A QUESTION of QUALITY

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXII, Issue XIV, 8 April 1899, Page 434

A QUESTION of QUALITY

1%

Mrs Effie A. Rowlands.

CHAPTER XXV.

Bettine’s interview with Peter Callard was only the first of many. Of course they were neither of them deceived by the other. Bettine knew that Callard’s hour had come, and that he meant to deal hardly with her, unless she could circumvent him, and the man on his side thoroughly grasped her intention of outwitting him if she could. They met, nevertheless, with all the semblance of good-fellowship; in fact, nothing could have been kinder and more considerate than Callard. He set aside apparently all former cause for grudge against this beautiful and most attractive woman, and put himself and all his belongings at her disposal. Bettine, however, allowed him to do nothing for her, and it puzzled Callard considerably to account for many things, as, for instance, for the supply of ready money with which young Lady Kingsberry was accommodated. The arrangement Kingsberry had made for his wife might, of course, have lasted an average woman a long time, but Bettine was not an average woman by any means, and her extravagance was colossal. True she had had the sense to come away from Kingsberry Court, to dismiss the regiment of servants, ami leave the place to the old caretakers, but to balance this she was staying at an expensive hotel, and living in the same luxurious manner that had.characterised her existence since her marriage. She drove down to his office in her smart Victoria, her gowns were as exquisite as of yore, her whole bearing was that of a wealthy woman, an * Peter Callard did not understand how it was being done. Of course he knew she could (and probably had done so) find unlimited credit, but credit might dress her and keep her carriage for a time; it would not pay for everything. He was puzzled, and Bettine saw that he was. and took much delight in the fact. Something more she saw as the days wore away, and that was that whatever feeling might have prompted Callard to seek Anne Baillie to be his wife, she had managed entirely to sweep this feeling into oblivion;'and this pleased Bettine enormously. Such was her vanity and her greed for power that she desired to usurp even the heart of this man, whom she despised as much as she hated. It was not his heart that was touched, it was that strong element of the snob in his composition that responded to the influence Bettine shed about him. Callard saw quickly that whatever change of fortune might befall Kingsberry’s wife, her social place would not suffer very much. The slight reverse, as some might have termed it. that had followed on her husband's departure had done her no real harm, and if she were not to lie permitted to act as hostess to Royal guests just immediately, this would come to‘her as inevitably as all the rest of her success had come. I lei rare beauty and her strong will and frank, outspoken manner had given her tin individuality, and Callard knew how valuable this could be in that world he longed to dominate so eagerly. His vanity had been immeasurably delighted by the knowledge that Bettine so evidently desired his friendship, and regarded her present insecure attitude as resting on his good-will. He was ever weak where women were concerned,, more ( specially was he weak when it was a question of a woman who was the centre of attraction to so many. Never once was lie blinded to the fact that Bettine only sought him now liecause she was forced to do so, but

that was a truth known only to themselves, and it could not affect, therefore, the opinion of others. It delighted him to have Lady Kingsberry’s smart carriage standing at the door of his office in the city and to escort, her down to this carriage and stand laughing and chatting with her before she finally rolled away. He knew that he was at once an object of envy and curiosity to others less favoured than he, and he made no secret of his friendship with Kingsberry’s beautiful wife. The dreams and hopes and thoughts awakened by close contact, with Anne Baillie had no place in Callard’s mind now, he ceased to dwell upon her, and he avoided old Lady Kingsberry because he knew the girl was with her grandmother. Bettine, with her brilliant loveliness and her worldliness, and the fragrance of success floating about her, was, after all, a more tangible attraction. It was so natural to him to drift into the old paths, to play whatever game this woman dictated, feeling meanwhile the keen satisfaction of holding her in the hollow of his hand. It was not only for this reason that Callard hesitated to proceed to business over the Kingsberry Court mortgage. Kingsberry’s sudden departure made matters difficult all the way round, and at times Callard had an uneasy sensation that he would never see his money back again. Should anything happen to Kingsberry, the property would pass to Bettine for her lifetime, but Bettine was hardly likely to trouble her head about freeing the property. The one person who would make a big effort to do this was Callard, who knew well the old Countess, but he wanted to square things somehow without bringing the old lady into the matter, for he had a real touch of affection for Nancy’s grandmother. Bettine had professed indifference in the commencement as to what would happen to her, but Peter was not wholly' deceived by the indifference.

‘What does she want me to do?' was the question he asked himself constantly, while he held himself absolutely’ at her command, dined with her, made one of a theatre party, and bombarded her with costly flowers.

