CHAPTER X

A PERILOUS PATH

JULIET had now her own way to an extent of which a little while before she could hardly have dreamed as possible.

She should have been very happy, one might think. But human happiness does not consist of anything external, and it will not come even with the realisation of all one's desires. And Juliet would have said that she was far indeed from such an attainment. No acquisition satisfied her. She was ever reaching after something beyond. Her uncle's indulgence had the effect of making her more of a spoilt child than ever. Restless, petulant, and perverse, she was constantly working herself into a fever over something or other. She continually destroyed the peace of the household by her irritability and impatience.

Sometimes her mother would be reduced to tears by her conduct. When Juliet saw her thus grieved, she would be filled with contrition, even to self-loathing. She would overwhelm her mother with tender caresses and loving words. She would make many promises of amendment, and as long as the remorseful feeling lasted she would be quite gentle and docile in her ways. But, alas! The softened mood was never of long continuance. The old spirit would soon assert itself, and the wilful determination, to take her own way at any cost, rule her actions again.

At first the singing lessons were a pure delight to her.

Signor Lombardi's words seemed full of encouragement and even of flattering prophecy. But after a while, he began to criticise and correct with some sharpness. One day, he exhibited the utmost impatience because she did not play properly the accompaniment of her song.

"I did not undertake to teach you the A B C of music," he remarked, in scathing tones.

Juliet came home in despair, and cried bitterly as she told her mother about it. Mrs. Tracy persuaded her to ask Salome to help her in mastering the difficult accompaniment. Juliet's pride hated the idea of asking such help of Salome, but her dread of receiving a second rebuke from her master was even stronger than her pride. She humbled herself, and made the request of her sister.

Salome consented, but with a bad grace. She tried to improve the opportunity by showing Juliet how much she had missed by not continuing to study music with her. There is nothing more aggravating than some people's "I told you so. I knew you would regret it when it was too late."

Juliet could ill brook such comments, and the music lesson ended in a storm of recriminations which did not conduce to the harmony of the household.

Mrs. Tracy had accompanied Juliet when she went to take her first lesson of Signor Lombardi. On the following week, too, she went with her; but when the day for the third lesson came one of her severe headaches made it impossible for Mrs. Tracy to go out. She was at no time strong enough to bear much of the excitement and fatigue going about in London. She hoped that one of Juliet's sisters would be willing to accompany her. Salome at once declared that it would be impossible for her to go, since she was expected at a Dorcas meeting that afternoon, and Hannah looked annoyed at the suggestion, and said it would be very inconvenient for her to go, though she did not refuse to do so.

But when Juliet heard the question raised, she at once settled the matter in her own way. "I want neither Hannah nor Salome," she said. "I will go alone. There is no reason in the world why I should not. Other girls went about in London alone. It was a foolish and exploded notion that girls needed always to have a duenna. I have no patience with it. I hope I know how to take care of myself. I hate to be treated as a child."

To her mother, it seemed that many girls might be better trusted to go about alone than Juliet. Not that she doubted her daughter's discretion. But the girl was so pretty and striking-looking, she was certain to attract attention wherever she went, and might possibly be subjected to impertinence. But it was vain to argue the question with Juliet. She was bent on doing as she liked, and from that day she went alone to take her singing lessons.

On the second occasion of her going alone, she met Algernon Chalcombe on the platform of the station at which she took the train for the suburb in which she lived. It was impossible to avoid greeting him, had she been disposed to do so. His face was radiant with pleasure as she shook hands with him.

"This is a happy chance for me, Miss Tracy. What a lucky thing that I missed the earlier train! Let me relieve you of this."

And he took from her the portfolio of music she was carrying. The next minute, as the train came up, he opened the door of an empty compartment, and when she had entered, stepped in also.

"You have been taking your singing lesson, I see. Do you always return by this train?"

"When I can catch it," said Juliet. "Sometimes I am detained, and arrive just in time to see it gliding out of the station."

"A most aggravating experience. It was mine a quarter of an hour ago. I felt savage at the moment; but now I am awfully glad that I missed that train. It is a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Tracy."

Juliet's face flushed. It was pleasant to hear him say it, pleasant, though somewhat embarrassing, to meet the look that was in his dark eyes. He was certainly a very handsome man. The fashionable and faultless style of his dress had its influence on Juliet's impressionable mind. He was a "perfect gentleman," she told herself again.

