Part 39 (1/2)
He never forgot the scorn those wonderful eyes flashed at him.
”No,” she said, ”I thank you; I believe when you give me that advice you mean well, but I cannot follow it. If I were dying of hunger I would not touch even a crumb of bread that came from Lady Lanswell. I will never even return to the house which has been my own. I will take no one single thing belonging to them. I will leave them my hatred and my curse. And you tell Countess Lucia, from me, that my hatred shall find her out, and my vengeance avenge me.”
She rose from her chair and took the letter she had brought with her.
”I will never part with this,” she said; ”I will keep it near me always, and the reading of it may stimulate me when my energy tires. I have no message for Lord Chandos; to you I say farewell.”
”She is going to kill herself,” he thought; ”and then, if it gets into the papers, my lady will wax wroth.”
She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she smiled, and the smile was more sad than tears.
”I shall not harm myself,” she said: ”death is sweeter than life, but life holds 'vengeance.' Good-bye.”
CHAPTER x.x.xVI.
AFTER THREE YEARS.
”The question is,” said Lord Chandos, ”shall we go or not? Please yourself, Marion, and then,” he added, with an air of weariness, ”you will be sure to please me.”
”I should like to go, certainly, if you really have no other engagement, Lance,” said Lady Chandos.
”My engagements always give place to your pleasure,” replied the young husband. ”If you really desire to see this new star we will go. I will see about it at once.”
Still Lady Chandos seemed irresolute.
”It is quite true,” she said, ”that all London has gone mad about her, just as Paris, Vienna, and St. Petersburg did.”
”London is always going mad about something or other, but the madness never lasts long.”
”I have read many things,” continued his wife calmly, ”but I have never read anything like the description of the scene at the opera-house last evening; it really made me long to see her.”
”Then let the longing be gratified, by all means,” said Lord Chandos.
”We will go this evening. Consider it settled, Marion, and do not think of changing your plans.”
It was breakfast-time, and the husband and wife were discussing the advent of a new actress and singer--one who was setting the world on fire--Madame Vanira. Lord and Lady Chandos always took breakfast together; it was one of the established rules, never broken; it was the only time in the day when they were quite sure of seeing each other.
It was three years since they were married, and time had not worked any great change in either. Lady Chandos was even more beautiful than in her maiden days. She had the same sweet repose of manner, the same high-bred elegance and grace, the same soft, low voice, but the beauty of her face had grown deeper.
There was more light in the blue eyes, a deeper sheen on the golden hair, a richer tint on the fair face; there was more of life, animation, and interest, than she had displayed in those days when she seemed to glide through life like a spirit, rather than battle through it like a human being. Perhaps for her the battle had to come. In figure she had developed, she looked taller and more stately, but the same beautiful lines and gracious curves were there. As she sits in her morning-dress, the palest blue, trimmed with the most delicate cream color, a pretty, coquettish cap on her golden head, the bloom and freshness of early youth on her face, she looks the loveliest picture of lovely and blooming womanhood, the perfection of elegance, the type of a patrician.
Her white hands are covered with s.h.i.+ning gems--Lady Chandos has a taste for rings. She is altogether a proper wife for a man to have to trust, to place his life and honor in her, a wife to be esteemed, appreciated and revered, but not wors.h.i.+ped with a mad pa.s.sion. In the serene, pure atmosphere in which she lived no pa.s.sion could come, no madness; she did not understand them, she never went out of the common grooves of life, but she was most amiable and sweet in them.
Nor had Lord Chandos altered much in these three years; he had grown handsomer, more manly; the strong, graceful figure, the erect, easy carriage, were just the same; his face had bronzed with travel, and the mustache that shaded his beautiful lips was darker in hue.
Had they been happy, these three years of married life? Ask Lady Chandos, and she will say, ”Happy as a dream.” She has not known a shadow of care or fear, she has been unutterably happy; she is the queen of blondes, one of the most popular queens of society, the chosen and intimate friend of more than one royal princess, one of the most powerful ladies at court; no royal ball, or concert, or garden-party is ever given without her name being on the list; she is at the head of half the charities in London; she lays foundation stones; she opens the new wings of hospitals; she interests herself in convalescent homes; she influences, and in a great many instances leads the fas.h.i.+ons. ”Hats _a la_ Chandos,” ”the Marion costume,” are tributes to her influence. To know her, to be known to be on her visiting list, is a pa.s.sport everywhere. She has the finest diamonds and the finest rubies in London; her horses are the envy and admiration of all who see them; her mansion in Belgravia is the wonder of all who see it--every corner of the earth has been racked to add to its luxury and comfort. She has more money--just as pin-money--than many a peer has for the keeping up of t.i.tle and estate. She has a husband who is all kindness and indulgence to her; who has never denied her the gratification of a single wish; who has never spoken one cross word to her; who is always devoted to her service. What could any one wish for more? She would tell you, with a charming, placid smile on her sweet face, that she is perfectly happy.
If there be higher bliss than hers she does not know it yet; if there is a love, as there is genius, akin to madness, she has never felt it.