The Triumph of Theresa. A novel

Chapter I

It was a hot day towards the end of August, and Piccadilly was not looking its best. Like a fashionable beauty at the end of the season, fatigued with late hours and heated rooms, and dashed perhaps by the recollection of a series of succes destime, in which estimation had not given place to a warmer feeling — London seemed ener vated, unstrung, indolent. Piccadilly, of course, was still Piccadilly, but only in name. Nature was there — for even in Piccadilly there is some nature — but VOL. I. L' she had lost her better half. The human interest had disappeared. The only interest that is of lasting interest, the one thing that makes the world go round, was wanting, and with the departure of society for the continent, the country, the sea, or the moor, had departed the life of the capital. Why the disappearance of a few hundred unintellectual, and for the most part uninteresting and insignificant people, should make so great a difference to the greatest city in the world is not very plain ; but it is a fact that it is so, and the solution of this deep mystery is calculated to annoy the unfortunate society atom who may be obliged to remain in the metropolitan wilderness while his fellow atoms are indulging in the more soothing occupations of a rural existence.

Some such annoyance might almost have been visible upon the usually tranquil features of a certain Colonel Farquhar, as he stood upon the steps of a well-known service club in Piccadilly, and gazed upon the murky greenness of the park, while he cursed, inaudibly but none the less heartily, the fate that had tied him to London on a very hot August day. What made matters worse was that for London, as London, he had a great liking, finding in its noise and stirring life a source of almost invariable delight. But there is no one a man dislikes so much as the mistress he has adored and very possibly may adore again, but with whom for the moment he is not in complete agreement. It was but yesterday he gazed with rapture into her blue eyes and listened with delight to the silvery accents that fell from the dearest of lips, but that only adds to B the annoyance he feels at the discovery that hers are not the only eyes in the world, and that there is a pair of grey ones in the next county he would give much to see.

And if Chloe's accents were silver yesterday, Lesbia's would be golden to-day could he but be within range of them. Chloe is tall, Chloe is fair, Chloe is charming, but she palls, and dearly as he may love her next week, it is Lesbia he loves to-day — Lesbia the mere memory of whose accents stirs his heart as he listens to Chloe's prattling follies. So with our Colonel. London last month was all he wanted. To-day a shady Devonshire lane, a breezy Hampshire common, the ripple of a northern stream, the lap of the sea upon a southern shore, how delightful they seem, but alas how unattainable. The military profession has many attractions. It offers chances of that personal distinction, of those individual deeds, which science has not yet succeeded in rendering impossible, although we do now make war by rule of three and conquer by the book.

There still survives in the heart of every real man, certainly in that of every real young man, a longing to distinguish himself not by the keenness of his intellect nor by the greatness of his knowledge, not by the power of his oratory nor by the acuteness of his judgment, but by the simpler more brutal achievements of his own right arm ; by the display of courage, or the exercise of calmness in danger. Still, on the battle-field we resolve the world into its first elements, and the better man is he who has the greater pluck, the better endurance, the quicker eye, the readier hand. Brains, birth, education, breeding go for naught — it is man to man — and the aristocrat from St. James's or the coster from Whitechapel are in one supreme and splendid moment on a par. It is this that gives the profession of arms its chief hold upon the manhood of even so money-getting a nation as ours.

A lawyer, a merchant, a doctor, aclergyman, a politician, an actor, a painter, an author may die rich after a life of comparative ease and luxury — but who ever knew a wealthy soldier or sailor who had acquired his wealth by the exercise of his profession, and who at his life's end could look round with complacency on the riches fifty years, perhaps, of toil had accumulated ? But if you find this attraction of man liness on the one side, you find certain drawbacks on the reverse of the medal. There is such a thing as " Duty " ; not the splendid word emblazoned in English history by Nelson, but a far meaner term, well understood by the most ordinary subaltern. It was some such duty that kept Colonel Farquhar in London, and allowed him time and opportunity for the observation of Piccadilly on this August day.

Do not, however, imagine that he was a mere club lounger, that lowest of civilized types. Colonel Farquhar was a man of energy and resource who, in common with many ether guardsmen, had taken advantage of our frequent minor wars to make himself acquainted with modern battlefields in India, Egypt, and the Cape, and had gained an experience of men and things which had expanded and enlarged ideas already shrewd and well balanced, and sympathies which, if quick, were not exaggerated. He was young, fortunate, moderately well off, and sufficiently goodlooking to more than hold his own with the tailor-made Apollos of Society ; while quick promotion, a considerable share of active service, and good abilities had united in placing him in a sufficiently important and interesting post at headquarters.

