_ BOOK I CHAPTER XVI. SIGNED AND SEALED
"Leave the dead moments to bury their dead;
Let us kiss, and break the spell."
--OWEN MEREDITH.
The Fancy Ball, given on Old Year's night by the Punjab Commission, was, in Evelyn's eyes, the supreme event of the week; and when Desmond, after a mad gallop from the Bengal Cavalry Mess, threw open his bedroom door, he was arrested by a vision altogether unexpected, and altogether satisfying to his fastidious taste.
A transformed Evelyn stood before the long glass, wrapt in happy contemplation of her own image. From the fillet across her forehead, with its tremulous wire antennae, to the sandalled slipper that showed beneath her silken draperies, all was gold. Two shimmering wings of gauze sprang from her shoulders; her hair, glittering with gold dust, waved to her waist; and a single row of topaz gleamed on the pearl tint of her throat like drops of wine.
"By Jove, Ladybird,--how lovely you look!"
She started, and turned upon him a face of radiance.
"I'm the Golden Butterfly. Do you like me, Theo, really?"
"I do;--no question. Where on earth did you get it all?"
"At Simla, last year. Muriel Walter invented it for me." Her colour deepened, and she lowered her eyes. "I didn't show it to you before,--because----"
"Yes, yes,--I know what you mean. Don't distress yourself over that. You'll have
your triumph to-night, Ladybird! Remember my dances, please, when you're besieged by the other fellows! Upon my word, you look such a perfect butterfly that I shall hardly dare lay a hand on you!"
"You may dare, though," she said softly. "I won't break in pieces if you do."
Shy invitation lurked in her look and tone; but apparently her husband failed to perceive it.
"I'll put you to the test later on," he said, with an amused laugh. "I must go now, and translate myself into Charles Surface, or I'll be late."
Left alone again, she turned back to her looking-glass and sighed; but a single glance at it comforted her surprisingly.
"He was in a hurry," she reflected, by way of further consolation, "and I've got four dances with him after all."
* * * * *
Theo Desmond inscribed few names on his programme beyond those of his wife, Mrs Olliver, and Honor Meredith.
"You must let me have a good few dances, Honor," he said to her, "and hang Mrs Grundy! We are outsiders here, and you and I understand one another."
She surrendered her programme with smiling submission. "Do you always order people to give you dances in that imperative fashion?"
"Only when I'm set on having them, and daren't risk refusal! I'll go one better than Paul, if I may. I didn't know he had it in him to be so grasping."
And he returned the card on which the initials P. W. appeared four times in Wyndham's neat handwriting.
Never, in all his days had Paul asked a woman to give him four dances; and as he claimed Honor for the first of them, he wondered whether his new-found boldness would carry him farther still. Her beauty and graciousness, her enthusiasm over the afternoon's triumph, exalted him from the sober levels of patience and modesty to unscaled heights of aspiration. But not until their second valse together did an opening for speech present itself.
They had deserted the packed moving mass, in whose midst dancing was little more than a promenade under difficulties, and stood aside in an alcove that opened off the ballroom.
"Look at Evelyn. Isn't she charming in that dress?" Honor exclaimed, as the Golden Butterfly whirled past, like an incarnate sunbeam, in her husband's arms. "I feel a Methuselah when I see how freshly and rapturously she is enjoying it all. This is my seventh Commission Ball, Major Wyndham! No doubt most people think it high time I hid my diminished head in England. But my head refuses to feel diminished,"--she lifted it a little in speaking,--"and I prefer to remain where I am."
"On the Border?"
"Yes. On the Border for choice."
"You were keen to get there, I remember," he said, restraining his eagerness. "And you are not disappointed, after nine months of it?"
"Disappointed?--I think they have been almost the best months of my life."
She spoke with sudden fervour, looking straight before her into the brilliant, shifting crowd.
Paul's pulses quickened. He saw possibilities ahead.
"Do you mean----? Would you be content to live there--for good?"
His tone caught her attention, and she turned to him with disconcerting directness of gaze.
"Yes," she said quietly, "I would be quite content to live on the Frontier--with John, if only he would have me. Now we might surely go on dancing, Major Wyndham."
Paul put his arm about her in silence. His time had not yet come; and he took up his burden of waiting again, if with less hope, yet with undiminished resolve.
Honor, meanwhile, had leisure to wonder whether she had imagined that new note in his voice. If not,--and if he were to repeat the question in a more definite form--how should she answer him?
In truth she could not tell. Sincere admiration is not always easy to distinguish from love of a certain order. But Paul's bearing through the remainder of the dance convinced her that she must have been mistaken, and she dismissed the subject from her mind.
Leaving her in charge of Desmond, Wyndham slipped on his greatcoat, and spent half an hour pacing to and fro, in the frosty darkness, spangled with keen stars. Here, forgetful of expectant partners, he took counsel with his cigar and his own sadly sobered heart. More than once he asked himself why those months on the Frontier had been among the best in Honor Meredith's life. The fervour of her tone haunted him with uncomfortable persistence; yet, had he put the question to her, it is doubtful whether she could have given him a definite answer, even if she would.
