SIR FRANCIS TRAVELS WITH MISS ALTIFIORLA.
Miss Altifiorla was at the station of course before her time. It is
the privilege of unmarried ladies when they travel alone to spend
a good deal of time at stations. But as she walked up and down the
platform she had an opportunity for settling her thoughts. She was
angry with three persons--with Mrs. Western, Mr. Western, and with
herself. She was very angry with Cecilia. Had Cecilia trusted to her
properly she could have sympathised with her thoroughly in all her
troubles. She was not angry with her friend in that her friend was
afraid of her husband. Would she have reposed herself and her fears
on her friend's bosom it might have been very well. But it was
because her friend had not been afraid of her that she was wrath.
Mrs. Western had misbehaved egregiously, and had come to her in
her trouble solely because it was necessary. So far she had done
naturally. But though she had come, she had not come in any of the
spirit of humility. She had been bold as brass to her in the midst
of her cowardice towards her husband,--imperious to herself and
unbending. She had declined her advice with scorn. And yet one word
spoken by herself would have been destructive. Seeing that she had
been so treated had she not been wrong to abstain from the word?
Her anger against Mr. Western was less hot in its nature but was
still constant. He had not liked her, and though he had been formally
civil, his dislike had been apparent. He was a man proud of himself,
who ought to be punished for his pride. It was quite proper that he
should learn that his wife had been engaged to the man whom he had
so violently despised. It would be no more than a fitting reverse of
fortune. Mr. Western was, she thought, no better than other men, and
ought to be made so to understand. She had not quite arranged in her
mind what she could now do in the matter, but for "dear Cecilia's"
sake she was sure that something must be done.
And she was angry with herself at allowing herself to be turned out
of the house before the crisis had come. She felt that she ought to
have been present at the crisis, and that by the exercise of her own
powers she might have hurried on the crisis. In this respect she was
by no means satisfied with herself.
She was walking up and down the platform of the little country
station thinking of all this when on a sudden she saw Sir Francis
Geraldine get out of a brougham. It cannot be explained why her heart
throbbed when she saw Sir Francis get out of his brougham. It was not
that she thought that she could ask his advice on the matters which
filled her mind, but there probably did come to her vague ideas
of the possibility of some joint action. At any rate she received
him when he came upon the platform with her blandest smile, and
immediately entered into conversation with him respecting the
household of the Westerns. What a stiff man he was, so learned, so
proper, and so distant! It was impossible to get on with him. No
doubt he was very good and all that. But what was their poor dear
Cecilia to do with a man so silent, and one who hated all amusements?
Before the train came up she and Sir Francis were quite on good terms
together; and as they were both going to London they got into the
same carriage.
"Of course he's a prig," said Sir Francis, as they seated themselves
opposite to one another. "But then his wife is a prig too, and I do
not see why they should not suit each other."
"You did not use to think her a prig, Sir Francis."
"No; like other men I made a mistake and was nearly having to pay for
it. But I discovered in time,--luckily for both of us."
"You know," said Miss Altifiorla, "that Cecilia Holt was my dearest
friend, and I cannot endure to hear her abused."
"Abused! You do not think I wish to abuse her. I am awfully fond of
her still. But I do not see why she and Western should not get on
very well together. I suppose they've no secrets from each other," he
added after a pause. Upon this Miss Altifiorla remained silent. "They
tell each other everything I should think." Still Miss Altifiorla
said nothing. "I should imagine that she would tell him everything."
"Upon my word I can't say."
"I suppose she does. About her former engagement, for instance. He
knows the whole story, eh?"
"I declare you put it to me in such a way that one doesn't know how
to answer you."
"Different people have such different opinions about these kind of
things. Some people think that because a girl has been engaged to
a man she never ought to speak to him again when the engagement is
broken. For my part I do not see why they should not be as intimate
as any other people. She looked at me the other day as though she
thought that I ought not to put myself into the same room with her
again. I suppose she did it in obedience to him."
What was Miss Altifiorla to say in answer to such a question? She did
remember her promise, and her promise was in a way binding upon her.
She wished so to keep it as to be able to boast that she had kept it.
But still she was most anxious to break it in the spirit. She did
understand that she had bound herself not to divulge aught about Mrs.
Western's secret, and that were she to do so now to Sir Francis she
would be untrue to her friend. But the provocation was strong; and
she felt that Sir Francis was a man with whom it would be pleasant to
form an alliance.
"You must know," said Sir Francis.
"I don't see that I need know at all. Of course Cecilia does tell me
everything; but I do not see that for that reason I am bound to tell
anyone else."
"Then you do know."
"Know what?"
"Has she told him that she was engaged to me? Or does he not know it
without her telling him?" By this time they had become very intimate,
and were whispering backwards and forwards with each other at their
end of the carriage. All this was very pleasant to Miss Altifiorla.
