Chapter VI: Brighter Scenes

You o'erjoyed spirits, wipe your long-wet eyes!
JOHN MARSTON.--_The Malcontent._

There was a charming ball at Mrs. Langley Turner's. The rooms were full without being crowded, and the company was brilliant: rank, beauty, and talent, gave their éclat to the scene.

Mrs. Meredith Vyner and Rose were there; George Maxwell of course, and to Rose's extreme delight, Julius St. John. She was at first annoyed at recognising him, but her second thoughts showed her that the present was an excellent opportunity for exhibiting her indifference. She was, accordingly, in high spirits, or seemed to be so; accepted the homage paid her with saucy coquetry; danced, talked, and laughed as if her heart were as light as innocence could make it. A careless bow had been her only salute of Julius, and she passed by him several times without affecting not to observe him.

She noticed that he had grown thinner and paler. His face had grown more thoughtful, but his demeanour was perfectly calm.

Late in the evening, Rose was examining the flowers, and thinking of the handsome young guardsman who had just left her side, when she felt some one approach her. It was Julius. She resumed her inspection of the flowers.

"If you are not engaged for the next quadrille, Miss Vyner," he said in a low but firm tone, "may I hope for the honour?"

"I am engaged," she replied quietly, and then moved half-way round the flower-stand, as if to discover fresh beauties.

Julius did not mistake the refusal; but he was not to be so easily discouraged.

"Are you also engaged for the quadrille after that?"

"I am."

There was less firmness in her tone; he thought it trembled.

"And .... I hope I am not intrusive .... and the next?"

Rose fancied that a refusal would look like fear, so she mastered her voice, and replied, with the stereotyped smile,--

"I shall have much pleasure."

He bowed, and withdrew.

Rose's gaiety was somewhat damped; she tried to be lively, but there was a depression on her spirits she could not shake off. It seemed as if her eyes could fix themselves nowhere but in the direction in which Julius stood.

She tried to look away, but she soon found herself again watching him.

Meanwhile, Maxwell was remonstrating with Mrs. Vyner upon the little desire she exhibited to be near him, to speak to him.

"We must think of appearances," she replied; "here every action is noticed and commented-on."

"But other men sit by you; you talk to them."

"Yes; as a blind. If I am seen much with you, people will begin to gossip."

"What if they do?" he brutally replied.

"What if they do! Are you indifferent to it?"

"You do not seem to be, at any rate," he said, sarcastically. "You have grown very respectful of appearances of late. You never thought of them with Mr. Ashley."

"Because I did not care for him."

"You _looked_ as if you did; you acted as if you did; and every one supposed you did."

"But they were wrong. I was not careful then, because there was no danger of my committing myself. With you, it is very different."

"So it appears."

"Now you are angry."

"I am."

"What about?"

"Your indifference."

"Foolish fellow!" she said playfully.

"Oh, yes, it is very easy to say that; but I feel I have cause to be angry. You pretend to love me, yet you can leave me here in the room, and chatter away to any fool who pleases to accost you. One would think I was indifferent to you."

"_One_ would think! who would? would you? What does it matter to you if the world thinks me indifferent to you?"

"It matters a great deal."

"How so?"

"Of course it does; it always matters to a man to have a charming woman care for him. People envy him his good fortune. They think more highly of him."

"And you wish to be envied?"

"I do not wish it to be supposed that I am so unattractive that no woman can care for me."

"It would please you, then, if people gossipped about us?"

"I don't say that exactly; though I don't see what harm their gossip could do us."

She fixed her grey eyes upon him with a strange expression. In an instant she read his character--its intense selfishness was revealed; and she began to doubt whether he, too, might not be playing with her, as Marmaduke had played; or worse, whether his love might not be the mere prompting of a wretched vanity, which sought her conquest as a trophy, not as a desire.

"Mr. Maxwell, we differ so entirely in our views, that it would be useless to prolong this discussion. I have only this more to say: so far from giving the world any right to gossip about me, in reference to you, it is my determination to relinquish the pleasure of your acquaintance from this time forward. When you have learned what is due to me, I may resume it; not till then."

She rose, as she said this, and walked across the room to Mrs. Langley Turner, by whose side she sat down; while Maxwell gazed on her with mingled feelings of astonishment and rage, his brow darkening, his lips compressed, and every nerve within him trembling.

