A Flirtation with Truth

Chapter I

" If one could only be comfortably dead and out of it all," said the woman. She was moderately young, and very whole some to look at. And the conversation had been ethical. " Nonsense," the man answered. " You are the last woman in the world to enjoy being out of anything." "Oh, I didn't say I'd enjoy it." " Then don't pose as the young female cynic. It doesn't suit you." " I never pose. You, of all men, ought to know that. I'm too tired and too exasperated about things in general to pose, "Then don't pose as the young woman who is always tired, and always exasperated about things in general. Why, Betty, you are surely not crying ? " " I should hope not," was the brief answer from the other end of the room. " Come to the theatre with me," he said, rising and going over to her. " I've got two stalls for the Garrick."

"Can't. I have to type-write the manuscript of a genius." " Female genius ? Ah, they are trying." " No, male. They are worse." "Leave it, and come Avith me." " No. No, thank you." Another young woman, older, but better-looking than Betty, came into the room. " Betty," she observed, with solemnity, after greeting Keene with a passing wave of her hand, " fall down and worship me. I've met the author of Units. He was at the Went worth's to-day, and Mrs Wentworth introduced him to me. His name is Hugh Tempest, and he talked to me for half-an-hour. I think the subject of our conversation was objective psychology." " How weird," murmured Betty. " I think it is a subject that might pall — as an initial ex change of ideas. And his appearance, Jane ? Is it as disappointing as the usual appearance of literature in the flesh ?

Is he in any de gree good-looking ? " " No — not exactly. And yet — yes, I think he is." " Most satisfactory and conclusive. In the witness-box you would be invaluable. One more question — Does he look like a gentleman ? Because as a rule, you know — " she paused. "Most decidedly. He looks as if he had never written a book in his life. And by the way, his eyes are effective, and look as if they would be likely to see more than most eyes." " Ah ! He reads dangerous. By the way, there's a letter for you on the mantelpiece. It's from Mrs Daintry. She's evidently still at Brighton, from the post-mark. Read it aloud. It may be spiteful. But it's sure to be stimulating." " How curious," said Jane, when she had run her eyes over the letter. " It is principally about this very Mr Tempest. And this is what she says: — " ' I shall be home on Monday, and I want you and Betty to dine with me quite quietly on Tuesday.

I am going to ask the new man, Tempest. I have met him several times lately A FLIRTATION WITH TRLTTH at different houses, and he has become what one might call interested in me. Our first meet ing was at the Glynn's garden-party, and we sat in a corner of the grounds nearly all the afternoon. I wore a new and most becoming gown, and looked my most seductive. I flatter myself I turned the rising genius pretty well inside out. My dear Jane, I never saw a man give himself away so much in my life, though they are all gifted in that line. I've read his book — that is to say, I began it, fell asleep over the third chapter, and glanced at the last page. But, of course, I told him all sorts of fetching lies about it — which he absorbed in all innocence. In subsequent interviews, he proceeded to lay open his heart to me.

It appears Units is a record of his own experiences, to a certain extent. He was engaged in his youth, and the girl loved another and died. (And from what he hinted, not before it was time.) Happy girl! Wise girl, too— to evade the fate that ordained her for Tempest's bride. Mrs Tempest— if she is ever to be— will have to sing pretty small, I imagine; for her pro spective spouse has himself on the brain, worst kind. But there is something undeniably fascinating (as somebody says somewhere) in watching a clever man making a fool of himself. Now, I wonder why I am writing all this to you, you sweet innocent Jane ! Betty will call me a viper. Dear Betty — how she hates me ! And small blame to her. We are as different as shrimps and cream. But somehow you both fascinate me. I do so love a dash of Bohemia in my society champagne cup.

Be sure to come on Tuesday. Au revoir. — Ever, "'Monica Daintry.' "Happy Mr Tempest," observed Keene, his face and voice alike non-committal. " Charming Mrs Daintry," supplemented Betty, with a brief sneer. "Perhaps — I shouldn't have read it aloud," murmured Jane. Perhaps not," agreed John Keene, " I wonder," went on Jane, " if she will marry him ? " " Why not ? " said Betty. " He'll never find her out. And I daresay they will come as near happiness as most married couples. If marriages are made in Heaven, I think I agree with a smart modern author, that Heaven, as a match maker, has much to learn." " Oh, the smart, modern authors are swamp ing the world," said Keene, contemptuously. " They are ali more or less insane, usually on some nasty subject. And the greater propor tion of call-a-spade-a-spade authors are women.

