A PERILOUS PATH
JULIET had now her own way to an extent of which a little while before
she could hardly have dreamed as possible.
She should have been very happy, one might think. But human happiness
does not consist of anything external, and it will not come even with
the realisation of all one's desires. And Juliet would have said that
she was far indeed from such an attainment. No acquisition satisfied
her. She was ever reaching after something beyond. Her uncle's
indulgence had the effect of making her more of a spoilt child than
ever. Restless, petulant, and perverse, she was constantly working
herself into a fever over something or other. She continually destroyed
the peace of the household by her irritability and impatience.
Sometimes her mother would be reduced to tears by her conduct. When
Juliet saw her thus grieved, she would be filled with contrition, even
to self-loathing. She would overwhelm her mother with tender caresses
and loving words. She would make many promises of amendment, and as
long as the remorseful feeling lasted she would be quite gentle and
docile in her ways. But, alas! The softened mood was never of long
continuance. The old spirit would soon assert itself, and the wilful
determination, to take her own way at any cost, rule her actions again.
At first the singing lessons were a pure delight to her.
Signor Lombardi's words seemed full of encouragement and even of
flattering prophecy. But after a while, he began to criticise and
correct with some sharpness. One day, he exhibited the utmost
impatience because she did not play properly the accompaniment of her
song.
"I did not undertake to teach you the A B C of music," he remarked, in
scathing tones.
Juliet came home in despair, and cried bitterly as she told her mother
about it. Mrs. Tracy persuaded her to ask Salome to help her in
mastering the difficult accompaniment. Juliet's pride hated the idea of
asking such help of Salome, but her dread of receiving a second rebuke
from her master was even stronger than her pride. She humbled herself,
and made the request of her sister.
Salome consented, but with a bad grace. She tried to improve the
opportunity by showing Juliet how much she had missed by not continuing
to study music with her. There is nothing more aggravating than some
people's "I told you so. I knew you would regret it when it was too
late."
Juliet could ill brook such comments, and the music lesson ended in a
storm of recriminations which did not conduce to the harmony of the
household.
Mrs. Tracy had accompanied Juliet when she went to take her first
lesson of Signor Lombardi. On the following week, too, she went with
her; but when the day for the third lesson came one of her severe
headaches made it impossible for Mrs. Tracy to go out. She was at no
time strong enough to bear much of the excitement and fatigue going
about in London. She hoped that one of Juliet's sisters would be
willing to accompany her. Salome at once declared that it would be
impossible for her to go, since she was expected at a Dorcas meeting
that afternoon, and Hannah looked annoyed at the suggestion, and said
it would be very inconvenient for her to go, though she did not refuse
to do so.
But when Juliet heard the question raised, she at once settled the
matter in her own way. "I want neither Hannah nor Salome," she said. "I
will go alone. There is no reason in the world why I should not. Other
girls went about in London alone. It was a foolish and exploded notion
that girls needed always to have a duenna. I have no patience with it.
I hope I know how to take care of myself. I hate to be treated as a
child."
To her mother, it seemed that many girls might be better trusted
to go about alone than Juliet. Not that she doubted her daughter's
discretion. But the girl was so pretty and striking-looking, she was
certain to attract attention wherever she went, and might possibly be
subjected to impertinence. But it was vain to argue the question with
Juliet. She was bent on doing as she liked, and from that day she went
alone to take her singing lessons.
On the second occasion of her going alone, she met Algernon Chalcombe
on the platform of the station at which she took the train for the
suburb in which she lived. It was impossible to avoid greeting him, had
she been disposed to do so. His face was radiant with pleasure as she
shook hands with him.
"This is a happy chance for me, Miss Tracy. What a lucky thing that I
missed the earlier train! Let me relieve you of this."
And he took from her the portfolio of music she was carrying. The
next minute, as the train came up, he opened the door of an empty
compartment, and when she had entered, stepped in also.
"You have been taking your singing lesson, I see. Do you always return
by this train?"
"When I can catch it," said Juliet. "Sometimes I am detained, and
arrive just in time to see it gliding out of the station."
"A most aggravating experience. It was mine a quarter of an hour ago. I
felt savage at the moment; but now I am awfully glad that I missed that
train. It is a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you,
Miss Tracy."
