by Elinor Glyn
CHAPTER XXX
Katherine read "Abelard and Heloise" far into the night. Her emotionswere complex. She knew now that she was very unhappy and in a corner,and that she could not see clearly any way of escape. If she attractedthe Duke further it would only increase the complications.
There was something in her nature which she feared was not strong enoughto carry through deceit. Her great power had always lain in her absolutehonesty, which gave her that inward serenity which engenders the mostsupreme self-confidence, and so inevitably draws the thing desired. Hermind was too balanced, and too analytical to give way to impulseregardless of cost, which in such a situation would have made ninehundred and ninety-nine women out of a thousand grab at the chance ofsecuring Mordryn upon any terms. Of what good to obtain the position ofDuchess if it only brought a haunting unease? Of what good to obtain thelove of this true and splendid gentleman upon false pretences? She couldthen enjoy nothing of the results. For above all worldly gains she waswell aware that to keep her own rigid self-respect mattered to her most.If his character had been less worthy of reverence--if she had not grownso near to passionately loving him--if she had not become aware of theimportance in the eyes of the world of the barrier between them, and soof the magnitude of the offence involved in the deceit, she would haveplayed her game to a finish without a backward thought; but as it wasit were better frankly to give it up and perhaps marry--Sir John! Fornone of these considerations, she felt, came into the question ofmarrying Sir John. He was old and pompous and of no great family. Shewould be giving more than she received in bestowing her youth and hertalents and her company upon him. She did not love him, thereforewhether he should ever look upon her with scorn or no was a matter ofindifference to her--and she would not for a moment have dreamed of anyobligation to reveal that episode in her past to him, since theprobabilities were so very remote that discovery could ever happen andtherefore her silence would in no way injure him. It would be merely abargain in which an old man bought a young woman "as she stood," so tospeak, for the pleasure of his eye.
But the Duke of Mordryn was different--between them there could be nodeceptions, no secrets, there must be none but the highest things, sincemarriage with him would mean the union of their souls. Katherine was farfrom being altruistic or sentimental, it was only the strictly commonsense and baldly honest aspect of any case that ever influenced her.
The temptation was overpowering, of course, to brush aside moralqualms.--To think of reigning in this splendid place!--and she let herimagination run on--To think of being with the Duke always--his lovedcompanion. The joy to make him very happy, and do everything he wished.What pains she would take to fulfil his highest ideal of her--to show tohis world that whatever she had sprung from, at least she carried offthe situation of Duchess in a manner in which they could find no flaw.She would be gracious and sweet and dignified and capable. She wouldbring all her reasoning to bear upon all problems. She would let himguide and direct her, and she would carry out his least behest.
_But it could not be._ She had made an initial mistake andmiscalculation in her career through ignorance of possible results, andshe could never shuffle out of it. Self-deception was of all mentalattitudes the one she despised the most. She must face the consequenceof her mistake now with courage, and take the second best.
Having once made up her mind in the early dawn, it was not in her natureto indulge in further repining. She as resolutely shut out the image ofthe Duke and the picture of happiness with him, as she had shut out LordAlgy. Only this time the pain was infinitely more bitter, because sheknew that she was obliged to refrain from sipping this glorious cup_because of her own miscalculation_. Whereas when she parted from LordAlgy she had had the moral elation of knowing that she was doing rathera fine thing.
Extreme pallor showed in her face in the morning, and her great eyeswere shadowed and sad. She remained in the ante-chamber at thewriting-table which had been prepared for her, after she had breakfastedwith Lady Garribardine in her sitting-room. Numbers of letters had comeby the Sunday's post, and she made it seem necessary to answer them atonce.
Her mistress allowed her to have her way. She felt some strongunderneath currents were affecting the girl, and further tantalizationwould not be bad for the Duke. So she left her at the writing-table andjoined the rest of the party under the cedar trees on the tennis lawn,and did not mention Katherine or her whereabouts. If Mordryn wanted toknow why she had not come out, or where she was, he must pluck upcourage to ask himself.
