Edith Wharton: Complete Works. Edith Wharton

who was just then busy with another portrait called out, “What! Are you losing your heart too, Benedick?” “Who is it?” said Jack. “What! don’t you—It’s the handsomest—no, not the handsomest, nor the most beautiful, nor the prettiest, woman in London; but, I should say, the most fascinating. Isn’t that face irresistible? That is Lady Breton!” Jack started; perhaps he for the first time fully understood what had darkened Guy Hastings’ life. “Yes,” continued his friend, enthusiastically, “she is the sensation of the season. And no wonder! There is a perfect magic about her, which, I see by your face, I have been fortunate enough to reflect in part on my canvas. But if you knew her!” “I am going to dine there tonight,” said Jack turning away, his admiration changed to a sort of loathing, as he thought of the destruction those handsome eyes had wrought. “Are you? Let me congratulate you. You’re the luckiest man in London,” cried the portrait-painter, unconsciously repeating the words which had hailed Jack’s good-fortune at Swift’s the night before. “And this,” thought Egerton, “is what a woman gets for spoiling a man’s life!” Nevertheless, prompted by a certain curiosity (which Jack was careful to call a natural interest in the various phases of human nature, since to confess the desire of seeing a woman—even the woman whom all London was raving about—would have been high-treason to his cherished misogynism)—actuated, I say, by this feeling, he looked forward rather impatiently to the evening which was to introduce him to the famous Lady Breton; &, as he was ushered by a resplendent Jeames up the velvet-spread staircase of her Belgravian mansion, was aware of that pleasurable sensation with which an ardent play-goer awaits the lifting of the curtain upon the first scene of a new drama. How the curtain lifted, what scenes it disclosed, & how unexpectedly it fell, our next chapter will reveal.

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VIII.

      Jack the Avenger.

      “I have a heart tho’ I have played it false.”

      Old Play.

