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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10021-0.txt b/10021-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..390d0f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/10021-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6890 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10021 *** + +Tenterhooks + +[Book 2 of The Little Ottleys] + +by Ada Leverson + +1912 + + + + + + + +TO ROBERT ROSS + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A Verbal Invitation + +Because Edith had not been feeling very well, that seemed no reason why +she should be the centre of interest; and Bruce, with that jealousy of +the privileges of the invalid and in that curious spirit of rivalry +which his wife had so often observed, had started, with enterprise, an +indisposition of his own, as if to divert public attention. While he +was at Carlsbad he heard the news. Then he received a letter from +Edith, speaking with deference and solicitude of Bruce's rheumatism, +entreating him to do the cure thoroughly, and suggesting that they +should call the little girl Matilda, after a rich and sainted--though +still living--aunt of Edith's. It might be an advantage to the child's +future (in every sense) to have a godmother so wealthy and so +religious. It appeared from the detailed description that the new +daughter had, as a matter of course (and at two days old), long golden +hair, far below her waist, sweeping lashes and pencilled brows, a +rosebud mouth, an intellectual forehead, chiselled features and a tall, +elegant figure. She was a magnificent, regal-looking creature and was a +superb beauty of the classic type, and yet with it she was dainty and +winsome. She had great talent for music. This, it appeared, was shown +by the breadth between the eyes and the timbre of her voice. + +Overwhelmed with joy at the advent of such a paragon, and horrified at +Edith's choice of a name, Bruce had replied at once by wire, +impulsively: + +_'Certainly not Matilda I would rather she were called Aspasia.'_ + +Edith read this expression of feeling on a colourless telegraph form, +and as she was, at Knightsbridge, unable to hear the ironical tone of +the message she took it literally. + +She criticised the name, but was easily persuaded by her mother-in-law +to make no objection. The elder Mrs Ottley pointed out that it might +have been very much worse. + +'But it's not a pretty name,' objected Edith. 'If it wasn't to be +Matilda, I should rather have called her something out of +Maeterlinck--Ygraine, or Ysolyn--something like that.' + +'Yes, dear, Mygraine's a nice name, too,' said Mrs Ottley, in her +humouring way, 'and so is Vaselyn. But what does it really matter? I +shouldn't hold out on a point like this. One gets used to a name. Let +the poor child be called Asparagus if he wishes it, and let him feel he +has got his own way.' + +So the young girl was named Aspasia Matilda Ottley. It was +characteristic of Edith that she kept to her own point, though not +aggressively. When Bruce returned after his after-cure, it was too +late to do anything but pretend he had meant it seriously. + +Archie called his sister Dilly. + +Archie had been rather hurt at the--as it seemed to him--unnecessary +excitement about Dilly. Not that he was jealous in any way. It was +rather that he was afraid it would spoil her to be made so much of at +her age; make her, perhaps, egotistical and vain. But it was not +Archie's way to show these fears openly. He did not weep loudly or +throw things about as many boys might have done. His methods were more +roundabout, more subtle. He gave hints and suggestions of his views +that should have been understood by the intelligent. He said one +morning with some indirectness: + +'I had such a lovely dream last night, Mother.' + +'Did you, pet? How sweet of you. What was it?' + +'Oh, nothing much. It was all right. Very nice. It was a lovely dream. +I dreamt I was in heaven.' + +'Really! How delightful. Who was there?' + +This is always a woman's first question. + +'Oh, you were there, of course. And father. Nurse, too. It was a lovely +dream. Such a nice place.' + +'Was Dilly there?' + +'Dilly? Er--no--no--she wasn't. She was in the night nursery, with +Satan.' + +Sometimes Edith thought that her daughter's names were decidedly a +failure--Aspasia by mistake, Matilda through obstinacy, and Dilly by +accident. However the child herself was a success. She was four years +old when the incident occurred about the Mitchells. The whole of this +story turns eventually on the Mitchells. + +The Ottleys lived in a concise white flat at Knightsbridge. Bruce's +father had some time ago left him a good income on certain conditions; +one was that he was not to leave the Foreign Office before he was +fifty. One afternoon Edith was talking to the telephone in a voice of +agonised entreaty that would have melted the hardest of hearts, but did +not seem to have much effect on the Exchange, which, evidently, was not +responsive to pathos that day. + +'Oh! Exchange, _why_ are you ringing off? _Please_ try again.... Do I +want any number? Yes, I do want any number, of course, or why should I +ring up?... I want 6375 Gerrard.' + +Here Archie interposed. + +'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?' + +'No, Archie, you can't just now, dear.... Go away Archie.... Yes, I +said 6375 Gerrard. Only 6375 Gerrard!... Are you there? Oh, don't keep +on asking me if I've got them!... No, they haven't answered.... Are you +6375?... Oh--wrong number--sorry.... 6375 Gerrard? Only six--are you +there?... Not 6375 Gerrard?... Are you anyone else?... Oh, is it you, +Vincy?... I want to tell you--' + +'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?' + +Here Bruce came in. Edith rang off. Archie disappeared. + +'It's really rather wonderful, Edith, what that Sandow exerciser has +done for me! You laughed at me at first, but I've improved +marvellously.' + +Bruce was walking about doing very mild gymnastics, and occasionally +hitting himself on the left arm with the right fist.' Look at my +muscle--look at it--and all in such a short time!' + +'Wonderful!' said Edith. + +'The reason I know what an extraordinary effect these few days have had +on me is something I have just done which I couldn't have done before. +Of course I'm naturally a very powerful man, and only need a little--' + +'What have you done?' + +'Why--you know that great ridiculous old wooden chest that your awful +Aunt Matilda sent you for your birthday--absurd present I call it--mere +lumber.' + +'Yes?' + +'When it came I could barely push it from one side of the room to the +other. Now I've lifted it from your room to the box-room. Quite +easily. Pretty good, isn't it?' + +'Yes, of course it's very good for you to do all these exercises; no +doubt it's capital.... Er--you know I've had all the things taken out +of the chest since you tried it before, don't you?' + +'Things--what things? I didn't know there was anything in it.' + +'Only a silver tea-service, and a couple of salvers,' said Edith, in a +low voice.... + +...He calmed down fairly soon and said: 'Edith, I have some news for +you. You know the Mitchells?' + +'Do I know the _Mitchells_? Mitchell, your hero in your office, that +you're always being offended with--at _least_ I know the Mitchells by +_name_. I ought to.' + +'Well, what do you think they've done? They've asked us to dinner.' + +'Have they? Fancy!' + +'Yes, and what I thought was so particularly jolly of him was that it +was a verbal invitation. Mitchell said to me, just like this, 'Ottley, +old chap, are you doing anything on Sunday evening?'' + +Here Archie came to the door and said, 'Mother, can I have your long +buttonhook?' + +Edith shook her head and frowned. + +''Ottley, old chap,'' continued Bruce, ''are you and your wife doing +anything on Sunday? If not, I do wish you would waive ceremony and come +and dine with us. Would Mrs Ottley excuse a verbal invitation, do you +think?' I said, 'Well, Mitchell, as a matter of fact I don't believe we +have got anything on. Yes, old boy, we shall be delighted.' I accepted, +you see. I accepted straight out. When you're treated in a friendly +way, I always say why be unfriendly? And Mrs Mitchell is a charming +little woman--I'm sure you'd like her. It seems she's been dying to +know you.' + +'Fancy! I wonder she's still alive, then, because you and Mitchell have +known each other for eight years, and I've never met her yet.' + +'Well, you will now. Let bygones be bygones. They live in Hamilton +Place.' + +'Oh yes....Park Lane?' + +'I told you he was doing very well, and his wife has private means.' + +'Mother,' Archie began again, like a litany, 'can I have your long +buttonhook? I know where it is.' + +'No, Archie, certainly not; you can't fasten laced boots with a +buttonhook.... Well, that will be fun, Bruce.' + +'I believe they're going to have games after dinner,' said Bruce. 'All +very jolly--musical crambo--that sort of thing.... What shall you wear, +Edith?' + +'Mother, do let me have your long buttonhook. I want it. It isn't for +my boots.' + +'_Certainly_ not. What a nuisance you are! Do go away.... I think I +shall wear my salmon-coloured dress with the sort of mayonnaise- +coloured sash.... (No, you're not to have it, Archie).' + +'But, Mother, I've got it.... I can soon mend it, Mother.' + +On Sunday evening Bruce's high spirits seemed to flag; he had one of +his sudden reactions. He looked at everything on its dark side. + +'What on earth's that thing in your hair, Edith?' + +'It's a bandeau.' + +'I don't like it. Your hair looks very nice without it. What on _earth_ +did you get it for?' + +'For about six-and-eleven, I think.' + +'Don't be trivial, Edith. We shall be late. Ah! It really does seem +rather a pity, the very first time one dines with people like the +Mitchells.' + +'We sha'n't be late, Bruce. It's eight o'clock, and eight o'clock I +suppose means--well, eight. Sure you've got the number right?' + +'Really. Edith!... My memory is unerring, dear. I never make a mistake. +Haven't you ever noticed it?' + +'A--oh yes--I think I have.' + +'Well, it's 168 Hamilton Place. Look sharp, dear.' + +On their way in the taxi he gave her a good many instructions and +advised her to be perfectly at her ease and _absolutely natural_; there +was nothing to make one otherwise, in either Mr or Mrs Mitchell. Also, +he said, it didn't matter a bit what she wore, as long as she had put +on her _best_ dress. It seemed a pity she had not got a new one, but +this couldn't be helped, as there was now no time. Edith agreed that +she knew of no really suitable place where she could buy a new evening +dress at eight-thirty on Sunday evening. And, anyhow, he said, she +looked quite nice, really very smart; besides, Mrs Mitchell was not the +sort of person who would think any the less of a pretty woman for being +a little dowdy and out of fashion. + +When they drove up to what house agents call in their emotional way a +superb, desirable, magnificent town mansion, they saw that a large +dinner-party was evidently going on. A hall porter and four powdered +footmen were in evidence. + +'By Jove!' said Bruce, as he got out, 'I'd no idea old Mitchell did +himself so well as this.'... The butler had never heard of the +Mitchells. The house belonged to Lord Rosenberg. + +'Confound it! 'said Bruce, as he flung himself into the taxi. 'Well! +I've made a mistake for once in my life. I admit it. Of course, it's +really Hamilton Gardens. Sorry. Yet somehow I'm rather glad Mitchell +doesn't live in that house.' + +'You are perfectly right,' said Edith: 'the bankruptcy of an old friend +and colleague could be no satisfaction to any man.' + +Hamilton Gardens was a gloomy little place, like a tenement building +out of Marylebone Road. Bruce, in trying to ring the bell, +unfortunately turned out all the electric light in the house, and was +standing alone in despair in the dark when, fortunately the porter, who +had been out to post a letter, ran back, and turned up the light +again.... 'I shouldn't have thought they could play musical crambo +here, 'he called out to Edith while he was waiting. 'And now isn't it +odd? I have a funny kind of feeling that the right address is Hamilton +House.' + +'I suppose you're perfectly certain they don't live at a private idiot +asylum?' Edith suggested doubtfully. + +On inquiry it appeared the Mitchells did not live at Hamilton Gardens. +An idea occurred to Edith, and she asked for a directory. + +The Winthrop Mitchells lived at Hamilton Terrace, St John's Wood. + +'At last!' said Bruce. 'Now we shall be too disgracefully late for the +first time. But be perfectly at your ease, dear. Promise me that. Go in +quite naturally.' + +'How else can I go in?' + +'I mean as if nothing had happened.' + +'I think we'd better tell them what _has_ happened,' said Edith; 'it +will make them laugh. I hope they will have begun their dinner.' + +'Surely they will have finished it.' + +'Perhaps we may find them at their games!' + +'Now, now, don't be bitter, Edith dear--never be bitter--life has its +ups and downs.... Well! I'm rather glad, after all, that Mitchell +doesn't live in that horrid little hole.' + +'I'm sure you are,' said Edith; 'it could be no possible satisfaction +to you to know that a friend and colleague of yours is either +distressingly hard up or painfully penurious.' + +They arrived at the house, but there were no lights, and no sign of +life. The Mitchells lived here all right, but they were out. The +parlourmaid explained. The dinner-party had been Saturday, the night +before.... + +'Strange,' said Bruce, as he got in again. 'I had a curious +presentiment that something was going wrong about this dinner at the +Mitchells'.' + +'What dinner at the Mitchells'? There doesn't seem to be any.' + +'Do you know,' Bruce continued his train of thought, 'I felt certain +somehow that it would be a failure. Wasn't it odd? I often think I'm a +pessimist, and yet look how well I'm taking it. I'm more like a +fatalist--sometimes I hardly know what I am.' + +'I could tell you what you are,' said Edith, 'but I won't, because now +you must take me to the Carlton. We shall get there before it's +closed.' + + + +CHAPTER II + +Opera Glasses + +Whether to behave with some coolness to Mitchell, and be stand-offish, +as though it had been all his fault, or to be lavishly apologetic, was +the question. Bruce could not make up his mind which attitude to take. +In a way, it was all the Mitchells' fault. They oughtn't to have given +him a verbal invitation. It was rude, Bohemian, wanting in good form; +it showed an absolute and complete ignorance of the most ordinary and +elementary usages of society. It was wanting in common courtesy; +really, when one came to think about it, it was an insult. On the other +hand, technically, Bruce was in the wrong. Having accepted he ought to +have turned up on the right night. It may have served them right (as he +said), but the fact of going on the wrong night being a lesson to them +seemed a little obscure. Edith found it difficult to see the point. + +Then he had a more brilliant idea; to go into the office as cheerily as +ever, and say to Mitchell pleasantly, 'We're looking forward to next +Saturday, old chap,' pretending to have believed from the first that +the invitation had been for the Saturday week; and that the dinner was +still to come.... + +This, Edith said, would have been excellent, provided that the +parlourmaid hadn't told them that she and Bruce had arrived about a +quarter to ten on Sunday evening and asked if the Mitchells had begun +dinner. The chances against the servant having kept this curious +incident to herself were almost too great. + +After long argument and great indecision the matter was settled by a +cordial letter from Mrs Mitchell, asking them to dinner on the +following Thursday, and saying she feared there had been some mistake. +So that was all right. + +Bruce was in good spirits again; he was pleased too, because he was +going to the theatre that evening with Edith and Vincy, to see a play +that he thought wouldn't be very good. He had almost beforehand settled +what he thought of it, and practically what he intended to say. + +But when he came in that evening he was overheard to have a strenuous +and increasingly violent argument with Archie in the hall. + +Edith opened the door and wanted to know what the row was about. + +'Will you tell me, Edith, where your son learns such language? He keeps +on worrying me to take him to the Zoological Gardens to see +the--well--you'll hear what he says. The child's a perfect nuisance. +Who put it into his head to want to go and see this animal? I was +obliged to speak quite firmly to him about it.' + +Edith was not alarmed that Bruce had been severe. She thought it much +more likely that Archie had spoken very firmly to him. He was always +strict with his father, and when he was good Bruce found fault with +him. As soon as he grew really tiresome his father became abjectly +apologetic. + +Archie was called and came in, dragging his feet, and pouting, in tears +that he was making a strenuous effort to encourage. + +'You must be firm with him,' continued Bruce. 'Hang it! Good heavens! +Am I master in my own house or am I not?' + +There was no reply to this rhetorical question. + +He turned to Archie and said in a gentle, conciliating voice: + +'Archie, old chap, tell your mother what it is you want to see. Don't +cry, dear.' + +'Want to see the damned chameleon,' said Archie, with his hands in his +eyes. 'Want father to take me to the Zoo.' + +'You can't go to the Zoo this time of the evening. What do you mean?' + +'I want to see the damned chameleon.' + +'You hear!' exclaimed Bruce to Edith. + +'Who taught you this language?' + +'Miss Townsend taught it me.' + +'There! It's dreadful, Edith; he's becoming a reckless liar. Fancy her +dreaming of teaching him such things! If she did, of course she must be +mad, and you must send her away at once. But I'm quite sure she +didn't.' + +'Come, Archie, you know Miss Townsend never taught you to say that. +What have you got into your head?' + +'Well, she didn't exactly teach me to say it--she didn't give me +lessons in it--but she says it herself. She said the damned chameleon +was lovely; and I want to see it. She didn't say I ought to see it. But +I want to. I've been wanting to ever since. She said it at lunch today, +and I do want to. Lots of other boys go to the Zoo, and why shouldn't +I? I want to see it so much.' + +'Edith, I must speak to Miss Townsend about this very seriously. In the +first place, people have got no right to talk about queer animals to +the boy at all--we all know what he is--and in such language! I should +have thought a girl like Miss Townsend, who has passed examinations in +Germany, and so forth, would have had more sense of her +responsibility--more tact. It shows a dreadful want of--I hardly know +what to think of it--the daughter of a clergyman, too!' + +'It's all right, Bruce,' Edith laughed. 