Of all places upon this earth, perhaps, there is none more obnoxious1 to the civilized2 mind than London in October; and yet to Valentine Hawkehurst, newly arrived from Ullerton per North–Western Railway, that city seemed as an enchanted3 and paradisiacal region. Were not the western suburbs of that murky4 metropolis5 inhabited by Charlotte Halliday, and might he not hope to see her?
He did hope for that enjoyment6. He had felt something more than hope while speeding Londonwards by that delightful8 combination of a liberal railway management, a fast and yet cheap train. He had beguiled9 himself with a delicious certainty. Early the next morning — or at any rate as early as civilization permitted — he would hie him to Bayswater, and present himself at the neat iron gate of Philip Sheldon’s gothic villa10. She would be there, in the garden most likely, his divine Charlotte, so bright and radiant a creature that the dull October morning would be made glorious by her presence — she would be there, and she would welcome him with that smile which made her the most enchanting11 of women.
Such thoughts as these had engaged him during his homeward journey; and compared with the delight of such visions, the perusal12 of daily papers and the consumption of sandwiches, whereby other passengers beguiled their transit13, seemed a poor amusement. But, arrived in the dingy14 streets, and walking towards Chelsea under a drizzling15 rain, the bright picture began to grow dim. Was it not more than likely that Charlotte would be absent from London at this dismal16 season? Was it not very probable that Philip Sheldon would give him the cold shoulder? With these gloomy contingencies17 before him, Mr. Hawkehurst tried to shut Miss Halliday’s image altogether out of his mind, and to contemplate18 the more practical aspect of his affairs.
“I wonder whether that scoundrel Paget has come back to London?” he thought. “What am I to say to him if he has? If I own to having seen him in Ullerton, I shall lay myself open to being questioned by him as to my own business in that locality. Perhaps my wisest plan would be to say nothing, and hear his own account of himself. I fully19 believe he saw me on the platform that night when we passed each other without speaking.”
Horatio Paget was at home when his protegé arrived. He was seated by his fireside in all the domestic respectability of a dressing-gown and slippers20, with an evening paper on his knee, a slim smoke-coloured bottle at his elbow, and the mildest of cigars between his lips, when the traveller, weary and weather-stained, entered the lodging-house drawing-room.
Captain Paget received his friend very graciously, only murmuring some faint deprecation of the young man’s reeking21 overcoat, with just such a look of gentlemanly alarm as the lamented22 Brummel may have felt when ushered23 into the presence of a “damp stranger.”
“And so you’ve come back at last,” said the Captain, “from Dorking?” He made a little pause here, and looked at his friend with a malicious24 sparkle in his eye. “And how was the old aunt? Likely to cut up for any considerable amount, eh? It could only be with a view to that cutting-up process that you could consent to isolate25 yourself in such a place as Dorking. How did you find things?” “O, I don’t know, I’m sure,” Mr. Hawkehurst answered rather impatiently, for his worst suspicions were confirmed by his patron’s manner; “I only know I found it tiresome26 work enough.”
“Ah, to be sure! elderly people always are tiresome, especially when they are unacquainted with the world. There is a perennial27 youth about men and women of the world. The sentimental28 twaddle people talk of the freshness and purity of a mind unsullied by communion with the world is the shallowest nonsense. Your Madame du Deffand at eighty and your Horace Walpole at sixty are as lively as a girl and boy. Your octogenarian Voltaire is the most agreeable creature in existence. But take Cymon and Daphne from their flocks and herds29 and pastoral valleys in their old age, and see what senile bores and quavering imbeciles you would find them. Yes, I have no doubt you found your Dorking aunt a nuisance. Take off your wet overcoat and put it out of the room, and then ring for more hot water. You’ll find that cognac very fine. Won’t you have a cigar?”
The Captain extended his russia-leather case with the blandest31 smile. It was a very handsome case. Captain Paget was a man who could descend32 into some unknown depths of the social ocean in the last stage of shabbiness, and who, while his acquaintance were congratulating themselves upon the fact of his permanent disappearance33, would start up suddenly in an unexpected place, provided with every necessity and luxury of civilized life, from a wardrobe by Poole to the last fashionable absurdity34 in the shape of a cigar-case.
Never had Valentine Hawkehurst found his patron more agreeably disposed than he seemed to be this evening, and never had he felt more inclined to suspect him.
“And what have you been doing while I have been away?” the young man asked presently. “Any more promoting work?”
