Part 7

The magnificent New Yorker fanned herself, smiled a little awry, and went to join the group which held her daughter, the Countess of Gampton.

Lorimer had not lost a word of the conversation. He would fain have cried "Bravo."

"For a _débutante_," said he, "you are going strong--that was promising."

"My dear Gerald, I feel that I am getting spiteful--I shall bite soon."

Just at this moment, quite near the door, she perceived a lady taking notes. She had already noticed her before--this person who drew up every now and then near certain groups, carefully studied the dresses, and looked up and down the people whom she did not seem to know.

"Do tell me," Dora said to Lorimer, "who is that woman who puzzles me so? What is she doing? She seems to be taking notes; just now she was making little sketches--she is an artist, no doubt."

"How innocent you are!" cried Lorimer, laughing loudly. "Yes, she is an artist, if you will--who works for some fashion paper--or a lady reporter taking notes for a society paper."

"But I do not know her," said Dora; "I am perfectly sure I never asked her here."

"You, no; but perhaps someone else. For that matter reporters find their way pretty nearly everywhere without invitation. It is their calling. This one is taking notes, to publish in her paper an account of your party."

"But it is an insult," cried Dora; "I wish they would leave me alone. I don't want accounts in papers--my house is private."

"Wait a moment--why, yes," exclaimed Lorimer, who had just put up his eyeglass to look at the lady in question; "yes, of course, I know her, she writes for _The Social Wave_, a paper for people in the swim. Shall I introduce her to you?"

"Oh, no thank you, please don't," replied Dora.

"Some time ago," continued Lorimer, "I used to meet her often at parties. She is a rather clever little woman, and has the knack of turning out readable paragraphs. She is tolerated everywhere for the sake of what she writes--you know, there are plenty of people who like publicity."

Lorimer had noticed that the lady reporter had let fall two leaves from her notebook. He watched his opportunity, picked them up, and brought them to Dora.

"Look, we are going to have some fun. I have samples. Listen, 'Lady Mardon looked thrillingly lovely in electric blue ... her superb shoulders'" ...

"Enough, enough," said Dora. "The idea of it."

"Wait a minute; here is something else. 'Lady Margaret Solby wore a dream of sea-green and salmon, and was the admiration of everyone. Mrs. Van der Leyd Smythe received congratulations on all sides on the subject of her daughter's marriage with the young Earl of Gampton.'"

"And people read that!" said Dora.

"Certainly, and, more wonderful still, people buy it. Oh, listen to this, here is something that concerns you personally. 'Mrs. Philip Grantham wore a dress of white satin, trimmed with lace and silver embroidery, and, blazing with diamonds and emeralds, received her guests with a simplicity and a grace which will speedily make her one of the most popular hostesses in London.' Now, that is what I call amiable; she treats you with generosity." And seeing that Dora seemed very much annoyed, he added, "That is the kind of literature that delights our modest countrywomen."

"There are no more journalists," said Dora, with disgust, "there are only _concierges_."

She took the pages and tore them in shreds. Then, with a little feeling of shame at having been amusing herself at the expense of her guests, she rose, made a little sign to Lorimer, and was soon swallowed up in the crush, saying a few pleasant words here and there to her acquaintances as she went.

Lorimer went down to the buffet, where he found Schowalski, who was going in heavily for sandwiches, cakes and ices and champagne. The appetite of musicians is proverbial!

"Ah, Monsieur Lorimer," said he, "I am so glad to see you, you will be the very man to render me a little service. I have just finished," he added in confidence, "a grand concerto in four parts for the piano. In that concerto I have expressed all the great sorrows of life: First, an adagio--sad, full of tears; then a grand allegro, full of despair. You understand, don't you? Well, what I am trying to find is a title, a telling title. As a playwright you know the importance of a good title. Can you suggest something?"

"My dear sir," said Lorimer, "great sorrows are silent."

"What do you mean?" asked the pianist, for whom British humour was a closed letter. "Are you joking with me? How can one be silent and make music?"

