"I can't have you dining with Alicia March. I always hated it, and I find that man Colegrove is at her house a great deal. You must have a headache, cold or something by which you can excuse yourself. I will go; I am not better than Alicia March, but you are ten thousand times better than she."
Usually Lady Carlyon could reason with her husband, but on this occasion he was quite intractable. Lady Carlyon therefore wrote a note of excuse and secluded herself for the day, alleging illness. Sir Percy went to the dinner, and found an odd conglomeration of guests, very much like that collected by the rich man in the Bible for his son's wedding. Alicia was perfectly conscious of the collection she had made, but bore herself with her usual dignity and outward composure. Even General Talbott, who had felt a secret uneasiness concerning Alicia's reception in Washington, was conscious that her dinner guests were of a somewhat mixed variety, and hinted as much to her the next day. He even mentioned that Colegrove's visits to the house might be misunderstood. Alicia was of the same opinion. Colegrove still possessed for her the interest a woman feels for a man who is deeply interested in her, and, besides, Colegrove was the only man she had ever known who understood her inability to make any income she might have meet her expenses. He never scolded her, but seemed to think her continual want of money an amiable weakness. Nevertheless Alicia, growing frightened at the changing attitude of society toward her, wrote a note to Colegrove imploring him not to come again to see her. In reply, Colegrove called to ask for an explanation. He caught Alicia just as she was entering the house. Without waiting for an invitation, he walked into the great drawing-room, where their last private interview had occurred, nearly three years before.
"Of course," said Alicia, when they were out of hearing, though not out of sight, "you are trying to compromise me."
"All is fair in love," replied Colegrove calmly; "you had better let me come openly, and ask me to dinner."
Alicia would make no promise, but when she was alone in her boudoir she reflected upon the strangeness of the American character. Two Americans loved her; one had made a stupendous sacrifice for her, and the other was pursuing her with an ingenuity of persistence, a handiness of resource, which was new and puzzling to her English mind. And then as women do who know how to think, she began to consider with a kind of sad wonder why she could not emancipate herself from the influence of Colegrove, and from that of Sir Percy Carlyon, and, what was strangest of all, from the memory of Roger March, and did not realise that men only have the art of forgetting.
"No woman, alas! forgets," she thought to herself, and, rising, went to her husband's rooms, and, closing the door after her, she walked about them aimlessly. Roger March had done her a fearful injury; such quixotism as his could benefit no one. She felt a deep resentment against him, but that was far from forgetting him. In the four years and a half of her life with Roger March there had been a continual sense of discomfort; his personality, agreeable though it was, seemed perpetually at war with her secret self. She had taken him as the necessary adjunct of his fortune, and she should have been glad to get rid of him, if only she could forget him. But she found herself continually thinking about him, wondering what kind of existence he led, and if he ever felt any regret as to what he had done. She had thought herself the coolest-headed and best-balanced of women, but she seemed, as she grew older, to be losing rather than gaining her self-possession.
Things had come to such a pass by the end of the season that Alicia was slipping back socially. One thing which she felt necessary for her to do, if she was to remain in Washington, was to have Lady Carlyon seen at her house. She could not for ever go on giving invitations which were cleverly evaded. The only thing was to seek Lady Carlyon and bring the matter to an issue. To do this it would be necessary to take Lady Carlyon unawares, for she would certainly excuse herself if Mrs. March called at the Embassy at an unusual time, and there would be no chance for her if she went at the customary visiting hour. Alicia therefore watched for her opportunity and determined to seize it anywhere and at any time. It came most unexpectedly.
One night she and General Talbott were at the theatre, and when the first act of the play was half over Sir Percy and Lady Carlyon appeared in an upper box alone. Sir Percy, after seating his wife comfortably, said a few words and went out, carrying his hat and great-coat. Lady Carlyon, sitting far back in the box, watched the play and was quite unobserved by any one in the audience except Alicia March. When General Talbott went out of the theatre after the curtain came down on the first act, Alicia, seeing the way clear before her, climbed the narrow stairs to the box and walked in on Lady Carlyon. Never did Lady Carlyon have a more unwelcome guest, or one with whom she less desired a private conversation. She greeted Alicia politely, however, and said:
"Sir Percy will return in a little while. He had an appointment for half-an-hour this evening, and brought me to the play to await him."
"I am very glad," replied Alicia in her sweetest voice, "that he is absent, because I wish to ask you a question of the most private nature."