“Well, yes, a little bit of provincial35 business; a life-and-fire on a novel principle; a really good thing, if we can only find men with perception enough to see its merits, and pluck enough to hazard their capital. But promoting in the provinces is very dull work. I’ve been to two or three towns in the Midland districts — Beauport, Mudborough, and Ullerton — and have found the same stagnation36 everywhere.”
Nothing could be more perfect than the semblance37 of unconscious innocence38 with which the Captain gave this account of himself: whether he was playing a part, or whether he was telling the entire truth, was a question which even a cleverer man than Valentine Hawkehurst might have found himself unable to answer.
The two men sat till late, smoking and talking; but to-night Valentine found the conversation of his “guide, philosopher, and friend” strangely distasteful to him. That cynical39 manner of looking at life, which not long ago had seemed to him the only manner compatible with wisdom and experience, now grated harshly upon those finer senses which had been awakened40 in the quiet contemplative existence he had of late been leading. He had been wont42 to enjoy Captain Paget’s savage43 bitterness against a world which had not provided him with a house in Carlton-gardens, and a seat in the Cabinet; but to-night he was revolted by the noble Horatio’s tone and manner. Those malicious sneers45 against respectable people and respectable prejudices, with which the Captain interlarded all his talk, seemed to have a ghastly grimness in their mirth. It was like the talk of some devil who had once been an angel, and had lost all hope of ever being restored to his angelic status.
“To believe in nothing, to respect nothing, to hope for nothing, to fear nothing, to consider life as so many years in which to scheme and lie for the sake of good dinners and well-made coats — surely there can be no state of misery46 more complete, no degradation47 more consummate,” thought the young man, as he sat by the fireside smoking and listening dreamily to his companion. “Better to be Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth, narrow-minded and egotistical, but always looking beyond her narrow life to some dimly-comprehended future.”
He was glad to escape at last from the Captain’s society, and to retire to his own small chamber48, where he slept soundly enough after the day’s fatigues49, and dreamed of the Haygarths and Charlotte Halliday.
He was up early the next morning; but, on descending50 to the sitting-room51, he found his patron toasting his Times before a cheerful fire; while his gold hunting-watch stood open on the breakfast-table, and a couple of new-laid eggs made a pleasant wabbling noise in a small saucepan upon the hob.
“You don’t care for eggs, I know, Val,” said the Captain, as he took the saucepan from the hob.
He had heard the young man object to an egg of French extraction too long severed52 from its native land; but he knew very well that for rural delicacies53 from a reliable dairyman, at twopence apiece, Mr. Hawkehurst had no particular antipathy54. Even in so small a matter as a new-laid egg the Captain knew how to protect his own interest.
“There’s some of that Italian sausage you’re so fond of, dear boy,” he said politely, pointing to a heel of some grayish horny-looking compound. “Thanks; I’ll pour out the coffee; there’s a knack55 in these things; half the clearness of coffee depends on the way in which it’s poured out, you see.”
And with this assurance Captain Paget filled his own large breakfast-cup with a careful hand and a tender solemnity of countenance56. If he was a trifle less considerate in the pouring out of the second cup, and if some “grounds” mingled57 with the second portion, Valentine Hawkehurst was unconscious of the fact.
“Do try that Italian sausage,” said the Captain, as he discussed his second egg, after peeling the most attractive crusts from the French rolls, and pushing the crumb58 to his protégé.
“No, thank you; it looks rather like what your shop-people call an old housekeeper59; besides, there’s a little too much garlic in those compositions for my taste.”
“Your taste has grown fastidious,” said the Captain; “one would think you were going to call upon some ladies this morning.”
“There are not many ladies on my visiting-list. O, by the way, how’s Diana? Have you seen her lately?”
“No,” answered the Captain, promptly60. “I only returned from my provincial tour a day or two ago, and have had no time to waste dancing attendance upon her. She’s well enough, I’ve no doubt; and she’s uncommonly61 well off in Sheldon’s house, and ought to think herself so.”
Having skimmed his newspaper, Captain Paget rose and invested himself in his overcoat. He put on his hat before the glass over the mantelpiece, adjusting the brim above his brows with the thoughtful care that distinguished62 his performance of all those small duties which he owed to himself.
“And what may you be going to do with yourself to-day, Val?” he asked of the young man, who sat nursing his own knee and staring absently at the fire.
“Well, I don’t quite know,” Mr. Hawkehurst answered, hypocritically; “I think I may go as far as Gray’s Inn, and look in upon George Sheldon.”
“You’ll dine out of doors, I suppose?”
This was a polite way of telling Mr. Hawkehurst that there would be no dinner for him at home.
“I suppose I shall. You know I’m not punctilious63 on the subject of dinner. Anything you please — from a banquet at the London Tavern64 to a ham-sandwich and a glass of ale at fourpence.”
