Young Dare sat thoughtfully at the window of the studio in which
Somerset had left him, till the gay scene beneath became embrowned by
the twilight, and the brilliant red stripes of the marquees, the
bright sunshades, the many-tinted costumes of the ladies, were
indistinguishable from the blacks and greys of the masculine contingent
moving among them. He had occasionally glanced away from the outward
prospect to study a small old volume that lay before him on the
drawing-board. Near scrutiny revealed the book to bear the title
‘Moivre’s Doctrine of Chances.’
The evening had been so still that Dare had heard conversations from
below with a clearness unsuspected by the speakers themselves; and among
the dialogues which thus reached his ears was that between Somerset and
Havill on their professional rivalry. When they parted, and Somerset had
mingled with the throng, Havill went to a seat at a distance. Afterwards
he rose, and walked away; but on the bench he had quitted there remained
a small object resembling a book or leather case.
Dare put away the drawing-board and plotting-scales which he had kept
before him during the evening as a reason for his presence at that post
of espial, locked up the door, and went downstairs. Notwithstanding his
dismissal by Somerset, he was so serene in countenance and easy in gait
as to make it a fair conjecture that professional servitude, however
profitable, was no necessity with him. The gloom now rendered it
practicable for any unbidden guest to join Paula’s assemblage without
criticism, and Dare walked boldly out upon the lawn. The crowd on the
grass was rapidly diminishing; the tennis-players had relinquished
sport; many people had gone in to dinner or supper; and many others,
attracted by the cheerful radiance of the candles, were gathering in the
large tent that had been lighted up for dancing.
Dare went to the garden-chair on which Havill had been seated, and found
the article left behind to be a pocket-book. Whether because it was
unclasped and fell open in his hand, or otherwise, he did not hesitate
to examine the contents. Among a mass of architect’s customary memoranda
occurred a draft of the letter abusing Paula as an iconoclast or
Vandal by blood, which had appeared in the newspaper: the draft was
so interlined and altered as to bear evidence of being the original
conception of that ungentlemanly attack.
The lad read the letter, smiled, and strolled about the grounds,
only met by an occasional pair of individuals of opposite sex in deep
conversation, the state of whose emotions led them to prefer the evening
shade to the publicity and glare of the tents and rooms. At last he
observed the white waistcoat of the man he sought.
‘Mr. Havill, the architect, I believe?’ said Dare. ‘The author of most
of the noteworthy buildings in this neighbourhood?’
Havill assented blandly.
‘I have long wished for the pleasure of your acquaintance, and now an
accident helps me to make it. This pocket-book, I think, is yours?’
Havill clapped his hand to his pocket, examined the book Dare held out
to him, and took it with thanks. ‘I see I am speaking to the artist,
archaeologist, Gothic photographer--Mr. Dare.’
‘Professor Dare.’
‘Professor? Pardon me, I should not have guessed it--so young as you
are.’
‘Well, it is merely ornamental; and in truth, I drop the title in
England, particularly under present circumstances.’
‘Ah--they are peculiar, perhaps? Ah, I remember. I have heard that you
are assisting a gentleman in preparing a design in opposition to mine--a
design--’
‘“That he is not competent to prepare himself,” you were perhaps going
to add?’
‘Not precisely that.’
‘You could hardly be blamed for such words. However, you are mistaken.
I did assist him to gain a little further insight into the working of
architectural plans; but our views on art are antagonistic, and I assist
him no more. Mr. Havill, it must be very provoking to a well-established
professional man to have a rival sprung at him in a grand undertaking
which he had a right to expect as his own.’
Professional sympathy is often accepted from those whose condolence on
any domestic matter would be considered intrusive. Havill walked up and
down beside Dare for a few moments in silence, and at last showed that
the words had told, by saying: ‘Every one may have his opinion. Had I
been a stranger to the Power family, the case would have been different;
but having been specially elected by the lady’s father as a competent
adviser in such matters, and then to be degraded to the position of a
mere competitor, it wounds me to the quick--’
‘Both in purse and in person, like the ill-used hostess of the Garter.’
‘A lady to whom I have been a staunch friend,’ continued Havill, not
heeding the interruption.
At that moment sounds seemed to come from Dare which bore a remarkable
resemblance to the words, ‘Ho, ho, Havill!’ It was hardly credible,
and yet, could he be mistaken? Havill turned. Dare’s eye was twisted
comically upward.