I read a book the other day, by a woman, that wasn't fit for any man to read." " Oh, nonsense," snapped Betty. " Why shouldn't women write on any subject ? The days have gone when immorality was a sealed book to us. We take our places now as men's compeers." John Keene whistled softly. " I am old - fashioned," he said — " as far as women's attributes are concerned." Betty laughed a little. " You are so contradictory," she said. " You are quite up to date in your own profession — everybody says so. But in literature, art, music — you are the most uncompromising of the Philistines. You won't march with the culture of the times." " My dear Betty, what the decadent crew have arrived at isn't culture. It is disease — and I can't catch it. I want literature to in struct or amuse me, art to charm me, music to soothe or soften me.

Otherwise, to me, they are meaningless." " You are horribly wanting in subtlety and elusiveness," said Betty, discontentedly. " The gospel of suggestiveness does not seem to appeal to you. Nothing appeals to you but plain theoretic facts — no empirical facts. You are like an old nurse I read of, who declared ' she didn't want no new-fangled thermometers to tell her if the baby's bath was hot enough or cold enough. If it was too hot, the baby got red. If it was too cold, the baby got blue. What more simple ? ' " " Betty, you are hopeless to-night. You drive me away. No, Jane, I won't stay to supper, thank you. Good-night, Betty. Be cheerful, and don't try to arrest the course of the universe. It's too many for you." " Oh, I shall just worry along, I suppose, as most people do," returned Betty, grimly. " Good-night."

Chapter II

" I think I shall wear my maize-coloured gauze," soliloquised Mrs Daintry, as she went slowly upstairs to dress on the evening of her small dinner. "I think Tempest hasn't seen me in maize-colour." When she was dressed, she stood silent for a while, " subtly of herself contemplative." Gradu ally a soft smile touched her lips. " I fancy I shall do," she murmured. " I look — myself. And I really think that is a cachet of charm." She had hardly established herself in the cosiest corner of her drawing-room when a characteristic knock and ring announced Tempest's arrival. She had sent him a note askin ohim to come early. And as he had nothing to do that evening which he could not put off, he had come early. " Ah, you have come ! " she said, in the low, swift tones that fascinated some people and irri tated others (for even the sweetest of the sex have their un appreciative clique in life's audi ence).

" That was good of you. I am never quite sure of you until I see you." He smiled without speaking as he took her hand. He was not a man of many words at any time, and in Mrs Daintry's presence he was conscious of a desire for dreamy silence. For he felt oddly attracted towards this woman. She touched his self-love in some subtle way that was inexpressibly satisfying. The thought of her already formed an element in his daily life that he could ill have spared. But he did not know this. " I hope you are prepared to shine to-night ? " she said, meeting his appreciative gaze with grave unsmilingness. I don't think I feel particularly radiant," he answered. "Is brilliancy compulsory?" " Almost. I expect two young women in whom I want you to be interested — Jane and Betty Gaythorne. They are young and unmarried and Bohemian, and they live alone and earn their own living by type-writing and drawing for the fashion magazines, respectively.

And they are decidedly good-looking." " That atones for much," said Tempest. " I have met a Miss Gaythorne. I thought her pretty, if my memory serves me." "Yes, most men do — the first time they see her. She is a sweet thing, and adores me. They give delightful and unconventional little parties, where everyone always has a lovely time. I must take you there one evening. You'll come, won't you ? " " If your friends invite me to one of their parties, I shall hope to go," he said. He had a very low voice, and his face and manner were singularly quiet. She smiled briefly. ■'Ah, you are so difficile. I can assure you most men would be more than pleased to be taken anywhere by charming Mrs Daintry." " I hope you do not class me with most men," he said. " I prefer to be judged separately." " Ah !

Whom should you like to take in to dinner ? " "You, I think." " No, you shall have Betty. She has read your book, and looks upon you as a literary god." " Then, for Heaven's sake, send me in with someone else. I don't want to be looked upon as one of the writing crowd. As I told you, Units is my first and last novel." "Then I shall send you in with Jane. She never reads novels ; and she can talk and attend to her dinner at the same time, and let you do likewise. Which is a rare virtue in woman." Do you possess it ? " " No. I was only brought up to do one thing at a time. I generally manage to do the one thing — well." Tempest did not answer with a compliment. He did not answer at all. But bent to ex amine the leaves of one of the plants that crowded the fireplace. After a pause, Mrs Daintry said suddenly, — " Do you like living an idle, purposeless life ?

