No man, I think, ever forgets the first time he is brought face to face
with perfect beauty in woman. He may have caught fleeting glimpses of
loveliness on many fair faces often,--bright eyes may have flashed on
him like star-beams,--the hues of a dazzling complexion may now and then
have charmed him, or the seductive outlines of a graceful figure;--all
these are as mere peeps into the infinite. But when such vague and
passing impressions are suddenly drawn together in one focus,--when all
his dreamy fancies of form and colour take visible and complete
manifestation in one living creature who looks down upon him as it were
from an empyrean of untouched maiden pride and purity, it is more to his
honour than his shame, if his senses swoon at the ravishing vision, and
he, despite his rough masculinity and brute strength, becomes nothing
but the merest slave to passion. In this way was I overwhelmed and
conquered without any chance of deliverance when Sibyl Elton's violet
eyes, lifted slowly from the shadow of their dark lashes, rested upon me
with that indefinable expression of mingled interest and indifference
which is supposed to indicate high breeding, but which more frequently
intimidates and repulses the frank and sensitive soul. The Lady Sibyl's
glance repelled, but I was none the less attracted. Rimânez and I had
entered the Earl of Elton's box at the Haymarket between the first and
second acts of the play, and the Earl himself, an unimpressive,
bald-headed, red-faced old gentleman, with fuzzy white whiskers, had
risen to welcome us, seizing the prince's hand and shaking it with
particular effusiveness. (I learned afterwards that Lucio had lent him a
thousand pounds on easy terms, a fact which partly accounted for the
friendly fervour of his greeting.) His daughter had not moved; but a
minute or two later when he addressed her somewhat sharply, saying
"Sibyl! Prince Rimânez and his friend, Mr Geoffrey Tempest," she turned
her head and honoured us both with the chill glance I have endeavoured
to describe, and the very faintest possible bow as an acknowledgment of
our presence. Her exquisite beauty smote me dumb and foolish,--I could
find nothing to say, and stood silent and confused, with a strange
sensation of bewilderment upon me. The old Earl made some remark about
the play, which I scarcely heard though I answered vaguely and at
hap-hazard,--the orchestra was playing abominably as is usual in
theatres, and its brazen din sounded like the noise of the sea in my
ears,--I had not much real consciousness of anything save the wondrous
loveliness of the girl who faced me, clad in pure white, with a few
diamonds shining about her like stray dewdrops on a rose. Lucio spoke to
her, and I listened.
"At last, Lady Sibyl," he said, bending towards her deferentially. "At
last I have the honour of meeting you. I have seen you often, as one
sees a star,--at a distance."
She smiled,--a smile so slight and cold that it scarcely lifted the
corners of her lovely lips.
"I do not think I have ever seen _you_," she replied. "And yet there is
something oddly familiar in your face. I have heard my father speak of
you constantly,--I need scarcely say his friends are always mine."
He bowed.
"To merely speak to Lady Sibyl Elton is counted sufficient to make the
man so privileged happy," he said. "To be her friend is to discover the
lost paradise."
She flushed,--then grew suddenly very pale, and shivering, she drew her
cloak towards her. Rimânez wrapped its perfumed silken folds carefully
round her beautiful shoulders,--how I grudged him the dainty task! He
then turned to me, and placed a chair just behind hers.
"Will you sit here Geoffrey?" he suggested--"I want to have a moment's
business chat with Lord Elton."
Recovering my self-possession a little, I hastened to take the chance he
thus generously gave me to ingratiate myself in the young lady's favour,
and my heart gave a foolish bound of joy because she smiled
encouragingly as I approached her.
"You are a great friend of Prince Rimânez?" she asked softly, as I sat
down.
"Yes, we are very intimate," I replied--"He is a delightful companion."
"So I should imagine!" and she looked over at him where he sat next to
her father talking earnestly in low tones--"He is singularly handsome."
I made no reply. Of course Lucio's extraordinary personal attractiveness
was undeniable,--but I rather grudged her praise bestowed on him just
then. Her remarks seemed to me as tactless as when a man with one pretty
woman beside him loudly admires another in her hearing. I did not myself
assume to be actually handsome, but I knew I was better looking than the
ordinary run of men. So out of sudden pique I remained silent, and
presently the curtain rose and the play was resumed. A very questionable
scene was enacted, the 'woman with the past' being well to the front of
it. I felt disgusted at the performance and looked at my companions to
see if they too were similarly moved. There was no sign of disapproval
on Lady Sibyl's fair countenance,--her father was bending forward
eagerly, apparently gloating over every detail,--Rimânez wore that
inscrutable expression of his in which no feeling whatever could be
discerned. The 'woman with the past' went on with her hysterical
sham-heroics, and the mealy-mouthed fool of a hero declared her to be a
'pure angel wronged,' and the curtain fell amid loud applause. One
energetic hiss came from the gallery, affecting the occupants of the
stalls to scandalized amazement.
"England has progressed!" said Rimânez in soft half-bantering
tones--"Once upon a time this play would have been hooted off the stage
as likely to corrupt the social community. But now the only voice of
protest comes from the 'lower' classes."
"Are you a democrat, prince?" inquired Lady Sibyl, waving her fan
indolently to and fro.
"Not I! I always insist on the pride and supremacy of worth,--I do not
mean money value, but intellect. And in this way I foresee a new
aristocracy. When the High grows corrupt, it falls and becomes the
Low;--when the Low educates itself and aspires, it becomes the High.
This is simply the course of nature."
"But, God bless my soul!" exclaimed Lord Elton--"you don't call this
play low or immoral do you? It's a realistic study of modern social
life--that's what it is. These women you know,--these poor souls with a
past--are very interesting!"
"Very!" murmured his daughter.--"In fact it would seem that for women
with no such 'past' there can be no future! Virtue and modesty are quite
out of date, and have no chance whatever."