The Autobiography of a Slander | Page 5

to hang!'"
"Then he gave a little forced laugh, got up quickly, wished me good-
bye, and was gone before I could put in a word."
"What a horrible story to tell in a drawing-room!" said Lena Houghton.
"I envy Gertrude less than ever."
"Poor girl! What a sad prospect it is for her!" said Mrs. O'Reilly with a
sigh. "Of course, my dear, you'll not repeat what I have just told you."
"Not for the world!" said Lena Houghton emphatically. "It is perfectly
safe with me."
The conversation was here abruptly ended, for the page threw open the
drawing-room door and announced 'Mr. Zaluski.'
"Talk of the angel," murmured Mrs. O'Reilly with a significant smile at
her companion. Then skilfully altering the expression of her face, she

beamed graciously on the guest who was ushered into the room, and
Lena Houghton also prepared to greet him most pleasantly.
I looked with much interest at Sigismund Zaluski, and as I looked I
partly understood why Miss Houghton had been prejudiced against him
at first sight. He had lived five years in England, and nothing pleased
him more than to be taken for an Englishman. He had had his silky
black hair closely cropped in the very hideous fashion of the present
day; he wore the ostentatiously high collar now in vogue; and he tried
to be sedulously English in every respect. But in spite of his
wonderfully fluent speech and almost perfect accent, there lingered
about him something which would not harmonise with that ideal of an
English gentleman which is latent in most minds. Something he lacked,
something he possessed, which interfered with the part he desired to
play. The something lacking showed itself in his ineradicable love of
jewellery and in a transparent habit of fibbing; the something possessed
showed itself in his easy grace of movement, his delightful readiness to
amuse and to be amused, and in a certain cleverness and rapidity of
idea rarely, if ever, found in an Englishman.
He was a little above the average height and very finely built; but there
was nothing striking in his aquiline features and dark grey eyes, and I
think Miss Houghton spoke truly when she said that he was 'Not even
good-looking.' Still, in spite of this, it was a face which grew upon most
people, and I felt the least little bit of regret as I looked at him, because
I knew that I should persistently haunt and harass him, and should do
all that could be done to spoil his life.
Apparently he had forgotten all about Russia and Bulgaria, for he
looked radiantly happy. Clearly his thoughts were engrossed with his
own affairs, which, in other words, meant with Gertrude Morley; and
though, as I have since observed, there are times when a man in love is
an altogether intolerable sort of being, there are other times when he is
very much improved by the passion, and regards the whole world with
a genial kindliness which contrasts strangely with his previous cool
cynicism.
"How delightful and home-like your room always looks!" he exclaimed,

taking the cup of tea which Mrs. O'Reilly handed to him. "I am horribly
lonely at Ivy Cottage. This house is a sort of oasis in the desert."
"Why, you are hardly ever at home, I thought," said Mrs. O'Reilly,
smiling. "You are the lion of the neighbourhood just now; and I'm sure
it is very good of you to come in and cheer a lonely old woman. Are
you going to play me something rather more lively to-day?"
He laughed.
"Ah! Poor Pestal! I had forgotten all about our last meeting."
"You were very much excited that day," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "I had no
idea that your political notions--"
He interrupted her
"Ah! no politics to-day, dear Mrs. O'Reilly. Let us have nothing but
enjoyment and harmony. See, now, I will play you something very
much more cheerful."
And sitting down to the piano, he played the bridal march from
'Lohengrin,' then wandered off into an improvised air, and finally
treated them to some recollections of the 'Mikado.'
Lena-Houghton watched him thoughtfully as she put on her gloves; he
was playing with great spirit, and the words of the opera rang in her
ears:-
For he's going to marry Yum-yum, Yum-yum, And so you had better
be dumb, dumb, dumb!
I knew well enough that she would not follow this moral advice, and I
laughed to myself because the whole scene was such a hollow mockery.
The placid benevolent-looking old lady leaning back in her arm-chair;
the girl in her blue gingham and straw hat preparing to go to the
afternoon service; the happy lover entering heart and soul into
Sullivan's charming music; the pretty room with its Chippendale

furniture, its aesthetic hangings,