The Heavenly Twins by Madame Sarah Grand

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But, altogether, the visit was disappointing, and I left her under the
impression that the glimpse of mind I had had the night before was
delusive, a mere transient flash of intelligence caused by some swift
current of emotion due to external influences of which I was unaware.
Love, or an effervescent wine, will kindle some such spark in the dullest.
But there was nothing in Evadne's manner indicative of the former
influence; and as to the latter, the only use she ever made of a wineglass
was to put her gloves in it.

As I gathered up the reins to drive my dogcart home that afternoon I was
conscious of an impression on my mind as of a yawn. But I was relieved to
have the visit over--and done with, as I at first believed it to be; but
it was not done with, for during the drive a thought occurred to me with
chastening rather than cheering effect, a thought which proves that my
opinion of Evadne's capacity had begun to be mixed even at that early
period of our acquaintance. I acknowledged to myself that one of us had
been flat that day, and had infected the other; but which was the original
flat one? Some minds are like caves of stalactite and stalagmite, rich in
treasures of beauty, the existence of which you may never suspect because
you bring no light yourself to dispel the darkness that conceals them.

CHAPTER III.

The next time I saw Evadne it was at her own house also, and it was only a
few days after my first visit. I was driving past, but encountered Colonel
Colquhoun at the gate, and pulled up for politeness' sake, as I had not
seen him when I called. He was returning from barracks in a jovial mood,
and made such a point of my going in that I felt obliged to. We found
Evadne alone in the drawing room, and I noticed to my surprise that she
was extremely nervous. Her manner was self-possessed, but her hands
betrayed her. She fidgeted with her rings or her buttons or her fingers
incessantly, and certainly was relieved when I rose to go.

The little she said, however, impressed me, and I would gladly have stayed
to hear more had she wished it. I fancied, however, that she did not wish
it, and I accordingly took my leave as soon as I decently could.

As I drove home I found myself revising my revised opinion of her. I felt
sure now that she was something more than an ordinary society woman.
Still, like everybody else at that time, I could not have said whether I
liked or disliked her. But I wanted to see her again. Before I had an
opportunity of doing so, however, I received a request with regard to her
which developed my latent curiosity into honest interest, and added a
certain sense of duty to my half formed wish to know more of her.

The request arrived in the shape of a letter from Lady Adeline
Hamilton-Wells, an intimate friend of mine, and one who has always had my
most sincere respect and affection. She is a woman who lives altogether
for others, devoting the greater part of her ample means, and all the
influence of an excellent position, to their service; and she is a woman
who stands alone on the strength of her own individuality, for Mr.
Hamilton-Wells does not count. Her great charm is her perfect sincerity.
She is essentially true.

When I saw her note on the breakfast table next day, I knew that somehow
it would prove to be of more importance than the whole of my other letters
put together, and I therefore hastened to open it first.

"VILLA MIGNONNE, 15th March, 1880.

"Colonel Colquhoun, late of the Colqohoun Highlanders, has been appointed
to command the depot at Morningquest, I hear. Kindly make his wife's
acquaintance at your earliest convenience to oblige me. She is one of the
Fraylings of Fraylingay. Her mother is a sister of Mrs. Orton Beg's, and a
very old friend of mine. I used to see a good deal of Mrs. Colquhoun up to
the time that she met her husband, and she was then a charming girl,
quiet, but clever. I lost sight of her after her marriage, however, for
about two years, and only met her again last January in Paris, when I
found her changed beyond all knowing of her, and I can't think why. She is
not on good terms with her own people for some mysterious reason, but,
apart from that, she seems to have everything in the world she can want,
and makes quite a boast of her husband's kindness and consideration. I
noticed that she did not get on well with men as a rule, and she may repel
you at first, but persevere, for she _can_ be fascinating, and to
both sexes too, which is rare; but I am told that people who begin by
disliking often end by adoring her--people with anything in them, I mean,
for, as I have learnt to observe under your able tuition, the 'blockhead
majority' _does_ do despitefully by what it cannot comprehend. And
that is why I am writing to you. I am afraid Evadne will come into
collision with some of the prejudices of our enlightened neighbourhood.
She is not perfect, and nothing but perfection is good enough for certain
angelic women of our acquaintance. They will call her very character in
question at the trial tribunals of their tea-tables if she be, as I think,
of the kind who cause comment; and they will throw stones at her and make
her suffer even if they do her no permanent injury. For I fear that she is
nervously sensitive both to praise and blame, a woman to be hurt
inevitably in this battle of life, and a complex character which I own I
do not perfectly comprehend myself yet, perhaps because parts of it are
still nebulous. But doubtless your keener insight will detect what is
obscure to me, and I rely upon you to befriend her until my return to
England, when I hope to be able to relieve you of all responsibility.

