CHAPTER IX.

THE OLD LOVE.

Mr. Eardley lived in St. John's Wood, in a quaint fantastic house which he had built after his own design, on a plot of land which he bought because the situation pleased him. There were big elm-trees in the neighbourhood, peopled by a colony of rooks; and the grounds were so disposed as to shut out all inquisitorial prying, and give plenty of space for Mr. Eardley and his friends to wander about in the eccentric costume which in the privacy of his home the artist rather encouraged, without leading his neighbours to believe that a private asylum had been opened on the premises. Mr. Eardley was a great lover of nature, and even in the height of the season, when the severest calls upon his time were made by duty and pleasure, he invariably found leisure to devote some portion of the day to strolling in his garden, and enjoying the sight and scent of the flowers which had either been planted by his own hands, or under his direction.

The interior of the house was as quaint and fantastic as the exterior, and was furnished and painted in a manner which was pronounced 'perfectly charming' by the ladies, and 'deuced odd' by their husbands. Anything more entirely different from an ordinary mansion arranged by the upholsterer with an unlimited order it would be difficult to conceive. The hall, the passages, and most of the rooms were hung with tapestry, and, where there was wall paper, it was in the wondrous colours and strange devices which Mr. Eardley and his friends occupied their leisure in inventing. Ordinary chairs and tables there were none, but in the course of a stroll through the rooms you would come upon old carved chests; prie-dieus; stately, high-backed, black-oak chairs, the spoil of some Elizabethan manor-house; couches covered with Utrecht velvet, and odd short seats, like the 'settles' in the porch of a country tavern, only in elaborately-carved oak. The walls, the tables, the ledges of the book-cases, were all laden, and throughout the house there seemed to be no vacant space. Objects of art lay about in extraordinary confusion and disorder; the light was reflected from steel mirrors, Venetian glasses, and old looking-glasses with china frames; from ancient armour, in which the rust was gradually eating away the gold and silver _niello_ work; from Damascus blades and Persian tulwars and Albanian yataghans. Here were Dresden shepherds and shepherdesses smirking painfully at hideous porcelain monsters from China and Japan; a buhl clock on which Louis Quatorze had been accustomed to look was flanked on either side by a coffee-coloured pug-dog in china, while over it was suspended a Japanese paper-lantern; a gauntlet, with the blood and rust of Naseby field for ever eaten into it, lay on a mosaic slab in the immediate vicinity of a carved ivory set of chessmen; and a pair of Moorish slippers had for their supporters on the one side a fan painted on chicken-skin which had once been the property of a beauty of the Regency, and on the other a plaster-of-paris caricature statuette of M. Thiers, by Danton.

At the very time that Frank Eardley was making his way to the Albany, for the purpose of inducing Sir Nugent Uffington to accompany him to the china sale at Dossetor's, and to spend the rest of the day with him, as already recorded, Mr. Spiridion Pratt pulled the loud-sounding bell of the Villa--for such was the name of the artist's house in St. John's Wood--and awaited its answer by Eardley's Italian valet, who was held in high respect by his master's intimates.

'Good-morning, Gaetano,' said he, when the man appeared. 'Is Mr. Eardley at home?'

'No, signor,' replied the valet; 'he started out about half an hour ago.'

'Indeed!' said Spiridion, shaking his head with a smile. 'Is this the way he makes up for the time lost during the season? I am afraid the master is growing idle again, Gaetano?'

'The master had an idle fit on him this morning, signor,' said Gaetano; 'but recently he has been wonderfully attentive to his work. Will not the signor walk in and see what progress has been made with the Aspasie?'

'Well,' said Spiridion, 'I have nothing to do just now, and I am a little tired with my walk. I may just as well rest myself for a few minutes. Mr. Eardley did not say at what time he would return, did he, Gaetano?'

'No, signor,' replied the valet; 'it is seldom that the master gives any hint of his movements; he likes to come and go without the knowledge of his people.'

'He is quite right,' muttered Spiridion to himself as he entered the house, and, followed by the servant, made his way to the studio, which was in the rear of the premises.

