God's Good Man Part 52

Maryllia turned white as a snowdrop--but her eyes blazed with sudden amazement, indignation and pride that made lightning in their tender blue. Then,--deliberately choosing a cigarette from the silver box which had been placed on the table before her, she lit it,--and began to puff the smoke from her rosy lips in delicate rings, turning to Lord Roxmouth as she did so with a playful word and smile. It was enough;--the 'lead' was given. A glance of approval went the round of her London lady guests--who, exonerated by her prompt action from all responsibility, lighted their cigarettes without further ado, and the room was soon misty with tobacco fumes.

Not a word was addressed to Walden,--a sudden mantle of fog seemed to have fallen over him, covering him up from the consciousness of the company, for no one even glanced at him, except covertly,--no one appeared to have heard or noticed his remark. Lord Charlemont looked, as he felt, distressed. In his heart he admired Walden for his boldness in speaking out frankly against a modern habit of women which he also considered reprehensible,--but at the same time he recognised that the reproof had perhaps been administered too openly. Walden himself sat rigid and very pale--he fully realised what he had done,--and he knew he was being snubbed for it--but he did not care.

"Better so!"--he said to himself in an inward rage--"Better that I should never see her again than see her as she is now! She wrongs herself!--and I cannot be a silent witness of her wrong, even though it is wrought by her own hand!"

The buzz of talk now grew more loud and incessant;--he saw Sir Morton Pippitt's round eyes fixed upon him with an astonished and derisive stare,--and he longed for the moment to come when he might escape from the whole smoking, chattering party. All that his own eyes consciously beheld was Maryllia--Maryllia, the dainty, pretty, delicate feminine creature who seemed created out of the finest mortal and spiritual essences,--smoking! That cigarette stuck in her pretty mouth, vulgarised her appearance at once,--coa.r.s.ened her-- made her look as if she were indeed the rapid 'Maryllia Van' his friend Bishop Brent had written of. What did he care if not a soul at that table ever spoke to him again? Nothing! But he cared--oh, he cared greatly for any roughening touch on that little figure of smooth white and rose flesh, which somehow he had, unconsciously to himself, set in a niche for thoughts higher than common! He was quite aware that he had committed a social error, yet he was sorry she could not have reproved him in some other fas.h.i.+on than that of deliberately doing what he had just condemned as unbecoming to a lady. And his mind was in a whirl, when at last she rose to give the signal to adjourn, pa.s.sing out of the dining-room without a glance in his direction.

The moment she had vanished, he at once prepared to leave, not only the room, but the house. No one offered to detain him. The men were all too conscious of what they considered his 'faux pas'--and they were also made rather uncomfortable by the decided rebuff he had received from their hostess. Yet they all liked him, and were, in their way, sorry for what had occurred. Lord Roxmouth, with the easy a.s.surance of one who is conscious of his own position, remarked with kindly banter:--

"Won't you stay with us, Mr. Walden? Are you obliged to go?"

Walden looked at him unflinchingly, yet with a smile.

"When a man elects to speak his mind, Lord Roxmouth, his room is better than his company!"

And with this he left them--to laugh at him if they chose--caring little whether they did or not. Pa.s.sing into the hall, he took his hat and coat,--he was angry with himself, yet not ashamed,--for something in his soul told him that he had done rightly, even as a minister of the Gospel, to utter a protest against the vulgarising of womanhood. He stepped out into the courtyard--the moon was rising, and the air was very sweet and cool.

"I was wrong!"--he said, half aloud--"And yet I was right! I should not have said what I did,--and yet I should! If no man is ever bold enough to protest again the voluntary and fast-increasing self- degradation of women, then men will be most to blame if the next generation of wives and mothers are shameless, uns.e.xed, indecorous, and wholly unworthy of their life's mission. How angry she looked!

Possibly she will never speak to me again. Well, what does it matter! The wider apart our paths are set, the better!"

He reached the gate of the courtyard, and was about to pa.s.s through it, when a little fluttering figure in white, with crimson in its rough dark hair, rushed after him. It was Cicely.

"Don't go, please Mr. Walden!" she said, breathlessly; and he saw, even by the light of the moon, that her eyes were wet--"Please don't go! Maryllia wishes to speak to you."

He turned a pale, composed face upon her.

"Where?"

"In the picture-gallery. She is alone there. She saw you cross the courtyard, and sent me after you. All the other people are in the drawing-room, waiting to hear me sing--and I must run, for Gigue is there, and he is so impatient! Please, Mr. Walden!"--and Cicely's voice shook--"Please don't mind if Maryllia is angry! She IS angry!

But it's all on the surface--she doesn't really mean it--she wouldn't be unkind for all the world! I know what you said,--I was watching the dinner-party from the ante-room and I saw everything-- and--and--I think you were just splendid!--it's horrid for women to smoke--but they nearly all do it nowadays--only I never saw Maryllia do it before, and oh, Mr. Walden, make it all right with her, please!"

For a moment John hesitated. Then a kind smile softened his features.

"I can't quite promise that, Cicely,--but I'll do my best!" And taking her hand he patted it gently, as she furtively dashed one or two tear-drops from her lashes--"Come, come, you mustn't cry! Run away and sing like the little nightingale you are--don't fret---"

"But you'll go to Maryllia, won't you?" she urged, anxiously.