‘What does that mean?’ said Havill coldly, and with some amazement.
‘Ho, ho, Havill! “Staunch friend” is good--especially after “an
iconoclast and Vandal by blood”--“monstrosity in the form of a Greek
temple,” and so on, eh!’
‘Sir, you have the advantage of me. Perhaps you allude to that anonymous
letter?’
‘O-ho, Havill!’ repeated the boy-man, turning his eyes yet further
towards the zenith. ‘To an outsider such conduct would be natural;
but to a friend who finds your pocket-book, and looks into it before
returning it, and kindly removes a leaf bearing the draft of a letter
which might injure you if discovered there, and carefully conceals it
in his own pocket--why, such conduct is unkind!’ Dare held up the
abstracted leaf.
Havill trembled. ‘I can explain,’ he began.
‘It is not necessary: we are friends,’ said Dare assuringly.
Havill looked as if he would like to snatch the leaf away, but altering
his mind, he said grimly: ‘Well, I take you at your word: we are
friends. That letter was concocted before I knew of the competition:
it was during my first disgust, when I believed myself entirely
supplanted.’
‘I am not in the least surprised. But if she knew YOU to be the writer!’
‘I should be ruined as far as this competition is concerned,’ said
Havill carelessly. ‘Had I known I was to be invited to compete, I should
not have written it, of course. To be supplanted is hard; and thereby
hangs a tale.’
‘Another tale? You astonish me.’
‘Then you have not heard the scandal, though everybody is talking about
it.’
‘A scandal implies indecorum.’
‘Well, ‘tis indecorous. Her infatuated partiality for him is patent to
the eyes of a child; a man she has only known a few weeks, and one who
obtained admission to her house in the most irregular manner! Had she a
watchful friend beside her, instead of that moonstruck Mrs. Goodman, she
would be cautioned against bestowing her favours on the first adventurer
who appears at her door. It is a pity, a great pity!’
‘O, there is love-making in the wind?’ said Dare slowly. ‘That alters
the case for me. But it is not proved?’
‘It can easily be proved.’
‘I wish it were, or disproved.’
‘You have only to come this way to clear up all doubts.’
Havill took the lad towards the tent, from which the strains of a waltz
now proceeded, and on whose sides flitting shadows told of the progress
of the dance. The companions looked in. The rosy silk lining of the
marquee, and the numerous coronas of wax lights, formed a canopy to a
radiant scene which, for two at least of those who composed it, was an
intoxicating one. Paula and Somerset were dancing together.
‘That proves nothing,’ said Dare.
‘Look at their rapt faces, and say if it does not,’ sneered Havill.
Dare objected to a judgment based on looks alone.
‘Very well--time will show,’ said the architect, dropping the
tent-curtain.... ‘Good God! a girl worth fifty thousand and more a year
to throw herself away upon a fellow like that--she ought to be whipped.’
‘Time must NOT show!’ said Dare.
‘You speak with emphasis.’
‘I have reason. I would give something to be sure on this point, one way
or the other. Let us wait till the dance is over, and observe them more
carefully. Horensagen ist halb gelogen! Hearsay is half lies.’
Sheet-lightnings increased in the northern sky, followed by thunder like
the indistinct noise of a battle. Havill and Dare retired to the trees.
When the dance ended Somerset and his partner emerged from the tent,
and slowly moved towards the tea-house. Divining their goal Dare seized
Havill’s arm; and the two worthies entered the building unseen, by first
passing round behind it. They seated themselves in the back part of the
interior, where darkness prevailed.
As before related, Paula and Somerset came and stood within the door.
When the rain increased they drew themselves further inward, their forms
being distinctly outlined to the gaze of those lurking behind by the
light from the tent beyond. But the hiss of the falling rain and the
lowness of their tones prevented their words from being heard.
‘I wish myself out of this!’ breathed Havill to Dare, as he buttoned his
coat over his white waistcoat. ‘I told you it was true, but you wouldn’t
believe. I wouldn’t she should catch me here eavesdropping for the
world!’
‘Courage, Man Friday,’ said his cooler comrade.
Paula and her lover backed yet further, till the hem of her skirt
touched Havill’s feet. Their attitudes were sufficient to prove their
relations to the most obstinate Didymus who should have witnessed them.
