Red Pottage | Page 3

time, thanks. I shall take her down to supper. I
suppose--er--there is supper at this sort of thing, isn't there?"
"Of a kind. You need not be afraid of the claret; it isn't yours."
"Catch you giving your best at a crush," retorted Dick. "The Bishop's
moving. Hurry up."
CHAPTER II
But as he groped against the wall, two hands upon him fell, The King
behind his shoulder spake: "Dead man, thou dost not well."
--RUDYARD KIPLING.
Hugh had gone through the first room, and, after a quarter of an hour,
found himself in the door-way of the second. He had arrived late, and
the rooms were already thinning.
A woman in a pale-green gown was standing near the open window,
her white profile outlined against the framed darkness, as she listened
with evident amusement to the tall, ill-dressed man beside her.
Hugh's eyes lost the veiled scorn with which it was their wont to look at
society and the indulgent patronage which lurked in them for pretty
women.
Rachel West slowly turned her face towards him without seeing him,
and his heart leaped. She was not beautiful except with the beauty of
health, and a certain dignity of carriage which is the outcome of a head
and hands and body that are at unity with each other, and with a mind
absolutely unconscious of self. She had not the long nose which so
frequently usurps more than its share of the faces of the well-bred, nor

had she, alas! the short upper lip which redeems everything. Her
features were as insignificant as her coloring. People rarely noticed that
Rachel's hair was brown, and that her deep-set eyes were gray. But
upon her grave face the word "Helper" was plainly written--and
something else. What was it?
Just as in the faces of seamen we trace the onslaught of storm and sun
and brine, and the puckering of the skin round the eyes that comes of
long watching in half-lights, so in some faces, calm and pure as
Rachel's, on which the sun and rain have never beaten, there is an
expression betokening strong resistance from within of the brunt of a
whirlwind from without. The marks of conflict and endurance on a
young face--who shall see them unmoved! The Mother of Jesus must
have noticed a great difference in her Son when she first saw Him again
after the temptation in the wilderness.
Rachel's grave, amused glance fell upon Hugh. Their eyes met, and he
instantly perceived, to his astonishment, that she recognized him. But
she did not bow, and a moment later left the nearly empty rooms with
the man who was talking to her.
Hugh was excited out of recognition of his former half-scornful,
half-blasé self. That woman must be his wife. She would save him
from himself, this cynical, restless self, which never remained in one
stay. The half-acknowledged weakness in his nature unconsciously
flung itself upon her strength, a strength which had been tried. She
would love him, and uphold him. There would be no more yielding to
circumstances if that pure, strong soul were close beside him. He would
lean upon her, and the ugly by-paths of these last years would know
him no more. Her presence would leaven his whole life. In the
momentary insanity, which was perhaps, after all, only a prophetic
intuition, he had no fears, no misgivings. He thought that with that face
it was not possible that she could be so wicked as to refuse him.
"She will marry me," he said to himself. "She must."
Lady Newhaven touched him gently on the arm.

"I dared not speak to you before," she said. "Nearly every one has gone.
Will you take me down to supper? I am tired out."
He stared at her, not recognizing her.
"Have I vexed you?" she faltered.
And with a sudden horrible revulsion of feeling he remembered. The
poor chromo had fallen violently from its nail. But the nail
remained--ready. He took her into the supper-room and got her a glass
of champagne. She subsided on to a sofa beside another woman,
vaguely suspecting trouble in the air. He felt thankful that Rachel had
already gone. Dick, nearly the last, was putting on his coat, arranging to
meet Lord Newhaven the following morning at his club. They had been
in Australia together, and were evidently old friends.
Lord Newhaven's listless manner returned as Dick marched out. Hugh
had got one arm in his coat. An instinct of flight possessed him, a
vague horror of the woman in diamonds furtively watching him under
her lowered eyelids through the open door.
"Oh, Scarlett!" said Lord Newhaven, detaining him languidly, "I want
three minutes of your valuable time. Come into my study."
"Another cross-bow for Westhope Abbey?" said Hugh, trying