THE NEW BEAUTY DISCUSSED.
A group of young aristocrats stood in the billiard-room of Bar's Club.
Some one had played a game and won it, some one else had lost; there had
been high betting, but, strange to say, for once money had lost its
charm--billiards their attraction.
"I am told," said the Honorable Charlie Balsover, "that it is a treat to
look at her. My sisters were both at the drawing-room, and they declare
that they have seen nothing like it."
"Women cannot judge of women," said Major Maitland, contemptuously.
The Honorable Charlie looked up haughtily.
"My sisters are as good judges of beauty as any one in England," he
said, hastily.
"There can be no question about it," interrupted Lord Piercy; "Lady
Studleigh is, _par excellence_, the beauty of the season. I saw her
myself, and--well, it takes a great deal to satisfy me, but she did it."
"We shall have the noble Piercy, spurred and booted, going in for a
conquest," laughed another.
"No, my dear boy; I am, fortunately for me, in the full possession of
all my senses. I took my own measure very accurately long ago, and I,
for one, should never aspire to such a conquest as that of the Lady
Studleigh."
"What rare and touching humility," laughed a fair-haired officer. "I
should like to see this paragon."
At that moment they were joined by a tall, handsome man, who, until that
moment, had been standing alone at the billiard-table, practicing a
stroke he wished to master. He sauntered to the little group.
"I have not heard one word that you have been saying, but from the
peculiar expression of Piercy's face, I would wager that you are talking
of beauty in some shape or other," he said.
"We are talking of a new star which has suddenly arisen in the
fashionable skies--the beautiful, golden-haired Lady Studleigh, Lord
Linleigh's daughter."
"What of her?" asked Lord Charles Vivianne. "If anything interesting,
tell me quickly. At this moment the click of the billiard-balls is
sweeter to my ears than the praise of fair woman."
"It is my opinion," said Colonel Clifford, laughing, "that in Vivianne's
case 'a burnt child dreads the fire.' A little bird whispered to me some
romantic story about Florence and some lovely being to whom he was
devoted there."
Lord Vivianne turned fiercely on him--so fiercely that those present
looked grave.
"It would be as well for you, Clifford," he said, "to refrain from
talking of that which does not concern you."
"My dear boy," replied the colonel, "I meant no harm. If I had known
that Florence was a sore subject with you I would not have touched upon
it."
"Who said it was a sore subject?" cried Lord Vivianne, passionately.
Then, seeing that in all probability a quarrel would ensue, Major
Maitland interfered.
"We are forgetting the subject under discussion," he said. "You asked me
what it was, Lord Vivianne. We were speaking of the wonderful beauty of
Lady Studleigh, the handsome earl's daughter. Have you seen her yet?"
"No," he replied, "I have not."
"Then, by all means, contrive to do so. The Prince of B---- is almost
wild about her. Every one ought to see her, just to know what a really
beautiful woman is like."
Then Colonel Clifford, anxious to make up the quarrel, went off in a
long and rapturous description of the fair lady's beauty and grace.
"I shall be sure to see her," said Lord Vivianne, briefly. "To tell the
truth, I do not feel much interested. A beautiful face is a rarity, and
the chances are ten to one the owner is either a simpleton or a flirt.
I, for one, shall not offer my admiration at the new beauty's shrine.
_Au revoir._"
And with his usual proud, careless step, Lord Vivianne walked away. The
others looked curiously after him.
"I never saw a man so completely changed in all my life," said Colonel
Clifford. "He used to be so good-humored, fond of a jest, and able to
bear any amount of teasing; and now, one word, and he is like a madman.
I shall begin to think what I have heard of him is true."
"What is that?" asked the Honorable Charlie Balsover.
"I was told that he fell in love at Florence. I did not hear all the
particulars, but I was told that he completely lost his heart there."
"He never had a heart to lose," said one.
"Who was the lady?" asked another.
"I do not know. Some one said she was a princess in disguise; others,
that she was of low origin, but of marvelous beauty. The whole affair
was a mystery. Some said she was English, others that she was
Florentine; in any case, it is believed that she jilted him, and he has
never been the same man since. He used to boast that no woman had ever
resisted him. I believe that he fancied he was irresistible. Perhaps he
does not like learning his lesson."
"The biter generally gets bitten," said the Honorable Charlie. "I should
not wonder if some one has avenged the wrongs of the sex upon him. He
has certainly gone to great lengths."
"Why not call a spade a spade?" said Major Maitland. "Give his follies
the right name. He has broken more hearts, ruined more homes, dragged
more fair faces through the dust, than any man of his age in England.
Serves him right, I say, if he has something to suffer in his turn."
Which was all the sympathy Lord Vivianne received when he was supposed
to have suffered at the hands of a woman.
He thought but little over what had been said about Lady Studleigh.
"Men were always making idols of some woman or other," he said to
himself. "If they choose to go mad in crowds over the handsome earl's
daughter, let them; I, for one, shall not join them."
