Children of Nature. A story of modern London

Chapter I

Alas ! the love of women ! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing : For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, And if 'tis lost life hath no more to bring To them but mockeries of the past alone. Byron. Lady Meldetjm concealed, under all her oddities and vulgarities, a good heart ; and she had never been able to cultivate up to the required pitch the art of destroying characters and taking pleasure in hearing them destroyed. She could say a rude thing with infinite gusto • but she bore no malice if the repartee was galling ; and she obstinately refused to believe in the absolute decay of morals which is supposed to have set VOL. II. B in nowadays. Alice's face and freshness had charmed her, and her indignation at the stories now openly told of that young lady knew no bounds. "It's just like you all!" she said.

"Just because she's prettier, and nicer, and more innocent than any of us, you can't allow her even the mildest of virtues. Why, you've only got to look at her and hear her talk to know these tales are false — as false as Flittery's smile." Flittery was at once her friend and her de testation. She despised him thoroughly, and never lost an opportunity of showing it, but he fetched and carried very well, always knew what was going on, was tant soit peu ornamental, well connected, and altogether an admirable tame cat. "Well, all that I can say is ," said this gentleman, not noticing the reference to him self. She interrupted him. "Whenever Flittery is going to be terrific in his spite he says, ' It's all he can say.' Now for it ! " " Well, Windy is never out of the house • and Modern London. 3 Mr. C. is very often out of it — and — well, well, time will show."

Badsworth, who was standing close by in con versation with some other men, grew very pale and bit his lips, but said nothing. "At all events," said Lady Meldrum, "we might as well have the story. I hate hints and innuendoes." " The story is a simple one, and not a bit surprising to anyone who has had their eyes open lately. Coming back from Richmond last Sunday with his coach, who should Charlie Heyward meet going there — it was evening — but Windermere in his phaeton, and with him a lady in a veil ; but who was easily recognised as " "As who?" asked Badsworth, eagerly. Flittery glanced at his face with a covert smile. " Why, Mrs. Chillingham, of course." " I don't believe a word of it." " There is no reason why you should," said Flittery, turning away. Then Badsworth went to his sister, to whom he had got into the habit of confiding his griefs and joys. b She was a bright little thing, a painting by Watteau — this Lady Eleanor Stonegrave.

Artistic, sentimental, mirth-loving, firmly believing in good was she, and patrician to her dainty finger-ends. Her little head was always full of what she called — her pouting lips almost refusing to bring out the big words — the amelioration of the masses ; but the practicability of her schemes was not much superior to that of the French queen, who could not under stand why the people should be silly enough to starve when they could buy such charming brioches at two sous apiece. Life was, as she intended it to be, very picturesque to her, and as she had not yet met any man endowed with a sufficiency of this quality — picturesqueness — she had hitherto refused all offers, and preferred to remain Lady Eleanor Stonegrave. " But what can I do, dear ?" she said, when her brother had finished his recital.

" I'm sure I don't know — except — couldn't you warn her how people are talking ? Of course I know how good and innocent she really is, and so do you." Alodcm London. 5 Lady Eleanor shook her head softly. " Yes, you do. You needn't shake your head, Nell — you must. But you see she doesn't know London, or what brutes people are. And Winder mere is such a cunning brute." " I don't see how I could interfere," said Lady Eleanor. " She'd think it great presumption in an unmarried girl ; and besides, dear, do you know, I don't much like going to North Street. If Lord Windermere isn't there, that odious Mrs. Belfort is sure to be." " How like a woman ! Because poor little Mrs. Belfort doesn't happen to be in your ' set ' she is perforce odious." " How like a man ! Because a woman is pretty, no matter what else she is, she is ' poor little Mrs. So-and-so ' at once.

But, surely, Lady Brocklesby hears things about her daughter-in-law ! She is not a woman people are shy of talking before ; and I've seen her watching Mrs. Chillingham when she's been talking to Lord Windermere, in a very peculiar manner." " Confound her ! " cried Badsworth. " I believe she has some reason for wanting mischief to be made between Jack and his wife. What an ass that fellow is, to be sure." At the time this speech was made, the ass in question was shouting himself hoarse upon the hustings, making prodigious points, audible only to the reporter, and in which " the British Consti tution " seemed to play a prominent part. But it was all of no use. The rebel spirit in Shodborough flamed out fiercely at last, and at the close of the poll the numbers stood : Hopgoal 927 Chillingham 873 " It was all that actress !

