The cha.s.seur grinned. "Yes, they weren"t nice people, miss."
"I think you would like Burke and Hare, sir," he said persuasively to Wilton. "Let me tell you a bit about them."
"He talks as if they were Marshall and Snelgrove," murmured Wilton.
"What was the reason of their motive?" asked Felicity.
"Strychnine, miss," readily answered the well-informed guide.
"I suppose people get awfully hardened, eventually, to this sort of thing? _I"m_ not. I"m terribly nervous. I"m frightened out of my life.
If it weren"t for you, Lady Chetwode, I should faint, and be carried out by the emergency exit."
While the cha.s.seur went into atrocious details, Bertie was so frightened that he had to hold Felicity"s hand.... Vera felt quite out of it, and in the cold. When once they got into the Chamber of Horrors, n.o.body had taken any notice of her, nor even heard her remarks. Felicity and Bertie were evidently at once excited and amused. As she was standing alone pretending to look at some relics, the gallant cha.s.seur came up and said, "There"s an emergency exit "ere, if you like to go out "ere, madam."
"There seems to be nothing else," said Bertie. "As soon as you get into Madame Tussaud"s the main object seems to be to drive you out. They keep on telling you _how_ you can get out, and _where_ you can get out, and when. How wonderful a fire would be here!"
"Do you think Sylvia got out by one of the emergency exits? I haven"t seen her or Woodville for some time."
"Oh, can"t you let them have tea in peace?" said Bertie.
"I"m sure they are not having tea. Sylvia hates Bath buns. But we"ll go and look for them, and the children too."
Savile and Dolly were found on a red velvet sofa, sulking, while Sylvia and Woodville were still listening to the band.
Dolly complained that Savile had been "horrid to her about Charles II,"
and that he said she was too young to see the Horrors.
Sylvia and Woodville had simply forgotten all about the waxworks.
The band was so very good and had been playing musical-comedy airs so charmingly.
Wilton declared his nerves were completely shattered and he must have a rest cure in the form of being driven home by Felicity, he could not possibly go alone.
Vera had to fetch Mr. Ogilvie from the chambers. Savile, feeling very grown-up, drove Dolly back in a hansom.
"Oughtn"t I to take you?" said Felicity to Sylvia.
"My dear Lady Chetwode, please remember that Woodville is staying in the same house as Miss Crofton, and it is perfectly absurd, and cruelty to the horses to drag them out of their way, when you live in Park Street, and I only a stone"s-throw from you! _Do_ be practical!" cried Wilton.
"Oh, all right."
"Won"t you take Miss Sylvia home?" said Bertie.
"Oh, certainly," said Woodville, and they walked a little way towards the cab together.
Ever since Ridokanaki"s departure, Woodville, having consented to keep their engagement secret until Sylvia was twenty-one, had sought, and thought he had found, a solution, which was at once balm to his conscience and support to his pride. Sylvia and he should make a compact that they should be to one another in reality as they appeared to her father, and to the world: friends only. They would neither seek nor avoid _tete-a-tetes_, and when alone would ignore, crush, and temporarily forget their tenderer relations. Sylvia had willingly, eagerly agreed. She knew, in fact, that these were the only terms on which he would remain there. And yet it was rather hard. She remembered (how clearly!) that during all these years he had kissed her on seven separate occasions only, and those occasions, after the first, were always, or nearly always, at her suggestion--because it was her birthday--or because it was Christmas Day--because she was unhappy--or because he was in good spirits, and similar reasons. How admirable they had seemed! How sophistically she argued!
All this, Woodville had explained, must now cease. He tried with some difficulty to point out to her that this innovation was because he loved her, not less, but more. He could not trust himself, and did not intend to try. She was so happy to think he had given up going to Athens that she was only too glad to consent to anything.
This was the first time they had been alone since the compact. She looked at him beamingly as they started on their drive.
"But I"m not going home," said Woodville.
"Aren"t you? Where are you going?"
"To the Beafsteak Club. I"m dining with Mervyn, and we"re not going to dress. I"ll take you home first, if you like."
"No," said Sylvia. "I shall drive you nearly as far as the Club, drop you, and then go home by myself." She spoke decidedly, and gave the direction to the cabman. She had calculated that it would be a longer drive.
"It"s twice as far!" she said with childish triumph. He looked at her trusting, adoring eyes, her smiling, longing lips, and looked out of the window. She put her hand on his arm, and he moved away quickly, almost shaking her off. With a smile she sat as far from him as possible. They began talking of all kinds of things--Sylvia talked most and most gaily--then, gradually, they fell into silence.
It was the end of a warm April day; they pa.s.sed quickly, in the jingling cab, through the stale London streets, breathing the spring air that paradoxically suggested country walks, tender vows, sentiment and romance.... Was she hurt at his coldness? On the contrary, it seemed to exhilarate her. So close, yet so absolutely separated--not in mind, but by his will only--by that extraordinary moral sense of his, that was, to her, in her innocence, a dark mystery. Sylvia never forgot that drive.
She felt one of those unforgettable moments of exalted pa.s.sion, like the attainment of some great height that one may never reach again. She worshipped him.
As they reached the end of their drive, the personal magnetism was almost too strong for her--she nearly took his hand again, but resisted. The cab stopped.
"I should like to drive you back, Sylvia," he said, as he got out, "but--it"s better not."
"All right!--Good-bye! I suppose I shall see you to-morrow morning."
"I hate leaving you here," he said.
"Never mind!" She smiled brightly, and waved her hand. The cab drove off, and he seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness of the street, looking, as she thought, very wonderful, very handsome.... Then, quite suddenly, she felt cold, quite lonely, almost forsaken....
For hours she could not shake off the horrible impression of his walking away from her into the darkness, leaving her alone.
After her conventional evening at home, she shed bitter tears on her pillow. Could he care for her really? She knew he did, and she suddenly suspected that it was a sort of pleasure, a kind of indulgence to him to play the ascetic when so near her, and at this fancy she felt a little momentary resentment. But as soon as she saw him again, a word or a smile was sunshine and life to her. She wanted so little, and she was again her happy and gentle self.... At least, she could see him--while, if he had gone to Athens.... Surely they would not have to wait a year?
No--Savile would find out some splendid arrangement that would make it all right. She loved Woodville too much not to be hopeful; he cared too much for her not to feel, almost, despair. The conditions of their present existence were far harder for him, though she never knew it, and did not dream how much she--not he--was exacting.
CHAPTER XVI
A GOLDEN DAY
Woodville was sitting in the library, supposed to be digging up old Bluebooks for Sir James, but, instead, he found himself lingering over a curious book of poems with a white cover and a black mask on the outside. He read (and sighed):
Dear, were you mine for one full hour, A lifetime, an hour, that is all I ask.
Dear, like a thing of lace, or a flower Before the end would you drop your mask?
Dear, days and hours are not for me-- I may not know you, nor forgive, For you are like the distant sea, And I upon the hills must live.
"This," he said to himself, "is rot for me! It isn"t a good poem,--and if it were a good poem (it has _some_ good qualities) it"s idiotic for me to read poetry. What _is_ the matter with me?" He put down all the books, and went and looked at himself in the mirror. He saw a face rather paler, more worn than some weeks ago.