Lady Etwynde

“ Lady Etwynde goes, and Lauraine sits there alone, and thinks with shame and terror of what she has weakly yielded—permission for his visits, his presence, his old accustomed privileges that the world deems so natural—that she knows to be so wrong now. At the bottom of her heart lies a bitter contempt of herself and her folly—it stings her to hot anger with him—to a haunting dread that will ever pursue her. ”

“ To-night Lauraine comes alone, Sir Francis having declined to be present at what he terms "such d——d humbug." It is nearly midnight when she arrives, and the rooms are crowded. She sees the Lady Etwynde attired in a fearful and wonderful gown, with skirts more clinging, and puffs more voluminous, and hair more "tousled" than ever, and in her hand is a fan of peacock's feathers, which she from time to time waves slowly and gracefully to and fro. ”

“ A wilder sky is above their heads, one that foretells a storm close at hand.
Lauraine turns her face seaward, and the fierce wind and dashing spray seem to give it a new and wonderful beauty. "It is glorious!" she murmurs, as she stands there in a sort of rapture. "It seems as if one could move, breathe, be free in a place like this."
"Free?" says Lady Etwynde. "Is any one that? As long as life shackles our souls, so long does bondage curb our wishes. I never met a single person, man or woman, who could do exactly as they wished." ”

“ You can't make saints of men. You must take them as they are. And did she actually make Lady Jean leave the house?"
"She would have been scarcely less guilty than Lady Jean had she condoned her presence, knowing what she knew," says Lady Etwynde, with rising indignation. "Even if a husband does not love his wife, he at least should treat her with common decency."
"I daresay Lauraine brought it all on herself. A man can't always put up with such airs as those to which she treated Sir Francis, and, in contrast with Lady Jean, why Lauraine was—nothing." ”

“ I cannot bear to hear you talk like that," cries Lady Etwynde. "Does he—does Sir Francis suspect anything?"
"He said he knew Keith loved me," answers Lauraine wearily. "Fancy hearing one's husband speak of the love of another man! I felt treacherous—shamed in his sight and my own. He could not understand—he would not believe in the long, long struggle, the pain, the suffering of it all. I feel as if conscience and honour had both suffered in the conflict, as if with my child I had lost all that was pure and of any worth in me. And now the world may say what it likes. ”

“ I could not forgive that!"
"But, my dear," says Lauraine, gently, "you may have had his first real love. The other was but a youthful folly, a hot-headed infatuation. Does any man come to us with his heart pure and free? Few, I think, if any. We cannot judge them by ourselves. That is how so many women wreck their lives. They expect too much. No man can ever be what a girl's dreams would make him. But it is so hard for her to believe that."
"I know it now," answers Lady Etwynde. "I have learnt my lesson in bitterness and grief. ”

“ Lady Etwynde's idea of Keith Athelstone has always been that he is selfish and inconsiderate, and that Lauraine is quite thrown away upon him; she feels convinced now of her own sagacity when she sees how foolish is his conduct. She herself takes no notice of Lady Jean, and when Keith excuses himself to her on the plea before mentioned, she feels disgusted and annoyed, and tells her husband she will have nothing more to say to the young man. She would have been civil to him for Lauraine's sake, but if he prefers Lady Jean, why to Lady Jean let him go. ”

“ It is hard work to keep down the thoughts that are thronging, the love that is leaping, the joy that is thrilling his every sense; but he knows it must be done, and he succeeds in doing it and in deceiving Lauraine. The cloth is removed. The soft dusk settles on the pretty quiet scene without. Lady Etwynde, who dislikes a glare of light, blows out nearly all the illumination of candles in the room, and they sit there by the window watching the stars come out one by one, talking less now, but with something grave and earnest in the talk that it has lacked before. ”

“ I never thought I could love any woman so dearly as I love Lauraine; and I feel, oh! so sorry for her now!"
"So do I—for Keith."
"And you think we can do nothing?"
"I fear not. It is a delicate matter. He may be only striving for forgetfulness after all. Men do foolish and desperate things sometimes for love's sake."
"That is one of the things we women who love you can't understand," says Lady Etwynde. "To us those excesses to which we are accused of driving you seem degrading and contemptible. We can only excuse sins that are not against ourselves, I suppose." ”

