"The fiery maiden-nature flashing forth."
_City Poems_.
Roma's spirits rose considerably after her conversation with her
sister-in-law. She did not look forward with much anticipation of
enjoyment to the evening's amusement--balls at four-and-twenty are very
different from what they are at eighteen--still she felt more like her
usual cheerful sensible self than she had done for some time.
"How _very_ pretty your dress is, Miss Eyrecourt," said Adelaide,
cordially, perhaps a little enviously, when the two young ladies
happened to find themselves side by side shaking out their plumage after
the four miles' drive, in the temporary cloak-room, at the Winsley
"Unicorn."
"I do so admire black, and those foxgloves are really lovely. So very
natural! I never, saw them worn before. I am not at all pleased with
my dress," she went on discontentedly. "I have worn it once before, and
I think one never feels comfortable in an old dress. I wish I had had
my new pink after all. I don't believe there will be many scarlet
coats. Only two of our party have them."
"There are sure to be a good many; and really your dress is exceedingly
pretty," replied Roma, consolingly. "It looks perfectly fresh."
"Does it?" said Miss Chancellor, turning herself round, the better to
observe the effect of her long sweep of drapery. "I'm glad you think it
looks nice. I am engaged for the first dance to Captain Chancellor. I
almost wish I wasn't! Do you know, Miss Eyrecourt, though I think he is
charming to look at, I cannot get on with him. I never can think of
anything to say to him, and yet just see how Miss Fretville goes on with
him, and mamma thinks him delightful too."
Roma smiled. "Miss Fretville and you are two very different people,"
she replied kindly, for the girl's unaffectedness pleased her. "You
will find that he dances beautifully, any way, which is the principal
consideration to-night. Here he comes," for by this time the whole
party were in the ball-room, and the first dance was on the eve of
commencing.
Captain Chancellor made his way quickly to where the two girls were
standing.
"Our dance, I believe, Miss Chancellor?" he said to his cousin, then,
somewhat to Roma's surprise--his late conduct had not prepared her to be
thus honoured--he turned towards her.
"Will you keep number ten for me, Roma," he said; "I shall count upon
it, remember!" and before, in the moment's hurry, she had time to make
any excuse, or even to decide that it would be well to do so, he had
left her, and in another minute was whirling round the room, with the
substantial Adelaide in his arms.
Miss Eyrecourt felt a little uneasy. Something in Beauchamp's manner
had struck her as peculiar: then, too, number ten was--as she knew by
the arrangement of the card--the last dance before supper; evidently he
had chosen it on purpose. There was no help for it, however; she must
trust to her tact to steer clear of anything undesirable, but she almost
wished she had pleaded illness or some excuse, and remained at home.
What a pity it all was! Long ago in the old comfortable days, how she
had enjoyed dancing with Beauchamp, especially at these Winsley balls,
where they knew everybody, and it was sociable and friendly, and people
were not too fine to enjoy themselves. How nice it would be, thought
Roma, if there was no such thing in the world as falling in love, real
or imaginary.
Could it be true, as Beauchamp had so often told her, when he was vexed,
that she was different from the rest of young ladyhood, cold, and
self-contained and unwomanly? If so, was it not a pity she had not
taken the best that came in her way, with out waiting in a vague belief
that something better might possibly be yet to come? Portionless though
she was, she had refused two or three very fair proposals before now,
refused them for no reason except the little-sympathised-in one that she
"did not care for" the men who had made them to her. But now, at
four-and-twenty, there were times when she questioned the wisdom of her
decisions, when she doubted if, after all, it was in her to care for any
real flesh-and-blood lover, as long ago in the romantic girlish days it
had seemed to her she could. She might have been fairly happy with Sir
Philip Bartlemore for instance, buried in politics over head and ears
though he was. Lady Bartlemore seemed comfortable and content, and
every one spoke of her as fortunate in her married life; or with that
undoubtedly disinterested and truly uninteresting Mr Fawcett, the
Rector of Ferrivale, towards whom for some time Roma had vainly tried to
coax into existence a warmer sentiment than respect--she would have gone
on respecting him till now, she felt quite sure, and she would have had
a home and ties of her own, whereas now she was of no particular use to
any one, and the cause of disunion and trouble among her nearest
friends. Had she made a mistake in not acting up to the practical,
worldly-wise philosophy she always professed to believe in? There was
no saying, and little use now in trying to decide; so Roma turned her
attention to the present, danced as much as she felt inclined, laughed
and talked with such of her partners as were worth the trouble, and made
fun to herself of the others, till nine dances had come to an end, and
she was startled by Beauchamp's voice beside her claiming her for the
tenth.
