Could the man who struts in society only know how his glances at Eveline are noted and enjoyed, he might indeed be more bold, but he would nonetheless meet with the failure he merits. She is not the girl, young and innocent as he deems her, to play the puppet while he pulls the strings, and boasts loud-tongued at his club of his society successes!
A fine morning. Actual sunlight, and in London! I spring out of bed. Just eight o'clock. My cold tub is there ready. How refreshing it is! How I glow all fresh and red as I stand and rub myself down! The act reminds me of Jim-of grooming a horse. I should like Jim to groom me. Well, should I really? Yes, that I should, when I remember the sight which for a moment met my gaze through the stable window. I commenced my morning toilet. I gradually nurtured at the same time an idea which became more and more fixed in my mind. My passions, I fear, are not always made subservient to my higher perceptions. It is my nature to give them a flight sometimes. To indulge them against- sometimes-my cooler judgment. How can I, with my temperament, stop to think of risks-of results? So my fancy ran free now. In fancy I was again at the stable window. That did not prevent me from completing my morning toilet. I descended to breakfast in the dining room. Papa was there already, his newspaper and his letters before him.
"Good morning, Eveline; here is a letter which will interest you."
A large envelope enclosing a card. The arms of the late Duke of M. The invitation, at last, to the costume ball.
"It will be magnificent, my darling. You must make a sensation. All the guests are to represent some particular personality. How will you go? You would look adorable as Anne Boleyn."
"And my papa would look defiantly inscrutable as Charlemagne. Oh Papa, it is fixed. You must go as Charlemagne!"
"And you, Eveline?"
"I shall represent my great-grandmother-your grandmother, Papa. I have already considered all. We have her jewels. We even have in the great wardrobe the dresses she wore at my age. You told me yourself how like I was to her in the picture in your study. I can imitate the pose-the look-everything. It is fixed, Papa-you will not deny your own little girl?"
He never denied me anything. He would go to the Duchess's ball as Charlemagne, if practicable. I, as my own great-grandmother!
"Do not forget we dine tonight at Lady Lessleton's. There will be some nice people there who are always worth meeting. She is very erratic in her assemblage of guests at these little dinners. You have been asked to meet someone in particular, you may depend on it; such very young ladies are not always selected for these affairs."
"I will not forget. I shall try to look as bright as possible to please my dear papa first, and the somebody in particular next."
"Naughty girl! Kiss me!"
The dinner passed pleasantly enough. Lady Lessleton laid herself out to be very nice to me. Papa was right. I was coupled with a delightful old gentleman-the magistrate at Bow Street. Sir Langham Beamer was a bachelor, a gentleman, and a man of taste. I like old people. I took particular pains to be agreeable to him. He was a very smart, gay old gentleman of the old school. He loved the society of the young. He was evidently delighted to find that his hostess had not forgotten his foible. I heard him express his gratification in no measured language to her after dinner. I found him full of anecdotes and information, with a distinct and eradicable tendency in his conversation to revert to his own profession. I thought him charming. He made me promise to come round with papa and see him administer his functions in his Police Court.
At quite an early hour we returned home. It was the brougham they sent for us. Sir Langham Beamer put me in himself. Papa received me in his arms. We rolled away, our lips sealed together-our hearts beating against each other-our hands-ah me, our hands… The restraint was dreadful-the longing terrible. Between the two I was nearly mad. Papa, I could see, was no better.
"Covent Garden-opera-oh, here it is. Faust tonight. Look, what a splendid cast! Will you go, Eveline? The music of Gounod always delights you. Will you go?"
"Yes, dear Papa. It will cheer me up. I feel I want to hear something sympathetic. I love Gounod. I am not tired of Faust."
"Agreed then, we will order the dinner and the carriage in good time."
For some days he had withdrawn himself a great deal from my society. Only on such occasions as were unavoidable did he come to me, or venture himself within my influence. I was certain he had been forming resolutions to restrain his passion.
I had been absent and abroad for three years. I went from England and from what most children look on as home-my mother's house- a child. I returned a grown woman-very young, it is true-but still a woman physically and mentally, with such experience as only a debauched French institution de demoiselles can supply to color the life of a young girl. My sensations as I prepared myself for the evening were of the wildest anticipation. On this occasion I determined to go straight through with my intrigue. I was infatuated. I had nursed this passion a long time. I had built up all the most captivating and extraordinary theories and fancies respecting it. I imagined the pleasure-the sensuous gratification to be derived from it, to be supreme. The lines of Voltaire haunted me. We had already gone too far to draw back. He knew it as well as I did. It was that which induced the present visit to the Opera.
I dressed myself to please him. I decked myself out in just the dainty and coquettish style which I knew would swell his lust. The corsage just showed enough to make the observer wish to see more. My whole toilette was of that ephemeral character which could serve only to heighten the unruly passion which burned to fever heat in his veins. I was armed. I had no regrets. I only dreaded a failure.
The great theatre was crowded. The atmosphere was oppressive. Sir Edward leaned oven the back of my chair.
"My darling Eveline, you look more beautiful than ever tonight."
"I am always glad when I can please my dear Papa."
"Your dress is perfection, it leaves nothing to be desired."
"Absolutely nothing, Papa? Poor Eveline!"
"Why do you say that, my dear child?"
I took his hand and held it. I leaned back in my seat, and put my face close to his. His eyes shot flames of passion. I had shut mine and sighed. He kissed the nape of my neck just under my hair. I squeezed his hand and patted it with my softly gloved fingers. I put my right hand on his thigh. My breath came fast. I trembled. His agitation became extreme.
"My beautiful-my darling Eveline!"
We had heard the last of the beautiful serenade. We sat silent. It was the entr'acte. His arm was round my waist, my hand wandered slowly and caressingly upon his left thigh.
"My sweet Eveline, you excite me dreadfully!"
"Why not, my darling Papa? Your Eveline loves you so dearly; you alone are my ideal."
He pressed me closer, but in silence. His passion rose hot, furious, it showed in his bated breath, his swimming eyes, his every movement. His nostrils were dilated like those of a stallion with the intensity of his lust.
We were well behind the curtain and in the recess of the box. I threw my head back. He kissed me on the lips. A long, lingering embrace which spoke volumes of his desire.
"Shall we go to the restaurant and sup there again, my sweet?"
"Yes, papa. It is most oppressive here tonight. The opera is too long. The instrumentation makes my head ache. Let us go at once."
The supper was exquisite. The wine warmed our blood. Sir Edward drank freely. I read a fixed purpose in his eyes. He could not keep his hands off me. He helped me to all the choicest morsels. By his desire I retained my gloves. He watched the exit of the waiter and tipped him handsomely. Then he locked the door.