Mrs. Vyner was wrong in her suspicions. It was not vanity, it was jealousy which prompted his words. He suffered tortures from seeing her smile, and chat with other men, and scarcely notice him. He was sincere in his wish for her to distinguish him above all the rest; not simply to gratify his vanity, but to assure him that she really loved him enough to brave everything for him. Besides, he could not understand how her love allowed her to keep away from his side. Prudence never chilled _him_. Appearances never restrained him. He could have sat by her all the evening--every evening--it was what he most desired; and he did not understand how she could forego the same pleasure.

Maxwell was narrow-minded, even stupid; but his passions were intense; and at this moment he felt as if he could murder her. He quitted the ball in a state of deep concentrated anger, brooding on what he considered his wrongs.

Julius came to claim Rose for the quadrille. They were silent at first, and embarrassed.

"How did you like Italy?" she said, by way of breaking the silence.

"Not at all."

"Indeed! then you are singular. I thought every one must like it. Perhaps you prefer contradiction?'

"No; I was in no frame of mind to enjoy anything."

She trembled slightly; the _chaine des dames_, by obliging her to quit his side, prevented her speaking. When they again stood quietly beside each other, he continued,--

"We went to see everything, and the only result was, that we so tired ourselves during the day, that we slept soundly at night."

"But the pictures, the statues, the architecture, the people?"

"I saw them all; but they all wearied me."

"You were rehearsing Childe Harold, I suppose?" she said, with a feeble attempt at liveliness, which her voice belied.

"If I had been acting a part--even of misanthropy--I should have enjoyed myself unhappily ... It is your _l'été_."

She advanced, and the conversation was again interrupted. Nothing more was said during the rest of the quadrille; both were absorbed in their own thoughts.

He led her to a seat, and took another beside her. After a pause of some moments, she said,--

"So you were unhappy in Italy?"

He looked earnestly into her eyes as he answered,--

"Does that surprise you? Were you not already aware of it? Had I not cause?"

She blushed deeply, as she said,--

"No; you had .... no cause .... if you had stayed in England .... you might have got over it."

His lower jaw fell as she concluded this phrase. She felt herself on the eve of a declaration, and by a strong effort turned it off in that way.

At this moment a partner came to carry her off for a waltz, and Julius was left to his own reflections. He reproached himself for having so far betrayed his feelings; but in truth they had been wrung from him, as from her, by the irresistible fascination of the moment.

On closer inspection, it seemed to him, as if there had been in her manner a tenderness and embarrassment which implied a wish for reconciliation, if not a regret for the past.

Prompted by this idea, he went up to Mrs. Vyner, and began a long conversation with her, at the termination of which he asked if he might be allowed to pay his respects to her some morning.

"Always delighted to receive you, Mr. St. John, that you must know; indeed, I should pick a quarrel with you for not having called before, but that I suppose you have some excellent excuse."

"Then, to-morrow?"

"To-morrow we shall be at home."

The morrow came, and Julius, resolved at any rate not to lose Rose as a _friend_ (beautiful sophistry of lovers!), was punctual in his visit. He was there before every one else. Vyner and his wife were alone in the drawing-room.

"Let Miss Vyner know that Mr. St. John is here," said Mrs. Vyner to the servant.

In a few minutes Rose came down: a volume was in her hand, and it caught the eye of her lover as soon as she appeared. She was very agitated, but shook him by the hand as if nothing particular was about to transpire. She tried to join in the conversation, but could never finish a sentence.

Mrs. Vyner left the room shortly afterwards, and then Rose suddenly remembered that papa had bought a new and rare edition of Horace, which she was sure Mr. St. John would like to see.

Julius expressed enthusiastic eagerness.

Vyner thought he could lay his hand on it in a minute, and trotted away to his study for that purpose.

No sooner had he left the room than Rose, blushing and trembling, said,--

"Here is a book .... I meant to give it you .... before you left the Hall .... that night."

She could say no more. He snatched the volume from her hand: it was Leopardi. A thrill of rapture ran through his whole being; and, in a voice choked with emotion, he said,--

"Rose .... dearest Rose .... is this .... is this the answer to my .... to my letter?"

"It is."

He clasped her in his arms, and, with hysterical passion, groaned, as he held her to his heart.

"Here is my treasure .... Eh?" said Vyner, opening the door, and discovering the lovers in that unambiguous embrace.

"Tell him all," whispered Rose in Julius's ear, as she fled in confusion from the room.

Julius did tell all; and that very hour Vyner gave his delighted consent.