CHAPTER III.
THE MAN IN THE IRONED MASK.
The episode that turned Clorinda Bell's thoughts in the direction of OldMaidenhood was not wanting in strangeness. She was an actress of whomeverybody spoke well, excepting actresses. This was because she was sorespectable. Respectability is all very well for persons who possess noother ability; but bohemians rightly feel that genius should be abovethat sort of thing. Clorinda never went anywhere without her mother.This lady--a portly taciturn dame, whose hair had felt the snows ofsixty winters--was as much a part of her as a thorn is of a rose. Sheaccompanied her always--except when she was singing--and loomed likesome more substantial shadow before or behind her at balls andreceptions, at concerts and operas, private views and church bazaars.Her mother was always with her behind the scenes. She helped her to makeup and to unmake. She became the St. Peter of the dressing-room in herabsence. At the Green Room Club they will tell you how a royal personageasking permission to come and congratulate her, received the answer: "Ishall be most honored--in the presence of my mother."
There were those who wished Clorinda had been born an orphan.
But the graver sort held Miss Bell up as a typical harbinger of the newera, when actresses would keep mothers instead of dog-carts. There wasno intrinsic reason, they said, why actresses should not be received atCourt, and visit the homes of the poor. Clorinda was very charming. Shewas tall and fair as a lily, with dashes of color stolen from the roseand the daffodil, for her eyes had a sparkle and her cheeks a flush andher hair was usually golden. Not the least of her physical charms wasthe fact that she had numerous admirers. But it was understood that shekept them at a distance and that they worshipped there. The Societyjournals, to which Clorinda was indebted for considerable informationabout herself, often stated that she intended to enter a convent, as herhigher nature found scant satisfaction in stage triumphs, and she hadrefused to exchange her hand either for a coronet or a pile of dollars.They frequently stated the opposite, but a Society journal cannot alwaysbe contradicting a contemporary. It must sometimes contradict itself, asa proof of impartiality. Clorinda let all these rumors surge about herunheeded, and her managers had to pay for the advertisement. The moneycame back to them, though, for Clorinda was a sure draw. She brought theodor of sanctity over the footlights, and people have almost as muchcuriosity to see a saint as a sinner--especially when the saint isbeautiful.
Gentlemen in particular paid frequent pilgrimages to the shrine of thesaint, and adored her from the ten-and-sixpenny pews. There was at thisperiod a noteworthy figure in London dress circles and stalls, aninveterate first-nighter, whose identity was the subject of considerablespeculation. He was a mystery in a swallow-tail coat. No one had everseen him out of it. He seemed to go through life armed with a whitebreastplate, starched shot-proof and dazzling as a grenadier's cuirass.What wonder that a wit (who had become a dramatic critic through drink)called him. "The Man in the Ironed Mask." Between the acts he wore acloak, a crush-hat and a cigarette. Nobody ever spoke to him nor did heever reply. He could not be dumb, because he had been heard to murmur"Brava, bravissima," in a soft but incorrect foreign manner. He was veryhandsome, with a high, white forehead of the Goth order of architecture,and dark, Moorish eyes. Nobody even knew his name, for he went to theplay quite anonymously. The pit took him for a critic, and the criticsfor a minor poet. He had appeared on the scene (or before it) onlytwelve months ago, but already he was a distinguished man. Even theactors and actresses had come to hear of him, and not a few had peepedat him between their speeches. He was certainly a sight for the "gods."
Latterly he had taken to frequenting the _Lymarket_, where Miss ClorindaBell was "starring" for a season of legitimate drama. It was the onlykind the scrupulous actress would play in. Whenever there was no firstnight on anywhere else, he went to see Clorinda. Only a few rivals andthe company knew of his constancy to the entertainment. Clorinda was, itwill be remembered, one of the company.
It was the _entr'acte_ and the orchestra was playing a gavotte, to whichthe eighteenth-century figures on the drop scene were dancing. The Manin the Ironed Mask strolled in the lobby among the critics, overhearingthe views they were not going to express in print. Clorinda Bell'smother was brushing her child's magnificent hair into a more tragicalattitude in view of the fifth act. The little room was sacred to the"star," the desire of so many moths. Neither maid nor dresser enteredit, for Mrs. Bell was as devoted to her daughter as her daughter to her,and tended her as zealously as if she were a stranger.