“Ah, to be sure; youth is reckless of its gastric65 juices. I shall find you at home when I come in to-night, I daresay. I think I may dine in the city. Au plaisir.”
“I don’t know about the pleasure,” muttered Mr. Hawkehurst. “You’re a very delightful person, my friend Horatio; but there comes a crisis in a man’s existence when he begins to feel that he has had enough of you. Poor Diana! what a father!”
He did not waste much time on further consideration of his patron, but set off at once on his way to Gray’s Inn. It was too early to call at the Lawn, or he would fain have gone there before seeking George Sheldon’s dingy offices. Nor could he very well present himself at the gothic villa without some excuse for so doing. He went to Gray’s Inn therefore; but on his way thither66 called at a tavern near the Strand67, which was the head-quarters of a literary association known as the Ragamuffins. Here he was fortunate enough to meet with an acquaintance in the person of a Ragamuffin in the dramatic-author line, who was reading the morning’s criticisms on a rival’s piece produced the night before, with a keen enjoyment of every condemnatory68 sentence. From this gentleman Mr. Hawkehurst obtained a box-ticket for a West-end theatre; and, armed with this mystic document, he felt himself able to present a bold countenance at Mr. Sheldon’s door.
“Will she be glad to see me again?” he asked himself. “Pshaw! I daresay she has forgotten me by this time. A fortnight is an age with some women; and I should fancy Charlotte Halliday just one of those bright impressionable beings who forget easily. I wonder whether she is really like that ‘Molly’ whose miniature was found by Mrs. Haygarth in the tulip-leaf escritoire; or was the resemblance between those two faces only a silly fancy of mine?”
Mr. Hawkehurst walked the whole distance from Chelsea to Gray’s Inn; and it was midday when he presented himself before George Sheldon, whom he found seated at his desk with the elephantine pedigree of the Haygarths open before him, and profoundly absorbed in the contents of a note-book. He looked up from this note-book as Valentine entered, but did not leave off chewing the end of his pencil as he mumbled69 a welcome to the returning wanderer. It has been seen that neither of the Sheldon brothers were demonstrative men.
After that unceremonious greeting, the lawyer continued his perusal of the note-book for some minutes, while Valentine seated himself in a clumsy leather-covered arm-chair by the fireplace.
“Well, young gentleman,” Mr. Sheldon exclaimed, as he closed his book with a triumphant70 snap, “I think you’re in for a good thing; and you may thank your lucky stars for having thrown you into my path.”
“My stars are not remarkable71 for their luckiness in a general way,” answered Mr. Hawkehurst, coolly, for the man had not yet been born from whom he would accept patronage72. “I suppose if I’m in for a good thing, you’re in for a better thing, my dear George; so you needn’t come the benefactor73 quite so strong for my edification. How did you ferret out the certificate of gray-eyed Molly’s espousals?”
George Sheldon contemplated74 his coadjutor with an admiring stare. “It has been my privilege to enjoy the society of cool hands, Mr. Hawkehurst; and certainly you are about the coolest of the lot — bar one, as they say in the ring. But that is ni ci ni là. I have found the certificate of Matthew Haygarth’s marriage, and to my mind the Haygarth succession is as good as ours.”
“Ah, those birds in the bush have such splendid plumage! but I’d rather have the modest sparrow in my hand. However, I’m very glad our affairs are marching. How did you discover the marriage-lines?”
“Not without hard labour, I can tell you. Of course my idea of a secret marriage was at the best only a plausible75 hypothesis; and I hardly dared to hug myself with the hope that it might turn up trumps76. My idea was based upon two or three facts, namely, the character of the young man, his long residence in London away from the ken41 of respectable relatives and friends, and the extraordinary state of the marriage laws at the period in which our man lived.”
“Ah, to be sure! That was a strong point.”
“I should rather think it was. I took the trouble to look up the history of Mayfair marriages and Fleet marriages before you started for Ullerton, and I examined all the evidence I could get on that subject. I made myself familiar with the Rev44. Alexander Keith of Mayfair, who helped to bring clandestine77 marriages into vogue78 amongst the swells79, and with Dr. Gaynham — agreeably nicknamed Bishop80 of Hell — and more of the same calibre; and the result of my investigations81 convinced me that in those days a hare-brained young reprobate83 must have found it rather more difficult to avoid matrimony than to achieve it. He might be married when he was tipsy; he might be married when he was comatose84 from the effects of a stand-up fight with Mohawks; his name might be assumed by some sportive Benedick of his acquaintance given to practical joking, and he might find himself saddled with a wife he never saw; or if, on the other hand, of an artful and deceptive85 turn, he might procure86 a certificate of a marriage that had never taken place — for there were very few friendly offices which the Fleet parsons refused to perform for their clients — for a consideration.”