'Miss Townsend told me she had +been to see the _Dame aux Camélias_ some time ago. She was enthusiastic +about it. Archie dear, I'll take you to the Zoological Gardens and +we'll see lots of other animals. And don't use that expression.' + +'What! Can't I see the da--' + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + +'I must go and dress,' said Bruce. + +Vincy Wenham Vincy was always called by everyone simply Vincy. Applied +to him it seemed like a pet name. He had arrived at the right moment, +as he always did. He was very devoted to both Edith and Bruce, and he +was a confidant of both. He sometimes said to Edith that he felt he was +just what was wanted in the little home; an intimate stranger coming in +occasionally with a fresh atmosphere was often of great value (as, for +instance, now) in calming or averting storms. + +Had anyone asked Vincy exactly what he was he would probably have said +he was an Observer, and really he did very little else, though after he +left Oxford he had taken to writing a little, and painting less. He was +very fair, the fairest person one could imagine over five years old. He +had pale silky hair, a minute fair moustache, very good features, a +single eyeglass, and the appearance, always, of having been very +recently taken out of a bandbox. + +But when people fancied from this look of his that he was an +empty-headed fop they soon found themselves immensely mistaken. + +He was thirty-eight, but looked a gilded youth of twenty; and _was_ +sufficiently gilded (as he said), not perhaps exactly to be +comfortable, but to enable him to get about comfortably, and see those +who were. + +He had a number of relatives in high places, who bored him, and were +always trying to get him married. He had taken up various occupations +and travelled a good deal. But his greatest pleasure was the study of +people. There was nothing cold in his observation, nothing of the +cynical analyst. He was impulsive, though very quiet, immensely and +ardently sympathetic and almost too impressionable and enthusiastic. It +was not surprising that he was immensely popular generally, as well as +specially; he was so interested in everyone except himself. + +No-one was ever a greater general favourite. There seemed to be no type +of person on whom he jarred. People who disagreed on every other +subject agreed in liking Vincy. + +But he did not care in the least for acquaintances, and spent much +ingenuity in trying to avoid them; he only liked intimate friends, and +of all he had perhaps the Ottleys were his greatest favourites. + +His affection for them dated from a summer they had spent in the same +hotel in France. He had become extraordinarily interested in them. He +delighted in Bruce, but had with Edith, of course, more mutual +understanding and intellectual sympathy, and though they met +constantly, his friendship with her had never been misunderstood. +Frivolous friends of his who did not know her might amuse themselves by +being humorous and flippant about Vincy's little Ottleys, but no-one +who had ever seen them together could possibly make a mistake. They +were an example of the absurdity of a tradition--'the world's' +proneness to calumny. Such friendships, when genuine, are never +misconstrued. Perhaps society is more often taken in the other way. But +as a matter of fact the truth on this subject, as on most others, is +always known in time. No-one had ever even tried to explain away the +intimacy, though Bruce had all the air of being unable to do without +Vincy's society sometimes cynically attributed to husbands in a +different position. + +Vincy was pleased with the story of the Mitchells that Edith told him, +and she was glad to hear that he knew the Mitchells and had been to the +house. + +'How like you to know everyone. What did they do?' + +'The night I was there they played games,' said Vincy. He spoke in a +soft, even voice. 'It was just a little--well--perhaps just a _tiny_ +bit ghastly, I thought; but don't tell Bruce. That evening I thought +the people weren't quite young enough, and when they played 'Oranges +and Lemons, and the Bells of St Clements,' and so on--their bones +seemed to--well, sort of rattle, if you know what I mean. But still +perhaps it was only my fancy. Mitchell has such very high spirits, you +see, and is determined to make everything go. He won't have +conventional parties, and insists on plenty of verve; so, of course, +one's forced to have it.' He sighed. 'They haven't any children, and +they make a kind of hobby of entertaining in an unconventional way.' + +'It sounds rather fun. Perhaps you will be asked next Thursday. Try.' + +'I'll try. I'll call, and remind her of me. I daresay she'll ask me. +She's very good-natured. She believes in spiritualism, too.' + +'I wonder who'll be there?' + +'Anyone might be there, or anyone else. As they say of marriage, it's a +lottery. They might have roulette, or a spiritual séance, or Kubelik, +or fancy dress heads.' + +'Fancy dress heads!' + +'Yes. Or a cotillion, or just bridge. You never know. The house is +rather like a country house, and they behave accordingly. Even +hide-and-seek, I believe, sometimes. And Mitchell adores unpractical +jokes, too.' + +'I see. It's rather exciting that I'm going to the Mitchells at last.' + +'Yes, perhaps it will be the turning-point of your life,' said Vincy. +'Ah! here's Bruce.' + +'I don't think much of that opera glass your mother gave you,' Bruce +remarked to his wife, soon after the curtain rose. + +'It's the fashion,' said Edith. 'It's jade--the latest thing.' + +'I don't care if it is the fashion. It's no use. Here, try it, Vincy.' + +He handed it to Vincy, who gave Bruce a quick look, and then tried it. + +'Rather quaint and pretty, I think. I like the effect,' he said, +handing it back to Bruce. + +'It may be quaint and pretty, and it may be the latest thing, and it +may be jade,' said Bruce rather sarcastically, 'but I'm not a slave to +fashion. I never was. And I don't see any use whatever in an opera +glass that makes everything look smaller instead of larger, and at a +greater distance instead of nearer. I call it rot. I always say what I +think. And you can tell your mother what I said if you like.' + +'You're looking through it the wrong side, dear,' said Edith. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The Golden Quoribus + +Edith had been very pretty at twenty, but at twenty-eight her +prettiness had immensely increased; she had really become a beauty of a +particularly troubling type. She had long, deep blue eyes, clearly-cut +features, hair of that soft, fine light brown just tinged with red +called by the French châtain clair; and a flower-like complexion. She +was slim, but not angular, and had a reposeful grace and a decided +attraction for both men and women. They generally tried to express this +fascination by discovering resemblances in her to various well-known +pictures of celebrated artists. She had been compared to almost every +type of all the great painters: Botticelli, Sir Peter Lely, +Gainsborough, Burne-Jones. Some people said she was like a Sargent, +others called her a post-impressionist type; there was no end to the +old and new masters of whom she seemed to remind people; and she +certainly had the rather insidious charm of somehow recalling the past +while suggesting something undiscovered in the future. There was a good +deal that was enigmatic about her. It was natural, not assumed as a +pose of mysteriousness. She was not all on the surface: not obvious. +One wondered. Was she capable of any depth of feeling? Was she always +just sweet and tactful and clever, or could there be another side to +her character? Had she (for instance) a temperament? This question was +considered one of interest,--so Edith had a great many admirers. Some +were new and fickle, others were old and faithful. She had never yet +shown more than a conversational interest in any of them, but always +seemed to be laughing with a soft mockery at her own success. + +Edith was not a vain woman, not even much interested in dress, though +she had a quick eye and a sure impressionistic gift for it. She was +always an immense favourite with women, who felt subconsciously +grateful to her for her wonderful forbearance. To have the power and +not to use it! To be so pretty, yet never _to take_ _anyone away_!--not +even coldly display her conquests. But this liking she did not, as a +rule, return in any decided fashion. She had dreadfully little to say +to the average woman, except to a few intimate friends, and frankly +preferred the society of the average man, although she had not as yet +developed a taste for coquetry, for which she had, however, many +natural gifts. She was much taken up by Bruce, by Archie and Dilly, and +was fond of losing herself in ideas and in books, and in various +artistic movements and fads in which her interest was cultivated and +perhaps inspired by Vincy. Vincy was her greatest friend and confidant. +He was really a great safety-valve, and she told him nearly every +thought. + +Still, Archie was, so far, her greatest interest. He was a particularly +pretty boy, and she was justified in thinking him rather unusual. At +this period he spent a considerable amount of his leisure time not only +in longing to see real animals, but in inventing and drawing pictures +of non-existent ones--horrible creatures, or quaint creatures, for +which he found the strangest names. He told Dilly about them, but Dilly +was not his audience--she was rather his confidante and literary +adviser; or even sometimes his collaborator. His public consisted +principally of his mother. It was a convention that Edith should be +frightened, shocked and horrified at the creatures of his imagination, +while Dilly privately revelled in their success. Miss Townsend, the +governess, was rather coldly ignored in this matter. She had a way of +speaking of the animals with a smile, as a nice occupation to keep the +children quiet. She did not understand. + +'Please, Madam, would you kindly go into the nursery; Master Archie +wishes you to come and hear about the golden--something he's just made +up like,' said Dilly's nurse with an expression of resignation. + +Edith jumped up at once. + +'Oh dear! Tell Master Archie I'm coming.' + +She ran into the nursery and found Archie and Dilly both looking rather +excited; Archie, fairly self-controlled, with a paper in his hand on +which was a rough sketch which he would not let her see, and hid behind +him. + +'Mother,' Archie began in a low, solemn voice, rather slowly, 'the +golden quoribus is the most horrible animal, the most awful-looking +animal, you ever heard of in _your_ life!' + +'Oh-h-h! How awful!' said Edith, beginning to shiver. 'Wait a +moment--let me sit down quietly and hear about it.' + +She sat down by the fire and clasped her hands, looking at him with a +terrified expression which was part of the ritual. + +Dilly giggled, and put her thumb in her mouth, watching the effect with +widely opened eyes. + +'Much more awful than the gazeka, of course, I suppose?' Edith said +rather rashly. + +'Much,' said Dilly. + +'(Be quiet, Dilly!) Mother!' he was reproachful, 'what do you mean? The +gazeka? Why--the gazeka's nothing at all--it's a rotten little animal. +It doesn't count. Besides, it isn't real--it never was real. Gazeka, +indeed!' + +'Oh, I beg your pardon,' said Edith repentantly; 'do go on.' + +'No... the golden quoribus is far-ar-r-r-r more frightening even than +the jilbery. Do you remember how awful _that_ was? And much larger.' + +'What! Worse than the jilbery! Oh, good gracious! How dreadful! What's +it like?' + +'First of all--it's as long as from here to Brighton,' said Archie. + +'A little longer,' said Dilly. + +'(Shut up, miss!) As long. It's called the golden quoribus because it's +bright gold, except the bumps; and the bumps are green.' + +'Bright green,' said Dilly. + +'(Oh, will you hold your tongue, Dilly?) Green.' + +'How terrible!... And what shape is it?' + +'All pointed and sharp, and three-cornered.' + +'Does it breathe fire?' asked Edith. + +Archie smiled contemptuously. + +'Breathe fire! Oh, Mother! Do you think it's a silly dragon in a fairy +story? Of course it doesn't. How can it breathe fire?' + +'Sorry,' said Edith apologetically. 'Go on.' + +'_But_, the peculiar thing about it, besides that it lives entirely on +muffins and mutton and the frightening part, I'm coming to now.' He +became emphatic, and spoke slowly. 'The golden quoribus has more claws +than any... other... animal... in the whole world!' + +'Oh-h-h,' she shuddered. + +'Yes,' said Archie solemnly. 'It has large claws coming out of its +head.' + +'Its head! Good gracious!' + +'It has claws here and claws there; claws coming out of the eyes; and +claws coming out of the ears; and claws coming out of its shoulders; +and claws coming out of the forehead!' + +Edith shivered with fright and held up her hands in front of her eyes +to ward off the picture. + +'And claws coming out of the mouth,' said Archie, coming a step nearer +to her and raising his voice. + +Edith jumped. + +'And claws coming out of the hands, and claws coming out of the feet!' + +'Yes,' said Dilly, wildly and recklessly and jumping up and down, 'and +claws on the ceiling, and claws on the floor, and claws all over the +world!' + +With one violent slap she was sent sprawling. + +Shrieks, sobs and tears filled the quiet nursery. + +'I know,' said Archie, when he had been persuaded to apologise, 'of +course I know a gentleman oughtn't to hit a lady, not even--I mean, +especially not if she's his little sister. But oh, Mother, ought a lady +to interrupt a story?' + +When Edith told Vincy he entirely took Archie's side. + +Suppose Sargent were painting a beautiful picture, and one of his +pupils, snatching the paint-brush from him, insisted on finishing it, +and spoiling it--how would he like it? Imagine a poet who had just +written a great poem, and been interrupted in reciting it by someone +who quickly finished it off all wrong! The author might be forgiven +under such circumstances if in his irritation he took a strong line. In +Vincy's opinion it served Dilly jolly well right. Young? Of course she +was young, but four (he said) was not a day too soon to begin to learn +to respect the work of the artist. Edith owned that Archie was not +easily exasperated and was as a rule very patient with the child. Bruce +took an entirely different view. He was quite gloomy about it and +feared that Archie showed every sign of growing up to be an Apache. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The Mitchells + +The Mitchells were, as Vincy had said, extremely hospitable; they had a +perfect mania for receiving; they practically lived for it, and the big +house at Hampstead, with its large garden covered in, and a sort of +studio built out, was scarcely ever without guests. When they didn't +have some sort of party they invariably went out. + +Mitchell's great joy was to make his parties different from others by +some childish fantasy or other. He especially delighted in a surprise. +He often took the trouble (for instance) to have a telegram sent to +every one of his guests during the course of the evening. Each of these +wires contained some personal chaff or practical joke. At other times +he would give everyone little presents, concealed in some way. +Christmas didn't come once a year to the Mitchells; it seemed never to +go away. One was always surprised not to find a Christmas tree and +crackers. These entertainments, always splendidly done materially, and +curiously erratic socially, were sometimes extremely amusing; at +others, of course, a frost; it was rather a toss-up. + +And the guests were, without exception, the most extraordinary mixture +in London. They included delightful people, absurd people, average +people; people who were smart and people who were dowdy, some who were +respectable and nothing else, some who were deplorable, others +beautiful, and many merely dull. There was never the slightest attempt +at any sort of harmonising, or of suitability; there was a great deal +of kindness to the hard-up, and a wild and extravagant delight in any +novelty. In fact, the Mitchells were everything except exclusive, and +as they were not guided by any sort of rule, they really lived, in St +John's Wood, superior to suburban or indeed any other restrictions. +They would ask the same guests to dinner time after time, six or seven +times in succession. They would invite cordially a person of no +attraction whatsoever whom they had only just met, and they would +behave with casual coolness to desirable acquaintances or favourite +friends whom they had known all their lives. However, there was no +doubt that their parties had got the name for being funny, and that was +quite enough. London people in every set are so desperate for something +out of the ordinary way, for variety and oddness, that the Mitchells +were frequently asked for invitations by most distinguished persons who +hoped, in their blasé fatigue, to meet something new and queer. + +For the real Londoner is a good deal of a child, and loves Punch and +Judy shows, and conjuring tricks (symbolically speaking)--and is also +often dreaming of the chance of meeting some spring novelty, in the way +of romance. Although the Mitchells were proud of these successes they +were as free from snobbishness as almost anyone could be. On the whole +Mrs Mitchell had a slight weakness for celebrities, while Mr Mitchell +preferred pretty women, or people who romped. It was merely from +carelessness that the Ottleys had never been asked before. + +When Edith and Bruce found themselves in the large square +country-house-looking hall, with its oak beams and early English +fireplace, about twenty people had arrived, and as many more were +expected. A lively chatter had already begun; for each woman had been +offered on her arrival a basket from which she had to choose a brightly +coloured ribbon. These ribbons matched the rosettes presented in an +equally haphazard way to every man. As Vincy observed, it gave one the +rather ghastly impression that there was going to be a cotillion at +once, on sight, before dinner; which was a little frightening. In +reality it was merely so that the partners for the meal should be +chosen by chance. Mitchell thought this more fun than arranging guests; +but there was an element of gambling about it that made wary people +nervous. Everyone present would have cheated had it been possible. But +it was not. + +Mrs Mitchell was a tiny brown-eyed creature, who looked absurdly young; +she was kind, sprightly, and rather like a grouse. Mitchell was a +jovial-looking man, with a high forehead, almost too much ease of +manner, and a twinkling eye. + +The chief guests tonight consisted of Lord Rye, a middle-aged +suffraget, who was known for his habit of barking before he spoke and +for his wonderful ear for music--he could play all Richard, Oscar and +Johann Strauss's compositions by ear on the piano, and never mixed them +up; Aylmer Ross, the handsome barrister; Myra Mooney, who had been on +the stage; and an intelligent foreigner from the embassy, with a +decoration, a goat-like beard, and an Armenian accent. Mrs Mitchell +said he was the minister from some place with a name like Ruritania. +She had a vague memory. There was also a Mr Cricker, a very young man +of whom it was said that he could dance like Nijinsky, but never would; +and the rest were chiefly Foreign Office clerks (like Mitchell and +Bruce), more barristers and their wives, a soldier or two, some +undergraduates, a lady photographer, a few pretty girls, and vague +people. There were to be forty guests for dinner and a few more in the +evening. + +Almost immediately on her arrival Edith noticed a tall, clean-shaven +man, with smooth fair hair, observant blue eyes, and a rather humorous +expression, and she instantly decided that she would try to will him to +take her to dinner. (Rather a superfluous effort of magnetism, since it +must have been settled already by fate and the ribbons.) It was obvious +from one quick glance that he shared the wish. To their absurdly great +mutual disappointment (a lot of ground was covered very quickly at the +Mitchells), their ribbons didn't