CHAPTER III
Alicia Drake--a vision of pale pink--had just appeared in the longgallery at Tallyn, on her way to dinner. Her dress, her jewels, and allher minor appointments were of that quality and perfection to which onlymuch thought and plentiful money can attain. She had not, in fact, beenromancing in that account of her afternoon which has been alreadyquoted. Dress was her weapon and her stock in trade; it was, she said,necessary to her "career." And on this plea she steadily exacted in itssupport a proportion of the family income which left but small pickingsfor the schooling of her younger brothers and the allowances of her twoyounger sisters. But so great were the indulgence and the pride of herparents--small Devonshire land-owners living on an impoverishedestate--that Alicia's demands were conceded without a murmur. Theythemselves were insignificant folk, who had, in their own opinion,failed in life; and most of their children seemed to them to possess thesame ineffective qualities--or the same absence of qualities--asthemselves. But Alicia represented their one chance of somethingbrilliant and interesting, something to lift them above their neighborsand break up the monotony of their later lives. Their devotion was astrange mixture of love and selfishness; at any rate, Alicia couldalways feel, and did always feel, that she was playing her family's gameas well as her own.
Her own game, of course, came first. She was not a beauty, in the sensein which Diana Mallory was a beauty; and of that fact she had beenperfectly aware after her first apparently careless glance at thenew-comer of the afternoon. But she had points that never failed toattract notice: a free and rather insolent carriage, audaciouslybeautiful eyes, a general roundness and softness, and agrace--unfailing, deliberate, and provocative, even in actions, morally,the most graceless--that would have alone secured her the "career" onwhich she was bent.
Of her mental qualities, one of the most profitable was a very shrewdpower of observation. As she swept slowly along the corridor, whichoverlooked the hall at Tallyn, none of the details of the house werelost upon her. Tallyn was vast, ugly--above all, rich. Henry Marsham,the deceased husband of Lady Lucy and father of Oliver and Mrs.Fotheringham, had made an enormous fortune in the Iron Trade of thenorth, retiring at sixty that he might enjoy some of those pleasures oflife for which business had left him too little time. One of thesepleasures was building. Henry Marsham had spent ten years in buildingTallyn, and at the end of that time, feeling it impossible to live inthe huge incoherent place he had created, he hired a small villa at Niceand went to die there in privacy and peace. Nevertheless, his will laidstrict injunctions upon his widow to inhabit and keep up Tallyn;injunctions backed by considerable sanctions of a financial kind. Hiswill, indeed, had been altogether a document of some eccentricity;though as eight years had now elapsed since his death, the knowledge ofits provisions possessed by outsiders had had time to grow vague. Still,there were strong general impressions abroad, and as Alicia Drakesurveyed the house which the old man had built to be the incubus of hisdescendants, some of them teased her mind. It was said, for instance,that Oliver Marsham and his sister only possessed pittances of about athousand a year apiece, while Tallyn, together with the vast bulk ofHenry Marsham's fortune, had been willed to Lady Lucy, and lay,moreover, at her absolute disposal. Was this so, or no? Miss Drake'scuriosity, for some time past, would have been glad to be informed.
Meanwhile, here was the house--about which there was no mystery--leastof all, as to its cost. Interminable broad corridors, carpeted with uglyBrussels and suggesting a railway hotel, branched out before MissDrake's eyes in various directions; upon them opened not bedrooms but"suites," as Mr. Marsham pere had loved to call them, of which thenumber was legion, while the bachelors' wing alone would have lodged aregiment. Every bedroom was like every other, except for such variationsas Tottenham Court Road, rioting at will, could suggest. Copies inmarble or bronze of well-known statues ranged along the corridors--aforlorn troupe of nude and shivering divinities. The immense hall below,with its violent frescos and its brand-new Turkey carpets, was panelledin oak, from which some device of stain or varnish had managed toabstract every particle of charm. A whole oak wood, indeed, had beenlavished on the swathing and sheathing of the house, With the onlyresult that the spectator beheld it steeped in a repellent yellow-brownfrom top to toe, against which no ornament, no piece of china, nopicture, even did they possess some individual beauty, could possiblymake it prevail.
