A Divided Duty

Front matter

BV IDA LEMON, AUTHOR OF 'THAT LITTLE>VOMAN , ETC. " I do perceive here a divided duty." —Othello, Act I., Scene 3. LONDON AND NEW YORK: FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. 1891. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. — A Night Passage 7 II. — Au SlXIEME ]G III.— A Friend in Need 25 IV. — A Private View 31 V. — Coincidence 43 VI.— A United Family 52 VII. — In the Bois 02 VIII. — Playing the Detective ... 71 IX.— On the Tramway 79 X.— What's in a Name .... S9 XI. — A "Would-be Model OS XII. — Miss Duckworth Removes a Photo . 103 XI1L— Mr. Vaillant 117 XIV. — Attraction 12S XV.— "I tvon't he a Coward" . . . 137 XVI. — A Conspiracy 140 XVII. — The Countess or Monte Curisto . . 155 XVI1L— "So Soon!" 105 XIX. — A Bunch op Lilies 174 XX. — A Conversation 1S2 XXI. — Angelique's Adventure .... 192 XXII.— "You are an Enigma" ... 201 XXIII. —The Album 210 XXIV. — Miss Bendor jumps to conclusions . 218 XXV. — Leslie receives a Letter . . .

VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PACE XXVI.— "A Great Disgrace" .... 230 XXVII.— A Struggle 245 XXVIII.— A Change or Quarters . . . 254 XXIX. — Madame le Chevalier .... 20b XXX.— "You are Making a Mistake" . . 271 XXXI. — Explanations 379 XXXII. — Nearing Home 283 XXXIII.— Only Miss Du-skwouth Wept . . 297 XXXIV.— "I Love You!" 300 XXXV. — An Eavesdropper 315 XXXVI.— "Is That True?" .... 324 XXXVIL— "Was it Worth Waiting For?" . . 333 XXXVIII.— Miss Bendor's Story .... 342 XXXIX— Is Vain 351 XL. — Withered Flowers .... 300 XLL— The National F£te 30S XLII.— "You Love Me Still?" 37G

Chapter I

A NIGHT PASSAGE. A LL the berths in the ladies' cabin were occupied -*--*- except one. That was claimed, however, for an umbrella and a little travelling-bag were laid upon it. The owner of these was on deck. She walked up and down, now and then, looking at the land she was about to leave, but paying little attention to anything which went on near her. It was a cold night, and she shivered once or twice, but made no effort to go below until she heard the ringing of the bell which foretold the departure of the vessel. Then she stretched out her hands as if bidding farewell to her country, and made her way towards the stairs. In the lighted cabin it was possible to see what she was like, though no one concerned herself to do so. Indeed, she was not a person calculated to attract general attention, even in a place, or at a time when the rest of the world was less self-absorbed.

Her black cloak and hat were almost too simple and neat, and it was only a certain grace with which she wore them which prevented her appearance from being dowdy. She was dignified, and yet her dignity was neither due to height nor beauty ; by a fine woman she would have appeared insignificant, and it might be a question for debate whether she were plain or pretty. She was slight, small featured and very fair, almost too fair, for her brows and lashes were light coloured — always a defect in a face; never theless her lips, which were full and well-shaped, were of a tint to satisfy a connoisseur of female beauty, and her profile had the delicacy of a cameo. She might have suggested the idea of fragility but for a something intangible which contradicted it; perhaps it was the will which, giving a determined curve to her mouth, and a steady look to her eyes, assured one that strength rather than weakness was the attribute of this somewhat ethereal looking creature.

She was one of those people who seem to be surrounded by an atmosphere created by their inner selves ; only men and women, with any force of character, have this atmosphere, and we call it in dividuality. It sets them apart from their fellows in a certain loneliness, it makes them hard to know, and sometimes it is sufficiently apparent to seem like a mist to those who lack keen perception, unable to penetrate it, they call him whom it shrouds a fool. This girl, placed in a fashionable assemblage, would have remained unnoticed ; called upon to take her part in a drawing room conversation with ordinary worldly women, would have brought contempt upon herself, to which she would have been supremely in different, set apart with a congenial spirit would have, perhaps, attained to the brilliance which is kindled by perfect sympathy.

