Chapter I: Amiable People

It was November. Rose and Julius had returned to London to continue their felicity in a new sphere: they were quite a model couple, and were so happy that several people "of experience" shook their heads sceptically, and exclaimed:--"Ah, well! early times yet, early times!"

What a world of envy in a little phrase!

Meredith Vyner grew morose. His domestic comfort was now utterly destroyed, for his wife was entirely estranged from him; and he was without hope of her ever returning to the former state of hypocritical fondness. Beyond this, Violet would not remain in the house with her step-mother; so that except in his visits to Rose he saw no one that he loved. Blanche was also separated from him: her husband absolutely interdicted all communication between her and her father. This was the result of a violent quarrel on the old subject of his gambling, and of her father's attempt to get her from him.

Cecil's passion for gambling had returned with more than its former force and recklessness. Vyner had discovered it; had suppressed the allowance; lectured Cecil sharply, and endeavoured to persuade Blanche to leave him. A complete rupture was the consequence.

The miserable old man saw his daughter's impending ruin, and saw that he was impotent to save her from it. This, added to his domestic sorrows, made him morose. He was a changed being. He became dirtier and dirtier. He never quoted Horace. The dust collected on his manuscripts like the grains of snuff upon his waistcoat, without any effort on his part to shake them off. Life to him was purposeless, joyless.

Mrs. Vyner was as lively and dissipated as ever. No care sat upon her brow; no sorrow darkened her existence. For some weeks after the scene between her and Maxwell, he ceased to see her; a circumstance which made her husband for a moment rejoice; he believed that a rupture having taken place, his wife would return to him. The hope was not of long duration. She, at first indifferent, became at last uneasy at Maxwell's absence. She loved him, she was accustomed to his presence, she liked the excitement of his love, with its fierce whims, its brutal expressions, and its passionate, unrestrained vehemence. She _missed_ him.

Unable longer to bear his absence, she wrote a long and touching letter, in which real feeling aided her natural adroitness, and gained the victory.

Maxwell was on the point of giving way, when it reached him. Obstinate, violent, and revengeful as he was, he too was so uneasy at being absent from her, that he was glad to have such an excuse for forgiveness. He felt as if he could have stabbed her to the heart; yet he was softened in an instant by her letter.

Peace was made between them. He promised never again to doubt her love; she promised never again to offend him. Things resumed their old course; yes, even to the renewal of his jealousy and his threats; but on the whole Mrs. Vyner's brow was smooth!

Not very long after the reconciliation, they were together at a party at Mrs. Langley Turner's. Among the company there happened to be Lord * * * *, notorious in his early days for his successful gallantries, and not having yet relinquished the ambition of making conquests. He sat next to Mrs. Vyner, who was that evening in high spirits, and looked enchantingly _piquante_. She was a violent radical in her opinions, and a great tuft-hunter; a title was always resplendent in her eyes, no matter what the wearer might be like. It is easily conceivable therefore, how, both as a coquette and a tuft-hunter, she should have been inordinately gratified at the attentions of Lord * * * *. She put forth all her fascinations; and although from time to time she met the dark scowl of Maxwell, who was observing her like a panther watching from his jungle, she only answered his anger with a scornful smile, and continued her attentions to the old nobleman.

As Maxwell saw her rise to depart, he hurried down stairs to the cloak-room, and there awaited her with the intention of expressing his anger, as he handed her into the carriage; but to his rage he saw Lord * * * * accompany her down stairs, gallantly cover her white shoulders with the shawl, and then handing her to the carriage, take leave of her in the most significant manner.

Maxwell with difficulty restrained himself from challenging his rival on the spot.

The next day when he called on Mrs. Vyner, he saw a cab drive from the door: it was Lord * * * * coming from his first visit. Maxwell refused to go in.

Day after day he saw that cab standing there for an hour or two together; he waited in the street the whole time, and in his impatience the hour seemed quadrupled. It was enough to irritate the least jealous of men; him it drove to phrenzy.

Pale with passion he at last went in, and found the two together. She received him with easy unconcern, as if he were no more than an _habitué_. Lord * * * * looked somewhat "glum" at his presence, and after a few commonplaces, rose and departed.

"So," said Maxwell to her when they were alone, "my place is taken, is it?"

"What! jealous again?"

"Not jealous, but convinced."

"Convinced of your own folly?"

"Yes."

"Then, there are hopes of a reformation. George, don't scowl in that way; you are not handsome at any time, and when you scowl, least of all."

