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

in silks. Her head was swathed in turban-like folds, on the front of which a diamond bosque held the end of a rampant plume. Her expression was as unusual as her appearance, the blankness on most of the passing faces being replaced in her case by a radiant audacity which proved her to be no ordinary character. So striking and queenly a figure attracted instant attention, and Katrine’s melancholy reflection that this must be one of the many unrecognised celebrities, was followed by a thrill of joy, as Grizel rushed forward with friendly empressement.

“Grizel Dundas, by all that is charming! And who brought you here, dear person?” enquired the tall lady warmly, at which question Grizel’s eyes turned upon Katrine, with a twinkling gleam. One hand still rested on her friend’s arm, pressing upon it as with a special significance; with the other she made a sweeping gesture of introduction.

“I drove over from Cumly. I am staying with my friends, the Martin Beverleys. Let me introduce you... This is Miss Beverley, and she has been lamenting all afternoon that she does not know Who’s Who, and is surrounded by celebrities, whom she can’t recognise. Now she’s going to have a treat. Providence has been kind in sending you to our aid, for you are one of her special heroines. Prepare yourself, Katrine! You are a lucky girl! If you’ve had to wait, you’ve got a big catch at the end... Guess what is the name of this fine, this very fine, this superfine lady whom you now behold before you.”

Katrine smiled, blushed, waited, agape with curiosity; so—it would have appeared to the eye of a beholder—did the superfine lady also. Grizel gave another sweep of the small gloved hand, and pronounced a name in a tone of triumph:

“Mrs—Humphrey Ward!”

“Oh-h!” an irresistible exclamation burst from Katrine’s lips, her attitude became on the moment instinct with deference, with the most transparent and whole-hearted adulation. The lady on her part cast a rapid glance at Grizel, from Grizel to Katrine, simpered, attitudinised, and gently coughed.

“So pleased!” she murmured softly. “So happy; so braced! In the midst of this alien throng to meet a Kindred Soul,—that is refreshment indeed!” She held Katrine’s hand between both of her own, gazing at her with a fond affection. “Tell me, dear; I am so pining to know,—which of my books do you cherish most?”

That “cherish” struck a jarring note, but Katrine’s answer came none the less promptly. She had no hesitation in pronouncing her preference for Eleanor; it was her hearer who for a moment looked blank and vague.

“Ah-h!” she said thoughtfully, then with a sudden radiant smile, “I call her Nellie! We mothers have pet names for our children. Dear little Nell! She was a sweet thing. Hard on her, wasn’t it, while still so young? So dear of you to love her... Well, dear, I shall always remember you, and love you for your sweet sympathy. And you want my autograph, of course? Don’t mind asking—I shall be only too pleased!”

Katrine’s flush deepened to rose. Bewilderment, embarrassment, and a chilling disillusion seemed for the moment to have deprived her of speech. The gorgeous figure towered over her, the brilliant eyes blazed relentlessly upon her face. Grizel stood meekly in the background, her face all infantile sweetness.

“I,—thank you! I don’t collect autographs, but I shall be—honoured to have yours. Miss Dundas can give you my address.”

“That’s quite all right. I’ll send it soon, with an appropriate quotation for your dear little album. ‘Be good, sweet maid, All lame dogs aid,’ With best wishes from Nellie’s Mother...”

She smirked once more. Katrine was breathlessly demanding of herself if this could indeed be the woman who had written such masterly books, when the girl who had been standing at a discreet distance during the short interview, came forward and spoke in an apologetic voice:—

“Mrs Singleton! I’m sorry, but father has an appointment to meet a friend in the rose garden, I’m afraid we must really move on.”

“Singleton... Incognito! The name she travels by, don’t you know,” naughty Grizel mumbled in explanation, as the little party turned away, but the truth burst upon Katrine in an all-illuminating flash, and she was not to be caught again.

“Grizel, you horror! To make me a laughing stock... What a fool she must have thought me, standing gaping with admiration! ‘Nellie’s Mother’ indeed! An idol toppled at that moment. I was disillusioned, but living in the same house with an author prepares one for so many eccentricities, that I still believed... Well! it came off very well that time, but don’t try it again!”

Grizel continued to chuckle in soft, retrospective enjoyment.

“Oh, it was grand! Mrs Singleton is a capital actress, and she played up like a man. It was delicious to see you standing there, all humility and adulation, such a douce, modest, young woman, burning incense to a master mind. If only that tiresome girl had not come up at the wrong moment, I might have faked all the wig bigs in turn, and had the time of my life!”

