A QUESTION OF CHEMISTRY
In order to reach the conservatory Hammond and Despencer had to thread
their way through the concert-room. But their task was rendered easier
by the fact that Belle Yorke was just standing up to sing. The mob,
attracted partly by her reputation as a singer, and partly by the story
in circulation about her and their host, whose hurried exit on her
appearance had not gone unremarked, were crowding towards that end of
the saloon where the piano stood, and thus the two men were able to
make their way round the wall at the deserted end.
As Hammond had anticipated, they found the conservatory empty. It was
little more than a long, narrow balcony, roofed over with glass, and
running along the side of the house.
Hammond was the first to reach it, but he stood back to allow Despencer
to enter. Despencer walked past him after a deprecating shrug and bow,
and then turned to meet his questioner, who came in quickly, shutting
the door behind them.
For a moment the two men stood face to face, scrutinizing each other
like two duellists who are uncertain of each other’s play. Hammond’s
gaze was stern and threatening. Despencer’s, equally unflinching, was
that of a man who does not quite know what is required of him, but has
nothing to fear or to conceal.
The situation was exactly what he had foreseen and desired. His former
reference to Belle Yorke had had the appearance of being accidental. He
had been far too clever to seek to press it home at the time. Now, if
Hammond himself chose to revive the subject of his own accord, anything
that Despencer might say would appear to be dragged out of him against
his will. He felt perfectly satisfied with his play, so far. He still
held all his best cards in reserve, and he had thrown the lead into his
adversary’s hands.
“Well, what is the mystery?” he said, lightly, after waiting some time
for Hammond to speak.
“I want to ask you for some explanation of what you said the other
afternoon.”
Despencer was mildly amazed.
“What did I say? I really don’t remember,” he murmured.
“About Miss Yorke. You referred to some story about her--some report
connecting her name with Lord Severn’s.”
Despencer drew back; his manner became reproachful.
“Oh, but, my dear sir, you must see that that was pure inadvertence on
my part. I was not to know that the lady was a friend of yours.”
It was impossible to quarrel with a man who showed himself so perfectly
polite and, at the same time, so perfectly indifferent. Hammond’s tone
lost some of its hostility.
“That is not the point. Till you spoke, I had never heard of the
existence of this--slander.” The momentary hesitation before the word
did not escape the watchful Despencer. “You have spoken, fortunately or
unfortunately, and, now I have heard of it, I cannot rest till I know
more.”
“Is that necessary?”
The tone in which the question was put made it a friendly remonstrance,
as much as if Despencer had said: “My dear fellow, you want to think
well of this woman. Why persist in making me undeceive you?”
Hammond felt the implied warning in all its force. Nevertheless he
answered:
“Yes, it is necessary. The matter cannot end like this; I have a motive
for pursuing it. You heard what those other men said when Miss Yorke
was announced. I must be able to satisfy myself that this statement is
without foundation.”
Despencer could not quite resist a sneer.
“I should think that was easy enough. You have only to ask the lady if
she knows Lord Severn.”
Hammond frowned impatiently as he said, aloud, but rather to himself
than to Despencer:
“And what will be her answer?”
Despencer smiled compassionately.
“Judging from my own experience in such cases, I should say that the
lady’s answer would be ‘No.’”
For a minute Hammond stood irresolute. Despencer’s sneer had shown him
where he stood. Instead of silencing a slanderer, he was discussing the
truth of the slander with the man who had uttered it. If he had really
had confidence in the woman he had undertaken to defend, it was to her,
not to this cynical stranger, that he ought to have been addressing his
inquiries. He felt bitterly conscious of his false position, yet he
could not resist going on.
“Where did you hear this rumor?” he asked, after a brief pause, during
which Despencer had closely watched every shade of expression on his
face.
“I can hardly tell you, I have heard it from so many quarters,” was the
careless reply. “I thought everybody knew it.”
“Do you mean by that that everybody believes it?” demanded Hammond.
“Yes; but that is no reason why you should, if you would rather not.
Take my advice, treat it as a mere passing calumny, and forget all
about it.”
Hammond glanced at him questioningly.
“And you, Despencer--of course, you believe this?”
“Well, yes; but I shall be happy to withdraw it.”
Despencer’s mocking smile was lost upon Hammond. He muttered:
“I must get at the truth.”
“Far better not,” observed the cynic. “The truth is sometimes very
disagreeable. I myself much prefer to be told pleasant falsehoods.”
“And to tell them, I suppose?”
Despencer did not wince.
“I am always anxious to oblige,” he answered, pointedly.
“You have no prejudice against Miss Yorke?” was Hammond’s next question.
“I have no prejudices at all, I can assure you. I am a most
broad-minded person.”