" muttered poor, perspiring Mr. Horton, as he stood in the balcony of The FitzCrewe Arms, and saw the crowd melt away which had been listening to Jack's valedic tory oration, to which he had with great effort succeeded in imparting a better-luck -nest-time air. "It was all that d d actress! It must have lost us at least one hundred votes of the Low Church people, that seeing him gallivanting about the streets with her." Modern London. 7 Windermere did not go to India after all. He came again to North Street for one more farewell, and Alice — hating herself for the weakness — asked him to stay in England. She attempted to throw a sop to her conscience by saying " Not at home " to him twice the next day, and with feminine inconsequence allowed him to take her a drive into the country the day after.

She scarcely yet realised the full meaning of what she had done, of the change which had taken place in her. She knew Jack was coming back immediately, and she shuddered at her ingratitude, at her wickedness in not being de lighted, as a short week ago she would have been. And yet, alas ! she was very happy — happy with a wild, passionate enjoyment that she had never felt before. With some women it is far greater pleasure to love than to be loved. Alice never asked herself whether she was not giving her all, and receiving nothing in ex change. Her "faith, unfaithful, made her falsely true." Windermere, however, was not aware of the fulness of his triumph. He did not know her well enough to be aware that she was not like the dozen or so of other women who had listened with downcast eyes and fluttering bosoms to his soft words.

That she was compromised was enough for him. That was the great barrier to be crossed, and the rest was easy. Her fits of coldness, her impatient rejection of the smallest caress, her indignation even at his calling her by her christian-name, he looked upon as so many feints to draw out the commencement of the liaison as much as possible. That success was in his grasp he doubted not at all, and he would not have objected to what he considered her affected prudery, had it been May instead of August, or were his yacht not awaiting him in Cowes Roads. Little knew he of the fierce battle between passion and duty that raged within Alice's heart. Little knew he of the ridiculous pedestal upon which that young woman had placed him. Had he dreamed of all this, he would probably have retired alarmed; for, as he had often said at the club, "there is nothing so disagreeable as to Modem London. 9 have a woman too seriously in love with one."

Whether this speech did much to reassure the suspicious and pitiable husbands who overheard it is, perhaps, doubtful. For the first time since they met in America, Alice met Jack's honest look of admiration and rapturous embrace with embarrassment. For the first time she felt that she was acting when, in answer to his fond questions, she avowed anew her affection for him. And yet she did love him — in a way. It was simply that till the other day she had not known what passionate love was ; she had mistaken the calm happiness with which she ac cepted Jack's homage and protection for a far different feeling. As she lay down to sleep that night her strongest sentiment was intense pity for herself, and a vague anger with Fate for having so de ceived and tricked her. On one thing she was sternly resolved.

Lord Windermere, Jack, no one, should ever know the fiery ordeal she had gone through. She would do her duty to her husband just as if no such person as the young lord existed. She would cut this guilty passion out of her heart. Not at once — that she knew to be impossible — but by degrees. She would force herself henceforward to be contented with such happiness as an un satisfied heart could afford. Her life would be incomplete; she would be another of those human beings who have just missed their destinies, and have themselves made this world nothing but a stony path along which to hurry, when it might have been a garden of lovely flowers, wherein to linger is pleasant. Jack's delight at returning stung her to the quick. She thought of Judas as she returned his kisses. She almost longed to confess all, and throw herself upon his pity; and — it must be confessed that she had not had quite time yet to pick up all the ways of society — she fell on her knees, and, while thanking Heaven, with charming inconsequence, for having brought her into this sweet temptation, prayed eagerly that she might be given strength to overcome the same And Jack, ere he went to sleep, thought to himself that his defeat at Shodborough, his poverty, and the pile of disagreeable missives which awaited his return, were amply compensated for by the pure love of his beautiful wife.

Chapter II

Desipere est mortale eterno jungere et una Consentire putare, et fungi mutua posse. Lucketius. Armado. — Adieu, valour ! rust, rapier ! be still, drum ! for your manager is in love : yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extem poral god of rhyme, for I am sure I shall turn sonnetteer. Love's Labour's Lost. The " season " flickered — flamed up at one or two desperate gaieties, by means of which lovers of London tried to obtain momentary oblivion of the long boredom now approaching — and finally went out amid the champagne and heat of Goodwood and the calmer joys of Cowes.

