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BIRD OF PARADISE
by
ADA LEVERSON
Grant Richards Ltd. 1914
TO ERNEST
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I EXCUSES 9
II LADY KELLYNCH 25
III NIGEL 38
IV RUPERT AT RUMPELMEYER'S 49
V A HAPPY HOME 63
VI FUTURISM 77
VII RUSSIAN BALLET 90
VIII PERCY 95
IX AN ANONYMOUS LETTER 110
X MASTER CLIFFORD KELLYNCH 120
XI A DISCOVERY 129
XII A LOVE SCENE 142
XIII RECONCILIATION 150
XIV "TANGO" 155
XV CLIFFORD'S HISTORICAL PLAY 163
XVI A SECOND PROPOSAL 167
XVII MORE ABOUT RUPERT 172
XVIII "A SPECIAL FAVOUR" 177
XIX A DEVOTED WIFE 184
XX RUPERT AGAIN 192
XXI THE HILLIERS' ENTERTAINMENT 196
XXII BERTHA AT HOME 202
XXIII NIGEL'S LETTER 205
XXIV LADY KELLYNCH AT HOME 210
XXV MRS. PICKERING 219
XXVI NEWS FROM VENICE 227
XXVII ANOTHER ANONYMOUS LETTER 232
XXVIII AN INTERVIEW 237
XXIX NIGEL AND MARY 245
XXX MISS BELVOIR 256
XXXI MARY'S PLAN 263
XXXII PRIVATE FIREWORKS AT THE PICKERINGS' 267
XXXIII NIGEL ABROAD 284
XXXIV MOONA 289
XXXV TWO WOMEN 300
XXXVI PLAIN SAILING 313
CHAPTER I
EXCUSES
Poor Madeline came into the room a little flustered and hustled, with
papers in her muff. She found Bertha looking lovely and serene as usual.
Madeline Irwin was a modern-looking girl of twenty-three; tall, thin,
smart and just the right shape; not pretty, but very sympathetic, with
thick dark hair and strongly marked eyebrows, a rather long and narrow
face, delicately modelled, a clear white complexion, and soft, sincere
brown eyes.
Bertha--Mrs. Percy Kellynch--was known as a beauty. She was indeed
improbably pretty, small, plump and very fair, with soft golden hair
that was silky and yet fluffy, perfectly regular little features, and a
kind of infantine sweetness, combined with an almost incredible
cleverness that was curious and fascinating. She was of a type remote
equally from the fashion-plate and the suffragette, and was so
physically attractive that one could hardly be near her without longing
to put out a finger and touch her soft, fair face or her soft hair; as
one would like to touch a kitten or a pretty child. And yet one felt
that it would not be an entirely safe thing to do; like the child or the
kitten she might scratch or run away. But it is probable that a large
average of her acquaintance had been weak enough--or strong enough--to
give way to the temptation and take the risk.
This charming little creature sat in a room furnished in clear, pale
colours--that was pink, white and blonde like herself. Madeline sat down
without greeting her, saying in a scolding voice, as she rustled a
letter:
"He's refused again ... more excuses ... always, always excuses!"
"Well, all the better; excuses are a form of compliment. I'd far rather
have a lot of apology and attenuation than utter coolness," said Bertha
consolingly. She had a low, even voice, and rarely made a gesture. Her
animation was all in her eyes. They were long, bluish-grey, with dark
lashes, and very expressive.
"Oh, you'd _like_ a man to write and say that he couldn't come to dinner
because it was his mother's birthday, and he always dined with her on
that occasion, and besides he was in deep mourning, and had influenza,
and was going to the first night at the St. James's, and was expecting
some old friends up from the country to stay with him, and would be out
of town shooting at the time?"
"Certainly; so much inventive ingenuity is most flattering. Don't you
think it's better than to say on the telephone that he wouldn't be able
to come that evening as he wouldn't be able to; and then ring off?" said
Bertha.
"Rupert would never do that! He's intensely polite; politeness is
ingrained in his nature. I'm rather hopeless about it all; and yet when
I think how sometimes when I speak to him and he doesn't answer but
gives that slight smile ..."
"How well I know that slight, superior smile--discouraging yet spurring
you on to further efforts! ... Rupert--Rupert! What a name! How can
people be called Rupert? It isn't done, you're not living in a
_feuilleton_, you must change the man's name, dear."
"Indeed I sha'n't! Nonsense; it's a beautiful name! Rupert Denison! It
suits him; it suits me. Bertha, you can't deny it's a handsome, noble
face, like a Vandyke portrait of Charles I, or one of those people in
the National Gallery. And he must take a certain amount of interest in
me, because he wants me to learn more, to be more cultured. He's so
accomplished! He knows simply everything. The other day he sent me a
book about the early Italian masters."
