THE PHOTOGRAPH AGAIN.
When fingers are set to work for the first time at dressing and
undressing any one else than their natural owner, they are apt to
feel uncommonly as if they were all thumbs; such, at least, was the
conclusion I came to at the outset of my career as lady's-maid. But
a very little practice sufficed to make the awkward sensation wear
off; and, after that, I was able easily to fulfil the duties of my
post. To these duties I had no dislike, and much preferred being
engaged in performing them to spending my time amongst other
domestics; for I could wait on two ladies without shocking my
self-respect in any way, whereas I felt ashamed and degraded at the
mere idea of being liable to be persecuted by a man like Perkins. I
tried hard to conquer this squeamishness, telling myself that it was
ridiculous and inconsistent for a woman like me to be so particular,
after having deliberately elected to knock about in the world, and
take what came. But my endeavours to reason myself into a sensible
view of the matter were in vain, and completely failed to uproot the
feeling that to be taken liberties with by a man-servant was a
humiliation not to be endured.
The Perkins incident having put me out of charity with the whole
class--females and males alike--to which he belonged, it was a
satisfaction to me that I was to be the sole attendant accompanying
Mrs. Rollin and Kitty Mervyn abroad. This obviated all danger, at all
events for the present, of my having to associate with obnoxious
comrades. On the score of being dull for want of company I felt no
uneasiness, for I knew by experience that I could amuse myself
perfectly well when left to my own devices. Besides--had I not now
the opportunity which I had desired for observing Kitty Mervyn,
and trying to make out her character? I habitually regarded every
one with indifference; but she had for me a strange fascination,
which was strong enough to overcome that indifference, and I was
quite astonished at the extent to which she interested me. Let me
enumerate some of the attractions and qualities, both bodily and
mental, of this young lady, who was at once my mistress, and
also--though she would have been very greatly surprised to be told
so--my connection.
In appearance she was tall, handsome, and imperial-looking, with a
bright and open expression of countenance. Her disposition was
upright, proud, honourable, and averse to everything mean. In
conversation she was clever, quick-witted, lively, and pleasant. And
as, furthermore, she was endowed with great social talent and a
remarkable knack of pleasing all with whom she came in contact, she
won hearts right and left, and was considered charming wherever she
went. She was, however, far from faultless. The germ of worldliness,
which inevitably creeps into an education amongst fashionable people,
had begun to develop itself, and to taint her nature; and the
conclave in her father's housekeeper's room had certainly not
erred in attributing to her pride and ambition. So marked was her
inclination to haughtiness that, when first I knew her, it sometimes
puzzled me why she should take the trouble she did to make herself
universally agreeable--even to people for whom she did not care,
from whom there was nothing to be gained in return, and who were
nobodies in her estimation. As, however, I came to understand her
better, I discovered the key to this enigma, and perceived that she
was actuated--whether consciously or only instinctively I do not
know--by a strong desire for two things which seemed almost as
indispensable to her as the air she breathed. These two things were
popularity and power, and without them she was never really happy.
Her frank genial manner was well adapted to make people believe her
to be an unreserved, easily-read individual; but the more attentively
I studied her, the less inclined did I feel to think that impression
a correct one. I had doubts whether she ever showed much of her real
self; whether there were not recesses, of unsuspected depth, hidden
within her where no mortal eye could penetrate; and whether she did
not often make use of unreserve as a mask to conceal its opposite.
The possibility of this made her all the more attractive to me.