"I am glad it is a waltz," she said cordially, judging that a return to
the old easy terms would be her best temporary policy. "It is ages
since we have had one together, and we understood each other's paces so
well. I have not been very lucky to-night; so far as dancing goes, that
is to say. My partners have belonged more to the order of `those that
talk.' How have you been getting on?"
"I! oh, I don't know. Well enough," replied Captain Chancellor somewhat
absently. "Lady Exyton dances well to look at, but she's rather _too_
light and too small for me. Blanche Fretville again is a thought too
big, and she bounces rather."
"You are as difficult to please as ever, I see," remarked Roma, rashly.
Beauchamp looked at her: his eyes and the consciousness of the mistake
she had made, caused her colour to deepen. Her vexation with herself
increased.
"Yes," he replied, quietly, but with meaning in his tone, "I am. No one
should know that better than you, Roma."
Just then, to her relief, the music began. "Are you ready?" he asked,
and in a moment they were off.
It is something for poor creatures such as most of us are, to be able to
do anything perfectly, even so altogether small a thing as dancing!
There is a real satisfaction while it lasts, in feeling that the thing
we are doing could not be done better. And this agreeable consciousness
was always Roma's when waltzing with Beauchamp. They were a perfectly
well-matched pair; their movements as harmonious as the blending of two
voices in a duet. Once, long ago, Roma had said to Beauchamp that
whatever he had done to offend her, it would be beyond her power to
refuse to forgive him after dancing with him. It had been a passing
laughing remark, and he had forgotten its ever having been made. Still,
some instinctive desire to gain for himself every possible advantage in
what was before him, had probably had to do with the details of his
conduct this evening.
The waltz came to an end--all too soon, for more reasons than one, for
Roma. She had not been able to make any plan of defence; she could only
trust to her tact and quick-wittedness. Captain Chancellor seemed in no
hurry to get rid of her. She was afraid of appearing anxious to leave
him; symptoms of such a feeling on her part might only precipitate what
she hoped to evade. So they promenaded up and down the room among all
the other couples, saying little to each other, Roma all alert for the
first chance of escape. Suddenly a door hitherto closed was thrown
open; a general movement in the new direction ensued. Beauchamp
started.
"Supper!" he exclaimed. "By-the-bye, I forgot. Will you excuse me,
Roma, for a moment?"
She was only too ready; her hand was withdrawn from his arm almost
before the words were out of his mouth.
"Never mind about me," she said quickly. "I see Gertrude over there. I
can make my way to her quite well alone."
She did not know if he heard what she had said or not, in a moment he
had disappeared. And, alas! for the vanity of human expectations,
Gertrude was no longer to be seen "over there." Nearly every one had by
this time left the ball-room; the few who were still in process of
filing out were not of Roma's acquaintances. She began to feel rather
uncomfortable and deserted, and a little indignant with Beauchamp. One
or two couples glanced at her as they passed, with some surprise.
"What can Miss Eyrecourt be standing there alone for?" said a girl who
knew her by name only, to the gentleman she was with.
"Better ask Captain Chancellor," replied the young man. He was the son
of one of the managers, formerly head clerk, of the Winsley Bank, and
his acquaintance with the "county" was decidedly limited. As might have
been expected therefore, his knowledge of its private arrangements was
minute in the extreme, now and then indeed suggesting suspicions of
clairvoyance.
