When they reached the house at Herne Hill the sisters were both in a state of nervous tremor. Monica had only the vaguest idea of the kind of person Mrs. Luke Widdowson would prove to be, and Virginia seemed to herself to be walking in a dream.
‘Have you been here often?’ whispered the latter, as soon as they came in view of the place. Its aspect delighted her, but the conflict of her emotions was so disturbing that she had to pause and seek the support of her sister’s arm.
‘I’ve never been inside,’ Monica answered indistinctly. ‘Come; we shall be unpunctual.’
‘I do wish you would tell me, dear —’
‘I can’t talk, Virgie. Try and keep quiet, and behave as if it were all quite natural.’
This was altogether beyond Virginia’s power. It happened most luckily, though greatly to Widdowson’s annoyance, that the sister-inlaw, Mrs. Luke Widdowson, arrived nearly half an hour later than the time she had appointed. Led by the servant into a comfortable drawing-room, the visitors were received by the master of the house alone; with a grim smile, the result of his embarrassment, with profuse apologies and a courtesy altogether excessive, Widdowson did his best to put them at their ease — of course with small result. The sisters side by side on a settee at one end of the room, and the host seated far away from them, they talked with scarcely any understanding of what was said on either side — the weather and the vastness of London serving as topics — until of a sudden the door was thrown open, and there appeared a person of such imposing presence that Virginia gave a start and Monica gazed in painful fascination. Mrs. Luke was a tall and portly woman in the prime of life, with rather a high colour; her features were handsome, but without much refinement, their expression a condescending good-humour. Her mourning garb, if mourning it could be called, represented an extreme of the prevailing fashion; its glint and rustle inspired awe in the female observer. A moment ago the drawing-room had seemed empty; Mrs. Luke, in her sole person, filled and illumined it.
Widdowson addressed this resplendent personage by her Christian name, his familiarity exciting in Monica an irrational surprise. He presented the sisters to her, and Mrs. Luke, bowing grandly at a distance, drew from her bosom a gold-rimmed pince-nez, through which she scrutinized Monica. The smile which followed might have been interpreted in several senses; Widdowson, alone capable of remarking it, answered with a look of severe dignity.
Mrs. Luke had no thought of apologizing for the lateness of her arrival, and it was evident that she did not intend to stay long. Her purpose seemed to be to make the occasion as informal as possible.
‘Do you, by chance, know the Hodgson Bulls?’ she asked of her relative, interrupting him in the nervous commonplaces with which he was endeavouring to smooth the way to a general conversation. She had the accent of cultivation, but spoke rather imperiously.
‘I never heard of them,’ was the cold reply.
‘No? They live somewhere about here. I have to make a call on them. I suppose my coachman will find the place.’
There was an awkward silence. Widdowson was about to say something to Monica, when Mrs. Luke, who had again closely observed the girl through the glasses, interposed in a gentle tone.
‘Do you like this neighbourhood, Miss Madden?’
Monica gave the expected answer, her voice sounding very weak and timid by comparison. And so, for some ten minutes, an appearance of dialogue was sustained. Mrs. Luke, though still condescending, evinced a desire to be agreeable; she smiled and nodded in reply to the girl’s remarks, and occasionally addressed Virginia with careful civility, conveying the impression, perhaps involuntarily, that she commiserated the shy and shabbily-dressed person. Tea was brought in, and after pretending to take a cup, she rose for departure.
‘Perhaps you will come and see me some day, Miss Madden,’ fell from her with unanticipated graciousness, as she stepped forward to the girl and offered her hand. ‘Edmund must bring you — at some quiet time when we can talk. Very glad to have met you — very glad indeed.’