"Tell me, too, how you get on with Colonel Colquhoun. I should like to
know what you think of them both.

"ADELINE HAMILTON-WELLS."

My answer to this letter has lately come into my possession, and I give it
as being of more value probably than any subsequent record of these early
impressions:

"FOUNTAIN TOWERS, 19th March, 1880.

"MY DEAR LADY ADELINE:

"I had made Mrs. Colquhoun's acquaintance before I received your letter,
and have seen her three times altogether. And three times has not been
enough to enable me to form a decided opinion of her character, which
seems to be out of the common. Had you asked me what I thought of her
after our first meeting, I should have said she is peculiar; after the
second I am afraid I should have presumed to say not 'much'; but now,
after the third, I am prepared to maintain that she is decidedly
interesting. Her manner is just a trifle stiff to begin with, but that is
so evidently the outcome of shyness that I cannot understand anybody being
repelled by it. Her voice is charming, every tone is exquisitely
modulated, and she expresses herself with ease, and with a certain grace
of diction peculiarly her own. It is a treat to hear English spoken as she
speaks it. She uses little or no slang and few abbreviations, but she is
perfectly fearless in her choice of words, and invariably employs the one
which expresses her meaning best, however strong it may be, yet somehow
the effect is never coarse. Yesterday she wanted to know the name of an
officer now at the barracks, and made her husband understand which she
meant in this way: 'He is a little man,' she said, 'who puts his hands
deep down in his pockets, hunches up his shoulders, and says _damn_
emphatically.' How she can use such words without offence is a mystery;
but she certainly does.

"All this, however, you must have observed for yourself, and I know that
it is merely skimming about your question, not answering it. But I humbly
confess, though it cost me your confidence in my 'keen insight' forever,
that I cannot answer it. So far, Mrs. Colquhoun has appealed to me merely
as a text upon which to hang conclusions. I do not in the least know what
she is, but I can see already what she will become--if her friends are not
careful; and that is a phrase-maker.

"Colonel Colquhoun is likely to be a greater favourite here than his wife.
Ladies say he is 'very nice!' 'so genial,' and 'a _thorough_
Irishman!' whatever they mean by that. He does affect both brogue and
blarney when he thinks proper. Perhaps, however, I ought to tell you at
once that I do not like him, and am not at all inclined to cultivate his
acquaintance. He strikes me as being a very commonplace kind of military
man, tittle-tattling, idle, and unintellectual; and in the habit of
filling up every interval of life with brandy and soda water. The creature
is rapidly becoming extinct, but specimens still linger in certain
districts. And I should judge him upon the whole to be the sort of man who
pleases by his good manners those whom he does not repel by his pet vices--
most people, that is to say. The world is constant and kind to its own.

"They are at As-You-Like-It, the gloomiest house in the neighbourhood. I
fancy Colonel Colquhoun took it to suit his own convenience without
consulting his wife's tastes or requirements, and he will be out too much
to suffer himself, but I fear she will feel it. She is a fragile little
creature, for whose health and well-being generally I should say that
bright rooms and fresh air are essential. The air at As-You-Like-It is not
bad, but the rooms are damp. That west window in the drawing room is the
one bright spot in the house, and the sun only shines on it in the
afternoon. I am sorry that I cannot answer your letter more
satisfactorily, but you may rest assured that I shall be glad to do Mrs.
Colquhoun any service in my power.

