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Transcriber's Note:
The original spelling and punctuation were retained,
except for a few issues that were believed to be
typographical mistakes. The full list of corrections
can be found at the end of this document.
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THE LIMIT
=THE LIMIT=
BY
ADA LEVERSON
LONDON
CHAPMAN & HALL
Originally published 1911 by Grant Richards Ltd.
Reissued 1950 by arrangement with the Richards Press Ltd.
Printed by Brüder Rosenbaum, Vienna, Austria
Cat. No. 5085/4
TO ROBERT ROSS
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I VALENTIA 11
II HARRY 24
III VAN BUREN 32
IV THE ELDER MRS. WYBURN 37
V ROMER 43
VI HARRY'S ENTERTAINMENT 47
VII DAPHNE 62
VIII IN FANCY DRESS 70
IX A CELEBRITY AT HOME 79
X MISCHIEF 87
XI THE FRIENDS 105
XII A HOME CHAT 115
XIII VALENTIA'S VISIT 123
XIV A SUGGESTION 131
XV MISS WALMER 137
XVI MRS. FOSTER 144
XVII ENGAGED 156
XVIII AT THE CARLTON 163
XIX AT MISS WESTBURY'S 170
XX A PROPOSAL 177
XXI HEREFORD VAUGHAN 183
XXII GILLIE INTERFERES 189
XXIII THE BALD-FACED STAG 196
XXIV THE GREEN GATE 203
XXV A SUNDAY AFTERNOON 211
XXVI IN THE ROSE GARDEN 223
XXVII SEEING THE SUN RISE 230
XXVIII "REPLY PAID" 235
XXIX GLADYS 241
XXX "THE ANGLES" 248
XXXI AT EDGWARE 256
XXXII TENSION 263
XXXIII GOOD-BYE 268
XXXIV ROMER OVERHEARS 274
XXXV THE LIMIT 286
XXXVI RECONCILIATION 291
CHAPTER I
VALENTIA
"Romer, are you listening?"
"Valentia, do I ever do anything else?"
"I've almost decided and absolutely made up my mind that it will look
ever so much better if you don't go with me to Harry's dinner after
all."
"Really?"
"Yes. We two--you _and_ I--always seem to make such an enormous family
party! Of course, I know we have to go about in these huge batches
sometimes--to your mother, and that sort of thing, but in this case it
will look better not."
Valentia made this rather ungracious suggestion, looking so pretty, so
serious, and yet with such a conciliating smile that it would have been
almost impossible for even the most touchy person to have been offended.
The tall, significant-looking husband stopped in his stroll across the
room.
It was a charming room, with pale grey walls and a pale green carpet,
and very little in it except, let in as a panel, a delicate low-toned
portrait of the mistress of the house, vaguely appearing through
vaporous curtains, holding pale flowers, and painted with a rather
mysterious effect by that talented young amateur, her cousin, Harry de
Freyne. It had been his sole success in art, and had been exhibited at
the Grafton Galleries under the name of The Gilded Lily. No one had ever
known or was ever likely to know whether the title referred to the
decorative, if botanically impossible, blossom in her hand, or to the
golden hair of the seductive sitter.
Romer Wyburn paused a moment--he always paused before speaking--and then
said very slowly--
"Oh! Really? You think it will look better if I don't go with you?"
He invariably spoke with the greatest deliberation, and with no
expression whatever.
"Oh yes, dear, I'm sure it would," she repeated coaxingly.
"Do you mean if you go without me?"
"What else can I mean?"
"It'll look better, you think; eh? Is that the idea?"
He sat down opposite the portrait, lighted a cigarette, and thought.
Then he said with ruminating interest--
"I don't see why. Why will it look so much better for me not to go with
you?"
"Oh, Romer dear, really! It's one of those things that are almost
impossible to explain. Oh, if you'd only do just what I advise--if you'd
only _go_ by me, and not want these long tedious explanations, how much
better it would be! You see, Harry is giving this dinner _on purpose_ so
that Daphne shall meet Van Buren by accident. You know all about Van
Buren, _the_ Van Buren--the millionaire, who turns out to be a dear
creature and quite charming! and has taken the _greatest_ fancy to
Harry, and clings on to him, and keeps on and on asking him to ask him
to meet people. You must own it would be rather jolly for Daphne,
because, of course, you can't _think_ how he's run after--I mean Van
Buren--and he isn't an ordinary American snob, and it really and truly
isn't only his millionairishness, but he's a real person, and
good-looking and nice as well; and though, Heaven knows, I'm as romantic
as anybody--for myself--I wouldn't be so selfish as to be romantic for
her too, and I can't help feeling it's our duty, being in the place of
parents to her, to give the angel a sporting chance! Of course, the
point is, Van Buren has told Harry he only likes nice English girls very
well brought up, and he wants to settle down in England, and he thinks
that any relation of Harry's must be perfect; and, naturally, I'm
pleased. I feel exactly like a mother to Daphne, although she's only six
years younger."
"Well, that's all right. I see all that."
Romer seemed rather bored, as men naturally are at a long catalogue of
another man's advantages. "Now, look here. Why would it look better for
me not to go?"
