“AND WILL SHORTLY TAKE PLACE”
It is generally the first impulse of a man who has been rejected by the
woman he loves to offer himself to the woman who loves him. When the
sun has set the light of the moon becomes precious.
John Hammond did not believe that the Lady Victoria Mauleverer did him
the honor to love him after the fashion in which he loved Belle Yorke.
But the frankness with which she conducted their mutual flirtation made
him think of her as more sincere than the over-innocent maidens who
pretended to turn shy at his approach, and practised the blushes which
they had been taught by a Bond Street professor at a guinea a blush. He
felt that there was something flattering to him in her disdain of the
small arts of cajolery, and he told himself that the preference which
she so plainly showed for him must needs be genuine.
It does not require very much to convince a man of any self-confidence
that he possesses a woman’s regard. The very cynicism with which
Victoria discussed their relations might be the cloak of a deeper
feeling, which she was too proud to confess until its return was
assured. In his present mood, however, Hammond felt no desire to
penetrate beneath that surface good-comradeship, which was all that
either he or Victoria had yet shown to the other. He could not have
gone from his interview with Belle to make love to another woman. He,
no more than Victoria, desired to be sentimental. Nevertheless, it
soothed him to think that this woman, who was willing to meet him in
his own spirit of indifference, might be secretly more fond of him than
he was of her.
It seemed to him that the die was cast, and that he could not too soon
put it out of his own power to recall the throw. He had fought out the
struggle between Love and Ambition, and in the moment of surrendering
to Love, Love had failed him. Well, Ambition was left. The marchioness
had correctly diagnosed the symptoms, though she had little idea of
their cause. John Hammond had come to propose to Victoria.
It only remained for the forethoughtful parent to get herself out of
the way.
“It is too bad of you, Mr. Hammond!” she exclaimed, with the
playfulness of a boa-constrictor. “I believe you knew I was here, and
waited down below on purpose for me to go away.”
Hammond smiled rather wearily.
“Now, that is very artful of you, marchioness. The truth is that you
are going away just because I have come.”
“You are perfectly right, Mr. Hammond,” remarked Victoria.
Her mother wrenched her lips into the similitude of a smile.
“I see what it is,” she said, with immense slyness. “You two have an
understanding, and you want to get rid of me. Very well, I sha’n’t
interfere with your little plans. I always know when I am in the way.
Good-bye. Good-bye.”
The devoted parent nodded and smiled herself out of the gallery,
consumed with a frantic inward longing to take her stubborn child by
the shoulders and shake her into a more becoming frame of mind.
It was fortunate that she could not hear that child’s first remark
after she had gone.
“My poor mother amuses me very much. She thinks she is such a deep
schemer, and she is so transparent all the time.”
“You mustn’t ask me to take sides with an undutiful daughter,”
responded Hammond. “May I sit down? I am lucky in finding you here.”
“There isn’t much luck about it,” said Victoria, bluntly, as she made
way for him to sit beside her. “My mother knew you were coming, and
ordered me to remain here to meet you.”
“The marchioness is very considerate,” replied Hammond, fairly taken
aback by this extraordinary confidence.
“Yes, but I find it a little embarrassing sometimes,” Victoria
remarked. “She is so very barefaced, you know. She positively throws me
at eligible men. I hope you don’t mind having me thrown at you?”
“On the contrary, I find it rather agreeable than otherwise. You don’t
hurt at all.”
“I am so glad. Tell me when you are tired, and I will make her leave
off and throw me at some one else.”
“Isn’t there another alternative?” Hammond saw a faint color come into
Victoria’s cheeks as he spoke, and went on quietly. “Do you know, I
wanted to see you, to consult you about a letter that I received this
morning.”
He put his hand into his breast pocket and drew out a blue envelope of
the inconvenient oblong shape still in use by so-called business men.
Victoria continued to recline in the same lazy attitude on the divan,
but she watched him keenly out of the corner of her eyes.
“How interesting!” she murmured, as he drew out a closely written sheet
and unfolded it. “I hope it is an anonymous letter taking away my
character.”
“No; curiously enough, it is from one who has a very high opinion of
you.”
Victoria became more languid still.
“I am dying to hear it.”