Curiosity as to what might lie beneath the surface she presented to
the world, served to increase the drawing towards her that I had
always felt; and had I been so placed as to have a chance of making
friends with her, I should certainly have tried to do so. But it was,
as I well knew, hopeless to attempt such a thing in my present
position; for she was not the sort of girl to condescend to familiar
intercourse with social inferiors, and in her eyes I was simply a
maid. Under the circumstances, it would obviously be ridiculous if I
were to let myself become fond of her, and I resolved firmly not to
be guilty of any sentimental folly of the kind. Yet, in spite of this
prudent resolution, I must confess that I sometimes had hard work not
to yield to the indefinable charm which she had for me; and had she
vouchsafed me any special marks of favour, I am afraid I should
inevitably have made a fool of myself, and become romantically
devoted to her. As, however, I had no particular attraction for her,
such as she had for me, that fact contributed greatly to restrain my
liking within reasonable limits. To indulge in an unrequited
attachment had always seemed to me decidedly weak and contemptible
(notwithstanding that such a man as the author of the _Vita Nuova_
had done it); and it would have discomposed me immensely to detect
in myself any symptoms of being capable of that weakness.
In short, I was sufficiently smitten with Kitty to have cast prudence
to the winds, and let my whole heart go out to her, _if_ she had held
up her finger to me. But that little word "if" made just all the
difference. My sense of dignity might safely be reckoned on to assist
reason and prudence in fighting against an infatuation for any person
who did not care for me in return.
From London we proceeded to Paris; thence we travelled slowly across
France, stopping at various places of interest, and presently reached
Cannes, where my two ladies meant to make a stay of a week or so
before journeying on into Italy.
So far, I had seen and heard nothing to confirm the gossip about Lord
Clement's admiration for Kitty, which had been communicated to me by
the servants. But I received ample proof of its truth on the day
after our arrival at Cannes, and this happened in the following
manner:--
I was engaged in brushing the dust off a dress which Kitty had been
wearing, when I found in the pocket a letter which she had received
that morning from England. I did not hesitate to read it. When
letters have secrets in them, people do not leave them about, thought
I; so, since Kitty has not troubled to take this one out of her
pocket, of course there are no private matters in it, and there is no
reason why I should not see if the contents are amusing.
The epistle was from Lady Mervyn, and the portion of it which most
interested me ran thus:
"Lord Clement told me last week that he thought he should go yachting
to the Riviera at once, and as I have little doubt what is the
attraction that takes him there, I daresay you will see something of
him before long. I do hope, dearest Kitty, that you will not set
yourself against him, and that you will try and reconsider the answer
you gave him before. I am, as you know, the _last_ person to try to
over-persuade you into a marriage against your own inclinations; but
yet I cannot resist putting in a good word for him, for it touches
me to see how truly he loves you, and how constant to you he is,
in spite of your refusal. Besides that, he really is a man in a
thousand, and one to whom any mother would trust her daughter
joyfully. Not only has he the recommendations of rank and wealth, but
moreover he is unusually amiable, high-minded, conscientious, steady,
and superior to the temptations to folly and extravagance to which
young men in his position are so peculiarly open. With the exception
of yourself, I doubt there being a single girl in London--or in
England either--who would not accept him gladly, if only he asked
her. And I'm sure one can't wonder at his being so run-after as he
is, when one remembers what his money and position are, what immense
influence they give him, what an excellent character he bears, and
how thoroughly good he is in every way. However, you know already how
high he stands in my good graces, and I had better drop the subject
for fear of boring you by going over the same old tale again. Only do
remember, my darling, that it is only the earnest wish I have to
secure your happiness which makes me so anxious for you not to
dismiss him without well considering what you do. Otherwise you may,
perhaps, some day find yourself repenting your past decision, and
regretting that you were so persistent in rejecting one of the few
men of whom it may truly be said, that he is all that a husband
should be."
Not badly done, my lady, thought I, as I refolded the letter, and
restored it to its place. You knew what a tempting bait power is to
Kitty when you put in that bit about the influence which the young
man's position gives him. And you understood who you were writing to
when you reminded her of his attractiveness to other people--she's
likely enough to value goods at the price the rest of the world put
upon them. Evidently you, like the servants, are puzzled to account
for her indisposition to receive the proposals of this rich, titled,
desirable, and altogether delightful suitor. Well! it rather puzzles
me too. Can it be that she prefers some one else? No one seems to
suspect such a thing; but yet it might be true for all that. What if
that photograph I found in her purse were the explanation of the
mystery? There is no impossibility in the idea of a _tendresse_
existing between her and Captain Norroy, which they have hitherto
managed to conceal from other people. I wish I could see them
together, and then I should have some chance of discovering whether
this conjecture of mine is right or not.
