CHAPTER IX.
"How enchanting!" cried Marcella, as they emerged on the terrace, andriver, shore, and sky opened upon them in all the thousand-tinted lightand shade of a still and perfect evening. "Oh, how hot we were--and howbadly you treat us in those dens!"
Those confident eyes of Wharton's shone as they glanced at her.
She wore a pretty white dress of some cotton stuff--it seemed to him heremembered it of old--and on the waving masses of hair lay a littlebunch of black lace that called itself a bonnet, with black strings tieddemurely under the chin. The abundance of character and dignity in thebeauty which yet to-night was so young and glowing--the rich arrestingnote of the voice--the inimitable carriage of the head--Wharton realisedthem all at the moment with peculiar vividness, because he felt them insome sort as additions to his own personal wealth. To-night she was inhis power, his possession.
The terrace was full of people, and alive with a Babel of talk. Yet, ashe carried his companions forward in search of Mrs. Lane, he saw thatMarcella was instantly marked. Every one who passed them, or made wayfor them, looked and looked again.
The girl, absorbed in her pleasant or agitating impressions, knewnothing of her own effect. She was drinking in the sunset light--thepoetic mystery of the river--the lovely line of the bridge--theassociations of the place where she stood, of this great buildingovershadowing her. Every now and then she started in a kind of terrorlest some figure in the dusk should be Aldous Raeburn; then when astranger showed himself she gave herself up again to her young pleasurein the crowd and the spectacle. But Wharton knew that she was observed;Wharton caught the whisper that followed her. His vanity, already sowell-fed this evening, took the attention given to her as so much freshhomage to itself; and she had more and more glamour for him in thereflected light of this publicity, this common judgment.
"Ah, here are the Lanes!" he said, detecting at last a short lady inblack amid a group of men.
Marcella and Edith were introduced. Then Edith found a friend in a youngLondon member who was to be one of the party, and strolled off with himtill dinner should be announced.
"I will just take Miss Boyce to the end of the terrace," said Wharton toMr. Lane; "we shan't get anything to eat yet awhile. What a crowd! TheAlresfords not come yet, I see."
Lane shrugged his shoulders as he looked round.
"Raeburn has a party to-night. And there are at least three or fourothers besides ourselves. I should think food and service will beequally scarce!"
Wharton glanced quickly at Marcella. But she was talking to Mrs. Lane,and had heard nothing.
"Let me just show you the terrace," he said to her. "No chance of dinnerfor another twenty minutes."
They strolled away together. As they moved along, a number of menwaylaid the speaker of the night with talk and congratulations--glancingthe while at the lady on his left. But presently they were away from thecrowd which hung about the main entrance to the terrace, and had reachedthe comparatively quiet western end, where were only a few pairs andgroups walking up and down.
"Shall I see Mr. Bennett?" she asked him eagerly, as they paused by theparapet, looking down upon the grey-brown water swishing under the fastincoming tide. "I want to."
"I asked him to dine, but he wouldn't. He has gone to aprayer-meeting--at least I guess so. There is a famous Americanevangelist speaking in Westminster to-night--I am as certain as I everam of anything that Bennett is there--dining on Moody and Sankey. Menare a medley, don't you think?--So you liked his speech?"
"How coolly you ask!" she said, laughing. "Did _you_?"
He was silent a moment, his smiling gaze fixed on the water. Then heturned to her.
"How much gratitude do you think I owe him?"
"As much as you can pay," she said with emphasis. "I never heardanything more complete, more generous."
"So you were carried away?"
She looked at him with a curious, sudden gravity--a touch of defiance.
"No!--neither by him, nor by you. I don't believe in your Bill--and I am_sure_ you will never carry it!"
Wharton lifted his eyebrows.
"Perhaps you'll tell me where you are," he said, "that I may know how totalk? When we last discussed these things at Mellor, I _think_--you werea Socialist?"
