THE “SMART” WOMAN
Mrs. Mayfair Smartly is still a very beautiful woman; but when I first knew her she was quite lovely, with all the freshness of youth yet impearled upon her cheek, and in her eyes a newly-kindled light of conscious triumph, for her beauty had brought her fame. From the pretty and petted little wife of a gallant and good-natured major of dragoons, she had suddenly become “the beautiful Mrs. Mayfair Smartly,” thanks to the notice of an illustrious personage. Her photographs were in every shop-window, and no social function was considered complete without her. Admirers swarmed around her wherever she went; and, when she did not put in an appearance anywhere, she was nevertheless talked about—with candour.
Mrs. Mayfair Smartly had been married three or four years before she became really “somebody.” Her husband, Major Mayfair Smartly, was a typical cavalry officer—a tall, well-built man, of the Anglo-Saxon breed, who would lead a forlorn hope or ride a steeplechase with equal readiness and self-possession, a man who loved luxury and ease, but would be dangerous in the face of an enemy. As it happened, however, all his military service had been peaceful, and even in India he had never had the chance of serving on one of the periodical punitive expeditions, for his wife did not let him stay there long enough. She did not like India, it injured her complexion, so she insisted on his exchanging into a regiment at home. He never refused her anything, and, after all, “there is no place like home”; so, having exhausted all the complimentary adjectives of the reporters of the local Indian papers, and furnished as much gup for Simla and Calcutta coteries as propriety would permit, pretty Mrs. Mayfair Smartly, accompanied by her husband, bade farewell to Indian society, and sighing for new fields to conquer, made for London.
Major Mayfair Smartly’s new regiment was stationed at Aldershot, therefore his wife arranged that she should take an elegant flat in Mayfair, and that he should come up to town constantly, attend her at any dinners, receptions, or balls to which she might be going, and return to Aldershot by the early morning train in time for parade. She was soon in the very whirl of Society, and her pretty face and ready wit were attracting attention; but her actual fame as a beauty dated, I think, from one afternoon at Hurlingham. She had been presented at the last drawing-room, and an illustrious personage had made special inquiries about her on account of her good looks. This fact had, of course, reached her, and gladdened her immeasurably, and she was, therefore, in no way surprised when at Hurlingham that afternoon she received a gracious intimation of the Prince’s desire to make her acquaintance. The presentation took place in the presence of a representative Society gathering, and for the rest of the afternoon she was honoured of royalty.
After that eventful day, people began to speak of “the new beauty”; the photographers invited her to sit to them, which she did in every instance, and the journalists began to take particular note of her doings, and of her clothes. Henceforth Mrs. Mayfair Smartly was a social notability; her presence could lend distinction to any party, and her custom could make the fortune of any dressmaker, for she knew how to dress.
This may sound trivial and frivolous, but I am not one of those who profess to think lightly of women for paying much attention to their dress. I have invariably found that those women who really understand the art of dress, who know what to wear and how and when to wear it, possess taste and intelligence of a more refined order than those who regard costume in the light of mere clothing, and who not only reveal no appreciation of a woman’s obligation to look her best at all times, but affect to treat dress altogether as a subject fit only for the attention of frivolous minds. Charles Lamb said he hated a man who swallowed his food affecting not to know what he was eating. He suspected his taste in higher matters. So, when I hear a woman-of-the-world say she does not care how she looks, or what she wears, I feel pretty sure she is a woman of no taste, in spite of possibly much intellectual pretension, and that she is lacking in personal charm. When a woman says she leaves her costume to her dressmaker, I know that she has no mind of her own, no invention, no resource, no sense of the fitness of things, and that, however beautiful a gown her dressmaker may provide her with, she herself is sure to wear some incongruous hat or cloak, gloves or shoes, which will disturb the harmony of her appearance, and so assert her own ignorance.
Now, Mrs. Mayfair Smartly did none of these things; she was an artist in the matter of attire, and her personal charm was thereby all the greater. There be painters, musicians, and poets who may be as daringly original as they will in their compositions, and yet one not only feels that they are absolutely right, but that their innovations must become precedents. So it was with Mrs. Mayfair Smartly. She could dare to dress in styles that had not yet received the authority of the fashion-plates, and so infallibly right was she always that Fashion was bound to follow her. That Mrs. Mayfair Smartly wore such a colour, such a material, or such a design, was sufficient to ensure its general adoption by those who wished to dress well. In fashion, therefore, she was a leader rather than a follower, and, oh, how she was envied while she was admired.
But Mrs. Mayfair Smartly was not one of those stolid and superior human beings who can bear success with equanimity. It intoxicated her. She was “a very woman,” and she loved to be admired. It may have been very vain on her part, but nothing delighted her so much as to read or hear praise of her beauty, her dress, or her talk. She went everywhere, because wherever she went she won fresh admiration. In Society everybody knew her, of course, but she would tire herself to death sooner than miss any reception where she felt that she might shine, while she would never miss the Park, the “private views,” the opera, or the fashionable cricket-matches, or race-meetings. For at these she would always be a centre of attraction, and people would crowd about her, and those who knew her not would ask who she was, and those who knew her would gladly show their knowledge; and much admiration would call forth much envious deprecation, which was a sign of her power, for no success is won without provoking envy.