"Yes. I'll go!"

She lifted her dark eyes, and he saw how true and full of soul they were, despite their witch-like wildness and pa.s.sion. Just then a stormy pa.s.sage of music, played on the piano, and tumbling out, as it seemed, on the air through the open windows of the Manor drawing- room, reminded her that she was being waited for by her impetuous and impatient maestro.

"That's the signal for me!" she said--"I must run! But oh do, do make it up with Maryllia and be friends!"

She rushed away. He waited till she had disappeared, then turning back through the courtyard, slowly re-entered the house.

XXIII

The lights were burning low and dimly in the picture-gallery when he entered it and saw Maryllia there, pacing restlessly up and down, the folds of her dress with the 'diamants' sparkling around her as she moved, like a million little drops of frost on gossamer, while her small head, lifted proudly on its slim arched throat, seemed to his heated fancy, as though crowned with fresh coronals of gold woven from the summer sun. Turning, she confronted him and paused irresolute,--then, with a sudden impulsive gesture, came forward swiftly,--her cheeks flaming crimson,--her lips trembling, and her bosom heaving with its quickened breath like that of a fluttered bird.

"How dare you!" she said, in a low, strained voice--"How dare you!"

He met her eyes,--and in that moment individual and personal considerations were swept aside, and only the Right and the Wrong presented themselves to his mental vision, like witnesses from a higher world, invisible but omnipotent, waiting for the result of the first clash of combat between two human souls. Yielding to his own over-mastering emotion, and reckless of consequences, he caught her two hands lightly in his own.

"And how dare YOU!" he said earnestly,--"Little girl, how dare YOU so hurt yourself!"

They gazed upon one another,--each one secretly amazed at the other's outbreak of feeling,--she grown white and speechless,--he with a swift strong sense of his own power and authority as a mere man, nerving him to the utterance of truth for her sake--for her sake!--regardless of all forms and ceremonies. Then he dropped her hands as quickly as he had grasped them.

"Forgive me!" he said, very softly,--and paused, till recovering more of his self-possession, he continued quietly--"You should not have sent for me, Miss Vancourt! Knowing that I had offended you, I was leaving your house, never intending to enter it again. Why did you summon me back? To reproach me? It would be kinder to spare me this, and let me go my own way!"

He waited for her to speak. But she was silent. Anger, humiliation and wounded pride, mingled with a certain struggling respect and admiration for his boldness, held her mute. She little knew how provocatively lovely she looked as she stood haughtily immovable, her eyes alone flas.h.i.+ng eloquent rebellion;--she little guessed that John committed the picture of her fairness to the innermost recording cells of his brain, there to be stored up preciously, and never forgotten.

"I am sorry,"--he resumed--"that I spoke as I did just now at your table--because you are angry with me. But I cannot say that I am sorry for any other reason--"

At this Maryllia found her voice suddenly.

"You have insulted my guests---"

"Ah, no!" said John, almost with a smile--"Women who are habitual smokers are not easily insulted! They are past that, believe me! The fine susceptibilities which one might otherwise attribute to them have been long ago blunted. They do not command respect, and naturally, they can scarcely expect to receive it."

"I do not agree with you!" retorted Maryllia, with rising warmth, as she regained her self-control, and with it her deep sense of irritation--"You were rude,--and rudeness is unpardonable! You said as much as to imply that none of the women present were ladies---"

"None of those who smoked were!"--said John, coolly.

"Mr. Walden! I myself, smoked!"

"You did,"--and he moved a step or two nearer to her, his whole face lighting up with keen emotion--"And why did you? The motive was intended to be courteous--but the principle was wrong!"

"Wrong!" she echoed, angrily--"Wrong?"

"Yes--wrong! Have you never been told that you can do one thing wrong among so many that you do right, Miss Vancourt?" he asked, with great gentleness--"You had it in your power to show your true womanliness by refusing to smoke,--you could, in your position as hostess, have saved your women friends from making fools of themselves--yes--the word is out, and I don't apologise for it!"-- here a sudden smile kindled in his fine eyes--"And you could also have given them all an example of obedience."

"Obedience!" exclaimed Maryllia, astonished,--"What do you mean?

Obedience to whom?"

"To me!" replied John, with perfect composure.

She gazed at him, scarcely believing she had heard aright.

"To you?" she repeated--"To you?"

"Why certainly!" said John, wondering even as he spoke at his own ease and self-a.s.surance--"As minister of the parish I am the only person here that is set in authority over you--and the first thing you do is to defy me!"

His manner was whimsical and kindly,--his tone of voice playfully tender, as though he were speaking to some naughty child whom, notwithstanding its temper, he loved too well to scold,--and Maryllia was completely taken aback by this unexpected method of treating her combative humour. Her pretty mouth opened like a rosebud,--she seemed as though she would speak, but only an inarticulate murmur came from her parted lips; while the very faintest lurking suspicion of a smile crept dimpling over her face, to be lost again in the hostile expression of her eyes.

"You say I was rude,"--he went on,--"If I was, need you have been rude too?"