'If I were to die now,' so ran her musings, 'all the results of my life's work would, by the present tenor of my will, go to my husband. He would care nothing for my fame or honour; his interests would centre round the money only. And with that money he would amuse himself with La Marina or any other new fancy of the hour; possibly my own jewels would be scattered as gifts among his favourites, and I doubt if even my poor, faithful Spartan would find a home for his old age! This must be seen to. I have made a mistake and it must be remedied. Fortunately the law, which is generally so unjust to women, has been forced into permitting our unhappy sex to have at least an individual right over our own money, whether earned or inherited; formerly we were not allowed to have any property apart from our lords and masters! Good heavens! What a heavy score we women shall run up against men at the Day of Judgment!'
The hours wore on, and by the time she was dressed for Lady Dexter's 'at home' she was in one of her most brilliant, vivacious moods. Emily, the maid, stared at her in rapt fascination, as arrayed in the richly-embroidered dress of jewel-work, with its train of soft satin to match, springing from the shoulders and falling in pliant folds to the ground, she stood before her mirror fastening a star of diamonds among her luxuriant hair. Through the rare old lace that fringed the sleeves of her gown, her fair white arms shone like the arms of the marble Psyche; her eyes were dark and luminous, her lips red, her cheeks faintly flushed with excitement. A single branch of 'Annunciation' lilies garlanded her dress from waist to bosom, and as she regarded her own fair image she smiled sorrowfully, mentally apostrophising herself thus:—
'No, you are not quite bad-looking, Delicia, but you have one horrible defect—you have got what is called an "expressive" face. That is a mistake! You should not have any expression; it is "bad form" to look interested, surprised, or indignant. A beautiful nullity is what men like—a nullity of face combined with a nullity of brain. You should paint and powder and blacken your eyelashes, and you should also be ready to show your ankles, "by accident," if necessary. The men would find you charming then, Delicia; they would say you had "go" in you; but to be simply a student, with ideas of your own about the world in general, and to write down these ideas in books, which give you a fame and position equal to the fame and position of a man,—this makes you a bore in their eyes, Delicia!—an unmitigated nuisance, and they wish you were well out of their way! If you could only have been a "Living Picture" at the Palace Theatre, or turned out your arms and twiddled your toes in front of the footlights with as few garments on as possible, you would have been voted "clever," Delicia! But being a successful rival with men in the struggle for fame, they vent their spite by calling you a fool. And you are a fool, my dear, to have ever married one of them!'
Smiling at herself disdainfully, she gathered up her fan and gloves, and descended to her carriage. No message had come from Carlyon to say whether or no he meant to be present at the party that evening; but his wife had attained to such an appreciable height of cool self-control, that she now viewed the matter with complete indifference. Arrived at Lord Dexter's stately house in Park Lane, she went to the ladies' room to throw off her wraps, and there found, all alone, and standing well in front of the long mirror, so as to completely block the view for anyone else, a brilliant-looking, painted personage in a pale-green costume, glittering with silver, who glanced up as she entered and surveyed her pearl embroideries with greedy admiration.
'What an awfully sweet gown!' she burst out frankly. 'I always say what I think, though I am told it is rude. It's awfully sweet! I should like just such a one to dance in!'
Delicia looked at her in a haughty silence. The other woman laughed.
'I suppose you think it pretty cool of me making remarks on your clothes,' she said; 'but I'm a "celebrity," you see, and I always say what I like and do what I like. I'm Violet de Gascon;—you know!—the "Marina."'
Frozen into a rigid state of calm, Delicia loosened her lace wrappings with chilly fingers, and allowed the servant in attendance to take them from her.
'Are you?' she then said, slowly and bitterly, 'I congratulate you! As you have given me your name, I may as well give you mine. I am Lady Carlyon.'
'No!' cried 'La Marina,' known in polite society as 'Miss de Gascon,' and to her father in Eastcheap as 'my gal, Jewlia Muggins.' 'No! You don't mean to say you're the famous Delicia Vaughan? Why, I've read all your books, and cried over them, I can tell you! Well now, to think of it!' And her hard, brilliant face was momentarily softened in sudden interest. 'Why, all these swagger people are asked to meet you here to-night, and I'm the paid artiste. I'm to have forty guineas to dance twice before the assembled company! Tra-la-la!' and she executed a sudden lively pirouette. 'I am pleased! I'd rather dance before you than the Queen!'