“I see you make yourself at home, my friend.”
“I was passing this way and I hadn’t got anything particular to do, so I thought I’d look in: my mamma thinks your society good for me. Got your wedding over?”
“What do you know about it?” asked Frank sharply.
“More than you think, my boy,” answered Reggie, with a grin. “The mater told me as a solemn warning. She says Kent’s married a barmaid, and it’s the result of keeping bad company and going to pubs. What did he do it for?”
“If I were you I’d mind my own business, Reggie.”
“If it’s because she’s in the family way, he’s a bally ass. If I got in a mess like that, I’d see the lady shot before I married her.”
“I have some work to do, my friend,” said Frank shortly. “You would show discretion if you took yourself off.”
“All right! I’ll just have another drink,” he answered, helping himself to the whisky. “I’m going out to tea with Mrs. Castillyon.”
Frank pricked up his ears, but said nothing. Reggie looked at him, smiled with great self-satisfaction, and winked.
“Smart work, ain’t it—considering I’ve only known her a fortnight. But that’s the right way with women—rush ’em, I saw she was smitten the first time we met, so I made a dead-set for her. I knew she was all right, so I just told her what I wanted; by Jove, she is a little baggage! I’ve come to the conclusion I like ladies, Frank; you don’t have to beat about the bush. You just come to the point at once, and there’s no blasted morality about them.”
“You’re a philosopher, Reggie.”
“You think I’m rotting, but I’m not. I’ll read you the letter she wrote me. By the way, I’m going to give her your address—in case the mater stops anything.”
“If letters come for you here, my friend, they shall be promptly returned to the postman.”
“You are a low blackguard; it wouldn’t hurt you,” said Reggie crossly. “But if you think that’ll stop her writing, it won’t, as I shall just have them sent to my crammer’s. I say, I must read you this; it’s rather funny.”
Reggie took from his pocket a letter on which Frank recognised Mrs. Castillyon’s large writing.
“Don’t you think it’s playing it rather low down to show the private letters which a woman has written you?”
“Rot!” cried Reggie, with a laugh. “If she didn’t want anyone to see them, she oughtn’t to have written.”
With manifest pride he read parts of an epistle which would have left the President of the Divorce Court few doubts as to the relations between the happy pair. The wretched woman’s love tickled his vanity, and to him the pleasure lay chiefly in boasting of it: he uttered with rolling emphasis certain expressions of endearment.
“‘Yours till death,’” he finished. “Good Lord, what rot women write! and the funny thing is that it’s always the same rot. But there’s not much doubt about this, is there? She’s as far gone as she can be.”
“Amiable youth!” said Frank. “Does your mother know that you have struck up an acquaintance with Mrs. Castillyon?”
“Rather! At first the mater thought her a bit vulgar, but she looked her up in the Landed Gentry, and when she found out her grandfather was a lord she thought it must be all right. The mater’s a bit of a snob, you know—her governor was in the City, and she’s got it into her head that the Castillyons will ask us down to Dorsetshire. By Gad, if they do I’ll make things hum.”
Reggie looked at his watch.
“I shall have to be scooting, or I shall be late for tea.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“Yes, but I can let that wait. You see, I’m not going up for the exam next time. The mater gave me the fees, and I blued them, so I shall just tell her that I’ve got through. It’ll be all right in the end.”
“Isn’t that very dishonest?”
“Why?” asked Reggie, with surprise. “She keeps me so devilish short, and I must have money somehow. It’ll all be mine when she pegs out, so it can’t matter, you know.”
“And what about the little lady you dined with on Saturday?”
“Oh, I’ve chucked her. I think Mrs. Castillyon will be more economical. She’s got lots of tin, and I’m blowed if I see why a man should always be expected to fork out for women.”
“You’re trying to reconcile two contradictory things, my boy—love and economy.”
Reggie marched off to Bond Street, and finding that Mrs. Castillyon was not yet arrived, began to walk up and down; but having waited half an hour, he grew annoyed, and it was with no smiling countenance that he met the pretty little lady when at length she drove up. “Have I kept you waiting?” she asked airily.
“Yes, you have,” he answered.
“It’s good for you.”
She tripped in, and they ordered tea.
“I can’t possibly eat those cakes,” she said. “Tell them to bring some more.”
