Jack went home meditating rather bitterly on things in general. He
had a sense that Fate was not behaving very prettily to him. She
had dealt him rather a severe blow in April last, which had knocked
him down, and, having knocked him down, she now proceeded in a most
unsportsmanlike way to kick him. Jack had a great idea of fair play,
and Fate certainly was not playing fair. He would have liked to have
a few words with her on the subject. The world had been very kind on
the whole to him. He had always been popular, and his life, though
perhaps rather aimless, was at least enjoyable. And since the world had
been kind to him, he was generous to the world in general, and to his
friends in particular. It had always held a high opinion of him, as a
thoroughly healthy-minded and pleasant companion, and he was disposed
to hold a similar opinion of it. Consequently, when Dodo had refused
him that spring, he had not thought badly of her. He did not blame
her, or get bitter about it; but though he had flattered himself that
he was used to Dodo's ways, and had always recognised her capabilities
in the way of surprising her friends, he had not been quite prepared
for the news of her engagement. In fact, he was surprised, and also
rather resentful, chiefly against the general management of mundane
affairs, but partly also against Dodo herself. Dodo had not told him
of her engagement; he had been left to find it out for himself. Then,
again, she was engaged to a man who was hopelessly and entirely in
love with her, and for whom, apart from a quiet, unemotional liking,
she did not care two straws, except in so far as he was immensely rich
and had a title, two golden keys which unlocked the most secret doors
of that well-furnished apartment known as Society, which constituted
Dodo's world. Hitherto her position had been precarious: she had felt
that she was on trial. Her personality, her great attractiveness
and talents, had secured for herself a certain footing on the very
daïs of that room; but she had always known that unless she married
brilliantly she would not be sure of her position. If she married a
man who would not be always certain of commanding whatever money and
position--for she would never have married a wealthy brewer--could
command, or, worst of all, if in her unwillingness to accept anything
but the best she could get, she did not marry at all, Dodo knew that
she never would have that unquestioned position that she felt was
indispensable to her. Jack knew all this perfectly well--in fact Dodo
had referred to it that morning--and he accepted it philosophically as
being inevitable. But what he did not like was being told that he would
not have done on general grounds, that he was too fond of his own way,
that he would not have given Dodo rein enough. He had known Dodo too
long and too well, when he proposed to her, to have any of a lover's
traditional blindness to the faults of his love. He knew that she was,
above all things, strongly dramatic, that she moved with a view to
effect, that she was unscrupulous in what she did, that her behaviour
was sometimes in questionable taste; but this he swallowed whole, so to
speak. He was genuinely attached to her, and felt that she possessed
the qualities that he would most like to have in his wife. Bertie had
said to him that morning that she was stimulating, and would not wear
well. Stimulating she certainly was--what lovable woman is not?--and
personally he had known her long, and she did wear well. The hidden
depths and unsuspected shallows were exactly what he loved her for;
no one ever fell in love with a canal; and though the shallows were
commoner than the depths, and their presence was sometimes indicated
by a rather harsh jarring of the keel, yet he believed, fully and
sincerely, in the dark, mysterious depths for love to lose itself
in. Besides, a wife, whose actions and thoughts were as perfectly
calculable and as accurately calculated as the trains in a Bradshaw,
was possessed of sterling qualities which, however estimable, were more
suited to a housekeeper than a mistress.
These reflections were the outcome of an intimate knowledge of Dodo in
the mind of a man who was in the habit of being honest with himself
and the object of his love, a quality rare enough whether the lover is
rejected or accepted.
He had had time to think over the matter quietly to himself. He knew,
and had known for many weeks, that Dodo was out of his reach, and he
sat down and thought about the inaccessible fruit, not with the keen
feelings of one who still hoped to get it, but with a resignation which
recognised that the fruit was desirable, but that it must be regarded
from a purely speculative point of view.
And to do him justice, though he was very sorry for himself, he was
much more sorry for Chesterford. Chesterford was his cousin, they had
been brought up together at Eton and Oxford, and he knew him with that
intimacy which is the result of years alone.
Chesterford's old friends had all a great respect and liking for
him. As Dodo had said, "He was an honest man if you like." Slight
acquaintances called him slow and rather stupid, which was true
on purely intellectual grounds. He was very loyal, and very much
devoted to what he considered his duty, which consisted in being an
excellent landlord and J.P. of his county, in voting steadily for
the Conservative party in the House of Lords, in giving largely and
anonymously to good objects, in going to Church on Sunday morning,
where he sang hymns with fervour, and read lessons with respect, in
managing a hunt in a liberal and satisfactory manner, and in avoiding
any introspection or speculation about problems of life and being.
