Lady Tancred unfortunately had one of her very bad headaches, and an
hour before dinner, in fact before her son had left the Park Lane house,
a telephone message came to say she was dreadfully sorry, it would be
impossible for her to come. It was Emily who spoke to Francis Markrute,
himself.
"Mother is so disappointed," she said, "but she really suffers so
dreadfully. I am sure Countess Shulski will forgive her, and you, too.
She wants to know if Countess Shulski will let Tristram bring her
to-morrow morning, without any more ceremony, to see her and stay to
luncheon."
Thus it was settled and this necessitated a change in the table
arrangements.
Lady Ethelrida would now sit on the host's right hand, and Lady
Coltshurst, an aunt on the Tancred side, at his left, while Zara would
be between the Duke and her fiancé, as originally arranged. Emily
Guiscard would have Sir James Danvers and Lord Coltshurst as neighbors,
and Mary her uncle, the Duke's brother, a widower, Lord Charles
Montfitchet, and his son, "Young Billy," the Glastonbury heir--Lady
Ethelrida was the Duke's only child.
At a quarter before eight Francis Markrute went up to his niece's
sitting-room. She was already dressed in a sapphire-blue velvet
masterpiece of simplicity. The Tancred presents of sapphires and
diamonds lay in their open cases on the table with the splendid
Markrute yards of pearls. She was standing looking down at them, the
strangest expression of cynical resignation upon her face.
"Your gift is magnificent, Uncle Francis," she said, without thanking
him. "Which do you wish me to wear? Yours--or his?"
"Lord Tancred's, he has specially asked that you put his on to-night,"
the financier replied. "These are only his first small ones; the other
jewels are being reset for you. Nothing can be kinder or more generous
than the whole family has been. You see this brooch, with the large drop
sapphire and diamond, is from the Duke."
She inclined her head without enthusiasm, and took her own small pearls
from her ears, and replaced them by the big sapphire and diamond
earrings; a rivière of alternate solitaire sapphires and diamonds she
clasped round her snowy throat.
"You look absolutely beautiful," her uncle exclaimed with admiration. "I
knew I could perfectly trust to your taste--the dress is perfection."
"Then I suppose we shall have to go down," she said quietly.
She was perfectly calm, her face expressionless; if there was a
tempestuous suggestion in her somber eyes she generally kept the lids
lowered. Inwardly, she felt a raging rebellion. This was the first
ceremony of the sacrifice, and although in the abstract her fine senses
appreciated the jewels and all her new and beautiful clothes and
_apanages_, they in no way counterbalanced the hateful degradation.
To her it was a hideous mockery--the whole thing; she was just a
chattel, a part of a business bargain. She could not guess her uncle's
motive for the transaction (he had a deep one, of course), but Lord
Tancred's was plain and purely contemptible. Money! For had not the
whole degrading thing been settled before he had ever seen her? He was
worse than Ladislaus who, at all events, had been passionately in love,
in his revolting, animal way.
She knew nothing of the English customs, nor how such a thing as the
arrangement of this marriage, as she thought it was, was a perfectly
unknown impossibility, as an idea. She supposed that the entire family
were aware of the circumstances, and were willing to accept her only for
her uncle's wealth--she already hated and despised them all. Her idea
was, "_noblesse oblige_," and that a great and ancient house should
never stoop to such depths.
Francis Markrute looked at her when she said, "I suppose we shall have
to go down," with that icy calm. He felt faintly uneasy.
"Zara, it is understood you will be gracious? and _brusquer_ no one?"
But all the reply he received was a glance of scorn. She had given her
word and refused to discuss that matter.
And so they descended the stairs just in time to be standing ready to
receive Lord and Lady Coltshurst who were the first to be announced. He
was a spare, unintelligent, henpecked, elderly man, and she, a stout,
forbidding-looking lady. She had prominent, shortsighted eyes, and she
used longhandled glasses; she had also three chins, and did not resemble
the Guiscards in any way, except for her mouth and her haughty bearing.
Zara's manner was that of an empress graciously receiving foreigners in
a private audience!
