Madam, our house’s honour is in question!
I prithee, when you play at wantonness,
Remember that our blood flows clean and pure,
In one unbroken and unmuddied line,
From crystal sources. I’m your champion,
Madam, against yourself!--_The Will and the Way_.
George Craik was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet when
he was moving with set purpose to any object.
As we have already hinted, he possessed a certain bull-dog tenacity,
very dangerous to his opponents. And now all the suspicions of a nature
naturally suspicious, all the spitefulness of a disposition naturally
spiteful, being fully and unexpectedly aroused, his furious instinct
urged him to seek, without a moment’s breathing-time, the presence of
his refractory cousin.
Coupled with his jealous excitement was a lofty moral indignation.
The family credit was at stake--so at least he assured himself--and he
had a perfect right to demand an explanation. Had he reflected a little,
he might have known that Alma was the last person in the world to give
any explanation whatever if peremptorily demanded, or to admit her
cousin’s right to demand it; her spirit was stubborn as his own, and her
attitude of intellectual superiority was, he should have known by old
experience, quite invincible.
Quitting the theatre, he leapt into a hansom, and was driven direct to
Alma’s rooms. It was by this time about five in the afternoon, and he
made certain of finding his cousin at home.
He was mistaken. Miss Craik was out, and had been out the greater part
of the day.
‘Do you know where I can find her?’ he asked of the domestic, a smart
servant maid.
‘I don’t know, sir,’ was the reply. ‘She went out in the morning with
Mr. Bradley, and has not been home to lunch.’
‘Does she dine at home?’
‘Yes, sir--at seven.’
‘Then I will wait for her.’ And so saying he walked into the
drawing-room and sat down.
He had cooled a little by this time, and before Alma made her appearance
he had time to cool a good deal more. Fidgetting impatiently in his
chair, he began to ask himself how he could best approach the subject
on which he had come. He regretted now that he had not called for his
father and brought him with him; that, no doubt, would have been
the most diplomatic course to adopt. The more he thought over the
information he had received, the more he questioned its authenticity;
and if, after all, the actress had made a mistake, as he began to
suspect and fear, what a fool he would be made to look in his cousin’s
eyes! The prospect of being made to appear absurd sent a thrill of
horror through his blood; for this young person, as has already been
seen, dreaded, above all things in the world, the shaft of ridicule.
Time slipped by, and George Craik grew more and more uneasy. At last
seven o’clock struck, and Alma had not appeared.
Growling to himself like an irritable dog, the young man rose and
touched the electric bell.
‘Mv cousin is very late,’ he said to the servant when she appeared.
‘Yes, sir; she is very uncertain.’
‘It is seven o’clock. You said she dined at seven.’
‘Yes, sir. But sometimes she does not return to dinner, If she is not
here at the hour we don’t expect her.’
George Craik uttered an angry exclamation.
‘Where the deuce can she be?’ he cried, scowling ominously.
‘I can’t say, sir,’ returned the servant smiling. ‘Miss Craik is most
uncertain, as I told you. She may be dining out--with Mr. Bradley.’
The young man seized his hat, and began striding up and down the room.
Then he stopped, and seeing a curious smile still lingering on the
servant’s face, said sharply:
‘What are you laughing at? This is no laughing matter. I tell you I must
see my cousin!’
‘I’m very sorry, sir, but----’
George moved towards the door.
‘I’ll go and look for her,’ he said. ‘If she returns before I find her,
tell her I’ll come the first thing in the morning.’
And, fuming savagely, he left the house. His temper, never very amiable,
was now aroused to the extreme point of irritation, and the servant’s
suggestion that Alma might at that very moment be in his rival’s company
roused in him a certain frenzy. It was scandalous; it was insufferable.
If he could not have it out that night with her, he would seek the
clergyman, and force him to some sort of an avowal. Bent on that
purpose, he hurried away towards Bradley’s house.
He passed on foot round Regent’s Park, and came to the neighbourhood of
the New Church and the adjoining house where Bradley dwelt. It was
quite dark now, and the outskirts of the park were quite deserted. As he
approached the house he saw the street-door standing open, and heard the
sound of voices. He pricked up his ears and drew back into the shadow.
A light silvery laugh rose upon the air, followed by the low, deep tones
of a man’s voice. Then the door was closed, and two ligures stepped out
into the road, crossing to the opposite side, under the shadow of the
trees.
They passed across the lamplight on the other side of the way, and he
recognised his cousin’s figure, arm-in-arm with that of the clergyman.
They passed on, laughing and talking merrily together.
Keeping them well at a distance, he quietly followed.
They passed round the park, following the road by which he himself had
come. Happy and unsuspicious, they continued to talk as they went; and
though he was not near enough to follow their conversation, he heard
enough to show him that they were on the tenderest and most loving
terms.