"Mary, you must see him no more."

"Him? explain: I hate enigmas."

"Lord * * * * I insist upon it."

"Now, don't be absurd, pray! Why should I not see a man old enough to be my father?"

"But not too old to be your lover."

"The old story! What a queer creature you are! Why, who ever could suppose there was danger in a man of his age--he hasn't an unbleached hair on his head."

"Perhaps not; but a coronet hides that."

"Ha! ha! ha! Oh, you green-eyed monster! Really, you are capital fun, though you don't mean it."

"Beware, beware!"

"Ah! now you are getting tragic ... have you an unloaded pistol about you by chance?"

A dark smile passed over his face.

"Mary, listen to me: I am very serious. Laugh, if you please, at my jealousy, but at any rate, acknowledge that I have a right to insist on a cessation of his visits."

"I acknowledge nothing of the kind. Why am I to be deprived of seeing whom I please? My husband does not object to my receiving Lord * * * * why should you?"

"Because you take pleasure in those visits."

"I do."

"They flatter you."

"They do."

"He flatters you."

"He is gallant enough to find my society agreeable--that is more than I can say for yours at this moment."

"You think it a feather in your cap to have a worthless old nobleman dangling after you."

"Perhaps I do; what then?"

"I will not allow it."

"Come, come; this is getting a little too imperious."

"I will not allow it, I say."

"Your permission is not necessary."

"I tell you it _shall not be_!"

"George--I am serious now--as you raise your voice--if you know me, you must know that I may be persuaded to anything, but I am not to be _driven_. Obstinacy may not be an amiable quality; but it is a quality which belongs to me. Cease that tone of command therefore; you will get nothing by it."

"I shall not cease that tone. I shall adopt any tone I please."

"Do so; then don't wonder if I refuse to listen to you."

"But, by God! you shall listen."

"Try me."

Her eyes dilated as she said this, though her voice was perfectly calm. She was getting almost as angry as he was. The spirit of opposition was abetted by the resolution she had formed not to rebut the attentions of Lord * * * *, and she now was roused for the struggle.

And yet, flattered as she undoubtedly was, by the admiration of the old roué, she loved Maxwell well enough to have sacrificed that delight, had he taken another course, had he implored instead of threatened; but that was not in his nature, and his brutal imperiousness roused her to rebellion.

He had become livid with passion, and it was only with great effort that he could articulate--

"Don't play with me ... you know not the danger ... I warn you ... I warn you."

"And I laugh at your threats."

"You think I am not serious?"

"I do not care a straw whether you are serious or not."

"You are resolved then?"

"Quite."

"Oh, beware! beware! do not drive me to the last extremity...."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"By God!" he exclaimed, striking a small table with his fist.

"See," she said, "you have broken my china--a real bit of rococo; that's what it is to be ungentlemanly and violent."

"Mary ... This is .... You are rushing to destruction! Look here; I am almost mad ... but I know what I say ... choose whether you will obey me--if you do not, as I live, I will blow your brains out, and then my own!"

"Mr. Maxwell, if you think I am to be frightened by your ravings, if you think I am to obey your ridiculous caprices, if you think you are to be my _master_, you are egregiously mistaken. Leave the house: _I hate you_!"

Her look expressed her hate, as she said this.

He was convulsed; the veins started on his forehead; his chest heaved laboriously, and his eyes were dilated with fury, but he uttered no sound.

"Your love is degradation! Your soul is as ignoble as your manners are brutal! I have put up with this too long. I have been contaminated by your presence, and now, I hate you!"

A sort of gurgle, like the death rattle, sounded in his throat; his face was purple.

"I hate you!" she added. "Is that clear? Do you understand me now!"

With his eyes fixed horribly upon her furious countenance, he put his handkerchief to his mouth; when he removed it, she saw that it was stained with blood.

A sudden sickness overcame her, and she trembled.

He did not speak another word, but staggered rather than walked towards the door. Slowly he descended the stairs, and with his handkerchief still at his mouth reached home. The paroxysm of passion had burst a small bloodvessel.

Left to herself, Mrs. Vyner sank on a couch shivering, and her teeth chattering together from the combined effects of rage, excitement, and fear.

The heavy pall of a terrible doom seemed stretched over her future: dark, mysterious, and awful. She shuddered as she thought of what had passed, and only recovered a slight decree of calmness as the thought occurred to her that perhaps that broken bloodvessel might put an end to him!