CHAPTER II
AT THE OPERA
When John Steele left the court toward the end of the day, he held hishead as a man who thinks deeply. From the door he directed his stepstoward Charing Cross. But only to wheel abruptly, and retrace his way.He was not an absent-minded man, yet he had been striding unconsciouslynot toward his customary destination at that hour, the several chambersat once his office and his home. For a moment the strong face of the manrelaxed, as if in amusement at his own remissness; gradually however, itonce more resumed its expression of musing thoughtfulness. The stream ofhuman beings, in the main, flowed toward him; he breasted the current ashe had for many evenings, only this night he did not look into the facesof these, his neighbors; the great city's concourse of atoms sweptunmeaningly by.
Turning into a narrow way, not far from the embankment, he stoppedbefore the door of a solid-looking brick building, let himself in, andmade his way up-stairs. On the third floor he applied another andsmaller key to another lock and, from a hall, entered a large apartment,noteworthy for its handsome array of books that reached from floor toceiling wherever there was shelf space. Most of these volumes weresoberly bound in conventional legal garb but others in elegant, moregracious array, congregated, a little cosmopolitan community, in asection by themselves.
Passing through this apartment, John Steele stepped into that adjoining,the sitting-and dining-room. The small table had already been set; thesun's dying rays that shot through the window revealed snowy linen,brightly gleaming silver and a number of papers and letters. Theyshowed, also, a large cage with a small bird that chirped as the mancame in; John Steele looked at it a moment, walked to a mirror andlooked at himself. Long the deep eyes studied the firm resolute face;they seemed endeavoring to gaze beyond it; but the present visage, likea shadow, waved before him. The man's expression became inscrutable;stepping to the window, he gazed out on the Thames. A purplish glimmerlent enchantment to the noble stream; it may be as he looked upon it,his thoughts flowed with the river, past dilapidated structures, betweenwhispering reeds on green banks, to the sea!
A discreet rapping at the door, followed by the appearance of around-faced little man, with a tray, interrupted further contemplationor reverie on John Steele's part. Seating himself at the table, heresponded negatively to the servant's inquiry if "anythink" else wouldbe required, and when the man had withdrawn, mechanically turned to hisletters and to his simple evening repast. He ate with no great evidenceof appetite, soon brushed the missives, half-read, aside, and pushedback his chair.
Lighting a pipe he picked up one of the papers, and for some moments hisattention seemed fairly divided between a casual inspection of the lightarabesques that ascended in clouds from his lips and the heavy-lookingcolumns of the morning sheet. Suddenly, however, the latter dissipatedhis further concern in his pipe; he put it down and spread out the bigpaper in both hands. Amid voluminous wastes of type an item, in thecourt and society column, had caught his eye:
"Sir Charles and Lady Wray, who are intending henceforth to reside in England, have returned to the stately Wray mansion in Piccadilly, where they will be for the season. Our well-known Governor and his Lady are accompanied by their niece, the beautiful and accomplished Miss Jocelyn Wray, only child of Sir Charles' younger brother, the late Honorable Mr. Richard Wray, whose estate included enormous holdings in Australia as well as several thousand acres in Devonshire. This charming young colonial has already captivated London society."
John Steele read carefully this bit of news, and then re-read it; heeven found himself guilty of perusing all the other paragraphs; thecomings and goings, the fine doings! They related to a world he hadthought little about; a world within the world; just as the people wholived in tunnels and dark passages constituted another world within theworld. Her name danced in illustrious company; here were dukes and earlsand viscounts; a sprinkling of the foreign element: begums, emirs, thenation's guests. He saw, also, "Sir Charles, Lady Wray and Miss Wray"among the long list of box-holders for that night at the opera, a galaoccasion, commanded by royalty for the entertainment of royalty, and,incidentally, of certain barbarian personages who had come across theseas to be diplomatically coddled and fed.
Folding his newspaper, John Steele turned to his legal papers; strove toreplace idleness by industry; but the spirit of work failed to respond.He looked at his watch, rang sharply a bell.
"Put out my clothes," he said to the servant who appeared with a lamp,"and have a cab at the door."
The opera had already begun, but pandemonium still reigned about thebox-office, and it was half an hour before John Steele succeeded inreaching the little aperture, with a request for anything that chancedto be left down-stairs. Armed with a bit of pasteboard, Steele wasstopped as he was about to enter. A thunder of applause from within,indicating that the first act had come to an end, was followed by theusual egress of black and white figures, impatient for cigarettes andlight lobby gossip.
"Divine, eh? The opera, I mean!" A voice accosted John Steele, and,turning, he beheld a familiar face with black whiskers, that of CaptainForsythe. "This is somewhat different from the morning's environment?"
"Yes," said the other. "But your first question," with a smile, "I'mafraid I can't answer. I've just come; and, if I hadn't--well, I'm nojudge of music."
"Then you must look as if you were!" laughed the captain frankly. "Don'tknow one jolly note from another, but, for goodness' sake, don't betrayme. Just been discussing trills and pizzicatos with Lady Wray."