More than once he felt inclined to stride forward, confront them, and
have it out with his rival; but, his courage failing him, he continued
to follow like a spy. At last they reached the quiet street where Alma
dwelt, and paused on the doorstep of her house.
He drew back, waited, and listened.
‘Will you not come in?’ he heard his cousin say.
He could not hear the reply, but it was accompanied by a kiss and an
embrace, which made the jealous blood boil and burn along his veins.
‘Good-night, dearest!’ said Alma.
‘Good night, my darling!’ answered the deep voice of the clergyman.
Then the two seemed to embrace and kiss again, and the next moment the
house door opened and closed.
George Craik stepped forward, and stood waiting on the pavement
for Bradley to pass, right under the light of a street lamp. Almost
immediately Bradley came up quietly, and they were face to face.
The clergyman started, and at first George Craik thought that he was
recognised; but the next moment Bradley passed by, without any sign of
recognition, and before the other could make up his mind what to do, he
was out of sight.
George Craik looked at his watch; it was still early, and he determined
at once to interview his cousin. He knocked at the door and asked for
her; she heard his voice and came out into the lobby, charmingly attired
in an evening dress of the ‘crushed strawberry’ tint, so much favoured
by ladies of æsthetic leaning. Never had she looked more bright and
beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, and she looked
radiantly happy.
‘Is it you, George?’ she cried. ‘What brings you so late? I hope no one
is ill. My uncle----’
‘O, _he’s_ all right!’ answered George, entering the drawing-room. ‘No
one is ill, or dead, or that kind of thing; so make your mind easy.
Besides, it’s only nine o’clock, and you don’t call _that_ late, do
you?’
His manner was peculiar, and she noticed that he hardly looked her in
the face. Closing the room door, she stood facing him on the hearthrug,
and by his side she looked a queen. The miserable young man was
immediately submerged in the sense of inferiority irksome to him, and he
looked at once cowed and savage.
‘Well, George, what is it?’ continued Alma. ‘I suppose it’s some new
trouble about yourself. Uncle told me the other day you were rather
worried about money, and I offered to help you out of it if I could.’
George threw himself on a sofa and leant forward, sucking the end of his
cane.
‘It isn’t that,’ he replied. ‘If it were, you know I shouldn’t come to
you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I have no right, Alma; you have never given me any right.
I hope you don’t think me mean enough to sponge upon you because you
happen, to be my cousin, and much richer than I am! But I _am_ your
cousin, after all, and I think I have a right to protect you, when I see
you likely to get into trouble.’
This was quite a magnificent speech for George Craik; for anger and
moral indignation had made him eloquent. Alma looked down upon him in
all the pleasurable pride of her beauty, half smiling; for to her
poor George was always a small boy, whose attempts to lecture her were
absurd. Her arms and neck were bare, there were jewels on her neck
and heaving bosom, her complexion was dazzlingly clear and bright, and
altogether she looked superb. There was a large mirror opposite to her,
covering half the side of the room; and within it another Alma, her
counterpart, shone dimly in the faint pink light of the lamps, with
their rose-coloured shades.
George Craik was obtuse in some respects, but he did not fail to
notice that his cousin was unusually resplendent. She had never been
extravagant in her toilette, and he had seldom seen her in such bright
colours as on the present occasion. Everything about her betokened an
abundant happiness, which she could scarcely conceal.
‘What do you mean by getting into trouble?’ she inquired carelessly.
‘Surely I am old enough to take care of myself.’
‘I don’t think you are,’ he answered. ‘At any rate, people are talking
about you, and--and I don’t like it!’
Alma shrugged her white shoulders.
‘Why shouldn’t people talk, if it pleases them? But what are they
saying?’
The ice was broken, and now was the time for George to take the plunge.
He hesitated seriously for a moment, and then proceeded.
‘They are saying scandalous things, and I think you ought to know.’
‘About _me_, George?’
‘About you and that man Bradley.’
‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Alma, and she laughed quite joyously.
‘It’s no laughing matter,’ cried Craik angrily. ‘It’s a matter that
concerns our family, and our family honour. I tell you they couple your
name with his in a way that makes a fellow shudder. That is why I came
here to remonstrate with you. I heard this afternoon that you and this
man were seen in Normandy together, at a time when everybody supposed
you to be here in London.’
Alma started and flushed crimson. Was her secret discovered? For her own
part, she did not much care; indeed, she would have rejoiced greatly
to publish her great happiness to all the world; but she respected
Bradley’s wishes, and was resolute in keeping silence.
The young man rose to his feet, and continued eagerly:
‘Let me tell you, Alma, that I don’t believe a word of it. I know you
are indiscreet, of course; but I am sure you would never compromise
yourself or us in any way. But it’s all over the place that you were
seen together over at Rouen, and I want you to give me the authority to
say it’s an infernal lie!’
