table, his habitual monocle in his eye, andthe tiny green ribbon of the order of the Crown of Italy in the lapel ofhis dining-jacket, he looked a perfect type of the _ex-attache_. Hiswife, a rather spare woman of fifty, who seemed to exist externally in atoilette of black satin and lace, was pleasant, though just a triflestiff, probably because of her long association with other diplomatists'wives; while Nellie Channing was a happy, fair-haired girl, who worepretty blouses, motored, golfed, flirted and shopped in the High Streetin the most approved manner of the average girl of South Kensington.
Nellie and I had always been good friends. She had been at school inEngland while her parents had been abroad, but on completing hereducation she had lived some five years or so in Vienna, and had thusacquired something of the cosmopolitan habit of her father. She lookedcharming in her pink blouse, a trifle _decollete_, as she sat on my leftat dinner, and congratulated me upon my recovery.
If, however, Nellie Channing was pretty, her beauty was far eclipsed bythat of my neighbour on my right, a tall, dark-haired girl in blue, aMiss Anson, who with her mother, a quiet, white-haired elderly lady,were the only other guests in addition to myself. From the moment wewere introduced I saw that Mrs Anson's daughter possessed a face thatwas absolutely perfect, rather oval in shape, with large, beautifuleyes, that seemed to shine as they looked upon me, and to search methrough and through. Her complexion was good, her cheeks well-moulded,her mouth small and perfectly formed; her teeth gleamed white ever andanon as she smiled at the Colonel's humorous remarks, and her nose wasjust sufficiently tip-tilted to give her countenance a piquant air ofcoquetry.
Her costume, rich and without any undue exaggeration of trimming orstyle, spoke mutely of the handiwork of a first-class _couturiere_. Theshade of turquoise suited her dark beauty admirably, and the bodice, cutdiscreetly low, revealed a neck white and firmly moulded as that of theVenus of Milo. Around her throat, suspended by a golden chain so fineas to be almost imperceptible, was a single diamond set in a thin ringof gold, a large stone of magnificent lustre. It was her only ornament,but, flashing and glittering with a thousand fires, it was quitesufficient. She wore no rings. Her hands, white and well-formed, weredevoid of any jewels. The single diamond gleamed and glittered as itrose and fell upon her breast, an ornament assuredly fit to adorn aprincess.
Mrs Anson sat opposite me, chatting pleasantly during the meal, and nowand then her daughter would turn, raise her fine eyes to mine for aninstant, and join in our conversation. That she was exceedingly cleverand well-informed I at once detected by her terse and smart criticism ofthe latest play, which we discussed. She compared it, with a display ofknowledge that surprised me, to a French play but little known save tostudents of the French drama, and once or twice her remarks upon stagetechnicalities caused me to suspect that she was an actress.
Mrs Anson, however, dispelled this notion by expressing her disapprovalof the stage as a profession for women, an opinion with which herdaughter at once agreed. No, she could not be an actress, I feltassured. Both mother and daughter bore the unmistakable hallmark ofgentlewomen.
I sat beside Mabel Anson in rapt admiration. Never before in all mylife had my eyes fallen upon so perfect an incarnation of feminine graceand marvellous beauty; never before until that moment had a woman's faceheld me in such enchantment.
Presently the conversation turned, as it so often does at dinner-tables,upon certain engagements recently announced, whereupon the Colonel, inthe merry, careless manner habitual to him, advanced the theory thatmost girls married with a view to improve their social position.
"As to a husband's fortune," remarked his wife, with that stiffformality which was her peculiar characteristic, "it really isn't soimportant to a woman as the qualities which lead to fortune--ambition,determination, industry, thrift--and position such a man may attain forhimself."
"And in education?" inquired Miss Anson, softly, apparently interestedin the argument.
"In education a man certainly should be his wife's equal," answered MrsChanning.
"And is not good temper essential with a husband?--come, now. Let'shear your ideas on that point," said the Colonel, chaffingly, frombehind the big epergne.
Mabel Anson hesitated. For an instant her lustrous eyes met mine, andshe at once lowered them with a downward sweep of her long dark lashes.
