CHAPTER XV
It was the night on which Adrien had returned to town. Jessica, ignorant that he had ever left it, had found her way to his chambers, and waited there patiently and hungrily in the hope of once more seeing him. As the clock struck eight she decided that it was useless to remain any longer, and accordingly retraced her steps through the crowded thoroughfares.
Anything would be better than waiting like this, she thought despairingly.
After the silence of the deserted street, the crowds, pushing and jostling her, brought her almost a feeling of satisfaction. Even if she were alone, at least she could not be solitary while the world rushed past her, in its eager search for pleasure.
At one point near Charing Cross a few curious loafers had collected on either side of the brilliantly-lit façade of a theatre, over which, in coloured lights, was the name, "The Casket."
As Jessica stood watching listlessly, indeed almost unconsciously, a handsome motor rolled up before the imposing entrance. The little group surged back before the white-gloved commissionaire, who hurried forward, but the door of the car had already been thrown open by the chauffeur, and a gentleman and lady stepped out.
At the sight of one of them, Jessica's indifference became changed to a feverish eagerness. The colour left her face, her eyes dilated, her lips parted. She swayed back, half fearful, half desirous that he should see her; for it was he, the man for whom she had waited so long, the man she had enshrined within her heart.
Adrien, all his doubts as to the possibility of winning Constance's love returning to him in full force once he had left her presence, had come down to the theatre with two objects. One to distract his thoughts from his hopes and fears, the other to arrange with Jasper for the entire transfer of the theatre to Ada. He meant this to be the last night as far as the Casket and Ada Lester were concerned.
Absorbed in his own reflections, he hardly saw the group of humble spectators, and did not appear to hear their murmurs of recognition, but turned and held out his hand to assist the lady who accompanied him.
Jessica's eyes flashed fiercely as they wandered from his face to that of the woman beside him.
"She is beautiful," she murmured beneath her breath. "She is beautiful, and with him!"
All the love which had been aroused in her passionate heart surged up, and, for the minute, almost turned to jealous hate. "Beautiful, and with him." It was agony to her to see him as he bent down to catch some light words of his companion, whose perfumed satin cloak swept by the crouching girl, as the pair passed into the theatre.
Full well she knew that she herself could never hope to hear his voice, or feel the pressure of his hand; yet it was with the bitterness of death that she saw him pass her by in the company of this beautiful woman. Mingled also with her jealousy was another feeling, that of partial recognition. For the moment--she could not remember where--but at some time in the past, she fancied she had seen that dark, highly-coloured face, and heard the harsh vulgar voice.
As Leroy turned from the motor, she heard him say to the chauffeur:
"Be here at eleven."
"At eleven," she thought, "then I will be here too, and see him once more."
She hung on the outskirts of the group and listened with greedy ears for any chance word that might arise about her idol.
"A reg'lar beauty, I should just think so," said a man, addressing another who had passed a remark on the lady in question. "She's the biggest star on the stage, you bet! Ada Lester knows her value, and ain't likely to forget it neither."
The other man ventured a remark concerning the lady's escort.
"Him? That's Leroy--son of Lord Barminster--the richest of 'em all. She belongs to him, she does; so does the whole theatre. Costs him a pretty penny, you bet. But lor' bless yer, he don't mind! Can't spend his money fast enough. My brother's one of the shifters; and the things he cud tell yer about 'er, and 'er temper, 'ud make yer 'air stand on end."
Jessica moved away, while members of the group aired their knowledge of the rapidly entering, smartly-dressed audience.
"That's Mr. Leroy's friend, Mr. Vermont," commenced the first speaker again. "I've 'eard tell 'e does all the work and pays out all the other one's money; but he ain't no class himself--he's not a real tip-top swell like them others." He pointed to a little group of white-waistcoated, immaculately-dressed men, now standing on the steps of the vestibule. "Lord! this 'ere Casket'll be crammed with all the swells to-night--'cos it's the fashion."
"So Ada Lester is the fashion now, eh?" commented his companion, who had probably known her in her poorer days, and therefore was inclined to be interested in her.
"Not 'arf, she ain't," agreed the man, with the Londoner's pride in laying down the law on the subject. "She's got a house like a duchess, and can eat off gold or silver if she chooses; an' all for her face, for she can't act for nuts. I've seen 'er so I know!" With which lordly criticism, he closed the subject.
As for Jessica, sick at heart with jealousy, she turned up one of the side streets to commence her long wait for Adrien Leroy; while the group dispersed, laughing and chattering.
The Casket was filled now to its utmost capacity. It was the first night of a new piece. The unfortunate comedy which Ada had so strongly condemned had been withdrawn, and a so-called musical farce--consisting of very bad music, and still worse comedy--hastily put on in its stead. As usual, no expense had been spared in the mounting, and Adrien's money had been poured out like water on extraordinary costumes, gorgeous, highly-coloured scenery, and a hundred embellishments for this new piece of elaborate and senseless burlesque, Prince Bon-Bon. But with all its deficiencies as regarded culture, the piece appeared to be a success.
Ada Lester could dance, if she could not act; and she could shout a vulgar patter song, if she could not sing; therefore after a tumultuous first act, during which she had been "Hongkored"--as she expressed it--to her heart's content, she was standing in the wings, with a cigarette between her painted lips, radiant with content and gratified vanity.
"Well, Shelton," said Leroy, as his friend approached him, where he leaned against a stack of scenery. "What do you think of the show this time?"
