LIpon her first entrance to the Opera House, which she happened never to have visited before, Kitty was quite dazzled by its magnificence. It was adorned with a painted ceiling, and lit by clusters of candles in crystal chandeliers. Besides a gallery, and a roomy pit, there were four tiers of boxes, hung with crimson draperies, and their fronts tastefully decorated in white and gold. The stage, where the ball was already in full swing, was large, extending past the first six boxes; and to add to the festivity of the scene, a fanciful backcloth had been let down, so that English country dances, Viennese waltzes, French quadrilles and cotillions were all danced against a rich eastern background. Although it was some time before midnight, the house was already crowded, and every costume from the simple domino to the magnificence of Tudor doublets was to be seen. Nearly everyone was masked, but several bold-eyed damsels, and a number of gentlemen, had dispensed with this disguise, and were behaving with what, to country-bred Kitty, seemed a strange lack of decorum.
By means which he was only too ready to impart to anyone who could be induced to listen to him, Tom Scorton had procured a box on the lowest tier, a cunning stroke on which he invited his mother and her guests to congratulate him, but which Kitty soon discovered to be an unenviable position. They were much exposed to the advances of beaux on the look-out for trim figures that gave promise of youth and beauty behind the masks; and as a number of thesegentlemen were slightly foxed they were difficult to repulse.
Neither of the Misses Scorton appeared in the least discomposed by this nuisance, Eliza going so far as to bandy witticisms with a pertinacious buck, improbably attired as Charles I; and Susan consenting to dance the boulanger with a dashing Harlequin. The Chevalier soon detached Olivia from the rest of the party, and led her on to the floor; and Kitty was obliged to bestow her hand upon Tom for a set of quadrilles which was just then forming. When they presently returned to the box, they found it deserted, and Tom said cheerfully that they might depend upon it that his mother had gone off to the Saloon, in search of refreshment. To be left unchaperoned at a gathering of this nature was not at all what Kitty had bargained for, and she began to feel uncomfortable, and to wish that she had had the resolution to decline the evening’s treat. However, Susan and Mr. Malham soon joined them, which made her feel less conspicuous; and she tried her best to join in their ecstasies over the ball.
It was indeed an experience she thought she might have enjoyed very well under such protection as Freddy or Jack would have afforded her, for she had never seen anything comparable to it before, and could have sat happily enough, watching the glittering, shifting throng, had she been assured that no questing buck would dare to accost her. But however innocent she might be she was no fool, and a very little time sufficed to convince her that Opera House masquerades were not commonly frequented by ladies of quality. Conscience-stricken, she reflected that Freddy had been quite right when he had said that intimacy with Olivia’s relations would lead to undesirable results. This was one of them; and although she was far too warmhearted to regret having befriended Olivia, she did regret that she had allowed herself to be drawn into the Scortons’ set. She was aware, for the first time, of the cogency of Meg’s arguments, and was much inclined to think that she owed her shatterbrained hostess an apology.
It was some time before anything more was seen of Olivia and the Chevalier; and when they did reappear it at once struck Kitty that they did not look as though they were enjoying the masquerade. Where the mask ended, Olivia’s cheek was seen to be very pale, and the Chevalier’s smiling mouth was oddly tight-lipped. Olivia at once sank into a chair at the back of the box, saying in a disjointed way that the heat was insufferable; and the Chevalier, after a moment’s hesitation, solicited Kitty’s hand for the next waltz. But when he presently led her towards the dancing-floor, his air of gaiety was so forced that she said impulsively: “Should you dislike it, Camille, if we strolled in the corridor, instead of dancing? I have had no opportunity to speak to you all the evening—and Olivia is quite right! It is dreadfully hot here.”
He said mechanically: “A volonte!” and took her out of the crowded auditorium into the comparative coolness of the corridor. Here they found two chairs placed against the wall, and, for the moment, unoccupied. As she seated herself, Kitty said: “I wish you will tell me, Camille! Has anything happened to vex you?”
