A Bird of Paradise

Chapter II. Callers And Congratulations

. . . -231 Boost t\_t HcconV. THE ECHO LIVES.

CHAPTER I.

"man proposes " mrXvfdB HEN Helen gets back to Grosvenor Mk Place, she finds Mrs. Dillwater so vjsSb^t^) far recovered from her passing malady that she is equal to the eating of a substantial luncheon with a powerful appetite. After performing this feat, Mrs. Dillwater has herself carefully arranged upon the couch in the smaller drawing-room, there to await, with pleasant anticipations, the arrival of the Dean. That any human being should come to VOL. II. B Grosvenor Place for reason other than to see her has never entered her feeble brain, and never will enter it. Despite the fact that hare's foot and powder puffs are used more frequently, and of necessity with more and more effect, she has a sleepy feeling that there is still the full blush of her early beauty about her, that she is exactly the sort of interesting invalid men like to call upon and pity, and talk to — avoiding, of course, reference to anything dreadful.

She has no infinitesimal atom of doubt but that her husband comes more often to London to see her, and her alone. That he has a deep admiration for the new companion (as any man, but an idiot, would have if he only knew her as she appears to be), is a great grotesque fact of which she has no cognisance whatever. Every one who knows her, Mrs. Dillwater believes, must pity and love her, and so lives on in the most absurd state of self-deception possible to conceive. " Even to-day I feel fearfully dreamy, my dear," she tells Helen, in the midst of an interminable chapter of "Sunflowers." "I think it must be that dear book — it is so soothing." Helen thinks it is the luncheon, but says : " Do not try to keep awake. / will see the Dean downstairs if he comes." But Mrs. Dillwater will not listen to this arrangement.

"Ah! I must see the dear Dean — to apologise, you know ; it was so horribly rude of me to fall asleep yesterday, while he was talking so interestingly, too ! I'm afraid he felt it." Recollecting the anxiety of the Very Reverend that the invalid should not wake, this speech is singularly amusing to Helen, who protests that the Dean was not in the least annoyed by it. " It is a very bad habit, my dear — this sleeping after luncheon, and it is growing upon me — which is fearful ! Every day now I experience it. What am I to do ? and — oh, my dear! there is James beckoning." B There is, indeed, and waiting to inform Helen of the Dean's arrival. "Two days running! really too good of him. Am I presentable?" asks Mrs. Dili water, with a feeble little titter, when Helen breaks the great intelligence to her.

" Oh, perfectly ! and looking better than usual," says Helen, as she goes to the door to give the necessary order for admittance to James. " My dear Mrs. Dillwater. On the chair, if you please" (to James, who bears an im mense portfolio). " My dear Mrs. Dillwater, how well — I mean how well for you — you are looking ! And how is Miss Mayvill ? " Helen does not speak, but gives him her hand — that white, shapely, lovable hand, which had been pressed ere this by so many luckless, longing swains ; and the in valid upon the couch breaks forth into copious apologies for her rudeness yesterday. " So rude of me — so wrong of me — so detestably horrible of me ! I know you'll never forgive me ; and what you were saying was so interesting ! " she says, and having exhausted herself with her energy, winds up by asking Helen for a smelling-bottle.

" I really — I scarcely noticed it, I assure you — that is " " Oh, my dear Dean,' how abominably un interesting I must be, then! Oh, really ! " " Pray do not misapprehend me. I would say that — that one expects all that sort of thing from an invalid," stammers the poor Dean, finally getting into harbour with the last word — one which never fails to please Mrs. Dillwater. "Yes, a poor, weak invalid. I will shelter myself under that excuse ; but what have you brought to-day ? " and she looks towards the immense portfolio upon the chair. " Only a few more photographs of cathe drals ; not merely English ones — Italian and French. I thought the subject interested Miss Mayvill," says the Dean, looking at that young lady, anxiously. " Oh, how good you are ! Fancy recol lecting Helen's likings!" exclaims Mrs. Dillwater, in a tone that says : " And you only do it solely upon my account, I know.

" Shall we use this table again ? " asks Helen, smiling, and opening the portfolio. " Excellent, excellent ! " says the Dean, going up beside her. " Nothing could be better ; the light is so good here." " I know you'll drive me into going to sleep again. I feel you will. Oh, do show me something beautiful to keep me awake ! " piteously, from the couch. " We will, with pleasure ; but pray don't endeavour to keep awake, in weak health a doze is such a restorative," answers the mellow voice of the Very Reverend. " ' Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep,' I forget at the moment who wrote the words." " Allen, I fancy," replies Mrs. Dillwater, feebly. She has caught the one word " re storer" in the Dean's quotation, and the only connection in her mind is Allen. But the Dean is far too much engrossed with his romantic thoughts to notice any thing amiss.