“You shall.” He began to read aloud:
“‘BOOT AND SHOE EMPORIUM,
“HIGH STREET, TOOTING.’”
“I know who it is from!” Victoria exclaimed, eagerly. “That delightful
alderman!”
“Don’t interrupt, please. ‘_My dear Mr. Hammond--_’”
“How sweetly friendly!”
“Hush! ‘_It is with considerable reluctance that I have consented, at
the request of many of your leading supporters in the Division, to
address you on a subject of great delicacy and importance--_’”
“Mysterious creature!”
“‘_I refer to the question of your marriage--_’”
“This is most interesting!”
Hammond frowned sternly at the fair interrupter.
“Wait! ‘_Some time ago it was generally rumored in the constituency
that you were likely to lead to the altar Lady Victoria Hildegonde Jane
Beauchamp-Mauleverer_, only _daughter of the most noble the Marquis of
Severn, K.G.--_’”
“He must have looked me up in Whitaker’s ‘Titled Persons.’”
“‘_And the news gave us the greatest satisfaction, as it was felt that
by so doing you would greatly strengthen your social prestige, and
thereby deprive the Liberals of their advantage in having secured a
baronet as their candidate--_’”
“He quite crushes you there.”
“‘_But I regret to state that a report has now reached us that this
marriage is not likely to come off, and your enemies have the audacity
to allege that you are contemplating a union with a singer on the
music-hall stage whose name has been a target for the breath of
scandal. Your friends have, of course, indignantly denied the rumor,
but we think it would be desirable in your interest that you should
at once write me a formal contradiction, which could be inserted, if
necessary, in the local press. Trusting you will see your way to do
this, and apologizing for the liberty I have taken, with very kind
regards, I am, yours sincerely_,
“‘EDWARD DOBBIN.’”
“He gets rather prosy towards the end, doesn’t he?” commented Victoria,
who had listened in silence to that part of the letter.
“You haven’t heard the postscript,” said Hammond. “‘P.S.--_If you
could at the same time authorize me to announce your engagement to Lady
Beauchamp-Mauleverer, we consider it would have an excellent effect._’”
“Artful old thing! He is almost as bad as my mother.”
Hammond folded up the letter and put it back in his pocket.
“Well, now, what do you advise me to do?”
“Oh, send the contradiction, by all means.”
“And what about the further announcement?”
Their eyes met seriously for the first time. Victoria answered, in the
same light tone:
“Well, it seems a pity to disappoint him.”
“Then you won’t contradict it?”
“No, I never write to the papers.”
Hammond bent forward respectfully.
“Thank you. May I kiss your hand?”
“If you will promise not to be sentimental,” said Victoria, yielding
gracefully.
“I think I can promise that,” said Hammond, with secret bitterness.
And he bowed over the white fingers, wondering if this woman really
wished to be his wife, while Victoria wondered in her turn why on earth
this man wanted to marry her.
They were not left long in their mutual embarrassment. The marchioness
was burning with impatience to learn the result of her arduous
campaign, and as soon as she thought she had given the lovers time
enough to adjust matters she returned to the spot, Despencer being
admitted to share the anticipated triumph.
“So you are still here!” the mother exclaimed, with innocent surprise.
“I hope that girl has not been shocking you very much, Mr. Hammond?”
“Well, she has, rather,” he answered, dryly. “She has promised to be my
wife!”
“My dear child!” The loving mother rushed to fold her daughter in a
close embrace, to which Victoria submitted with silent scorn. “This
is sudden, but I cannot say it takes me altogether by surprise.
A mother’s eye sees so much,” added the marchioness, plaintively,
implying that she had long watched over her child’s secret love and
seen it grow from day to day.
Despencer stood viewing the touching scene with an ironical smile. “She
will overdo this if she isn’t careful,” was his unspoken comment.
The marchioness turned to her new son.
“I give her to you, John, because I know you will make her happy. If
I had had the choice of a son-in-law, there is no one I should have
preferred to you.”
As a bald matter of fact, there had been a slight element of choice
about it.
Hammond bowed with due gratitude.
“Let me offer my congratulations, too, if I may,” Despencer put in.
“This sort of thing quite touches me.”