But as his chief preferred Scotland to London at this time of year ; the air of a moor and the scent of the heather to the dulness of an office and the rattle of a hansom, Colonel Farquhar was perforce in London ; there to discharge those duties which seem to require two men for their proper performance in the season, but only one out of it. He sighed as he looked at the blowsy dustiness in front of him, but as he did so he bcame aware of a pleasant and unusual sight, and one calculated to bring smiles to the face of anyone capable of a smile. This unexpected and welcome sight was the approach of a young and sprightly person, the Hon. Dick Fullerton, who, dressed in cool and befitting attire, left the heated pavement of Piccadilly for the shade of the club entrance. Dick Fullerton was a younger son and a poor one.

Now a younger son should always be cheerful. He is nothing if he is gloomy. Who can picture a tragic younger son ? Fortune has given him a severe buffet in the person of an elder brother, but it would be madness to re pine, and Dick Fullerton thoroughly appre ciated the fact. A sulky heir apparent is not an impossible being. He is at liberty to indulge in sulks if he likes them ; but his younger brother must be lively, docile, friendly, clever, amusing, agreeable, and, if possible, harmless. He will then be welcomed — not, of course, as effusively as the heir — but with that certain degree of warmth that can be conferred upon a young man whom nobody, of course, takes seriously, but who, for that very reason, has a standing of his own, and who is, moreover, an in dispensable adjunct of life.

Dick Fullerton was a diplomatist, that is to say he was a third secretary of lega tion ; but he was always spoken of as " the attache," and he had not yet had an opportunity to display diplomacy on a grand scale — which perhaps was just as well. He was going through such a course of training in and out of all the great capitals of Europe as is generally considered necessary for the proper education of one who may some day represent this great empire at a foreign court. He knew Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Madrid, St. Petersburg, Constantinople, and a host of smaller places ; he could speak most European languages with graceful facility ; could dance, sing a little, ride passably, shoot well, and lead a cotillon, compose a sonnet, or remove a bore with equal ease and grace. He was in fact a useful man, and, what is more, he was not a fop or a fool.

At sight of him Colonel Farquhar's boredom vanished. "Dick!" he cried, "is it really you, in such a place, at such a time of year ? You, the sought-after of countless host esses ; you, the joy of country houses, and the pride of capitals ! What in the name of fashion are you doing in Piccadilly at five o'clock on an August afternoon ? " Dick smiled ; smiling was one of his accomplishments ; he did it very well. " I — well, I — I am just passing through London," he said. " Only here for a few days. Business, my dear Maurice, business, you know," and he looked very mysterious. Dick had a weakness. He liked to be mysterious ; some young men do. It is a harmless and innocent fancy, and deceives no one. Colonel Farquhar shook his head. " Business, I suppose, is another name for petticoats," he said.

" I know you men of diplomacy ; there is always a woman where you are concerned, and to tell me it is anything else that has brought you here at this time of year is useless. I shan't believe you ; but what has your mysterious business to do with this haunt of plain straightforward naval and military men? "My brother Jim asked me to call and give them an address to which to send his letters. He is up in Scotland and wants them forwarded." "Why not have written to the hall porter ? " " Oh, Jim's too busy to write — he's shooting with Ballantræ. Writing a letter might disturb him too much, take off his attention, make his hand shake, or upset his eye. It's a serious thing, shooting with Ballantræ, you know." Farquhar laughed. " It must be," he said, as he looked on while his friend re ceived a packet of letters from the hall porter, and carefully sorted them into two heaps.

" What are you doing ? " " Sorting them," said Dick. " All the bills, circulars, duns, on one side ; all the others on the other. Here's a third class. That goes in the middle." " What class is that ?" "That? That's from Mrs. Matcham, the mother of Jim's last flame but one. Jim's got some money, you see ; left him by an uncle ; not much, not enough to marry Molly Matcham on, but just enough to attract the mother. That requires con sideration. Here," to the porter, "please send all these off to this address " — writing on a card — "and keep these." He paused, eyeing the solitary note intently. " What's to be done with that, you de cider of the destinies of others ? " " I think it might go," answered Dick. " Jim's going on from Ballantræ's to morrow to the Danbys', and it might act as a corrective.

