Anthony Pennell had promised to let Margaret Pullen hear the result
of his visit to the Red House, and as he entered her presence on the
following evening, she saluted him with the queries,
“Well! have you been there? Have you seen her?”
To which he answered soberly,
“Yes! I have been there and I have seen her!”
“And what do you think of her? What did she say? I hope she was not
rude to you!”
“My dear Mrs. Pullen,” said Pennell, as he seated himself, and prepared
for a long talk, “you must let me say in the first place, that I should
never have recognised Miss Brandt from your description of her! You led
me to expect a _gauche_ schoolgirl, a half-tamed savage, or a juvenile
virago. And I am bound to say that she struck me as belonging to none
of the species. I sent your note of introduction to Madame Gobelli,
and received a very polite invitation in return, in accordance with
which I dined at the Red House yesterday.”
“You _dined_ there!” exclaimed Margaret with renewed interest. “Oh! do
tell me all about it, from the very beginning. What do you think of
that dreadful woman, the Baroness, and her little humpty Baron, and did
you tell Miss Brandt of Ralph’s impending marriage?”
“My dear lady, one question at a time, if you please. In the first
place I arrived there rather sooner than I was expected, and Madame
Gobelli had not returned from her afternoon drive, but Miss Harriet
Brandt did the honours of the tea-table in a very efficient manner, and
with as much composure and dignity as if she had been a duchess. We had
a very pleasant time together until the Baroness burst in upon us!”
“Are you chaffing me?” asked Margaret, incredulously. “What do you
really think of her?”
“I think she is, without exception, the most perfectly beautiful woman
I have ever seen!”
“_What!_” exclaimed his companion.
She had thrown herself back in her armchair, and was regarding him
as if he were perpetrating some mysterious joke, which she did not
understand.
“How extraordinary; how very extraordinary!” she exclaimed at length,
“that is the very thing that Ralph said of her when they first met.”
“But why extraordinary? There are few men who would not endorse the
opinion. Miss Brandt possesses the kind of beauty that appeals to the
senses of animal creatures like ourselves. She has a far more dangerous
quality than that of mere regularity of feature. She attracts without
knowing it. She is a mass of magnetism.”
“O! do go on, Mr. Pennell! Tell me how she received the news you went
to break to her!”
“I never broke it at all. There was no need to do so. Miss Brandt
alluded to the magnificent Captain Pullen’s marriage with the greatest
nonchalance. She evidently estimates him at his true value, and does
not consider him worth troubling her head about!”
“You astonish me! But how are we to account then for the attitude
she assumed towards Miss Leyton, and the boast she made of Ralph’s
attentions to her?”
“Bravado, most likely! Miss Leyton goes to the Red House all aflame,
like an angry turkey cock, and accuses Miss Brandt of having robbed her
of her lover, and what would you have the girl do? Not cry Peccavi,
surely, and lower her womanhood? She had but one course--to brave it
out. Besides, you have heard only one side of the question, remember! I
can imagine Miss Leyton being very ‘nasty’ if she liked!”
“You forget the letters which Miss Brandt wrote to Ralph and which were
found in his empty grate at Richmond!”
“I do not! I remember them as only another proof of how unworthy he is
of the confidence of any woman.”
“Really, Mr. Pennell, you seem to be all on Miss Brandt’s side!”
“I am, and for this reason. If your ideas concerning her are
correct, she displayed a large amount of fortitude whilst speaking
of your brother-in-law yesterday. But my own belief is, that you are
mistaken--that Miss Brandt is too clever for Ralph, or any of you--and
that she cares no more for him in that way than you do. She considers
doubtless that he has behaved in a most ungentlemanly manner towards
them all, and so do I. I did not know what excuse to make for Ralph! I
was ashamed to own him as a relation.”
“Harriet Brandt _did_ then confide her supposed wrongs to you!”