There was some excuse for his insistence on this point, for in a
superficial way Romer was very effective, fair and good-looking,
well-made and distinguished; but the entire absence of all expression
from his empty, regular face, and of all animation from his dry,
colourless voice and manner, soon counteracted the effectiveness.
Valentia often said that Romer should never do more than walk through a
room or look in for a few minutes where there were other people--even at
a club--and then go away immediately, when he would leave a striking
impression. If he stayed longer he became alarming. His personality was
so extraordinarily _nil_ that it was quite oppressive. Obviously kind
and not in the least pompous, yet his silence made him formidable,
especially to most of his wife's friends who, though they could hardly
be reproached with want of pluck as a general rule, had one great fear
in life--the fear of being bored. It was on this ground that they were
all terrified of Romer.
"Don't you think, Romer, if we both go it will look too marked? Almost
as if we were vulgarly trying to get Daphne married? A horrid idea!
Besides, if you don't turn up Harry can ask some one amusing in your
place. You see, he's promised to show Van Buren _interesting_ people....
No, darling, I don't mean it in that way. I'm sure you're interesting
enough, but I mean queer people, and celebrities and things. That's what
Van Buren wants, and that's what he must have. And that's one reason why
he's so delighted with Harry, because Harry can get them all, through
being a sort of artist, you see. What a good thing, after all, that he
didn't drift into diplomacy! As he's an American you can't expect Van
Buren to be really modern, and he has all the old-fashioned ideas about
what _he_ calls culture. He wants to go in for being intellectual and
artistic and knowing what he calls people with brains who really count.
I mean he wants to meet people like Seymour Hicks and Waller, and Thomas
Hardy, and so on, and not only celebrities and people who have made
their name, but even people with a future, and, in fact, any peculiar,
well-educated creatures--anything out of the way."
Romer looked rather dazed.
"Really? Then will Hicks or Hardy be asked in my place?"
Valentia laughed. "Don't be so absurdly literal and hopelessly idiotic,
darling! No, of course not. But I dare say Harry will get--well--perhaps
Rathbone, the tattooed man, his Oxford friend."
"Really! And will this chap's being tattooed make the party go off
better?"
"Oh yes, Romer dear; in a sort of way, because it makes him interesting,
although you can't see it. When he was quite young he was always having
lifelong passions for people, and being tattooed in their honour. He has
blue chain bracelets with initials on his left wrist, and a heart and an
anchor with other initials on his right arm, and a flight of
swallows--oh, and goodness knows what! In fact, when you come to think
of it Mr. Rathbone is really a kind of serial story--with illustrations.
I wonder Lord Northcliffe doesn't bring him out in monthly parts!" She
laughed again. "Harry might even get Hereford Vaughan, the man who has
written all the plays that are going on now. Harry knows him quite well,
and Van Buren would be so pleased."
"Does Daphne want to many this American chap?"
"Good gracious, no! The idea! Why, she doesn't even know him!... Yes, of
course she does, naturally."
"Oh!"
Romer, though he never by any chance smiled at his wife's careless
irresponsible chatter, nor laughed at her trivial jests, took the
deepest interest in them, and would listen, as if under a charm, by the
hour, to subtleties and frivolities that one would never have imagined
he would enjoy. Sometimes the faint shadow of a smile would illuminate
his face like a cold ray of wintry moonlight, but that was when she had
ceased speaking. The smile was the effect of having watched the sparkle
of her grey eyes, the expression of her pretty mouth, and her brilliant,
sunshiny grace.
"It's very sweet of Harry," she said thoughtfully, "to do all this for
me. It's all for me, or rather it's all for Daphne; he's so fond of
Daphne."
"Really? Why doesn't he marry her himself?"
She looked surprised and blushed slightly.
"Harry? Why, he never marries!"
"He doesn't as a rule, I know," Romer admitted.
"Then, why should he make an exception for Daphne? He's fond of her--of
us--in fact, devoted--just like a brother. Not that I ever saw a devoted
brother. Besides, Harry's made to be a bachelor, and he isn't well off
enough to marry."
"Really? Hard up? Poor chap! Never saw any sign of it."
"Hard up? No; how like you! Of course, he has plenty of money, for
_him_, but he spends it all, poor boy. Anyhow, of course, he's not
really rich like Van Buren. It's on a totally different scale--a
different sort of thing altogether. But, of course, Van Buren may not
care for Daphne; people have such funny tastes; and not only that, but
if he adores and worships the ground she treads on I shan't let her
dream of marrying him unless she absolutely returns it--at least, unless
she likes him fairly well."
All this seemed to absorb Romer, and after a pause he said--
"I suppose you'll get Daphne a new dress for Harry's beano?"
Valentia smiled pityingly.
"Yes, of course, you would think that. No! Why, that would be _l'enfance
de l'art_! First of all, Daphne looks ever so much better when she's
dressed really simply, not the latest fashion; on the very verge of
dowdiness! It suits her--shows her off. It would be silly to dress her
up like a doll or make her look _endimanchée_ on Thursday, or arranged
and got up expensively, on purpose for Van Buren. I wouldn't, for
instance, for anything, let her wear her new tulle dress from Armand!