The Duke glanced at her enquiringly, but he said nothing--perhapsKatherine would follow presently--but could she have gone again on thelake with Lady Alethea and those empty-headed young men? He would notask, he would go himself and see.
So when he had disposed of his important guests, he went to his ownsitting-room from which there was a complete view of the waterways, andthen he took the trouble to get out his glasses and scan the occupantsof the boats.
No, she was not among them.
She must then either be still in her bedroom--or writing perhaps infront of the window of the passage place which was next this very room!
He would go out on the terrace from one of the windows and look in.
Yes--she was there seated at the table very busy, it appeared.
He came forward and stepping across the threshold, he stood beside her.
"Good morning, Miss Bush--it is quite wrong for you to be working onthis glorious day. You must come out into the sunshine with the rest ofus."
Katherine did not rise or appear to be going to follow his suggestion,so he added authoritatively:
"Now be a good girl and go and get your hat."
"I am very sorry I cannot before lunch; I have much work to do, and itbecomes disorganised if I leave it unfinished."
"Nonsense! You did not come to Valfreyne to work. There are such anumber of things I want to show you. Everyone is out in the garden,won't you at least come round the state rooms with me?"
How could she refuse him? He was her host and the pleasure would be sointense. She rose, but without alacrity and answered a little stiffly:
"I should much like to see them--if it will not take very long."
Her manner was distinctly different, he noticed it at once--a curtainseemed to have fallen between them ever since the conversation about thepencillings in the book. It chilled him and made him determined toremove it.
He held the door into his sitting-room open for her, and took pains tokeep the conversation upon the ostensible reason for their voyage ofinspection. He spoke of carving and dates, and told her anecdotes of thebuilding of Valfreyne. And so they passed on through all the splendidrooms, "The King's Chamber," and "The Queen's Closet,"--and the salonsand so to the great state suite of her who should be reigning Duchess.
And Katherine saw priceless gems of art and splendour of gilding andtapestry, and hangings, and great ghostly beds surmounted with noddingostrich plumes. And stuffs from Venice and Lyons--and even Spitalfields.
"How wonderful!" she said at last--"And there are many other places suchas this in England! How great and rich a country it is. We--the middleclass population--shut in with our narrow parochial views--do notrealise it at all, or we would be very proud of our race owning suchglorious things, and would not want to encourage stupid paltrypoliticians to destroy and dissipate them all, and scatter them to thewinds."
"It may seem hard in their view that one man should possess, we willsay, Valfreyne."
"But how stupid! How could it all have been accumulated, but forindividual wealth and taste and tradition? Who really cares for museumsexcept to study examples in? Do you know, for instance, such people asmy sisters would a thousand times rather walk through these rooms on aday when the public is let in, feeling it was a house owned by peoplewho really lived there, than go to any place given to the nation, likeHampton Court or the Wallace Collection."
"That is the human interest in the thing."
"Yes, but the human and t
he personal are the strongest and most bindingof all interests."
Mordryn looked at her appreciatively--he delighted in hearing her views.
"Then you have no feeling that you wish all this to be divided up amongthe people of Lulworth, say--the large town near?"
"Oh! no, no! So strongly do I feel for the law by which all goes to theeldest son, that were I a younger one, I would willingly give up myshare to ensure the family continuing great. Who that can see clearlywould not rather be a younger son of a splendid house, than a little,ridiculous nobody on his own account,--if everything were to be dividedup."
"It is so very strange that you should have this spirit, Miss Bush. Ifyou had not told me of your parentage I should have said you were of thesame root and branch as Lady Garribardine. Are you sure you are not achangeling?"
"Quite sure. How proud it must make you feel to own Valfreyne, and whatobligations it must entail!"
"Yes," and he sighed.
"It must make you weigh every action to see if it is worthy of one whomust be an example for so many people."
"That is how you look upon great position--it is a noble way."