"Who is he?" asked the girl, a stranger to the neighbourhood, to whom
five minutes before Mr Thompson had pointed out Miss Eyrecourt,
condescendingly, as "one of our belles--has been, that is to say."
"He is a sort of a connection of hers," he replied, "that is to say, a
brother of Mrs Eyrecourt's. He and she--Captain Chancellor and Miss
Eyrecourt, are engaged to be married, though it is not _generally_
known. There he is," he added, lowering his voice, for at that moment,
as if in confirmation of his statement, Beauchamp, conspicuous by
running against the supper-seeking stream, passed them, on his way back
to the ball-room.
"Oh, indeed!" replied Miss Smith, with the sex's usual keen interest in
such matters. "I am glad you told me. It is such fun to watch engaged
people."
She communicated the fact in all good faith to her next partner, who
happened to be one of the officers in the cavalry regiment stationed in
the neighbouring town. This gentleman, not personally acquainted with
either of the two people it chiefly concerned, mentioned it again
casually as an undoubtedly well-authenticated piece of local news to a
brother officer, whose wife, an old school-friend of Mrs Dalrymple's,
happened to be writing to that lady the next day. The object of her
letter being to ask for an introduction to the family at Winsley Grange,
the major's wife naturally alluded to the engagement as a "just
announced" occurrence, not forgetting, on the principle of "the three
black crows," to add, what she probably really thought she had been
told, that "she understood the marriage was to take place almost
immediately."
Roma was sitting quite alone in the empty ball-room, when, to her great
surprise, Beauchamp rejoined her. She had not liked his deserting her
so unceremoniously, but this unexpected reappearance alarmed her: still
she determined to seem to suspect nothing out of the common.
"So you haven't forgotten me after all, Beauchamp?" she said
good-humouredly. "You needn't have come back for me though, I don't
care about any supper."
"Don't you really? Come now, that's quite a fortunate coincidence,"
said Captain Chancellor, seating himself deliberately beside her, "for
as it happens I don't want any either. We can spend the interval that
less ethereal beings than you and I, Roma, devote to vulgar eating and
drinking in a little congenial conversation."
"But your partner?" objected Roma; "that is to say, the lady you took in
to supper. What will she be thinking of you?"
"I didn't take any one in to supper," replied Captain Chancellor,
composedly. "The reason I deserted you so unceremoniously was only that
I had promised Lady Exyton to tell Vandeleur where she was to be found,
and I had forgotten."
Roma, who was really rather hungry, began to long for the comparative
safety of the crowded supper-room. How she wished now she had not told
that useless little fib about not wanting anything to eat.
"What is the matter?" asked Beauchamp, presently. "What are you looking
so unhappy about?"
"I am tired," she answered hastily. "I have got a little headache. I
wish I could get a cup of tea, but I suppose there would be no chance of
such a thing so late in the evening."
"Every chance," replied he; and for one happy moment Miss Eyrecourt
thought he was going to volunteer an expedition in search of it. "If
you will wait till the supper is over I will guarantee your getting it.
I am so sorry you are tired, Roma, but I have not thought you looking
well for some time. You may have fancied I did not notice your looks or
think about you, but if so you have been mistaken."
There was the unmistakable tone of a prelude in this little speech.
Roma grew desperate, as a last hope she tried to offend him.
"I am not obliged to you for noticing my looks," she said
haughtily--"still less for commenting upon them. There are few things I
dislike more than remarks of the kind. I am tired, as I told you,
Beauchamp, and I want to sit here quietly by myself. It will oblige me
very much if you will go away and leave me alone."
Captain Chancellor had risen from his seat and stood before her, looking
down on her flushed face, waiting quietly till she had come to the end
of her not very civil speech. He was perfectly cool. Roma hardly
understood the expression of his face, but she felt that, so far at
least in the interview, he had the advantage of her.
"You needn't think you will make me angry, and get rid of me in that
way, Roma," he said coolly. "You have tried that plan successfully
several times, but I understand you better now, I am glad to say. Yes,
I understand you thoroughly now at last, and I will have no more
mystifications and shillyshallying."