"Diavolo wrote and told me the other day that his colonel thinks him too
good for the Guards, and has strongly advised him, if he wishes to
continue in the service, to exchange into some other regiment! I have
asked him to come and stay with me, and hope to discover what he has been
up to. With your permission, I should urge him to apply for the Depot at
Morningquest. It would do the duke good to have him about again, and
Angelica would be delighted; and, besides, Colonel Colquhoun would keep
his eye on him and put up with more pranks probably than those who know
not Joseph.

"Angelica is very well and happy. Her devotion to her husband continues to
be exemplary, and he has been good-natured enough to oblige her by
delivering some of her speeches in parliament lately, with excellent
effect. She read the one now in preparation aloud to us the last time I
was at Ilverthorpe. It struck me as being extremely able, and eminent for
refinement as well as for force. Mr. Kilroy himself was delighted with it,
as indeed he is with all that she does now. He only interrupted her once.
'I should say the country is going to the dogs, there,' he suggested.
'Then, I am afraid your originality would provoke criticism,' Angelica
answered.

"When do you return? I avoid Hamilton House in your absence, it looks so
dreary all shut up.

"Yours always, dear Lady Adeline,

"GEORGE BETON GALBRAITH."

CHAPTER IV.

Having despatched my letter, I began to consider how I might best follow
up my acquaintance with Evadne with a view to such intimacy as should
enable me at any time to have the right to be of service to her should
occasion offer, and during the day I arranged a dinner party for her
special benefit, not a very original idea, but by accident it answered the
purpose.

The Colquhouns accepted my invitation, but when the evening arrived Evadne
came alone, and quite half an hour before the time I had dressed, luckily,
and was strolling about the grounds when I saw the carriage drive up the
avenue, and hastened round the house to meet her at the door.

"The days are getting quite long," she said, as I helped her to alight.
Then, glancing up at a clock in the hall, she happened to notice the time.
"Is that clock right?" she asked.

"It is," I answered.

"Then my coachman must have mistaken the distance," she said. "He assured
me that it would take an hour to drive here. But I shall not have occasion
to regret the mistake if you will let me see the house," she added
gracefully. "It seems to be a charming old place."

It would have been a little awkward for both of us but for this happy
suggestion; there were, however, points of interest enough about the house
to fill up a longer interval even.

"But I am forgetting!" she exclaimed, as I led her to the library. "I
received this note from Colonel Colquhoun at the last moment. He is
detained in barracks to-day, most unfortunately, and will not be able to
get away until late. He begs me to make you his apologies."

"I hope we shall see him during the evening," I said.

"Oh, yes," she answered, "he is sure to come for me."

There was a portrait of Lady Adeline in the library, and she noticed it at
once.

"Do you know the Hamilton-Wellses?" she asked, brightening out of her
former manner instantly.

"We are very old friends," I answered. "Their place is next to mine, you
know."

"I did not know," she said. "I have never been there. Lady Adeline knows
my people, and used to come to our house a good deal at one time; that is
where I met her, I like her very much--and trust her."

"That everybody does."

"Do you know her widowed sister, Lady Claudia Beaumont?"

"Yes,"

"And their brother, Lord Dawne?"

"Yes--well. He and I were 'chums' at Harrow and Oxford, and a common
devotion to the same social subjects has kept us together since."

"He is a man of most charming manners," she said thoughtfully.

"He is," I answered cordially. "I know no one else so fastidiously
refined, without being a prig."

She was sitting on the arm of a chair with Adeline's photograph in her
hand, and was silent a moment, looking at it meditatively.

"You must know that eccentric 'Ideala,' as they call her, also?" she said
at last, glancing up at me gravely.

"We do not consider her eccentric," I said.

