It Happened in Japan. Baroness Albert d' Anethan
honoured me with your entire confidence in this matter, and you must not think that I wish to take advantage of this fact if, before you finally decide to take this important step, I beg of you to reconsider. You love this man, and he loves you. His dearest wish--I know from his own lips--is to make you his wife. Think what you are giving up, Pearl, by flinging this all away, by flying from him. Love, happiness, honour. You--"
"Forgive me, my dear old friend," interrupted Pearl, "love and happiness I know, but not honour, no, not honour."
She rose from her seat and stood by Mr. Hall's side. Her eyes were wet with tears. "No," she repeated in a low voice, "not honour. I should never gain honour by marrying Lord Martinworth, for in marrying him I should despise myself. Think of the ruin to him! Knowing this--feeling this all the time, should I not, as the years went on, learn to hate myself for being the cause of his sacrifice? And though he is so good, so generous, I know he would never show me he had repented of the step, my own intuition would be sufficient. No words would be necessary to tell me that I had been the destroyer of his life, the stumbling block in the realisation of his hopes and of his ambitions. Oh! Mr. Hall, my only friend, do not turn against me, do not tempt me. I have told you this before, many and many a time, and you listened and understood. Do not, I pray you, at the last moment, try to convince me that I am unwise, that I am wrong, when I know--I know I am doing the only thing that can possibly be right."
She paused, but Mr. Hall did not break the silence.
"If," she continued with a deeper note of appeal, "if there were only myself to consider in this matter, do you think there could be a moment's hesitation on my part? Do you think I should care what my world might say--what it would be sure to say if I married Lord Martinworth? Not I! No fear of the opinion of a few people who once called themselves my friend, would make me hesitate in realising that happiness for which I have so long pined, and which at one time I thought was so nearly mine.
"But now dear friend," she laid her hand upon his arm, "let us, I beg you, dismiss this subject, dismiss it for ever. You know my feelings on this matter, and once more I implore you not to try to persuade me against those feelings. Indeed," she continued, smiling through her tears, "it would be useless, for I received a letter two days ago from Mrs. Rawlinson, and have consequently taken my passage by the 'Paris,' sailing in a few weeks from Southampton for New York. So you see the die is cast."
Pearl Nugent's affairs occupied Mr. Hall's thoughts considerably as he travelled back to Town that afternoon. "Hum!" he said to himself, as he unfolded his newspaper and adjusted his spectacles to the right angle on his nose. "She thinks herself sincere, poor child, when she says it is all for Martinworth's sake she doesn't marry him, but Pearl Norrywood--or Nugent, as she insists on calling herself now--hasn't been a woman of society for ten years for nothing; and she has more consideration for the opinion of that world over which she reigned so long than she has any notion of. She is an innocent woman, but as proud as Lucifer. I know her, bless her soul! She'll be hanged if she lets society have the satisfaction of having the laugh on its side. Of course, she firmly believes she is sacrificing herself for Martinworth's sake, but it's confounded nonsense, all the same. I know my Pearl. Her beastly pride is at the bottom of everything. Damn it! Why can't she marry the man and have done with it?"
Which soliloquy of the worthy old lawyer's proves that even our best friends are apt to misjudge us sometimes.
Meanwhile we have left Pearl Nugent standing in her cabin debating with herself what she ought to do. She stood plunged in thought, realising more and more into what a false position her impulsiveness had led her. It went without saying she had mortally offended Monsieur de Güldenfeldt. She, who could not afford to make a single enemy, however humble his position, had doubtless by this rash action incurred the lasting aversion of one who by the holding up of his little finger might do her such irretrievable harm in this new life upon which she was about to enter. She saw it all clearly enough now, and poor Pearl laughed a little hollow laugh of wretchedness as she began to make the few alterations in her dress necessary for the shipboard dinner. If she had been somewhat vainer she would have been consoled by the remembrance that she belonged to a world where the fascination and charm and beauty of woman are still dominant features. But Pearl's self-esteem of late had suffered too severe a blow for her to put great store on either her beauty or her qualities of fascination; though if she had known not only her own powers, but Monsieur de Güldenfeldt, somewhat better, she need never have passed through that disagreeable period of regret and apprehension.
At dinner, considerably to her dismay, she found herself placed between her two quondam friends. She arrived rather late at table, and with flushed cheeks and a slight bow to each, sat down. Her soup went away untouched. Then finally taking her courage in both hands, she resolutely turned towards the Swedish Minister.
"Monsieur de Güldenfeldt," she said with a slightly tremulous voice, "I must ask your pardon for my rude, and what must indeed seem to you, inexplicable behaviour of this afternoon. Will you--will you believe that I was labouring under a misapprehension, and be generous enough to accept this as my only explanation?"
It was very simply said, and Monsieur de Güldenfeldt answered her request as simply. He looked at the beautiful and perplexed face with a mixture of admiration and amusement in his eyes.
"Let us forget the past, Mrs.--Mrs.--Nugent," he said, "and begin afresh. Shall we?"
And from that day commenced a friendship which was to prove an important factor in Pearl Nugent's life.
CHAPTER II.
In Lotus-land
Pearl Nugent had every reason to congratulate herself on her energy in having renounced her old life and surroundings, for the three years passed in Tokyo had proved the happiest, and certainly the most peaceful, of her hitherto somewhat stormy existence.
On her first arrival in Japan she had remained for some weeks--until she had settled herself in her own house--with her cousin, Mrs. Rawlinson. It had been a profitable and happy time for both, and for Pearl especially the association at this uncertain period of her life with a woman like Rosina Rawlinson, was beneficial in every respect.
Everybody in Tokyo knew, respected, and loved Rosina, as she was generally called behind her back. It was Rosina to whom one flew for advice when placed in a slight difficulty, or for comfort when overcome by a great trouble. It was Rosina who would get up in the middle of the night to nurse a sick child, and it was she who received the confidences of the various young men and women of the community, received them with bright sympathy, and however trifling, kept them secretly locked within her own breast. Again it was to Rosina, or to Rosina's husband, that everybody of importance seemed to bring letters of introduction, and many was the helpless and inexperienced globe-trotter whose appeal for aid had been listened to by Rosina. Above all, it was Rosina who gave the jolliest, cheeriest little Bridge dinners in Tokyo, dinners where the wine and food were both above reproach, and where the most amusing people, and those most congenial to each other, were sure to be gathered together.
Those little dinners of Rosina's were alone enough to make her the most popular person in Japan.
For the first fortnight after Pearl's arrival, to her infinite relief, Mrs. Rawlinson, with her usual tact, had closed her doors to every one.
"You will soon see enough of the people, my dear," she said, "without the necessity of being bored just at present. You and I have plenty to talk about, heaven knows! So we'll just sit over the fire and yarn, as that dear sailor boy of mine calls it, until we are both hoarse. I sent my niece Amy away on purpose, for I knew you would have many things to say to me that it's as well she should know nothing about, and, as for Tom, he doesn't count, you know, for he's at his office all day, and he sleeps all the evening. He is a dear old thing, but I can't say he's a particularly lively husband. He says I do the talking for both, but even in that case one expects more than a grunt as a reply, and I assure you that is often all he vouchsafes me."
"And Amy?" asked Pearl, "has she grown up as pretty as she promised to be? I haven't seen her for four years now, for you remember I was abroad all that last year she was at school at Brighton."
"I am anxious