It was a peculiar sort of love-making. There was a tone of triumph in
his way of speaking that irritated Miss Eyrecourt even while it
bewildered her.
"What do you mean, Beauchamp?" she asked, really at a loss to understand
what he was driving at.
"You know what I mean," he answered; and Roma could see that he put some
force on himself to keep down his rising irritation. "You know
perfectly what I mean. Not many hours ago you told Gertrude you were
willing to make a sacrifice of yourself for her," (this was what after
much cogitation Captain Chancellor had made out of Floss's "satin
flies," and the look of utter astonishment on Roma's face told him that
his shot had hit the mark); "have you forgotten that you were
sacrificing some one else as well as yourself? All these years, Roma, I
have waited, if not always patiently, at least, more so than many men
would have done," ("yes," thought Roma, "and amused yourself very
agreeably between times,") "and now I think I deserve my reward. I have
always suspected what I now know, that Gertrude was the real difficulty;
but for this suspicion your conduct would certainly have been most
incomprehensible to me, still till to-day I hardly realised that she
could carry her unjustifiable tyranny so far, or that you could so
tamely yield to it."
Here and there during this speech Roma had softened a little to her
would-be lover, had even pitied him a little when it dawned upon her
that the truth she had no option now but to tell him in unmistakable
words might after all cause him some real pain: but the confident belief
in the irresistible nature of his own charms, calmly inferred in his
closing words, provoked her out of such weakness. She felt no
difficulty now in hardening her heart.
"How you have got your knowledge, Beauchamp, of what passed between
Gertrude and me to-day certainly baffles my comprehension; but, however
you have done so, you must allow me to tell you that it is a very
garbled version of the real conversation that has come to you," began
Roma.
"I don't believe it," interrupted the young man, hotly. "You are trying
to mystify me again. Can you deny that Gertrude's interference has gone
the length of driving you from Winsley while I am there?"
"Certainly I deny it," she replied. "It is perfectly true that Gertrude
and I agreed together that it would not be unadvisable for me to leave
Winsley for a time."
"For the time of my being there?" he interrupted again.
"Well, yes, if you force me to say so, that was the time we proposed for
my absence. But _Gertrude_ was not the originator of the plan. It was
my own wish."
"Indeed!" he said, incredulously. "And if not to propitiate Gertrude,
what on earth was your motive?"
"The foolish one," she returned, getting very angry, "of wishing to
spare myself the pain of saying, and you the pain--or rather, perhaps, I
should say, the mortification, of hearing what I would much rather never
have been driven to put into words."
"And what may that be?" he asked, growing paler than was his wont, but
with a sneer on his face that made Roma, in her exaggerated indignation,
marvel that ever she could have thought him handsome.
"The truth," she replied, vehemently, "the plain state of the case--
namely, that there is one woman who does _not_ think you irresistible;
who would not marry you, hardly, I think, to save her life; who pities
the woman that does marry you--vain, selfish, shallow as you are!" She
stopped, breathless with excitement.
"Thank you," said Beauchamp. He was still standing before her, to all
outward appearance composedly enough, but still with the same
disfiguring sneer over his handsome features. "Thank you," he repeated,
slowly. "One is never too old to learn, I suppose. I thought I knew
something of women; till to-night I thought I knew something of _you_--I
imagined you refined, gentle, and womanly, but you have undeceived me.
Still, of course, pray understand how sincerely I thank you for your
plain speaking; the only pity is that you have so long deferred it, out
of regard, no doubt, for the pain--oh no, by-the-bye, I am too shallow
to be capable of feeling pain, mortification I think you kindly called
it--it might cause me."
He turned to go. The intensity of wounded feeling from which he was
suffering, the utter unexpectedness of the blow, had given him for the
time a sort of dignity, a power of retort new to him. Never before,
perhaps, had Roma been so near admiring him as now, when the mixture of
truth in his sarcastic words stung her so deeply. A sort of remorse
seized upon her--she felt that she had gone too far. Poor Beauchamp! he
might be all she had taunted him with being, but had he deserved such
treatment at her hands?