The position was not an easy one to grasp. Had she been a widow instead of a wife, everything would have been so clear. Callard found himself dwelling very much on the chance of that widowhood. From such accounts as he could obtain of Kingsberry he felt, assured the young man was doing his best to kill himself by slow degrees. Not that Callard desired actually to hear of Kingsberry’s death, but that. Bettine’s freedom was gradually becoming more and more desirable. In fancy he saw their names linked together already. ‘The Countess of Kingsberry’ and Mr Callard are now at Kingsberry Court for the autumn;' it is intimated that the Prince and Princess will honour the Countess of Kingsberry and Mr Callard by paying them a visit at Kingsberry Court this spring.’ These and other similar phrases ran in and out of his thoughts, and left a delicious flavour in their train.

It was a. mad sort of dream he was spinning out. and yet in life, especially such a life as Kingsberry elected to live, was there not always a chance of it being fulfilled?

One thing was very sure, he was master of the situation, and should Bet tine’s freedom come unexjieetedly

he should know’ how to act, and she w’ould be compelled to act with him.’ It was not often that Lady Alicia honoured her mother with a visit, but on one fine early spring day she appeared suddenly in old Lady Kingsberry’s drawing-room.

Nancy was out, which Lady Alicia regarded as being most fortunate. ‘I am up for a few hours, and have come to talk over this question of Edward Loftus with you,’ she said to her mother.

Lady Kingsberry screwed up her lips. ‘As applied to what, or whom?’ she asked.

‘As applied to Anne.’ ‘My dear Alicia,’ the old lady said composedly, ‘just put that matter out of your mind. Anne will not marry Edward Loftus for two very good reasons. the first being that he has no intention of asking her, and the second, because she will marry no man, no matter how desirable he may be.’ Lady Alicia’s fine brows were drawn together. ‘Does he not come here, then?’ she asked.

‘I never encouraged young Loftus to come here. I regard him as a fool, and I hate fools.’

Lady Alicia bit her lip for a long time in silence. ‘Surely,’ she said in vexed, hard tones w’hen she spoke, ‘surely, mother, you must see that this is' an excellent marriage for Anne?’ ‘I have told you,’ returned the Countess, ‘Anne will never marry.’ ‘But this is absurd,’ Lady Alicia said sharply. ‘I hope you will not encourage her in this matter. Of course she must marry.’ ‘I don’t see that “of course,” ’ the old lady said, ‘and I certainly shall never do anything to urge the girl to alter her views just to fulfil a conventional idea. Can’t you be satisfied with Hubert's marriage and leave Anne alone?’

‘I want to see her happy’ and settled in her own home,’ Lady Alicia said, in a constrained voice.

‘An excellent copy-book theory, but it won’t work out well with Anne. You have not spoken the truth, Alicia. Say you desire this marriage for some purpose of your own, and you will be nearer the mark.'

Lady Alicia looked deeply’ annoyed. ‘I thought you would have been with me in this,’ she said coldly. ‘Had Anne a grain of the ordinary’ common-place nature in her, I w’ould give her over to you to-morrow, but being what she is I don’t intend to interfere with her. Leave the girl alone, Alicia. She. is not very happy just now but she is of a. quality that will make happiness out of the most barren circumstances, even as the Israelites succeeded, I believe, in making bricks without straw.’

‘I won’t, pretend to misunderstand you,’ Lady Alicia said coldly again. ‘You mean that Anne is determined to end her days as an old maid because Kingsberry is a married man.’ ‘You put it clumsily,’ old Lady’ Kingsberry said, equally as coldly. ‘I mean that Anne is content to pass the rest of her days maybe in dancing attendance on a crotchety old woman rather than enter into the miseries of a marriage without love to balance the material advantages of the position. I am going to keep the girl with me, Alicia, and I shall be very much obliged if you will leave her in peace.' Lady Alicia rose to take her departure. ‘What news have you of Kingsberry?’ she asked, as she fastened her furs. She had a slight sneer in her voice that her mother noticed and resented.

‘We have none,’ she answered. ‘Nigel is a bad correspondent, and 1 am ten old to write letters on chance nowadays.’ ‘So like Alicia,’ the old woman mused after her daughter had gone, and she was left to her reflection; ‘she is hedged about by narrow ideas, some prim and others the reverse. As if it needed letters from my boy to keep his memory green in the child's heart! Of course I quite understand it would lx* agreeable to Alicia to work this marriage between Nancy and Loftus, it would pay off some of the score against my lady Bettine. I wonder, however, why there seems to be a need for hurry. Evidently Ix>ftus must be in town, though he never comes here. Is he going to be made a fool of all over again? Somehow, 1

should not have thought him the sort of man to be content to flutter like a moth round even so brilliant a light as Bettine. But there is no doubt he was honestly in love, so I suppose she can twist him which way she likes. Well, I was sorry for him once, but I cau’t keep on being sorry.’ When Nancy came back from her walk with the three dogs, her grandmother said nothing of Lady Alicia’s visit; she was just a trifle less sharp with the girl, and that same night, when Nancy helped her to retire, after having played the customary game of bezique, the old lady showed her tenderest side once again as she spoke of the future.

