For a moment or so after he had gone Villiers stood lost in thought, with knitted brows and meditative eyes, then, rousing himself, he went on to his study, and sitting down at his desk wrote an answer to the d.u.c.h.ess de la Santoisie accepting her invitation.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

REWARDS OF FAME.

An habitual resident in London who is gifted with a keen faculty of hearing and observation, will soon learn to know instinctively the various characteristics of the people who call upon him, by the particular manner in which each one handles his door-bell or knocker.

He will recognize the timid from the bold, the modest from the arrogant, the meditative thinker from the bustling man of fashion, the familiar friend from the formal acquaintance. Every individual's method of announcing his or her arrival to the household is distinctly different,--and Villiers, who studied a little of everything, had not failed to take note of the curiously diversified degrees of single and double rapping by means of which his visitors sought admittance to his abode. In fact, he rather prided himself on being able to guess with almost invariable correctness what special type of man or woman was at his door, provided he could hear the whole diapason of their knock from beginning to end. When he was shut in his "den," however, the sounds were m.u.f.fled by distance, and he could form no just judgment,--sometimes, indeed, he did not hear them at all, especially if he happened to be playing his 'cello at the time. So that this morning he was considerably startled, when, having finished his letter to the d.u.c.h.ess de la Santoisie, a long and persistent rat-tat-tatting echoed noisily through the house, like the smart, quick blows of a carpenter's hammer--a species of knock that was entirely unfamiliar to him, and that, while so emphatic in character, suggested to his mind neither friend nor foe. He laid down his pen, listened and waited. In a minute or two his servant entered the room.

"If you please, sir, a lady to see Mr. Alwyn. Shall I show her up?"

Villiers rose slowly out of his chair, and stood eyeing his man in blank bewilderment.

"A LADY! ... To see Mr. Alwyn!"--he repeated, his thoughts instantly reverting to his friend's vaguely hinted love-affair,--"What name?"

"She gives no name, sir. She says it isn't needed,--Mr. Alwyn will know who she is."

"Mr. Alwyn will know who she is, will he?" murmured Villiers dubiously.--"What is she like? Young and pretty?"

Over the man-servant's staid countenance came the glimmer of a demure, respectful smile.

"Oh no, sir,--not young, sir! A person about fifty, I should say."

This was mystifying. A person about fifty! Who could she be? Villiers hastily considered,--there must be some mistake, he thought,--at any rate, he would see the unknown intruder himself first, and find out what her business was, before breaking in upon Alwyn's peaceful studies upstairs.

"Show the lady in here"--he said--"I can't disturb Mr. Alwyn just now."

The servant retired, and soon re-appeared, ushering in a tall, gaunt, black-robed female, who walked with the stride of a dragoon and the demeanor of a police-inspector, and who, merely nodding briskly in response to Villiers's amazed bow, selected with one comprehensive glance the most comfortable chair in the room, and seated herself at ease therein. She then put up her veil, displaying a long, narrow face, cold, pale, arrogant eyes, a nose inclined to redness at the tip, and a thin, close-set mouth lined with little sarcastic wrinkles, which came into prominent and unbecoming play as soon as she began to speak, which she did almost immediately.

"I suppose I had better introduce myself to you, Mr. Alwyn"--she said with a condescending and confident air--"Though really we know each other so well by reputation that there seems scarcely any necessity for it! Of course you have heard of 'Tiger-Lily!'"

Villiers gazed at her helplessly,--he had never felt so uncomfortable in all his life. Here was a strange woman, who had actually taken bodily possession of his apartment as though it were her own,--who had settled herself down in his particular pet Louis Quatorze chair,--who stared at him with the scrutinizing complacency of a professional physiognomist,--and who seemed to think no explanation of her extraordinary conduct was necessary, inasmuch as "of course" he, Villiers, had heard of "TIGER-LILY!" It was very singular! ... almost like madness! ... Perhaps she WAS mad! How could he tell? She had a remarkably high, k.n.o.bby brow,--a brow with an unpleasantly bald appearance, owing to the uncompromising way in which her hair was brushed well off it--he had seen such brows before in certain "spiritualists" who believed, or pretended to believe, in the suddenly willed dematerialization of matter, and THEY were mad, he knew, or else very foolishly feigning madness!

Endeavoring to compose his bewildered mind, he fixed gla.s.s in eye, and regarded her through it with an inquiring solemnity,--he would have spoken, but before he could utter a word, she went on rapidly:

"You are not in the least like the person I imagined you to be! ...

