Féraz said no more,—but there was a certain strangeness in his brother’s manner that filled him with an indefinable uneasiness. In his own quiet fashion he strove to distract El-Râmi’s mind from the persistent fixity of whatever unknown purpose seemed to so mysteriously engross him,—and whenever they were together at meals or at other hours of the day he talked in as light and desultory a way as possible on all sorts of different topics in the hope of awakening his brother’s interest more keenly in external affairs. He read much and thought more, and was a really brilliant conversationalist when he chose, in spite of his dreamy fancies—but he was obliged to admit to himself that his affectionate endeavours met with very slight success. True, El-Râmi appeared to give his attention to all that was said, but it was only an appearance,—and Féraz saw plainly enough that he was not really moved to any sort of feeling respecting the ways and doings of the outer world. And when, one morning, Féraz read aloud the account of the marriage of Sir Frederick Vaughan, Bart., with Idina, only daughter of Jabez Chester of New York, he only smiled indifferently and said nothing.
“We were invited to that wedding;”—commented Féraz.
“Were we?” El-Râmi shrugged his shoulders and seemed totally oblivious of the fact.
“Why of course we were”—went on Féraz cheerfully—“And at your bidding I opened and read the letter Sir Frederick wrote you, which said that as you had prophesied the marriage he would take it very kindly if you would attend in person the formal fulfilment of your prophecy. And all you did in reply was to send a curt refusal on plea of other engagements. Do you think that was quite amiable on your part?”
“Fortunately for me I am not called upon to be amiable;”—said El-Râmi, beginning to pace slowly up and down the room—“I want no favours from society, so I need not smile to order. That is one of the chief privileges of complete independence. Fancy having to grin and lie and skulk and propitiate people all one’s days!—I could not endure it,—but most men can—and do!”
“Besides”—he added after a pause—“I cannot look on with patience at the marriage of fools. Vaughan is a fool, and his baronetage will scarcely pass for wisdom,—the little Chester girl is also a fool,—and I can see exactly what they will become in the course of a few years.”
“Describe them, in futuro!” laughed Féraz.
“Well—the man will be ‘turfy’; the woman, a blind slave to her dressmaker. That is all. There can be nothing more. They will never do any good or any harm—they are simply—nonentities. These are the sort of folk that make me doubt the immortal soul,—for Vaughan is less ‘spiritual’ than a well-bred dog, and little Chester less mentally gifted than a well-instructed mouse.”
“Severe!”—commented Féraz, smiling—“But, man or woman,—mouse or dog, I suppose they are quite happy just now?”
“Happy?” echoed El-Râmi satirically—“Well—I dare say they are,—with the only sort of happiness their intelligences can grasp. She is happy because she is now ‘my lady’ and because she was able to wear a wedding-gown of marvellous make and cost, to trail and rustle and sweep after her little person up to God’s altar with, as though she sought to astonish the Almighty, before whom she took her vows, with the exuberance of her millinery. He is happy because his debts are paid out of old Jabez Chester’s millions. There the ‘happiness’ ends. A couple of months is sufficient to rub the bloom off such wedlock.”