In Silk Attire Part 41

"How can I ever thank him for this great kindness?" she said,-"so unexpected, so generous! Indeed, I must go and see him and thank him personally; it is the greatest kindness I have received for years."

The Count was a little puzzled.

"You understand, Miss Brunel, that-that paper, you see, was not quite Mr. Melton's notion until--"

"Until you asked him? Then I am indebted to you for many kindnesses, but for this more than all. I feel as if you had given me a pair of wings. How shall I ever thank you sufficiently--?"

"_By becoming my wife._"

He had nearly uttered the words; but he did not. He felt that his mission that morning was too serious to be risked without the most cautious introduction. Besides, she was in far too good spirits to have such a suggestion made to her. He felt instinctively that, in her present mood, she would certainly laugh at him-the most frightful catastrophe that can happen to a man under the circ.u.mstances. And Count Schonstein had sufficient acquaintance with actresses to know, that while they have the most astonis.h.i.+ng capacity for emotion, if their sympathies be properly excited, there are no people who, in cold blood, can so accurately detect the ridiculous in a man's exterior. An actress in love forgets everything but her love; an actress not in love has the cruellest eye for the oddities or defects of figure and costume.

At the present moment, Count Schonstein felt sure that if he spoke of love, and marriage, and so forth, Miss Brunel would be looking at the rose in his b.u.t.ton-hole, or scanning his stiff necktie and collar, or the unblus.h.i.+ng corpulence of his waist. In his heart he wished he had no rose in his b.u.t.ton-hole.

It would be very easy to make fun of this poor Count (and he was aware of the fact himself) as he stood there, irresolute, diffident, anxious.

But there was something almost pathetic as well as comic in his position. Consider how many vague aspirations were now concentrated upon this visit. Consider how he had thought about it as he had dressed himself many a morning, as he had gone to bed many a night; how, with a strange sort of loyalty, he had striven to exalt his motives and persuade himself that he was quite disinterested; how the dull pursuit of his life, position and influence, had been tinged with a glow of sentiment and romance by meeting this young girl.

"She has no friends," he said to himself, many a time, "neither have I.

Why should not we make common cause against the indifference and hauteur of society? I can make a good husband-I would yield in all things to her wishes. And away down in Kent together-we two-even if we should live only for each other--"

The Count tried hard to keep this view of the matter before his eyes.

When sometimes his errant imagination would picture his marriage with the poor actress,-then his claim, on behalf of his wife, for the estates and t.i.tle of the Marquis of Knottingley's daughter-then the surprise, the chatter of the clubs, the position in society he would a.s.sume, the money he would have at his command, the easy invitations to _battues_ he could dispense like so many worthless coppers among the young lords and venerable baronets-and so forth, and so forth-he dwelt upon the prospect with an unholy and ashamed delight, and strove to banish it from his mind as a temptation of the devil.

These conflicting motives, and the long train of antic.i.p.ations connected with them, only served to render his present situation the more tragic.

He knew that one great crisis of his life had come; and it is not only incomparable heroes, possessed of all human graces and virtues, who meet with such crises.

"When do you propose to leave the stage?" he asked.

"I have left," she answered.

"You won't play to-night?"

"No."

"But Mr. Melton--?"

"Since he has been so kind as to give me, at your instigation, this release, must get Miss Featherstone to play 'Rosalind.' Nelly will play it very nicely, and my best wishes will go with her."

"Then I must see him instantly," said the Count, "and give him notice to get a handbill printed."

"If you would be so kind--"

But this was too bad. She intimated by her manner that she expected him to leave at once, merely for the sake of the wretched theatre. He took up the newspaper, by way of excuse, and for a minute or two glanced down its columns.

"Have you any fixed plans about what you mean to do?" he asked.

"None whatever," she replied. "Indeed I am in no hurry. You have no idea how I love this sense of freedom you have just given me, and I mean to enjoy it for a little time."

"But after then?"

She shrugged her shoulders, and smiled: he thought he had never seen her look so charming.

"You don't know what lies before you," he said, gravely, "if you think of battling single-handed against the crowds of London. You don't know the thousands who are far more eager in the fight for bread than you are; because you haven't experienced the necessity yet--"

"I have fought for my bread ever since my poor mother died," she said.

"With exceptional advantages, and these you now abandon. My dear Miss Brunel," he added, earnestly, "you don't know what you're doing. I shudder to think of the future that you seem to have chalked out for yourself. On the other hand, I see a probable future for you in which you would not have to depend upon any one for your support; you would be independent of those people whom you profess to dislike; you would be rich, happy, with plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt, nothing to trouble you, and you would also secure a pleasant home for Mrs. Christmas--"

"Have you imagined all that out of one of these advertis.e.m.e.nts?" she asked, with a smile.