The most thankless task in the world is explaining a joke to a person who has not seen it. Lorimer did not try, and after suggesting _Les peines du Coeur_, _Angoisses de l'âme_, _Le Mal de dents_, _Les Désespoirs de l'Amour_, and a few other eye-tickling titles, he left the puzzled composer and made his way upstairs. It was close upon midnight, the hour at which supper was to be served.

XI

GENERAL SABAROFF

Philip was here, there, and everywhere, playing the host to the admiration of all. Everyone voted him charming. The most exacting society critics admired the ease with which he did the honours of his house, and declared that Philip Grantham was a gentleman. The English man of the world has no higher dignity to confer.

No one thought of going away, although the crowd began to be stifling, but an English crowd is ready to endure anything in order to contemplate at close quarters the celebrity of the moment. The lion that they were expecting to roar for them this evening was General Sabaroff, the _pièce de résistance_ of the evening.

Philip began to fear that the General had been detained by some unforeseen business, and would not put in an appearance after all. He had not sent out invitations "to meet General Sabaroff," but he had told a great many of his guests beforehand that he expected him; one person had told another; and it came to much the same thing.

He caught sight of de Lussac, who threw him an appealing little glance which plainly said, "Come to my rescue." He found the young diplomat in the toils of Mrs. Van der Leyd Smythe. He joined them and led off de Lussac, after having passed the lady on to an old banker who happened to be standing near, alone and negotiable.

"My dear fellow," said de Lussac, "I owe you a debt of gratitude for having extracted me from the clutches of that American mamma. I have had to listen to the history of the noble house of Gampton. Upon my word, a lot of those worthy Americans are prouder of their aristocratic alliances than of the brave pioneers who founded the United States. They would sell all the shirt sleeves that felled the forests of America for the coat-of-arms of some ancestor ennobled, a few centuries ago, for something which to-day would perhaps be rewarded with a few years' penal servitude."

"Snobbishness," said Philip, "is a disease that one meets with in all Anglo-Saxons, but with terrible complications in certain Americans.... I almost expected the Minister for War. His lordship promised me he would come."

"If I were you," replied de Lussac, "I would not count upon him. I know he is very busy to-day. Special order to send to Woolwich Arsenal; a message of congratulation to telegraph to the Sirdar on his victory at Atbara; orders to send to various regiments to hold themselves in readiness to set out for India--it appears there is rather disquieting news in the North-West; a consultation with the Commander-in-Chief; a Cabinet Council. Besides which, I fancy, he has promised to speak to-night at a meeting of the Peace Association at the Queen's Hall: the ubiquity of some of you Englishmen is simply prodigious."

"A fine programme," said Philip, "a well-filled day indeed--I should have been pleased to receive his congratulations. Oh, he must be vexed to have been, so to speak, the cause of the refusal I have met with in my own country. Why did they refuse my shell? I should have been prouder of my invention if I had been able to ensure the advantages of it to my motherland."

"My dear fellow, the English do not invent; they buy the inventions of outsiders when they are successful. They looked upon the inventor of the Suez Canal as a dangerous lunatic; to turn him from his project they went so far as to rake up an old theory of Herodotus, that the Red Sea and the Mediterranean were on different levels. At the present day, they hold four millions-worth of stock in the concern, and would only like to have the lot. The fact is, if ever England should meet with a great reverse, if ever she comes to grief, she will have only her vanity and self-confidence to thank."

"Our security is so great."

"I know that," said de Lussac, laughing--"your volunteers can insure their lives without paying any extra premium. By-the-bye, General Sabaroff is in London. He says he has come over to consult a certain oculist. You may be sure, dear boy, that the eye he is concerned about is the one he means to keep on you."

"I know he is in town--I expect him to-night."

"I heard that just now in the other room--you lose no time."

De Lussac drew Philip towards the landing, which was clear of people for the moment.

"With the General, I don't see that you need make a secret of your shell. Russia is our ally; it is to our advantage that she should possess the best possible weapons; and I don't believe the French Government would have any objection to Russia's profiting by your invention."

"Really?" said Philip anxiously--"nor do I. I had already thought of it in that light myself, I confess."