Like every other season it has been a "very bad one : " the tradesmen had despaired, and made their cent, per cent. ; the lucky proprietor of park chairs had amassed a fortune in coppers, but had grumbled at the averseness to seating themselves shown by some few spring captains; the linkmen, apparently existing in a perpetual state of hoarse ness and semi-intoxication, had returned to the mysterious bourne from whence they should emerge when the swallows again came back and told us it was summer; cross mammas and triumphant if perspiring papas conveyed their charges — less fair, less blooming, than a few short months ago, and with the weight of one more lost opportunity upon their shoulders — away to the green pastures of home ; the tailors were besieged by anxious dandies who had put off ordering their yachting or other rural clothes till the last; the doctors were sending their patients to German baths, and were themselves arranging their holiday tours ; and the thorough London fogies were congratulating themselves as the clubs gradually emptied, and it was no longer necessary to sit upon the last editions of the papers in order to make certain of retaining them, or to hide the amusing novels under sofa cushions.

The bursting of the bubble of a London season has something melancholy in it, and might indeed be made the theme of several pages of moralising had we not to attend to our story, and to develop as far as in us lies the ulterior destiny of Alice Chillingham. It is so much the fashion among novelists to take liberties with the post-bag, that we offer no apology to our readers for laying before them the following letters : No. 1. From Lady Eleanor Stonegrave, at Hollingly Hall, Cheshire, to Lord Badswoeth, St. James's Place, London. "Mt poor dear Prank, " Pancy your being kept stewing in London in this weather, and with no one to speak to except the policemen and milkmaids ! I declare I think the army ought to be broken up — or at least the Guards ought — when the season is over. Who on earth is there left in town worth guarding, I should like to know ?

So you want me to tell you all about our party here. I think I can guess the reason, and am very angry with you, and shall tell you nothing, except that we are all very cheery and lazy, and the lawn-tennis ground is perfect, and the place beautiful in its way; I don't care much for the style. But the Duke is a Goth, and says Morris and Co. are — well, he says a very rude thing about them, and always laughs when I try to talk of high art. I suppose some people, even sensible ones, have that sense wanting which teaches us that there can be poetry in the leg of a sideboard, and a symphony in a kettle-holder. Æsthetic perception is — but I won't give you a high art lecture, for I half suspect you are rather devoid of the sense I mentioned. The party here is not very large. It consists of Mrs. Jellaby, who dresses in exquisite taste, and manages to talk to everybody about things they like, as if she thoroughly understood each subject, and makes eyes at the Duke, who laughs at her behind her back, and is charmed by her.

Then, of course how wicked we are nowadays, to be sure ! — of course there is Charlie Holster, with very high collars and much shirt-sleeve and bad manners, but cheery and pleasant in a way too, and devoted to Mrs. J. ; Mr. Keyser, who moralises at breakfast, which is a crime worthy of hanging, and who will try and talk about art to me. Do you know, dear, that I half believe — but, no ; you will only say I am conceited ; all the same, I do think something. Mr. Tollebens — I beg his pardon, Sir Marmaduke Tollebens, Bart. — a snuffy old gentleman, isn't he ? but full of intelligence, till after dinner, when I fear he is generally rather too full of his grace's '48. They took him to bed last night after he had twice evolved a chair out of his inner consciousness, and therefore had twice sat down rather painfully on the floor.

Another baronet — that dreadful Sir John Glorme. I cannot understand why the Duke should have asked him here. One never breathes quite freely while he is in the room, and there is something in his blood-shot eyes which haunts me. We are, however, spared one affliction — Lady G. is not here. Johnny Beere, who is, as he himself says, in tiptop form, keeps ,, us all alive, though how he manages such high spirits the first thing in the morning, when I hear he is always the last to leave the smoking room, is wonderful. He and some of the younger men pulled Mr. Keyser out of bed the other night, and Mr. Keyser tries to cut him, but he won't be cut, and it is amusing, though, perhaps, rather a shame. I think, on the whole, practical joking is vulgar, and Mr. Keyser takes it very well, considering.

Lady Meldrum is here, quite splendid, ridiculously overdressed, and a terror to the poor Duke, whose secretary must, I think, have invited her out of contrariety. " Then there are a lot of inferior FitzCrewes — cousins and nephews, and others ; nearly all nice looking, and all ready to black the Duke's boots, which boots, by-the -bye, are rather large just now, as his grace has a touch of gout, and isn't in the best of tempers. " Let me see — is that all ? No. There's Mr. Flittery, who's amusing, and the best raconteur I know — good-looking too • and the Chillinghams. Do you know, Frank dear, that I like her very much ? Not a bit what I used to fancy her in London. I think she is melancholy ; she is so gentle, and gives way to everyone in such a pretty way. What eyes she has ! The Duke is hopelessly vol. 11. c in love with her, and no wonder.