"No, Miss Brunel," said the Count, whose earnestness gave him an eloquence which certainly did not often characterise his speech. "Can't you guess what I mean? I am sure you know how I esteem you-you must have seen it-and perhaps you guessed what feelings lay behind that-and-and-now you are alone, as it were, you have no friends-why not accept my home, and become my wife?"

"Your wife?" she repeated, suddenly becoming quite grave, and looking down.

"Yes," he said, delighted to find that she did not get up in a towering pa.s.sion, as he had seen so many ladies do, under similar circ.u.mstances, on the stage. "I hope you do not feel offended. I have spoken too abruptly, perhaps-but now it is out, let me beg of you to listen to me.

Look at this, Miss Brunel, fairly: I don't think I have an unkind disposition-I am sincerely attached to you-you are alone, as I say, with scarcely a friend-we have many tastes in common, and as I should have nothing to do but invent amus.e.m.e.nts for you, I think we should lead an agreeable life. I am not a very young man, but on the other hand I haven't my way to make in the world. You don't like the stage. I am glad of it. It a.s.sures me that if you would only think well of my proposal, we should lead a very agreeable life. I'm sure we should have a pleasant agreeable life; for, after all,-it is absurd to mention this just now, perhaps-but one has a good deal of lat.i.tude in 30,000*l.* a year-and you don't have to trouble your mind-and if the most devoted affection can make you happy, then happy you'll be."

Annie Brunel sate quite silent, and not very much affected or put out.

She had been in good spirits all the morning, had been nerving herself for a heroic and cheerful view of the future; and now here was something to engage her imagination! There is no woman in the world, whatever her training may have been, who, under such circ.u.mstances, and with such a picturesque offer held out to her, would refuse at least to regard and try to realise the prospect.

"You are very kind," she said, "to do me so much honour. But you are too kind. You wish to prevent my being subjected to the hards.h.i.+ps of being poor and having to work for a living, and you think the easiest way to do that is to make me the mistress of all your money--"

"I declare, Miss Brunel, you wrong me," said the Count, warmly. "Money has nothing to do with it. I mentioned these things as inducements-unwisely, perhaps. Indeed it has nothing to do with it.

Won't you believe me when I say that I could hope for no greater fortune and blessing in the world, if neither you nor I had a farthing of money, than to make you my wife?"

"I am afraid you would be sadly disappointed," she said, with a smile.

"Will you let me risk that?" he said, eagerly, and trying to take her hand.

She withdrew her hand, and rose.

"I can't tell you yet," she said; "I can scarcely believe that we are talking seriously. But you have been always very kind, and I'm very much obliged to you--"

"Miss Brunel," said the Count, hurriedly-he did not like to hear a lady say she was much obliged by his offer of 30,000*l.* a year-"don't make any abrupt decision, if you have not made up your mind. At any rate, you don't refuse to consider the matter? I knew you would at least do me that justice-in a week's time, perhaps--"

She gave him her hand, as he lifted his hat and cane, and he gratefully bowed over it, and ventured to kiss it; and then he took his leave, with a radiant smile on his face as he went downstairs.

"Club. And, d-n it, be quick!" he said to his astonished coachman.

Arrived there, he ordered the waiter to take up to the smoking-room a bottle of the pale port which the Count was in the habit of drinking there. Then he countermanded the order.

"I needn't make a beast of myself because I feel happy," he said to himself, wisely, as he went into the dining-room. "Alfred, I'll have a bit of cold chicken, and a bottle of the wine that you flatter yourself is Chateau Yquem."

Alfred, who was a tall and stately person, with red hair and no _h_'s, was not less astonished than the Count's coachman had been. However, he brought the various dishes, and then the wine. The Count poured the beautiful amber fluid into a tumbler, and took a draught of it:

"Here's to her health, whether the wine came from Bordeaux or Biberich!"

But as a rule the Chateau Yquem of clubs is a cold drink, which never sparkled under the warm sun of France; and so, as the Count went upstairs to the smoking-room, he returned to his old love, and told them to send him a pint-bottle of port. He had already put twenty-two s.h.i.+llings' worth of wine into his capacious interior; and he had only to add a gla.s.s or two of port, and surround his face with the perfume of an old, hard, and dry cigar, in order to get into that happy mood when visions are born of the half-somnolent brain.