Chapter 5

I read those things for the sake of their exquisitely polished style; the subjects escape me.

MRS. EDEN.

[_Seating herself by the writing-table and dipping into_ "_Madame Plon_."] Ah yes, the style--the style. [_Absorbed._] We haven't much real literary style in England, have we?

[SOPHY _returns, carrying a pink tea-gown trimmed with green ribbons, and a richly embroidered Mandarin's robe._

SOPHY.

Will your Grace put on one of these? [_With a curl of the lip._] They're both very becoming, I should think.

DUCHESS.

[_Smiling sadly._] Becoming! as if that mattered, child!

SOPHY.

Which will your Grace--?

DUCHESS.

[_To herself, closing her eyes._] _Couleur de rose_--[_to_ SOPHY] er--that pink rag. Take off my collarette.

[SOPHY _lays the tea-gown and the robe over the back of the settee and proceeds to unfasten the_ DUCHESS'S _pearl collarette._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Startled, by some passage in the book she is reading._] Oh, I _say_!

DUCHESS.

What, dear Mrs. Eden?

MRS. EDEN.

[_Bethinking herself--soberly._] Ah, yes, the style is excellent, isn't it?

DUCHESS.

[_To_ SOPHY, _while the collarette is in process of removal._] Have you everything you require for the night, child?

SOPHY.

Yes, thank you, your Grace. Miss Gilchrist, Mrs. Eden's maid, has lent me a night-gown and a pair of slippers.

DUCHESS.

[_Handing her bracelets to_ SOPHY.] Drop them into the case.

[SOPHY _puts the collarette and bracelets in the jewel-case. The_ DUCHESS, _rising, again looks at the clock and at_ MRS. EDEN. SOPHY _returns to the_ DUCHESS, _who is now behind the settee._

DUCHESS.

[_To_ SOPHY.] It is very good of you, Sophy, to attend upon me.

SOPHY.

[_Averting her head._] Not at all, your Grace.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking up the Mandarin's robe._] Here is a pretty thing for you. [_Giving the robe to_ SOPHY.] Wear it to dress your hair in, in the morning.

SOPHY.

[_Breathing shortly._] Oh, no, your Grace--please--!

DUCHESS.

Nonsense, child; take it.

[SOPHY, _somewhat out of countenance, lays the robe over the back of the chair._

MRS. EDEN.

[_Looking up_.] Well, you are a lucky girl, Sophy!

SOPHY.

Yes, I know it's very beautiful; [_returning to the_ DUCHESS] but I--I think I'd rather not--

DUCHESS.

Tsch, tsch! help me. [_The_ DUCHESS _is standing before the cheval-glass, which conceals her from the audience. With_ SOPHY'S _aid, she slips out of her dress and puts herself into the tea-gown, while she talks to_ MRS. EDEN.] Miss Eden is not well to-night, I am afraid. She didn't come into the drawing-room.

[MRS. EDEN _rises and goes to the settee, upon which she partly kneels while she chatters to the_ DUCHESS.

MRS. EDEN.

She complained of headache and bolted upstairs. Muriel is such an odd girl at times.

DUCHESS.

A sweet one.

MRS. EDEN.

Perfectly adorable. Only I wish she wasn't so moody and uncertain.

DUCHESS.

But a headache--[_sympathetically_] dear child!

MRS. EDEN.

An engaged girl ought not to have a headache--no girl ought. It's just one of those things that makes a man ponder.

DUCHESS.

Ponder?

MRS. EDEN.

Reflect. A man loves to think a girl is like an angel--beautiful pink and white right through, with no clockwork. The moment she complains of headache, or toothache, or a chilblain on the heel, the angel game is off, and she's got to try and hold her own as a simple mortal. And as a mortal she's not in it with a man. No, it's angel or nothing with us women. I remember my Mater saying to me when I was engaged to Jack, "Sybil, now mind! enjoy the very best of health till you have been married at least ten years; and then be sure you have an excellent motive for cracking-up." [_The clock tinkles out the half-hour. She glances at the clock._] Half-past-eleven! the dead of night for this house! [_Rising._] I'll be off to my cot.

[SOPHY _carries the_ DUCHESS'S _dress into the bedroom._

DUCHESS.