And the personage was gone; they heard her carriage roll away from beneath the window. All three drew a breath of relief, and Widdowson, suddenly quite another man, took a place near to Virginia, with whom in a few minutes he was conversing in the friendliest way. Virginia, experiencing a like relief, also became herself; she found courage to ask needful questions, which in every case were satisfactorily met. Of Mrs. Luke there was no word, but when they had taken their leave — the visit lasted altogether some two hours — Monica and her sister discussed that great lady with the utmost freedom. They agreed that she was personally detestable.
‘But very rich, my dear,’ said Virginia in a murmuring voice. ‘You can see that. I have met such people before; they have a manner — oh! Of course Mr. Widdowson will take you to call upon her.’
‘When nobody else is likely to be there; that’s what she meant,’ remarked Monica coldly.
‘Never mind, my love. You don’t wish for grand society. I am very glad to tell you that Edmund impresses me very favourably. He is reserved, but that is no fault. Oh, we must write to Alice at once! Her surprise! Her delight!’
When, on the next day, Monica met her betrothed in Regent’s Park — she still lived with Mildred Vesper, but no longer went to Great Portland Street — their talk was naturally of Mrs. Luke. Widdowson speedily led to the topic.
‘I had told you,’ he said, with careful accent, ‘that I see very little of her. I can’t say that I like her, but she is a very difficult person to understand, and I fancy she often gives offence when she doesn’t at all mean it. Still, I hope you were not — displeased?’
Monica avoided a direct answer.
‘Shall you take me to see her?’ were her words.
‘If you will go, dear. And I have no doubt she will be present at our wedding. Unfortunately, she’s my only relative; or the only one I know anything about. After our marriage I don’t think we shall see much of her —’
‘No, I dare say not,’ was Monica’s remark. And thereupon they turned to pleasanter themes.
That morning Widdowson had received from his sister-inlaw a scribbled post-card, asking him to call upon Mrs. Luke early the day that followed. Of course this meant that the lady was desirous of further talk concerning Miss Madden. Unwillingly, but as a matter of duty, he kept the appointment. It was at eleven in the morning, and, when admitted to the flat in Victoria Street which was his relative’s abode, he had to wait a quarter of an hour for the lady’s appearance.
Luxurious fashion, as might have been expected, distinguished Mrs. Luke’s drawing-room. Costly and beautiful things superabounded; perfume soothed the air. Only since her bereavement had Mrs. Widdowson been able to indulge this taste for modern exuberance in domestic adornment. The deceased Luke was a plain man of business, who clung to the fashions which had been familiar to him in his youth; his second wife found a suburban house already furnished, and her influence with him could not prevail to banish the horrors amid which he chose to live: chairs in maroon rep, Brussels carpets of red roses on a green ground, horse-hair sofas of the most uncomfortable shape ever designed, antimacassars everywhere, chimney ornaments of cut glass trembling in sympathy with the kindred chandeliers. She belonged to an obscure branch of a house that culminated in an obscure baronetcy; penniless and ambitious, she had to thank her imposing physique for rescue at a perilous age, and though despising Mr. Luke Widdowson for his plebeian tastes, she shrewdly retained the good-will of a husband who seemed no candidate for length of years. The money-maker died much sooner than she could reasonably have hoped, and left her an income of four thousand pounds. Thereupon began for Mrs. Luke a life of feverish aspiration. The baronetcy to which she was akin had inspired her, even from childhood, with an aristocratic ideal; a handsome widow of only eight-and-thirty, she resolved that her wealth should pave the way for her to a titled alliance. Her acquaintance lay among City people, but with the opportunities of freedom it was soon extended to the sphere of what is known as smart society; her flat in Victoria Street attracted a heterogeneous cluster of pleasure-seekers and fortune-hunters, among them one or two vagrant members of the younger aristocracy. She lived at the utmost pace compatible with technical virtue. When, as shortly happened, it became evident that her income was not large enough for her serious purpose, she took counsel with an old friend great in finance, and thenceforth the excitement of the gambler gave a new zest to her turbid existence. Like most of her female associates, she had free recourse to the bottle; but for such stimulus the life of a smart woman would be physically impossible. And Mrs. Luke enjoyed life, enjoyed it vastly. The goal of her ambition, if all went well in the City, was quite within reasonable hope. She foretasted the day when a vulgar prefix would no longer attach to her name, and when the journals of society would reflect her rising effulgence.