"Did he, though? How jolly!"
"A little volume of Browning, too--that tiny edition, beautifully
bound."
Bertha made an inarticulate sound.
"And you know he found out my birthday, and sent me a few dark red roses
and Ruskin's Stones of Venice."
"Nothing like being up to date," said Bertha. "Right up to the day after
to-morrow! Rupert always is. How did he find out your birthday?"
"How do you suppose?"
"I can't think. By looking in _Who's Who?_--going to Somerset House or
the British Museum?"
"How unkind you are! Of course not. No--I told him."
"Ah, I thought perhaps it was some ingenious plan like that. I should
think that's the way he usually finds out things--by being told."
"Bertha, why do you sneer at him?"
"Did I?--I didn't mean to. Why does he behave like a belated
schoolmaster?"
"Behave like a--oh, Bertha!"
Madeline was trying to be offended, but she could not succeed. It was
nearly impossible to be angry with Bertha, when she was present. There
were many reasons for this. Bertha had a small arched mouth, teeth that
were tiny and white and marvellously regular, a dimple in her left
cheek, long eyelashes that gave a veiled look to the eyes, and a
generally very live-wax-dollish appearance which was exceedingly
disarming. There was a touch, too, of the china shepherdess about her.
But, of course, she was not really like a doll, nor remote from life;
she was very real, living and animated; though she had for the
connoisseur all the charm of an exquisite _bibelot_ that is not for
sale.
* * * * *
Bertha was twenty-eight, but looked younger than her age. Madeline might
have been her senior. Under this peachlike appearance, and with the
premeditated _naivete_ of her manner, she was always astonishing people
by her penetration and general ingenuity; she was at once very quick and
very deep--quick especially to perceive and enjoy incongruities, and
deep in understanding them; extremely observant, and not in the least
superficial. Almost her greatest interest was the study of character;
she had an intellectual passion for going below the surface, and finding
out the little _coins inedits_ of the soul. She was rather unpractical,
but only in execution, and she had the gift of getting the practical
side of life well done for her, not letting it be neglected. Her
bonbonniere of a drawing-room seemed to be different from ordinary
rooms, though one hardly knew in what; partly from the absence of
superfluities; and somehow after many a triumph over the bewilderment of
a sulky yet dazzled decorator, Bertha had contrived, in baffling him, to
make the house look distinguished without being unconventional; dainty
without being artificial; she had made it suit her perfectly and, what
was more, the atmosphere was reposeful. Her husband always besought her
to do anything on earth she wished in her own home, rather in the same
way that one would give an intelligent canary _carte blanche_ about the
decoration of what was supposed to be its cage.
Percy Kellynch, the husband--he was spoken of as the husband (people
said: "Is that the husband?" or "What's the husband like?")--was a
rather serious-looking barrister with parliamentary ambitions, two mild
hobbies (which took the form of Tschaikowsky at the Queen's Hall and
squash rackets at the Bath Club), a fine forehead, behind which there
was less doing than one would suppose, polished manners, an amiable
disposition and private means.
For Madeline's sake, Bertha was interested in Rupert Denison, and
determined to understand him. When she reached bedrock in her friends,
it was not unusual for her to grow tired of them. But she was gentle and
considerate even to the people who left her cold; and when she really
cared for anyone, she was loyal, passionate and extraordinarily
tenacious.
* * * * *
"A schoolmaster!" repeated Madeline rather dismally. "Well! perhaps
there may be just a touch of that in Rupert. When I'm going to see him I
do feel rather nervous and a little as if I was going up for an exam."
"Well, let's say a holiday tutor," conceded Bertha. "He _is_ so
educational!"
"At any rate, he bothers about what I ought and oughtn't to know; he
pays me _some_ attention!"
"The only modern thing about him is his paying you so little," said
Bertha. "And, Madeline, we mustn't forget that young men are very
difficult to get hold of nowadays--for girls. Everyone complains of it.
Formerly they wouldn't dance, but they'd do everything else. Now,
dancing's the only thing they will do. People are always making bitter
remarks to me about it. There's not the slightest doubt that, except for
dancing, young men just now, somehow or other, are scarce, wild and
shy. And the funny thing is that they'll two-step and one-step and
double-Boston and Tango the whole evening, but that's practically all.
Oh, they're most unsatisfactory! Lots of girls have told me so. And as
to proposals! Why, they're the _rarest_ thing! Even when the modern
young man is devoted you can't be sure of serious intentions, except, of
course, in the Royal Family, or at the Gaiety."
