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Flaming June

<h3>Chapter Nineteen.</h3> Before parting from Cornelia at the hotel, Guest made a point of finding out her programme of amusements for the next few days, as a consequence of which he called at a theatrical depôt on his way to his club, and secured an odd stall for either night. He had already more social engagements than he could keep, but it occurred to him that it would be possible to run into the theatre for an odd half hour, and chat with Cornelia during an interval, on his way from one place to another. He assured himself with much solemnity that it was his duty to look after the girl, since she had told him that he seemed to her like a bit of home, and he had the poorest possible opinion of her hosts. As for Cornelia, she ran gaily upstairs to her room, disdaining the lift, and all a-sparkle with pleasurable excitement. From her point of view the afternoon had been an unmitigated success; she had been conscious of no jar, being blandly indifferent to every opinion but her own, and was now as whole-hearted in appreciation of her companion as she had previously been violent in denunciation. He was just the sweetest thing, and she was going to see him again to-morrow; maybe, to-night. It felt like being at home again to have a nice man hopping around! She threw open the door of her room, and started with surprise to meet Mrs Moffatt on the threshold, her arms piled high with parcels. A long, narrow box lay on the top, and she had an impression of seeing her own name written on the cover, before Mrs Moffatt hurried past, speaking rapidly over her shoulder. “Why, Cornelia, is that you? Excuse me, won’t you, coming into your room? The stupid things have gotten the parcels all mixed up. These are the things I ordered this morning. Come into the parlour before you change. I want you a moment.” She bustled down the passage towards her own room, deposited her bundles, then crossed the corridor to the sitting-room, where Cornelia was already seated. She looked up as the elder woman entered, and thought she had never seen her look so worn and tired; so old, despite the artificial colouring. “I’m afraid you’ve not had a good time. You look all used up! Wasn’t the visit as nice as you expected?” Mrs Moffatt threw herself down on a chair with a sigh of impatience. “Oh, my dear, I am so rattled! Every mortal thing’s gone wrong from start to finish. Don’t ask me about it, for it don’t bear speaking of. My head aches fit to split, and now Silas has taken the huff and marched off goodness knows where, and there’s a man sitting down in the hall refusing to go away until he gets his money, and disgracing me before the whole hotel. It’s for those furs I had sent in the other day. I decided to keep them, and mailed them to a friend in the country to house for me. I can’t be worried with a lot of goods in a hotel, so she gives me store-room until we sail. That’s where I’m fixed-up, you see. I can’t give him either the goods or the money, and when Silas turns ugly, goodness only knows when he may come back. Maybe not till late at night. I’m so mortified I don’t know what to do.” Cornelia laughed easily. “Don’t you worry. It’s as easy as pie. I’ll give you a cheque, and Mr Moffatt can pay me back in the morning. I’ll go and write it out for you now. What’s the damage?” “Two hundred pounds; Fredburg and Company. You are an angel, Cornelia! I ken’t begin to thank you.” “Don’t try, please! What does it matter for a few hours?” cried Cornelia, brightly. She went into her own room, made out the cheque, and handed it to her friend, who promptly carried it away, to return at the expiration of five minutes with a sigh of relief. “That was one for him. He looked kinder small when he saw your name on the cheque. It’s real sweet of you, dear, and Silas will pay up like a lamb when you are the creditor. He won’t show his temper to you, as he would to me. You are a stranger, you see, and I’m only his wife.” There was an accent of bitterness in the speaker’s voice, and she leant her head on her hands, in an attitude of profound dejection. Cornelia had never before been the witness of so abandoned a mood, but her ideas of loyalty were too much outraged to permit of sympathy. She held her head erect, and her voice sounded cold and distant. “I’d just as soon not hear any more about Mr Moffatt, if you don’t mind. He’s been very kind to me, and it’s not my business how he behaves. I guess a good many men get crusty when the bills come in, and you’re a pretty expensive wife. I should think you’d get tired of prowling about those stores!” Mrs Moffatt flushed, and bit her lower lip, not attempting to defend herself, but staring before her with weary, vacant eyes. It was a welcome diversion when a waiter entered the room carrying a tray with tea and refreshments, and Cornelia waited on her hostess with an attention which was intended to mitigate her late severity. Although a fuller acquaintance of Mrs Moffatt had increased neither liking nor respect, it had developed a sincere pity for a woman whose life was barren of purpose, of interest, apparently of love also. It was not in Cornelia’s nature to see anyone suffer and not try to help, and if it had been her own mother on whom she was waiting she could not have shown more care and consideration. A table was placed by Mrs Moffatt’s side, tea was made with exact remembrance of her preferences; a cushion was brought from a sofa to put behind her back, and a footstool placed ready for her feet. It was while she still knelt to put the stool in position that the elder woman at length broke silence. “See here, Cornelia!” she cried suddenly, “I mayn’t have another chance of talking to you quietly before you go, and there’s something I want to say. ... You are young, and rich, and pretty, and strong, and you’ve had a good time all the way through. Your Poppar spoils you, and you’ve got just to wish