fortable-decoration. That her mother was wealthy appeared certain from theextravagant prices which she gave for fruits out of season and choicehothouse flowers. She bought the best she could procure, and seemedutterly regardless of expense.
I remarked how dear were some grapes which she had ordered, but she onlysmiled and gave her shoulders a little shrug.
This recklessness was not done to impress me, for I was quick to detectthat the shopkeepers knew her as a good customer, and brought forwardtheir most expensive wares as a matter of course.
Although at first she declined my invitation, as though she consideredit a breach of the _convenances_, I at length persuaded her to take sometea with me at Blanchard's, and we continued our gossip as we sattogether at one of the little tables surrounded by other ladies outshopping with their male encumbrances.
I had, rather unwisely, perhaps, passed a critical remark regarding alady who had entered in an unusually striking toilette, in which shelooked very hot and extremely uncomfortable, and laughing at what I hadsaid, she replied--
"You are certainly right. We women always overweigh ourselves in ourgarments, to say nothing of other and more fatiguing things. Half oflife's little worries accrue from our clothes. From tight collar totight shoe, and not forgetting a needlessly befeathered hat, we takeunto ourselves burdens that we should be much happier without."
"I agree entirely," I said, smiling at her philosophy. "Some blatantcrank bent on self-advertisement might do worse than found anAnti-ornamental Dress League. Just think how much of life's trialswould at once slip off a man if he wore neither collar nor tie--especially the dress-tie!"
"And off a woman, if she wore neither belt, gloves, nor neckarrangement!"
"Exactly. It would be actually making us a present for life of nearlyan hour a day. That would be seven hours a week, or nearly a fortnighta year," I said. "It's worth consideration."
"Do you remember the derision heaped upon that time-saving arrangementof our ancestors, the elastic-side boot?" she observed, with a merrysmile. "But just fancy the trouble they must have saved in lacing andbuttoning! Sewing on shoe-buttons ought always to be done by criminalscondemned to hard labour. Button-sewing tries the conscientiousness andthoroughness of the work more than anything else, and I'm certainoakum-picking can't be worse. It also tries the quality of the threadmore than anything else; and as to cottons, well, it treats them asSamson did the withs."
The carriage met her outside the Stores in the Haymarket at fiveo'clock, and before she took leave of me she mischievously asked--
"Well, and how do you find me when I wear my mask?"
"Charming," I responded with enthusiasm. "Mask or no mask, you arealways the same to me, the most charming friend I have ever had."
"No, no," she laughed. "It isn't good form to flatter. Good-bye."
And she stretched forth her small hand, which I pressed warmly, withdeep regret at parting. A moment later the footman in his brown liveryassisted her into the carriage. Then she smiled merrily, and bowed as Iraised my hat, and she was borne away westward in the stream of fineequipages, hers the smartest of them all.
A week later, having seen nothing further of her, I wrote and received aprompt response. Then in the happy autumn days that followed wecontrived to meet often, and on each occasion I grew deeper and deeperin love with her. Since that evening when we had stood together beneaththe street lamp in Kensington, she had made no mention of thepencil-case or of its owner. Indeed, it seemed that her suddenidentification of it had betrayed her into acknowledging that its ownerhad been her lover, and that now she was trying to do all she could toremove any suspicion from my mind.
Nevertheless, the remembrance of that crime and of all the events ofthat midnight adventure was ever within my mind, and I had long agodetermined to make its elucidation the chief object of my life. I hadplaced myself beneath the thrall of some person unknown, and meant toextricate myself and become again a free agent at all costs.
On several occasions I had seen the cabman West on the rank at Hyde ParkCorner, but although he had constantly kept his eyes open in search ofEdna, his efforts had all been in vain. I had seen also the oldcab-driver who bore the nickname "Doughy," but it turned out that it hadnot been his cab which my mysterious protectress had taken after partingfrom me. One point, however, I settled satisfactorily. On one of ourwalks together I contrived that, the man West should see Mabel, but heafterwards declared that the woman of whom he was in search did not inthe least resemble her. Therefore, it was certain that Mabel and Ednawere not, as I had once vaguely suspected, one and the same person.