      Lady Breton was leaning against the chimney-piece in her splendid drawing-room, hung with violet satin, & illuminated by sparkling chandeliers. Her black velvet dress set off the neatly-moulded lines of her figure, which seemed to have gained in height & stateliness since her unmarried days in Holly Lodge; & the low, square-cut bodice revealed a bosom the whiter by contrast to a collar of rubies clasped closely about the throat. She was watching, half-absently, the flash of her rings, as she leaned her chin upon one drooping hand; & was so absorbed in some silent reverie, that she scarcely noticed the pompous entrance of her lord & master, until that noble gentleman observed, “I have asked Egerton to dine here tonight. I believe you know him.” “I?” said Georgie, starting slightly. “N—no—I do not know him.” But she did know that he was Guy’s friend & travelling companion. “A very gentlemanly fellow, & of good family,” said Lord Breton, graciously, “though an artist.” A moment later, &, fortunately for his peace of mind, just too late to catch these words, Mr. Egerton was announced. Lord Breton went ponderously through an introduction to “Lady Breton, my friend Mr. Egerton”; & then he found himself sitting in a very easy chair, with only a velvet-covered tea-table between himself & the most popular woman in London. Certainly, the charm of her face, her tone, her gesture, was irresistible. Her ease was so engaging, there was such a pretty spice of freedom in her speech & manner, her coquetry was so artless & original, that Jack had surely succumbed if he had not seen in this fascinating Lady Breton the destroyer of his friend’s happiness. Ten minutes later, after another stray man, a distant relative of Lord Breton’s, had made his appearance in dinner-array, Egerton had the whitest of hands lying on his coat-sleeve & was leading his hostess to the dining-room, in a very delightful frame of mind. The parti quarré was kept alive, during the elaborate courses of the dinner, by Lady Breton’s vivacity; & as she employed herself in drawing Jack out (Jack was a clever talker) the two kept a constant flow of words circulating. Every moment, as he watched her & heard her voice, the fascination & the loathing increased together. In truth, Georgie had laid herself out to conquer this clever friend of Guy’s; & she in part succeeded. When at last she rose, with her rich draperies falling about her & a deeper flush on her cheek, & swept out of the room, a dullness fell on the three men which Lord Breton’s sublimity was not likely to relieve. Jack was glad when the time which etiquette orders to be devoted to nuts & wine (Lord Breton’s wine was by no means contemptible) was over, & the gentlemen went to the drawing-room to join Georgie; nor was his pleasure impaired by the fact that Lord Breton soon challenged his other guest to a game of billiards. “Let us stay here, Mr. Egerton,” said Georgie, with a smile. “It always makes my head ache to see Lord Breton play billiards. You don’t mind staying?” Jack protested. “Ah! I see you are like all other men—you always flatter.” “How can we help it when there is so much to flatter?” “That is a doubtful compliment, but I will take it at its best, as one must everything in this life. Do you take tea, Mr. Egerton?” Jack had an old-maid’s passion for the fragrant brew, & watched with no small enjoyment the quick movements of Georgie’s pretty hand as she filled & sweetened his cup. “There! You have got to pay for my services by getting up to fetch it, since you will plant yourself at the other end of the room,” she said, laughing, as she handed it to him. “Thanks. I find that English tea is a different thing from Roman tea,” said Jack, leaning back luxuriously, so that he could watch her as she sat opposite, in a charming négligeé attitude, as easy as his own. “But one doesn’t go to Rome for tea! At least, I believe not,” she said, taking up her cup. “What does one go to Rome for?” returned Jack; “as I sit here, in this charming drawing-room, with London on every side, I wonder how anyone can care to go abroad?” “Really,” said Georgie, smiling, “your words have a double entendre. Is it my drawing-room, Mr. Egerton, or London that makes it hard to go abroad?” “To those who have the happiness of knowing you, I should say—both.” “Unanswerable! Compliments always are—But do tell me, Mr. Egerton, if you have seen my cousin Guy—Mr. Hastings, lately?” She said it lightly, easily, in the tone she had used to rally & amuse him a moment before; there was no change in voice, or manner. Jack was disagreeably startled out of his train of lazy enjoyment; in the charm of her presence he had nearly forgotten his loyalty to Guy, but the lightness of her tone as she named him, brought all the horror jarringly back. He changed in a moment from the mere drawing room lounger, with a flattering repartee for every remark, into the stout friend & the “good hater.” He was our old Jack Egerton again. For a moment he did not answer her; & as she appeared absorbed in the contemplation of the fan which she was opening & furling, perhaps she did not see the angry flash in his honest gray eyes. When he spoke she did look up, & with undisguised astonishment in her pretty face. “I think, Lady Breton,” said Jack, sternly, “that you should be able to answer your own question.” “What can you mean, Mr. Egerton? Why do you speak in that solemn oracular manner?” “Excuse me, Lady Breton,” returned Jack; “I cannot speak in any other tone of my friend!” “Than the solemn & oracular?” said Georgie, mischievously. “You must pardon me,” Egerton answered gravely,” If I ask you not to speak so lightly on a subject which … which …” “Pray go on, Mr. Egerton,” she said, in a low, taunting voice; & it urged him on, before he knew it, to utter the truth. “I believe,” he returned quickly, “that we are speaking at cross-purposes, but since you give me permission I will go on & tell you frankly that I cannot sit still and listen to such mere trifling with his name from the woman who has ruined Guy Hastings’ life.” Her colour deepened, but her voice was quite controlled as she said, “I do not think I gave you permission to insult me.” “Nor did I mean to insult you, Lady Breton; if I have, order me out of your drawing-room at once—but I must speak the truth.” “Since when have you developped this virtue, Mr. Egerton? Well—” she set her lips slightly, “go on. I will listen to the truth.” “You have heard what I said,” Jack answered, coldly. “Let me see”—Jack noticed that she composed herself by an effort—“that I had ruined Guy—Mr. Hastings’ life.” “As you must ruin the life of any man who has the misfortune to love you. You know your power.” “Well—suppose I do. Did you come from Rome to tell me this, Mr. Egerton?” she said, bitterly. “No. And I see that I shall