Lauraine

“ Lauraine says faintly, "I see."
"Duty demands much, but it also repays much,", continues Lady Etwynde gently. "Heaven knows I am not fit to preach to you; but in the world, as we know it, Lauraine, there are so many faithless wives, so many divided households. Oh, my dear, don't you add to the number! You have many enemies of whom you know nothing, and they would gladly seize your name, and smirch its purity with scandals, and whispers, and evil words. I want you to be brave, and face them all, and live out your life nobly and well. ”

“ Lady Jean is a dangerous woman to offend."
Lauraine pushes the hair off her temples as if the weight oppressed her. "I do not expect anything else but suffering now. And I may as well endure it for right as for wrong. If I have respected my husband's name, at least he might respect mine."
"And whatever you do be sure of this," says Lady Etwynde gently: "my house is always open to you. Let the whole world turn its back upon you, Lauraine, my friendship will never fail." Lauraine looks up at the beautiful face. Her heart is too full for words. ”

“ For the first time Lauraine looks at him. With one rapid, comprehensive glance, she takes in the change in his face—the dark shadows under those heavy lashes, the weariness upon the brow, the stern sadness of the mouth. Pity, sympathy, grief—all well up in her heart and speak in her glance, but her lips are schooled to rigid silence. She dares not seem to notice these signs of suffering.
"If he would only leave me—if he would only be wise!" she thinks, with a sudden passionate dread. "I could bear that, but to go on like this is madness."
He speaks at last. "London grows unbearably hot. ”

“ Lauraine's face grows transfigured as she looks on that baby form; such love—such rapture—such pure, holy, exquisite joy irradiates it! She stoops down and presses her lips to the baby brow—takes one long, idolizing look at the cherubic loveliness that is her dearest earthly treasure, and then whispers some parting injunctions to the nurse and leaves the room.
"How long you have been! What a deuce of a time you women do take to put your gowns on," grumbles her husband, as he meets her at the bottom of the stairs. ”

“ Lauraine seizes the chance delightedly, and says she will stay at home and have a quiet morning for once, and at half-past eleven Lady Etwynde drives off in her fiancé's mail phaeton, and Lauraine finds herself alone.
Her uneasiness increases. She can settle to nothing. A feverish colour burns in her cheeks, her eyes are brilliant. Every step in the street, every ring at the bell, startles and unnerves her. Again and again she wishes she had not promised to see Keith. Again and again does she find herself hoping, praying he may not come after all. ”

“ Surely no one is so uncharitable as——"
"My dear, we are all uncharitable, more or less. And Lauraine is very pretty, and Sir Francis not quite so devoted as he might be, considering it was a love-match—so you said. I think I should give Lauraine a hint, if I were you."
"Lauraine is quite capable of managing her own affairs," said Mrs. Douglas pettishly. In her own mind she thinks she knows how such a hint would be received. "Keith is only a boy. Lauraine looks upon him just as a brother—always did. She is accustomed to order him about, and have him beside her. ”

“ Dissimilar as they seem, yet Lauraine and Lady Etwynde are very good friends. Lauraine has discovered how much good sense, cleverness and cordial feeling live beneath that mask of eccentricity which the fair æsthete shows to the outer world, and she finds her entertainments far more amusing than many of the others she attends. ”

“ Sir Francis goes off to finish the evening somewhere else. Lauraine seats herself wearily by one of the open windows, and looks out at the foliage of the Park—all dry, and sere, and dusty now, with the long drought and heat of summer. She looks and looks, and great tears gather in her eyes and roll slowly down her cheeks. She has everything that the world counts worth having—she is young and beautiful and courted and flattered; but for all that her heart aches—aches—aches.
"It was impossible then—it is doubly impossible now," she says, wearily. "Sin—shame—misery—whichever way I look at it. ”

“ My dear Lauraine, Society suits its age, and always has suited it. It is no use wishing things could be altered."
"I suppose not," sighs Lauraine.
"You are rather romantic," continues Lady Etwynde, as they turn back from the great bold headland and move towards the narrow path that leads into the woods of Falcon's Chase. "It is an unfortunate quality for either man or woman. They will never see persons or things as they really are. They will love, and invest the person loved with every attribute they would wish them to possess, and which, alas! they never do. ”