"Yes, but why doesn't he speak?" said Clorinda.
"You haven't given him a chance, darling," said her mother.
"Nonsense--there is the language of flowers. All my lovers commence bytalking that."
"You get so many bouquets, dear. It may be--as you say his appearance isso distinguished--that he dislikes so commonplace a method."
"Well, if he doesn't want to throw his love at my feet, he might havetried to send it me in a billet-doux."
"That is also commonplace. Besides, he may know that all your lettersare delivered to me, and opened by me. The fact has often enoughappeared in print."
"Ah, yes, but genius will find out a way. You remember LieutenantCampbell, who was so hit the moment he saw me as Perdita that he wentacross the road to the telegraph-office and wired, 'Meet me at supper,top floor, Piccadilly Restaurant, 11.15,' so that the doorkeeper sentthe message direct to the prompter, who gave it me as I came off withFlorizel and Camilla. That is the sort of man I admire!"
"But you soon tired of him, darling."
"Oh, mother! How can you say so? I loved him the whole run of thepiece."
"Yes, dear, but it was only Shakespeare."
"Would you have love a Burlesque? 'A Winter's Tale' is long enough forany flirtation. Let me see, was it Campbell or Belfort who shot himself?I for----oh! oh! that hairpin is irritating me, mother."
"There! There! Is that easier?"
"Thanks! There's only the Man in the Ironed Mask irritating me now. Hisdumb admiration provokes me."
"But you provoke his dumb admiration. And are you sure it isadmiration?"
"People don't go to see Shakespeare seventeen times. I wonder who heis--an Italian count most likely. Ah, how his teeth flash beneath hismoustache!"
"You make me feel quite curious about him. Do you think I could peep athim from the wing?"
"No, mother, you shall not be put to the inconvenience. It would giveyou a crick in your neck. If you desire to see him, I will send forhim."
"Very well, dear," said the older woman submissively, for she wasaccustomed to the gratification of her daughter's whims.
So when the Man in the Ironed Mask resumed his seat, a programme girlslipped a note into his hand. He read it, his face impassive as hisIroned Mask. When the play was over, he sauntered round to the squalidcourt in which the stage door was located and stalked nonchalantly upthe stairs. The doorkeeper was too impressed by his air not to take himfor granted. He seemed to go on instinctively till he arrived at a doorplacarded, "Miss Clorinda Bell--Private."
He knocked, and the silvery accents he had been listening to all theevening bade him come in. The beautiful Clorinda, clad in diaphanouswhite and radiating perfumes, received him with an intoxicating smile.
"It is so kind of you to come and see me," she said.
He made a stately inclination. "The obligation is mine," he said. "I amgreatly interested in the drama. This is the seventeenth time I havebeen to see you."
"I meant here," she said piqued, though the smile stayed on.
"Oh, but I understood----" His eyes wandered interrogatively about theroom.
"Yes, I know my mother is out," she replied. "She is on the stagepicking up the bouquets. I believe she sent you a note. I do not knowwhy she wants to see you, but she will be back soon. If you do not mindbeing left alone with me----"
"Pray do not apologize, Miss Bell," he said considerately.
> "It is so good of you to say so. Won't you sit down?"
The Man in the Ironed Mask sat down beside the dazzling Clorinda andstared expectantly at the door. There was a tense silence. His cloakhung negligently upon his shoulders. He held his crush hat calmly in hishand.
Clorinda was highly chagrined. She felt as if she could slap his faceand kiss the place to make it well.
"Did you like the play?" she said, at last.
He elevated his dark eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"
"Not entirely. You might come to see the players."
"Quite so, quite so."
He leaned his handsome head on his arm and looked pensively at thefloor. It was some moments before he broke the silence again. But it wasonly by rising to his feet. He walked towards the door.
"I am sorry I cannot stay any longer," he said.
