TEMPTATION
"I AM going shopping this afternoon," said Juliet. "I have heard of the
prettiest cotton dresses, and so cheap that it is really economy to buy
them."
Like other young ladies given to extravagant expenditure, Juliet liked
to maintain that she studied economy in her purchases.
"I admire your practice of economy," said Salome. "You go to the other
side of London to buy a thing a few pence cheaper than you would get
it here, and never take into consideration the money you spend in
travelling to and fro."
"I do take it into consideration," protested Juliet, "and I am sure
that I shall save my railway fare three or four times over by buying
there. You need not think I am so foolish as to go all that way to
buy a yard or two of ribbon. I shall make several purchases when I am
there."
"Of that I have no doubt," said Salome, with a smile that provoked
Juliet. "You will buy half a dozen things you do not want because they
happen to be cheap, and delude yourself with the idea that that is
economy."
"Oh, I hope Juliet will not buy things that she does not want," said
Mrs. Tracy cheerfully, "If you would not mind waiting till to-morrow, I
believe I could go with you, darling. Perhaps I might see some curtains
there that would do for the drawing-room."
Juliet shook her head impatiently.
"Oh, mother, I must go to-day," she said; "I do so want to get
something to wear that is not mourning."
For Juliet had not yet entirely cast off the black she had donned as
mourning for her uncle. The soft greys, the dainty admixtures of black
and white which she was now wearing, became her charmingly; but Juliet
was wearying of these. Her mother looked at her as she spoke, and
wondered a little that Juliet should be so impatient to leave off her
mourning for the uncle who had been so good to her, and to whom she
owed so much. Were young girls, with all their freshness and bloom, apt
to be a trifle hard-hearted? But Mrs. Tracy dismissed the thought as
it arose. It was not to be expected that a girl should grieve long for
an elderly man. What more natural than that she should crave fresh and
pretty clothes? Ralph Tracy would not have wished her to wear black for
him at all.
Juliet went away to get ready to go out. Shopping she must go, whether
her mother approved or not, and nothing did she less desire than that
anyone should accompany her on this particular expedition, since she
expected to meet Algernon in the course of her journey.
A worried, almost a careworn look, came to Juliet's young face as
soon as she was alone. The burden of the secret pledge she had given
weighed heavily upon her heart. Was it a pledge? She had not meant
it to be; she had not actually promised to be his wife; but she knew
that Algernon regarded her as betrothed to him. She hated the secrecy
on which he insisted as a cruel necessity of their case. What was to
come of it all? She would ask herself with a thrill of terror. If only
her mother knew, she would sigh at one moment, and the next she would
shiver with dread at the thought that her mother might possibly one day
discover her duplicity.
When Juliet ran into the dining-room to give her mother the kiss,
without bestowing which she never left her for any length of time, the
result of uneasy thought was visible in the way her delicate brows were
contracted. Her mother looked at her anxiously, wondering why it was
that she now so often detected this expression of worry on Juliet's
face. Must the girl lose the bright, open, childlike expression which
had been one of her greatest charms? But as she watched her, Juliet's
look changed to one of excitement and surprise. She was standing by the
window, and she had caught sight of a familiar form passing the gate.
"Oh, mother!" she exclaimed. "I do believe that was Mr. Mainprice who
went by! It was wonderfully like him. Whoever he is, he has gone to Mr.
Ainger's," she reported, as she stretched herself on tiptoe to get a
better view of the individual in question. "I really think it is Mr.
Mainprice."
"Very likely," said Salome quietly; "a Mr. Mainprice is coming to
conduct special services at St. Jude's next week. I wondered if he
could be the one you knew. I think Mr. Hayes called him the Rev. Arthur
Mainprice."
"Then it is the same," said Juliet, "and that is why he is here."
"Oh, I am very glad of that," said Mrs. Tracy brightly. "I liked him
when we met him at Lynton. And you seemed to take to him, Juliet. You
will like to hear him preach."