But although the lights and music and laughter had lost their meaning for him, the great ball of the year went forward merrily in regular alternations of sound and silence, of motion and quiescence, to its appointed end.
It was during one of the intervals, when eye and ear enjoyed a passing respite from the whirling wheel of things, that Desmond, coming out of the cardroom--where he had been enjoying a rubber and a cigarette--caught sight of a gleaming figure standing alone in the pillared entrance to the Hall, and hurried across the deserted ballroom. His wife looked pathetically small and unprotected in the wide emptiness of the archway, and the corners of her mouth quivered as though tears were not far off.
"Oh, Theo,--I
am glad!" she said as he reached her side. "I wanted you--long ago, but I couldn't find you anywhere in the crowd."
"What's the trouble, little woman?" he asked. "Quite surprising to see you unappropriated. Any one been bothering you?"
"Yes--a man. One of the stewards introduced him----"
The ready fire flashed in his eyes.
"Confound him! Where is he? What did he do?"
"Nothing--very much. Only--I didn't like it. Come and sit down somewhere and I'll tell you."
She slipped her hand under his arm, and pressed close to him as they sought out a seat between the rows of glass-fronted book-shelves in which the Lawrence Hall library is housed.
"Here you are," he said. "Sit down and tell me exactly what happened."
She glanced nervously at his face, which had in it a touch of sternness that recalled their painful interview three weeks ago.
"I--I don't think he really knew what he was talking about," she began, her eyes on the butterfly fan, which she opened and shut mechanically while speaking. "He began by saying that fancy balls were quite different to other ones; that the real fun of them was that every one could say and do just what they pleased, and nothing mattered at all. He said his own dress was specially convenient, because no one could expect a Pierrot to be responsible for his actions. Then he--he said that by coming as a butterfly I had given every man in the room the right to--to catch me if he could. Wasn't that hateful?"
"Curse him!" muttered Desmond under his breath. "Well--was that all?"
She shook her head with a rueful smile.
"I don't half like telling you, Theo; you look so stern. I'm afraid you'll be very angry."
"
Not with you, dear. Go on."
"Well, I told him I didn't see it that way at all, and he said of course not; butterflies never
did see that people had any right to catch them; yet they got caught all the same. Then he took tight hold of my hands, and came so close to me that--I was frightened, and asked him to take me back to the ballroom at once. He said it wasn't fair, that the whole twelve minutes belonged to him, and he wouldn't be cheated out of any of it. Then when I was getting up to go away, he--he laughed, and put his arm round me, so that I couldn't move, though I tried to--I did, truly."
At that her husband's arm went round her, and she yielded with a sigh of satisfaction to its protective pressure.
"The brute didn't dare to--kiss you, did he, Ladybird?"
"Oh, no--no. The music began, and some people came by, and he had to let me go. Do men often behave like that at balls, Theo?"
"Well--no; not the right sort!" Desmond answered, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "But there's always a good sprinkling of the wrong sort in a crowd of this kind, and the stewards ought to be more careful."
"The trouble is that--I gave him two dances. The next one is his, and I
can't dance with him again. That's why I so badly wanted to find you. Listen, they're tuning up now. Must I go and sit in the ladies' room till it's over?"
"Certainly not. Come out and dance it with me."
"Can I? How lovely! I was afraid you were sure to be engaged."
"Of course I am. But as you happen to need me, that doesn't count."
She leaned forward suddenly, and gave him one of her quick, half-shy kisses, that were still so much more like the kisses of a child than of a woman grown. "It is nice to belong to a man like you," she murmured caressingly. "You really are a dear, Theo! And after I've been so bad to you, too!"
"What's forgiven should be forgotten, Ladybird," he answered, tightening the arm that held her. "So that's a closed subject between us,--you understand? Only remember, there must be
no more of that sort of thing. Do you want the compact signed and sealed?" he added, smiling.
"Yes--I do." And he sealed it accordingly.
Two bright tears glistened on her lashes, for she had the grace to realise that she was being blessed and trusted beyond her deserts. A sudden impulse assailed her to tell him everything--now, while his forgiveness enfolded her and gave her a transitory courage. But habit, and dread of losing the surpassing sweetness of reconciliation sealed her lips; and her poor little impulse went to swell the sum of unaccomplished things.
He frowned at sight of her mute signals of distress.
"No, no, little woman. That's forbidden also! Come along out; and if that cad attempts to interfere with us, I'll send him to the right about effectually, I promise you."
"But who
is your real partner?" she asked, as they rose to go.
"You are,--who else? My permanent partner!" he answered, smiling down upon her. "I haven't a notion who the other is. Let's stop under this lamp and see."
He consulted his card, and his face clouded for a moment.