“It would make no difference to you, I suppose, if this report were
true? It wouldn’t injure her in your opinion?”
“On the contrary, it would greatly increase my respect for her.”
Hammond seemed to be trying to sound the depths of his companion’s
character.
“I congratulate you. But you wouldn’t marry her?”
Despencer drew back, and shook his head with an amused air.
“Oh no! I am afraid I am not broad-minded enough for that.”
“Why not?”
“I couldn’t outrage decency, you know. Society would think me worse
than the marquis.”
“Damn society!”
“Oh, it is damned already,” said Despencer, quickly. “But even down
below there are certain regulations which must be respected. There is
an etiquette of Pandemonium.”
Hammond gave him another thoughtful look.
“You are a very clever man, Despencer, but, do you know, you almost
make immorality tedious. If you are not careful, people will begin to
get bored by vice, and virtue will become the fashion.”
“That is not a bad idea. There is always something attractive in
novelty.”
Again Hammond reflected for a minute, and again he resumed his
questioning.
“Tell me, has the marchioness heard this rumor?”
Despencer had not been expecting this question, and it nearly threw him
off his guard. His eye met Hammond’s for a moment before he answered.
“I should hardly think so, or she wouldn’t have had her here. That
would have been too daring, even for her.”
“It would be equally daring for her to come here if there were anything
in it. Surely her very presence here proves her innocence?”
“Yes; but what about Lord Severn’s absence? You saw him hurry out the
moment she arrived?”
“My God, yes!” The words were dragged from Hammond in a burst of
anguish. “There is some damned mystery in this!” he muttered between
his teeth.
“Of course, it may be a mere coincidence,” the tempter threw in,
artfully. “But I am always so suspicious of coincidences.”
Hammond was not listening. A new idea had occurred to him.
“I have a great mind to go to Severn himself, and put myself in his
hands. But, then, of course, one couldn’t trust him,” he added,
regretfully.
“He is a man of honor,” objected the other.
“And when the good name of a woman is at stake, men of honor always
lie,” was the stern retort. “Oh would to Heaven you had either never
told me this, or else proved it up to the very hilt.”
“I didn’t speak out of any zeal for morality, you may be sure. I had
simply heard the common talk, and I naturally assumed that it was true.”
“Why?”
Despencer gave a delicate, self-satisfied smile.
“When there is any doubt, I always believe the worst. I find I am
seldom wrong.”
Hammond stepped back, with an indignant gesture. He was beginning to
feel ashamed of the discussion.
“And you can stand like that and smile away a reputation!” he
exclaimed. “I wonder what they made you of.”
“I believe a chemical analysis of me would yield the ordinary results,”
returned Despencer, with unruffled composure. “I rather think that
hydrogen is the principal ingredient.”
Hammond gave a short laugh.
“Despencer, I begin actually to respect you. It can be no easy thing to
attain to such a height of perfect brutality as yours. You must have
taken great pains with yourself.”
“You may say what you like, Hammond, as long as you are not violent. I
always draw the line at violence.”
“Do you have to draw it often?”
Even the trained and admirable temper of Despencer gave way under this
taunt, and a red flush suffused his pale cheeks.
“Hammond, do you mean to be insulting?”
“Why, do you mind much? I should have thought the hydrogen would have
stood it.”
The words were drowned in a sudden crash of music and hand-clapping as
the door behind them opened, and Captain Mauleverer came through with
Belle Yorke on his arm.
Despencer drew to one side with a bow as they approached.
“Ah, captain, taking Lord Severn’s place, I see,” he remarked, with a
sarcastic emphasis intended for Hammond’s ear, and passed back into the
concert-room.
Mauleverer stared after him as if he had been some noxious animal.
“What has that damned cad--beg pardon, Miss Yorke--been doing here?” he
demanded of Hammond.
“Oh, only taking away some one’s character.”
“Not mine, I hope,” said Belle, with a smile.
“No, not in Hammond’s hearing, I’ll swear,” said the loyal captain.
“It was too bad of you to go outside just as I was going to sing,”
said Belle to the silent Hammond. “I shall expect an explanation.”
“I have been waiting here to give it to you,” was the grave answer.
“You seem quite serious about it. I am sure Mr. Despencer has been
saying something against me.”
Captain Mauleverer put in a word.
“I can’t let you give your explanation now, because Miss Yorke has
promised to sit out this next piece with me. You must wait your turn,
old fellow.”
“What does Miss Yorke say?” asked the other.
“I say what they say at the libraries about the book of the season. You
shall have me when the captain has done with me.” She turned merrily
to the captain. “But you mustn’t skip, you know. I shall allow you
fourteen minutes for perusal.”
“I want to read you through,” said Hammond. And he went out.