Alma was rather disconcerted. She was at a loss how to reply. But she
was so secure in her own sense of happy safety, that she was more amused
than annoyed by her cousin’s indignation.
‘Suppose it were the truth. George? Where would be the harm?’
‘Good God! you don’t mean to tell me it _is_ true!’
‘Perhaps not,’ was the quiet reply. ‘I don’t mean to answer such
accusations, one way or the other.’
George Craik went livid.
‘But you don’t deny it!’
‘Certainly not. Let people talk what nonsense they please; it is quite
indifferent to me.’ ‘Indifferent!’ echoed George Craik. ‘Do you know
your character is at stake? Do you know they say that you are this man’s
mistress?’
Even yet, Alma betrayed less anger and astonishment than one might have
thought possible; for, though the infamous charge shocked her, she was
too confident in her own security, in the knowledge of her happy secret,
which she could at any moment publish to the world, to be greatly or
deeply moved. But if the matter of her cousin’s discourse failed to
disconcert her, its manner irritated her not a little. She made an eager
movement towards the door as if to leave the room; but, wheeling, round
suddenly, she raked him from head to foot with a broadside from her
scornful eyes.
‘And I suppose _you_ are quite ready to accept such a calumny!’ she
cried scornfully.
‘Nothing of the sort,’ returned George. ‘I’m sure you’d never go as far
as that!’
She gave a gesture of supreme disdain, and repeated the sense word for
word with contemptuous emphasis.
‘You’re sure I’d never go as far as that! How good and kind of you to
have so much faith in me! Do you know that every syllable you utter to
me is an insult and an outrage, and that if Mr. Bradley heard you talk
as you have done, he would give you the whipping you so richly deserve!’
Here George Craik’s self-control gave way; his face grew black as
thunder, and clenching his fist, he gave vent to an angry oath.
‘D------ him! I should like to see him try it on. But I see what it is.
He has dragged you down to his level at last, the infernal atheist! He
thinks nothing sacred, and his New Church, as he calls it, is as foul
as himself. O, _I_ know! He preaches that marriage isn’t a sacrament at
all, but only a contract to be broken by the will of either party; and
as you agree with him in everything, I suppose you agree with him in
_that_, and are his mistress after all!’ ‘That is enough!’ exclaimed
Alma, who was now pale as death. ‘Leave this place at once, and never
let me see your face again.’
‘I won’t go till I have spoken my mind; and don’t make any mistake; I
shall speak it to him as well as to you!’
‘If you have any sense left, you will do nothing of the kind.’
‘Won’t I? Wait and see!’ returned George, perfectly beside himself with
rage. ‘As for you, I wonder you have the courage to look me in the face.
I followed you both to-night, and watched you; I saw you embracing and
kissing, and it turned me sick with shame. There, the secret’s out! I
shall speak to my father, and see what _he_ has to say about your goings
on.’
As he spoke, Alma approached him and looked him steadily in the face.
She was still ghastly pale, and her voice trembled as she spoke, but her
entire manner expressed, not fear, but lofty indignation.
‘It is like you to play the spy! It is just what I should have expected!
Well, I hope you are satisfied. I love Mr. Bradley; I have loved him
since the day we first met. Will you go now?’
George Craik seized his hat and stick, and crossed to the door, where he
turned.
‘I will take care all the world knows of your shameless conduct!’ he
cried. ‘You have brought disgrace upon us all. As for this man, he shall
be exposed; he shall, by--! He is a scoundrel not lit to live!’
Without replying, Alma pointed to the door; and, after one last look
of concentrated rage, George Craik rushed from the house. She heard the
outer door close behind him, but still stood like marble, holding her
hand upon her heart. Then, with a low cry, she sank shuddering into a
chair, and covered her face with her hands.
The scene which we have described had tortured her delicate spirit more
than she at first knew; and her cousin’s bitter taunts and reproaches,
though they missed their mark at first, had struck home in the end.
She was a woman of infinite sensitiveness, exceeding sweetness of
disposition; and she could not bear harsh words, even from one she
cordially despised. Above all, she shrank, like all good women, even the
most intellectual, before the evil judgment of the world. Could it be
true, as George Craik had said, that people were connecting her name
infamously with that of Bradley? If so, then surely it was time to let
all the world know her happiness.
She drew forth from her bosom a photographic miniature of Bradley, set
in a golden locket. For a long time she looked at it intently, through a
mist of loving tears. Then she kissed it fondly.
‘He loves me!’ she murmured to herself. ‘I will tell him what they
are saying, and then he will know that it is time to throw away all
disguise. Ah! how proud I shall be when I can stand by his side, holding
his hand, and say “This is my husband!”’