The next plateful was as little to her taste, and she called for a third.
“I think I like the first lot best, after all,” she said, when these were produced.
“You might have taken one of them straight away, instead of disturbing the whole place,” exclaimed Reggie, very peevish himself, but peculiarly impatient of that defect in others.
“That woman has nothing else to do: why shouldn’t I disturb her? And she was very impudent; I have a good mind to report her.”
“If you do, I shall go and say that she was nothing of the sort.”
“This is a disgusting place; I can’t think why you suggested it. Anyhow, I’ll have some sweets to make up.”
Looking round, she saw a box of chocolates, elaborately decorated with ribands and artificial violets.
“You can get those for me, I love sweets—don’t you?”
“Yes, when somebody else pays for them.”
She threw back her head and laughed boisterously, so that people turned round and looked. Reggie grew vexed.
“I wish you wouldn’t make such a row. Everyone’s staring at you.”
“Well, let them! Give me a cigarette.”
“You can’t smoke here.”
“Why not? There’s a woman over there smoking.”
“Yes, but she’s no better than she should be.”
“Nonsense! It’s Lady Vizard. It’s only your friends in Piccadilly who are always thinking of propriety; they’re so afraid of not behaving like ladies, and you can always tell them because they’re so prim.”
Mrs. Castillyon, powdered and scented, was dressed in the most outrageous taste, but no one could have been more fashionable; and she displayed uncommon sagacity when she said that her flaunting manners alone distinguished her from persons of easy virtue. She looked across at Lady Vizard, no less strikingly attired, but with a sort of flamboyant discretion which marked the woman of character: she sat with the young Lord de Capit, and Mrs. Castillyon told Reggie the latest scandal about the pair.
“You know she’s Mr. Kent’s mother, don’t you? By the way, is it true he married a creature off the streets?”
“Yes,” said Reggie. “Silly ass!”
He gave a vivid account of the affair according to his lights. Unaccountably, for Frank and Miss Ley, both highly discreet, alone knew the circumstances, Basil’s adventure in a very elaborate form was current among all his friends.
“I say, Reggie, will you come to the play to-morrow? Lady Paperleigh’s got a box for The Belle of Petersburg, and she’s asked me to bring my man.”
“Am I your man?” asked Reggie.
“Why not?”
“It sounds bally vulgar. I should have thought it meant your valet.”
At this Mrs. Castillyon laughed as she spoke at the top of her voice, so that people, to Reggie’s confusion, again turned round.
“How prim you are! Is it your mamma’s bringing-up, Reggie? She’s rather an old frump, you know.”
“Thanks!”
“But I intend to ask her down to Jeyston for Christmas. We’re going to have a house-party, and I mean to get Miss Ley and Dr. Hurrell. I don’t like him much, but Miss Ley won’t come without him. Pity she’s not younger, isn’t it? They could talk philosophy to more purpose then. They say she has a passion for young men; I wonder what she does with them. D’you think she was very gay in her youth?”
“She’s a regular ripper, I know that,” answered Reggie, remembering the frequent tips which in his school-days the generous creature had slipped into his hand.
“I’m sure there was something,” expostulated Mrs. Castillyon, “or she wouldn’t have lived so long in Italy.”
“My mother thinks her about the straightest woman she’s ever known.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep thrusting your mother down my throat, Reggie. It’s bad enough having to put up with Paul’s, without getting yours as well. I suppose I shall have to ask that old cat for Christmas: she’s awful, as rich as they make ’em, and she’ll get on with your mother first-rate. Let’s go; I’m sick of this hole.”
When Reggie asked for the bill, he found the box of chocolates cost fifteen shillings, and preferring to spend his money exclusively on himself, was consequently none too pleased. Mrs. Castillyon had kept the cab, and offered to drive her cavalier to Grosvenor Gardens, where she was going for a second tea.
’I’ve had a good time,” she said, when they arrived. “You’d better give the driver five bob. Good-bye, Reggie. Mind you’re not late to-morrow. Where shall we dine?”
“I don’t mind as long as it’s cheap,” he said, ruefully handing the cabman five shillings.
“Oh, I’ll stand you a dinner,” said Mrs. Castillyon.
“All right,” he answered, his face brightening. “Let’s go to the Carlton, then.”
