lady ongar, when she left count pateroff at the little fort on the cliff and entered by herself the gardens belonging to the hotel, had long since made up her mind that there should at last be a positive severance between herself and her devoted sophie. for half-an-hour she had been walking in silence by the count's side; and though, of course, she had heard all that he had spoken, she had been able in that time to consider much. it must have been through sophie that the count had heard of her journey to the isle of wight; and, worse than that, sophie must, as she thought, have instigated this pursuit. in that she wronged her poor friend. sophie had been simply paid by her brother for giving such information as enabled him to arrange this meeting. she had not even counselled him to follow lady ongar. but now lady ongar, in blind wrath, determined that sophie should be expelled from her bosom. lady ongar would find this task of expulsion the less difficult in that she had come to loathe her devoted friend, and to feel it to be incumbent on her to rid herself of such devotion. now had arrived the moment in which it might be done.
and yet there were difficulties. two ladies living together in an inn cannot, without much that is disagreeable, send down to the landlord saying that they want separate rooms, because they have taken it into their minds to hate each other. and there would, moreover, be something awkward in saying to sophie that, though she was discarded, her bill should be paid—for this last and only time. no; lady ongar had already perceived that that would not do. she would not quarrel with sophie after that fashion. she would leave the isle of wight on the following morning early, informing sophie why she did so, and would offer money to the little franco-pole, presuming that it might not be agreeable to the franco-pole to be hurried away from her marine or rural happiness so quickly. but in doing this she would be careful to make sophie understand that bolton street was to be closed against her for ever afterwards. with neither count pateroff nor his sister would she ever again willingly place herself in contact.
it was dark as she entered the house,—the walk out, her delay there, and her return having together occupied her three hours. she had hardly felt the dusk growing on her as she progressed steadily on her way, with that odious man beside her. she had been thinking of other things, and her eyes had accustomed themselves gradually to the fading twilight. but now, when she saw the glimmer of the lamps from the inn-windows, she knew that the night had come upon her, and she began to fear that she had been imprudent in allowing herself to be out so late,—imprudent, even had she succeeded in being alone. she went direct to her own room, that, woman-like, she might consult her own face as to the effects of the insult she had received, and then having, as it were, steadied herself, and prepared herself for the scene that was to follow, she descended to the sitting-room and encountered her friend. the friend was the first to speak; and the reader will kindly remember that the friend had ample reason for knowing what companion lady ongar had been likely to meet upon the downs.
"julie, dear, how late you are," said sophie, as though she were rather irritated in having been kept so long waiting for her tea.
"i am late," said lady ongar.
"and don't you think you are imprudent,—all alone, you know, dear; just a leetle imprudent."
"very imprudent, indeed. i have been thinking of that now as i crossed the lawn, and found how dark it was. i have been very imprudent; but i have escaped without much injury."
"escaped! escaped what? have you escaped a cold, or a drunken man?"
"both, as i think." then she sat down, and, having rung the bell, she ordered tea.
"there seems to be something very odd with you," said sophie. "i do not quite understand you."
"when did you see your brother last?" lady ongar asked.
"my brother?"
"yes, count pateroff. when did you see him last?"
"why do you want to know?"
"well, it does not signify, as of course you will not tell me. but will you say when you will see him next?"
"how can i tell?"
"will it be to-night?"
"julie, what do you mean?"
"only this, that i wish you would make him understand that if he has anything to do concerning me, he might as well do it out of hand. for the last hour—"
"then you have seen him?"
"yes; is not that wonderful? i have seen him."
"and why could you not tell him yourself what you had to say? he and i do not agree about certain things, and i do not like to carry messages to him. and you have seen him here on this sacré sea-coast?"
"exactly so; on this sacré sea-coast. is it not odd that he should have known that i was here,—known the very inn we were at,—and known, too, whither i was going to-night?"
"he would learn that from the servants, my dear."
"no doubt. he has been good enough to amuse me with mysterious threats as to what he would do to punish me if i would not—"
"become his wife?" suggested sophie.
"exactly. it was very flattering on his part. i certainly do not intend to become his wife."
"ah, you like better that young clavering who has the other sweetheart. he is younger. that is true."
"upon my word, yes. i like my cousin, harry clavering, much better than i like your brother; but, as i take it, that has not much to do with it. i was speaking of your brother's threats. i do not understand them; but i wish he could be made to understand that if he has anything to do, he had better go and do it. as for marriage, i would sooner marry the first ploughboy i could find in the fields."
"julie,—you need not insult him."
