GEORGE SHAW - The Complete Works

Lydia blushed faintly, and paused to wonder at the novel sensation before she resumed. “You had better not apologize to my cousin: partly because you would only make matters worse; chiefly because he does not deserve it. But you must make this speech to Mrs. Hoskyn when you are going: ‘I am very sorry I forgot myself’—”

“Sounds like Shakespeare, doesn’t it?” observed Cashel.

“Ah! the test has found you out; you are only acting after all. But that does not alter my opinion that you should apologize.”

“All right. I don’t know what you mean by testing and acting; and I only hope you know yourself. But no matter; I’ll apologize; a man like me can afford to. I’ll apologize to your cousin, too, if you like.”

“I do not like. But what has that to do with it? I suggest these things, as you must be aware, for your own sake and not for mine.”

“As for my own, I don’t care twopence: I do it all for you. I don’t even ask whether there is anything between you and him.”

“Would you like to know?” said Lydia, deliberately, after a pause of astonishment.

“Do you mean to say you’ll tell me?” he exclaimed. “If you do, I’ll say you’re as good as gold.”

“Certainly I will tell you. There is an old friendship and cousinship between us; but we are not engaged, nor at all likely to be. I tell you so because, if I avoided the question, you would draw the opposite and false conclusion.”

“I am glad of it,” said Cashel, unexpectedly becoming very gloomy. “He isn’t man enough for you. But he’s your equal, damn him!”

“He is my cousin, and, I believe, my sincere friend. Therefore please do not damn him.”

“I know I shouldn’t have said that. But I am only damning my own luck.”

“Which will not improve it in the least.”

“I know that. You needn’t have said it. I wouldn’t have said a thing like that to you, stupid as I am.”

“Evidently you suppose me to have meant more than I really did. However, that does not matter. You are still an enigma to me. Had we not better try to hear a little of Madame Szczymplica’s performance?”

“I’m a pretty plain enigma, I should think,” said Cashel, mournfully. “I would rather have you than any other woman in the world; but you’re too rich and grand for me. If I can’t have the satisfaction of marrying you, I may as well have the satisfaction of saying I’d like to.”

“Hardly a fair way of approaching the subject,” said Lydia, composedly, but with a play of color again in her cheeks. “Allow me to forbid it unconditionally. I must be plain with you, Mr. Cashel Byron. I do not know what you are or who you are; and I believe you have tried to mystify me on both points—”

“And you never shall find out either the one or the other, if I can help it,” put in Cashel; “so that we’re in a preciously bad way of coming to a good understanding.”

“True,” assented Lydia. “I do not make secrets; I do not keep them; and I do not respect them. Your humor clashes with my principle.”

“You call it a humor!” said Cashel, angrily. “Perhaps you think I am a duke in disguise. If so, you may think better of it. If you had a secret, the discovery of which would cause you to be kicked out of decent society, you would keep it pretty tight. And that through no fault of your own, mind you; but through downright cowardice and prejudice in other people.”

“There are at least some fears and prejudices common in society that I do not share,” said Lydia, after a moment’s reflection. “Should I ever find out your secret, do not too hastily conclude that you have forfeited my consideration.”

“You are just the last person on earth by whom I want to be found out. But you’ll find out fast enough. Pshaw!” cried Cashel, with a laugh, “I’m as well known as Trafalgar Square. But I can’t bring myself to tell you; and I hate secrets as much as you do; so let’s drop it and talk about something else.”

“We have talked long enough. The music is over, and the people will return to this room presently, perhaps to ask me who and what is the stranger who made them such a remarkable speech.”

“Just a word. Promise me that you won’t ask any of THEM that.”

“Promise you! No. I cannot promise that.”

“Oh, Lord!” said Cashel, with a groan.

“I have told you that I do not respect secrets. For the present I will not ask; but I may change my mind. Meanwhile we must not hold long conversations. I even hope that we shall not meet. There is only one thing that I am too rich and grand for. That one thing — mystification. Adieu.”