"Well, you are a gallant man, I must say, to leave me in the lurch like that," cried Mrs. Van der Leyd Smythe, who now came up. "You went off just as I was going to introduce you to three prominent American women who are dying to make your acquaintance."

"Well then, by all means, let us go and save their lives," said de Lussac.

"One of them," said his companion, as she led him towards the small drawing-room, "is a well-known literary woman, another is a celebrated public speaker, and the other" ...

"Oh, please," exclaimed de Lussac, "can't you introduce me to some pretty woman who has never done anything at all?"

A servant, who had just come upstairs, announced in a loud voice, "His Excellency General Sabaroff."

The name passed from mouth to mouth, and there was a general lull in the conversation; the crowd surged towards the door, and with frantic cranings of the neck endeavoured to get a glimpse of the new arrival.

Dora had recognised him at once. He had not changed. Sabaroff, on his side, as soon as he caught sight of Dora at the top of the staircase, had exclaimed inwardly, "It is she after all; I was told right--it is my lovely English girl of Monte Carlo."

Not a look nor a movement of Sabaroff or of Dora had escaped Philip: "It is the same man," he said to himself--"they recognise each other."

He moved towards the General.

"Your Excellency is very good to have come," he said.

And, leading him to where Dora was standing, he went through with an introduction.

Sabaroff bowed, kissed Dora's hand respectfully, and addressed a few commonplace words to her to excuse himself for coming so late.

General Ivan Sabaroff, Minister of War to his Majesty the Czar and Autocrat of all the Russias, was forty-five years of age, but, thanks to the military bearing which always rejuvenates a man's appearance by a few years, he looked scarcely forty. The ladies declared at once that he was a superb man, and indeed the General had a striking-looking appearance.

In the streets of any town, people would have turned round to look at him, the women saying, "What a fine man!" the men, "That is somebody!"

Six feet three in his stockings, broad of shoulder, admirably proportioned, with an iron will written on his face, a herculean strength and remarkable suppleness of body, the head dignified and proudly set on a large neck, the face stern with keen scrutinising eyes, straight prominent nose, a sensual mouth, with full red lips and a thick black moustache twisted into two sharp points, the General looked like a man who might be as redoubtable in a boudoir as on a battlefield. As a matter of fact he had won many hearts in the former and many victories in the latter. Not being married, he had risked his reputation in the service of women, and his life in the service of his sovereign, with more impunity and less hesitation than might otherwise have been the case.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, delighted," he said to Dora.

And in a lower tone he added, "To renew your acquaintance."

Dora, fearing that the General might give a disagreeable turn to the conversation, hastened to make the first remark that passed through her mind. Nothing betrayed the uneasiness she felt at seeing this man again.

"Has your Excellency been long in London?" she asked of Sabaroff, in her calmest tones.

"A few days only. I have come to consult an oculist who has been specially recommended to me; and, besides, I have wanted for some time past to visit England and see some of my old friends here."

Sabaroff was a man of the world. He knew that it would be bad form to monopolise his hostess, so he exchanged a few words more with her on trivial topics, and then, accompanied by Philip, entered the drawing-room. He recognised an acquaintance here and there, to whom he bowed. Philip introduced a few people to him, and he was soon the centre of an interested group.

"I hope," said Lord Bentham, "that your Excellency's impressions of the English are favourable. We do our best to make ourselves agreeable to distinguished strangers who visit us."

"And we love to know what they think of us," added Lady Margaret Solby, who had drawn near the General and now placed herself in front of him, that he might have an opportunity of noting at his ease all the good points of a handsome Englishwoman.

"I have never," said Sabaroff to Lord Bentham, "met such kind and hospitable people as your compatriots; abroad they are sometimes haughty and, I may add" ...

"Extremely disagreeable," said his lordship, finishing the sentence.

"No, I do not say that. In any case, that could only be on the surface, for at home they are a revelation, really the most charming hosts in the world. To study a man, you must study him when he is at home. On foreign soil he is playing a part that he only knows imperfectly. He is hampered, and is scarcely a free agent. He is often misunderstood. He is not in his proper setting, much less in his element. I am convinced that when the Creator made man, He must have said to him, 'Thou shalt stay at home.'"