[_Coming to_ MRS. EDEN.] _Must_ you? Good-night.

MRS. EDEN.

So nice of you to allow me this gossip.

DUCHESS.

Delighted.

[_They kiss affectionately._

MRS. EDEN.

We go shopping together to-morrow, do we not?

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes.

MRS. EDEN.

[_With exaggerated regret._] To-morrow! your last day here! misery! [_At the door, finding she still has "Madame Plon" in her hand._] Oh! do you happen to be on this one?

DUCHESS.

Not that one.

MRS. EDEN.

I wonder whether you'd lend it to me?

DUCHESS.

Gladly.

MRS. EDEN.

As you say, there is something about these French writers--

DUCHESS.

Style.

MRS. EDEN.

That's it--style. [_Opening the door._] Ah! lights out.

DUCHESS.

Can you see?

MRS. EDEN.

[_Going out._] There's just a glimmer--

[_She disappears._

DUCHESS.

I'll keep the door open till you have turned the corner.

[SOPHY _comes back and stands watching the_ DUCHESS. _The_ DUCHESS _remains at the open door for a little, while, then kisses her hand to_ MRS. EDEN _and closes the door._

SOPHY.

Shall I brush your Grace's hair now?

DUCHESS.

[_Going to the writing-table and taking up a book._] No. I will do it. The exertion of brushing my hair, I often find, encourages sleep. I'll put myself to bed. Run away. Don't let me see or hear anything of you till the morning. Eight o'clock. [_She reclines upon the settee and opens her book._ SOPHY, _eyeing her keenly, is about to withdraw._] Oh--Sophy! [SOPHY _returns._] Do you--believe in Mr. Valma?

SOPHY.

Believe in him, your Grace?

DUCHESS.

Believe that when he reads a woman's hand he has really the power of divination--the power he professes?

SOPHY.

Oh, yes.

DUCHESS.

[_Looking away._] Then if he tells a woman that a great many men are deeply in love with her, you--you--?

SOPHY.

I'm sure he knows what he's talking about.

DUCHESS.

[_With a little purr of contentment._] Ah! [_Assuming indifference._] I heard recently of an instance of his having conjectured such a state of affairs from the lines of a woman's hand. [_Severely._] I could only hope that his surmise was an incorrect one.

SOPHY.

[_Her eyes flashing scornfully._] You see, your Grace, if a woman is pretty, and Valma finds Venus's girdle well marked in her palm; and if he concludes from other signs that she's vain and light and loose; it isn't much to suppose that there are a few horrid men licking their lips at the thought of her.

DUCHESS.

[_Shocked._] My good girl! what curious expressions you make use of! [_Resuming her reading._] That's all.

[SOPHY _goes to the door and opens it._

SOPHY.

I wish your Grace good-night.

DUCHESS.

[_Raising her head for a moment._] Good-night. You are not taking your robe.

[SOPHY _looks at the robe and hesitates; in the end she gathers it up uneasily._

SOPHY.

I--I am very much obliged to your Grace--

DUCHESS.

Yes, you have thanked me enough. Turn out the lamp in that passage.

SOPHY.

Certainly, your Grace.

[SOPHY _disappears, shutting the door after her. The_ DUCHESS _remains quite still for a moment, then rises promptly, replaces her book, and--seating herself at the dressing-table--puts her hair in order. This done, she takes up the hand-mirror and smiles, frowns, and looks caressingly at herself. Then she lays the hand-mirror aside, blows out the candles upon the dressing-table, and poses before the cheval-glass. Ultimately, completely assured as to her appearance, she cautiously opens the door at which_ SOPHY _has departed, and, going a few steps along the passage, listens with strained ears. The passage is now in darkness. Apparently satisfied, the_ DUCHESS _returns, and, closing the door gently, turns the key in the lock. Her next proceeding is to attempt to tear one of the ribbons from her tea-gown. Failing in this, she detaches it with the aid of a pair of scissors, and, opening the door leading from the corridor, ties the ribbon to the outer door-handle. Whereupon she closes the door and walks about the room contentedly. Suddenly she pauses, and, going to the cabinet, produces a small tray on which are a bottle of champagne and a champagne glass. Placing the tray on the circular table, she regards the single glass thoughtfully. Then, as if struck by an idea, she disappears into the bedroom. After a brief interval, the door opens softly and_ QUEX _enters, carrying a lighted wax match. Being in, he shuts the door silently and looks about the room. Hearing the_ DUCHESS _in the adjoining apartment, he frowns and blows out the match. Coming to the circular table, he contemplates the preparation for his reception with distaste; then, flinging the match into the ash-tray, he sits, with a set, determined look upon his face. After another short pause, the_ DUCHESS _returns, polishing a tumbler with a cambric handkerchief._ QUEX _rises._

DUCHESS.

