Lady Nina Spencer sat in the drawing-room of the big house in Carlton
House Terrace, awaiting the few guests who had been invited to a small,
informal dinner-party. Her father, very infirm for his years, sat
opposite to her in a big easy-chair.
The Earl spoke in his low, quavering voice: "I have nothing to say
against the woman herself, judging from what little we have seen of her.
She has very perfect manners, just a trifle too perfect. I can quite
understand that for the average man she possesses considerable charm,
and she has great good looks. Many people would call her beautiful.
But I can only repeat what I said on the day I received Guy's letter
announcing his clandestine marriage: `The pity of it.'"
Lady Nina was a quiet, robust and practical young person, fond of
looking facts in the face, and looking at them very squarely.
She had been as much shocked at her cousin's rash marriage as the Earl
himself, but it was an accomplished fact. Only two courses were open:
the first to have nothing more to do with Guy and his wife, the second
to admit the wife to a guarded intimacy.
Lord Southleigh had declared warmly, in his first disgust, that he would
never look upon his young kinsman's face again. But Nina had prevailed
with milder counsels. Guy was his heir, and in the course of Nature
would succeed to the family honours. They would not cut themselves
adrift from him, and they must make up their minds to tolerate this
wife, of whose antecedents he could give no satisfactory account. The
one fact he did mention, that she was a cousin of Mrs L'Estrange, did
not weigh much with them.
Mrs L'Estrange came of a fairly good family, so far as birth counted,
but it was both impecunious and addicted to making unfortunate
alliances. One of her sisters had run away with a good-looking young
fellow who had been her father's valet. She was a woman who would have
a good many undesirable relatives knocking about. Miss Stella Keane,
the daughter of an impoverished Irishman, might well belong to this band
of undesirables. More especially as Guy's statements about her
antecedents were of the most bald and unsatisfactory nature.
It was all very sad and regrettable from every point of view, but, as
Nina calmly pointed out, several young heirs to peerages had been
running amok lately, in the matrimonial sense, and taking their wives
from very questionable quarters. Guy might have married some coarse and
common creature from the music-halls. It was unfortunate, in a way,
that he had a considerable fortune of his own, and could snap his
fingers at the displeasure of his relatives, if they presumed to show
it.
But, somehow, knowing Guy as well as she did, Nina did not believe that
the future Countess of Southleigh, who would, in due course, wear the
family jewels, was likely to be coarse or common. Guy was too
fastidious, too innately a gentleman, to be snared by a creature of that
kind.
And, on her first introduction, the young wife made a much more
favourable impression than might have been anticipated, considering the
prejudices arrayed against her.
She was not in the least servile or obsequious in the presence of these
two very aristocratic persons, but she bore herself with a certain kind
of shrinking modesty, as if asking pardon for having intruded into the
family. Her attitude to her husband appeared to be one of shy
adoration, tempered with perfect good taste. Her deep affection for
him, while not obtrusive or ostentatious, seemed to express itself in
her tender glances, the soft cadences of her voice when she addressed
him.
Nina made up her mind to one thing, that, if she was not genuinely and
devotedly in love with him, she must be one of the most perfect
actresses to be met with off the stage.
And Guy was still infatuated. When he had made her that strange offer,
he knew that he was drifting, but he had still left some small remnant
of self-control. But her fascination had proved too strong. Every day
she wove the chains more strongly round him.
And then there came a time when absence from her was unbearable, when he
took to counting the hours that elapsed between their next meeting. The
end was inevitable. The moment came when he definitely made up his mind
that he could not break away; that existence without her would be
intolerable.
They were married quietly before the registrar, a strange wedding for
the heir to the Southleigh earldom. No relatives of his were present,
as he had forborne to give them any notice of his intention. She was
unattended also. Even her cousin, Mr Dutton, did not put in an
appearance. Knowing her future husband's dislike of the young man, she
had not paid him the compliment of requesting his attendance.
The day before the marriage, she spoke to him in a tremulous voice and
with tears in her eyes.
"Guy, darling, I have said very little about this before, but you must
not think I am blind to the sacrifices you are making. From to-morrow I
bid adieu to my past life, to all the few friends and acquaintances I
have made; I know that you will be happier by my doing so. Henceforth I
devote my whole life to you. Your people shall be my people, if they
will forgive me and have me."
He clasped her to his breast with a lover's rapture. How sweet and
womanly she looked as she uttered those words in her low, broken tones.
He understood what she meant. For his sake she was going to give up all
that shady L'Estrange crew, to see as little of her objectionable cousin
as possible. She explained, later on, that she could not ignore him
altogether, as he had the management of her small affairs in his hands.
But all this could be conducted by correspondence.
