Thelma
Again the elder lady coughed significantly.
Clara Winsleigh broke into a ringing peal of laughter, and rising from
her lounge, knelt beside her visitor in a very pretty coaxing attitude.
"Come, Mimsey!" she said, "you are not going to be proper at this time
of day! That would be a joke! Darling, indulgent, good old Mimsey!--you
don't mean to turn into a prim, prosy, cross Mrs. Grundy! I won't
believe it! And you mustn't be severe on poor Lennie--he's such a
docile, good boy, and really not bad-looking!"
Mrs. Marvelle fidgeted a little on her chair. "I don't want to talk
about _Lennie_, as you call him," she said, rather testily--"Only I
think you'd better be careful how far you go with him. I came to consult
you on something quite different. What are you going to do about the
Bruce-Errington business? You know it was in the Post to-day that
they've arrived in town. The idea of Sir Philip bringing his common wife
into society!--It's too ridiculous!"
Lady Winsleigh sprang to her feet, and her eyes flashed disdainfully.
"What am I going to do?" she repeated, in accents of bitter contempt.
"Why, receive them, of course! It will be the greatest punishment
Bruce-Errington can have! I'll get all the best people here that I
know--and he shall bring his peasant woman among them, and blush for
her! It will be the greatest fun out! Fancy a Norwegian farmer's girl
lumbering along with her great feet and red hands! . . . and, perhaps,
not knowing whether to eat an ice with a spoon or with her fingers! I
tell you Bruce-Errington will be ready to die for shame--and serve him
right too!"
Mrs. Marvelle was rather startled at the harsh, derisive laughter with
which her ladyship concluded her excited observations, but she merely
observed mildly--
"Well, then, you will leave cards?"
"Certainly?"
"Very good--so shall I," and Mrs. Marvelle sighed resignedly. "What must
be, must be! But it's really dreadful to think of it all--I would never
have believed Philip Errington could have so disgraced himself!"
"He is no gentleman!" said Lady Winsleigh freezingly. "He has low tastes
and low desires. He and his friend Lorimer are two _cads_, in my
opinion!"
"Clara!" exclaimed Mrs. Marvelle warningly. "You were fond of him
once!--now, don't deny it!"
"Why should I deny it?" and her ladyship's dark eyes blazed with
concentrated fury. "I loved him! There! I would have done anything for
him! He might have trodden me down under his feet! He knew it well
enough--cold, cruel, heartless cynic as he was and is! Yes, I loved
him!--but I _hate_ him now!"
And she stamped her foot to give emphasis to her wild words. Mrs.
Marvelle raised her hands and eyes in utter amazement.
"Clara, Clara! Pray, pray be careful! Suppose any one else heard you
going on in this manner! Your reputation would suffer, I assure you!
Really, you're horribly reckless! Just think of your husband--"
"My husband!" and a cold gleam of satire played round Lady Winsleigh's
proud mouth. She paused and laughed a little. Then she resumed in her
old careless way--"You must be getting very goody-goody, Mimsey, to talk
to me about my husband! Why don't you read me a lecture on the duties of
wives and the education of children? I am sure you know how profoundly
it would interest me!"
She paced up and down the room slowly while Mrs. Marvelle remained
discreetly silent. Presently there came a tap at the door, and the
gorgeous Briggs entered. He held himself like an automaton, and spoke as
though repeating a lesson.
"His lordship's compliments, and will her la'ship lunch in the
dining-room to-day?"
"No," said Lady Winsleigh curtly. "Luncheon for myself and Mrs. Marvelle
can be sent up here."
Briggs still remained immovable. "His lordship wished to know if Master
Hernest was to come to your la'ship before goin' out?"
"Certainly not!" and Lady Winsleigh's brows drew together in a frown.
"The boy is a perfect nuisance!"
Briggs bowed and vanished. Mrs. Rush-Marvelle grew more and more
restless. She was a good-hearted woman, and there was something in the
nature of Clara Winsleigh that, in spite of her easy-going conscience,
she could not altogether approve of.
"Do you never lunch with your husband, Clara?" she asked at last.
Lady Winsleigh looked surprised. "Very seldom. Only when there is
company, and I am compelled to be present. A domestic meal would be too
_ennuyant_! I wonder you can think of such a thing! And we generally
dine out."
Mrs. Marvelle was silent again, and, when she did speak, it was on a
less delicate matter.
"When is your great 'crush,' Clara?" she inquired, "You sent me a card,
but I forget the date."
"On the twenty-fifth," replied Lady Winsleigh. "This is the fifteenth. I
shall call on Lady Bruce-Errington"--here she smiled scornfully--"this
afternoon--and to-morrow I shall send them their invitations. My only
fear is whether they mayn't refuse to come. I would not miss the chance
for the world! I want my house to be the first in which her
peasant-ladyship distinguishes herself by her blunders!"
"I'm afraid it'll be quite a scandal!" sighed Mrs. Rush-Marvelle.
"Quite! Such a pity! Bruce-Errington was such a promising, handsome
young man!"
At that moment Briggs appeared again with an elegantly set
luncheon-tray, which he placed on the table with a flourish.
"Order the carriage at half-past three," commanded Lady Winsleigh. "And
tell Mrs. Marvelle's coachman that he needn't wait,--I'll drive her home
myself."
"But, my dear Clara," remonstrated Mrs. Marvelle, "I must call at the
Van Clupps'--"
"I'll call there with you. I owe them a visit. Has Marcia caught young
Masherville yet?"
"Well," hesitated Mrs. Marvelle, "he is rather slippery, you know--so
undecided and wavering!"