And the drawing-room! As Alicia Drake advanced alone into its empty andblazing magnificence she could only laugh in its face--so eager andrestless was the effort which it made, and so hopeless the defeat.Enormous mirrors, spread on white and gold walls; large copies fromItalian pictures, collected by Henry Marsham in Rome; more facilestatues holding innumerable lights; great pieces of modern china paintedwith realistic roses and poppies; crimson carpets, gilt furniture, andflaring cabinets--Miss Drake frowned as she looked at it. "What _could_be done with it?" she said to herself, walking slowly up and down, andglancing from side to side--"What _could_ be done with it?"
A rustle in the hall announced another guest. Mrs. Fotheringham entered.Marsham's sister dressed with severity; and as she approached her cousinshe put up her eye-glass for what was evidently a hostile inspection ofthe dazzling effect presented by the young lady. But Alicia was notafraid of Mrs. Fotheringham.
"How early we are!" she said, still quietly looking at the reflection ofherself in the mirror over the mantel-piece and warming a slender footat the fire. "Haven't some more people arrived, Cousin Isabel? I thoughtI heard a carriage while I was dressing."
"Yes; Miss Vincent and three men came by the late train."
"All Labor members?" asked Alicia, with a laugh.
Mrs. Fotheringham explained, with some tartness, that only one of thethree was a Labor member--Mr. Barton. Of the other two, one was EdgarFrobisher, the other Mr. McEwart, a Liberal M.P., who had just won ahotly contested bye-election. At the name of Edgar Frobisher, MissDrake's countenance showed some animation. She inquired if he had beendoing anything madder than usual. Mrs. Fotheringham replied, withoutenthusiasm, that she knew nothing about his recent doings--nor about Mr.McEwart, who was said, however, to be of the right stuff. Mr. Barton, onthe other hand, "is a _great_ friend of mine--and a most remarkable man.Oliver has been very lucky to get him."
Alicia inquired whether he was likely to appear in dress clothes.
"Certainly not. He never does anything out of keeping with hisclass--and he knows that we lay no stress on that kind of thing." This,with another glance at the elegant Paris frock which adorned the personof Alicia--a frock, in Mrs. Fotheringham's opinion, far too expensivefor the girl's circumstances. Alicia received the glance withoutflinching. It was one of her good points that she was never meek withthe people who disliked her. She merely threw out another inquiry as to"Miss Vincent."
"One of mamma's acquaintances. She was a private secretary to some onemamma knows, and she is going to do some work for Oliver when thesession begins.
"Didn't Oliver tell me she is a Socialist?"
Mrs. Fotheringham believed it might be said.
"How Miss Mallory will enjoy herself!" said Alicia, with a little laugh.
"Have you been talking to Oliver about her?" Mrs. Fotheringham staredrather hard at her cousin.
"Of course. Oliver likes her."
"Oliver likes a good many people."
"Oh no, Cousin Isabel! Oliver likes very few people--very, very few,"said Miss Drake, decidedly, looking down into the fire.
"I don't know why you give Oliver such an unamiable character! In myopinion, he is often not so much on his guard as I should like tosee him."
"Oh, well, we can't all be as critical as you, dear Cousin Isabel! But,anyway, Oliver admires Miss Mallory extremely. We can all see that."
The girl turned a steady face on her companion. Mrs. Fotheringham wasconscious of a certain secret admiration. But her own point of view hadnothing to do with Miss Drake's.
"It amuses him to talk to her," she said, sharply; "
I am sure I hope itwon't come to anything more. It would be very unsuitable."
"Why? Politics? Oh! that doesn't matter a bit."
"I beg your pardon. Oliver is becoming an important man, and it willnever do for him to hamper himself with a wife who cannot sympathizewith any of his enthusiasms and ideals."
Miss Drake shrugged her shoulders.
"He would convert her--and he likes triumphing. Oh! Cousin Isabel!--lookat that lamp!"
An oil lamp in an inner drawing-room, placed to illuminate an easelportrait of Lady Lucy, was smoking atrociously. The two ladies' flewtoward it, and were soon lost to sight and hearing amid a labyrinth offurniture and palms.
The place they left vacant was almost immediately filled by OliverMarsham himself, who came in studying a pencilled paper, containing thenames of the guests. He and his mother had not found the dinner veryeasy to arrange. Upon his heels followed Mr. Ferrier, who hurried to thefire, rubbing his hands and complaining of the cold.
