Thelma
these grand houses like Lord Winsleigh's, the servants know everything!
Briggs makes it his business to listen at the doors--he says it's a part
of his duty. And Louise opens all her mistress's letters--she says she
owes it to her own respectability to know what sort of a lady it is she
serves. And she's going to leave, because she says her ladyship _isn't_
respectable! There! what do you think of that! And Sir Philip will find
out a great deal more than even _I_ have told him--but oh! I _can't_
understand about that actress!" And she shook her head despairingly.
"Britta," said Neville suddenly, "That actress is my wife!"
Britta started,--and her round eyes opened wide.
"Your wife, Mr. Neville?" she exclaimed.
Neville took off his spectacles and polished them nervously.
"Yes, Britta--my wife!"
She looked at him in amazed silence. Neville went on rubbing his
glasses, and continued in rather dreamy, tremulous accents--
"Yes--I lost her years ago--I thought she was dead. But I found her--on
the stage of the Brilliant Theatre. I--I never expected--_that_! I would
rather she had died!" He paused and went on softly, "When I married her,
Britta, she was such a dear little girl,--so bright and pretty!--and
I--I fancied she was fond of me! Yes, I did,--of course, I was
foolish--I've always been foolish, I think. And when--when I saw her on
that stage I felt as if some one had struck me a hard blow--it seems as
if I'd been stunned ever since. And though she knows I'm in London, she
won't see me, Britta,--she won't let me speak to her even for a moment!
It's very hard! Sir Philip has tried his best to persuade her to see
me--he has talked to her and written to her about me; and that's not
all,--he has even tried to make her come back to me--but it's all no
use--and--and that's how all the mischief has arisen--do you see?"
Britta gazed at him still, with sympathy written on every line of her
face,--but a great load had been lifted from her mind by his words--she
began to understand everything.
"I'm so sorry for you, Mr. Neville!" she said. "But why didn't you tell
all this to the Froeken?"
"I _couldn't_!" murmured Neville desperately. "She was there that night
at the Brilliant,--and if you had seen how she looked when she saw--my
wife--appeared on the stage! So pained, so sorry, so ashamed! and she
wanted to leave the theatre at once. Of course, I ought to have told
her,--I wish I had--but--somehow, I never could." He paused again. "It's
all my stupidity, of course, Sir Philip is quite blameless--he has been
the kindest, the best of friends to me--" his voice trembled more and
more, and he could not go on. There was a silence of some minutes,
during which Britta appeared absorbed in meditation, and Neville
furtively wiped his eyes.
Presently he spoke again more cheerfully. "It'll soon be all right
again, Britta!" and he nodded encouragingly. "Sir Philip says her
ladyship has gone home to Norway, and he means to follow her to-night."
Britta nodded gravely, but heaved a deep sigh.
"And I posted her letter to her father!" she half murmured. "Oh, if I
had only thought or guessed why it was written!"
"Isn't it rather a bad time of the year for Norway?" pursued Neville.
"Why, there must be snow and darkness--"
"Snow and darkness at the Altenfjord!" suddenly cried Britta, catching
at his words. "That's exactly what she said to me the other evening! Oh
dear! I never thought of it--I never remembered it was the dark season!"
She clasped her hands in dismay. "There is no sun at the Altenfjord
now--it is like night--and the cold is bitter. And she is not
strong--not strong enough to travel--and there's the North Sea to
cross--oh, Mr. Neville," and she broke out sobbing afresh. "The journey
will kill her,--I know it will! my poor, poor darling! I must go after
her--I'll go with Sir Philip--I _won't_ be left behind!"
"Hush, hush, Britta!" said Neville kindly, patting her shoulder. "Don't
cry--don't cry!"
But he was very near crying himself, poor man, so shaken was he by the
events of the morning. And he could not help admitting to himself the
possibility that so long and trying a journey for Thelma in her present
condition of health meant little else than serious illness--perhaps
death. The only comfort he could suggest to the disconsolate Britta was,
that at that time of year it was very probable there would be no steamer
running to Christiansund or Bergen, and in that case Thelma would be
unable to leave England, and would, therefore, be overtaken by Sir
Philip at Hull.
Meanwhile, Sir Philip himself, in a white heat of restrained anger,
arrived at Winsleigh House, and asked to see Lord Winsleigh immediately.
Briggs, who opened the door to him, was a little startled at his haggard
face and blazing eyes, even though he knew, through Britta, all about
the sorrow that had befallen him. Briggs was not surprised at Lady
Errington's departure,--that portion of his "duty" which consisted in
listening at doors, had greatly enlightened him on many points,--all,
save one--the reported connection between Sir Philip and Violet Vere.
This seemed to be really true according to all appearances.
"Which it puzzles me," soliloquized the owner of the shapely calves. "It
do, indeed. Yet I feels very much for Sir Philip,--I said to Flopsie
this morning--'Flopsie, I feels for 'im!' Yes,--I used them very words.
Only, of course, he shouldn't 'ave gone with Vi. She's a fine woman
certainly--but skittish--d--d skittish! I've allus made it a rule myself
to avoid 'er on principle. Lor! if I'd kep' company with 'er and the
likes of 'er I shouldn't be the man I am!" And he smiled complacently.
Lord Winsleigh, who was in his library as usual, occupied with his
duties as tutor to his son Ernest, rose to receive Sir Philip with an
air of more than his usual gravity.