for a thing, and it’s there right along. I’m glad of it, for you’re a real sweet girl, but, don’t come down too hard on other people! ... It’s a pretty queer world when you compare one person’s luck with another! I’m not going to tell you all I’ve come through, but it’s not been too easy. At times I’ve been to blame, and at times I haven’t. I don’t know as it makes much difference anyway—the end’s the same. Seems to you I’m a pretty poor thing, but you don’t know how you’d have been yourself, Cornelia, if you’d come along the same road. You’ve got to remember that, before you judge!” “That’s so!” assented Cornelia, gravely. She was too “straight” to deny an insinuation which was all too true, but at the same time she felt an acute regret and embarrassment in the thought that a woman so much older than herself should feel it necessary to make such a confession of unworthiness. “I ought to be a heap better than I am, for there isn’t anyone living that’s had a better time. We’ve had spells when Poppar’s had bad luck, and the money’s been short, but we were as happy as grigs planning out how we’d spend the next pile. So long as you can get along, it doesn’t matter much about the extras, when you’re as happy together as we are, Poppar and I.” Mrs Moffatt sighed once more. “I never knew my parents. They died when I was a baby, and I was raised among strangers, who put up with me for the sake of the pay. Love never came my way, somehow. I suppose some folks would say that was my own fault. There was a man I could have cared for, but he didn’t want me, and I married Silas for a change; to get away from the dull old life. ... You be careful who you marry, Cornelia! You’re the sort of girl who does things pretty thoroughly either way; there’s no middle course for you. You’re bound to be either blissful or wretched. You’ve got enough money of your own, so you can afford to choose. Lucky girl!—Is it going to be that Captain Guest?” “Suttenly not!” Cornelia rose to her feet, and walked back to the tea-table, very stiff in the back, and pink in the cheeks. She was angry with herself for blushing, and the fact naturally made her blush the more. “I told you before that we have only met once or twice, and more’n half the time has been taken up in quarrelling. We are too different ever to run together in double harness.” “Well—I’m sorry! He’s got lots of frills, but he looks the right sort all the same. I’m sorry. You ought to have a good man, Cornelia.” Mrs Moffatt pushed aside her half-finished cup of tea, and rose wearily to her feet. “Well, I guess I’ll go and dress. We’ll have some champagne for dinner, and that will perk us up for the theatre. They say it’s a real good play, and we shall only be together two more nights, so I want you to have a good time. It seems mean not to ask you to stay on, but our plans are all uncertain. We may be off ourselves any time now. Silas never settles down for more than a few days.” Cornelia gave the politely inaudible murmur usual on such occasions. Much as she had enjoyed the stay in town, she could not pretend to regret the prospect of returning to Norton. Later on she would make a longer visit to town, in Poppar’s company, but even if the invitation were given she could not consent to remain any longer the guest of Mrs Silas P Moffatt. She was a woman whom it was impossible to respect, and to Cornelia, respect was a necessary foundation to friendship. Silas did not count! He was “a little misery,” to be regarded only as an adjunct to his wife. She was even surprised to hear that he was capable of exhibiting ill-temper. In any case, it seemed to be short-lived, as dinner found him in his usual place, and then and throughout the evening he was, if anything, a trifle more animated than usual, thanking Cornelia warmly for helping his wife out of an awkward position, and regretting that in the rush to the theatre there was not time to discharge the debt forthwith. “But we must settle up after breakfast to-morrow. Short accounts make long friends!” he declared smilingly, as he helped her to put on her cloak. Cornelia had dressed with a vivid remembrance of the fact that Captain Guest had never seen her in evening attire, and a determination to secure “a big moment,” for his benefit. When an hour or two later he stood at the entrance to the stalls, and caught sight of her seated in the centre of the front row, it seemed at first sight that she was clad entirely in black, but even as he was applauding the choice for the display of ruddy locks and snowy shoulders, she made a sudden movement, and lo! the black was transformed into vivid, glittering green. Now she was conspicuous—too conspicuous, to please his fastidious taste. He could see opera-glasses levelled on her from the boxes overhead, and over the edge of the dress circle. She sat well forward in her stall, with head thrown back, and eyes fixed upon the stage, in absorbed attention. There was no doubting the unconsciousness of the pose; she was as oblivious of the gaze of others as of his own presence, but he felt an irritated longing to muffle her in veils and wrappings; to lift her up and transplant her to the back seat in a box. What business had those idiots to stare at her, as if she were one of the actresses on the stage? He branded the idiots with even stronger titles, the while he continued to follow their example. Surely it was a forgivable sin to be conspicuously attractive; to stand out, vivid and dazzling, from the surrounding throng, whose chief characteristics seemed to be a bleached inanity, and indifference... Guest stood in the shadow, his deep-set eyes fixed on the girl with unblinking scrutiny. He remembered that such a gaze was said to demand a response where a certain amount of affinity existed between the people involved, and put out his strength to try the truth of the statement in his own case. The proof came almost startlingly soon. Cornelia’s head turned over her