[_Under her breath._] Ah! [_He bows stiffly. She places the tumbler on the tray, tosses the handkerchief aside, and--first motioning him to stand away from the line of the door--opens the door, removes the ribbon from the handle, closes and locks it. Then she turns to him with a long-drawn sigh._] Ah--h--h!

QUEX.

[_Coming down gloomily._] Is it all right?

DUCHESS.

Quite. [_Advancing to him with outstretched hands._] Welcome, Harry! oh, welcome!

QUEX.

[_Retreating a few steps--firmly._] One moment. I have something to ask of you, Sidonia. [_Looking round._] You are sure--?

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes. Only don't raise your voice; [_glancing towards the door_] my maid sleeps in a room at the end of that passage. [_Gracefully seating herself upon the settee and motioning him to sit beside her._] Sit down. Oh, the woe of this final meeting! the pathos of it!

QUEX.

[_Bitterly, withdrawing the chair a little further from the table._] Yes, I agree with you--there is an element of wofulness in this meeting; it is not altogether without pathos.

DUCHESS.

Not altogether!

QUEX.

[_Sitting, facing her._] But, for yourself, my dear Sidonia--well, I have the consolation of believing that directly you turn your back upon Fauncey Court much of the wofulness of your position will evaporate.

DUCHESS.

Harry!

QUEX.

Forgive me--you admit that you delight in colouring even the most ordinary events of life rather highly. If I may put it more roughly, you are disposed, my dear Sidonia--at times, perhaps, a little inopportunely--to burn a good deal of red fire. [_Leaning forward._] At any rate, I beg an especial favour of you to-night.

DUCHESS.

What--?

QUEX.

[_Distinctly._] No red fire.

DUCHESS.

[_Chilled._] Is this the something you had to ask of me? [_He bows in assent._] I cannot remember ever having seen you in this mood.

QUEX.

This is our first actual _tête-à-tête_ since my engagement to Miss Eden.

DUCHESS.

Oh, I understand.

QUEX.

And now shall I tell you where the wofulness and the pathos most conspicuously display themselves on this occasion?

DUCHESS.

If you wish to.

QUEX.

In the confounded treachery of my being here at all.

DUCHESS.

Treachery?

QUEX.

You know I am under a bond of good behaviour to my old aunt and to the Edens.

DUCHESS.

[_With a slight shrug of the shoulders._] Really?

QUEX.

Yes. [_Clenching his teeth._] And this is how I observe it. After all my resolutions, this--this is how I observe it.

[_He rises and paces up and down the room._

DUCHESS.

[_Fretfully._] I am bound to remark that your present behaviour appears quite unimpeachable.

QUEX.

Unimpeachable! here--alone--in your company!

DUCHESS.

[_Covering her eyes with her hand._] Oh, cruel, cruel!

QUEX.

[_Pausing._] Cruel--?

DUCHESS.

[_With heaving bosom._] But there! if you deny me the possession of real feeling, why should you hesitate to rain blows on me?

QUEX.

[_Softening, coming to her._] My dear Sidonia, I don't--I don't mean to--

DUCHESS.

[_Rising, and grasping his hands._] Oh, Harry!

QUEX.

Tsch! please! [_He releases himself and she sinks back upon the settee, her eyes closed. He regards her uncomfortably for a moment; then, with some hesitation, he produces from his coat-tail pocket a small box covered with a pretty brocade, with which he toys uneasily._] You expressed a wish to leave here on Friday with a sensation of despair at your heart, Sidonia. If your feeling about our parting is really a deep one, heaven knows I have no desire to make it more acute--

DUCHESS.

[_Partly opening her eyes._] What is in that box, Harry?

QUEX.