But it is not possible to sustain the reputation of a Society beauty and leader of fashion without much expenditure of money, and, truth to tell, though in comfortable circumstances, Major Mayfair Smartly was by no means wealthy. What he lacked in wealth, however, he made up in lavish generosity and devotion to his wife. He felt that such a beautiful and charming woman deserved to have her own way in everything; and since she had been good enough to marry him, who had nothing but his good-humour and his stalwart figure, which looked so well in uniform, to recommend him, the least he could do would be to give her all she asked. So he began to sell out stock when her monetary demands far exceeded his income; and so by rapid degrees he encroached upon his principal.
But Mrs. Mayfair Smartly, though very practical in the pursuit of pleasure and admiration, was as innocent as a child in the matter of money. She needed it, and her husband supplied it, but it never occurred to her that to pay for the present it was necessary to draw upon the future—that, in fact, her husband’s income could not expand in proportion to her extravagances. She lived in a fashionable set, and she was not only bound to do as others did, but her fame as a Society beauty demanded that she should do more. She felt that she needed more dresses, more bonnets, and more diamonds, because she was not plain Mrs. Smartly, but the “beautiful Mrs. Mayfair Smartly.” Society expected to see her always in new costumes and she could not disappoint Society. But Mrs. Mayfair Smartly could not dress as she dressed, and live as luxuriantly as she lived, on her husband’s income. So she acquired a habit of accumulating debts, and assuming an innocent surprise when the amounts were brought to her notice by requests for immediate payment. And the Major had to begin to borrow money; for he was too good-natured to suggest to his wife that she should moderate her expenditure, and too considerate to trouble her with such a sordid detail as his financial position.
In the meanwhile she went on as usual, the smartest of the smart, appearing in costumes and jewellery which a princess might have envied, driving in a turn-out that an empress would not have scorned, and living as expensively and pleasantly as ever. But kind friends, who knew that the Major was not a millionaire, began to wonder where all the money came from; and then people began to say unkind things about Mrs. Mayfair Smartly, to couple her name with, not one, but half a dozen wealthy “lords and gentlemen,” who were each and all trusty friends of her husband. This was a scandalous shame, for never was woman more impervious to that kind of temptation; and, after all, Major Mayfair Smartly used to come up from Aldershot nearly every evening, escort his wife to many places, and never interfere with her at any, so that she was really quite fond of him. And a capital fellow he was, except that he erred perhaps on the side of excessive amiability. This it was that brought him to his ruin. He was too amiable, too fond of his wife to take her extravagance in hand, and curb it with a strong rein. Besides, he could spend a pretty penny or two on his own account.
So the crash came at last, and it was quite a surprise to poor Mrs. Mayfair Smartly. She was amazed, she could not understand it at all. Why had her husband never told her about it? He treated her like a child, whereas, had he realised that she was a woman, and told her of the financial crisis at hand in their household, she would willingly have made several retrenchments. But now it was too late. Major Mayfair Smartly was obliged to sell out from the army, and sell up the elegant flat in Mayfair. Then he and his wife retired from Society. The beautiful Mrs. Mayfair Smartly no longer figured in the Society journals or the photographers’ shop-windows. Worth’s knew her no more, and she began to entertain an absolute affection for individual dresses because she wore them—those that she had not sold—so frequently.
They buried themselves in the country, and she tried to convince herself that she liked rural life. He did, because she was part of it to him—all that he knew of it—and he would have liked existence in Timbuctoo if she had only shared it with him. Now, too, he was relieved of those tiring journeys to Aldershot after balls and receptions, and he had his beloved wife all to himself.
But Mrs. Mayfair Smartly was not born for country life, and she felt that she was stagnating. If she could not live in London, in her old set, she would make a set for herself; and if the small remnant of her husband’s income would not support them both in the Metropolis, she must make some money herself. There are many fields of usefulness and profit open to ladies nowadays, she would essay one of them. She knew Society, its ways and persons, why should she not make use of her knowledge, and become a Society journalist? Why should she not write racy sketches of people she had met during her meteoric social career? Few women knew more of dress than she, or had more taste; why should she, then, not employ her pen to impart some of her ideas upon the gentle art of dressing well?
It was a happy thought, and Mrs. Mayfair Smartly has returned to town to regard Society from a new point of view. She is now the critic instead of the criticised. The necessity to live has impelled her to industry, and though she would sooner be spending her days in luxurious ease, which is really in accordance with her disposition, she devotes herself assiduously to work. She always had a ready pen, and now she writes clever stories and articles, and, continuing to dress fashionably and harmoniously, though less expensively, she preserves her reputation as a “smart” woman, though it is now many seasons since she was the much-talked-about Mrs. Mayfair Smartly, the beauty of the season.