Four months passed away, and February, with its cold assumption of
earliest spring, found a crowd of fashionables assembled in the French
capital; and, amongst others, Lady Ripley, Lady Lysson, and Lady Dora.
It would be impossible to convey to many minds, or easily describe, the
chilling effect which pride, and a luxuriously-indulged fashionable
existence, throw over a heart which otherwise might have been warm,
generous, and loving. Lady Dora was painfully shocked when she heard of
Minnie's death; but then she had her mother's cold reasonings to soothe
her grief.
"Minnie had disgraced her family; her name had, since her unfortunate
marriage, been brought in question. Assuredly, though Mr. Tremenhere had
hushed slander by resolution, yet Minnie must have given some room for
it! It was very unfortunate that she had ever been known, by the
publicity he had given at the club, as his wife; and perhaps some day,
as a relative of their's--for people always _will_ inquire who's who?
Therefore they must, of course, for decency sake, put on mourning.
Perhaps it was better so to do; it would silence whisperings, as it was
known to many that the husband and wife had been separated before her
death. Something, too, was rumoured, of a duel having been fought; but
as no public scandal had been given by a divorce, an assumption of
sorrow would appear in favour of her memory, should the truth ever
become known!"
So Lady Ripley and her daughter swept the floors of their hotel in Paris
(whither they had gone, to seek oblivion of sorrow in change of scene)
in robes of sombre hue, craped and bugled with jet, and only in a very
quiet soirée permitted themselves to be "at home" or "abroad."
Tremenhere had been a favourite in Florence before his marriage, with
many a high dame; that event threw a partial veil over him: he grew
domestic.
Now he came forth again in a new character. In the first state he had an
absorbing idea--his mother's fame; this was his guiding star. With
Minnie's supposed fall, this fell too; it "sought the sea," and was
engulfed.
Tremenhere now was a thoroughly heartless, reckless man. Without hope,
present or future, he lived for the moment. At first he hesitated, in
the candour of his heart, even to wear mourning for Minnie; then a
thought--a more generous one to the dead--arose; he forgave her, and
would spare her memory from calumny, by any act of his, so glaring in
disrespect. As the pale, interesting widower, one whose fate had been so
mysterious--one ejected from his high estate by his parents' error--he
became the fashionable rage, the pet artist, the sought-after guest; and
the man _submitting_ to all, courted nothing, for nothing moved him.
It will not be our province to betray beforehand Lady Dora's heart--let
it work its own way, and shew itself. Lady Ripley could not close her
doors against Tremenhere, without risking scandal to her relative's
memory, should any busy tongue ever proclaim she had been such to them;
besides, he was the fashion, and received every where, as more than an
artist even of fame, as a man who ranked their equal by birth, though a
cloud now obscured him. Burton had never been a favourite in society,
and not a few hoped yet to see Tremenhere restored to his home. So Lady
Ripley did the more prudent thing, received him with something
approaching to cordiality. Moreover, he was every where; not to receive
him, would be to shut fashion out of doors. No portrait was perfect
unless he painted it, no bust a model unless he chiseled it; and the man
walked among all like a soul in transmigration, seeking the one hidden
thing, which should bid it back to the heaven it had lost, and was
striving to regain.
"Come here, you dreadful man!" exclaimed Lady Lysson, as he entered her
apartments one day in the Hotel Mirabeau, "and account for yourself.
Here is Lady Dora complaining bitterly that her portrait, as '_Diane
Chasseresse_,' will never be completed! I shame to hear so bad an
account of my protegé."
"Lady Lysson," he said, taking her cordially proffered hand, "I cannot
plead guilty; the fault is Lady Dora Vaughan's. Three days have I placed
it upon my easel, and, after impatiently awaiting her ladyship to give
me a sitting, have been compelled to remove it for some other claimant."
"What have you to answer to this charge, Lady Dora?" asked the lively
hostess with mock gravity, appealing to the lady, who was sitting at
another table sketching when Tremenhere entered, and who had received
him as usual with a constrained air, merely bowing.
"I reply," answered that lady, "that my mother, having been particularly
engaged, it was impossible for me to wait upon Mr. Tremenhere; and
indeed, dear Lady Lysson, you are well aware I have not complained of
the delay. It is a matter of indifference to me, the completion of that
portrait."
"I declare you are ungracious enough to induce Mr. Tremenhere to cast
the care of it off his hands, and but that I have its perfecting at
heart, before my truant nephew's return from afar, to gladden his eyes
with, I should advise him to leave Diane _à la chasse_ for ever, and
unfinished."
If the allusion to Lord Randolph made him wince, no eye saw it. As soon
as the discussion between the ladies commenced, he had very coolly
seated himself in a corner of the sofa; and with pencil and paper was
silently sketching Lady Lysson's spaniel, which lay before the fire.