For a few moments they continued their talk; chance had made them knownto each other some time before, and Captain Forsythe had improved everyopportunity to become better acquainted with one for whom he entertaineda frank admiration. Steele's reserve, however, was not easilypenetrated; he accepted and repaid the other's advances with uniformcourtesy but Forsythe could not flatter himself the acquaintance hadprogressed greatly since their first meeting.
A bell sounded; John Steele, excusing himself, entered the auditoriumand was shown to his seat. It proved excellently located, and, lookingaround, he found himself afforded a comprehensive view of a spectaclebrilliant and dazzling. Boxes shone with brave hues; gems gleamedover-plentifully; here and there, accentuating the picture, the gorgeouscolors of some eastern prince stood out like the brighter bits in akaleidoscope. Steele's glance swept over royalty, rank and condition. Ittook in persons who were more than persons--personages; it passed overthe impassive face of a dark ameer who looked as if he might havestepped from one of the pages of _The Arabian Nights_, and lingered on abox a little farther to one side. Here were seated Sir Charles and hiswife and party; and among them he could discern the features of JocelynWray--not plainly, she was so far away! Only her golden hair appeareddistinct amid many tints.
The curtain went up at last; the music began; melodies that seemed bornin the springtime succeeded one another. Perennial in freshness, themefollowed theme; what joy, what gladness; what merriment, what madness!John Steele, in the main, kept his attention directed toward the stage;once or twice he glanced quickly aside and upward; now in the dimness,however, the people in the boxes conveyed only a vague shadowyimpression. How long was the act; how short? It came to a sudden end;after applause and bravos, men again got up and walked out; he, too,left his seat and strolled toward the back.
"Mr. Steele! One moment!" He found himself once more addressed by thegood-humored Captain Forsythe. "Behold in me a Mercury, committed to animperative mission. You are commanded to appear--not in the royalbox--but in Sir Charles'."
"Sir Charles Wray's?" John Steele regarded the speaker quickly.
"Yes," laughed the other. "You see I happened to mention I had seen you.'Why didn't you bring him with you to the box?' queried Sir Charles. He,by the by, went in for law himself, before he became governor. 'Only hadtime to shake hands this morning!' 'Yes, why didn't you?' spoke up MissJocelyn. 'You _command_ me to bring him?' I inquired. 'By all means!
'she laughed, 'I command.' So here I am."
John Steele did not answer, but Captain Forsythe, without waiting for areply, turned and started up the broad stairway. The other, after amoment's hesitation, followed, duly entered one of the larger boxes,spoke to Sir Charles and his wife and returned the bow of their niece.Amid varied platitudes Steele's glance turned oftenest to the girl. Shewas dressed in white; a snowy boa drooped from the slender bareshoulders as if it might any moment slip off; a string of pearls, eachone with a pearl of pure light in the center, clasped her throat. In hereyes the brightness seemed to sing of dancing cadenzas; her lips,slightly parted, wore the faint suggestion of a smile, as if somecanticle or clear cadence had just trembled from them. The small shoethat peeped from beneath silken folds tapped softly to rhythms yetlingering; on her cheeks two small roses unfolded their glad petals.
"I trust Captain Forsythe did not repeat that absurd remark of mine?"she observed lightly, when John Steele, after a few moments' generaltalk, found himself somehow by her side.
"About 'commanding'?"
"So he did?" she answered gaily. "He told me he was going to. It is likehim; he poses as a _bel esprit_. Stupid, was it not?"
He answered a word in the negative; the girl smiled; where other menwould press the opportunity for a compliment he apparently found noopening.
She waved her hand to the seat next to her, and as he sat down--"Isn'tit splendid!" irrelevantly.
"The spectacle, or the opera?" he asked slowly, looking into blue eyes.
"It was the opera I meant. I suppose the spectacle is very grand; but,"enthusiastically, "it was the music I was thinking of--how it grips one!Tell me what you think of _The Barber_, Mr. Steele."
"I'm afraid my views wouldn't be very interesting," he answered. "I knownothing whatever about music."
"Nothing?" Her eyes widened a little; in her accent was mild wonder.
He looked down at the shimmering white folds near his feet. "In earlierdays my environment was not exactly a musical one."
"No? I suppose you were engaged in more practical concerns?"
He did not answer directly. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling mesomething about Rossini's music, Miss Wray?"
"I tell you?" Her light silvery laugh rang out. "And Captain Forsythehas only been telling me--all of us--that you were one of the bestinformed men he had ever met."
"You see how wrong he was!"
"Quite!" The blue eyes regarded him sidewise. He, the keen, strong man,so assured, so invincible in the court room, sat most humbly by herside, confessing his ignorance, want of knowledge about something everyschool-girl is mistress of! "Or, perhaps, it is because your world is sodifferent from mine! Music, laughter, the traditions of Italian _belcanto_, you have no room for them, they are too light, too trifling. Youare above them," poising her fair head a little higher.
"Perhaps they have been above me," he answered, his tone unconsciouslytaking an accent of gaiety from the lightness of hers.