Tender emotions seemed to pervade the summer-house like an aroma. The
calm ecstasy of the condition of at least one of them was not without
a coercive effect upon the two invidious spectators, so that they must
need have remained passive had they come there to disturb or annoy. The
serenity of Paula was even more impressive than the hushed ardour of
Somerset: she did not satisfy curiosity as Somerset satisfied it; she
piqued it. Poor Somerset had reached a perfectly intelligible depth--one
which had a single blissful way out of it, and nine calamitous ones; but
Paula remained an enigma all through the scene.
The rain ceased, and the pair moved away. The enchantment worked by
their presence vanished, the details of the meeting settled down in
the watchers’ minds, and their tongues were loosened. Dare, turning to
Havill, said, ‘Thank you; you have done me a timely turn to-day.’
‘What! had you hopes that way?’ asked Havill satirically.
‘I! The woman that interests my heart has yet to be born,’ said Dare,
with a steely coldness strange in such a juvenile, and yet almost
convincing. ‘But though I have not personal hopes, I have an objection
to this courtship. Now I think we may as well fraternize, the situation
being what it is?’
‘What is the situation?’
‘He is in your way as her architect; he is in my way as her lover: we
don’t want to hurt him, but we wish him clean out of the neighbourhood.’
‘I’ll go as far as that,’ said Havill.
‘I have come here at some trouble to myself, merely to observe: I find I
ought to stay to act.’
‘If you were myself, a married man with people dependent on him, who has
had a professional certainty turned to a miserably remote contingency
by these events, you might say you ought to act; but what conceivable
difference it can make to you who it is the young lady takes to her
heart and home, I fail to understand.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you--this much at least. I want to keep the place
vacant for another man.’
‘The place?’
‘The place of husband to Miss Power, and proprietor of that castle and
domain.’
‘That’s a scheme with a vengeance. Who is the man?’
‘It is my secret at present.’
‘Certainly.’ Havill drew a deep breath, and dropped into a tone of
depression. ‘Well, scheme as you will, there will be small advantage to
me,’ he murmured. ‘The castle commission is as good as gone, and a bill
for two hundred pounds falls due next week.’
‘Cheer up, heart! My position, if you only knew it, has ten times
the difficulties of yours, since this disagreeable discovery. Let us
consider if we can assist each other. The competition drawings are to be
sent in--when?’
‘In something over six weeks--a fortnight before she returns from the
Scilly Isles, for which place she leaves here in a few days.’
‘O, she goes away--that’s better. Our lover will be working here at his
drawings, and she not present.’
‘Exactly. Perhaps she is a little ashamed of the intimacy.’
‘And if your design is considered best by the committee, he will have
no further reason for staying, assuming that they are not definitely
engaged to marry by that time?’
‘I suppose so,’ murmured Havill discontentedly. ‘The conditions, as sent
to me, state that the designs are to be adjudicated on by three members
of the Institute called in for the purpose; so that she may return, and
have seemed to show no favour.’
‘Then it amounts to this: your design MUST be best. It must combine the
excellences of your invention with the excellences of his. Meanwhile a
coolness should be made to arise between her and him: and as there
would be no artistic reason for his presence here after the verdict is
pronounced, he would perforce hie back to town. Do you see?’
‘I see the ingenuity of the plan, but I also see two insurmountable
obstacles to it. The first is, I cannot add the excellences of his
design to mine without knowing what those excellences are, which he
will of course keep a secret. Second, it will not be easy to promote a
coolness between such hot ones as they.’
‘You make a mistake. It is only he who is so ardent. She is only
lukewarm. If we had any spirit, a bargain would be struck between us:
you would appropriate his design; I should cause the coolness.’
‘How could I appropriate his design?’
‘By copying it, I suppose.’
‘Copying it?’
‘By going into his studio and looking it over.’
Havill turned to Dare, and stared. ‘By George, you don’t stick at
trifles, young man. You don’t suppose I would go into a man’s rooms and
steal his inventions like that?’
‘I scarcely suppose you would,’ said Dare indifferently, as he rose.
‘And if I were to,’ said Havill curiously, ‘how is the coolness to be
caused?’
‘By the second man.’
‘Who is to produce him?’
‘Her Majesty’s Government.’
Havill looked meditatively at his companion, and shook his head. ‘In
these idle suppositions we have been assuming conduct which would be
quite against my principles as an honest man.’