Chapter II: Boswell as Chaperon

But Mrs. Van Adam cared nothing for such high matters. Though a charming, she was perhaps not strictly an intellectual woman. And, besides, at the moment she was full of purpose.

"Daisy—Daisy dear!" she cried, gently and persuasively shaking her dreaming friend. "Is Mr. Bush in society?"

Mrs. Verulam turned pale.

"He—never!" she exclaimed.

"Oh," said Mrs. Van Adam, losing all interest in him, "then don't let us talk about him any more. But, Daisy, you will—you will take me out, won't you? You can, I know."

"Yes, I can. People will like you. But——"

"Then it's settled. Oh, how happy I am!"

She sprang up and almost danced round the room.

"But, Chloe, only for the next two months, or indeed less. For you must know that I have come to a great resolution."

Chloe choked a pirouette, which left her posed on tiptoe, with the skirt of her red gown swinging like a poppy in a wind.

"What is it?"

"Simply that this season is my last. Wait!" She held up one hand to check her friend's exclamation. "And," she added, "that I shall leave town at least by the first of July, if not sooner."

Chloe's face fell for a moment. But then she recovered from the shock.

"The first of July. Oh, by that time I shall know everybody, and——"

"Be as weary of everybody as I am."

"Be able to manage for myself. Besides, you darling, society won't let you leave it."

At these words Mrs. Verulam's face became almost as deplorable in expression as that of an undertaker who is obliged by cruel circumstance to attend to business on a Bank Holiday.

"That is what I fear," she said. "That is the terror which pursues me night and day. But it must, Chloe—it shall! And yet nobody knows—except those who have tried it—how terribly, how appallingly difficult it is to get out of society. To get into it is nothing. There are a thousand ways of doing that. Be a German Jew or a brewer, and you are there. I knew a man who got into it by merely going out to South Africa and coming back at once in the disguise of a millionaire. And he only spent a couple of hours at Cape Town. But once you are in society and popular, the cage-door is shut. And then what can the squirrel do?"

Tears flooded her dark grey eyes. Chloe pressed her friend's hand with forced sympathy for a misfortune which she found it difficult to understand. Mrs. Verulam cleared her throat and continued:

"I have made many attempts, but each one seems to give me a more secure footing in the great world. Once I lost all my money."

"What?"

"Gave out that I had, you know."

"And what happened?"

"Oh, it was so dreadful. My acquaintances rallied round me. Have you ever been rallied round?"

"I don't know that I have."

"It is most fatiguing. It is worse than the Derby, although, of course, you avoid the coaches. Another time I tried to become unfashionable—did my hair on the nape of my neck, wore a pelerine and elastic-sided boots."

"Surely they let you go then?"

"No. On the contrary, the Park was full of pelerines, and you met elastic-sided boots everywhere, even at Marlborough House."

"Marlborough House! You visit there?"

"Oh, naturally! Then, as a last resource, I took a really desperate step."

"What was that?"

"I went to live in St John's Wood."

Mrs. Verulam gazed firmly at Mrs. Van Adam, as if expectant of a fit on her friend's part. But Mrs. Van Adam merely repeated:

"St. John's Wood! Where is that?"

"Well, where it oughtn't to be, you understand."

"Oh!"

The word expressed mystification. Chloe was evidently at sea. Mrs. Verulam did not shed light through the clouds, but continued rapidly:

"The only effect of that was that I founded a colony."

"I thought only Mr. Chamberlain did that sort of thing."

"You don't understand. I mean that others followed me there, instead of leaving me there. Lady Crichton came to Selina Place. Lord Bray and his girl settled in Upsilon Road, and the old Duchess of Worcester sat down just round the corner in Maud Crescent. Oh, it was monstrous!"

Chloe's eyes shone.

"What would I give to be you?" she cried. "A Duchess sitting down just round the corner for one! How glorious!"

She spoke as Wagnerians of "Parsifal," and at that moment she worshipped her friend. But Mrs. Verulam made a petulant _moue_ and said, almost with acrimony:

"I really believe there is only one way in which I could do what I wish; that is, without going to live in some other country, which I don't care to do."

"What way is that?"

"If I were to compromise myself seriously. Now, if I were married, I should have a weapon against the assaults of society."

"I don't quite see how."

"Dear Chloe, really you are not quite clever. I could be divorced, don't you see?"

A shadow came suddenly into Mrs. Van Adam's dark and boyish face.

"Divorced," she faltered. "Would—would that help you much?"

"Help me? It would save me. Nothing further would be needed. I should be out of everything at once, and in the most perfect peace and quiet."