A splendid room, the walls hung with deep maroon-coloured cloth; on one side a huge oaken press, with its open doors showing an _omnium gatherum_ of all kinds of costumes, some of which had overflowed their receptacle, and were lying on the floor; on the other side a second oaken cabinet, almost equally huge, and devoted to the reception of tobacco and cigars: an artistic pipe-rack, consisting of a number of heads cast in plaster-of-paris, was nailed against the wall, and pipes of all kinds, from the narghile of the Turk and the painted porcelain of the German to the humble cutty of the Irish labourer, were to be found about the room. At the end opposite to that by which Spiridion Pratt had entered was an open glass door leading into a lovely circular conservatory, where in the midst of a tesselated pavement a fountain was plashing, and where sweet singing birds were hanging amidst the ferns and flowers. In various parts of the room were three easels of different sizes, on one of which was a half-finished picture of a woman of great beauty and intellectual expression, but of a large size and commanding type. The colours on this picture were still wet, and on the ledge of the easel were the unclean palette and the sheaf of brushes.

'There is the Aspasie,' said the valet, pointing to the picture; 'and here,' producing them, 'are the cigarettes. Will not the signor take something to drink after his walk--a cup of coffee, or some Rhine wine and seltzer-water? It is here, close at hand.'

'No, thanks, Gaetano,' said Spiridion. 'I have a poor head, you know, and should never be able to do anything if I drank in the morning, but I will smoke a cigarette or two with pleasure, and will wait here, at all events, for half an hour to see if Mr. Eardley returns.'

Then the valet bowed and left the room.

'So this is the Aspasie, is it,' said Spiridion, lighting a cigarette and seating himself in a chair opposite the easel; 'this is the picture which next spring is to bring our friend two or three thousand pounds and a large addition to his fame? I cannot say with Browning, "I could have painted pictures like this youth's," for everything he does is immeasurably beyond me. This head, for instance, is remarkably fine, and there is a certain calm dignity, and sense of power about it which pleases me very much. Eardley has caught the right idea, no doubt. One can fancy that being the sort of woman to whom Socrates would give way, and whom Pericles would adore. A delightful person in her way,' he murmured, leaning back in his chair and shading his eyes with his hands, 'but scarcely the kind of person to have always about with you--to make one's wife, for instance. My idea of a wife is a little lovable creature like Eleanor Irvine, kind and gentle, but with plenty of spirit about her, as she showed last night at dinner in her defence of Lady Forestfield. If I am to marry, I do not see that I could do better than choose that little girl. She has no money, to be sure, but I have plenty, and she is quite the sort of person who will do one credit by her appearance. There is nothing objectionable in her surroundings either, which is a great point; for though Chadwick is not polished, every one knows him and he receives the best people, and there would be no real reason for seeing more of him than we chose. The question is, whether I ought to marry at all? I am not growing younger,' said Mr. Pratt, rising and surveying himself in the glass, 'and I have begun to get deuced liney round the mouth and eyes, and if I intend to do it at all, I had better do it now. It is a mistake, I believe, to suppose that marriage destroys your prestige with women. There are a lot of fellows of my acquaintance who seem to have infinitely more on their hands since their marriage than they had before--not that I think I should go in for that sort of thing myself. I should not either object, if I were once married, to settling down and becoming the most exemplary husband, that is to say, if people would only let me. When one has a certain amount of good looks and romantic feeling, and that kind of thing, it is almost impossible to go straight, and I know I have never had the heart to join in any of the abuse which I have heard showered upon the Forestfields, and wretched people of that kind, knowing how deserving I am of it myself. That is another reason, too, which makes me think it would be advisable to marry and get out of the way of temptation--the fear of any _éclaircissement_, and being dragged up before the world and written about in the newspapers. When a man regularly goes in for _bonne fortune_, such a thing does him no harm, and the more he is talked about the better he likes it; but I am not strong, and the mere worry of the thing would wear me to a shadow. I don't know how I am to get clear of my present entanglement; and yet if I am to fall in with Mrs. Chadwick's views, and propose to Eleanor, of course it must be done somehow. This picture,' he continued, turning back to the easel, 'reminds me uncommonly of Margaret. It has just her broad brow and queenly air; just her flashing eyes, and they will flash like the deuce when she hears what I am going to do. I wish I had never made her acquaintance. I was uncommonly proud of her at first, and used to like to be seen everywhere with her; but when that kind of thing is beginning, one never imagines or chooses to think what the end of it is to be. I have a strong idea, too, that Mrs. Chadwick has her suspicions in that direction. The persistent way in which she talked to me about the Hamblins last night--asking why they remained in town, and what was their probable destination when they left--could not have been mere chance work. She is, however, too much a woman of the world to allow an intrigue that was past and dead to interfere with my marriage with her sister, but would be sure to convince herself that it was very dead indeed before she sanctioned such a step. She is a very clear-sighted woman, whom one could not possibly hoodwink about such a matter, and I must therefore take some very decisive step with regard to Margaret.'

