profile, still retained its natural appearance to mock my new hideousness.
'But I think I see a way out of all difficulties,' Edgar went on, more seriously. 'You will advance objections, I know, but[51] you must permit your objections to be overruled. Accident can be combated by artifice, and to artifice you must resort until nature does her work and relieves you from the new necessity.'
We fought out the question, and at last I very unwillingly gave way, and submitted to the adoption of a false eyebrow, a false moustache, and a beautiful tuft of curly false hair much superior to my own, to hide the bald patch left by the accident.
Rather elated by this distinct improvement, assumed for the reception of Helen's promised visit, and encouraged by assurances that my own hair would soon grow again and enable me to discard its substitutes, I was ready to believe that the discoloration and disfigurement still visible were comparatively unimportant, and that the repellent expression, which no artifice much abated, might indeed affect strangers,[52] but would not, in the sight of my friends, obscure their long-established impression of my amiability and sweetness.
Sir Wilfrid and Lady Speke had by this time gone up to town, leaving the place, with many kind wishes for my early and complete
recovery, entirely at the disposal of myself and my unwearied nurse Edgar. So a day was fixed for the arrival of Helen and her
10
mother. On that eventful afternoon Edgar settled me in a small sitting-room on the same floor with the room I had been occupying, before starting for the station. The blinds were drawn, and I sat with my back to this carefully-softened light. I wished, now that the ordeal was getting so near, that I had not let myself be dissuaded from my intention of sneaking quietly away without showing my disfigured face to any one. What was the use of my seeing the child again? I did indeed long foolishly for[53] a few last words with her since she had shown unexpected depth of feeling towards me in my misfortune; but it could not end, as Edgar still obstinately hoped, in a renewal of our engagement, which I persisted in regarding as definitely broken. The meeting was only for a farewell.
I was ashamed of the artifices I had used to conceal the traces of my accident, and I was feeling half inclined to tear off my false
ornaments and present myself in my true hideousness, when the arrival of my visitors luckily stopped me. The room where I sat
was at the back of the house, so that I had no warning of the return of the carriage until I heard Edgar's voice. I sprang up with one last look of agony at my reflection in the glass, which seemed to me at that moment a ghastly caricature of my old self, and then sat nervously down again, feeling like a doomed wretch with the executioner outside his cell.
[54]
The door opened, and Edgar bounded up to me, dragging Helen, who seemed shy and nervous, forward on his arm.
'Here he is, Nellie. Getting well fast, you see. Where is mother? I must fetch her up.'
I saw in a moment through the dear clumsy fellow's manoeuvres. He prided himself on his strategy, fancying he had only to leave
us together for us to have a touching reconciliation. But I knew better. I saw her turn pale and cling to her brother's arm, and I said hastily--
'No, no. Lady Castleford is not far behind, you may be sure. I am glad to see you, Lady Helen; it is very kind of you to come. It is easier----'
'Helen has come to persuade you to get well in England among your friends instead of going abroad to be ill among strangers,' said
Edgar, cutting me short. 'He's getting[55] on well, isn't he, Helen? Come, he's well enough to have his hand shaken now.'
He drew her forward, to my inexpressible pain, for I saw the reluctance in her face. Before I could attempt a protest, a reassuring word, she had held out her hand, which I timidly took. Then she lifted her eyes to my face for the first time. For the first and last time I saw the expression of the most vivid, most acute emotion on the fairy face. The muscles were contracted, the pupils of the eyes were dilated with intense horror.
'I am very glad----' she began.
Then, before she could finish her sentence, even while I still held her little hand in mine, she fell like a crushed flower unconscious in
her brother's arms.
Poor fellow! How contrite, how miserably, abjectly humble and despairing he was when he appeared later in my room, to which I
had fled, like a wounded beast to its den,[56] when little Helen's unwilling blow gave me my social death-warrant. I was able to laugh
then, and to tell him truly that my only regret was for the pain the injudicious meeting had caused poor Helen.
'It was you who dictated her letter to me,' I said. Edgar did not attempt to deny it.
'She ought to be ashamed of herself,' said he, reddening with indignation.
'No, we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. I for my vanity in thinking there was any charm in my dull personality to compensate for the loss of the only merit I could have in a girl's eyes; you for your generous idiotcy in carrying that mistake farther still. Are they gone?'
'Yes. My mother wanted to see you, but----'
'That's all right. And now, old fellow, you mustn't make any more blunders on my[57] account; you must let me make my own. I leave
England in a few days.'
'Well, I suppose you must do as you like. I'll come and see you off.'
11
'No,' said I firmly. 'I shall say good-bye to you here, Edgar. I have very particular reasons for it, and you must give way to me in this.'
He tried to change my mind; he wanted to know my reasons; but he was unsuccessful in both attempts. I knew how obstinate he was, and that if I once allowed him to go with me to town, he would be sure to subject me to more painful meetings in the endeav-our to persuade me to remain in England. Luckily for me, the very next day the Marquis telegraphed to his son to join him immediately in Monmouthshire; and no sooner had Edgar left the house, with the sure knowledge that he should not see me again, than I fulfilled his fears by instant preparation for my own[58] departure. I had discarded all disguises, and contented myself by masking my face as much as possible with a travelling cap and a muffler; on arriving in town I went to an hotel in Covent Garden, where I was
not known, and by the evening of the following day I had provided myself with the outfit of a Transpontine villain, a low-crowned,
wide-brimmed soft hat and a black Spanish cloak.
In this get-up, which, when not made too conspicuous by a stage-walk and melodramatic glances around, is really a very efficient disguise both of form and features, I knew myself to be quite safe from recognition anywhere, and having decided to start from Charing Cross for Cologne by way of Ostend on the following morning, I devoted the evening of my second day in town to a last look round.
[59]
CHAPTER IV
It was Saturday evening; a week of fog having been succeeded by a week of rain, the pavements were now well coated with black slimy mud, in which one kept one's footing as best one could, stimulated by plentiful showers of the same substance, in a still more fluid state, flung by the wheels of passing vehicles.
Oh, wisely-governed city, where there is work for thousands of starving men, while thousands of men are starving for want of work! If a boy can keep a crossing clean in a crowded thoroughfare, could not an organised gang of men, ten times as numerous and[60] twice as active as our gentle scavengers, save the sacred boots, skirts, and trousers of the respectable classes from that brush-resisting abomination, London mud? I respectfully recommend this suggestion to my betters with the assurance that, if it is considered of any value, there are plenty more where that came from.
Starting from Covent Garden, I made my way through King Street, Garrick Street, Cranbourne Street, Leicester Square and Coven-try Street, into Regent Street, and was struck by a hundred common London sights and incidents which,