Valentine was delighted to have Lilias as her companion. She was in
excellent spirits just now, and Lilias and she enjoyed going about
together. They had adventures which pleased them both, such simple
adventures as come to poorer girls every day--a ride in an omnibus to
Kew, an excursion up the river to Battersea in a penny steamer, and
many other mild intoxicants of this nature. Sometimes Gerald came with
them, but oftener they went alone. They laughed and chatted at these
times, and people looked at them, and thought them two particularly
merry good-looking school-girls.
Valentine was very fond of going to the theatre, and of course one of
the principal treats in store for Lilias was a visit to the play.
Valentine decided that they would go to some entertainment of a
theatrical character nearly every evening. On the day of Helps' strange
request to Wyndham they were to see _Captain Swift_ at the Haymarket.
Mr. Paget had taken a box for the occasion, and Valentine's last
injunction to her husband was to beg of him to be home in good time so
that they might have dinner in peace, and reach the Haymarket before
the curtain rose.
Lilias and she trotted about most of the morning, and sat cosily now in
the pretty drawing-room in Park-Lane, sipping their tea, examining
their purchases, or chatting about dress, and sundry other trivial
matters after the fashion of light-hearted girls.
Presently Valentine pulled a tiny watch out of her belt.
"Gerald is late," she said. "He promised faithfully to be in to tea,
and it is now six o'clock. We dine at half-past. Had we not better go
and dress, Lilias?"
Lilias was standing on the hearthrug, she glanced at the clock, then
into the ruddy flames, then half-impatiently towards the door.
"Oh, wait a moment or two," she said. "If Gerald promised to come he is
safe to be here directly. I never met such a painfully conscientious
fellow; he would not break his word even in a trifle like this for all
the world. Give him three minutes longer. You surely will not take
half-an-hour to dress."
"How solemnly you speak, Lilias," responded Valentine. "If Gerald is
late, that could scarcely be considered a breaking of his word. I mean
in a promise of that kind one never knows how one may be kept. That is
always understood, of course."
There came a pealing ring and a double knock at the door, and a moment
after the page entered with a telegram which he handed to his mistress.
Valentine tore the yellow envelope open, and read the contents of the
pink sheet.
"No answer, Masters," she said to the boy. Then she she turned to
Lilias. "Gerald can't go with us to-night. He is engaged. You see, of
course, he would not break his word, Lilias. He is unavoidably
prevented coming. It is too bad."
Some of the brightness went out of her face, and her spirits went down
a very little.
"Well, it can't be helped," she said, "only I am disappointed."
"So am I, awfully disappointed," responded Lilias.
Then the two went slowly upstairs to change their dresses.
When they came down again, Mr. Paget, who was to dine with them, was
waiting in the drawing-room. There was a suppressed excitement, a
suppressed triumph in his eyes, which, however, only made him look more
particularly bright and charming.
When Valentine came in in the pure white which gave her such a girlish
and even pathetically innocent air, he went up and kissed her almost
fiercely. He put his arm round her waist and drew her close to him, and
looked into her eyes with a sense of possession which frightened her.
For the first time in all her existence she half shrank from the father
whom she idolized. She was scarcely conscious of her own shrinking, of
the undefinable something which made her set herself free, and stand on
the hearthrug by Lilias' side.
"I don't see your husband, my pet," said Mr. Paget. "He ought to have
come home long before now, that is, if he means to come with us
to-night."
"But he doesn't, father," said Valentine. "That's just the grief. I had
a telegram from him, half-an-hour ago; he is unavoidably detained."
Mr. Paget raised his eyebrows.
"Not at the office," he said, in a markedly grave voice, and with
another significant raise of his brows. "That I know, for he left
before I did. Ah, well, young men will be young men."
Neither Valentine nor Lilias knew why they both flushed up hotly, and
left a wider space between them and Valentine's handsome father.
He did not take the least notice of this movement on both their parts,
but went on in a very smooth, cheerful voice.
"Perhaps Gerald does not miss as much as he thought," he said. "Since I
saw you this morning, Val, our programme has been completely altered.