Her expression was extremely serious, but she could not refrain from smiling when she glanced round her at the two layers of prostrate females, in various eccentric and original costumes, some wearing night-caps with their shawls, some partially undressed, all courting slumber before the vessel should be in motion. She took off her hat and displayed a quantity of fluffy light hair. The hat had not been particularly becoming, and she looked better without it. Then she hung it up and, kneeling on the floor, said her prayers, to the annoyance of the hovering stewardess, who wished to see all settled for the night. Finally, by the help of that functionary and a chair, she mounted to her berth and completed the top layer, with her feet against those of a fat Frenchwoman, who was clasping a bottle of eau de cologne in one hand and a flask of eau de vie in the other.

She was tired and wished to sleep, but found herself unable to do so. Hardly had she closed her eyes when there was the sound of creaking, the tramping of feet, a throbbing sensation through the vessel, and they were off. After that, sleep was im possible. Anyone who has passed the night in a close and crowded cabin during a rough passage will be thankful to be spared a description of it. To the young woman in the black dress it was like some horrible nightmare, and seemed endless. The Frenchwoman groaned, and a child, which evidently belonged to her, cried incessantly. "Ma che'rie," said the Frenchwoman, at intervals. " Ah, mon enfant ! Hilas ! mon ange," and the child wailed, " Oh, ma mire — ma mere, oh," with a monotony none the less exasperating that it was pathetic. " Can I do anything for your little girl ?

" It was a sweet, patient, gentle voice. The ubiquitous stewardess interrupted the French woman's answer. " Just you lie still," she said, firmly, evidently feel ing her own powers had been doubted. "If you are not careful you will succumb. If I want help I can get it." The girl gave a slight shrug, folded her arms and closed her eyes. Denied the opportunity of assisting others, nothing remained for her but endurance. She looked at her watch, calculated the probable continu ance of her discomfort and braced herself to bear it. "All things end," she said to herself. " So will this. The morning will come at last." The decision of the lines about her mouth when she assumed unconsciously the expression of fortitude, would have showed a physiognomist that this was not the first time she had been called upon to play the stoic.

The morning did come, though it seemed to delay its advent as long as possible, after the cruel prin ciple of that watched pot that will not boil. At last, however, the hateful electric light was allowed to give way to the dawn. It was as well, for thus the countenances of the dames and damsels in the cabin became less distinct. Many of the ladies had fallen into slumber in uneasy attitudes, and with open mouths ; their hair was disordered, and their com plexions pallid. Nothing gives such a look of age as sea sickness. Occasionally now a gentleman, on his way to the deck in search of air, inserted his head nervously and apologetically, and inquired after the welfare of a wife or daughter ; a faint voice would answer from the distance. But the intruders were promptly dismissed by the imperious stewardess, who would not think of having the ladies disturbed, or of allowing them to rise till the boat had stopped, and vetoed with the determination of an autocrat, any proposal to go up on the deck.

" Just you lie flat," she said, and the dread of con sequences made the most revolutionary obedient. The only exception was the girl who had been the last to come down the night before. As she was in the proud position of not having been ill, she was able to defy the disapproving eye of the stewardess. She descended from her berth, climbing over a limp creature, who, daring not to move her head, yet glared at her with an expression of envy and wonder. The boat was still rolling, but the girl managed to walk pretty steadily. She tied her hair and put on her hat hastily, anxious with the instinct of a body healthily fastidious to escape from the heavy atmosphere. She was paler than the night before, and her eyes were heavy from sleeplessness, but there was a certain air of vigour about her when she stood once more on the deck, the cold, fresh air invigorating her, and the breath of the sea acting like a tonic on her weary nerves.