“ Lauraine looks steadily away from the entreating, watchful eyes; away, away to the far-off mountain range swept with faint grey clouds, silvered by the clear moonlight and the haze of the shining stars.
"If he only knew," she thinks, in the depths of her aching heart, "if he only, only knew!"
But he does not know. To him she is only cold, calculating, unloving. Right and pure he knows in her mode of loving and thinking; but what man who loves as Keith loves can see right and purity as they are? ”

“ Lauraine leans back, with her eyes gazing dreamily out at the lighted streets. Her husband breaks the silence at last.
"I want you to be specially civil to Lady Jean," he says abruptly. "You were very stand-offish when she called on you the other day. She's the most popular woman in London, and the prettiest. You two ought to be friends."
"I don't like her," answers Lauraine coldly.
"Don't like her!" he sneers. "No, of course not. That's just like a woman. The moment a man praises one of your own sex to you, it's quite sufficient reason for you to dislike her. ”

“ A flush comes to Lauraine's pale cheeks; her eyes grow dark and indignant. "She! Did you actually suppose she would risk her convenience or comfort for the sake of any human being? She has found other consolation." He tries to spring up, but weakness overpowers him. "The curse of hell be upon her—fiend, she-devil, temptress!" and then once again the ravings of delirium crowd his brain, and he knows nothing of her who is beside him.
It is a terrible time for Lauraine. She takes scarcely food or rest. She tends and watches the sick man with untiring patience ”

“ What a curious thing, by the way, that she should be a friend of yours, or indeed, of anybody's except a peacock. She must be dreadfully uninteresting!"
"I think her charming," answers Lauraine. "She is one of the few true women it has been my lot to meet."
Lady Jean feels a little uncomfortable. She has long passed the stage of blushing, or she would feel the colour mounting as she meets Lauraine's calm, frank gaze.
"Is there any arrière pensée?" she thinks. "Is she less blind than we imagine?"
"I can't imagine a woman getting enthusiastic about a woman," she says coolly. ”

“ Consistent with her new rôle, Lauraine greets her very cordially, and even smiles with less repugnance on "Jo," who is one of her special detestations, and who looks even uglier, and more Jewish than of yore.
They are a very brilliant party assembled here, and the theme on every tongue is the coming race, and the wonderful English racer owned by Sir Francis. Lauraine wonders a little to find the women apparently as conversant with racecourse slang as the men—at the fluency with which Lady Jean discourses on "training," and "hedging," and "running form," and "hard condition." ”

“ But be sure of my sympathy always."
"I am sure of it," answers Lauraine. "I think I have never made a friend of any woman but you. You are always so good, and one always feels one can trust you. But you are right. Something is troubling me very much. I feel to-night as if life was altogether too hard!"
"Who of us does not feel that at some time or other?" says Lady Etwynde, sadly. "A time when to look back or to look forward seems alike equally hard; for during the one we think of what 'might have been,' and during the other we dread to think what may be. ”

“ As long as you sin in the dark, no one will dream of saying a word, let their suspicions be ever so strong. A woman like you, Lauraine, who has only been imprudent and sorely tempted, and yet dares to be virtuous, will receive no mercy and gain no belief."
"I know that," she says, and her indifference is scarcely forced now. She feels too hopeless for strong emotion.
"As for Keith," goes on Lady Etwynde impatiently, "it is all owing to his selfishness and——"
"Hush!" cries Lauraine sternly. "I will not have him blamed. He has been sorely tried, and many men would have acted far worse. ”

“ Lady Jean and her husband, Sir Francis and Lauraine, come in the same carriage. As the ladies descend and sweep along the pretty grass-covered course they come face to face with Mrs. Bradshaw Woollffe, her niece, and Keith Athelstone.
Lady Jean's presence gives Lauraine fair excuse. They only exchange bows and pass on. She marvels that she feels so calm, that neither flush nor pallor betrays what the sight of that young, haggard, weary face is to her. ”