"A commandment which we English have sadly neglected, then," remarked Philip.

"And our English women, General?" questioned Lady Margaret, simpering and attracting his attention by expert fan wavings to a figure which she knew was above criticism, a figure such as English women can claim almost a monopoly in.

"Oh, they are beautiful, they are glorious!" said Sabaroff, with the air of a connoisseur; "they are dreams, angels of beauty. What flowing lines, what graceful proportions, what lovely complexions, what fine delicately carved features! They are vignettes! When an Englishwoman is beautiful, madame, she is beyond competition."

"And when she is ugly?" said Lady Margaret.

"Oh, Heaven help her!" said Lorimer, who had just been introduced to Sabaroff, and who, surrounded as he was by pretty women, did not fear to risk a joke at the expense of the absent, who are always out of it.

"I am very proud, General, to hear your Excellency express yourself so warmly on the subject of English women's beauty," exclaimed Lady Margaret.

"And all those attributes of the beautiful woman," murmured Sabaroff in her ear, "I find united near me."

And with a rapid and comprehensive glance he made an inventory of her charms.

Sabaroff had as keen a scent for game as the huntsman's dog, and he could recognise a coquette a mile off. He knew just how much he could say to certain women without running the risk of offending them. Lady Margaret flirted her fan as every woman should do in such a circumstance, made a profound curtsey to the General, and from behind her fan shot at him, out of the corners of her eyes, the invitation of the flirt, which seems to promise so much, but which means so little. I think it was Georges Sand who wittily said, "The flirt is a woman who signs a bill with the firm intention of not honouring her signature."

In the centre of a neighbouring group, Sir Benjamin Pond was holding forth on commerce, politics, the theatre, and fine arts--all subjects were within the domain of this pompous personage with the white waistcoat.

"Yes, the Ministry ought to be impeached for having allowed such an acquisition to go out of the country. We are the richest and most enterprising people in the world, but the most stupid, the most obstinate, and the slowest to adopt new ideas"--he looked round him at the rooms. "What a house he has, this lucky dog! Six months ago he was living in a little shanty in St. John's Wood. What luxury! Shells pay better than painting. Why, there is Mr. Lorimer; my congratulations; your play is a masterpiece, you have taken London by storm! Oh, but for taking the world by storm, give me the invention of our friend Grantham. That's a _bon mot_, and not a bad one either."

"What a donkey!" thought Lorimer.

"His shell fell on us like a bomb, eh? Ah, ha, ha!" and as he laughed his loud guffaw, his white waistcoat kept time.

Lorimer slipped away and returned to Dora's side. Pond rejoined him almost immediately.

"Mrs. Grantham, Lady Pond has the greatest desire to see the famous picture."

"What famous picture?" asked Dora.

"Why, the one that all London is talking of--the one I so much wanted to buy six months ago."

"You remember," said Lorimer, "thirty-six by fifty" ...

"Oh, of course. You can see it in the adjoining room, at the end of the small drawing-room."

"Thanks!"

And he set off in the direction indicated.

"Always that picture," said Dora to Lorimer; "my head is dazed; why do we not go to supper and put an end to this? Holloa! What is that frantic applause for?... Listen, they are going on with it, they are encoring something. What can it be all about?"

Lorimer pressed through the crowd a little, and then came back to Dora.

"You may count upon something spicy," said he; "it is Mimi Latouche, once the darling of Paris, now all the rage in London. Did you ask her here to-night?"

"I asked her--that is to say, the impresario who has charge of my programme sent her."

"Don't apologise; Mimi is all the go; it is who shall have her; and I suppose you ought to consider yourself lucky to be able to serve her up to your guests. You used to live in an artistic circle, that you could charm with a Beethoven quartette. Now you move in a set where classical music would clear your drawing-room as rapidly as a raid of police would a gambling den."

Mimi Latouche had just finished her second song. There was a fresh sound of applause, and cries of "Bravo" were heard as she left the small drawing-room accompanied by de Lussac, and followed by half a dozen young men. She passed in front of Dora, and brought up near the door by de Lussac.

"_Hein!_ Georges, don't you think I knock 'em with my songs?"