She felt that she was becoming the recipient of an amount of
confidential friendship which had altogether been refused to her
during the last two weeks. Sir Francis was a baronet, and a man of
fashion, and a gentleman very well thought of in Devonshire, let
Mr. Western say what he might about his conduct. Mr. Western was
evidently a stiff stern man who did not like the amusements of other
gentlemen. Miss Altifiorla felt that she liked being the friend of a
man of fashion, and she despised Mr. Western. She threw herself back
on the seat and closed her eyes and laughed. But he pressed her with
the same question in another form. "Does he know that she was engaged
to me?"
"If you will ask me, I do not think that he does."
"You really mean to say that he had never heard of it before his
marriage?"
"What am I to do when you press me in this way? Remember that I do
not tell you anything of my own knowledge. It is only what I think."
"You just now said that she told you everything."
"But perhaps she doesn't know herself."
"At any rate there is a mystery about it."
"I think there is, Sir Francis." After that it was not very long
before Miss Altifiorla was induced to talk with great openness of the
whole affair, and before they had reached London she had divulged to
Sir Francis the fact that Mrs. Western had as yet told her husband
nothing of her previous engagement, and lived at the present moment
in awe at the idea of having to do so. "I had no conception that
Cecilia would have been such a coward," she said, as Sir Francis was
putting her into a cab, "but such is the sad fact. She has never
mentioned your name."
"And was therefore dreadfully frightened when I called."
"Oh, dreadfully! But I shouldn't wonder if she has not told him all
about it now."
"Already, you think." He was standing at the door of the cab,
detaining it, and thereby showing in a very pleasant manner the
importance of the interview.
"Well;--I cannot say. Perhaps not yet. She had certainly not made the
communication when I left this morning, but was only waiting for my
departure to do so. So she said at least. But she is terribly afraid
of him and perhaps has not plucked up her courage. But I must be off
now."
"When do you leave town?"
"This afternoon. You are delaying me terribly at this moment. Don't,
Sir Francis!" This she said in a whisper because he had got hold of
her hand through the window, as though to say good-bye to her, and
did not at once let it go.
"When do you go? I'll see you off by the other train. When do you go,
and from where?"
"Will you though? That will be very kind. Waterloo;--at 4.30.
Remember the 4.30."
"Sans adieu!" Then she kissed her hand to him and was driven off.
This to her was all very pleasant. It gave an instant rose colour
to her life. She had achieved such a character down at Exeter for
maidenly reserve, and had lived so sternly, that it was hardly in her
memory that a man had squeezed her hand before. She did remember one
young clergyman who had sinned in this direction, twelve years since,
but he was now a Bishop. When she heard the other day that he had
been made a Bishop some misgivings as to her great philosophy touched
her mind. Had she done right in repudiating mankind? Would it not
have been better now to have been driving about the streets of the
episcopal city, or perhaps even those of the metropolis, in an
episcopal carriage? But, as she had then said, she had chosen her
line and must now abide by it. But the pressing of her hand by Sir
Francis had opened up new ideas to her. And they were the pleasanter
because a special arrangement had been made for their meeting
once again before they left London. As to one point she was quite
determined. Mrs. Western and her secret must be altogether discarded.
As for her promise she had not really broken it. He had been clever
enough to extract from her all that she knew without, as she thought,
any positive statement on her own part. At any rate he did know the
truth, and no concealment could any longer be of service to Cecilia.
It was evident that the way was open to her now, and that she could
tell all that she knew without any breach of confidence.
Sir Francis, when he left her, was quite determined to carry his
project through. Cecilia had thrown him over with most abominable
unconcern and self-sufficiency. He had intended to honour her and
she had monstrously dishonoured him. He had endeavoured to escape
this by taking upon himself falsely the fault of having been the
first to break their engagement. But there was a doubt as to this
point, and people said that he had been jilted--much to his disgust.
He was determined to be revenged,--or, as he said to himself, "he had
made up his mind that the broad truth should be known." It certainly
would be the "broad truth" if he could make Mr. Western understand
the relations on which he, Sir Francis, had but a few months before
stood in regard to his wife. "Honesty," he said to himself, "demanded
it."
Miss Altifiorla, he thought, was by no means an unpleasant young
woman with whom to have an intrigue. She had good looks of her
own, though they were thin and a little pinched. She was in truth
thirty-five years old, but she did not quite look it. She had a
certain brightness of eye when she was awakened to enthusiasm, and
she knew how to make the best of herself. She could whisper and
be--or pretend to be--secret. She had about her, at her command, a
great air of special friendship. She had not practised it much with
men as yet, but there was no reason why she should not do so with
advantage. She felt herself already quite on intimate terms with Sir
Francis; and of Sir Francis it may be said, that he was sufficiently
charmed with Miss Altifiorla to find it expedient to go and see her
off from the Waterloo Station.
He found Dick Ross at his club and lunched with him. "You're just up
from the Criterion," said Dick.
"Yes; I went down for the sake of renewing an old acquaintance, and I
renewed it."
"You've been persecuting that unfortunate young woman."
"Why a young woman should be thought unfortunate because she
marries such a pink of perfection as Mr. Western, and avoids such a
scapegrace as I am, I cannot conceive."