"Very likely— probably," he says, mechanically, taking out one of the photographs. " Milan — an excellent photo — observe the lights and shadows." " Beautiful ! How I should enjoy going to Italy ! " Helen remarks, watching his face with sly mischief the while. " A singularly pleasant experience. I went to Italy once." " A great time ago ? " asks Helen, mali ciously. She knows perfectly well, from what Mrs. Dillwater has told her, that it was in Italy he met his wife. " Not so very long ago, perhaps fifteen years or so. I have no doubt the country is much changed. I, too, should be happy in seeing it again," and he sighs. He has found himself sighing lately. How immensely entertaining all his laboured love-making is to Helen, he will never know ; on the contrary, he has a strong idea that he is gaining ground rapidly.

A few more photos are turned over, and then a gentle snore comes from the sofa ; Mrs. Dillwater is asleep again. With a clearing of his voice (but gently, for fear of waking the sleeper) the Dean tries to swallow a large lump that has suddenly arisen in his throat, and only partially succeeding in this, he turns towards the couch to cover his increasing awkwardness, and assure him self that his dear friend is really off safely. Dean or dustman, hearts beat faster when about to be laid before some fair one for acceptance or rejection, even supposing the coast clear, and the chances of interruption small. But with an awkwardly light sleeper just dozed off, the situation is a thousand times more difficult ; and yet, look at it which way he may, the Dean can see no chance of a more favourable opportunity than the present.

He never sees Helen alone ; clearly it must be done now. " MAN PROPOSES " 9 He clears his throat for the second time, and, apparently deriving comfort therefrom, proceeds to do so a third time before saying (feebly, compared with his usual flow of language) : " My dear Miss Mayvill — for a long time — -I have seen — that is to say — felt " (here a slight movement of the sleeper makes him start ancl turn to see that there is no sudden awakening of the invalid) — "felt" — (finding Mrs. Dillwater still safely in the land of dreams) — " that my lot is such that I might — I say I might — without undue presumption — think of — offering a share in it to — to some one else " Helen has moved upon her chair, so that her face is invisible to him as she looks out of the window. She does not turn towards him in the least as he speaks, standing at her side, with the photographs strewn about the table.

His perturbation is exquisite comedy to her, and she will not shorten it by a single moment. " Yes ? " she asks, softly, still looking away from him. " Offering it to some one else," continues the Dean, taking up the thread of his de claration as best he can. " Excuse my undue haste and precipitancy in mode or expression — the circumstances are so peculiar — so ex tremely unfavourable," and he glances help lessly towards the couch. " But nevertheless, Miss Mayvill — may I hope? 1 have loved — deeply as I can love — for a long time. I " Here he is startled into silence by a voice from the couch : " Oh, my dear Dean ! " it says. Mrs. Dillwater is only talking in her sleep, however. " Excuse all my imperfections — excuse everything ; see the fearful awkwardness of my position — only tell me — may I hope ?

" He stops, breathless with fear and anxiety. To his utter humiliation, Helen bursts out laughing. She cannot help it. She has turned round to get a look at him, and the vision that meets her eyes is so extremely funny, as he stands there, white with anxiety, his glance moving quickly back and forward between Mrs. Dillwater upon the couch and herself at the window, that she could not help laughing if her life depended upon it. The Dean's face grows stern. He cannot stand derision. " I do not understand this," he says, angrily. "If it were not for waking Mrs. Dillwater, I would tell you plainly, Miss Mayvill, that ministers of the Church are not fit subjects for laughter, do they what they may. I would tell you " " But I thought I had to tell you some thing," interrupts Helen, controlling her mer riment with difficulty.

" I'm extremely sorry that something should be an unhesitating negative ; but it must be — there is no other alternative." " I regret extremely " begins the Dean, with a return of his old pomposity of manner ; but Helen breaks in once more. " And so do I. We have had a most absurd scene. I hope it won't be repeated in the future." She is obliged to have a dig at him now she has the chance — it is part of her nature. " May I beg " That I will put the photos up ! Cer tainly ; I shall be delighted," and she begins collecting them with dexterous hands. Already the Dean's mouth is open to reply fiercely, for his temper is thoroughly roused, when Mrs. Dillwater ends the matter by slowly opening her eyes and declaring she " has heard every word, and was never more interested in her life." Dismay falls upon the Dean.