Whilst speculating thus, a brilliant idea suddenly flashed into my
mind. This was, that I might avail myself of the surreptitiously-obtained
_carte-de-visite_ (which I had carefully preserved), in order to find
out what I wanted to know. I would produce it unexpectedly, when
there was no chance of Kitty's being particularly on guard, and watch
for any signs of emotion that she might show on seeing it.
Wrapped up exactly as it had been when in her purse, and even in the
self-same bit of paper, I put it into a blank envelope, which I
presented next time I went to wait on her.
"I picked this up on the floor, just outside," said I. "I was going
to take it to the landlord; but then I thought perhaps it might be
something of yours, as I found it close to the door of your room, so
I had better ask you about it first."
The envelope was not fastened, as I had feared that if it were closed
she would scruple to open it, which would be fatal to the success of
my stratagem.
"Thank you," she answered, taking it from me carelessly. "I don't
think it belongs to me, but I can soon see."
I was doing her hair at the time, and commanded an excellent view of
her face reflected in the looking-glass opposite which she sat. Her
expression of _insouciance_ vanished like magic when she had undone
the paper and seen what it contained. The colour rushed into her
face, which softened for a moment in a way I had never before seen it
do, then came a stern, rigid, haughty, resolute look, as though she
would defy the whole world to discover whatever secret she chose to
conceal.
She did not speak at first, but turned round the photograph again
and again, examining both it and the paper in which it had been
wrapped.
At last she said: "This certainly is my property; but I can't imagine
how it came to be where you found it. I fully believed it to have been
lost some time ago."
"Don't you think," I suggested, "that when you thought you had lost
it, you had perhaps really only slipped it into your writing-case, or
into some book or papers which you haven't happened to open since
then until now? Then it fell out without your noticing it, and either
you were at that time at the place where I picked it up, or else some
one's dress may have swept it there from your room. It was very near
to the door."
"That is _possible_, no doubt," she returned, thoughtfully. "Yet
still, I can hardly believe it to have happened so. I felt as
positive as one can be about anything, that it was not in an envelope
at all, and that I had put it"--she hesitated a moment, and then
finished, "somewhere else."
As she did not seem inclined to mention where she really had put it,
I thought I had better pretend to suppose that its destination had
been a photograph-album.
"It would be very easy to be mistaken about what you had done with
it, though," said I. "Probably when it was given you it was in an
envelope, and then you were interrupted just as you were going to
stick it into your book, and after that you forgot all about it, and
it got mislaid."
"Well, you may be right," she replied. "Indeed I don't see any other
way of accounting for the matter. But it is odd how I can have been
so completely wrong in the impression I had as to what I had done
with it."
The theory I had propounded seemed sufficiently plausible to content
her, and she did not again allude to the affair. But I had little
doubt that she thought about it a good deal for all that, because of
a new look which I noticed in her face occasionally during the next
day or two, and which was different from any other that I had seen
there hitherto. A gleam of soft light would flash out from her eyes,
accompanied by an expression of countenance which was curious,
half-ashamed, tender, and wistful, and gave the impression rather
of unhappiness than of the joy a girl would be likely to feel when
thinking of her lover. This look of sadness would last perhaps for a
minute, and then invariably be succeeded by one that was scornful,
hard, and impenetrable.
It was beyond me to interpret these signs satisfactorily. That
Captain Norroy had power to excite emotions of _some_ kind in her
breast I felt sure; but whether these emotions were pleasurable or
the reverse, I was unable to make out.