He dropped his head in his hands for an instant, and replied, as though the words were wrenched from him: “I was mad to have come! But the temptation—overmastering! I desired—oh, & corps perdul to yield to it! Madness! C’en est fait de moil”
Startled, she exclaimed: “Good God, what can you mean?”
He stripped off his mask with an impatient movement, and ran a hand across his brow, saying with a shaken laugh: “I must suppose that you, my little cousin, know the truth! It is not possible that I should win the hand of that angel. I am a villain to have permitted the affair to march so far! For me, it is adieu paniersl”
“You know, Camille, it is true that I am half a Frenchwoman,” said Kitty, quite bewildered, “but I never learned to speak the language with the least fluency, and I must own that I don’t perfectly understand what that may signify.”
“Farewell hope!” uttered the Chevalier.
Kitty found this dramatic phrase so strongly reminiscent of Miss Fishguard in her more sentimental moments that she was nearly betrayed into a giggle. After a short struggle with herself, she asked bluntly: “Why?”
He replied, with a hopeless gesture: “I have been permitted a glimpse of paradise! It is not for me!”
“I do wish, Camille, that you will speak more plainly!” said Kitty, rather exasperated. “If you mean that Olivia is paradise, and that it is she who is not for you, pray why should you say such a thing? Have you quarrelled with her?”
“A thousand times no!” he declared vehemently. “Would I quarrel with an angel from heaven? The very thought is a blasphemy!”
“Yes, very true, but Olivia is not an angel from heaven,” Kitty pointed out. “Is it that her lack of fortune makes her ineligible, or that you fear she would not be acceptable to your family? I own that Mrs. Broughty is a dreadful woman, but—”
“It is I who cannot be acceptable to Mrs. Broughty!” he interrupted.
A suspicion that he had been drinking crossed her mind. She looked anxiously at him, and said: “Come, you are talking nonsense, cousin! Perhaps you are not as wealthy as that odious Sir Henry Gosford, but I am persuaded, from what Olivia has told me, that Mrs. Broughty is inclined to look upon you with the utmost complacence!”
He gave a short laugh. “Without doubt! C’est hors de propos, ma chere cousine! It is the Chevalier she looks upon with complacence. You, of all people, must know that there is no Chevalier!” She was now more than ever convinced that he had been drinking deeply, and said in some concern: “Camille, I think you don’t know what you are saying! No Chevalier? But—are not you the Chevalier d’Evron?”
He looked intently at her, and made a fatalistic gesture.
“I am in your hands, in effect! But you are my cousin! I thought—it did not seem to me possible that you should not know the truth. I have been grateful to you for your silence. When the so-obliging Mr. Westruther told me that you desired to renew your acquaintance with me—eh, that was a moment indeed! But always I am a gamester: it is my profession. Impossible to refuse the offered introduction! I came to Madame la Baronne’s house, risking all upon one throw of the dice.” A hint of his dancing smile appeared in his face; he said ruefully: “Ah, I will be frank, my dear cousin! Trusting in—in—oh, in mes agrementsl You were silent: I believed I had once more succeeded! Quel fat!
You did not know the truth!”
“My guardian has never talked to me of my mother’s family,” she faltered. “I thought, when Mr. Westruther brought you to Berkeley Square—that is, I did not question —”
“My credentials? But had you known that our family is not a noble one—? Would yo
u have betrayed me?”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “How could I do such a thing? But—but why, Camille? What can it signify? Jack— Mr. Westruther—has no title, but he is at the very top of the ton, I assure you!”
“Ah, he has birth, ma petitel For me, a title is a necessity. I shall not deceive you: I am, as well Mr. Westruther knows, an adventurer! I have said: I am in your hands!”
This dramatic finish to his speech went wide of the mark. Ignoring it, Kitty said: “Jack knows?”
“Be sure! He is no fool, that one! Also, he is dangerous. I have had the effrontery to love the object of his desire, you must understand. With my rich widow, he wishes me all success: ah, bah! what do I care, when I have seen that angel? I shall love her a jamais, but I know well she is not for me!”
