Anonymous: Eveline

"Was it he who arrived an hour and half ago? I looked out and thought I saw our own carriage. Could that be, John?"

"Yes, miss, my lady always sends it after the service on Sunday mornings to bring him round from the Sepulchre."

"He does not look as if he required much bringing round; he does not strike me in any way as resembling a ghost."

"Oh, no, miss, he's in very good condition. He knows how to keep it up too; I never knew such a particular gent. He can't eat any soup but real turtle, miss-except on Fridays when he says he tries to digest mock. He must have his grouse with a nice bit of red in the breast. He says there's only one cook in London who can do quail proper, miss, and that's ours. Yes, he's a funny gentleman for a parson. He's so particular about his stomach-says common food doesn't agree with him. Can't digest it, miss-comical stomach, very. He's funny in other ways too, miss, when he likes."

"How so, John?"

"Why, one day he caught my lady's own maid, Sippett, on the stairs, miss, and chucked her under the chin, quite familiar-like."

"Dear me, John! And what did Sippett do?"

"Oh, she just did nothing, miss, till he was gone. Then she up and told my lady. Not that she got much by that, for my lady told her not to mind. That it was only his kindness; for he was like a good pastor to his flock, and he considered her like one of his lambs."

"What did she say to that, John?"

"Oh, she kept her mouth shut, as was her duty, miss, but when she came downstairs, she let out. She said that if he tried on any more of his pastoral tricks, he would find she was no lamb, but a ravenin' wolf, miss-there's the drawing-room bell, miss?"

"The Honorable and Reverend Trestleton-Doubletree would like to know, miss, if you will see him in the drawing room."

"Say I will follow you immediately, John."

I took just one look in the glass. I tripped lightly upstairs. John opened the door. The reverend gentleman came forward with an air of ineffable tenderness and condescension. I took him in at a glance. I mistrusted those roving dark eyes; that anxious smile on the broad sensual lips of a man about forty years of age.

"So glad, my dear Miss Eveline, to make your acquaintance. They told me you were at home; your lady mother has commissioned me, my dear girl!"

My baptismal name! My dear girl! What did he take me for? I cut him short.

"Have you lunched? I trust they have taken care of you? I fear Lady L is too great an invalid to receive you properly."

"Oh, yes, a thousand thanks, we lunched together. Had I known-"

"Oh, thank you, I took my little meal alone. It is a very simple one-a cutlet, or a sweetbread-a slice of seed cake-that usually comprises all I care for alone."

"Cotelletes a la Nesselrode-riz de veau a la sauce blanche are things not to be lightly denied; or perhaps you prefer then a la sauce financiere?"

"How did you find Lady L today?"

"She is suffering. She confided to me her wish that we should meet, that we should confer-ahem, that I should endeavor to impress upon you the advantages of attending divine service at our church of St. Sepulchre at least once on the Sunday."

"My mother is very considerate towards me. She has never yet mentioned the subject to me herself."

"Oh! Possibly not-possibly not. Oh, no-no-quite likely! She is so nervous, you know, such an invalid-still, if you will allow me to suggest-"

He began to see it might be dangerous to persist.

"It is a subject on which I have formed my own judgment."

"What? Already? So young too! Well, well; we will not pursue the subject further now. The young nowadays desire a large degree of latitude-a very large degree of latitude. I am always disposed to grant it to them. I approve of freedom of thought; of individual responsibility. There are those who in their weakness require spiritual guidance. You are not one of those, my dear-my dear young friend. But you are too young, and permit me, too beautiful-far too superbly beautiful to altogether emerge from the cocoon of childhood into the full-blown perfection of womanhood without advice, without some sort of tuition. The world is deceitful-very much so."

I listened with patient wonder. I saw at once that my reverend visitor had lunched perhaps not wisely, but too well. As he spoke, he drew his chair towards mine quite confidentially. His breath was redolent of wine. He leered into my face with an expression that reminded me of my old friend the teapot.

"But you forget that before I can emerge as a moth to flutter round the candles of society, I must have been a grub?"

"A grub-but what a grub! And now a butterfly. Ah! Ah?"

The whole manner of the man had undergone a change. He was no longer the reverend incumbent of St. Sepulchre endeavoring in his choicest inflection of pulpit eloquence to win a lamb to his fold. He was the man of the world-the would-be lover of one he took for an inexperienced schoolgirl. One who in her ignorance would be flattered by the gross and too palpable insinuations of his honeyed words.

"A butterfly-ah! Such a beautiful, beautiful butterfly, whose golden wings, softly perfumed with the choicest scents of Araby, waft their sweet fragrance to the inmost follicles of my manly heart?"

He spoke in a purring whisper. I felt that his eyes were fixed upon my face. My own gaze rested on the pattern of the carpet. I waited for what was to come next. He moved nearer. His arm passed behind me. It dropped from the back of the chair in a half unconscious way upon my dress.

"You will not deny me the delight and the privilege of being your friend-your guide-your protector in this mad society of London?"

I made him no reply. My foot beat a warning tattoo, and my breath came in an angry flutter from my lungs.

He misinterpreted my agitation. He altogether delighted in my emotion. He counted already on his easy victory. He drew his arm closely round my waist. He advanced his thick and sensual lips. He actually imprinted a kiss upon my right cheek.

"Thus, my dear child, do we seal our compact?"

I snatched myself away. The blood of my ancient race rushed furiously though every vein.

"Then take that from the butterfly!"

A sound cracked like the sharp report of a pistol. A moment's silence. The reverend incumbent of the Sepulchre had risen from his seat with a savage glare in his dark eyes. His hand covered a very distinct outline of my palm upon his left cheek. A study in red and white.

The door opened. It was John.

"Did you ring, miss?"

"No-yes, John. Show this-this gentleman to the front door."

I ran upstairs. I entered my lady's room. I found her in her easy chair. She was apparently asleep or unconscious. Sippett was agitating a Japanese fan before her flushed face. I took in the situation at a glance. On the table were the remains of the luncheon; two empty champagne bottles among them.

"Quick, Sippett, open her stays-give her air."

I rushed to the window. I threw it open. As I passed behind the heavy curtain to do so, I kicked over another empty champagne bottle. A second, half full, stood beside it. Two or three empty soda-water bottles rolled upon the floor.

Sippett had opened the front of Lady L 's morning wrapper. She was fumbling over the laces of her corset.

"Scissors! Sippett-cut them! Let her breathe freely."

I remained just long enough to see that Lady L was recovering."

"Sippett, you will not leave your mistress for a moment on any account."

I had been only just in time. She had been as near an attack of apoplexy as a stout and inebriated woman of her age could be without incurring the full penalty of her conduct. Then I left the room. Vexed, humiliated, degraded, all the angry contempt which had culminated within me during the past twenty minutes gave way to a feeling of passionate despair.