"Well, you must confess that she moves in an orbit of her own," she
rejoined.

"Not alone, then," I answered, "so many luminaries circle round her."

"Lady Adeline criticises her severely," she ventured, with a touch of
asperity.

"_Les absents out toujours torts_," I answered. "But, at the same
time, when Lady Adeline criticises Ideala severely, I am sure she deserves
it. Her faults are patent enough, and most provoking, because she could
correct them if she would. You don't know her well?"

"No."

"Ah! Then I understand why you do not like her. She is not a person who
shows to advantage on a slight acquaintance, and in that she is just the
reverse of most people; her faults are all on the surface and appear at
once, her good qualities only come out by degrees."

"I feel reproved," Evadne answered, smiling. "But it is really hard to
believe that the main fabric of a character is beautiful when one only
sees the spoilt bits of it. You must be quite one of that clique," she
added, in a tone which expressed "What a pity!" quite clearly.

"You are not interested in social questions?" I ventured.

"On the contrary," she answered decidedly, "I hate them all."

She put the photograph down, and looked round the room.

"Where does that door lead to?" she asked, indicating one opposite.

"Into my study."

"Then you do not study in the library?"

"No. I read here for relaxation. When I want to work I go in there."

"Let me see where you work?"

I hesitated, for I kept my tools there, and I did not know what might be
about.

"It is professional work I do there," I said.

She was quick to see my meaning: "Oh, in that case," she began
apologetically. "I am indiscreet, forgive me. I have not realized your
position yet, you see. It is so anomalous being both a doctor and a
country gentleman. But what a dear old place this is! I cannot think how
you can mix up medical pursuits with the names of your ancestors. Were I
you I should belong to the Psychical Society only. The material for that
kind of research lingers long in these deep recesses. It is built up in
thick walls, and concealed behind oak panels. Oh, how _can_ you be a
doctor here!"

"I am not a doctor, here," I assured her, "at least only in the morning
when I make this my consulting room."

"I am glad," she said. "This is a place in which to be human."

"Is a doctor not human, then?" I asked, a trifle piqued.

"No," she answered, laughing. "A doctor is not a man to his lady patients;
but an abstraction--a kindly abstraction for whom one sends when a man's
presence would be altogether inconvenient. If I am ever ill I will send
for you in the abstract confidently."

"Well, I hope I may more than answer your expectations in that character,"
I replied, "should anything so unfortunate as sickness or sorrow induce
you to do me the favour of accepting my services."

She gave me one quick grave glance. "I know you mean it," she said; "and I
know you mean more. You will befriend me if I ever want a friend."

"I will," I answered.

"Thank you," she said.

It was exactly what I had intended with regard to her since I had received
Lady Adeline's letter, but a compact entered into on the occasion of our
fourth meeting struck me as sudden. I had no time to think of it, however,
at the moment, for Evadne followed up her thanks with a question.

"How do you come to have an abode of this kind and be a doctor also?" she
asked.

"The house came to me from an uncle, who died suddenly, just after I had
become a fully qualified practitioner," I told her; "but there is not
income enough attached to it to keep it up properly, and I wanted to live
here; and I wanted besides to continue my professional career, so I
thought I would try and make the one wish help the other."

"And the experiment has succeeded?"

"Yes."

"Are you very fond of your profession?"

"It is the finest profession in the world."

"All medical men say that," she remarked, smiling.

"Well, I can claim the merit--if it be a merit--of having arrived at that
conclusion before I became--"

"Eminent?" she suggested.

"Before I had taken my degree," I corrected.

"So you came and established yourself as a doctor in this old place?"

She glanced round meditatively.

"That seems to surprise you?"

"It is the dual character that surprises me," she answered, "Your practice
makes you a professional man, and you are a county magnate also by right
of your name and connections."

She evidently knew all about me already, and I was flattered by the
interest she showed, which I thought special until I found that she was in
the habit of knowing, and knowing accurately too, all about everyone with
whom she was brought into close contact.