"What does it matter what I was last year?" she asked him gaily, yetwith a final inflection of the voice which was not gay; "I was a baby!_Now_ perhaps I have earned a few poor, little opinions--but they are aragged bundle--and I have never any time to sort them."
"Have you left the Venturists?"
"No!--but I am full of perplexities; and the Cravens, I see, will soonbe for turning me out. You understand--I _know_ some working folk now!"
"So you did last year."
"No!"--she insisted, shaking her head--"that was all different. But nowI am _in_ their world--I live with them--and they talk to me. Oneevening in the week I am 'at home' for all the people I know in ourBuildings--men and women. Mrs. Hurd--you know who I mean?"--her browcontracted a moment--"she comes with her sewing to keep me company; sodoes Edith Craven; and sometimes the little room is packed. The mensmoke--when we can have the windows open!--and I believe I shall soonsmoke too--it makes them talk better. We get all sorts--Socialists,Conservatives, Radicals--"
"--And you don't think much of the Socialists?"
"Well! they are the interesting, dreamy fellows," she said, laughing,"who don't save, and muddle their lives. And as for argument, theSocialist workman doesn't care twopence for facts--that don't suit him.It's superb the way he treats them!"
"I should like to know who does care!" said Wharton, with a shrug. Thenhe turned with his back to the parapet, the better to command her. Hehad taken off his hat for coolness, and the wind played with the crispcurls of hair. "But tell me"--he went on--"who has been tampering withyou? Is it Hallin? You told me you saw him often."
"Perhaps. But what if it's everything?--_living?_--saving your presence!A year ago at any rate the world was all black--_or_ white--to me. Now Ilie awake at night, puzzling my head about the shades between--whichmakes the difference. A compulsory Eight Hours' Day for all men in alltrades!" Her note of scorn startled him. "You _know_ you won't get it!And all the other big exasperating things you talk about--publicorganisation of labour, and the rest--you won't get them till all theworld is a New Jerusalem--and when the world is a New Jerusalem nobodywill want them!"
Wharton made her an ironical bow.
"Nicely said!--though we have heard it before. Upon my word, you havemarched!--or Edward Hallin has carried you. So now you think the poorare as well off as possible, in the best of all possible worlds--is thatthe result of your nursing? You agree with Denny, in fact? the man whogot up after me?"
His tone annoyed her. Then suddenly the name suggested to her arecollection that brought a frown.
"That was the man, then, you attacked in the _Clarion_ this morning!"
"Ah! you read me!" said Wharton, with sudden pleasure. "Yes--that openedthe campaign. As you know, of course, Craven has gone down, and thestrike begins next week. Soon we shall bring two batteries to bear, heletting fly as correspondent, and I from the office. I enjoyed writingthat article."
"So I should think," she said drily; "all I know is, it made _one_reader passionately certain that there was another side to the matter!There may not be. I dare say there isn't; but on me at least that wasthe effect. Why is it"--she broke out with vehemence--"that not a singleLabour paper is ever capable of the simplest justice to an opponent?"
"You think any other sort of paper is any better?" he asked herscornfully.
"I dare say not. But that doesn't matter to me! it is _we_ who talk ofjustice, of respect, and sympathy from man to man, and then we go andblacken the men who don't agree with us--whole classes, that is to say,of our fellow-countrymen, not in the old honest slashing style,Tartuffes that we are!--but with all the delicate methods of a new artof slander, pursued almost for its own sake. We know so muchbetter--always--than o
ur opponents, we hardly condescend even to beangry. One is only 'sorry'--'obliged to punish'--like the priggishgoverness of one's childhood!"
In spite of himself, Wharton flushed.
"My best thanks!" he said. "Anything more? I prefer to take my drubbingall at once."
She looked at him steadily.
"Why did you write, or allow that article on the West Brookshirelandlords two days ago?"
Wharton started.
"Well! wasn't it true?"