Lady Ripley, too, had apartments in the Hotel Mirabeau--consequently,
the ladies were as one family. We have seen before, the desire of the
two families for an union between Lady Dora and Lord Randolph--a
marriage now equally sought for by the gentleman. Though Minnie's death
had affected him much, yet he knew not all the circumstances of the
case; and, in truth, he was so innocent of any wrong towards her, that
the memory soon passed away. On Tremenhere he looked as upon a sort of
madman, really being incapable to dive into the recesses of a heart so
filled with love, and its _ever-accompanying_ pang--jealousy; and he was
now daily expected in Paris to plead his own cause with Lady Dora, who
had, unpromising any thing, alone consented, at his aunt's request, to
sit for "La Diane," _nominally_ for herself.
There was a feeling of deep repulsion in Lady Dora's heart towards Lord
Randolph. Thinking, as she did, that he had at the very least sought to
compromise her cousin--if in truth he had not done so--knowing, as she
also did, that he and Tremenhere had met in a hostile manner, she felt
any thing but easy at the inevitable meeting between them now, courted
and sought after as the latter was every where, for his exalted talent,
manners, wit, when he pleased, and a certain romance about him, which
made him a hero--and what were his feelings at the prospect of seeing
Lord Randolph? They were part of a whole of sorrow and suffering. He was
resolved to fly nothing which might still more harden his heart; he
would apply the iron to every part till he burned out and scarred the
vitality still in it. He had but one desire--total callousness--that
thus he might find peace; and before the world he had attained that
wish--but in the privacy of his own room, unseen, unheard, who might
tell the agony he endured? Something of this Lady Dora suspected; and
beneath that pride-encased heart there was a woman's thought for him.
She could not but respect him, and she dreaded him now more than
ever--and this dread made her desire ardently the return of Lord
Randolph, that she might _endeavour_ to meet the wishes of all, and,
becoming his wife, place him in barrier between Tremenhere and herself;
but her fortification would not be a very strong one where her own heart
was more than half traitor. Lord Randolph, too, knew Tremenhere was in
Paris; but, as nothing forced him to remain, he presumed the meeting
would have nothing very painful for him. He looked upon it in this
light: that in life, more than once, it has happened, that the law's
divorcing power has made wives strangers to their husbands; and society,
backed by the rules of etiquette and politeness, has brought these same
husbands into almost daily intercourse, without collision--thus he felt
it would be between Tremenhere and himself. There was something of a
jealous pang, a memory of past insinuations, which made him wish to
secure Lady Dora at once--all his love, as _he_ knew that passion, had
revived for her. Now we will resume our narrative, where we left Miles
sketching the dog.
"Mr. Tremenhere," cried Lady Lysson, "why don't you speak, and assist me
in fighting your battles?"
"Mine? Lady Lysson!" he exclaimed, looking up. "Pardon me; I am
compelled, though in gratitude for the intention doubtless, on your
part, to disavow them as such. It has not been to oblige me, however
pleasant the task, that Lady Dora sat for her portrait."
"I am tired of the subject," uttered that lady, pettishly curling her
haughty lip, and at the same time etching her sketch with a hasty pen.
"I am perfectly ashamed of the length of time I have expended in
pourtraying your beauties, Tiney," said Tremenhere; gravely shaking his
head, "when I am compelled to notice the energy with which Lady Dora
sketches her----What _is_ Lady Dora sketching?" he asked, rising slowly
from his quiet seat, and crossing towards her. As he did so, however,
pausing an instant before Lady Lysson, and dropping her favourite's
picture in her outstretched hand, with--
"An offering, Lady Lysson, though not by a Landseer. May I look at your
labour?" he asked, gently leaning over Lady Dora's chair. She felt his
warm breath on her bent neck, and her cheek coloured. She tried to
persuade herself it was indignation at his cool audacity, and
indifference to her haughtiness; but her heart rejected the excuse, for
Tremenhere was her equal, and now received every where as one thrown by
accident, or roguery, from his allotted sphere. Even the least liberal
could not speak of him as one raised above his real position. She felt
herself colouring, and felt also that his eyes were bent upon her; and,
hastily tearing the etching in two, cast it aside, saying--
"Pshaw! Mr. Tremenhere; my child's play could never interest a person
of your genius; and I am too proud to play second to any one!"
"_That_ you never could," he said, gallantly taking up the pieces, and
rejoining them.
"I declare, Lady Dora, I never saw you so cross in my life!" cried the
gentle-tempered, lively Lady Lysson. "What has Mr. Tremenhere done to
offend you? One would really take you for two----" She paused, suddenly
and awkwardly--"children," she added, colouring. _Both_ felt the word
she had omitted.