"i will have no more of your julie; and i will have no more of you." as she said this she rose from her chair, and walked about the room. "you have betrayed me, and there shall be an end of it."
how damon parted from pythias.
how damon parted from pythias.
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"betrayed you! what nonsense you talk. in what have i betrayed you?"
"you set him upon my track here, though you knew i desired to avoid him."
"and is that all? i was coming here to this detestable island, and i told my brother. that is my offence,—and then you talk of betraying! julie, you sometimes are a goose."
"very often, no doubt; but, madame gordeloup, if you please we will be geese apart for the future."
"oh, certainly;—if you wish it."
"i do wish it."
"it cannot hurt me. i can choose my friends anywhere. the world is open to me to go where i please into society. i am not at a loss."
all this lady ongar well understood, but she could bear it without injury to her temper. such revenge was to be expected from such a woman. "i do not want you to be at a loss," she said. "i only want you to understand that after what has this evening occurred between your brother and me, our acquaintance had better cease."
"and i am to be punished for my brother?"
"you said just now that it would be no punishment, and i was glad to hear it. society is, as you say, open to you, and you will lose nothing."
"of course society is open to me. have i committed myself? i am not talked about for my lovers by all the town. why should i be at a loss? no."
"i shall return to london to-morrow by the earliest opportunity. i have already told them so, and have ordered a carriage to go to yarmouth at eight."
"and you leave me here, alone!"
"your brother is here, madame gordeloup."
"my brother is nothing to me. you know well that. he can come and he can go when he please. i come here to follow you,—to be companion to you, to oblige you,—and now you say you go and leave me in this detestable barrack. if i am here alone, i will be revenged."
"you shall go back with me if you wish it."
"at eight o'clock in the morning,—and see, it is now eleven; while you have been wandering about alone with my brother in the dark! no; i will not go so early morning as that. to-morrow is saturday—you was to remain till tuesday."
"you may do as you please. i shall go at eight to-morrow."
"very well. you go at eight, very well. and who will pay for the 'beels' when you are gone, lady ongar?"
"i have already ordered the bill up to-morrow morning. if you will allow me to offer you twenty pounds, that will bring you to london when you please to follow."
"twenty pounds! what is twenty pounds? no; i will not have your twenty pounds." and she pushed away from her the two notes which lady ongar had already put upon the table. "who is to pay me for the loss of all my time? tell me that. i have devoted myself to you. who will pay me for that?"
"not i, certainly, madame gordeloup."
"not you! you will not pay me for my time;—for a whole year i have been devoted to you! you will not pay me, and you send me away in this way? by gar, you will be made to pay,—through the nose."
as the interview was becoming unpleasant, lady ongar took her candle and went away to bed, leaving the twenty pounds on the table. as she left the room she knew that the money was there, but she could not bring herself to pick it up and restore it to her pocket. it was improbable, she thought, that madame gordeloup would leave it to the mercy of the waiters; and the chances were that the notes would go into the pocket for which they were intended.
and such was the result. sophie, when she was left alone, got up from her seat, and stood for some moments on the rug, making her calculations. that lady ongar should be very angry about count pateroff's presence sophie had expected; but she had not expected that her friend's anger would be carried to such extremity that she would pronounce a sentence of banishment for life. but, perhaps, after all, it might be well for sophie herself that such sentence should be carried out. this fool of a woman with her income, her park, and her rank, was going to give herself,—so said sophie to herself,—to a young, handsome, proud pig of a fellow,—so sophie called him,—who had already shown himself to be sophie's enemy, and who would certainly find no place for sophie gordeloup within his house. might it not be well that the quarrel should be consummated now,—such compensation being obtained as might possibly be extracted. sophie certainly knew a good deal, which it might be for the convenience of the future husband to keep dark—or convenient for the future wife that the future husband should not know. terms might be yet had, although lady ongar had refused to pay anything beyond that trumpery twenty pounds. terms might be had; or, indeed, it might be that lady ongar herself, when her anger was over, might sue for a reconciliation. or sophie,—and this idea occurred as sophie herself became a little despondent after long calculation,—sophie herself might acknowledge herself to be wrong, begging pardon, and weeping on her friend's neck. perhaps it might be worth while to make some further calculation in bed. then sophie, softly drawing the notes towards her as a cat might have done, and hiding them somewhere about her person, also went to her room.
in the morning lady ongar prepared herself for starting at eight o'clock, and, as a part of that preparation, had her breakfast brought to her upstairs. when the time was up, she descended to the sitting-room on the way to the carriage, and there she found sophie also prepared for a journey.
"i am going too. you will let me go?" said sophie.
"certainly," said lady ongar. "i proposed to you to do so yesterday."