Helen knows perfectly what this statement is worth, and says, calmly : "And do you agree that there is no finer cathedral than Antwerp ? Think of Rome." " My dear girl, you know I always agree with the dear Dean," replies the invalid, diplomatically, having heard nothing what ever, as Helen imagined. " Must you really go — so soon ? " pleads the hostess, for the Very Reverend gets his portfolio under his arm, and prepares to depart. " When shall we see you again ? " " I can hardly say. I have to go into the country, I think," replies the Dean, almost shortly ; and, shaking hands with Mrs. Dillwater, and merely bowing stiffly to Helen, he goes out. " There, my dear ! What do you think of that ? He was quite annoyed, I'm sure. You see, he did mind my sleeping whilst he was here yesterday. I told you I was afraid he would, poor dear Dean !

" Helen only rings the bell for tea, and thinks what a fool she has to act companion to. After several strong cups of tea, Mrs. Dillwater becomes quite confidential. " My dearest girl, the very queerest thing happened whilst the Dean was here. I really dropped off to sleep again, and dreamed — actually dreamed ; and what do you think I dreamed ?" Helen professes profound incompetence. " Now, you'll promise solemnly — solemnly, mind — not to tell Edwin ; he might not like it." Vows given in due form. " Then, my dear, I positively dreamed the dear Dean went down on his knees and made a declaration of love to me, my dear, to me. Oh, it was too dreadfully horrible of me, wasn't it ?" Helen, smothering a laugh, acknowledges it was curious. " Now, remember, my dear, not a word of this to Edwin. I don't know what the effect might be upon him."

Helen reiterates her vows, laughing to herself the while. It was droll. "All my thoughts run upon romance and — Edwin. Dearest boy ! I wonder how he is! I am positively dying for the day he comes here again. There never was such a man as Edwin, my dear, except, perhaps, the dear Dean. How I wish you knew the ex cruciating happiness ofa mutual love, Helen!" Helen looks from "Sunflowers" in her lap to Mrs. Dillwater's head, as though tempted to make them practically ac quainted ; but gets up and goes to the window instead, looking out over the high wall bounding the Park. " I can stand a little of her idiocy," she thinks. " Through her I've had a pretty good game to-day. One doesn't often have the chance of capsizing a dean, and I certainly did capsize the Very Rev. of Arrarat this afternoon."

As she stands there, gazing out upon the autumn evening, where the lamplighters are dotting the numerous tall I's along the pave ments with little flecks of flame, a sudden thought and a sudden impulse come upon her. Without a word to Mrs. Dillwater she steals out of the room and up to her bedroom, where Alfred Leinster's violets are carefully in water. Taking them out she presses them to her lips, and covers them with passionate kisses a hundred times. " I don't care ! " she says, defiantly. " I don't care if I have to write a whole three volume novel to John Menzies by way of punishment for this weakness. I will kiss you, you darlings, there ! " She slept that night with the violets upon her pillow.

CHAPTER II. MISS HAILSHAM.

EAUTY is a strange thing. By-thebye, what is beauty ? Ostensibly the droop of an eyelid, the turn of a chin, the chiselling of a nose, the contrast of jetty eyelash with peachy skin. Magic beauty! comes the touch of time — a line here — a curve hardened into an angle there, and lo ! beauty is gone, and the place where it was knows it no more for ever ! A sporting proverb says : " Hunters go in all shapes ; " and it is equally true to say that beauty has a thousand different types. There is no imperative of the verb to love. No law decrees "love classic beauty, love the florid style of an Italian peasant, VOL. II. c or love the piquante features of a fair grisette." And memory recalls a long perspective of beauties, varied each from each " as one star differeth from another in magnitude." What a perspective it is !

But there is only one figure in the foreground, and from that the faces are more and more indistinct as we stretch back to memory's vanishing point. And then — oh ! how delicately we would tread now, knowing the place whereon we stand is holy ground — coming to that sacred figure in the foreground. Was it really she we loved — that living and breathing flesh and blood, soul and body, mind and matter ineffably perfect as the combination was ? Think a moment. Was it not rather a shadowy and unreal essence of divine woman hood, a thousand times too sweet, too pure for earth, which our own fancy had conjured up and enshrined in perfect faith within the person of our goddess ? When she changed (let us even here be calm and philosophic if we can), did she really change, or did the spell fade, the glamour pass, and our eyes but see her as she really was after all ?

These thoughts and questions force them selves upon us sometimes, and we are driven by an irresistible power to put ashes upon our heads and do penance for the past, in the most sacred temple of the heart. Well for us if the penance humble — calm (I dare not say cheer) us ; happy if that past fire but refine and purify the seam of gold that lies deep in every human heart, overlaid thickly, as it may be, with the dross of earthly passions and of sins ! I have had my pen in my hand to scratch out the foregoing ; but let it stand. If it only lead to a new train of thought in some trouble-laden heart, and so to a distraction, it is worth its ink. Depend upon it, if we have a haunting spectre, the best road to comfort is by making a friend of our grisly c guest and taking him thoroughly into our confidence.

