“Yes, so should I,” rejoined her brother fervently; and then on a sudden impulse he told Celia his story.
It took a long time to tell, but he was glad, after all, that she should know. It was a relief to be able to talk over his secret with a fellow-creature, and Celia was intensely sympathetic. Her astonishment was unbounded when she discovered that it was Mrs. Neville Williams of all persons who had been, at one time, her brother’s pseudo-wife. She felt half inclined to say hard things about her at first, but her resentment was soon abolished when Herbert informed her of Mrs. Williams’ serious condition. It is impossible to cherish harsh thoughts against the sick or dying.
Mrs. Neville Williams, however, looked neither sick nor dying when they happened to meet her at a fashionable restaurant on the following evening. The way she managed to get herself up was nothing less than remarkable. Enveloped in a long and loose theatre-cloak of silk trimmed with ermine, she carried herself more firmly erect than any other woman in the room. Sparkling eyes, crimson lips, and a complexion like a rose; no wonder she was able to vouch for the excellence of her French maid! It was, as it happened, almost her last appearance in society. A week later she was confined to her room; even her indomitable energy being powerless to resist the oncoming of the dark and mighty foe.
Herbert Karne, in fulfilment of his promise, went to see her the day before he returned to Durlston, but she was unable to receive him, and he knew that he would in all probability never meet her again.
When he arrived back at St. John’s Wood, he found a letter awaiting him. It was from Harry Barnard, stating that by consulting the books at the cemetery of Père Lachaise, he had easily found the grave of Armand Douste. There was no doubt, therefore, as to the authenticity of his death, and the date of his decease. Herbert was relieved at the news, although, under the circumstances, it scarcely mattered. Ninette was dying, so that in either case he would soon have been loosed from his bond.
He wrote a long letter to Lady Marjorie, detailing all that had happened, and asking her to come back to England as soon as she was well enough to travel. At the same time, he sought out Lord Bexley, in order to inform him of his matrimonial intentions, for Bexley was shortly going to join his sister in Rome. This accomplished, he went back to Durlston to finish his paintings, and to await the return of his bride.
Meanwhile, the “Voice of the Charmer” was playing to crowded houses nightly, and it looked as if the piece would enjoy a long run. Celia secretly hoped that such would not be the case, for the late hours and constant excitement were already beginning to tell on her health. She was all right at night, and braced herself up to do her best; but each morning she experienced a dull feeling of weariness, accompanied by a most distressing headache. The Havilands used all their powers of persuasion to induce her to rest until midday; but she flatly refused to sleep away what she called “the golden hours.” The stage, too, was beginning to lose that glamour with which she had endowed it when her only point of vantage had been from the stalls. She was glad that her brother had made her promise to confine her abilities to the concert platform when her present engagement expired. She felt that she would care very little if she were forbidden to ever enter a theatre again.
One Wednesday morning, she attired herself in her prettiest outdoor costume, and sallied forth to witness the marriage of David Salmon and Dinah Friedberg. Although she ran the risk of being pointed out as the bridegroom’s “cast-off” fiancée, Celia made a point of being present at the ceremony, just to show her goodwill towards the happy pair. Her appearance certainly excited considerable attention, almost detracting from that due to the bride.
The synagogue presented a festive appearance, the space before the Ark being adorned with palms and choice white chrysanthemums, which contrasted prettily with the crimson velvet of the wedding-canopy. Dinah, with her curly hair and bright eyes, made a very charming bride. She appeared to be not a whit subdued by the solemnity of the occasion; and when the Chief Rabbi uttered his excellent words of admonition and advice, looked up at him as much as to say that she did not need to be instructed on how best to tread the path of conjugal felicity.
Her lover, in marked contrast, was nervous in the extreme. He trod on her train, almost dropped the ring, and performed the ceremonial breaking of the glass in the clumsiest way possible. Then, to add insult to injury, he had the audacity to declare—whilst the bride was signing the register—that he would be able to manage it better next time!