Miss Danby is his very latest admiration. Do you know her ? " Farquhar nodded. " Good girl ! " said Dick, " but wouldn't do for Jim, not clever enough. Jim's got no head, he's all heart ; must marry brains. I think Mrs. Matcham's letter might act as a warning to him. Yes, let it go — " to the porter, who had not overheard these observations, and -who paid no attention to anything save his orders. "And now," said Farquhar, "that you have settled these weighty affairs satisfac torily, suppose you have a drink." The drink of fellowship in modern life takes the place of the ancient bread and salt, and no meeting of friends seems possible without it. But Dick wouldn't drink. Dick was an exception : he liked to be different from the rest of the world in such matters : it gave an air of dis tinction.

So he stood at the door of the club with Colonel Farquhar, and enlivened that fortunate soldier with cheerful talk. " What are you doing here ? " at last he said. " Why are you not away ? Duty ? Office ? Nonsense ! A soldier can always get leave. It is different with our service. So many things depend on one, you know," and he frowned portentously. " Of course," assented his friend with great gravity. " High politics must be most interesting but rather exacting. I suppose you are kept in town by something of the sort ? " Dick nodded. " Well," he said, in a confidential tone, "politics and petticoats you may have noticed often go together ; and between you and me, Maurice, there is a certain person over here, a foreigner you under stand, whom it is part of my business to see, and, if I can, to assist."

"Your business and your pleasure, my boy," responded the soldier. " I knew it the moment I saw your face. What a fortunate fellow you are. Young and beautiful, no doubt, with a limited know ledge of England, and a touching confidence in Dick Fullerton. Be careful, though ; you mustn't trifle with the lovely foreigner, Dick. What is she? Italian, French, Russian, eh ? Russians are very fascinating, I believe." " So so," answered the complacent diplomatist, with an air as if he had explored the Russian Empire from end to end, and found it empty of beauty. " This lady is, well, not altogether Russian. In fact, I think her father was English." " Mother a Russian then I suppose ? " No, her mother was Spanish, or Italian, or something of that sort." "Then where does the Russian come in ?" " Her husband, my dear Maurice."

" Oh, her husband ! A jealous husband, no doubt. Russians are infernally bad tempered, Dick, aren't they ? " " This one may be," said Dick, " I can't say. He's dead." vol. i. c " Dead ! A widow ! More and more interesting, and yet more dangerous. You make me quite long to see this cosmo politan widow." Dick eyed him for a moment ; his head on one side. "I think I will," he said. " Yes, I think I will." " You think you will, what ? " said Farquhar. " Marry the widow, Dick ? " " No," said Dick. " Introduce you to her." " Oh ! my dear boy, I should be out of my element entirely. A plain soldier, used to the life of the camp rather than that of the court ! " "Humbug!" said Dick. "She wants to know some soldiers ; asked me a lot of questions about them yesterday ; talked about the War Office ; said she once had an uncle there, or something of the sort.

Wanted to know if I knew anyone in it, and so on. I said I could show her lots of soldiers if it were the season, but that vou all went out when the grouse came in. I didn't know you were in town, you know. You're the very man ; you can tell her all about everything — a perfect encyclopædia of military knowledge as you are. Come on, we'll go there now." " I'll walk part of the way with you, but I won't go nearer to the enemy," laughed Farquhar. " Where does she live ? " " Norfolk Street, Park Lane," answered the other, as they passed into Piccadilly to gether. " And you must come in. Femi nine society is good for you ; and there isn't another woman in London, and there couldn't be a handsomer or a cleverer at any time." With such guileless talk the youthful diplomatist enlivened the way as they c went towards Norfolk Street ; and, al though his companion started with no in tention of going further than the fair lady's doorstep, by the time they reached he had been persuaded by his friend's earnest entreaties to enter the house with him.

To tell the truth, no very great per suasion was necessary, since he had ab solutely nothing to do, and had not talked to anyone but a club waiter and a club bore for a week. Dick's detailed descrip tion of Countess Kavalefski — as his friend was named — was, on the whole, a pleasant one, although if his words were to be believed, her looks were more curious than beautiful. But Dick's ideas of beauty were rather peculiar, and although Farquhar expected nothing very striking, he thought this cosmopolitan person might be better-looking than the attache made out. And since Fullerton assured him he would not be de trop, but, on the contrary, that the countess would be grateful to him — Dick — for introducing a " real soldier " ; and since he knew that Dick's susceptible heart was really in the possession of someone else, he had no scruples about accompanying his friend to the house.