"I never felt this house cold before. Has anything happened to your_calorifere_? These rooms are too big! By-the-way, Oliver"--Mr. Ferrierturned his back to the blaze, and looked round him--"when are you goingto reform this one?"
Oliver surveyed it.
"Of course I should like nothing better than to make a bonfire of itall! But mother--"
"Of course--of course! Ah, well, perhaps when you marry, my dear boy!Another reason for making haste!"
The older man turned a laughing eye on his companion. Marsham merelysmiled, a little vaguely, without reply. Ferrier observed him, thenbegan abstractedly to study the carpet. After a moment he looked up--
"I like your little friend, Oliver--I like her particularly!"
"Miss Mallory? Yes, I saw you had been making acquaintance. Well?"
His voice affected a light indifference, but hardly succeeded.
"A very attractive personality!--fresh and womanly--no nonsense--heartenough for a dozen. But all the same the intellect is hungry, and wantsfeeding. No one will ever succeed with her, Oliver, who forgets she hasa brain. Ah! here she is!"
For the door had been thrown open, and Diana entered, followed by Mrs.Colwood. She came in slowly, her brow slightly knit, and her black eyestouched with the intent seeking look which was natural to them. Herdress of the freshest simplest white fell about her in plain folds. Itmade the same young impression as the childish curls on the brow andtemples, and both men watched her with delight, Marsham went tomeet her.
"Will you sit on my left? I must take in Lady Niton."
Diana smiled and nodded.
"And who is to be my fate?"
"Mr. Edgar Frobisher. You will quarrel with him--and like him!"
"One of the 'Socialists'?"
"Ah--you must find out!"
He threw her a laughing backward glance as he went off to givedirections to some of his other guests. The room filled up. Diana wasaware of a tall young man, fair-haired, and evidently Scotch, whom shehad not seen before, and then of a girl, whose appearance and dressriveted her attention. She was thin and small--handsome, but for acertain strained emaciated air, a lack of complexion and of bloom. Buther blue eyes, black-lashed and black-browed, were superb; they madeindeed the note, the distinction of the whole figure. The thick hair,cut short in the neck, was brushed back and held by a blue ribbon, theonly trace of ornament in a singular costume, which consisted of a verysimple morning dress, of some woollen material, nearly black, garnishedat the throat and wrists by some plain white frills. The dress hungloosely on the girl's starved frame, the hands were long and thin, theface sallow. Yet such was the force of the eyes, the energy of thestrong chin and mouth, the flashing freedom of her smile, as she stoodtalking to Lady Lucy, that all the ugly plainness of the dress seemed toDiana, as she watched her, merely to increase her strange effectiveness,to mark her out the more favorably from the glittering room, from LadyLucy's satin and diamonds, or the shimmering elegance of Alicia Drake.
As she bowed to Mr. Frobisher, and took his arm amid the pairs movingtoward the dining-room, Diana asked him eagerly who the lady in the darkdress might be.
"Oh! a great friend of mine," he said, pleasantly. "Isn't she splendid?Did you notice her evening dress?"
"Is it an evening dress?"
"It's _her_ evening dress. She possesses two costumes--both made of thesame stuff, only the morning one has a straight collar, and the eveningone has frills."
"She doesn't think it right to dress like other people?"
"Well--she has very little money, and what she has she can't afford tospend on dress. No--I suppose she doesn't think it right."
By this time they were settled at table, and Diana, convinced that shehad found one of the two Socialists promised her, looked round for theother. Ah! there he was, beside Mrs. Fotheringham--who was talking tohim with an eagerness rarely vouchsafed to her acquaintances. Apowerful, short-necked man, in the black Sunday coat of the workman,with sandy hair, blunt features, and a furrowed brow--he had none of themagnetism, the strange refinement of the lady in the frills. Diana drewa long breath.
"How odd it all is!" she said, as though to herself.
Her companion looked at her with amusement.
"What is odd? The combination of this house--with Barton--and MissVincent?"
"Why do they consent to come here?" she asked, wondering. "I supposethey despise the rich."
"Not at all! The poor things--the rich--can't help themselves--just yet._We_ come here--because we mean to use the rich."
"You!--you too?"
"A Fabian--" he said, smiling. "Which means that I am not in such ahurry as Barton."
"To ruin your country? You would only murder her by degrees?"--flashedDiana.
"Ah!--you throw down the glove?--so soon? Shall we postpone it for acourse or two? I am no use till I have fed."