"you should not be so hard upon your poor friend," said sophie. this was said in the hearing of lady ongar's maid and of two waiters, and lady ongar made no reply to it. when they were in the carriage together, the maid being then stowed away in a dickey or rumble behind, sophie again whined and was repentant. "julie, you should not be so hard upon your poor sophie."
"it seems to me that the hardest things said were spoken by you."
"then i will beg your pardon. i am impulsive. i do not restrain myself. when i am angry i say i know not what. if i said any words that were wrong, i will apologize, and beg to be forgiven,—there,—on my knees." and, as she spoke, the adroit little woman contrived to get herself down upon her knees on the floor of the carriage. "there; say that i am forgiven; say that sophie is pardoned." the little woman had calculated that even should her julie pardon her, julie would hardly condescend to ask for the two ten-pound notes.
but lady ongar had stoutly determined that there should be no further intimacy, and had reflected that a better occasion for a quarrel could hardly be vouchsafed to her than that afforded by sophie's treachery in bringing her brother down to freshwater. she was too strong, and too much mistress of her will, to be cheated now out of her advantage. "madame gordeloup, that attitude is absurd;—i beg you will get up."
"never; never till you have pardoned me." and sophie crouched still lower, till she was all among the dressing-cases and little bags at the bottom of the carriage. "i will not get up till you say the words, 'sophie, dear, i forgive you.'"
"then i fear you will have an uncomfortable drive. luckily it will be very short. it is only half-an-hour to yarmouth."
"and i will kneel again on board the packet; and on the—what you call, platform,—and in the railway carriage,—and in the street. i will kneel to my julie everywhere, till she say, 'sophie, dear, i forgive you!'"
"madame gordeloup, pray understand me; between you and me there shall be no further intimacy."
"no!"
"certainly not. no further explanation is necessary, but our intimacy has certainly come to an end."
"it has."
"undoubtedly."
"julie!"
"that is such nonsense. madame gordeloup, you are disgracing yourself by your proceedings."
"oh! disgracing myself, am i?" in saying this, sophie picked herself up from among the dressing-cases, and recovered her seat. "i am disgracing myself! well, i know very well whose disgrace is the most talked about in the world, yours or mine. disgracing myself;—and from you? what did your husband say of you himself?"
lady ongar began to feel that even a very short journey might be too long. sophie was now quite up, and was wriggling herself on her seat, adjusting her clothes which her late attitude had disarranged, not in the most graceful manner.
"you shall see," she continued. "yes, you shall see. tell me of disgrace! i have only disgraced myself by being with you. ah,—very well. yes; i will get out. as for being quiet, i shall be quiet whenever i like it. i know when to talk and when to hold my tongue. disgrace!" so saying, she stepped out of the carriage, leaning on the arm of a boatman who had come to the door, and who had heard her last words.
it may be imagined that all this did not contribute much to the comfort of lady ongar. they were now on the little pier at yarmouth, and in five minutes every one there knew who she was, and knew also that there had been some disagreement between her and the little foreigner. the eyes of the boatmen, and of the drivers, and of the other travellers, and of the natives going over to the market at lymington, were all on her, and the eyes also of all the idlers of yarmouth who had congregated there to watch the despatch of the early boat. but she bore it well, seating herself, with her maid beside her, on one of the benches on the deck, and waiting there with patience till the boat should start. sophie once or twice muttered the word "disgrace!" but beyond that she remained silent.
they crossed over the little channel without a word, and without a word made their way up to the railway-station. lady ongar had been too confused to get tickets for their journey at yarmouth, but had paid on board the boat for the passage of the three persons—herself, her maid, and sophie. but, at the station at lymington, the more important business of taking tickets for the journey to london became necessary. lady ongar had thought of this on her journey across the water, and, when at the railway-station, gave her purse to her maid, whispering her orders. the girl took three first-class tickets, and then going gently up to madame gordeloup, offered one to that lady. "ah, yes; very well; i understand," said sophie, taking the ticket. "i shall take this;" and she held the ticket up in her hand, as though she had some specially mysterious purpose in accepting it.
she got into the same carriage with lady ongar and her maid, but spoke no word on her journey up to london. at basingstoke she had a glass of sherry, for which lady ongar's maid paid. lady ongar had telegraphed for her carriage, which was waiting for her, but sophie betook herself to a cab. "shall i pay the cabman, ma'am?" said the maid. "yes," said sophie, "or stop. it will be half-a-crown. you had better give me the half-crown." the maid did so, and in this way the careful sophie added another shilling to her store,—over and above the twenty pounds,—knowing well that the fare to mount street was eighteen-pence.