"Why, of course--it could not be right to hold all this in trust foryour descendants, and for the glory of England, and then to thinkyourself free to squander it, and degrade the standard. All feelingwould have to give way to worthily fulfilling your trust."
The Duke felt his heart sink--a strange feeling of depression came overhim.
"I suppose you are right," and he sighed again.
"I was so much interested in the story of your ring," she saidpresently, to lift the silence which had fallen upon them both. "It issuch a strange idea that great good fortune is unlucky--since we alwaysdraw what we deserve. If we are foolish and draw misfortune at thebeginning of our lives, we must of course pay the price, but if people'sbrains are properly balanced they should not fear good fortune initself."
"You think then that a whole life need not be shadowed with misery, butthat if the price of folly is paid in youth, there may still be a chanceof a happy old age?"
"Of course--One must be quite true, that is all, and never deceiveanyone who trusts one."
"That would mean living in a palace of truth and would beimpracticable."
"Not at all. There are some things people have no right to ask or to betold--some things one must keep to oneself for the carrying on oflife--but if a person has a right to know, and trusts you and youdeceive him, then you must take the consequences of unhappiness whichis the reflex action of untruth."
"How wise you are, child--that is the whole meaning of honour, 'To thineown self be true and it must follow as the night the day, Thou canst notthen be false to any man.'"
She looked straight up into his eyes, hers were pure and deep andsorrowful.
"Now I have seen your beautiful home I must go back to my work--I shallalways remember this visit, and this happy morning--all my life."
Mordryn was deeply moved, passionate emotion was coursing throughhim--with great difficulty he restrained the words which rose to hislips. He did not seek to detain her, and they retraced their steps,speaking little by the way, until they came to his sitting-room.
"When you go to-morrow, will you take with you the 'Eothen' and the'Abelard and Heloise?' I would like to know that you read them sometimesand there is one passage in _Abelard's_ first letter which I know Ishall have to quote to myself--It is on the fifty-fourth page, thebottom paragraph--you must look at it some time--"
Then his voice broke a little--"And now let us say good-bye--here in myroom."
"Good-bye," said Katherine and held out her hand.
The Duke took it and with it drew her near to him.
"Good-bye--Beloved," he whispered, and his tones were hoarse, and thenhe dropped her hand; and Katherine gave a little sob, and turning, ranfrom the room, leaving him with his proud head bent, and tears in hisdark blue eyes.
And she made herself return to her work--nor would she permit herthoughts to dwell for an instant upon the events of the morning, or thewords of the Duke--for she knew that if she did so she would losecontrol of herself and foolishly burst into tears. And there was lunchto be endured, and the afternoon and evening.
So this was the end--he loved her, but his ideas of principle held.--Andif she was only a common girl and so debarred from being a Duchess--theDuke should see that no aristocrat of his own class could be more game.
Lady Garribardine found her still writing diligently when she came injust before luncheon would be announced, and she wondered what made thegirl look so pale.
"It is quite too bad that you have sat here all this time," sheexclaimed. "I won't have you bother with another word. This was to beyour holiday and your amusement, this visit to Valfreyne, and you havebeen cooped up in the house working as if at home."
The Duke looked extremely stern at luncheon and was punctiliously politeto everyone, but those in his immediate vicinity were conscious that astiffness had fallen upon the atmosphere which asphyxiated conversation.
Lady Garribardine was well acquainted with the signs of all his moods.This one, she knew, resulted from pain of some sort, and mentalperturbation. What had occurred between him and Katherine? Could theyhave quarrelled? This must be ascertained at the earliest possiblemoment.
After luncheon they were all to motor to an old castle for a picnic tea,a beautiful ruin of a former habitation of the Monluces about five milesaway.
Katherine should go with the younger people, and she should have theDuke to herself.
His manner was certainly preoccupied, and he spoke only of ordinarythings as they went through the park.
"The party has been the greatest success, Mordryn. Are you pleased?Everyone has enjoyed it."
"Yes, I suppose it has been all right, thanks to your admirablequalities as hostess, dear friend. But how irksome I find all parties! Ihave been too long away from the world."