“Not at all! When she mentioned Ralph’s name, it was like that of any
other acquaintance. But when she was out of the room, the Baroness
told me that he had behaved like a scoundrel to the girl--that he had
never confided the fact of his engagement to her, but run after her
on every occasion, and then after having promised to join their party
in Brussels, and asked Madame Gobelli to engage his room for him, he
left for England without even sending her a line of apology, nor has he
taken the least notice of them since!”
“Ah! but you know the reason of his sudden departure!” cried Margaret,
her soft eyes welling over with tears.
“My dear Mrs. Pullen,” said Anthony Pennell, sympathetically, “even
at that sad moment, Ralph might have sent a telegram, or scratched a
line of apology. We have to attend to such little courtesies, you know,
even if our hearts are breaking! And how can you excuse his not having
called on them, or written since? No wonder the Baroness is angry. She
did not restrain her tongue in speaking of him yesterday. She said she
never wished to see his face again.”
“Does she know that Elinor went to the Red House?”
“I think not! There was no mention of her name!”
“Then I suppose we may at all events consider the affair _une chose
finie_?”
“I hope so, sincerely! I should not advise Master Ralph to show his
face at the Red House again. The Baroness said she longed to lay her
stick across his back, and I believe she is quite capable of doing so!”
“Oh! indeed she is,” replied Margaret, smiling, “we heard a great many
stories of her valour in that respect from Madame Lamont, the landlady
of the Lion d’Or. Has Miss Brandt taken up her residence altogether
with Madame Gobelli?”
“I think not! She told me her life there was very dull, and she should
like to change it.”
“She is in a most unfortunate position for a young girl,” remarked
Margaret, “left parentless, with money at her command, and in a strange
country! And with the strange stigma attached to her birth--”
“I don’t believe in stigmas being attached to one’s birth,” returned
Pennell hastily, “the only stigmas worth thinking about, are those we
bring upon ourselves by our misconduct--such a one, for instance, as my
cousin Ralph has done with regard to Miss Brandt! I would rather be in
her shoes than his. Ralph thinks, perhaps, that being a stranger and
friendless she is fair game--”
“Who is that, taking my name in vain?” interrupted a languid voice at
the open door, as Captain Pullen advanced into the room.
Margaret Pullen started and grew very red at being detected in
discussing her brother-in-law’s actions, but Anthony Pennell, who was
always ruffled by his cousin’s affected walk and drawl, blurted the
truth right out.
“_I_ was,” he replied, hardly touching the hand which Captain Pullen
extended to him, “I was just telling Mrs. Pullen of the high estimation
in which your name is held at the Red House!”
It was now Ralph’s turn to grow red. His fair face flushed from chin to
brow, as he repeated,
“The Red House! what Red House?”
“Did they not mention the name to you? I mean the residence of Madame
Gobelli. I was dining there yesterday.”
“Dining there, were you? By Jove! I didn’t know you were acquainted
with the woman. Isn’t she a queer old party? Baroness Boots, eh? Fancy
your knowing them! I thought you were a cut above that, Anthony!”
“If the Gobellis were good enough for you to be intimate with in Heyst,
I suppose they are good enough for me to dine with in London, Ralph! I
did not know until last evening, however, that you had left them to pay
for your rooms in Brussels, or I would have taken the money over with
me to defray the debt.”
Ralph had seated himself by this time, but he looked very uneasy and as
if he wished he had not come.
“Did the old girl engage rooms for me?” he stammered. “Well! you know
the reason I could not go to Brussels, but of course if I had known
that she had gone to any expense for me, I would have repaid her. Did
she tell you of it herself?” he added, rather anxiously.
“Yes! and a good many more things besides. As you have happened to come
in whilst we are on the question, I had better make a clean breast of
it. Perhaps you have heard that Miss Leyton has been to the Red House
and had an interview with Miss Brandt!”
“Yes! I’ve just come from Richmond, where we’ve had a jolly row over
it,” grumbled Ralph, pulling his moustaches.
