The Tinted Venus: A Farcical Romance by F. Anstey (fiction book recommendations TXT) 📖

"Your adversary having thus secured the lead with the last trump, you will be powerless to prevent the bringing-in of the long suit."

Rough's Guide to Whist.

"What! thinkest thou that utterly in vain
Jove is my sire, and in despite my will
That thou canst mock me with thy beauty still?"

Story of Cupid and Psyche.

Leander, when he wrote his distracted appeal to Matilda, took it for granted that she had recognized the statue for something of a supernatural order, and this, combined with his perplexed state of mind, caused him to be less explicit than he might have been in referring to the goddess's ill-timed appearance.

But, unfortunately, as will probably have been already anticipated, the only result of this reticence was, that Matilda saw in his letter an abject entreaty for her consent to his marriage with Ada Parkinson, to avoid legal proceedings, and, under this misapprehension, she wrote the line that abandoned all claims upon him, and then went on with her accounts, which were not so neatly kept that day as usual.

What she felt most keenly in Leander's conduct was, that he should have placed the ring, which to all intent[Pg 251] was her own, upon the finger of another. She could not bear to think of so unfeeling an act, and yet she thought of it all through the long day, as she sat, outwardly serene, at her high desk, while her attendants at her side made up sprays for dances and wreaths for funerals from the same flowers.

And at last she felt herself urged to a course which, in her ordinary mind, she would have shrunk from as a lowering of her personal dignity: she would go and see her rival, and insist that this particular humiliation should be spared her. The ring was not Leander's to dispose of—at least, to dispose of thus; it was not right that any but herself should wear it; and, though the token could never now be devoted to its rightful use, she wanted to save it from what, in her eyes, was a kind of profanation.

She would not own it to herself, but there was a motive stronger than all this—the desire to relieve her breast of some of the indignation which was choking her, and of which her pride forbade any betrayal to Leander himself.

This other woman had supplanted her; but she should be made to feel the wrong she had done, and her triumphs should be tempered with shame, if she were capable of such a sensation. Matilda knew very well that the ring was not hers, and she wanted it no longer; but, then, it was Miss Tweddle's, and she would claim it in her name.

She easily obtained permission to leave somewhat earlier that evening, as she did not often ask such favours, and soon found herself at Madame Chenille's establishment, where she remembered to have heard from Bella that her sister was employed.

She asked for the forewoman, and begged to be allowed to speak to Miss Parkinson in private for a very[Pg 252] few minutes; but the forewoman referred her to the proprietress, who made objections: such a thing was never permitted during business hours, the shop would close in an hour, till then Miss Parkinson was engaged in the showroom, and so on.

But Matilda carried her point at last, and was shown to a room in the basement, where the assistants took their meals, there to wait until Miss Parkinson could be spared from her duties.

Matilda waited in the low, dingy room, where the tea-things were still littering the table, and as she paced restlessly about, trying to feel an interest in the long-discarded fashion-plates which adorned the walls, her anger began to cool, and give place to something very like nervousness.

She wished she had not come. What, after all, was she to say to this girl when they met? And what was Leander—base and unworthy as he had shown himself—to her any longer? Why should she care what he chose to do with the ring? And he would be told of her visit, and think——No! that was intolerable: she would not gratify his vanity and humble herself in this way. She would slip quietly out, and leave her rival to enjoy her victory!

But, just as she was going to carry out this intention, the door opened, and a short, dark young woman appeared. "I'm told there was a young person asking to speak to me," she said; "I'm Ada Parkinson."

At the name, Matilda's heart swelled again with the sense of her injuries; and yet she was unprepared for the face that met her eyes. Surely her rival had both looked and spoken differently the night before? And yet, she had been so agitated that very likely her recollections were not to be depended upon.[Pg 253]

"I—I did want to see you," she said, and her voice shook, as much from timidity as righteous indignation. "When I tell you who I am, perhaps you will guess why. I am Matilda Collum."

Miss Parkinson showed no symptoms of remorse. "What!" she cried, "the young lady that Mr. Tweddle is courting? Fancy!"