Lady Winsleigh laughed. "Never mind that! Marcia's a match for him!
Rather a taking girl--only _what_ an accent! My nerves are on edge
whenever I hear her speak."
"It's a pity she can't conquer that defect," agreed Mrs. Marvelle. "I
know she has tried. But, after all, they're not the best sort of
Americans--"
"The _best_ sort! I should think not! But they're of the _richest_ sort,
and that's something, Mimsey! Besides, though everybody knows what Van
Clupp's father was, they make a good pretense at being well-born,--they
don't cram their low connections down your throat, as Bruce-Errington
wants to do with his common wife. They ignore all their vulgar
belongings delightfully! They've been cruelly 'cut' by Mrs.
Rippington--she's American--but, then, she's perfect style. Do you
remember that big 'at home' at the Van Clupp's when they had a band to
play in the back-yard, and everybody was deafened by the noise? Wasn't
it quite too ridiculous!"
Lady Winsleigh laughed over this reminiscence, and then betook herself
to the consideration of lunch,--a tasty meal which both she and Mrs.
Marvelle evidently enjoyed, flavored as it was with the high spice of
scandal concerning their most immediate and mutual friends, who were,
after much interesting discussion, one by one condemned as of
"questionable" repute, and uncertain position. Then Lady Winsleigh
summoned her maid, and was arrayed _cap-a-pie_ in "carriage-toilette,"
while Mrs. Marvelle amused herself by searching the columns of _Truth_
for some new tit-bit of immorality connected with the royalty or
nobility of England. And at half-past three precisely, the two ladies
drove off together in an elegant victoria drawn by a dashing pair of
greys, with a respectably apoplectic coachman on the box, supported by
the stately Briggs, in all the glory of the olive-green and gold
liveries which distinguished the Winsleigh equipage. By her ladyship's
desire, they were driven straight to Prince's Gate.
"We may as well leave our cards together," said Clara, with a malicious
little smile, "though I hope to goodness the creature won't be at home."
Bruce-Errington's town-house was a very noble-looking mansion--refined
and simple in outer adornment, with a broad entrance, deep portico, and
lofty windows--windows which fortunately were not spoilt by gaudy
hangings of silk or satin in "aesthetic" colors. The blinds were
white--and, what could be seen of the curtains from the outside,
suggested the richness of falling velvets, and gold-woven tapestries.
The drawing-room balconies were full of brilliant flowers, shaded by
quaint awnings of Oriental pattern, thus giving the place an air of
pleasant occupation and tasteful elegance.
Lady Winsleigh's carriage drew up at the door, and Briggs descended.
"Inquire if Lady Bruce-Errington is at home," said his mistress. "And if
not, leave these cards."
Briggs received the scented glossy bits of pasteboard in his
yellow-gloved hand with due gravity, and rang the bell marked "Visitors"
in his usual ponderous manner, with a force that sent it clanging loudly
through the corridors of the stately mansion. The door was instantly
opened by a respectable man with grey hair and a gentle, kindly face,
who was dressed plainly in black, and who eyed the gorgeous Briggs with
the faintest suspicion of a smile. He was Errington's butler, and had
served the family for twenty-five years.
"Her ladyship is driving in the Park," he said in response to the
condescending inquiries of Briggs. "She left the house about half an
hour ago."
Briggs thereupon handed in the cards, and forthwith reported the result
of his interview to Lady Winsleigh, who said with some excitement--
"Turn into the Park and drive up and down till I give further orders."
Briggs mutely touched his hat, mounted the box, and the carriage rapidly
bowled in the required direction, while Lady Winsleigh remarked
laughingly to Mrs. Marvelle--
"Philip is sure to be with his treasure! If we can catch a glimpse of
her, sitting, staring open-mouthed at everything, it will be amusing! We
shall then know what to expect."
Mrs. Marvelle said nothing, though she too was more or less curious to
see the "peasant" addition to the circle of fashionable society,--and
when they entered the Park, both she and Lady Winsleigh kept a sharp
look-out for the first glimpse of the quiet grey and silver of the
Bruce-Errington liveries. They watched, however, in vain--it was not yet
the hour for the crowding of the Row--and there was not a sign of the
particular equipage they were so desirous to meet. Presently Lady
Winsleigh's face flushed--she laughed, and bade her coachman come to a
halt.
"It is only Lennie," she said in answer to Mrs. Marvelle's look of
inquiry. "I _must_ speak to him a moment!"
And she beckoned coquettishly to a slight, slim young man with a dark
moustache and rather handsome features, who was idling along on the
footpath, apparently absorbed in a reverie, though it was not of so deep
a character that he failed to be aware of her ladyship's presence--in
fact he had seen her as soon as she appeared in the Park. He saw
everything apparently without looking--he had lazily drooping eyes, but
a swift under-glance which missed no detail of whatever was going on. He
approached now with an excessively languid air, raising his hat slowly,
as though the action bored him.
"How do, Mrs. Marvelle!" he drawled lazily, addressing himself first to
the elder lady, who responded somewhat curtly,--then leaning his arms on
the carriage door, he fixed Lady Winsleigh with a sleepy stare of
admiration. "And how is our Clara? Looking charming, as usual! By Jove!
Why weren't you here ten minutes ago? You never saw such a sight in your
life! Thought the whole Row was going crazy, 'pon my soul!"
"Why, what happened?" asked Lady Winsleigh, smiling graciously upon him.
"Anything extraordinary?"
"Well, I don't know what you'd call extraordinary;" and Sir Francis