“Thank you,” said Hammond, curtly. “I hope to have the pleasure of
speaking to the marquis in the morning,” he added to the marquis’s
wife.
“I will prepare him for it. I am sure you will find him ready to
welcome you as a son,” responded the marchioness, with enthusiasm.
Victoria rose from her seat.
“There, that will do, mother. You are not good at domestic sentiment;
it isn’t in your line. Can’t we go and bill and coo somewhere else?”
she said to her betrothed.
“What a child!” murmured her parent, still deeply affected. “Take care
of her, John.”
John intimated his disposition to do so by a bow, and the marchioness
and Despencer found themselves alone. The latter hastened to console
his companion.
“Don’t mind her, marchioness. You did that very well, indeed. The
maternal embrace was perfect.”
The marchioness sat down on the divan and heaved a deep sigh of
satisfaction.
“You may be as rude as you like now,” she observed, mildly, “because
you have been so clever and wicked in managing this for me. I suppose
it is quite settled now. He won’t go back to that horrid girl again?”
Despencer placed himself on the seat beside the marchioness at the
exact distance which he thought safe, as he replied:
“I think not. The game is not quite finished yet. I am still waiting to
play my ace of trumps.”
The marchioness was too full of her triumph to heed the last words.
“We had better announce this in the papers at once,” she remarked,
pursuing her own line of thought. “One cannot make too sure.”
“You will have to wait till he has seen Lord Severn,” suggested the
prudent Despencer.
The marchioness made a grimace.
“I suppose so. How tiresome all this etiquette is! I sometimes wish I
could go and be a curate’s wife in the country.”
This pathetic yearning failed to move the callous listener. He retorted:
“I believe there is no more rigid code of etiquette than that which
obtains among curates’ wives in the country. I used to know three
curates’ wives and one rector’s, but they have all dropped me. I never
knew why.”
“I am afraid you must have a dreadful reputation,” said the
marchioness, admiringly. “I positively don’t think I ought to stay here
alone with you. Do you know they call this the Lovers’ Window?”
Despencer’s eyes fell on the marchioness, and he ventured two and a
half inches nearer.
“What a romantic situation! You ought not to have told me that.
Remember that I am a poet.”
“I am afraid you are only mocking me,” said the marchioness, lowering
her eyes with a bashfulness which, regarded as a work of art, was
beautiful. “I believe you are a heartless cynic.”
Despencer moved an inch nearer along the divan as he protested--
“No, you are quite wrong. You must not judge me by outward appearances,
or you will be deceived. The fact is, I am a hypocrite. I pretend to
be more worldly and wicked than I really am. If you could look into my
heart you would be surprised.”
“I have no doubt of that. But you are not going to persuade me that I
should find much innocence there.”
“Ah! but, my dear marchioness, why speak of it like that? Think how
uninteresting innocence is. Believe me, innocence has been sadly
overpraised by people who knew very little about it. For my part, I
much prefer experience. One is a blank page, the other is a romance,
generally of the kind that is not allowed on the railway book-stalls.”
The marchioness was not insensible to the subtle flattery. Her voice
became actually soft.
“You are not going to pretend to me that there is anything romantic
about an old woman who will soon be forty.” (The marchioness’s own age
in society was thirty-seven.)
Despencer moved six inches closer. But there was no softening in his
voice; that was where he had the advantage over the marchioness.
“Every woman is romantic when she is seated in the Lovers’ Window with
a man,” he murmured in her ear.
What might have happened next it is impossible even to imagine. What
did happen was that both started violently apart, and rose to their
feet at the same time, the marchioness exclaiming, in a tone of subdued
consternation, “Of all men in the world, my husband!”
The Marquis of Severn had come in very quietly by the door at the
farther end of the gallery. As his wife and her companion came rather
awkwardly out on to the floor of the gallery, he walked past them into
the window, scarcely heeding their presence, and stood with his back
towards them, looking out at the slowly rising moon.
Throwing an impatient frown behind her, the marchioness led the way out
by the other door. Just as they reached it it was opened from without,
revealing on the threshold Belle Yorke.
The marchioness stopped abruptly, and directed an astonished and
inquisitive glance from Belle to her husband, and from her husband
to Belle. Then she took hold of Despencer’s arm and marched off in
formidable silence.