"It's Honor! That's rough luck. But at least one can tell her the truth, and feel sure she'll understand. There she is by that pillar, wondering what has come to me. Jove! How splendid she looks to-night! I wish the Major could set eyes on her."
The girl's tall figure, in its ivory and gold draperies, showed strikingly against a mass of evergreens, and the simple dignity of the dress she had herself designed emphasised the queenly element in her beauty.
"Did you think I had deserted you altogether?" Desmond asked, as they drew near.
"I knew you would come the first moment you could."
"You have a large faith in your friends, Honor."
"I have a very large faith--in you!" she answered simply.
"That's good hearing. But I hardly deserve it at this minute. I have come to ask if I may throw you over for Ladybird?" And in a few words he explained the reason of his strange request.
One glance at Evelyn's face told Honor that the untoward incident had dispelled the last shadow of restraint between husband and wife; and the loss of a dance with Theo seemed a small price to pay for so happy a consummation.
The valse was in full swing now,--a kaleidoscopic confusion of colour, shifting into fresh harmonies with every bar; four hundred people circling ceaselessly over a surface as of polished steel.
Desmond guided his wife along the edge of the crowd till they came again to the pillared entrance. Here, where it was possible to stand back a little from the dancers, they were confronted by a thickset, heavy-faced man wearing the singularly inept-looking costume of a Pierrot. Face and carriage proclaimed that he had enjoyed his dinner very thoroughly before setting out for the ball; and Evelyn's small shudder fired the fighting blood in Desmond's veins. It needed an effort of will not to greet his unsuspecting opponent with a blow between the eyes. But instead, he stood his ground and awaited developments.
The man bestowed upon Evelyn a bow of exaggerated politeness, which italicised his scant courtesy towards her partner.
"There's some mistake here," he said bluntly. "This is
my dance with Mrs Desmond, and I've missed too much of it already."
"Mrs Desmond happens to be my wife," Theo made answer with ominous quietness. "I don't choose that she should be insulted by her partners; and I am dancing this with her myself."
The incisive tone, low as it was, penetrated the man's muddled brain. His blustering assurance collapsed visibly, increasing fourfold his ludicrous aspect. He staggered backward, muttering incoherent words that might charitably be construed as apology, and passed on into the library, making an ineffectual effort to combine an air of dignified indifference with the uncertain gait of a landsman in a heavy sea.
Desmond stood looking after him as he went in mingled pity and contempt; but Evelyn's eyes never left her husband's face.
His smouldering anger, and the completeness of his power to protect her by a few decisive words, thrilled her with a new, inexplicable intensity,--an emotion that startled her a little, and in the same breath lifted her to an unreasoning height of happiness.
Unconsciously she pressed close against him as he put his arm round her.
"You're all safe now, my Ladybird," he said with a low laugh. "And honour is satisfied, I suppose! The creature wasn't worth knocking down, though I could hardly keep my fists off him at the start."
And he swept her forthwith into the heart of the many-coloured crowd.
The valse was more than half over now, and as the music slackened to its close some two hundred couples vanished into the surrounding dimness, each intent on their own few minutes of enjoyment. Evelyn Desmond, flushed, silent, palpitating, remained standing at her husband's side, till they were left practically alone under one of the many arches that surround the great hall.
"That was much too short, wasn't it?" he said. "Now we must go and look up Honor, and see that she is not left in the lurch."
At that she raised her eyes, and the soft shining in them lent a quite unusual beauty to her face.
"Must we, Theo,--really? Honor's sure to be all right, and I'm so badly wanting to sit out--with you."
"Are you, really? That's a charming confession to hear from one's wife. You look different to-night, Ladybird. What's come to you?"
"I don't know," she murmured truthfully; adding so low that he could barely catch the words, "Only--I don't seem ever to have understood--till just now how much--I really care----"
"Why,--
Evelyn!"
Sheer surprise checked further speech, and with a man's instinctive sense of reserve he looked hastily round to make sure that they were alone.
She misread his silence, and slipped a hand under his arm.
"You're not angry, are you--that I--didn't understand sooner?"
"Good heavens, no!"
"Then come--please come. Honor gave me the whole dance. Besides--look!--there she goes with Major Wyndham. She's always happy with him!"
Desmond smiled. "That's true enough. No need for us if Paul is in the field. Come this way, Ladybird. I know the Lawrence Hall of old."
They sought and found a sofa in a retired, shadowy corner.
"That's ever so nice," she said simply. "Sit down there."
He obeyed, and there was a momentary silence between them. Then the emotion astir within her swept all before it. Turning suddenly, she flung both arms round his neck and hid her face upon his shoulder, her breath coming in short, dry sobs, like the breath of an overwrought child.
Very tenderly, as one who touches that which he fears to bruise or break, he drew her close to him, his own pulses quickened by a remembrance of the words that gave the clue to her strange behaviour, and during those few minutes between dance and dance, Evelyn Desmond arrived at a truer knowledge of the man she had married, in the girlish ignorance of mere fascination, than two years of life with him had brought to her half-awakened heart. _