"Well, _I_ don't care! I'm sure I don't want all these silly dancing
young men. They bore me to death. Give me _culture_! and all that sort
of thing. Only--only Rupert! ... Very often after he's refused an
invitation, like this of mother's, he'll write and ask me to have tea
with him at Rumpelmeyer's, or somewhere; and then he'll talk and talk
the whole time about ... oh, any general instructive subject."
"For instance?"
"Oh ... architecture!"
"How inspiriting!"
"But does it all mean anything, Bertha?"
"I almost think it must," she answered dreamily. "No man could take a
girl out to eat ices and talk of the cathedral at Rouen, or discuss
Pointed Gothic and Norman arches over tea and bread and butter, without
_some_ intentions. It wouldn't be human."
"It's quite true he always seems to take a good deal for granted,"
remarked Madeline.
"But not enough."
"Exactly!"
"Rupert would make a very good husband--if you could stand him," said
Bertha meditatively; "he's one of those thoroughly well-informed people
who never know what is going on."
"If I could _stand_ him! Why, Bertha! I'd work my fingers to the bone,
and lay down my life for him!"
"He doesn't want your life, and, probably, not bony fingers either, but
he'll want incense swung, _all_ the time, remember; and always in front
of him only. He won't be half as good-natured and indulgent as Percy."
"Of course, Percy's very sweet, and kind and clever, and devoted to
you," said Madeline, "but I always feel that it would have been more
your ideal to have married your first love, Nigel; and far more
romantic, too. He's so good-looking and amusing, and how delightfully he
sings Debussy!"
"Nigel! Oh, nonsense. There's no one more really prosaic. Debussy,
indeed! I met him with his wife the other night at the opera and he
introduced us. My dear, she's got flat red hair, an aigrette, a
turned-up nose, a receding chin and long ear-rings; and she's quite
young and very dowdy: the sort of dowdiness that's rather smart. She
loathed me--that is to say, we took a mutual dislike, and a
determination never to meet again, so strong that it amounted to a kind
of friendship; we tacitly agreed to keep out of each other's way. I
suppose there's such a thing as a sort of comradeship in aversion,"
Bertha added thoughtfully.
"Oh, Bertha, fancy anybody disliking you!"
"It's only because Nigel had told her, _in camera_, that he was in love
with me once, and that we were almost engaged."
"Did he say who broke it off?"
"Yes, I should think he told the truth--that he did--but he didn't
mention the real reasons, that he was horribly hard up and saw a chance
of marrying an heiress. I daresay, too, that he said no other woman
would ever be quite the same to him again, for fear Mrs. Nigel should be
too pleased. Nigel is nice and amusing and he's sometimes very useful.
He thinks he treated me badly, and really has got to appreciate me
since, and as he knows I'm utterly indifferent to him now, he's devoted,
I mean as a friend--he'll do anything on earth for me. He has absolutely
nothing to do, you see; it's a kindness to employ him."
"What do you give him to do?"
"It depends. This time I've told him to get hold of Rupert and ask us
all three--I mean you, and me and Rupert--to dine and go to some play.
It would be so much less ceremonious than asking Rupert here, with
Percy."
"Oh, darling Bertha, you're an angel! I always said Nigel was charming.
What about Mrs. Nigel, and Percy?"
"Don't worry; that shall be arranged. Their rights shall not be ignored,
nor their interests neglected! Percy's little finger is worth all Nigel.
Still, Nigel has his good points; he might help us in this. There are so
many things he can do, he's so _fin_--and adaptable, and diplomatic.
That young brother of his, Charlie, is in love with you, Madeline. Now,
he's a boy who _could_ marry, and who wants to. If you gave him only a
look of encouragement he would propose at once. And he has a good deal
of Nigel's charm, though he's not so clever, but he's very much
steadier. Really, it's a pity you don't like him. I'm sorry."
"Oh, I couldn't," said Madeline.
"He's quite a nice boy, too; and I know how much he likes you, from
Nigel."
"Oh, I couldn't!" Madeline repeated, shaking her head.
Bertha seemed silently to assent.
"And will dear Nigel ask me all the same to meet Rupert, Bertha?"
"Oh yes; we'll arrange it to-day. Nigel's delightfully prompt, and never
delays anything."
"And what will happen to Percy? You scarcely ever go out without him."
"Oh, I can persuade Percy, for once, that he wants his mother to go with
him to the Queen's Hall. And I'll make Lady Kellynch think it's rather a
shame of her to take my place; then she'll enjoy it. We'll arrange it
for next week. I'm expecting her this afternoon."
