A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel
him, as she thinks, "and yet, pity is divine! yet; knowing this, what
have I shown poor Guy." The erratic life poor Lionel led, and which
had been almost compulsory, the weary cynicism which was the outcome
of the life enforced upon him, by his mother's frailty and his
father's lasting grief thereat, often palled upon his real nature. But
as he never expected to meet a woman who could hold him, he frequently
gave himself, epicurean-like, to the pleasure of the hour.
After leaving the army, and when the glittering wings of butterflies
and their surroundings wearied him, he would leave the gay cities, and
travel much in foreign lands, in cold bleak northern latitudes, or
sunny climes, studying human nature, and giving some thought to its
many phases, with the different creeds men hold at times on seeing the
self sacrificing lives of the sisters of charity, on witnessing noble
deeds which should be written in characters of gold, but which they
did in the most humble self abnegation. When he looked upon these and
knew them to be the outcome of the Roman Catholic Church he would
think surely the Church that gives birth to such lives must be the
Church for the saving of men. But then some glaring inconsistency of
those within her pale would recur to his memory, and he would turn
with a sigh from some pictured Christ, or the peaceful beauty of the
madonna. Well might Lionel exclaim, "In this age of seeming, what is
truth! for what grade of society has not its shams! in what church are
there not hypocrites as saints! in what government is there not
imperfection! in what political campaign is there not a bribe given!
in what age were there so many Churches." In what age was religion so
fashionable! Yes, to-day, it is not charity which covers the multitude
of sins, it is the cloak of religion, and yet 'tis not the fault of
creeds, 'tis _errare est humanum_. Ah me! we gay nineteenth century
butterflies are a favoured generation; we are so respectable you know;
we give the Church her innings, and that ancient firm of Bacchus and
Comus have their innings also. Such thoughts as the above often came
to Lionel, in his lonely wanderings far away from the gay cities, a
life which he adorned with such gay abandon when one of them.
And now lady Esmondet awakes to the present with a start (as the
carriage stops,) and from her silent thoughts on the past, as she had
gathered it from Eric Haughton and from Lionel himself.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHIC AUJOURD'HUI.
Captain Trevalyon assisted his friends to alight in front of a
handsome house in a fashionable avenue.
"Can this be the right address," said Lady Esmondet. "It is a private
residence _et regardez_, by the gas-light in the entrance one can see
the arms of a noble house cut in the stone."
"Yes," answered Trevalyon, "we are all right; a patrician mansion
knocked down by the hammer, now simply _numero troisieme_, Avenue de
l'Imperatrice, and if Bertram is as comfortable inside as he is
fashionable outside then we may expect turtle's livers _a la
Francaise_, the choicest of wines in this hot-bed of grapes, this land
of vineyards, dishes that would tickle the palate of a Lucullus, the
cosiest of after dinner chairs, French coffee, which means a good
deal, the brightest of fires, and faces, sweet notes of song," with a
glance at Vaura, "and the most delicate of cigarettes, so delicate as
not to entail the punishment of banishment from two ladies fair."
"What a luxurious picture you draw, Captain Trevalyon," said Vaura
gayly, "and what an epicure! you dwell with such pleasure upon each
dish, your livers, your--"
"_Pardonnez_," answered Trevalyon, laughing; "not mine, the turtle's"
and continuing with mock gravity, "I never expect mine to be dressed
at Voisin's."
"Horrible! a too warm anticipation of torment," cried Vaura.
"Torment!" said their host, stepping forward as a servant announced
them, and tortures are obsolete words in gay Paris and even in the
reign of terror, such a fair vision would surely have escaped. "A
hundred thousand welcomes," he continued, shaking hands with all, "and
I feel sure no bachelor under the McMahon _regime_ is so highly
favoured as Edward F. Bertram to-night."
"Listen," cried Vaura, "Mr. Bertram will put to shame the gay gallants
of Paris, in the making of pretty speeches; I believe the air of this
room is conducive to that sort of thing; I feel inclined to say
something complimentary on the beauty and comfort of our host's
surroundings myself.
"Relieve my curiosity, Mr. Bertram, and tell me where you are?" said
Lady Esmondet, as she leaned back and placed her feet on the softest
of fender stools; "we came to dine with a bachelor in something of
bachelor, live-by-myself style, and we find ourselves in a noble
mansion."
"Yes, Bertram," said Trevalyon; "I was aware of the capacity of a
London alderman, in catering to the comfort of his pampered body; but,
I repeat Lady Esmondet's question of where are you."
"And I answer," said the voice of gay Mrs. Eustace Wingfield, as she
entered, "in one of the most fashionable of French flats on Avenue de
l'Imperatrice, the fourth flat of said number Eustace and I are
fortunate denizens of, and I can assure you, the inmates are such
pleasant people that, yours truly, with Eustace, are oftener to be
found in these sunny quarters than at Eaton Square, London."
"You are happy," said Vaura, "never out of the sunshine."
"Yes, I like it," said Mrs. Wingfield; "I can't live in the shade, and
Mr. Bertram has me to adore for giving him the sun-light of this
dwelling. I saw by the papers he was to make his exodus from London,
so I telegraphed him to come here, and bring on a box of French novels
we had forgotten."
"One does sometimes forget the most important part of one's luggage,"
said Vaura.
"But," said Trevalyon, "I'll wager Bertram did not forget your mental
food."
"Not he, with his aldermanic taste for spicy dishes," said Vaura.