match, and she was taken to dinner by +Captain Willis, who looked dull. Fortune, however, favoured her. On her +other side she found the man who looked amusing. He was introduced to +her across the table by Mrs Mitchell, with _empressement_, as Mr Aylmer +Ross. + +Edith felt happy tonight; her spirits were raised by what she felt to +be an atmosphere _tiède_, as the French say; full of indulgence, +sympathetic, relaxing, in which either cleverness or stupidity could +float equally at its ease. The puerility of the silly little +arrangements to amuse removed all sense of ceremony. The note is always +struck by the hostess, and she was everything that was amiable, without +effort or affectation. + +No-one was ever afraid of her. + +Bruce's neighbour at dinner was the delicate, battered-looking +actress, in a Royal fringe and a tight bodice with short sleeves, who +had once been a celebrity, though no-one remembered for what. Miss Myra +Mooney, formerly a beauty, had known her days of success. She had been +the supreme performer of ladylike parts. She had been known as the very +quintessence of refinement. It was assumed when she first came out that +a duke would go to the devil for her in her youth, and that in her late +maturity she would tour the provinces with _The Three Musketeers_. +Neither of these prophecies had, however, been fulfilled. She still +occasionally took small middle-aged titled parts in repertoire +matinees. She was unable to help referring constantly to the hit she +made in _Peril_ at Manchester in 1887; nor could she ever resist +speaking of the young man who sent her red carnations every day of his +blighted existence for fifteen years; a pure romance, indeed, for, as +she owned, he never even wished to be introduced to her. She still +called him poor boy, oblivious of the fact that he was now sixty-eight, +and, according to the illustrated papers, spent his entire time in +giving away a numberless succession of daughters in brilliant marriage +at St George's, Hanover Square. + +In this way Miss Mooney lived a good deal in the past, but she was not +unaware of the present, and was always particularly nice to people +generally regarded as bores. So she was never without plenty of +invitations. Mitchell had had formerly a slight _tendre_ for her, and +in his good nature pretended to think she had not altered a bit. She +was still refined _comme cela ne se fait plus_; it was practically no +longer possible to find such a perfect lady, even on the stage. As she +also had all the easy good nature of the artist, and made herself +extremely agreeable, Bruce was delighted with her, and evidently +thought he had drawn a prize. + +'I wondered,' Aylmer Ross said, 'whether this could possibly happen. +First I half hoped it might; then I gave it up in despair.' + +'So did I,' said Edith; 'and yet I generally know. I've a touch of +second sight, I think--at dinner-parties.' + +'Oh, well, I have second sight too--any amount; only it's always wrong. +However!...' + +'Aren't the Mitchells dears?' said Edith. + +'Oh, quite. Do you know them well?' + +'Very well, indeed. But I've never seen them before.' + +'Ah, I see. Well, now we've found our way here--broken the ice and that +sort of thing--we must often come and dine with them, mustn't we, Mrs +Ottley? Can't we come again next week?' + +'Very sweet of you to ask us, I'm sure.' + +'Not at all; very jolly of us to turn up. The boot is on the other leg, +or whatever the phrase is. By the way, I'm sure you know everything, +Mrs Ottley, tell me, did people ever wear only one boot at a time, do +you think, or how did this expression originate?' + +'I wonder.' + +Something in his suave manner of taking everything for granted seemed +to make them know each other almost too quickly, and gave her an odd +sort of self-consciousness. She turned to Captain Willis on her other +side. + +'I say,' he said querulously, 'isn't this a bit off? We've got the same +coloured ribbons and you haven't said a word to me yet! Rather rot, +isn't it, what?' + +'Oh, haven't I? I will now.' + +Captain Willis lowered his voice to a confidential tone and said: 'Do +you know, what I always say is--live and let live and let it go at +that; what?' + +'That's a dark saying,' said Edith. + +'Have a burnt almond,' said Captain Willis inconsequently, as though it +would help her to understand. 'Yes, Mrs Ottley, that's what I always +say.... But people won't, you know--they won't--and there it is.' He +seemed resigned. 'Good chap, Mitchell, isn't he? Musical chairs, I +believe--that's what we're to play this evening; or bridge, whichever +we like. I shall go in for bridge. I'm not musical.' + +'And which shall you do?' asked Aylmer of Edith. He had evidently been +listening. + +'Neither.' + +'We'll talk then, shall we? I can't play bridge either.... Mrs +Ottley--which is your husband? I didn't notice when you came in.' + +'Over there, opposite; the left-hand corner.' + +'Good-looking chap with the light moustache--next to Myra Mooney?' + +'That's it,' she said. 'He seems to be enjoying himself. I'm glad he's +got Miss Mooney. He's lucky.' + +'He is indeed,' said Aylmer. + +'She's a wonderful-looking woman--like an old photograph, or someone in +a book,' said Edith. + +'Do you care for books?' + +'Oh, yes, rather. I've just been discovering Bourget. Fancy, I didn't +know about him! I've just read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' + +'Oh yes. Rather a pompous chap, isn't he? But you could do worse than +read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' + +'I _have_ done worse. I've been reading Rudyard Kipling for the last +time.' + +'Really! Don't you like him? Why?' + +'I feel all the time, somehow, as if he were calling me by my Christian +name without an introduction, or as if he wanted me to exchange hats +with him,' she said. 'He's so fearfully familiar with his readers.' + +'But you think he keeps at a respectful distance from his characters? +However--why worry about books at all, Mrs Ottley? Flowers, lilies of +the field, and so forth, don't toil or spin; why should they belong to +libraries? I don't think you ever ought to read--except perhaps +sometimes a little poetry, or romance.... You see, that is what you +are, rather, isn't it?' + +'Don't you care for books?' she answered, ignoring the compliment. 'I +should have thought you loved them, and knew everything about them. I'm +not sure that I know.' + +'You know quite enough, believe me,' he answered earnestly. 'Oh, don't +be cultured--don't talk about Lloyd George! Don't take an intelligent +interest in the subjects of the day!' + +'All right; I'll try not.' + +She turned with a laugh to Captain Willis, who seemed very depressed. + +'I say, you know,' he said complainingly, 'this is all very well. It's +all very well no doubt. But I only ask one thing--just one. Is this +cricket? I merely ask, you know. Just that--is it cricket; what?' + +'It isn't meant to be. What's the matter?' + +'Why, I'm simply fed up and broken-hearted, you know. Hardly two words +have I had with you tonight, Mrs Ottley.... I suppose that chap's +awfully amusing, what? I'm not amusing.... I know that.' + +'Oh, don't say that. Indeed you are.' she consoled him. + +'Am I though?' + +'Well, you amuse _me_!' + +'Right!' He laughed cheerily. He always filled up pauses with a laugh. + + + +CHAPTER V + +The Surprise + +Certainly Mrs Mitchell on one side and Captain Willis on the other had +suffered neglect. But they seemed to become hardened to it towards the +end of dinner.... + +'I have a boy, too,' Aylmer remarked irrelevantly, 'rather a nice chap. +Just ten.' + +Though only by the merest, slightest movement of an eyelash Edith could +not avoid showing her surprise. No-one ever had less the air of a +married man. Also, she was quite ridiculously disappointed. One can't +say why, but one doesn't talk to a married man quite in the same way or +so frankly as to a bachelor--if one is a married woman. She did not ask +about his wife, but said: + +'Fancy! Boys are rather nice things to have about, aren't they?' + +She was looking round the table, trying to divine which was Mrs Aylmer +Ross. No, she wasn't there. Edith felt sure of it. It was an +unaccountable satisfaction. + +'Yes; he's all right. And now give me a detailed description of _your_ +children.' + +'I can't. I never could talk about them.' + +'I see.... I should like to see them.... I saw you speak to Vincy. Dear +little fellow, isn't he?' + +'He's a great friend of mine.' + +'I'm tremendously devoted to him, too. He's what used to be called an +exquisite. And he _is_ exquisite; he has an exquisite mind. But, of +course, you know what a good sort he is.' + +'Rather.' + +'He seems rather to look at life than to act in it, doesn't he?' +continued Aylmer. 'He's a brilliant sort of spectator. Vincy thinks +that all the world's a stage, but _he's_ always in the front row of the +stalls. I never could be like that ... I always want to be right in the +thick of it, on in every scene, and always performing!' + +'To an audience?' said Edith. + +He smiled and went on. + +'What's so jolly about him is that though he's so quiet, yet he's +genial; not chilly and reserved. He's frank, I mean--and confiding. +Without ever saying much. He expresses himself in his own way.' + +'That's quite true.' + +'And, after all, it's really only expression that makes things real. +'If you don't talk about a thing, it has never happened.'' + +'But it doesn't always follow that a thing has happened because you do +talk about it,' said Edith. 'Ah, Mrs Mitchell's going !' + +She floated away. + +He remained in a rather ecstatic state of absence of mind. + + * * * * * + +Mrs Mitchell gladly told Edith all about Aylmer Ross, how clever he +was, how nice, how devoted to his little boy. He had married very +young, it seemed, and had lost his wife two years after. This was ten +years ago, and according to Mrs Mitchell he had never looked at another +woman since. Women love to simplify in this sentimental way. + +'However,' she said consolingly, 'he's still quite young, under forty, +and he's sure to fall in love and marry again.' + +'No doubt,' said Edith, wishing the first wife had remained alive. She +disliked the non-existent second one. + + * * * * * + +Nearly all the men had now joined the ladies in the studio, with the +exception of Bruce and of Aylmer Ross. Mrs Mitchell had taken an +immense fancy to Edith and showed it by telling her all about a +wonderful little tailor who made coats and skirts better than Lucile +for next to nothing, and by introducing to her Lord Rye and the embassy +man, and Mr Cricker. Edith was sitting in a becoming corner under a +shaded light from which she could watch the door, when Vincy came up to +talk to her. + +'You seemed to get on rather well at dinner,' he said. + +'Yes; isn't Captain Willis a dear?' + +'Oh, simply sweet. So bright and clever. I was sure you'd like him, +Edith.' + +Captain Willis here came up and said, a shade more jovially than he had +spoken at dinner, with his laugh: + +'Well, you know, Mrs Ottley, what I always say is--live and let live +and let it go at that; what? But they never _do_, you know! They +won't--and there it is!' + +Edith now did a thing she had never done in her life before and which +was entirely unlike her. She tried her utmost to retain the group round +her, and to hold their attention. For a reason of which she was hardly +conscious, she wanted Aylmer Ross to see her surrounded. The minister +from the place with a name like Ruritania was so immensely bowled over +that he was already murmuring in a low voice (almost a hiss, as they +say in melodrama): 'Vous êtes chez vous, quand? Dites un mot, un mot +seulement, et je me précipiterai à vos pieds_,' while at the same time, +in her other ear, Lord Rye was explaining (to her pretended intense +interest) how he could play the whole of _Elektra, The Chocolate +Soldier_ and _Nightbirds_ by ear without a single mistake. ('Perfectly +sound!' grumbled Captain Willis, 'but why do it?') Vincy was listening, +enjoying himself. Bruce came in at last, evidently engaged in an +absorbed and intimate conversation with Aylmer Ross. They seemed so +much interested in their talk that they went to the other end of the +room and sat down there together. Aylmer gave her one glance only. + +Edith was unreasonably annoyed. What on earth could he and Bruce find +to talk about? At length, growing tired of her position, she got up, +and walked across the room to look at a picture on the wall, turning +her graceful back to the room. + +Bruce had now at last left his companion, but still Aylmer Ross did not +go and speak to her, though he was sitting alone. + +Musical chairs began in the studio. Someone was playing 'Baby, +look-a-here,' stopping suddenly in the middle to shouts of laughter and +shrieks from the romping players. In the drawing-room some of the +people were playing bridge. How dull the rest of the evening was! Just +before the party practically broke up, Edith had an opportunity of +saying as she passed Aylmer: + +'I thought we were going to have a talk instead of playing games?' + +'I saw you were occupied,' he answered ceremoniously. 'I didn't +like--to interrupt.' + +She laughed. 'Is this a jealous scene, Mr Ross?' + +'I wonder,' he said, smiling, 'and if so, whose. Well, I hope to see +you again soon.' + +'_What_ a success your charming wife has had tonight,' said Mrs +Mitchell to Bruce, as they took leave. 'Everyone is quite wild about +her. How pretty she is! You _must_ be proud of her.' + +They were nearly the last. Mr Cricker, who had firmly refused the whole +evening, in spite of abject entreaties, to dance like Nijinsky, +suddenly relented when everyone had forgotten all about it, and was +leaping alone in the studio, while Lord Rye, always a great lingerer, +was playing Richard Strauss to himself on the baby Grand, and smoking a +huge cigar. + +'Edith,' said Bruce solemnly, as they drove away, 'I've made a friend +tonight. There was one really charming man there--he took an immense +fancy to me.' + +'Oh--who was that?' + +'Who was that?' he mimicked her, but quite good-naturedly. 'How stupid +women are in some things! Why, Aylmer Ross, the chap who sat next to +you at dinner! I suppose you didn't appreciate him. Very clever, very +interesting. He was anxious to know several things which I was glad to +be in a position to tell him. Yes--an awfully good sort. I asked him to +dine at my club one day, to go on with our conversation.' + +'Oh, did you?' + +'Yes. Why shouldn't I? However, it seems from what he said that he +thinks the Carlton's nicer for a talk, so I'm going to ask him there +instead. You can come too, dear. He won't mind; it won't prevent our +talking.' + +'Oh, are we going to give a dinner at the Carlton?' + +'I wish you wouldn't oppose me, Edith. Once in a way! Of course I +shall. Our flat's too small to give a decent dinner. He's one of the +nicest chaps I've ever met.' + +'Well, do you want me to write tomorrow morning then, dear?' + +'Er--no--I have asked him already.' + +'Oh, really--which day?' + +'Well, I suggested next Thursday--but he thought tomorrow would be +better; he's engaged for every other day. Now don't go and say you're +engaged tomorrow. If you are, you'll have to chuck it!' + +'Oh no; I'm not engaged.' + +Mentally rearranging her evening dress, Edith drove home thoughtfully. +She was attracted and did not know why, and for the first time hoped +she had made an impression. It had been a long evening, and her +headache, she said, necessitated solitude and darkness at once. + +'All right. I've got a much worse headache--gout, I think, but never +mind about me. Don't be anxious, dear! I say, that Miss Mooney is a +very charming woman. She took rather a fancy to me, Edith. Er--you +might ask her to dinner too, if you like, to make a fourth!' + +'But--really! Ought we to snatch all the Mitchells' friends the first +time, Bruce?' + +'Why, of course, it's only courteous. It's all right. One must return +their hospitality.' + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The Visit + +The following afternoon Edith was standing by the piano in her +condensed white drawing-room, trying over a song, which she was +accompanying with one hand, when to her surprise the maid announced 'Mr +Aylmer Ross.' It was a warm day, and though there was a fire the +windows were open, letting in the scent of the mauve and pink hyacinths +in the little window-boxes. She thought as she came forward to meet him +that he seemed entirely different from last night. Her first impression +was that he was too big for the room, her second that he was very +handsome, and also a little agitated. + +'I really hardly know how to apologise, Mrs Ottley. I oughtn't to have +turned up in this cool way. But your husband has kindly asked me to +dine with you tonight, and I wasn't sure of the time. I thought I'd +come and ask you.' He waited a minute. 'Of course, if I hadn't been so +fortunate as to find you in, I should just have left a note.' He looked +round the room. + + * * * * * + +Obviously it was quite unnecessary for him to have called; he could +have sent the note that he had brought with him. She was flattered. She +thought that she liked his voice and the flash of his white teeth when +he smiled. + +'Oh, I'm glad I'm at home,' she said, in a gentle way that put him at +his ease, and yet at an immense distance. 'I felt in the mood to stop +at home and play the piano today. I'm delighted to see you.' They sat +down by the fire. 'It's at eight tonight. Shall we have tea?' + +'Oh no, thanks; isn't it too early? I sha'n't keep you a moment. Thanks +very much.... You were playing something when I came in. I wish you'd +play it to me over again.' + + * * * * * + +Nine women out of ten would have refused, saying they knew nothing of +music, or that they were out of practice, or that they never played +except for their own amusement, or something of the kind; especially if +they took no pride whatever in that accomplishment. But Edith went back +to the piano at once, and went on trying over the song that she didn't +know, without making any excuse for the faltering notes. + +'That's charming,' he said. 'Thanks. Tosti, of course.' + +She came back to the fireplace. 'Of course. We had great fun last +night, didn't we?' + +'Oh, _I_ enjoyed myself immensely; part of the time at least.' + +'But after dinner you were rather horrid, Mr Ross. You wouldn't come +and talk to me, would you?' + +'Wouldn't I? I was afraid. Tell me, do I seem many years older since +last night?' he asked. + +'I don't see any difference. Why?' + +'Because I've lived months--almost years--since I saw you last. Time +doesn't go by hours, does it?... What a charming little room this is. +It suits you. There's hardly anything in it, but everything is right.' + +'I don't like to have many things in a room,' said Edith, holding out +her delicate hands to the fire. 'It makes me nervous. I have gradually +accustomed Bruce to my idea by removing one thing at a time +--photographs, pictures, horrid old wedding presents, all the +little things people have. They suggest too many different trains of +thought. They worry me. He's getting used to it now. He says, soon +there'll be nothing left but a couple of chairs and a bookcase!' + +'And how right! I've had rather the same idea in my house, but I +couldn't keep it up. It's different for a man alone; things seem to +accumulate; especially pictures. I know such a lot of artists. I'm very +unfortunate in that respect.... I really feel I oughtn't to have turned +up like this, Mrs Ottley.' + +'Why not?' + +'You're very kind.... Excuse my country manners, but how nice your +husband is. He was very kind to me.' + +'He liked _you_ very much, too.' + +'He seems charming,' he repeated, then said with a change of tone and +with his occasional impulsive brusqueness, 'I wonder--does he ever jar +on you in any way?' + +'Oh no. Never. He couldn't. He amuses me,' Edith replied softly. + +'Oh, does he?... If I had the opportunity I wonder if I should _amuse_ +you,' he spoke thoughtfully. + +'No; I don't think you would at all,' said Edith, looking him straight +in the face. + +'That's quite fair,' he laughed, and seemed rather pleased. 