University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

If Lady Ravelgold showed beautiful by the uncompromising
light and in the ornamental hall of Almack's, she was radiant as
she came through the mirror door of her own love-contrived and
beauty-breathing boudoir. Tremlet had been shown into this recess
of luxury and elegance on his arrival, and Lady Ravelgold
and her daughter, who preceded her by a minute or two, had
gone to their chambers, the first to make some slight changes in
her toilet, and the latter (entirely ignorant of her lover's presence
in the house), to be alone with a heart never before in such painful
need of self-abandonment and solitude.

Tremlet looked about him in the enchanted room in which he
found himself alone, and, spite of the prepossessed agitation of his
feelings, the voluptuous beauty of every object had the effect to
divert and tranquillize him. The light was profuse, but it came
softened through the thinnest alabaster; and, while every object
in the room was distinctly and minutely visible, the effect of
moonlight was not more soft and dreamy. The general form of
the boudoir was an oval, but, within the pilasters of folded silk
with their cornices of gold, lay crypts containing copies, exquisitely
done in marble, of the most graceful statues of antiquity,
one of which scemed, by the curtain drawn quite aside and a
small antique lamp burning near it, to be the divinity of the
place—the Greek Antinous, with his drooped head and full,
smooth limbs, the most passionate and life-like representation of
voluptuous beauty that intoxicates the slumberous air of Italy.
Opposite this, another niche contained a few books, whose retreating
shelves swung on a secret door, and, as it stood half open, the
nodding head of a snowy magnolia leaned through, as if pouring
from the lips of its broad chalice the mingled odors of the unseen
conservatory it betrayed. The first sketch in crayons of a portrait
of Lady Ravelgold by young Lawrence, stood against the
wall, with the frame half buried in a satin ottoman; and, as
Tremlet stood before it, admiring the clear, classic outline of the
head and bust, and wondering in what chamber of his brain the
gifted artist had found the beautiful drapery in which he had
drawn her, the dim light glanced faintly on the left, and the
broad mirror by which he had entered swung again on its silver
hinges, and admitted the very presentment of what he gazed on.
Lady Ravelgold had removed the jewels from her hair, and the
robe of wrought lace, which she had worn that night over a boddice

of white satin laced loosely below the bosom. In the place
of this she had thrown upon her shoulders a flowing wrapper of
purple velvet, made open after the Persian fashion, with a short
and large sleeve, and embroidered richly with gold upon the
skirts. Her admirable figure, gracefully defined by the satin
petticoat and boddice, showed against the gorgeous purple as it
flowed back in her advancing motion, with a relief which would
have waked the very soul of Titian; her complexion was dazzling
and faultless in the flattering light of her own rooms; and there
are those who will read this who know how the circumstances
which surround a woman—luxury, elegance, taste, or the opposite
of these—enhance or dim, beyond help or calculation, even
the highest order of woman's beauty.

Lady Ravelgold held a bracelet in her hand as she came in.

“In my own house,” she said, holding the glittering jewel to
Tremlet, “I have a fancy for the style antique. Tasseline, my
maid, has gone to bed, and you must do the devoirs of a knight,
or an abigail, and loop up this Tyrian sleeve. Stay—first look
at the model—that small statue of Cytheris, yonder! Not the
shoulder—for you are to swear mine is prettier—but the clasp.
Fasten it like that. So! Now take me for a Grecian nymph
the rest of the evening.”

“Lady Ravelgold!”

“Hermione or Agläe, if you please! But let us ring for
supper!”

As the bell sounded, a superb South American trulian darted in
from the conservatory, and, spreading his gorgeous black and gold
wings a moment over the alabaster shoulder of Lady Ravelgold, as
if he took a pleasure in prolonging the first touch as he alighted,
turned his large liquid eye fiercely on Tremlet.

“Thus it is,” said Lady Ravelgold, “we forget our old
favorites in our new. See how jealous he is!”

“Supper is served, miladi!” said a servant entering.

“A hand to each, then, for the present,” she said, putting one
into Tremlet's, and holding up the trulian with the other. “He
who behaves best shall drink first with me.”

“I beg your ladyship's pardon,” said Tremlet, drawing back,
and looking at the servant, who immediately left the room. “Let
us understand each other! Does Lady Imogen sup with us to-night?”

“Lady Imogen has retired,” said her mother in some surprise.

“Then, madam, will you be seated one moment and listen to
me?”

Lady Ravelgold sat down on the nearest ottoman, with the air
of a person too high bred to be taken by surprise, but the color
deepened to crimson in the centre of her cheek, and the bird on
her hand betrayed by one of his gurgling notes that he was held
more tightly than pleased him. With a calm and decisive tone,
Tremlet went through the explanation given in the previous parts
of this narration. He declared his love for Lady Imogen, his
hopes (while he had doubts of his birth) that Lady Ravelgold's
increasing obligations and embarrassments and his own wealth
might weigh against his disadvantages; and now, his honorable
descent being established, and his rank entitling him to propose
for her hand, he called upon Lady Ravelgold to redeem her obligations
to him by an immediate explanation to her daughter of
his conduct toward herself, and by lending her whole influence to
the success of his suit.

Five minutes are brief time to change a lover into a son-in-law;
and Lady Ravegold, as we have seen in the course of this

story, was no philosopher. She buried her face in her hands,
and sat silent, for a while, after Tremlet had concluded: but the
case was a very clear one. Ruin and mortification were in one
scale, mortification and prosperity in the other. She rose, pale
but decided, and requesting Monsieur le Comte Manteuffel to
await her a few minutes, ascended to her daughter's chamber.

“If you please, sir,” said a servant, entering in about half an
hour, “miladi and Lady Imogen beg that you will join them in
the supper-room.”