Guy was delighted. He knew well enough that his own world would not
accept his marriage kindly, that they would never take his wife to their
offended bosom. But they would rub along somehow. There were plenty of
men he could bring to their house, and perhaps a few decent women who
were perfectly respectable, but not too strait-laced. And, anyway, the
world was well lost for love like this.
It cannot be said that, on the social side, their existence was a very
brilliant one. It did not matter so much to Guy, he had never been
over-fond of society. He liked his men friends, and having been a
bachelor so long, he was fond of club life. He got quite as much
amusement and distraction as he wanted.
His wife had many lonely hours, but she was wise in this respect that
she never sought to chain him to her side. Whenever he came home he
found her there waiting for him, affectionate and welcoming. Perhaps,
after her stormy and chequered past, what would have been dullness to
others seemed to her the peace she had been longing for.
She got on very well with her husband's male friends, most of whom
openly expressed amongst themselves their admiration for her. If she
had been a woman of a flirtatious temperament she could have had a good
time without overstepping the bounds of decorum. But she never exceeded
the limits of strict friendship. She never indulged in an intimacy that
could have the least element of danger in it. The general vote was,
that she was very beautiful, very charming, in a quiet, elusive way, but
naturally of a cold and unimpassionable nature. Only for her husband
did her glance take on a warmer expression, her voice a tenderer tone.
The few women who came to the house found her unsatisfactory. The
impression made upon them--and women are pretty shrewd when dissecting
one of their own sex--was that she was a person who lived too much
within herself, had a rooted disinclination "to let herself go" in those
little confidential chats which are indulged in when no men are present.
And for that studied reticence there must be some cogent reason. Above
all, she never referred to her girlhood, never made any allusions to her
family. The general impression was that Mrs Spencer had something to
hide.
Anyway, after many months of married life, Guy was still as much in love
with her as ever, and he was always profoundly touched by the pretty and
impressive way in which she insisted that all the advantages were on her
side, that she could never repay him sufficiently for the sacrifices he
had so cheerfully made.
Of course Guy knew nothing of what his friends were saying; the men who
admired her beauty, and were disappointed at the negative qualities
which accompanied it; the women who found her unsatisfactory and were
determined that she had something to hide.
All he knew, and was content in knowing, was this--that after many
months of matrimony, for they had been married few weeks before the
Armistice was proclaimed--that Armistice which was to be the precursor
of a golden era--he was quite happy. She was a perfect wife, from his
point of view, and he never looked back with the faintest misgiving.
What he had done then, he would do again to-day, in spite of the fact
that her reticence with regard to the past was as profound with him as
with the various acquaintances who occasionally visited her.
Not even the close intimacy of married life had elicited any of those
allusions and confidences which enable one to piece together, in some
measure, the life-history of the person who makes them. But Guy had a
generous nature, and was one of the least suspicious of men. He
attributed this strange reticence to the fact that the past contained
nothing but painful memories, that even to the man she loved she could
not reopen the old wounds.
On this particular night, Lady Nina was awaiting her guests. It was a
little dinner-party to meet the young married couple, six in all,
herself and father, Mr and Mrs Spencer, a young woman friend of the
hostess, and an old friend of the Southleigh family, Hugh Murchison,
already met with in the early chapters of this history.
Murchison was the first arrival. He walked with a slight limp, the
result of a bad wound in the leg. He had been laid-up for a very long
time at his own home with the effects of shell-shock. He had only been
in London for a few days, and it was ages since the Southleighs had seen
him. They welcomed him warmly.
After a little desultory conversation Nina spoke:
"You know from my note that you are here to-night especially to meet Guy
and his wife, the wife that he sprang upon us in such a sudden and
dramatic manner."
"Yes, I understood that. You know I have been out of the world so long,
and more than half the time not in my right senses, that I had heard
nothing of the details till, a day or two ago, I picked it up from club
gossip. Then I was told that Guy had picked up a girl from nowhere,
about whom nothing was known, and married her on the sly at a
registry-office. I suppose it would be too unkind to assume that Guy
had gone off his head?"
Lord Southleigh growled out from his easy-chair. "Of course he was off
his head when he did it. And the devil of it is he seems just as much
off his head now. They are like turtle-doves, my dear boy, after
several months of marriage."
Lady Nina laughed. "My dear father gets more cynical every day. He
insinuates as a general proposition, anyway it can be deduced from his
remarks, that every man who marries a girl for love ought to be
disillusioned shortly after the honeymoon. Well, certainly Guy is as
much in love as ever, and, to be quite fair, she seems just as much in
love with him."
"She's putting it on, I suppose," suggested Hugh, who in a less
obtrusive fashion was nearly as cynical as his host. "If she came from
nowhere, and nobody knows anything about her, we may safely assume that
she married him for his money, and that he was too infatuated to
recognise the fact. Is she very bewitching?"