“But how about the legality of the Fleet marriage?”
“There’s the rub. Before the New Marriage Act passed in 1753 a Fleet marriage was indissoluble. It was an illegal act, and the parties were punishable; but the Gordian knot was quite as secure as if it had been tied in the most orthodox manner. The great difficulty to my mind was the onus87 probandi. The marriage might have taken place; the marriage be to all intents and purposes a good marriage; but how produce undeniable proof of such a ceremony, when all ceremonies of the kind were performed with a manifest recklessness and disregard of law? Even if I found an apparently88 good certificate, how was I to prove that it was not one of those lying certificates of marriages that had never taken place? Again, what kind of registers could posterity89 expect from these parson-adventurers, very few of whom could spell, and most of whom lived in a chronic90 state of drunkenness? They married people sometimes by their Christian91 names alone — very often under assumed names. What consideration had they for heirs-at-law in the future, when under the soothing92 influence of a gin-bottle in the present? I thought of all these circumstances, and I was half inclined to despair of realising my idea of an early marriage. I took it for granted that such a secret business would be more likely to have taken place in the precincts of the Fleet than anywhere else; and having no particular clue, I set to work, in the first place, to examine all available documents relating to such marriages.”
“It must have been slow work.”
“It was slow work,” answered Mr. Sheldon with a suppressed groan93, that was evoked94 by the memory of a bygone martyrdom. “I needn’t enter into all the details of the business — the people I had to apply to for permission to see this set of papers, and the signing and counter-signing I had to go through before I could see that set of papers, and the extent of circumlocution95 and idiocy96 I had to encounter in a general way before I could complete my investigation82. The result was nil30; and after working like a galley-slave I found myself no better off than before I began my search. Your extracts from Matthew’s letters put me on a new track. I concluded therefrom that there had been a marriage, and that the said marriage had been a deliberate act on the part of the young man. I therefore set to work to do what I ought to have done at starting — I hunted in all the parish registers to be found within a certain radius97 of such and such localities. I began with Clerkenwell, in which neighbourhood our friend spent such happy years, according to that pragmatical epistle of Mrs. Rebecca’s; but after hunting in all the mouldy old churches within a mile of St. John’s-gate, I was no nearer arriving at any record of Matthew Haygarth’s existence. So I turned my back upon Clerkenwell, and went southward to the neighbourhood of the Marshalsea, where Mistress Molly’s father was at one time immured98, and whence I thought it very probable Mistress Molly had started on her career as a matron. This time my guess was a lucky one. After hunting the registers of St. Olave’s, St. Saviour’s, and St. George’s, and after the expenditure99 of more shillings in donations to sextons than I care to remember, I at last lighted on a document which I consider worth three thousand pounds to you — and — a very decent sum of money to me.”
“I wonder what colour our hair will be when we touch that money?” said Valentine meditatively100. “These sort of cases generally find their way into Chancery-lane, don’t they? — that lane which, for some unhappy travellers, has no turning except the one dismal via which leads to dusty death. You seem in very good spirits; and I suppose I ought to be elated too. Three thousand pounds would give me a start in life, and enable me to set up in the new character of a respectable rate-paying citizen. But I’ve a kind of presentiment102 that this hand of mine will never touch the prize of the victor; or, in plainer English, that no good will ever arise to me or mine out of the reverend intestate’s hundred thousand pounds.”
“Why, what a dismal-minded croaker you are this morning!” exclaimed George Sheldon with unmitigated disgust; “a regular raven103, by Jove! You come to a fellow’s office just as matters are beginning to look like success — after ten years’ plodding104 and ten years’ disappointment — and you treat him to maudlin105 howls about the Court of Chancery. This is a new line you’ve struck out, Hawkehurst, and I can tell you it isn’t a pleasant one.”
“Well, no, I suppose I oughtn’t to say that sort of thing,” answered Valentine in an apologetic tone; “but there are some days in a man’s life when there seems to be a black cloud between him and everything he looks at. I feel like that today. There’s a tightening106 sensation about something under my waistcoat — my heart, perhaps — a sense of depression that may be either physical or mental, that I can’t get rid of. If a man had walked by my side from Chelsea to Holborn whispering forebodings of evil into my ear at every step, I couldn’t have felt more downhearted than I do.”
