He would argue that the matter rested in John's own hands: if he wereminded to come back to society, he would do so; but deep within himselfhe knew that such a decision was unworthy of one even so debased as washe. Then his mind went to Lavinia, who alternately enchanted andexasperated him. Only a week ago she had defied him openly in the matterof her friendship with Lovelace, yet had she not afterwards apologised,and thrust the Captain aside for his sake? She was so sweetly naughty,so childishly unreasonable. Selfish? Yes, he supposed so, but he lovedher!--loved her so greatly that it were a pleasure to him to die for hersake. Yet John--John was his brother--the adored elder brother, and byobeying Lavinia he was wronging him, hurting him. If only Lavinia wouldconsent to the truth being told! It always came back to that point: ifonly she would consent. And she never would. She insisted that, havingmarried her under false pretences, he had no right to disgrace her now.She was right, he knew, but he wished she could be for once unselfish.
So he worried on through the night, tossing to and fro in his great bed,a weight on his mind, a ceaseless ache in his heart.
Towards dawn he fell asleep and did not wake again until his chocolatewas brought to him. Bitterly he reflected that at least John had noconscience to prey upon him; he did not fall asleep with his brainseething with conflicting arguments, and awake with the decision as faroff as ever. To-day his head ached unbearably, and he stayed in bed forsome time contemplating the grey morning. A fog hung over the Square,and through it the trees, with their withered autumn leaves, loomeddismally before the windows. There was something infinitely depressingabout the dull outlook, and presently he rose and allowed his valet todress him, not able to stand the inaction any longer. His headache wasbetter by the time he had visited his wife in her room, and listened toher enthusiastic account of last night's rout, and, going out into thesquare, he called a chair, ordering the men to carry him to White's,where he intended to write two letters. Somehow, Wyncham House was toopoignantly full of memories of John to-day, and he was thankful to beout of it.
White's was crowded even at that hour of the morning, and the noiseseemed to cut through his head. Men hailed him from all sides, offeringhim bets; someone tried to tell him some piece of scandal; they wouldnot let him alone, and at last his jagged nerves would no longer supportit, and he left the house to go further down the street to his otherclub, the Cocoa-Tree, which he hoped to find less rowdy. It was fullerthan he expected, but many of the men had come as he had, to writeletters and to be quiet. Very little gaming was as yet in swing.
Richard wrote steadily for perhaps an hour, and sealed his last letterpreparatory to leaving. As he affixed the wafer, he was conscious of astir behind him, and heard exclamations of:
"Where in thunder did you spring from?"
"Gad, 'tis an age since I've seen you!"
"Lord, 'tis O'Hara!"
Then came the soft Irish voice in answer, and he slewed round in hischair to face them all. Miles O'Hara was the centre of a little group ofinterested and welcoming clubmen, explaining his arrival.
"Sure, I was in town on a matter of business, and I thought I must cometo the club to see ye all while I was here, for 'tis not often I get thechance--"
Richard rose, gathering up his letters and stared across at this man whohad been Jack's greatest friend. He took a step towards him. As he didso, O'Hara turned and caught sight of him. Richard was about to hailhim, when he suddenly noticed the change in his expression. The goodhumour died out of the Irishman's eyes and left them hard and scornful.His pleasant mouth curved into a disdainful line. Carstares stood still,one hand on the back of a chair, his eyes rivetted to O'Hara's face,reading all the reproach, the red-hot anger that Miles was trying toconvey to him. O'Hara achieved a sneer and turned his shoulder,continuing to address his friends.
Richard's head swam. O'Hara was ignoring him, would not speak to him....O'Hara knew the truth! He walked blindly to the door, and groped for thehandle.... O'Hara knew! He was in the passage, on the front steps, inthe road, shuddering. O'Hara knew, and he had looked at him as if--asif--again he shuddered, and seeing an empty chair, hailed it, biddingthe men carry him to Grosvenor Square.... O'Hara despisedhim!--reproached him! Then Jack was in trouble? He had seen him andlearnt the truth? God, but his brain was reeling! ...
CHAPTER XXII
DEVELOPMENTS
After the encounter with O'Hara, whatever peace of mind Richard had had,left him. He knew not a moment's quiet; all day, and sometimes allnight, his brain worried round and round the everlasting question: Johnor Lavinia? He had quite decided that it must be either the one or theother; the idea that he might conceivably retain his wife _and_ confessthe truth, never occurred to him. So often had Lavinia assured him thathe had no right to expect her to share his disgrace, that now hebelieved it. He thought that she would elope with Lovelace, whom, histortured mind decided, she really loved. Any attempt to frustrate suchan action would, he supposed wretchedly, be the essence of selfishness.Of course he was not himself, and his brain was not working normally orrationally; had he but known it, he was mentally ill, and if Lavinia hadthought to examine him closely she could not have failed to observe thefever spots on each cheek, the unnaturally bright eyes and the darkrings encircling them. Richard wore the look of one goaded beyondendurance, and utterly tired and overwrought. As he told Mrs. Fanshawe,when she exclaimed at his appearance--he could not rest; he must alwaysbe moving, thinking. She saw that he was not entirely himself, andcounselled him to consult a doctor. His half-angry repudiation of allillness did not surprise her, but she was considerably startled when, inanswer to her pleading that he should have a care for himself, hevehemently said: "If I could die, I should be glad!" She wondered whathis wife was about not to see his condition, and wished that she mightdo something. But she was not acquainted with Lady Lavinia, and shefelt it would be a piece of gross presumption on her part to speak toher of Richard. If she had thought his malady to be physical, shereflected, she might venture a word, but as she perceived it to bemental, she could only hope that it would pass in time, and that hewould recover from his run-down condition.
