II
"I suppose you've been to see the Twelve and Thirteen," said Eve, in hernew grand, gracious manner to Miss Fancy, when the party was seated at around, richly-flowered table specially reserved by Mr. Softly Bishop onthe Embankment front of the restaurant, and the hors d'oeuvre had begunto circulate on the white cloth, which was as crowded as the gold room.
"I'm afraid I haven't," muttered Miss Fancy weakly but with duerefinement. The expression of fear was the right expression. Eve had putthe generally brazen woman in a fright at the first effort. And theworst was that Miss Fancy did not even know what the Twelve and Thirteenwas--or were. At the opening of her debut at what she imagined to be thegreat, yet exclusive, fashionable world, Miss Fancy was failing. Of whatuse to be perfectly dressed and jewelled, to speak with a sometimescarefully-corrected accent, to sit at the best table in the Londonrestaurant most famous in the United States, to be affianced to thecleverest fellow she had ever struck, if the wonderful and famoushostess, Mrs. Prohack, whose desirable presence was due only to Softly'spowerful influence in high circles, could floor her at the very outsetof the conversation? It is a fact that Miss Fancy would have given theemerald ring off her left first-finger to be able to answer back. AllMiss Fancy could do was to smite Mr. Softly Bishop with a homicidalglance for that he had not in advance put her wise about somethingcalled the Twelve and Thirteen. It is also a fact that Miss Fancy wouldhave perished sooner than say to Mrs. Prohack the simple words: "Ihaven't the slightest idea what the Twelve and Thirteen are." Eve didnot disguise her impression that Miss Fancy's lapse was very strange anddisturbing.
"I suppose you've seen the new version of the 'Sacre du Printemps,'Miss Fancy," said Mrs. Oswald Morfey, that exceedingly modern andself-possessed young married lady.
"Not yet," said Miss Fancy, and foolishly added: "We were thinking ofgoing to-night."
"There won't be any more performances this season," said Ozzie, thatprince of authorities on the universe of entertainment.
And in this way the affair continued between the four, while Mr. SoftlyBishop, abandoning his beloved to her fate, chatted murmuringly with Mr.Prohack about the Oil Market, as to which of course Mr. Prohack was theprince of authorities. Mrs. Prohack and her daughter and son-in-lawranged at ease over all the arts without exception, save the oneart--that of musical comedy--in which Miss Fancy was versed. Mr. Prohackwas amazed at the skilled cruelty of his women. He wanted to say to MissFancy: "Don't you believe it! My wife is only a rather nice ordinaryhousekeeping sort of little woman, and as for my daughter, she cooks herhusband's meals--and jolly badly, I bet." He ought to have been pleasedat the discomfiture of Miss Fancy, whom he detested and despised; but hewas not; he yearned to succour her; he even began to like her.
And not Eve and Sissie alone amazed him. Oswald amazed him. Oswald hadchanged. His black silk stock had gone the way of his ribbonedeye-glass; his hair was arranged differently; he closely resembled anaverage plain man,--he, the unique Ozzie! With all his faults, he hadpreviously been both good-natured and negligent, but his expression wasnow one of sternness and of resolute endeavour. Sissie had alreadymetamorphosed him. Even now he was obediently following her lead and hermood. Mr. Prohack's women had evidently determined to revenge themselvesfor being asked to meet Miss Fancy at lunch, and Ozzie had been set onto assist them. Further, Mr. Prohack noticed that Sissie was eyeing hermother's necklace with a reprehending stare. The next instant he foundhimself the target of the same stare. The girl was accusing him offolly, while questioning Ozzie's definition of the difference betweenGeorgian and neo-Georgian verse. The girl had apparently become thecensor of society at large.
Mysterious cross-currents ran over the table in all directions. Mr.Prohack looked around the noisy restaurant packed with tables, andwondered whether cross-currents were running invisibly over all thetables, and what was the secret force of fashionable fleeting conventionwhich enabled women with brains far inferior to his own to use iteffectively for the fighting of sanguinary battles.