But Juliet's face had fallen. Thoughts had been awakened within her
that had a bitter flavour.
"I do not know about that," she said, as she turned to go. "It does not
follow because you like a man to talk to, that you will like to hear
him preach."
She went hurriedly from the house, and walked at her quickest pace
towards the station. She was presently aware of firm, quick steps
coming behind her. Fast as she walked, they walked faster, till they
slackened at her side.
"I thought I could not be mistaken," said the pleasant voice of Mr.
Mainprice. "How do you do, Miss Tracy? I caught sight of you as you
came from that house, and I have been hurrying since to overtake you."
"I am very well, thank you, Mr. Mainprice," said Juliet. "So you are in
London again. We last met at Lynton, if you remember."
"I am not likely to forget it," he replied. "It will soon be a year
since we met. How much has happened since!"
"Yes," said Juliet, looking down.
He observed her more closely, and it struck him that she had changed
considerably during the interval. She had lost none of her beauty; she
was if possible prettier than before, but somewhat of her childlike
charm had gone. The lines of her face had hardened; she looked older
and more determined, and, he fancied, less happy than when he had seen
her at Lynton.
"I was very grieved to hear of your uncle's death," he said gently.
"I little thought when I said good-bye to him at Lynton that I should
see him no more. He was the best of friends, one of the kindest, most
unselfish men I ever met with. He was very happy after his return to
England. The meeting with you and your mother made such a difference to
his life. You must be glad to think how much you added to his happiness
during those last months."
"You mean that he added to my happiness," said Juliet. "I did nothing
to make him happy. He never thought of himself, and I did not either.
I am afraid," she added, suddenly moved to confession, "I am a very
selfish person."
"We all find ourselves that, I think," he replied. "We hardly begin to
be otherwise till we have recognised that fact."
She made no reply.
"You were rejoicing in the freedom to take your own way when I saw you
last," he said, regarding her with close observation. "You were bent on
having your own way in everything, and believed that so you would find
happiness. Is that still your aim, or have you come to take a larger
and nobler view of life?"
Juliet lifted her head and looked at him with defiant eyes. "You
find me no wiser, Mr. Mainprice. I still like my own way better than
anything else, and I mean to have it too!"
She paused as she spoke, for they had reached the station, and held out
her hand to him.
He looked at her in silence for a moment, and as she met his earnest
glance a great wave of colour suffused her face, for it seemed to her
as if those grave, deep eyes could read the very secrets of her heart,
and knew all that she was ashamed to avow, even the purpose of her
going forth that afternoon, the consciousness of which now made her
tingle with shame. Her eyes dropped beneath his.
"Then I am sorry for you," he said gently. "I need not ask if you find
your own way yield you happiness."
She made no reply, but turned from him quickly. There was a choking
sensation in her throat, and her eyelids smarted from the hot tears
she with difficulty restrained. But she fancied it was only anger that
moved her thus strangely.
"What right has he to speak to me so?" she asked herself in wrath.
"What business is it of his whether I am happy or not? And to say he
was sorry for me! Sorry for me!"
The words rankled in her mind, and could not be forgotten. Her anger
towards Mr. Mainprice increased, as she felt that he had spoiled her
afternoon. She made but few purchases after all. Somehow she could not
interest herself in the pretty things exhibited to her. She felt as if
she had suddenly grown old, and life were altogether stale and devoid
of satisfaction. Was it possible that anyone had good reason to be
sorry for her?
She reached the spot where she had promised to meet Algernon Chalcombe
rather before the time appointed, and he was not there. This increased
her mental irritation. She was ashamed of the understanding which kept
her there, scanning the shop windows till she was sick of them, and
looking furtively from right to left, in dread of meeting the gaze of
an acquaintance, though there seemed little cause to fear that, since
she had no friends residing in this quarter of London.
