Spring Days Part 16

"Her father was a brute."

"Fathers generally are brutes on such occasions, and there are generally excellent reasons for their brutality."

"Husbands, too, are brutes, and if all I have heard is correct, there are excellent reasons for their brutality."

Lady Seveley turned pale. "I did not come to the theatre to be insulted," she said, hesitating whether she should rise from her seat.

Frank Escott was constantly guilty of such indelicate and stupid speeches, and it would be easy to cite instances in which his conduct was equally unpractical. Were friends to speak ill of any one he was especially intimate with, he would answer them in the grossest manner, forgetful that he was making formidable enemies for himself without in the least advancing the welfare of him or her whose defence he had undertaken. With some words and looks the storm was allayed, and they felt that the wind that might have capsized had carried their craft nearer the port where they were steering. Their eyes met, and for a moment they looked into each other's souls. Her arm hung by her side, white and pure, could he take it and press it to his lips the worst would be over--he would have admitted his desire. But the box curtain did not hide him, and the faces opposite seemed to watch; and then she spoke, and with her words brought a sense of distance, of conventionality.

"Tell me, did you fall in love with her the first time you saw her?"

"I think so."

"Tell me all about it. When did you see her for the first time?"

"It was on the Metropolitan Railway. We were in the same carriage, she sat opposite to me; for some time we were alone, and I thought of speaking to her, but was afraid of offending her."

"Are you always afraid of offending people?"

"I don't know--I don't think I am." Then it struck him that she was alluding to his rudeness, which she declared she had forgiven, and he said: "I am sure I can't do more, I told you I was sorry--that I did not mean--"

"Oh, never mind, that is forgiven; tell me about her."

A little perplexed, he continued: "She was dressed in white, and her face was like a flower under the great hat."

"It is clear that you can admire no one who doesn't wear a Gainsborough hat. What will you do now that they have gone out of fas.h.i.+on? I am sure I can't gratify you."

"I wondered where she was going. I wished I was going to the same house, I imagined what it would be like, and so the time went till we got to Kensington. She turned to the right, so did I; I hoped she did not think I was following her--"

"You were both going to the same house?"

"Yes. There were some carnations behind her in a vase, and you know how I love the perfume of a carnation--so did she. She told me of the flowers they had in their cottage at Maidenhead. I love the river, so did she, and we spoke of the river all the afternoon. And when the season was over I went up to Maidenhead too. I had my boat there (I must show you my boat one of these days, one of the prettiest boats on the river). We used to go out together, and, tying the boat under an alder, I used to read her Browning. Oh, it was a jolly time." The conversation came to a pause, then Frank said "Were you ever in love?"

"I suppose I was."

"With your husband?"

"No, I was not in love with my husband, he was twenty years older than I. When I was eighteen I was very much in love with a young fellow who used to come to play croquet at our place. But my parents wouldn't hear of it. I was not at all strong when I was a girl; they said I wouldn't live, so I didn't care what became of me. Lord Seveley admired me; it was a very good match, I was anxious to get away from home, so I married him. You are quite wrong in supposing I treated him badly."

"Forgive me, don't say any more about that."

"We had rows, it is true; he said horrible things about my mother, and I wouldn't stand that, of course."

"What things?"

"Oh, I can't tell you--no matter. Once I said that I wouldn't have married him only I thought I was going to die. He never forgave me that. It was, I admit, a foolish thing to say."

At that moment the curtain came down, and the young men moved out of the stalls. "There are two men I know," she said, fixing her gla.s.s.

"Do you see them? The elder of the two is Harding, the novelist, the other is Mr. Fletcher, an Irishman."

"I know Fletcher--or, rather, I know of him. His father was a shopkeeper in Gort, the nearest town to Mount Rorke Castle."

"He is a journalist, isn't he? I hear he is doing pretty well."

"In London, I know, you a.s.sociate with that cla.s.s, but in Ireland we wouldn't think of knowing them."

"I thought you were more liberal-minded than that. If they come up here, what shall I do? I mustn't introduce you?"

"I don't mind being introduced. I should like to know Harding."

"I can't introduce you to Harding and not to his friend."

"I don't mind being introduced to Fletcher; I'll bow and slink off to smoke a cigarette. Is it true what they say about him, that he is irresistible, that no woman can resist him? I don't think he is good- looking--a good figure, that's all."

"He has the most lovely hands and teeth."

"I see; perhaps you are in love with him?"

A knock came at the door; the young men entered. Lady Seveley introduced them to Frank; he bowed coldly, and addressed Harding. But Lady Seveley said: "O Mr. Harding, I want to speak to you about your last novel; I have just finished reading it."

"What do you think of this piece?" Fletcher asked Escott, in a hesitating and conciliatory manner.

"I am afraid he will not be able to tell you; he hasn't ceased talking since we came into the theatre."

"I should have done the same had I been in his place."

Lady Seveley smiled, Frank thought the words presumptuous. "Who the devil would care to hear you talk--and that filthy accent." And at that moment he remembered Lizzie Baker. Fletcher and Harding were now speaking to Lady Seveley, and taking advantage of the circ.u.mstance he slipped out, and, lighting a cigarette, entered the bar room. Behind the counter the young ladies stood in single file, and through odours of cigarettes and whisky their voices called "One coffee in order,"

and the cry was pa.s.sed on till it reached the still-room. Frank remembered having read a description of the place somewhere, he thought for a moment, and then he remembered that it was in one of Harding's novels. He could detect no difference in the loafers that leaned over the counter talking to the barmaids; they were dingy and dull, whereas the young men from the stalls of the theatre were black and white and clean; but the keenest eye could note nothing further, and a closer inspection showed that even a first division rested on no deeper basis than the chance of evening dress. Civilisation has given us all one face and mind. He walked to where Lizzie was serving; soldiers were ordering drinks of her, so he was obliged to apply to the next girl to her for his brandy and soda. He drank slowly, hoping her admirers would leave her, but one soldier was stationery, and this spot of red grew singularly offensive in Frank's eyes, from the clumsy, characterless boots, to the close-clipped hair set off with the monotonously jaunty cap. The man sprawled over the counter drinking a gla.s.s of porter. Frank tried to listen to what he was saying. Lizzie smiled, showing many beautifully shaped teeth, so beautifully shaped that they looked like sculpture. Behind her there were shelves charged with gla.s.ses and bottles, gilt elephants, and obelisks, a hideous decoration; she pa.s.sed up and down with cups of coffee, she filled gla.s.ses from various taps, she saluted Frank.

"How are you this evening? Come to see the piece again?"

"Come to see you."

"Get along; I don't believe you," she said, and she pa.s.sed back to her place, and continued talking to the soldier as steadily as her many occupations would allow her.

A few moments after the bell rang, and Frank went upstairs annoyed.

"Oh, so it is you; you have come back," said Helen, turning; "sit down here. Nellie Farren has just sung such an exquisitely funny song; they have encored it; just listen to it, do," and Helen fixed her opera gla.s.s on the actress. The light and shadow played about her neck andarm in beautiful variations, but noticing nothing, Frank leaned forward.

"Isn't it funny; isn't it delightfully funny?"

"Yes, it is funny."

Having heard one song they listened to the rest of the act. "Now give me my cloak. Thank you, and now give me your arm." Frank complied.

"You will come home to Green Street with me, and have some supper?"

"I am afraid, I am sorry I can't; I must get home early to-night."

"You have a key, you surely can get in at any hour."