The Young Diana: An Experiment Of The Future - free ebook by Marie Corelli

THE YOUNG DIANA AN EXPERIMENT OF THE FUTURE

Copyright, Canada, 1918 , By Marie Corelli...

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CHAPTER I

Once upon a time, in earlier and less congested days of literary effort, an Author was accustomed to address the Public as “Gentle Reader.” It was a civil phrase, involving a pretty piece of flattery. It implied three things: first, that if the Reader were not “gentle,” the Author’s courtesy might persuade him or her to become so—secondly, that criticism, whether favourable or the reverse, might perhaps be generously postponed till the reading of the book was finished,—and thirdly, that the Auth

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CHAPTER II

Diana was “old enough,” as her recalcitrant lover had informed her, to value the blessing of a good night’s rest. She had a clear conscience,—she was, indeed, that rara avis , in these days, a perfectly innocent-minded woman, and she slept as calmly and peacefully as a child. When she woke to the light of a radiant morning, with the sunshine making diamonds of the sea, she felt almost young again as she tripped to and fro, putting the final touches of taste to the pretty drawing-room, and giving

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CHAPTER III

Within a very few days of their “settling down” at Rose Lea, everybody in the neighbourhood,—that is to say, everybody of “county” standing—that height of social magnificence—had left their cards on Mr. and Mrs. Polydore May. They had, of course, previously made the usual private “kind inquiries,”—first as to the newcomers’ financial position, and next as to their respectability, and both were found to be unimpeachable. One of the most curious circumstances in this curious world is the strictnes

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CHAPTER IV

When morning came it brought with it intense heat and an almost overpowering glare of sunshine, and Mr. James Polydore May, stimulated by the warm atmosphere, went down to breakfast in a suit of white flannels. Why not? A sportive and youthful spirit had entered into him with his yesterday’s experience of tennis, and his “skittish-as-you-please” partner of seventeen; and, walking with a jaunty step, he felt that there was, and could be, no objection to the wearing of white, as far as he was conc

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CHAPTER V

On that same eminently tragic afternoon when Mr. Polydore May found it necessary to change his white flannels so soon after putting them on, and his wife had to think seriously of a crape poppy for her bonnet, two ladies sat in the charmingly arranged drawing-room of a particularly charming flat in Mayfair enjoying their afternoon tea. One was a graceful little woman arrayed in a captivating tea-gown; the other, a thin, rather worn-looking creature with a pale face and bright hair tucked closely

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CHAPTER VI

There are certain people who take a bland and solemn pleasure in the details of death and disaster,—who are glad to assume an air of what they call “Christian resignation,” and who delight in funerals and black-edged note-paper. Regular church-goers are very frequently most particular about this last outward sign and token of the heart’s incurable sorrow; some choose a narrow black edge as being less obtrusive but more subtle,—others a broad, as emblematic of utter hopelessness. The present writ

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CHAPTER VII

Geneva is one of those many towns in Switzerland which give the impression of neat commonplace in the midst of romance,—the same impression which is conveyed by a housewife’s laying out of domestic linen in the centre of a beautiful garden. The streets are clean and regular,—the houses well-built and characterless, sometimes breaking forth into “villas” of fantastic appearance and adornment, which display an entire absence of architectural knowledge or taste,—the shops are filled with such trifl

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CHAPTER VIII

Arrived at her hotel, Diana gave notice that she was leaving that afternoon. Then she packed up her one portmanteau and sent it by a porter to the station, with instructions to deposit it in the “Salle des Bagages,” to await her there. He carried out this order, and brought the printed number entitling her to claim her belongings at her convenience. “Madame is perhaps going to Vevy or to Montreux?” he suggested, cheerfully. “The journey is pleasanter by boat than by the train.” “No doubt!—yes, o