"I thought you seemed so cheery, Mordryn, yesterday, but to-day you lookas glum as a church. You must shake yourself up, nothing is so foolishas giving way to these acquired habits of solitude and separation fromyour kind."
"I am growing old, Seraphim."
"Stuff and nonsense!" Her Ladyship cried. "You have never looked morevigorous--or more attractive, and you are not subject to liver attacksor the gout--so you have no excuse in the world for this doleful pointof view."
"Perhaps not--It is stupid to want the moon."
"There are no such things as moons for Dukes; they are always lampswhich can be secured in the hand."
"Not without fear of combustion or fusing as the case might be."
"Nothing venture nothing have. No man ought to sit down and abandon hismoon chase--if he wants it badly enough he will get it."
"In spite of his conscience?"
Her Ladyship looked at him shrewdly--now was a moment for indicating hersentiments she felt--he might understand her as he so pleased.
"No, never in spite of his conscience, but in spite of custom ortradition or any other man-made barrier."
But although the Duke found much comfort in her words, he was not easilyinfluenced by anyone and the torrent of his passion had not yet reachedthe floodgates, and was restrained by his will. So he turned theconversation and endeavoured to be cheerful. And Seraphim saw that forthe moment she must leave things to fate.
Katherine looked quite lovely at tea. Her new air of rather pensivegentleness suited her well. She showed perfect composure, there was notrace of nervousness or self-consciousness in her manner, only her eyeswere sad.
What dignity, the Duke thought as he watched, her conduct and attitudeduring the whole visit had shown! He knew it must have been a moment ofexceptional excitement to her to come there among his and LadyGarribardine's friends, as one of them, and yet not for a second had sheshown anything but composure and ease, talking with quiet politeness towhoever addressed her, neither with subservience nor with expansiveness,but with exactly the consideration which so bec
omes a great lady, evenif she is but a girl. He looked at her again and again, and could findonly something further to respect and admire.
He wondered how much she was feeling? What had that little sob meant?Pain as well as understanding assuredly. Was she, too, longing secretlyto be taken into his arms--as with every fibre of his being he wasburning with desire to hold her? Or did she not really care, and was theattention of young Westonborough enough to divert her--and would sheeventually marry Sir John?
This last thought was disgusting! but His Grace of Mordryn had not thetype of mind like that of Gerard Strobridge, to take comfort in thethought that if she did so, his own chance of future joy would be thegreater. No touch of anything but reverence was in his heart towardsKatherine.
And so the afternoon passed with much suffering in two souls, and therainbow tints of the evening came over the sky. The chestnut trees werethe softest fresh green, and the oaks only just out. Copper beeches andlimes and firs all added to the beauty of tint. And young birds weretwittering their good-nights; the whole world was full of love, andspringtime promise of joy.
And Mordryn battled with himself and banished temptation, and had hissitting-room blinds drawn immediately to hide all these sweet things ofnature, when they returned, and stayed alone there until it was time todress for dinner, saying he had important letters to write.
But all the while he was conscious that just beyond that door and thatpassage, there was a woman who seemed to matter to him more thananything else in life!
The whole afternoon had been such a wretched tantalization. A long dutywhen he had spoken as an automaton to boring guests. He had not soughtto talk to Katherine; that good-bye in the morning had been final, therecould be no anticlimax, that would make it all futile.
And she had _understood_, she had realised his motive--this he knew andfelt, but took no comfort from the thought.
And Katherine, with half an hour to herself, looked for and found thatpassage on page fifty-four of "Abelard and Heloise" and she read:
I remove to a distance from your person with an intention of avoiding you as an enemy. And yet I incessantly seek for you in my mind--I recall your image in my memory and in such different disquietudes I betray and contradict myself.--I hate you!--I love you! Shame presses me on all sides. I am at this moment afraid I should seem more indifferent than you are, and yet I am ashamed to discover my trouble.
Well--if he felt like that--what could be the end?