He walked through the world with an upright gait, without turning
his eyes or his steps to the right hand or the left, without ever
concerning himself with what was not his business, but directing all
his undoubtedly sterling qualities to that. He had a perfect genius
for doing his duty. Nobody had ever called him shallow or foolish, but
nobody on the other hand had ever, called him either deep or clever.
He had probably only made one real mistake in his life, and that was
when he asked Dodo to marry him; and we have seen that Jack, who knew
Dodo well, and whose opinion might be considered to be based on good
grounds, thought that Dodo had committed her first grand error in
accepting him. The worst of the business certainly was that he was
in love with Dodo. If he had been a different sort of man, if he had
proposed to Dodo with the same idea that Dodo had, when she accepted
him, if he had wanted a brilliant and fascinating woman to walk through
life with, who could not fail to be popular, end who would do the
duties of a mistress of a great house in a regal fashion, he could not
have chosen better. But what he wanted in a wife was someone to love.
He loved Dodo, and apparently it had not entered his calculations that
she, in accepting him, might be doing it from a different standpoint
from his own in proposing to her. Dodo had smiled on him with the
air of a benignant goddess who marries a mortal, when he offered her
his hand and heart, and he had taken that smile as a fulfilment of
his own thought. Decidedly Jack might have justification for feeling
apprehensive.
Jack's only hope lay in that vein which did exist in Dodo, and which
she had manifested in that outburst of tears the night before. He put
it down to her dramatic instincts to a large extent, but he knew there
was something besides, for Dodo did not care to play to an empty house,
and the presence of her future husband alone constituted anything but
a satisfactory audience. Jack had always had a considerable belief
in Dodo: her attractiveness and cleverness were, of course, beyond
dispute, and required proof no more than the fact that the sun rose
in the morning; but he believed in something deeper than this, which
prompted such actions as these. He felt that there was some emotion
that she experienced at that moment, of which her tears were the
legitimate outcome, and, as he thought of this, there occurred to him
the remark that Dodo had made that morning, when she expressed her
regret at never having felt the sort of love that she knew Chesterford
felt for her.
Mrs. Vane was perhaps perfectly happy that night. Was not her
daughter engaged to a marquis and a millionaire? Was not her house
going to be filled with the brightest and best of our land? She had
often felt rather resentful against Dodo, who alternately liked and
despised people whom Mrs. Vane would have given her right hand to be
in a position to like, and both hands to be in a position to despise.
Dodo was excellent friends with "London," only "London" did not come
and seek her at her own house, but preferred asking her to theirs.
Consequently, on Mrs. Vane and Maud devolved the comparatively menial
duty of leaving their cards and those of Dodo, and attending her in
the capacity of the necessary adjunct. They would be asked to the
same houses as Dodo, but that was all; when they got there they had
the privilege of seeing Dodo performing her brilliant evolutions, but
somehow none of Dodo's glory got reflected on to them. To be the mirror
of Dodo was one of Mrs. Vane's most cherished ideas, and she did not
recollect that there are many substances whose nature forbids their
acting as such to the most brilliant of illuminations. Mr. Vane was
kept still more in the background. It was generally supposed that he
was looking after his affairs in the country, whilst the rest of the
family were amusing themselves in London. It was well known that he was
the proprietor of a flourishing iron foundry somewhere in Lancashire,
and apparently the iron needed special care during the months of May,
June and July. In any case he was a shadow in the background, rather
than a skeleton at the banquet, whom it was not necessary to ignore,
because he never appeared in a position in which he could be ignored.
Mrs. Vane had two principal objects in life, the first of which was
to live up to Dodo, and the second to obtain, in course of time, a
suitable brilliant son-in-law. The latter of these objects had been
practically obtained by Dodo herself, and the first of them was in a
measure realised by the large and brilliant company who assembled in
her rooms that night.
Mrs. Vane was a large, high-coloured woman of about middle age, whose
dress seemed to indicate that she would rather not, but that, of
course, may only have been the fault of the dressmaker. She had an
effusive manner, which sometimes made her guests wonder what they
could have done to have made her so particularly glad to see them. She
constantly lamented Mr. Vane's absence from London, and remarked, with
a brilliant smile, that she felt quite deserted. Mrs. Vane's smile
always suggested a reformed vampire, who had permanently renounced
her bloodthirsty habits, but had not quite got out of the way of
gloating on what would have been her victims in the unregenerate days.
