly extravagant. Her mother, who was dead, had been an
Austrian Jewess, and from her had come the greater part of Mrs.
Shiffney's large personal fortune. Her father, Sir Willy Manning, was
still alive, and was a highly cultivated and intelligent Englishman of
the cosmopolitan type; Mrs. Shiffney derived her peculiar and attractive
look of high breeding and her completely natural manner from him. From
her mother she had received the nomadic instinct which kept her
perpetually restless, and which often drove her about the world in
search of the change and diversion which never satisfied her. Lady
Manning had been a feverish traveller and had written several careless
and clever books of description. She had died of a fever in Hong-Kong
while her husband was in Scotland. Although apparently of an unreserved
nature, he had never bemoaned her loss.
Mrs. Shiffney had a husband, a lenient man who loved comfort and who was
fond of his wife in an altruistic way. She and he got on excellently
when they were together and quite admirably when they were parted, as
they very often were, for yachting made Mr. Shiffney feel "remarkably
cheap." As he much preferred to feel expensive he had nothing to do with
_The Wanderer_ unless she lay snug in harbor. His hobby was racing. He
was a good horseman, disliked golf, and seldom went out of the British
Isles, though he never said that his own country was good enough for
him. When he did cross the Channel he visited Paris, Monte Carlo,
Homburg, Biarritz, or some place where he was certain to be in the midst
of his "pals." The strain of wildness, which made his wife uncommon and
interesting, did not exist in him, but he was rather proud of it in her,
and had been heard to say more than once, "Addie's a regular gipsy," as
if the statement were a high compliment. He was a tall, well-built,
handsome man of fifty-two, with gray hair and moustache, an agreeable
tenor voice, which was never used in singing, and the best-cut clothes
in London. Although easily kind he was thoroughly selfish. Everybody had
a good word for him, and nobody, who really knew him, ever asked him to
perform an unselfish action. "That isn't Jimmy's line" was their
restraining thought if they had for a moment contemplated suggesting to
Mr. Shiffney that he might perhaps put himself out for a friend. And
Jimmy was quite of their opinion, and always stuck to his "line," like a
sensible fellow.
Two or three days after Mrs. Shiffney's visit to Claude Heath her
husband, late one afternoon, found her in tears.
"What's up, Addie?" he asked, with the sympathy he never withheld from
her. "Another gown gone wrong?"
Mrs. Shiffney shook her powerful head, on which was a marvellous black
hat crowned with a sort of factory chimney of stiff black plumes.
Mr. Shiffney lit a cigar.
"Poor old Addie!" he said. He leaned down and stroked her shoulder. "I
wish you could get hold of somebody or something that'd make you happy,"
he remarked. "I'm sure you deserve it."
His wife dried her tears and sniffed two or three times almost with the
frankness of a grief-stricken child.
"I never shall!"
"Why not, Addie?"
"There's something in me--I don't know! I should get tired of anyone who
didn't get tired of me!"
She almost began to cry again, and added despairingly:
"So what hope is there? And I _do_ so want to enjoy myself! I wonder if
there ever has been a woman who wanted to enjoy herself as much as I
do?"
Mr. Shiffney blew forth a cloud of smoke, extending the little finger of
the hand which held his cigar.
"We all want to have a good time," he observed. "A first-rate time. What
else are we here for?"
He spoke seriously.
"We are here to keep things going, I s'pose--to keep it up, don't you
know? We mustn't let it run down. But if we don't enjoy ourselves down
it goes. And that doesn't do, does it?"
He flicked the ash from his cigar.
"What's the special row this time?" he continued, without any heated
curiosity, but with distinct sympathy.
Mrs. Shiffney looked slightly more cheerful. She enjoyed telling things
if the things were closely connected with herself.
"Well, I want to start for a cruise," she began. "I can't remain for
ever glued to Grosvenor Square. I must move about and see something."
She had just been for a month in Paris.
"Of course. What are we here for?" observed her husband.
"You always understand! Sit down, you old thing!"
Mr. Shiffney sat down, gently pulling up his trousers.
"And the row is," she continued, shaking her shoulders, "that I want
Claude Heath to come and he won't. And, since he won't, he's really the
only living man I want to have on the cruise."
"Who is he?" observed Mr. Shiffney. "I've never heard of him. Is he one
of your special pals?"
"Not yet. I met him at Max's. He's a composer, and I want to know what
he's like."
"I expect he's like all the rest."
"No, he isn't!" she observed decisively.
"Why won't he come? Perhaps he's a bad sailor."
