SCENES AT THE GREAT METROPOLIS.
Mrs. Montague Arnold sat, or rather reclined, in her handsome
breakfast-room. She was awaiting the morning mail, which had been
somewhat delayed. A bitter smile played around the daintily curved
lips.
"The saucy little minx; I shall teach her better," murmured the
beauty in angry tones and gesture.
Montague Arnold paid no attention to the half-spoken words. He
looked the veriest picture of dissipation. Late hours, cards, and
wine were stamped upon his hitherto handsome face and left an
impress at times anything but flattering.
In private, few courtesies were interchanged between the husband and
wife. It would, indeed, be wrong to say that Montague Arnold on his
marriage morn did not give to his fascinating bride more adulation
than he ever bestowed upon any other woman, and had the haughty
beauty given more attention to her husband he might have become a
different man; had she shown a true heart, a truthful, honest
nature, and a mind adorned with what is lofty and elevating, what a
different life those two might have led? But Evelyn Verne was
without heart, and we might almost say without soul. She lived for
society alone; it was her first duty, and worshipped more zealously
than the goddess Hestia that occupied the first altar in a Grecian
home.
Mrs. Arnold was indeed an object of admiration in her superb morning
toilet of fawn-colored Lyons silk, with faultless draperies and
priceless lace. It was the beauty's ruling passion that no toilet
was ever neglected; hours were spent in putting the finishing
touches to some becoming style that brought out the wearer's charms
and set the hearts of her admirers in a flutter.
As the soft white hand was raised to suppress a yawn a solitaire
diamond caught the ray of sunshine that found its way into the
elegant mansion, and reflected a radiance that was enchanting.
Mr. Arnold could not fail to be impressed with the sight. He at last
found words to say, "What is your programme today, Eve?"
"I have promised to visit the studio with mamma and Madge. Lord
Melrose is to be there, and I am very anxious to see his portrait."
"Don't flatter yourself that you are his latest charm, my dear,"
said her husband in sarcastic tones.
"You are altogether _de trop_, my amiable husband," said Mrs.
Arnold with an angry gleam in the brilliant and wondrous dark eyes.
"I was sorry to hear that the young and beautiful Mrs. Maitland has
possessed the fellow body and soul. What an honor to the young
'squire to have his wife thus lionized in the London drawing-room."
Mr. Arnold could be tantalizing without mercy, and when he had fully
aroused his wife's anger he was happy.
Mrs. Arnold had received much flattering attention from Lord
Melrose, and it wounded her pride when she heard that another had
supplanted her. The remarks that had escaped her lips referred to
the merciless young matron; and well Montague Arnold was aware of
the fact, but he winced not, and only plunged deeper into the
whirlpool of dissipation, which sooner or later would be his
inevitable destruction.
"I was really tired waiting," exclaimed Mrs. Arnold, when Mrs. Verne
and Marguerite entered the reception room an hour later. "I had
begun to think that some prince in disguise had eloped with little
sobersides."
"I don't think we will be quite so fortunate, Eve," said Mrs. Verne,
with a significant look which annoyed Marguerite more than she was
willing to acknowledge.
"Really, Madge, you are growing prettier every day since you came on
English soil. Mamma, just look at her color; is it not bewitching? I
tell you, Madge, you will turn half the heads in Piccadilly."
Marguerite saw with disgust the real object of her mamma's visit,
and she was determined to show her dislike in a manner that would
save herself from being the object of ridicule.
"Eve, I wish you to understand that I am not interested in love
affairs. Please choose your conversation from other sources, and I
will be much obliged--indeed I shall be forever grateful."
The girl's manner was serious, and her pleading looks would have
given pleasure to a sensible woman, but they were scorned by Mrs.
Arnold and her mother.
Mrs. Verne had been expatiating upon the immense fortune which had
fallen to Hubert Tracy, and took the greatest of pains to impress
Marguerite with a sense of his importance.
"How I wish that I had waited, mamma. You know that Mr. Tracy was
devoted to me in every way, but you preferred Mr. Arnold."
"I preferred his riches, my dear, and you know Montague is so
handsome and distinguished looking. Why, he really was the
handsomest man in the ball-room last evening."
