When the time came for him to return to town, Mrs. Tremlett's
first-floor lodgers left her, and Lee took the vacant rooms. Though his
headquarters were in London, it was understood that he meant to run down
to Brighton very often during the winter, and he explained that he would
find private apartments more to his taste than an hotel.
Telegrams from different places were received from him every few days,
and in Sunnyview House the theatrical element in his nature, found its
supreme expression. Profuse at all times, he surpassed himself here.
He was infatuated--blind to everything but the passion that had sprung
up in him--and he meant to show the woman whom he burned to marry the
sort of thing he could bestow on his wife. The housemaid, accustomed
to speculating whether the parting tip would be a half-crown or five
shillings, was dumfounded by a sovereign almost as often as he rang the
bell; the supply of roses in his room made it look like a flower-show;
prize peaches were ordered, only that they might be left to rot on the
sideboard, and he had two bottles of champagne opened daily for the
effect of banishing them to the kitchen three-parts full.
He had not failed, either, to place a liberal interpretation upon
"sweets." The rain of bonbons and bouquets that descended on the
discontented blonde in rusty crape could hardly have been more
persistent if she had been a prima donna, and his prodigality made the
desired sensation in a household where the "drawing-rooms" usually took
mental photographs of the joints before they were removed. Mrs. Tremlett
it horrified, but to her daughter there was a strong fascination in it,
a fascination even more potent than it exerted over the servants--a
class who rejoice at extravagance, whether it be their own or other
people's. She was not backward in deriving the moral; she, too, might
enjoy this lavish life if she allowed him to ask her! The chance had
befallen her so suddenly that it dizzied her. She felt strange to
herself; she could not realise her point of view. His admiration for
her had improved his appearance very much, but it could not quell the
race prejudice entirely. She knew that if he had been a nonentity she
would have found his homage preposterous; and ardently as she longed to
embrace the life that he could open to her, she shrank from the thought
of embracing the man.
She was aware, nevertheless, that she was precipitating a moment when it
would be necessary for her to take a definite course, and she was not
surprised to hear Mrs. Tremlett broach the subject to her one afternoon.
The landlady was making out the dining-room bill, and Ownie had been
sitting upstairs, in the twilight, while Lee sang to her at the grand
piano that he had hired as soon as he was installed. In the morning he
practised his cadenzas and phrases alone, but in the afternoon he sang,
and had begged her to go up, assuring her that a vocalist needed someone
present at such times; he had omitted to add that he needed a true
musician. To sing to her intoxicated him. To listen to him stimulated
her. When his fancy ran riot and he thought of falling at her feet (to
fall at her feet was his mental picture), he always saw himself doing it
in an hour like this--while the dusk befriended him, and his voice was
pleading in her senses.
"Have you been in there again, Ownie?"
"Yes," she said, pulling the rocking-chair to the fire; "it wasn't very
long, was it? He wants us to go to his concert next week at the Albert
Hall; he'd like us to stay the night at an hotel. Of course we should be
his guests, and it would be a nice change. I told him I'd speak to you
about it."
"Sleep in town at an hotel? Oh no, dear, I shouldn't think of such a
thing! Whatever for?"
"Because he has invited us, because he's going to sing. I said I didn't
think you'd go for the night, but we might run away in time to catch the
last train. I don't much care about going alone--though he wants me to
do that, if you won't come."
"Wants you to go alone?" She made a blot, and put down the pen. "Wants
you to go alone, as his guest?" she repeated.
"Yes; why shouldn't I? Still, if you'll come too----"
"How can I go and leave everything to look after itself? Besides, it
wouldn't be right. As to your going alone, that would be worse still.
I'm sure I don't see----"
"Don't see what?"
Mrs. Tremlett hesitated. "Don't you think the servants will begin to
talk?" she murmured. "You know what I mean, dear; you're up there so
much--and he's always sending you things. Of course I shouldn't like him
to leave, but it's a pity he doesn't see that he oughtn't to----Well,
I'm sure the servants are talking! When I wanted you just now about the
deposit on the bottles, Ada said, 'Oh, she's with Mr. Lee, ma'am--I'd
better not call her out.' I could see what she thought, though I
pretended not to notice anything."
"What did she think?"
"Well, dear, she thought that--that he was paying you attentions. And
so he is! The poor fellow.... It's quite natural, I daresay, that he
should take to you, but I should make him understand that he mustn't be
foolish, before it goes any further, if I were you. Of course, with a
man like that, it mayn't be serious, but you can't _tell_ what ideas he
may have in his head, can you?"
"You mean he might ask me to marry him?" said Ownie slowly; "is that it?"