" " How well you hit it ! " he answered, with some bitterness. " An idle, purposeless life ! No, I don't like it. But I don't see any particular vocation open to me. I am handicapped by a patrimony that renders active exertion un necessary." Her face grew thoughtful. " Ah," she said, drawing a deep breath. '■' To me, money seems such a power." " It is," he answered moodily — " when it runs alongside one or two other things." " It is," she said, " always ! There is no grief or trouble that money cannot soften. There is no pleasure it cannot intensify. Don't you know that ? " There was a scornful ring in her voice. She moved her head impatiently, and the tiny diamond star in her hair twinkled like an impish eye. " Why don't you go into Parliament ? " she asked, after a silence. " Because I can't get up enough enthusiasm about either my country or my countrymen."

" Oh, that is not necessary. You have only to cultivate a taste for hearing yourself talk. And in the House it is immaterial whether anyone listens or not. At least, so I have heard. And so it has seemed to me from the humble view-point of the Ladies' Gallery." He shrugged his shoulders. "Then why not go in for musical composi tion ? " she continued. " You are musical." " My dear Mrs Daintry, only five men in each century have a right to compose music. I am not one of them." " Painting, then ? You have an artistic soul ? " " The possession of an artistic soul does not guarantee the ability to satisfy the artistic souls of others." " Then why not pursue literature ? You have proved yourself anything but a failure there." " For that very reason I shall not court possible failure by falling short of my own standard."

Write a play, then ? " Heavens, no ! Not unless I could create the actors as well as the parts." Ah, you are impossible ! " " I know it. I told you so, did I not ? You had better consider carefully before you put me on your list of friends." " It is too late," she said softly. " Besides, one can't reason about friendship." "No, that is true," he answered. " Now, there is a man coming to-night, a Captain Desborough," she went on in a dreamy voice, " for whom I have really a sincere friendship. At least, as sincere as friendships ever are. And yet I am painfully alive to his limitations. For instance, I should never think of accepting any statement made by him, unless it were backed up by reliable authority from elsewhere. He simply revels in telling lies. I don't mean necessary society lies, or pretty complimentary lies, or pale grey flirtations with facts, but calm, astonish ing, impossible lies, told for the mere pleasure of it.

It's a mental twist, I suppose, like kleptomania — and a few other things. But apart from that somewhat objectionable flaw, he is very nearly perfect. And like our cracked china, he is perhaps all the more interesting because of the flaw. We shall be a party of six to-night. The other man is a delightful tenor — Cyril Galbraith. He is wonder fully handsome, and gives concerts, to which I always go, whether I can or not. I used to spoil a pair of new gloves each time. But now I can clap my hands quite softly, though with every appearance of enthusiastic sound. You see, no concert out of Heaven is worth a quite new pair of gloves. Why don't singers send gloves with their concert tickets when one is expected to applaud ? I think I shall suggest that to Galbraith. But he is going away, dear fellow, so I sha'n't grudge laying a few pairs of gloves on his shriue before he goes.

I shall miss him. It makes me feel so melancholy when I look over my address-book, and see under the names of some once-dear men friends, ' Gone to India.' ' Gone to China.' ' Gone to the Phillipine Islands.' " " Or ' Gone to the devil,' " put in Tempest, who was feeling in an unaccountably pessimistic frame of mind. " I suppose that would be in admissable in your address-book ? " " Oh, that is understood with a good many of them, even those who stay at home. I put a star after their names in these cases." "I hope you haven't put a star after my name ? " he said. " No, not yet. Ah, Captain Desborough, how do you do! I have just been speaking so nicely of you to Mr Tempest. You have not met? Then let me make you known to each other. Mr Tempest has forbidden me to speak of his book, or I should tell you that he is the author of Units, and quite one of our cele brities."

Captain Desborough bowed with grace. " I am keenly interested in literature," he said, in a voice that held a singular charm. " My late uncle, Sir Joseph Vansittart, was a not unsuccessful novelist under a nom de plume. It was his one idea in life to succeed as an author. No other branch of art had any charm for him. His works, by the way, at tracted a good deal of notice at Court, and her Majesty has personally their fame." complimented him on "Dear me," said Mrs quite thought that uncle and that it was he who Daintry, innocently, " I was a famous sculptor, did all these fascinating busts of the royal family ■ — under a nom de plume." "My uncle combined the two studies," replied Desborough, meeting her gaze calmly. " I omitted to mention that." " How interesting," murmured his hostess. " Mr Tempest, when you write your next novel, you must get Captain Desborough to give you some of his amusing stories for copy.

