Claridge’s, Monday Night
I felt to carry out my plan I must steady my mind a little, so I wrote my journal, and that calmed me.
Of all the things I was sure of in the world, I was most sure that I loved Robert far too well to injure his prospects. On the other hand, to throw him away without a struggle was too cruel to both of us. If mamma’s mother was nobody, all the rest of my family were fine old fighters and gentlemen, and I really prayed to their shades to help me now.
Then I rang and ordered some iced water, and when I had thought deeply for a few minutes while I sipped it, I sat down to my writing-table. My hand did not shake, though I felt at a deadly tension. I addressed the envelope first, to steady myself:
“To
“His Grace
“The Duke of Torquilstone,
“Vavasour House,
“St. James’s, S.W.
Then I put that aside.
“I am Evangeline Travers who writes,”
I began, without any preface;
“and I ask if you will see me—either here in my sitting-room this evening, or I will come to you at Vavasour House. I understand your brother, Lord Robert, has told you that he loves me and wishes to marry me, and that you have refused your consent, partly because of the history of my family, but chiefly because my type displeases you. I believe, in days gone by, the prerogative of a great noble like you was to dispense justice. In my case it is still your prerogative by courtesy, and I ask it of you. When we have talked for a little, if you then hold to your opinion of me, and convince me that it is for your brother’s happiness, I swear to you on my word of honor I will never see him again.
“Believe me,
“Yours faithfully,
“Evangeline Travers.”
I put it hastily in the envelope and fastened it up. Then I rang the bell, and had it sent by a messenger in a cab, who was to wait for an answer. Oh, I wonder if in life I shall ever have to go through another twenty-five minutes like those that passed before the waiter brought a note up to me in reply.
Even if the journal won’t shut I must put it in:
“Vavasour House, St. James’s,
“November 28th.
“Dear Madam,—
“I have received your letter, and request you to excuse my calling upon you at your hotel this evening, as I am unwell; but if you will do me the honor to come to Vavasour House on receipt of this, I will discuss the matter in question with you, and trust you will believe that you may rely upon my justice.
“I remain, madam,
“Yours truly,
“Torquilstone.”
“His grace’s brougham is waiting below for you, madam,” the waiter said, and I flew to Véronique.
I got her to dress me quickly. I wore the same things, exactly, as he had seen me in before—deep mourning they are, and extremely becoming.
In about ten minutes Véronique and I were seated in the brougham and rolling on our way. I did not speak.
I was evidently expected, for as the carriage stopped the great doors flew open and I could see into the dim and splendid hall.
A silver-haired, stately old servant led me along through a row of powdered footmen, down a passage all dimly lit with heavily shaded lights. (Véronique was left to their mercies.) Then the old man opened a door, and without announcing my name, merely, “The lady, your grace,” he held the door, and then went out and closed it softly.
It was a huge room splendidly panelled with dark, carved boiserie Louis XV., the most beautiful of its kind I had ever seen—only it was so dimly lit with the same shaded lamps one could hardly see into the corners.
The duke was crouching in a chair and looked fearfully pale and ill, and had an inscrutable expression on his face. Fancy a man so old-looking, and crippled, being even Robert’s half-brother.
I came forward—he rose with difficulty, and this is the conversation we had.
“Please don’t get up,” I said. “If I may sit down opposite you.”
“Excuse my want of politeness,” he said, pointing to a chair; “but my back is causing me great pain to-day.”
He looked such a poor, miserable, soured, unhappy creature, I could not help being touched.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” I said. “If I had known you were ill I would not have troubled you now.”
“Justice had better not wait,” he replied, with a whimsical, cynical, sour smile. “State your case.”
Then he suddenly turned on an electric lamp near me, which made a blaze of light in my face. I did not jump, I am glad to say; I have pretty good nerves.
“My case is this: To begin with, I love your brother better than anything else in the world.”
“Possibly—a number of women have done so,” he interrupted. “Well?”
“And he loves me,” I continued, not noticing the interruption.
“Agreed. It is a situation that happens every day among young fools. You have known each other about a month, I believe.”
“Under four weeks,” I corrected.
He laughed—bitterly.
“It cannot be of such vital importance to you, then, in that short time.”
“It is of vital importance to me, and you know your brother’s character; you will be able to judge as well as I if, or not, it is a matter of vital importance to him.”
He frowned. “Well, your case?”
“First, to demand on what grounds you condemned me as a ‘devilish beauty’? And why you assume that I should not be faithful to Robert for a year?”
“I am a rather good judge of character,” he said.
“You cannot be, or you would see that whatever accident makes me have this objectionable outside, the me that lives within is an honest person who never breaks her word.”
“I can only see red hair, and green eyes, and a general look of the devil.”
“Would you wish people always to judge by appearances, then?” I said; “because, if so, I see before me a prejudiced, narrow-minded, cruel-tempered, cynical man—jealous of youth’s joys. But I would not be so unjust as to stamp you with these qualities because of that!”
He looked straight at me, startled. “I may be all these things,” he said. “You are probably right.”
“Then, oh, please don’t be!” I went on quickly. “I want you to be kind to us. We—oh, we do, do so wish to be happy, and we are both so young, and life will be so utterly blank and worthless for all those years to the end if you part us now.”
“I did not say I would part you,” he said, coldly. “I merely said I refused to give Robert any allowance, and I shall leave everything in my power away from the title. If you like to get married on those terms you are welcome to.”
Then I told him that I loved Robert far too much to like the thought of spoiling his future.
“We came into each other’s lives,” I said. “We did not ask it of fate, she pushed us there, and I tried not to speak to him because I had promised a friend of mine I would not, as she said she liked him herself, and it made us both dreadfully unhappy; and every day we mattered more to each other until yesterday, when I thought he had gone away for good and I was too miserable for words, we met in the park, and it was no use pretending any longer. Oh, you can’t want to crush out all joy and life for us, just because I have red hair! It is so horribly unjust.”
“You beautiful siren!” he said. “You are coaxing me. How you know how to use your charms and your powers, and what man could resist your tempting face!”
I rose in passionate scorn.
“How dare you say such things to me!” I said. “I would not stoop to coax you. I will not again ask you for any boon. I only wanted you to do me the justice of realizing you had made a mistake in my character—to do your brother the justice of conceding the point that he has some right to love whom he chooses. But keep your low thoughts to yourself—evil, cruel man! Robert and I have got something that is better than all your lands and money—a dear, great love, and I am glad—glad he will not in the future receive anything that is in your gift. I shall give him the gift of myself, and we shall do very well without you;” and I walked to the door, leaving him huddled in the chair.
Thus ended our talk on justice.
Never has my head been so up in the air. I am sure had Cleopatra been dragged to Rome in Augustus’s triumph she would not have walked with more pride and contempt than I through the hall of Vavasour House.
The old servant was waiting for me, and Véronique, and the brougham.
“Call a hansom, if you please,” I said, and stood there like a statue while one of the footmen had to run into St. James’s Street for it.
Then we drove away, and I felt my teeth chatter while my cheeks burned. Oh, what an end to my scheme and my dreams of, perhaps, success!
But what a beast of a man! What a cruel, warped, miserable creature. I will not let him separate me from Robert—never, never! He is not worth it. I will wait for him—my darling—and if he really loves me, some day we can be happy, and if he does not—but, oh, I need not fear.
I am still shaking with passion, and shall go to bed. I do not want any dinner.