“Your family all felt that sort of thing could not go on--that it
must end one way or the other--and therefore I went to the Red House,
ostensibly to view Madame Gobelli’s collection of china, but in reality
to ascertain what view of the matter she and Miss Brandt took--and to
undeceive them as to your being in a position to pursue your intimacy
with the young lady any further.”
“And what the devil business have you to meddle in my private affairs?”
demanded Captain Pullen rousing himself.
“Because, unfortunately, your mother happened to be my father’s
sister,” replied Pennell sternly, “and the scrapes you get in harm me
more than they do yourself! One officer more or less, who gets into a
scrape with women, goes pretty well unnoticed, but I have attained a
position in which I cannot afford to have my relations’ names bandied
about as having behaved in a manner unbecoming gentlemen.”
“Who dares to say that of me?” cried Ralph angrily.
“Everybody who knows of the attention you paid Miss Brandt in Heyst,”
replied Anthony Pennell, boldly, “and without telling her that you were
already engaged to be married. I do not wonder at Miss Leyton being
angry about it! I only wonder she consents to have any more to do with
you in the circumstances.”
“O! we’ve settled all that!” said Ralph, testily, “we had the whole
matter out at Richmond this afternoon, and I’ve promised to be a good
boy for the future, and never speak to a pretty woman again! You need
not wonder any more about Elinor! She is only glad enough to get me
back at any price!”
“Yes? And what about Miss Brandt?” enquired Pennell.
“Is she worrying about this affair?” asked Captain Pullen, quickly.
“Not a bit! I think she estimates your attentions at their true value.
I was alluding to the opinion she and her friends must have formed of
your character as an officer and a gentleman.”
“O! I’ll soon set all that right! I’ll run over to the Red House and
see the old girl, if you two will promise not to tell Elinor!”
“I should not advise you to do that! I am afraid you might get a warm
reception. I think Madame Gobelli is quite capable of having you soused
in the horse-pond. You would think the same if you had heard the names
she called you yesterday.”
“What did she call me?”
“Everything she could think of. She considers you have behaved not only
in a most ungentlemanly manner towards her, but in a most dishonourable
one to Miss Brandt. She particularly told me to tell you that she never
wished to see your face again.”
“Damn her!” exclaimed Captain Pullen, wrathfully, “and all her boots
and shoes into the bargain. A vulgar, coarse old tradesman’s wife! How
dare she----”
“Stop a minute, Ralph! The Baroness’s status in society makes no
difference in this matter. You know perfectly well that you did wrong.
Let us have no more discussion of the subject.”
Captain Pullen leaned back sulkily in his chair.
“Well! if I _did_ flirt a little bit more than was prudent with an
uncommonly distracting little girl,” he muttered presently, “I am sure
I have had to pay for it! Lord Walthamstowe insists that if I do not
marry Elinor before the Rangers start for Malta the engagement shall be
broken off, so I suppose I must do it! But it is a doosid nuisance to
be tied up at five-and-twenty, before one has half seen life! What the
dickens I am to do with her when I’ve got her, I’m sure I don’t know!”
“O! you will find married life very charming when you’re used to it!”
said Pennell consolingly, “and Miss Leyton is everything a fellow could
wish for in a wife! Only you must give up flirting, my boy, or if I
mistake not, you’ll find you’ve caught a tartar!”
“I expect to have to give up everything,” said the other with a sour
mouth.
As soon as he perceived a favourable opportunity, Anthony Pennell rose
to take his leave. He did not wish to quarrel with Ralph Pullen about
a girl whom he had only seen once, at the same time he feared for his
own self-control, if his cousin continued to mention the matter in so
nonchalant a manner. Pennell had always despised Captain Pullen for his
easy conceit with regard to women, and it seemed to him to have grown
more detestably contemptible than before. He was anxious therefore to
quit the scene of action. But, to his annoyance, when he bade Margaret
good-evening, Ralph also rose and expressed his wish to walk with him
in the direction of his chambers.
“I suppose you couldn’t put me up for the night, old chappie!” he said
with his most languid air.