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CHAPTER IX

Diana listened to the quiet, emphatic tones of his voice in fascinated attention. “Light is Life,” he repeated, slowly. “Light—and the twin portion of Light,—Fire. The Rosicrucians have come nearer than any other religious sect in the world to the comprehension of things divine. Darkness is Chaos,—not death, for there is no death—but confusion, bewilderment and blindness which gropes for a glory instinctively felt but unseen. In these latter days, science has discovered the beginning of the wond

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CHAPTER X

That first evening in the Château Fragonard taught Diana exactly what was expected of her. It was evident that both Dimitrius and his mother chose to assume that she was a friend of theirs, staying with them on a visit, and she realised that she was not supposed to offer any other explanation of her presence. The famous advertisement had been “withdrawn,” and the Doctor had plainly announced that he was “not suited,” and that he had resigned all further quest of the person he had sought. That he

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CHAPTER XI

The next day Diana entered upon her work,—and for a fortnight following she was kept fully employed. But nothing mysterious, nothing alarming or confusing to the mind was presented for her contemplation or co-operation. Not once was she called upon to enter the laboratory where the strange wheel whirled at the bidding of the influence of light, going faster or slower, according to the ascension or declension of the sun; and not once did Dimitrius refer to the subject of his discourse with her on

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CHAPTER XII

Once in her own pretty suite of rooms, Diana locked the door of the entresol , so that no one might enter by chance. She wished to be alone that she might collect her thoughts and meditate on the “narrow escape” which she had experienced without actually realising any danger. Her sitting-room was grey with the creeping twilight, and she went to the window and opened it, leaning out to breathe the snowy chillness of the air which came direct from the scarcely visible mountains. A single pale star

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CHAPTER XIII

Meantime, Diana, up in her own room, was engaged in what to her had, of late years, been anything but an agreeable pastime,—namely, looking at herself in the mirror. She was keenly curious to find out what was the change in her appearance which had apparently surprised Madame Dimitrius so much that she could hardly be restrained, even by her masterful son, from expressing open wonderment. She stood before the long cheval glass, gazing deeply into it as if it were the magic mirror of the “Lady of

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CHAPTER XIV

So she knew! She knew that, as usual, she was, personally, a valueless commodity. So far as herself, her own life and feelings were concerned, her fate continued to follow her—no one was kindly or vitally interested in her,—she was just a “subject” for experiment. She had suspected this all along—yet now that she had heard the fact stated coldly and dispassionately, she was more or less resentful. She waited a few minutes, her heart beating quickly and the vexed blood rising to her brows and mak

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CHAPTER XV

That evening Diana for the first time saw Dimitrius in a somewhat irritable mood. He was sharp and peremptory of speech and impatient in manner. “Where have you been all the afternoon?” he demanded, at dinner, fixing his eyes upon her with a piercing intensity. “With Professor Chauvet,” she answered. “I wanted to see a famous Assyrian jewel he has—it is called ‘The Eye of Rajuna.’” Dimitrius shrugged his shoulders. “And you are interested in that kind of thing?” he queried, with a touch of disda

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CHAPTER XVI

Two or three days later the Château Fragonard was closed,—its windows were shuttered and its gates locked. The servants were dismissed, all save Vasho, who, with his black face, white teeth, rolling eyes and dumb lips, remained as sole custodian. The usual callers called in vain,—and even the Baroness Rousillon, a notable and persistent inquirer into all matters of small social interest, could learn nothing beyond the fact (written neatly on a card which Vasho handed to all visitors) that “Dr. a

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CHAPTER XVII

It was quite the end of the season at Davos before Dimitrius quitted it and took his mother and Diana on to the Riviera. Here, in the warm sunshine of the early Southern spring he began to study with keener and closer interest the progress of his “subject,” whose manner towards him and general bearing became more and more perplexing as time went on. She was perfectly docile and amiable,—cheerful and full of thoughtful care and attention for Madame Dimitrius,—and every fortnight took his mysterio