He has quite a repertoire, and his memory is wonderful." There was a pause, during which the other guests were announced. And then dinner. Tempest left earlier than usual, for he was feeling bored. Jane and Betty Gaythorne, though good to look at, did not interest him. He was a man who rarely took an interest in more than one woman at a time. When he got back to his rooms he found a fair-haired, square-faced young man comfortably disposed in an easy-chair at the open window. "You, Medway?" observed Tempest, as he shut the door, and dropped into another easy chair. "You look glum, my dear boy. Any thing gone wrong ? " «No — not exactly. But I'm in something of a fix." Tempest smiled imperceptibly. " Money ? " " N— no." " The other thing ? " Medway nodded, then sighed. Tempest lit a cigar. " Is she dark or fair, young or old, short or tall this time ?

" he asked. " Last time — correct me if I am wrong — I think she was elderly, with locks ruddier than the cherry." " Oh, she's a mere child. Not pretty, exactly, but as graceful as a—" "Don't say as graceful as a fawn," interrupted Tempest, earnestly. " I know you're going to." '• I wasn't going to say anything of the kind," said the other, in an aggrieved tone. " Look here, you know Mrs Daintry, don't you? Charming Mrs Daintry, the fellows call her ? " " I know Mrs Daintry, yes," returned Tempest, in a level voice. " I dined there this evening. Is she your latest fancy ? " " No, thank you. Have you seen the young cousin who lives with her, Yolande Adair ? " " I have seen her once or twice. She didn't show to-night, however." Well — how does she impress you ? " I can't say she impressed me at all — much.

She reminded me rather of a newly-fledged chicken, I think. Surely you are not in love with anything so callow ? " " I don't say I'm exactly in love with her. But I feel that I'm going to be. Oh, you may laugh if you like. You've no more senti ment than a mustard tin. I don't want the girl lo be in love with me either, in the mean time. But in three years or so she'll be either nineteen or twenty, and I may possibly be less hard up than I am at present. But if I suggest any arrangement to her now, ten to one she'll take a dislike to me. Young things are so easily scared. And if I wait for a year or two, some other fellow may have taken her fancy. It's deucedly annoying." "It's a curious case, certainly," assented Tem pest. "Unique, too, I should say. Is this the fix you mentioned ? " " Yes.

I suppose it doesn't appeal to you ? " "On the contrary, I am much interested. But why not approach Mrs Daintry on the subject ? " " Thanks. I don't want myself held up to ridicule for the edification of all the smart set." " What do you mean ? " " I mean that Mrs Daintry's tongue is as sharp as it's sweet, and that nothing is sacred to her except what she hasn't seen, or known, or heard of." "Mrs Daintry," said Tempest, with a de liberate air of finality, " is one of the most charming women I have ever met." " Oh, she's been trying it on with you, has she ? Well, you won't be the first man she's made a fool of — nor the last, for that matter." "Did she refuse you, casually. Joe ? " inquired Tempest, Medway flushed hard. " That's neither here I consider myself jolly nor there. If she did, well out of it.

By the way, you dined there to-night, you said. Meet a man Desborough, captain in — th Lancers ? " " There was a man there of the name of Desborough, yes." "Thought so. He's another of Mrs Daintry's tame cats." "Indeed. Has she a large domestic men agerie ? " "Oh, we've all had Daintry fever. You'll catch it yourself, one of these days. I believe you're sickening for it now. Did Desborough tell you any of his champion yarns ? Did he tell you how he won the Victoria Cross in the Soudan ? " I think he mentioned it." "Ah, sure to. He hasn't got it yet, you know, owing to the confounded stupidity of the authorities at the War Office. But that's a secondary thing altogether. Did he tell you about the Russian princess who fell in love with him, and sent him diamonds so valuable that he never takes them out of the bank ?

And of the horse he had that followed him about like a dog, by Jove ! and hopped upstairs like winking, and lay on his doormat all night ? " The speaker hit off Desborough's voice and manner to the life ; and Tempest laughed briefly. "These are trifles," added the other. "He always plays off these minor experiences on new acquaintances. When you've met him once or twice he'll make your hair curl, I can tell you. Whew ! I didn't think it was so late. I'm due at a dance. Good-night." When Medway, the volatile, had departed, Tempest deliberately let his thoughts off the chain. He did not often do this. But to night he felt restless and unlike himself. For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, his pulses had leaped uncomfortably at the sound of a woman's name. This annoyed him.

He had thought that sort of thing had been pretty well knocked out of him. His one romance had been ruthlessly sawn to the roots long ago. He was not in the habit of brood ing over it, nor even mentally touching it. It had cut him considerably at the time, and thrown him off his balance as much as any thing could have done. Nor had a "course of assorted vice " proved efficacious in mending matters. But that, too, was a thing of the past. What disturbed him now was that he had become suddenly and unpleasantly con scious of once more taking an interest, not in women, but in one particular woman. He was not, be it understood, in love with Mrs Daintry. The thought of marriage, or even deliberate love-making, was distasteful to him. But Medway's chance careless words had affected him disagreeably, and pointed out to him that his interest in this particular woman was approaching that sign-post on the high road of intimacy between man and woman which is marked " Dangerous."