"I cannot imagine how you find time for it all," she continued; "you are
not a general practitioner, I believe."

"Not exactly," I answered. "Of course I never refuse to attend in any case
of emergency, but my regular practice is all consultation, and my
speciality has somehow come to be nervous disorders. Sometimes I have my
house full of patients--interesting cases which require close attention."

"I know," she said, "and poor people who cannot pay as often as the rich
who will give you anything to attend them."

"I should very much like you to believe the most exaggerated accounts of
my generosity if any such are about," I hastened to assure her; "but
honesty compels me to explain that I benefit by every case which I treat
successfully."

"Goto! you do not deceive me," she answered, laughing up in my face.

Her manner had quite changed now. She recognized me as one of her own
caste, and knew that however friendly and familiar she might be I should
not presume.

When it was time to think of my other guests, she begged to be allowed to
remain in the library until they had all arrived.

"It would be such an exertion to have to explain to each one separately
how it is that I am here alone--and I do so dislike strange people," she
added plaintively. "It makes me quite _ill_ to have to meet them.
And, besides," she broke out laughing, "as it is a new place, perhaps I
ought to try and make myself interesting and of importance to the
inhabitants by coming in late! When you keep people waiting for dinner you
do become of consequence to them--to their comfort--and then they think of
you!"

"But not very charitably under such circumstances," I suggested.

"That depends," she answered. "If you arrive in time to save their
appetites, they will associate a pleasant sense of relief with your coming
which will make them think well of you for evermore. They mistake the
sensation for an opinion, and as they like it, they call it a good one!"

She looked pretty when she unbent like that and talked nonsense--or what
was apt to strike you as nonsensical until you came to consider it. For
there was often a depth of worldly wisdom and acuteness underlying her
most apparently careless sallies that surprised you.

She lingered long in the library--so long that at first I felt impatiently
that she might have remembered that I had an appetite as well as the
strangers within my gates with whom it apparently pleased her to trifle,
and I felt obliged, during an awkward pause, to account for the delay by
explaining for whom we were waiting. If she were in earnest about wishing
to make a sensation or attract special attention to herself, she had
gained her end, for the moment I mentioned the name of Colquhoun, people
began to speak of her, carefully, because nobody knew as yet who her
friends might be, but with interest. I never supposed for a moment,
however, that she was in earnest. There was something proudly
self-respecting about her which forbade all idea of anything so paltry as
manoeuvring. I did at first think that she might have fallen asleep; but,
afterward, on recollecting that she was a nervous subject, it occurred to
me that her courage might have failed her, and that she would never
present herself to a whole room full of strangers alone. Excusing myself to
my guests, therefore, as best I could, I went at last to the library, and
found that this latter surmise was correct. She was standing in the middle
of the room with her hands clasped, evidently in an agony of nervous
trepidation. I went up to her, however, as if I had not noticed it, and
offered her my arm.

"If you will come now, Mrs. Colquhoun," I said, "we will go to dinner."

She took my arm without a word, but I felt as soon as she touched me that
her confidence was rapidly returning, and by the time we had reached the
drawing room, and I had explained that Colonel Colquhoun had been detained
by duty most unfortunately, but Mrs. Colquhoun had been kind enough to
come nevertheless, she had quite recovered herself, and only a slight
exaggeration of the habitual _noli me tangere_ of her ordinary manner
remained in evidence of her shyness.