"Beauchamp," she exclaimed, appealingly, "Beauchamp, don't go like that.
Forgive me. I have said more than I meant. You have been mistaken all
along. You don't really care for me in _that_ way. Some day you will
see you have never done so. Oh, do let us be friends in the old way;
you don't know how I wish it!"
At the first sound of her voice he had stopped short and half turned
round. A foolish, wild idea flashed through his mind that possibly he
had been premature in believing her, that now at the last moment, when
she judged him all but lost to her, he was yet to see this proud woman
at his feet. But in a moment her words undeceived him.
"Thank you again," he said, coming nearer her, and speaking in a low
voice, for just then some of the younger people--those who cared more
for dancing than supper--began to straggle back into the ball-room, "but
you must excuse me for saying--as plain speaking is the order of the
day--that I can't echo your wish. Even `vain, selfish, shallow' people
have feelings, you know, sometimes, of a kind." Then, with a complete
and sudden change of voice, he added aloud, "Shall we go to the
supper-room now, and see what we can get? It must be getting less
crowded." And with the habitual instinct of not leaving the woman in an
awkward or unprotected position, he offered Roma his arm, which she,
wounded beyond expression, yet not without a certain feeling of
gratitude for his consideration, was fain to accept.
Surely a more uncomfortable pair never walked arm-in-arm across a
ball-room! They made their way in silence, meeting of course face to
face the returning stream, feeling themselves agreeably exposed to the
critical remarks of the many to whom, at least by sight, they were well
known. Entering the supper-room, to her relief, Roma descried Gertrude
and some of her party still seated in a corner, and she lost no time in
joining them with some plausible excuse for her tardy appearance. But
it is to be feared she never got the cup of tea on which she had so set
her heart.
The rest of the evening passed like a dreary farce. It was all Roma
could do to smile and talk sufficiently as usual to prevent Mrs
Eyrecourt's suspicions being aroused; for as yet she could not decide
how much or how little of what had passed it would be well for her to
confide to her sister-in-law. She felt unspeakably thankful when at
last she found herself at home again, safe in the solitude of her own
room, free to think over quietly the painful occurrences of the evening,
and to decide what now was best for her to do. But when she tried to
think it all over she found herself too tired and dispirited to do so
reasonably or sensibly; worse still, when she gave up the attempt and
went to bed, she could not sleep, and when, after tossing about for two
or three hours, she at last fell into an uneasy doze, it was only to
awake with a start and the indescribably wretched feeling familiar to us
all that something was the matter, and that she must at once arouse her
faculties to recall its details.
Light was beginning to break, however; she found she must have slept
longer than she had imagined. Yes; it was nearly eight o'clock. She
got up and dressed without ringing for her maid, who had sat up late for
her the night before, and thinking that the fresh morning air might
refresh her, she spent the next hour in a brisk walk round the park.
When she came in again, and was hastening to take off her hat and cloak,
she passed Captain Chancellor's room. The door was open, and just
inside she caught sight of his man-servant engaged in strapping a
portmanteau. Roma stopped short; the servant happening to look up,
perceived her standing in the doorway.
"What time is your master leaving, Barlow?" she asked, coolly, as if she
knew all about it.
"Half-past ten, ma'am," was the reply. "At least, the dog-cart is
ordered for then."
Roma passed on to her own room, feeling very unhappy. She had no
anticipation of Beauchamp's acting so precipitately, and she could not
bear to be, even unwillingly, the cause of annoyance and vexation to her
sister-in-law. What could she do? There was no use trying to see
Gertrude, she would certainly not be awake enough to take it all in, and
persuade her brother to reconsider his plans. Much as she shrank from
seeing Captain Chancellor again, Roma now wished she could do so; there
was just a possibility that she might be able to stop his leaving so
hastily, especially if she reminded him of her own determination to go
away from Winsley for a time. She went down to the dining-room with a
half-formed determination to try what she could do. None of the guests
had as yet made their appearance, but at one end of the long table stood
a cup of coffee already poured out, and other signs that some one
intended breakfasting at once. It did not look promising. Miss
Eyrecourt hung about uncertain what to do, but just as she was deciding
that it would be better for her not to interfere, Captain Chancellor
walked in.