Lady Lavinia was pursuing her butterfly existence, heeding nothing buther own pleasure, bent on enjoying herself. She succeeded very well, onthe whole, but she could not help wishing that Dicky were a little morecheerful and wishful to join in her gaiety. Of late he was worse thanever, and although he supplied her wants uncomplainingly, she wouldalmost rather he had refused her and shown a little life, than give wayto her with this dreadful apathy.
Lovelace was out of town for a week, and Lavinia was surprised to findhow little she missed him. To be sure, playing with fire was verypleasant, but when it was removed out of her reach, it really made noodds. She missed Harry's adulation and his passionate love-making, forshe was one of those women who must always have admiration andexcitement, but she was not made miserable by his absence. She continuedto flutter round to all the entertainments of the season with one orother of her brothers, and when Lovelace returned he was disturbed byher casual welcome. However, she was undoubtedly pleased to see him, andsoon fell more or less under his spell, allowing him to be by her sidewhen Tracy was not near, and to charm her ears with compliments andgallantry.
To do him justice, Captain Harold was really in love with her and wasquite ready to relinquish his commission if only she would run away withhim. He had private means of his own, and promised her that her everywhim should be satisfied. But Lavinia scolded him and shook her head.Apart from any ulterior consideration, Richard was, after all, herhusband; he, too, loved her, and she was very, very fond of him,although she did plague him dreadfully.
Lovelace assured her that her husband did not love her nearly as much ashe, and when she smiled her disbelief, lost his temper and cried thatall the town knew Carstares to be at Mrs. Fanshawe's feet!
Lavinia stiffened.
"Harold!"
"I am only surprised that you have been blind to it," he continued."Where do you think he goes every day for so long? White's? No. To 16,Mount Street! Stapely called there and met him; another day LadyDavenant saw him with her; Wilding has also met him at her house. Hespends nearly every afternoon with her!"
Lavinia was a Belmanoir, and she had all the Belmanoir pride. Rising toher feet she drew her cloak about her with her most queenly air.
"You forget yourself, Harold," she said haughtily. "Never dare to speakto me of my husband again in that tone! You may take me at once to mybrother."
He was very penitent, wording his apology most cleverly, smoothing herruffled plumage, withdrawing his words, but at the same time contrivingto leave their sting behind. She forgave him, yes, but he must neveroffend her so again.
Although she had indignantly refused to believe the scandal, itnevertheless rankled, and she found herself watching her husband withjealous eyes, noticing his seeming indifference towards her and hismany absences from home. Then came a day when she caused her chair to beborne down Mount Street at the very moment when Richard was coming outof No. 16.
That was enough for Lavinia. So he was indeed tired of her! He lovedanother woman!--some wretched widow! For the first time a real worryplagued her. She stayed at home that evening and exerted all her arts tocaptivate her husband. But Richard, seeing John unhappy, reproachful,every way he turned, his head on fire, his brain seething withconflicting arguments, hardly noticed her, and as soon as he mightpolitely do so, left her, to pace up and down the library floor, tryingto make up his mind what to do.
Lady Lavinia was stricken with horror. She had sickened him by hermegrims, as Tracy had prophesied she would! He no longer cared for her!_This_ was why he continually excused himself from accompanying her whenshe went out! For once in her life she faced facts, and the prospectalarmed her. If it was not already too late, she must try to win backhis love, and to do this she realised she must cease to tease him formoney, and also cease to snap at him whenever she felt at all out ofsorts. She must charm him back to her. She had no idea how much shecared for him until now that she thought he did not care for her. It wasdreadful: she had always been so sure of Dicky! Whatever she did,however exasperating she might be, he would always adore her.
And all the time, Richard, far from making love to Mrs. Fanshawe, washearing anecdotes of his brother from her, little details of hisappearance, things he had said. He drank in all the information,clutching eagerly at each fresh scrap of gossip, greedy to hear it if itin any way concerned John. His brain was absorbed with this onesubject, and he never saw when Lavinia smiled upon him, nor did he seemto hear her coaxing speeches. When she remarked, as she presently did,on his pallor, he almost snapped at her, and left the room. Once she puther arms about him and kissed him on the lips; he put her gently aside,too worried to respond to the caress, but, had she known it--gratefulfor it.
His Grace of Andover meeting his sister at Ranelagh Gardens, thought herface looked pinched, and her eyes unhappy. He inquired the reason, butLady Lavinia refused to confide even in him, and pleaded a headache.Andover, knowing her, imagined that she had been refused some kickshaw,and thought no more about it.