We can get to like— almost admire — the ugliest man who ever lived, if we are thrown constantly with him. It is the bogey in the cupboard, not the skeleton in the museum, that fills us with horror and alarm. I was at Runnymede still when John made that frantic dash up to London, and came home through Paradise as already de scribed, and the above thoughts, or something like them, came into my head after a chance interview I had with Miss Hailsham. We had been partridge shooting, and I left early when our line of march crossed a home-tending lane, for I am not so insatiate after the birds as I used to be. Walking through the golden lanes then towards the village, Miss Hailsham suddenly pounced out of a lonely cottage by the way, and I could not possibly escape. In the first instant of seeing her at a distance, with a picturesque hat upon her head, I caught a flashing momentary vision of what her beauty used to be, before time had hardened and lined it with ruthless hand.

" General Menzies ! " she said, " walking about our lanes alone ? Where is your nephew ? " She always spoke in a quick, eager voice, with that peculiar expression of eye — essen tially a hungry eye — holding one with an unpleasant sort of fascination. " John is in London to-day," I said, making an endeavour to get away from her. But she would not have it. " I am going your way, we will walk together," she said. There was a wonderful manner of authority with her, more marked, indeed, than in any other woman I have ever met. I couldn't very well get out of it, and we strolled on together. " Gone to London, is he ? What does he go to London for — especially when you are down here — I thought you the only near relative he has in the world ? " " He might want to see his tailor," I said, laughing.

People, as a rule, don't get much out of me by fishing. " That's not why he's gone, and you know it," she said, stopping in her walk and turn ing upon me quite fiercely. " Now, why has he gone, eh ? " and those hungry eyes of hers looked into mine with a sort of suppressed fire in them. I was thoroughly annoyed. I had not been accustomed to people catechising me. I saw, too, that my first suspicion was correct. This bitter, hardened old maid was literally "gone" upon John, with one of those fierce, Indian-summer loves that befall old women occasionally, with a singular strength, too, sometimes. "You will have it," I thought, and I was nettled into the bargain. " If you really take an interest in the object of his visit to London," I said, " I will tell it you. Weak and foolish as it may be, he has gone to town for an interview with the piece of feminine perfection he proposes marrying one of these days."

The sun had just dipped, and Miss Hail sham dashed down her parasol with an angry gesture, and shut it up with a snap sufficient to break the ribs. " That's it, is it ? " she said, glaring at me again with those hungry eyes. " Why didn't you tell me so at first ? " " Really, Miss Hailsham — how could I possibly know the subject was so deeply in teresting to you ? Young men will have young women," and I laid a slight stress upon the last adjective. " There is no preventing it. It's very foolish, I admit ; but the world is made up of folly." "Who is she?" demanded the virago, glaring again. " Full details must be asked from John. I don't know that I am at liberty to tell everything. I refer you to him for par ticulars," I said. There was something so weird and horrible about the woman and the pent up fire within her, that I felt inclined to shudder.

" You don't approve of the match I can see," she went on, not heeding my reply. " I can read faces, General Menzies, as easily as I can read a letter. I can read you per fectly. You are a cynical, disappointed person, who wouldn't approve of your nephew loving any woman on earth." '.' Rather a sweeping assertion," was all I replied. There was a preternatural sharp ness about the woman very unpleasant. I felt in honesty she had reckoned me up pretty truly. I disliked her more than ever. " I don't think age ever has a sweetening effect upon one. The more one sees of life, the less one likes it," I answered. " Men are such helpless fools," she said, speaking very fast and fiercely. " Men are carried away by such paltry aims and objects. Bright eyes, delicate skin. Youth- — they must have youth.

It serves them right when they are deceived and disappointed. The story of Portia might never have been written for the good its lesson is to men. Only the gold casket will they look at — what lies within is nothing to them. A true, deep, abiding love is scorned and jeered at because it chances, perhaps, to lie in a leaden box ! Do you call that sense ? Do you call that wisdom ? Do you call it intellect entitling the owner to be called a ' lord of creation ' ? Lords of creation, indeed ! Silly butterflies, attracted by the gayest flower — more often foolish moths, lured to destruction by the brightest lamp ! Oh ! how I hate and detest the whole sex of man ! If they could only know how I despise them, the blind, stupid fools, going straight on to their own damnation ! " She stood still in the road to deliver this tirade, speaking in a loud voice, and to the amazement of several small children, who stared and curtseyed, and stood still to gaze upon her.

