AN UNREHEARSED EFFECT
I would have given the world to have been able to rise from my seat,
leave the theatre, and go straight home. But the power to do it was
not in me. I knew there was a storm in the air. I felt it about me on
every side. I am sure I am not a nervous person, as a rule. But just
then I was simply a bundle of nerves; on tenterhooks all the time as
to what was going to happen next. And then Jane’s shoes were
inflicting such agonies on my unfortunate feet that I would have
slipped them off had it not been for the conviction that I should
never be able to get into them again if I did; and what would happen
if I had to march out of the theatre in my crimson-stockinged feet? In
such a case, would it be more dignified to carry Jane’s shoes with me
in my hand, or to leave them behind me on the floor?
That pretty lady on the stage finished her encored song, and I had not
caught a word or a note!--and generally I do not allow a single thing
to escape me. Under cover of the clapping, an attendant handed Mr
Hammond a note. I knew in an instant who it was from, if only by the
eagerness with which the four in the box observed the manner of its
reception. Not that I looked at them. I looked at no one, I did not
dare, keeping my eyes fixed as much as possible on vacancy. For,
wherever I looked, there was some presumptuous man who looked back at
me in a manner which was simply indescribable. But one need not look
to see; and I was quite aware that each of those four men was leaning
as far over the edge of the box as was consistent with safety, in
order that they might have the earliest possible information of the
adventures of that missive.
They soon had it. Mr Hammond rent the envelope open; took out a
card--something told me it was Basil Carter’s--read what was written
on the back of it, and tore it into shreds, which he dropped between
his knees.
“No answer,” he said to the attendant, “except that you can tell ’em
to go to blazes.”
Then, as if such language was a matter of no consequence, he turned to
me, continuing his previous most extraordinary remarks, completely
regardless of the performance on the stage, and of the people all
around us, too.
“Frightfully sorry to seem to rush you, Miss Norah. Fact is, when
judge’s box is within a furlong, if you don’t want to get left behind,
you’re bound to bustle. I’ve got it all on this time--every
copper--must bar taking chances--a certainty is what I’m after. A
certainty it is, if you’ll consent. Let’s put our piles together--come
in with me on the same horse--Matrimony, out of True Love, by
Unbounded Admiration. She’s the mare to carry two as if they were one;
and if you ride her with a gentle hand, she keeps on winning all the
time. Miss Norah, say that it’s a go.”
I suppose, looking back, that that extraordinary speech was intended
to be regarded as a proposal of marriage. I do not see, now, what else
it could have been meant for. But I did not see it then. Considering
the circumstances under which it was made, it was not strange.
I do not know if it is customary for proposals to be made in the
stalls of a theatre. I sincerely hope, for the lady’s sake, that it is
not; especially if the subject is treated in the singular manner in
which it was treated then. Not only was the phraseology very peculiar,
but many of the people about us could not help hearing most of what he
said; so that I had a dreadful feeling that they were more amused by
his remarks than by those of the performers on the stage. No woman, I
suppose, likes the declaration of a man’s passion to be made a public
mock of, even when it comes from such a ridiculous creature as Walter
Hammond.
Voices came to us from the pit--as before, vulgar voices.
“Silence! Shut up there in front! Can’t the gentleman in the stalls go
outside if he wants to talk to his young lady?”
In desperation, I endeavoured to induce him to respect their most
reasonable wishes.
“Mr Hammond,” I whispered, “can’t you keep still? You prevent the
people from enjoying the performance.”
“Hang the performance!” was his answer. “And hang the people, too! Say
yes, Miss Norah--only say yes!--and I’ll be silent as the grave.”
He reached out--in the stalls!--for my hand. I had the greatest
difficulty in keeping it from him. If I had allowed him to get it into
his, what he would have tried to do next, I do not dare to think. Had
I had the vaguest conception of what kind of person he really was,
nothing would have induced me to have any connection with him
whatever. I pitied Eveleen, from the bottom of my heart, if she ever
allowed her path in life to become associated with his.
