They were ten at table: from Helena"s right, Pat Atherton (Tankerville"s partner), a Mrs. Majendie, Marbridge, a Mrs. Cardrow, Tankerville at the head; on his right, Mrs. Pat Atherton, Matthias, Venetia Tankerville, Majendie. The latter and his wife were almost strangers to Matthias, having arrived only the previous afternoon: but he thought them as pleasant and handsome people as any of those with whom the Tankervilles liked to fill their house. The Athertons were old friends; he had known them well, long before Helena dreamed of marrying Tankerville. Marbridge was an indifferently familiar figure in the ways of his life; they frequented the same clubs, and of late he had begun to encounter the older man more and more frequently in his theatrical divagations.
Remained Mrs. Cardrow, a widow, the acquaintance of a week"s standing.
Cardrow had been in some way connected with the enterprises of Messrs.
Tankerville & Atherton; how, Matthias didn"t remember; a man of whom rumour said little that was good until it began to say _De mortuis_....
He had killed himself for no accountable reason. His widow seemed to have survived bereavement with amazing grace.
Matthias admired her greatly. Women, he knew--Helena in their number--mistrusted her for no cause perceptible to him. He liked her, thought her little less than absolutely charming. So, evidently, did Marbridge, whose att.i.tude toward her this evening was a little more noticeably attentive than ever before. He seemed to exert himself to interest and divert. His black eyes snapped. As he talked his heavy body swayed slightly from the hips, lending an accent to his animation. His laugh was frequent and infectious.
She was a woman who smiled more than she laughed. She smiled now, inscrutably, her beautiful, insolent eyes half veiled with demure lashes, her face turned to Marbridge, her chin a trifle high, bringing out the clear strong lines of her throat and shoulders, which had the texture, the pallor, and the firmness of fine ivory. Her eyes, when she chose to discover them, were brown, her eyebrows almost black, her hair dull gold, the gold of the candelabrum--the gold of artifice, on the word of Helena.
Perhaps it was to this odd colouring--ivory and brown, black and gold--that Mrs. Cardrow owed most of her strange and provoking quality.
But there was something else, something one could not define: at once stimulating and elusive; less charm than allure; nameless; that attracted and repelled....
These were thoughts set stirring by a dozen semi-curious glances at the woman, in pauses in his conversation with Venetia. Matthias was in fact indifferent to Mrs. Cardrow. But he was tremendously interested in Venetia. It could hardly be otherwise--since his talk with Helena. He was to marry Venetia. Amazing thought!
She was adorable. Of the other women, none compared with Mrs. Cardrow: even Helena"s beauty paled in contrast. But Venetia was to Mrs. Cardrow as dawn to noon. One looked at Venetia and thought of a still sea at daybreak, mobile to the young and fitful airs, radiant with sunlight, breathless with apprehension of the long, golden hours to come. One looked at Mrs. Cardrow and thought--of Woman. Venetia was dark, and the other fair; Venetia was by no means a child, Mrs. Cardrow not yet thirty. The gulf that set them apart was not so much of years as of caste: they lived and thought on different levels, mental if not social.
Matthias liked to think Venetia of the higher order.
He was to marry her. Incredible!
And tonight her eyes were warm and kind for him, and all for him. He could not see that there was anything of self-interest in the infrequent glances she cast at those who sat opposite, playing their time-old game with such engaging candour. If she had thought much of Marbridge, surely she must have betrayed some little pique or chagrin. She was not blind; neither was she patient and p.r.o.ne to self-effacement. Matthias had known her long enough to have garnered vivid memories of her resentment of slights, whether real or fancied. She was unique and wonderful in many ways, but (he told himself in a catch-phrase of the hour) she was essentially human. He could not have cared for a woman without temper: he cared intensely for this girl-woman whose rare loveliness seemed almost exotic in its singular scheme, whose skin, fine of texture and colourless as milk-white satin, was splashed with lips of burning scarlet, whose eyes of deepest violet were luminous in the shadow of hair of the richness and l.u.s.tre of burnished bronze ... luminous and kind to him: he dared to hope greatly of their sympathy.
Through dinner she had entertained him with a mirthful, inconsecutive narrative of the adventures of the day. Now, as ices were served, her interest swerved suddenly and found a new object in himself.
"Why did you run away last night?"
"You really noticed it?"
Light malice trembled on her lips: "Not till this morning."
"You were so busy"--an imperceptible nod indicated Marbridge--"I felt myself becoming ornamental. Whereas, utility"s my proudest attribute. So I left you dancing, and skipped by the light of the moon."
"Not really?"
"I a.s.sure you--"
"Put out with me, I mean?"
He sought her eyes again and found them veiled and downcast. "Not the least in the world."
"Then, again, why--?"
"I wanted to get back to work. Besides, I had a little business with a manager."
And so he had; but until this moment he had forgotten it.
"Play business?"
"I"m afraid I know no other."
"Is something new to be produced?"
Matthias nodded: "Goes into rehearsal in August. A melodrama I wrote some time ago--"The Jade G.o.d.""
"Who produces it?"
"Rideout."
"Who"s he?"
"A foolish actor: played a sketch of mine in vaudeville for a couple of years and, because that got over, thinks this piece must."
"But it will, won"t it?"
"I hope so; but I"m glad it"s not my money."
"And where will you open?"
"Heaven and the Shuberts only know. Rideout books through the Shuberts, you understand."
"I"m afraid I don"t."
"The Shuberts are the Independents--the opposition to the Syndicate headed by Klaw and Erlanger. You see, the theatres of this country are practically all controlled by one or the other combination. If you want booking for your show, you"ve got to take sides--serve G.o.d or Mammon."
"And which is which?"
"The difference is imperceptible to the innocent bystander."
"But you"ll let us know--?"
"If we open within motoring distance of Town--rather!"
Tankerville, edging his plump little body forward on his chair, manoeuvred his round and sun-scorched face in vain attempts to catch his wife"s eye past the intervening candelabrum. Helena, however, divined his desire.
"Coffee in the card-room, George?"
"Please!" Tankerville bleated plaintively.
There was a concerted movement from the table.
Venetia lingered with Matthias.
"It"s auction, tonight. Shall you play?"
""Fraid I"ll have to. So will you. Helena--you know--"
"Of course. We must. Only"--she sighed, petulant--"I"d rather not. I"d rather talk to you."
"Heroic measures!" he laughed. "But--consolation note!--we"re two over two full tables. Therefore we"ll have to cut in and out. That"ll give us some time to ourselves."