Sometimes I would meet my idol after her studies at the Royal Academy ofMusic, and accompany her across the park; at others we would strolltogether in the unfrequented part of Kensington Gardens, or I would walkwith her shopping and carry her parcels, all our meetings being, ofcourse, clandestine ones.
One morning in the middle of November I was overfed at receiving aninvitation from Mrs Anson to dine at The Boltons, and a couple of dayslater the sum of my happiness was rendered complete by finding myselfseated beside Mabel in her own home.
The house possessed an air of magnificence and luxury which I scarcelyexpected. It was furnished with great elegance and taste, while theservants were of an even more superior character than the house itself.Among the homes of my many friends in the West End this was certainlythe most luxurious, for money seemed to have been literally squanderedupon its appointments, and yet withal there was nothing whatever garishnor any trace of a plebeian taste. There was a combined richness andquietness about the whole place which impressed one with an air ofseverity, while the footman who ushered me in was tall, almost a giantin stature, and solemn as a funeral mute.
Mrs Anson rose and greeted me pleasantly, while Mabel, in a pretty gownof coral-pink, also shook my hand and raised her fine dark eyes to minewith a glance of pleasure and triumph. It was, no doubt, due to herthat I had been bidden there as guest. A red-headed, ugly-faced mannamed Hickman, and a thin, angular, irritating woman, introduced to meas Miss Wells, were my only fellow-guests. The man regarded me withsome suspicion as I entered, and from the first I took a violent disliketo him. It may have been his forbidding personal appearance whichcaused my distrust. Now that I reflect, I think it was. His face wasbloated and deeply furrowed, his eyes large, his lips thick and flabby,his reddish beard was ill-trimmed and scanty. He was thick-necked; hisface was further disfigured by a curious dark-blue scar upon the leftjaw, and I could not help remarking within myself, that if some facesresembled those of animals, his was closely allied to that of a savagebulldog. Indeed, I had never before seen such an eminently ugly face ashis.
Yet he spoke with the air and perfect manner of a gentleman. He bowedwith refined dignity as I was introduced, although I thought his smileseemed supercilious, while I was almost certain that he exchanged acurious, contemptuous look with Mabel, who stood behind me.
Was he aware of our little exchanges of confidences? Had he secretlywatched us in our walks along the leafy byways of Kensington Gardens,and detected that I loved her? It seemed very much as though he had,and that he had endeavoured to disparage me in her eyes.
At Mrs Anson's invitation, I took Mabel in to dinner, and sat next her,while opposite us sat the dog-faced man with the irritating spinster.The latter was a fitting companion for him, bony of countenance, herback straight as a board, her age uncertain, and her voice loud,high-pitched, and rasping. She wore a number of bangles on her leftwrist; one of them had pigs and elephants hanging on it, with hearts,crosses, bells, and framed and glazed shamrock leaves mixed in. Thatwould not have mattered much had she not been eating, but as dinnerprogressed the room grew a trifle warm, and she unfortunately had a fanas well as those distressing bangles, which fan she rhythmically wavedto and fro, playing the orchestra softly when fanning herself, or loudlyas she plied her knife and fork "click-clack, jingle-jingle,tinkle-tinkle, click-clack!" until the eternal music of thos
e pigs,elephants, crosses, hearts and bells prevented anything beyond a jerkyconversation. She turned and twisted and toyed with her _menu_,tinkling and jingling the whole time like a coral consoler or aninfant's rattle. Little wonder, I thought, that she remained aspinster. With such an irritating person to head his household, theunfortunate husband would be a candidate for Colney Hatch within amonth. Yet she was evidently a very welcome guest at Mrs Anson'stable, for my hostess addressed her as "dear," and seemed to considerwhatever positive opinion she expressed as entirely beyond dispute.
I liked Mrs Anson. Although of that extremely frigid type of mother,very formal and unbending, observing all the rules of society to theletter, and practically making her life a burden by theconventionalities, she possessed, nevertheless, a warm-hearted affectionfor her child, and seemed constantly solicitous