It is only fair to say that this impression was due to the immensity
of her smile, which could hardly be honestly accounted for by this
uncharitable world. She was busily employed in receiving her guests
when Jack came, and was, perhaps, more stupendously cordial than ever.
"So kind of you to come," she was just saying to a previous arrival
when Jack came in. "I know Dodo was dying to see you and be
congratulated. Darling," she said, turning to Maud, "run and tell Dodo
that Lord Burwell has arrived. So good of you to come. And how do you
do, dear Mr. Broxton? Of course Dodo has told you of our happiness.
Thanks, yes--we are all charmed with her engagement. And the Marquis
is your cousin, is he not? How nice! May I tell Maud she may call you
Cousin Jack? _Such_ pleasure to have you. Dodo is simply expiring to
see you. Did she see you this morning? Really! she never told me of it,
and my sweet child usually tells me everything."
Dodo was playing the amiable white elephant to some purpose. She was
standing under a large chandelier in the centre of the room, with
Chesterford beside her, receiving congratulations with the utmost
grace, and talking nonsense at the highest possible speed. Jack thought
to himself that he had never seen anyone so thoroughly charming and
brilliant, and almost wondered whether he had not been doing her an
injustice all day. He saw it was impossible to get near her for the
present, so he wandered off among other groups, exchanging greetings
and salutations. He had made the circuit of the room, and was standing
about near the door, feeling a little lonely, when Dodo came quickly
towards him. She was looking rather white and impatient.
"Come away out of this, Jack," she said; "this is horrible. We've done
our duty, and now I want to talk. I've been smiling and grinning till
my cheeks are nearly cracked, and everyone says exactly the same
thing. Come to my room--come." She turned round, beckoning to him, and
found herself face to face with Chesterford. "Dear old boy," she said
to him, "I'm not going to bore you any more to-night. I shall bore you
enough after we are married. Jack and I are going away to talk, and
he's going to tell me to be a good girl, and do as his cousin bids me.
Good-night; come again to-morrow morning."
"I came here on purpose to congratulate you," said Jack, grasping
Chesterford's hand, "and I wish you all joy and prosperity."
"Come, Jack," said Dodo. "Oh, by the way, Chesterford, ask Jack to be
your best man. You couldn't have a better, and you haven't got any
brother, you know."
"I was just going to," said Chesterford. "Jack, you will be, won't you?
You must."
"Of course I will," said Jack. "All the same we're all awfully jealous
of you, you know, for carrying Dodo off."
"So you ought to be," said he, enthusiastically. "Why, I'm almost
jealous of myself. But now go and talk to Dodo, if she wants you."
The sight of Chesterford with Dodo made Jack groan in spirit. He had
accepted Dodo's rejection of him as quite final, and he never intended
to open that closed book again. But this was too horrible. He felt a
genuine impulse of pure compassion for Chesterford, and an irritated
disgust for Dodo. Dodo was an admirable comrade, and, for some, he
thought, an admirable wife. But the idea of her in comradeship with
Chesterford was too absurd, and if she could never be his comrade, by
what perversity of fate was it that she was going to become his wife?
Jack's serenity was quite gone, and he wondered what had become of it.
All he was conscious of was a chafing refusal to acquiesce just yet,
and the anticipation of a somewhat intimate talk with Dodo. He felt
half inclined to run away from the house, and not see her again, and
as he followed her up to her room, he began to think that his wisdom
had followed his serenity. After all, if he asked her again about her
resolution to marry Chesterford, what was he doing but continuing the
conversation they had in the Park that morning, in which Dodo herself
had taken the initiative. "These things are on the knees of the gods,"
thought Jack to himself piously, as the door of Dodo's room closed
behind him. Dodo threw herself down in a low arm-chair with an air of
weariness.
"Go on talking to me, Jack," she said. "Interest me, soothe me, make
me angry if you like. Chesterford's very nice. Don't you like him
immensely? I do."
Jack fidgeted, lit a match and blew it out again. Really it was not his
fault that the conversation was going to be on this subject. He again
laid the responsibility on the knees of the gods. Then he said,--
"Dodo, is this irrevocable? Are you determined to marry this man? I
swear I don't ask you for any selfish reasons, but only because I am
sincerely anxious for your happiness and his. It is a confounded
liberty I am taking, but I sha'n't apologise for it. I know that it
isn't any business of mine, but I risk your displeasure."
Dodo was looking at him steadily. Her breath came rather quickly, and
the look of weariness had left her face.