He sank his head in his hands as he spoke, and so did not perceive the effect of his remarks upon Miss Charing. Much that she had not previously understood now became plain to her. Opening and shutting her fan, and staring with unseeing eyes at the medallions painted on its leaf, she wondered, in a curiously detached way, how it came about that her most pronounced emotion was a feeling of disgust. “Jack wishes to marry Olivia?” she said slowly.
“Marry! No!” he returned. “Pardon! You know him well! You have perhaps a kindness for him! I should not have allowed myself to speak!” She remembered remarks made by Olivia which had puzzled her. Drawing an audible breath, she said: “It does not signify. I understand you, I suppose. Jack wishes her to be his mistress. And you—loving her as you say you do! —will permit this?”
He raised his head, saying hotly: “What can I do? Do you imagine that madame her mother would for one little instant entertain my suit, if she knew the truth? That I have neither title nor fortune! That my father is the proprietor of a maison de jeu—what you call a gaming-house!”
“Good God!” said Kitty, rather faintly. “D-does Olivia know this?” “She knows all! Could you believe me capable of deceiving one whom I worship? Of stealing her from her mother cl la derobdel No! I am not so infamous! I do not conceal from you that I came to England an adventurer! It is known that if one is of—of bonne tenue, bien ne, riche, and above all French—c’est drole, cflf—one may be bien-venu in London! To be French, that bestows upon one a cachet!— It is known, then, that with these qualities one may do very well in England.” He spread out his hands. “De plus, in my childhood I lived here. I know England; I can speak the language with fluency. Perhaps I have not always the right idiom, or the accent, but that, chere Kitty, is regarded by the English as fort attrayantl”
“Yes, but I don’t understand. Did you—did you come to England to marry an heiress?” asked Kitty wonderingly.
“To seek my fortune, let us say.”
“Lady Maria? Camille, was it to pay your addresses to her that you came?”
“Ah, no! My meeting with Lady Maria was a coup de bonheur. Naturally, I am interested in ladies of large fortune, but of her existence I did not know until I was presented to her.”
This frank exposition of his aims very much shocked Miss Charing. She uttered a protest. “Oh, pray do not—! Surely you cannot mean to offer for Lady Maria! How could you bear to be married to her? I cannot believe it of you!”
“Marriage!” he said, smiling. “My dear little cousin, do you think that that would be permitted? If she would consent—eh bien, one must resign oneself! But I find her a woman insufferably proud, and I think she could not support the mortification of having so plainly encouraged the advances of one who is not—how shall I say?—a chevalier d’honneur, but a chevalier d’ Industrie.”
She gazed at him uncomprehendingly. “No, indeed! I think she would die of shame! But—”
“She would wish the so-fascinating Chevalier to depart from England without scandal, is it not so? Well, that could be arranged.”
She was by this time so much shocked and distressed that she could only find voice enough to say: “Olivia knows this? You have told her?”
“I have told her!” he said, with a groan. “But just now! It was necessary: I could not continue—! You must understand that I have for her a passion, a devotion, which makes it impossible that I should deceive her!”
“Oh, I wish to heaven I had never made you known to her!” Kitty exclaimed. “This is dreadful! I perceived, when she came back to the box, that she was suffering from some agitation, but that it could be as bad as this I had not the least apprehension!”
“Believe me,” he said earnestly, “it was not d dessein that I engaged her affection! When first I saw her I was carried beyond myself—I did not consider—I had never imagined to myself that I should ever meet one who so exactly fulfilled the dreams a man of sensibility must make for himself! Becasse! I should have acted with resolution. I allowed myself to be transported. When I tore myself away, I believed I was the only sufferer. But when, after so many days of misery, I received her billet, and yielded to the temptation of seeing her again, it was made plain to me that I had wounded her. She asked me, as you did, if I was troubled. What would you? I told her that I was not what she thought me to be, but a gamester, one on whom she would never be permitted to bestow her hand! She saw that there could be no hope for either of us. You may say that we have received our deathblows!”