"This looks like a sketch of an early scene of my boyhood," he said, not
appearing to notice the pause which the other lady had made. "A holly
field!--true, it is so: here is the quickset hedge, the old stile, and
the hall in the distance. Lady Dora, you have a faithful memory--a clear
vision--a skilful pen: may I keep this?" and he fixed his eye full upon
her. Their eyes met, and in that schooled look, speaking only of the
past in reference to herself--not a shade of bitter regret in it--who
might have read that only one thought at that moment was gnawing at his
heart--his lost Minnie? For it was on that stile he had sat full often,
watching for her; 'twas there she came the night they fled. Lady Dora
dropped her eyes, and a shudder passed over her; for she, too, saw
Minnie before her, and her heart upbraided her for more than the
weakness of the present moment, which was insensibly stealing over her.
She felt that, in all her sorrow, she had not acted the part of one,
almost a sister to that poor girl; and she asked herself, "What can this
man's heart be, to forget so soon, and by so many ways lead me to
suppose I am not an object of indifference to him? And what must I seem
to him, even to cross a glance with him, engendering thoughtful
dreaming?"
Then vanity, the ruling queen of earth, whispered, "He loved you before
he saw her, or his half-uttered words were traitors; and, if she proved
unworthy the love he gave her _in pique_, why should he regret her
loss?"
"You are thoughtful, Lady Dora," he said gently, taking a seat beside
her.
"I was going to make the same remark," cried Lady Lysson, who overheard
the words, though the tone was so very low. "I declare English girls
bring English hearts every where, and are always gloomy or sentimental."
"Do not accuse me of the latter!" exclaimed Lady Dora, starting up, and
shaking off the incubus overwhelming her; "I beg to disclaim all
acquaintance with so missy-ish a creation as mawkish sentiment."
"You are quite right, my dear," answered the other lady; "I know nothing
more dreadful than a bread and butter miss. If a man but look at her,
she drops her eyes and blushes; she disowns any thing so dreadful as a
corn; consequently all accidental treadings on the toe, make her heart
flutter, and become so many gentle avowals of love, oddly enough
conveyed though they may be."
"I disagree with your ladyship," said Miles, "about the oddity of the
act; 'tis wittily imagined, for, in doing so, a man stoops to conquer!"
"Oh, dreadful!" cried Lady Lysson; "but, to continue my sketch. If you
speak to her of any one particular flower, even if it were the humble
daisy itself, she would mow a field to obtain a sufficient quantity to
convince you, you were most completely understood, and sympathized with;
and as to colours--why, you could make a chameleon of her, every hour
different in hue, if it so pleased you."
"What, if you played 'cat's cradle' with her, Lady Lysson? you once
spoke feelingly to me on this same subject."
"What did I say? Oh, now I remember--I spoke of my poor Lysson, and
myself, and----"
"You advised me not to play at the game with Lady Dora--now I like
_daring_ all, Lady Dora; will you show me how you play 'cat's cradle?'"
and he took a piece of twisted silk from the table.
"I don't know the game," she answered coldly.
"I daresay Lady Lysson will instruct us; will you not?" and he held the
silk towards her.
"Willingly, beneath my own eye," she replied.
"Not beyond?"
"No! Lady Dora might use her feline qualities upon you."
"Oh! I should little care," he answered pointedly, "to alter slightly
the words of a talented, most unfortunate, and I believe most innocent
woman, Madame Laffarge, if Lady Dora scratch me like a cat, so she will
but love me like a dog."
There was a dead silence of a moment--Lady Dora interrupted it by an
allusion to the first portion of his speech, not seeming to have noticed
the latter.
"Do you believe Madame Laffarge was innocent?"
"I believe all so, till proved otherwise. There was no proof but
presumptive evidence against her; and she was surrounded by deceit and
enemies."
"Too often the case with many an innocent woman who has been falsely
condemned!" ejaculated Lady Lysson, partially ignorant of Tremenhere's
history.
Lady Dora blushed painfully. The conversation had glided imperceptibly
into this channel--how stop the current?
"Right," he said calmly; "but in some cases a demon, or guilt alone, can
collect this evidence. If we condemn, we do so innocently in the former
case; and assuredly full many a crown of martyrdom has been more lightly
won, than a woman's, thus condemned, thus punished!"
Nothing seemed to touch him. Lady Dora had shuddered as this strange
conversation commenced; for none there better than herself knew how much
poor Minnie had suffered. She was lost in wonder at Tremenhere's
sternness of heart; and yet, as a lioness loves her mate, so her proud,
almost unwomanly nature, admired this man's, daily, more and more.
"We forget 'cat's cradle!'" he cried, almost boyishly. "Lady Lysson,
behold my willing hands."