"Jack," she said, "don't say this sort of thing to me again. You are
quite right, it is a confounded liberty, as you say. I shall do as I
please in this matter. Ah, Jack, don't be angry with me," she went on
as he shrugged his shoulders, and half turned away. "I know you are
sincere, but I must do it. I want to be safe. I want to be married.
Chesterford is very safe. Jack, old boy, don't make me quarrel with
you. You are the best friend I have, but I'm sure you're wrong about
this."
She rose and stood by him, and laid one hand on his as it lay on the
mantelpiece. He did not answer her. He was disappointed and baffled.
Then she turned away from him, and suddenly threw up her arms.
"Oh, my God," she said, "I don't know what to do. It isn't my fault
that I am made like this. I want to know what love is, but I can't--I
can't. You say I shall make him unhappy, and I don't want to do that.
I don't believe I shall. Jack, why did you come here suggesting these
horrible things?"
There was a great anger in her voice, and she stood trembling before
him.
Just then the door opened, and a middle-aged lady walked in. She did
not seem at all surprised. Nobody who had known Dodo long was often
surprised.
She walked up to Dodo and kissed her.
"I came late," she said, "and your mother said you were in your room,
so I came up to congratulate you with all my heart."
"Thank you very much," said Dodo, returning the kiss. "Jack, do you
know Mrs. Vivian?--Mr. Broxton."
Mrs. Vivian bowed, and Jack bowed, and then nobody seemed quite to know
what to say next. Mrs. Vivian recovered herself first.
"I wish you would show me the necklace Lord Chesterford has given you,"
she said to Dodo. "Mrs. Vane said the diamonds were magnificent."
"Certainly, I will fetch it," said Dodo, with unusual docility. "Don't
go away, Jack."
Dodo left the room, and Mrs. Vivian turned to Jack.
"My dear young man," she said, "I am old enough to be your mother,
and you mustn't mind what I am going to say. This sort of thing won't
do at all. I know who you are perfectly well, and I warn you that you
are playing with fire. You were at liberty to do so before Dodo was
engaged, and I daresay you have burned your fingers already. Several
young men have--but now it won't do. Besides that, it isn't fair on
either Chesterford or Dodo herself."
Jack wanted to think "what an impertinent old woman," but there was
something in her manner that forbade it.
"I believe you are right," he said simply; "but it wasn't wholly my
fault."
Then he felt angry with himself for having shifted any of the blame on
to Dodo.
"_Honi soit_," said the other ambiguously. "I don't mean that--Ah, here
is Dodo."
The diamonds were duly shown and admired, and the three went downstairs
again.
Mrs. Vivian took her leave shortly. She was very gracious to Jack, and
as they parted she said,--
"Come and see me at any time; I should like to talk to you. Here is my
address."
Jack sought Mrs. Vane to inquire who Mrs. Vivian was. Mrs. Vane was
even more effusive than usual.
"Oh, she is quite one of our leading people," she said.--"She has
not been in London, or, in fact, in England for two years. She was
unhappily married. Her husband was a scamp, and after his death she
suddenly left London, and has only just returned. She is quite an
extraordinary woman--everyone used to rave about her. She never gave
herself airs, but somehow she was more looked up to than anyone else.
Quite royal in fact. I feel immensely honoured by her presence here. I
hardly dared to ask her--so fascinating, and so clever."
Dodo came up to Jack before he left.
"Jack," she said, "I was angry with you, and I am sorry. Don't bear me
malice. If Mrs. Vivian had not come in, I should have said something
abominable. I am afraid of her. I don't quite know why. She always
seems to be taking stock of one, and noticing how very small one is.
Don't forget to-morrow. We're all going on a water-party at Richmond.
Mind you come."
"I think I had better not," said Jack bluntly.
Dodo lifted her eyebrows in surprise that may have been genuine.
"Why not?" she asked.
Jack had no reasonable answer to give her.
"What did Mrs. Vivian say to you?" asked Dodo suddenly.
Jack paused.
"A few polite nothings," he said; "and half the royal motto. Mrs. Vane
said she was quite royal, which, of course, explains it."
"I can't conceive what you're talking about," remarked Dodo. "It seems
to me to be sheer nonsense."
Jack smiled.
"On the whole, I think it is sheer nonsense," he said. "Yes, I'll come."
Dodo swept him the prettiest little curtsey.
"How good of you," she said. "Good-night, Jack. Don't be cross, it
really isn't worth while, and you can behave so prettily if you like.
Oh, such a nice gentleman!"
"No, I expect it isn't worth while," said Jack.