(Published in _Vanity Fair_, London, in 1895)
People were beginning to wonder if an American, having captured a title
and worn it for five years, would renounce it for mere good looks and
brains; in other words, if Lady Carnath, formerly Miss Edith Ingoldsby,
of Washington, and still earlier--before her father had found leisure to
crown a triumphant financial career with the patriotic labors of a
United States Senator--of Boone, Iowa, would marry Butler Hedworth,
M.P., a gentleman of some fortune and irreproachable lineage who had
already made himself known on the floor of the House, but was not so
much as heir-presumptive to a title. So many American maidens had
placidly stood by while their mammas "arranged" a marriage between their
gold-banked selves and the impecunious scion of an historical house,
that the English, when forced to admit them well-bred, found solace in
the belief that these disgustingly rich and handsome girls were without
heart.
Nevertheless, Lady Carnath, who had worn her weeds but a year, permitted
Butler Hedworth to pay her attentions so pronounced that her world was
mildly betting on his possible acceptance as husband or lover. It was
argued that during the life of Lord Carnath his wife's demeanor had been
above comment, but a cynic remarked that women had all sorts of odd
ideals; and was widely quoted.
Edith Ingoldsby had bought her Earl and paid a high price for him;
nevertheless she had liked him better than any man but one that she had
ever known, and they had been the best of friends. When she met him she
was in the agonies of her only passion, and had clutched the first
opportunity to bury alive the love that was destroying her beauty and
her interest in life.
The passion had lingered for a time, then gone the way of all passions
unfed by a monotonous environment and too much leisure. She found it
very interesting to be an English countess. For a while she had the
impression of playing a part in a modern historical drama; but before
long she realized, with true American adaptability, that her new life
was but the living chapters of a book whose earlier parts had been
serial instalments of retiring memory. Her great wealth, her beauty, her
piquant dashing thoroughbred manner, her husband's popularity and title,
created for her a position that would have closed any wound not
irritated by domestic unhappiness; and this canker was not in her rose.
When Carnath died she mourned him sincerely, but not too profoundly to
anticipate pleasurably the end of the weeded year. When she met Hedworth
she was as free of fancy and of heart as if she had but stepped from a
convent.
"Yes, I was in love once--" she admitted to him one evening as they sat
alone. She blushed as she tripped at the word "before." Hedworth had
made no declaration as yet; they were still playing with electricity,
and content with sparks. "At least, I thought I was. All girls have
their love freaks. I had had several--when I was in my teens. This
seemed more serious, the _grande passion_--because there was an
obstacle: he was married. If he had been free, if there had been no
barrier between myself and what I wanted, I think it would have been
quite different. You see, I had had my own way so long that the
situation, combined, of course, with the man himself--who was very
magnetic--fascinated me; and I let myself go, to see what it would be
like to long for something I could not have. I suppose it was my
imagination that was at work principally; but I ended by believing
myself frantically in love with him."
Hedworth stood up as she paused, and leaned against the mantel, looking
down at her. They were in her boudoir, a yellow satin room that looked
like a large jewel-casket. Lady Carnath's long slender round figure
betrayed its perfections in a gown of black chiffon; on her white neck
and arms and in her black hair were many diamonds; she had dressed for
the opera, then given the evening to Hedworth. Her dark face was
delicately modelled; the mouth and chin were very firm, but the lips
were full and red. The eyes in repose were a trifle languid, in
animation mutable and brilliant. The brows were finely pencilled, and
the soft dark hair, brushed back from a low forehead, added to the
general distinction of her appearance. Hedworth studied her face as he
had studied it many times.
"Well?" he asked. He had an abrupt voice, suggestive of temper, and the
haughty bearing which is the chief attraction of Englishmen for American
women. His face was as well chiselled as the average of his kind, but
lacked the national repose. The eyes were very clever, the features
mobile; the tenacity and strength of his nature were indicated in the
lower part of his face and in the powerful yet supple build of the man.
"Well, what?"
"What sort of a man was this Johnny?"
"Oh, I am not very good at describing people--quite different from
you--much lighter--"
"I don't care what he looked like. A man only looks to a woman who is in
love with him as she imagines he looks. Was he in love with you?"
"Yes, of course he was."
"Did he tell you so?"