The Under Secretary Part 14

Then she burst suddenly into tears.

He put his arm tenderly round her waist saying what he could to console her, for her emotion distressed him. Complex as was her character, he saw that his plain, outspoken words had had their effect. When he had told her of his decision that morning at Albert Gate she had been defiant, treating the matter with utter unconcern; but now, as the result apparently of full reflection, she had become filled by a bitter remorse, and was penitent enough to beseech forgiveness.

How little we men know of the true hearts of women! Could we but follow the whole course of feeling in the feminine mind; could we trace accurately the links that connect certain consequences with remote causes, which often render what we most condemn a necessity from which there was never a single chance of escape; could we, in short, see as a whole, and see it clearly, what at present our lack of the right vision causes us to see in part, and obscurely--all that tempted to wrong, all that blinded to right--we should not then presume to theorise so glibly; to set ourselves up as accusers, judges, executioners, in such unbecoming haste. We should have mercy upon women, as befits honest men.

At heart Dudley Chisholm loved the woman he was striving to comfort, even though his a.s.sociation with her had so nearly wrecked his chance of succeeding in an official career. But he hated the artificiality of the smarter set; he detested the fickleness of the flirt; and he had been sadly disillusioned by the gossip that had of late sprung up in connection with the woman who for so long had represented his ideal.

He would have forgiven her without further parley had it not been for the knowledge that vengeance was already close behind him, and that before long she must be left without his love and protection. His secret caused him to preserve silence; but she, ignorant of the truth, believed that the spell she had exercised so long was at last broken.

In the hour of her despair she uttered many pa.s.sionate words of love, and many, many times their lips met in fervent kisses. Nevertheless, both felt that a gulf yawned between them--a wide gulf caused by her own folly and recklessness.

At length she succeeded in stifling her emotion, drying her eyes, and concealing the traces of her tears by means of the eau de Cologne he handed her and a few dexterous dabs with her tiny powder-puff.

Now that she was calmer, he kissed her upon the forehead, drew her cloak over the still tumultuous breast, and then led her below, where her brougham was awaiting them.

During the drive to Penarth House, that old-fas.h.i.+oned but well-known mansion at the western end of Piccadilly, they sat together in silence.

Their hands were clasped. Both hearts were too full for words. They, who had loved one another for so many years, were now together for the last time.

A deep and bitter sigh escaped Chisholm. He was going to this ball, always one of the most brilliant entertainments in London--for the d.u.c.h.ess was a political hostess and frequently entertained "for the Party"--to drink the cup of pleasure to the dregs, because on the morrow his place in English officialdom would be empty.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

IS DISTINCTLY ENIGMATICAL.

Distinction among women is rapidly becoming a lost art. Woman nowadays is nothing if not modern in her views. After her presentation, her natural enthusiasm and charming high spirits usually cause her to take a too tolerant and rosy view of life, with the result that she degenerates into being merely smart. She becomes absorbed in Man and Millinery.

Dress is her keynote. A lady's luggage has during the past ten years a.s.sumed alarming proportions, and a fas.h.i.+onable woman rushes eagerly to a house-party for the express purpose of airing the latest triumphs of Paquin or Lentheric. She is expected to make as many alterations in her costume as a quick-change artiste at the music-halls. In old times a tailor-made gown was worn for breakfast; but now a smart gown is put on for the morning meal, afterwards to be changed for a walking-costume or a suit for motor-driving. Luncheon demands another dainty gown, and tea brings out that luxurious and poetical garment, the tea-gown. At quite a small party this is sometimes retained for dinner, but for a big affair a magnificent dress is donned; and the same gown, whether designed for the morning or the evening, must never be worn twice.

Except when she was entertaining for a political purpose, the d.u.c.h.ess of Penarth's functions were characterised by an exclusiveness which belonged more to the mid-Victorian period than to latter-day London.

Her Grace was a well-known hostess, and as her house-parties in Derbys.h.i.+re usually included a member of the royal family, her circle of guests was a small and exceedingly smart one. If any outsider was admitted to her b.a.l.l.s, he or she was always a brilliant person. Every season, of course, sees a new recruit to the ranks of these distinguished strangers--the latest empire-builder, the newest millionaire, or the most recently discovered society beauty. Dudley Chisholm had several times accompanied Claudia to b.a.l.l.s at Penarth House, and knew well that everything was most magnificently done.

The carriage drew up in the long line that slowly filed into the old-fas.h.i.+oned courtyard, there to set down the guests. As Dudley looked out upon the lights of Piccadilly the rhymer's jingle recurred to him:

Oh! the tales that you could tell, Piccadilly.

(Fit for Heaven, fit for h.e.l.l), Piccadilly.

Of the folk who buy and sell, Of the merry marriage bell, Of the birthday, of the knell, Of the palace, of the cell, Of the beldame, and the belle, Of the rest of them who fell, Piccadilly.

Yes, he hated it all. But it was the end--his last night with the woman who had for so long held him enthralled.

He believed he had broken the spell when he left her at Albert Gate a few mornings before; but he now discovered that he had been mistaken.

Her tears had moved him. Although she was much to blame, he could not bear to see her suffer.

Up that wide staircase, well-known for its ancient handrail of crystal, they pa.s.sed to the ballroom, which, as was usual at Penarth House, presented a most brilliant _coup d'oeil_. The women, all of them splendidly attired, ranged from the freshest _debutante_ to the painted brigade of frivolous fifty, the members of which exhibit all the pitiful paraphernalia of the womanhood which counterfeits the youth it has lost and wreathes the death's head in artificial smiles. The crush was great, but even before Dudley and Lady Richard Nevill had entered the ballroom his beautiful companion was receiving homage from every side.