That is just what I was about to--to--[_Lifting the lid and closing it._] These are the little souvenirs which have passed from you to me at odd times.

DUCHESS.

[_With reviving interest._] Ah, yes.

QUEX.

I have had no other opportunity--[_Looking about him awkwardly for a place to deposit the box._] Will you--? shall I--? what the devil's to become of 'em?

DUCHESS.

[_Sitting upright and passing her hand over her back hair._] Were there a fire, we could crouch over it and watch the flames consume them one by one.

QUEX.

But there isn't a fire.

DUCHESS.

[_Rising, and taking the box from him._] Let us examine them.

QUEX.

No, no, no.

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes. [_Opening the box and gazing into it._] Ah, poor little objects! dead, yet animate; silent, yet, oh, how eloquent! Don't go away--[_She overturns the contents of the box on to the table. They stand opposite each other, looking down upon the litter. She picks up a ring._] A ring--[_thoughtfully_] turquoise and pearl. [_Recollecting._] Stockholm! You remember--that night you and I sat watching the lights of the café on the Norrbro--!

QUEX.

[_Hastily._] Yes, yes; you've recalled it already to-day.

DUCHESS.

[_Picking up a scarf-pin._] A scarf-pin. Copenhagen! Ah, that pretty state-room of mine on the _Irene_!

QUEX.

Yes, yes, charming.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking up a locket._] A locket--my name in brilliants. Genoa! Look, it still contains my hair.

QUEX.

[_Nodding._] H'm, um.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking up a white shoe._] My shoe. Where--?

QUEX.

[_Shaking his head._] I don't--

DUCHESS.

Mentone!

QUEX.

Of course--Mentone.

DUCHESS.

[_Discovering some object in the shoe._] What is this? [_Producing a garter of pale-blue silk, with a diamond buckle._] A--a--where--? ah, yes. [_Replacing the things in the box._] Oh, the poor little objects! dead, yet animate; silent, yet, oh, how eloquent!

[_She passes him and slips the box into the drawer of the writing-table. The clock strikes a quarter to twelve._

QUEX.

[_Glancing at the clock._] By Jove, it's late! I--I'll leave you now, Sidonia.

DUCHESS.

[_Turning._] No, no--not yet, Harry. [_Coming to the table and taking up the box of cigarettes._] Why, you forget--[_offering him the box_] Argyropulos!

QUEX.

[_Accepting a cigarette reluctantly._] Thanks. [_Again looking at the clock._] Well--three minutes.

DUCHESS.

[_Taking a cigarette, replacing the box, and holding the spirit lamp while he lights his cigarette from it._] You were not always so impatient. [_In lighting his cigarette, the flame of the lamp is blown out._] Ah! [_After replacing the lamp, she lights her cigarette from his, gazing into his eyes._] Argyropulos. [_Dreamily._] Once more--Argyropulos.

QUEX.

Yes, yes--capital tobacco.

[_He gets away from her._

DUCHESS.

And look! you see, Harry?

QUEX.

[_Turning._] Eh?

DUCHESS.

[_Pointing to the bottle of champagne._] "Félix Poubelle, Carte d'Or"! [_Taking up the scissors which she has left upon the table._] The wire is already severed.

[_She commences to cut the string. He comes to her._

QUEX.

[_Taking the scissors from her._] Oh, permit me.

[_Always intent upon avoiding her, he moves away, the bottle in his hand, cutting the string._

DUCHESS.

[_Following him._] Is it likely to make a loud report?

QUEX.

Hardly.

DUCHESS.

[_Frowning censoriously._] One doesn't want a sound of that sort to ring through the corridors. [_Looking about her impatiently._] These formal, frigid rooms!

[_She runs lightly into the bedroom, snatches a pillow from the bed, and returns to him._

QUEX.

[_His hand upon the cork._] What is that for?

DUCHESS.

[_Enveloping his hand and the bottle in the pillow--calmly._] It is wiser to muffle it.

[_He pauses, looking at her fixedly._

QUEX.

[_In a low, grave voice._] Dolly--

DUCHESS.

Dolly! [_Closing her eyes._] You give me my pet name again!

QUEX.

Ah, Dolly, if only there wasn't quite so much in one's life--to muffle! [_He pulls the cork. She tosses the pillow on to the settee, a little irritably._] May I--?