She was easily able to refrain from making any such remark. In a tone of considerable censure, she said: “Good God, Camille, how could you distress her so? Surely you would have done better to have held your tongue—to have made up your mind not to see her again?”
“I could not!” he replied. “Would you have had me allow her think that she had bestowed her heart upon a mere coquet?”
“Yes, indeed I would!” said Kitty. “I daresay she would very soon have forgotten all about you. But now—! Oh, what a shocking tangle it is! I don’t know what to say! I wish you will take me back to the box!”
He rose at once. “I will do so. And you? I am at your mercy!”
She said crossly: “If you mean, shall I tell the world that you are an—an impostor, no, I shall not! You must perceive how reluctant I must be to see my own cousin exposed in such a way. In fact, I expect you were very well-aware of that when you disclosed the truth to me!”
He replied, with a faint smile: “C’est ce qui saute aux yeux, enfin!”
“You are quite abominable!” she told him.
He began to walk with her down the corridor. “I know it, alas!”
She was too much mortified to make any reply. They proceeded in silence for a moment or two, and might have exchanged no further remarks had not a most unwelcome sight suddenly presented itself. Strolling towards them, a masked lady in a black domino on his arm, his own mask dangling by its strings from his hand, was Mr. Westruther. “Oh, good God!” Kitty exclaimed involuntarily. “Put your mask on, for heaven’s sake, Camille!”
“It is too late: he has seen me,” he responded quietly. “It is no matter: he will not recognize you. Do not speak!”
The advancing couple halted before them. “My very dear friend the Chevalier!” said Mr. Westruther. “Now, what an agreeable surprise!” His penetrating eyes ran over Kitty’s form, and remained fixed on her face. His brows lifted a little, and to her annoyance she knew herself to be blushing. “Dear me!” he said, a note of amusement in his voice. “May I hazard a guess, or would that be indiscreet?”
The Chevalier returned a light answer; but Kitty was staring at the lady on Mr. “Westruther’s arm. She had untied the strings of her black domino, and it fell apart to reveal a gown of lilac silk and gauze which Kitty knew well. The discovery that Mr. Westruther had brought his cousin Meg clandestinely to the masquerade seemed to her to set the crowning touch to an evening of unalleviated mortification. She lost her temper. “Indiscreet? No, how should it be?” she said, with unusual asperity. “To be sure, it is quite a family-party! For goodness’ sake, Meg, keep your domino closely tied, if you don’t wish to be recognized! I daresay half London must know that dreadful l
ilac dress, for nothing that Freddy, or Mallow, or I can say to you serves to convince you that it is not at all becoming to you!”
“Kitty!” gasped Meg, clutching Mr. Westruther’s arm. “Good God, what can have possessed you to come to this place? It is most improper in you!”
“I am sure that if you feel no scruple in coming I need not!” returned Kitty swiftly. “I, after all, came under the protection of Mrs. Scorton!”
“Fine protection!” said Meg, with a little angry titter.
“Very true, but better than none!” flashed Kitty. “Nor did I tell lies about dining with aunts!”
“You did! You said you were dining in Hans Crescent!”
“It was the truth! I did dine there, and I hadn’t the least notion this was intended!”
The Chevalier, considerably alarmed by these signs of brewing storm, tried at this point to intervene, saying: “Ma chere cousine, we must return to our box, or Mrs. Scorton will become anxious!”
Neither lady paid any heed to this foolish interruption. Meg said: “Let me tell you that I am under the protection of my own cousin!”
“Fine protection!” instantly replied Kitty.
Mr. Westruther began to laugh. “End of Round 1!” he said. “Largely cross-and-jostle work, though both opponents appeared full of gaiety, ready to sport their canvases. We shall see some flush hits in the next round, Chevalier.”
“How dare you?” exclaimed Meg furiously. “I think, of all the odious people—”
“No, no, my love, you must not start sparring with me! I am your second!” said Mr. Westruther.
“I beg of you, my cousin, only consider!” said the Chevalier. “Already we attract notice!”
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