An Unknown Lover, Mrs George de Horne Vaizey [best romantic novels in english txt] 📗

to celebrity. Her aim was theoretically to see, not to be seen, but the theory did not prevent a lengthy and painstaking toilette.

It was only a simple ninon dress, it was only a home-made hat, she owned neither jewels nor laces, nor valuable accessories of any sort to give a cachet to the whole, but considering these deficiencies there was the more reason for being thankful for a graceful figure, for a face with well-cut features, and deep, level eyes.

Surveying the completed toilette in her glass Katrine first smirked and then sighed. “Very praiseworthy considering, but when I see Grizel, she will knock the conceit out of me!” she said to herself as she put the dressing-table in order with a few swift touches, and crossed the passage to tap at the door of the guest chamber.

“May I come in?”

“What ho!” sounded cheerily from within, and Katrine entered to behold a Romney picture in grey chiffon pirouetting before the glass, a ridiculous buckram bandeau pressed turban-like on her head, to which she was endeavouring to anchor a vast hat, encircled by sweeping white feathers. The feathers swept, they did not soar, a Grizel-like distinction between beauty and fashion; there was not a touch of colour about her, except for the coral brightness of her lips. Katrine felt an instant conviction that ninon was heavy, that colour was vulgar, that every item of her own toilette was detestable and ill-chosen. She stood staring in the doorway, and even as she stood the door of Martin’s room opened, at the opposite side of the passage.

He would have passed on without a glance towards the opened room; Katrine in her friend’s place would have dodged hastily into a corner rather than have been discovered in the unbecoming stage of bandeau sans hat, but Grizel hailed him with a cheerful cry:

“Halloa, you man thing! Look upon me, and thank your stars you are not a woman. I’ve got to balance this tent upon my head, and nothing short of clamps will do it. And there’s one hairpin, a fiendish anarchist of a hairpin, simply stacking into my scalp! ... Which would you rather,—keep the car waiting while I take it down and do it again, or have me scratching at my head all the afternoon, at the most compromising moments? Put your fingers in, Katrine! Prod about! Can you feel it? Not that one, no! For the land’s sake don’t scatter my curls on the floor. That’s him! That’s him! Good girl! ... What a mussiful relief... Now for the skewers... Deadly, ain’t they? But I have screws for the ends, so you can be aisey... The question of the hour is, Martin—do you love me better in a veil, or without?”

She faced him, holding before her face lengths of filmy white, no disfiguring scrolls, no shadows, such as the fashion of the day forces on an unoffending public, but a gossamer tulle, invisible at a few yards’ distance, yet lending a becoming softness to the features. Martin, however, gallantly refused to see the improvement, and gave the verdict “Without!” in unhesitating accents, whereupon Grizel beamed upon him, and deliberately proceeded to swathe the folds round the wide brim of the hat.

“Sweet pusson! But you wouldn’t, after a long drive, when the ends were flying! No woman can look distinguished with tousley hair. I’m ready, my loved ones! If you’ve any remarks to make, make ’em now, or else for ever hold your peace. As for Katrine—she’s quite unnecessarily good-looking—no objections to make there. My hobject is—if you can understand,—to appear as if I were ‘Somebody,’ and have a train of admirers following wherever I go!—If you didn’t know any better, do you think you could mistake me for ‘Some one in Particular,’ and hang around to stare?”

The brother and sister smiled indulgently.

“Isn’t Grizel Dundas Somebody?” Martin enquired.

“She’s a goose anyway!” corrected Katrine, but she said it with a laugh, and in a voice which held no trace of the ordinary snap. Martin’s eyes turned upon her quickly; he also seemed to be infected with an unusual gentleness and amenity of manner.

“How nice you look, dear—how very nice!” he said genially. In the way of definite approval it was more than he had said to Grizel herself. Katrine flushed with pleasure, and brushed his arm with a caressing touch. Each was conscious of a longing to make up for the growing disloyalty of the past months. The position remained unchanged, but there was a different attitude towards it; they had grown suddenly softer, kindlier; in each mind was a conviction of personal responsibility, a disinclination to blame the other. “I haven’t considered her enough. She’s had a desperately dull time.” ... “I’ve been so narrow-minded—so blind. I didn’t understand!” Each heart made its own confession of shortcomings, and felt lightened of a load. It was in the happiest of moods that the trio started on their ten-mile drive through the wooded country which stretched between Cumly and Barfield Castle.

In the matter of rural scenery England stands unsurpassed in the kingdoms of the world, and a stranger to our isle could not have had a better introduction to its beauties than the drive through that southern county. Long avenues of beeches gave entrance to the most picturesque of villages, with the traditional duck-pond and green; thatched cottages showed a blaze of flowers in their trim gardens; the smooth white road curved through the heart of a great forest, dived through the precipitous High Street of a quaint old town, and climbed steeply to a breezy down. Everywhere there was a wealth of greenery, a universal air of prosperity, of order, of well-being, good to behold on this brilliant summer morning.