And Algernon Chalcombe was observing her with new pleasure. He had been charmed with her prettiness when he had seen in her only a "little schoolgirl." It had been amusing to flirt with her without any serious intention. But now she was no longer a schoolgirl. She was a very charming young lady, beautifully dressed, and currying herself with an air which made people as they passed her involuntarily turn to look at her a second time.

Moreover, if his sister were right in her conjectures, Juliet Tracy was an heiress, a fact which had considerable importance for Algernon Chalcombe, whose life was spent in a constant endeavour to win money without the trouble of working for it. He now yielded himself with pleasure to the fascination which Juliet exerted over him, and determined that he in his turn would fascinate her. It did not appear difficult to do this. That there would be serious practical difficulties in the way of his wooing, he was well aware, but he had little doubt of ultimate success, since he was not wont to be troubled with delicate scruples in the prosecution of his purposes.

"How does the singing progress?" he asked. "Do you like your master?"

"Yes," Juliet answered, with some hesitation, "I think he is a good teacher, but so severe. Sometimes I despair of ever pleasing him."

"Oh, you must not despair," said Algernon; "his severity is just the highest compliment he can pay you. He is severe with you because he sees that you are worth taking great pains with. If you had only mediocre talent, he would be far less particular with you."

"That explanation is highly gratifying to my vanity," said Juliet, with a laugh. "I wish I could lay the flattering unction to my soul."

"You may indeed, for it is true," he replied. "I happen to know, for Signor Lombardi was speaking to me of you only the other day. You know that he and I are old friends."

It was impossible for Juliet to help looking at him with eager, questioning eyes, though she was too proud to put a direct question.

"I asked him how you were getting on," said Algernon, responding to her look, "and he said you were doing well."

"Did he?" exclaimed Juliet, in tones of delighted surprise. "Now, why could he not have told me that?"

Algernon shrugged his shoulders.

"It is not his way, I suppose. But it is a fact that he thinks very highly of you. He says you have a beautiful voice, so clear and flexible. He thinks you might do anything with such a voice."

"Does he?" cried Juliet rapturously. "Oh, if only I could!"

"You must," he said. "With such a voice it will be a shame if you are not one of these days the prima donna."

"Oh, do you think so?" exclaimed Juliet, with sparkling eyes. "What a lovely idea!"

Then suddenly, the light went out of her eyes. "It is impossible," she said, dropping her voice. "They would never let me. Uncle has the greatest objection to a public career for me. And mother is almost as bad."

"But surely you will not always be bound by their prejudices?" he said. "Your life is your own. They have no right to spoil it for you. Nothing can be impossible to one of your spirit and determination."

Juliet's eyes glowed again.

"Perhaps not," she said softly. "Certainly I manage to get my own way, as a rule."

"Of course. You ought always to have your own way. And you will, too. I have not a doubt of it."

"Decidedly I shall try for it," said Juliet, with a little laugh. "I shall not lightly give up my wish, you may be sure."

Juliet came into the house that evening wearing so bright a look that her mother felt sure she must have had a very pleasant lesson.

But when Juliet was questioned about it, she could not say that her master had given her much encouragement. "And yet I do feel encouraged somehow," she added, with a sunny smile.

It was delightful to hug to herself the secret assurance that Signor Lombardi thought she might "do anything" with her voice. The vagueness of the prophecy did not detract from its value. It rather enhanced it, by giving wider scope to the imagination.

But when on the following week, she again presented herself for a lesson, there was nothing in the signor's manner to suggest that he so highly esteemed her musical gift. He found little to praise and much to condemn in her performance, and it was with a sigh suggestive of weary relief that he finally dismissed her.

Juliet would have felt out of heart but for her remembrance of what Algernon Chalcombe had told her. To her surprise, she again encountered that young man at the railway station. It now appeared that he had an engagement which brought him into town on this day every week, and would involve his travelling home by the same train as Juliet.

