The roseate hue that fled over the face of young Mr. Sheridan, when the
lady had spoken, was scarcely that which would have tinted the features
of the hardened man of the world which he had felt himself to be--for
some hours. But all the same, it was vastly becoming to the face at
which the lady was looking; and that is just what the lady herself
thought. She would have given worlds to have been unworldly enough to
be able to blush so innocently as Dick Sheridan. But she knew that the
peculiarity of the blush of innocence is its innocence, whereas she was
the favourite actress of the day.
She kept her eyes fixed upon him, and that boyish blush remained fixed
upon his face. He was not self-possessed enough to look at her; but
even if he had been so, he would not have been able to see the jealousy
which her smile indifferently concealed.
"I protest, madam," he began. "I protest that I scarce understand the
force of your remark--your suggestion----"
"Ah, my poor Dick, 'tis not alone a lady that doth protest too much,"
said the play-actress. "What force do you fancy any protest coming
from you would have while the eloquent blood in your cheeks insists on
telling the truth? The eloquence of the blush, unlike most forms of
eloquence, is always truthful. Come along with me to one of the quiet
corners,--I dare swear that you know them all, you young rascal, in
spite of that blush of yours; come along, and you shall get me a glass
of ice."
She gave him her hand with a laugh, and he led her to a nook of shrubs
and festooned roses at the farther end of the Long Room. The Rooms were
beginning to receive the usual fashionable crowd, and the word had gone
round that Mrs. Abington was present, so that she tripped along between
bowing figures in velvet and lace and three-cocked hats brushing the
floor. She saw that her companion was proud of his position by her
side, and she knew that he had every reason to be so; she hoped that he
would remain proud of her. The man who is proud of being by the side of
one woman cannot continue thinking only of the other woman.
And all the time Dick Sheridan was hoping that the people who saw him
conducting the beautiful lady to that pleasant place which, like all
really pleasant places, held seats only for two, would say that he was
a gay young dog, and look on him with envious eyes.
It was, however, of the lady that people talked.
But then, people were always talking of Mrs. Abington--especially the
people who never talked _to_ her.
She was wise enough to refrain from ignoring the topic which had caused
him to blush.
"What a whim to take possession of such a young woman as Miss Linley!"
she cried. "Have you tried to account for it, Dick? Of course I was
in jest when I suggested that she had smitten you. 'Twas your elder
brother who was her victim, was it not?"
He was strong enough, though he himself thought it a sign of weakness,
to say at once:
"'Twas Charlie who fancied that he was in love with her; but 'twas I,
alas! who loved her."
Mrs. Abington's lips parted under the influence of her surprise. She
stared at him for some moments, and then she said:
"Dick Sheridan, you are a man; and a few minutes ago I thought that you
were only a boy."
"I have known her since my father brought me from Harrow to Bath," said
he mournfully. "She was only a child; but I know that I loved her then.
I have loved her ever since, God help me!"
"My poor Dick! and you told her of your love?"
"Once; we were both children. Then we were separated, and when we met
again everything was changed. I think it was her beauty that frightened
me."
"I can believe that. A girl's beauty brings many men to her feet;
but I am sure that those who are worthiest among men are too greatly
overcome by it to do more than remain her worshipper from afar. Have
you anything more to tell me?"
He shook his head. His eyes were fixed upon the floor.
"Ah, that is your history--a blank, my lord! a blank?" said she in the
pathetic tone of Viola. "Ah, Dick, she cannot have guessed your secret,
or she would have been content to wait until the time came for you to
reveal it to her."
"Pray do not torture me by suggesting what might have come about!"
he cried. "Psha! I have actually come to be one of her commonplace
swains--her Damons and her Corydons--at whom I have been laughing all
day."
"Laughing?"
"Well, yes, in a sort of way."
"Oh, I know that sort of laughter. 'Tis not pleasant to hear."
"Such a batch of commonplace lovers. They went about in search of a
confidant. And I find that I am as commonplace as any of the crew."
"Nay, friend Dick; 'twas your confidante who went in search of you.
I tell you, Dick, that when I heard two days ago that your Elizabeth
Linley had made up her mind to marry Mr. Long, I gave Mr. Colman
notice that I would not play during the rest of the week, and I posted
down here to do my best to comfort you, my poor boy! Oh, do not stare
so at me, Dick! I am as great a fool as any woman can be, and that is
saying much; and I would not have confessed this to you if you had
not been manly enough to tell me that you love her still. I can only
respond to your manliness, Dick, by my womanliness; but I have done it
now, and yet you are only bewildered."
"I am bewildered indeed," said Dick, and he spoke the truth. "I do not
quite understand what--that is, I do not quite understand you."
"Oh, do you fancy that I expected you to understand me when I do not
understand myself?" she cried, opening and closing her fan nervously
half a dozen times, and then giving the most scrupulous attention to
the design painted on the satin between the ivory ribs. "Ah, what a
fool a really wise woman--a woman of worldly wisdom--can be when her
turns comes, Dick!" she said, after a rather lengthy pause.
Dick was more bewildered than ever. His knowledge of women was never
very profound. He was slightly afraid of this enigma enwrapped--but not
too laboriously--in brocade and misty lace.
"I think that you are a very kind woman, Mrs. Abington,"
said he at last. "'Twas very kind of you to come here solely
because--because--well, solely out of the goodness of your own heart;
and if you call this being a fool----"
He was startled by her outburst of laughter--really merry, spontaneous
actress's laughter; it almost amounted to a paroxysm as she lay
back on the pretty gilded sofa in the most charming attitude of
self-abandonment. Joyous humour danced in her eyes--and tears as well;
and once again she had closed her fan and was pointing it at him quite
roguishly. And the tears that had been in her eyes dropped down upon
the roseate expanse of her bosom, and two others took the place in her
eyes of those that had fallen, and her bosom was tremulous.