"Well, my dear, I suppose that--ridiculous as it sounds, I suppose that
is what it might come to; and of course it would make unpleasantness,
and we should have the drawing-rooms empty at the worst time of the
year. Much better to keep him in his place and to show him that it would
be no good."
Ownie's abrupt little laugh sounded. She swung herself to and fro in the
rocking-chair rather violently.
"If I did that, I think you'd have the drawing-rooms empty at once. His
'place'? 'His place' is funny! Why, sometimes he's paid as much as a
thousand pounds for four nights, and I'm a pauper.... You take it for
granted, then, that if he asked me I should say 'No'?"
Mrs. Tremlett looked bewildered. Her gaze fell, and wandered helplessly.
Her brow was puckered when she spoke.
"Wouldn't you say 'No'?" she faltered.
"Why should I?"
"Oh, of course if you could care for him----Of course in the sight of
Heaven we're all equal; but it isn't as if he were a white man, is it?
And you scarcely know him."
"I know who he is--I might do a good deal worse for myself than marry
Elisha Lee. I should be a rich woman."
"I don't think you'd be very rich, dear; it seems to me he must spend
every penny he makes, even if he does get a thousand pounds for four
nights sometimes. Besides, if you mean to marry him just for what he
can give you, I'm afraid you'd be very miserable. You're not a girl, I
know, and you must judge for yourself in these things, but I don't think
any amount of money would make you satisfied with what you'd done if
you don't care for him--and I'm sure I don't see how you can! When I
married your poor father----"
"When you married father he had nothing, I know. And you've had nothing
ever since. The children of people who marry on nothing are seldom as
sentimental as their parents were. You were brought up in a comfortable
home, and so you were romantic, and said, 'Money's the least thing;' _I_
was brought up in a lodging-house, and so I'm practical, and put money
before everything else. I think," she exclaimed, "I think it's wicked
that people who make improvident marriages should brag of the folly to
their poor children afterwards!"
"I am not bragging, dear. But when a woman has loved her husband, she
never admits that their marriage was a folly, even in her own thoughts.
A man----" She sighed. "A man, I am afraid, sometimes does. As I say,
you're not a girl, and you must know your own mind, but the idea seems
awful to me; I would never have believed you could think of doing such a
thing."
Ownie flushed, and her shoe tapped the floor irritably. "Just because
he is black," she muttered. "Where is your religion? I thought you said
just now that in the sight of Heaven all men were equal?"
"In Heaven, no doubt, he will be as white as the rest of us," returned
Mrs. Tremlett, after a slight pause. "But in the meantime he's a nigger,
and I can't think it would be right."
Her daughter did not reply; nor did the elder woman summon courage to
recur to the matter. She was, however, relieved on the morrow and
the next day to notice that her remonstrance had borne fruit and that
Ownie's visits to the drawing-room were discontinued. Lee, who passed
the two days in hourly expectation of them, was first restless, and then
enraged. The besetting tendency of the negro in his intercourse with
Europeans is to take affront, and he told himself that her neglect was
an insult which she would never have dared to put upon an Englishman. He
left Brighton this time without any adieu, and he was absent for longer
than usual.
There were two reasons for his going back when he did. When women say of
another woman--as they are often heard to say--that there is nothing in
her to explain infatuation, they babble, for there is no young woman,
however commonplace, who may not appear unique to some man. One of Lee's
reasons was, that his desire to see Ownie again was fevering him; the
other was, that he wanted to know if she meant to occupy the box that he
had kept for her.
He returned late, and he had no hope of seeing her that night, but he
spent the following morning between the windows--his hat and fur coat
on the table--waiting for her to leave the house. She had no sooner
done so than he descended the stairs with elaborate carelessness, and
manoeuvred until they came face to face.
"Oh, Mr. Lee," she said. "So you are back again!"
His resolve to ignore his grievance succumbed to the temptation to
reproach her for it.
"I didn't think you knew I'd been away," he said sulkily.
"Not know you had been away?" The innocent wonder of her tone was
unsurpassable.
"I hadn't seen you for a long time when I went. Have you forgotten that?"
"A long time?" she smiled. "Two days, wasn't it?"
"It seemed a week to me."
Now she had trembled during his absence, and though she was as far as
ever from knowing whether she wished to marry him, she knew at least
that she did not wish to avert his asking her. So she shot a glance at
him before her eyes were lowered, and said:
"One can't always do as one likes, you know."
A platitude and a pair of eyes are sometimes potent. He walked on beside
her mollified.
"What about the concert?" he inquired. "I've saved the box for you."
"Oh, have you?" she stammered. "I don't quite know. I'm afraid----Have
you really saved it?"
"Rather! Don't say you aren't coming--you as good as promised. Have you
spoken to your mother?"
