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Love's Shadow

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<h2 id="id00578" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XII</h2> At the National Gallery It was with considerable difficulty and self-restraint that Cecil succeeded in waiting till the next day to see Mrs Raymond after his uncle's party. He was of an age and of a temperament that made his love affairs seem to him supremely urgent and of more importance than anything else in his life. He called on Mrs Raymond at eleven in the morning on the pretext of having something important to tell her. He found her sitting at her writing-table in a kind of red kimono. Her hair was brushed straight off her forehead, her eyes were sly and bright, and she looked more Japanese than ever. Cecil told her what Hyacinth had said to him. 'Now, you see, I can't go on making up to her any more. She doesn't care a straw about me, and she sees through it, of course. I've done what you asked me. Won't you be nice to me now?' 'Certainly not! She's quite devoted to you. Telling you not to go and see her again! I never heard of anything so encouraging in my life. Now, Cecil,' she spoke seriously, 'that girl is a rare treasure. It's not only that she's a perfect beauty, but I read her soul yesterday. She has a beautiful nature, and she's in love with you. You don't appreciate her. If you take what she said literally, you're much stupider than I gave you credit for being. I—I simply shan't see you again till you've made it up. When you know her better you must care for her. Besides, I insist upon it. If you don't—well, you'll have to turn your attention somewhere else. For I seriously mean it. I won't see you.' He looked obstinate. 'It's a fad of yours, Eugenia.' 'It's not a fad of mine. It's an opportunity of yours—one that you're throwing away in the most foolish way, that you might regret all your life. At any rate, I'm not going to be the cause of giving that poor darling another moment's annoyance or uneasiness. The idea of the angelic creature being worried about me! Why, it's preposterous! I'm sure she heard what I said to you when she came in behind the screen. I can't bear it, and I won't have it. Now go and see her, and you're not to come back till you have. I mean it.' 'I don't suppose for a moment—' 'Rubbish! A woman knows. She went home and cried; I know she did, and she's counting the minutes till you see her again. Now, I've lots to do, and you're frightfully in the way. Good-bye.' She held out her hand. He rose. 'You send me away definitely?' 'Definitely, Your liking for me is pure perverseness.' 'It's pure adoration,' said Cecil. 'I don't think so. It's imagination. However, whatever it is I don't want it.' 'Good-bye, then,' said Cecil. He went to the door. 'You can let me know when you've seen her.' 'I don't suppose she'll see me.' 'Yes, she will now. It's the psychological moment.' 'You shan't be bothered with me any more, anyhow,' said Cecil in a low voice. 'Good. And do what I tell you.' He shut the shabby door of the little house with a loud bang, and went out with a great longing to do something vaguely desperate. Lunch produced a different mood. He said to himself that he wouldn't think of Mrs Raymond any more, and went to call on Hyacinth. The servant told him she was out. He was just turning away when Anne Yeo came out. She glanced at him with malicious satisfaction. 'Hyacinth's gone to the National Gallery,' she volunteered. 'Did you want to see her? You will find her there.' Cecil walked a few steps with her. 'I'm going to the greengrocer's,' continued Anne, 'to complain.' She held a little book in her hand, and he noticed that she wore a golf cap, thick boots, and a mackintosh, although it was a beautiful day. 'I always dress like this,' she said, 'when I'm going to complain of prices. Isn't it a glorious day? The sort of day when everyone feels happy and hopeful.' 'I don't feel either,' said Cecil candidly. 'No, you don't look it. Why not go and see some pictures?' He smiled. They parted at the corner. Then Cecil, without leaving any message for Hyacinth, jumped into a hansom, giving the man the address of his club in Pall Mall. On the way he changed his mind, and drove to the National Gallery. As he went up the steps his spirits rose. He thought he recognised Miss Verney's motor waiting outside. There was something of an adventure in following her here. He would pretend it was an accident, and not let her know yet that he had called. He wandered through the rooms, which were very empty, and came upon Hyacinth seated on a red velvet seat opposite a Botticelli. She looked more dejected than he could have thought possible, her type being specially formed to express the joy of life. It was impossible to help feeling a thrill of flattered vanity when he saw the sudden change in her expression and her deep blush when she recognised him. 'I didn't know you ever came here,' she said, as they shook hands. 'It's a curious coincidence I should meet you when, for once in my life, I come to study the Primitives,' said Cecil. He then seated himself beside her. 'Don't you think all that '—he waved his hand towards the pictures—'is rather a superstition?' 'Perhaps; but it's glorious, I think. These are the only pictures that give me perfect satisfaction. All others, however good they are, have the effect of making me restless,' said Hyacinth. 'I haven't had a moment's rest,' said Cecil, 'since I saw you yesterday afternoon. Why were you so unkind?' 'Was it unkind?' she asked. Her face was illuminated. They spent an hour together; had horrible tea in the dismal refreshment-room, and having agreed that it seemed a shame to spend a lovely day within these walls, he said— 'I don't think I've ever met you out of doors—in the open air, I mean.' 'It would be nice,' said Hyacinth. He proposed that they should do something unconventional and delightful, and meet the next day in Kensington Gardens, which he assured her was just as good as the country just now. She agreed, and they made an appointment. 'How is Mrs Raymond?' she then asked abruptly. 'I don't know. Mrs Raymond—she's charming, and a great friend of mine, of course; but we've quarrelled. At least I'm not going to see her again.' 'Poor Mrs Raymond!' exclaimed Hyacinth. 'Or perhaps I ought to be sorry for you?' 'No, not if you let me sec you sometimes.' He looked at her radiant face and felt the soothing, rather intoxicating, effect of her admiration after Eugenia's coldness…. He took her hand and held it for a minute, and then they parted with the prospect of meeting the next day. Hyacinth went home too happy even to speak to Anne about it. She was filled with hope. He must care for her. And Cecil felt as if he were a strange, newly-invented kind of criminal. Either, he said to himself, he was playing with the feelings of this dear, beautiful creature, or he was drifting into a mariage de convenance, a vulgar and mercenary speculation, while all the time he was madly devoted to someone else. He felt guilty, anxious, and furious with Eugenia. But she had really meant what she said that morning; she wouldn't see him again. But the thought of seeing Hyacinth under the trees the next morning—a secret appointment, too!—was certainly consoling. With a sudden sensation of being utterly sick of himself and his feelings, tired of both Hyacinth and Eugenia, and bored to death at the idea of all women, Cecil went to see Lord Selsey. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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