"No!" she said with a curling lip; "and I think you know it wasn'ttrue."
"What! as to the Raeburns? Upon my word, I should have imagined," hesaid slowly, "that it represented your views at one time with tolerableaccuracy."
Her nerve suddenly deserted her. She bent over the parapet, and, takingup a tiny stone that lay near, she threw it unsteadily into the river.He saw the hand shake.
"Look here," he said, turning round so that he too leant over the river,his arms on the parapet, his voice close to her ear. "Are you alwaysgoing to quarrel with me like this? Don't you know that there is no onein the world I would sooner please if I could?"
She did not speak.
"In the first place," he said, laughing, "as to my speech, do yousuppose that I believe in that Bill which I described just now?"
"I don't know," she said indignantly, once more playing with the stoneson the wall. "It sounded like it."
"That is my gift--my little _carillon_, as Renan would say. But do youimagine I want you or any one else to tell me that we shan't get such aBill for generations? Of course we shan't!"
"Then why do you make farcical speeches, bamboozling your friends andmisleading the House of Commons?"
He saw the old storm-signs with glee--the lightning in the eye, the roseon the cheek. She was never so beautiful as when she was angry.
"Because, my dear lady--_we must generate our force_. Steam must be gotup--I am engaged in doing it. We shan't get a compulsory eight hours'day for all trades--but in the course of the agitation for that preciousillusion, and by the help of a great deal of beating of tom-toms, andgathering of clans, we shall get a great many other things by the waythat we _do_ want. Hearten your friends, and frighten yourenemies--there is no other way of scoring in politics--and theparticular score doesn't matter. Now don't look at me as if you wouldlike to impeach me!--or I shall turn the tables. _I_ am still fightingfor my illusions in my own way--_you_, it seems, have given up yours!"
But for once he had underrated her sense of humour. She broke into a lowmerry laugh which a little disconcerted him.
"You mock me?" he said quickly--"think me insincere,unscrupulous?--Well, I dare say! But you have no right to mock me. Lastyear, again and again, you promised me guerdon. Now it has come topaying--and I claim!"
His low distinct voice in her ear had a magnetising effect upon her. Sheslowly turned her face to him, overcome by--yet fightingagainst--memory. If she had seen in him the smallest sign of referenceto that scene she hated to think of, he would have probably lost thishold upon her on the spot. But his tact was perfect. She saw nothing buta look of dignity and friendship, which brought upon her with a rush allthose tragic things they had shared and fought through, purifying thingsof pity and fear, which had so often seemed to her the atonement for,the washing away of that old baseness.
He saw her face tremble a little. Then she said proudly--
"I promised to be grateful. So I am."
"No, no!" he said, still in the same low tone. "You promised me afriend. Where is she?"
She made no answer. Her hands were hanging loosely over the water, andher eyes were fixed on the haze opposite, whence emerged the blocks ofthe great hospital and the twinkling points of innumerable lamps. Buthis gaze compelled her at last, and she turned back to him. He saw anexpression half hostile, half moved, and pressed on before she couldspeak.
"Why do you bury yourself in that nursing life?" he said drily. "It isnot the life for you; it does not fit you in the least."
"You test your friends!" she cried, her cheek flaming again at theprovocative change of voice. "What possible right have you to thatremark?"
"I know you, and I know the causes you want to serve. You can't servethem where you are. Nursing is not for you; you are wanted among yourown class--among your equals--among the people who are changing andshaping England. It is absurd. You are masquerading."
She gave him a little sarcastic nod.
"Thank you. I am doing a little honest work for the first time in mylife."
He laughed. It was impossible to tell whether he was serious or posing.
"You are just what you were in one respect--terribly in the right! Be alittle humble to-night for a change. Come, condescend to the classes! Doyou see Mr. Lane calling us?"
And, in fact, Mr. Lane, with his arm in the air, was eagerly beckoningto them from the distance.