“What did you eat for breakfast?” asked Mr. Sheldon impatiently. “A tough beefsteak fried by a lodging-house cook, I daresay — they will fry their steaks. Don’t inflict107 the consequences of your indigestible diet upon me. To tell me that there’s a black cloud between you and everything you look at, is only a sentimental way of telling me that you’re bilious108. Pray be practical, and let us look at things from a business point of view. Here is Appendix A. — a copy of the registry of the marriage of Matthew Haygarth, bachelor, of Clerkenwell, in the county of Middlesex, to Mary Murchison, spinster, of Southwark, in the county of Surrey. And here is Appendix B. — a copy of the registry of the marriage between William Meynell, bachelor, of Smithfield, in the county of Middlesex, to Caroline Mary Haygarth, spinster, of Highgate, in the same county.”
“You have found the entry of a second Haygarthian marriage?”
“I have. The C. of Matthew’s letters is the Caroline Mary here indicated, the daughter and heiress of Matthew Haygarth — doubtless christened Caroline after her gracious majesty109 the consort110 of George II., and Mary after the Molly whose picture was found in the tulip-leaf bureau. The Meynell certificate was easy enough to find, since the letters told me that Miss C.‘s suitor had a father who lived in Aldersgate-street, and a father who approved his son’s choice. The Aldersgate citizen had a house of his own, and a more secure social status altogether than that poor, weak, surreptitious Matthew. It was therefore only natural that the marriage should be celebrated111 in the Meynell mansion112. Having considered this, I had only to ransack113 the registers of a certain number of churches round and about Aldersgate-street in order to find what I wanted; and after about a day and a half of hard labour, I did find the invaluable114 document which places me one generation nearer the present, and on the high-road to the discovery of my heir-at-law. I searched the same registry for children of the aforesaid William and Caroline Mary Meynell, but could find no record of such children nor any further entry of the name of Meynell. But we must search other registries within access of Aldersgate-street before we give up the idea of finding such entries in that neighbourhood.”
“And what is to be the next move?”
“The hunting-up of all descendants of this William and Caroline Mary Meynell, wheresoever such descendants are to be found. We are now altogether off the Haygarth and Judson scent115, and have to beat a new covert116.”
“Good!” exclaimed Valentine more cheerfully. “How is the new covert to be beaten?”
“We must start from Aldersgate-street. Meynell of Aldersgate-street must have been a responsible man, and it will be hard if there is no record of him extant in all the old topographical histories of wards7, without and within, which cumber117 the shelves of your dry-as-dust libraries. We must hunt up all available books; and when we’ve got all the information that books can give us, we can go in upon hearsay118 evidence, which is always the most valuable in these cases.”
“That means another encounter with ancient mariners119 — I beg your pardon — oldest inhabitants,” said Valentine with a despondent120 yawn. “Well, I suppose that sort of individual is a little less obtuse121 when he lives within the roar of the great city’s thunder than when he vegetates122 in the dismal outskirts123 of a manufacturing town. Where am I to find my octogenarian prosers? and when am I to begin my operations upon them?” “The sooner you begin the better,” replied Mr. Sheldon. “I’ve taken all preliminary steps for you already, and you’ll find the business tolerably smooth sailing. I’ve made a list of certain people who may be worth seeing.”
Mr. Sheldon selected a paper from the numerous documents upon the table.
“Here they are,” he said: “John Grewter, wholesale124 stationer, Aldersgate-street; Anthony Sparsfield, carver and gilder125, in Barbican. These are, so far as I can ascertain126, the two oldest men now trading in Aldersgate-street; and from these men you ought to be able to find out something about old Meynell. I don’t anticipate any difficulty about the Meynells, except the possibility that we may find more of them than we want, and have some trouble in shaking them into their places.”
“I’ll tackle my friend the stationer to-morrow morning,” said Valentine.
“You’d better drop in upon him in the afternoon, when the day’s business may be pretty well over,” returned the prudent127 Sheldon. “And now all you’ve got to do, Hawkehurst, is to work with a will, and work on patiently. If you do as well in London as you did at Ullerton, neither you nor I will have any cause to complain. Of course I needn’t impress upon you the importance of secrecy128.”
“No,” replied Valentine; “I’m quite alive to that.”
He then proceeded to inform George Sheldon of that encounter with Captain Paget on the platform at Ullerton, and of the suspicion that had been awakened in his mind by the sight of the glove in Goodge’s parlour.
The lawyer shook his head.
