I recollected my rude, hobbledehoy, hoydenish days, when I believed I was a boy and wondered at the change so surprising, so far reaching, so complete, that had overtaken me.
My former rudeness and roughness and violence positively shocked and astounded me. I felt ashamed of them and blushed deeply. They were so disgraceful in one who all the time should have been in petticoats.
So thorough was this system of discipline that to this day when I know all about it and understand how I was mystified, the impression is still strong upon me and exercises a most wonderfully taming and domesticating effect.
On the way down I met Mademoiselle.
"May I congratulate you, Julia dear?"
"Oh, Mademoiselle!" I cried.
"Am I cut out?" she asked, with that playfulness which she never lost.
"Oh, Mademoiselle, no!" I answered, a little indignantly.
"But how about Alfred? I suppose he is now-?"
I blushed deeply. My wits came to my rescue.
"You know," I said, in very low, hushed tones, "you said I was an hermaphrodite. I belong to you just as much as to him."
"You are a dear boy-girl, I mean, Julia." And she kissed me. "Never mind the tennis. Come with me to my boudoir and tell me all about it. We'll have some tea or chocolate or what you like."
And how delighted I was to obey.
CHAPTER 2
As I returned to my room for the purpose of substituting for my short, tight skirt (fitted for tennis but not for the dalliance of Mademoiselle's boudoir) a loose tea gown and high-heeled shoes, a rush of memories flooded my mind in an unaccountable fashion-memories of that evening, now some days past, when I saw the rich, full bosom of Beatrice, in her low-cut evening dress, hidden by an ugly oblong card suspended by a scarlet ribbon from her radiant neck on which was inscribed, in letters an inch long, the word PROSTITUTE
What thoughts, what notions and ideas, what immorality and profligacy, this single symbol-this single expression-on the swelling bosom of my future wife evoked!
"Oh, Beatrice!" Agnes had cried, clapping her hands, as Beatrice entered the brilliantly lighted drawing room before dinner. "What a-a-charming one-you are! If only I were a man!"
Beatrice's anger, rising at the first half of the sentence, was momentarily diverted by its close. She looked at me full and distinctly betrayed the fact her chief concern was as to how I should take her disgrace. Without being aware of it, I felt flattered.
And I suppose it was the sense conveyed by this assurance of her concern about me, lingering upon my mind, that caused me now to stand and think and wonder instead of hastening to Mademoiselle as I should have done.
Agnes, however, did not escape, for Beatrice, averting her eyes from me, and returning to her first impulse, walked up to her, her teeth clenched and her eyes flashing and hissing the words "You wretch!" gave her two sound boxes, one upon each ear, before Agnes could recover from her surprise at the storm she had raised.
I abandoned myself somewhat inopportunely and somewhat to my own surprise, to a resume in my thoughts of that delicious, eventful evening-delicious, principally, I verily believe, because Beatrice had to undergo then what she was so fond of inflicting. I delighted in the discomfiture and humiliation the proud beauty had suffered.
Agnes looked pretty and girlish in her elegant frock. At the blows she changed colour but appeared more disturbed at the threat with which Beatrice followed them up.
"There, you impudent baggage! Just you wait awhile and I will make you wear a card like this behind and before!"
Agnes dared not reply, but I could see her pretty bosom heave and grow crimson whilst a defiant glance shot from her eyes.
Maud was in the room and watched what went on with quiet amusement; but, as usual, was too careless, too serenely indifferent, to take any active part. She had looked up at Beatrice's entrance and at Agnes' remark, but then, with an impatient kick of her dress, and a disdainful pout, she continued her perusal of the novel she was reading while we waited for Mademoiselle and the gong.
The whole scene returned with surprising vividness to my mind though I was much puzzled why it should do so at that particular moment.
The current was, however, too powerful to resist, and as I stood before my glass, fondling my arms, admiring my breasts, noting my drooping eyelids and their long lashes (I had thrown off my gown) I was forced to abandon myself to it and I may as well relate my reminiscences in the order in which they most impressed me, which was at the time when I most cogitated upon them, although not the time of the actual occurrence of the events.
What then, to be honest, was the significance of that magnificent diamante bracelet, the gift of Lord Alfred Ridlington to me, worth several hundred pounds at least, which now adorned my dressing table and which I had more than once fully appreciated and admired when clasped upon my arm, and had made up my mind to wear that very evening although I felt very uncertain whether or not to tell Mademoiselle beforehand of the gift? One of the articles of her favourite code of love enjoined strict secrecy in love matters. Had it-disquieting hateful thought-been given to me as wages?
How I loathed the notion; and under its influence the red-gold and sparkling stones for a few seconds appeared to be a badge of servitude. Was I a prostitute?
After all, the gift was made to me in accordance with custom, for I was a girl and should have all the trouble of the baby.
How should I, and I looked at myself in the glass when asking the question, feel with a great card on these swelling breasts of mine with the word "prostitute" inscribed in enormous letters upon it?
Poor Beatrice! She had accused Maud of prostitution because she had bought me from Elise and had herself to suffer as though she were the criminal. How delicious to consider Beatrice in that light!
What a strange qualm, strange thrill, shot through me, as I recollected the exquisite happiness she would sell. Those soft, warm, yielding thighs opened wide to the shower of gold as were Danae's to her god! My imagination faithfully depicted the well-stockinged calves, the daintily perfumed underclothing, the glimpses of pink flesh, the alluring posture, as she reclined with outspread arms and inviting looks, the drooping lids, the languishing air. Verily, as Agnes said, she would have made a splendid one, hence no doubt the sting of the observation. What a scrutinizing piercing glance she had thrown at me, as Agnes had added, "how I wish I were a man." Did Beatrice after all know the secret and the truth? Was I a man and did she long for me?
I wondered what Mademoiselle would do, for what use could a prostitute be amongst women?
I had helped to dress Mademoiselle that evening and she had never looked more stately nor more queenly than when in the drawing room upon that occasion.
She, of course, noticed Beatrice directly, and looked at her with well-feigned surprise as she observed Beatrice's carnation hue and shamefaced appearance.
"Well, Miss," she exclaimed, "what is there about the word that so disturbs you? Pro, before and statuo, I place," mimicking Beatrice's tone; "if it were cunnus or pellex, or scrotum, or-or meretrix, did you not say?"
"Oh, Mademoiselle!"
"Perhaps you have been round to the OEdiles and announced your intention of joining the ranks of the pro-fessce, and this card announces-until a tailor has provided you with a toga."
"Oh, Mademoiselle! You know no free woman-"
"No free woman could become a harlot. True-but as you have carefully explained, it is not harlot or-or-or a worse name that you bear; it is only prostitute."
"It is too bad, it is too shameful," cried Beatrice, beside herself with anger, "to label me prostitute!" and she tore at the card. But before she could rid herself of it Mademoiselle stopped her. "I forbid you to take it off. I cannot suppose," with delicate scorn, "your excuses for the use of the word were insincere-so you will please keep it on. And who knows, after dinner we may find some one anxious to fill your lap with gold. Julia, for instance," added Mademoiselle. Then slyly to me, "Julia, what pocket money have you left?"