'You mean I +should bore you to death! Do forgive me, Mrs Ottley. Let's go on with +our talk of last night.... I feel it's rather like the Palace of Truth +here; I don't know why. There must be something in the atmosphere--I +seem to find it difficult not to think aloud--Vincy, now--do you see +much of Vincy?' + +'Oh yes; he comes here most days, or we talk on the telephone.' + +'I see; he's your confidant, and you're his. Dear Vincy. By the way, he +asked me last night to go to a tea-party at his flat next week. He was +going to ask one or two other kindred spirits--as I think they're +called. To see something--some collection. Including you, of course?' + +'I shall certainly go,' said Edith, 'whether he asks me or not.' + +Aylmer seemed to be trying to leave. He nearly got up once or twice and +sat down again. + +'Well, I shall see you tonight,' he said. 'At eight.' + +'Yes.' + +'What shall you wear, Mrs Ottley?' + +'Oh, I thought, perhaps, my mauve chiffon? What do you advise?' she +smiled. + +'Not what you wore last night?' + +'Oh no.' + +'It was very jolly. I liked it. Er--red, wasn't it?' + +'Oh no! It was pink!' she answered. + +Then there was an extraordinary pause, in which neither of them seemed +able to think of anything to say. There was a curious sort of vibration +in the air. + +'Isn't it getting quite springy?' said Edith, as she glanced at the +window. 'It's one of those sort of warm days that seem to have got +mixed up by mistake with the winter.' + +'Very,' was his reply, which was not very relevant. + +Another pause was beginning. + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + +He was received with enthusiasm, and Aylmer Ross now recovered his ease +and soon went away. + +'Edith!' said Vincy, in a reproving tone. '_Really_! How _very_ soon!' + +'He came to know what time we dine. He was just passing.' + +'Oh, yes. He would want to know. He lives in Jermyn Street. I +suppose Knightsbridge is on his way to there.' + +'From where?' she asked. + +'From here,' said Vincy. + +'What happened after we left?' said Edith. 'I saw the Cricker man +beginning to dance with hardly anyone looking at him.' + +'Isn't his imitation of Nijinsky wonderful?' asked Vincy. + +'Simply marvellous! I thought he was imitating George Grossmith. Do you +know, I love the Mitchells, Vincy. It's really great fun there. Fancy, +Bruce seems so delighted with Aylmer Ross and Miss Mooney that he +insisted on their both dining with us tonight.' + +'He seemed rather carried away, I thought. There's a fascination about +Aylmer. There are so many things he's not,' said Vincy. + +'Tell me some of them.' + +'Well, for one thing, he's not fatuous, though he's so good-looking. +He's not a lady-killing sort of person or anything else tedious.' + +She was delighted at this especially. + +'If he took a fancy to a person--well, it might be rather serious, if +you take my meaning,' said Vincy. + +'How sweet of him! So unusual. Do you like Myra Mooney?' + +'Me? Oh, rather; I'm devoted to her. She's a delightful type. Get her +on to the subject of the red carnations. She's splendid about them.... +She received them every day at breakfast-time for fifteen years. +Another jolly thing about Aylmer is that he has none of that awful +old-fashioned modernness, thank goodness!' + +'Ah, I noticed that.' + +'I suppose he wasn't brilliant today. He was too thrilled. But, do be +just a teeny bit careful, Edith dear, because when he is at all he's +very much so. Do you see?' + +'What a lot you seem to think of one little visit, Vincy! After all, it +was only one.' + +'There hasn't been time yet for many more, has there, Edith dear? He +could hardly call twice the same day, on the first day, too.... Yes, I +come over quite queer and you might have knocked me down with a +feather, in a manner of speaking, when I clapped eyes on him setting +here.' + +Edith liked Vincy to talk in his favourite Cockney strain. It +contrasted pleasantly with his soft, even voice and _raffiné_ +appearance. + +'Here's Bruce,' she said. + +Bruce came in carrying an enormous basket of gilded straw. It was +filled with white heather, violets, lilies, jonquils, gardenias and +mimosa. The handle was trimmed with mauve ribbon. + +'Oh, Bruce! How angelic of you!' + +'Don't be in such a hurry, dear. These are not from me. They arrived +just at the same time that I did. Brought by a commissionaire. There +was hardly room for it in the lift.' + +Edith looked quickly at the card. It bore the name of the minister of +the place with a name like Ruritania. + +'What cheek!' exclaimed Bruce, who was really flattered. 'What infernal +impertinence. Upon my word I've more than half a mind to go and tell +him what I think of him--straight from the shoulder. What's the +address?' + +'Grosvenor Square.' + +'Well, I don't care. I shall go straight to the embassy,' said Bruce. +'No, I sha'n't. I'll send them back and write him a line--tell him that +Englishwomen are not in the habit of accepting presents from +undesirable aliens.... I consider it a great liberty. Aren't I right, +Vincy?' + +'Quite. But perhaps he means no harm, Bruce. I daresay it's the custom +in the place with the funny name. You see, you never know, in a place +like that.' + +'Then you don't think I ought to take it up?' + +'I don't want them. It's a very oppressive basket,' Edith said. + +'How like you, Edith! I thought you were fond of flowers.' + +'So I am, but I like one at a time. This is too miscellaneous and +crowded.' + +'Some women are never satisfied. It's very rude and ungrateful to the +poor old man, who meant to be nice, no doubt, and to show his respect +for Englishwomen. I think you ought to write and thank him,' said +Bruce. 'And let me see the letter before it goes.' + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Coup de Foudre + +When Aylmer Ross got back to the little brown house in Jermyn Street he +went to his library, and took from a certain drawer an ivory miniature +framed in black. He looked at it for some time. It had a sweet, +old-fashioned face, with a very high forehead, blue eyes, and dark hair +arranged in two festoons of plaits, turned up at the sides. It +represented his mother in the early sixties and he thought it was like +Edith. He had a great devotion and cult for the memory of his mother. +When he was charmed with a woman he always imagined her to be like his +mother. + +He had never thought this about his wife People had said how +extraordinarily Aylmer must have been in love to have married that +uninteresting girl, no-one in particular, not pretty and a little +second-rate. As a matter of fact the marriage had happened entirely by +accident. It had occurred through a misunderstanding during a game of +consequences in a country house. She was terribly literal. Having taken +some joke of his seriously, she had sent him a touchingly coy letter +saying she was overwhelmed at his offer (feeling she was hardly worthy +to be his wife) and must think it over. He did not like to hurt her +feelings by explaining, and when she relented and accepted him he +couldn't bear to tell her the truth. He was absurdly tender-hearted, +and he thought that, after all, it didn't matter so very much. The +little house left him by his mother needed a mistress; he would +probably marry somebody or other, anyhow; and she seemed such a +harmless little thing. It would please her so much! When the hurried +marriage had come to a pathetic end by her early death everyone was +tragic about it except Aylmer. All his friends declared he was +heart-broken and lonely and would never marry again. He had indeed been +shocked and grieved at her death, but only for her--not at being left +alone. That part, was a relief. The poor little late Mrs Aylmer Ross +had turned out a terrible mistake. She had said the wrong thing from +morning till night, and, combining a prim, refined manner with a vulgar +point of view, had been in every way dreadfully impossible. He had +really been patience and unselfishness itself to her, but he had +suffered. The fact was, he had never even liked her. That was the +reason he had not married again. + +But he was devoted to his boy in a quiet way. He was the sort of man +who is adored by children, animals, servants and women. Tall, strong +and handsome, with intelligence beyond the average, yet with nothing +alarming about him, good-humoured about trifles, jealous in matters of +love--perhaps that is, after all, the type women really like best. It +is sheer nonsense to say that women enjoy being tyrannised over. No +doubt there are some who would rather be bullied than ignored. But the +hectoring man is, with few exceptions, secretly detested. In so far as +one can generalise (always a dangerous thing to do) it may be said that +women like best a kind, clever man who can be always trusted; and +occasionally (if necessary) deceived. + +Aylmer hardly ever got angry except in an argument about ideas. Yet his +feelings were violent; he was impulsive, and under his suave and +easy-going manner emotional. He was certainly good-looking, but had he +not been he would have pleased all the same. He seemed to radiate +warmth, life, a certain careless good-humour. To be near him was like +warming one's hands at a warm fire. Superficially susceptible and +inclined to be experimental he had not the instinct of the collector +and was devoid of fatuousness. But he could have had more genuine +successes than all the Don Juans and Romeos and Fausts who ever climbed +rope ladders. Besides his physical attraction he inspired a feeling of +reliance. Women felt safe with him; he would never treat anyone badly. +He inspired that kind of trust enormously in men also, and his house +was constantly filled with people asking his advice and begging him to +do things--sometimes not very easy ones. He was always being left +guardian to young persons who would never require one, and said himself +he had become almost a professional trustee. + +As Aylmer was generous and very extravagant in a way of his own (though +he cared nothing for show), he really worked hard at the bar to add to +his already large income. He always wanted a great deal of money. He +required ease, margin and elbow-room. He had no special hobbies, but he +needed luxury in general of a kind, and especially the luxury of +getting things in a hurry, his theory being that everything comes to +the man who won't wait. He was not above detesting little material +hardships. He was not the sort of man, for instance, even in his +youngest days, who would go by omnibus to the gallery to the opera, to +hear a favourite singer or a special performance; not that he had the +faintest tinge of snobbishness, but simply because such trifling +drawbacks irritated him, and spoilt his pleasure. + +Impressionistic as he was in life, on the other hand, curiously, +Aylmer's real taste in art and decoration was Pre-Raphaelite; +delicate, detailed and meticulous almost to preciousness. He often had +delightful things in his house, but never for long. He had no pleasure +in property; valuable possessions worried him, and after any amount of +trouble to get some object of art he would often give it away the next +week. For he really liked money only for freedom and ease. The general +look of the house was, consequently, distinguished, sincere and +extremely comfortable. It was neither hackneyed nor bizarre, and, while +it contained some interesting things, had no superfluities. + +Aylmer had been spoilt as a boy and was still wilful and a little +impatient. For instance he could never wait even for a boy-messenger, +but always sent his notes by taxi to wait for an answer. And now he +wanted something in a hurry, and was very much afraid he would never +get it. + +Aylmer was, as I have said, often a little susceptible. This time he +felt completely bowled over. He had only seen her twice. That made no +difference. + +The truth was--it sounds romantic, but is really scientific, all +romance being, perhaps, based on science--that Edith's appearance +corresponded in every particular with an ideal that had grown up with +him. Whether he had seen some picture as a child that had left a vague +and lasting impression, or whatever the reason was, the moment he saw +her he felt, with a curious mental sensation, as of something that fell +into its place with a click ('Ça y est!'), that she realised some +half-forgotten dream. In fact, it was a rare and genuine case of _coup +de foudre_. Had she been a girl he would have proposed to her the next +day, and they might quite possibly have married in a month, and lived +happily ever after. These things occasionally happen. But she was +married already. + +Had she been a fool, or a bore, a silly little idiot or a fisher of +men, a social sham who prattled of duchesses or a strenuous feminine +politician who babbled of votes; a Christian Scientist bent on +converting, an adventuress without adventures (the worst kind), a +mind-healer or a body-snatcher, a hockey-player or even a lady +novelist, it would have been exactly the same; whatever she had been, +mentally or morally, he would undoubtedly have fallen in love with her +physically, at first sight. But it was very much worse than that. He +found her delightful, and clever; he was certain she was an angel. She +was married to Ottley. Ottley was all right.... Rather an ass ... +rather ridiculous; apparently in every way but one. + + * * * * * + +So absurdly hard hit was Aylmer that it seemed to him as if to see her +again as soon as possible was already the sole object in his life. Did +she like him? Intuitively he felt that during his little visit his +intense feeling had radiated, and not displeased--perhaps a little +impressed--her. He could easily, he knew, form a friendship with them; +arrange to see her often. He was going to meet her tonight, through his +own arrangement. He would get them to come and dine with him soon--no, +the next day. + +What was the good? + +Well, where was the harm? + +Aylmer had about the same code of morals as the best of his numerous +friends in Bohemia, in clubland and in social London. He was no more +scrupulous on most subjects than the ordinary man of his own class. +Still, _he had been married himself_. That made an immense difference, +for he was positively capable of seeing (and with sympathy) from the +husband's point of view. Even now, indifferent as he had been to his +own wife, and after ten years, it would have caused him pain and fury +had he found out that she had ever tried to play him false. Of course, +cases varied. He knew that if Edith had been free his one thought would +have been to marry her. Had she been different, and differently placed, +he would have blindly tried for anything he could get, in any possible +way. But, as she was?... He felt convinced he could never succeed in +making her care for him; there was not the slightest chance of it. And, +supposing even that he could? And here came in the delicacy and scruple +of the man who had been married himself. He thought he wouldn't even +wish to spoil, by the vulgarity of compromising, or by the shadow of a +secret, the serenity of her face, the gay prettiness of that life. No, +he wouldn't if he could. And yet how exciting it would be to rouse her +from that cool composure. She was rather enigmatic. But he thought she +could be roused. And she was so clever. How well she would carry it +off! How she would never bore a man! And he suddenly imagined a day +with her in the country.... Then he thought that his imagination was +flying on far too fast. He decided not to be a hopeless fool, but just +to go ahead, and talk to her, and get to know her; not to think too +much about her. She needn't even know how he felt. To idolise her from +a distance would be quite delightful enough. When a passion is not +realised, he thought, it fades away, or becomes ideal worship +--Dante--Petrarch--that sort of thing! It could never fade away +in this case, he was sure. How pretty she was, how lovely her mouth was +when she smiled! She had no prejudices, apparently; no affectations; +how she played and sang that song again when he asked her! With what a +delightful sense of humour she had dealt with him, and also with Bruce, +at the Mitchells. Ottley must be a little difficult sometimes. She had +read and thought; she had the same tastes as he. He wondered if she +would have liked that thing in _The Academy_, on Gardens, that he had +just read. He began looking for it. He thought he would send it to her, +asking her opinion; then he would get an answer, and see her +handwriting. You don't know a woman until you have had a letter from +her. + +But no--what a fool he would look! Besides he was going to see her +tonight. It was about time to get ready.... Knowing subconsciously that +he had made some slight favourable impression--at any rate that he +hadn't repelled or bored her--he dressed with all the anxiety, joy and +thrills of excitement of a boy of twenty; and no boy of twenty can ever +feel these things as keenly or half as elaborately as a man nearly +twice that age, since all the added experiences, disillusions, +practice, knowledge and life of the additional years help to form a +part of the same emotion, making it infinitely deeper, and all the +stronger because so much more _averti_ and conscious of itself. + +He seemed so nervous while dressing that Soames, the valet, to whom he +was a hero, ventured respectfully to hope there was nothing wrong. + +'No. I'm all right,' said Aylmer. 'I'm never ill. I think, Soames, I +shall probably die of middle age.' + +He went out laughing, leaving the valet smiling coldly out of +politeness. + + * * * * * + +Soames never understood any kind of jest. He took himself and everyone +else seriously. But he already knew perfectly well that his master had +fallen in love last night, and he disapproved very strongly. He thought +all that sort of thing ought to be put a stop to. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Archie's Essay + +'Mrs Ottley,' said Miss Townsend,' do you mind looking at this essay of +Archie's? I really don't know what to think of it. I think it shows +talent, except the spelling. But it's _very_ naughty of him to have +written what is at the end.' + +Edith took the paper and read: + +'TRAYS OF CHARACTER + +trays of character will always show threw how ever much you may polish +it up trays of character will always show threw the grane of the wood. + +A burd will keep on singing because he wants to and they can't help +doing what it wants this is instinkt. and it is the same with trays of +charicter. having thus shown my theory that trays of carocter will +always show threw in spite of all trubble and in any circemstances +whatever I will conclude Archibald Bruce Ottley please t.o.' + +On the other side of the paper was written very neatly, still in +Archie's writing: + +'3 LINDEN MANSIONS, CADOGAN SQUARE, KNIGHTSBRIDGE. _Second Floor_ + +1. Mr Bruce Ottley (FO) 2. Mrs Bruce Ottley 3. Master Archibald Bruce +Ottley 4. Little _beast_ 5. Mary Johnson housemaid 6. Miss Thrupp Cook +7. Marie maid + +8. Dorothy Margaret Miss Townsend governess 9. Ellen Maud Parrot +nurse.' + +'Do you see?' said Miss Townsend. 