Juliet's face flushed. It was pleasant to hear him say it, pleasant,
though somewhat embarrassing, to meet the look that was in his
dark eyes. He was certainly a very handsome man. The fashionable
and faultless style of his dress had its influence on Juliet's
impressionable mind. He was a "perfect gentleman," she told herself
again.
And Algernon Chalcombe was observing her with new pleasure. He had been
charmed with her prettiness when he had seen in her only a "little
schoolgirl." It had been amusing to flirt with her without any serious
intention. But now she was no longer a schoolgirl. She was a very
charming young lady, beautifully dressed, and currying herself with an
air which made people as they passed her involuntarily turn to look at
her a second time.
Moreover, if his sister were right in her conjectures, Juliet Tracy
was an heiress, a fact which had considerable importance for Algernon
Chalcombe, whose life was spent in a constant endeavour to win
money without the trouble of working for it. He now yielded himself
with pleasure to the fascination which Juliet exerted over him,
and determined that he in his turn would fascinate her. It did not
appear difficult to do this. That there would be serious practical
difficulties in the way of his wooing, he was well aware, but he had
little doubt of ultimate success, since he was not wont to be troubled
with delicate scruples in the prosecution of his purposes.
"How does the singing progress?" he asked. "Do you like your master?"
"Yes," Juliet answered, with some hesitation, "I think he is a good
teacher, but so severe. Sometimes I despair of ever pleasing him."
"Oh, you must not despair," said Algernon; "his severity is just the
highest compliment he can pay you. He is severe with you because he
sees that you are worth taking great pains with. If you had only
mediocre talent, he would be far less particular with you."
"That explanation is highly gratifying to my vanity," said Juliet, with
a laugh. "I wish I could lay the flattering unction to my soul."
"You may indeed, for it is true," he replied. "I happen to know, for
Signor Lombardi was speaking to me of you only the other day. You know
that he and I are old friends."
It was impossible for Juliet to help looking at him with eager,
questioning eyes, though she was too proud to put a direct question.
"I asked him how you were getting on," said Algernon, responding to her
look, "and he said you were doing well."
"Did he?" exclaimed Juliet, in tones of delighted surprise. "Now, why
could he not have told me that?"
Algernon shrugged his shoulders.
"It is not his way, I suppose. But it is a fact that he thinks very
highly of you. He says you have a beautiful voice, so clear and
flexible. He thinks you might do anything with such a voice."
"Does he?" cried Juliet rapturously. "Oh, if only I could!"
"You must," he said. "With such a voice it will be a shame if you are
not one of these days the prima donna."
"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Juliet, with sparkling eyes. "What a
lovely idea!"
Then suddenly, the light went out of her eyes. "It is impossible,"
she said, dropping her voice. "They would never let me. Uncle has the
greatest objection to a public career for me. And mother is almost as
bad."
"But surely you will not always be bound by their prejudices?" he said.
"Your life is your own. They have no right to spoil it for you. Nothing
can be impossible to one of your spirit and determination."
Juliet's eyes glowed again.
"Perhaps not," she said softly. "Certainly I manage to get my own way,
as a rule."
"Of course. You ought always to have your own way. And you will, too. I
have not a doubt of it."
"Decidedly I shall try for it," said Juliet, with a little laugh. "I
shall not lightly give up my wish, you may be sure."
Juliet came into the house that evening wearing so bright a look that
her mother felt sure she must have had a very pleasant lesson.
But when Juliet was questioned about it, she could not say that her
master had given her much encouragement. "And yet I do feel encouraged
somehow," she added, with a sunny smile.
It was delightful to hug to herself the secret assurance that Signor
Lombardi thought she might "do anything" with her voice. The vagueness
of the prophecy did not detract from its value. It rather enhanced it,
by giving wider scope to the imagination.
But when on the following week, she again presented herself for a
lesson, there was nothing in the signor's manner to suggest that he so
highly esteemed her musical gift. He found little to praise and much to
condemn in her performance, and it was with a sigh suggestive of weary
relief that he finally dismissed her.
Juliet would have felt out of heart but for her remembrance of what
Algernon Chalcombe had told her. To her surprise, she again encountered
that young man at the railway station. It now appeared that he had an
engagement which brought him into town on this day every week, and
would involve his travelling home by the same train as Juliet.
Juliet hardly knew whether she were glad or sorry. She was nervous
lest anyone of her acquaintance should see her as she sat talking with
Algernon Chalcombe. She experienced many a throb of uneasiness, as
she thought how her mother would feel if she saw them thus together.