The shadow deepened perceptibly, and Mrs. Van Adam moved rather uneasily on her sofa. However, she made no further remark, and Mrs. Verulam continued:

"Circumstances render that route to what I long for one which I can't take. And besides, in any case, I doubt if I should have been equal to it. For I was born respectable, and I shall certainly remain so. Yet, do you know, Chloe, if there were any way—if only I could compromise myself in the eyes of the world without compromising myself in my own eyes, I would do it. I would do anything to get out of my cage."

"As I would do anything to get into it."

Mrs. Verulam sighed deeply, put her handkerchief to her eyes, took it down, and then seemed with an effort of will to recover herself and to dismiss the problem that perplexed her. For she sat in a more flexible attitude, and, turning to Chloe, said ingenuously:

"And now, dear, about Mr. Van Adam."

Chloe jumped, and Mrs. Verulam, observing this, continued:

"Tell me all about him, when he will follow you, how happy you are together, and why he did not accompany you."

"Well, you see," Mrs. Van Adam said rather faintly, "his oranges."

"Oranges?"

"Yes. You know he grows them on a gigantic scale."

"Well?"

"And—and they can't always be left."

"Chloe, remember I was at school with you in Paris."

The words were very simple, but Mrs. Verulam uttered them without simplicity, and Chloe flushed quickly.

"I know," she said. "But it is—it is true. Oranges require a great deal of looking after."

"Oh, dear, if you prefer to keep me in the dark, of course I sha'n't say another word. Now I am sure you would like to see your room, so I shall ring for Marriner."

Mrs. Verulam leaned forward to touch the bell, but Chloe suddenly sprang up, sat down close beside her, and took her hand.

"You are right, Daisy. It's not the oranges."

"Of course not."

"No. It—I—Mr. Van Adam——"

"Yes?"

"Mr. Van Adam and I have parted."

"Parted!"

"We are separated."

"Legally?"

"Yes. We are—divorced."

Mrs. Verulam kissed Chloe pitifully.

"Oh, my poor Chloe! And so soon! How dreadful to have to divorce one's husband almost before the honeymoon was over."

Chloe's cheeks flushed more darkly.

"How rapidly you jump to conclusions, Daisy!" she said, almost irritably. "I remember now you used to do the same thing in Paris."

"Jump! But——"

"I did not say I divorced Mr. Van Adam. Now did I? Did I? Oh, I do dislike these imputations!"

Mrs. Verulam opened her pretty mouth to gasp, shut it without gasping, and then remarked, severely: "I hope he divorced you for something American, Chloe."

"Now, what do you mean?"

"For one of those American actions that are considered culpable in married people in your country: wearing your hair the wrong colour, or talking without an American accent, or disliking clams or Thanksgiving Day, or something of that kind."

"No, it was not clams. Besides, I like them rather. No, Daisy, it was an—an English action I was divorced for."

Mrs. Verulam began to look exceedingly grave.

"English! Then it must have been something bad!"

"No, it wasn't! It was all a mistake. Mr. Van Adam was terribly jealous. You have never seen him, Daisy. But he is one of those men with a temperament. Never marry a man with a temperament—that's to say, if he loves you. And Huskinson did love me."

She drooped pensively. But Mrs. Verulam's severity of expression increased.

"A temperament!" she said. "Now, Chloe, please don't abuse a man for not being deformed. I'm afraid you've done something dreadful."

"I haven't. I've done nothing. But I wouldn't defend the case. I was too proud. Huskinson——"

"Why is your husband's name Huskinson?"

"Ah! that's one of the things I've often and often wondered. It does seem so unnecessary. I feel that, too."

She checked the natural tendency to muse created by this strange problem, and went on:

"At first we were only pleasantly unhappy together. I liked his fury, and when he was good-tempered I bitterly resented it, and tried to check it by every means in my power. I generally succeeded in doing so. We women can do these things, you know, Daisy; and that's something."

"Yes."

"But as time went on, Huskinson——"

"I wonder why that's his name," Mrs. Verulam murmured uncontrollably.

"Got so accustomed to being angry that it became very monotonous. There was no variety in him at all. And one does look for variety in a man."

"Not if he's a London man."

"Huskinson isn't."

"Oh, with his name—no! Go on, darling."

"We were in New York at first, you know. And while we were there it was all right. I like a man angry in the street very well, or in a hotel. It shows people he's really fond of you. But then we went to the oranges—Florida, you see. And it was understood between us that we were to live an idyllic life there. The climate was suited to that sort of thing, and Huskinson's——"

"I do wonder——"

"Bungalow was specially constructed for peace, with verandas and rocking-chairs and a pet monkey, all complete. It was pretty."

She sighed.

"I never saw a pretty monkey yet," said Mrs. Verulam meditatively.

"Boswell was."

"Who on earth was Boswell?"

"Huskinson's monkey. It fed out of his hand."

"How greedy!"