"Oh, no! You mustn't go without seeing my mother. She will be terriblydisappointed."
"Not less so than myself at missing her. Good-night, Miss Bell." He madehis prim, courtly bow.
"Oh, but you must see her! Come again to-morrow night, anyhow,"exclaimed Clorinda desperately. And when his footsteps had died awaydown the stairs, she could not repress several tears of vexation. Thenshe looked hurriedly into a little mirror and marvelled silently.
"Is he gone already?" said her mother, entering after knockingcautiously at the door.
"Yes, he is insane."
"Madly in love with you?"
"Madly out of love with me."
He came again the next night, stolid and courteous. To Clorinda'sinfinite regret her mother had been taken ill and had gone home early inthe carriage. It was raining hard. Clorinda would be reduced to ahansom. "They call it the London gondola," she said, "but it is leastcomfortable when there's most water. You have to be framed in like acucumber in a hothouse."
"Indeed! Personally I never travel in hansoms. And from what you tell meI should not like to make the experiment to-night. Good-bye, Miss Bell;present my regrets to your mother."
"Deuce take the donkey! He might at least offer me a seat in hiscarriage," thought Clorinda. Aloud she said: "Under the circumstancesmay I venture to ask you to see my mother at the house? Here is ourprivate address. Won't you come to tea to-morrow?"
He took the card, bowed silently and withdrew.
In such wise the courtship proceeded for some weeks, the invalid beingconfined to her room at teatime and occupied in picking up bouquets bynight. He always came to tea in his cloak, and wore his Ironed Mask, andwas extremely solicitous about Clorinda's mother. It became evident thatso long as he had the ghost of an excuse for talking of the absent, hewould never talk of Clorinda herself. At last she was reduced tointimating that she would be found at the matinee of a new piece nextday (to be given at the theatre by a debutante) and that there would beplenty of room in her box. Clorinda was determined to eliminate hermother, who was now become an impediment instead of a pretext.
But when the afternoon came, she looked for him in vain. She chattedlightly with the acting-manager, who was lounging in the vestibule, buther eye was scanning the horizon feverishly.
"Is this woman going to be a success?" she asked.
"Oh, yes," said the acting-manager promptly.
"How do you know?"
"I just saw the flowers drive up."
"_I just saw the flowers drive up._"]
Clorinda laughed. "What's the piece like?"
"I only saw one rehearsal. It seemed great twaddle. But the low com. hasgot a good catchword, so there's some chance of its going into theevening bills."
"Oh, by the way, have you seen anything of that--that--the man in theIroned Mask, I think they call him?"
"Do you mean here--this afternoon?"
"Yes."
"No. Do you expect him?"
"Oh, no; but I was wondering if he would turn up. I hear he is so fondof this theatre."
"Bless your soul, he'd never be seen at a matinee."
"Why not?" asked Clorinda, her heart fluttering violently.
"Because he'd have to be in morning dress," said the actor-manager,laughing heartily.
To Clorinda his innocent merriment seemed the laughter of a mockingfiend. She turned away sick at heart. There was nothing for it but topropose outright at teatime. Clorinda did so, and was accepted withoutfurther difficulty.
"And now, dearest," she said, after she had been allowed to press thefirst kiss of troth upon his coy lips, "I should like to know who I amgoing to be?"
"Clorinda Bell, of course," he said. "That is the advantage actresseshave. They need not take their husband's name in vain."
"Yes, but what am _I_ to call you, dearest?"
"Dearest?" he echoed enigmatically. "Let me be dearest--for a littlewhile."
She forbore to press him further. For the moment it was enough to havewon him. The sweetness of that soothed her wounded vanity at hisindifference to the prize coveted by men and convents. Enough that shewas to be mated to a great man, whose speech and silence alike bore thestamp of individuality.
"Dearest be it," she answered, looking fondly into his Moorish eyes."Dearest! Dearest!"
"Thank you, Clorinda. And now may I see your mother? I have never learntwhat she has to say to me."
"What does it matter now, dearest?"
"More than ever," he said gravely, "now she is to be my mother-in-law."