Within a few miles of Barfield Castle, however, all peacefulness vanished from the scene. The converging roads were filled with an unending stream of vehicles, and the dust rose in clouds above the hedgerows. The women wrapped themselves closely in dust cloaks and motor-veils, the pace slackened to a crawl, and at frequent intervals ceased altogether as the congested lines merged together near the castle gates. When once that point had been passed, progress was sure though slow, and the dust of the high roads was replaced by refreshing shade from the great avenue of trees. The wrappings were thrown aside, to display the brave toilettes of men and women; and the pedestrians who, having travelled by train, had been disappointed of finding conveyances at the station, gazed enviously, curiously, at the occupants of the various carriages and cars, and were in their turn as mercilessly scrutinised.

“Everybody is dying to know who everybody else is!” whispered Grizel gleefully. “Buck up, Katrine, and look haughty. You may be mistaken for a Duchess, or a variety actress,—you never know your luck! When we pass the next group, watch me heave, to show off the effect of my massed gems!”

The “massed gems” consisted of a diamond brooch and a small heart-shaped pendant to match, which nestled together in the folds of chiffon at Grizel’s breast. It was a charming and ludicrous sight to behold her inflate her slight form at the prescribed moment, but sure enough, the stones flashed in response, catching a passing sunbeam and blazing with a brilliance altogether out of proportion to their size.

“There!” cried Grizel triumphantly, achieving a double chin in her effort to admire her own splendour. “Never say again that I don’t do you credit!”

The first part of the afternoon was spent pleasantly enough in strolling about the gardens, or in sitting down to watch the kaleidoscopic brilliance of the scene. At intervals Martin was hailed by a fellow-writer or club acquaintance, or Grizel by a friend from town, but Katrine was never so addressed. Other girls less attractive than herself flitted about with attendant cavaliers, or formed the centres of merry groups. What was the use of being “unnecessarily good-looking,” if no one were influenced thereby?

Across the sunshine of the scene shot grey shadows of depression. In the midst of a crowd one could be so horribly alone! Among the hundreds of guests crowding the green lawn, not one cared to pause by her side. Even Martin and Grizel.—It was a hateful thought, Katrine fought against it, but her heart acknowledged its truth,—they would be happier without her! It was inevitable that the mind should leap to the remembrance of the one man who would have cared; who, entering by those great gates, would have come swiftly forward, unsatisfied, unseeing, till he had gained her side!

Across the intervening miles went out a warm, glad thought: “He would have cared!” said Katrine’s heart, and at the thought the sun shone again.

“Excuse me one moment!” cried Martin hurriedly. “That man over there.—I’ve been wanting to catch him for months...”

He darted across the lawn, and the two girls subsided into chairs, afraid to leave the spot, lest in the crowd he might not be able to find them on his return. Already Grizel was looking tired and spent; the little face beneath the sweeping hat was white as a tired rose, but the whimsical light shone bright as ever in the golden eyes as she turned them on the passing throng, and from her lips bubbled an endless stream of nonsense. It was difficult for a listener to preserve a due decorum of manner as each group passed by, heralded by biographical sketches in those low, rich tones.

”—Aunt Hepsibah and her niece Jane... County family. Redooced, but proud. ‘A lace shawl,’ says Auntie, ‘is always le mode! And Jane shall wear my bertha.’ ... Mrs Ponsonby de Tompkins. Left cards regularly for years past, angling for an invitation, and at long last one arrived. A handsome new dress for the occasion! The very best satin, and everything to match, Husband excepted! Ponsonby wishes to goodness he’d never come! ... Rich Mr Stock-broker on the point of proposing to Emily Maud. Emily’ll have him. Observe the smirk! I always refuse men who propose to me at garden parties... Ha! whom have we here? Looks like a Duchess, but probably is not. Old lady in puce probably is, and has no right to be... Long-haired pus-son probably an Anabaptist, or a Poet, or something of that ilk.”

“It’s all very well, but I want to know!” objected Katrine in tones of strong disapproval. “It’s the dullest thing in the world to be surrounded by celebrities, and not to recognise a single one. Martin goes about so little that he is no use as a guide. The dozens and dozens of interesting invitations which he has refused these last years! I think he might introduce us to some of his friends who do know! It’s the literary people who interest me most. And the artists. It’s too tiresome!”

“Keep calm, Sweet One! We’ll ask him when he comes back, and,” Grizel smiled, a slow, sweet smile, “I might know one or two myself! If we sit here patiently, some one is sure to pass. I’ll keep a bright look-out.”

“Oh, do! Yes, of course, you meet all kinds of people. I’ve lived in a rut. Grizel, do you know, I’m getting tired!”

The words were used in their deeper sense, and Grizel’s long glance proclaimed her understanding. Grizel always did understand, Katrine acknowledged ungrudgingly, but the deep, contemplative glance aroused a remembrance of the parting of the night before, and to her annoyance she felt the blood once more stain her cheeks. Now if Grizel proceeded to joke, question, insinuate, she felt she could not endure it, but Grizel was silent, and spoke no word. They sat together for a long five minutes without exchanging a remark, then suddenly strolling towards them came a strikingly handsome woman followed at a few yards’ distance by a man and a girl, evidently members of the same party, whom for the moment she chose to ignore. She wore a trailing gown of a deep rose pink, and over it a cloak of chiffon, elaborately embroidered