The road usually slopes downhill a little at this stage. Tempest realised this, and resolved to put on the brake. After an hour's hard thinking, he found that he was somewhere near his mental start ing-point, and that it was well into the small hours. Therefore he went to bed.

Chapter III

There is a story — I give it for what it is worth — concerning an elephant and a partridge who met in the vicinity of the latter's home. " Oh, pray be careful of my nest," implored the partridge ; " it is close to your feet." " Set your mind at rest," said the elephant, soothingly. " I'll be careful. I've been a mother myself." And so saying she sat on the eggs Mrs Handy Barlock had the philanthropic mind of our elephant. Her heart was popularly supposed to be in the right place. It is dis tressing to reflect that, however satisfactory the situation of the heart, the head may be in an altogether different quarter. It is possible that the converse may be equally true Mrs Handy Barlock — like a certain character in a certain play — always meant well. If she had meant worse, she might have done better.

To-day she was one of Lady Normanton's guests at tea. The weather was bitter, only a few people had dropped in, and the conversation was limited to choice gossip. " Dear Lady Normanton," Mrs Handy Barlock was saying in her high-pitched treble, "who is that sweet Mrs Daintry ? We know no thing of her, really — though she has been among us between two and three years — except that she was introduced by the Deecies. And they are not over particular. Oh, I did not notice you were present, Miss Deecie. How stupid of me. But, of course, you know all about her ? " " We met her at a boarding-house at East bourne," said Miss Deecie, who was society by birth, but Bohemian by predilection. " Intro ductions are all rubbish. She liked us and we liked her, and there you are, you know. She may be all right, and she may be all wrong.

In the latter case we can easily drop her — when we find it out. It isn't worth worrying about." " I have always found Mrs Daintry all she ought to be," said Lady Normanton, with a careful distinctness that meant displeasure. " Well, well, we will hope all is right," said Mrs Handy Barlock, with easy tolerance. "As Miss Deecie says, introductions don't go for much." "I shall never forget a woman I once knew," observed Miss Deecie. " Someone I thought quite reliable introduced her to me. I took a great fancy to her, introduced her to all the best people, and ran her for the greater part of a season. She turned out to be a regular swindling adventuress, if not worse. I was ill for weeks with pure vexation." " As for Mrs Daintry," said Mrs Handy Barlock, " I am only repeating what no less than three people said to me yesterday.

Never theless, if you champion her, dear Lady Normanton, so shall I, and there's an end of it." " Mrs Daintry," announced a footman, throwing open the door. Mrs Handy Barlock rose, and held out two plump hands to the new-comer. " How do you do ? " she said, with effusion. " I have just been publishing myself as your champion." " My champion ! " repeated Mrs Daintry, haughtily. " I am not aware that I am in want of a champion." "But you are, my dear, you are. We were just discussing the ill-natured things people have been saying about you. But they shall not say them before me. Well, good-bye Lady Normanton, I really must go. I have been here an age, but, you know, I always love to come to you." She bustled away, and Mrs Daintry, who was looking pale, directed a broadside of conversation among the remaining guests.

Aud behind her smile, her tongue bit wickedly. When she and Lady Normanton were alone she said, her voice very sharp and clear, — " What did that woman mean ? " " My dear Monica, do sit down, and don't swoop up and down the room in that unpleasant fashion." " What did she mean ? " repeated the other. " What are people saying about me ? " "If you calm yourself, I will tell you all I know, which isn't much. And lower your voice, my dear. Benson is probably listening at the door." Monica flung herself into a chair. " Well," she said, with a sullenness that was unbecoming to her. " The fact is," said Lady Normanton, slowly — " that you are making enemies. You know you do indulge yourself a good deal in saying smart things at the expense of your friends. Friends are beginning to find this out. And naturally they don't like it."

" Well, given that my friends have become my enemies, what are they saying about me ? " asked Monica, her voice still hardened out of its usual calmness. " What was that old woman saying before I came in ? " "I think — after all, I had better not tell you.' " I insist upon your telling me. What was she insinuating ? " She only repeated the doubts of others.' And the doubts were — ?" " As to your origin, my dear." Monica lost colour; then threw up her head insolently. And have these doubts — affected you ? " " If they had, I should not — But we are on the verge of differing. I like you, Monica, and I take you as I find you. I don't know anything of your private affairs, and I don't want to. I know that you are a widow, rich enough to please yourself in most things. I need not tell you that you are charming and a beauty.