the wife of a poor curate of high moral principles, would the same
result have been secured? The fever that had robbed her of her beauty
and turned her thoughts
inward had been the result of sitting out on
the
balcony of the Paris Opera House with an Italian Count on the
occasion of a fancy dress ball. As the wife of an East End clergyman
the chances are she would have escaped that fever and its purifying
effects. Was there not danger in the position: a supremely beautiful
young woman, worldly-minded, hungry for pleasure, condemned to a life
of
poverty with a man she did not care for? The influence of Alice
upon Nathaniel Armitage, during those first years when his
characterwas forming, had been all for good. Could he be sure that, married to
Nellie, he might not have deteriorated?
Were Alice Blatchley to marry an artist could she be sure that at
forty she would still be in
sympathy with
artistic ideals? Even as a
child had not her desire ever been in the opposite direction to that
favoured by her nurse? Did not the
reading of Conservative journals
invariablyincline her towards Radicalism, and the steady
stream of
Radical talk round her husband's table
invariably set her seeking
arguments in favour of the
feudalsystem? Might it not have been her
husband's growing Puritanism that had
driven her to crave for
Bohemianism? Suppose that towards middle age, the wife of a wild
artist, she suddenly "took religion," as the
saying is. Her last
state would be worse than the first.
Camelford was of
delicate physique. As an absent-minded
bachelor with
no one to give him his meals, no one to see that his things were
aired, could he have lived till forty? Could he be sure that home
life had not given more to his art than it had taken from it?
Jessica Dearwood, of a
nervous,
passionate nature, married to a bad
husband, might at forty have posed for one of the Furies. Not until
her life had become restful had her good looks shown themselves. Hers
was the type of beauty that for its development demands tranquillity.
Dick Everett had no delusions
concerning himself. That, had he
married Jessica, he could for ten years have remained the faithful
husband of a singularly plain wife he knew to be impossible. But
Jessica would have been no patient Griselda. The
extreme probability
was that having married her at twenty for the sake of her beauty at
thirty, at twenty-nine at latest she would have divorced him.
Everett was a man of practical ideas. It was he who took the matter
in hand. The
refreshmentcontractor admitted that curious goblets of
German glass
occasionally crept into their stock. One of the waiters,
on the understanding that in no case should he be called upon to pay
for them, admitted having broken more than one wine-glass on that
particular evening: thought it not
unlikely he might have attempted
to hide the fragments under a
convenient palm. The whole thing
evidently was a dream. So youth
decided at the time, and the three
marriages took place within three months of one another.
It was some ten years later that Armitage told me the story that night
in the Club smoking-room. Mrs. Everett had just recovered from a
severe attack of rheumatic fever,
contracted the spring before in
Paris. Mrs. Camelford, whom
previously I had not met, certainly
seemed to me one of the handsomest women I have ever seen. Mrs.
Armitage--I knew her when she was Alice Blatchley--I found more
charming as a woman than she had been as a girl. What she could have
seen in Armitage I never could understand. Camelford made his mark
some ten years later: poor fellow, he did not live long to enjoy his
fame. Dick Everett has still another six years to work off; but he is
well behaved, and there is talk of a petition.
It is a curious story
altogether, I admit. As I said at the
beginning, I do not myself believe it.
End