"Yes, she can't go--that's to say, she says she can't. There's nothing
to prevent her, but she's so funny, you know. I 'don't see how I can go
alone."
"Why not? That would be jollier still. Don't be unkind. I should sing so
much better if you were there."
"Such nonsense!" she said. "I--I'll see. Of course I should like it
awfully. I'll think about it, and tell you to-morrow."
And on the morrow she told him that she was going. She was dogged,
though Mrs. Tremlett sighed protests. Her life was dull enough, she
insisted; she meant to extract the little amusement that was to be had!
Lee went to town again jubilantly. He had arranged to meet her at the
station when she arrived, and to travel back with her at night. She was
to go up in the afternoon and to take her evening frock in a trunk.
On the day of the concert she found him at Victoria, attended by a
gentlemanly person who he explained was his valet. As he greeted her,
he tossed away a cigar which he had just lighted for that purpose; he
felt it must impress her with his breeding to see him throw away a
long cigar. The valet seemed to have little to do but to show that he
existed. Lee led her to a brougham, and they were driven to the hotel
that was then the most fashionable, and ushered into a sitting-room
glorified with roses. A chambermaid conducted her to a bedroom.
Here more flowers did her honour, and on the dressing-table were bottles
of scent, the largest that could be bought, and all of different
colours. In front of the armchair that had been rolled to the fire was a
pair of velvet slippers, with the sort of buckles she had coveted in the
East Street windows.
She thrilled with a sense of her importance. The buckles fascinated
her so much that she put the slippers on at once, and went back to the
sitting-room in them, though in his excessive admiration he had chosen a
size that cramped her toes.
She had scarcely rejoined him when a waiter appeared with tea and petits
fours. She observed that Lee was addressed as if he had been a prince.
"Aren't you going to have any?" she asked.
"I mustn't," he said. "I must run away in a minute. But they'll look
after you all right here, don't be afraid."
"I'm not," she said, laughing. "Did the manager provide the slippers?"
She raised her foot coquettishly, and resented her stockings. "I'm sure
you might have a cup of tea and a biscuit if you may smoke--I saw you
throw away a cigar as you met me."
He was gratified that this effect had been remarked.
"Oh, that's nothing," he said; "smoking doesn't hurt."
"You say so because you like it. Well, smoke now, then."
"May I?"
"Why, of course you may, if it really isn't bad; but I always thought it
was awful for singers."
"Some fools say so. Mario always smoked just before he sang--he was the
only man ever allowed to smoke behind at Covent Garden. I do wish I
could stop! If you knew how glad I am you've come!"
"I'm glad too," she said. "But I won't encourage you to do anything
wrong. Go home, and----" She was going to say, "Think of me," but she
felt that her elation was carrying her too far. "And do your best," she
added. "Remember I am coming to applaud you."
He remained for about a quarter of an hour, and as soon as he had gone
she took the slippers off, and spread her feet on the hearth in comfort.
At half-past six the deferential waiter appeared again, accompanied by
another--mute, but seeming to deprecate by his shoulders the liberty
of moving on the same planet with her. For the first time in her
experience she dined. Perhaps, because she was a woman, the appointments
impressed her more than the cuisine, but she appreciated the menu too.
She enjoyed the oysters, the strange dark red soup, the sole with prawns
and little mushrooms and things on the top; she liked the bird, and
the pink frilled cutlets with a wonderful sauce, the omelette in blue
flames, the silver bowl of strawberries and cream inserted in a block
of ice. The resplendent sweet, representing a castle, and glowing with
multi-coloured lights, astonished her, and the wines that flowed into
the glasses stole through her veins deliciously.
She had not long set down her coffee-cup when she was informed that
the brougham was at the door. She left the tiny flagons of liqueurs
untouched, and ran back to the bedroom, to grimace at her toilette,
and dip her puff in the powder again. In the brougham she felt even
more opulent than she had done when Lee was beside her in it; she felt
almost as if it were her own. She wrapped the rug about her knees, and
looked out luxuriously at the gaslit streets. Soon all the traffic of
London seemed to converge; the flash of carriage-lamps and the clatter
of hoofs surrounded her. Into the cheaper parts of the Hall, the long
black files of patient music-lovers still pressed forward. Her demeanour
was haughty as she was shown to her box. To her first glance the great
building seemed already full, but a thin stream of white-breasted women
and shirt-fronts trickled continuously down the red stairway to the
stalls. A certain exultation possessed her; they were all here to hear
him--the man who was in love with her.