Mr. Spiridion Pratt's soliloquy was interrupted by the opening of the door; Gaetano appeared ushering in a lady.

'No, madame,' he said, 'I was mistaken; the master has not returned. Here is a signor who is still awaiting him--a signor who is, I think, known to madame.'

And the valet retired at once, closing the door carefully behind him.

'O, how do you do, Mrs. Hamblin?' said Spiridion Pratt, with very crimson cheeks and a rather shaking hand, rising to greet the lady.

A tall handsome woman of some eight-and-thirty years old, with bold black eyes and soft creamy complexion, very dark chestnut hair, and full scarlet lips. A majestic-looking woman, with a splendid figure, whose walk, without any absurd exaggeration, was stately, and whose every pose was perfect. She was dressed in a morning-gown of thick linen, fringed with handsome work, and set off with a blue sash; her bonnet was very plain, of white straw, with white and blue feathers in it. A physiognomist looking at her would have told you that she could experience passion but not love, and that she was an unhappy woman, proud, scornful, and conscious of being misunderstood.

She put out her hand indeed, but advanced towards Spiridion with uplifted eyebrows and with something of a pained expression in her face.

'Why this formality, Tito?' she asked.

'I was not aware that I was guilty of any,' said Mr. Pratt, on whose cheeks the colour still remained.

'You know my Christian name; why do you not call me by it?'

'Not before the servants, my dear Margaret,' said Spiridion, bending over her hand. 'Gaetano's ears are remarkably sharp, and he is peculiarly appreciative in such matters.'

'In such matters,' repeated Mrs. Hamblin scornfully. 'Well, you are doubtless right. What an age since I have seen you!'

'To my sorrow,' said Spiridion. 'The world believes me to be an idle man, but you know how really busy I am.'

'I have observed of late that you have had a great deal to do,' said Mrs. Hamblin, in the same tone. 'We were disappointed in not seeing you at dinner last night.'

'You are very good to say so. It seems almost ludicrous to have had an engagement at this time of year, when there is really nothing going on, but some friends of mine had been kind enough to ask me for last night, and I had pledged myself to them days before.'

'And was it pleasant at the Chadwicks'? You need not start; I don't pretend to any powers of divination,' she said, with a short laugh. 'Mr. Chadwick called in to see my husband at breakfast this morning, and told us you had been dining there.'

'O yes, it was very pleasant,' said Spiridion, on whose cheeks the flush seemed permanently fixed. 'Mr. Chadwick, you know, always gives such excellent dinners.'

'And has such pleasant guests. Had you any ladies present?'

'Only the ladies of the family.'

'Ladies of the family,' repeated Mrs. Hamblin. 'I did not know that there was any one except Mrs. Chadwick.'

'O yes, her sister, Miss Eleanor Irvine, was present,' said Spiridion, who began to see plainly that his recent determination had not been taken at all too soon, and to wonder whether he should have pluck enough to carry it out.

'Mrs. Chadwick's sister,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'O yes, I remember; rather a pretty person--pink and white, is she not? I cannot imagine where I have seen her, for she doesn't go out, I believe.'

'She is in mourning for her father, who is recently dead,' explained Spiridion.

'And yet if this young lady is Mrs. Chadwick's sister, Mrs. Chadwick's father must be recently dead too,' said Mrs. Hamblin, looking straight at him. 'If there is any man in the world who knows what real romance is, or, at least, can pretend to know sufficiently to deceive others, it is you. Do you think this girl pretty?'