However, that doesn't matter. Literary celebrities are always so different to what we expect!"

"Pardon me, madam,"--began Villiers politely.. "You are making a slight error,--my servant probably did not explain. I am not Mr. Alwyn, . . my name is Villiers. Mr. Alwyn is my guest,--but he is at present very much occupied,--and unless your business is extremely urgent..."

"Certainly it is urgent"--said the lady decisively.. "otherwise I should not have come. And so you are NOT Mr. Alwyn! Well, I thought you couldn't be! Now then, will you have the kindness to tell Mr. Alwyn I am here?"

By this time Villiers had recovered his customary self-possession, and he met her commanding glance with a somewhat defiant coolness.

"I am not aware to whom I have the honor of speaking," he said frigidly. "Perhaps you will oblige me with your name?"

"My name doesn't in the least matter," she replied calmly--"though I will tell you afterward if you wish. But you don't seem to understand I..._I_ am 'Tiger-Lily'!"

The situation was becoming ludicrous. Villiers felt strongly disposed to laugh.

"I'm afraid I am very ignorant!"--he said, with a humorous sparkle in his blue eyes,--"But really I am quite in the dark as to your meaning.

Will you explain?"

The lady's nose grew deeper of tint, and the look she shot at him had quite a killing vindictiveness. With evident difficulty she forced a smile.

"Oh, you MUST have heard of me!"--she declared, with a ponderous attempt at playfulness--"You read the papers, don't you?"

"Some of them," returned Villiers cautiously--"Not all. Not the Sunday ones, for instance."

"Still, you can't possibly have helped seeing my descriptions of famous people 'At Home,' you know! I write for ever so many journals. I think"--and she became complacently reflective--"I think I may say with perfect truth that I have interviewed everybody who has ever done anything worth noting, from our biggest provision dealer to our latest sensational novelist! And all my articles are signed 'Tiger-Lily.' NOW do you remember? Oh, you MUST remember? ... I am so VERY well known!"

There was a touch of genuine anxiety in her voice that was almost pathetic, but Villiers made no attempt to soothe her wounded vanity.

"I have no recollection whatever of the name," he said bluntly--"But that is easily accounted for, as I never read newspaper descriptions of celebrities. So you are an 'interviewer' for the Press?"

"Exactly!" and the lady leaned back more comfortably in the Louis Quatorze fauteuil--"And of course I want to interview Mr. Alwyn. I want..." here drawing out a business looking note-book from her pocket she opened it and glanced at the different headings therein enumerated,--"I want to describe his personal appearance,--to know when he was born, and where he was educated,--whether his father or mother had literary tastes,--whether he had, or has, brothers or sisters, or both,--whether he is married, or likely to be, and how much money he has made by his book." She paused and gave an upward glance at Villiers, who returned it with a blank and stony stare.

"Then,"--she resumed energetically--"I wish to know what are his methods of work;--WHERE he gets his ideas and HOW he elaborates them,--how many hours he writes at a time, and whether he is an early riser,--also what he usually takes for dinner,--whether he drinks wine or is a total abstainer, and at what hour he retires to rest. All this is so INTENSELY interesting to the public! Perhaps he might be inclined to give me a few notes of his recent tour in the East, and of course I should be very glad if he will state his opinions on the climate, customs, and governments of the countries through which he has pa.s.sed.

It's a great pity this is not his own house,--it is a pretty place and a description of it would read well. Let me see!"--and she meditated,--" I think I could manage to insert a few lines about this apartment, . . it would be easy to say 'the picturesque library in the house of the Honble. Francis Villiers, where Mr. Alwyn received me,'

etc.,--Yes! that would do very well!--very well indeed! I should like to know whether he has a residence of his own anywhere, and if not, whether he intends to take one in London, because in the latter case it would be as well to ascertain by whom he intends to have it furnished.

A little discussion on upholstery is so specially fascinating to my readers! Then, naturally, I am desirous to learn how the erroneous rumor of his death was first started, . . whether in the course of his travels he met with some serious accident, or illness, which gave rise to the report. Now,"--and she shut her note-book and folded her hands,--"I don't mind waiting an hour or more if necessary,--but I am sure if you will tell Mr. Alwyn who I am, and what I have come for, he will be only too delighted to see me with as little delay as possible."

