Chapter 7
But on the following evening, Bernard again found himself seated in
friendly colloquy with this interesting girl, while Gordon Wright
discoursed with her mother on one side, and little Blanche Evers chattered
to the admiring eyes of Captain Lovelock on the other.
You and your mother are very kind to that little girl,
our hero said;
you must be a great advantage to her.
Angela Vivian directed her eyes to her neighbors, and let them rest
a while on the young girl's little fidgeting figure and her fresh, coquettish
face. For some moments she said nothing, and to Longueville, turning
over several things in his mind, and watching her, it seemed that her
glance was one of disfavor. He divined, he scarcely knew how, that her
esteem for her pretty companion was small.
I don't know that I am very kind,
said Miss Vivian.
I have done nothing in particular for her.
Mr. Wright tells me you came to this place mainly on her
account.
I came for myself,
said Miss Vivian.
The
consideration you speak of perhaps had weight with my mother.
You are not an easy person to say appreciative things
to,
Bernard rejoined.
One is tempted to say them; but you
don't take them.
The young girl colored as she listened to this observation.
I don't think you know,
she murmured, looking away.
Then,
Set it down to modesty,
she added.
That, of course, is what I have done. To what else could one
possibly attribute an indifference to compliments?
There is something else. One might be proud.
There you are again!
Bernard exclaimed.
You
won't even let me praise your modesty.
I would rather you should rebuke my pride.
That is so humble a speech that it leaves no room for
rebuke.
For a moment Miss Vivian said nothing.
Men are singularly base,
she declared presently, with a
little smile.
They don't care in the least to say things that
might help
a person. They only care to say things that may seem effective and
agreeable.
I see: you think that to say agreeable things is a great
misdemeanor.
It comes from their vanity,
Miss Vivian went on, as if
she had not heard him.
They wish to appear agreeable and get credit
for cleverness and tendresse, no matter how silly it would be for another
person to believe them.
Bernard was a good deal amused, and a little nettled.
Women, then,
he said,
have rather a fondness for
producing a bad impression — they like to appear disagreeable?
His companion bent her eyes upon her fan for a moment as she
opened and closed it.
They are capable of resigning themselves to it — for a
purpose.
Bernard was moved to extreme merriment.
For what purpose?
I don't know that I mean for a purpose,
said Miss
Vivian;
but for a necessity.
Ah, what an odious necessity!
Necessities usually are odious. But women meet them. Men
evade them and shirk them.
I contest your proposition. Women are themselves necessities;
but they are not odious ones!
And Bernard added, in a moment,
One could n't evade them, if they were!
I object to being called a necessity,
said Angela Vivian.
It diminishes one's merit.
Ah, but it enhances the charm of life!
For men, doubtless!
The charm of life is very great,
Bernard went on,
looking up at the dusky hills and the summer stars, seen through a sort of
mist of music and talk, and of powdery light projected from the softly
lurid windows of the gaming-rooms.
The charm of life is extreme. I
am unacquainted with odious necessities. I object to nothing!
Angela Vivian looked about her as he had done — looked perhaps a
moment longer at the summer stars; and if she had not already proved
herself a young lady of a contradictory turn, it might have been supposed
she was just then tacitly admitting the charm of life to be considerable.
Do you suppose Miss Evers often resigns herself to being
disagreeable — for a purpose?
asked Longueville, who had glanced at
Captain Lovelock's companion again.
She can't be disagreeable; she is too gentle, too soft.
Do you mean too silly?
I don't know that I call her silly. She is not very wise; but she
has no pretensions — absolutely none — so that one is not struck with
anything incongruous.
What a terrible description! I suppose one ought to have a few
pretensions.
You see one comes off more easily without them,
said
Miss Vivian.
Do you call that coming off easily?
She looked at him a moment gravely.
I am very fond of Blanche,
she said.
Captain Lovelock is rather fond of her,
Bernard went
on.
The girl assented.
He is completely fascinated — he is very much in love with
her.
And do they mean to make an international match?
I hope not; my mother and I are greatly troubled.
Is n't he a good fellow?
He is a good fellow; but he is a mere trifler. He has n't a
penny, I believe, and he has very expensive habits. He gambles a great
deal. We don't know what to do.
You should send for the young lady's mother.
We have written to her pressingly. She answers that Blanche
can take care of herself, and that she must stay at Marienbad to finish her
cure. She has just begun a new one.
Ah well,
said Bernard,
doubtless Blanche can
take care of herself.
For a moment his companion said nothing; then she exclaimed —
It 's what a girl ought to be able to do!
I am sure you are!
said Bernard.
She met his eyes, and she was going to make some rejoinder; but
before she had time to speak, her mother's little, clear, conciliatory voice
interposed. Mrs. Vivian appealed to her daughter, as she had done the
night before.
Dear Angela, what was the name of the gentleman who
delivered that delightful course of lectures that we heard in Geneva,
on — what was the title? — `The Redeeming Features of the Pagan Morality.'
Angela flushed a little.
I have quite forgotten his name, mamma,
she said,
without looking round.
Come and sit by me, my dear, and we will talk them over. I
wish Mr. Wright to hear about them,
Mrs. Vivian went on.
Do you wish to convert him to paganism?
Bernard
asked.
The lectures were very dull; they had no redeeming
features,
said Angela, getting up, but turning away from her
mother. She stood looking at Bernard Longueville; he saw she was
annoyed at her mother's interference.
Every now and then,
she said,
I take a turn through the gaming-rooms. The last time,
Captain Lovelock went with me. Will you come to-night?
Bernard assented with expressive alacrity; he was charmed with her
not wishing to break off her conversation with him.
Ah, we 'll all go!
said Mrs. Vivian, who had been
listening, and she invited the others to accompany her to the Kursaal.
They left their places, but Angela went first, with Bernard
Longueville by her side; and the idea of her having publicly braved her
mother, as it were, for the sake of his society, lent for the moment an
almost ecstatic energy to his tread. If he had been tempted to presume
upon his triumph, however, he would have found a check in the fact that
the young girl herself tasted very soberly of the sweets of defiance. She
was silent and grave; she had a manner which took the edge from the
wantonness of filial independence. Yet, for all this, Bernard was pleased
with his position; and, as he walked with her through the lighted and
crowded rooms, where they soon detached themselves from their
companions, he felt that peculiar satisfaction which best expresses itself in
silence. Angela looked a while at the rows of still, attentive faces, fixed
upon the luminous green circle, across which little heaps of louis d'or
were being pushed to and fro, and she continued to say nothing. Then at
last she exclaimed simply,
Come away!
They turned away
and passed into another chamber, in which
there was no gambling. It was
an immense apartment, apparently a ball-room; but at present it was quite
unoccupied. There were green velvet benches all around it, and a great
polished floor stretched away, shining in the light of chandeliers adorned
with innumerable glass drops. Miss Vivian stood a moment on the
threshold; then she passed in, and they stopped in the middle of the place,
facing each other, and with their figures reflected as if they had been
standing on a sheet of ice. There was no one in the room; they were
entirely alone.
Why don't you recognize me?
Bernard murmured
quickly.
Recognize you?
Why do you seem to forget our meeting at Siena?
She might have answered if she had answered immediately; but she
hesitated, and while she did so something happened at the other end of the
room which caused her to shift her glance. A green velvet portière
suspended in one of the door-ways — not that through which our friends had
passed — was lifted, and Gordon Wright stood there, holding it up, and
looking at them. His companions were behind him.
Ah, here they are!
cried Gordon, in his loud, clear
voice.
This appeared to strike Angela Vivian as an interruption, and
Bernard saw it very much in the same light.