Somebody climbed to the great organ. His name was unfamiliar to her, and
she did not know what the title of the piece meant. He juggled with the
stops, and flooded the house with a composition in E flat. She cared
little for the organ; it reminded her too strongly of church. She was
relieved when he finished. A lady sailed on to the platform and warbled
something of Schumann's. Was it a fact that she could not afford her
dress? How beautifully it was made! She retired amid loud applause,
her finger-tips supported by a gentleman whose functions suggested the
ring-master at a circus. She was recalled, and bowed deeply three times,
and tripped off with the ring-master once more. A popular baritone
received an "encore." A lady violinist had painfully thin arms. Ownie
glanced at the programme again--yes, the next name was "Mr. Elisha Lee."
The faces in the serried tiers of the vast dome seemed to crane a
little; a wave of expectation stirred the throng. There was a long pause
before he came.
He bore himself loftily--that was her first thought. The slow,
measured steps that he had been taught to make added to his height;
the conventional costume, in which his native predilections found no
scope, became him well. The unsightly hands were gloved; only his black
features and frizzy hair marred the dignity of the man as he stood
before the hushed audience, during the opening bars on the piano. He
raised his head--the music that he held vibrated for an instant; and
then from the nigger's mouth--out over the breathless stalls, mounting
high and mounting higher to the back of the far massed gallery--there
seemed to float God's Voice. And now nobody remembered that the features
were black; and no man among the thousands knew what message the voice
was bringing to the heart beside him, for to all there was a different
message that the poet had never told. Men tightened their lips to hide
their tremors; the jewels on the women's breasts rose faster. Among the
hot, tense crowd that strained over the topmost railings, was heard the
sobbing of a little child--but only one soul heard it, and the child
would have been a woman then if she had lived.
The music was lowered--his arms falling in studied curves to his sides,
gave the signal for applause; there was the moment's silence that was
so sweet to him. He bowed, and drew a step back. The audience recovered
itself; the thunders broke. She saw fashionable women beating their
hands together frantically; the roar recalled him again and again. He
responded, and retired with a glance at Ownie. Her eyes were moist, and
she shivered a little. She was not an emotional woman, but she was a
vain one.
In Part II. he sang early, to conform with her arrangements, and they
drove to Victoria, where the valet was waiting with her trunk. Lee
guided her to a first-class compartment, and she congratulated herself
on her forethought in having taken only a "third single" at Brighton.
She observed, though she betrayed no consciousness of the fact, that the
guard turned his key in the door after the foot-warmers were put in.
"And so," asked Lee for the second time, "you were satisfied with me?"
His desire to flatter her was inordinate, but it wasn't responsible for
the question: he was only thirsting to be praised.
"I felt as if I had never heard you sing before," she said; "I felt as
if I had never heard _anybody_ sing. You thrilled me. You have given me
a day I shall remember all my life; it was perfect from beginning to
end."
"I should like to give you many such days," he blurted.
"Ah!" She smiled--the faint, appealing smile that had always been so
effective with Harris before he married her. "I'm afraid that isn't
possible; I must think of this one instead."
Her heart throbbed heavily at her boldness. Even now she was not sure
what answer she meant to make; why was she encouraging him to ask the
question?
But though he had promised himself to ask it on the journey, Lee
hesitated. The question surged to his throat, and swelled immensely and
stuck there. A great timidity was on the nigger who had just swaggered
before a multitude. The man's heart throbbed heavily at his cowardice.
He leant forward, and tucked the rug round her. He was rather a long
time tucking the rug round her. "Is that better?" he muttered. "You're
not cold?"
"Thank you. No, I'm as warm as can be. Oughtn't you to keep your wrap
round your neck?"
"Not in here," he said; "I'll put it on again at the other end. Sunset
is the worst time for me, too--not night."
"That's funny."
"I believe it's the worst time for all singers."
The velocity of the train seemed to him phenomenal, and a sudden
misgiving seized him about the second door: somebody might intrude on
them at the first stoppage, in spite of the tip. The minutes flew, and
in every flashing bank and tree he saw a danger-signal.
"Why?" he said at last.
"'Why'?" She was at a loss.
"Why isn't it possible for you to have other days just as good?"
He was terribly black--she averted her face before she spoke:
"How can I?" she murmured.
"I love you," he said huskily.
She had no words. He got up, and sat beside her. She felt his hand
groping for hers under the rug, and trembled. Should she let him take
it?... He was holding it. "Do I frighten you?" She shook her head. "I'd
give my life for you!" he cried. "Oh, if you can like me a little, only
a little, I'll be so good to you! You shall never be sorry--I'll give
you everything you want. I love you; I sang to _you_ to-night. No white
man could adore you as I do. Can't you--can't you forget the difference?
It's cruel to me. No, no, not cruel; you could never be cruel; I know, I
know, it's natural you can't understand--you fill my soul, but you can
see no deeper than my skin."
"I do like you," her voice made answer.
"Will you be my wife?"
"Yes," she said. She shut her eyes and let him kiss her.