"She's unfortunate because you mean to bully her. Why can't you leave
her alone? She has had her chance of war, and you have had yours, and
he has had his. As far as I can see you have had the best of it. She
is married to a stiff prig of a fellow, who no doubt will make her
miserable. Surely that ought to be enough for you."
"Not quite," said Sir Francis. "There is nothing recommends itself
to my mind so much as even-handed justice. He played me a trick once,
and I'll play him another. She too played me a trick, and now I can
play her one. My good fortune consists in this, that I can kill the
two birds with one stone."
"You mean to kill them?"
"Certainly I do. Why on earth should I let them off? He did not let
me off. Nor did she. They think because I carry things in an easy
manner that I take them easily. I suffer as much as they do. But they
shall suffer as well as I."
"The most pernicious doctrine I ever heard in my life," said Dick
Ross as he filled his mouth with cold chicken pie.
"When you say pernicious, have you any idea what you mean?"
"Well, yes; awfully savage, and all that kind of thing. Just utter
cruelty, and a bad spirit."
"Those are your ideas because you don't take the trouble to return
evil for evil. But then you never take the trouble to return good
for good. In fact, you have no idea of duty, only you don't like to
burden your conscience with doing what seems to be ill-natured. Now,
if a man does me good, I return it,--which I deem to be a great duty,
and if he does me evil, I generally return that sooner or later.
There is some idea of justice in my conduct, but there is none in
yours."
"Do you mean to punish them both?"
"Well, yes; as far as it is in my power, both."
"Don't," said Dick Ross, looking up with something like real sorrow
depicted on his face. But still he called for some greengage tart.
"I like to get the better of my enemies," said the Baronet. "You
like fruit pie. I doubt if you'd even give up fruit pie to save this
woman."
"I will," said Dick, pushing the pie away from him.
"The sacrifice would be all in vain. I must write the letter to-day,
and as it has to be thought about I must begin it at once. Whatever
happens, do not let your good nature quarrel with your appetite."
"He's a fiend, a perfect fiend," said Dick Ross, as he sate dawdling
over his cheese. "I wouldn't have his ill-nature for all his money."
But he turned that sentiment over in his mind, endeavouring to
ascertain what he would do if the offer of the exchange were made to
him. For Dick was very poor, and at this moment was in great want
of money. Sir Francis went into the smoking-room, and sitting there
alone with a cigar in his mouth, meditated the letter which he would
have to write. The letter should be addressed to Mr. Western, and was
one which could not be written without much forethought. He not only
must tell his story, but must give some reason more or less plausible
for the telling of it. He did not think that he could at once make
his idea of justice plain to Mr. Western. He could not put forth his
case so clearly as to make the husband understand that all was done
in fair honour and honesty. But as he thought of it, he came to the
conclusion that he did not much care what impression he might leave
on the mind of Mr. Western;--and still less what impression he might
leave on hers. He might probably succeed in creating a quarrel, and
he was of opinion that Mr. Western was a man who would not quarrel
lightly, but, when he did, would quarrel very earnestly. Having
thought it all over with great deliberation, he went up-stairs, and
in twenty minutes had his letter written. At a quarter past four he
was at the Waterloo Station to see the departure of Miss Altifiorla.
Even he could perceive that she was somewhat brighter in her attire
than when he had met her early in the morning. He could not say what
had been done, but something had been added to please his eyes. The
gloves were not the same, nor the ribbons; and he thought that he
perceived that even the bonnet had been altered. Her manner too was
changed. There was a careless ease and freedom about her which he
rather liked; and he took it in good part that Miss Altifiorla had
prepared herself for the interview, though he were to be with her but
for a few minutes, and that she should be different from the Miss
Altifiorla as she had come away from the Western breakfast table.
"Now there is one thing I want you to promise me," she said as she
gave him her hand.
"Anything on earth."
"Don't let Mr. Western or Cecilia know that you know about that."
He laughed and merely shook his head. "Pray don't. What's the good?
You'll only create a disturbance and misery. Poor dear Cecilia has
been uncommonly silly. But I don't think that she deserves to be
punished quite so severely."
"I'm afraid I must differ from you there," he said, shaking his head.
"Is it absolutely necessary?"
"Absolutely."
"Poor Cecilia! How can she have been so foolish! He is of such a
singular temperament that I do not know what the effect may be. I
wish you would think better of it, Sir Francis."
"And leave myself to stand in my present very uncomfortable position!
And that after such treatment as hers. I have thought it all over,
and have found myself bound in honour to inform him. And it is for
the sake of letting you know that I have come here. Perhaps you may
be called upon to say or do something in the matter."
"I suppose it cannot be helped," said Miss Altifiorla with a sigh.
"It cannot," he replied.
"Poor dear Cecilia. She has brought it on her own head. I must get
into my train now, as we are just off. I am so much obliged to you
for coming to see me start."
"We shall meet each other before long," he said, as she again kissed
her hand and took her departure. Miss Altifiorla could not but think
what a happy chance it was that prevented his marriage with Cecilia
Holt.