"No, the temptation would be too much for him, with the _piece de
resistance_, an uninteresting husband, side dish, paragon lover,
_entree_, neglected wife with flavourings thrown in, scandals, duels,
etc.," said Trevalyon.
"How well he knows the condiments," remarked their host in sly tones,
and rubbing his hands softly; "but talking of condiments, reminds one
of dinner, and that Everly should be here."
"I hear a footstep on the hill which doesn't grow fainter, fainter
still," said Mrs. Wingfield.
"Here we are again," said Sir Tilton Everly, entering, and shaking
hands with all, continued: "I hope, Bertram, I havn't kept your dinner
waiting."
"No, no, my dear fellow, my dinner waits for no man."
"You see our gallant host makes an exception in our favour, Sir
Tilton," said Lady Esmondet.
"He considers the length of our toilette," said Mrs. Wingfield.
"And train," laughed Vaura, as Trevalyon caught his foot in her
trailing skirts, in crossing behind to offer his arm.
"Go where one will," said Trevalyon, covered by the hum of voices;
"one is sure to fall in with Everly."
"Yes, uncle Eric says he reminds him of the clown at a circus, with
his cherry cry of 'here I am again.'"
"He seemed to me to be a sort of pet monkey of Mrs. Haughton; I hope
he will not deem it necessary to transfer his little attentions to
you, or I shall feel inclined to tell him that I am your knight _pour
le present_, and show him my colours, in shape of telegram from your
uncle (if I may not wear yours)," he added in persuasive tones.
"You can still be my knight errant," and her soulful eyes turn to his
face, "he, one of my retainers."
"No divided honours for me, _ma belle_."
Here their chit-chat is interrupted by the subject of their converse,
addressing Miss Vernon, across the table.
"Just come from Haughton Hall, Miss Vernon?"
"Yes."
"All well I hope? more especially my uncle."
"Never saw him looking better; I just ran down for twenty-four hours."
"How is the place looking? I don't mean the exterior, the park and
grounds are always beautiful (and thank heaven cannot change), but the
interior."
"Gorgeous! never saw anything to equal it."
"The festivities were brilliant, I presume?"
"Should say so; the county were tongue-tied in admiration; couldn't
find words."
"You had no time for the birds, Everly, I suppose," said Trevalyon.
"Yes, a couple of hours of it; and what with the ball, dinner,
fireworks, hurrahs, &c., and killing of birds--"
"And young women," cried Mrs. Wingfield.
"But in the time," laughed small Everly, "we really made some fine
running on the feathered tribe."
"Ostrich feathered?" said Vaura.
"Nay, let him alone for that; else would Mrs. Haughton have made some
running or gone for him? excuse the slang," said Mrs. Wingfield,
mischievously.
"Many of us would be sportsmen in the case of a rival," said Vaura.
"The divided skirt would come to the front with pistols and coffee for
two," cried Bertram.
"Yes, I should give her all the mud my tongue could throw," said gay
Mrs. Wingfield.
"There will be sport in Hall as field, when the hounds meet, if I'm
not mistaken," said the newsy little baronet.
"Why, how so? Sir Tilton," exclaimed Vaura.
"Well, you see, Miss Vernon, there was a lively discussion at luncheon
one day as to the next meet; when Mrs. Haughton announced her
intention of following the hounds, the Colonel objected on the ground
of non-experience."
"No," said Lady Esmondet; "Rotten Row is her experience, and 'tis
scarcely a hunting field."
"Unless for the praise of men," said Vaura.
"Or a husband," cried Mrs. Wingfield.
"But about the field, Sir Tilton; do you think Mrs. Haughton will take
it?" asked Vaura.
"I am sure she will, for I overheard her the same day make a bet of
L500 that she'd ride grey Jessie with the hounds next meet."
"So, so!" exclaimed Bertram, "the lady means it."
"And who might the favoured participator in her bet be, Everly?"
enquired Trevalyon carelessly.
"With Major Delrose, late of the --th Middlesex Lancers."
"With Delrose!" exclaimed Trevalyon, now fully aroused; "is Delrose at
Haughton?" and as he spoke he gave a swift glance at Lady Esmondet,
who thought silently, "Delrose, the man who was mixed up in some way
with Lionel in the Fanny Clarmont scandal; there will be mischief."
"No, left same train as I did, very unwillingly though; extracted a
promise from Mrs. Haughton, that if time hangs heavy, he may return;
amusing fellow, though the Colonel doesn't seem to take to him."
"Not the same stamp of man," said Bertram.
"But Haughton is right about the field, Everly," said Trevalyon; "one
requires other experience than the Row."
"Better not curb her, though," answered Everly sagely.
"She thinks it as easy to run down the hare as the men; but the hare
wants other bait than gold," said Lady Esmondet.
"So do we," said Bertram, decidedly.
"Yes, I do not think by any means that men, as a rule, are sordid."
"Before I met Eustace," said Mrs. Wingfield, "I made up my mind only
to marry a horsey man, to make sure of one common interest, which
there is often an absence of."
"Mrs. Wingfield! Mrs. Wingfield!" cried Bertram.
"Mr. Bertram! Mr. Bertram! were you a benedict, you would say my
forethought was sweetly touching."
"And here have I, a lonely bachelor," he continued; "been regretting
the non-existence of my Madame Bertram, though none could grace the
head of my table better than the lady now seated there."
"_Merci_," said Lady Esmondet, "you are such a host in yourself that
you leave us nothing to regret in the absence of Mrs. Bertram."
"Why," said Trevalyon sadly, in a low tone to Vaura; "why, will we
continually make a jest over those poor creatures unequally yoked
together."