At Dieppe everyone crowded into the refreshment room, and a jaded, dishevelled, unlovely appearance most of them presented. Miss Maunsel, as the little person in black was called, found a seat for herself ; she was hungry after that half hour in the open air, and she had had no supper the evening before. Next to her were three Cook's tourists, a fat father who suggested groceries, and who was attired in tweeds and a cricketing cap, the latter sitting strangely on his thick sandy hair ; a fat mother in a velveteen mantle and a sailor hat, and a fat child swathed in a Paisley shawl. They ate steadily and determinedly. It happened that Miss Maunsel's waiter was tardy. Observing that she was not served, her neighbours nudged each other. The father looked at his roll ; it was half gone, at his cup, it was half empty.

He shook his head and inspected the state of his wife's provisions which were also reduced in quantity. Then he leant across her and said, slowly — " Voulez-vous — ugh — ah — anything ? De — paing." The girl smiled. " I am English," she said. " Oh, thank goodness ! Excuse me, miss, but you don't seem as if anyone is attending to you ? Can I get you something ? " " My husband knows the language, you see," added the woman. Miss Maunsel smiled at her. " Thank you," she said, very courteously, " I have ordered something. It will be here directly." "Travelling alone, are you?" asked the woman. " Well I never. I shouldn't dare, I'm sure. It's con fusing enough as it is, and we are a party of six. I declare every minute I'm afraid of losing someone or of being left behind. Fancy being all alone, and in a foreign land, too !

" "Oh, I am used to looking after myself," Miss Maunsel said. She spoke bravely, but she ended with a little sigh. " Are you, now ? And how far might you be going ?" The girl informed her interlocutor that she was bound for Paris. " Dear me," said the latter. " And so are we ; and all on account of the Eiffel Tower. I wouldn't miss seeing it for the world, not if there wasn't another thing in Paris. Of course, there are other things, boulivardes, not to mention churches, so my husband says, especially ' Notre Dame' and a funny name for a church, too. But then, what can you expect in such a wicked country ? He's quite a traveller, my husband is, been to Boulogne — that's where he picked up the language. It's such a help to know the language, isn't it ? " She chattered on, and forgot to finish her roll.

She amused her listener, who was sorry when the linguist "ave the signal for retreat, and his wife clutching the remainder of her breakfast iii one hand and her daughter in the other, prepared to depart. But she rushed back when she had taken a few steps. " You come with us," she said ; " I don't like to think of your being all alone, and in foreign parts, too. It's a long way not to have a soul to speak to." " Thank you," said the lonely traveller. And she spoke gratefully. Independence is all very well when it is purely voluntary ; but there are times when it is pleasant to be taken care of, and when one is glad of the interest of someone who may be socially, or intellectually, considered an inferior. There was a motherliness in the grocer's wife, which went to the girl's heart and made her more willing to travel in her society than she would have been had her suggestion arisen from politeness merely, and she been a grand lady.

Patron age or officiousness she would have resented, but those who have to fight life's battle are glad to feel the touch of humanity. In the railway carriage, the other three tourists were discovered in the shape of a couple of gentle men, whose heads were also temporarily adorned with cricketing caps, their wonted headgear reposing on the filet dc bagages ; and a little lady, with lips like two lines ruled in red ink, inasmuch as they had length without breadth. During the journey, she never unclosed them, but sat in a corner and sternly contemplated the scenery. Of the gentlemen, one promptly shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and slum bered ; the other two raised each other's spirits by the reflection that the English constitution was going to ruin, and volunteered suggestions as to the methods for its salvation ; and this is the invariable topic of a certain class of Englishman abroad or at home.

The girl would have liked to study these fellow travellers of hers ; but her kind hearted protectress engaged her in conversation, of which she had an un bounded supply, and gave her her whole family his tory, without any further encouragement than the interest which good breeding demands. She would have been just as willing to listen to that of her com panion, but Miss Maunsel was not inclined to be communicative. They arrived at the Gare du Nord. Miss Maunsel looked about her hastily, and a little wistfully, but there was no one to meet her. She was fortunate enough to escape having her luggage overhauled. Such luck, however, did not befall the tourist ; and the last glimpse she had of her kind hearted fellow traveller was of a sailor hat, slightly on one side, whieh surmounted a flushed rue ful face, as the contents of a big black box were being turned over by the custom-house officers.