“Decidedly not!” replied Pennell. “I have only my own bedroom, and I’ve
no intention of your sharing it. Why do you not go back to Richmond, or
put up at an hotel?”
“Doosid inhospitable!” remarked Captain Pullen, with a faded smile.
“Sorry you think so, but a man cannot give what he does not possess.
You had better stay and keep your sister-in-law company for a little
while. I have work to do and am going straight home!”
“All right! I’ll walk with you a little way,” persisted Ralph, and the
two young men left the house together.
As soon as they found themselves in the street, Captain Pullen attacked
his cousin, eagerly.
“I say, Pennell, what is the exact direction of the Red House?”
“Why do you want to know?” enquired his companion.
“Because I feel that I owe the Baroness a visit. I acknowledge that I
was wrong not to write and make my apologies, but you must know what it
is--with a deuce of a lot of women to look after, and the whole gang
crying their eyes out, and everything thrown on my shoulders, coffin,
funeral, taking them over from Heyst to England, and all--it was enough
to drive everything else out of a man’s head. You must acknowledge
that.”
“You owe no excuses to me, Pullen, neither do I quite believe in them.
You have had plenty of time since to remedy your negligence, even if
you did forget to be courteous at the moment!”
“I know that, and you’re quite right about the other thing. I had more
reasons than one for letting the matter drop. You are a man and I can
tell you with impunity what would set the women tearing my eyes out.
I _did_ flirt a bit with Harriet Brandt, perhaps more than was quite
prudent in the circumstances--”
“You mean the circumstance of your engagement to Miss Leyton?”
“Yes and No! If I had been free, it would have been all the
same--perhaps worse, for I should not have had a loophole of escape.
For you see Miss Brandt is not the sort of girl that any man could
marry.”
“Why not?” demanded Pennell with some asperity.
“Oh! because--well! you should hear old Phillips talk of her and her
parents. They were the most awful people, and she has black blood in
her, her mother was a half-caste, so you see it would be impossible
for any man in my position to think of marrying her! One might get a
piebald son and heir! Ha! ha! ha! But putting all that aside, she is
one of the demndest fascinating little women I ever came across--you
would say so too, if you had seen as much of her as I did--I can’t tell
you what it is exactly, but she has a drawing way about her, that pulls
a fellow into the net before he knows what he is about. And her voice,
by Jove!--have you heard her sing?”
“I have, but that has nothing to do that I can see with the subject
under discussion. You, an engaged man, who had no more right to
philander with a girl, than if you had been married, appear to me to
have followed this young lady about and paid her attentions, which
were, to say the least of them, compromising, never announcing the
fact, meanwhile, that you were bound to Miss Leyton. After which, you
left her, without a word of explanation, to think what she chose of
your conduct. And now you wish to see her again, in order to apologise.
Am I right?”
“Pretty well, only you make such a serious matter out of a little fun!”
“Well, then, I repeat that if you are wise, you will save yourself the
trouble, Ralph! Miss Brandt is happily too sensible to have been taken
in by your pretence of making love to her. She estimates you at your
true value. She knows that you are engaged to Elinor Leyton--that you
were engaged all the time she knew you--and, I think, she rather pities
Miss Leyton for being engaged to you!”
But this point of view had never presented itself before to the
inflated vanity of Ralph Pullen.
“_Pities_ her!” he exclaimed, “the devil!”
“I daresay it seems incomprehensible to you that any woman should not
be thankful to accept at your hands the crumbs that may fall from
another’s table, but with regard to Miss Brandt, I assure you it is
true! And even were it otherwise, I am certain Madame Gobelli would not
admit you to her house. You know the sort of person she is! She can be
very violent if she chooses, and the names she called you yesterday,
were not pretty ones. I had much trouble, as your relative, to stand
by and listen to them quietly. Yet I could not say that they were
undeserved!”