I can scarcely imagine any man being near her for ten minutes without being hopelessly in love with her. Hoic I wish she would sit to dear Mr. W as a ' symphony/ or an ' arrangement,' or some thing ! But she scarcely seems to think herself pretty ; indeed I think she is the only unconceited woman I ever saw. She has her pug and her husband with her. The pug — Goggles by name — is delicious, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and such a skin ! The husband — well, I rather like him ; but — I suppose it's something wrong in my nature — I never care about a man who is so palpably in love with his wife. Of course he ought to be, but I think he might manage to hide it. Between you and me, I fancy his devotion bores her just a little ; but then too much devotion bores every woman. Mr. Keyser says that contempt is what a woman likes best ; but I hope that is not quite true.

I know I hate being despised. What a long stupid letter I've written ! But it's your own fault. Make them give you leave as soon as you can, and come to Stonegrave. We'll have some acting ; and if you're all very good I'll paint your scenery. — Your very affectionate sister, " Nelly. "P.S. — If you happen to be anywhere near Leicester Square soon, go to Lambert's shop, and pick me up something delicious and quaint in old silver as a present for Emily Chillinghani — something slightly ecclesiastical would be best. "P.S. No. 2.— I forgot to say that Lord Windermere has accepted an invitation here, and comes the day after to-morrow. The Chillinghams at lunch suddenly announced their intention of going to-morrow, but they have been persuaded to stay another week." Letter No. 2. — From Alice Chillingham, at Hollingly Hall, to Mrs. Belfort, Cowes, Isle of Wight.

" My dearest Minna, " I really don't think I have anything to tell you. Compared to your doings — dancing, c yachting, and must I add, flirting? — we are as quiet as Quakers. The Duke is charming, and we are fast friends — not fast in one sense, you understand. He is far nicer when you know him well • his indifference, cynicism, and selfishness are all put on, and if he were not a duke he would be perfect. You will have seen in The Post what our party is ; I know you are a great reader of the fashionable intelligence, so I need say nothing about it. I was very much relieved not to find a particular person. You ought not to have written to me as you did, Minna. Sup posing that what you said were true, or half true, would it not be a terrible thing for him, for me, for — for everyone ? You know we can't all be like you, and turn everything serious into childish play.

I envy you, dear, though I don't approve of you, and I can't possibly imitate you, and would not if I could. Jack is so good, and kind, and nice ■ not a bit cross or put out at his dis appointment about Parliament, where I am con vinced he would have made a name. I think the Duke likes him extremely, and I'm sure he ought to " I had to stop writing, as the luncheon-gong sounded ; and now, what do you think ? The Duke has just announced that Lord Windermere comes on Friday. I've told you so much that I might as well tell you more, for I know you do not talk. I daren't meet him ! It is too bad of the Duke to ask him — or, at any rate, it is too bad of him to accept; but we are going. I have persuaded Jack that I want to go to North Street to arrange my things before we let the house, and that I am dull here ; and we shall go to-morrow.

The Duke is furious ; but I can't help that. Meet that man I will not at any price. You don't know how torn and miserable I am, dear ; but never write to me as you did last. Consolation does not lie in that way. " In haste, "Yours ever, "Alice Chillingham. "P.S. — After all the Duke has persuaded Jack to stay. Only forty-eight hours before he comes ! That odious Mrs. Jellaby is full of her feeble wit, and she and Mr. Flittery are whispering in a corner and looking at me as I write. How I wish we had never come here ! " Letter No. 3. — From Lord Windermere, the Wraith, K.Y.S., Plymouth, to Lieut.-Colonel Herbert Derringer, Travellers' Club, London. " My dear Herbert, " Beastly weather, and rather lucky for you you didn't come. Thunderstorms and calms. I think I shall give up yachting. It's a snare and a delusion.

