His Majesty's Well-Beloved

He bent the Knee and raised the long, floating End of her cloudlike Veil to his Lips. I could have sworn at that Moment that she recoiled from him and that she made a Gesture to snatch away the Veil, as if his very Touch on it had been Pollution. That Gesture and the Recoil were, however, quite momentary. The next second, even whilst he rose once more to his Feet, she had already recovered herself.

"Hush!" she said gently, and drew herself artlessly away from his Nearness. "I want to listen… People say that Angels wait upon Mr. Betterton when he studies his Part … and I want to hear the flutter of their Wings."

"The Air vibrates with the Echo of your sweet Name," he rejoined, and his exquisite Voice sounded mellow and vibrant as a sensitive Instrument touched by a Master's Hand. "Your name, which with mad longing I have breathed morning, noon and eve. And now … now … I am not dreaming … You are near me! … You, the perfect Lady Barbara … my Lady Babs… And you look – almost happy!"

She gave him a Look – the true Look of a Siren set to enchain the Will of Man.

"Happy?" she queried demurely. "Nay, Sir … puzzled, perhaps."

"Puzzled?" he echoed. "Why?"

"Wondering," she replied, "what magic is in the air that could make a Woman's Heart … forsake one Love … for … for Another."

Yes! She said this, and looked on him straight between the Eyes as she spoke. Yet I knew that she lied, could have screamed the Accusation at her, so convinced was I that she was playing some subtle and treacherous Game, designed to entrap him and to deliver him helpless and broken into her Power. But he, alas! was blinded by his Passion. He saw no Siren in her, no Falsehood in her Smile. At her Words, I saw a great Light of Happiness illumine his Face.

"Barbara!" he pleaded. "Have pity on me, for my Reason wanders. I dare not call it back, lest this magic hour should prove to be a Dream."

He tried to take her in his Arms, but she evaded him, ran to the other side of the Desk, laughing merrily like a Child. Once again her delicate Fingers started to toy with the Papers scattered there.

"Oh, ho!" she exclaimed, with well-feigned astonishment. "Your desk! Why, this," she said, placing her Hand upon the neat pile before her, "must be that very Thunderbolt wherewith to-morrow you mean to crush an arrogant Enemy!"

"Barbara!" he rejoined with ever growing passion, and strove to take her Hand. "Will you not let me tell You – "

"Yes, yes!" she replied archly, and quietly withdrew her Hand from his grasp. "You shall speak to me anon some of those Speeches of our great Poets, which your Genius hath helped to immortalize. To hear Mr. Betterton recite will be an inestimable Privilege … which your many Admirers, Sir, will envy me."

"The whole world would envy me to-night," he retorted, and gazed on her with such Ardour that she was forced to lower her Eyes and to hide their Expression behind the delicate Curtain of her Lashes.

I, who was the dumb Spectator of this cruel Game, saw that the Lady Barbara was feeling her way towards her Goal. There was so much Excitement in her, such palpitating Vitality, that her very Heart-beats seemed to find their Echo in my breast. Of course, I did not know yet what Game it was that she was playing. All that I knew was that it was both deadly and treacherous. Even now, when Mr. Betterton once more tried to approach her and she as instinctively as before recoiled before him, she contrived to put strange softness into her Voice, and a subtle, insidious Promise which helped to confuse his Brain.

"No – no!" she said. "Not just yet … I pray you have pity on my Blushes. I – I still am affianced to my Lord Stour … although…"

"You are right, my beloved," he rejoined simply. "I will be patient, even though I am standing on the Threshold of Paradise. But will You not be merciful? I cannot see you well. Will you not take off that Veil? … It casts a dark shadow over your Brow."

This time she allowed him to come near her, and, quite slowly, she unwound the Veil from round her Head. He took it from her as if it were some hallowed Relic, too sacred to be polluted by earthly Touch. And, as her back was turned towards him, he crushed the Gossamer between his Hands and pressed its Fragrance to his Lips.

"There!" she said coolly. "'Tis done. Your magic, Sir Actor, has conquered again."

It seemed to me that she was more self-possessed now than she had been when first she entered the Room. Indeed, her Serenity appeared to grow as his waned perceptibly. She still was a little restless, wandering aimlessly about the Room, fingering the Books, the Papers, the Works of Art that lay everywhere about; but it seemed like the restlessness of Curiosity rather than of Excitement. In her own Mind she felt that she held the Winning Hand – of this I was convinced – and that she could afford to toy with and to befool the Man who had dared to measure his Power against hers.

After awhile, she sat down in her Chair which he had brought forward for her, and which stood close to the Desk.

"And now, Sir," she said with cool composure, "'tis You who must humour me. I have a fancy … now, at this moment … and my Desire is to be thoroughly spoiled."

"Every Whim of yours," he rejoined, "is a Command to your humble Slave."

"Truly?" she queried.

"Truly."

"Then will You let me see you … sitting at your Desk … Pen in hand … writing something just for me?"

"All my work of late," he replied, "has been done because of You … but I am no Poet. What I speak may have some Merit. What I write hath none."

"Oh!" she protested with well-simulated Coquetry, "what I desire You to write for me, Sir Actor, will have boundless Merit. It is just a couple of Lines designed to … to … prove your Love for me – Oh!" she added quickly, "I scarce dare believe in it, Sir … I scare understood … You remember, this morning in the Park, I was so excited, yet you asked me – to be – your Wife!"

