The Sorrows of Satan (Horror Classic). Marie Corelli

he, despite his rough masculinity and brute strength, becomes nothing but the merest slave to passion. In this way was I overwhelmed and conquered without any chance of deliverance when Sibyl Elton’s violet eyes, lifted slowly from the shadow of their dark lashes, rested upon me with that indefinable expression of mingled interest and indifference which is supposed to indicate high breeding, but which more frequently intimidates and repulses the frank and sensitive soul. The Lady Sibyl’s glance repelled, but I was none the less attracted. Rimânez and I had entered the Earl of Elton’s box at the Haymarket between the first and second acts of the play, and the Earl himself, an unimpressive, bald-headed, red-faced old gentleman, with fuzzy white whiskers, had risen to welcome us, seizing the prince’s hand and shaking it with particular effusiveness. (I learned afterwards that Lucio had lent him a thousand pounds on easy terms, a fact which partly accounted for the friendly fervour of his greeting.) His daughter had not moved; but a minute or two later when he addressed her somewhat sharply, saying “Sibyl! Prince Rimânez and his friend, Mr Geoffrey Tempest,” she turned her head and honoured us both with the chill glance I have endeavoured to describe, and the very faintest possible bow as an acknowledgment of our presence. Her exquisite beauty smote me dumb and foolish,—I could find nothing to say, and stood silent and confused, with a strange sensation of bewilderment upon me. The old Earl made some remark about the play, which I scarcely heard though I answered vaguely and at hap-hazard,—the orchestra was playing abominably as is usual in theatres, and its brazen din sounded like the noise of the sea in my ears,—I had not much real consciousness of anything save the wondrous loveliness of the girl who faced me, clad in pure white, with a few diamonds shining about her like stray dewdrops on a rose. Lucio spoke to her, and I listened.

      “At last, Lady Sibyl,” he said, bending towards her deferentially. “At last I have the honour of meeting you. I have seen you often, as one sees a star,—at a distance.”

      She smiled,—a smile so slight and cold that it scarcely lifted the corners of her lovely lips.

      “I do not think I have ever seen you,” she replied. “And yet there is something oddly familiar in your face. I have heard my father speak of you constantly,—I need scarcely say his friends are always mine.”

      He bowed.

      “To merely speak to Lady Sibyl Elton is counted sufficient to make the man so privileged happy,” he said. “To be her friend is to discover the lost paradise.”

      She flushed,—then grew suddenly very pale, and shivering, she drew her cloak towards her. Rimânez wrapped its perfumed silken folds carefully round her beautiful shoulders,—how I grudged him the dainty task! He then turned to me, and placed a chair just behind hers.

      “Will you sit here Geoffrey?” he suggested—“I want to have a moment’s business chat with Lord Elton.”

      Recovering my self-possession a little, I hastened to take the chance he thus generously gave me to ingratiate myself in the young lady’s favour, and my heart gave a foolish bound of joy because she smiled encouragingly as I approached her.

      “You are a great friend of Prince Rimânez?” she asked softly, as I sat down.

      “Yes, we are very intimate,” I replied—“He is a delightful companion.”

      “So I should imagine!” and she looked over at him where he sat next to her father talking earnestly in low tones—“He is singularly handsome.”

      I made no reply. Of course Lucio’s extraordinary personal attractiveness was undeniable,—but I rather grudged her praise bestowed on him just then. Her remarks seemed to me as tactless as when a man with one pretty woman beside him loudly admires another in her hearing. I did not myself assume to be actually handsome, but I knew I was better looking than the ordinary run of men. So out of sudden pique I remained silent, and presently the curtain rose and the play was resumed. A very questionable scene was enacted, the ‘woman with the past’ being well to the front of it. I felt disgusted at the performance and looked at my companions to see if they too were similarly moved. There was no sign of disapproval on Lady Sibyl’s fair countenance,—her father was bending forward eagerly, apparently gloating over every detail,—Rimânez wore that inscrutable expression of his in which no feeling whatever could be discerned. The ‘woman with the past’ went on with her hysterical sham-heroics, and the mealy-mouthed fool of a hero declared her to be a ‘pure angel wronged,’ and the curtain fell amid loud applause. One energetic hiss came from the gallery, affecting the occupants of the stalls to scandalized amazement.

      “England has progressed!” said Rimânez in soft half-bantering tones—“Once upon a time this play would have been hooted off the stage as likely to corrupt the social community. But now the only voice of protest comes from the ‘lower’ classes.”

      “Are you a democrat, prince?” inquired Lady Sibyl, waving her fan indolently to and fro.

      “Not I! I always insist on the pride and supremacy of worth,—I do not mean money value, but intellect. And in this way I foresee a new aristocracy. When the High grows corrupt, it falls and becomes the Low;—when the Low educates itself and aspires, it becomes the High. This is simply the course of nature.”

      “But, God bless my soul!” exclaimed Lord Elton—“you don’t call this play low or immoral do you? It’s a realistic study of modern social life—that’s what it is. These women you know,—these poor souls with a past—are very interesting!”

      “Very!” murmured his daughter.—“In fact it would seem that for women with no such ‘past’ there can be no future! Virtue and modesty are quite out of date, and have no chance whatever.”

      I leaned towards her, half whispering,

      “Lady Sibyl, I am glad to see this wretched play offends you.”

      She turned her deep eyes on me in mingled surprise and amusement.

      “Oh no, it doesn’t,” she declared—“I have seen so many like it. And I have read so many novels on just the same theme! I assure you, I am quite convinced that the so-called ‘bad’ woman is the only popular type of our sex with men,—she gets all the enjoyment possible out of life,—she frequently makes an excellent marriage, and has, as the Americans say ‘a good time all round.’ It’s the same thing with our convicted criminals,—in prison they are much better fed than the honest working-man. I believe it is quite a mistake for women to be respectable,—they are only considered dull.”

      “Ah, now you are only joking!” I said with an indulgent smile. “You know that in your heart you think very differently!”

      She made no answer, as just then the curtain went up again, disclosing the unclean ‘lady’ of the piece, “having a good time all round” on board a luxurious yacht. During the unnatural and stilted dialogue which followed, I withdrew a little back into the shadow of the box, and all that self-esteem and assurance of which I had been suddenly deprived by a glance at Lady Sibyl’s beauty, came back to me, and a perfectly stolid coolness and composure succeeded to the first feverish excitement of my mind. I recalled Lucio’s words—“I believe Lady Sibyl is for sale”—and I thought triumphantly of my millions. I glanced at the old earl, abjectly pulling at his white whiskers while he listened anxiously to what were evidently money schemes propounded by Lucio. Then my gaze came back appraisingly to the lovely curves of Lady Sibyl’s milk-white throat, her beautiful arms and bosom, her rich brown hair of the shade of a ripe chestnut, her delicate haughty face, languid eyes and brilliant complexion,—and I murmured inwardly—“All this loveliness is purchaseable, and I will purchase it!” At that very instant she turned to me and said—

      “You are the famous Mr Tempest, are you not?”

      “Famous?” I echoed with a deep sense of gratification—“Well,—I am scarcely that,—yet! My book is not published ...”

      Her eyebrows arched themselves surprisedly.

      “Your book? I did not know you had written one?”

      My flattered vanity sank to zero.

      “It