Diana laughed. They fell into a gossip about their neighbors. The plainyoung man, with a shock of fair hair, a merry eye, a short chin, and thespirits of a school-boy, sitting on Lady Niton's left, was, it seemed,the particular pet and protege of that masterful old lady. Dianaremembered to have seen him at tea-time in Miss Drake's train. LadyNiton, she was told, disliked her own sons, but was never tired ofbefriending two or three young men who took her fancy. Bobbie Forbes wasa constant frequenter of her house on Campden Hill. "But he is no toady.He tells her a number of plain truths--and amuses her guests. In returnshe provides him with what she calls 'the best society'--and pushes hisinterests in season and out of season. He is in the Foreign Office, andshe is at present manoeuvring to get him attached to the Special Missionwhich is going out to Constantinople."
Diana glanced across the table, and in doing so met the eyes of Mr.Bobbie Forbes, which laughed into hers--involuntarily--as much as tosay--"You see my plight?--ridiculous, isn't it?"
For Lady Niton was keeping a greedy conversational hold on both Marshamand the young man, pouncing to right or left, as either showed adisposition to escape from it--so that Forbes was violently withheldfrom Alicia Drake, his rightful lady, and Marsham could engage in noconsecutive conversation with Diana.
"No escape for you!" smiled Mr. Frobisher, presently, observing theposition. "Lady Niton always devastates a dinner-party."
Diana protested that she was quite content. Might she assume, after thefourth course, that his hunger was at least scotched and conversationthrown open?
"I am fortified--thank you. Shall we go back to where we left off? Youhad just accused me of ruining the country?"
"By easy stages," said Diana. "Wasn't that where we had come to? Butfirst--tell me, because it's all so puzzling!--do you and Mr.Marsham agree?"
"A good deal. But he thinks _he_ can use _us_--which is his mistake."
"And Mr. Ferrier?"
Mr. Frobisher shook his head good-humoredly.
"No, no!--Ferrier is a Whig--the Whig of to-day, _bien entendu_, who isa very different person from the Whig of yesterday--still, a Whig, anindividualist, a moderate man. He leads the Libe
ral party--and it ischanging all the time under his hand into something he dreads anddetests. The party can't do without him now--but--"
He paused, smiling.
"It will shed him some day?"
"It must!"
"And where will Mr. Marsham be then?"
"On the winning side--I think."
The tone was innocent and careless; but the words offended her.
She drew herself up a little.
"He would never betray his friends!"
"Certainly not," said Mr. Frobisher, hastily; "I didn't mean that. ButMarsham has a mind more open, more elastic, more modern thanFerrier--great man as he is."
Diana was silent. She seemed still to hear some of the phrases andinflections of Mr. Ferrier's talk of the afternoon. Mr. Frobisher'sprophecy wounded some new-born sympathy in her. She turned theconversation.
With Oliver Marsham she talked when she could, as Lady Niton allowedher. She succeeded, at least, in learning something more of herright-hand neighbor and of Miss Vincent. Mr. Frobisher, it appeared, wasa Fellow of Magdalen, and was at present lodging in Limehouse, near thedocks, studying poverty and Trade-unionism, and living upon a pound aweek. As for Miss Vincent, in her capacity of secretary to a well-knownRadical member of Parliament, she had been employed, for his benefit, ingathering information first-hand, very often in the same fields whereMr. Frobisher was at work. This brought them often together--and theywere the best of comrades, and allies.
Diana's eyes betrayed her curiosity; she seemed to be asking for clewsin a strange world. Marsham apparently felt that nothing could be moreagreeable than to guide her. He began to describe for her the life ofsuch a woman of the people as Marion Vincent. An orphan at fourteen,earning her own living from the first; self-dependent, self-protected;the friend, on perfectly equal terms, of a group of able men, interestedin the same social ideals as herself; living alone, in contempt of allordinary conventions, now in Kensington or Belgravia, and now in a backstreet of Stepney, or Poplar, and equally at home and her own mistressin both; exacting from a rich employer the full market value of theservices she rendered him, and refusing to accept the smallest gift orfavor beyond; a convinced Socialist and champion of the poor, who hadwithin the past twelve months, to Marsham's knowledge, refused an offerof marriage from a man of large income, passionately devoted to her,whom she liked--mainly, it was believed, because his wealth was based onsweated labor: such was the character sketched by Marsham for hisneighbor in the intermittent conversation, which was all that Lady Nitonallowed him.