[_She inclines her head. He pours wine into the glasses; she takes the champagne glass, he the tumbler._

DUCHESS.

[_Sentimentally._] Félix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! [_Looking at him over the brim of her glass._] _Eh bien! au joyeux passé!_

QUEX.

_Non, non--à un avenir meilleur!_

DUCHESS.

_Que vous êtes prosaïque! soit!_ [_They drink. She sits, with a sigh of dissatisfaction._] Ah!

QUEX.

[_Leaning against the table, drinking his wine._] Wonderful wine--really exceptional. [_Struck by a thought, turning to her._] Forgive me--you must have found some difficulty in introducing Monsieur Félix Poubelle into this hallowed apartment.

DUCHESS.

No. [_Sipping her wine._] My maid thinks it is by my doctor's orders.

QUEX.

Your maid, yes--[_sipping his wine; then sitting upon the settee, glass in hand_] but my poor aunt must be highly scandalised.

DUCHESS.

[_Her glass at her lips._] Dear Lady Owbridge will not know. I told the girl to coax it out of the butler, as if it were for herself. These women have a way of doing such things.

QUEX.

[_Laughing rather sadly._] Ha, ha, ha! who is beyond temptation? Not even old Bristow--sixty if he's a day.

DUCHESS.

[_Shrugging her shoulders._] Sixty or sixteen--when a girl is fascinating--

QUEX.

Fascinating! your woman, Watson!

DUCHESS.

No, no--Watson has left me for a few hours. I am speaking of Sophy.

[_There is a brief silence._ QUEX, _surprised in the act of drinking, lowers his glass slowly._

QUEX.

[_In a queer voice._] Sophy?

DUCHESS.

Miss Fullgarney, the manicurist. She was so good as to offer to take Watson's place for to-night.

QUEX.

[_Looking steadily before him._] Oh?

[_There is another pause. The_ DUCHESS _puts down her glass and, with her foot, pushes the footstool towards_ QUEX.

DUCHESS.

[_Sliding from her chair on to the footstool._] Oh, Harry, the bitterness of this final meeting! the dull agony of it!

[_He gets rid of his tumbler and touches her arm._

QUEX.

[_Quietly._] Duchess--

DUCHESS.

[_Surprised._] Eh?

QUEX.

I am sorry to alarm you, but this girl--Miss Eden's foster-sister--

DUCHESS.

What about her?

QUEX.

She's a cat.

DUCHESS.

Cat!

QUEX.

[_Gathering his ideas as he proceeds._] A common hussy, not above playing tricks--spying--

DUCHESS.

Spying!

QUEX.

I caught her behind the hedge this evening, in the Italian garden, after you and I had been talking together.

DUCHESS.

Behind the hedge!

QUEX.

She had previously done her best to make an ass of me, while you were dressing for dinner--! [_Looking towards the passage-door._] Where do you say her room is?

DUCHESS.

At the end of that passage. [_They rise together, with very little movement._] Oh, but she is in bed, and asleep!

QUEX.

_Is_ she?

DUCHESS.

Harry!

QUEX.

Wait--! [_He goes to the door, and examines the key-hole. Then he turns to the_ DUCHESS _and beckons to her. She joins him. He says, in a whisper, pointing to the key-hole._] Do you notice--?

DUCHESS.

What?

QUEX.

The key is in the lock horizontally.

DUCHESS.

She may have been peeping at us? [_He nods. She is sick at the thought._] How inexcusably careless of me!

QUEX.

[_At her elbow._] Listen. I'll keep out of sight. Open the door boldly and walk along the passage. See if there is any sign of movement--

DUCHESS.

Yes, yes. [_Steadying herself._] Perhaps we are disturbing ourselves unnecessarily.

QUEX.

[_Nodding reassuringly._] Perhaps so.

[_He draws back into the bedroom, but so that he can put his head out at the opening, and watch the_ DUCHESS'S _proceedings. She goes to the door and lays her hand upon the key._

DUCHESS.

[_Faltering._] Oh! oh, great heavens!

QUEX.

[_Encouragingly._] It's all right--it's all right. Very likely I am mistaken. Now!

[_The_ DUCHESS _opens the door suddenly, and_ SOPHY, _who is kneeling at the key-hole, lurches forward._

DUCHESS.

