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. “It has some base construction to put on every effort to be just and tell the truth. If I had done my best to blacken Adrian after deserting him, I should be at no loss now for approval and sympathy. As it is, I am striving to do what is right; and I am made to appear contemptible for my pains.”
“It is not a very honest world, I grant you,” said Lady Geraldine quietly, “but it is not so bad as you think. Young people quarrel with it because it will not permit them to be heroic in season and out of season. You have made a mistake; and you want to be heroic out of season on the strength, or rather the weakness of that mistake. I, who know you well, do not suppose, as Belle Saunders does, that you are consciously making a virtue of a necessity; but I think there is a little spiritual pride in your resolution not to be betrayed into reproaching Adrian. In fact, all Quixotism is tainted with spiritual vainglory; and that is the reason that no one likes it, or even admires it heartily, in real life. Besides, my dear, nobody really cares a bit how Adrian behaved or how you behaved: they only care about the facts; and the facts, I must say, are plain enough. You and Adrian were unwise enough to enter into a long engagement. You got tired of one another — wait till I have finished; and then protest your fill. Adrian went behind your back and proposed to another woman, who was more honorable than he, and refused to let him smuggle her into your place. Then, instead of coming to demand his freedom straightforwardly, he came to fish for it — to entrap you into offering it to him; and he succeeded. The honest demand came from you instead of from him.”
“But I fished, too,” said Mary, piteously. “I was only honest when he drove me to it.”
“Of course,” said Lady Geraldine, impatiently. “You are not an angel; and the sooner you reconcile yourself to the few failings which you share with the rest of us, the happier you will be. None of us are honest in such matters except when our conscience drives us to it. The honestest people are only those who feel the constraint soonest and strongest. If you had held out a little longer, Adrian might have forestalled you. I say he might; but, in my opinion, he would most probably fastened a quarrel on you — about Jack or somebody else — and got out of his engagement that way.”
“Oh, no; for he spoke about Mr Jack, and said expressly that he did not mind him at all; but that if he had brought about any change in my feelings, I need not feel bound by the eng — There: I know that is additional proof of his faithlessness in your eyes.”
“It is a proof of what a thorough fool a man must be, to expect you to take such a bait. Please release me, Mr Herbert, that I may gratify my fancy for Mr Jack.’ That is such a likely thing for a woman to say!”
“I hope you are not in earnest about Mr Jack, Lady Geraldine.”
“I am not pleased about him, Mary. These friendships stand in a girl’s way. Of course I know you are not in love with him — at least, accustomed as I am to the folly of men and women about one another, even I cannot conceive such infatuation; but, Mary, do not flourish your admiration for his genius (I suppose he has genius) in the faces of other men.”
“I will go back to Windsor, and get clear of Mr Jack and Mr Herbert both. I wish people would mind their own business.”
“They never do, dear. But it is time for us to go. Have I dashed your spirits very much?”
“Not at all,” replied Mary absently.
“Then, if you are quite gay, you need not object to come somewhere with me this evening.”
“You mean to go out somewhere? I cannot, Lady Geraldine. I should only be a wet blanket. I am not in the vein for society to-day. Thank you, all the same, for trying to rescue me from my own thoughts.”
“Nonsense, Mary. You must come. It is only to the theatre. Mrs Herbert and we two will make a quiet party. After what has passed you cannot meet her too soon; and I know she is anxious to shew that she does not mean to take Adrian’s part against you.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of that. So far from it, that I am afraid Adrian will think I am going to her to complain of him. There,” she added, seeing that this last doubt was too much for Lady Geraldine’s patience; “I will come. I know I am very hard to please; but indeed I did not feel in the humor for theatregoing.”
“You will be ready at half-past seven?”
Mary consented; sighed; and left the conservatory dejectedly with Lady Geraldine, who, on returning to the drawingroom had another conference with Mrs Herbert.
Meanwhile Jack, after chatting a while with Mrs Saunders, prepared to depart. He had put off his afternoon’s work in order to be at Mr Phipson’s disposal; and he felt indolent and morally lax in consequence, stopping as he made his way to the door, to speak to several ladies who seldom received even a nod from him. On the stairs he met the youngest Miss Phipson; and he lingered a while to chat with her. He then went down to the hall, and was about to leave the house when he heard his name pronounced sweetly behind him. He turned and saw Lady Geraldine at whom he gazed in unconcealed surprise.
“I forgot to thank you for your timely aid in the conservatory,” she said, in her most gracious manner. “I wonder whether you will allow me to ask for another and greater favor.”
“What