"Do you know Lady Selina Farrell?" he asked her, as they walked quicklyback to the dispersing crowd.
"No; who is she?"
Wharton laughed.
"Providence should contrive to let Lady Selina overhear that questiononce a week--in your tone! Well, she is a personage--Lord Alresford'sdaughter--unmarried, rich, has a _salon_, or thinks she has--manipulatesa great many people's fortunes and lives, or thinks she does, which,after all, is what matters--to Lady Selina. She wants to know you,badly. Do you think you can be kind to her? There she is--you will letme introduce you? She dines with us."
In another moment Marcella had been introduced to a tall, fair lady in avery fashionable black and pink bonnet, who held out a gracious hand.
"I have heard so much of you!" said Lady Selina, as they walked alongthe passage to the dining-room together. "It must be so wonderful, yournursing!"
Marcella laughed rather restively.
"No, I don't think it is," she said; "there are so many of us."
"Oh, but the things you do--Mr. Wharton told me--so interesting!"
Marcella said nothing, and as to her looks the passage was dark. LadySelina thought her a very handsome but very _gauche_ young woman. Still,_gauche_ or no, she had thrown over Aldous Raeburn and thirty thousand ayear; an act which, as Lady Selina admitted, put you out of the commonrun.
"Do you know most of the people dining?" she enquired in her blandestvoice. "But no doubt you do. You are a great friend of Mr. Wharton's, Ithink?"
"He stayed at our house last year," said Marcella, abruptly. "No, Idon't know anybody."
"Then shall I tell you? It makes it more interesting, doesn't it? Itought to be a pleasant little party."
And the great lady lightly ran over the names. It seemed to Marcellathat most of them were very "smart" or very important. Some of the smartnames were vaguely known to her from Miss Raeburn's talk of last year;and, besides, there were a couple of Tory Cabinet ministers and two orthree prominent members. It was all rather surprising.
At dinner she found herself between one of the Cabinet ministers and theyoung and good-looking private secretary of the other. Both men wereagreeable, and very willing, besides, to take trouble with this unknownbeauty. The minister, who knew the Raeburns very well, was discussingwith himself all the time whether this was indeed the Miss Boyce of thatstory. His suspicion and curiosity were at any rate sufficiently strongto make him give himself much pains to draw her out.
Her own conversation, however, was much distracted by the attention shecould not help giving to her host and his surroundings. Wharton had LadySelina on his right, and the young and distinguished wife of Marcella'sminister on his left. At the other end of the table sat Mrs. Lane, doingher duty spasmodically to Lord Alresford, who still, in a blind old age,gave himself all the airs of the current statesman and possible premier.But the talk, on the whole, was general--a gay and carelessgive-and-take of parliamentary, social, and racing gossip, the ballflying from one accustomed hand to another.
And Marcella could not get over the astonishment of Wharton's part init. She shut her eyes sometimes for an instant an
d tried to see him asher girl's fancy had seen him at Mellor--the solitary, eccentric figurepursued by the hatreds of a renounced Patricianate--bringing the enmityof his own order as a pledge and offering to the Plebs he asked to lead.Where even was the speaker of an hour ago? Chat of Ascot and ofNewmarket; discussion with Lady Selina or with his left-hand neighbourof country-house "sets," with a patter of names which sounded in herscornful ear like a paragraph from the _World_; above all, a general airof easy comradeship, which no one at this table, at any rate, seemedinclined to dispute, with every exclusiveness and every amusement of the"idle rich," whereof--in the popular idea--he was held to be one of thevery particular foes!--
No doubt, as the dinner moved on, this first impression changedsomewhat. She began to distinguish notes that had at first been lostupon her. She caught the mocking, ambiguous tone under which she herselfhad so often fumed; she watched the occasional recoil of the women abouthim, as though they had been playing with some soft-pawed animal, andhad been suddenly startled by the gleam of its claws. These thingspuzzled, partly propitiated her. But on the whole she was restless andhostile. How was it possible--from such personal temporising--such afrittering of the forces and sympathies--to win the single-mindednessand the power without which no great career is built? She wanted to talkwith him--reproach him!