We go to _Captain Swift_ to-morrow night. I went to the office and
exchanged the box. To-night we go to the Gaiety. I have been fortunate
in securing one of the best boxes in the whole house, and _Monte
Christo Junior_ is well worth seeing."
"I don't know that I particularly care for the Gaiety, father," said
Valentine. "How very funny of you to change our programme."
"Well, the fact is, some business friends of mine who were just passing
through town were particularly anxious to see _Captain Swift_, so as I
could oblige them, I did. It is all the better for your husband,
Valentine; he won't miss this fine piece of drama."
"No, that is something to be thankful for," responded Valentine. "But
I'm sorry you selected the Gaiety as an exchange. I don't think Lilias
will care for _Monte Christo_. However, it can't be helped now, and
dinner waits. Shall we go downstairs?"
Mr. Paget and his party were in good time in their places. Valentine
took a seat rather far back in the box, but her father presently coaxed
her to come to the front, supplied both her and Lilias with opera
glasses, and encouraged both girls to look about them, and watch the
different people who were gradually filing into their places in the
stalls.
Mr. Paget himself neither wore glasses nor aided his vision with an
opera glass. His face was slightly flushed, and his eyes, keen and
bright, travelled round the house, taking in everything, not passing
over a single individual.
Valentine was never particularly curious about her neighbors, and as
Lilias knew no one, they both soon leant back in their chairs, and
talked softly to one another.
The curtain rose, and each girl bent forward to see and enjoy. The rest
of the house was now comparatively dark, but just before the lights
were lowered, Mr. Paget might have been heard to give a faint quick
sigh of relief.
A tall girl in cream-color and soft furs walked slowly down the length
of stalls, and took her place in such a position that Valentine could
scarcely look down without seeing her. This girl's beauty was so marked
that many eyes were turned in her direction as she appeared. She was
very regal looking, very quiet and dignified in manner. Her features
were classical and pure in outline, and her head, with its wealth of
raven black hair, was splendidly set.
She was accompanied by a tall, fairly good-looking man who sat next to
her.
When the curtain rose and the lights were lowered the stall at her
other side was vacant.
Mr. Paget felt his heart beat a trifle too fast. Would that stall be
full or empty when the curtain dropped at the close of the first act?
Would his heart's desire, his wicked and treacherous heart's desire be
torn from him in the very moment of apparent fruition. Suppose Gerald
did not put in an appearance at the Gaiety? Suppose at the eleventh
hour he changed his mind and resolved to leave Esther Helps to her
fate? Suppose--pshaw!--where was the use of supposing? To leave a girl
to her fate would not be his chivalrous fool of a son-in-law's way. No,
it was all right; even now he could dimly discern a faint commotion in
the neighborhood of Esther Helps--the kind of commotion incident on the
arrival of a fresh person, the gentle soft little movement made by the
other occupants of the stalls to let the new comer, who was both late
and tiresome, take his reserved seat in comfort. Mr. Paget sank back in
his seat with a sensation of relief; he had not listened for nothing
behind an artfully concealed curtain that morning.
The play proceeded. Much as he had said about it beforehand, it had no
interest for Mr. Paget. He scarcely troubled to look at the stage.
There was no room in his heart that moment for burlesque: he was too
busily engaged over his own terrible life's drama. On the result of
this night more or less depended all his future happiness.
"If she turns back to me after what she sees to-night then I can
endure," he said to himself. "I can go on to the bitter end--if
not--well, there are more expedients than one for a ruined man to throw
up the sponge."
The curtain fell, the theatre was in a blaze of light; Valentine and
Lilias sank back in their seats and began to fan themselves. They had
been pleased and amused. Lilias, indeed, had laughed so heartily that
the tears came to her eyes.
"I hate to cry when I laugh," she said, taking out her handkerchief to
wipe them away. "It's a tiresome trick we all have in our family,
Gerald and all."
She had a habit of bringing in Gerald's name whenever she spoke of her
family, as if he were the topmost stone, the crowning pride and
delight.