'It's his way of slyly calling poor +Dilly a beast, because he's angry with her. Isn't it a shame? What +shall I do?' Both of them laughed and enjoyed it. + +'Archie, what is the meaning of this? Why did you make this census of +your home?' Edith asked him gently. + +'Why, I didn't make senses of my home; I just wrote down who lived +here.' + +Edith looked at him reproachfully. + +'Well, I didn't call Dilly a beast. I haven't broken Miss Townsend's +rules. She made a new rule I wasn't to call her a beast before +breakfast--' + +'What, you're allowed to call her these awful names after breakfast?' + +'No. She made a rule before breakfast I wasn't to call Dilly a beast, +and I haven't. How did you know it meant her anyway? It might have +meant somebody else.' + +'That's prevaricating; it's mean--not like you, Archie.' + +'Well, I never called her a beast. No-one can say I did. And besides, +anybody would have called her a beast after how she went on.' + +'What are you angry with the child for?' + +'Oh, she bothers so. The moment I imitate the man with the German +accent she begins to cry. She says she doesn't like me to do it. She +says she can't bear me to. Then she goes and tells Miss Townsend I +slapped her, and Miss Townsend blames me.' + +'Then you shouldn't have slapped her; it was horrid of you; you ought +to remember she's a little girl and weaker than you.' + +'I did remember...' + +'Oh, Archie!' + +'Well, I'll make it up if she begs my pardon; not unless she does I +sha'n't,' said Archie magnanimously. + +'I shall certainly not allow her to do anything of the kind.' + +At this moment Dilly came in, with her finger in her tiny mouth, and +went up to Archie, drawling with a pout, and in a whining voice: + +'I didn't mean to.' + +Archie beamed at once. + +'That's all right, Dilly,' he said forgivingly. + +Then he turned to his mother. + +'Mother, have you got that paper?' + +'Yes, I have indeed!' + +'Well, cross out--that, and put in Aspasia Matilda Ottley. Sorry, +Dilly!' He kissed her, and they ran off together hand in hand; looking +like cherubs, and laughing musically. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Aylmer + +At the Carlton Aylmer had easily persuaded Bruce and Edith to dine with +him next day, although they were engaged to the elder Mrs Ottley +already. He said he expected two or three friends, and he convinced +them they must come too. It is only in London that people meet for the +first time at a friend's house, and then, if they take to each other, +practically live together for weeks after. No matter what social +engagements they may happen to have, these are all thrown aside for the +new friend. London people, with all their correctness, are really more +unconventional than any other people in the world. For instance, in +Paris such a thing could never happen in any kind of _monde_, unless, +perhaps, it were among artists and Bohemians; and even then it would be +their great object to prove to one another that they were not wanting +in distractions and were very much in demand; the lady, especially, +would make the man wait for an opportunity of seeing her again, from +calculation, to make herself seem of more value. Such second-rate +solicitudes would never even occur to Edith. But she had a scruple +about throwing over old Mrs Ottley. + + * * * * * + +'Won't your mother be disappointed?' Edith asked. + +'My dear Edith, you can safely leave that to me. Of course she'll be +disappointed, but you can go round and see her, and speak to her nicely +and tell her that after all we can't come because we've got another +engagement.' + +'And am I to tell her it's a subsequent one? Otherwise she'll wonder we +didn't mention it before.' + +'Don't be in a hurry, dear. Don't rush things; remember... she's my +mother. Perhaps to you, Edith, it seems a rather old-fashioned idea, +and I daresay you think it's rot, but to me there's something very +sacred about the idea of a mother.' He lit a cigarette and looked in +the glass. + +'Yes, dear. Then, don't you think we really ought to have kept our +promise to dine with her? She'll probably be looking forward to it. I +daresay she's asked one or two people she thinks we like, to meet us.' + +'Circumstances alter cases, Edith. If it comes to that, Aylmer Ross has +got two or three people coming to dine with him whom he thinks we might +like. He said so himself. That's why he's asked us.' + +'Yes, but he can't have asked them on purpose, Bruce, because, you see, +we didn't know him on Thursday.' + +'Well, why should he have asked them on purpose? _How_ you argue! _How_ +you go on! It really seems to me you're getting absurdly exacting and +touchy, Edith dear. I believe all those flowers from the embassy have +positively turned your head. _Why_ should he have asked them on +purpose. You admit yourself that we didn't even know the man last +Thursday, and yet you expect--' Bruce stopped. He had got into a slight +tangle. + +Edith looked away. She had not quite mastered the art of the inward +smile. + +'Far better, in my opinion,' continued Bruce, walking up and down the +room.--'Now, don't interrupt me in your impulsive way, but hear me +out--it would be far more kind and sensible in every way for you to sit +right down at that little writing-table, take out your stylographic pen +and write and tell my mother that I have a bad attack of influenza.... +Yes; one should always be considerate to one's parents. I suppose it +really is the way I was brought up that makes me feel this so keenly,' +he explained. + +Edith sat down to the writing-table. 'How bad is your influenza?' + +'Oh, not very bad; because it would worry her: a slight attack.--Stop! +Not so very slight--we must let her think it's the ordinary kind, and +then she'll think it's catching and she won't come here for a few days, +and that will avoid our going into the matter in detail, which would be +better.' + +'If she thinks it's catching, dear, she'll want Archie and Dilly, and +Miss Townsend and Nurse to go and stay with her in South Kensington, +and that will be quite an affair.' + +'Right as usual; very thoughtful of you; you're a clever little woman +sometimes, Edith. Wait!'--he put up his hand with a gesture frequent +with him, like a policeman stopping the traffic at Hyde Park Corner. +'Wait!--leave out the influenza altogether, and just say I've caught a +slight chill.' + +'Yes. Then she'll come over at once, and you'll have to go to bed.' + +'My dear Edith,' said Bruce, 'you're over-anxious; I shall do nothing +of the kind. There's no need that I should be laid up for this. It's +not serious.' + +He was beginning to believe in his own illness, as usual. + +'Air! (I want to go round to the club)--tonic treatment!--that's the +thing!--that's often the very best thing for a chill--this sort of +chill.... Ah, that will do very nicely. Very neatly written.... +Good-bye, dear.' + + * * * * * + +As soon as Bruce had gone out Edith rang up the elder Mrs Ottley on the +telephone, and relieved her anxiety in advance. They were great +friends; the sense of humour possessed by her mother-in-law took the +sting out of the relationship. + + * * * * * + +The dinner at Aylmer's house was a great success. Bruce enjoyed himself +enormously, for he liked nothing better in the world than to give his +opinion. And Aylmer was specially anxious for his view as to the +authenticity of a little Old Master he had acquired, and took notes, +also, of a word of advice with regard to electric lighting, admitting +he was not a very practical man, and Bruce evidently was. + +Edith was interested and pleased to go to the house of her new friend +and to reconstruct the scene as it must have been when Mrs Aylmer Ross +had been there. + +Freddy, the boy, was at school, but there was a portrait of him. +Evidently he resembled his father. The sketch represented him with the +same broad forehead, smooth, dense light hair, pale blue eyes under +eyebrows with a slight frown in them, and the charming mouth rather +fully curved, expressing an amiable and pleasure-loving nature. The boy +was good-looking, but not, Edith thought, as handsome as Aylmer. + +The only other woman present was Lady Everard, a plump, talkative, +middle-aged woman in black; the smiling widow of Lord Everard, and well +known for her lavish musical hospitality and her vague and +indiscriminate good nature. She bristled with aigrettes and sparkled +with diamonds and determination. She was marvellously garrulous about +nothing in particular. She was a woman who never stopped talking for a +single moment, but in a way that resembled leaking rather than laying +down the law. Tepidly, indifferently and rather amusingly she prattled +on without ceasing, on every subject under the sun, and was socially a +valuable help because where she was there was never an awkward +pause--or any other kind. + +Vincy was there and young Cricker, whose occasional depressed silences +were alternated with what he called a certain amount of sparkling +chaff. + +Lady Everard told Edith that she felt quite like a sort of mother to +Aylmer. + +'Don't you think it's sad, Mrs Ottley,' she said, when they were alone, +'to think that the dear fellow has no wife to look after this dear +little house? It always seems to me such a pity, but still, I always +say, at any rate Aylmer's married once, and that's more than most of +them do nowadays. It's simply horse's work to get them to do it at all. +Sometimes I think it's perfectly disgraceful. And yet I can't help +seeing how sensible it is of them too; you know, when you think of it, +what with one thing and another, what does a man of the present day +need a wife for? What with the flats, where everything on earth is done +for them, and the kindness of friends--just think how bachelors are +spoilt by their married friends!--and their clubs, and the frightful +expense of everything, it seems to me, as a general rule, that the +average man must be madly unselfish or a perfect idiot to marry at +all--that's what it seems to me--don't you? When you think of all the +responsibilities they take upon themselves!--and I'm sure there are not +many modern wives who expect to do anything on earth but have their +bills and bridge debts paid, and their perpetual young men asked to +dinner, and one thing and another. Of course, though, there are some +exceptions.' She smiled amiably. 'Aylmer tells me you have two +children; very sweet of you, I'm sure. What darling pets they must be! +Angels!--Angels! Oh, I'm so fond of children! But, particularly--isn't +it funny?--when they're not there, because I can't stand their noise. +Now my little grandchildren--my daughter Eva's been married ten +years--Lady Lindley, you know--hers are perfect pets and heavenly +angels, but I can't stand them for more than a few minutes at a time. I +have nerves, so much so, do you know (partly because I go in a good +deal for music and intellect and so on), so much so, that I very nearly +had a rest cure at the end of last season, and I should have had, +probably, but that new young French singer came over with a letter of +introduction to me, and of course I couldn't desert him, but had to do +my very best. Ever heard him sing? Yes, you would, of course. Oh, how +wonderful it is!' + +Edith waited in vain for a pause to say she didn't know the name of the +singer. Lady Everard went on, leaning comfortably back in Aylmer's +arm-chair. + +'Willie Cricker dances very prettily, too; he came to one of my +evenings and had quite a success. Only an amateur, of course; but +rather nice. However, like all amateurs he wants to perform only when +people would rather he didn't, and when they want him to he won't; he +refuses. That's the amateur all over. The professional comes up to the +scratch when wanted and stops when the performance is not required. +It's all the difference in the world, isn't it, Mrs Ottley? Still, he's +a nice boy. Are you fond of music?' + +'Very. Really fond of it; but I'm only a listener.' + +Lady Everard seemed delighted and brightened up. + +'Oh, you don't sing or play?--you must come to one of my Musical +Evenings. We have all the stars in the season at times--dear Melba and +Caruso--and darling Bemberk and dear Debussy! Oh! don't laugh at my +enthusiasm, my dear; but I'm quite music-mad--and then, of course, we +have any amount of amateurs, and all the new young professionals that +are coming on. In my opinion Paul La France, that's the young man I was +telling you about, will be one of the very very best--quite at the top +of the tree, and I'm determined he shall. But of course, he needs care +and encouragement. I think of his giving a _Conférence_, in which he'll +lecture on his own singing. I shall be on the platform to make a sort +of introductory speech and Monti, of course, will accompany. He is the +only accompanist that counts. But then I suppose he's been accompanying +somebody or other ever since he was a little boy, so it's second nature +to him. And you must come, and bring your husband. Does he go with you +to places? Very nice of him. Nowadays if husbands and wives don't +occasionally go to the same parties they have hardly any opportunity of +meeting at all; that's what I always say. But then, of course, _you're_ +still almost on your honeymoon, aren't you? Charming!' + +In the dining-room Cricker was confiding in Aylmer, while Vincy and +Bruce discussed the Old Master. + +'Awful, you know,' Cricker said, in a low voice--' this girl's mania +for me! I get wires and telephones all day long; she hardly gives me +time to shave. And she's jolly pretty, so I don't like to chuck it; in +fact, I daren't. But her one cry is 'Cold; cold; cold!' She says I'm as +cold as a stone. What do you thing of that?' + +'You may be a stone, and a rolling one at that, said Aylmer, 'but there +are other pebbles on the beach, I daresay.' + +'I bet not one of them as stony as I am!' cried Cricker. + +Cricker came a little nearer, lowering his voice again. + +'It's a very peculiar case,' he said proudly. + +'Of course; it always is.' + +'You see, she's frightfully pretty, on the stage, and married! One of +the most awkward positions a person can be in. Mind you, I'm sorry for +her. I thought of consulting you about something if you'll give me a +minute or two, old chap.' + +He took out a letter-case. + +'I don't mean Ill show you this--oh no, I can't show it--it isn't +compromising.' + +'Of course not. No-one really likes to show a really lukewarm love +letter. Besides it would hardly be--' + +Cricker put the case back. + +My dear chap! I wasn't going to show it to you--I shouldn't dream of +such a thing--to anybody; but I was just going to read you out a +sentence from which you can form an opinion of my predicament. It's no +good mincing matters, old boy, the woman is crazy mad about me--there +you've got it straight--in a nutshell.--Crazy!' + +'She certainly can't be very sane,' returned Aylmer. + +Before the end of the evening Aylmer had arranged to take the Ottleys +to see a play that was having a run. After this he dropped in to tea to +discuss it and Bruce kept him to dinner. + +Day after day went on, and they saw him continually. He had never shown +by word or manner any more of his sentiment than on the second occasion +when they had met but Edith was growing thoroughly accustomed to this +new interest, and it certainly gave a zest to her existence, for she +knew, as women do know, or at any rate she believed, that she had an +attraction for him, which he didn't intend to give away. The situation +was pleasant and notwithstanding Vincy's slight anxiety, she persisted +in seeing nothing in it to fear in any way. Aylmer didn't even flirt. + +One day, at Vincy's rooms, she thought he seemed different. + +Vincy, with all his gentle manner, had in art an extraordinary taste +for brutality and violence, and his rooms were covered with pictures by +Futurists and Cubists, wild studies by wild men from Tahiti and a +curious collection of savage ornaments and weapons. + +'I don't quite see Vincy handling that double-edged Chinese sword, do +you? said Aylmer, laughing. + +'No, nor do I; but I do like to look at it,' Vincy said. + +They went into the little dining-room, which was curiously furnished +with a green marble dining-table, narrow, as in the pictures of the +Last Supper, at which the guests could sit on one side only to be +waited on from the other. On it as decoration (it was laid for two, +side by side) were some curious straw mats, a few laurel leaves, a +little marble statuette of Pan, and three Tangerine oranges. + +'Oh, Vincy, do tell me--what are you going to eat tonight?' Edith +exclaimed. 'Unless you're with other people I can never imagine you +sitting down to a proper meal.' + +Eat? Oh a nice orange, I think,' said he. Sometimes when I'm alone I +just have a nice egg and a glass of water, I do myself very well. Don't +worry about me, Edith.' + +When they were alone for a moment Aylmer looked out of the window. It +was rather high up, and they looked down on the hustling crowds of +people pushing along through the warm air in Victoria Street. + +'It's getting decent weather,' he said. + +'Yes, quite warm.' + +They always suddenly talked commonplaces when they were first left +alone. + +'I may be going away pretty soon,' he said. + +'Going away! Oh, where?' + +'I'm not quite sure yet.' + +There was a pause. + +'Well, you'll come to tea tomorrow, won't you? said Edith. 'Yes, +indeed, thank you--thank you so much. I shall look forward to it. At +five?' He spoke formally. + +'At four,' said Edith. + +'I shall be lunching not very far from you tomorrow.' + +'At a quarter to four,' said Edith. + +'I wonder who this other place is laid for,' said Aylmer, looking at +the table. + +'How indiscreet of you! So do I. One must find out.' + +'How? By asking?' + +'Good heavens, no!' cried Edith. 