The guests now arrived in quick succession. Lord Charles and his son,
"Young Billy," then Tristram and his sisters, and Jimmy Danvers, and,
lastly, the Duke and Lady Ethelrida.
They were all such citizens of the world there was no awkwardness, and
the old Duke had kissed his fair, prospective niece's hand when he had
been presented, and had said that some day he should claim the privilege
of an old man and kiss her cheek. And Zara had smiled for an instant,
overcome by his charm, and so she had put her fingers on his arm, and
they had gone down to dinner; and now they were talking suavely.
Francis Markrute had a theory that certain human beings are born with
moral antennae--a sort of extra combination beyond the natural of the
senses of sight, smell, hearing and understanding--which made them
apprehend situations and people even when these chanced to be of a
hitherto unknown race or habit. Zara was among those whose antennae were
highly developed. She had apprehended almost instantaneously that
whatever their motives were underneath, her future husband's family were
going to act the part of receiving her for herself. It was a little
ridiculous, but very well bred, and she must fall in with it when with
them collectively like this.
Before they had finished the soup the Duke was saying to himself that
she was the most attractive creature he had ever met in his life, and no
wonder Tristram was mad about her; for Tristram's passionate admiration
to-night could not have been mistaken by a child!
And yet Zara had never smiled, but that once--in the drawing-room.
Lady Ethelrida from where she sat could see her face through a gap in
the flowers. The financier had ordered a tall arrangement on purpose:
if Zara by chance should look haughtily indifferent it were better that
her expression should escape the observation of all but her nearest
neighbors. However, Lady Ethelrida just caught the picture of her
through an oblique angle, against a background of French panelling.
And with her quiet, calm judgment of people she was wondering what was
the cause of that strange look in her eyes? Was it of a stag at bay? Was
it temper, or resentment, or only just pain? And Tristram had said their
color was slate gray; for her part she saw nothing but pools of jet ink!
"There is some tragic story hidden here," she thought, "and Tristram is
too much in love to see it." But she felt rather drawn to her new
prospective cousin, all the same.
Francis Markrute seemed perfectly happy--his manner as a host left
nothing to be desired; he did not neglect the uninteresting aunt, who
formed golden opinions of him; but he contrived to make Lady Ethelrida
feel that he wished only to talk to her; not because she was an
attractive, young woman, but because he was impressed with her
intelligence, in the abstract. It made things very easy.
The Duke asked Zara if she knew anything about English politics.
"You will have to keep Tristram up to the mark," he said, "he has done
very well now and then, but he is a rather lazy fellow." And he smiled.
"'Tristram,'" she thought. "So his name is 'Tristram'!" She had actually
never heard it before, nor troubled herself to inquire about it. It
seemed incredible, it aroused in her a grim sense of humor, and she
looked into the old Duke's face for a second and wondered what he would
say if she announced this fact, and he caught the smile, cynical though
it was, and continued:
"I see you have noticed his laziness! Now it will really be your duty to
make him a first-rate fighter for our cause. The Radicals will begin to
attack our very existence presently, and we must all come up to the
scratch."
"I know nothing as yet of your politics," Zara said. "I do not
understand which party is which, though my uncle says one consists of
gentlemen, and the other of the common people. I suppose it is like in
other countries, every one wanting to secure what some one above him has
got, without being fitted for the administration of what he desires to
snatch."
"That is about it," smiled the Duke.
"It would be reasonable, if they were all oppressed here, as in France
before the great revolution, but are they?"
"Oh! dear, no!" interrupted Tristram. "All the laws are made for the
lower classes. They have compensations for everything, and they have
openings to rise to the top of the tree if they wish to. It is wretched
landlords like my uncle and myself who are oppressed!" and he smiled
delightedly, he was so happy to hear her talk.
"When I shall know I shall perhaps find it all interesting," she
continued to the Duke.
"Between us we shall have to instruct you thoroughly, eh, Tristram, my
boy? And then you must be a great leader, and have a salon, as the
ladies of the eighteenth century did: we want a beautiful young woman to
draw us all together."
"Well, don't you think I have found you a perfect specimen, Uncle!"