"My Wife!" he cried, his Voice ringing with triumphant Passion. "And you would consent? – "

"And so I came," she riposted, evading a direct Answer, "to see if I had been dreaming … if, indeed, the great and illustrious Mr. Betterton had stooped to love a Woman … and for the sake of that Love would do a little Thing for Her."

Lies! Lies! I knew that every Word which she spoke was nothing but a Lie. My God! if only I could have unriddled her Purpose! If only I could have guessed what went on behind those marvellous Eyes of hers, deep and unfathomable as the Sea! All I knew – and this I did in the very Innermost of my Soul – was that the Lady Barbara Wychwoode had come here to-night in order to trick Mr. Betterton, and to turn his Love for her to Advantage for my Lord Stour. How carefully she had thought out the Part which she meant to play; how completely she meant to have him at her Mercy, only in order to mock and deride him in the End, I had yet to learn.

Even now she completed his Undoing, the Addling of his noble Mind, by casting Looks of shy Coquetry upon him. What Man is there who could have resisted them? What Man, who was himself so deeply infatuated as was Mr. Betterton, could believe that there was Trickery in those Glances? He sat down at his Desk, as she had desired him to do, and drew Pen, Ink and Paper closer to his Hand.

"An you asked my Life," he said simply, "I would gladly give it to prove my Love for You." Then, as she remained silent and meditative, he added: "What is your Ladyship's wish?"

"Oh!" she replied, "'tis a small matter … It concerns the Earl of Stour … We were Friends … once … Playmates when we were Children … That Friendship ripened into a – a – Semblance of Love. No! No!" she went on rapidly, seeing that at her Words he had made a swift Movement, leaning towards her. "I pray you, listen. That Semblance of Love may have gone … but Friendship still abides. My Lord Stour, the Playmate of my Childhood, is in sore trouble … I, his Friend, would wish to help him, and cannot do this without your Aid. Will You – will You grant me this Aid, Sir," she queried shyly, "if I beg it of You?"

"Your Ladyship has but to command," he answered vaguely, for, in truth, his whole Mind was absorbed in the contemplation of her Loveliness.

"'Twas You," she asserted boldly, "who begged for his Lordship's pardon from the Countess of Castlemaine … 'Twas not he who betrayed his Friends. That is a Fact, is it not?"

"A Fact. Yes," he replied.

"Then I pray you, Sir, write that down," she pleaded, with an ingenuous, childish Gesture, "and sign it with your Name … just to please me."

She looked like a lovely Child begging for a Toy. To think of Guile in connection with those Eyes, with that Smile, seemed almost a Sacrilege. And my poor Friend was so desperately infatuated just then! Has any Man ever realized that Woman is fooling him, when she really sets her Wiles to entrap him? Surely not a Man of Mr. Betterton's keen, artistic and hot-blooded Temperament. I saw it all now, yet I dared not move. For one thing, the time had gone by when I might have done it with good Effect. Now it was too late. Any interference on my part would only have led to Ignominy for myself and the severance of a Friendship that I valued more than Life itself. Betwixt a Friend's warning and a Woman's Cajolery, what Man would hesitate? What could I, in any event, have done now, save to hold up the inevitable Catastrophe for a few Moments – a few Seconds, perhaps? Truly, my hour was past. I could but wait now in Silence and Misery until the End.

There she sat, pleading, speaking that eternal Phrase, which since the beginning of primeval times hath been used by wily Woman for the undoing of a generous-minded Man.

"Will You do this, Sir – just to please me?"

"I swear to You that it shall be done," he rejoined with passionate fervour. "But will you not let me tell you first – "

"No! – No!" she said quickly, clasping her delicate hands. "I pray You – not just yet. I – I so long to see You write … there … at this Desk, where lie piled letters from every illustrious Person and every crowned Head in Europe. And now You will write," she entreated, in the tone of an indulged and wayward Child. "You will? Just one little Document for me, because … because You say You love me, and … because … I…"

"Barbara!" he cried in an Ecstasy of Happiness. "My Beloved!"

He was on the point of falling on his Knees, but once more a demure Gesture, a drawing back of her whole Figure, restrained him.

"No! No!" she reiterated firmly. "When you have written, I will listen – " – another Glance, and he was vanquished. Then she completed her Phrase – "to all you have to say."

He drew back with a sigh, and took up his Pen.

"As you command," he said simply, and made ready to write.

3

Even now, whene'er I close mine Eyes, I can see those twain as a vivid Picture before me. The Massive Desk, littered with papers, the Candles flickering in their Sconces, illumining with their elusive Light the Figure of the great Actor, sitting with shoulders slightly bent forward, one Arm resting upon the Desk, half buried in the filmy folds of her Ladyship's Veil, his Face upturned towards the Enchantress, who held him at this Hour an absolute Slave to her Will. She had risen from her Chair and stood immediately behind him; her Face I could not see, for her back was towards me, but the light caught the loose Tendrils of her fair Hair, and from where I stood watching, this looked just like a golden Aureole around her small Head, bent slightly towards him. She too was leaning forward, over him, with her Hand extended, giving him Directions as to what he should write.