“ That awful day of pain and grief rolls on. To Lady Etwynde it seems the most terrible she has ever known. Lauraine has passed from one fit of unconsciousness into another. They watch and tend her in ever-increasing fear. Lady Etwynde has telegraphed to London for a physician, and also to Mrs. Douglas and Sir Francis, though she fears the latter will not receive her message without considerable delay, owing to the uncertainty of his movements.
In the darkened house they all move with hushed steps ”

“ Lauraine has listened, stilled and awed.
"Thy heart's desire." The words sink into her very soul, and wake a thousand varied emotions.
"But my 'heart's desire' is all wrong—all sin—whichever way I look at it," she says, half despairingly.
"God can make it right," whispers Lady Etwynde drawing the white, sad face down upon her bosom, and softly kissing the weary lips. "If you can take those words home to your heart as I did, my darling, your burden will grow easier to bear; the strength you ask for will be given. Oh, life is hard, terribly hard, I know! ”

“ It is so stupid, making a fuss and exposé—losing everything, and all for—what?"
"I think," says Lady Etwynde quietly, "that you do not understand your daughter, and you do her injustice. A woman must know when to support her own dignity; I suppose you allow that?"
"I daresay Lauraine made a great deal of unnecessary fuss; it would be just like her. She is full of romance and high-flown ideas. If she had been quite circumspect herself it would not matter; but after getting herself talked about with Keith—I myself had to warn her—I think Sir Francis was very good to overlook it." ”

“ People are always so sure they know us better than we know ourselves. Being a single woman, it is rather a comfort to have such a reputation, and as I dislike men, and patronize fools, I am safe."
"But you are not cold-hearted at all," says Lauraine, turning her face, with its beautiful sea-kissed bloom, to that lovely languid one of her æsthetic friend. "Don't you really care to marry?"
"What should I gain?" asks Lady Etwynde, tranquilly. "Le mieux est l'ennemi du bien, you know. I am very well off. I can do pretty much—not exactly—as I please. I have no one to control me, or consult. ”

“ Lauraine is one of the few women who can dress perfectly. But then she has taste and artistic feeling."
"It is not every one who could dare to copy the Lady Etwynde," Keith says, with an admiring glance at the amber clouds that seem to float round the graceful figure of his companion. "And to one who dresses as she does, all other women must look only 'clothed.'"
"A distinction with a difference," says Lady Etwynde. "You pay compliments very gracefully. That is a rare thing nowadays." ”

“ If I had but kept true a little space——"
"One can never judge of another's case by one's own," answers Lady Etwynde. "No doubt you were tried, hurried into it. I know, oh! I know. You are not the first girl who has told me the same, nor will you be the last. The mothers of Society do it all for the best, doubtless. Love seems such a poor, contemptible thing in their eyes in comparison with—settlements. Oh, yes! that is so always. Perhaps they forget their own youth; one does, they say, when one outlives romance. And I suppose an 'Establishment' is better than poetry any day. ”

“ Douglas looks at her annoyed and impatient.
"If she is unhappy it must be her own fault. She had everything that could make a woman happy, and her husband was devoted to her. If she has lost his affection, it is by her own imprudence and folly. I warned her long ago how it would be."
"Perhaps your warning came too late. Most warnings do," says Lady Etwynde coldly. "But a loveless marriage to a girl of Lauraine's disposition and nature was a dangerous experiment. You ought to have let her marry Keith Athelstone." ”

“ They only see the result, not what leads up to it."
"It is difficult to know what to think," says Lady Etwynde. "I have known people marry for love, for money, for rank, for convenience, for obedience's sake, for duty's sake, and yet I don't know of one single really happy marriage. The lovers have got sick of each other in a year, the moneyed pair are miserable, the other indifferent, unfaithful, erratic, as the case may be. Is it any wonder, Lauraine, that I gave the business a wide berth?"
"You are fortunate to be able to please yourself," says Lauraine ”