“ What a barbarous custom to have weddings so early in the day! You look very well, dear; just a trifle pale, but that is quite correct for a bride." Then she kisses her again, and Lauraine submits to the caresses with a sort of passive contempt. There is no gladness on her face, nor in her eyes, and she has certainly grown very pale, but the pallor only makes the beautiful eyes more wistful, and the sweet red lips more exquisite in contrast. ”

“ Her hair is of too vivid a gold to be quite natural; the great grey eyes are swept by lashes many shades darker than their original hue. She is talking and laughing loudly. The man leans carelessly back on his seat, tilting it to an angle that threatens its upset and his own. Perhaps it is that fact, reminding her so of a trick of Keith's, that makes Lauraine look a second time. Her heart gives a wild throb, she feels cold and sick with a sudden shame. ”

“ Keith finds a seat for Lauraine on a low ottoman near one of the windows, and stands there beside her. The moon is shining clear and brilliant in the sky above, and streams over the quaint flower-beds and trees in the garden. The sweet sultry summer night is full of beauty and fragrance—it acts like a spell on the warm, imaginative temperament and ardent fancy of the young man. ”

“ He thinks he has never seen her look so exquisite, so dangerously attractive, as to-night. "Sir Francis not coming?" he says carelessly, and from his voice no one would suspect the feelings at work within his breast.
"No," says Lauraine. "He doesn't like æstheticism, you know."
"They are not in such strong force to-night," says Keith, glancing round to see to whom Lauraine has just bowed. "Still, a good many planted about, I think. It's the men get over me. Did you ever see such guys?"
"Can't Lady Etwynde convert you?" asks Lauraine, smiling a little. ”

“ Unconscious of the comments, heedless of the observations, Lauraine is driven off to the fashionable church where her future husband awaits as sad and reluctant a bride as ever the martyrdom of Fashion and the exigencies of Society have sacrificed to the God of Mammon.
The bride's carriage has scarcely disappeared round the corner when a hansom cab dashes up, and is arrested at the awning. A young man jumps out, pays the cabman, and gives a startled glance at the carpeted steps, the gaping crowd, the unwonted stir and bustle around the house. ”

“ Life is so short, except for those who are miserable, and in all our lives we shall only drag on a wretched half-and-half existence. I know you are the one woman in the world for me, and I have lost you."
"You may forget—in—time," falters Lauraine, her lips growing white at the pain of that thought, her whole soul wrung with the unutterable anguish of this coming parting. "You are very young, Keith, and have the world before you."
"The world is not you," he answers, looking down from his tall height on the pale, sad face he loves so madly. "It is all nothingness and emptiness to me now. ”

“ I am young and rich, and have life and the world before me, and yet there is no single thing I can enjoy with any real heart-whole enjoyment now. There is always the one want that drives me desperate—the one craving for you!"
Lauraine listens to the torrent of his words, and all her soul seems rent and shaken. In the old days, the old boy and girl days together, she had never loved Keith Athelstone as she loves him now, and that thought terrifies her with a sense of her own wickedness and an awful dread of the ordeal before her. ”

“ The Lady Jean had come thither radiant in novelties from Worth, and in highest spirits at the success of some new and gigantic speculation of "Jo's," which promised her unlimited extravagances for the season. She had been the life and soul of the party, had organized endless amusements indoors and out, and had, in fact, made herself useful to Lauraine, enchanting to Sir Francis, and popular with every one in the house. That infatuation of her husband's was still unsuspected by Lauraine. ”

“ I think you would not look much better than I if we had a 'show up,' and as I live, if you insult Lady Jean I will institute proceedings against you—with Keith Athelstone as co-respondent."
And he leaves the room with a brutal laugh.
Lauraine stands there as if turned to stone. For the first time she feels how powerless she is—how helpless is any woman when the man who has sworn to protect and honour her, turns round on her and insults her with the very weakness he is bound to respect. ”