“That idea about the glove was rather far-fetched,” he said, thoughtfully; “but I don’t like the look of that meeting at the station. My brother Philip is capable of anything in the way of manoeuvring; and I’m not ashamed to confess that I’m no match for him. He was in here one day when I had the Haygarth pedigree spread out on the table, and I know he smelt129 a rat. We must beware of him, Hawkehurst, and we must work against time if we don’t want him to anticipate us.”
“I shan’t let the grass grow under my feet,” replied Valentine. “I was really interested in that Haygarthian history: there was a dash of romance about it, you see. I don’t feel the same gusto in the Meynell chase, but I daresay I shall begin to get up an interest in it as my investigation proceeds. Shall I call the day after to-morrow and tell you my adventures?”
“I think you’d better stick to the old plan, and let me have the result of your work in the form of a diary,” answered Sheldon. And with this the two men parted.
It was now half-past two o’clock; it would be half-past three before Valentine could present himself at the Lawn — a very seasonable hour at which to call upon Mrs. Sheldon with his offering of a box for the new play.
An omnibus conveyed him to Bayswater at a snail’s pace, and with more stoppages than ever mortal omnibus was subjected to before, as it seemed to that one eager passenger. At last the fading foliage130 of the Park appeared between the hats and bonnets131 of Valentine’s opposite neighbours. Even those orange tawny132 trees reminded him of Charlotte. Beneath such umbrage133 had he parted from her. And now he was going to see the bright young face once more. He had been away from town about a fortnight; but taken in relation with Miss Halliday, that fortnight seemed half a century.
Chrysanthemums134 and china-asters beautified Mr. Sheldon’s neat little garden, and the plate-glass windows of his house shone with all their wonted radiance. It was like the houses one sees framed and glazed135 in an auctioneer’s office — the greenest imaginable grass, the bluest windows, the reddest bricks, the whitest stone. “It is a house that would set my teeth on edge, but for the one sweet creature who lives in it,” Valentine thought to himself, as he waited at the florid iron gate, which was painted a vivid ultramarine and picked out with gold.
He tried in vain to catch a glimpse of some feminine figure in the small suburban136 garden. No flutter of scarlet137 petticoat or flash of scarlet plume138 revealed the presence of the divinity.
The prim139 maid-servant informed him that Mrs. Sheldon was at home, and asked if he would please to walk into the drawing-room.
Would he please? Would he not have been pleased to walk into a raging furnace if there had been a chance of meeting Charlotte Halliday amid the flames? He followed the maid-servant into Mrs. Sheldon’s irreproachable140 apartment, where the show books upon the show table were ranged at the usual mathematically correct distances from one another, and where the speckless141 looking-glasses and all-pervading French polish imparted a chilly142 aspect to the chamber. A newly-lighted fire was smouldering in the shining steel grate, and a solitary143 female figure was seated by the broad Tudor window bending over some needlework.
It was the figure of Diana Paget, and she was quite alone in the room. Valentine’s heart sank a little as he saw the solitary figure, and perceived that it was not the woman he loved.
Diana looked up from her work and recognised the visitor. Her face flushed, but the flush faded very quickly, and Valentine was not conscious of that flattering indication.
“How do you do, Diana?” he said. “Here I am again, you see, like the proverbial bad shilling. I have brought Mrs. Sheldon an order for the Princess’s.” “You are very kind; but I don’t think she’ll care to go. She was complaining of a headache this afternoon.”
“O, she’ll forget all about her headache if she wants to go to the play. She’s the sort of little woman who is always ready for a theatre or a concert. Besides, Miss Halliday may like to go, and will easily persuade her mamma. Whom could she not persuade?” added Mr. Hawkehurst within himself.
“Miss Halliday is out of town,” Diana replied coldly.
The young man felt as if his heart were suddenly transformed into so much lead, so heavy did it seem to grow. What a foolish thing it seemed that he should be the victim of this fair enslaver! — he who until lately had fancied himself incapable144 of any earnest feeling or deep emotion.
“Out of town!” he repeated with unconcealed disappointment.
“Yes; she has gone on a visit to some relations in Yorkshire. She actually has relations; doesn’t that sound strange to you and me?”
Valentine did not notice this rather cynical remark.
“She’ll be away ever so long, I suppose?” he said.
“I have no idea how long she may stay there. The people idolise her, I understand. You know it is her privilege to be idolised; and of course they will persuade her to stay as long as they can. You seem disappointed at not seeing her.”
“I am very much disappointed,” Valentine answered frankly145; “she is a sweet girl.”
There was a silence after this. Miss Paget resumed her work with rapid fingers. She was picking up shining little beads146 one by one on the point of her needle, and transferring them to the canvas stretched upon an embroidery147 frame before her. It was a kind of work exacting148 extreme care and precision, and the girl’s hand never faltered149, though a tempest of passionate150 feeling agitated151 her as she worked.