Katrine’s lips twisted in an enigmatical smile. She was feeling gay and young; the prickly dignity which had made her resent any approach to a joke at her own expense, had given place to a humorous enjoyment. Mentally she stood beside Grizel, looking on at the little scene which had just been enacted, appreciating the alertness of Mrs Singleton, and enjoying the spectacle of her own credulity.

Meantime each passing moment brought with it a fresh picture. Now it was a group of Chinamen, attired in the gorgeous colourings of the East, conversing with friendly cordiality with their black-coated friends; again it was a slender, dark-skinned woman, moving to the jingle of innumerable bangles, her timid eyes alight with childlike curiosity; anon, it was an ecclesiastic of the Church, or a group of court officials. The kaleidoscopic groups streamed in and out of the great house, passing each other on the marble staircase of the terrace, while the strains of massed bands sounded from a discreetly-arranged distance.

Presently Martin returned, and was duly regaled with an account of the Singleton episode, which being done Grizel laid upon him her own commands.

“Let’s go into the house and be fed! Eating is my one solace on these occasions,” she said, yawning. “One sees so many better-looking women than oneself.—I rather believe I am going to faint!”

The threat brought her companions to their feet. Martin offered his arm, and Grizel hung upon it with an air of exhaustion, her reed-like form and misty draperies investing her with an almost ghostly air of fragility. She made her way towards the house, followed by eyes of commiserating admiration, but once seated in the great hall she displayed an appetite for, and appreciation of the dainties provided, which put her more robust friends in the shade. Martin hovered around her with a solicitude which provoked Katrine to the bluntness of truth.

“There’s not much wrong with her when she can eat those cakes! She’s not half so bad as she pretends. I wish I had half her appetite.”

“Do you grudge me my humble board!” Grizel grimaced with the air of a cheeky schoolboy, oblivious of the stare of a haughty flunky who was at the moment supplying her with cream. She sipped luxuriously at the delicious coffee, and proceeded reflectively:—

“Last time I was here was at the Ball of the Creases. Such a tragic occasion, Katrine! It was the hour of wool-satins; no other material had a look in, and every mortal woman had clothed herself therein. Most of them had a railway journey, or a long drive across country, and oh, the shock when they alighted, and took off their wraps in the cloak room!!! Creases, creases, nothing but creases! It was a pitiful scene; mothers afume, daughters in tears, rows of dowagers turning themselves before the fire, like turkeys on a spit; plaintive pleadings for flat-irons. When we got upstairs to the ballroom, it was worse than ever, with the great electric chandelier blazing down, and showing up every deficiency. And we revolved beneath them looking like so many rag-bags. I have never seen so many badly-dressed women in my life.”

“Serve you right,” was Martin’s comment. “Sheep! Sheep! Why will you all dress alike? I can never see the fascination of being a replica of a hundred other women, when one might be a woman by oneself.”

Certainly the female portion of the crowd which continually surged in and out of the great door formed an admirable illustration of Martin’s indictment. Old and young, tall and small, fat and thin, all hobbled within the same tight folds, and hid their hair beneath enormous hats which descended on the shoulder, entirely concealing both hair and neck. Viewed from the front the costume achieved on occasions a not unbecoming effect, but the back!

“Oh would some power the giftie gie them, To see their backs as others see them!” chanted Grizel softly, as a distinguished party crossed the floor at a few yards’ distance. She laughed as she spoke, her deep, gurgling laugh, at the sound of which the colour rose in Martin’s cheek. He looked at her and said quickly:

“Grizel! didn’t you want to see the picture gallery? Shall I take you now?” As he spoke, his expression seemed to take a significance apart from the words; delicately but unmistakably his eyebrows rose, asking a secret question, and as delicately Grizel’s eyes met his, and signalled a reply.

Katrine saw, guessed, was in the act of defiantly fighting against the suggestion, but Grizel was before her.

“Presently. There’s plenty of time. Katrine was wishing, Martin, that you could introduce her to some one who could act as guide, and point out the celebrities. It’s dull for her dragging about with us.”

“Of course. Certainly! I saw old Deeds a minute ago. There could be no one better. I’ll bring him along.”

Martin dashed off with a haste seldom characteristic of altruistic enterprises, while Katrine sat rigid on her seat, consumed with anger.

“Us!” That word was the crux of the offence. “Us!” having for its meaning Martin and Grizel, leaving herself coldly outside the pale. Katrine hardly realised it at the time, but in reality another word had cut almost as deep. “Old!” Old Mr Deeds. “No one could be better!” The first old man who came within reach appeared a fitting companion for her, the while her companions went their unhindered way.

She sat rigid, her lips pressed in a hard, straight line. By her side Grizel cast sorrowful glances. On occasions it is almost as disagreeable to do good, as to be the object of benevolent designs!