The grocer at his wife's command, saw Miss Maunsel into her cab, and very bewildered he was, and very successful in puzzling the cabman with his French. The girl came to his aid, gave the necessary direction, and very soon she was at the mercy of an erratic driver, with an equally erratic steed. The sun was shining brightly, the atmosphere was clear. As she looked out at the strange, gay streets, she experienced, for the first time since she had started, something of the joyful anticipation of the traveller, and even felt a momentary exhilaration. The drive was a long one, but she enjoyed it, and would willingly have had it longer ; she found so much to interest her. . And that which was to come was the unknown. She reached her destination. It was in a quiet part of Paris. The street looked cheerful, with its tall, clean, white houses, adorned with little balconies.

The concierge ran out and helped the cabman with her box, giving the girl to understand it should be taken up when her husband returned at five o'clock. It was evident notice had been given her of Miss Maunsel's arrival. The young lady overpaid the cab man, then turned to her once more — " Mademoiselle Duckworth ? " she inquired. The concierge nodded brightly. " Au sixitme," she said, CHATTER II. AU SIX1EME. "A/slSS MAUNSEL was tired already, and dis -LV-L inclined for the toilsome ascent which awaited her, and which, once begun, seemed endless. Neither, with that capacity which we all have for weighting the present with the troubles of the future, could she forbear a shudder at the contemplation of having to mount those stairs at the end of every walk she took. At last, however, to her surprise, for she had given up hope, she really had reached the last flight.

She leant against the banisters for a minute, and then walked to the end of the passage. Here was a door, painted blue, and on it was pinned a visiting card, with the words — "Miss DUCKWORTH, if not at home, deposit things on the floor." The visitor smiled as she read it, with a fleeting wonder as to whether this order extended to persons, and feeling capable of obeying it. Remembering, however, that in all probability a more comfortable resting place awaited her inside, she rapped on the door with her umbrella. It was opened with great promptitude. She had a momentary glimpse of a tailor-made woman, with disordered hair, before she was swooped upon and Clasped in a fervent embrace. AU SIX I EM E. 17 "You have arrived, my dear," said Miss Duels worth, gasping with excitement ; " I am glad to see you.

I hope you are not tired ? " "Rather," said Miss Maunsel, feebly, when she could find breath to answer. " Ah, I daresay, I ought to have come to meet you, I meant to, but you know how it is." (She didn't.) " Come in." She led the way into a little room, separated from the minute hall by a curtain. This room contained a minimum of furniture ; to wit : one sofa, two chairs and a table. Nevertheles?, it appeared anything but bare The walls, which were covered with a sort of tapestry to hide a paper with mauve roses, were adorned with a hanging book shelf, a palette, and several unframed pictures, painted in the Impressionist style ; while close to the chimney piece were a number of photographs, which looked as if they had been flung across the room and stuck there. On the mantelshelf itself were a clock, which had stopped, and an elaborate frame containing the somewhat faded likeness of a gentleman in a frock coat, and sundry odds and ends of no intrinsic value.

On the floor, which was stained, were a rug and a stray portfolio or two — placed there because they were easily got at. On the table, luncheon was spread ; it consisted of a piece of cold roast chicken, with a somewhat leathery exterior, a couple of rolls and some dates in a pretty broken vase. " There ! " said the occupant of the room. " Now, just make yourself at home. There is no style kept up here, but I warned you of that. It's snug, though, aud there's a view, and the sofa is adorable. I expect you are hungry ; have some luncheon." She hurled her sentences at Miss Maunsel with astonishing rapidity ; and she had a funny little trick of catching her breath between them. She seemed to be in such a hurry that she had no time to think. " I would rather wash first," said Miss Maunsel, in answer to her invitation.