He'd see through it. Besides, I want her to contrast with me as if I'd
taken any amount of trouble about my own appearance and none about hers.
It'll make him pity her a little, and think how well she'd look in the
sort of clothes he could give her. Besides, I myself am not going to be
very smart--just tidy."
"Paquin?"
"How clever of you to guess! Well, now I must go and see Harry and hear
all about the dinner, and tell him how sorry you are you can't come. And
you're going to lunch at the Club, aren't you? And won't you go and dine
with your mother on that evening?"
"I may as well."
"_Do_, Romer dear! I can't bear you to neglect her, although I never
think it's safe to let you dine with her without me. She always takes
advantage of my absence to be horrid about me, and then you _will_
defend me, although I've implored you not to heaps of times, and then
you quarrel. If, this time, she says I'm frivolous and worldly and an
utter fool and very deep, you must agree with every word. I'm so fond
of her, she's such a dear thing, it's too bad to worry her by
contradicting her, and she has such a vile temper! Telephone and invite
yourself--a pressing invitation, and give her my very best love."
Romer promised all she asked and then went out to the Club.
Valentia watched him through the window as he went. She thought he
looked very well through a window, and ought by rights always to be seen
in that way--as it were, under glass. She felt quite proud of him, of
his smart appearance. In his way, he was an elaborate dandy, and spent
years at his tailor's, slowly choosing the right thing. She remembered
she had married him chiefly because of his fine presence and mysterious
silence. She had thought at the time there must be so much at the back
of it all, so much in him. He was in love with her and seemed difficult
to understand. What could be more attractive? And now--well, he was
ideally kind and good-natured. And she certainly felt sometimes that she
couldn't even yet quite make him out. Then she gave a slight sigh, went
to the door and called Daphne.
Daphne came in, trimming a hat. She had lived with the Wyburns ever
since their marriage five years ago, and Valentia, having no children
and a most passionately tender disposition--far too much natural
affection to expend on Romer alone--lavished devotion on her sister. And
Daphne was so nice and so pretty, almost as pretty as herself, in a
satisfactorily different way. Valentia with her short straight features,
grey eyes under dark brows, low forehead almost hidden by wavy fair
hair, and a mouth curved and curled into subtle and complicated lines,
was the type loved by Rossetti and Burne-Jones. She had a wonderful fair
complexion, against which her long eyelashes showed, when she looked
down, dark and effective, and though she was rather tall, slim and very
modishly dressed, she never looked like a fashion-plate and had no air
of being a mere mannequin for clothes, but seemed essentially real, with
a suggestion in her personality of a beauty at once pagan and
spiritual--the pagan predominating. Her pictorial appearance had no
doubt made easier the artist's task, and the pale exquisite portrait had
truly been described as a whispering likeness.
Daphne, who was not quite eighteen, was a good deal taller, and more
slender. She had dark brown eyes, smooth dark hair, parted in the
middle, a rather bright colour and features of the classic type. Her
chin was rather long, and she had a brilliant, sudden smile, and all
the attractive freshness and slight abruptness of her age, with an
occasionally subdued air, caused by the shadow that had fallen on their
youth by the death of their beautiful mother. Her gentle grace and touch
of premeditated _naïveté_ made her charming. Beyond question she would
be a great success.
"Romer can't go on Thursday," Valentia said, taking the needle and hat
out of her sister's hand and beginning to sew. "I must go and see Harry
and tell him to get some one else. Really, Daphne, you go too far! It's
all very well to be clever with your needle, but you needn't tear a
Lewis hat to pieces and turn it inside out without asking my advice."
"Oh, I wasn't! I was only squashing in the brim and trying to make the
hat smaller. It seems to have got larger since I put it away."
"Don't be perfectly absurd, darling. It's because you've been seeing
smaller hats lately."
"Oh yes, I see. Who's going instead of Romer?"
"How should I know? We'll see."
"It's just as you like, darling," said Daphne in her level voice; "but
in case the American hates me, and I hate him, and Harry's talking to
you all the time, and I'm frightened of the celebrities, isn't anything
going to be done for me?"
"Of course not. What do you want? That Foster boy again? Don't look down
and blush, it makes me sick. All right, perhaps, if there's room. He's a
nice, decorative boy, but remember they don't dance at dinner, and
that's the only thing he can do."
"Indeed it isn't!" cried Daphne.
"I'm very sorry to hear it. Suppose Foster's engaged, or at Aldershot?"
"He won't be. It's too sweet of Romer not going. Did you marry him
because you knew he would do whatever you told him?"
"I don't think it was that so much," said Valentia, thoughtfully, trying
on the hat in front of the glass. "I thought he was a strong silent man,
a man with an orange up his sleeve, as it were. But I've never seen the
orange."
"How funny of you! I should hate a mysterious person. You don't want
your husband to be a kind of conjurer."
"Yes, I do, as long as he doesn't wear a conjurer's evening dress. I
like being surprised. Now let's go and surprise Harry at his studio; we
must be quick, he's expecting us."