"Well--I must go--worse luck," said Wharton at last, laying down hisnapkin and rising. "Lane, will you take charge? I will join you outsidelater."
"If he ever finds us!" said her neighbour to Marcella. "I never saw theplace so crowded. It is odd how people enjoy these scrambling meals inthese very ugly rooms."
Marcella, smiling, looked down with him over the bare coffee-tavernplace, in which their party occupied a sort of high table across theend, while two other small gatherings were accommodated in the spacebelow.
"Are there any other rooms than this?" she asked idly.
"One more," said a young man across the table, who had been introducedto her in the dusk outside, and had not yet succeeded in getting her tolook at him, as he desired. "But there is another big party thereto-night--Raeburn--you know," he went on innocently, addressing theminister; "he has got the Winterbournes and the Macdonalds--quite agathering--rather an unusual thing for him."
The minister glanced quickly at his companion. But she had turned toanswer a question from Lady Selina, and thenceforward, till the partyrose, she gave him little opportunity of observing her.
As the outward-moving stream of guests was once more in the corridorleading to the terrace, Marcella hurriedly made her way to Mrs. Lane.
"I think," she said--"I am afraid--we ought to be going--my friend andI. Perhaps Mr. Lane--perhaps he would just show us the way out; we caneasily find a cab."
There was an imploring, urgent look in her face which struck Mrs. Lane.But Mr. Lane's loud friendly voice broke in from behind.
"My dear Miss Boyce!--we can't possibly allow it--no! no--just half anhour--while they bring us our coffee--to do your homage, you know, tothe terrace--and the river--and the moon!--And then--if you don't wantto go back to the House for the division, we will see you safely intoyour cab. Look at the moon!--and the tide"--they had come to the widedoor opening on the terrace--"aren't they doing their very best foryou?"
Marcella looked behind her in despair. _Where_ was Edith? Far in therear!--and fully occupied apparently with two or three pleasantcompanions. She could not help herself. She was carried on, with Mr.Lane chatting beside her--though the sight of the shining terrace, withits moonlit crowd of figures, breathed into her a terror and pain shecould hardly control.
"Come and look at the water," she said to Mr. Lane; "I would rather notwalk up and down if you don't mind."
He thought she was tired, and politely led her through the sitting orpromenading groups till once more she was leaning over the parapet, nowtrying to talk, now to absorb herself in the magic of bridge, river, andsky, but in reality listening all the time with a shrinking heart forthe voices and the footfalls that she dreaded. Lady Winterbourne, aboveall! How unlucky! It was only that morning that she had received aforwarded letter from that old friend, asking urgently for news and heraddress.
"Well, how did you like the speech to-night--_the_ speech?" said Mr.Lane, a genial Gladstonian member, more heavily weighted with estatesthan with ideas. "It was splendid, wasn't it?--in the way of speaking.Speeches like that are a safety-valve--that's my view of it. Have 'emout--all these ideas--get 'em discussed!"--with a good-humoured shake ofthe head for emphasis. "Does nobody any harm and may do good. I can tellyou, Miss Boyce, the House of Commons is a capital place for tamingthese clever young men!--you must give them their head--and they makeexcellent fellows after a bit. Why--who's this?--My dear LadyWinterbourne!--this _is_ a sight for sair een!"
And the portly member with great effusion grasped the hand of a statelylady in black, whose abundant white hair caught the moonlight.
"_Marcella_!" cried a woman's voice.
Yes--there he was!--close behind Lady Winterbourne. In the soft darknesshe and his party had run upon the two persons talking over the wallwithout an idea--a suspicion.