Her arrival was the _clou_ of the entertainment, and Her Grace, an elderly, rather stout person, wearing a magnificent tiara, came fussily forward to greet her.

Chisholm was quick to notice that Claudia had no desire to dance with any of the host of partners who at once began to pet.i.tion her. Many of the men he knew--and heartily hated. Young scions of n.o.ble houses, a bachelor millionaire with black, mutton-chop whiskers, a reckless young peer, in whose company Claudia had often of late been seen, all crowded about her, smiling, paying compliments, and bowing over her hand.

But to all of these she excused herself. She was not feeling well, she declared, and as yet could not possibly dance. So by degrees her court slowly dissolved, and for a time she and Dudley were left alone. As may be imagined, there was much whispering in all quarters about her re-appearance in public with Chisholm.

They sat out several dances in a cool anteroom, dimly lit and filled with palms. In the half darkness they clasped hands, but they spoke very little, fearing lest others might overhear. Chisholm sat as one dead to all around him. As he pa.s.sed through the great ballroom with its myriad lights and restless crowd he had mechanically returned the salutes of those who knew him, without recognising a single man or woman. In his present mood friends and enemies were alike to him--all of them so many shapes from the past.

To the woman at his side he clung, and to her alone. The memory of their bygone happiness he could not put aside. He would be compelled to make his _adieux_ to life very soon--perhaps, indeed, in a few hours-- and his only regret was for her. He could tell her nothing, and when he was dead she, like the others, would spurn his memory.

That thought caused him to grip the small, white-gloved hand he held.

His lips moved convulsively, but in that subdued light Claudia could not detect his agitation. He was unusually sad and apprehensive, fearful of some impending catastrophe--that was all she knew.

She had tried to arouse him by making caustic and amusing criticisms regarding those about them, but all to no purpose. Her witticisms provoked no smile. He seemed utterly lost in his melancholy reflections.

"Listen!" she said at last. "There's a waltz. Let us go."

She rose and led him into the ballroom, where a moment later they were whirling along together in the smart crowd, compelling even jealous onlookers to describe them as splendidly matched. As Dudley steered his beautiful partner among the other dancers the music caused a flow of sad memories to surge through his brain--memories of the hundreds of b.a.l.l.s at which they had been happy in each other's love.

He laughed bitterly within himself as he saw her smile at a man she knew. Yes, when he was dead she would, he supposed, mourn for him for the first day and forget him on the second, just as completely as she had forgotten her indulgent husband. He saw that look of recognition exchanged between them; but the man's face was unfamiliar. He was young, rather sallow-faced, with a dark-brown beard.

But he made no comment. As this waltz was their last, why should he spoil it? Upon her all argument was expended in vain, he declared to himself bitterly.

The floor was perfect, the music excellent, and quickly the old flush of pleasure came back to her face.

"You are enjoying it?" he whispered to her.

"And why don't you, Dudley?" she asked. "You really ought to put on a more pleasant expression. People will remark upon it."

"Let them say what they will," he replied in a hard tone. "They cannot hurt me now."

"Well, dear, you look as grave as if you were at a funeral. Forgive me for speaking plainly, won't you?"

"I am grave because I cannot take leave of all that I have learnt to love without a feeling of poignant regret," he answered. "In future I shall be debarred from all this."

"Why? Are you going to enter a monastery, or something?" she asked, her old easy-going _insouciance_ now returning to her.

"No, not exactly that!" he answered ambiguously. "Really, I can't make you out to-night, Dudley," she answered as, now that the waltz had ended, he was conducting her across the room. "I do wish you'd tell me this extraordinary secret which is oppressing you. Once you used to tell me everything. But now--"

"Ah! it is different now," he said.

"Because you mistrust me?"

"No, because our love must end," he replied in a voice so low that none overheard.

She looked at him swiftly with a pained expression, still unable to discover the reason of his extraordinary att.i.tude of melancholy and despair.

"Even if it must be as you have said, surely it is unnecessary to exhibit your heart upon your sleeve in public?" she argued. "Your words have placed upon me a heavy burden of sorrow, G.o.d knows! But I have learned to wear a mask, and only give myself up to wretchedness in the silence of my own room." She spoke the truth. Well-versed, indeed, was she in all the feminine artifices. He knew quite well that her gaiety was a.s.sumed, for he had noticed how her hand trembled, and he had seen how quickly her breast rose and fell beneath its lace. Though her heart was stirred to its very depths, to the smart world in which she delighted to move she betrayed not a single sign of grief. She was just the gay, reckless woman who was so popular as a host and so eagerly sought as guest, the pretty woman of the hour, the brilliant object of so much scandal.

"Ah!" he said briefly, "you are a woman."

"Yes," she answered in a deep, intense whisper. "A woman who has always loved you, Dudley, and who loves you still!"

At that instant the d.u.c.h.ess of Penarth approached them and carried Claudia away to be introduced to some notable person--who was "dying to know" her. No sooner had she left him than Dudley found himself face to face with a tall, elderly man who sat for South Staffords.h.i.+re and was one of the staunchest supporters of the Government.

Naturally they exchanged greetings, and fell to chatting. While they were thus engaged the young brown-bearded man to whom Claudia had given a covert sign of recognition pa.s.sed them.