A Woman-Hater Part 22

"Sensible girl!"

"Dishonest girl, _I_ call her."

"There you go to your big words. No, no. A little money was given her for a bad purpose. She has used it for a frivolous one. That is 'a step in the right direction'--jargon of the day."

"But to receive money for one purpose, and apply it to another, is--what do you call it--_chose?--de'tournement des fonds_--what is the English word? I've been abroad till I've forgotten English. Oh, I know--embezzlement."

"Well, that is a big word for a small transaction; you have not dug in the mine of the vernacular for nothing."

"Harrington, if you don't mind, I do; so please come. I'll talk to her."

"Stop a moment," said Vizard, very gravely. "You will not say one word to her."

"And why not, pray?"

"Because it would be unworthy of us, and cruel to her; barbarously cruel.

What! call her to account before that old woman and me?"

"Why not? She is flaunting her blues before you two, and plenty more."

"Feminine logic, Zoe. The point is this--she is poor. You must know that.

This comes of poverty and love of dress; not of dishonesty and love of dress; and just ask yourself, is there a creature that ought to be pitied more and handled more delicately than a _poor lady?_ Why, you would make her writhe with shame and distress! Well, I do think there is not a single wild animal so cruel to another wild animal as a woman is to a woman. You are cruel to one another by instinct. But I appeal to your reason--if you have any."

Zoe's eyes filled. "You are right," said she, humbly. "Thank you for thinking for me. I will not say a word to her before _you."_

"That is a good girl. But, come now, why say a word at all?"

"Oh, it is no use your demanding impossibilities, dear. I could no more help speaking to her than I could fly; and don't go fancying she will care a pin what I say, if I don't say it before _a gentleman."_

Having given him this piece of information, she left her ambush, and proceeded to meet the all-unconscious blue girl; but, even as they went, Vizard returned to his normal condition, and doled out, rather indolently, that they were out on pleasure, and might possibly miss the object of the excursion if they were to encourage a habit of getting into rages about nothing.

Zoe was better than her word. She met f.a.n.n.y with open admiration: to be sure, she knew that apathy, or even tranquillity, on first meeting the blues, would be instantly set down to envy.

"And where did you get it, dear?"

"At quite a small shop."

"French?"

"Oh, no; I think she was an Austrian. This is not a French mixture: loud, discordant colors, that is the French taste."

"Here is heresy," said Vizard. "Why, I thought the French beat the world in dress."

"Yes, dear," said Zoe, "in form and pattern. But f.a.n.n.y is right; they make mistakes in color. They are terribly afraid of scarlet; but they are afraid of nothing else: and many of their mixtures are as discordant to the eye as Wagner's music to the ear. Now, after all, scarlet is the king of colors; and there is no harm in King Scarlet, if you treat him with respect and put a modest subject next to him."

"Gypsy locks, for instance," suggested f.a.n.n.y, slyly.

Miss Maitland owned herself puzzled. "In my day," said she, "no one ever thought of putting blue upon blue; but really, somehow, it looks well."

"May I tell you why, aunt?--because the dress-maker had a real eye, and has chosen the right tints of blue. It is all nonsense about one color not going with another. Nature defies that; and how? by choosing the very tints of each color that will go together. The sweetest room I ever saw was painted by a great artist; and, do you know, he had colored the ceiling blue and the walls green: and I a.s.sure you the effect was heavenly: but, then, he had chosen the exact tints of green and blue that would go together. The draperies were between crimson and maroon. But there's another thing in f.a.n.n.y's dress; it is velvet. Now, blue velvet is blue to the mind; but it is not blue to the eye. You try and paint blue velvet; you will be surprised how much white you must lay on. The high lights of all velvets are white. This white helps to blend the two tints of blue."

"This is very instructive," said Vizard. "I was not aware I had a sister, youthful, but profound. Let us go in and dine."

f.a.n.n.y demurred. She said she believed Miss Maitland wished to take one turn round the grounds first.

Miss Maitland stared, but a.s.sented in a mechanical way; and they commenced their promenade.

Zoe hung back and beckoned her brother. "Miss Maitland!" said she, with such an air. _"She_ wants to show her blues to all the world and his wife."

"Very natural," said Vizard. "So would you, if you were in a scarlet gown, with a crimson cloak."

Zoe laughed heartily at this, and forgave f.a.n.n.y her new dress: but she had a worse bone than that to pick with her.

It was a short but agreeable promenade to Zoe, for now they were alone, her brother, instead of sneering, complimented her.

"Never you mind my impertinence," said he; "the truth is, I am proud of you. You are an observer."

"Me? Oh--in color."

"Never mind: an observer is an observer; and genuine observation is not so common. Men see and hear with their prejudices and not their senses.

Now we are going to those gaming-tables. At first, of course, you will play; but, as soon as ever you are cleaned out, observe! Let nothing escape that woman's eye of yours: and so we'll get something for our money."

"Harrington," said the girl proudly, "I will be all eye and ear."

Soon after this they went in to dinner. Zoe cast her eyes round for Severne, and was manifestly disappointed at his not meeting them even there.

As for f.a.n.n.y, she had attracted wonderful attention in the garden, and was elated; her conscience did not p.r.i.c.k her in the least, for such a trifle as _de'tournement des fonds;_ and public admiration did not improve her: she was sprightly and talkative as usual; but now she was also a trifle brazen, and pert all round.

And so the dinner pa.s.sed, and they proceeded to the gaming-tables.

Miss Maitland and Zoe led. f.a.n.n.y and Harrington followed: for Miss Dover, elated by the blues--though, by-the-by, one hears of them as depressing--and encouraged by admiration and Chevet's violet-perfumed St.

Peray, took Harrington's arm, really as if it belonged to her.

They went into the library first, and, after a careless inspection, came to the great attraction of the place. They entered one of the gambling-rooms.

The first impression was disappointing. There were two very long tables, rounded off at the ends: one for _trente et quarante_ and one for _roulette._ At each table were seated a number of persons, and others standing behind them. Among the persons seated was the dealer, or, in roulette, the spinner. This official sat in the center, flanked on each side by croupiers with rakes; but at each end of the table there was also a croupier with his rake.

The rest were players or lookers-on; most of whom, by well-known gradations of curiosity and weakness, to describe which minutely would be to write a little comedy that others have already written, were drawn into playing at last. So fidgets the moth about the candle before he makes up what, no doubt, the poor little soul calls his mind.

Our little party stopped first at _trente et quarante,_ and Zoe commenced her observations. Instead of the wild excitement she had heard of, there was a subdued air, a forced quiet, especially among the seated players. A stern etiquette presided, and the gamblers shrouded themselves in well-bred stoicism--losing without open distress or ire, winning without open exultation. The old hands, especially, began play with a padlock on the tongue and a mask upon the face. There are masks, however, that do not hide the eye; and Miss Vizard caught some flashes that escaped the masks even then at the commencement of the play. Still, external stoicism prevailed, on the whole, and had a fixed example in the _tailleur_ and the croupiers. Playing many hours every day in the year but Good-Friday, and always with other people's money, these men had parted with pa.s.sion, and almost with sensation; they had become skillful automata, chanting a stave, and raking up or scattering hay-c.o.c.ks of gold, which to them were counters.

It was with the monotonous voice of an automaton they intoned:

"Faites le jeu, messieu, messieu."

Then, after a pause of ten seconds:

"Le jeu est fait, messieu."