"And you, Mr. Maltravers," turning quickly round"youhave you friends? Do you feel that there are, I do not say public, but private affections and duties, for which life is made less a possession than a trust?"
"Lady Florenceno!I have friends, it is true, and Cleveland is of the nearest; but the life within lifethe second self, in whom we vest the right and mastery over our own beingI know it not. But is it," he added, after a pause, "a rare privation? Perhaps it is a happy one. I have learned to lean on my own soul, and not look elsewhere for the reeds that a wind can break."
"Ah, it is a cold philosophyyou may reconcile yourself to its wisdom in the world, in the hum and shock of men; but in solitude, with Natureah, no! While the mind alone is occupied, you may be contented with the pride of stoicism; but there are moments when the /heart/ wakens as from a sleepwakens like a frightened childto feel itself alone and in the dark."
Ernest was silent, and Florence continued, in an altered voice: "This is a strange conversationand you must think me indeed a wild, romance-reading person, as the world is apt to call me. But if I liveIpshaw!life denies ambition to women."
"If a woman like you, Lady Florence, should ever love, it will be one in whose career you may perhaps find that noblest of all ambitionsthe ambition women only feelthe ambition for another!"
"Ah! but I shall never love," said Lady Florence, and her cheek grew pale as the starlight shone on it; "still, perhaps," she added quickly, "I may at least know the blessing of friendship. Why now," and here, approaching Maltravers, she laid her hand with a winning frankness on his arm" why now, should not we be to each other as if love, as you call it, were not a thing for earthand friendship supplied its place?there is no danger of our falling in love with each other! You are not vain enough to expect it in me, and I, you know, am a coquette; let us be friends, confidantsat least till you marry, or I give another the right to control my friendships and monopolise my secrets."
Maltravers was startledthe sentiment Florence addressed to him, he, in words not dissimilar, had once addressed to Valerie.
"The world," said he, kissing the hand that yet lay on his arm, "the world will"
"Oh, you men!the world, the world!Everything gentle, everything pure, everything noble, high-wrought and holyis to be squared, and cribbed, and maimed to the rule and measure of the world! The worldare you, too, its slave? Do you not despise its hollow cantits methodical hypocrisy?"
"Heartily!" said Ernest Maltravers, almost with fierceness. "No man ever so scorned its false gods and its miserable creedsits war upon the weakits fawning upon the greatits ingratitude to benefactorsits sordid league with mediocrity against excellence. Yes, in proportion as I love mankind, I despise and detest that worse than Venetian oligarchy which mankind set over them and call 'THE WORLD.'"
And then it was, warmed by the excitement of released feelings, long and carefully shrouded, that this man, ordinarily so calm and self-possessed, poured burningly and passionately forth all those tumultuous and almost tremendous thoughts, which, however much we may regulate, control, or disguise them, lurk deep within the souls of all of us, the seeds of the eternal war between the natural man and the artificial; between our wilder genius and our social conventionalities;thoughts that from time to time break forth into the harbingers of vain and fruitless revolutions, impotent struggles against destiny;thoughts that good and wise men would be slow to promulge and propagate, for they are of a fire which burns as well as brightens, and which spreads from heart to heartas a spark spreads amidst flax;thoughts which are rifest where natures are most high, but belong to truths that virtue dare not tell aloud. And as Maltravers spoke, with his eyes flashing almost intolerable lighthis breast heaving, his form dilated, never to the eyes of Florence Lascelles did he seem so great: the chains that bound the strong limbs of his spirit seemed snapped asunder, and all his soul was visible and towering, as a thing that has escaped slavery, and lifts its crest to heaven, and feels that it is free.
That evening saw a new bond of alliance between these two persons,young, handsome, and of opposite sexes, they agreed to be friends, and nothing more. Fools!
CHAPTER II
"Idem velle, et idem nolle, ea demum firma amicitia est."2
"/Carlos./ That letter.
/Princess Eboli./ Oh, I shall die. Return it instantly."
IT seemed as if the compact Maltravers and Lady Florence had entered into removed whatever embarrassment and reserve had previously existed. They now conversed with an ease and freedom not common in persons of different sexes before they have passed their grand climacteric. Ernest, in ordinary life, like most men of warm emotions and strong imagination, if not taciturn, was at least guarded. It was as if a weight were taken from his breast, when he found one person who could understand him best when he was most candid. His eloquencehis poetryhis intense and concentrated enthusiasm found a voice. He could talk to an individual as he would have written to the publica rare happiness to the men of books.
Florence seemed to recover her health and spirits as by a miracle; yet she was more gentle, more subdued, than of oldthere was less effort to shine, less indifference whether she shocked. Persons who had not met her before, wondered why she was dreaded in society. But at times a great natural irritability of tempera quick suspicion of the motives of those around heran imperious and obstinate vehemence of will, were visible to Maltravers, and served, perhaps, to keep him heart-whole. He regarded her through the eyes of the intellect, not those of the passionshe thought not of her as a womanher very talents, her very grandeur of idea and power of purpose, while they delighted him in conversation, diverted his imagination from dwelling on her beauty. He looked on her as something apart from her sex;a glorious creature spoilt by being a woman. He once told her so, laughing, and Florence considered it a compliment. Poor Florence, her scorn of her sex avenged her sex, and robbed her of her proper destiny!
Cleveland silently observed their intimacy, and listened with a quiet smile to the gossips who pointed out /tetes-a-tetes/ by the terrace, and loiterings by the lawn, and predicted what would come of it all. Lord Saxingham was blind. But his daughter was of age, in possession of her princely fortune, and had long made him sensible of her independence of temper. His lordship, however, thoroughly misunderstood the character of her pride, and felt fully convinced she would marry no one less than a duke; as for flirtations, he thought them natural and innocent amusements. Besides, he was very little at Temple Grove. He went to London every morning, after breakfasting in his own roomcame back to dine, play at whist, and talk good-humoured nonsense to Florence in his dressing-room, for the three minutes that took place between his sipping his wine-and-water and the appearance of his valet. As for the other guests, it was not their business to do more than gossip with each other; and so Florence and Maltravers went on their way unmolested, though not unobserved. Maltravers, not being himself in love, never fancied that Lady Florence loved him, or that she would be in any danger of doing so. This is a mistake a man often commitsa woman never. A woman always knows when she is loved, though she often imagines she is loved when she is not. Florence was not happy, for happiness is a calm feeling. But she was excited with a vague, wild, intoxicating emotion.