The Sorrows of Satan (Horror Classic). Marie Corelli
Mr Tempest, I meant to say were you the great millionaire who has been so much talked of lately?”
I bowed a somewhat chill assent. She looked at me inquisitively over the lace edge of her fan.
“How delightful it must be for you to have so much money!” she said—“And you are young too, and good-looking.”
Pleasure took the place of vexed amour-propre and I smiled.
“You are very kind, Lady Sibyl!”
“Why?” she asked laughing,—such a delicious little low laugh—“Because I tell you the truth? You are young and you are good-looking! Millionaires are generally such appalling creatures. Fortune, while giving them money, frequently deprives them of both brains and personal attractiveness. And now do tell me about your book!”
She seemed to have suddenly dispensed with her former reserve, and during the last act of the play, we conversed freely, in whispers which assisted us to become almost confidential. Her manner to me now was full of grace and charm, and the fascination she exerted over my senses became complete. The performance over, we all left the box together, and as Lucio was still apparently engrossed with Lord Elton I had the satisfaction of escorting Lady Sibyl to her carriage. When her father joined her, Lucio and I both stood together looking in at the window of the brougham, and the Earl, getting hold of my hand shook it up and down with boisterous friendliness.
“Come and dine,—come and dine!” he spluttered excitedly; “Come—let me see,—this is Tuesday—come on Thursday. Short notice and no ceremony! My wife is paralysed I’m sorry to say,—she can’t receive,—she can only see a few people now and then when she is in the humour,—her sister keeps house and does the honours,—Aunt Charlotte, eh Sibyl?—ha-ha-ha! The Deceased Wife’s Sister’s Bill would never be any use to me, for if my wife were to die I shouldn’t be anxious to marry Miss Charlotte Fitzroy! Ha ha ha! A perfectly unapproachable woman sir!—a model,—ha ha! Come and dine with us, Mr Tempest,—Lucio, you bring him along with you, eh? We’ve got a young lady staying with us,—an American, dollars, accent and all,—and by Jove I believe she wants to marry me ha ha ha! and is waiting for Lady Elton to go to a better world first, ha ha! Come along—come and see the little American, eh? Thursday shall it be?”
Over the fair features of Lady Sibyl there passed a faint shadow of annoyance at her father’s allusion to the “little American,” but she said nothing. Only her looks appeared to question our intentions as well as to persuade our wills, and she seemed satisfied when we both accepted the invitation given. Another apoplectic chuckle from the Earl and a couple of handshakes,—a slight graceful bow from her lovely ladyship, as we raised our hats in farewell, and the Elton equipage rolled away, leaving us to enter our own vehicle, which amid the officious roarings of street-boys and policemen had just managed to draw up in front of the theatre. As we drove off, Lucio peered inquisitively at me—I could see the steely glitter of his fine eyes in the semi-darkness of the brougham,—and said—
“Well?”
I was silent.
“Don’t you admire her?” he went on—“I must confess she is cold,—a very chilly vestal indeed,—but snow often covers volcanoes! She has good features, and a naturally clear complexion.”
Despite my intention to be reticent, I could not endure this tame description.
“She is perfectly beautiful,”—I said emphatically. “The dullest eyes must see that. There is not a fault to be found with her. And she is wise to be reserved and cold—were she too lavish of her smiles and too seductive in manner, she might drive many men not only into folly, but madness.”
I felt rather than saw the cat-like glance he flashed upon me.
“Positively, Geoffrey, I believe that notwithstanding the fact that we are only in February, the wind blows upon you due south, bringing with it odours of rose and orange-blossom! I fancy Lady Sibyl has powerfully impressed you?”
“Did you wish me to be impressed?” I asked.
“I? My dear fellow, I wish nothing that you yourself do not wish. I accommodate my ways to my friends’ humours. If asked for my opinion I should say it is rather a pity if you are really smitten with the young lady, as there are no obstacles to be encountered. A love-affair, to be conducted with spirit and enterprise should always bristle with opposition and difficulty, real or invented. A little secrecy and a good deal of wrong-doing, such as sly assignations and the telling of any amount of lies—such things add to the agreeableness of love-making on this planet—”
I interrupted him.
“See here, Lucio, you are very fond of alluding to ‘this’ planet as if you knew anything about other planets”—I said impatiently. “This planet, as you somewhat contemptuously call it, is the only one we have any business with.”
He bent his piercing looks so ardently upon me that for the moment I was startled.
“If that is so,” he answered, “why in Heaven’s name do you not let the other planets alone? Why do you strive to fathom their mysteries and movements? If men, as you say, have no business with any planet save this one why are they ever on the alert to discover the secret of mightier worlds,—a secret which haply it may some day terrify them to know!”
The solemnity of his voice and the inspired expression of his face awed me. I had no reply ready, and he went on—
“Do not let us talk, my friend, of planets, not even of this particular pin’s point among them known as Earth. Let us return to a better subject—the Lady Sibyl. As I have already said, there are no obstacles in the way of your wooing and winning her, if such is your desire. Geoffrey Tempest, as mere author of books would indeed be insolent to aspire to the hand of an earl’s daughter, but Geoffrey Tempest, millionaire, will be a welcome suitor. Poor Lord Elton’s affairs are in a bad way—he is almost out-at-elbows;—the American woman who is boarding with him——”
“Boarding with him!” I exclaimed—“Surely he does not keep a boarding-house?”
Lucio laughed heartily.
“No, no!—you must not put it so coarsely, Geoffrey. It is simply this, that the Earl and Countess of Elton give the prestige of their home and protection to Miss Diana Chesney (the American aforesaid) for the trifling sum of two thousand guineas per annum. The Countess being paralyzed, is obliged to hand over her duties of chaperonage to her sister Miss Charlotte Fitzroy,—but the halo of the coronet still hovers over Miss Chesney’s brow. She has her own suite of rooms in the house, and goes wherever it is proper for her to go, under Miss Fitzroy’s care. Lady Sibyl does not like the arrangement, and is therefore never seen anywhere except with her father. She will not join in companionship with Miss Chesney, and has said so pretty plainly.”
“I admire her for it!” I said warmly—“I really am surprised that Lord Elton should condescend——”
“Condescend to what?” inquired Lucio—“Condescend to take two thousand guineas a year? Good heavens man, there are no end of lords and ladies who will readily agree to perform such an act of condescension. ‘Blue’ blood is getting thin and poor, and only money can thicken it. Diana Chesney is worth over a million dollars and if Lady Elton were to die conveniently soon, I should not be surprised to see that ‘little American’ step triumphantly into her vacant place.”
“What a state of topsy-turveydom!” I said, half angrily.
“Geoffrey, my friend, you are really amazingly inconsistent! Is there a more flagrant example of topsy-turveydom than yourself for instance? Six weeks ago, what were you? A mere scribbler, with flutterings of the wings of genius in your soul, but many uncertainties as to whether those wings would ever be strong enough to lift you out of the rut of obscurity in which you floundered, struggling and grumbling at adverse fate. Now, as millionaire, you think contemptuously of an Earl, because he ventures quite legitimately to add a little to his income by boarding an American heiress and launching her into society where she would never