Clorinda bit her lip at the dignified rebuke, and rang for hismother-in-law elect, who came from the sick room in her bonnet.
"Mother," she said, as the good dame sailed through the door, "let meintroduce you to my future husband."
_A Family Reunion._]
The old lady's face lit up with surprise and excitement. She stood stillfor an instant, taking in the relationship so suddenly sprung upon her.Then she darted with open arms towards the Man in the Ironed Mask andstrained his Mask to her bosom.
"My son! my son!" she cried, kissing him passionately. He blushed like astormy sunset and tried to disengage himself.
"Do not crumple him, mother," said Clorinda pettishly. "Your zeal isoverdone."
"But he is my long-lost Absalom! Think of the rapture of having himrestored to me thus. O what a happy family we shall be! Bless you,Clorinda. Bless you, my children. When is the wedding to be?"
The Man in the Ironed Mask had regained his composure.
"Mother," he said sternly, "I am glad to see you looking so well. Ialways knew you would fall on your feet if I dropped you. I have noright to ask it--but as you seem to expect me to marry your daughter, alittle information as to the circumstances under which you have suppliedme with a sister would be not unwelcome.
"Stupid boy! Don't you understand that Miss Bell was good enough toengage me as mother and travelling companion when you left me to starve?Or rather, the impresario who brought her over from America engaged me,and Clorinda has been, oh, so good to me! My little drapery businessfailed three months after you left me to get a stranger to serve. I hadno resource but--to go on the stage."
The old woman was babbling on, but the cold steel of Clorinda's gazesilenced her.
The outraged actress turned haughtily to the Man in the Ironed Mask.
"So _this_ is your mother?" she said with infinite scorn.
"So this is _not_ your mother!" he said with infinite indignation.
"Were you ever really simple enough to suspect me of having a mother?"she retorted contemptuously. "I had her on the hire system. Don't youknow that a combination of maid and mother is the newest thing inactresses' wardrobes? It is safer then having a maid, and morecomfortable than having a mother."
"But I _have_ been a mother to you, Clorinda," the old dame pleaded.
"Oh, yes, you have always been a good, obedient woman. I am not findingfault with you, and I have no wish to part with you. I do find fault andI shall certainly part with your son."
"Nonsense," said the Man in the Ironed Mask. "The situation isessentially unchanged. She is still t
he mother of one of us, she canstill become the mother-in-law of the other. Besides, Clorinda, that isthe only way of keeping the secret in the family."
"You threaten?"
"Certainly. You are a humbug. So am I. United we stand. Separated, youfall."
"You fall, too."
"Not from such a height. I am still on the first rungs."
"Nor likely to get any higher."
"Indeed? Your experience of me should have taught you different. High asyou are, I can raise you yet higher if you will only lift me up to you."
"How do you climb?" she said, his old ascendency reasserting itself.
"By standing still. Profound meditation on the philosophy of modernsociety has convinced me that the only way left for acquiring notorietyis to do nothing. Every other way has been exploited and is suspected.It is only a year since the discovery flashed upon me, it is only a yearthat I have been putting it in practice. And yet, mark the result!Already I am a known man. I had the _entree_ to no society; forhalf-a-guinea a night (frequently paid in paper money) I have mingledwith the most exclusive. When there was no _premiere_ anywhere, I wentto see you--not from any admiration of you, but because the _Lymarket_is the haunt of the best society, and in addition, the virtue ofShakespeare and of yourself attracts there a highly respectable class ofbishops whom I have not the opportunity of meeting elsewhere. By doingnothing I fascinated you--somebody was sure to be fascinated by it atlast, as the dove flutters into the jaws of the lethargic serpent--bycontinuing to do nothing I completed my conquest. Had I met youradvances, you would have repelled mine. My theories have been completelydemonstrated, and but for the accident of our having a commonmother----"
"Speak for yourself," said Clorinda haughtily.