Mrs. Castillyon skipped into the house, and Reggie, who hated walking, to save money trudged sulkily home to Sloane Gardens: Frank showed much wisdom when he asserted that love and economy went seldom hand-in-hand.
“It’s cost me over a quid,” he muttered. “I could have dined Madge three times for that, and I’m blowed if she’s so damned vulgar as that little baggage.”
But next day he met her in the Carlton vestibule, and they sat down to dinner. The waiter brought him a wine-card.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“Something fizzy.”
This entirely agreed with Reggie’s ideas, and since he was not to pay the bill, he took care to order the champagne he liked best, which was by no means the least expensive. Flattering himself on his educated palate, he drank the wine with added satisfaction because the price was high. Mrs. Castillyon, overpowdered, with somewhat the look of a faded rose arranged under careful lights in a shop window to delude the purchaser that it had still its first freshness, was in high spirits: pleased with her own appearance and with that of the handsome youth in front of her, languid and sensual as the waking Adam of Michaelangelo, she talked very quickly in an excessively loud voice. Reggie’s spirits rose with the intoxicating liquor, and his doubts whether an amour with a woman of distinction was quite worth while, were soon dissipated; looking at the costly splendour of her gown, the boy’s flesh tingled, and his eyes rested with approval on the diamonds about her neck and in her yellow hair. It was a new sensation to dine with a well-dressed, rich woman in a crowded restaurant, and he felt himself with pride a very gay Lothario.
Handing something, he touched her fingers.
“Don’t,” she said, “you give me the shivers;” and seeing the effect she created, Mrs. Castillyon displayed all her arts and graces.
“Confound this theatre! I wish we weren’t bound to go to it.”
“But we are. Lady Paperleigh is going with her man, and we’ve got to chaperon her.”
It pleased Reggie to sit in a box with a person of title, and he knew it would gratify his mother.
“Why don’t they make your hubby a Baronet?” he asked ingenuously.
“My mother-in-law won’t fork out. You see, Paul ain’t what you might call a genius—he’d love a handle to name, but the price has gone up lately, and a baronetcy is one of the few things you have to pay for money down.
Reggie’s appetite was large, and he went through the long dinner with huge satisfaction. When they arrived at dessert, he lit a cigarette and gave a sigh of contented repletion.
“Yet people say the pleasures of the intellect are higher than the pleasures of the table,” he sighed.
He looked at Mrs. Castillyon with heavy eyes, and since, like most men, love arose in his heart as an accompaniment to the satisfactory process of digestion, he gave her a peculiarly sensual smile.
“I say, Grace, don’t you think you could come away for a week-end somewhere?”
“Oh, I couldn’t risk it. It would be too dangerous.”
“Not if we go somewhere quiet. It would be a beano!”
Her heart beat quickly, and under those handsome, lazy eyes she felt a curious defaillance; his hand rested on the table, large, soft and smooth, and the sight of it sent through her an odd thrill.
“Paul’s going up to the North to speak next month,” she said. “That’s our chance, isn’t it?”
The risk fascinated her, and the whim for Reggie grew on a sudden to an ardent passion for which she was willing to venture all things.
“I say, I’ve got an idea,” she whispered, with sparkling eyes. “Let’s go to Rochester. Don’t you remember, Basil Kent spoke of it the other day? I could easily say I was going down to see the view or whatever it is. I believe it’s a dull hole, and nobody goes there but Americans.”
“All right,” he said. “That’ll do A1.”
“Now we must be getting off. Call for the bill.”
Mrs. Castillyon felt for her pocket; then, throwing back her head, gave a little shriek of laughter.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ve forgotten my purse. You’ll have to pay, after all. D’you mind?”
“Fortunately the mater gave me a fiver this morning,” he answered, without enthusiasm, and when he doled out the shining sovereigns, added to himself: “By Jove, I’ll punish her for this some time.”
Arriving at the theatre, they found Lady Paperleigh was not yet come and since they did not know the number of her box, were obliged to wait in the entrance. They waited for nearly half an hour, during which Mrs. Castillyon grew every moment more peevish.
“It’s perfectly disgusting and awfully rude of her,” she cried for the tenth time. “I wish I hadn’t come, and I wish to goodness you wouldn’t stand there looking bored. Can’t you say something to amuse me?”
