At breakfast on the following morning Arthur, as he had anticipated,
met the Bellamys. Sir John came down first, arrayed in true English
fashion, in a tourist suit of grey, and presently Lady Bellamy
followed. As she entered, dressed in trailing white, and walked slowly
up the long table, every eye was turned upon her, for she was one of
those women who attract attention as surely and unconsciously as a
magnet attracts iron. Arthur, looking with the rest, thought that he
had never seen a stranger, or at the same time a more imposing-
looking, woman. Time had not yet touched her beauty or impaired her
vigorous constitution, and at forty she was still at the zenith of her
charms. The dark hair, that threw out glinting lights of copper when
the sun struck it, still curled in its clustering ringlets and showed
no line of grey, while the mysterious, heavy-lidded eyes and the coral
lips were as full of rich life and beauty as they had been when she and
Hilda von Holtzhausen first met at Rewtham House.
On her face, too, was the same expression of quiet power, of conscious
superiority and calm command, that had always distinguished it. Arthur
tried to think what it reminded him of, and remembered that the same
look was to be seen upon the stone features of some of the Egyptian
statues in Mildred’s museum.
“How splendid Lady Bellamy looks!” he said, almost unconsciously, to
his neighbour.
Sir John did not answer; and Arthur, glancing up to learn the reason,
saw that he also was watching the approach of his wife, and that his
face was contorted with a sudden spasm of intense malice and hatred,
whilst his little, pig-like eyes glittered threateningly. He had not
even heard the remark. Arthur would have liked to whistle; he had
surprised a secret.
“How do you do, Mr. Heigham? I hope that you are not bruised after your
tumble yesterday. Good morning, John.”
Arthur rose and shook hands.
“I never was more surprised in my life,” he said, “than when I saw you
and Sir John at the top of the street there. May I ask what brought you
to Madeira?”
“Health, sir, health,” answered the little man. “Cough, catarrh,
influenza, and all that’s damn——ah! infernal!”
“My husband, Mr. Heigham,” struck in Lady Bellamy, in her full, rich
tones, “had a severe threatening of chest disease, and the doctor
recommended a trip to some warmer climate. Unfortunately, however, his
business arrangements will not permit of a long stay. We only stop here
three weeks at most.”
“I am sorry to hear that you are not well, Sir John.”
“Oh! it is nothing very much,” answered Lady Bellamy for him; “only he
requires care. What a lovely garden this is—is it not? By the way, I
forgot to inquire after the ladies who shared your tumble. I hope that
they were none the worse. I was much struck with one of them, the very
pretty person with the brown hair, whom you pulled out of the gutter.”
“Oh, Mrs. Carr. Yes, she is pretty.”
After breakfast, Arthur volunteered to take Lady Bellamy round the
garden, with the ulterior object of extracting some more information
about Angela. It must be remembered that he had no cause to mistrust
that lady, nor had he any knowledge of the events which had recently
happened in the neighbourhood of the Abbey House. He was therefore
perfectly frank with her.
“I suppose that you have heard of my engagement, Lady Bellamy?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Heigham; it is quite a subject of conversation in the
Roxham neighbourhood. Angela Caresfoot is a sweet and very beautiful
girl, and I congratulate you much.”
“You know, then, of its conditions?”
“Yes, I heard of them, and thought them ridiculous. Indeed I tried, at
Angela’s suggestion, to do you a good turn with Philip Caresfoot, and
get him to modify them; but he would not. He is a curious man, Philip,
and, when he once gets a thing into his head, it is beyond the power of
most people to drive it out again. I suppose that you are spending your
year of probation here?”
“Well, yes—I am trying to get through the time in that way; but it is
slow work.”
“I thought you seemed pretty happy yesterday,” she answered, smiling.
Arthur blushed.
“Oh! yes, I may appear to be. But tell me all about Angela.”
“I have really very little to tell. She seems to be living as usual,
and looks well. Her friend Mr. Fraser has come back. But I must be
going in; I have promised to go out walking with Sir John. _Au revoir_,
Mr. Heigham.”
Left to himself, Arthur remembered that he also had an appointment to
keep—namely, to meet Mildred by the Cathedral steps, and go with her to
choose some Madeira jewellery, an undertaking which she did not feel
competent to carry out without his assistance.
When he reached the Cathedral, he found her rather cross at having been
kept waiting for ten minutes.
“It is very rude of you,” she said; “but I suppose that you were so
taken up with the conversation of your friends that you forgot the
time. By the way, who are they? anybody you have told me about?”
In the pauses of selecting the jewellery, Arthur told her all he knew
about the Bellamys, and of their connection with the neighbourhood of
the Abbey House. The story caused Mildred to open her brown eyes and
look thoughtful. Just as they came out of the shop, who should they run
into but the Bellamys themselves, chaffering for Madeira work with a
woman in the street. Arthur stopped and spoke to them, and then
introduced Mrs. Carr, who, after a little conversation, asked them up
to lunch.
After this Mildred and Lady Bellamy met a good deal. The two women
interested each other.