She hurriedly withdrew herself from Lady Winterbourne, hesitated asecond, then held out her hand to him. The light was behind him. Shecould not see his face in the darkness; but she was suddenly andstrangely conscious of the whole scene--of the great dark building withits lines of fairy-lit gothic windows--the blue gulf of the rivercrossed by lines of wavering light--the swift passage of a steamer withits illuminated saloon and crowded deck--of the wonderful mixture ofmoonlight and sunset in the air and sky--of this dark figure in front ofher.
Their hands touched. Was there a murmured word from him? She did notknow; she was too agitated, too unhappy to hear it if there was. Shethrew herself upon Lady Winterbourne, in whom she divined at once atremor almost equal to her own.
"Oh! do come with me--come away!--I want to talk to you!" she saidincoherently under her breath, drawing Lady Winterbourne with a stronghand.
Lady Winterbourne yielded, bewildered, and they moved along the terrace.
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" cried the elder lady--"to think of finding _you_here! How astonishing--how--how dreadful! No!--I don't mean that. Ofcourse you and he must meet--but it was only yesterday he told me hehad never seen you again--since--and it gave me a turn. I was veryfoolish just now. There now--stay here a moment--and tell me aboutyourself."
And again they paused by the river, the girl glancing nervously behindher as though she were in a company of ghosts. Lady Winterbournerecovered herself, and Marcella, looking at her, saw the old tragicseverity of feature and mien blurred with the same softness, the samedelicate tremor. Marcella clung to her with almost a daughter's feeling.She took up the white wrinkled hand as it lay on the parapet, and kissedit in the dark so that no one saw.
"I _am_ glad to see you again," she said passionately, "so glad!"
Lady Winterbourne was surprised and moved.
"But you have never written all these months, you unkind child! And Ihave heard so little of you--your mother never seemed to know. When willyou come and see me--or shall I come to you? I can't stay now, for wewere just going; my daughter, Ermyntrude Welwyn, has to take some one toa ball. How _strange_"--she broke off--"how very strange that you and heshould have met to-night! He goes off to Italy to-morrow, you know, withLord Maxwell."
"Yes, I had heard," said Marcella, more steadily. "Will you come to teawith me next week?--Oh, I will write.--And we must go too--where _can_my friend be?"
She looked round in dismay, and up and down the terrace for Edith.
"I will take you back to the Lanes, anyway," said Lady Winterbourne;"or shall we look after you?"
"No! no! Take me back to the Lanes."
"Mamma, are you coming?" said a voice like a softened version of LadyWinterbourne's. Then something small and thin ran forward, and a girl'svoice said piteously:
"_Dear_ Lady Winterbourne, my frock and my hair take so long to do! _I_sha
ll be cross with my maid, and look like a fiend. Ermyntrude will besorry she ever knew me. _Do_ come!"
"Don't cry, Betty. I certainly shan't take you if you do!" said LadyErmyntrude, laughing. "Mamma, is this Miss Boyce--_your_ Miss Boyce?"
She and Marcella shook hands, and they talked a little, Lady Ermyntrudeunder cover of the darkness looking hard and curiously at the tallstranger whom, as it happened, she had never seen before. Marcella hadlittle notion of what she was saying. She was far more conscious of thegirlish form hanging on Lady Winterbourne's arm than she was of her ownwords, of "Betty's" beautiful soft eyes--also shyly and gravely fixedupon herself--under that marvellous cloud of fair hair; the long,pointed chin; the whimsical little face.
"Well, none of _you_ are any good!" said Betty at last, in a tragicvoice. "I shall have to walk home my own poor little self, and 'ask ap'leeceman.' Mr. Raeburn!"
He disengaged himself from a group behind and came--with no alacrity.Betty ran up to him.
"Mr. Raeburn! Ermyntrude and Lady Winterbourne are going to sleep here,if you don't mind making arrangements. But _I_ want a hansom."
At that very moment Marcella caught sight of Edith strolling alongtowards her with a couple of members, and chatting as though the worldhad never rolled more evenly.
