The Hippodrome | Page 3

beyond
belief. The universal squalor customary in Spanish life had come as an
unpleasant shock.

When she started from Paris she had conjured visions of a triumphal
entry into her new career. Now she felt rather frightened and
desperately lonely, and the horrible room appeared like a bad omen for
the future. But, she reflected, after all, things might have been worse.
She had found one friend already. Certainly he had disagreeable
manners, especially after the artificial and invariable politeness of the
Frenchmen she had met while travelling, but at least he promised to be
useful. She picked herself up off the floor and began to consider the
disposal of her garments. Three or four wooden pegs, the only
accommodation to be seen, were obviously not sufficient to hold all her
clothes.
Presently there was an interlude, provided by the advent of the landlady.
Her dishevelment accorded well with the general look of the house; her
slippers clicked on the carpetless boards at every shuffling step, and she
carried a half-cold, slopped-over cup of coffee. To Arithelli's relief the
woman was mistress of a limited amount of French patois, and in
answer to a demand for a wardrobe of some kind, said she would send
up her son. He was a carpenter and would doubtless arrange something.
She gave a curious glance at the girl's witch-like beauty, a mixture of
suspicion and barely-admitted pity in her thoughts.
As to Emile's share in the drama she had naturally formed conclusions.
After a respectable interval her son arrived, and having delivered
himself of a remark in Spanish and being answered in French,
proceeded to hammer a row of enormous nails into the wall at regular
intervals. Arithelli sat upon her trunk, which she considered cleaner
than the chairs, and watched the process, her green eyes assuming a
curious veiled expression, a hank of copper-tinted hair falling upon her
shoulders.
There was something uncanny in her capacity for keeping still, and she
had none of the usual and natural fidgetiness of a young girl. In
whatever position of sitting or standing she found herself she was
capable of remaining for an indefinite period.
When the carpenter's manipulations had ceased she hung up her dresses
carefully, put the rest of her things back into the trunk, as being the

safest place, and sitting down again began to cry in a low, painful way,
utterly unlike the light April shower emotion of the ordinary woman.
Here she was in Barcelona, and the fulfilled desire seemed likely to
become already Dead Sea fruit. Supposing she got ill, or failed to
satisfy the audience. She would see her name to-morrow when she
went out in large letters on the posters of the Hippodrome:
"Arithelli, the beautiful English equestrienne," and underneath some
appalling picture of herself in columbine skirts, or jockey's silk jacket
and cap and top boots.
She had been crazy with delight over her success in getting the
engagement from the manager in Paris, and it had not occurred to her
that her appearance had had a great deal to do with her having been
accepted. She had signed a contract for a year; and looking forward a
year seemed a very long time. There had been opposition at home.
Her father had said, "I don't approve, but at the same time I don't know
in the least what else you can do. It's Hobson's choice. You can ride,
and you've got looks of the sort to take in a public career."
Her mother had been frankly brutal. Now that there was no money, she
said, she could not have three great girls at home doing nothing. She
had given them all a good education and they must try and make some
use of it. Neither of the younger sisters, Isobel and Valèrie, were old
enough to do anything for themselves, so Arithelli at the age of
twenty-four had taken her courage, which was the indomitable courage
of her race, in both hands, and launched herself on the world. The
bare-backed riding of her early days in Galway had proved a valuable
asset, and there was not a horse she could not manage.
Her slim figure seemed born to the saddle, and her nerve was as yet
unshaken.
The man who had engaged her had been more than a little astonished at
the composure with which she showed off the horses' paces, and went
through various tricks. As she was young and inexperienced, he would

get her cheaply; she could be taught all the stereotyped acts with very
little trouble, and her morbid style of beauty would be a draw in Spain.
There was nothing of the English miss about her appearance and few
people would have believed her to be only twenty-four. She had no
freshness, no beautè