Perhaps a big steamer with a party 0f cheery fellows who would all play high, to go round the world in, might be fun. Certainly trying to win a race when there's not enough of wind to blow your flag out is damnation. I'm not sure you are not right in hanging on in town. I am not sure, indeed, that you are not right in everything. You have no ostensible means of livelihood, and yet you live better than I do. You haven't got a drop of the milk of human kindness in you, and you are the most popular fellow in Modem London. 23 London. You hate women, and they all dote on you. You never take the trouble to do more than walk down Pall Mall, and yet we all know you can shoot and ride better than any of us ; and you profess never to open a book, or to known an inn sign from a Raphael, while your friends are per fectly aware that you can write verses as witty as Hood's and as melodious as Tom Moore's, that you have read every work in English, French, German, and Italian worth reading, are a first-class classical scholar, and can paint at least as well as half the R.A.'s. " You are an absurdity, that's the fact of it, and it amuses me this sweltering day, lying under my awning with a pipe and a bottle of hock, to remind you of the fact.

"You want to know what I am doing. Well, I'm thinking of a pair of dark eyes. Not an unusual thing with me, eh ? But this time I am not the victor musing on the field of battle, but the beaten general wondering how the deuce he made so many mistakes. Of course you know who I mean; even you must allow she is perfect. I made all sorts of promises of keeping away, &c Children of N attire. 24 — you see it has progressed — and I now intend deliberately to break them. If there'd been any wind at these confounded regattas, or if the Wraith had done better when we did have enough to move through the water with, it might have been different. But the ship is no good except when reefing is the order of the day, and I'm sick of the whole thing. So I send by this post an accept ance of old Cheshire's invitation for next week at Hollingly, where she is to be.

" Despite your solemn assurance that another row of the old kind would be the last straw to break the camel's back of the toleration of society, I intend to have one more. Besides, 1 don't care a damn for society, and even if it did look black — which I don't believe it ever would on me (it only disapproves of those it can kick with im punity) — Alice's eyes are worth a bigger price than that. " She puzzles me rather. Whether she is amusiug herself or is really seriously taken I can't make out. Sometimes I think she is desperately in love with her husband — not that that even often stands in the way of a larky woman. Sometimes I Modern London. 25 believe she only flirts with me to be seen of men — and women ; but oftenest it seems she is wretched and sentimental, and trying not to show me she cares for me.

" I wish you would go into society more, you old hermit, and then you might have given your valuable opinion. She has the most lovely hands and feet I ever saw. Lady Brocklesby is a curious woman. All the season her chief endeavour appeared to be to arrange that I should meet her daughter-in-law. Perhaps to some women match unmaking comes as natural as match-making to others. But it struck me as odd and rather disgusting. Write and tell me the news occasion ally ; and if you have any sweet love ditties written in your hot youth, you might send them to me. It may be, according to Butler, that — " She that by poetry is won Is but a desk to write upon, but I haven't found it so; only the poetry must he rather incomprehensible to have much effect. " Yours, W." Letter No. 4. — From Lieut.-Colonel Herbert Derringer, Travellers' Club, to Lord Windermere, Hollingly Hall.

" My dear Windy, "You're an ass, as I've told you a thousand times. The Divorce Court is as vulgar as Hampstead Heath now ; and you look as well riding a whirligig on Margate Parade as running away with your friend's wife, in these practical days. The ridicule is all thrown on the Lothario, not the Benedict now — on the homer and not on the hornee. They manage these things better in France; but we do not live in France. As to defying the opinion of the people you live with, you talk like a boy of sixteen. You might just as well cut off your feet so as to walk without suffering from your corns. Of course, the opinion of your set is a nuisance, just as having your hair cut is a nuisance ; but it must exist, and you must not let your tangled locks stream 'like a meteor to the troubled air.' " However, ' Gang your ain gait.' I never Modem London. 27 trouble myself about other people's affairs.

Only one thing — do not commit the common mistake of being a friend of the husband's. It is bad form. Just as I never tell a lie — not from principle, but because it is less trouble to speak the truth — so I have a reasonless, and utterly irrational perhaps, dislike to anything like deceit. " I have burnt all my school-day verses, I think — at least I can lay hands on none but these, which are almost too silly even for you to have written. However, you are welcome to them. " Yours ever, " Herbert Derringer." As the enclosed verses did eventually reach Alice, who thought them perfect, we may as well place them before the reader, on whom their perusal is not obligatory : To Oh, sweet eyes bathed in liquid blue I Oh, pouting rosy lips ! Oh, tiny ears of shell-like hue Oh, fairy finger-tips I When to those lips my own I press, And when that little hand Nestles in mine with shy caress, And — a magician wand — Turns all my blood to sudden fire, And bids me leave our mirth For the stern joys of fierce desire, Then heaven comes down to earth.