Mr. Paget had his back slightly turned to the girls. Once more he was
devouring the stalls with his eager bright eyes. Yes, Gerald Wyndham
was in his stall. He was leaning back, not exerting himself much; he
looked nonchalant and strikingly handsome. Mr. Paget did not wish him
to appear too nonchalant when Valentine first caught sight of him.
No--ah, that was better. Esther was turning to speak to him. By Jove,
what a face the girl had!
Mr. Paget had often seen Helps' only daughter, for he found it
convenient occasionally to call to see Helps at Acadia Villa. But he
had never before seen her dress becomingly, and he was positively
startled at the pure, high type of her beauty. At this distance her
common accent, her poor uneducated words, could not grate. All her
gestures were graceful; she looked up at Gerald, said something,
smiled, then lowered her heavy black lashes.
It was at that moment, just as Wyndham was bending forward to reply to
her remark, and she was leaning slightly away from her other cavalier,
so that he scarcely seemed to belong to her party, that Valentine,
tired of doing nothing, came close to her father, and allowed her eyes
to wander round the house. Suddenly she uttered a surprised
exclamation.
"Look, father, look! Is that Gerald? Who is with him? Who is he talking
to? How is it that he comes to be here? Yes, it is Gerald! Oh, what a
lovely girl he is talking to!"
Valentine's words were emphatic and slightly agitated, for she was
simply overpowered with astonishment, but they were spoken in a low
key. Lilias did not hear them. She was reading her programme over for
the twentieth time, and wondering when the curtain would rise and the
play go on.
"Look, father," continued Valentine, clutching her father's arm. "Isn't
that Gerald? How strange of him to be here. Who can he be talking to? I
don't know her--do you? Do you see him, father? Won't you go down and
tell him we are here, and bring him up--and--and--the lady who is with
him. Go, please, father, you see where he is, don't you?"
"I do, my child. I have seen him for some time past. Would you like to
come home, Valentine?"
"Home! What in the world do you mean? How queer you look! Is there
anything wrong? Who is with Gerald? Who is he talking to? How lovely
she is. I wish she would look up again."
"That girl is not a lady, Valentine. She is Esther Helps--you have
heard of her. Yes, now I understand why your husband could not come
with us to the Haymarket to-night. My poor child! Don't look at them
again, Valentine, my darling."
Valentine looked full into her father's eyes; full, long, and steadily
she gazed. Then slowly, very slowly, a crimson flood of color suffused
her whole face; it receded, leaving her deathly pale. She moved away
from her father and took a back seat behind Lilias.
The curtain rose again, the play continued. Lilias was excited, and
wanted to pull Valentine to the front.
"No," she said. "My head aches; I don't care to look any more."
She sat back in her seat, very white and very calm.
"Would you like to come home?" said her father, bending across to her,
and speaking in a voice which almost trembled with the emotion he felt.
"No," she said in reply, and without raising her eyes. "I will sit the
play out till the end."
When the curtain fell again she roused herself with an effort and
coaxed Lilias to come into the back of the box with her. The only keen
anxiety she was conscious of was to protect her husband from Lilias'
astonished eyes.
Mr. Paget felt well satisfied. He had managed to convey his meaning to
his innocent child's heart; an insinuation, a fall of the voice, a look
in the eyes, had opened up a gulf on the brink of which Valentine drew
back shuddering.
"I was only beginning to love him; it doesn't so much matter," she said
many times to herself. Even now she thought no very bad things of her
husband; that is no very bad things according to the world's code. To
her, however, they were black. He had deceived her--he had made her a
promise and broken it. Why? Because he liked to spend the evening with
another girl more beautiful than herself.
"Oh, no, I am not jealous," said Valentine, softly under her breath. "I
won't say anything to him either about it, poor fellow. It does not
matter to me, not greatly. I was only beginning to love him. Thank God
there is always my dear old father."
When the curtain rose for the final act of the play. Valentine moved
her chair so that she could slightly lean against Mr. Paget. He took
her hand and squeezed it. He felt that he had won the victory.