Two months since Spiridion Pratt would have vowed that he never thought about the girl at all, or, if the point were pressed to him, that he considered her downright ugly; but he had made up his mind now, and perceived that the time to strike had come.

'Yes; I think she is decidedly pretty,' he said.

Mrs. Hamblin was disconcerted; she evidently had not anticipated such a reply. After a moment's pause she asked:

'Was that your first time of seeing her?

'O no; I have met her several times before.'

'And talked with her?'

'Yes, as one talks with a young girl whom one only meets at dinners and dances.'

'Ay, as you say, "with a young girl"--you found her rather missish, then?'

'On the contrary, she is bright and intelligent, and can quite hold her own in conversation.'

Mrs. Hamblin was silent for a few moments. Then she said, looking up at him with as much unconcern as she could throw into her glance, 'Do you remember, Tito, how often we have talked about the time that must come sooner or later when you would marry and settle down?

'Ye-es,' said Mr. Pratt, beginning to feel very uncomfortable. 'I think we have mentioned the subject once or twice.'

'O, we have talked of it very often,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'I recollect that on the night when Mr. Eardley gave his fancy-dress ball, and when I was so absurdly jealous of Miss Harrington, we sat in the conservatory yonder after we had made up our little quarrel, and I then told you that I knew that there would come a time when our pleasant intimacy would be at an end, and when you would give up all your romance and lead an exemplary British married life.'

'Ye-es,' said Spiridion, a little crestfallen, 'I recollect your saying that now; but why do you refer to it?'

'Because I think the time has come,' said Mrs. Hamblin; 'because,' she added, with a half-scornful laugh, 'because I think your knell is sounded, and that you are a doomed man.'

'What makes you think that?' asked Spiridion uncomfortably.

'You yourself give me the clue to the idea--I judge entirely by your own manners,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'You never had the power of concealing your thoughts from me, and I read them now as easily as I read a book.'

'There are some books that are not very easily read,' said Spiridion, plucking up a little. 'But what do you read in my thoughts?'

'I read that this new acquaintance of yours, Miss Eleanor Irvine, has made a great impression on you; not merely a passing impression, which has been made on you by girls a hundred times since I have known you, but something which seems to me to be deeper and more lasting. I never heard you before speak of any young girl's intellect and powers of conversation with enthusiasm, though I have often heard you admire their faces; farther, let me say frankly that if Miss Irvine had not made a deep impression on you, I do not think you would have thrown me over last night to dine in her company.'

'You don't imagine that--' commenced Spiridion.

'My dear Tito,' said Mrs. Hamblin, lifting up her hand, 'do not misjudge me--I am not in the least angry. As I told you before, I always knew that the thing must come, and though of course I regret it, I am prepared for it. I only hope that the young lady is as charming as you seem to think her.'

'You have only to know her to prove that,' said Spiridion. 'I am certain that you even, of all people in the world, would appreciate her.'

'Very likely,' said Mrs. Hamblin quietly. 'Then you acknowledge that I was right in all I said--you have been fascinated by this young lady, and the impression she has produced is likely to be a lasting one?'

'Frankly, yes,' said Spiridion, who was delighted to find matters going apparently so smoothly. 'I do not think I ever saw a young lady who pleased me so much.'

'You have not proposed to her?' said Mrs. Hamblin quickly.

'No, O no!'

'But you have let her see that you are very much taken with her?'

'Scarcely even that,' said Spiridion. 'I have merely paid her the ordinary attentions of society; but her sister--'

'Ah, yes, her sister, Mrs. Chadwick--clever managing woman that; you have talked with her about it?'

'Not in so many words; but from certain hints which she has given me, I am led to believe that the alliance would not be disagreeable to her.'

'I should think not,' said Mrs. Hamblin. 'Well, now that we have had this frank talk, you must make me acquainted with your idol, and avail yourself of any help I can give you towards winning her.'

'Margaret,' said Mr. Pratt, springing up and seizing her hand romantically, 'you were always generous and--'

'Not at all, my dear Tito,' said Mrs. Hamblin, disengaging herself with a smile; 'however we may be situated, there will always be a great bond of _camaraderie_ between us.'

There was no smile, however, upon her face when, five minutes afterwards, she threw herself into the corner of her brougham, and lay back revolving plans of vengeance.