Before he could reply she was away from him in the midst of a number of gentlemen, and in conversation with one of them. Cashel seemed overwhelmed. But in an instant he recovered himself, and stepped jauntily before Mrs. Hoskyn, who had just come into his neighborhood.

“I’m going, ma’am,” he said. “Thank you for a pleasant evening — I’m very sorry I forgot myself. Goodnight.”

Mrs. Hoskyn, naturally frank, felt some vague response within herself to this address. But, though not usually at a loss for words in social emergencies, she only looked at him, blushed slightly, and offered her hand. He took it as if it were a tiny baby’s hand and he afraid of hurting it, gave it a little pinch, and turned to go. Mr. Adrian Herbert, the painter, was directly in his way, with his back towards him.

“If YOU please, sir,” said Cashel, taking him gently by the ribs, and moving him aside. The artist turned indignantly, but Cashel was passing the doorway. On the stairs he met Lucian and Alice, and stopped a moment to take leave of them.

“Goodnight, Miss Goff,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see the country roses in your cheeks.” He lowered his voice as he added, to Lucian, “Don’t you worry yourself over that little trick I showed you. If any of your friends chafe you about it, tell them that it was Cashel Byron did it, and ask them whether they think they could have helped themselves any better than you could. Don’t ever let a person come within distance of you while you’re standing in that silly way on both your heels. Why, if a man isn’t properly planted on his pins, a broom-handle falling against him will upset him. That’s the way of it. Goodnight.”

Lucian returned the salutation, mastered by a certain latent dangerousness in Cashel, suggestive that he might resent a snub by throwing the offender over the balustrade. As for Alice, she had entertained a superstitious dread of him ever since Lydia had pronounced him a ruffian. Both felt relieved when the house door, closing, shut them out of his reach.

Table of Contents

Society was much occupied during Alice’s first season in London with the upshot of an historical event of a common kind. England, a few years before, had stolen a kingdom from a considerable people in Africa, and seized the person of its king. The conquest proved useless, troublesome, and expensive; and after repeated attempts to settle the country on impracticable plans suggested to the Colonial Office by a popular historian who had made a trip to Africa, and by generals who were tired of the primitive remedy of killing the natives, it appeared that the best course was to release the captive king and get rid of the unprofitable booty by restoring it to him. In order, however, that the impression made on him by England’s shortsighted disregard of her neighbor’s landmark abroad might be counteracted by a glimpse of the vastness of her armaments and wealth at home, it was thought advisable to take him first to London, and show him the wonders of the town. But when the king arrived, his freedom from English prepossessions made it difficult to amuse, or even to impress him. A stranger to the idea that a private man could own a portion of the earth and make others pay him for permission to live on it, he was unable to understand why such a prodigiously wealthy nation should be composed partly of poor and uncomfortable persons toiling incessantly to create riches, and partly of a class that confiscated and dissipated the wealth thus produced without seeming to be at all happier than the unfortunate laborers at whose expense they existed. He was seized with strange fears, first for his health, for it seemed to him that the air of London, filthy with smoke, engendered puniness and dishonesty in those who breathed it; and eventually for his life, when he learned that kings in Europe were sometimes shot at by passers-by, there being hardly a monarch there who had not been so imperilled more than once; that the Queen of England, though accounted the safest of all, was accustomed to this variety of pistol practice; and that the autocrat of an empire huge beyond all other European countries, whose father had been torn asunder in the streets of his capital, lived surrounded by soldiers who shot down all strangers that approached him even at his own summons, and was an object of compassion to the humblest of his servants. Under these circumstances, the African king was with difficulty induced to stir out of doors; and he only visited Woolwich Arsenal — the destructive resources of which were expected to influence his future behavior in a manner favorable to English supremacy — under compulsion. At last the Colonial Office, which had charge of him, was at its wit’s end to devise entertainments to keep him in goodhumor until the appointed time for his departure.