Diana listened silently, but inwardly her mind was full of criticalreactions. Was this what Mr. Marsham most admired, his ideal of what awoman should be? Was he exalting, exaggerating it a little, by way ofantithesis to those old-fashioned surroundings, that unreal atmosphere,as he would call it, in which, for instance, he had found her--Diana--atRapallo--under her father's influence and bringing up? The notionspurred her pride as well as her loyalty to her father. She began tohold herself rather stiffly, to throw in a critical remark or two, to bea little flippant even, at Miss Vincent's expense. Homage so warm laidat the feet of one ideal was--she felt it--a disparagement of others;she stood for those others; and presently Marsham began to realize ahurtling of shafts in the air, an incipient battle between them.
He accepted it with delight. Still the same poetical, combative,impulsive creature, with the deep soft voice! She pleased his senses;she stirred his mind; and he would have thrown himself into one of theold Rapallo arguments with her then and there but for the gad-fly athis elbow.
* * * * *
Immediately after dinner Lady Niton possessed herself of Diana. "Comehere, please, Miss Mallory! I wish to make your acquaintance," Thuscommanded, the laughing but rebellious Diana allowed herself to be ledto a corner of the over-illuminated drawing-room.
"Well!"--said Lady Niton, observing her--"so you have come to settle inthese parts?"
Diana assented.
"What made you choose Brookshire?" The question was enforced by a pairof needle-sharp eyes. "There isn't a person worth talking to within aradius of twenty miles."
Diana declined to agree with her; whereupon Lady Niton impatientlyexclaimed: "Tut--tut! One might as well milk he-goats as talk to thepeople here. Nothing to be got out of any of them. Do you likeconversation?"
"Immensely!"
"Hum!--But mind you don't talk too much. Oliver talks a great deal morethan is good for him. So you met Oliver in Italy? What do you thinkof him?"
Diana, keeping a grip on laughter, said something civil.
"Oh, Oliver's clever enough--and _ambitious!_" Lady Niton threw up herhands. "But I'll tell you what stands in his way. He says too sharpthings of people. Do you notice that?"
"He is very critical," said Diana, evasively.
"Oh, Lord, much worse than that!" said Lady Niton, coolly. "He makeshimself very unpopular. You should tell him so."
"That would be hardly my place." said Diana, flushing a little.
Lady Niton stared at her a moment rather hard--then said: "But he'shoney and balm itself compared to Isabel! The Marshams are old friendsof mine, but I don't pretend to like Isabel Fotheringham at all. Shecalls herself a Radical, and there's no one insists more upon theirbirth and their advantages than she. Don't let her bully you--come to meif she does--I'll protect you."
Diana said vaguely that Mrs. Fotheringham had been very kind.
"You haven't had time to find out," said Lady Niton, grimly. She leanedback fanning herself, her queer white face and small black eyes alivewith malice. "Did you ever see such a crew as we were at dinner? Ireminded Oliver of the rhyme--'The animals went in two by two.'--It'salways the way here. There's no _society_ in this house, because youcan't take anything or any one for granted. One must always begin fromthe beginning. What can I have in common with that man Barton? The lasttime I talked to him, he thought Lord Grey--the Reform Bill LordGrey--was a Tory--and had never heard of Louis Philippe. He knowsnothing that _we_ know--and what do I care about his Socialiststuff?--Well, now--Alicia"--her tone changed--"do you admire Alicia?"
Diana, in discomfort, glanced through the archway, leading to the innerdrawing-room, which framed the sparkling figure of Miss Drake--andmurmured a complimentary remark.
"No!"--said Lady Niton, with emphasis; "no--she's not handsome--thoughshe makes people believe she is. You'll see--in five years. Of coursethe stupid men admire her, and she plays her cards very cleverly;but--my dear!"--suddenly the formidable old woman bent forward, andtapped Diana's arm with her fan--"let me give you a word of advice.Don't be too innocent here--or too amiable. Don't give yourselfaway--especially to Alicia!"
Diana had the disagreeable feeling of being looked through and through,physically and mentally; though at the same time she was only veryvaguely conscious as to what there might be either for Lady Niton orMiss Drake to see.
"Thank you very much," she said, trying to laugh it off. "It is verykind of you to warn me--but really I don't think you need." She lookedround her waveringly.
