She looked so pretty as she exulted in her own early married life and defended Aurea’s, that her husband nearly dropped the subject of Aurea’s shortcomings altogether. It would have been better for him if he had. Mrs. Howard adored her husband and her daughter, but when it came to the eternal battle between men and women, she was solidly with her own sex in public, however she might turn against it in private. If Mr. Howard cannot leave Aurea alone, he may find that war is carried into his own country. Mary, Aurea and Fanny will be rather a formidable opposition. He would have been wiser to lay down his arms and go on reading aloud, but his evil spirit impelled him to say, “But, Mary, you are defending Aurea! Justifying her in her most regrettable folly!”
“Oh, Will, do stop being a blind and idiotic bat. What do you think other young women do?” And to herself she made a vow of no quarter to the persecutor.
“Other young women?” inquired Mr. Howard, offended. “What have they have to do with Aurea?”
“Only that nine out of ten of her friends would have gone much further than she has, and cared much less. Look at Fanny.”
This was a declaration of war. But Mr. Howard, although conscious of a slight sinking, pretended to be quite unconscious of it, and merely questioned coldly, “Fanny?”
“Yes, Fanny. A puss and a minx if ever there was one, but just because she makes a habit of flirting, no one minds. Neither age nor sex are sacred to her. She would make eyes at me, only she knows it’s no good, and as for the eyes she makes at you —”
Here she paused. “Perhaps, perhaps,” murmured Mr. Howard, gratified.
“— and as for the way you encourage her to go on —”
She paused again. Mr. Howard, rather less gratified and distinctly anxious, protested, “My dear, a most unfounded accusation.”
“Not at all,” said his wife coldly. “It’s most charming in you, Will, with your good looks and becoming gray hair, to kiss young women paternally on the forehead and hold their hands for a long time when you say how do you do; but when it comes to buying rings for them —”
Here she made a dramatic stop. Mr. Howard was appalled. Never in all their married life had his Mary flown at him so callously, so ferociously. Undoubtedly he had danced Platonic minuets with more than one lady from time to time, but Mary had always laughed and approved. Even when he wrote poetry to them she approved. It had been a slight mortification to him that his flames had always made great friends with Mary, even going so far as to ask her opinion of the poetry, instead of making a delightful mystery of the whole affair. And now Fanny —. He couldn’t quite remember how he stood in the matter of Fanny. Had he told Mary about the wedding ring himself, or had Fanny, so artless and unsuspecting, let it drop? Aurea was completely wiped out of his mind. His only thought at the moment was to exonerate himself from Mary’s so unfounded, so monstrous, so unfortunately well substantiated accusation.
“My dear,” he began wildly, “poor Fanny had lost her wedding ring — probably left it somewhere while she was washing her hands —”
“I have yet to meet the woman who troubles to take off her wedding ring while she washes her hands,” interrupted his wife with horrid judicial impartiality. “A diamond or a ruby ring, yes; a wedding ring, no. But go on.”
She assumed a patient expression, infinitely exasperating to a wronged man.
“Or perhaps she wasn’t washing,” he said weakly. “She may just have taken it off for fun, but there she was, poor child” (Mrs. Howard moved her lips in the form of the words “child, indeed,” with an unpleasantly sarcastic expression of which her husband judged it more prudent to take no notice), “without a ring; and it would have been so awkward for her to go and buy a new one, so I said I’d buy it for her.”
“I should very much like,” said Mrs. Howard with icy politeness, “to see Fanny looking awkward. What about you, Will? Didn’t you feel awkward?”
“Oh, no,” said he, feeling on certain ground this time. “Fanny came with me.”
At this, to his mingled relief and indignation, Mrs. Howard burst out laughing and became herself again. He looked anxiously at her over his glasses, and said he was glad she was amused.
“Bless your heart, darling Will,” said his wife affectionately, “of course I’m amused — and so was Fanny.”
“Did Fanny tell you, then?” asked Mr. Howard, a thousand horrid doubts thronging into his mind.
“Of course she did, and about the lunch afterwards.”