"He didn't even trouble himself to say that. He was in such a hurry to
refuse that he didn't bother about an excuse. And this afternoon he
called, when I was in, and never asked for me, only left cards and
bolted, although I had been to his house to ask him to come on _The
Wanderer_."
"Afraid of you, is he?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. He's never been among _us_."
"Poor chap! But surely that's a reason for him to want to get in?"
"Wouldn't you think so? Wouldn't anyone think so? The way I'm bombarded!
But he seems only anxious to keep out of everything."
"A pose very likely."
"I don't believe it is."
"I leave it to you. No one sharper in London. Is he a gentleman--all
that sort of thing?"
"Oh, of course!"
Mr. Shiffney pulled up his trousers a little more, exposing a pair of
striped silk socks which emerged from shining boots protected by white
spats.
"To be sure. If he hadn't been he'd have jumped at you and _The
Wanderer_."
"Naturally. I shan't go at all now! What an unlucky woman I always am!"
"You never let anyone know it."
"Well, Jimmy, I'm not quite a fool. Be down on your luck and not a soul
will stay near you."
"I should think not. Why should they? One wants a bit of life, not to
hear people howling and groaning all about one. It's awful to be with
anyone who's under the weather."
"Ghastly! I can't stand it! But, all the same, it's a fearful _corvee_
to keep it up when you're persecuted as I am."
"Poor old Addie!"
Mr. Shiffney threw his cigar into the grate reflectively and lightly
touched his moustaches, which were turned upward, but not in a military
manner.
"Things never seem quite right for you," he continued.
"And other women have such a splendid time!" she exclaimed. "The
disgusting thing is that he goes all the while to Violet Mansfield."
"She's dull enough and quite old too."
"No, she isn't dull. You're wrong there."
"I daresay. She doesn't amuse me."
"She's not your sort."
"Too feverish, too keen, brainy in the wrong way. I like brains, mind
you, and I know where they are. But I don't see the fun of having them
jumped at one."
"He does, apparently, unless it's really Charmian."
"The girl? She's not bad. Wants to be much cleverer than she is, of
course, like pretty nearly all the girls, except the sporting lot; but
not bad."
"Jimmy"--Mrs. Shiffney's eyes began once more to look audacious--"shall
I ask Charmian Mansfield to come on the yacht?"
"You think that might bring him? Why not ask both of them?"
"No; I won't have the mother!"
"Why not?"
"Because I won't!"
"The best of reasons, too."
"You understand us better than any man in London."
She sat reflecting. She was beginning to look quite cheerful.
"It would be rather fun," she resumed, after a minute. "Charmian
Mansfield, Max--if he can get away--Paul Lane. It isn't the party I'd
thought of, but still--"
"Which of them were you going to take?"
"Never mind."
"I don't. And where did you mean to go?"
"I told him to the Mediterranean."
"But it wasn't!"
"Oh, I don't know! Where can one go? That's another thing. It's always
the same old places, unless one has months to spare, and then one gets
bored with the people one's asked. Things are so difficult."
"One place is very much like another."
"To you. But I always hope for an adventure round the corner."
"I've been round a lot of corners in my time, but I might almost as well
have stuck to the club."
"Of course _you_ might!"
She got up.
"I must think about Charmian," she said, as she went casually out of the
room.
Mrs. Shiffney turned the new idea over and over in her restless mind,
which was always at work in a desultory but often clever way. She could
not help being clever. She had never studied, never applied herself,
never consciously tried to master anything, but she was quick-witted,
had always lived among brilliant and highly cultivated people, had seen
everything, been everywhere, known everyone, looked into all the books
that had been talked about, cast at least a glance at all the pictures
which had made any stir. And she gathered impressions swiftly, and,
moreover, had a natural flair for all that was first-rate, original, or
strange. As she was quite independent in mind, and always took her own
line, she had become an arbiter, a leader of taste. What she liked soon
became liked in London and Paris throughout a large circle.
Unfortunately, she was changeable and apt to be governed by personal
feeling in matters connected with art. When she cast away an artist she
generally cast away his art with him. If it was first-rate she did not
condemn it as bad. She contented herself with saying that she was "sick
of it." And very soon a great many of her friends, and their friends,
were sick of it, too. She was a quicksand because she was a singularly
complete egoist. But very few people who met her failed to come under
the spell of her careless charm, and many, because she had much impulse,
swore that she had a large heart. Only to her husband, and occasionally,
in a fit of passion, to someone who she thought had treated her badly,
did she show a lachrymose side of her nature. She was noted for her
gaiety and _joie de vivre_ and for the energy with which she pursued
enjoyment. Her cynicism did not cut deep, her irony was seldom poisoned.