"He didn't think so. Well, I meant Huskinson to become good-tempered now. He had been angry for two months or more, and it was right there should be a little change. Besides, we were to be quite alone, we and Boswell, so that I didn't require him to be jealous, as I had in New York City. But Huskinson is the sort of man who can't stop when once he has got into the way of a thing. He must go right on with it, wherever he is. That isn't artistic. Now, is it, Daisy dear?"

"I suppose not—no."

"Well, in Florida he was just as he was in New York. That man would sit in a rocking-chair with Boswell on his knee or in his hair, and be as furiously jealous as Othello. Even that monkey couldn't soothe him. It was too monotonous. I told him so. But he didn't seem to see it. I said being abused and watching oranges grow was all right for a certain time, but if it continued for eternity I should wish I hadn't married."

"That was rather cruel."

"That was what he said. He beat Boswell with a cane, and cried, and told the men on the plantation that if I said such a thing again he should cut down their wages. That set them against me. And Boswell took a hatred for me, too. I was beginning to grow quite weary of it all when Bream Rockmetteller came."

"Bream Rockmetteller!"

"Huskinson's dearest chum, Bream Rock——"

"I do wonder——"

"——Metteller was to sympathise with Huskinson; that was why he was invited. He travelled nearly two thousand miles to do it, but as soon as he was in the bungalow Huskinson became furiously jealous of him. You see, Bream didn't think me ugly; that was his first mistake. Oh, how that man did blunder! He admired the way I put my clothes on too, and thought it suited me quite well to wear my hair short. In fact, he went from one crime to another—so Huskinson considered."

"Then, was Bream the——"

"Yes. Oh, Daisy, a little man with one of those beards you see in a nonsense book, and a voice that shook him when he spoke, it was so much too large for him, and feet as small as yours, and stocks and shares in all his pockets, and even up his sleeves. How could anyone suppose that I——"

"Then, why didn't you defend it?"

Chloe put her lips together. When she did that she looked like a very determined boy.

"Because I was in the right."

"I see," said Mrs. Verulam, accepting a good reason in the usual sweet womanly way.

"I was perfectly innocent. I had to sit with Bream while Huskinson was seeing about the oranges."

"Of course."

"And when Huskinson attacked Bream it was my duty to say that Bream was harmless."

"Certainly."

"But my doing this brought Huskinson to the verge of madness. He went away suddenly for a week."

"Leaving Bream?"

"Yes. And then he came back, and said that we had deceived him by being together alone."

"How unreasonable!"

"That the whole plantation was talking about us, and that Boswell was nothing at all in the way of a chaperon. This was too much. While Bream was in the billiard-room, arguing with Huskinson and locking up the revolvers, I packed my trunks, got into the buggy, and proceeded. I thought that my woman's dignity required it of me. The next thing was that Huskinson sued for a divorce. I wouldn't defend it, for I was real angry. Bream was down with fever. And the end of it was that Huskinson got the case."

"Dreadful!"

Chloe, who had been looking very emotional during the latter part of her tragic narrative, changed her expression to one of calm indifference at this remark.

"Why dreadful? I don't think so. It was all done very quietly, right away from New York. Nobody will hear of it over this way. Even in New York they don't know it, for Huskinson turned sulky when he'd done it, went back to his oranges, and won't say a word to anyone. Bream's still down with fever somewhere in California. And though he's got that big voice he scarcely ever speaks. Besides, I'm innocent."

She looked hard at Mrs. Verulam.

"Yes, dear; I know that."

Chloe winked away something that might have been the usual thing that is winked away on such an occasion. Then she said with a gay smile:

"So I've packed my trunks, and come over here to forget it all and have a good time."

Mrs. Verulam gazed at her meditatively, and said "Oh!"

Chloe, her narrative over, seemed to desire movement. She got up and wandered about the room in a slightly reckless manner, touching ornaments with fingers that seemed deliberately dare-devil, and examining pictures with eyes that were self-consciously bold. Occasionally she shot a side-glance towards Mrs. Verulam, who remained with her feet planted on the satin footstool in an attitude of profound and rather grievous thought. Presently, in her peregrinations, Chloe reached the _World_, which Mrs. Verulam had flung down in her wrath of ennui. Chloe bent and picked it up.

"Ah, this is your great paper!" she cried. "I love it. I want to see my name in it some day."

While she spoke, she had been idly turning the pages. And now she gave a great cry, such as Marguerite gives over the dead body of Valentine in the fourth act of "Faust."

Mrs. Verulam started round on her sofa, and saw that Chloe's face was pale as death, and that the _World_ was fluttering upside down in her nerveless hand.

"Chloe, what is the matter? Are you ill? Oh, I must ring for Marriner!"

But Chloe pointed to the paper.

"Read—read!" she muttered.