“I should have thought you could wait for a few minutes without getting into a beastly temper.”
“I shall take care to serve that woman as she has served me. I suppose she’s eating somewhere with her wretched man. Why don’t you pay for the box so that we can go in?”
“Why should I? They’ve asked us, and we must hang about till they choose to turn up.”
“If you cared for me the least bit, you wouldn’t refuse to do things I asked you.”
“If you’ll ask for something reasonable I’ll do it.”
Reggie had a very pretty little temper of his own, which his fond mother’s upbringing had never taught him to restrain; and seeing that Mrs. Castillyon raged with impatience, he assumed an exaggerated calm which was far more irritating than if he had fussed or fumed. The lady busied herself with sharp tongue to pierce his thick hide of indifference, and abused him roundly. In a little while without more ado he answered her in kind.
“If you’re not satisfied with me I’ll go. D’you think you’re the only woman in the world? I’m about sick of your vixenish temper. Good Lord, if this is what a married man has to put up with, God save me from marriage!”
They sat without speaking, and through her powder Mrs. Castillyon’s cheeks glowed angrily; but when at length Lady Paperleigh appeared, accompanied by a strapping youth with military airs, Mrs. Castillyon greeted her with smiles and soft words, vowing that they had only that very moment arrived. Reggie, less accustomed to the ways of polite society, could not conceal his ill-humour, and shook hands in sulky silence.
After the performance Reggie put Mrs. Castillyon into a cab, but he would not shake hands, and there was a malevolent scowl on his handsome face which singularly disturbed her; for what at first had seemed but a passing fancy was now unaccountably changed into a desperate passion. She had the soul of a trollop, and for years had flirted more or less seriously with one man after another; but it was chiefly admiration she sought and someone to go about with her and pay for little extravagances; and though several had taken the matter in earnest, she always kept her head, and was careful to drop them when they grew troublesome. But now, driving away alone, there was a dull and hungry pain in her heart; she was tormented by the anger of those handsome eyes, and remembered sorrowfully the hurried kiss he had given her the day before in the cab.
“Supposing he doesn’t come back,” she whispered, with a painful sob.
She was a little frightened also, knowing herself in the power of a dissolute, selfish boy who cared nothing for her. Any woman would have served his purpose as well, for she saw with bitter clearness that he was merely dazzled by her wealth and her diamonds. He liked to dine at her house, and it pleased his vanity to embrace a woman in expensive clothes. But she had not the temperament to make a fight for freedom, and gave herself up to this love weakly, careless into what abyss of shame and misery it led. Going to her room, she wrote a pitiful letter to Reggie, and those with whom in time past she had cruelly played, seeing this utter abasement, might have felt abundantly revenged.
“Don’t be angry with me, darling; I can’t bear it. I love you with all my heart and soul. I’m sorry that I was horrid this evening, but I couldn’t help it, and I will try to keep my temper. Write and say you forgive me, because my head is throbbing and my heart is aching for you.
“I love you—I love you—I love you.
“GRACE.”
She folded the letter, and was about to put it in an envelope, when an idea crossed her mind. For all her flippancy, Mrs. Castillyon had a good deal of observation; it had not escaped her notice that Reggie hated to spend money. She went to a drawer and took out a ten-pound note, which with a postscript she enclosed.
“I’m sorry I hadn’t my purse to-night, and I’ve only got this note here. Please take what I owe you out of it, and with the change you might buy yourself a tie-pin. I wanted to give you a little present, but I’m afraid of getting something you won’t like. Please say you’re not cross with me for asking you to see about it yourself.”
The youth read the letter with indifference, but when he came to the last lines blushed, for his mother had instilled into him certain rules of honour, and against his will, he could not escape the notion that it was the most discreditable thing possible to accept money from a woman. For a moment he felt sick with shame, but the note was crisp and clean and inviting. His fingers itched.
His first impulse was to send it back, and he sat down at his writing-table. But when he came to put the note in an envelope, he hesitated and looked at it again.
“After all, what with the dinner and tea yesterday, she owes me a good deal of it, and I shall spend it on her if I keep it. She’s so rich, it means nothing to her.”
Then he had an inspiration.
“I’ll put the balance on a horse, and if it comes in I’ll give her the tenner back. If it doesn’t—well, it’s not my fault.”
He pocketed the note.