about this matter. You needn’t throw away your cigar, Frank. You’re well out of the business, and you can stop here.”
“No, he can’t,” said Magdalen. “He’s in the business, too.”
Mr. Francis Clare had hitherto remained modestly in the background. He now came forward with a face expressive of speechless amazement.
“Yes,” continued Magdalen, answering his blank look of inquiry with perfect composure. “You are to act. Miss Marrable and I have a turn for business, and we settled it all in five minutes. There are two parts in the play left to be filled. One is Lucy, the waiting-maid; which is the character I have undertaken — with papa’s permission,” she added, slyly pinching her father’s arm; “and he won’t say No, will he? First, because he’s a darling; secondly, because I love him, and he loves me; thirdly, because there is never any difference of opinion between us (is there?); fourthly, because I give him a kiss, which naturally stops his mouth and settles the whole question. Dear me, I’m wandering. Where was I just now? Oh yes! explaining myself to Frank — ”
“I beg your pardon,” began Frank, attempting, at this point, to enter his protest.
“The second character in the play,” pursued Magdalen, without taking the smallest notice of the protest, “is Falkland — a jealous lover, with a fine flow of language. Miss Marrable and I discussed Falkland privately on the window-seat while the rest were talking. She is a delightful girl — so impulsive, so sensible, so entirely unaffected. She confided in me. She said: ‘One of our miseries is that we can’t find a gentleman who will grapple with the hideous difficulties of Falkland.’ Of course I soothed her. Of course I said: ‘I’ve got the gentleman, and he shall grapple immediately.’ — ’Oh heavens! who is he?’ — ’Mr. Francis Clare.’ — ’And where is he?’ — ’In the house at this moment.’ — ’Will you be so very charming, Miss Vanstone, as to fetch him?’ — ’I’ll fetch him, Miss Marrable, with the greatest pleasure.’ I left the window-seat — I rushed into the morning-room — I smelled cigars — I followed the smell — and here I am.”
“It’s a compliment, I know, to be asked to act,” said Frank, in great embarrassment. “But I hope you and Miss Marrable will excuse me — ”
“Certainly not. Miss Marrable and I are both remarkable for the firmness of our characters. When we say Mr. So-and-So is positively to act the part of Falkland, we positively mean it. Come in and be introduced.”
“But I never tried to act. I don’t know how.”
“Not of the slightest consequence. If you don’t know how, come to me and I’ll teach you.”
“You!” exclaimed Mr. Vanstone. “What do you know about it?”
“Pray, papa, be serious! I have the strongest internal conviction that I could act every character in the play — Falkland included. Don’t let me have to speak a second time, Frank. Come and be introduced.”
She took her father’s arm, and moved on with him to the door of the greenhouse. At the steps, she turned and looked round to see if Frank was following her. It was only the action of a moment; but in that moment her natural firmness of will rallied all its resources — strengthened itself with the influence of her beauty — commanded — and conquered. She looked lovely: the flush was tenderly bright in her cheeks; the radiant pleasure shone and sparkled in her eyes; the position of her figure, turned suddenly from the waist upward, disclosed its delicate strength, its supple firmness, its seductive, serpentine grace. “Come!” she said, with a coquettish beckoning action of her head. “Come, Frank!”
Few men of forty would have resisted her at that moment. Frank was twenty last birthday. In other words, he threw aside his cigar, and followed her out of the greenhouse.
As he turned and closed the door — in the instant when he lost sight of her — his disinclination to be associated with the private theatricals revived. At the foot of the housesteps he stopped again; plucked a twig from a plant near him; broke it in his hand; and looked about him uneasily, on this side and on that. The path to the left led back to his father’s cottage — the way of escape lay open. Why not take it?
While he still hesitated, Mr. Vanstone and his daughter reached the top of the steps. Once more, Magdalen looked round — looked with her resistless beauty, with her all-conquering smile. She beckoned again; and again he followed her — up the steps, and over the threshold. The door closed on them.
So, with a trifling gesture of invitation on one side, with a trifling act of compliance on the other: so — with no knowledge in his mind, with no thought in hers, of the secret still hidden under the journey to London — they took the way which led to that secret’s discovery, through many a darker winding that was yet to come.
Chapter V
Mr. Vanstone’S inquiries into the proposed theatrical entertainment at Evergreen Lodge were answered by a narrative of dramatic disasters; of which Miss Marrable impersonated the innocent cause, and in which her father and mother played the parts of chief victims.
Miss Marrable was that hardest of all born tyrants — an only child. She had never granted a constitutional privilege to her oppressed father and mother since the time when she cut her first tooth. Her seventeenth birthday was now near at hand; she had decided on celebrating it by acting a play; had issued her orders accordingly; and had been obeyed by her docile parents as implicitly as usual. Mrs. Marrable gave up the drawing-room to be laid waste for a stage and a theater. Mr. Marrable secured the services of a respectable professional person to drill the young ladies and gentlemen, and to accept all the other responsibilities incidental to creating a dramatic world out of a domestic chaos. Having further accustomed themselves to the breaking of furniture and the staining of walls — to thumping, tumbling, hammering, and screaming; to doors always banging, and to footsteps perpetually running up and down stairs — the nominal master and mistress of the house fondly believed that their chief troubles were over. Innocent and fatal delusion! It is one thing in private society to set up the stage and choose the play — it is another thing altogether to find the actors. Hitherto, only the small preliminary annoyances proper to the occasion had shown themselves at Evergreen Lodge. The sound and serious troubles were all to come.
“The Rivals” having been chosen as the play, Miss Marrable, as a matter of course, appropriated to herself the part of “Lydia Languish.” One of her favored swains next secured “Captain Absolute,” and another laid violent hands on “Sir Lucius O’Trigger.” These two were followed by an accommodating spinster relative, who accepted the heavy dramatic responsibility of “Mrs. Malaprop” — and there the theatrical proceedings came to a pause. Nine more speaking characters were left to be fitted with representatives; and with that unavoidable necessity the serious troubles began.
All the friends of the family suddenly became unreliable people, for the first time in their lives. After encouraging the idea of the play, they declined the personal sacrifice of acting in it — or, they accepted characters, and then broke down in the effort to study them — or they volunteered to take the parts which they knew were already engaged, and declined the parts which were waiting to be acted — or they were afflicted with weak constitutions, and mischievously fell ill when they were wanted at rehearsal — or they had Puritan relatives in the background, and, after slipping into their parts cheerfully at the week’s beginning, oozed out of them penitently, under serious family pressure, at the week’s end. Meanwhile, the carpenters hammered and the scenes