"But Hubert's fortune is tenfold that of Montague's. His income is
immense."
"Well, all we can do is to consign him to Madge," said Mrs. Arnold,
with an affected air of deep regret. "It is certain that he clings
to the family, and his great wealth would be an heirloom for many
generations."
"Quite a speech, Eve," said Mrs. Verne, clapping her white palms
together by way of applause.
Crimson silk _portieres_ separated the party from Mr. Arnold,
but not a word had been lost. "You will have to play your little
game quick, else the fortune will soon be a thing of the past,"
muttered the husband under his breath. "Curse these women, they are
nearly all tarred with the same stick. And my charming wife. What a
pity I stand in her way. Well, she can go on in _her_ way and I
will stick to mine. Heavens! is there one true woman?"
Montague Arnold's face, reflected in the mirror opposite, was not
then a pleasing study. A sardonic grin was on his lips and a
dangerous light in his eyes.
Just then Marguerite changed her seat, and, unobserved, the
dissipated man glanced at the pure _spirituelle_ face which had
appeared as answer to his questioning words.
"Yes, Madge, I am a veritable scoundrel; already I see before me one
true and pure being."
Was it a tear that glistened on the maiden's cheek as Montague
Arnold once more contemplated the fair brow and madonna-like eyes?
Marguerite, in her courtly surroundings, was indeed indulging in day
dreams, woven from scenes of her native land. And when she
contrasted the picture with the vague, undefined reality, her
emotional nature was stirred within her, and the gushing tears would
force themselves in spite of all efforts at control. She was longing
for one glimpse of dear old "Gladswood" and the fond embrace of
Cousin Jennie.
"What would I not give to be free from this," murmured the girl
in an undertone; then glancing around she recognized her
brother-in-law, his eyes fixed upon her in close scrutiny.
"Upon my senses, Madge, you look like some one in a dream. I really
might imagine you a piece of rare statuary--one of the Niobe group
strayed from the Florentine gallery to meet the wistful gaze of the
sight-seers of London!"
Marguerite smiled, and the color rose to her cheeks.
"I have dispelled the charm!" cried Montague Arnold, pointing to the
vivid, life-like and roseate hue of the oval face.
"A flirtation, I declare!" said a lady who formed one of the party
for the morning's entertainment. "Mrs. Arnold, I really would not
allow it."
"But you must remember we have liberty of conscience, my dear. Each
is free to act as he pleases within the realm of British
jurisdiction."
"I am afraid you are giving us a wide license, Mrs. Arnold. Please
be more circumspect," cried the lady in playful tone, "else your
suggestion may have a very bad effect."
Mr. Arnold looked askance at the fashionable woman beside him, and
thought what a world of deceit lurked within--a wolf in sheep's
clothing.
Instantly he was at the woman's side, and began paying her those
compliments which the most enraptured lover might pay to her whom he
adores above all women.
At the studio Marguerite was introduced to many persons of
distinction, among those a German Count, a blaze looking Captain of
the Life Guards, and a bright, dashing young officer of the
Dragoons.
"What a host of admirers you have already in your train, Madge,"
whispered Mrs. Arnold to her sister as she came opposite the
portrait of Lord Melrose and stood admiring the exquisite touch and
execution of the artist.
The latter had been engaged in conversation with a group of ladies
when his eyes fell upon Marguerite Verne. The earnest gaze made the
girl look toward him, and as she did so that look made a deep
impression upon the youth.
"I would give almost all I possess to paint that face," thought he,
gazing intently at the _spirituelle_ type of beauty that is so
seldom seen.
"Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Verne," said Mrs., Arnold,
who felt much flattered at the admiration paid Marguerite.
"I think that we must persuade her to sit for a portrait, Mr.
Manning," said Mrs. Arnold, trying to attract her mother's attention
from the niche in which she sat carelessly chatting with some
acquaintances they had made on their ocean trip.
Soon Mrs. Verne found them, and was in ecstacies over her daughter's
proposal.
"It would be such a nice way to show Madge to advantage. I am
delighted with the thought," said Mrs. Arnold to her mother, as she
toyed with her jewelled fan and gazed carelessly around to see if
Lord Melrose were yet in the studio.