Juliet hardly knew whether she were glad or sorry. She was nervous lest anyone of her acquaintance should see her as she sat talking with Algernon Chalcombe. She experienced many a throb of uneasiness, as she thought how her mother would feel if she saw them thus together. Yet Algernon made his company so agreeable to her, that she could not regret having met him. He talked to her again of her voice, and was able to recall various other laudatory remarks Signor Lombardi had made concerning it when talking to him in confidence. And Juliet's vanity drank eagerly of the cup of nectar thus presented to it.

After this, Algernon Chalcombe never failed to meet Juliet on her return from Kensington. Juliet's conscience was uneasy under what seemed so much like a clandestine arrangement. She had never concealed anything from her mother before, and she had burning sense of compunction and shame, when her mother, in her gentle, loving way, questioned her as her journey to and from the West End.

Yet she had no difficulty in defending her conduct to herself: She could not help meeting him. Her mother had never told her not to speak to him. She knew that she had seen Flossie's brother on the day she went to their house. She could not help greeting him, if she saw him. It was impossible to be rude to people.

And since he was travelling by the same train, what harm could there be in their sitting together of exchanging a few words as they went along? Of course, the prudish minds of Hannah and Salome would be shocked; but she did not care what they thought.

But, though she professed to herself not to care, it is certain that Juliet was in the habit of looking anxiously for her sisters' forms on each suburban platform at which the train stopped, and that she experienced relief at not seeing them.

One day her conscience so troubled her, that she purposely lingered on her way to the station, that she might miss the train by which Algernon Chalcombe was in the habit of travelling. But when she came on to the platform, ten minutes after the train had started, Algernon still stood there. He came up to her with the air of one who is sure of his welcome.

"How did you manage to miss your train?" he asked.

"How did you?" she retorted.

"Oh, I—" he laughed. "You do not suppose it was the train I minded missing?"

Juliet's colour deepened. Her eyes sank beneath his meaning glance.

"Do you not know what the hope of seeing you is to me?" he whispered. "Surely you must understand that it is the one event of the week to me, and I cannot bear to miss it."

Juliet could not reply. She had felt vexed that he had waited for her, and she wanted to tell him that he must not do so again. But she could not say that or anything now.

She turned aside to hide her blushes, and encountered the hard gaze of Mrs. Hayes, who, accompanied by her husband, was stepping out of the train which had just come into the station. Juliet shrank back so dismayed that she had not the presence of mind to attempt any salutation in response to that hard stare. She hoped that Mrs. Hayes had not seen Algernon Chalcombe speaking to her; but something in that lady's manner seemed to demonstrate that she had perceived that Juliet had a companion.

Juliet took her place in the train, and Algernon seated himself beside her. She hardly knew what he was saying as the train rattled along. She was too thrilled and excited to listen. There was something intoxicating for her in the idea that this clever, handsome man was in love with her, and depended on her for his happiness. It was delightful to feel that she had such power. The very thought of love made her breath come more quickly, and her pulses throb. How could she doubt that her heart responded to the sentiment she had inspired?

Juliet parted from Algernon Chalcombe hurriedly at the station where they alighted. She would not let him walk with her in the neighbourhood of her home.

She hastened home with her mind in a whirl of excitement. She was wildly elated. She believed herself to be very happy. Her thoughts went forward into the future, but they took no definite form. She did not dream of marrying Algernon Chalcombe. She had already decided that domestic life was far too humdrum for her taste.

Her visions of the future did not include dreams of home happiness. No, she could only picture herself a renowned prima donna, adored by the public, which would delight to scatter bouquets, laurel wreaths, and costly gifts in rich profusion at her feet. But it was pleasant to imagine amidst the crowd of admirers, who had not yet revealed themselves, this one devoted lover, himself a favourite of the music halls, who would be closely bound to her by the spell of her personal magic, who would count himself happy to serve her, and be ready to obey her every behest, whilst content to live upon such crumbs of kindness as she might choose to throw to him. It was not a role which would have suited Algernon Chalcombe in the least; but what did Juliet know of his true character?

It is easy to smile at the folly of an ambitious girl's wild imaginings; but is there not something pathetic too in such ignorant, blind forecasting of the future? Poor childish Juliet, giddy and elated, was treading the very verge of a precipice without the least notion of the chasm which yawned below. And those who might have saved her from it were unconscious of her peril, and, all unwittingly, were urging her nearer and nearer to the fatal brink.