When we were seated at table, and she was undoubtedly at her ease again, I
expected to see her vivacity revive; but the nervous crisis had evidently
gone deeper than her manner, and affected her mood. I had left her all
life and animation, a mere girl bent upon pleasure, but with every
evidence of considerable capacity for the pursuit; but now, at dinner, she
sat beside me, cold, constrained, and listless, neither eating nor
interested; pretending, however, courageously, and probably deceiving
those about her with the even flow of polished periods which she kept up
to conceal her indifference. I thought perhaps her husband's absence had
something to do with it, and expected to see her brighten up when he
arrived. He did not come at all, however, and only once at table did she
show any sign of the genuine intellectual activity which I was now pretty
sure was either concealed or slumbering in these moods. The sign she made
was deceptive, and probably only a man of my profession, accustomed to
observe, and often obliged to judge more by indications of emotion than by
words, would have recognized its true significance. In the midst of her
chatter she became suddenly silent, and one might have been excused for
supposing that her mind was weary; but that, in truth, was the moment when
she really roused herself, and began to follow the conversation with close
attention. There was an old bore of a doctor at table that evening who
would insist on talking professionally, a thing which does not often
happen in my house, for I think, of all "shop," ours is the most
unsuitable for general conversation because of the morbid fascination it
has for most people. Ladies especially will listen with avidity to medical
matters, perceiving nothing gruesome in the details at the moment; but
afterward developing nerves on the subject, and probably giving the young
practitioner good reason to regret unwary confidences. I tried to stave
off the topic, but the will-power of the majority was against me, and
finally I found myself submitting, and following my friend's unwholesome
lead.

"You must have some curious experiences, in your branch of the profession
especially," the lady on my left remarked.

"We do," I said, answering her expectations against my better judgment,
and partly, I think, because this was the moment when Evadne woke up. "I
have had some myself. The extraordinary systems of fraud and deceit which
are carried on by certain patients, for no apparent purpose, would
astonish you. Their delight is essentially in the doing, and the one and
only end of it all is invariably the same: a morbid desire to excite
sympathy by making themselves interesting. I had one girl under my charge
for six months, during which time she suffered daily from long fainting
fits and other distressing symptoms which reduced her to the last degree
of emaciation, and puzzled me extremely because there was nothing to
account for them. Her heart was perfectly sound, yet she would lie in a
state of insensibility, livid and all but pulseless, by the hour together.
There was no disease of any organ, but certain symptoms, which could not
have been simulated, pointed to extensive disorder of one at least. It was
a case of hysteria clearly, but no treatment had the slightest effect upon
her, and, fearing for her life, I took her at last to Sir Shadwell Rock,
the best specialist for nervous disorders now alive. He confirmed my
diagnosis, and ordered the girl to be sent away from her friends with a
perfect stranger, a hard, cold, unsympathetic person who would irritate
her, if possible; and she was not to be allowed luxuries of any kind. I
had considered the advisability of such a course myself, but the girl
seemed too far gone for it, and I own I never expected to see her alive
again. After she went abroad I heard that when she fainted she was left
just where she fell to recover as best she could, and when any particular
food disagreed with her, it was served to her incessantly until she
professed to have got over her dislike for it; but in spite of such heroic
treatment she was not at that time any better. Then I lost sight of her,
and had forgotten the case, when one day, without any warning whatever,
she came into my consulting room, looking the picture of health and
happiness, and with a very fine child in her arms. 'I suppose you are
surprised to see me alive,' she said. 'I am married now, and this is my
boy--isn't he a beauty? And I am very happy--or rather I should be but for
one thing--that illness of mine--when I gave you so much trouble--' 'Oh,
don't mention that,' I interrupted, thinking she had come to overwhelm me
with undeserved thanks: 'My only trouble was that I could do nothing for
you. I hope you recovered soon after you went abroad?' 'As soon as I
thought fit,' she answered significantly, 'and that is what I have come
about. I want to confess. I want to relieve my mind of a burden of deceit.
Doctor--I was never insensible in one of those fainting fits; I never had
a symptom that I could not have controlled. I was shamming from beginning
to end.' 'Well, you nearly shammed yourself out of the world,' I said.
'Tell me how you did it?' 'I can't tell you exactly,' she answered. 'When
I wanted to appear to faint I just set my mind somehow--I can't do it now
that I am happy, and have plenty of interests in life. At that time I had
nothing to take me out of myself, and those daily doings were an endless
source of occupation and entertainment to me. But lately I have had qualms
of conscience on the subject.'"