'What an extraordinary idea!' + + + +CHAPTER X + +Shopping Chez Soi + +Edith was expecting Aylmer to call that afternoon before he went away. +She was surprised to find how perturbed she was at the idea of his +going away. He had become almost a part of their daily existence, and +seeing him was certainly quite the most amusing and exciting experience +she had ever had. And now it was coming to an end. Some obscure +clairvoyance told her that his leaving and telling her of it in this +vague way had some reference to her; but perhaps (she thought) she was +wrong; perhaps it was simply that, after the pleasant intercourse and +semi-intimacy of the last few weeks, he was going to something that +interested him more? He was a widower; and still a young man. Perhaps +he was in love with someone. This idea was far from agreeable, although +except the first and second time they met he had never said a word that +could be described even as flirtation. He showed admiration for her, +and pleasure in her society, but he rarely saw her alone. The few +visits and _tête-à -têtes_ had always begun by conventional commonplace +phrases and embarrassment, and had ended in a delightful sympathy, in +animated conversation, in a flowing confidence and gaiety, and in long +discussions on books, and art, and principally people. That was all. In +fact he had become, in two or three weeks, in a sense _l'ami de la +maison_; they went everywhere with him and met nearly every day, and +Bruce appeared to adore him. It was entirely different from her long +and really intimate friendship with Vincy. Vincy was her confidant, her +friend. She could tell _him_ everything, and she did, and he confided +in her and told her all except one side of his life, of which she was +aware, but to which she never referred. This was his secret romance +with a certain girl artist of whom he never spoke, although Edith knew +that some day he would tell her about that also. + +But with Aylmer there was, and would always be, less real freedom and +impersonal frankness, because there was so much more selfconsciousness; +in fact because there was an unacknowledged but very strong mutual +physical attraction. Edith had, however, felt until now merely the +agreeable excitement of knowing that a man she liked, and in whom she +was immensely interested, was growing apparently devoted to her, while +_she_ had always believed that she would know how to deal with the case +in such a way that it could never lead to anything more--that is to +say, to more than _she_ wished. + +And now, he was going away. Why? And where? However, the first thing to +consider was that she would see him today. The result of this +consideration was the obvious one. She must do some shopping. + +Edith was remarkably feminine in every attribute, in manner, in +movement and in appearance; indeed, for a woman of the present day +unusually and refreshingly feminine. Yet she had certain mental +characteristics which were entirely unlike most women. One was her +extreme aversion for shops, and indeed for going into any concrete +little details. It has been said that her feeling for dress was sure +and unerring. But it was entirely that of the artist; it was +impressionistic. Edith was very clever, indeed, most ingenious, in +managing practical affairs, as long as she was the director, the +general of the campaign. But she did not like carrying out in detail +her plans. She liked to be the architect, not the workman. + +For example, the small household affairs in the flat went on wheels; +everything was almost always perfect. But Edith did not rattle her +housekeeping keys, or count the coals, nor did she even go through +accounts, or into the kitchen every day. The secret was simple. She had +a good cook and housekeeper, who managed all these important but +tedious details admirably, under her suggestions. In order to do this +Edith had to practise a little fraud on Bruce, a justifiable and quite +unselfish one. She gave the cook and housekeeper a quarter of her dress +allowance, in addition to the wages Bruce considered sufficient; +because Bruce believed that they could not afford more than a certain +amount for a cook, while he admitted that Edith, who had a few hundred +pounds a year of her own, might need to spend this on dress. Very +little of it went on dress, although Edith was not very economical. But +she had a plan of her own; she knew that to be dressed in a very +ordinary style (that is to say, simple, conventional, comme il faut) +suited her, by throwing her unusual beauty into relief. Occasionally a +touch of individuality was added, when she wanted to have a special +effect. But she never entered a shop; very rarely interviewed a +milliner. It was always done for her. She was easy to dress, being +tall, slim and remarkably pretty. She thought that most women make a +great mistake in allowing dress to be the master instead of the servant +of their good looks; many women were, she considered, entirely crushed +and made insignificant by the beauty of their clothes. The important +thing was to have a distinguished appearance, and this cannot, of +course, easily be obtained without expensive elegance. But Edith was +twenty-eight, and looked younger, so she could dress simply. + +This morning Edith had telephoned to her friend, Miss Bennett, an old +schoolfellow who had nothing to do, and adored commissions. Edith, +sitting by the fire or at the 'phone, gave her orders, which were +always decisive, short and yet meticulous. Miss Bennett was a little +late this morning, and Edith had been getting quite anxious to see her. +When she at last arrived--she was a nondescript-looking girl, with a +small hat squashed on her head, a serge coat and skirt, black gloves +and shoes with spats--Edith greeted her rather reproachfully with: + +'You're late, Grace.' + +'Sorry,' said Grace. + +The name suited her singularly badly. She was plain, but had a pleasant +face, a pink complexion, small bright eyes, protruding teeth and a +scenario for a figure, merely a collection of bones on which a dress +could be hung. She was devoted to Edith, and to a few other friends of +both sexes, of whom she made idols. She was hard, abrupt, enthusiastic, +ignorant and humorous. + +'Sorry, but I had to do a lot of--' + +'All right,' interrupted Edith. 'You couldn't help it. Listen' to what +I want you to do.' + +'Go ahead,' said Miss Bennett, taking out a note-book and pencil. + +Edith spoke in her low, soft, impressive voice, rather slowly. + +'Go anywhere you like and bring me back two or three perfectly simple +tea-gowns--you know the sort of shape, rather like evening +cloaks--straight lines--none of the new draperies and curves--in red, +blue and black.' + +'On appro.?' asked Miss Bennett. + +'On anything you like, but made of Liberty satin, with a dull surface.' + +'There's no such thing.' Grace Bennett laughed. 'You mean charmeuse, or +crepe-de-chine, perhaps?' + +'Call it what you like, only get it. You must bring them back in a +taxi.' + +'Extravagant girl!' + +'They're not to cost more than--oh! not much,' added Edith, 'at the +most.' + +'Economical woman! Why not have a really good tea-gown while you're +about it?' + +'These _will_ be good. I want to have a hard outline like a +Fergusson.' + +'Oh, really? What's that?' + +'Never mind. And suppose you can't get the shape, Grace.' + +'Yes?' + +'Bring some evening cloaks--the kimonoish kind--I could wear one over a +lace blouse; it would look exactly the same.' + +'Edith, what curious ideas you have! But you're right enough. Anything +else?' said Miss Bennett, standing up, ready to go. 'I like shopping +for you. You know what you want.' + +'Buy me an azalea, not a large one, and a bit of some dull material of +the same colour to drape round it.' + +'How extraordinary it is the way you hate anything shiny!' exclaimed +Miss Bennett, making a note. + +'I know; I only like _mat_ effects. Oh, and in case I choose a +light-coloured gown, get me just one very large black velvet orchid, +too.' + +'Right. That all?' + +Edith looked at her shoes; they were perfect, tiny, pointed and made of +black suède. She decided they would do. + +'Yes, that's all, dear.' + +'And might I kindly ask,' said Miss Bennett, getting up, 'any +particular reason for all this? Are you going to have the flu, or a +party, or what?' + +'No,' said Edith, who was always frank when it was possible. 'I'm +expecting a visitor who's never seen me in anything but a coat and +skirt, or in evening dress.' + +'Oh! He wants a change, does he?' + +'Don't be vulgar, Grace. Thanks awfully, dear. You're really kind.' + +They both laughed, and Edith gently pushed her friend out of the room. +Then she sat down on a sofa, put up her feet, and began to read +_Rhythm_ to divert her thoughts. Vincy had brought it to convert her to +Post-Impressionism. + +When Archie and Dilly were out, and Edith, who always got up rather +early, was alone, she often passed her morning hours in reading, +dreaming, playing the piano, or even in thinking. She was one of the +few women who really can think, and enjoy it. This morning she soon put +down the mad clever little prophetic Oxford journal. Considering she +was usually the most reposeful woman in London, she was rather restless +today. She glanced round the little room; there was nothing in it to +distract or irritate, or even to suggest a train of thought; except +perhaps the books; everything was calming and soothing, with a touch of +gaiety in the lightness of the wall decorations. An azalea, certainly, +would be a good note. The carpet, and almost everything in the room, +was green, except the small white enamelled piano. Today she felt that +she wanted to use all her influence to get Aylmer to confide in her +more. Perhaps he was slipping away from her--she would have been only a +little incident in his existence--while she certainly wished it to go +on. Seeing this, perhaps it oughtn't to go on. She wondered if he would +laugh or be serious today... whether... + + * * * * * + +Miss Bennett had come up in the lift with a heap of cardboard boxes, +and the azalea. A taxi was waiting at the door. + +Edith opened the boxes, cutting the string with scissors. She put four +gowns out on the sofa. Grace explained that two were cloaks, two were +gowns--all she could get. + +'That's the one,' said Edith, taking out one of a deep blue colour, +like an Italian sky on a coloured picture post-card. It had a collar of +the same deep blue, spotted with white--a birdseye effect. Taking off +her coat Edith slipped the gown over her dress, and went to her room +(followed closely by Miss Bennett) to see herself in the long mirror. + +'Perfect!' said Edith. 'Only I must cut off those buttons. I hate +buttons.' + +'How are you going to fasten it, then, dear?' + +'With hooks and eyes. Marie can sew them on.' + +The deep blue with the white spots had a vivid and charming effect, and +suited her blonde colouring; she saw she was very pretty in it, and was +pleased. + +'Aren't you going to try the others on, dear?' asked Grace. + +'No; what's the good? This one will do.' + +'Right. Then I'll take them back.' + +'You're sweet. Won't you come back to lunch?' + +'I'll come back to lunch tomorrow,' said Miss Bennett, 'and you can +tell me about your tea-party. Oh, and here's a little bit of stuff for +the plant. I suppose you'll put the azalea into the large pewter vase?' + +'Yes, and I'll tie this round its neck.' + +'Sorry it's cotton,' said Miss Bennett. 'I couldn't get any silk the +right colour.' + +'Oh, I like cotton, if only it's not called sateen! Good-bye, darling. +You're delightfully quick!' + +'Yes, I don't waste time,' said Miss Bennett. 'Mother says, too, that +I'm the best shopper in the world.' She turned round to add, 'I'm dying +to know why you want to look so pretty. Who is it?' + +With a quiet smile, Edith dismissed her. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +P.P.C. + +'It always seems to me so unlike you,' Aylmer said (he had arrived +punctually at twenty minutes to four)--'your extreme fondness for +newspapers. You're quite celebrated as a collector of Last Editions, +aren't you?' + +'I know it's very unliterary of me, but I enjoy reading newspapers +better than reading anything else in the world. After all, it's +contemporary history, that's my defence. But I suppose it is because +I'm so intensely interested in life.' + +'Tell me exactly, what papers do you really read?' + +She laughed. 'Four morning papers--never mind their names--four +evening papers; five Sunday papers: _The Academy, The Saturday Review, +The Bookman, The World, The English Review_.' + +'Well, I think it's wicked of you to encourage all this frivolity. And +what price _The Queen, Horrie Notes, or The Tatler_?' + +'Oh, we have those too--for Bruce.' + +'And does Archie show any of this morbid desire for journalism?' + +'Oh yes. He takes in _Chums and Little Folks_.' + +'And I see you're reading _Rhythm_. That's Vincy's fault, of course.' + +'Perhaps it is.' + +'How do you find time for all this culture?' + +'I read quickly, and what I have to do I do rather quickly.' + +'Is that why you never seem in a hurry? I think you're the only +leisured-looking woman I know in London.' + +'I do think I've solved the problem of labour-saving; I've reduced it +to a science.' + +'How?' + +'By not working, I suppose.' + +'You're wonderful. And that blue....' + +'Do you really think so?' + +He was beginning to get carried away. He stood up and looked out of the +window. The pink and white hyacinths were strongly scented in the warm +air. He turned round. + +She said demurely: 'It will be nice weather for you to go away now, +won't it?' + +'I don't think so.' He spoke impulsively. 'I shall hate it; I shall be +miserable.' + +'Really!' in a tone of great surprise. + +'You're dying to ask me something,' he said. + +'Which am I dying to ask you: _where_ you're going, or _why_ you're +going?' She gave her most vivid smile. He sat down with a sigh. People +still sigh, sometimes, even nowadays. + +'I don't know where I'm going; but I'll tell you why.... I'm seeing too +much of you.' + +She was silent. + +'You see, Mrs Ottley, seeing a great deal of you is very entrancing, +but it's dangerous.' + +'In what way?' + +'Well--your society--you see one gets to feel one can't do without it, +do you see?' + +'But why should you do without it?' + +He looked at her. 'You mean there's no reason why we shouldn't keep on +going to plays with Bruce, dining with Bruce, being always with Bruce?' +(Bruce and Aylmer had become so intimate that they called each other by +their Christian names.) 'Don't you see, it makes one sometimes feel one +wants more and more of you--of your society I mean. One could talk +better alone.' + +'But you can come and see me sometimes, can't you?' + +'Yes; that's the worst of all,' he answered, with emphasis. + +'Oh.' + +Aylmer spoke decidedly: 'I'm not a man who could ever be a tame cat. +And also I'm not, I hope, a man who--who would dare to think, or even +wish, to spoil--to--' + +'And is that really why you're going?' she asked gently. + +'You're forcing me to answer you.' + +'And shall you soon forget all about it?' + +He changed his position and sat next to her on the sofa. + +'And so you won't miss me a bit,' he said caressingly. 'You wouldn't +care if you never saw me again, would you?' + +'Yes, I should care. Why, you know we're awfully good friends; I like +you immensely.' + +'As much as Vincy?' + +'Oh! So differently.' + +'I'm glad of that, at any rate!' + +There was an embarrassed pause. + +'So this is really the last time I'm to see you for ages, Mrs Ottley?' + +'But aren't we all going to the theatre tomorrow? With you, I mean? +Bruce said so.' + +'Oh yes. I mean the last time alone. Yes, I've got a box for _The +Moonshine Girl_. Bruce said you'd come. Lady Everard and Vincy will be +there.' + +'That will be fun--I love that sort of show. It takes one right away +from life instead of struggling to imitate it badly like most plays.' + +'It's always delightful to hear what you say. And anything I see with +you I enjoy, and believe to be better than it is,' said Aylmer. 'You +know you cast a glamour over anything. But the next day I'm going away +for three months at least.' + +'A long time.' + +'Is it? Will it seem long to you?' + +'Why, of course. We shall--I shall miss you very much. I told you so.' + +'Really?' he insisted. + +'Really,' she smiled. + +They looked at each other. + +Edith felt less mistress of the situation than she had expected. She +was faced with a choice; she felt it; she knew it. She didn't want him +to go. Still, perhaps.... There was a vibration in the air. Suddenly a +sharp ring was heard. + +Overpowered by a sudden impulse, Aylmer seized her impetuously by the +shoulders, kissed her roughly and at random before she could stop him, +and said incoherently: 'Edith! Good-bye. I love you, Edith,' and then +stood up by the mantelpiece. + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +'The Moonshine Girl' + +The next evening Bruce and Edith were going to the Society Theatre with +Aylmer. It was their last meeting before he was to go away, Edith half +expected that he would put it off, but there was no change made in the +plans, and they met in the box as arranged. + +Aylmer had expected during the whole day to hear that she had managed +to postpone the party. At one moment he was frightened and rather +horrified when he thought of what he had done. At another he was +delighted and enchanted about it, and told himself that it was +absolutely justified. After all, he couldn't do more than go away if he +found he was too fond of her. No hero of romance could be expected to +do more than that, and he wasn't a hero of romance; he didn't pretend +to be. But he _was_ a good fellow--and though Bruce's absurdities +irritated him a great deal he had a feeling of delicacy towards him, +and a scrupulousness that is not to be found every day. At other +moments Aylmer swore to himself, cursing his impulsiveness, fearing she +now would really not ever think of him as he wished, but as a hustling +sort of brute. But no--he didn't care. He had come at last to close +quarters with her. He had kissed the pretty little mouth that he had so +often watched with longing. He admitted to himself that he had really +wished to pose a little in her eyes: to be the noble hero in the third +act who goes away from temptation. But who does not wish for the _beau +rôle_ before one's idol? + + * * * * * + +This meeting at the play tonight was the sort of anti-climax that is +almost invariable in a London romance. How he looked forward to it! For +after Vincy came in only a few banalities had been said. He was to see +her now for the last time--the first time since he had given himself +away to her. Probably it was only her usual kindness to others that +prevented her getting out of the evening plans, he thought. Or--did she +want to see him once more? + +At dinner before the play Edith was very bright, and particularly +pretty. Bruce, too, was in good spirits. + +'It's rather sickening,' he remarked, 'Aylmer going away like this; we +shall miss him horribly, sha'n't we? And then, where's the sense, +Edith, in a chap leaving London where he's been the whole of the awful +winter, just as it begins to be pleasant here? Pass the salt; don't +spill it--that's unlucky. Not that I believe in any superstitious rot. +I can see the charm of the quaint old ideas about black cats and so +forth, but I don't for one moment attach any importance to them, nor to +the number thirteen, nor any of that sort of bosh. Indeed as a matter +of fact, I walked round a ladder only today rather than go under it. +But that's simply because I don't go in for trying to be especially +original.' + +'No, dear. I think you're quite right.' + +'And oddly enough--as I was trying to tell you just now, only you +didn't seem to be listening--a black cat ran across my path only this +afternoon.' He smiled, gratified at the recollection. + +'How do you mean, your path? I didn't know you had one--or that there +were any paths about here.' + +'How literal women are! I mean _I_ nearly ran over it in a taxi. When I +say I nearly ran over it, I mean that a black cat on the same side of +the taxi (if you must have details) ran away as the taxi drove on.... +Yes, Aylmer is a thoroughly good chap, and he and I have enormous +sympathy. I don't know any man in the world with whom I have more +intellectual sympathy than Aylmer Ross. Do you remember how I pointed +him out to you at once at the Mitchells'? And sometimes when I think +how you used to sneer at the Mitchells--oh, you did, you know, dear, +before you knew them--and I remember all the trouble I had to get you +to go there, I wonder--I simply wonder! Don't you see, through going +there, as I advised, we've made one of the nicest friends we ever had.' + +'Really, Bruce, you didn't have _any_ trouble to get me to go to the +Mitchells; you're forgetting. The trouble was I couldn't go there very +well until I was asked. The very first time we were asked (if you +recollect), we flew!' + +'Flew? Why, we went on the wrong night. That doesn't look as if I was +very keen about it! However, I'm not blaming you, dear. It wasn't your +fault. Mind you,' continued Bruce, 'I consider the Society Theatre pure +frivolity. But one thing I'll say, a bad show there is better than a +good show anywhere else. There's always jolly music, pretty dresses, +pretty girls--you don't mind my saying so, dear, do you?' + +'No, indeed. I think so myself.' + +'Of course, the first row of the chorus is not what it was when I was a +bachelor,' continued Bruce, frowning thoughtfully. 