"May I introduce you to my friend? Mrs. Colwood--Lady Niton." For herglance of appeal had brought Mrs. Colwood to her aid, and between themthey coped with this _enfant terrible_ among dowagers till thegentlemen came in.
"Here is Sir James Childe," said Lady Niton, rising. "He wants to talkto you, and he don't like me. So I'll go."
Sir James, not without a sly smile, discharged arrow-like at theretreating enemy, took the seat she had vacated.
"This is your first visit to Tallyn, Miss Mallory?"
The voice speaking was the _voix d'or_ familiar to Englishmen in many afamous case, capable of any note, any inflection, to which sarcasm orwrath, shrewdness or pathos, might desire to tune it. In this case itwas gentleness itself; and so was the countenance he turned upon Diana.Yet it was a countenance built rather for the sterner than the milderuses of life. A natural majesty expressed itself in the domed forehead,and in the fine head, lightly touched with gra
y; the eyes too were gray,the lips prominent and sensitive, the face long, and, in line, finelyregular. A face of feeling and of power; the face of a Celt, disciplinedby the stress and conflict of a non-Celtic world. Diana's youngsympathies sprang to meet it, and they were soon in easy conversation.
Sir James questioned her kindly, but discreetly. This was really herfirst visit to Brookshire?
"To England!" said Diana; and then, on a little wooing, came out thegirl's first impressions, natural, enthusiastic, gay. Sir Jameslistened, with eyes half-closed, following every movement of her lips,every gesture of head and hand.
"Your parents took you abroad quite as a child?"
"I went with my father. My mother died when I was quite small."
Sir James did not speak for a moment. At last he said:
"But before you went abroad, you lived in London?"
"Yes--in Kensington Square."
Sir James made a sudden movement which displaced a book on a littletable beside him. He stooped to pick it up.
"And your father was tired of England?"
Diana hesitated--
"I--I think he had gone through great trouble. He never got over mamma'sdeath."
"Oh yes, I see," said Sir James, gently. Then, in another tone:
"So you settled on that beautiful coast? I wonder if that was the winterI first saw Italy?"
He named the year.
"Yes--that was the year," said Diana. "Had you never seen Italy beforethat?" She looked at him in a little surprise.
"Do I seem to you so old?" said Sir James, smiling. "I had been a verybusy man, Miss Mallory, and my holidays had been generally spent inIreland. But that year"--he paused a moment--"that year I had been ill,and the doctors sent me abroad--in October," he added, slowly andprecisely. "I went first to Paris, and I was at Genoa in November."
"We must have been there--just about then! Mamma died in October. And Iremember the winter was just beginning at Genoa--it was very cold--and Igot bronchitis--I was only a little thing."
"And Oliver tells me you found a home at Portofino?"
Diana replied. He kept her talking; yet her impression was that he didnot listen very much to what she said. At the same time she felt herself_studied_, in a way which made her self-conscious, which perhaps shemight have resented in any man less polished and less courteous.
"Pardon me--" he said, abruptly, at a pause in the conversation. "Yourname interests me particularly. It is Welsh, is it not? I knew two orthree persons of that name; and they were Welsh."
Diana's look changed a little.
"Yes, it is Welsh," she said, in a hesitating, reserved voice; and thenlooked round her as though in search of a change of topic.
Sir James bent forward.
"May I come and see you some day at Beechcote?"
Diana flushed with surprise and pleasure.
"Oh! I should be so honored!"
"The honor would be mine," he said, with pleasant deference. "Now Ithink I see that Marsham is wroth with me for monopolizing youlike this."
He rose and walked away, just as Marsham brought up Mr. Barton tointroduce him to Diana.
Sir James wandered on into a small drawing-room at the end of the longsuite of rooms; in its seclusion he turned back to look at the group hehad left behind. His face, always delicately pale, had grown strainedand white.
"Is it _possible_"--he said to himself--"that she knows nothing?--thatthat man was able to keep it all from her?"
He walked up and down a little by himself--pondering--the prey of thesame emotion as had seized him in the afternoon; till at last his earwas caught by some hubbub, some agitation in the big drawing-room,especially by the sound of the girlish voice he had just been listeningto, only speaking this time in quite another key. He returned to seewhat was the matter.