"After what happened last night," said Matilda, trembling exceedingly, "you know that that is all over. I didn't come to talk about that. If you knew—and I think you must have known—all that Mr. Tweddle was to me, you have—you have not behaved very well; but he is nothing to me any more, and it is not worth while to be angry. Only, I don't think you ought to keep the ring—not that ring!"

"Goodness gracious me!" cried Ada. "What in the world is all this about? What ring oughtn't I to keep?"

"You know!" retorted Matilda. "How can you pretend like that? The ring he gave you that night at Rosherwich!"

"The girl's mad!" exclaimed the other. "He never gave me a ring in all his life! I wouldn't have taken it, if he'd asked me ever so. Mr. Tweddle indeed!"

"Why do you say that?" said Matilda. "He has not got it himself, and your sister said he gave it to you, and—and I saw it with my own eyes on your hand!"

"Oh, dear me!" said Ada, petulantly, holding out her hand, "look there—is that it?—is this? Well, these are all that I have, whether you believe me or not; one belonged to my poor mother, and the other was a present, only last Friday, from the gentleman that's their head traveller, next door, and is going to be my husband. Is[Pg 254] it likely that I should be wearing any other now?—ask yourself!"

"You wouldn't wish to deceive me, I hope," said Matilda; "and oh, Miss Parkinson, you might be open with me, for I'm so very miserable! I don't know what to think. Tell me just this: did you—wasn't it you who came last night to Miss Tweddle's?"

"No!" returned Ada, impatiently—"no, as many times as you please! And if Bella likes to say I did, she may; and she always was a mischief-making thing! How could I, when I didn't know there was any Miss Tweddle to come to? And what do you suppose I should go running about after Mr. Tweddle for? I wonder you're not ashamed to say such things!"

"But," faltered Matilda, "you did go to those gardens with him, didn't you? And—and I know he gave the ring to somebody!"

Ada began to laugh. "You're quite correct, Miss Collum," she said; "so he did. Don't you want to know who he gave it to?"

"Yes," said Matilda, "and you will tell me. I have a right to be told. I was engaged to him, and the ring was given to him for me—not for any one else. You will tell me, Miss Parkinson, I am sure you will?"

"Well," said Ada, still laughing, "I'll tell you this much—she's a foreign lady, very stiff and stuck-up and cold. She's got it, if any one has. I saw him put it on myself!"

"Tell me her name, if you know it."

"I see you won't be easy till you know all about it. Her name's Afriddity, or Froddity, or something outlandish like that. She lives at Rosherwich, a good deal in the open air, and—there, don't be ridiculous—it's only a statue! There's a pretty thing to be jealous of!"[Pg 255]

"Only a statue!" echoed Matilda. "Oh! Heaven be with us both, if—if that was It!"

Certain sentences in the letter she had returned came to her mind with a new and dreadful significance. The appearance of the visitor last night—Leander's terror—all seemed to point to some unsuspected mystery.

"It can't be—no, it can't! Miss Parkinson, you were there: tell me all that happened, quick! You don't know what may depend on it!"

"What! not satisfied even now?" cried Ada. "Well, Miss Collum, talk about jealousy! But, there, I'll tell you all I know myself."

And she gave the whole account of the episode with the statue, so far as she knew it, even to the conversation which led to the production of the ring.

"You see," she concluded, "that it was all on your account that he tried it on at all, and I'm sure he talked enough about you all the evening. I really was a little surprised when I found you were his Miss Collum. (You won't mind my saying so?) If I was you, I should go and tell him I forgave him, now. I do think he deserves it, poor little man!"

"Yes, yes!" cried Matilda; "I'll go—I'll go at once! Thank you, Miss Parkinson, for telling me what you have!" And then, as she remembered some dark hints in Leander's letter: "Oh, I must make haste! He may be going to do something desperate—he may have done it already!"

And, leaving Miss Parkinson to speculate as she pleased concerning her eccentricity, she went out into the broad street again; and, unaccustomed