"I have had a railway journey, and I have been travelling all night." "Ah, of course; one gets out of the habit here. We have no time for superfluous washing. Come along." They had entered to the right of the curtain in the passage. She pulled it aside and they turned to the left. "This," said Miss Duckworth, "is your room, dear Leslie. It isn't spacious, but I think you will find it comfortable. You must just look to your bed at night before getting into it, because it has been o DO known to give way in the middle. I've done it up with string, though, and I daresay it will be all right." The bedroom certainly was not spacious, but it had this advantage, that it would take little trouble to keep clean and tidy, which was a consideration, as Miss Duckworth informed her visitor that she kept no servant, adding, " Of course you can have one if you like, dear, but I advise you not to.

They cat so much. And if you have them for an hour a day it seems so undignified." In one corner was a small iron washing-stand, with an ex-jampot to serve as a soap dish ; a jug that teemed twisted with anguish, and a dark-hued basin. Along one side of the wall were several pegs, which Miss Duckworth claimed to have put up her self (and which absolutely refused to stay in when anything was hung upon them). The window opened on to a little balcony. By the side of the former was AU SIXIEME. 19 a cupboard, which extended in height to about sour feet from the floor. " I didn't trouble to put any ' trimming ' about," Miss Duckworth remarked ; " I thought you would bring your own belongings to make the place look homelike." " Yes," said Leslie, mechanically. She could not check a passing thought that it was not " homelike," at present.

" I don't care a bit for luxury, myself," said Miss Duckworth, " and I am sure you don't. It's so ener vating." "The word 'luxury' requires definition," said Leslie, with a queer little smile. " I suppose I have never been used to it." "No, dear. And I remember we agreed about these matters. We neither of us slept on pillows; and we liked plain food. We had a great many ideas in common. I am sure we shall get on well together. You will find me rather casual, my dear lamb, but that goes with the artistic character,! think." "I remember you used to be particular about things, punctual and neat," said Leslie. " You taught me to be so." " Did I ? Ah ! " she added, naively, " that was before I became an artist." She put her arm round Miss Maunsel's waist and led her back to the sitting-room ; but though she was not over fastidious in the matter of food, the young lady was not able to eat much.

The cloth was soiled with coffee, the chicken was as muscular as if it had been kept for fighting purposes, and the dates had gathered a good deal of foreign material in their pil- 2 — grimage through life. While she dallied with her knife and fork, the former having a pleasing trick of slipping round in its handle, she furtively studied the lady whose home and expenses she had agreed to share, and who, though an old friend, was presented in the guise of a stranger. She saw a gaunt female, with marked features and a sallow complexion, a mobile mouth, large, and not ill-shaped, white teeth, a pointed chin and straggling hair which took the form of whiskers on either side of her face ; and she mentally contrasted her with a prim person whose hair was always plastered down with the aggravating neatness of which a Dutch doll alone has the secret, and whose lips had an inclination to set themselves together in a line that betokened severity and virtue.

Such had been the Miss Duck worth she remembered before the governess discovered all of a sudden that she had the soul of an artist, and at five-and-thirty pranced off to the Slade school, and thence to Paris, to fit herself for the pro duction of works which should immortalize her name and improve the position of woman in the eyes of the universe. The lady was dressed in some dark material iiol unacquainted with the paint brush and with a certain insecurity about the seams. Her hands were also somewhat painty ; they were large, with fingers long but square tipped, and the nails were bitten. " You are not looking very well," she said to Leslie. " I suppose, poor child, your mother's death was a fjreat trial to you. It shocked me, I assure you. And you helped to nurse her, no doubt. That is so exhausting."