He came in sight only a few seconds after the time named, but to
Juliet's impatience it seemed that he was very late. She saw him ere
he perceived her. He was walking languidly along with his eyes on the
ground. As usual, he was attired in faultless style, and his air was
that of an habitué of clubland. He was undeniably a handsome man, but
his countenance would not have inspired everyone with confidence.
His eyes had the weary, strained look, and his complexion the wan,
unhealthy hue which tells of nights passed in feverish excitement.
But Juliet's experience could not teach her the meaning of his looks.
She failed to observe how anxious and harassed was his expression as
he came towards her. She was only impatient that he did not look more
eagerly for her, but moved along with the air of one whose inner life
was far more absorbing than the outer.
Had she known them, Algernon Chalcombe's circumstances might well have
excused his self-absorption. His endeavour to lead a life of pleasure
and luxury without the disagreeable necessity of working for the means
of maintaining it, was landing him in serious difficulties. He had,
indeed, a way of gaining money which is the exact opposite to work;
but of all sources of revenue, this is the most precarious, since it
depends on the caprice of the goddess men name Luck. Of late, that
goddess had turned the cold shoulder upon Algernon Chalcombe, whence
resulted the embarrassments which made him, whenever alone, revolve
wearily in his mind every possible and impossible scheme for obtaining
money.
But now he is raising his eyes, and as they meet Juliet's, the shadow
flees from his face. There can be no doubt that he loves her, when he
looks at her like that.
In a few minutes, they were walking amidst the trees in Kensington
Gardens. He guided her to the most secluded spot he could find, and
they sat down beneath the shade of a tall beech. No one was near them.
An opening in the glade revealed a glimpse of gleaming water, and
the voices of children playing on the brink of the pond came to them
softened by distance.
"What have you been doing since I saw you, darling?" asked Algernon,
gazing at her fondly. "Lots of shopping, I suppose. Buying pretty
frocks, eh? I fear you are getting to be a very extravagant young lady."
"That is what everyone says," returned Juliet, pouting her pretty lips;
"but I am not extravagant, though it is nice to be able to spend what I
like. Do you know all my business affairs are settled at last? Mr. Gray
has been more expeditious than we had hoped. I have my own account at
the bank now. You can't think how proud I felt yesterday when I wrote
my first cheque."
"I can well believe it," said Algernon, his eyes gleaming as he spoke.
This was an experience with which he could fully sympathise.
"I only wish I had an uncle to leave me money. I am desperately hard up
just now. That father of mine has treated me abominably."
"Oh, I am so sorry!" exclaimed Juliet. "If—if only—" she hesitated. It
was not easy to offer him money.
"Never mind about me," said Algernon; "I shall pull along somehow. It
is time now to consider your future seriously, Juliet. Too much time
has been lost already. We must begin to act, now that you have the
means at your command. We cannot go on longer as we have been going."
"No, oh no; I feel as you do about that," said Juliet, with a little
shiver of excitement. "I am impatient to begin, if only you will tell
me what to do. I shall feel so much happier when I know that I am
working steadily for the end I have in view."
Her thoughts recurred to Mr. Mainprice as she spoke. When he heard of
her as a singer of worldwide renown, adored, courted, and rolling in
wealth, he would not be able to say that he was sorry for her.
"You had better study abroad," said Algernon; "I should advise your
going to the Conservatoire at Paris."
"Signor Lombardi spoke highly of the instruction at Milan," said Juliet
timidly. "I wanted mother to go with me there, but she would not think
of it."
"You could not go alone," he said decisively.
"No?" she repeated. "Why not?"
"Why not?" he repeated. "Do you need to ask?" Then bending nearer to
her and speaking in low, tender tones, he said, "I will tell you,
darling, why it would not do. It is because you are a young and lovely
girl, and need someone to protect you. If you went to and fro as a
friendless woman student, and mingled in the mixed circles of the
artistic world, you might be subjected to indignities—to insults; I
shudder when I think to what you might be exposed. No, you must not go
alone. I cannot consent to that."