The abrupt appearance of the musicians and the dissonances attendant ontuning, interrupted her response; Steele rose and was about to take hisdeparture, when Sir Charles intervened.
"Why don't you stay?" he asked, with true colonial heartiness. "Plentyof room! Unless you've a better place! Two vacant chairs!"
John Steele looked around; he saw three vacant chairs and took one, alittle aside and slightly behind the young girl, while the governor'swife, who had moved from the front at the conclusion of the previousact, now returned to her place, next her niece. During the act, some onecame in and took a seat in the background; if Steele heard, he did notlook around. His gaze remained fastened on the stage; between him andit--or them, art's gaily attired illusions!--a tress of golden hairsometimes intervened, but he did not move. Through threads like wovenflashes of light he regarded the scene of the poet's fantasy. Did theymake her a part of it,--did they seem to the man the fantasy'sintangible medium, its imagery? Threads of gold, threads of melody! Hesaw the former, heard the latter. They rose and fell wilfully,capriciously, with many an airy and fanciful turn. The man leaned hishead on his hand; a clear strain died like a filament of purest metalgently broken. She breathed a little quicker; leaned farther forward;now her slender figure obtruded slightly between him and the performers.He seemed content with a partial view of the stage, and so remaineduntil the curtain went down. The girl turned; in her eyes was aquestion.
"Beautiful!" said the man, looking at her.
"Charming! What colorature! And the bravura!" Captain Forsythe applaudedvigorously.
"You've never met Lord Ronsdale, I believe, Mr. Steele?" Sir Charles'voice, close to his ear, inquired.
"Lord Ronsdale!" John Steele looked perfunctorily around toward the backof the box and saw there a face faintly illumined in the light from thestage: a cynical face, white, mask-like. Had his own features not beenset from the partial glow that sifted upward, the sudden emotion thatswept Steele's countenance would have been observed. A sound escaped hislips; was drowned, however, in a renewed outbreak of applause. The divacame tripping out once more, the others, too--bowing,smiling--recipients of flowers. John Steele's hand had gripped his kneetightly; he was no longer aware of the stage, the people, even JocelynWray. The girl's attention had again centered on the actors; she withthe others had been oblivious to the glint of his eyes, the hard, setexpression of his features.
"Old friend, don't you know," went on the voice of Sir Charles when thissecond tumult of applause had subsided. "Had one rare adventuretogether. One of the kind that cements a man to you."
As he spoke, the light in the theater flared up; John Steele, no longerhesitating, uncertain, rose; his face had regained its composure. Heregarded the slender, aristocratic figure of the nobleman in thebackground; faultlessly dressed, Lord Ronsdale carried himself with hishabitual languid air of assurance. The two bowed; the stony glance ofthe lord met the impassive one of the man. Then a puzzled look came intothe nobleman's eyes; he gazed at Steele more closely; his glancecleared.
"Thought for an instant I'd seen you somewhere before, b'Jove!" hedrawled in his metallic tone. "But, of course, I haven't. Never forget aface, don't you know."
"I may not say so much, may not have the diplomat's gift of alwaysremembering people to the extent your lordship possesses it, but I amequally certain I have never before enjoyed the honor of being presentedto your lordship!" said John Steele. The words were punctiliouslyspoken, his accents as cold as the other's. An infinitesimal trace ofconstraint seemed to have crept into the box; Steele turned and holdingout his hand, thanked Sir Charles and his wife for their courtesy.
Jocelyn Wray gazed around. "You are leaving before the last act?" shesaid with an accent of surprise.
He looked down at her. "Not through preference!"
"Ah!" she laughed. "Business before--music, of course!"
"Our day at home, Mr. Steele, is Thursday," put in the governor's lady,majestically gracious.
"And you'll meet a lot of learned people only too glad to talk aboutmusic," added the young girl in a light tone. "That is, if you weresincere in your request for knowledge, and care to profit by theopportunity?"
His face, which had been contained, impassive, now betrayed in theslightest degree an expression of irresolution. Her quick look caughtit, became more whimsical; he seemed actually, for an instant, askinghimself if he should come. She laughed ever so slightly; the experiencewas novel; who before had ever weighed the pros and cons when extendedthis privilege? Then, the next moment, the blue eyes lost some of theirmirth; perhaps his manner made her feel the frank informality she hadunconsciously been guilty of; she regarded him more coldly.
"Thank you," he said. "You are very good. I shall be most glad."
And bowing to her and to the others he once more turned; as he passedLord Ronadsle, the eyes of the two men again met; those of the noblemansuddenly dilated and he started.
"B'Jove!" he exclaimed, his gaze following the retreating figure.
"What is
it?" Sir Charles looked around. "Recall where you thought yousaw him?"
Lord Ronsdale did not at once answer and Sir Charles repeated hisquestion; the nobleman mechanically raised his hand to his face. "Yes; amere fugitive resemblance," he answered rather hurriedly. "Someone--you--you never met. Altogether quite a different sort of person,don't you know!" regaining his drawl.
"Well," observed Sir Charles, "fugitive resemblances will happen!"
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