SCENE VII
A QUESTION OF CHEMISTRY
IN order to reach the conservatory Hammond and Despencer had to thread their way through the concert-room. But their task was rendered easier by the fact that Belle Yorke was just standing up to sing. The mob, attracted partly by her reputation as a singer, and partly by the story in circulation about her and their host, whose hurried exit on her appearance had not gone unremarked, were crowding towards that end of the saloon where the piano stood, and thus the two men were able to make their way round the wall at the deserted end.
As Hammond had anticipated, they found the conservatory empty. It was little more than a long, narrow balcony, roofed over with glass, and running along the side of the house.
Hammond was the first to reach it, but he stood back to allow Despencer to enter. Despencer walked past him after a deprecating shrug and bow, and then turned to meet his questioner, who came in quickly, shutting the door behind them.
For a moment the two men stood face to face, scrutinizing each other like two duellists who are uncertain of each other’s play. Hammond’s gaze was stern and threatening. Despencer’s, equally unflinching, was that of a man who does not quite know what is required of him, but has nothing to fear or to conceal.
The situation was exactly what he had foreseen and desired. His former reference to Belle Yorke had had the appearance of being accidental. He had been far too clever to seek to press it home at the time. Now, if Hammond himself chose to revive the subject of his own accord, anything that Despencer might say would appear to be dragged out of him against his will. He felt perfectly satisfied with his play, so far. He still held all his best cards in reserve, and he had thrown the lead into his adversary’s hands.
“Well, what is the mystery?” he said, lightly, after waiting some time for Hammond to speak.
“I want to ask you for some explanation of what you said the other afternoon.”
Despencer was mildly amazed.
“What did I say? I really don’t remember,” he murmured.
“About Miss Yorke. You referred to some story about her—some report connecting her name with Lord Severn’s.”
Despencer drew back; his manner became reproachful.
“Oh, but, my dear sir, you must see that that was pure inadvertence on my part. I was not to know that the lady was a friend of yours.”
It was impossible to quarrel with a man who showed himself so perfectly polite and, at the same time, so perfectly indifferent. Hammond’s tone lost some of its hostility.
“That is not the point. Till you spoke, I had never heard of the existence of this—slander.” The momentary hesitation before the word did not escape the watchful Despencer. “You have spoken, fortunately or unfortunately, and, now I have heard of it, I cannot rest till I know more.”
“Is that necessary?”
The tone in which the question was put made it a friendly remonstrance, as much as if Despencer had said: “My dear fellow, you want to think well of this woman. Why persist in making me undeceive you?”
Hammond felt the implied warning in all its force. Nevertheless he answered:
“Yes, it is necessary. The matter cannot end like this; I have a motive for pursuing it. You heard what those other men said when Miss Yorke was announced. I must be able to satisfy myself that this statement is without foundation.”
Despencer could not quite resist a sneer.
“I should think that was easy enough. You have only to ask the lady if she knows Lord Severn.”
Hammond frowned impatiently as he said, aloud, but rather to himself than to Despencer:
“And what will be her answer?”
Despencer smiled compassionately.
“Judging from my own experience in such cases, I should say that the lady’s answer would be ‘No.’”
For a minute Hammond stood irresolute. Despencer’s sneer had shown him where he stood. Instead of silencing a slanderer, he was discussing the truth of the slander with the man who had uttered it. If he had really had confidence in the woman he had undertaken to defend, it was to her, not to this cynical stranger, that he ought to have been addressing his inquiries. He felt bitterly conscious of his false position, yet he could not resist going on.
“Where did you hear this rumor?” he asked, after a brief pause, during which Despencer had closely watched every shade of expression on his face.
“I can hardly tell you, I have heard it from so many quarters,” was the careless reply. “I thought everybody knew it.”
“Do you mean by that that everybody believes it?” demanded Hammond.
“Yes; but that is no reason why you should, if you would rather not. Take my advice, treat it as a mere passing calumny, and forget all about it.”
Hammond glanced at him questioningly.
“And you, Despencer—of course, you believe this?”
“Well, yes; but I shall be happy to withdraw it.”
Despencer’s mocking smile was lost upon Hammond. He muttered:
“I must get at the truth.”
“Far better not,” observed the cynic. “The truth is sometimes very disagreeable. I myself much prefer to be told pleasant falsehoods.”
“And to tell them, I suppose?”
Despencer did not wince.
“I am always anxious to oblige,” he answered, pointedly.
“You have no prejudice against Miss Yorke?” was Hammond’s next question.
“I have no prejudices at all, I can assure you. I am a most broad-minded person.”