The countess was "at home;" they followed the neat maidservant upstairs, and were ushered into her presence. Farquhar saw before him a woman not in the least like anything he had expected. The idea he had gathered from Fullerton's description had been that of a lively per son with dark eyes, an indifferent com plexion, and abrupt manners. He saw something very different. Madame Kavalefski possessed that great charm, so rare ; but, for that reason, so en trancing — indescribability. After conversing with her for half an hour, if suddenly asked to say what she was like, to describe her face, her hair, her eyes, her figure, a man would in nine cases out of ten find himself taking refuge in the merest generalities, uncertain whether her eyes were grey or blue, her mouth large or small, her nose aquiline or the reverse.

She had, in fact, the gift of appearing to most men as their ideal, the woman of whom they might vaguely dream, but never see ; the catalogue of whose graces once seen they would find themselves quite unable correctly to enumerate, each particular beauty being merged in the charm of the whole. She had, however, one beauty that attracted the attention of the least obser vant of men — her hair. It was of that peculiar auburn tint that in some lights seems molten gold, in others deepest red — and one of whose most beautiful attributes is its wonderful sheen and lustre. Such hair is usually accompanied by an ivory complexion of great clearness, and both of these beauties Madame Kavalefski possessed ; but so much in harmony with them were her eyes, her features, her ex pression, that the effect they produced was less startling than would have been the case in a woman who relied on them for her sole attractions.

In repose, her colour ing was indeed her most remarkable attribute, but when she spoke you lost it in the music of her tones, and when she smiled you were so enraptured by the beauty of her expression, that in the light and shade that played across her face you forgot the individual beauty of its features. To say that this was the immediate con clusion Colonel Farquhar arrived at would be wrong, for at first he was so over powered by her nameless attraction, her indescribable grace, that he could not — nor would have if he could— put into words the pleasure her presence gave him. There are some natures like this, which vibrate unconsciously to the presence of a sympathetic nature, and on whose sensi tive individuality, once or twice in their ex perience, reacts the force of a similar and congenial spirit.

Dick Fullerton's nature was not one of these. He scarcely acknowledged her charm — or if he did, he hid his knowledge of it very completely. And as reticence — especially in this direction — was not this young diplomatist's strong point, we may reasonably infer that to him Madame Kavalefski appeared a beautiful woman nothing more. " I have brought a friend of mine to see yrou, my dear countess," he said. " Colonel Farquhar, of the Guards, one of the most rising of our soldiers, and without whose assistance the very badly oiled wheels of the War Office would become so clogged as to cease to move." Madame Kavalefski smiled. " It gives me much pleasure to meet Colonel Farquhar," she replied, " and he is fortunate in his introducer." " But pray do not imagine me to be so oleaginous a person as Dick would make out," laughed Farquhar.

" The War Office wheels may not move as swiftly as so dashing a diplomatist may think desirable, but such movement as they possess is not due to any special exertion on my part." " Nonsense," said Dick. " Maurice is one of the most modest of men. It's my belief he runs the whole show ; I'm sure he does now, for there's not another man in London, let alone a soldier, and as you, Madame, are the only woman in London, — and long may you remain there, — I thought the least I could do would be to make you acquainted." "You are always thoughtful," she smiled. "You invariably do the right thing; and I want your advice very much, for you know it is years since I was in London, and I feel quite lost here." Dick rubbed his hands with gentle delight. There is nothing a man likes so much as to feel himself of use to a woman, and a pretty woman can confer no greater pleasure on a man than by asking him to do her some service, however trifling.

" Pray command me," he said. " I exist but to obey you ! " " Oh ! Mr. Fullerton, I have heard that speech before from you. You keep it in stock, and produce it for the occasion, I know." Farquhar laughed. " I see you know Dick very well," he said. " I too have heard that speech — though not addressed to me, I need hardly say. But you will find him the best of guides or advisers as far as London is con cerned ; and on anything from the hire of a house to the purchase of a bonnet his opinion is that of a connoisseur." " I shall not trouble him as to the latter," she replied, "and as to a house, this one has already been taken for me by a friend for the winter ; but there are many things I want to know — and I daresay between you, you can inform me." Both men expressed their readiness to advise her, and in a short time Madame Kavalefski was thoroughly informed as to the prob.xble date on which London would again begin to fill ; the whereabouts of certain persons to whom she had introduc tions ; the relative merits of Brighton, Folkestone, and Eastbourne ; the time it takes to reach Perth, and the best train to travel by ; the names of the few theatres still open ; and similar details, of which a long residence on the continent had left her ignorant.