Widdowson was growing impatient, when his relative at length appeared. She threw herself into a deep chair, crossed her legs, and gazed at him mockingly.
‘Well, it isn’t quite so bad as I feared, Edmund.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, she’s a decent enough little girl, I can see. But you’re a silly fellow for all that. You couldn’t have deceived me, you know. If there’d been anything — you understand? — I should have spotted it at once.’
‘I don’t relish this kind of talk,’ observed Widdowson acidly. ‘In plain English, you supposed I was going to marry some one about whom I couldn’t confess the truth.’
‘Of course I did. Now come; tell me how you got to know her.’
The man moved uneasily, but in the end related the whole story. Mrs. Luke kept nodding, with an amused air.
‘Yes, yes; she managed it capitally. Clever little witch. Fetching eyes she has.’
‘If you sent for me to make insulting remarks —’
‘Bosh! I’ll come to the wedding gaily. But you’re a silly fellow. Now, why didn’t you come and ask me to find you a wife? Why, I know two or three girls of really good family who would have jumped, simply jumped, at a man with your money. Pretty girls too. But you always were so horribly unpractical. Don’t you know, my dear boy, that there are heaps of ladies, real ladies, waiting the first decent man who offers them five or six hundred a year? Why haven’t you used the opportunities that you knew I could put in your way?’
Widdowson rose from his seat and stood stiffly.
‘I see you don’t understand me in the least. I am going to marry because, for the first time in my life, I have met the woman whom I can respect and love.’
‘That’s very nice and proper. But why shouldn’t you respect and love a girl who belongs to good society?’
‘Miss Madden is a lady,’ he replied indignantly.
‘Oh — yes — to be sure,’ hummed the other, letting her head roll back. ‘Well, bring her here some day when we can lunch quietly together. I see it’s no use. You’re not a sharp man, Edmund.’
‘Do you seriously tell me,’ asked Widdowson, with grave curiosity, ‘that there are ladies in good society who would have married me just because I have a few hundreds a year?’
‘My dear boy, I would get together a round dozen in two or three days. Girls who would make good, faithful wives, in mere gratitude to the man who saved them from — horrors.’
‘Excuse me if I say that I don’t believe it.’
Mrs. Luke laughed merrily, and the conversation went on in this strain for another ten minutes. At the end, Mrs. Luke made herself very agreeable, praised Monica for her sweet face and gentle manners, and so dismissed the solemn man with a renewed promise to countenance the marriage by her gracious presence.
When Rhoda Nunn returned from her holiday it wanted but a week to Monica’s wedding, so speedily had everything been determined and arranged. Miss Barfoot, having learnt from Virginia all that was to be known concerning Mr. Widdowson, felt able to hope for the best; a grave husband, of mature years, and with means more than sufficient, seemed, to the eye of experience, no unsuitable match for a girl such as Monica. This view of the situation caused Rhoda to smile with contemptuous tolerance.
‘And yet,’ she remarked, ‘I have heard you speak severely of such marriages.’
‘It isn’t the ideal wedlock,’ replied Miss Barfoot. ‘But so much in life is compromise. After all, she may regard him more affectionally than we imagine.’
‘No doubt she has weighed advantages. If the prospects you offered her had proved more to her taste she would have dismissed this elderly admirer. His fate has been decided during the last few weeks. It’s probable that the invitation to your Wednesday evenings gave her a hope of meeting young men.’
‘I see no harm if it did,’ said Miss Barfoot, smiling. ‘But Miss Vesper would very soon undeceive her on that point.’
‘I hardly thought of her as a girl likely to make chance friendships with............