“Why did you not inform me immediately of what had occurred?” he managed to articulate as she placed the glass on the table again, and prepared to continue her story.
“Because, if I had done that, I should have had no further claim on you,” she replied promptly. “And knowing that you were in prosperous circumstances, I was obliged to make use of that knowledge. Armand had scarcely a sou in the world; I had very little more. Money we were forced to secure from somewhere, and you were our only hope.”
“But can’t you realize how cruel it was to have kept me in ignorance all these years?” he pursued reproachfully. “I would willingly have done my best for you and—your husband, if I had known the true facts of the case.”
“Ah, that is what you say now,” she rejoined dubiously. “I doubt if you would have said so then. Well, to continue my story, Armand, never having properly recovered from his illness, gradually grew weaker and died, leaving me in very low water for a time. Then, luckily for me, I came across an English lady, a Mrs. Hall. She was only a chance acquaintance, for I met her in a circulating library where I happened to find a pocket-book she had lost, but she took a liking to me at first sight. After having visited her constantly, I went to stay with her for a time, and eventually she introduced me to her friend, Lady Elstree, of Portland Place, London, who was in need of a companion. Lady Elstree was one of those shrinking kind of women who always seek refuge behind a stronger mind, and want even the most trivial matters decided for them. Before I had been with her a month, I was able to rule her whole household as though I were its legitimate mistress. Her husband, Sir Richard, although not a doctor, dabbled in therapeutics and hygiene, and spent most of his time in his laboratory, never troubling much about how his wife amused herself. He paid her bills with automatic regularity, and fortunately failed to notice that they almost doubled themselves during my régime. Being so pleasantly situated, my old love for the turf revived; and taking my advice, Lady Elstree backed certain horses that I happened to fancy. Sometimes they won, more often they lost; but when they did win, I retained five per cent. commission. Very soon I became familiar with London life and the ways of English society. Wherever I went, I was always introduced as Lady Elstree’s ‘friend,’ never as her companion. One day I happened to pick up a society paper containing an account of a reception I had attended. My name was included in the list of guests, and I was described as the ‘beautiful and brilliant Mdme. Douste.’ This fired my ambition, and I determined to become a society leader—a second Corinne, or Mdme. Pompadour. Then Dr. Neville Williams appeared upon the scene——”
“It is a wonder you did not seek some one in a higher position than a mere body-healer,” interposed Herbert, with a touch of satire.
“Yes, I might have done so, it is true; but I was rather struck with Neville Williams, although his disposition was the direct opposite of mine. He was then at the zenith of his fame, too, having managed to cure a royal princess by a special treatment of his own when all the highest physicians in the land had failed. He could have been knighted for that, had he wished. I saw a good deal of him, for he was a great friend of Sir Richard Elstree’s, and came often to Portland Place. We were married at St. George’s, Hanover Square—oh, you need not look sceptical; it was a bonâ fide marriage. Percival’s brother-in-law, the Rev. J. W. Milnes, officiated, assisted by the clergy of St. George’s.”
“And was your ambition realized?”
“Partially. Society was inclined to look askance at me first of all, but it was not able to withstand me for long. I was a woman, I had a tongue, I could talk. I had the knack of finding out whatever I wanted to know about certain people too. They discovered by experience that it was unwise to offend me. They called me a dangerous woman behind my back, but conciliated me to my face. The only drawback to my happiness was that Percival was comparatively poor, and although I managed to get long credit, I was continually pressed for ready money.”
“I had often heard of Mrs. Neville Williams from the Milnes’ family,” said the artist, musingly, “but of course I never dreamt of connecting her with you. Geoffrey Milnes used to say—pardon my telling you—that her extravagance, or rather yours, was the ruin of his uncle.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It may have been so, but he should not have married if he could not afford to keep me in proper style. He left me almost penniless when he died, and the house in Harley Street was mortgaged right up to its full value.”