Farquhar could not but remark the quick ness of her perception, and the readiness with which she seized upon the particular information she desired out of the somewhat heterogeneous mass presented to her by the obliging attache, who interspersed his advice with anecdotes of persons known and unknown to the countess, and reminis cences of former days on the continent ; while his whole speech, although not exactly Tlie Triumph of Theresa. 29 slangy, betrayed those subtle shades of expression peculiar to society. Finally he wound up by declaring that his half-sister, Lady Edgbaston, had em powered him to ask Madame Kavalefski to Neston Grange, Lord Edgbaston's Somersetshire place, and had declared her intention of following it up by a formal written invitation. Farquhar was rather surprised at this, for Lady Edgbaston was a very particular person, and her invitations were not often extended to foreign countesses whom she did not know ; but his surprise was re moved when Madame Kavalefski said that Lady , the wife of the English minister at Vienna, had been good enough to promise to write to her old friend Lady Edgbaston on her account.

She did not, however, say whether she would visit Neston Grange or not, and Farquhar, who was going there in Sep tember, found himself wondering with a certain amount of interest whether they would meet beneath that hospitable roof. Dick, however, took it all for granted, and was for escorting Madame Kavalefski down to Somersetshire at once. " You can't remain in town," he said, " in this heat. Neston is charming at this time of the year. My sister has a very pleasant party there just now, and we run down in no time by the fast train." " But I have not yet received your sister's invitation," she smiled, glancing at Farquhar in an amused way. " I could scarcely invade her without it, and besides, I have one or two things to do first." " Gertrude declared that she was going to write at once," said Dick, " and she is the most horribly exact person in the world — so you may expect to get her note at any moment.

Maurice, you are coming, aren't you ? " " Yes, next week I believe, towards the end of it — if I can get away." "You are very much tied by your work, Colonel Farquhar, I suppose ? " asked the countess. " I know so many people in the Russian War Ministry, that I should like to understand your system." Farquhar was surprised. Had an Englishwoman made the remark, he would have suspected her of making it merely for the sake of saying something, or in order to ingratiate herself with him ; but this woman looked at him so gravely, her expression showed so much intelligence that it did not seem incredible that she should really desire to understand the working of one of our departments of the State, nor impossible that she would under stand his explanation. Before he could answer, however, the irrepressible Dick broke in, — " System !

" he said, " system ! There is none, Madame ; none whatever. We pride ourselves on our want of system in all our departments, most of all in our War Office. The army is going to the dogs. It is learning to bark already, and its bark is ever so much worse than its bite — eh, Maurice ? " Madame Kavalefski looked quickly at the other to see how he took this depre ciatory criticism. " Dick is a licensed jester," said the soldier, who perhaps caught and inter preted her glance. " Nothing is sacred to him, not even the British army." "Which is certainly not a subject sor jest ! Quite right," said Dick. " It's be yond a joke, isn't it ? " " Mr. Fullerton, you are like all Englishmen, I see ; always delighted to run down your own institutions in jest, but once they are seriously assailed I expect you would be up in arms in their defence ; and I am sure Colonel Farquhar would be, at all events as regards the army."

Farquhar looked gratified, for in his heart he was proud of the army to which he belonged, and never joined in the chorus of abuse so often bestowed upon it by soldier and civilian alike. " I am an optimist," he said, "and with out going so far as to say that everything is for the best, I must own to thinking that it is better than it ever has been." " Pooh ! " said Dick, " a stage army, nothing more. It comes on again and again, hurrying round hehind the scenes to march on again afresh ; but Maurice is one of those easily satisfied people who sit in the pit and think it an enormous vol. I. D force ; but, talking of theatres, why should we not go to one to-night ? '' He paused, overcome with the brilliancy of his suggestion. Madame Kavalefski — who, truth to say, was already beginning to find London in August rather dull— looked inquiringly from one to the other.

"A very good suggestion, Dick," said Farquhar. " If Madame Kavalefski will trust herself to us ? " " I really don't know," she answered. " Would it be quite — quite the right thing ? Do you make up parties to your theatres like that ? I thought," she added deprecatingly, "you were more precise, more strict in England ? " "Not a bit," said Dick. "You may safely trust yourself to Maurice and me. I'll go and get a box on my way home, and we will meet you at the theatre door. It will be a charity if you will come. We are lost in this wilderness of London where there isn't a soul one knows ; and the theatre won't be crowded." Madame Kavalefski still hesitated, " I don't know," she said. "It would be very pleasant, but I am really so ignorant of English ways," and she looked at Farquhar, who replied : " You need not be afraid, Countess ; we are not such slaves as all that — and even if it was not quite correct — which I can assure you it is, there is no one in London, and as you are not known here, not a soul will ever be the wiser."