'Either they're not +so good-looking, or I don't admire them so much, or they don't admire +_me_ as much, or they're a different class, or--or--something!' he +laughed. + +'You're pleased to be facetious,' remarked Edith. + +'My dear girl, you know perfectly well I think there's no-one else in +the world like you. Wherever I go I always say there's no-one to touch +my wife. No-one!' + +Edith got up. 'Very sweet of you.' + +'But,' continued Bruce, 'because I think you pretty, it doesn't follow +that I think everybody else is hideous. I tell you that straight from +the shoulder, and I must say this for you, dear, I've never seen any +sign of jealousy on your part.' + +'I'd show it soon enough if I felt it--if I thought I'd any cause,' +said Edith; 'but I didn't think I had.' + +Bruce gave a rather fatuous smile. 'Oh, go and get ready, my dear,' he +answered. 'Don't let's talk nonsense. Who's going to be there tonight, +do you know?' + +'Oh, only Lady Everard and Vincy.' + +'Lady Everard is a nice woman. You're going to that musical thing of +hers, I suppose?' + +'Yes, I suppose so.' + +'It's in the afternoon, and it's not very easy for me to get away in +the afternoon, but to please you, I'll take you--see? I loathe music +(except musical comedies), and I think if ever there was a set of +appalling rotters--I feel inclined to knock them off the music-stool +the way they go on at Lady Everard's--at the same time, some of them +are very cultured and intelligent chaps, and _she's_ a very charming +woman. One can't get in a word edgeways, but _when_ one does--well, she +listens, and laughs at one's jokes, and that sort of thing. I think I'm +rather glad you're not musical, Edith, it takes a woman away from her +husband.' + +'Not musical! Oh dear! I thought I was,' said Edith. + +'Oh, anyhow, not when I'm here, so it doesn't matter. Besides, your +being appreciative and that sort of thing is very nice. Look what a +social success you've had at the Everards', for instance, through +listening and understanding these things; it is not an accomplishment +to throw away. No, Edith dear, I should tell you, if you would only +listen to me, to keep up your music, but you won't and there's an end +of it...That soufflé was really very good. Cook's improving. For a +plain little cook like that, with such small wages, and no kitchenmaid, +she does quite well.' + +'Oh yes, she's not bad,' said Edith. She knew that if Bruce had been +aware the cook's remuneration was adequate he would not have enjoyed +his dinner. + + * * * * * + +They were in the box in the pretty theatre. Lady Everard, very smart in +black, sparkling with diamonds, was already there with Aylmer. Vincy +had not arrived. + +The house was crammed to the ceiling. Gay, electrical music of +exhilarating futility was being played by the orchestra. The scene +consisted of model cottages; a chorus of pretty girls in striped cotton +were singing. The heroine came on; she was well known for her smile, +which had become public property on picture post-cards and the Obosh +bottles. She was dressed as a work-girl also, but in striped silk with +a real lace apron and a few diamonds. Then the hero arrived. He wore a +red shirt, brown boots, and had a tenor voice. He explained an +interesting little bit of the plot, which included an eccentric will +and other novelties. The humorous dandy of the play was greeted with +shouts of joy by the chorus and equal enthusiasm by the audience. He +agreed to change places with the hero, who wished to give up one +hundred and forty thousand pounds a year to marry the heroine. + +'Very disinterested,' murmured Lady Everard. 'Very nice of him, I'm +sure. It isn't many people that would do a thing like that. A nice +voice, too. Of course, this is not what _I_ call good music, but it's +very bright in its way, and the words--I always think these words are +so clever. So witty. Listen to them--do listen to them, dear Mrs +Ottley.' + +They listened to the beautiful words sung, of which the refrain ran as +follows:-- + + 'The Author told the Actor, + (The Actor had a fit). + The Box Office man told the Programme-girl, + The Theatre all was in quite a whirl. + The call-boy told the Chorus. + (Whatever could it be?) + The super asked the Manager, + What did the Censor see?' + +'Charming,' murmured Lady Everard; 'brilliant--I know his father so +well.' + +'Whose father--the censor's?' + +'Oh, the father of the composer--a very charming man. When he was young +he used to come to my parties--my Wednesdays. I used to have Wednesdays +then. I don't have Wednesdays now. I think it better to telephone at +the last minute any particular day for my afternoons because, after +all, you never know when the artists one wants are disengaged, does +one? You're coming on Wednesday to hear Paul La France sing, dear Mrs +Ottley?' + +Edith smiled and nodded assent, trying to stop the incessant trickle of +Lady Everard's leaking conversation. She loved theatres, and she +enjoyed hearing every word, which was impossible while there was more +dialogue in the box than on the stage; also, Aylmer was sitting behind +her. + +The comic lady now came on; there were shrieks of laughter at her +unnecessary and irrelevant green boots and crinoline and Cockney +accent. She proposed to marry the hero, who ran away from her. There +was more chorus; and the curtain fell. + +In the interval Vincy arrived. He and Bruce went into the little salon +behind the box. Lady Everard joined them there. Edith and Aylmer looked +round the house. The audience at the Society Theatre is a special one; +as at the plays in which the favourite actor-managers and _jeunes +premiers_ perform there are always far more women than men, at this +theatre there are always far more men than women. + +The stage box opposite our friends was filled with a party of about ten +men. + +'It looks like a jury,' said Edith. 'Perhaps it is.' 'Probably a board +of directors,' said Aylmer. + +The first two rows of the stalls were principally occupied by +middle-aged and rather elderly gentlemen. Many had grey moustaches and +a military bearing. Others were inclined to be stout, with brilliant +exuberant manners and very dark hair that simply wouldn't lie flat. +There were a great many parties made up like those of our friends--of +somebody in love with somebody, surrounded by chaperons. These were the +social people, and also there were a certain number of young men with +pretty women who were too fashionably dressed, too much made up, and +who were looking forward too much to supper. These ladies seemed +inclined to crab the play, and to find unimportant little faults with +the unimportant actresses. There were many Americans--who took it +seriously; and altogether one could see it was an immense success; in +other words everyone had paid for their seats... + + * * * * * + +The play was over; Aylmer had not had a word with Edith. He was going +away the next day, and he asked them all to supper. Of course he drove +Edith, and Lady Everard took the other two in her motor.... + +'You're an angel if you've forgiven me,' he said, as they went out. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +The Supper-party + +'Have you forgiven me?' he asked anxiously, as soon as they were in the +dark shelter of the cab. + +'Yes, oh yes. Please don't let's talk about it any more... What time do +you start tomorrow?' + +'You think I ought to go then?' + +'You say so.' + +'But you'd rather I remained here; rather we should go on as we +are--wouldn't you?' + +'Well, you know I should never have dreamt of suggesting you should go +away. I like you to be here.' + +'At any cost to me? No, Edith; I can't stand it. And since I've told +you it's harder. Your knowing makes it harder.' + +'I should have thought that if you liked anyone so _very_ much, you +would want to see them all the time, as much as possible, always--even +with other people...anything rather than not see them--be away +altogether. At least, that's how I should feel.' + +'No doubt you would; that's a woman's view. And besides, you see, you +don't care!' + +'The more I cared, the less I should go away, I think.' + +'But, haven't I tried? And I can't bear it. You don't know how cruel +you are with your sweetness, Edith...Oh, put yourself in my place! How +do you suppose I feel when I've been with you like this, near you, +looking at you, delighting in you the whole evening--and then, after +supper, you go away with Bruce? _You've_ had a very pleasant evening, +no doubt; it's all right for you to feel you've got me, as you know you +have--and with no fear, no danger. Yes, you enjoy it!' + +'Oh, Aylmer!' + +He saw in the half-darkness that her eyes looked reproachful. + +'I didn't mean it. I'm sorry--I'm always being sorry.' His bitter tone +changed to gentleness. 'I want to speak to you now, Edith. We haven't +much time. Don't take away your hand a minute....I always told you, +didn't I, that the atmosphere round you is so clear that I feel with +you I'm in the Palace of Truth? You're so _real_. You're the only woman +I ever met who really cared for truth. You're not afraid of it; and +you're as straight and honourable as a man! I don't mean you can't +diplomatise if you choose, of course, and better than anyone; but it +isn't your nature to deceive yourself, nor anyone else. I recognise +that in you. I love it. And that's why I can't pretend or act with you; +I must be frank.' + +'Please, do be frank.' + +'I love you. I'm madly in love with you. I adore you.' + +Aylmer stopped, deeply moved at the sound of his own words. Few people +realise the effect such words have on the speaker. Saying them to her +was a great joy, and an indulgence, but it increased painfully his +passionate feeling, making it more accentuated and acute. To let +himself go verbally was a wild, bitter pleasure. It hurt him, and he +enjoyed it. + +'And I'd do anything in the world to get you. And I'd do anything in +the world for you, too. And if you cared for me I'd go away all the +same. At least, I believe I should...We shall be there in a minute. + +'Listen, dear. I want you, occasionally, to write to me; there's no +earthly reason why you shouldn't. I'll let you know my address. It will +prevent my being too miserable, or rushing back. And will you do +something else for me?' + +'Anything.' + +'Angel! Well, when you write, call me Aylmer. You never have yet, in a +letter. Treat me just like a friend--as you treat Vincy. Tell me what +you're doing, where you're going, who you see; about Archie and Dilly; +about your new dresses and hats; what you're reading--any little thing, +so that I'm still in touch with you.' + +'Yes, I will; I shall like to. And don't be depressed, Aylmer. Do enjoy +your journey; write to me, too.' + +'Yes, I'm going to write to you, but only in an official way, only for +Bruce. And, listen. Take care of yourself. You're too unselfish. Do +what you want sometimes, not what other people want all the time. Don't +read too much by electric light and try your eyes. And don't go out in +these thin shoes in damp weather--promise!' + +She laughed a little--touched. + +'Be a great deal with the children. I like to think of you with them. +And I hope you won't be always going out,' he continued, in a tone of +unconscious command, which she enjoyed....'Please don't be continually +at Lady Everard's, or at the Mitchells', or anywhere. I hate you to be +admired--how I hate it!' + +'Fancy! And I was always brought up to believe people are proud of +what's called the 'success' of the people that they--like.' + +'Don't you believe it, Edith! That's all bosh--vanity and nonsense. At +any rate, I know I'm not. In fact, as I can't have you myself, I would +really like you to be shut up. Very happy, very well, with everything +in the world you like, even thinking of me a little, but absolutely +shut up! And if you did go out, for a breath of air, I should like +no-one to see you. I'd like you to cover up your head--wear a thick +veil--and a thick loose dress!' + +'You're very Oriental!' she laughed. + +'I'm not a bit Oriental; I'm human. It's selfish, I suppose, you think? +Well, let me tell you, if you care to know, that it's _love_, and +nothing else, Edith....Now, is there anything in the world I can do for +you while I'm away? It would be kind to ask me. Remember I shan't see +you for three months. I may come back in September. Can't I send you +something--do something that you'd like? I count on you to ask me at +any time if there's anything in the world I could do for you, no matter +what!' + +No woman could help being really pleased at such whole-hearted +devotion and such Bluebeard-like views--especially when they were not +going to be carried out. Edith was thrilled by the passionate emotion +she felt near her. How cold it would be when he had gone! He _was_ +nice, handsome, clever--a darling! + +'Don't forget me, Aylmer. I don't want you to forget me. Later on we'll +have a real friendship.' + +'_Friendship!_ Don't use that word. It's so false--such humbug--for +_me_ at any rate. To say I could care for you as a friend is simply +blasphemy! How can it be possible for _me_? But I'll try. Thanks for +_any_thing! You're an angel--I'll try.' + +'And it's horribly inconsistent, and no doubt very wicked of me, but, +do you know, I should be rather pained if I heard you had fallen in +love with someone else.' + +'Ah, that would be impossible!' he cried. 'Never--never! It's the real +thing; there never was anyone like you, there never will be. + +Let me look at you once more....Oh, Edith! And now--here we are.' + +Edith took away her hand. 'Your scarf's coming off, you'll catch +cold,' said Aylmer, and as he was trying, rather awkwardly, to put the +piece of blue chiffon round her head he drew the dear head to him and +kissed her harshly. She could not protest; it was too final; besides, +they were arriving; the cab stopped. Vincy came to the door. + +'Welcome to Normanhurst!' cried Vincy, with unnecessary facetiousness, +giving them a slightly anxious glance. He thought Edith had more colour +than usual. Aylmer was pale. + + * * * * * + +The supper was an absolute and complete failure; the guests +displayed the forced gaiety and real depression, and constrained +absentmindedness, of genuine and hopeless boredom. Except for Lady +Everard's ceaseless flow of empty prattle the pauses would have been +too obvious. Edith, for whom it was a dreary anti-climax, was rather +silent. Aylmer talked more, and a little more loudly, than usual, and +looked worn. Bruce, whom champagne quickly saddened, became vaguely +reminiscent and communicative about old, dead, forgotten grievances of +the past, while Vincy, who was a little shocked at what he saw (and he +always saw everything), did his very best, just saving the +entertainment from being a too disastrous frost. + +'Well! Good luck!' said Aylmer, lifting his glass with sham +conviviality.' I start tomorrow morning by the Orient Express.' + +'Hooray!' whispered Vincy primly. + +'Doesn't it sound romantic and exciting?' Edith said. 'The two words +together are so delightfully adventurous. Orient--the languid East, +and yet express--quickness, speed. It's a fascinating blend of ideas.' + +'Whether it's adventurous or not isn't the question, my dear girl; I +only wish we were going too,' said Bruce, with a sigh; 'but, I never +can get away from my wretched work, to have any fun, like you lucky +chaps, with no responsibilities or troubles! I suppose perhaps we may +take the children to Westgate for Whitsuntide, and that's about all. +Not that there isn't quite a good hotel there, and of course it's all +right for me, because I shall play golf all day and run up to town when +I want to. Still, it's very different from one of these jolly long +journeys that you gay bachelors can indulge in.' + +'But I'm not a gay bachelor. My boy is coming to join me in the summer +holidays, wherever I am,' said Aylmer. + +'Ah, but that's not the point. I should like to go with you now--at +once. Don't you wish we were both going, Edith? Why aren't we going +with him tomorrow?' + +'Surely June's just the nice time in London, Bruce,' said Vincy, in his +demure voice. + +'Won't it be terribly hot?' said Lady Everard vaguely. She always +thought every place must be terribly hot. 'Venice? Are you going to +Venice? Delightful! The Viennese are so charming, and the Austrian +officers--Oh, you're going to Sicily first? Far too hot. Paul La +France--the young singer, you know--told me that when he was in Sicily +his voice completely altered; the heat quite affected the _velouté_ of +his voice, as the French call it--and what a voice it is at its best! +It's not the _highest_ tenor, of course, but the medium is so +wonderfully soft and well developed. I don't say for a moment that he +will ever be a Caruso, but as far as he goes--and he goes pretty far, +mind--it's really wonderful. You're coming on Wednesday, aren't you, +dear Mrs Ottley? Ah!'... She stopped and held up her small beaded fan, +'what's that the band's playing? I know it so well; everyone knows it; +it's either _Pagliacci_ or _Bohème_, or _some_thing. No, isn't it +really? What is it? All the old Italian operas are coming in again, by +the way, you know, my dear... _Rigoletto_, _Lucia_, _Traviata_--the +_bel canto_--that sort of thing; there's nothing like it for showing +off the voice. Wagner's practically gone out (at least what _I_ call +out), and I always said Debussy wouldn't last. Paul La France still +clings to Brahms--Brahms suits his voice better than anyone else. He +always falls back on Brahms, and dear de Lara; and Tosti; of course, +Tosti. I remember...' + + * * * * * + +Aylmer and his guests had reached the stage of being apparently all +lost in their own thoughts, and the conversation had been practically +reduced to a disjointed monologue on music by Lady Everard, when the +lights began to be lowered, and the party broke up. + +'I'm coming to see you so soon,' said Vincy. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +The Letter + +It was about a fortnight later. + +Edith and Bruce, from different directions, arrived at the same moment +at their door, and went up together in the lift. On the little +hall-table was a letter addressed to Edith. She took it up rather +quickly, and went into the drawing-room. Bruce followed her. + +'That a letter, Edith?' + +'What do you suppose it is, Bruce?' + +'What _could_ I have supposed it was, Edith? A plum pudding?' He +laughed very much. + +'You are very humorous today, Bruce.' + +She sat down with her hat, veil and gloves on, holding the letter. She +did not go to her room, because that would leave her no further +retreat. Bruce sat down exactly opposite to her, with his coat and +gloves on. He slowly drew off one glove, folded it carefully, and put +it down. Then he said amiably, a little huskily: + +'Letter from a friend?' + +'I beg your pardon? What did you say, dear?' + +He raised his voice unnecessarily: + +'I Said A LETTER FROM A FRIEND!' + +She started. 