Mrs. Verulam snatched the _World_ from her, and read this innocent little paragraph:

"'A considerable sensation has been caused in the neighbourhood of Florida by the Van Adam divorce, the details of which have only just become generally known. They are, unfortunately, very unfavourable to the beautiful Mrs. Van Adam, from whom the famous orange-grower and millionaire has been freed by the action of the court. A great deal of sympathy is expressed for Mr. Van Adam, whose honeymoon had scarcely concluded when the sad circumstances arose which obliged him to condemn, not merely his wife, but also his trusted friend, Mr. Bream Rockmetteller, the well-known stockbroker. Mr. Van Adam is staying at present at his bungalow in the midst of his orange-groves in Florida. His only companion is said to be the monkey which used in former days to accompany him on all his wanderings.'"

"That's Boswell," Chloe murmured hysterically.

Mrs. Verulam laid the paper down rather impressively.

"Chloe," she said, "you can never get into the cage now, that is certain."

Chloe sobbed. It was a bitter moment for her. She looked at the invitation-cards. She thought of the panthers and of the Prince and Princess, and became rapidly, and very naturally, hysterical.

"Is it—oh, is it quite impossible?" she said in a broken voice.

"Quite. If you were a man, now!"

Chloe lifted her head.

"If you were a man," Mrs. Verulam continued, in the voice of a philosopher, "that paragraph might open the cage-door for you. London is very fond of wicked men—forgive me, darling!—of men who are supposed, and hoped, to be wicked. With your wealth, your history, and a different sex, you would be a great success this season."

"Oh, why am I not a man?"

"Marriner—she's my maid, and marvellously well informed about everything—Marriner might know. I can't tell."

"And I have been a man. How cruel it all is!"

Mrs. Verulam was really surprised this time. For a moment she thought that Chloe's brain was turned by Huskinson's action and its results.

"Chloe dear, collect yourself," she said firmly. "Pull yourself together, darling. Don't deceive yourself even for a moment You have always been what you are now—a woman."

"No, no!" Chloe repeated doggedly; "I was a man. They all thought so."

Mrs. Verulam became seriously alarmed.

"I think, dear, you had better lie down quietly, and put on a cold compress. I shall send you up some strong tea in a few minutes, and——"

"Don't be foolish, Daisy. I was a man at a fancy ball in Chicago once, just before I married Huskinson. I went in a man's ordinary morning costume, and took in everyone. Even Huskinson didn't know me! Ah, that suit—it was such a neat tweed, Daisy!—it reminds me of happy days. I carry it everywhere with me."

She spoke sentimentally, and Mrs. Verulam was led to observe:

"I'm afraid you love Bream—I mean Huskinson?"

"No, I don't; no, no!" Chloe said vehemently. "No, I don't!"

"Oh, I'm glad to hear it, under the circumstances."

"But naturally I look back to the days before—before——"

"Yes, yes, dear. I know, I know!"

Mrs. Verulam patted Chloe's hands gently. Then she smiled, and said:

"You should have come over in the tweed suit, Chloe, then London would have been at your feet."

She spoke without definite intention, merely anxious to tide over an awkward moment. She heard no strange echo of her remark replying from the future in tones to mock her. She saw no little cloud rising upon the horizon. She thrilled with no convulsive premonition of a marching destiny approaching stealthily with slippered feet. And when Chloe looked at her fixedly for the space of three minutes, and then said slowly, "Should I? Should I?" she thought nothing of it. Nor did she specially remark her friend's sudden absence of mind, or the expression of curious whimsicality that stole into her face. The human soul is sometimes strangely unobservant in great crises.

"Are you at home this afternoon?" Chloe remarked abruptly.

"No, not to anyone."

"I'm glad. Let me go upstairs and change my dress, and then I want to talk to you ever so much more. Oh, that horrible, wicked paragraph!"

Mrs. Verulam touched the bell. Francis answered it.

"Please send Mrs. Marriner to me," she said.

Francis retired smiling, and in a moment the faithful Marriner appeared sedately in the aperture of the door.

"Marriner," said Mrs. Verulam, "this is Mrs. Van Adam. I want you to take great care of her. She has come from Florida."

"A long distance, indeed, ma'am. I trust the oranges are doing well, ma'am?"

Chloe turned paler, and Mrs. Verulam said hastily:

"Never mind the oranges, Marriner. Mrs. Van Adam is going to engage a maid in London. Meanwhile I know you will see that she is perfectly comfortable in every way."

"Certainly, ma'am."

"Marriner will show you your room, Chloe; and tea will be ready as soon as you are."

Mrs. Van Adam followed the faithful Marriner towards the door. Reaching it, she looked back at Mrs. Verulam, exclaimed, "I am going to put on a tailor-made costume," and vanished.

Just as the door shut, Mrs. Verulam heard the voice of Marriner saying:

"I trust, ma'am, the stairs will not inconvenience you. In Florida I am aware that the one-storey residence and the ample veranda are quite the mode."