ROSES AND RAPTURES
In a time of fair summer, amid varied scenes of beauty, the next phase
of Evarne's life glided past--vivid, brilliantly happy--as devoid of
apprehension or sense of finality as is the dream of a lotus-eater. As
the spring advanced, and Naples became over-sultry for those reared in
northern climes, Morris took her to cooler regions. Together they
wandered through Switzerland and the Austrian Tyrol, and only with the
approach of the winter season were they again in residence at "Mon
Bijou."
With the ensuing spring, Morris's restless spirit once more asserted
itself, and the summer saw them in London. There he held a social
position which led him into circles where no man can introduce a woman
who occupies the position Evarne now held. But he saw that plenty of
diversions and gaieties of one kind and another came her way. She was
still interested in her Art, and, happy in love given and returned, she
wasted no sighs over those society gatherings from which she was forever
strictly tabooed.
Morris studied appearances to the extent of paying an occasional brief
visit to Mrs. Kenyon at their country home; in the autumn, too, he
sometimes left Evarne to her own devices in the flat wherein she was
mistress, while he joined shooting parties at various country houses.
But at the first breath of winter he was quite ready to be coaxed back
to the girl's little Paradise on earth, "Mon Bijou."
On their settling down once more at Naples, she was again seen at
Florelli's, bent on making up for lost time. Her artistic studies had
been of necessity but intermittent. In Morris she beheld her paramount
duty; he had been as ardent and jealous as any young lover, lamenting
and grudging every minute that Art took her from his service. He laughed
at the persistence with which she continued to snatch stray hours for
drawing. Her future was his care now, he insisted. He hated to think of
those soft, brown eyes squandering their beams upon inanimate objects.
Why did she want to waste any of the precious hours of her glorious
youth shut up in a crowded, overheated studio, that stank of paint and
turpentine and microbes and humanity?
But Evarne had not entirely abandoned the study of Philosophy for that
of Love. She told him, with fascinating seriousness, that in order to
maintain the mental balance that was described as "Happiness," it was
necessary to both cultivate and provide an outlet for the intellectual
faculties, as well as for those impulses that were revelling with such
joyous abandon amid "the roses and raptures of vice."
Thus she was sadly disappointed when, within a fortnight of settling
down once more seriously to work, Morris announced that he was going to
Paris for a week or two, and of course expected her to accompany him.
She had just arrived at one of those stages, so delightful to pass
through in any study, when a distinct advance in power is felt. The
close of each day's efforts left her with the exhilarating feeling of
having surpassed herself--of having successfully overstepped her
previous highest limit. To abandon her work at this crisis was the last
thing she desired.
"Morris, dearest," she pouted in sudden protest, "why do we wander about
so very much? It is so delightful here."
"But I must go to Paris now. I have business."
"I thought you never had to do anything you didn't want to? Anyway,
dearie, couldn't you live without me for a fortnight? I know how it will
be! If you have got me with you we shall end up by roaming all through
the winter, but if I am here at 'Mon Bijou,' waiting for you--why, then,
you will return quickly."
Morris protested, but in the end Evarne for once took her own way. It
was quite unusual for her not immediately and unhesitatingly to set
aside her own wishes should they chance to conflict with those of her
lover; on the other hand, Morris always duly consulted her respecting
the plans and arrangements of their mutual life, and had never realised
how entirely it was his will alone that controlled their movements. Now
his vanity was wounded--not so much that she should question his
arrangements, as that the form the opposition took should actually imply
her willingness to bear a separation. It was something fresh and strange
in his wide experience, and--to his way of thinking--far from
flattering! What he always expected was the necessity of soothing
jealous fears and apprehensions arising from periods of absence of his
own making.
Thus he went off with a feeling of displeasure against Evarne that was
new. He did not comprehend that it was the very knowledge of the
strength of her own affection that enabled her to see him leave the arc
of her personal magnetism and influence without feeling any anxiety. In
London she had been forced to spend days alone while he was in the
company of others--women, high-born, beautiful, no doubt--yet she had
never feared for his loyalty. Sweet, blind trust!
* * * * *
Shortly after his return from Paris, Morris showed that he had no
intention of spending the whole of the winter and spring at Naples, as
he had done during the two previous years.
"I've got a bright idea," he announced one evening. "Let us spend the
winter in Egypt, voyaging up the Nile with a party of our gayest,
jolliest pals. What say you, Evarne? I know of a dahabeah, built for
private use, that has lost its income, I suppose, for now it's willing
to let itself out on hire. I wrote concerning it, and here's the answer,
together with any number of photographs, both of its personal appearance
and its internal regions."
He passed over a pile of papers, which the girl studied with keen
interest. Morris, Naples and the studio was a triple combination that it
had seemed impossible to improve upon; nevertheless, Morris, Egypt and a
gay, bright party formed a decidedly alluring prospect if an alternate
programme for the winter months was not to be avoided.
"Now, whom would you like to invite? We must resign ourselves beforehand
to the idea that it will probably be the grand finale of our
acquaintance with all whom we honour by our choice. The best of friends
invariably quarrel on long voyages."
"You and I will set them such an example that concord and harmony will
reign supreme, won't we? _Absit omen._"
"I really think we may defy Fate on that point, little sweetheart. Now,
to business! We can have eight besides our charming selves. Let's ask
the Varesios--see what they gain by being able to speak English. Then
there are those rowdy Philmers from London--that's four. Then
Giuseppe--he'll keep us lively too; he's like a jolly English boy, isn't
he? Not too overwhelmingly polite. Then there's Tom Talling--we must
have some more women, mustn't we?"
"I think equal numbers are best."
"Oh, wise young judge! Well, look here, we can transport Talling to
heaven as well as Egypt if we like to give him permission to invite that
little French girl he's so mad over--Justine Feronnier, she's called.
She's a quiet, demure little minx, with curious, flaxen hair. She looks
down the side of her nose all the time, as if she had just come out of a
convent school. I'm sure you can't dislike her, and I should be glad to
do Tom a good turn. Do you mind?"
"Not a bit. Who else?"
"Um-m-m, who? Good gracious, I was forgetting Tony Belmont."
"The man you were with so much in Paris last month?"
"That's it. He must come, and we will tell him to bring Lucinda."
"Is Lucinda another little minx, like Tom's friend?"
"Well, she chooses to describe herself as Mrs. Belmont, and it wouldn't
be kind to show undue curiosity concerning the date and place of the
wedding ceremony. We've settled upon one too many, haven't we? But
Guiseppe is well accustomed to being tucked in as a sort of makeweight,
so I declare this parliament prorogued."
"Tell me, what is the dahabeah called?"
"'The Waterfowl' at present, but that's only fit for a houseboat on the
Thames. I shall rechristen her 'Evarne the Beautiful,'" and Morris
smiled indulgently.
But the girl shook her head, declaring with a touch of coquettish
self-confidence that she could not consent to such a name being chosen.
One Evarne the Beautiful was quite enough to occupy all his thoughts.
"Then, Lady Vanity, you must exercise your own ingenuity," he answered,
and after a moment's solemn hesitation over the rival merits of "The
River Queen" and "The Radiant Isis," Evarne decided on the latter name
as more appropriate to a craft destined to breast the waters of Old
Nile.
Each desired guest accepted the invitation with flattering alacrity, and
ere long "The Radiant Isis" was fairly off upon her voyage up the great
river of the land of the Pharaohs.