"I was about to write to you, Errington," he began, and then stopped
short, touched by the utter misery expressed in Philip's face. He
addressed Ernest with a sort of nervous haste.
"Run away, my boy, to your own room. I'll send for you again presently."
Ernest obeyed. "Now," said Lord Winsleigh, as soon as the lad
disappeared, "tell me everything, Errington. Is it true that your wife
has left you?"
"Left me!" and Philip's eyes flashed with passionate anger. "No
Winsleigh!--she's been driven away from me by the vilest and most
heartless cruelty. She's been made to believe a scandalous and
abominable lie against me--and she's gone! I--I--by Jove! I hardly like
to say it to your face--but--"
"I understand!" a curious flicker of a smile shadowed rather than
brightened Lord Winsleigh's stern features. "Pray speak quite plainly!
Lady Winsleigh is to blame? I am not at all surprised!"
Errington gave him a rapid glance of wonder. He had always fancied
Winsleigh to be a studious, rather dull sort of man, absorbed in books
and the education of his son,--a man, more than half blind to everything
that went on around him--and, moreover, one who deliberately shut his
eyes to the frivolous coquetry of his wife,--and though he liked him
fairly well, there had been a sort of vague contempt mingled with his
liking. Now a new light was suddenly thrown on his character--there was
something in his look, his manner, his very tone of voice,--which proved
to Errington that there was a deep and forcible side to his nature of
which his closest friends had never dreamed--and he was somewhat taken
aback by the discovery. Seeing that he still hesitated, Winsleigh laid a
hand encouragingly on his shoulder and said--
"I repeat--I'm not at all surprised! Nothing that Lady Winsleigh might
do would cause me the slightest astonishment. She has long ceased to be
my wife, except in name,--that she still bears that name and holds the
position she has in the world is simply--for my son's sake! I do not
wish,"--his voice quivered slightly--"I do not wish the boy to despise
his mother. It's always a bad beginning for a young man's life. I want
to avoid it for Ernest, if possible,--regardless of any personal
sacrifice." He paused a moment--then resumed. "Now, speak out,
Errington, and plainly,--for if mischief has been done and I can repair
it in any way, you may be sure I will."
Thus persuaded, Sir Philip briefly related the whole story of the
misunderstanding that had arisen concerning Neville's wife, Violet
Vere--and concluded by saying--
"It is, of course, only through Britta that I've just heard about Lady
Winsleigh's having anything to do with it. Her information may not be
correct--I hope it isn't,--but--"
Lord Winsleigh interrupted him. "Come with me," he said composedly.
"We'll resolve this difficulty AT once."
He led the way out of the library across the hall. Errington followed
him in silence. He knocked at the door of his wife's room,--in response
to her "Come in!" they both entered. She was alone, reclining on a sofa,
reading,--she started up with a pettish exclamation at sight of her
husband, but observing who it was that came with him, she stood mute,
the color rushing to her cheeks with surprise and something of fear. Yet
she endeavored to smile, and returned with her usual grace their
somewhat formal salutations.
"Clara," then said Lord Winsleigh gravely, "I have to ask you a question
on behalf of Sir Philip Errington here,--a question to which it is
necessary for you to give the plain answer. Did you or did you not
procure this letter from Violet Vere, of the Brilliant Theatre--and did
you or did you not, give it yourself yesterday into the hands of Lady
Bruce-Errington?" And he laid the letter in question, which Philip had
handed to him, down upon the table before her.
She looked at it--then at him--then from him to Sir Philip, who uttered
no word--and lightly shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't know what you are talking about," she said, carelessly.
Sir Philip turned upon her indignantly.
"Lady Winsleigh, you _do_ know--"
She interrupted him with a stately gesture.
"Excuse me, Sir Philip! I am not accustomed to be spoken to in this
extraordinary manner. You forget yourself--my husband, I think, also
forgets himself! I know nothing whatever about Violet Vere--I am not
fond of the society of actresses. Of course, I've heard about your
admiration for her--that is common town-talk,--though my informant on
this point was Sir Francis Lennox."
"Sir Francis Lennox!" cried Philip furiously. "Thank God! there's a man
to deal with! By Heaven, I'll choke him with his own lie!"
Lady Winsleigh raised her eyebrows in well-bred surprise.
"Dear me! It is a lie, then? Now, I should have thought from all
accounts that it was so very likely to be true!"
Philip turned white with passion. Her sarcastic smile,--her mocking
glance,--irritated him almost beyond endurance.
"Permit me to ask you, Clara," continued Lord Winsleigh calmly, "if
you,--as you say, know nothing about Violet Vere, why did you go to the
Brilliant Theatre yesterday morning?"
She flashed an angry glance at him.
"Why? To secure a box for the new performance. Is there anything
wonderful in that?"
Her husband remained unmoved. "May I see the voucher for this box?" he
inquired.
"I've sent it to some friends," replied her ladyship haughtily. "Since
when have you decided to become an inquisitor, my lord?"
"Lady Winsleigh," said Philip suddenly and eagerly, "will you swear to
me that you have said or done nothing to make my Thelma leave me?"
"Oh, she _has_ left you, has she?" and Lady Clara smiled maliciously. "I
thought she would! Why don't you ask your dear friend, George Lorimer,
about her? He is madly in love with her, as everybody knows,--she is
probably the same with him!"
"Clara, Clara!" exclaimed Lord Winsleigh in accents of deep reproach.