shoulder, and her eyes lightened with a flash of recognition. She smiled at him, nodded her head, and arched her brows, signalling a message, which he could easily divine to be an invitation to come to speak to her between the acts. When the curtain fell, Mr Moffatt made an immediate rush for the door, and Guest took possession of his seat, devoutly thankful that it did not happen to adjoin that of the other lady of the party. “I’m very pleased to meet you again! Seems quite a good time since we parted,” said Cornelia, gaily. Her hair stood out round her head like a halo of gold, her eyes shone like stars, her cheeks were softly pink. Guest was dazzled by the bizarre beauty of her. She wore no jewels, not so much as a chain round her neck, and the dress by some witchery was black once more, a thin black gauze, heavily jetted. He pointed at it with a curious finger. “I could have sworn it was green over there! What has happened to turn it into black?” Cornelia laughed complacently. “It’s meant to change! There are skirts and skirts: ever so many of them, on top of each other, and each one is different. They all get a chance at times. It’s the vury latest craze. Mrs Moffatt nearly killed me when she saw it.” “A chameleon effect. I see! Is it supposed to be symbolic?” “Of me? I guess not! When I’ve made up my mind, I stick! There’s no chopping about for this child!” It was extraordinary how illusion vanished at the sound of the high-pitched, nasal voice. The fairy princess vanished, and in her place sat a flesh-and-blood damsel, composed, complacent, and matter-of-fact. Guest felt again the intrusion of a jarring note. He would have liked Cornelia to welcome him with a flutter of embarrassment, to have seen her eyes droop before his, and hear a quiver in her voice. He wanted to realise that he was the natural head and protector, and she the woman, the weak, clinging creature, whose happy destiny it was to be the helpmeet of man; but as Cornelia herself would have phrased it, there was “no cling to her.” It seemed ridiculous to think of protection in connection with a creature so jauntily self-satisfied and independent. He sat by her side until the conclusion of the interval, but the conversation was forced and uninteresting, and he rose to depart with the depressing consciousness that the interview had been a failure, since it left him less in sympathy with Cornelia than he had been in the afternoon. On his way to the door, Guest’s eyes caught the signal of a warning fan, and he looked up to see one of the boxes occupied by a party of his own friends. He had been too much occupied with Cornelia to look around the audience, but now it was impossible to leave the theatre without going upstairs a few minutes. After the ordinary greetings, complaints of the heat, and comparisons of engagements, followed the inevitable question— “Who is Miss Rossetti?” “I beg your pardon?” “Your friend in the stalls. The girl with the wonderful hair?” “She’s an American—a Miss Briskett. Over from the States on a short visit. I met her lately down in the country, and we happened to strike the same week for a visit to town.” “Lucky for you! I’ve been admiring her all night. That hair and skin, and the glittering black-green frock! Quite bewitching! Where is she staying?” “At the Ritz, with some people she met coming over. She knows no one over here.” The good lady’s interest appeased, she turned back to the stage, fluttering her fan to and fro. Attracted by its movement, or by the glances focussed upon her, Cornelia tilted her head upwards, recognised Guest, and whispered to her companion. Mr Moffatt’s eyes travelled obediently towards the box, to fasten, not on Guest but on the man by his side. For a moment they widened in unmistakable recognition, before, of set purpose, as it were, they grew blank and lifeless. He bowed slightly to Guest, and turned back to the stage. The man by Guest’s side laughed drily, and followed him out into the corridor. “Look here, Guest,” he said shortly, “if that girl is a friend of yours, and is staying in a hotel here with those people, you’d better advise her to get away as soon as possible! That man’s a bad egg. I ran up against him in Marienbad last year. He and his wife made the hotel too hot to hold them, and were politely requested to leave. There was nothing definite proved, but too many shady things to be pleasant. He had an extraordinary facility for winning at cards, and the fair Mrs Schuter—by the way her hair was brown at that time—” “These people are called Moffatt! Perhaps you are mistaking them for somebody else!” Guest interrupted eagerly: but he knew the futility of his hope before he heard the reply. “No doubt they have half a dozen aliases! What does it matter what they choose to call themselves. You saw for yourself that the man recognised me just now. Sorry to interfere, you know, and all that, but I’d be nailing sorry to leave any girl I knew in such a caravansary. Thought I ought to tell you!” “Thanks very much! You are perfectly right. I’ll send her off to-morrow,” said Guest, firmly. As he walked down the steps again he was smouldering with fury, with an impulse to walk into the theatre, denounce the adventurers to their faces, and bear Cornelia away to a place of safety. For all her assurance, events had proved that she was neither capable of taking care of herself, nor of choosing her own companions. She had been led away by impulse, like other girls; he liked her the more, not the less, for the discovery, and his heart softened at the thought of her disillusion. No use to worry her to-night! Let her have a good night’s rest, and to-morrow morning, bright and early, he would go round to the hotel, when Mr and Mrs Schuter, or Moffatt, or whatever their name happened to be, would once more find their quarters too hot to hold them! <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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