"I don't argue that a girl thinking seriously of her future husbandshould lay any great stress on good temper," she answered, in a sweetmusical voice. "A soldierly form, a pair of good eyes, a nobleprofile--any of these might easily outweigh good temper."
"Ah! there, I fear, I disagree with you," I remarked smilingly. "It hasalways appeared to me that after the first year or so married peoplerarely think of each other's features, because they are always in eachother's presence. They become heedless of whether each other's featuresare classical or ugly; but they never fail to be cognisant of oneanother's temper or shortcomings."
"You speak as though from experience," she laughed, without, however,attempting to combat my argument.
Another outburst of laughter greeted this bantering remark of hers.
"No," observed Nellie, on my other hand. "Mr Heaton is the mostconfirmed bachelor I know. I believe he's a woman-hater--if the truthwere told."
"Oh, really, Miss Channing!" I protested. "That's certainly too bad ofyou. I assure you I'm no hater of the sex, but an admirer."
"Heaton's about to make a pretty speech," observed the jovial, red-facedColonel. "Go on, Wilford, my dear fellow, we're all attention."
"No," I said, laughing. "I've been drawn quite unfairly into thiscontroversy. Therefore I'll preserve a masterly silence."
"Mr Heaton is, I think, diplomatic," laughed the dark, handsome girlnext to me. "He has cleared his character of the aspersion cast uponit, and preserves a dignified attitude." And she turned and smiledgaily upon me in triumph.
She was exquisitely charming. I sat at her side gossiping merrily,while to my dazzled gaze she presented a beautiful picture of youthfulairy delicacy--feminine sweetness combined with patrician grace. Forthe first time in all my life that petticoated paradox, woman, conveyedto me the impression of perfect beauty, of timidity and grace, combinedwith a natural, inborn dignity. There was nothing forced or unnaturalin her manner as with other women I had met; none of that affectedmannishness of deportment and slangy embellishments of conversationwhich are so characteristic of girls of to-day, be they daughters oftradesmen or of peers.
She gave me the impression--why, I cannot tell--of one who had passedunder the ennobling discipline of suffering and self-denial. Amelancholy charm tempered the natural vigour of her mind; her spiritseemed to stand upon an eminence and look down upon me as one inferiorto her in intellect, in moral principle--in fact, in everything. Fromthe very first moment when I had bowed to her on our introduction sheheld me spell-bound in fascination.
When the ladies had left, and I sat alone with the Colonel, smoking overa liqueur, I inquired about her.
"Mrs Anson is the widow of old General Anson," he said. "He died abouttwelve years ago, and they've since lived a great deal abroad."
"Well off?" I inquired, with affected carelessness.
"Very comfortably, I should say. Mrs Anson has a fortune of her own, Ibelieve. They have a house at present in The Boltons."
"Mabel is extremely good-looking," I remarked.
"Of course, my dear boy," laughed the Colonel, with his liqueur-glasspoised in his hand, a twinkle in his eye. "Between us, she's theprettiest girl in London. She creates a sensation wherever she goes,for beauty like hers isn't met with twice in a lifetime. Lucky chap,whoever marries her."
"Yes," I said reflectively, and then diligently pursued the topic in anendeavour to learn further details regarding her. My host either knewvery little, or purposely affected ignorance--which, I was unable todetermine. He had known her father intimately, having been in hisregiment long ago. That was about all I learnt further.
So
we tossed away our cigars, drained our glasses, and rejoined the fourladies who were awaiting us in the drawing-room, where later, at MrsChanning's urgent persuasion, my divinity in blue seated herself at thepiano, and in a sweet, clear contralto sang in Italian a charming solofrom Puccini's _Boheme_, the notable opera of that season.
Then, with the single diamond glittering at her throat, she came back towhere I stood, and sinking into the cosy-corner with its pretty hangingsof yellow silk, she accepted my congratulations with a delicate grace, acharming dignity, and a grateful smile.
At last, however, the hour of parting came, and reluctantly--veryreluctantly--I took her small hand, bent over it, and handed her intoher carriage beside her
The Wiles of the Wicked Page 13