She spoke well of people, and was generous with her money. With her time
she was less generous. She was not of those who are charitable with
their golden hours. "I can't be bothered!" was the motto of her life.
And wise people did not bother her.
She had seen that, for a moment, Claude Heath had been tempted by the
invitation to the cruise. A sudden light had gleamed in his eyes, and
her swift apprehension had gathered something of what was passing in his
imagination. But almost immediately the light had vanished and the quick
refusal had come. And she knew that it was a refusal which she could not
persuade him to cancel unless she called someone to her assistance. His
austerity, which attracted her whimsical and unscrupulous nature, fought
something else in him and conquered. But the something else, if it could
be revived, given new strength, would make a cruise with him, even to
all the old places, quite interesting, Mrs. Shiffney thought. And any
refusal always made her greedy and obstinate. "I _will_ have it!" was
the natural reply of her nature to any "You can't have it!"
She often acted impulsively, hurried by caprices and desires, and that
same evening she sent the following note to Charmian:
GROSVENOR SQUARE,
_Thursday._
DEAR CHARMIAN,--You've never been on the yacht, though
I've always been dying to have you come. I've been glued to London
for quite a time, and am getting sick of it. Aren't you? Always the
same things and people. I feel I must run away if I can get up a
pleasant party to elope with me. Will you be one? I thought of
starting some time next month on _The Wanderer_ for a cruise, to
the Mediterranean or somewhere. I don't know yet who'll tuck in,
but I shall take Susan Fleet to play chaperon to us and the crew
and manage things. Max Elliot may come, and I thought of trying to
get your friend, Mr. Heath, though I hardly know him. I think he
works too hard, and a breeze might do him good. However, it's all
in the air. Tell me what you think about it. Love to the beautiful
mother.--In tearing haste, Yours,
ADELAIDE SHIFFNEY.
"Why has she asked me?" said Charmian to herself, laying this note down
after reading it twice.
She had always known Mrs. Shiffney, but she had never before been asked
to go on a cruise in the yacht. Mrs. Shiffney had always called her
Charmian, as she called Mrs. Mansfield Violet. But there had never been
even a hint of genuine intimacy between the girl and the married woman,
and they seldom met except in society, and then only spoke a few casual
and unmeaning words. They had little in common, Charmian supposed,
except their mutual knowledge of quantities of people and of a certain
social life.
Claude Heath on _The Wanderer_!
Charmian took the note to her mother.
"Mrs. Shiffney has suddenly taken a fancy to me, Madretta," she said.
"Look at this!"
Mrs. Mansfield read the note and gave it back.
"Do you want to go?" she asked, looking at the girl, not without a still
curiosity.
Charmian twisted her lips.
"I don't know. You see, it's all very vague. I should like to be sure
who's going. I think it's very reckless to take any chances on a yacht."
"Claude Heath isn't going."
Charmian raised her eyebrows.
"But has she asked him?"
"Yes. And he's refused. He told me so on Monday."
"You're quite sure he won't go?"
"He said he wasn't going."
Charmian looked lightly doubtful.
"Shall I go?" she said. "Would you mind if I did?"
"Do you really want to?"
"I don't think I care much either way. Why has she asked me?"
"Adelaide? I daresay she likes you. And you wouldn't be unpleasant on a
yacht, would you?"
"That depends, I expect. You'd allow me to go?"
"If I knew who the rest of the party were to be--definitely."
"I won't answer till to-morrow."
Mrs. Mansfield did not feel sure what was Charmian's desire in the
matter. She did not quite understand her child. She wondered, too, why
Mrs. Shiffney had asked Charmian to go on the yacht, why she implied
that Claude Heath might make one of the party when he had refused to go.
It occurred to Mrs. Mansfield that Adelaide might mean to use Charmian
as a lure to draw Heath into the expedition. But, if so, surely she
quite misunderstood the acquaintanceship between them. Heath was
her--Mrs. Mansfield's--friend. How often she had wished that Charmian
and he were more at ease together, liked each other better. It was odd
that Adelaide should fall into such a mistake. And yet what other
meaning could her note have? She wrote as if the question of Heath's
going or not were undecided.
Was it undecided? Did Adelaide, with her piercing and clever eyes, see
more clearly into Heath's nature than Mrs. Mansfield could?
Mrs. Shiffney had an extraordinary capacity for getting what she wanted.