"She is certainly very good-looking," was Nina's reply. "Many people
say she is beautiful. From a man's point of view, she would be
considered very charming in a subtle and elusive sort of way. Of
course, my father hates her, it is a terrible shock to his pride to
think she is going to inherit the family honours. Guy could have
married anybody, although there would always have been still the danger
that he would have been married for his money. When it comes to this
point, there is not much difference between the well-born and low-born
adventuress."
From which remarks it will be gathered that the Lady Nina Spencer was a
young woman of independent opinions, and not too strongly imbued with
caste prejudices.
Hugh reflected for a few moments. His thoughts had travelled back to
those days at Blankfield, which now seemed so very far off. What folly
will not a certain type of man commit for the sake of a pretty woman?
Jack Pomfret, in a moment of frenzy, had taken his life when he found he
was tied up to a girl the accomplice and the decoy of a criminal.
And Guy Spencer, a man of a very different type from the easy-going,
pleasure-loving Pomfret, had made a hash of his opportunities, flouted
his family obligations, to pursue the desire of the moment, to marry out
of his own class.
"What I hear is, that there is something very mysterious about her, that
she preserves a strange reticence as to her past, makes no allusion to
family or relatives. Does Guy know what other people do not know, and
is he keeping his mouth shut? It is strange. Even if a man marries a
ballet-girl, it comes out sooner or later that her father was a railway
porter, or something of that sort." He pulled himself up suddenly, and
added, awkwardly: "I say, you know, I am afraid I have been very
indiscreet. I forgot for the moment that she is one of the family now."
A deep growl came from the Earl's armchair: "She is not one of the
family, she never will be. If the young fool had not been left that
money by his godmother he would never have dared to do this disgraceful
thing. By gad, Hugh, it is over a hundred years since there was such a
_mesalliance_ in our family: please Heaven it will be a hundred years
before there is another."
Nina took up the conversation at the point where her angry father left
it.
"Of course, Hugh, you can say what you like. You are our old friend;
you are Guy's for that matter, and we are prepared to discuss this thing
with you quite frankly. Guy may know more than we imagine; personally,
I think he knows very little, and only what she has told him."
"But surely, she must have given some particulars of herself," cried
Hugh, in amazement that a man like his friend Spencer, endowed with a
fair share of common-sense, should take a wife upon trust, as it were.
To be sure, Pomfret had done the same thing, but then poor old Jack,
possessor of many excellent qualities, was singularly deficient in
brain-power. He was one of those who never looked before they leaped.
Nina shrugged her shoulders. "All we know is that she was a Miss Stella
Keane, the daughter of a man who gambled away his fortune at cards and
on the race-course. As for relatives, she has for cousin a Mrs
L'Estrange, a woman of good birth, but of somewhat shady reputation, who
no longer mixes with her own class. There is another cousin, a man
whose name I forget. I gather more from what has been omitted than what
is actually said, that he is not a very desirable person, and has not
visited Mrs Spencer since her marriage. That is all I have learned
during these many months."
"Not much, certainly. And I suppose the lady dries up when you try to
approach her on the subject."
"Oh yes, her manner then is very marked," was Nina's answer. "At the
slightest question she seems to become frozen, to shut herself up within
her shell. You know, Hugh, I was prepared to make the best of it all
for Guy's sake, although, of course, I quite sympathise with my father's
resentment. I have nothing to say against her manners or her
appearance. If not a lady, she is most ladylike, and she never offends.
But all the same, I can't take to her. To me there seems something
about her secretive and underhand. She appears to adore Guy, but, as
you have suggested, that may be very accomplished acting."
At this point, Miss Crichton, Lady Nina's friend, was announced. She
was not in the inner counsels of the Southleigh family, so no further
allusion was made to Guy's wife.
A few moments later the Spencers arrived. Guy shook his old friend
Murchison warmly by the hand, they had met of late years only once or
twice during Hugh's brief leave from the Front. When they had exchanged
a few mutual inquiries, the young husband turned to his wife, looking
very slender and elegant in a filmy cream confection.
"Stella, one of my oldest friends, Hugh Murchison. We were boys
together. You must have heard me speak of him."
The young woman held out her hand with a charming smile that lighted up
the rather sad face, and made her look what so many of her admirers said
she was, quite beautiful.
"Yes, Major Murchison, I have heard of you from my husband, and how much
you have suffered in this cruel war. You must come and see us, and
renew your old friendship."
For a moment Hugh could not speak. The room seemed suddenly peopled
with ghosts of the past, summoned by the soft tones of that charming
voice, so low and sweetly modulated. Then, collecting himself with a
great effort, he dropped her hand, and made some formal answer. And at
that moment the butler announced that dinner was served.