Tristram exclaimed; and he raised his glass and kissed the brim, while
he whispered:
"Darling, my sweet lady--I drink to your health."
But this was too much for Zara--he was overdoing the part--and she
turned and flashed upon him a glance of resentment and contempt.
Beyond the Duke sat Jimmy Danvers, and then Emily Guiscard and Lord
Coltshurst, and the two young people exchanged confidences in a low
voice.
"I say, Emily, isn't she a corker?" Sir James said. "She don't look a
bit English, though, she reminds me of a--oh, well, I'm not good at
history or dates, but some one in the old Florentine time. She looks as
if she could put a dagger into one or give a fellow a cup of poison,
without turning a hair."
"Oh, Jimmy! how horrid," exclaimed Emily. "She does not seem to me to
have a cruel face, she only looks peculiar and mysterious,
and--and--unsmiling. Do you think she loves Tristram? Perhaps that is
the foreign way--to appear so cold."
At that moment Sir James Danvers caught the glance which Zara gave her
fiancé for his toast.
"Je-hoshaphat!" he exclaimed! But he realized that Emily had not seen,
so he stopped abruptly.
"Yes--one can never be sure of things with foreigners," he said, and he
looked down at his plate. That poor devil of a Tristram was going to
have a thorny time in the future, he thought, and he was to be best man
at the wedding; it would be like giving the old chap over to a tigress!
But, by Jove!--such a beautiful one would be worth being eaten by--he
added to himself.
And during one of Francis Markrute's turnings to his left-hand neighbor
Lord Coltshurst said to Lady Ethelrida:
"I think Tristram's choice peculiarly felicitous, Ethelrida, do not you?
But I fear her ladyship"--and he glanced timidly at his wife--"will not
take this view. She has a most unreasonable dislike for young women with
red hair. 'Ungovernable temperaments,' she affirms. I trust she won't
prejudice your Aunt Jane."
"Aunt Jane always thinks for herself," said Lady Ethelrida. She
announced no personal opinion about Tristram's fiancé, nor could Lord
Coltshurst extort one from her.
As the dinner went on she felt a growing sense that they were all on the
edge of a volcano.
Lady Ethelrida never meddled in other people's affairs, but she loved
Tristram as a brother and she felt a little afraid. She could not see
his face, from where she sat--the table was a long one with oval
ends--but she, too, had seen the flash from Zara which had caused Jimmy
Danvers to exclaim: "Jehoshaphat!"
The host soon turned back from duty to pleasure, leaving Lady Coltshurst
to Lord Charles Montfitchet. The conversation turned upon types.
Types were not things of chance, Francis Markrute affirmed; if one could
look back far enough there was always a reason for them.
"People are so extremely unthinking about such a number of interesting
things, Lady Ethelrida," he said, "their speculative faculties seem only
to be able to roam into cut and dried channels. We have had great
scientists like Darwin investigating our origin, and among the Germans
there are several who study the atavism of races, but in general even
educated people are perfectly ignorant upon the subject, and they expect
little Tommy Jones and Katie Robinson, or Jacques Dubois and Marie
Blanc, to have the same instincts as your cousin, Lord Tancred, and you,
for instance. Whatever individual you are dealing with, you should
endeavor to understand his original group. In moments of great
excitement when all acquired control is in abeyance the individual
always returns to the natural action of his group."
"How interesting!" said Lady Ethelrida. "Let us look round the table and
decide to what particular group each one of us belongs."
"Most of you are from the same group," he said meditatively.
"Eliminating myself and my niece, Sir James Danvers has perhaps had the
most intermixtures."
"Yes," said Lady Ethelrida, and she laughed. "Jimmy's grandmother was
the daughter of a very rich Manchester cotton spinner; that is what
gives him his sound common sense. I am afraid Tristram and the rest of
us except Lord Coltshurst have not had anything sensible like that in us
for hundreds of years, so what would be your speculation as to the
action of our group?"
"That you would have high courage and fine senses, and highly-strung,
nervous force, and chivalry and good taste, and broad and noble aims in
the higher half and that in the lower portion you would run to the
decadence of all those things--the fine turned to vices--yet even so I
would not look for vulgarity, or bad taste, or cowardice in any of you."