The hidden tragedy of her existence was that she was never satisfied
with what she got. She wanted to draw Claude Heath out of his retirement
into the big current of life by which she and her friends were buoyantly
carried along through changing and brilliant scenes. His refusal had no
doubt hardened a mere caprice into a strong desire. Mrs. Mansfield
realized that Adelaide would not leave Heath alone now. The note to
Charmian showed an intention not abandoned. But why should Adelaide
suppose that Heath's acceptance might be dependent on anything done by
Charmian?
Mrs. Mansfield knew well, and respected, Mrs. Shiffney's haphazard
cleverness, which, in matters connected with the worldly life, sometimes
almost amounted to genius. That note to Charmian gave a new direction to
her thoughts, set certain subtleties of the past which had vaguely
troubled her in a new and stronger light. She awaited, with an interest
that was not wholly pleasant, Charmian's decision of the morrow.
Charmian had been very casual in manner when she came to her mother with
the surprising invitation. She was almost as casual on the following
morning when she entered the dining-room where Mrs. Mansfield was
breakfasting by electric light. For a gloom as of night hung over the
Square, although it was ten o'clock.
"Have you been thinking it over, Charmian?" said her mother, as the girl
sat languidly down.
"Yes, mother--lazily."
She sipped her tea, looking straight before her with a cold and dreamy
expression.
"Have you been active enough to arrive at any conclusion?"
"I got up quite undecided, but now I think I'll say 'Yes,' if you don't
mind. When I looked out of the window this morning I felt as if the
Mediterranean would be nicer than this. There's only one thing--why
don't you come, too?"
"I haven't been asked."
"And why not?"
"Adelaide's too modern to ask mothers and daughters together," said Mrs.
Mansfield, smiling.
"Would you go if she asked you?"
"No. Well, now the thing is to find out what the party is to be. Write
the truth, and say you'll go if I know who's to be there and allow you
to go. Adelaide knows quite well she has lots of friends I shouldn't
care for you to yacht with. And it's much better to be quite frank about
it. If Susan Fleet and Max go, you can go."
"I believe you are really the frankest person in London. And yet people
love you--miracle-working mother!"
Charmian turned the conversation to other subjects and seemed to forget
all about _The Wanderer_. But when breakfast was over, and she was alone
before her little Chippendale writing-table, she let herself go to her
excitement. Although she loved, even adored her mother, she sometimes
acted to her. To do so was natural to Charmian. It did not imply any
diminution of love or any distrust. It was but an instinctive assertion
of a not at all uncommon type of temperament. The coldness and the
dreaminess were gone now, but her excitement was mingled with a great
uncertainty.
On receiving Mrs. Shiffney's note Charmian had almost instantly
understood why she had been asked on the cruise. Her instinct had told
her, for she had at that time known nothing of Heath's refusal. She had
supposed that he had not yet been invited. Mrs. Shiffney had invited her
not for herself, but as a means of getting hold of Heath. Charmian was
positive of that. Months ago, in Max Elliot's music-room, the girl had
divined the impression made by Heath on Mrs. Shiffney, had seen the
restless curiosity awake in the older woman. She had even noticed the
tightening of Mrs. Shiffney's lips when she, Charmian, had taken Heath
away from the little group by the fire, with that "when you've quite
done with my only mother," which had been a tiny slap given to Mrs.
Shiffney. And she had been sure that Mrs. Shiffney meant to know Heath.
She had a great opinion of Mrs. Shiffney's social cleverness and
audacity. Most girls who were much in London society had. She did not
really like Mrs. Shiffney, or want to be intimate with her, but she
thoroughly believed in her flair, and that was why the note had stirred
in Charmian excitement and uncertainty. If Mrs. Shiffney thought she
saw something, surely it was there. She would not take shadow for
substance.
But might she not fire a shot in the dark on the chance of hitting
something?
"Why did she ask me instead of mother?" Charmian said to herself again
and again. "If she had got mother to go Claude Heath would surely have
gone. Why should he go because I go?"
And then came the thought, "She thinks he may, perhaps thinks he will.
Will he? Will he?"
The note had abruptly changed an opinion long held by Charmian. Till it
came she had believed that Claude Heath secretly disliked, perhaps even
despised her. Mrs. Shiffney on half a sheet of note-paper had almost
reassured her. But now would come the test. She would accept; Mrs.
Shiffney would ask Claude Heath again, telling him she was to be of the
party. And then what would Heath do?
As she wrote her answer Charmian said to herself, "If he accepts Mrs.
Shiffney was right. If he refuses again I was right."
She sent the note to Grosvenor Square by a boy messenger, and resigned
herself to a period of patience.