At last, when Miss Fancy had been beaten into silence and the otherthree were carrying on a brilliant high-browed conversation over thecorpse of her up-to-dateness, Mr. Prohack's nerves reached the point atwhich he could tolerate the tragic spectacle no more, and he burst outvulgarly, in a man-in-the-street vein, chopping off the brilliantconversation as with a chopper:
"Now, Miss Fancy, tell us something about yourself."
The common-sounding phrase seemed to be a magic formula endowed with thepower to break an awful spell. Miss Fancy gathered herself together,forgot that she had been defeated, and inaugurated a new battle. Shebegan to tell the table not something, but almost everything, aboutherself, and it soon became apparent that she was no ordinary woman.She had never had a set-back; in innumerable conversational duels shehad always given the neat and deadly retort, and she had never beenworsted, save by base combinations deliberately engineered againsther--generally by women, whom as a sex she despised even more than men.Her sincere belief that no biographical detail concerning Miss Fancy wastoo small to be uninteresting to the public amounted to a religiouscreed; and her memory for details was miraculous. She recalled the exacttotal of the takings at any given performance in which she was prominentin any city of the United States, and she could also give long extractsfrom the favourable criticisms of countless important Americannewspapers,--by a singular coincidence only unimportant newspapers hadever mingled blame with their praise of her achievements. She regardedherself with detachment as a remarkable phenomenon, and therefore shecould impersonally describe her career without any of the ordinaryrestraints--just as a shopman might clothe or unclothe a model in hiswindow. Thus she could display her heart and its history quiteunreservedly,--did they not belong to the public?
The astounded table learnt that Miss Fancy was illustrious in the pressof the United States as having been engaged to be married more oftenthan any other actress. Yet she had never got as far as the altar,though once she had reached the church-door--only to be swept away fromit by a cyclone which unhappily finished off the bridegroom. (What greyand tedious existences Eve and Sissie had led!) Her penultimateengagement had been to the late Silas Angmering.
"Something told me I should never be his wife," she said vivaciously."You know the feeling we women have. And I wasn't much surprised to hearof his death. I'd refused Silas eight times; then in the end I promisedto marry him by a certain date. He _wouldn't_ take No, poor dear! Well,_he_ was a gentleman anyway. Of course it was no more than right that heshould put me down in his will, but not every man would have done. Infact it never happened to me before. Wasn't it strange I should havethat feeling about never being his wife?"
She glanced eagerly at Mr. Prohack and Mr. Prohack's women, and therewas a pause, in which Mr. Softly Bishop said, affectionately regardinghis nose:
"Well, my dear, you'll be _my_ wife, you'll find," and he uttered thisobservation in a sharp tone of conviction that made a quite disturbingimpression on the whole company, and not least on Mr. Prohack, who keptasking himself more and more insistently:
"Why is Softly Bishop marrying Miss Fancy, and why is Miss Fancymarrying Softly Bishop?"
Mr. Prohack was interrupted in his private enquiry into this enigma by avery unconventional nudge from Sissie, who silently directed hisattention to Eve, who seemingly wanted it.
"Your friend seems anxious to speak to you," murmured Eve, in a low,rather roguish voice.
'His friend' was Lady Massulam, who was just concluding a solitary lunchat a near table; he had not noticed her, being still sadly remiss in thebusiness of existing fully in a fashionable restaurant. Lady Massulam'seyes confirmed Eve's statement.
"I'm sure Miss Fancy will excuse you for a moment," said Eve.
"Oh! Please!" implored Miss Fancy, grandly.
Mr. Prohack self-consciously carried his lankness and his big headacross to Lady Massulam's table. She looked up at him with a composedbut romantic smile. That is to say that Mr. Prohack deemed it roma
ntic;and he leaned over the table and over Lady Massulam in a manner romanticto match.
"I'm just going off," said she.
Simple words, from a portly and mature lady--yet for Mr. Prohack theywere charged with all sorts of delicious secondary significances.