“I am very sorry not to see her,” Valentine said presently, “for the sight of her is very dear to me. Why should I try to hide my feelings from you, Diana? We have endured so much misery together that there must be some bond of union between us. To me you have always seemed like a sister, and I have no wish to keep any secret from you, though you receive me so coldly that one would think I had offended you.”
“You have not offended me. I thank you for being so frank with me. You would have gained little by an opposite course. I have long known your affection for Charlotte.”
“You guessed my secret?”
“I saw what any one could have seen who had taken the trouble to watch you for ten minutes during your visits to this house.”
“Was my unhappy state so very conspicuous152?” exclaimed Valentine, laughing. “Was I so obviously spoony? I who have so ridiculed153 anything in the way of sentiment. You make me blush for my folly154, Diana. What is that you are dotting with all those beads? — something very elaborate.”
“It is a prie-dieu chair I am working for Mrs. Sheldon. Of course I am bound to do something for my living.”
“And so you wear out your eyesight in the working of chairs. Poor girl! it seems hard that your beauty and accomplishments155 should not find a better market than that. I daresay you will marry some millionaire friend of Mr. Sheldon’s one of these days, and I shall hear of your house in Park-lane and three-hundred guinea barouche.”
“You are very kind to promise me a millionaire. The circumstances of my existence hitherto have been so peculiarly fortunate that I am justified157 in expecting such a suitor. My millionaire shall ask you to dinner at my house in Park-lane; and you shall play écarté with him, if you like — papa’s kind of écarté.”
“Don’t talk of those things, Di,” said Mr. Hawkehurst, with something that was almost a shudder158; “let us forget that we ever led that kind of life.”
“Yes,” replied Diana, “let us forget it — if we can.”
The bitterness of her tone struck him painfully. He sat for some minutes watching her silently, and pitying her fate. What a sad fate it seemed, and how hopeless! For him there was always some chance of redemption. He could go out into the world, and cut his way through the forest of difficulty with the axe159 of the conqueror160. But what could a woman do who found herself in the midst of that dismal forest? She could only sit at the door of her lonesome hut, looking out with weary eyes for the prince who was to come and rescue her. And Valentine remembered how many women there are to whom the prince never comes, and who must needs die and be buried beneath that gloomy umbrage.
“O! let us have women doctors, women lawyers, women parsons, women stone-breakers — anything rather than these dependent creatures who sit in other people’s houses working prie-dieu chairs and pining for freedom,” he thought to himself, as he watched the pale stern face in the chill afternoon light.
“Do leave off working for a few minutes, and talk to me, Di,” he said rather impatiently. “You don’t know how painful it is to a man to see a woman absorbed in some piece of needlework at the very moment when he wants all her sympathy. I am afraid you are not quite happy. Do confide161 in me, dear, as frankly as I confide in you. Are these people kind to you? Charlotte is, of course. But the elder birds, Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon, are they kind?” “They are very kind. Mr. Sheldon is not a demonstrative man, as you know; but I am not accustomed to have people in a rapturous state of mind about me and my affairs. He is kinder to me than my father ever was; and I don’t see how I can expect more than that. Mrs. Sheldon is extremely kind in her way — which is rather a feeble way, as you know.”
“And Charlotte —?”
“You answered for Charlotte yourself just now. Yes, she is very, very, very good to me; much better than I deserve. I was almost going to quote the collect, and say ‘desire or deserve.’”
“Why should you not desire or deserve her goodness?” asked Valentine.
“Because I am not a loveable kind of person. I am not sympathetic. I know that Charlotte is very fascinating, very charming; but sometimes her very fascination162 repels163 me. I think the atmosphere of that horrible swampy164 district between Lambeth and Battersea, where my childhood was spent, must have soured my disposition165.”
“No, Diana; you have only learnt a bitter way of talking. I know your heart is noble and true. I have seen your suppressed indignation many a time when your father’s meannesses have revolted you. Our lives have been very hard, dear; but let us hope for brighter days. I think they must come to us.”
“They will never come to me,” said Diana.
“You say that with an air of conviction. But why should they not come to you — brighter and better days?”
“I cannot tell you that. I can only tell you that they will not come. And do you hope that any good will ever come of your love for Charlotte Halliday — you, who know Mr. Sheldon?”
“I am ready to hope anything.”
“You think that Mr. Sheldon would let his stepdaughter marry a penniless man?”
“I may not always be penniless. Besides, Mr. Sheldon has no actual authority over Charlotte.”