“ Is it about—Lady Jean?"
"Yes," answers Lady Etwynde, colouring. "Lauraine knows now what the world has long suspected; and when she would not allow that woman to remain under her roof, Sir Francis threatened her with proceedings and dragged in poor Keith Athelstone's name."
"Good Heavens!" exclaims Mrs. Douglas, "what scandal—what horror! Oh, surely he is not in earnest? Why, Lauraine is a fool—a perfect fool! Why did she make a scene about it? Of course, every one knows such things happen constantly. Men are never faithful—never! But to insult the woman—and for what good? ”

“ Involuntarily Keith's glance turns from her to Lauraine. What a contrast!
"Like a sunflower and a lily," murmurs the Lady Etwynde, following that glance and comprehending it.
"Yes," he says, quietly. "They are very unlike. One would scarcely expect the same man to admire both."
"Sir Francis has been more than two years married," says Lady Etwynde, musingly. "Time enough, I suppose, to admire other people besides his own wife. Why will women marry? It is such a mistake!"
"Why will they marry the wrong man, is more to the point," Keith mutters under his thick moustache. ”

“ Keith and Lauraine talk very little to each other. The brunt of the conversation falls on Lady Etwynde, and she in no way objects. Keith has always been a favourite of hers, and they have many sharp and witty arguments, while that pale, grave figure in the soft draperies listens and smiles, and feels at once disturbed and restless, and yet glad.
Sooner or later they would meet. She had known that always, but had never dreamt of it being so soon, or so strangely.
Somehow in life the meetings we expect never do take place as we expect them. ”

“ Was that your own idea, my love?"
"No—Keith—Mr. Athelstone suggested it," Lauraine answers, with again that burning blush on her delicate cheek.
"You and he are very good friends, I suppose," remarks Lady Etwynde, rising to make her adieux. "But all the same, my dear, I should suggest to him to get married. A rich young man knocking about town is sure to get into mischief. Yes, he'd be much better off married, and there's that pretty American girl—whatever her name is; you know her, don't you?—well, absolutely dying for love of him." ”

“ She feels a hatred and intolerance of Keith Athelstone's selfish passion.
"You do not know," murmurs Lauraine; "you cannot judge. Of love no one can, save just the two who love. For them it is all so different, and everything else looks of such small account."
A warm flush comes over her face; she dashes the tears away from her eyes. Lady Etwynde unloosens the clasp of her arms, and stands up, a little stern, a little troubled.
"You are right. An outsider must always take a calmer and more dispassionate view of the matter ”

“ She kneels beside the little cot where the tiny figure lies so still, so calm now; her tearless eyes riveted on the lovely little face; eyes so wild, so passionate, so entreating, that none dare meet their gaze.
"He is only asleep; he has not—left me," she cries: and weeping, they stand aside and know not what to do.
Then Lady Etwynde bade them all go out, and knelt down by Lauraine's side. The tears dimmed her eyes, her gentle heart was wrung at the sight of this mute, blank suffering. "Dear, do try and realize it," she whispered tenderly. "It is hard, terribly hard, I know. ”

“ All through that day Lauraine keeps in her own room. Sir Francis does not approach her. He is quite confident that his threat has taken effect—that she will never proceed to extremities. He has not seen Lady Jean to tell her of his wife's discovery, and he dares not send her another message. When he goes down to dinner he finds his wife in the drawing-room. She looks very pale, and is dressed in black velvet. Lady Etwynde is beside her, and Colonel Carlisle is standing near. ”

“ All the remorse and all the regret are so futile. Tears of blood cannot wash away one memory, take out the sting of one mistake. We must just bear life as it is, till Death seals all its woes into forgetfulness."
"You are so good," cries Lauraine sadly. "I am not like you. I am wicked and rebellious, and I cannot accept my fate with patience, even though I know my own past weakness is to blame for all my present misery."
"I am not good. Do not praise me," says Lady Etwynde humbly. "And I know I do not deserve my present happiness. It makes me fearful of my great joy. ”