‘You know, I want you all to myself, Nance,’ she said. ‘You must write to your father, and tell him, if he wants you, he must come and see you here. 1 believe he won't grudge you to me.’ ‘I, too, believe that, Grannie,’ Nancy said, with a soft light in her eyes. There was something new about the girl’s look this evening; it caught the old woman’s attention as she lay propped up on her pillows. In her little white evening frock Nancy looked very young and sweet, even though her face had grown so thin and her eyes were set in dark shadows.

‘You look better to-night, Anne,’ said the Countess. ‘Yes, you look decidedly better. I think your walk did you good for once. Where did you go? and what did you do? and whom did you see?’

Nancy was putting all the paraphernalia for the night on the small table by the bedside, and the old lady was busy covering her small hands and face with her own special cream. ‘I went to the park and saw a great many people,’ Nancy said. Her heart was beating wildly, anti the same question that pressed on her all the afternoon pressed keener than ever now. Shall I tell her now? Can I let her have just a few hours longer?’ was what this question said. T met Mr Callard,’ she hurried on to say aloud. The old Lady Kingsberry gave a grunt. ‘1 am saving up many rude speeches to say to Peter when I see him. He is treating me abominably.’ ‘He sent you many messages, many kind words,’ said Nancy, not very steadily.

The old woman ceased rubbing her hands for an instant, then she drew on her gloves and looked across the big room to where Nancy stood, a pathetically pretty figure, by the fireplace. ‘Anne,’ she said, suddenly, ‘where did you meet Peter Callard?’

Nancy paused imperceptibly. ‘He was just outside this house, Grannie dear.’

‘Just outside, anti he did not come in.’ The delicate brows were contracted, and the lips were silent a moment, then they moved again. ‘Was he coming to bring me news?’ Nancy nodded her head. ‘News of Nigel?’

_'\ es , Grannie.’ The pressure on the girl's heart was now an agony of pain. ‘What news?’ asked Kingsberry’s grandmother in a \<ry low, very clear voice. Then she bent forward. ‘You need not go on; I understand; it was good of Peter to think of me. I suppose this is true. I expect it must be. for Peter is a careful man, and would not make a mistake in such a case.’

‘The news was telegraphed through the press agency.’ Nancy answered in the same quiet, low' voice. ‘Mr Callard happened to be able to intercept this telegram and hold it aside till you had been informed. There are no details as yet; these will come later, I suppose. I told Mr Callard I would tell you. I thought it might hurt you less, dear Grannie, from my lips.’ Old Lady Kingsberry did' not speak. She sat propped up on her pillows and her eyes were closed, and Nancy turned her face away and looked once again into the fire, the cruel laughing, cheery fire that blazed and shone and crackled even in the very shadow of death itself.

After a while the old woman opened her eyes. ‘Go to bed, Naney dear,’ she said feebly; ‘after all, we must remember that we are living if others die.’ Nancy obeyed silently. They spoke no other words, they exchanged no kiss, no clasp of sympathy; they had no need of such expressions, for they knew that their grief was equal. Only they were knit a little closer together by the fulfilment of the fear that hail hung above them threateningly this many n day.

Bettine fell in with all Callard’s wishes.

‘I suppose some mourning will be expected of you,’ he had said to her in his most practical way. ‘I think I should advise you to go over to Ireland and stay with poor Kingsberry’s mother for a few weeks; you need' not remain there longer.’ ‘I don’t think I need go at all.' Bettine amended. ‘I shall announce that I am going, and that will do just as well. 1 can’t bear that weepy woman over in Ireland.’

‘Do as you like then,’ Callard agreed, and then he had spoken of their marriage quite as a matter of course. ‘We will wait a few months,’ he said, ‘then we can have the quietest ceremony.’ ‘Yes; otherwise we may hurt Lady Kingsberry’s feelings,’ Bettine observed, and Callard looked at her sharply; he scented a sneer, but her face wore a very innocent expression. ‘You had better have Kingsberry Court re-opened, and everything made ready for our reception,’ was Callard’s next suggestion. ‘You propose to live there altogether then,’ Bettine said thoughtfully.

She pulled at the soft, black chiffon on her sleeve and yawned a little. It was very dull shut up in her hotel rooms; she would be glad to see the last of London for a little while.

•Certainly we must live there. The place is now in working order; it seems as if some kindly fate had resolved to see me well through my business with Kingsberry, for, after all, the best part of this money was spent on the Court.’ ‘I am so glad that tiresome business is settled and done with,’ Bettine said languidly. ‘All the same,’ she added, seriously,' ‘I shall not believe it is done with until I have seen those wretched mortgage deeds destroyed before my eyes. How they have haunted me!’ ‘Did you really think 1 should do anything harsh to you?’ Callard asked, with a touch of passion in his voice.