And, laughingly, that lady adjusted the silk on his fingers, and,
drawing Lady Dora's trembling hand towards him, commenced the task of
teaching them. Child's play is foolish for two who should not fall in
love; for so much more is done in innocence, than the mature heart can
calmly bear unmoved. People are thrown off their guard, and then some
watchful sprite is sure to step in with his assistance. Lady Lysson
taught them, and at last even Lady Dora laughingly joined in the caprice
of a moment's childishness. Their fingers came in contact--(a thing much
better avoided, where the woman's weakening heart needs every possible
bulwark to keep out Love. He is very apt to glide into the citadel in a
gentle pressure of thrilling joy; but if not accomplished the _first_
time, the besieged has nothing to fear; in these cases, "_ce n'est que
le premier pas qui coute_")--and while puzzling unnecessarily over her
silken entanglements, he found time to press her for another sitting for
_Diane_ soon.
"Let it be to-morrow--shall it, Lady Dora?" he asked, as Lady Lysson
drew her attention elsewhere, to scold 'Tiney,' who was tearing the
leaves of a book dropped on the floor.
"Well, yes; to-morrow," uttered Lady Dora gently, as he held her hands
imprisoned by the silken cord. She did not withdraw them, so he stooped,
with the quiet gentleness peculiar to himself, and touched the prisoners
with his lip. She started, but did not utter a word.
"You are tired of our child's play," he said; "let me release your
hands. Lady Lysson, a thousand thanks for your teaching; you did well in
cautioning me against it with Lady Dora--I shall remember it!" And
rising, a glance fell on her, and this was scarcely more than one of
respect and interest: shaking Lady Lysson warmly by the hand, he bowed
merely to the other, and said--"Then to-morrow, Lady Dora, I may expect
you?"
She bowed, and he quitted the room.
"What an exceedingly awkward turn the conversation took!" cried Lady
Lysson as he left. "It was a most painful thing that affair about his
wife, which has ever appeared involved, to me, in some strange mystery.
How was it, my dear? I asked Randolph about it before he quitted
England, and he said Mr. Tremenhere was jealous of his own shadow; and
this was all the satisfaction I received."
It will be seen Lady Lysson was totally ignorant of the relationship
existing between Minnie and Lady Dora. Lord Randolph had, for his own
sake, as a suitor to the latter, hushed it up as much as possible.
"There was something strange about it!" dropped from Lady Dora, with
perfect self-possession; she was again herself.
"There must have been some indiscretion on her part," continued the
other, even charitable as she was, "for they were separated some time
before her unhappy death. I heard,"--here she lowered her voice--"that
Randolph had flirted with her, and this excited Mr. Tremenhere's
jealousy, and that subsequently he discovered a decided intrigue
elsewhere, and shot, or dangerously wounded the lover. I admired him for
it; for, though it may be wrong, 'tis more natural than a cold-blooded
divorce and damages: it always seems to me like making a fortune of
one's own dishonour!"
"I doubt whether Lord Randolph really were guilty of seeking the lady's
dishonour," answered Lady Dora; though she _thought_ it herself, she
would not admit any thing to another, so galling to her vanity.
"'My lord, beware of jealousy!'" quoted Lady Lysson laughing. "Don't be
alarmed; a reformed rake makes the best husband, they say."
"I should be sorry to try one," was the dry rejoinder. "The reformation
is too often skin deep, and they always make suspicious husbands, severe
fathers--look around at all our neighbours!"
"But I defend Randolph from the charge of being one; he is a black
swan," said his aunt.
"Oh, that example of a _rara avis_ is no longer orthodox!" cried the
other smiling. "We have many specimens of them, and, to my thinking,
they are over fond of seeking crumbs of comfort at the hands of the fair
sex, if we take for example those on the Serpentine, to make perfect,
and exclusively loving mates."
"Come, I will not have a word against my Randolph, even _sous entendu_,
in epigrams. I have set my heart on his subduing yours, and giving me a
right to call you my dear niece."
"I thank you for the cordial wish, dear Lady Lysson; we shall see--_à
propos_, I have promised Mr. Tremenhere a, sitting for _Le Diane_
to-morrow, will you accompany me?--or mamma?"
"Oh, I will, gladly! I delight in that man's society; and he is so very
reserved towards women, so totally devoid of love-making, except _par
badinage_--that one feels quite comfortable in cultivating the
acquaintance--I speak as relates to you young marrying girls."
"Stop, stop Lady Lysson! you are too fascinating, too young at heart, to
exclude yourself from love's attacks yet."
"My dear girl, I have played 'cat's cradle' once too often, ever to
attempt it again. I could not unravel the very simplest;" she looked
down and thought of "poor Lysson," as she ever termed him. Lady Dora
looked down too, and began to think _she_ had played rather too
earnestly _once_ at "cat's cradle," and would not resume it again.