Juliet's eyes were downcast; her face was glowing. The prospect his
words presented to her filled her with alarm. She shrank from the
thought of being treated with indignity, of being jostled amongst
vulgar, ill-bred people, who would accord her no deference.
"What can I do, then?" she asked, rather hopelessly. "Can I not be
trained in England?"
He did not reply for a moment.
"I heard someone say the other day," continued Juliet, "that it was now
possible to get as good a musical education in England as anywhere on
the Continent."
Algernon shrugged his shoulders.
"You can be trained here, of course. There are plenty of singers who
have never been out of England, but—I thought you meant to aim high."
"I do aim high," said Juliet, with a little toss of the head; "you know
that I aim at the top. I could not bear to be anything but a first-rate
singer."
"Then you must go abroad," said Algernon. "The London winter is not
good for you. A season or two in Italy would mellow your voice and
bring it to perfection, to say nothing of the training you would get
there."
"Yes, yes," said Juliet eagerly; "but how can I arrange it?"
"There is but one way in which we can arrange it," he said slowly.
"And that is?"
"You must go as my wife, darling," he said, turning his eyes on her and
speaking in low, impressive tones. "You must go with me as your husband
by your side to protect you. There is no other way."
"Algernon!" Juliet looked at him with startled eyes, and recoiled a
little from him. "What can you mean? How could I marry you now? Oh,
that cannot happen for a long, long time. Mother would never give her
consent."
"I know that, dearest. Neither she nor your sisters would ever give
their consent, either to your marrying me or to your being trained as
an opera singer. If you are in earnest, you must make up your mind to
act independently of them."
"Algernon, you would not ask me to marry you without mother's consent?
Oh, I could never do that!"
"I must confess, Juliet, that I see no other way to the attainment of
your wishes. If you truly love me, you will not shrink from trusting
your future to me; but if I have deceived myself, if you do not really
love me—then, of course—in that case—"
He paused abruptly, as if the conclusion of his sentence were too
painful to utter. If the look of distress his countenance wore were not
genuine, it was well simulated.
"Oh, don't speak so!" Juliet implored him. "You know that I care for
you more than anyone else, only—"
"And, of course, if you are in earnest in wishing to cultivate your
beautiful voice to the best purpose," he continued, not hesitating
to interrupt her, "you will not allow yourself to be hindered by the
prejudices of your family. It seems a thousand pities that so rare a
gift should not be cultivated to the highest advantage. I am certain
that a brilliant career lies before you, if you will enter on it.
Nothing would make me happier than to serve you. I would watch over you
and guard you from all harm. I would be content to take a secondary
place, to stand behind you for ever, if only I could see you win your
laurels as a queen of song. But I can only help you in one way. It
would never do to suffer the least shadow to fall on your fair fame.
Darling, cannot you trust yourself to me?"
Juliet trembled as she heard his words. She looked into his eyes, and
their passionate eagerness seemed to promise her even more than his
words of love, protection, and utter devotion. The picture he drew of
the future presented to her a dazzling temptation; but her heart failed
her as she contemplated the step he asked her to take.
"Oh, do not tempt me!" she cried. "I could not do it. I am sure it
would be wrong. It would grieve mother so. I believe it would break her
heart."
"Not at all. Hearts do not break so easily. She would be angry at
first, no doubt, but she would soon relent and forgive us. You are so
ignorant of the world, my sweet, unsophisticated little Juliet, or you
would know that such marriages are of frequent occurrence. To elope is
the only thing to be done when parents are obstinate. That soon brings
them round; their stony hearts melt, and everyone is happy ever after."
"If I could think it would be so in our case," said Juliet; "but I
cannot believe it."
"You may, dearest, you may."
And insidiously, he strove to remove every misgiving, and to present
his temptation in forms more and more alluring, till he had made evil
appear as good, and well-nigh persuaded Juliet that that from which
she at first had shrunk as a suggestion of wickedness, was in fact a
positive duty.