"As beautiful as it is senseless," was that gentleman's sarcastic reply. "Heaven alone knows what it cost you," he added.
"I certainly don't know myself," admitted Adrien, knocking the ash from his cigarette. "Ask Paxhorn--he wrote the lyrics, and had the management; or better still Vermont, whom I'm going to see myself presently. But this will be a success, Mortimer, and I shall make a fortune."
"Yes," said Shelton quietly, "for Paxhorn and Vermont. Well, it's no business of mine, of course."
He turned to Ada, who had been tapping her foot angrily during this little conversation. "Well, Miss Lester," he said, "haven't you a word for me to-night?"
She glared at him viciously, for Mortimer was not a favourite of hers.
"Yes," she snapped. "I hate the sight of you!"
Both men laughed as though amused.
"That was a fair hit," said Shelton, with mock grief in his voice. "Don't kill me right out, Miss Lester. Let me open a bottle of champagne for you."
"I don't want it," said the popular dancer, her eyes flashing angrily. Then, turning her back on him, she said to Adrien, "Ain't you going to the front to see me dance?"
"I can see you from here," was his answer. "You look charming, my dear Ada; doesn't she, Mortimer?"
"Yes, and as good as she is beautiful," declared that gentleman, making her a low bow.
With a furious glance at him, and a furtive look at Adrien, she passed them, and, accompanied by a burst of music from the orchestra and a storm of clapping from the audience, she commenced her dance.
Shelton watched her with a sneer.
"Hark! how they applaud," he said, glancing up at the crowded and delighted house. "They seem to admire her, anyway. Long live Miss Ada, Queen of dancers. Adrien, why do you put up with that painted vixen?"
Leroy smiled at his sudden change of tone.
"Don't let her hear you," he said. "And don't worry yourself about me, old fellow."
"You're afraid of her," continued his friend. "Oh, yes, you may think it an impertinence if you like, but I know you are. You'd face a cannon's mouth sooner than that woman's angry abuse. You dread a scene as a musician does a false note. For me, I'm sick of the whole world."
"Why do you remain in it, then?" asked Adrien, laughing.
"For the same reason as yourself," replied the cynic. "Neither of us know what the next will be like."
Adrien laughed, but before he could explain to his friend his plan with regard to Ada, a crowd of pretty dancers in silver gauze surrounded him, begging for real bon-bons, instead of the painted property sweets given out to them.
"Do you girls think I am made of bon-bons, like the piece?" he said, waving them back. "Why, you'll make yourselves ill."
"Oh, Mr. Leroy," pouted one, "we've danced so hard, too!"
"Go to Mr. Vermont, then," was the indolent reply; "he'll give you what you want," and with a rush they swept back on to the stage.
"Always Jasper," murmured Shelton sadly, as his friend, with a genial wave of the hand, picked his way past cardboard castles and paper trees, till he disappeared through the door that would lead him to his stage-box.
At eleven o'clock the play was over; the superbly-dressed women, with their escorts, were descending the wide staircase, laughing and discussing the piece, which seemed likely to become the success of the season. Outside, the pavement was filled with the gay, excited crowds. Whistles resounded for taxis hovering in the immediate vicinity, like steel-plated birds of prey. Carriages were being shouted for, and throughout all the bustle and excitement, a slight girlish form doggedly kept its vigil near the main entrance.
The crowd of pleasure-seekers and onlookers had melted away, and the attendants were busy turning out the lights, when the glass doors swung open again, and three or four gentlemen came out, laughing and talking.
"Quite a success," said one of them.
"Yes, indeed," from another. "Paxhorn, I congratulate you again, old man."
"Thank you," replied the author, his face beaming with satisfaction. "Thanks to Leroy, it will run for a hundred nights, and my name will be made."
"On Bon-bons," sneered Shelton; "what a thing it is to be a popular playwright."
"Better to be a popular dancer," whispered Paxhorn, as the door swung open again, and Adrien came out, with Ada Lester on his arm, Mr. Jasper Vermont following behind them.
"All here?" asked Leroy in his clear voice, as they descended the steps to where the motors stood waiting. "Come along"--turning to the rest of the party--"we are all going to supper to celebrate Ada's triumph. Paxhorn, dismiss your car, old man, and come with us; we want to hear the rustle of your laurels."
Laughingly, they entered the vehicles, while, above all the others, rang the harsh voice of the woman, and Jessica, hearing it, shuddered involuntarily. Then they were gone.
Suddenly, while the girl's eyes were straining after them, the last motor stopped, and Jasper Vermont jumped out and hastened back into the theatre. More out of idle curiosity than anything else, or perhaps again prompted by the guardian angel of Leroy's honour, she waited to see him come out again. In a few minutes he re-emerged, bearing in his hand a small roll of papers, one of which he was reading, with a malicious smile on his face.
Jessica unwittingly stood in his path, and he crashed into her with such force as to knock his hat to the ground. With an oath he struggled to regain it, pushing her roughly aside.
"Out of my way, girl," he exclaimed, thinking she was about to beg from him. "I have nothing for you."
At the sound of his voice Jessica's face whitened, and she turned away, frightened, and trembling; as she did so, her foot struck against something light lying on the kerb. She stooped and found it was a small roll of papers, part of those which had been in the gentleman's hand, and which he had been studying so attentively.
She did not trouble to open it, but slipped it into the bosom of her dress and walked dreamily away.