* * * * *
He found Miss Mallory the centre of a circle of spectators andlisteners, engaged apparently in a three-cornered and very hotdiscussion with Mr. Barton, the Socialist member, and Oliver Marsham.Diana had entirely forgotten herself, her shyness, the strange house,and all her alarms. If Lady Niton took nothing for granted at Tallyn,that was not, it seemed, the case with John Barton. He, on the contrary,took it for granted that everybody there was at least a good Radical,and as stoutly opposed as himself to the "wild-cat" and "Jingo" policyof the Government on the Indian frontier, where one of our perenniallittle wars was then proceeding. News had arrived that afternoon of anindecisive engagement, in which the lives of three English officers andsome fifty men of a Sikh regiment had been lost. Mr. Barton, in takingup the evening paper, lying beside Diana, which contained the news, hadmade very much the remark foretold by Captain Roughsedge in theafternoon. It was, he thought, a pity the repulse had not been moredecisive--so as to show all the world into what a hornet's nest theGovernment was going--"and a hornet's nest which will cost us half amillion to take before we've done."
Diana's cheeks flamed. Did Mr. Barton mean to regret that no moreEnglish lives had been lost?
Mr. Barton was of opinion that if the defeat had been a bit worse,bloodshed might have been saved in the end. A Jingo Viceroy and a Jingopress could only be stopped by disaster--
On the contrary, said Diana, we could not afford to be stopped bydisaster. Disaster must be retrieved.
Mr. Barton asked her--why? Were we never to admit that we were in thewrong?
The Viceroy and his advisers, she declared, were not likely to be wrong.And prestige had to be maintained.
At the word "prestige" the rugged face of the Labor member grewcontemptuous and a little angry. He dealt with it as he was accustomedto deal with it in Socialist meetings or in Parliament. His touch indoing so was neither light nor conciliatory; the young lady, he thought,required plain speaking.
But so far from intimidating the young lady, he found in the course of afew more thrusts and parries that he had roused a by no means despicableantagonist. Diana was a mere mouth-piece; but she was the mouth-piece ofeye-witnesses; whereas Barton was the mouth-piece of his daily newspaperand a handful of partisan books written to please the political sectionto which he belonged.
He began to stumble and to make mistakes--gross elementary mistakes ingeography and fact--and there-with to lose his temper. Diana was uponhim in a moment--very cool and graceful--controlling herself well; andit is probable that she would have won the day triumphantly but for thesudden intervention of her host.
Oliver Marsham had been watching her with mingled amusement andadmiration. The slender figure held defiantly erect, the handsclose-locked on the knee, the curly head with the air of a Nike--hecould almost _see_ the palm branch in the hand, the white dress and thesilky hair, blown back by the blasts of victory!--appealed to arhetorical element in his nature always closely combined both with hisfeelings and his ambitions. Headlong energy and partisanship--he wasenchanted to find how beautiful they could be, and he threw himself intothe discussion simply--at first--that he might prolong an emotion, mightkeep the red burning on her lip and cheek. That blundering fellow Bartonshould not have it all to himself!
But he was no sooner well in it than he too began to flounder. He rodeoff upon an inaccurate telegram in a morning paper; Diana fell upon itat once, tripped it up, exposed it, drove it from the field, while Mr.Ferrier approved her from the background with a smiling eye and aquietly applauding hand. Then Marsham quoted a speech in theIndian Council.
Diana dismissed it with contempt, as the shaft of a _frondeur_discredited by both parties. He fell back on Blue Books, and otherponderosities--Barton by this time silent, or playing a clumsy chorus.But if Diana was not acquainted with these things in the ore, so tospeak, she was more than a little acquainted with the missiles thatcould be forged from them. That very afternoon Hugh Roughsedge hadpointed her to some of the best. She took them up--a little wildlynow--for her coolness was departing--and for a time Marsham could hardlykeep his footing.
A good many listeners were by now gathered
round the disputants. LadyNiton, wielding some noisy knitting needles by the fireside, wasenjoying the fray all the more that it seemed to be telling againstOliver. Mrs. Fotheringham, on the other hand, who came up occasionallyto the circle, listened and went away again, was clearly seething withsuppressed wrath, and had to be restrained once or twice by her brotherfrom interfering, in a tone which would at once have put an end to aduel he himself only wished to prolong.