“It would make no difference to you, I suppose, if this report were true? It wouldn’t injure her in your opinion?”
“On the contrary, it would greatly increase my respect for her.”
Hammond seemed to be trying to sound the depths of his companion’s character.
“I congratulate you. But you wouldn’t marry her?”
Despencer drew back, and shook his head with an amused air.
“Oh no! I am afraid I am not broad-minded enough for that.”
“Why not?”
“I couldn’t outrage decency, you know. Society would think me worse than the marquis.”
“Damn society!”
“Oh, it is damned already,” said Despencer, quickly. “But even down below there are certain regulations which must be respected. There is an etiquette of Pandemonium.”
Hammond gave him another thoughtful look.
“You are a very clever man, Despencer, but, do you know, you almost make immorality tedious. If you are not careful, people will begin to get bored by vice, and virtue will become the fashion.”
“That is not a bad idea. There is always something attractive in novelty.”
Again Hammond reflected for a minute, and again he resumed his questioning.
“Tell me, has the marchioness heard this rumor?”
Despencer had not been expecting this question, and it nearly threw him off his guard. His eye met Hammond’s for a moment before he answered.
“I should hardly think so, or she wouldn’t have had her here. That would have been too daring, even for her.”
“It would be equally daring for her to come here if there were anything in it. Surely her very presence here proves her innocence?”
“Yes; but what about Lord Severn’s absence? You saw him hurry out the moment she arrived?”
“My God, yes!” The words were dragged from Hammond in a burst of anguish. “There is some damned mystery in this!” he muttered between his teeth.
“Of course, it may be a mere coincidence,” the tempter threw in, artfully. “But I am always so suspicious of coincidences.”
Hammond was not listening. A new idea had occurred to him.
“I have a great mind to go to Severn himself, and put myself in his hands. But, then, of course, one couldn’t trust him,” he added, regretfully.
“He is a man of honor,” objected the other.
“And when the good name of a woman is at stake, men of honor always lie,” was the stern retort. “Oh would to Heaven you had either never told me this, or else proved it up to the very hilt.”
“I didn’t speak out of any zeal for morality, you may be sure. I had simply heard the common talk, and I naturally assumed that it was true.”
“Why?”
Despencer gave a delicate, self-satisfied smile.
“When there is any doubt, I always believe the worst. I find I am seldom wrong.”
Hammond stepped back, with an indignant gesture. He was beginning to feel ashamed of the discussion.
“And you can stand like that and smile away a reputation!” he exclaimed. “I wonder what they made you of.”
“I believe a chemical analysis of me would yield the ordinary results,” returned Despencer, with unruffled composure. “I rather think that hydrogen is the principal ingredient.”
Hammond gave a short laugh.
“Despencer, I begin actually to respect you. It can be no easy thing to attain to such a height of perfect brutality as yours. You must have taken great pains with yourself.”
“You may say what you like, Hammond, as long as you are not violent. I always draw the line at violence.”
“Do you have to draw it often?”
Even the trained and admirable temper of Despencer gave way under this taunt, and a red flush suffused his pale cheeks.
“Hammond, do you mean to be insulting?”
“Why, do you mind much? I should have thought the hydrogen would have stood it.”
The words were drowned in a sudden crash of music and hand-clapping as the door behind them opened, and Captain Mauleverer came through with Belle Yorke on his arm.
Despencer drew to one side with a bow as they approached.
“Ah, captain, taking Lord Severn’s place, I see,” he remarked, with a sarcastic emphasis intended for Hammond’s ear, and passed back into the concert-room.
Mauleverer stared after him as if he had been some noxious animal.
“What has that damned cad—beg pardon, Miss Yorke—been doing here?” he demanded of Hammond.
“Oh, only taking away some one’s character.”
“Not mine, I hope,” said Belle, with a smile.
“No, not in Hammond’s hearing, I’ll swear,” said the loyal captain.
“It was too bad of you to go outside just as I was going to sing,” said Belle to the silent Hammond. “I shall expect an explanation.”
“I have been waiting here to give it to you,” was the grave answer.
“You seem quite serious about it. I am sure Mr. Despencer has been saying something against me.”
Captain Mauleverer put in a word.
“I can’t let you give your explanation now, because Miss Yorke has promised to sit out this next piece with me. You must wait your turn, old fellow.”
“What does Miss Yorke say?” asked the other.
“I say what they say at the libraries about the book of the season. You shall have me when the captain has done with me.” She turned merrily to the captain. “But you mustn’t skip, you know. I shall allow you fourteen minutes for perusal.”
“I want to read you through,” said Hammond. And he went out.