“I think,” said poor Mr. Howard, inclined to cry with mortification, “that Fanny might treat me with a little more respect.”
His wife, having effectually trailed red herrings across Aurea’s track, now hastened to pour balm into her husband’s wounds.
“So she should, Will,” she said with feeling. “And it was very sweet of you to get her a ring.”
“Then you aren’t hurt?” said Mr. Howard, perking up.
“Hurt? Of course not. I think it was rather darling of you to,” but observing a slightly fatuous expression stealing over his face, she amended her sentence sharply to “be so easily taken in.” Mr. Howard’s face fell, but taking no notice she went on, “And you must remember that Aurea is really grown-up, and not accountable to us for what she does; and you must make as much allowance for her as you do for Fanny — and rather more, because she is your own daughter.”
“Well, well, dear, we won’t talk about it anymore now. Shall I go on reading?”
Mrs. Howard was satisfied with her success; besides, her heart smote her for cruelty to deserving husbands, so she accepted his offer gratefully. Mr. Howard took up his book again and began to read. Gradually his voice got slower and slower, and the words more and more confused, till at last the book fell on his lap, and he remained fast asleep.
*
It would be idle to pretend that Fanny’s theater party was being a success, though luckily she never discovered it. With Mrs. Howard’s injunction strong in her mind, she watched over Aurea like a duenna watching over an heiress, especially setting herself to complete Arthur’s punishment by separating him from Aurea as much as possible. To this end she sent Aurea first into her seat and followed her, telling Valentine to come on her other side. Arthur was thus left in the outside seat. “I put you there on purpose,” said Fanny, leaning across Valentine, “because I knew you and Val would want to make nuisances of yourselves going out between the acts and now you won’t either of you walk over my legs.” As the curtain was just going up, Arthur was unable to expostulate, but during the next interval he took a subtle revenge by buying a very large expensive box of chocolates done up in transparent paper and orange ribbon, and giving it to Fanny. Well did he know what his Fanny’s feelings were on the subject of people who eat chocolate in theaters, and the social standing of husbands who so disgrace their wives in public. Fanny had to say “Thank you,” but she said it as ungraciously as possible, and tried to push the box under the seat. In this she was foiled by Valentine who, seeing no chance of talking to Aurea and a good deal of chance of annoying Fanny, insisted on undoing the ribbon and passing the box around. By passing it across Fanny to Aurea, he was able to touch Aurea’s fingers for a moment, but he was obliged to get any further pleasure he required by watching Fanny’s ill-concealed attempts to do away with the offending box.
“All packing and shavings as usual,” she commented ungratefully. “For the Lord’s sake put the thing away, Val, or take it home and give it to your landlady.”
“How sweet of you, Fanny, but I couldn’t bear to take it.” And he placed the box affectionately on her lap. “You must keep them for the boys, whenever you next have them at home.”
Fanny gave him a withering look which, owing to the lights being dimmed down at that moment, entirely failed in its effect. After a short but unseemly scuffle with Valentine, she was obliged to sit nursing the box in sulky fury.
During the second interval both the men fled from her wrath, and she was left to pour her complaints into A
urea’s inattentive ear.
“I’ve never known Arthur so trying as he has been today,” she exploded. “Cross and sulky at breakfast, cross and sulky before dinner, a perfect fool about the tickets, and now positively rude and insulting. What was he saying to you before dinner, Aurea? No one would tell me. Not that it matters, because I’ll get it out of him later. Anyway, I am going to pay him back afterwards. He has some idea of taking you home, but whether you’d like it or not, Aurea, I am not going to allow it. Val shall take you home, and then he can come and join Arthur and me at the Vampire, for if Arthur thinks that he can get out of supper and dancing just by being foully rude and unpleasant, that is where he trips over the mat. Of course, darling, we’d love it if you came on to supper, too, but as a matter of fact, I promised your mother I’d send you home early because of the Last Night in the Old Home and all, though if you ask me, I should say keep away from the old home as long as possible; you’ll feel ten times worse there than if you came with us, but, still, if your mother says so, so it must be. Here, you take the chocolates, blast them. I must go and say a word to Ronnie Graham, who has been trying not to see me for the last five minutes.”