He looked at her, and was more bewildered than ever. What did this
mingling of laughter and tears and mocking gestures and throbbing
pulses mean? Was the woman in earnest? Was the actress acting?
He felt himself as bewildered as he could imagine a man being whose
boat is suddenly capsized when sailing in what he fancies to be smooth
water, but finds to be a whirlpool.
He somehow had lost confidence in his own power of judgment. He was
forced to apply to her for an explanation of her attitude. But before
he had opened his lips, that whirlpool of a woman was spinning him
round on another course.
"My dear friend Dick," she said--her voice had acquired something of
the uncertainty of her bosom: there was a throb in it--a throb that had
something of the quality of a sob,--"oh, my dear Dick, I find that I
must be very plain with you, and so I tell you plainly, Dick, that the
sole reason I have in coming hither at this time is my regard for your
future."
"For my future? I cannot see----"
"Ah, there are a great many things that you cannot see, Dick--thank
God, thank God! Your future, dear sir, is what troubles me. Well, I
frankly allow that my own ambition in this life does not extend beyond
the play-house. I am an actress, that is my life; I do not want to be
accounted anything else by man or woman--only an actress. And I have
in my mind something of a comedy which you are to write. Have you not
confided to me your hopes of some day writing a comedy--not that
burletta stuff about Jupiter and the rest of them at which you have
been working, but a true comedy? Mr. Garrick says he knows you have far
more talent than Mr. Cumberland."
"Mr. Garrick is not extravagant in his eulogy," said Dick, becoming
interested.
"No, he does not go too far. At any rate, I believe in your powers,
Dick, if they are but allowed scope, and I have posted hither with
the idea I have formed of the comedy which you are to write for me
without delay. What say you to the notion of a young woman marrying
an old man? Oh, no! you need not start and frown, Dick, for 'tis not
your charmer and her elderly choice that I have in my mind, though I
allow that 'twas the hearing of them put the thing into my head. No,
a young woman, who has lived all her life in the country--she is very
pretty (of course I am to play the part); marries an elderly gentleman
(Shuter would play the husband), and forthwith launches out into all
the extravagances of town life, to the terrible dismay of the old
gentleman. 'Twill give you a fine opportunity of laughing at him for
an old fool, who finds out that he is married to a young wife, but not
sooner than she finds out that she is married to an old husband. Dick,
Dick, you don't laugh. Is it possible that you fail to catch the idea
of the comedy?"
"Oh, no! I catch the idea. I wonder what sort of a life they will have?
Only Betsy will never want to come to town. All that she seeks is to be
left in the solitude of the country."
"Who was talking of your Betsy?" cried the future Lady Teazle. "And
who is there that can say with any measure of certainty what a young
woman will be after she has married? Cannot you perceive that this
must be the moral of the comedy? The young woman who appears to her
elderly beau to be quite content with the joys of country life, and
to entertain no longing for any dissipation more extravagant than a
game of Pope Joan with the curate, becomes, when once she has secured
her husband, the leader of the wildest set about town, and perhaps
eventually allows herself to be led away by a plausible scoundrel----"
Dick sprang from his seat with clenched hands, and before a second had
elapsed Mrs. Abington was by his side, and her fingers were grasping
her fan so tightly that the ivory ribs crackled.
"You cannot get Betsy Linley out of your head, although she is no
longer for you," she said in a low voice. "You are living in a fool's
paradise, and are delighted to live there, although some woman may be
at your hand who loves you better than you have ever hoped to be loved
by Betsy Linley, and who would repay your love better than your dreams
of Betsy Linley ever suggested to you. Take care, sir, that in the
story of Miss Linley's future, the plausible scoundrel does not enter
with more disastrous effect that ever I intended him to play in my
little comedy! That is my warning to you, friend Dick. And now, tell me
who is that pretty fellow that is staring at us yonder? I swear that I
have rarely seen a prettier!"
Some moments had passed before Dick Sheridan had recovered himself
sufficiently to answer her. He glanced in the direction indicated by
her, and saw that Tom Linley was standing a little way off.
"'Tis Tom Linley," said Dick.
"One of the brothers?"
"The eldest. You have puzzled me, Mrs. Abington. I should like to know
just what you meant when----"
"And I should like to know that young gentleman. If you do not beckon
him hither and present him to me, I shall apply to Mr. Hale to perform
that friendly office for me."
[Illustration: Dick sprang from his seat with clenched hands.
[_page 116._]
"I must know what you meant by introducing the idea of a comedy----"
"And I insist on your introducing young Mr. Linley. What, sir! are you
fearful lest that pretty youth may become, under my tuition, a fitting
subject for another serious comedy? No, no; no further word will you
get from me. I have said far too much already. Go home, Dick, and try
to recall something of all the nonsense that I talked in your hearing,
and if you succeed, believe me, you will know more of woman and a
woman's comedy than you have acquired during all your life."
"Am I to believe----"
"You are to believe nothing except the sincerity of my desire to see
you the foremost dramatic writer of our time. To become a true writer
of comedy needs discipline as well as a knowledge of the world, Dick,
and discipline is sometimes galling, my friend. But I have hope of you,
Dick Sheridan, and that is why I mean to leave you alone just now and
seek out that young Mr. Linley, who is, I vow, a vastly pretty fellow
and as like his beautiful sister as Apollo was like Psyche."
She kissed the tips of her closed fan and made a motion as if she were
about to hasten to where Tom Linley was still standing; but Dick laid
his hand on her arm.
"You have puzzled me thoroughly," said he. "But you shall have your new
toy. He will be discipline enough for you, for Tom has long ago buried
his heart in his violin."