“I? I am not going anywhere in particular just at present.”
“I only asked because you stopped as if you wished to turn down here. Do not let us stand in the street.”
She went on; and he accompanied her. Presently she said: “Have you any news?”
“No,” he replied, after pretending to consider. “I think not. Why?”
“I met Mary Sutherland with Miss Cairns in High Street as I was coming to the train; and she said that you had something to tell me about her.”
“It is only that our engagement is broken off.”
“Adrian!” she exclaimed, stopping so suddenly that a man walking behind them stumbled against her.
“Beg pwor’n, mum,” said he, civilly, as he passed on.
“Pray take care, mother,” remonstrated Herbert. “Come on.”
“Do not be impatient, Adrian. My dress is torn. I believe English workmen are the rudest class in the world. Will you hold my umbrella for one moment, please?
Adrian took the umbrella and waited, chafing. When they started again, Mrs Herbert walked quickly, taking short steps.
“It is thoroughly disheartening,” she said, “to find that you have undone the only sensible thing you ever did in your life. I thought your news would be that you had arranged for the wedding. I think you had better see Mary as soon as you can, and make up your foolish quarrel. She is not a girl to be trifled with.”
“Everything of that kind is at an end between Mary and me. There is no quarrel. The affair is broken off finally — completely — whether it pleases you or not.”
“Very well, Adrian. There is no occasion for you to be angry. I am content, if you are. I merely say that you have done a very foolish thing.”
“You do not know what I have done. You know absolutely—” He checked himself and walked on in silence.
“Adrian,” said Mrs. Herbert, with dignity: “you are going back to your childish habits, I think. You are in a rage.”
“If I am,” he replied bitterly, “you are the only person alive who takes any pleasure in putting me into one. I know that you consider me a fool.”
“I do not consider you a fool.”
“At any rate, mother, you have such an opinion of me me, that I would rather discuss my private affairs with any stranger than with you. Where do you intend to buy the curtains?”
Mrs. Herbert did not help him to change the subject. She remained silent for some time to compose herself; for Adrian’s remark had hurt her.
“I hope,” she said at last, “that these musical people have not brought about this quarrel — or breach, or whatever it is.”
“Who are ‘these musical people’?”
“Mr Jack.”
“He had nothing whatever to do with it. It was Mary who proposed to break the engagement: not I.”
“Mary! Oh! Well, it is your own fault: you should have married her long ago. But why should she object now more than another time? Has Mademoiselle — the pianist — anything to do with it?”
“With Mary’s withdrawing? No. How could it possibly concern Mademoiselle Szczympliça — if it is of her that you are speaking?”
“It is of her that I am speaking. I see she has taught you the balked sneeze with which her name begins. I call her Stchimpleetza, not having had the advantage of her tuition. Where does she live?”
Herbert felt that he was caught, and frowned. “She lives in Fitzroy Square,” he said shortly.
“A-ah! Indeed!” said Mrs. Herbert. Then she added sarcastically, “Do you happen to know that we are within a minute’s walk of Fitzroy Square?”
“I know it perfectly well. I am going there — to see her.”
“Adrian,” said his mother quickly, changing her tone: “you don’t mean anything serious, I hope?”
“You do not hope that I am trifling with her, do you, mother?”
Mrs. Herbert looked at him, startled. “Do you mean to say, Adrian, that you have thrown Mary over because—”
“Because it’s well to off with the old love, before you you are on with the new? You may put that construction on it if you like, although I have told you that it was Mary, and not I, who ended the engagement. I had better tell you the whole truth now, to avoid embittering our next meeting with useless complaints. I am going to ask Mademoiselle Szczympliça to be my wife.
“You foolish boy. She will not accept you. She is making a fortune, and does not wish to marry.”
“She may not need to. She wishes to: that is enough for me. She knows my mind. I am not going to change it.”
“I suppose not. I know of old your obstinacy when you are bent on ruining yourself. I have no doubt that you will marry her, particularly as she is not exactly the sort of person I should choose for a daughter=in-law. Will you expect me to receive her?”
“I shall trouble your house no more when I am married than I have done as a bachelor.”
She shrank for a moment, taken by surprise by this blow; but she did not retort. They presently stopped before the shop she wished to visit and as they stood together near the entry, she made an effort to speak kindly, and even put her hand caressingly on his arm. “Adrian: do not be so headstrong. Wait a little, I do not say ‘give her up.’ But wait a little longer. For my sake.”
Adrian bent his brows and collected all his hardness to resist this appeal. “Mother,” he said: “I never had a cherished project yet that you did not seek to defeat by sarcasms, by threats, and failing those, by cajolery.” Mrs. Herbert quickly took her hand away, and drew back. “And it has always turned out that I was right and that you were wrong. You would not allow that I could ever be a painter; and yet I am now able to marry without your assistance, by my success as a painter. I took one step which gained your approval — my engagement to Mary. Had I married her, I should be this day a wretched man. Now that I have the happiness to be loved by a lady whom all Europe admires, you would have me repudiate her, for no other reason that I can see under Heaven than that you make it your fixed principle to thwart me in everything. I am sorry to have to tell you plainly that I have come to look upon your influence as opposed to my happiness. It has been at the end of my tongue often; and you have forced me to let it slip at last.”
Mrs. Herbert listened attentively during this speech and for some seconds afterwards. Then she roused herself; made a gesture of acquiescence without opening her lips; and went into the shop, leaving him still angry, yet in doubt as to whether he had spoken wisely. But the interview had excited him; and from it and all other goading thoughts he turned to anticipations of his reception by Aurélie. Short though the distance was he drove to her in a hansom.
“Can I see Miss Szczympliça again?” he said to the servant, who now received him with interest, guessing that he came courting.
“She’s in the drawingroom, sir. You may go in.”
He went in and found Aurélie standing near the window in a black silk dress. which she had put on since his visit in the morning.
“Mr Erberts, mum;” said the servant. Lingering at the door to witness their meeting. Aurélie turned; made him a stately bow, and by a gesture, invited him to sit also. He obeyed; but when the door was shut, he got up and approached