“But he has moral influence over her. She is very easily influenced.”
“I am ready to hope even in spite of Mr. Sheldon’s opposing influence. You must not try to crush this one little floweret that has grown up in a barren waste, Diana. It is my prison-flower.”
Mrs. Sheldon came into the room as he said this. She was very cordial, very eloquent166 upon the subject of her headache, and very much inclined to go to the theatre, notwithstanding that ailment167, when she heard that Mr. Hawkehurst had been kind enough to bring her a box.
“Diana and I could go,” she said, “if we can manage to be in time after our six o’clock dinner. Mr. Sheldon does not care about theatres. All the pieces tire him. He declares they are all stupid. But then, you see, if one’s mind is continually wandering, the cleverest piece must seem stupid,” Mrs. Sheldon added thoughtfully; “and my husband is so very absent-minded.”
After some further discussion about the theatres, Valentine bade the ladies good afternoon.
“Won’t you stop to see Mr. Sheldon?” asked Georgina; “he’s in the library with Captain Paget. You did not know that your papa was here, did you, Diana, my dear? He came in with Mr. Sheldon an hour ago.”
“I won’t disturb Mr. Sheldon,” said Valentine. “I will call again in a few days.”
He took leave of the two ladies, and went out into the hall. As he emerged from the drawing-room, the door of the library was opened, and he heard Philip Sheldon’s voice within, saying —
“— your accuracy with regard to the name of Meynell.”
It was the close of a sentence; but the name struck immediately upon Valentine’s ear. Meynell! — the name which had for him so peculiar156 an interest.
“Is it only a coincidence,” he thought to himself, “or is Horatio Paget on our track?”
And then he argued with himself that his ears might have deceived him, and that the name he had heard might not have been Meynell, but only a name of somewhat similar sound.
It was Captain Paget who had opened the door. He came into the hall and recognised his protégé. They left the house together, and the Captain was especially gracious.
“We will dine together somewhere at the West-end, Val,” he said; but, to his surprise, Mr. Hawkehurst declined the proffered168 entertainment.
“I’m tired out with a hard day’s work,” he said, “and should be very bad company; so, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to Omega-street and get a chop.”
The Captain stared at him in amazement169. He could not comprehend the man who could refuse to dine luxuriously170 at the expense of his fellow-man.
Valentine had of late acquired new prejudices. He no longer cared to enjoy the hospitality of Horatio Paget. In Omega-street the household expenses were shared by the two men. It was a kind of club upon a small scale; and there was no degradation in breaking bread with the elegant Horatio.
To Omega-street Valentine returned this afternoon, there to eat a frugal171 meal and spend a meditative101 evening, uncheered by one glimmer172 of that radiance which more fortunate men know as the light of home.
收听单词发音 |
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obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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isolate
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| vt.使孤立，隔离 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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perennial
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| adj.终年的；长久的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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nil
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| n.无，全无，零 | |
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blandest
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| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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sneers
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| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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50
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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51
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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52
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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53
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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54
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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55
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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56
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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57
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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58
crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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59
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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61
uncommonly
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| adv. 稀罕(极，非常) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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punctilious
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| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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gastric
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| adj.胃的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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condemnatory
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| adj. 非难的，处罚的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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74
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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76
trumps
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| abbr.trumpets 喇叭；小号；喇叭形状的东西；喇叭筒v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的过去式 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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clandestine
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| adj.秘密的，暗中从事的 | |
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Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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83
reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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84
comatose
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| adj.昏睡的，昏迷不醒的 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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onus
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| n.负担；责任 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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93
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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circumlocution
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| n. 绕圈子的话，迂回累赘的陈述 | |
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idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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immured
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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102
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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103
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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104
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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105
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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106
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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107
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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108
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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109
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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111
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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112
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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113
ransack
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| v.彻底搜索，洗劫 | |
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114
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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115
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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116
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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117
cumber
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| v.拖累，妨碍；n.妨害；拖累 | |
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118
hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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119
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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122
vegetates
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| v.过单调呆板的生活( vegetate的第三人称单数 )；植物似地生长；（瘤、疣等）长大 | |
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123
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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124
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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gilder
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| 镀金工人 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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127
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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129
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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131
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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134
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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136
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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141
speckless
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| adj.无斑点的，无瑕疵的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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143
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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144
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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148
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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149
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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156
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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157
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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158
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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159
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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160
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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161
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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162
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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163
repels
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| v.击退( repel的第三人称单数 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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164
swampy
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| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
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165
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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166
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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167
ailment
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| n.疾病，小病 | |
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168
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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169
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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170
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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171
frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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172
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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