One night, when the Bellamys had been about ten days in Madeira, the
conversation took a personal turn. Sir John and Arthur were sitting
over their wine (they were dining with Mrs. Carr), Agatha Terry was
fast asleep on a sofa, so that Lady Bellamy and Mildred, seated upon
lounging-chairs, by a table with a light on it, placed by an open
window, were practically alone.
“Oh, by the way, Lady Bellamy,” said Mildred, after a pause, “I believe
that you are acquainted with the young lady to whom Mr. Heigham is
engaged?” She had meant to say, “to be married,” but the words stuck in
her throat.
“Oh, yes, I know her well.”
“I am so glad. I am quite curious to hear what she is like; one can
never put much faith in lovers’ raptures, you know.”
“Do you mean in person or in character?”
“Both.”
“Well, Angela Caresfoot is as lovely a woman as ever I saw, with a
noble figure, well-set head, and magnificent eyes and hair.”
Mildred turned a little pale and bit her lips.
“As to her character, I can hardly describe it. She lives in an
atmosphere of her own, an atmosphere that I cannot reach, or, at any
rate, cannot breathe. But if you can imagine a woman whose mind is
enriched with learning as profound as that of the first classical
scholars of the day, and tinged with an originality all her own; a
woman whose faith is as steady as that star, and whose love is deep as
the sea and as definite as its tides; who lives to higher ends than
those we strive for; whose whole life, indeed, gives one the idea that
it is the shadow—imperfect, perhaps, but still the shadow—of an
immortal light: then you will get some idea of Angela Caresfoot. She is
a woman intellectually, physically, and spiritually immeasurably above
the man on whom she has set her affections.”
“That cannot be,” said Mildred, softly, “like draws to like; she must
have found something in him, some better part, some affinity of which
you know nothing.”
After this she fell into silence. Presently Lady Bellamy raised her
eyes, just now filled up with the great pupils, and fixed them on
Mildred.
“You are thinking,” she said, slowly, “that Angela Caresfoot is a
formidable rival.”
Mildred started.
“How can you pretend to read my thoughts?”
She laughed a little.
“I am an adept at the art. Don’t be down-hearted. I should not be
surprised if, after all, the engagement between Mr. Heigham and Angela
Caresfoot should come to nothing. Of course, I speak in perfect
confidence.”
“Of course.”
“Well, the marriage is not altogether agreeable to the father, who
would prefer another and more suitable match. But, unfortunately, there
is no way of shaking the young lady’s determination.”
“Indeed.”
“But I think that, with assistance, a way might be found.”
Their eyes met, and this time Mildred took up the parable.
“Should I be wrong, Lady Bellamy, if I supposed that you have not come
to Madeira solely for pleasure?”
“A wise person always tries to combine business and pleasure.”
“And in this case the business combined is in connection with Mr.
Heigham’s engagement?”
“Exactly.”
“And supposing that I were to tell him this?”
“Had I not known that you would on no account tell Mr. Heigham, I
should not have told you.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I will answer your question by another. Did you ever yet know a woman,
who loved a man, willingly help him to the arms of a rival, unless
indeed she was forced to it?” she added, with something like a sigh.
Mildred Carr’s snowy bosom heaved tumultuously, and the rose-leaf hue
faded from her cheeks.
“You mean that I am in love with Arthur Heigham. On what do you base
that belief?”
“On a base as broad as the pyramids of which you were talking at
dinner. Public report, not nearly so misleading a guide as people
think, your face, your voice, your eyes, all betray you. Why do you
always try to get near him to touch him?—answer me that. I have seen
you do it three times this evening. Once you handed him a book in order
to touch his hand beneath it; but there is no need to enumerate what
you doubtless very well remember. No nice woman, Mrs. Carr, ever likes
to continually touch a man unless she loves him. You are always
listening for his voice and step, you are listening for them now. Your
eyes follow his face as a dog does his master’s—when you speak to him,
your voice is a caress in itself. Shall I go on?”
“I think that it is unnecessary. Whether you be right or not, I will
give you the credit of being a close observer.”
“To observe with me is at once a task and an amusement, and the habit
is one that leads me to accurate conclusions, as I think you will
admit. The conclusion I have come to in your case is that you do not
wish to see Arthur Heigham married to another woman. I spoke just now
of assistance——”
“I have none to give, I will give none. How could I look him in the
face?”
“You are strangely scrupulous for a woman in your position.”
“I have always tried to behave like an honourable woman, Lady Bellamy,
and I do not feel inclined to do otherwise now.”
“Perhaps you will think differently when it comes to the point. But in
the meanwhile remember, that people who will not help themselves,
cannot expect to be helped.”
“Once and for all, Lady Bellamy, understand me. I fight for my own hand
with the weapons which Nature and fortune have given me, and by myself
I will stand or fall. I will join in no schemes to separate Arthur from
this woman. If I cannot win him for myself by myself, I will at any
rate lose him fairly. I will respect what you have told me, but I will
do no more.”
Lady Bellamy smiled as she answered—
“I really admire your courage. It is quite quixotic. Hush, here come
the gentlemen.”