Mr. Ferrier perceived her annoyance, and smiled over it. In spite of hislong friendship with the family, Isabel Fotheringham was no favoritewith the great man. She had long seemed to him a type--a strange andmodern type--of the feminine fanatic who allows political difference tointerfere not only with private friendship but with the nearest and mostsacred ties; and his philosopher's soul revolted. Let a woman talkpolitics, if she must, like this eager idealist girl--not with the venomand gall of the half-educated politician. "As if we hadn't enough ofthat already!"
Other spectators paid more frivolous visits to the scene. Bobbie Forbesand Alicia Drake, attracted by the sounds of war, looked in from thenext room. Forbes listened a moment, shrugged his shoulders, made awhistling mouth, and then walked off to a glass bookcase--the one signof civilization in the vast room--where he was soon absorbed in earlyeditions of English poets, Lady Lucy's inheritance from a literaryfather. Alicia moved about, a little restless and scornful, nowlistening unwillingly, and now attempting diversions. But in these shefound no one to second her, not even the two pink-and-white nieces ofLady Lucy, who did not understand a word of what was going on, but werenone the less gazing open-mouthed at Diana.
Marion Vincent meanwhile had drawn nearer to Diana. Her strongsignificant face wore a quiet smile; there was a friendly, even anadmiring penetration in the look with which she watched the youngprophetess of Empire and of War. As for Lady Lucy, she was silent, andrather grave. In her secret mind she thought that young girls should notbe vehement or presumptuous. It was a misfortune that this prettycreature had not been more reasonably brought up; a mother's hand hadbeen wanting. While not only Mr. Ferrier and Mrs. Colwood, sitting sideby side in the background, but everybody else present, in some measureor degree, was aware of some play of feeling in the scene, beyond andbehind the obvious, some hidden forces, or rather, perhaps, someemerging relation, which gave it significance and thrill. The duel was aduel of brains--unequal at that; what made it fascinating was theuniversal or typical element in the clash of the two personalities--theman using his whole strength, more and more tyrannously, more and morestubbornly--the girl resisting, flashing, appealing, fighting for dearlife, now gaining, now retreating--and finally overborne.
For Marsham's staying powers, naturally, were the greater. He summonedfinally all his nerve and all his knowledge. The air of thecarpet-knight with which he had opened battle disappeared; he foughtseriously and for victory. And suddenly Diana laughed--a littlehysterically--and gave in. He had carried her into regions of historyand politics where she could not follow. She dropped her head in herhands a moment--then fell back in her chair--silenced--her beautifulpassionate eyes fixed on Marsham, as his were on her.
"Brava! Brava!" cried Mr. Ferrier, clapping his hands. The room joinedin laughter and applause.
* * * * *
A few minutes later the ladies streamed out into the hall on their wayto bed. Marsham came to light a candle for Diana.
"Do you forgive me?" he said, as he gave it to her.
The tone was gay and apologetic.
She laughed unsteadily, without reply.
"When will you take your revenge?"
She shook her head, touched his hand for "good-night," and wentup-stairs.
As Diana reached her room she drew Mrs. Colwood in with her--but not, itseemed, for purposes of conversation. She stood absently by the firetaking off her bracelets and necklace. Mrs. Colwood made a few remarksabout the evening and the guests, with little response, and presentlywondered why she was detained. At last Diana put up her hands, andsmoothed back the hair from her temples with a long sigh. Then she laida sudden grasp upon Mrs. Colwood, and looked earnestly and imploringlyinto her face.
"Will you--please--call me Diana? And--and--will you kiss me?"
She humbly stooped her head. Mrs. Colwood, much touched, threw her armsaround her, and kissed her heartily. Then a few warm words fell fromher--as to the scene of the evening. Diana withdrew herself at once,shivering a little.
"Oh, I want papa!" she said--"I want him so much!"
And she hid her eyes against the mantel-piece.
Mrs. Colwood soothed her affectionately, perhaps expecting some outburstof confidence, which, however, did not come. Diana said a quiet"good-night," and they parted.
But it was long before Mrs. Colwood could sleep. Was the emotion she hadjust witnessed--flinging itself geyserlike into sight, only to sink backas swiftly out of ken--was it an effect of the past or an omen of thefuture? The longing expressed in the girl's heart and voice, after thebrave show she had made--had it overpowered her just because she feltherself alone, without natural protectors, on the brink of herwoman's destiny?