It had been a great blow to him, the loss of Doris. That one love was
the master passion of his life. He had not intended it to be; he had
only thought of her at first as one whose beauty was well worth the
winning. Afterward, when her strange fascination, her wonderful grace,
her marvelous talent and wit had bound him fast in her chains, he gave
her the one great love of his life, none the less fierce and passionate
because he had had many love affairs.
While they were still at Florence, he had made up his mind to one of two
things, either to be true to her all his life, and spend all his life
with her, or to marry her. As his love increased, his scruples died
away; he would marry this beautiful girl, whose coldness had a charm for
him that nothing else ever possessed. His love grew fiercer as she grew
colder; he had made up his mind that she should never be parted from
him--that he would slay any one who tried to separate them.
When he found that she had left him, many long months did he spend in
searching for her. He had quite decided what to do when he did find her.
If any one had bribed her to leave him, the crime should be most dearly
avenged. He would tell her that he was willing to make her his wife, and
then he would marry her.
"Marry her!" he repeated the words to himself, with a bitter laugh. He
would have done anything, have slain her and killed himself, rather than
leave her again, or let her go out of his life. She would, of course, be
delighted to be Lady Vivianne; it was not likely that she would refuse
such an offer. He sneered at himself for being willing to make it; he
sneered at himself for his own great, overweening love. He hated himself
because it had won such power over him--because it had humbled him even
to the yoke of marriage.
"I shall be the first Vivianne who has ever done anything of this kind,"
he said to himself, yet all the same he resolved to do it. Having
wrought himself up to this height of heroism, it was humiliating in the
extreme to find it all in vain--he could find no trace of the girl he
intended to marry. Whether she had left him in a fit of pique because he
had not married her, whether she had gone away in a sudden access of
sorrow and regret, he did not know. He was only sure of one thing--she
was gone.
Had she left him for any one else, or in one of her sudden caprices? She
was capricious enough for anything--it was just one of the things that
she was likely to do. For all he knew, she had been near him all the
time; she was quite capable of that. He knew that to her his long
search, his fever of anxiety, his despair, would only be a comic
entertainment; yet, knowing all this, judging her as he did, believing
her to be capable of almost anything, still he could not help loving her
with the whole force and power of his soul; it was the influence that a
wicked woman does obtain at times over a wicked man, and it is stronger
than any other.
He came to England at last, despairing to hear any news of her abroad.
He argued to himself that if she were still in Italy he should certainly
have heard of it; a face like hers could be remarked anywhere; he should
have heard of this golden-haired beauty, whose style of loveliness was
one so rarely seen in sunny Italy.
He had been in London now for some weeks, but he had heard nothing, and
was puzzled what to do next. He never dreamed of looking for her there,
in the upper world of fashion; he had no idea, not even the faintest, of
ever seeing her. If she were the reigning star in any other world, he
would have heard of her before this. With his mind so perplexed and
agitated, his soul tossed on a tempest of love, he had no thought to
spare for any one else. Let people rave about Lady Studleigh, let her be
as beautiful as she would, she could not surpass Doris.
In the meantime Lady Studleigh was creating a sensation to which the
fashionable world had long been a stranger. She was the queen of the
season. Hyde House was the most popular resort in London; to be admitted
there was to have the _entree_ to the most exclusive circle; to be
unknown there was to be unknown to fame.
It was not often that one house held two such women as the Countess of
Linleigh and Lady Studleigh. The countess was all grace, and suavity,
and high breeding; Lady Studleigh all brilliancy, beauty, and wit. Even
old courtiers, who had seen some of the first beauties of both empires,
declared there was nothing to equal her. Another great attraction to all
clever people was the constant presence of the now famous poet, Earle
Moray, at Hyde House. His conversation was a great charm, although some,
wiser and more thoughtful than others, said it was hardly right to
expose a young and talented man like Earle Moray to the constant
fascinations of Lady Doris Studleigh.
She bore her triumph with a certain grand calm that impressed her
parents wonderfully.
"Race does tell, after all," said the duchess, as she watched the young
beauty. "Any other girl would have shown some elation at the great
amount of admiration offered--Lady Studleigh shows none. After all, race
will tell."
Invitations came for a royal ball, and it was remarked by all present
that the whole of the royal circle seemed to look upon the proud young
beauty with great favor. Then came invitations to a royal concert. One
of the young princesses, whose marriage was then on the _tapis_,
declared that she would have the Lady Doris on the list of her
bridesmaids. No _fete_ was considered a success without her--a ball
without Lady Studleigh was almost a failure.
"That girl has homage enough paid her to turn her head," said the earl,
laughingly, to his wife.
The countess sighed.
"My dear Ulric," she said, "I think it would require a great deal to
move either her heart or her head; both seem to me equally safe."
"You always sigh when you speak of Doris. Why is it, dear?" asked Lord
Linleigh.
"I cannot help wishing that she had less beauty and more love," she
replied. "There are many perils in this world--perils of soul and of
body--but I think the greatest of all is certainly the perils of
beauty."
"I think you are right," observed the earl; "but we must hope, having
escaped so far, she will escape the rest."