The same attendant who had brought Mr Carter’s card--or, at least,
what I believed to have been Mr Carter’s card--re-appeared. All round
us people were smiling, some of them giggling outright. They were
whispering among themselves. I saw that we were targets for
everybody’s eyes. I had a horrid feeling that we were even attracting
the attention of the actors and actresses on the stage. There was no
doubt as to our being observed by the band. One of the clarionet
players was grinning with such intense enjoyment that it was a miracle
how it was that he managed to blow. The reappearance of that attendant
was a distinct relief. She held out an envelope, which Mr Hammond
snatched at with an air of resentment. She drew it back, saying,
beneath her breath:
“It’s for the lady, sir.”
I took it, with trembling fingers. I managed, after a deal of
ridiculous fumbling, to get it open. Inside were no less than four
visiting cards. There was no need to refer to their fronts to
understand from whom they came; I felt those four men glaring at me
from the box above. On the back of one of them something was written.
I did not look to see whose it was, but I knew it was Basil Carter’s.
It was written so very badly, apparently with a blunt lead pencil, and
I myself was in such a state of fluster, that I had difficulty in
making out what it was.
“My dear Miss Norah,--I implore you to come up to my box at once! Mr
Hammond undertook to conduct you to it, but, with monstrous perfidy,
he enticed you to his own stall instead. This is not the time, and I
have not the space, to give you my candid opinion of his behaviour,
but I appeal to your sense of justice----”
That was all I could read. Several more words--or what I supposed were
words--were crammed into the corner, which were beyond my powers of
deciphering. But I had deciphered enough. What an awful character Mr
Hammond appeared to be, to have played such a trick upon his
friends--and upon me!--with the seemingly express intention of making
a laughing-stock of me in front of all the theatre. I stood up on the
instant, trembling--at least, partly--with rage. He stood up, too.
“What’s the matter? Miss Norah, where are you going?”
“I am going to Mr Carter’s box.”
He had the assurance to seem surprised.
“Miss Norah! Not before giving me an answer! Say yes! Be a sportsman,
Miss Norah, and put my number up!”
Naturally, the whole place was in commotion.
“Sit down in front!” exclaimed half-a-dozen voices.
One unmannerly creature made himself clearly heard above the others.
One of the many objectionable things about Mr Hammond was that he had
such a strident voice, and that he would speak so loudly.
“Put the gentleman’s number up, if it’s only up the spout, Miss Norah;
and then, perhaps, he will sit down!”
I distinctly heard the acid lady beside me say:
“I cannot understand how it is that they admit such creatures. I
certainly should have thought that they would not have been allowed in
the stalls of a respectable theatre.”
What she meant I did not know, and I could scarcely inquire. Anyhow,
it was not an agreeable thing to have said of one. The man in the row
behind stood up, also, again thrusting his head between Mr Hammond and
me, and actually forcing a scrap of paper into my hand.
“Pardon me once more, sir, but some of us have paid for our seats with
the idea of witnessing the performance, which, I believe, still is
going on.”
The impertinence of the man’s manner, and the absolute insolence of
his behaviour to me, stung me to sudden fury. I can get into a rage if
I like! I held out the piece of paper which he had just insinuated
between my fingers.
“Mr Hammond, this person has just forced this into my hand, and a few
minutes ago he dropped this down my neck.”
I extracted the three-cornered fragment, which still reposed where it
had fallen, inside my bodice, offering it to Mr Hammond with the
other. He took them both, opened one, glanced at it, then said, in a
tone of inquiry:
“This the Johnny?”
“That is the man.”
I do not know what was on that scrap of paper. I have sometimes
wondered; but I never did know, and I never shall. Whatever it was, I
can scarcely conceive that it could have been an, in any way, adequate
excuse for what Mr Hammond immediately did. Yet there was a
workmanlike promptness about the fashion in which it was done which,
in a sense, appealed to me. Though it must not be, for a moment,
supposed that I regarded his action as anything but shocking.
He turned round, and he hit that insolent man in the centre of his
face with such force that he knocked him over the back of his own
stall right into the row behind. Whatever else it was, it was a
magnificent hit.