"It is for myself that I am speaking. When we are one, I shall continuethis policy of masterly inactivity of which I claim the invention,though it has long been known in the germ. Everybody knows for instancethat not to trouble to answer letters is the surest way of acquiring thereputation of a busy man, that not to accept invitations is aninfallible way of getting more, that not to care a jot about thefeelings of the rest of the household, is an unfailing means ofenforcing universal deference. But the glory still remains to him whofirst grasped this great law in its generalized form, however familiarone or two isolated cases of it may be to the world. 'Do nothing' is thelast word of social science, as 'Nil admirari' was its first. Just assilence is less self-contradictory than speech, so is inaction a saferfoundation of fame than action. Inaction is perfect. The moment you doanything you are in the region of incompleteness, of definiteness. Yourwork may be outdone--or undone. Your inventions may be improved upon,your victories annulled, your popular books ridiculed, your theoriessuperseded, your paintings decried, the seamy side of your explanationsshown up. Successful doing creates not only enemies but the material fortheir malice to work upon. Only by not having done anything to deservesuccess can you be sure of surviving the reaction which success alwaysbrings. To be is higher than to do. To be is calm, large, elemental; todo is trivial, artificial, fussy. To be has been the moth of the Englisharistocracy, it is the secret of their persistence. _Qui s'excuses'accuse._ He who strives to justify his existence imperils it. To be isinexpugnable, to do is dangerous. The same principle rules in alldepartments of social life. What is a successful reception? A gatheringat which everybody _is_. Nobody does anything. Nobody enjoys anything.There everybody _is_--if only for five minutes each, and whatever thecrush and discomfort. You are there--and there you _are_, don't youknow? What is a social lion? A man who _is_ everywhere. What is socialambition? A desire to _be_ in better people's drawing-rooms. What is itfor which people barter health, happiness, even honor? To _be_ oncertain pieces of flooring inaccessible to the mass. What is the gloryof doing compared with the glory of being? Let others elect to do, Ielect to _be_."
"So long as you do not choose to be my husband----"
"It is husband or brother," he said, threateningly.
"Of course. I become your sister by rejecting you, do I not?"
"Don't trifle. You understand what I mean. I will let the world knowthat your mother is mine."
They stood looking at each other in silent defiance. At last Clorindaspoke:
"A compromise! let the world know that my mother is yours."
"I see. Pose as your brother!"
"Yes. That will help you up a good many rungs. I shall not deny I amyour sister. My mother will certainly not deny that you are her son."
"Done! So long as my theories are not disproved. Conjugate the verb 'tobe,' and you shall be successful. Let me see. How does it run? Iam--your brother, thou art--my sister, she is--my mother,--we are--herchildren, you are--my womankind, they are--all spoofed."
So the man in the Ironed Mask turned out to be the brother of the greatand good actress, Clorinda Bell. And several people had known it allalong, for what but fraternal interest had taken him so often to the_Lymarket_? And when his identity leaked out, Society ran after him, andhe gave the interviewers interesting details of his sister's earlyyears. And everyone spoke of his mother, and of his solicitousattendance upon her. And in due course the tale of his virtues reached aromantic young heiress who wooed and won him. And so he continued_being_, till he was--no more. By his own request they buried him in anIroned Mask, and put upon his tomb the profound inscription
"HERE LIES THE MAN WHO WAS."
* * * * *
And this was why Clorinda, disgusted with men and lovers, and unable tomarry her brother, caught at the notion of the Old Maids' Club andcalled upon Lillie.
It was almost as good a cover as a mother, and it was well to havesomething ready in case she lost her, as you cannot obtain a secondmother even on the hire system. But Lord Silverdale's report consistedof one word, "Dangerous!"--and he rejoiced at the whim which enabled himthus to protect the impulsive little girl he loved.
Clorinda divined from Lillie's embarrassment next day that she was to beblackballed.
"I am afraid," she hastened to say, "that on second thoughts I mustwithdraw my candidature, as I could not make a practice of coming herewithout my mother."
Lillie referred to the rules. "Married women are admitted," she saidsimply. "I presume, therefore, your mother----"
"It's just like your presumption," interrupted Clorinda, and flouncingangrily out of the Club, she invited a journalist to tea.
Next day the _Moon_ said she was going to join the Old Maids' Club.