Ah!

[SOPHY, _enveloped in the Mandarin's robe, gathers herself up and, without a word, flies away along the passage. The_ DUCHESS _shuts the door and walks unsteadily to the settee._ QUEX _comes down, his mouth set hard._

QUEX.

I was sure of it.

DUCHESS.

[_Aghast._] What will she do? will she tell?

QUEX.

Yes--she'll tell.

DUCHESS.

Why do you speak so positively?

QUEX.

She is in Miss Eden's confidence--the trull. And she has always shown her teeth at me, now I remember. [_Drawing a deep breath._] Oh, yes, I see--Miss Fullgarney has meant mischief throughout.

DUCHESS.

[_Sinking upon the settee._] Oh!

QUEX.

[_Quietly._] Well--_I'm done_.

DUCHESS.

Oh, my reputation!

QUEX.

I'm--done.

DUCHESS.

My reputation! I have never ceased to guard that, as you know.

QUEX.

I've lost her.

DUCHESS.

My reputation!

QUEX.

Of course, I deserve it. But--

[_He sits, his head bowed._

DUCHESS.

[_Looking up._] To think--to think that I allowed this plausible creature to thrust herself upon me! [_He raises his head, glaring fiercely. She beats the pillow._] Oh! oh! my reputation in the hands of this low creature!

QUEX.

Ah--! [_With a half-smothered cry he goes to the door and pulls it open. The_ DUCHESS _runs after him and seizes his arm_.] I said I'd wring her damned neck--I told Frayne so.

DUCHESS.

[_Pushing him away from the door._] Don't! don't! violence will not help us. [_She closes the door; he stands clutching the chair by the writing-table. The clock strikes twelve._] Midnight. [_Leaning upon a chair._] At any rate, you had better go now.

QUEX.

[_Turning to her._] I beg your pardon; I regret having lost control of myself.

DUCHESS.

[_Miserably._] It has been a wretchedly disappointing meeting.

QUEX.

[_Heavily._] Let us see each other in the morning. [_She nods._] Be walking in the grounds by nine.

DUCHESS.

Yes. [_Rallying._] After all, Harry, there may be nothing behind this woman's behaviour. It may have been only the vulgarest curiosity on her part.

QUEX.

[_Incredulously._] Ha! However, in that case--

DUCHESS.

Money.

QUEX.

Money.

DUCHESS.

I ought to sound her directly she presents herself at my bedside, ought I not?

QUEX.

Earlier--before she has had time to get about the house. Stand at nothing. If she's to be bought, she shall have whatever she demands--any sum!

DUCHESS.

How liberal of you!

[QUEX _walks towards the door, then turns to her._

QUEX.

One thing I hope I need hardly say, Duchess?

DUCHESS.

What--?

QUEX.

[_With dignity._] Worst come to the worst, I shall defend you by every means in my power. _I'm_ done, I feel sure; [_drawing himself up_] but, of course, I shall lie for you like the devil.

DUCHESS.

[_Plaintively._] Thanks. And I have dragged you into it all.

QUEX.

Tsch! [_Bowing stiffly._] Good-night.

DUCHESS.

Good-night. [_She goes to the table and prepares to remove the tray. Having turned the key of the door,_ QUEX _pauses. She says fretfully._] Oh, why don't you go, Harry?

QUEX.

[_Facing her sharply, a new light in his eyes._] No! _you_ go.

DUCHESS.

[_In astonishment._] I!

QUEX.

[_Returning to her excitedly._] I tell you I can't wait through a night of suspense! Quick! [_Facing the room._] Leave me to deal with her here, at once.

DUCHESS.

You!

QUEX.

[_Snapping his fingers._] By Jove, yes!

DUCHESS.

What are you going to do?

QUEX.

Give her a fair chance, and then spoil her tale against you, in any event.

DUCHESS.

How?

QUEX.

Trust to me. [_Impatiently._] Go, Duchess.

DUCHESS.

But where? where can I--?

QUEX.

Run away to Mrs. Jack--ask her to let you share her room to-night. [_Pointing to the writing-table._] Ah--! scribble a message--

[_The_ DUCHESS _seats herself at the writing-table and writes agitatedly at his dictation._

QUEX.