The Warwickshire Herald. — 1894-11-29 (Birmingham, West Midlands, England)

CHAPTER XXV.  DISENCHANTED  Hilda asked Egerton that afternoon if he cared to escort her to the Haymarket, but he pleaded his previous engagement, and he would certainly have made an engagement on the spot if there had been none in reality. Hilda believed it a made-up excuse when she saw Bertie at the theatre with Louis Davenant, but she smiled to herself. Vogue la yolere. Claude must know of this, of course; his young wife would hardly dare to deceive him in a matter of which he was safe to hear from someone. To be sure, there was no harm at present! Hilda herself was not satisfied with the interview of that afternoon. Was she losing ground with Egerton, or was it only some mood? Perhaps he was vexed about Bertie's going to the theatre to-night, and ho had only known of it too late to interfere without giving to the matter undue significance. Whatever the reason of the change in him, he was certainly more of the "friend" and less of the "lover" than usual, Was it a fit of self-disgust? Well, it would pass; men of the finer calibre were subject to that sort of thing, but these compunctious were like the good resolutions of drunkards—they did not last. Only, Hilda was forced to confess that her promised triumph was still as far off as ever; she had not yet got beyond a certain point. Would she ever do so? Something seemed always to hold him back from entire surrender. There seemed to be no thought of being her lover in any other sense than he was now. Was this because honour was stronger than passion, or because passion had not complete mastery Was that child, Hilda asked herself, who did not even appear to reproach him for his failure, still a sheet-anchor of faith to him ? But so vain a woman as Hilda Lockwood was—though it was vanity of a type not open and manifest—could hardly be grateful to a lover for a reticence which she did not believe arose from respect for her, but from respect for his own and his wife's honour, which his passion was not strong enough to override. "I will conquer," Hilda said to herself, leaning back in her box, and watching Bertie, "I will triumph! If that girl is between us, after all, he shall forget her." Was Claude Egerton's mood that day, as Hilda conjectured, a fit of self-disgust; or was it partly that—aroused perhaps by that interview with Bertie in the moming,—and partly an unrecognised step— perhaps not the first—towards disenchantment? Heaven knows what it was—a look, a tone, a word spoken; or none of these, but the ever-deepening sense of the difference between the very atmosphere of Sortie's presence and Hilda's; a feeling—when did it first enter 7—was it recognised now 7—that the Hilda of four years ago and the Hilda of to-day were separated by many things ? Well, the man knew nothing—felt nothing, definitely; but a light brlgsze will ruffle a surface current, and this current ran only on the surface of Egerton's life, though he did not comprehend this. He was troubled, restless, mentally unstrung. He turned into a club when he left the house where he had been visiting, and played till the small hours. He was not a gambler; as a rule, he cared nothing at all for card playing; but he wanted distraction, and there was nothing else to serve his purpose at this hour. The sun was gilding the eastern sky wheu he walked home.  Bertie was still awake. She had not closett her eyes since she lay down, but stared with wide open, tearless eyes at the low-turned lamp. Her brain was throbbing, but not with a kind of excitement that made her restless; it was a dreary, hopeless sort of feeling. Incidents of the evening were running confusedly in her head: of the play; of Louis Davenant ; things he had said—trivial things, perhaps; his manner; of people in front, especially Hilda Lockwood—how lovely she was—it was no wonder Claude loved her! but always in the background of her thoughts was that r agedy of Mrs. Scott• Muir.• People often took ~al to get sleep; it must be a great temptation t . lye perfect ease from that burning and aching of the heart, and the pulses beating, beating, and that sort of tension of the brain. Mrs. Scott-Muir took the chloral, and went to sleep and never woke! How awful to die in one's sleep !—to wake—where ? How? How would you know you were dead, and not dreaming? But that poor creature who died? They said it was a mistake, she had taken too much chloral. It might have been suicide after all, but then no one knew, no one ever would know. There was no disgrace. One life out of millions! It seemed nothing! It couldn't be wrong to take one's own life if it was to do a great good to someone loved, and to save that one, perhaps, from sin; and the dead lips would keep their secret till the Last Day. No one would ever know!  She heard the opening of the door, almost noiseless though it was, and turning, saw the tall figure coming to the bedside. Egerton paused, and bent down to her.  "Not asleep yet, sweetheart?" he said, softly. f'io; 1 WHO restless, wad got thinking about stupid things." _ _  He-did not ask "What things ?" she noticed that, bough she had not spoken to provoke the question —rather the contrary, but he lifted her up to his breast, and held her there for some minutes before be laid her back on the pillow, kissing her first, tenderly; then he turned away, and passed on to his dressing-room.