“Odd!” thought Valgrand. “She seems to be really upset; what can I say to her, I wonder?”
But Lady Beltham made a great effort and sat up, looking at the actor with strained eyes, yet striving to force a smile.
“Thank you for coming, sir,” she murmured.
“It is not from you, madame, that the thanks should come,” Valgrand answered magnificently; “quite the reverse; I am infinitely grateful to you for having summoned me. Pray believe that I would have been here even sooner but for the delay inevitable on a first performance. But you are cold,” he broke off, for Lady Beltham was shivering.
“Yes, I am,” she said almost inaudibly, mechanically pulling a scarf over her shoulders. Valgrand was standing, taking in every detail of the squalid room in which he found himself with this woman whose wealth, and taste, and sumptuous home at Neuilly were notorious.
“I must clear up this mystery,” he thought, while he moved to the window to see that it was shut, and searched about, in vain, for a little coal to put upon the fire. While he was thus occupied Lady Beltham also rose, and going to the table poured out two cups of tea.
“Perhaps this will warm us, in the absence of anything better,” she said, making an effort to seem more amiable. “I am afraid it is rather strong, M. Valgrand; I hope you do not mind?” and, with a hand that trembled as if it held a heavy weight, she brought one of the cups to her guest.
“Tea never upsets me, madame,” Valgrand replied as he took the cup. “Indeed, I like it.” He came to the table and picked up the basin filled with castor sugar, making first as if to put some in her cup.
“Thanks, I never take sugar in tea,” she said.
Valgrand made a little grimace. “I admire you, but I will not imitate you,” he said, and unceremoniously tipped a generous helping of the sugar into his own cup.
Lady Beltham watched him with haggard eyes.
While they were sipping their tea, there was silence between them. Lady Beltham went back to the sofa, and Valgrand took a chair quite close to her. The conversation was certainly lacking in animation, he reflected whimsically; would the lady succeed in reducing him to the level of intelligence of a callow schoolboy? And she most certainly did seem to be horribly upset. He raised his eyes to her and found that she was gazing into infinity.
“One has got to draw upon psychology here,” Valgrand mused. “It is not me, myself, in whom this lovely creature takes any interest, or she would not have desired me to come in these trappings that make me look like Gurn; it’s his skin that I must stop in! But what is the proper attitude to adopt? The sentimental? Or the brutal? Or shall I appeal to her proselytising mania, and do the repentant sinner act? I’ll chance it; here goes!” and he rose to his feet.
As he moved, Lady Beltham looked round, uneasy, frightened, almost anguished: it seemed as though she realised that the moment had come for extraordinary things to happen.
Valgrand began to speak as he did upon the stage, restraining his effects at first and controlling his voice of set purpose to give full effect to it later on, modulating it cleverly.
“At your summons, madame, the prisoner Gurn has burst his bonds, broken through the door of his cell, and scaled his prison walls, triumphing over every obstacle with the single object of coming to your feet. He comes—” and he took a step nearer to her.
Lady Beltham stayed him with a gesture of terror.
“Don’t! Don’t! Please say no more!” she murmured.
“I’ve got a bite,” Valgrand said to himself. “Let’s try another bait,” and as if repeating a part he said dramatically: “Has your charitable heart turned towards the guilty soul that you fain would rescue from transgression? Men say you are so great a lady, so good, so near to heaven!”
Again Lady Beltham put up a protesting hand.
“Not that! Not that!” she said imploringly. “Oh, this is torture; go away!”
In her distress she was really superbly beautiful; but Valgrand knew too much about women of every temperament, neurotic, hysterical, and many another kind, not to suppose that here he was merely taking part in a sentimental comedy. He made a rough gesture and laid his hand on Lady Beltham’s arm.
“Do you not know me?” he said harshly. “I am Gurn! I will crush you to my heart!” and he tried to draw her close to him.
But this time Lady Beltham threw him off with the violence of despair. “Stand back! You brute!” she cried, in tones that there was no mistaking.
Valgrand recoiled in real dismay, and stood silent in the middle of the room, while Lady Beltham went to the wall farthest from him and leaned for support against it.
“Listen, madame,” Valgrand began presently, in dulcet tones that had the effect of making Lady Beltham try to control her emotion and murmur some faint words of apology. “Of course you know I am Valgrand, Valgrand the actor; I will apologise for having come to you like this, but I have some small excuse in your note!”
“My note?” she murmured. “Oh, yes; I forgot!”
Valgrand went on, seeming to pick his words.
“You have overestimated your strength, and now perhaps you find the resemblance too startling? Do not be frightened. But your letter came to me like healing balm upon a quivering wound. For weeks, long weeks—” The actor stopped, and mechanically rubbed his eyes. “It’s odd,” he thought to himself, “but I feel ever so much more inclined to go to sleep than to make love.” He shook off his real desire for sleep and began again. “I have loved you since the day I saw you first. I love you with an intensity—”
For some moments Lady Beltham had been looking at him with a calmer air, and eyes that
