“You mustn’t talk,” he said, corrugating his nose. “You must listen to me.”
Lady Geraldine’s color rose slightly, a phenomenon which no one present had ever witnessed before. “I beg your pardon,” she said, bowing. Jack appreciated the dignity of her tone and gesture. He nodded approvingly — to her disappointment, for she had intended to abash him$mdash;and, turning to the piano, gave out his theme in the form of a stately minuet. Upon this he improvised for twenty-five minutes, to the delight of a few genuine amateurs present. The rest, though much fatigued, were loud in admiration of Jack’s genius; and many of them crowded about him in the hope of inducing him to give a similar performance at their own houses.
“Oh, how I adore music!”said one of them to him later on, when he came and sat by her. If I were only a great genius like you!” Instead of replying he looked indignantly at her. “I really don’t see why I am not supposed capable of appreciating anything,” she continued, “I am very fond of music.”
“Nobody says you’re not,” said Jack. “You are fond enough of music when it walks in its silver slippers — as Mr By-ends was fond of religion.”
The lady, who was a born Irish Protestant, a Roman Catholic by conversion, a sort of freethinker, after the fashionable broad-church manner, by habit, by conviction nothing at all, and very superstitious by nature, always suspected some personal application in allusions to religion. She looked askance at him, and said pettishly, “I wonder you condescend to converse with me at all, since you have such a low opinion of me.”
“I like talking to you — except when you go into rhapsodies over music. Do you know why?”
“I am sure I don’t,” she said, with a little laugh and a glance at him. “Why?”
“Because you are a chatterbox,” said Jack, relishing the glance. “Don’t think, madame, that it is because you are a kindred spirit and musical. I hate musical people. Who is that lady sitting next Mrs Herbert?”
“What! You don’t know! That explains your temerity. She is Lady Geraldine Porter; and you are the first mortal that ever ventured to rebuke her. It was delicious.”
“Is that the lady who would not have me at her house?”
Yes. You have revenged yourself, though.”
Plenty of fools will say so; and therefore I am sorry I spoke to her. However. I cannot be expected to know trifles of this kind, though I am in the confidence of pretty Mrs Saunders. Have you any wicked stories to tell me to-day?”
“No. Except what everybody knows, and what I suppose you knew before anybody — about your friend Miss Sutherland and Adrian Herbert.”
“What about them? Tell me nothing about Miss Sutherland unless you are sure it is true. I do not want to hear anything unpleasant of her.”
“You need not be so cross,” said Mrs. Saunders coolly. “You can ask her for the particulars. The main fact is that Mr Herbert, who was engaged to her, is going to marry Szczympliça, the pianist.”
“Pshaw! That is an old story. He has been seen speaking to her once or twice; and of course—”
“Now, Mr Jack, let me tell you that it is not the old story, which was mere gossip. I never repeat gossip. It is a new story, and a true one. Old Madame Szczympliça told me all about it. Her daughter actually refused Mr Herbert because of his former engagement; and then he went straight to Mary Sutherland, and asked her to give up her claim — which of course she had to do, poor girl. Then he went back to the Sczympliça, and prevailed with her. Miss Sutherland, with all her seriousness shewed that she knows her métier as well as the most frivolous of her sex — as myself, if you like; for she set to work at once to express her remorse at having jilted him. How transparent all our little artifices are after all Mr Jack.”
“I don’t believe a word of it.”
“You shall see. I did not believe it myself at first. But Miss Sutherlan told me in this very room the day before yesterday that Mr Herbert was no longer engaged to her, and that she particularly wished it to be understood that if there was any blame in the matter, it was due to her and not to him. Of course I took in the situation at once. She said it admirably, almost implying that she was magnanimously eager to shield poor Adrian Herbert from my busy tongue. Poor Mary! she is well rid of him if she only knew it. I wonder who will be the next candidate for the post he has deserted Mrs. Saunders, as she wondered, glanced at Jack’s eyes.
“Why need she fill it at all? Every woman’s head is not occupied with stuff of that sort.” Jack spoke gruffly, and seemed troubled, After a few moments, during which she leaned back lazily, and smiled at him, he rose. “Goodbye,” he said. “You are not very amusing to-day. I suppose you are telling this fine story of yours to whoever has time to listen to it.”
“Not at all, Mr Jack. Everybody is telling it to me. I am quite tired of it.”
Jack uttered a grunt, and left her. Meeting Mrs Herbert, he made his bow, and asked where Miss Sutherland was.
“She is in the conservatory,” said Mrs Herbert, hesitating. “But I think she will be engaged there for some time.” He thanked her, and wandered through the rooms for five minutes. Then, his patience being exhausted, he went into the conservatory, where he saw Lady Geraldine apparently arguing some point with Mary, who stood before her looking obstinately downward.
“It is quixotic nonsense,” Lady Geraldine was saying as Jack entered. “He has behaved very badly; and you know it as well as I do, only you feel bound to put yourself in a false position to screen him.”
“That is where I disagree with you, Lady Geraldine. I think my position the true one; and the one you would have me take, the false one.”
“My dear, listen to me. Do you not see that your efforts to exculpate Adrian only convince people of his meanness? The more you declare you deserted him, the more they are certain that it is a case of sour grapes, and that you are making the common excuse of girls who are jilted. Don’t be angry with me — nothing but brutal plain speaking will move you. You told Belle Woodward — Belle Saunders, I mean — that the fault was yours. Do you suppose she believed you?”
“Of course,” said Mary, vehemently, but evidently shocked by this view of the case.
“Then you are mistaken,” said Jack, advancing. “She has just given me the very version that this lady has so sensibly put to you.”
Lady Geraldine turned and looked at him in a way that would have swept an ordinary man speechless from the room.
Mary, accustomed to him, did not think of resenting his interference, and said, after considering distressedly for a moment, “But it is not my fault if Mrs Saunders chooses to say what is not true. I cannot adapt what has really happened to what she or anybody else may think.”
“I don’t know what has really happened,” said Jack. “But you can hold your tongue; and that is the proper thing for you to do. It is none of their business. It is none of yours, either, to whitewash Herbert, whether he needs it or not. I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he added, turning ceremoniously to Lady Geraldine. “I should have retired on seeing Miss Sutherland engaged, had I not accidentally overheard the excellent advice you were giving her.” With that he made his best oldfashioned bow, and went away.
“Well, really!’ said Lady Geraldine, staring after him, “Is this the newest species of artistic affectation, pray? It used to be priggishness, or loutishness, or exquisite sensibility. But now it seems to be outspoken common sense; and instead of being a relief, it is the most insufferable affectation of all. My dear: I hope I have not distressed you.”
“Oh, this world is not fit for any honest woman to live in,” cried Mary, indignantly.