"Bai Jove, Mrs Marter, it does a man good to see you," said Max Bray,
sauntering one afternoon into the Marter drawing-room, carefully
dressed, as a matter of course, and with a choice Covent-garden exotic
in his button-hole. "I declare it makes one quite disgusted with the
flowers one buys, it does, bai Jove!" and then showing his white teeth,
he raised her hand, touched the extreme tips of her nails with his lips,
and then resigned the hand, which fell gracefully upon the side of the
couch. "Bai Jove, Marter, I envy you--I do, bai Jove! You're one of
the lucky ones of this earth, only you don't know it: feast of reason,
flow of soul, and all that sort of thing's blooming, if I may say so,
upon your own premises."
"I'm sure," simpered Mrs Marter, "there ought to be a new official made
at the palace--Court flatterer--and Mr Bray given the post."
"Wouldn't be amiss, if there was a good salary," said Mr Marter,
looking up from his newspaper.
"Bai Jove, now, that's too bad--'tis indeed, bai Jove! There are some
of you people get so hardened by contact with the world, that, bai Jove!
you've no more faith in a fler's sincerity than if there wasn't such a
thing to be found anywhere."
"O! but," simpered Mrs Marter, "do you think we can't tell when you are
sincere?"
"Bai Jove, no!" said Max earnestly, and with a wonderful deal of truth.
"But look here: I've got tickets for Her Majesty's to-night--three, you
know--for _La Figlia_. You'll go, of course, Marter?"
"Go to an opera!" said Mr Marter, with a shake of the head. "I never
go to operas--I only go to sleep."
"O, bai Jove! that's too bad!" cried Max. "You've never been with us
anywhere yet; and I do think you ought to go for once in a way."
"No, I sha'n't go!" said Mr Marter; "and besides, I have promised to
dine out. Take Miss Bedford."
"Bother Miss Bedford! Bai Jove, one can't stir without your governess.
I say, Marter, do go!"
"Can't, I tell you; and, besides, I shouldn't go, if I had no
engagement," said Mr Marter testily. "You three can go if you like."
Max Bray seemed rather put out by the refusal, and for a time it almost
appeared as if he were about to throw the stall tickets behind the fire;
but by degrees he cooled down, and after it had been decided that he was
to call for the ladies about half-past seven, he rose to leave.
"But why not have an early dinner here?" said Mr Marter.
"No, bai Jove, no!" said Max. "I'm always here; and besides, I've some
business to attend to. Till half-past seven, then--_au revoir_."
Max kissed the tips of his gloves to Mrs Marter as he left the room;
and soon after he was being driven to his chambers, where he wrote a
long letter to Laura, sent it by special messenger, and then sat
impatiently waiting for an answer, gnawing his nails the while.
The reply came at last, very short and enigmatical, but it was
sufficient to make him draw a long breath, as if of satisfaction, though
the words were only--
"_Yes! No more; for we are going out_."
Then Max Bray lit a cigar, and sat thinking over the events of the past
few days, and of what he had done. He had been several times to the
Marters'; he had run down, on the previous day, to Lexville; and a
couple of days before that he had posted a letter, the reply to which he
now anxiously awaited.
What time would it come? He kept referring to his watch, and then he
went over and over again the arrangements for some project he evidently
had in view, before sauntering off to his club and dining; when, to his
great delight, upon his returning to dress for the evening's engagement,
he found a couple of letters awaiting him, one of which he tore open,
and then threw into the fire with an impatient "Pish!" the other he took
up and examined carefully, reading the several postmarks, and then,
smiling as he glanced at the round legal writing, placed it unopened in
his breast-pocket.
There was a strange exultant look in Max Bray's eye as he drew on his
white-kid gloves that evening, and started for the residence of Mrs
Saint Clair Marter, where he found the ladies ready, and did not scruple
to behave almost rudely to Ella as he prepared to take them down, hardly
condescending to speak to her; but as the evening wore on, and they were
seated in front of the orchestra, he condescended to make to her a few
remarks, more than one of which drew forth a smile, from their satirical
nature, as, evidently in a bitter spirit, he drew attention to the
various eccentricities of dress in their neighbourhood.
Max Bray did not know, though, that within a few yards sat the man whom
he had again and again maligned; neither did Ella Bedford divine that a
pair of blood-shot eyes were gazing upon her almost fiercely, as she
turned from time to time to respond to the remarks of Max, who talked
on, till, towards the end of the opera, he stood up to direct his
opera-glass here and there, for indulgence in that graceful, truly
refined, nineteenth-century act, so much in vogue at the higher-class
places of entertainment.
He had tried in three or four different directions; but, perhaps from
being in a satirical mood, he did not see a single face to attract his
attention, till, concluding with a grand sweep of the best tier, he
suddenly stopped short, kept the glass tightly to his eyes, whisked
round swiftly, and sat down; for the field of the glass had for the
moment been filled by the figures of Mrs Bray and Sir Philip Vining.
"Bai Jove!" muttered Max to himself; and had Charley Vining and Laura
been there all the evening, close behind him? They must have been, and
be sitting now at the back of the private box. Bai Jove! what should he
do? It was horrible to have gone so far--so near--and then to have all
spoiled! What an ass he must have been! Laura had said that they were
going out; but who would have thought that they were coming here?
Max sat rigidly still for the rest of the evening, encouraging Mrs
Marter to stay through the ballet; and at last, cautiously peering
round, he found, to his great satisfaction, that the private box
occupied by the Brays was empty.
Ella had not seen who was so near, for she was calm and unmoved.
"Bai Jove, what an escape!" thought Max; and a cold chill ran through
him--one that would have been more icy, had he known how close they had
been to a _rencontre_. But there was still another peril--Charley
Vining might be waiting yet, and she would see him!
They reached the fly, however, uninterrupted, and Max Bray's spirits
rose; but, though he stayed to a late meal--half-tea, half-supper--at
Crescent Villas, he was more distant than ever in his behaviour to
Ella--so distant, indeed, that Mrs Marter was half-disposed to ask him
if Miss Bedford had given him any offence.
It was past one when Max departed; and, hardly knowing why, Ella went to
her bed that night tearful and sad, little thinking that it was a pillow
she would never again press.
Volume 3, Chapter XIV.