I know there are some men, and there may be some women, who will think that I was a fool to let her go. They will tell me that I ought not to have taken her at her word; that if I had waited, in a short time she would have recovered, and the breach might have been patched up, and the wound healed. I cannot tell if they are right; I only know that I obeyed her, and fled from her neighbourhood with no hope of ever coming back.
And so the lonely girl, left to herself with no one to confide in, brooded over her secret till it became like a viper gnawing at her heart. How she came to hear of the charlatan she had not told me. Somehow or other during one of her stays in her father’s house in town, the news reached her of the new science of psycho-analysis, and of the practitioner who undertook to do what Macbeth longed for in vain, to pluck from memory a rooted sorrow, and erase the writing from the tablets of the brain.
She went to him, of course, without consulting those about her, and from that moment she became his helpless prey. What arts he used to beguile her it is easy to guess. At first she believed in him, and when her suspicion began to be aroused she was already in his power, and dared not break with him.
By this time the Earl of Ledbury and the duenna had put their heads together and decided that Lady Violet must pass a season in London, and be seen in the great world. In consequence she had much more liberty. She made some girl friends whom she was allowed to go about with, and among them were not a few who held modern notions on the rights of girlhood, and were ready to encourage and to screen her in the courses into which she was compelled by her taskmaster. Her most intimate comrade willingly became a member of the Domino Club.
But not even to her most intimate friend dared Violet disclose the true situation. While she still trusted in Weathered and believed in his power to heal her soul of sin, she had written the whole story of our love in letters which the scoundrel now refused to give up, except as the price of a far worse surrender. There was only one being in the world whom she could appeal to without the risk of further shame. And thus we met again.
The medical directory gave her my address, and she wrote to me at Sir Frank Tarleton’s. But her letter begged for a strictly private interview in such urgent language that I thought it safer not to let her come there. I asked her to meet me at the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue, as though by accident, and I took her to the little room which I could call my own.
Nearly four years had gone by since our tragic parting, but when we stood face to face again they did not seem four hours. Violet’s face changed from red to white and back again as she half held out a trembling hand and dropped it woefully; and my hand trembled too as I raised it to my hat. I thought it best to say nothing except the few words necessary to explain where we were going, and she seemed glad to keep silent till we were safely there.
The story she had to tell was so appalling, and the effort of telling it cost her so much, that naturally a good deal was left out. Certainly I quite failed to gather from her that Weathered had induced her to make her confession to him in letters. I supposed that he had taken it down from her lips. It is the familiar practice of West End consultants, who see their patients at long intervals, to make a careful entry of all the particulars of the case for future reference; and I supposed that Weathered had taken advantage of this to make a damning record in his case-book, which would be quite sufficient to enable him to blast his victims’ reputation, although it might not be evidence in a lawyer’s eyes.
The truth is that I was myself too agitated to go into the matter carefully even if Violet had been in a state to be cross-examined. The whole interview resolved itself into a series of wild outbreaks on her part, and attempts to assure her on mine. Indeed, I hardly know that we arrived at any clear understanding of what she was asking of me, or what I was promising her. The one thing clear to me was that the only way to save her would be for me to get at the doctor’s case-book and destroy it. And to do that I must obtain his keys.
What Violet had told me about the Domino Club and their meetings in that accursed place gave me my plan. I would do what I could not ask her to do. All that was necessary was that I should be able to approach Weathered without putting him on his guard. I must disguise myself in a costume with which he was familiar, one which would allure him, and in which I could play the part of the sought rather than the seeker. And so the fatally easy plot took shape.