"What _is_ the difference between her and Eve?" he asked himself, andthen replied to the question in a flash of inspiration: "I am romanticto her, and I am not romantic to Eve." He liked this ingeniousexplanation.
"I wanted to tell you," said she gravely, with beautiful melancholy,"Charles is _flambe_. He is done in. I cannot help him. He will not letme; but if I see him to-night when he returns to town I shall send himto you. He is very young, very difficult, but I shall insist that hegoes to you."
"How kind you are!" said Mr. Prohack, touched.
Lady Massulam rose, shook hands, seemed to blush, and departed. Aninterview as brief as it had been strange! Mr. Prohack was thrilled, notat all by the announcement of Charlie's danger, perhaps humiliation, butby the attitude of Lady Massulam. He had his plans for Charlie. He hadno plans affecting Lady Massulam.
Mr. Softly Bishop's luncheon had developed during the short absence ofMr. Prohack. It's splendour, great from the first, had increased; iftables ever do groan, which is perhaps doubtful, the table was certainlygroaning; Mr. Softly Bishop was just dismissing, with bland andnegligent approval, the major domo of the restaurant, with whom, likeall truly important personages, he appeared to be on intimate terms. Butthe chief development of the luncheon disclosed itself in theconversation. Mr. Softly Bishop had now taken charge of the talk and wasexpatiating to a hushed and crushed audience his plans for a starringworld-tour for his future wife, who listened to them with genuineadmiration on her violet-tinted face.
"Eliza won't be in it with me when I come back," she exclaimed suddenly,with deep conviction, with anticipatory bliss, with a kind of rancorousferocity.
Mr. Prohack understood. Miss Fancy was uncompromisingly jealous of herhalf-sister's renown. To outdo that renown was the main object of herlife, and Mr. Softly Bishop's claim on her lay in the fact that he hadshown her how to accomplish her end and was taking charge of thearrangements. Mr. Softly Bishop was her trainer and her manager; he haddazzled her by the variety and ingenuity of his resourceful schemes; andhis power over her was based on a continual implied menace that if shedid not strictly obey all his behests she would fail to realise hersupreme desire.
And when Mr. Softly Bishop gradually drew Ozzie into a technicaltete-a-tete, Mr. Prohack understood further why Ozzie had been invitedto the feast. Upon certain branches of Mr. Bishop's theatrical schemesOzzie was an acknowledged expert, and Mr. Bishop was obtaining, for theprice of a luncheon, the fruity knowledge and wisdom acquired by Ozzieduring long years of close attention to business.
For Mr. Prohack it was an enthralling scene. The luncheon closedgorgeously upon the finest cigars and cigarettes, the finest coffee, andthe finest liqueurs that the unique establishment could provide. Sissierefused every allurement except coffee, and Miss Fancy was permittednothing but coffee.
"Do not forget your throat, my dear," Mr. Softly Bishop authoritativelyinterjected into Miss Fancy's circumstantial recital of theexpensiveness of the bouquets which had been hurled at her in the NewNational Theatre at Washington.
"And by the way," (looking at his watch), "do not forget the appointmentwith the elocutionist."
"But aren't you coming with me?" demanded Miss Fancy alarmed. Alreadyshe was learning the habit of helplessness--so attractive to men and souseful to them.
These remarks broke up the luncheon party, which all the guests assuredthe deprecating host had been perfectly delightful, with the impliedaddition that it had also constituted the crown and summit of theircareers. Eve and Sissie were prodigious in superlatives to such anextent that Mr. Prohack began to fear for Mr. Softly Bishop's capacityto assimilate the cruder forms of flattery. His fear, however, wasunnecessary. When the host and his beloved departed Miss Fancy was stillrecounting tit-bits of her biography.
"But I'll tell you the rest another time," she cried from the movingcar.
She had emphatically won the second battle. From the first blow she hadnever even looked like losing. And she had shown no mercy, quiteproperly following the maxim that war is war. Eve and Sissie seemed torise with difficulty to their knees, after the ruthless adversary, tiredof standing on their prostrate form, had scornfully walked away.
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