“O well! I daresay!” returned Ralph, impatiently. “Let us allow, for
the sake of argument, that you are right, and that I behaved like a
brute! The matter lies only between Hally Brandt and myself. The old
woman has nothing to do with it! She never met the girl till she went
to Heyst. What I want to do is to see Hally again and make my peace
with her! You know how easily women are won over. A pretty present--a
few kisses and excuses,--a few tears--and the thing is done. I
shouldn’t like to leave England without making my peace with the little
girl. Couldn’t you get her to come to your chambers, and let me meet
her there? Then the Baroness need know nothing about it!”
“I thought you told us just now, that you had had a reconciliation with
Miss Leyton on condition that you were to be a good boy for the future.
Does that not include a surreptitious meeting with Miss Brandt?”
“I suppose it does, but we have to make all sorts of promises
where women are concerned. A nice kind of life a man would lead,
if he consented to be tied to his wife’s apron-strings, and never
go anywhere, nor see anyone, of whom she did not approve. I swore
to everything she and old Walthamstowe asked me, just for peace’s
sake,--but if they imagine I’m going to be hampered like that, they
must be greater fools than I take them for!”
“You must do as you think right, Pullen, but I am not going to help you
to break your word!”
“Tell me where the Red House is! Tell me whereabouts Hally takes her
daily walks!” urged Captain Pullen.
“I shall tell you nothing--you must find out for yourself!”
“Well! you are damned particular!” exclaimed his cousin, “one would
think this little half-caste was a princess of the Blood Royal. What is
she, when all’s said and done? The daughter of a mulatto and a man who
made himself so detested that he was murdered by his own servants--the
bastard of a----”
“Stop!” cried Pennell, so vehemently that the passers-by turned their
heads to look at him, “I don’t believe it, and if it is true, I do not
wish to hear it! Miss Brandt may be all that you say--I am not in a
position to contradict your assertions--but to me she represents only a
friendless and unprotected woman, who has a right to our sympathy and
respect.”
“A friendless woman!” sneered Captain Pullen, “yes! and a doosid
good-looking one into the bargain, eh, my dear fellow, and much of your
sympathy and respect she would command if she were ugly and humpbacked.
O! I know you, Pennell! It’s no use your coming the benevolent
Samaritan over me! You have an eye for a jimper waist and a trim ancle
as well as most men. But I fancy your interest is rather thrown away in
this quarter. Miss Brandt has a thorny path before her. She is a young
lady who will have her own way, and with the glorious example of the
Baroness the way is not likely to be too carefully chosen. To tell the
truth, old boy, I ran away because I was afraid of falling into the
trap. The girl wishes intensely to be married, and she is not a girl
whom men will marry, and so--we need go no further. Only, I should not
be surprised if, notwithstanding her fortune and her beauty, we should
find Miss Harriet Brandt figuring before long, amongst the free lances
of London.”
“And you would have done your best to send her there!” replied Anthony
Pennell indignantly, as he stopped on the doorstep of his Piccadilly
chambers. “But I am glad to say that your folly has been frustrated
this time, and Miss Brandt sees you as you are! Good-night!” and
without further discussion, he turned on his heel and walked upstairs.
“By Jove!” thought Ralph, as he too went on his way, “I believe old
Anthony is smitten with the girl himself, though he has only seen her
once! That was the most remarkable thing about her--the ease with
which she seemed to attract, looking so innocent all the while, and
the deadly strength with which she resisted one’s efforts to get free
again. Perhaps it is as well after all that I should not meet her. I
don’t believe I could trust myself, only speaking of her seems to have
revived the old sensation of being drawn against my will--hypnotised, I
suppose the scientists would call it--to be near her, to touch her, to
embrace her, until all power of resistance is gone. But I do hope old
Anthony is not going to be hypnotised. He’s too good for that.”
Meanwhile Pennell, having reached his rooms, lighted the gas, threw
himself into an armchair, and rested his head upon his hands.
“Poor little girl!” he murmured to himself. “Poor little girl!”