He had lost his head for her, his infatuation was growing every hour. The more he dwelt on the future the sweeter he found it. All that he had dreamed these past months was actually coming true. It had been so far off, now that it was close at hand it seemed almost impossible of realisation. Under other circumstances Callard must have devoted a thought of pity, and, maybe, regret for the man who had died so young, and, after all. had died nobly, for Kingsberry’s end had been one of sacrifice, a life given to save another life, and his death was hallowed by the deed of courage and unselfishness. Under other circumstances he must also have given many thoughts to those two women—the young and the old—who mourned together over the dead man, but Bettine gave him no chance for such thought. She knew her power, and played upon his as easily as a butterfly lights on a flower. It was bitterly hard for him to agree to a lengthened term of waiting for their marriage, but it was Bettine’s will, and what Betti ine willed that he did. Thej’ settled that she had better go abroad for a time (whilst she was ostensibly with Kingsberry’s mother), and the hour before she started for Switzerland and the Italian lakes he brought her those same parchment deeds she had expressed a desire to destroy, and stood by with a smile on his face whilst she threw them into the fire and saw them wither into ashes.

The next day she was gone, and the world, despite its May sunshine, had a cold and empty air. He went about his work he scarcely knew how. and began like a schoolboy to count the days, the very hours, till he should see this woman again, this woman whom he hail almost hated, whose moral worthlessness was written clear before him. and who had bewitched him so entirely that he was another man. He avoided all contact with old Lady Kingsberry. Sometimes he saw her driving, with Nancy’s pale sweet face making such a marked contrast to the aged one beside her, and he had shrunk back rather than meet the old woman's eyes. It hurt him to see her so changed, and yet he felt that if the youth had gone at last from her face and form she would be able to sting with her tongue as sharply as ever, and since the future would carry him into the enemy’s camp, he preferred not to bring himself within fire of her sneers.

And so May wore itself away, and .Tune was born only to die. and Nigel. Lord Kingsberry, had been dead not quite three months when the social world was electrified by the news that

his beautiful widow had taken to herself another husband.

'Must have cared for him all along. 1 suppose,' a certain man about town saM to Callard as they met by chance in one of his clubs just three days or so before the latter intended starting on his journey to the Italian lakes. '1 always thought there must have been something like a tiff to break off the marriage and send her flying with that other poor Johnnie. At least she does not lack courage, and she certainly is not a hypocrite.’

‘All of which is double Dutch to me.' said Callard, half impatiently. 'Oh. thought you would be sure to know. You were such pals with Lady Kingsberry,' retorted the other. ‘Well, you enn read for yourself; it’s in ;-ll the papers. They are determined to let all the world know just as soon as possible.' Callard walked into the readingroom. and stood in front of the desk, on which was spread the open pages of the ‘Times.’ His face had grown a dull grey colour, and he felt very cold. Half mechanically he turned the sheets of the newspaper, and read through the advertisement of the marriages. He found the notice without any trouble, the brief words that set forth simply the news that Edward Loftus had espoused Bettine, Countess of Kingsberry. in Paris, the preceding day; and as he stood there scanning again and again the curt words, he was perfectly aware z that he was an object of speculation, if not of amusement. to the several men scattered about the room, and the iron of a bitter humiliation entered into his very soul. He left the club a wretched man: somehow he had never dreamed she would be a traitress to him. and the knowledge brought to him in this casual yet callous way, seemed to take from him the very essence of life itself. He did not know how he shculd support this. It was, after all. as he had once said to Hubert Bailee, ;• question of quality, and he was not made of the stuff that can endure. Before another day had dawned be had discovered suddenly that certain South African speculations required his personal supervision, and in the shortest time possible he had made his arrangements and booked his passage to the Cape, and so when Bettine returned to her place in the world she found that Callard was conspicuous by his absence, and that so far as she was concerned she certainly had triumphed, as she had always determined to do.

Only one thing remained to jar and annoy Bettine, and that was the sight occasionally of her cousin Nancy driving beside the withered old figure dressed in heavy mourning. It was. paradoxically, the bright look in Nancy’s sweet eyes and the colour in her cheeks that angered Edward Loftus' wife. Could she have driven Nancy out into a new world, as she had driven Peter Callard, she felt she might have been satisfied; but Nancy remained on unmoved by the worst she could do. and in her arrogance of spirit Bettine ehafed against this as against an evil. If she could have felt that Nancy’s power as a woman was crushed, she would have had some satisfaction; but fate was resolved to thwart her here also, and go where she would it seemed to be her destiny to hear praise spoken of one whose life she had done her best to mar. and yet who went through that marred life with a courage that was immeasurable, and a heart that despite its ceaseless ache found a joy in ministering to all about her. (The End.)