This was not the last that Jack heard of Lady Breton’s praises. The next day he went to see a friend, a brother-artist (whose fame, however, exceeded Jack’s) & saw on his easel the head of a woman with a quantity of white lace & pearls folded about a throat as round & soft as a Hebe’s. Her soft, chesnut-brown hair fell in resistless little rings & wavelets about a low white arch of forehead, beneath which two brilliant hazel eyes, with curly fringes, glanced out with a half-defiant, half-enticing charm. The features, which had no especial regularity, were redeemed by the soft peachbloom on either rounded cheek, & the whole face made piquant by a small nose, slightly “tip-tilted,” & a dimple in the little white chin. Although Jack could find no real beauty in the lines of the charmingly-poised head, some nameless fascination arrested his eyes; & he stood before the picture so long that the artist, who was just then busy with another portrait called out, “What! Are you losing your heart too, Benedick?” “Who is it?” said Jack. “What! don’t you—It’s the handsomest—no, not the handsomest, nor the most beautiful, nor the prettiest, woman in London; but, I should say, the most fascinating. Isn’t that face irresistible? That is Lady Breton!” Jack started; perhaps he for the first time fully understood what had darkened Guy Hastings’ life. “Yes,” continued his friend, enthusiastically, “she is the sensation of the season. And no wonder! There is a perfect magic about her, which, I see by your face, I have been fortunate enough to reflect in part on my canvas. But if you knew her!” “I am going to dine there tonight,” said Jack turning away, his admiration changed to a sort of loathing, as he thought of the destruction those handsome eyes had wrought. “Are you? Let me congratulate you. You’re the luckiest man in London,” cried the portrait-painter, unconsciously repeating the words which had hailed Jack’s good-fortune at Swift’s the night before. “And this,” thought Egerton, “is what a woman gets for spoiling a man’s life!” Nevertheless, prompted by a certain curiosity (which Jack was careful to call a natural interest in the various phases of human nature, since to confess the desire of seeing a woman—even the woman whom all London was raving about—would have been high-treason to his cherished misogynism)—actuated, I say, by this feeling, he looked forward rather impatiently to the evening which was to introduce him to the famous Lady Breton; &, as he was ushered by a resplendent Jeames up the velvet-spread staircase of her Belgravian mansion, was aware of that pleasurable sensation with which an ardent play-goer awaits the lifting of the curtain upon the first scene of a new drama. How the curtain lifted, what scenes it disclosed, & how unexpectedly it fell, our next chapter will reveal.

Chapter VIII

Jack the Avenger

“I have a heart tho’ I have played it false.” Old Play.

Lady Breton was leaning against the chimney-piece in her splendid drawing-room, hung with violet satin, & illuminated by sparkling chandeliers. Her black velvet dress set off the neatly-moulded lines of her figure, which seemed to have gained in height & stateliness since her unmarried days in Holly Lodge; & the low, square-cut bodice revealed a bosom the whiter by contrast to a collar of rubies clasped closely about the throat. She was watching, half-absently, the flash of her rings, as she leaned her chin upon one drooping hand; & was so absorbed in some silent reverie, that she scarcely noticed the pompous entrance of her lord & master, until that noble gentleman observed, “I have asked Egerton to dine here tonight. I believe you know him.” “I?” said Georgie, starting slightly. “N—no—I do not know him.” But she did know that he was Guy’s friend & travelling companion. “A very gentlemanly fellow, & of good family,” said Lord Breton, graciously, “though an artist.” A moment later, &, fortunately for his peace of mind, just too late to catch these words, Mr. Egerton was announced. Lord Breton went ponderously through an introduction to “Lady Breton, my friend Mr. Egerton”; & then he found himself sitting in a very easy chair, with only a velvet-covered tea-table between himself & the most popular woman in London. Certainly, the charm of her face, her tone, her gesture, was irresistible. Her ease was so engaging, there was such a pretty spice of freedom in her speech & manner, her coquetry was so artless & original, that Jack had surely succumbed if he had not seen in this fascinating Lady Breton the destroyer of his friend’s happiness. Ten minutes later, after another stray man, a distant relative of Lord Breton’s, had made his appearance in dinner-array, Egerton had the whitest of hands lying on his coat-sleeve & was leading his hostess to the dining-room, in a very delightful frame of mind. The parti quarré was kept alive, during the elaborate courses of the dinner, by Lady Breton’s vivacity; & as she employed herself in drawing Jack out (Jack was a clever talker) the two kept a constant flow of words circulating. Every moment, as he watched her & heard her voice, the fascination & the loathing increased together. In truth, Georgie had laid herself out to conquer this clever friend of Guy’s; & she in part succeeded. When at last she rose, with her rich draperies falling about her & a deeper flush on her cheek, & swept out of the room, a dullness fell on the three men which Lord Breton’s sublimity was not likely to relieve. Jack was glad when the time which etiquette orders to be devoted to nuts & wine (Lord Breton’s wine was by no means contemptible) was over, & the gentlemen went to the drawing-room to join Georgie; nor was his pleasure impaired by the fact that Lord Breton soon challenged his other guest to a game of billiards.