Anthony Pennell was a Socialist in the best and truest sense of the
world. He loved his fellow creatures, both high and low, better than
he loved himself. He wanted all to share alike--to be equally happy,
equally comfortable--to help and be helped, to rest and depend upon
one another. He knew that the dream was only a dream--that it would
never be fulfilled in his time, nor any other; that some men would
be rich and some poor as long as the world lasts, and that what one
man can do to alleviate the misery and privation and suffering with
which we are surrounded, is very little. What little Pennell could
do, however, to prove that his theories were not mere talk, he did.
He made a large income by his popular writings and the greater part
of it went to relieve the want of his humbler friends, not through
governors and secretaries and the heads of charitable Societies, but
from his own hand to theirs. But his Socialism went further and higher
than this. Money was not the only thing which his fellow creatures
required--they wanted love, sympathy, kindness, and consideration--and
these he gave also, wherever he found that there was need. He set
his face pertinaciously against all scandal and back-biting, and
waged a perpetual warfare against the tyranny of men over women; the
ill-treatment of children; and the barbarities practised upon dumb
animals and all living things. He was a liberal-minded man, with a
heart large enough and tender enough to belong to a woman--with a
horror of cruelty and a great compassion for everything that was
incapable of defending itself. He was always writing in defence of
the People, calling the attention of those in authority to their
misfortunes; their evil chances; their lack of opportunity; and their
patience under tribulation. For this purpose and in order to know them
thoroughly, he had gone and lived amongst them; shared their filthy
dens in Whitechapel, partaken of their unappetising food in Stratford;
and watched them at their labour in Homerton. His figure and his kindly
face were well-known in some of the worst and most degraded parts of
London, and he could pass anywhere, without fear of a hand being lifted
up against him, or an oath called after him in salutation. Anthony
Pennell was, in fact, a general lover--a lover of Mankind.
And that is why he leant his head upon his hand as he ejaculated with
reference to Harriet Brandt, “Poor little girl.”
It seemed so terrible in his eyes that just because she was friendless,
and an orphan, just because her parents had been, perhaps, unworthy,
just because she had a dark stream mingling with her blood, just
because she needed the more sympathy and kindness, the more protection
and courtesy, she should be considered fit prey for the sensualist--a
fit subject to wipe men’s feet upon!
What difference did it make to Harriet Brandt herself, that she was
marked with an hereditary taint? Did it render her less beautiful,
less attractive, less graceful and accomplished? Were the sins of the
fathers ever to be visited upon the children?--was no sympathetic
fellow-creature to be found to say, “If it is so, let us forget it! It
is not your fault nor mine! Our duty is to make each other’s lives as
happy as possible and trust the rest to God.”
He hoped as he sat there, that before long, Harriet Brandt would find a
friend for life, who would never remind her of anything outside her own
loveliness and loveable qualities.
Presently he rose, with a sigh, and going to his bookcase drew thence
an uncut copy of his last work, “God and the People.” It had been a
tremendous success, having already reached the tenth edition. It dealt
largely, as its title indicated, with his favourite theory, but it was
light and amusing also, full of strong nervous language, and bristling
every here and there, with wit--not strained epigrams, such as no
Society conversationalists ever tossed backward and forward to each
other--but honest, mirth-provoking humour, arising from the humorous
side of Pennell’s own character, which ever had a good-humoured jest
for the oddities and comicalities of everyday life.
He regarded the volume for a moment as though he were considering if it
were an offering worthy of its destination, and then he took up a pen
and transcribed upon the fly leaf the name of Harriet Brandt--only her
name, nothing more.
“She seems intelligent,” he thought, “and she may like to read it. Who
knows, if there is any fear of the sad destiny which Ralph prophesies
for her, whether I may not be happy enough to turn her ideas into a
worthier and more wholesome direction. With an independent fortune, how
much good might she not accomplish, amongst those less happily situated
than herself! But the other idea--No, I will not entertain it for a
moment! She is too good, too pure, too beautiful, for so horrible a
fate! Poor little girl! Poor, poor little girl!”