"They are enchanted with you, you electrify them. Your songs are awfully jolly, as they say here--light, crisp, and so daring; but these people have not understood, and if they had, it would not matter; they will applaud, when it is done in a foreign language, a thing that they would not tolerate a moment in their own."

"Your English people, my boy, are hypocrites. When I am in the bill at _Les ambassadeurs_, the place is always full of English--my songs are _canaille_, aren't they? really _canaille_. The English like that kind of thing. They give me ovations at the Pavilion every night, and I get bouquets by the bushel. Why, old chappie, since I took up the _canaille_ line I have been making my four hundred pounds a week. I have an offer of ten thousand pounds, to appear in New York for six weeks. Would you believe it? I say, Georges, look what I found in my box at the Pav. to-night"; and she showed de Lussac a lovely bouquet of white orchids.

"Superb!" exclaimed the young man.

"Yes, old boy, but look what there is inside it."

So saying, she drew out a handsome bracelet of rubies and diamonds.

"Exquisite!" said de Lussac; "is it the price of laxity hidden in the emblem of chastity? It is a diplomatist who sent you that. Flowers have often served as Cupid's letter-box."

"Hush! it is from Sabaroff. The bracelet is worth four hundred pounds, at least."

"Sabaroff? Why, he is here."

"I know that very well," said Mimi; "look at him over there talking to the lady in pearl grey."

"I see him; he is gazing her out of countenance," said de Lussac.

"Out of countenance? Out of corset, you mean. Sabaroff has a way of staring at a woman; it makes her quite nervous to be near him if she has on evening dress."

"My dear Mimi, I did not know you were so easily shocked."

"Oh! when I say a woman I don't mean myself--that sort of thing doesn't affect me, you may imagine. I am quite at his disposition--and yours too, yours especially--you are perfectly mashing to-night. After all these Englishmen, dear boy, it is a treat to look at a Frenchman; to be looked at by one--dessert after dinner."

Dora had heard it all. Her indignation was at boiling point.

"I am going to turn that creature out," she said to Lorimer.

"Oh, don't, I beg of you, Dora," replied Lorimer. "It might make a scandal--that woman would not hesitate to insult you."

But Dora was determined to get rid of Mimi, and, addressing her, said, "I will not trouble you to sing any more, mademoiselle; I will send you your cheque to-morrow." So saying, she turned her back on Mimi.

"Much obliged," said the latter. And, turning to de Lussac, she added, "Well, I never! She wants to dismiss me. Did you ever hear such cheek? Much obliged, but I'm starving hungry. I'm off to the buffet--your arm, Georges."

She went down with de Lussac.

Lorimer began to be seriously concerned about Dora. She was pale as death, and seemed every now and then on the point of fainting. She had been going through tortures, but the thing which had dealt her a terrible blow was a scrap of conversation, which she had just heard as she passed through the drawing-room.

"It happens every day, and in the best society," said a man whom she did not recognise. "One constantly sees a man making use of his wife's attractions to further his own ends. It is called diplomacy."

"In such cases the wife is often an innocent agent."

"That is true, but the husband is none the less reprehensible for that," added a third voice.

Of whom had they been speaking? There was a singing in her ears. Great Heaven! was it of her? She closed her eyes and thought she was going to lose consciousness.

Lorimer took it upon him to go to Philip and tell him that Dora was tired and unwell, and that it would perhaps be unwise to expose her to any more fatigue that evening.

"Thanks, dear old fellow," said Philip, "it will be all over in an hour or less; we are going to supper in a moment."

Lorimer had found Philip engaged in describing his shell to Sabaroff.

Philip went at once to Dora; her pallor frightened him. Taking her hands in his own, he said--

"Well, darling, how do you feel? You look tired; keep up your courage, we are going to supper now. In an hour's time you will be free to rest--you must not get up to-morrow; the next day you will feel nothing more of it. Everything has gone beautifully, everybody is delighted with the evening they have passed. The General is interested in my shell--I am convinced that Russia will offer me a fortune for it; but why do you look at me in that way?"

"I am tired to death; I don't feel well; I cannot go on any longer."