Thrusting the box into Aurea’s hands she hurried across the gangway to where Mr. Graham was enjoying himself with a pink young woman, quite unconscious of Fanny’s presence.
“Hi, Ronnie,” said she, so loudly that most of the remaining inhabitants of the stalls looked around, “what did you mean by telling me such a whacking lie?”
Mr. Graham looked up, startled and speechless.
“About Val,” continued Fanny severely. “The Mounsey girl’s engagement was in The Times today. I’ll never forgive you for misleading me like that.”
Mr. Graham sat with his mouth open, while Fanny walked majestically away, hastening her pace, however, as she saw Val and Arthur returning. But she was too late; Arthur had slipped in beside Aurea. Fanny followed him and tried to change places, but the third act was just beginning, and Arthur was able to ignore her protests.
As the play ended Arthur said to Aurea, “I am going to take you home, Aurea. I won’t stay long, but I must see you for a few moments.”
“I thought you were going on to supper,” said Aurea, surprised.
“Yes, but I’ll easily get back to Fanny and Val in time. It will be all right.” And with a conquering air he herded her up the passage towards the exit. Valentine, who possessed both luck and skill in dealing with porters and commissionaires, had already secured a taxi, and was standing by its door.
“You and Val had better go on to the Vampire, Fanny. I’ll take Aurea home,” said Arthur, heading Aurea into the taxi.
But he spoke too soon. Neither Valentine nor Fanny had the faintest intention of letting this high-handed abduction take place.
“Oh, we had, had we?” said Fanny in a voice which had the effect of making everyone in the neighborhood turn around and stare. “Well, let me tell you, Arthur, we hadn’t; and the sooner you understand it the better.”
A commissionaire’s voice was heard saying that if the gentleman wanted to get into the taxi to look sharp about it as there was a whole line of them waiting. Valentine thanked the commissionaire, tipped him, and got into the taxi, stumbling over something as he did so.
“Oh, it’s Arthur’s chocolates,” cried Aurea.
“Then we won’t deprive him of them,” said Valentine, and picking up the box he leaned out of the window and called Arthur loudly. Arthur, who was still arguing with Fanny, looked around, and saw his taxi slowly drawing away from the curb, with Valentine’s face at the window. Tearing himself from Fanny’s grasp, he ran along by the side of the cab.
“Hi, Valentine,” he shouted. “It’s my taxi.”
“Sorry, it’s mine now, but I thought you’d want these back,” said Valentine, shoving the chocolates into Arthur’s arms. The taxi made a grinding noise with its gears and drove rapidly off. Arthur turned, and found Fanny beside him.
“Well,” she said tartly, “have you any explanation of your conduct, leaving me alone here, the butt of a gaping crowd?”
“Valentine has taken Aurea home,” said Arthur blankly.
“Well, and why not? I told him to. And now you take me to the Vampire. What’s that you’re carrying?”
“Chocolates,” said Arthur feebly.
“Ah-h,” shrieked his wife, “are you bent on making me a laughing stock? Chocolates, indeed. This is the crowning mercy, I don’t think. Blast you, Arthur Turner, will you never learn sense?” So saying she snatched the box and threw it into the road, where it burst, and all the remaining contents were ground to pieces. Then, pushing aside our old friend Mr. L. N. B. Porter, C.B.E., who had just secured a taxi for his widowed sister-in-law, mother of the defenestrated nephew, on whose account the sister-in-law was spending a few days in London, Fanny hustled Arthur into the cab, got in after him, and slammed the door. She then put her head out of the window and yelled, “Vampire,” which confirmed Mr. Porter in his views of London night life.