She ceased. Villiers drew a long breath,--his compressed lips parted in a slightly sarcastic smile. Squaring his shoulders with that peculiar pugnacious gesture of his which always indicated to those who knew him well that his mind was made up, and that nothing would induce him to alter it, he said in a tone of stiff civility:

"I am sorry, madam, . . very sorry! ... but I am compelled to inform you that your visit here is entirely useless! Were I to tell my friend of the purpose you have in view concerning him, he would not feel so much flattered as you seem to imagine, but rather insulted! Excuse my frankness,--you have spoken plainly,--I must speak plainly too.

Provision dealers and sensational story writers may find that it serves their purpose to be interviewed, if only as a means of gaining extra advertis.e.m.e.nt, but a truly great and conscientious author like Theos Alwyn is quite above all that sort of thing."

The lady raised her pale eyebrows with an expression of interrogative scorn.

"ABOVE all that sort of thing!" she echoed incredulously--"Dear me! How very extraordinary! I have always found all our celebrities so exceedingly pleased to be given a little additional notoriety! ... and I should have thought a POET," this with much depreciative emphasis--"would have been particularly glad of the chance! Because, of course you know that unless a very astonishing success is made, as in the case of Mr. Alwyn's 'Nourhalma,' people really take such slight interest in writers of verse, that it is hardly ever worth while interviewing them!"

"Precisely!" agreed Villiers ironically,--"The private history of a prize-fighter would naturally be much more thrilling!" He paused,--his temper was fast rising, but, quickly reflecting that, after all, the indignation he felt was not so much against his visitor as against the system she represented, he resumed quietly, "May I ask you, madam, whether you have ever 'interviewed' Her Majesty the Queen?"

Her glance swept slightingly over him.

"Certainly not! Such a thing would be impossible!"

"Then you have never thought," went on Villiers, with a thrill of earnestness in his manly, vibrating voice--"that it might be quite as impossible to 'interview' a great Poet?--who, if great indeed, is in every way as royal as any Sovereign that ever adorned a throne! I do not speak of petty verse-writers,--I say a great Poet, by which term I imply a great creative genius who is honestly faithful to his high vocation. Such an one could no more tell you his methods of work than a rainbow could prattle about the way it shines,--and as for his personal history, I should like to know by what right society is ent.i.tled to pry into the sacred matters of a man's private life, simply because he happens to be famous? I consider the modern love of prying and probing into other people's affairs a most degrading and abominable sign of the times,--it is morbid, unwholesome, and utterly contemptible. Moreover, I think that writers who consent to be 'interviewed' condemn themselves as literary charlatans, unworthy of the profession they have wrongfully adopted. You see I have the courage of my opinions on this matter,--in fact, I believe, if every one were to speak their honest mind openly, a better state of things might be the result, and 'interviewing' would gradually come to be considered in its true light, namely, as a vulgar and illegitimate method of advertis.e.m.e.nt. I mean no disrespect to you, madam,"--this, as the lady suddenly put down her veil, thrust her note-book in her pocket, and rose somewhat bouncingly from her chair--"I am only sorry you should find such an occupation as that of the 'interviewer' open to you. I can scarcely imagine such work to be congenial to a lady's feelings, as, in the case of really distinguished personages, she must a.s.suredly meet with many a rebuff! I hope I have not offended you by my bluntness, ... "--here he trailed off into inaudible polite murmurs, while the "Tiger-Lily" marched steadily toward the door.

"Oh dear, no, I am not in the least offended!" she retorted contemptuously,--"On the contrary, this has been a most amusing experience!--most amusing, I a.s.sure you! and quite unique! Why--" and suddenly stopping short, she turned smartly round and gesticulated with one hand ... "I have interviewed all the favorite actors and actresses in London! The biggest brewers in Great Britain have received me at their country mansions, and have given me all the particulars of their lives from earliest childhood! The author of 'Hugger Mugger's Curse'

took the greatest pains to explain to me how he first collected the materials for his design. The author of that most popular story, 'Darling's Twins,' gave me a description of all the houses he has ever lived in,--he even told me where he purchased his writing-paper, pens, and ink! And to think that a POET should be too grand to be interrogated! Oh, the idea is really very funny! ... quite too funny for anything! "She gave a short laugh,--then relapsing into severity, she added ... "You will, I hope, tell Mr. Alwyn I called?"

Villiers bowed. "a.s.suredly!"

"Thank you! Because it is possible he may have different opinions to yours,--in that case, if he writes me a line, fixing an appointment, I shall be very pleased to call again. I will leave my card,--and if Mr.

Alwyn is a sensible man, he will certainly hold broader ideas on the subject of 'interviewing' than YOU appear to entertain. You are QUITE sure I cannot see him?"