For the first moment he did not see her, but sat down hastily to his
breakfast. Then happening to look up, he caught sight of her, and
started visibly. Roma felt very uncomfortable; till she was actually in
it she had not realised the awkwardness of the position. Now, however,
her good sense came to her aid.
"Beauchamp," she said, trying to speak as much as possible as usual,
though her voice trembled a little, "I want to ask you something."
"Be so kind as to tell me what it is as quickly as possible," he said,
stiffly. "I am leaving immediately."
"There are two things I want to ask you," she went on hurriedly. "The
first is, will you forgive me for having hurt you more than I need have
done last night. I don't suppose I could have avoided hurting you to
some extent, but what I had to say I might have said differently. In
short, Beauchamp, I am afraid now that I lost my temper, and I am very
sorry for it."
"The provocation was certainly very great," returned Captain Chancellor,
bitterly. "Still you must excuse me for saying that I do not see any
need for the subject's ever being reverted to again. We are not likely,
you will be glad to hear, to see much more of each other for the future:
it is not much to ask you to drop the subject now and for ever."
Roma's face flushed. "I only wish I could forget it at once and for
ever," she answered with much hurt feeling in her tone. "It is far from
generous for you to answer me so." Beauchamp remained perfectly silent.
"However," she continued, "I cannot believe that you will continue to
feel so bitter as you do now. What I most wanted to see you for was to
beg you not to leave so hastily. There is no need for it. _I_ am going
away in a day or two. It will be very hard upon me if you go away in
this sudden way, for of course, Gertrude will be frightfully annoyed,
and altogether it will be most disagreeable."
She purposely exaggerated her personal feeling in the matter, as, under
the circumstances, the strongest appeal she could make to him.
Captain Chancellor looked up quickly. "I am not surprised you should
think so of me," he said; "but you are mistaken. I explained everything
to Gertrude last night; she knows of my leaving. She is most anxious
you should not think of going away at present, as she will tell you
herself. But my time is up. I must go."
He rose from his seat.
"Are you going back to Wareborough?" asked Roma, feeling remorseful and
yet indignant.
"Certainly not," he answered sharply, evidently suspecting some meaning
in her question. "Wareborough is about the last place I am likely to go
to--wretched hole that it is. I am only too thankful to have seen the
last of it."
He spoke, it seemed to Roma, with unnecessary vehemence. But there was
no time for anything more to be said. He shook hands formally and was
off, and Roma walked slowly upstairs again to her own room, vexed with
herself, vexed with Beauchamp, yet sorry for both.
Half-an-hour later Gertrude sent for her. Mrs Eyrecourt was
wonderfully gracious. "It is very unlucky, dear--dreadfully unlucky,
just what we have all along dreaded so, but most certainly not your
fault. And I don't think there will be any fuss about it. Beauchamp
said something `confidentially' to Mrs Chancellor last night about the
probability of his being called away suddenly by letters this morning.
A friend of his--that Major Thanet, you know, Roma, really is ill--at
Torquay or somewhere, and Beauchamp will most likely join him. And he
has promised to visit the Chancellors at Wylingham very soon. So after
all it may all turn out for the best. They leave to-morrow. And I have
been thinking, Roma, considering all--you will be the better of a
change, and of course you won't go to Deepthorne now--I don't see why we
should not go to town sooner than we intended. We can have that house
in a fortnight for either two or three months."
"Very well," said Roma. "I am quite willing to do as you like." Then,
after a moment's silence she added, "I am glad Beauchamp is not going
back to Wareborough. I was a little afraid of that at first."
"Of what?" asked Gertrude, lifting her eyebrows. Then as a remembrance
of Roma's former fears returned to her mind, "On account of that girl,
do you mean? Oh dear no, I have no fears in that quarter now. You must
have exaggerated what you noticed when you were there."
"Perhaps so," said Roma, quietly.