"No," said Lady Ethelrida--"I hope not. Then, according to your
reasoning it is very unjust of us when we say, as perhaps you have heard
it said, that Lady Darrowood is to blame when she is noisy and
assertive and treats Lord Darrowood with bad taste?"
"Certainly--she only does those things when she is excited and has gone
back to her group. When she is under her proper control she plays the
part of an English marchioness very well. It is the prerogative of a new
race to be able to play a part; the result of the cunning and strength
which have been required of the immediate forbears in order to live at
all under unfavorable conditions. Now, had her father been a Deptford
ox-slaughterer instead of a Chicago pig-sticker she could never have
risen to the role of a marchioness at all. This is no new country; it
does not need nor comprehend bluff, and so produces no such type as Lady
Darrowood."
At this moment Lady Ethelrida again caught sight of Zara. She was silent
at the instant, and a look of superb pride and disdain was on her face.
Almost before she was aware of it Ethelrida had exclaimed:
"Your niece looks like an empress, a wonderful, Byzantine, Roman
empress!"
Francis Markrute glanced at her, sideways, with his clever eyes; had she
ever heard anything of Zara's parentage, he wondered for a second, and
then he smiled at himself for the thought. Lady Ethelrida was not likely
to have spoken so in that case--she would not be acting up to her group.
"There are certain reasons why she should," he said. "I cannot answer
for the part of her which comes from her father, Maurice Grey, a very
old English family, I believe, but on her mother's side she could have
the passions of an artist and the pride of a Caesar: she is a very
interesting case."
"May I know something of her?" Ethelrida said, "I do so want them to be
happy. Tristram is one of the simplest and finest characters I have ever
met. He will love her very much, I fear."
"Why do you say you _fear?_"
Lady Ethelrida reddened a little; a soft, warm flush came into her
delicate face and made it look beautiful: she never spoke of love--to
men.
"Because a great love is a very powerful and sometimes a terrible thing,
if it is not returned in like measure. And, oh, forgive me for saying
so, but the Countess Shulski does not look as if--she loved
Tristram--much."
Francis Markrute did not speak for an instant, then he turned and gazed
straight into her eyes gravely, as he said:
"Believe me, I would not allow your cousin to marry my niece if I were
not truly convinced that it will be for the eventual great happiness of
them both. Will you promise me something, Lady Ethelrida? Will you help
me not to permit any one to interfere between them for some time, no
matter how things may appear? Give them the chance of settling
everything themselves."
Ethelrida looked back at him, with a seriousness equal to his own as she
answered, "I promise." And inwardly the sense of some unknown
undercurrent that might grow into a rushing torrent made itself felt,
stronger than before.
Meanwhile Lady Coltshurst, who could just see Zara's profile all the
time when she put up those irritating, longhandled glasses of hers, now
gave her opinion of the bride-elect to Lord Charles Montfitchet, her
neighbor on the left hand.
"I strongly disapprove of her, Charles. Either her hair is dyed or her
eyes are blackened; that mixture is not natural, and if, indeed, it
should be in this case then I consider it uncanny and not what one would
wish for in the family."
"Oh, I say, my lady!" objected Lord Charles, "I think she is the most
stunning-looking young woman I've seen in a month of Sundays!"
Lady Coltshurst put up her glasses again and glared:
"I cannot bear your modern slang, Charles, but 'stunning,' used
literally, is quite appropriate. She does stun one; that is exactly it.
I fear poor Tristram with such a type can look forward to very little
happiness, or poor Jane to any likelihood that the Tancred name will
remain free from scandal."
Lord Charles grew exasperated and retaliated.
"By George! A demure mouse can cause scandal to a name, with probably
more certainty than this beauty!"
There was a member of Lady Coltshurst's husband's family whom she
herself, having no children, had brought out, and who had been
perilously near the Divorce Court this very season: and she was a dull,
colorless little thing.
Her ladyship turned the conversation abruptly, with an annihilating
glance. And fortunately, just then Zara rose, and the ladies filed out
of the room: and so this trying dinner was over.