"Oh, are you? I'm always rather afraid she doesn't like me," said
Madeline pensively.
"She doesn't _dis_like you. She doesn't dislike anybody; only, simply,
you don't exist for her. My mother-in-law really believes that the whole
of humanity consists of her own family; first, her late husband; then
Percy, then Clifford, the boy at school, and, in a very slight degree,
me too, because I'm married to Percy. I do like Clifford, though he's a
spoilt boy, and selfish. But he's great fun. How his mother adores him!
I hope she won't stay long to-day--Nigel will be here at six."
Madeline fell into a reverie, a sort of mental swoon. Then she suddenly
woke up and said with great animation,--
"No, I suppose I dare not hope it!--I believe I should expire with
joy!--but he _never_ will! But if he _did_ propose, how do you suppose
he'd do it, Bertha?"
"Heaven knows--quote Browning, I suppose," said Bertha, "I don't often
meet that type. I can only guess. Do you care so much, Madeline?"
"_Do_ I care!"
"And you believe it's the real thing?"
"I know it is--on my side; it's incurable."
"Everyone says Rupert's a good fellow, but he seems to me a little--what
shall I say?--too elaborate. Too urbane; too ornate. He expresses
himself so dreadfully well! I don't believe he ever uses a shorter word
than _individuality_!"
"Oh, I don't care what he is, I want him--I want him!" cried Madeline.
"Well! I suppose you know what you want. It isn't as though you were
always in love with somebody or other; as a rule, a girl of your age, if
she can't have the person she wants, can be very quickly consoled if you
give her someone else instead. Now, you've never had even a fancy
before. _I_ may not (I don't) see the charm of Rupert, but it must be
there; probably there's something in his temperament that's needed by
yours--something that he can supply to you that no one else can. If you
really want him, you must have him, darling," said Bertha, with
resolution. "You shall!"
"How can you say that; how can you make him care for me if he doesn't?"
"I don't know, but I shall. It's certain; don't worry; and do what I
tell you. Mind, I think that there are many other people far more
amusing, besides being better matches from the worldly point of
view--like Charlie Hillier, for instance--but the great thing is that
you care for your Rupert; and I don't believe you'll change."
They were never demonstrative to each other, and Madeline only looked at
her with trusting, beaming gratitude. Bertha was indeed convinced that
this mania for Rupert was the real thing; it would never fade from
fulfilment, nor even die if discouraged; it would always burn
unalterably bright.
"Yes; yes, it shall be all right," repeated Bertha.
She spoke in a curious, reassuring tone that Madeline knew, and that
always impressed her.
"Really? Yet you say they are so difficult nowadays!"
"Well, the majority of the men in our set certainly don't seem to be
exactly pining for hearth and home. Still, in some moods a man will
marry anyone who happens to be there."
"Then must I happen to be there? How can I?"
Bertha laughed. There was a confidence without reservation between them,
notwithstanding a slight tinge of the histrionic in Madeline, which
occasionally irritated Bertha. But the real link was that they both
instinctively threw overboard all but the essential; they cared
comparatively little for most of the preoccupations and smaller
solicitudes of the women in their own leisured class. There was in
neither of them anything of the social snob or the narrow outlook of the
bourgeoise; they were free from pose, petty ambitions, or trivial
affectations.
Madeline looked up to Bertha as a wonderful combination of kindness,
cleverness, beauty and knowledge of the world. Bertha felt that Madeline
was not quite so well equipped for dealing with life as she herself was;
there was a shade of protection in her friendship.
Bertha was far more daring than Madeline, but her occasional recklessness
was only pluck and love of adventure; not imprudence; it was always
guided by reason and an instinctive sense of self-preservation. She
was a little experimental, that was all. Madeline was more timid and
sensitive; though not nearly so quick to see things as Bertha she took
them to heart more, far more;--was far less lively and ironical.
"Though I find Rupert dull, as I say, I believe he's as good as gold, or
I wouldn't try and help you. Now if he were a man like Nigel!--who's
very much more fascinating and charming--I wouldn't raise a finger,
because I know he's fickle, dangerous and selfish, and wouldn't make you
happy. Charlie would, though; I wish you liked Charlie. But one can't
account for these things."
"Quite impossible," Madeline said, shaking her head.
"Well! It's quite possible that Rupert would suit you best; and I
believe if you once got him he'd be all right. And you shall!" she
repeated.
"_Thank_ you!" said Madeline fervently, as if Bertha had promised her a
box of chocolates or a present of some kind.
"Lady Kellynch!" announced the servant.