"How provoking. It is just always so! It will afford such
satisfaction to my sweet-tempered husband."
"My dear Mrs. Arnold; it does one good to meet you after trying to
live a few days at Portsmouth," cried a showy looking military man,
perhaps forty years of age, perhaps younger, with a heavy reddish
moustache and dark auburn hair.
"I cannot really say whether you are complimentary or not, colonel,"
said Mrs. Arnold, smiling with all the angelic sweetness at her
command, "since I have never had the pleasure of visiting that
renowned place."
"Well, I should consider it the highest compliment that could be
paid," said a brother officer in dark blue uniform with a sprinkling
of "silver threads among the gold," "coming as it does from one who
can stand the siege when a thousand bright eyes are levelled upon
him at a garrison ball in Portsmouth with a heart as impregnable as
the fort at Gibraltar!"
"Thank you, Major Greene, for your kind consideration to both
parties," said Mrs. Arnold, bowing sweetly to the former. The
gallant colonel also bowed acknowledgment, and then espied
Marguerite Verne, who still lingered near the artist, considering
him far above the shallow set that frequented his studio.
"Who is that beautiful girl talking to Mr. Manning?" queried he,
raising his eyeglass with an air of interest.
"I shall present you in due time," said Mrs. Arnold, with a faint
smile revealing the most exquisite set of teeth that eye ever
beheld.
As if by intuition Marguerite cast her eyes towards the aspirants
and the action brought a faint blush.
"Beautiful as Hebe, by Jove," exclaimed the rubicund major, in an
undertone that implied he was also deeply interested in the fair
young face and graceful supple form.
How the manoeuvering mamma watched each sign of admiration thus
directed towards her daughter.
"If I can only accomplish my wishes my life will be one
uninterrupted calm. I will then lay me down in peace," thought Mrs.
Verne, as she re-arranged the folds of her silken train to her
entire satisfaction.
Hubert Tracy had been detained on a fishing excursion up the Cam,
whither he had gone with some rollicking companions to recruit his
health and restore some of the youthful bloom that dissipation had
almost destroyed.
Marguerite could ill conceal her disgust as she met the weak-minded
and, to her, contemptible young man, on the week following.
It was at a brilliant assemblage, under the patronage of Mrs.
Montague Arnold.
Never was maiden more becomingly attired, for despite her friends'
entreaties, Marguerite's taste was simplicity, indeed. Her modest
pearl-colored satin was relieved by knots of delicate pansies--one
of Marguerite's many favorite flowers--and the delicate and chaste
silver ornaments, made her toilet simply bewitching.
"Mrs. Arnold is imperial, but Miss Verne is truly angelic," was the
exclamation of a man of fashion, and the leader of his club, as the
two sisters stood side by side receiving the brilliant throng of
guests that filled to overflowing the gorgeously lighted parlors,
sumptuous drawing-room and bewitching conservatories.
Why was it that Marguerite shrank from the touch of Hubert Tracy's
hand as if stung by an adder? Why was it that, when she was obliged
to listen to his flattering, oily tongue, that she saw the manly
dignified form of Phillip Lawson standing between, with his hand
uplifted, as if in gesture of warning, and a stern reproachful look
upon his honest face?
These are questions that will be answered some day when the world is
older and wiser--when the great road to science will have been
trodden further on towards the goal which shall reveal all mysteries
in the light of simple truths--when man can look a fellow being in
the face and trace each thought written there.
Mrs. Arnold was in the confidence of her husband's friends, and she
had partly deceived her mother to carry out her designs.
Mrs. Verne had hitherto set her heart upon Hubert Tracy, but she was
now flattered by the admiration paid to Marguerite by several of the
nobility, and she thought it would indeed be a rare distinction for
her daughter to have a title.
"I see how it is with mamma, and if I am not sharp she will nonplus
me," thought the beauty, as she watched the game which her anxious
mother was playing so skilfully, and, as the latter thought, so
successfully.
"But I will do nothing rash. Nothing succeeds like caution," and
musing thus Mrs. Arnold placed her jewelled fingers in those of her
partner and was whirled away to revel in the delightful elysium of
waltzland.