So Fanny and Arthur drive out of the story in their taxi. Fanny will quickly forget. Indeed, Aurea has already become a ghost in her memory, for Fanny does not live in the past. She liked Aurea well enough while she could see her, and could admire quite generously a kind of charm and beauty which she herself did not possess. But, Aurea being gone, or as good as gone, she has dismissed her from her mind. Also, Aurea had proved distinctly disappointing as a flirtation for Arthur. Vanna had been right in calling her a little dull and cold, and obviously Arthur shared that opinion now. It was a shame that Aurea hadn’t been more amusing and given Arthur a run for his money. Poor Arthur. She must find someone more forthcoming for him. Perhaps there would be friends at the Vampire for him to play with, while she danced with Val. But there Fanny is wrong. Long, long may she sit, partaking of beer and kippers — a nauseating mixture affected by her set at the moment — before she sees Valentine’s tall form coming down the steps of the dancing room. He will not be there that night, and when she rings him up tomorrow to expostulate he will be inaccessible, well defended by the competent female voice. Nor will he be seen at Fanny’s house for a week or more. By the time he reappears, Aurea will have vanished as completely from Fanny’s quicksilver mind as if she had never existed, and Valentine will be troubled by no questions about her. Life goes on, and those who are absent or forgotten, sunk without trace. Fanny will continue her career of amusing herself and secretly adoring her Arthur, and nothing will change or upset her.
Arthur will forget, too, if not quite so soon. Just for the moment he is feeling bereaved, but it will not last. Fanny is always there, his adored incalculable Fanny, who by the end of the evening will be so furious at Valentine’s unexplained absence, that she will forget the affairs of the tickets and the key, and be her most charming self to her husband. If he ever had any serious ideas of telling Fanny about his very mild lapse, that idea has taken wings and flown away before the first of the Vampire cocktails. Arthur will think of Aurea vaguely from time to time as a dear creature, who cared for him more than she should; so mercifully have circumstances and his own fatuity blinded him to what was really happening. As he will never know what Aurea thinks of him, he will be none the worse. She had so hoped for kindness and understanding from him, but that was all of a piece with the rest of her folly. He has shattered her romantic feeling for him, and never again will she feel safe, or at her ease. When they will meet again cannot be told; but it matters little, now that the harm has been done.
So we will leave Arthur and Fanny at the Vampire. They can well take of themselves, for though each is capable of devoted self-sacrifice for the other, neither is truly kind at heart where anyone else is concerned. Nothing will ever hurt either of them very deeply, and as it is their choice to be like that, we need feel little concern for them.
*
Meanwhile Valentine, rather pleased by his Parthian shot at Arthur, and Aurea, greatly relieved by her rescue, were driving towards
the Howards’ house. If they had hoped to have a few minutes alone, they were disappointed to see a gleam of light from the drawing-room window. Valentine suggested that Mr. and Mrs. Howard might have gone to bed and left the light on, but Aurea could hold out no such hopes.
“You don’t know mother and papa,” she said. “They are probably both asleep with reading aloud. The only thing to do is come up, and hope they’ll go to bed soon.”
They tiptoed upstairs. Aurea opened the door. There was her dear papa, fast asleep in his chair, but her mother was wide awake. Mrs. Howard beckoned to them to come in quietly and sit down. Then she got up and went conspiratorially to the mantelpiece, moved a glass of flowers so that it hid the face of the clock, and sat down again. The lovers were a little perplexed but waited patiently. All her dispositions being completed, she dropped a book. Mr. Howard started, sat up with suspicious alertness, and looked around madly.
“I must have been asleep,” said Mrs. Howard, lying brazenly.
“I told you you always go to sleep, Mary,” said her husband, much gratified by this proof of weakness.
“So I never heard those young people come in,” continued Mrs. Howard, imperiling her immortal soul. “How long have they been here, Will?”
Mr. Howard looked at the clock, but it was hidden by the flowers, so he determined to bluff, and said ten minutes or so.
“What a shame,” said his wife. “You must forgive us, Mr. Ensor. And I had no idea it was so late. Come along, Will dear, you can finish reading to me another time when I’m not quite so sleepy.”
Mr. Howard, still blinking with sleep, and confused by this frontal attack, did not attempt to resist. With an apology to Valentine he said good night. Aurea felt remorseful, and clung tightly to her father as she kissed him good night for the last time.
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