"Oh! there she is--there is my friend!" cried Marcella to LadyWinterbourne. "Good-night--good-night!"
She was hurrying off when she saw Aldous Raeburn was standing alone amoment. The exasperated Betty had made a dart from his side to "collect"another straying member of the party.
An impulse she could not master scattered her wretched discomfort--evenher chafing sense of being the observed of many eyes. She walked up tohim.
"Will you tell me about Lord Maxwell?" she said in a tremulous hurry. "Iam so sorry he is ill--I hadn't heard--I--"
She dared not look up. Was that _his_ voice answering?
"Thank you. We have been very anxious about him; but the doctors to-daygive a rather better report. We take him abroad to-morrow."
"Marcella! at last!" cried Edith Craven, catching hold of her friend;"you lost me? Oh, nonsense; it was all the other way. But look, there isMr. Wharton coming out. I must go--come and say good-night--everybody isdeparting."
Aldous Raeburn lifted his hat. Marcella felt a sudden rush ofhumiliation--pain--sore resentment. That cold, strange tone--thoseunwilling words!--She had gone up to him--as undisciplined in herrepentance as she had been in aggression--full of a passionate yearningto make friends--somehow to convey to him that she "was sorry," in theold child's phrase which her self-willed childhood had used so little.There could be no misunderstanding possible! He of all men knew best howirrevocable it all was. But why, when life has brought reflection, andyou realise at last that you have vitally hurt, perhaps maimed, anotherhuman being, should it not be possible to fling conventions aside, andgo to that human being with the frank confession which by all thepromises of ethics and religion _ought_ to bring peace--peace and asoothed conscience?
But she had been repulsed--put aside, so she took it--and by one of thekindest and most generous of men! She moved along the terrace in a maze,seeing nothing, biting her lip to keep back the angry tears. All thatobscure need, that new stirring of moral life within her--which hadfound issue in this little futile advance towards a man who had onceloved her and could now, it seemed, only despise and dislike, her--wasbeating and swelling stormlike within her. She had taken being loved soeasily, so much as a matter of course! How was it that it hurt her nowso much to have lost love, and power, and consideration? She had neverfelt any passion for Aldous Raeburn--had taken him lightly and shakenhim off with a minimum of remorse. Yet to-night a few cold words fromhim--the proud manner of a moment--had inflicted a smart upon her shecould hardly bear. They had made her feel herself so alone, unhappy,uncared for!
But, on the contrary, she _must_ be happy!--_must_ be loved! To this,and this only, had she been brought by the hard experience of thisstrenuous year.
* * * * *
"Oh, Mrs. Lane, _be_ an angel!" exclaimed Wharton's voice. "Just oneturn--five minutes! The division will be called directly, and then wewill all thank our stars and go to bed!"
In another instant he was at Marcella's side, bare-headed, radiant,reckless even, as he was wont to be in moments of excitement. He hadseen her speak to Raeburn as he came out on the terrace, but his mindwas too full for any perception of other people's situations--even hers.He was absorbed with himself, and with her, as she fitted his presentneed. The smile of satisfied vanity, of stimulated ambition, was on hislips; and his good-humour inclined him more than ever to Marcella, andthe pleasure of a woman's company. He passed with ease from triumph tohomage; his talk now audacious, now confiding, offered her a deference,a flattery, to which, as he was fully conscious, the events of theevening had lent a new prestige.
She, too, in his eyes, had triumphed--had made her mark. His ears werefull of the comments made upon her to-night by the little world on theterrace. If it were not for money--_hateful_ money!--what more brilliantwife could be desired for any rising man?
So the five minutes lengthened into ten, and by the time the divisionwas called, and Wharton hurried off, Marcella, soothed, taken out ofherself, rescued from the emptiness and forlornness of a tragic moment,had given him more conscious cause than she had ever given him yet tothink her kind and fair.