Yet Algernon made his company so agreeable to her, that she could not
regret having met him. He talked to her again of her voice, and was
able to recall various other laudatory remarks Signor Lombardi had made
concerning it when talking to him in confidence. And Juliet's vanity
drank eagerly of the cup of nectar thus presented to it.
After this, Algernon Chalcombe never failed to meet Juliet on her
return from Kensington. Juliet's conscience was uneasy under what
seemed so much like a clandestine arrangement. She had never concealed
anything from her mother before, and she had burning sense of
compunction and shame, when her mother, in her gentle, loving way,
questioned her as her journey to and from the West End.
Yet she had no difficulty in defending her conduct to herself: She
could not help meeting him. Her mother had never told her not to speak
to him. She knew that she had seen Flossie's brother on the day she
went to their house. She could not help greeting him, if she saw him.
It was impossible to be rude to people.
And since he was travelling by the same train, what harm could there be
in their sitting together of exchanging a few words as they went along?
Of course, the prudish minds of Hannah and Salome would be shocked; but
she did not care what they thought.
But, though she professed to herself not to care, it is certain that
Juliet was in the habit of looking anxiously for her sisters' forms
on each suburban platform at which the train stopped, and that she
experienced relief at not seeing them.
One day her conscience so troubled her, that she purposely lingered on
her way to the station, that she might miss the train by which Algernon
Chalcombe was in the habit of travelling. But when she came on to the
platform, ten minutes after the train had started, Algernon still stood
there. He came up to her with the air of one who is sure of his welcome.
"How did you manage to miss your train?" he asked.
"How did you?" she retorted.
"Oh, I—" he laughed. "You do not suppose it was the train I minded
missing?"
Juliet's colour deepened. Her eyes sank beneath his meaning glance.
"Do you not know what the hope of seeing you is to me?" he whispered.
"Surely you must understand that it is the one event of the week to me,
and I cannot bear to miss it."
Juliet could not reply. She had felt vexed that he had waited for her,
and she wanted to tell him that he must not do so again. But she could
not say that or anything now.
She turned aside to hide her blushes, and encountered the hard gaze
of Mrs. Hayes, who, accompanied by her husband, was stepping out of
the train which had just come into the station. Juliet shrank back
so dismayed that she had not the presence of mind to attempt any
salutation in response to that hard stare. She hoped that Mrs. Hayes
had not seen Algernon Chalcombe speaking to her; but something in that
lady's manner seemed to demonstrate that she had perceived that Juliet
had a companion.
Juliet took her place in the train, and Algernon seated himself beside
her. She hardly knew what he was saying as the train rattled along.
She was too thrilled and excited to listen. There was something
intoxicating for her in the idea that this clever, handsome man was in
love with her, and depended on her for his happiness. It was delightful
to feel that she had such power. The very thought of love made her
breath come more quickly, and her pulses throb. How could she doubt
that her heart responded to the sentiment she had inspired?
Juliet parted from Algernon Chalcombe hurriedly at the station where
they alighted. She would not let him walk with her in the neighbourhood
of her home.
She hastened home with her mind in a whirl of excitement. She was
wildly elated. She believed herself to be very happy. Her thoughts
went forward into the future, but they took no definite form. She did
not dream of marrying Algernon Chalcombe. She had already decided that
domestic life was far too humdrum for her taste.
Her visions of the future did not include dreams of home happiness.
No, she could only picture herself a renowned prima donna, adored by
the public, which would delight to scatter bouquets, laurel wreaths,
and costly gifts in rich profusion at her feet. But it was pleasant
to imagine amidst the crowd of admirers, who had not yet revealed
themselves, this one devoted lover, himself a favourite of the music
halls, who would be closely bound to her by the spell of her personal
magic, who would count himself happy to serve her, and be ready to obey
her every behest, whilst content to live upon such crumbs of kindness
as she might choose to throw to him. It was not a role which would have
suited Algernon Chalcombe in the least; but what did Juliet know of his
true character?
It is easy to smile at the folly of an ambitious girl's wild
imaginings; but is there not something pathetic too in such ignorant,
blind forecasting of the future? Poor childish Juliet, giddy and
elated, was treading the very verge of a precipice without the least
notion of the chasm which yawned below. And those who might have saved
her from it were unconscious of her peril, and, all unwittingly, were
urging her nearer and nearer to the fatal brink.