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CHAPTER XVIII

The strange spirit of complete indifference, and the attitude of finding nothing, apparently, worth the trouble of thinking about, stood Diana in such good stead, that she found no unpleasantness or restriction in being more or less a prisoner in her own rooms on her return to the Château Fragonard. The lovely house was thrown open to the usual callers and neighbours,—people came and went,—the gardens, glorious now with a wealth of blossom, were the favourite resort of many visitors to Madame Di

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CHAPTER XIX

The fated eve,—eve of the longest day in the year,—came in a soft splendour of misty violet skies and dimly glittering stars—after lovely hours of light and warmth which had bathed all nature in radiant summer glory from earliest dawn till sunset. Diana had risen with the sun itself in the brightest of humours without any forebodings of evil or danger resulting from the trial to which she was ready to be subjected, and when Madame Dimitrius came up to spend the afternoon with her as usual, she w

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CHAPTER XX

The next morning dawned cloudlessly, and a burning sun blazed intense summer heat through all the hours of the longest and loveliest day. Such persistent warmth brought its own languor and oppression, and though all the doors and windows of the Château Fragonard were left open, Madame Dimitrius found herself quite overwhelmed by the almost airless stillness, notwithstanding a certain under-wave of freshness which always flowed from the mountains like a breathing of the snow. “How is Diana?” she

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CHAPTER XXI

While Dimitrius thus perplexed himself with a psychological question for which he could find no satisfactory answer, Diana was happily free from doubts and fears of any kind whatsoever. When she found herself alone in her rooms she was conscious of a strange sense of sovereignty and supremacy which, though it was in a manner new to her, yet did not seem unnatural. She was not in the least conscious of having passed four days, practically, in a state of suspended animation, no more, perhaps, than

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CHAPTER XXII

The swiftness and silence of Diana’s departure from the Château Fragonard was of an almost uncanny nature. There were no affectionate leave-takings,—and she made no attempt to see Madame Dimitrius, who, thoroughly unnerved and ill, remained in her bedroom,—nor would she permit of any escort to the station, or “seeing off” by way of farewell. She simply left the house, having packed and labelled her own luggage to be sent after her,—and walked quietly with Dr. Dimitrius, through the lovely garden

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CHAPTER XXIII

Destiny having apparently taken sides with Diana in her new existence, she lost no time in availing herself of the varied and curious entertainment thrown in her way. The first thing she did on the next day but one of her arrival in London was to attempt a visit to her own former old home in Richmond, in order to see her “bereaved” parents. A private automobile from the hotel was supplied for her use at the hour she named in the afternoon,—an hour when she knew by old experience her mother would

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CHAPTER XXIV

Genius takes a century or more to become recognised,—but Beauty illumines this mortal scene as swiftly as a flash-light. Brief it may be, but none the less brilliant and blinding; and men who are for the most part themselves unintelligent and care next to nothing for intellectuality, go down like beaten curs under the spell of physical loveliness, when it is united to a dominating consciousness of charm. Consciousness of charm is a powerful magnet. A woman may be beautiful, but if she is of a ne

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CHAPTER XXV

The chaotic condition of mind into which Mr. Polydore May found himself plunged by what to him was the inexplicable and crazy conduct of the inexplicable and crazy young woman who so obstinately maintained her right to consider herself his daughter, was nothing to the well-nigh raving state of Captain the Honourable Reginald Cleeve, who was faced with a still more intolerable position. He, when he had first called upon Diana as she had invited him to do, experienced something in the nature of a

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EPILOGUE

It was night in Paris,—a heavy night, laden with the almost tropical heat and languor common to the end of an unusually warm summer. The street-lamps twinkled dimly through vapour which seemed to ooze upwards from the ground, like smoke from the fissures of a volcano, and men walked along listlessly with heads uncovered to the faint and doubtful breeze, some few occasionally pausing to glance at the sky, the aspect of which was curiously divided between stars and clouds, brilliancy and blackness

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