I objected to being talked at thus, so took the opportunity to select and light a cheroot. " Shall we walk on ? " I asked, quietly, when my tobacco was alight, and she paused out of breath. " Yes," she said, " we will walk on. Smoke away as hard as you can, I like it." I had made some light apology. " Smoke away as hard as you can, I like it. I like you — in a way. You've seen trouble — so have I," and she turned those eyes upon me again with a sudden fierceness. It was almost embarrassing. I had a wild suspicion she meant telling me plainly of her love for John, and defying interference. We walked on silently a little way, for I did not think it worth while to reply to her last words, when she suddenly repeated them with redoubled energy : " I say I like you — in a way. You know what life is."

" You flatter me," I answered, not seeing what else to say. " I never flatter. I speak the hard, unglossed truth. You do know the world, and you can't deny it." " I don't pretend to deny it, Miss Hail sham. I have knocked about the world a great deal, and seen a lot of foreign service. I could not help knowing the world under such circumstances." We were nearing her gate as I spoke. The next moment we reached it. " I've preached, and raved, and bullied you," she said, with her usual tone of authority. " Yes, I have — and now I'll give you a cup of tea. Nonsense ! people always obey me — and there are two hours to post time." I really did not want to go in, but tea is undoubtedly refreshing after shooting, and the study of character was always a hobby of mine. I followed her indoors with only a momentary hesitation.

On the previous occasion of my visit we had been shown into the drawing-room ; but on the day to which I refer, Miss Hailsham passed on through the hall of her old rambling white house, opened a door on the left, and saying, "This is more comfortable — this is my room, General, where no one ever dis turbs me," led the way in. It was a cosy little study, with dwarf bookcases in antique oak, and ancient china bowls, and saucers upon the top of them. In the low window, which looked out upon a grassy declivity, stood a large writing-table covered with papers and documents — parish accounts of all sorts ; in the centre of the room stood an octagon table covered with books. The chairs were all easy ones — very easy ones — with the exception of the writing chair in the bay, which was cane. It was getting dusk, and the ruddy glow of the fire showed what I have described ; but in a few moments a servant brought a shaded lamp, and placed it upon the centre table.

" Tea at once," said Miss Hailsham in a tone of military command, and tea was brought forthwith. My entertainer sat in a low chair and poured it out, I occupied a luxurious lounge near the fire. "Is it sweet enough — is there sufficient milk ? " she snapped as I tasted the tea. " Exactly as I like it," I replied ; and it was true. She was silent for a few moments, looking with her hungry eyes into the blazing coals. Suddenly she turned her glance upon me, and said, speaking very quickly, and with a suppressed fierceness in her voice : " I've brought you in here to-day to show you something — something you've never seen in your life ; something that, having once seen, you'll never forget." I felt a vague suspicion upon me that Miss Hailsham had taken leave of her senses. What could she have that was to make such a lasting impression upon me ?

" Shall I explain before you see it, or afterwards ? " she asked, still with fierce rapidity of utterance. The word "afterwards" came into my mind, and I spoke it. Without a word further, Miss Hailsham rose, and, going to a cupboard in one of the bookcases, selected a key from a bunch she carried, unlocked the door, and took out something. I could not see clearly at the moment what it was ; but I caught a side view of Miss Hailsham's face as she looked, or rather glared upon it. I have witnessed all sorts of ghastly sights, as every man who has been on active service must have done ; but I question if among them all I ever saw a more horrible one than that side view of Miss Hailsham's face as she bent down, with a gloating, awful expression on it, over the something in her hands. As though fascinated, she remained im movable for a moment in the attitude I have described, and then, with an amazing quick ness of movement, swung round and dashed the something in her hands upon the table, immediately beneath the shaded lamp.

" There ! " she cried, with a wild exultancy in her voice. " There ! have you ever seen such a picture as that ? " I am weak enough to confess I felt for the moment glad that it was a picture, and nothing worse, for there was an uncanny taint upon the whole affair that made me a trifle uncomfortable. I turned my glance upon the picture. Under the lamp, as its owner had placed it, I could see it perfectly. It was an oil colour, perhaps two feet square, representing the interior of some old room or arbour, horribly weird, into which a stream of wan, unwholesome moonlight fell through a high niche or window directly upon — a pair of lovers. But such a pair ! Wiertz at his wildest never equalled it in horror. Sitting upon a bench against the dark panelling of the wall, the man had his arm about the female figure, while his eyes (flaming with a devouring love passion such as never before was caught by painter) looked at short distance into hers.