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Updated: June 11, 2025
That evening which Lady Sellingworth spent in solitude was the turning point in her life. During it and the succeeding night she went down to the bedrock of realization. She allowed her brains full liberty. Or they took full liberty as their right. The woman of the grey matter had it out with the woman of the blood.
We will go to the Bella Napoli." She did not say "yes" or "no." She was thinking at that moment of Craven and Adela Sellingworth. It was just possible that they might be there. But if they were? What did it matter? Minnie Birchington had seen her with Arabian. Lady Archie Brooke had seen her. Craven had seen her. And why should she be ashamed. Ought and ought not!
Lady Sellingworth turned away for a moment. She stood with her back to Miss Van Tuyn and her face towards the fire, holding the mantelpiece with her right hand. Miss Van Tuyn, motionless, stared at her tall figure. She felt this was a real battle between herself and her friend, or enemy. She was determined to win it somehow.
"No," he answered. "I've never set eyes on him before." "I think he is the best-looking man I have ever seen," said the woman. "No doubt very good-looking, very good-looking!" said her host; "but on the wrong side of the line, I should say." "The wrong side of the line? What do you mean?" "The shady side," said Sir Seymour. And then he turned to speak to Lady Sellingworth.
There Beryl was always in good spirits. The London atmosphere seemed to hold poison. Even Bourget's spell was lessened in this city of darkness and strange inexplicable perturbations. That night, about a quarter to nine when Lady Sellingworth had just finished her solitary dinner and gone up to the drawing-room, a footman came in and said: "Will you see Miss Van Tuyn, my lady?
Anyhow, it was not his fault that Lady Sellingworth was to be of his party tonight. Miss Van Tuyn was responsible for that. He rang the bell, which was answered by his valet. "Please fetch the theatre ticket, Walter. It is in the drawer of my writing-table in the library. A box for the Shaftesbury Theatre." "Yes, sir." Walter went out and returned in a moment with the ticket.
And she knew even in her writhings of despair that Rupert Louth would go scot free. She would never try to punish him for what he had done to her: and he would never know he had done it, unless one of the "old guard" told him. It was when she thought of the "old guard" that Lady Sellingworth almost crumbled, almost went to pieces.
"It's a character study, simply that," said Miss Van Tuyn. "The persistent lover who can't leave off " "Trying to love!" interposed Lady Sellingworth. "Following the great illusion." And they debated whether the great singer was an idealist or merely a sensualist, or perhaps both. Miss Van Tuyn thought he was only the latter, and Braybrooke agreed with her. But Lady Sellingworth said no.
But she did not know Beryl even yet, did not realize even yet the passionate force of curiosity which possessed Beryl at this moment. When the girl was not far from the door, and when Lady Sellingworth was reaching out her hand to touch the bell in order that the footman might know that her visitor was leaving her, Beryl turned round. "Adela!" she said. "Yes. What is it?"
For he loved her in a still, determined, undeviating way. And no woman would care to tell such a secret to a man who loved her and who was almost certain, barring the explosion of a moral bombshell, and perhaps even then, to go on loving her. No one knew why Lady Sellingworth had abruptly and finally emerged from the world of illusions in which she had lived.
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