AU SIXIEME. 21 " It was a labour of love," said Miss Maunsel. " No doubt. Oh, of course ! you were so fond of her. And she was patient, I am sure." " Always patient." " Ah, yes. I remember how well she bore pain. And do you know I have always noticed that those httle helpless-looking women can often endure things much better than we bigger ones. You, now, for all you look so fragile, have got twice the determination that I have ; but then the artistic nature always lacks self-control." " I suppose I have not an artistic nature, then ? " said Leslie, with the suspicion of a twinkle in her serious eyes. " Perhaps it is as well." " No, dear, if you won't mind my saying so, I don't think you have. I remember how out-of-drawing your pictures used to be. That was the only thing you tried me in. You were very intelligent."

" Thank you." " I can't tell you how pleased I was when you fell in so readily with my suggestion that you should come and live with me and learn French thoroughly. You will easily get pupils for English meanwhile, and I assure you your expenses will be very slight. We artists cannot afford extravagance. Then you see, dear, you will do just what you like, and it is so nice to preserve your independence, which you can't do in a situation. And that reminds me. I am sure you wouldn't wish me to make ceremony, and it is best to begin as one means to go on. One's art must come before everything else. I am attending a course of anatomy lectures, and this afternoon -" " Oh, I wouldn't have you miss it on my account," said Leslie, promptly. Well, I daresay you could amuse yourself till I return. I shall be back at five.

I've got a key for you, but I can't lay my hands on it at present. We artists are so untidy. I'll look for it when I come home." She dived under the sofa-cushion and produced a large, battered hat, with lank feathers, which she put on ; whisked into the passage and returned with a short jacket, the sleeves of which were inside out. She was making futile efforts to get into it when Leslie pointed out this little detail to her. She laughed. "Oh, yes," she said, as Miss Maunsel arranged them for her. " I remember, now ; I took it off in a hurry, this morning — Thanks ! " She pulled it on, but did not fasten it; perhaps there was a deficiency in the matter of buttons. Then, she rummaged for her gloves. They were not forthcoming. " Never mind ; I'll go without. Stop though. I have another pair somewhere.

Oh, wait a minute. I expect I left them in the kitchen." With a faint feeling of curiosity as to what this " kitchen " would be like, Leslie followed Miss Duckworth into an apartment where it would have been impossible to lie at full length, and where, owing to the state of the floor, that would have been the last thing any sane person would have desired to do. Here were a gas stove, a wooden table, crowded with cooking utensils, clean and otherwise, and a shelf containing a limited supply of crockery, mostly AU SIXIEME. 23 half -full of some fluid, as one found on lifting cups down carelessly, and a few fragments of abandoned food, some of it in a precarious condition. Under the table was a packing case, and in this Leslie discovered, later, were kept the stores: soup, oil, sugar,bis cuits, butter and blacking, all on terms of intimacy.

It was from this packing case that Miss Duck worth eventually extracted her gloves, which she had deposited there with the half-pound of butter she had purchased that morning. "Do come downstairs with me and see me off, dear," she said. " That is a luxury I am quite unac customed to. Besides, there will be time for a httle conversation on the way." Leslie's first inclination was to refuse. It seemed impossible to climb those stairs again ; but she did not wish to be unamiable, and she knew her com panion was not wittingly making a selfish request. So, a little languidly, it must be confessed, she led the way down. She managed to say good-bye quite cheerfully, and she waited at the door till Miss Duckworth was out of sight ; but as she turned to go up again there was a lump in her throat, and her eyes smarted.

She felt very lonely, and, although she refused to acknowledge it even to herself, she was disappointed both in her new home, and her old governess whom six years of " art " and of having no one to consider but herself, had so changed. Having been left alone by the death of her mother, and having tried six months of resident governess-ship in an uncongenial family, Miss Duckworth's suggestion that she should go to her and get a, livelihood by teaching English had seemed to Leslie worth entertaining. She loved her freedom ; but yet it had been a comfort to her to think of having the sober elder woman to rely on; she would not have believed it possible that the quiet, orderly and somewhat exasperating governess could have been metamorphosed into this irre sponsible being, who, if amusing for a short while, would certainly be something of a strain to live with and try her powers of forbearance not a little.