'Oh yes! I heard this time.' + +'Edith, I know of an excellent aurist in Bond Street. I wish you'd go +and see him. I'll give you the address.' + +'I know of a very good elocutionist in Oxford Street. I think I would +go and have some lessons, if I were you, Bruce; the summer classes are +just beginning. They teach you to speak so clearly, to get your voice +over the footlights, as it were. I think all men require to study +oratory and elocution. It comes in so useful!' + +Bruce lowered his voice almost to a whisper. + +'Are you playing the fool with me?' + +She nodded amiably in the manner of a person perfectly deaf, but who is +pretending to hear. + +'Yes, dear; yes, quite right.' + +'What do you mean by 'quite right'?' He unfastened his coat and threw +it open, glaring at her a little. + +'Who--me? _I_ don't know.' + +'Who is that letter from, Edith?' he said breezily, in a tone of sudden +careless and cheery interest. + +'I haven't read it yet, Bruce,' she answered, in the same tone, +brightly. + +'Oh. Why don't you read it?' + +'Oh! I shall presently.' + +'When?' + +'When I've opened it.' + +He took off his other glove, folded it with the first one, made them +into a ball, and threw it across the room against the window, while his +colour deepened. + +'Oh, do you want to have a game? Shall I send for Archie?' + +'Edith, why don't you take off your hat?' + +'I can't think. Why don't you take off your coat?' + +'I haven't time. Show me that letter.' + +'What letter?' + +'Don't prevaricate with me.' Bruce had now definitely lost his temper. +'I can stand anything except prevarication. Anything in the world, but +prevarication, I can endure, with patience. But _not_ that! As if you +didn't know perfectly well there's only one letter I want to see.' + +'Really?' + +'Who's your letter from?' + +'How should I know?' + +Edith got up and went towards the door. Bruce was beforehand with her +and barred the way, standing with his arms outstretched and his back to +the door. + +'Edith, I'm pained and surprised at your conduct!' + +'Conduct!' she exclaimed. + +'Don't echo my words! I will _not_ be echoed, do you hear?... +Behaviour, then, if you prefer the word.... Why don't you wish me to +see that letter?' + +Edith quickly looked at the letter. Until this moment she had had an +unreasonable and nervous terror that Aylmer might have forgotten his +intention of writing what he called officially, and might have written +her what she now inwardly termed a lot of nonsense. But she now saw she +had made a mistake: it was not his handwriting nor his postmark. She +became firmer. + +'Look here Bruce,' she said, in a decided voice, quietly. 'We have been +married eight years, and I consider you ought to trust me sufficiently +to allow me to open my own letters.' + +'Oh, you do, do you? What next? What next! I suppose the next thing +you'll wish is to be a suffragette.' + +'The question,' said Edith, in the most cool, high, irritating voice +she could command, 'really, of votes for women hardly enters into our +argument here. As a matter of fact, I take no interest in any kind of +politics, and, I may be entirely wrong, but if I were compelled to take +sides on the subject, I should be an anti-suffragist.' + +'Oh, you would, would you? That's as well to know! That's interesting. +Give me that letter.' + +'Do you think you have the right to speak to me like that?' + +'Edith,' he said rather pathetically, trying to control himself. 'I beg +you, I _implore_ you to let me see the letter! Hang it all! You know +perfectly well, old girl, how fond I am of you. I may worry you a bit +sometimes, but you know my heart's all right.' + +'Of course, Bruce; I'm not finding fault with you. I only want to read +my own letter, that's all.' + +'But if I let you out of this room without having shown it me, then if +there's something you don't want me to see, you'll tear it up or chuck +it in the fire.' + +Edith was quite impressed at this flash of prophetic insight. She +admitted to herself he was right. + +'It's entirely a matter of principle,' she said after another +reassuring look at the envelope. 'It's only a matter of principle, +dear, I'm twenty-eight years old, we've been married eight years; you +leave the housekeeping, the whole ordering of the children's education, +and heaps of other quite important things, entirely to me; in fact, you +lead almost the life of a schoolboy, without any of the tiresome part, +and with freedom, going to school in the day and amusing yourself in +the evening, while everything disagreeable and important is thought of +and seen to for you. You only have the children with you when they +amuse you. I have all the responsibility; I have to be patient, +thoughtful--in fact, you leave things to me more than most men do to +their wives, Bruce. You won't be bothered even to look at an +account--to do a thing. But I'm not complaining.' + +'Oh, you're not! It sounded a little like it.' + +'But it isn't. I don't _mind_ all this responsibility, but I ought, at +least, to be allowed to read my letters.' + +'Well, darling, you shall, as a rule. Look here, old girl, you shall. I +promise you, faithfully, dear. Oh, Edith, you're looking awfully +pretty; I like that hat. Look here, I promise you, dear, I'll _never_ +ask you again, never as long as I live. But I've a fancy to read this +particular letter. Why not just gratify it? It's a very harmless whim.' +His tone suddenly changed. 'What do you suppose there's _in_ the damned +letter? Something you're jolly well anxious I shouldn't see.' + +She made a step forward. He rushed at her, snatched the letter out of +her hand, and went to the window with it. + +She went into her own room, shut the door, and threw herself on the +bed, her whole frame shaking with suppressed laughter. + + * * * * * + +Bruce, alone, with trembling fingers tore open the envelope. Never in +his life had he been opposed by Edith before in this way. He read these +words in stereotyped writing: + +_'Van will call on receipt of post-card. The Lavender Laundry hopes +that you will give them a trial, as their terms are extremely mod--'_ + +Bruce rushed to the door and called out: + +'Edith! Sorry! Edie, I say, I'm sorry. Come back.' + +There was no answer. + +He pushed the letter under the door of her room, and said through the +keyhole: + +'Edith, look here, I'm just going for a little walk. I'll be back to +dinner. Don't be angry.' + +Bruce brought her home a large bunch of Parma violets. But neither of +them ever referred to the question again, and for some time there was a +little less of the refrain of 'Am I master in my own house, or am I +not?' + +The next morning, when a long letter came from Aylmer, from Spain, +Edith read it at breakfast and Bruce didn't ask a single question. +However, she left it on his plate, as if by mistake. He might just as +well read it. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Mavis Argles + +Vincy had the reputation of spending his fortune with elaborate yet +careful lavishness, buying nothing that he did not enjoy, and giving +away everything he did not want. At the same time his friends +occasionally wondered on what he _did_ spend both his time and his +money. He was immensely popular, quite sought after socially; but he +declined half his invitations and lived a rather quiet existence in the +small flat, with its Oriental decorations and violent post-impressions +and fierce Chinese weapons, high up in Victoria Street. Vincy really +concealed under an amiable and gentle exterior the kindest heart of any +man in London. There was 'more in him than met the eye,' as people say, +and, frank and confidential as he was to his really intimate friends, +at least one side of his life was lived in shadow. It was his secret +romance with a certain young girl artist, whom he saw rarely, for +sufficient reasons. He was not devoted to her in the way that he was to +Edith, for whom he had the wholehearted enthusiasm of a loyal friend, +and the idolising worship of a fanatic admirer. It was perhaps Vincy's +nature, a little, to sacrifice himself for anyone he was fond of. He +spent a great deal of time thinking out means of helping materially the +young art-student, and always he succeeded in this object by his +elaborate and tactful care. For he knew she was very, very poor, and +that her pride was of an old-fashioned order--she never said she was +hard up, as every modern person does, whether rich or poor, but he knew +that she really lacked what he considered very nearly--if not +quite--the necessities of life. + +Vincy's feeling for her was a curious one. He had known her since she +was sixteen (she was now twenty-four). Yet he did not trust her, and +she troubled him. He had met her at a studio at a time when he had +thought of studying art seriously. Sometimes, something about her +worried and wearied him, yet he couldn't do without her for long. The +fact that he knew he was of great help to her fascinated him; he often +thought that if she had been rich and he poor he would never wish to +see her again. Certainly it was the touch of pathos in her life that +held him; also, of course, she was pretty, with a pale thin face, deep +blue eyes, and rich dark red frizzy hair that was always coming +down--the untidy hair of the art-student. + +He was very much afraid of compromising her, and _she_ was very much +afraid of the elderly aunt with whom she lived. She had no parents, +which made her more pathetic, but no more free. He could not go and see +her, with any satisfaction to either of them, at _her_ home, though he +did so occasionally. This was why she first went to see him at his +flat. But these visits, as they were both placed, could, of course, +happen rarely. + +Mavis Argles--this was the girl's extraordinary name--had a curious +fascination for him. He was rather fond of her, yet the greatest wish +he had in the world was to break it off. When with her he felt himself +to be at once a criminal and a benefactor, a sinner and a saint. +Theoretically, theatrically, and perhaps conventionally, his relations +with her constituted him the villain of the piece. Yet he behaved to +her more like Don Quixote than Don Juan.... + + * * * * * + +One afternoon about four o'clock--he was expecting her--Vincy had +arranged an elaborate tea on his little green marble dining-table. +Everything was there that she liked. She was particularly attached to +scones; he also had cream-cakes, sandwiches, sweets, chocolate and +strawberries. As he heard the well-known slightly creaking step, his +heart began to beat loudly--quick beats. He changed colour, smiled, and +nervously went to the door. + +'Here you are, Mavis!' He calmed her and himself by this banal welcome. + +He made a movement to help her off with her coat, but she stopped him, +and he didn't insist, guessing that she supposed her blouse to be unfit +for publication. + +She sat down on the sofa, and leaned back, looking at him with her +pretty, weary, dreary, young, blue eyes. + +'It seems such a long time since I saw you,' said Vincy. 'You're tired; +I wish I had a lift.' + +'I am tired,' she spoke in rather a hoarse voice always. 'And I ought +not to stop long.' + +'Oh, stay a minute longer, won't you?' he asked. + +'Well, I like that! I've only just this moment arrived!' + +'Oh, Mavis, don't say that! Have some tea.' + +He waited on her till she looked brighter. + +'How is Aunt Jessie?' + +'Aunt Jessie's been rather ill.' + +'Still that nasty pain?' asked Vincy. + +She stared at him, then laughed. + +'As if you remember anything about it.' + +'Oh, Mavis! I do remember it. I remember what was the matter with her +quite well.' + +'I bet you don't. What was it?' she asked, with childish eagerness. + +'It was that wind round the heart that she gets sometimes. She told me +about it. Nothing seems to shift it, either.' + +Mavis laughed--hoarse, childlike laughter that brought tears to her +eyes. + +'It's a shame to make fun of Aunt Jessie; she's a very, very good +sort.' + +'Oh, good gracious, Mavis, if it comes to sorts, I'm sure she's quite +at the top of the tree. But don't let's bother about her now.' + +'What _do_ you want to bother about?' + +'Couldn't you come out and dine with me, Mavis? It would be a +change'--he was going to say 'for you', but altered it--'for me.' + +'Oh no, Vincy; you can't take me out to dinner. I don't look up to the +mark.' She looked in a glass. 'My hat--it's a very good hat--it cost +more than you'd think--but it shows signs of wear.' + +'Oh, that reminds me,' began Vincy. 'What _do_ you think happened the +other day? A cousin of mine who was up in London a little while bought +a hat--it didn't suit her, and she insisted on giving it to me! She +didn't know what to do to get rid of it! I'd given her something or +other, for her birthday, and _she_ declared she would give this to _me_ +for _my_ birthday, and so--I've got it on my hands.' + +'What a very queer thing! It doesn't sound true.' + +'No; does it? Do have some more tea, Mavis darling.' + +'No, thanks; I'll have another cake.' + +'May I smoke?' + +She laughed. 'Asking _me_! You do what you like in your own house.' + +'It's yours,' he answered, 'when you're here. And when you're not, even +more,' he added as an afterthought. + +He struck a match; she laughed and said: 'I don't believe I understand +you a bit.' + +'Oh--I went to the play last night,' said Vincy. 'Oh, Mavis, it was +such a wearing play.' + +'All about nothing, I suppose? They always are, now.' + +'Oh no. It was all about everything. The people were _so_ clever; it +was something cruel how clever they were. One man _did_ lay down the +law! Oh, didn't he though! I don't hold with being bullied and lectured +from the stage, do you, Mavis? It seems so unfair when you can't answer +back.' + +'Was it Bernard Shaw?' she asked. + +'No; it wasn't; not this time; it was someone else. Oh, I do feel +sometimes when I'm sitting in my stall, so good and quiet, holding my +programme nicely and sitting up straight to the table, as it were, and +then a fellow lets me have it, tells me where I'm wrong and all that; I +_should_ like to stand up and give a back answer, wouldn't you?' + +'No; I'd like to see _you_ do it! Er--what colour is that hat that your +cousin gave you?' + +'Oh, colour?' he said thoughtfully, smoking. 'Let me see--what colour +was it? It doesn't seem to me that it was any particular colour. It was +a very curious colour. Sort of mole-colour. Or was it cerise? Or +violet?... You wouldn't like to see it, would you?' + +'Why, yes, I'd like to see it; I wouldn't try it on of course.' + +He opened the box. + +'Why, what a jolly hat!' she exclaimed. 'You may not know it, but that +would just suit me; it would go with my dress, too.' + +'Fancy.' + +She took off her own hat, and touched up her hair with her fingers, and +tried on the other. Under it her eyes brightened in front of the glass; +her colour rose; she changed as one looked at her--she was sixteen +again--the child he had first met at the Art School. + +'Don't you think it suits me?' she said, turning round. + +'Yes, I think you look very charming in it. Shall I put it back?' + +There was a pause. + +'I sha'n't know what on earth to do with it,' he said discontentedly. +'It's so silly having a hat about in a place like this. Of course you +wouldn't dare to keep it, I suppose? It does suit you all right, you +know; it would be awfully kind of you.' + +'What a funny person you are, Vincy. I _should_ like to keep it. What +could I tell Aunt Jessie?' + +'Ah, well, you see, that's where it is! I suppose it wouldn't do for +you to tell her the truth.' + +'What do you mean by the truth?' + +'I mean what I told you--how my cousin, Cissie Cavanack,' he smiled a +little as he invented this name, 'came up to town, chose the wrong hat, +didn't know what to do with it--and, you know!' + +'I could tell her all that, of course.' + +'All right,' said Vincy, putting the other hat--the old one--in the +box.' Where shall we dine?' + +'Oh, Vincy, I think you're very sweet to me, but how late dare I get +back to Ravenscourt Park?' + +'Why not miss the eight-five train?--then you'll catch the quarter to +ten and get back at about eleven.' + +'Which would you _rather_ I did?' + +'Well, need you ask?' + +'I don't know, Vincy. I have a curious feeling sometimes. I believe +you're rather glad when I've gone--relieved!' + +'Well, my dear,' he answered, 'look how you worry all the time! If +you'd only have what I call a quiet set-down and a chat, without being +always on the fidget, always looking either at the glass or at the +clock, one might _not_ have that feeling.' + +Her colour rose, and tears came to her eyes. 'Oh, then you _are_ glad +when I'm gone!' She pouted. 'You don't care for me a bit, Vincy,' she +said, in a plaintive voice. + +He sat down next to her on the little striped sofa, and took her hand. + +'Oh, give over, Mavis, do give over! I wish you wouldn't carry on like +that; you do carry on, Mavis dear, don't you? Some days you go on +something cruel, you do really. Reely, I mean. Now, cheer up and be +jolly. Give a kiss to the pretty gentleman, and look at all these +pretty good-conduct stripes on the sofa! There! That's better.' + +'Don't speak as if I were a baby!' + +'Do you mind telling me what we're quarrelling about, my dear? I only +ask for information.' + +'Oh, we're _not_. You're awfully sweet. You know I love you, Vincy.' + +'I thought, perhaps, it was really all right.' + +'Sometimes I feel miserable and jealous.' + +He smiled. 'Ah! What are you jealous of, Mavis?' + +'Oh, everything--everyone--all the people you meet.' + +'Is that all? Well, you're the only person I ever meet--by appointment, +at any rate.' + +'Well--the Ottleys!' + +His eye instinctively travelled to a photograph of Edith, all tulle and +roses; a rather fascinating portrait. + +'What about _her_?' asked Mavis. 'What price Mrs Ottley?' + +'Really, Mavis!--What price? No price. Nothing about her; she's just a +great friend of mine. I think I told you that before. ... What a +frightfully bright light there is in the room,' Vincy said. He got up +and drew the blind down. He came back to her. + +'Your hair's coming down,' he remarked. + +'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But at the back it generally is.' + +'Don't move--let me do it.' + +Pretending to arrange it, he took all the hairpins out, and the cloud +of dark red hair fell down on her shoulders. + +'I like your hair, Mavis.' + + * * * * * + +'It seems too awful I should have been with you such a long time this +afternoon,' she exclaimed. + +'It _isn't_ long.' + +'And sometimes it seems so dreadful to think I can't be with you +always.' + +'Yes, doesn't it? Mavis dear, will you do up your hair and come out to +dinner?' + +'Vincy dear, I think I'd better not, because of Aunt Jessie.' + +'Oh, very well; all right. Then you will another time?' + +'Oh, you don't want me to stay?' + +'Yes, I do; do stay.' + +'No, next time--next Tuesday.' + +'Very well, very well.' + +He took a dark red carnation out of one of the vases and pinned it on +to her coat. + +'The next time I see you,' she said, 'I want to have a long, _long_ +talk.' + +'Oh yes; we must, mustn't we?' + +He took her downstairs, put her into a cab. It was half-past six. + +He felt something false, worrying, unreliable and incalculable in +Mavis. She didn't seem real.... He wished she were fortunate and happy; +but he wished even more that he were never going to see her again. And +still!... + +He walked a little way, then got into a taxi and drove to see Edith. +When he was in this peculiar condition of mind--the odd mixture of +self-reproach, satisfaction, amusement and boredom that he felt now +--he always went to see Edith, throwing himself into the little affairs +of her life as if he had nothing else on his mind. He was a little +anxious about Edith. It seemed to him that since Aylmer had been away +she had altered a little. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +More of the Mitchells + +Edith had become an immense favourite with the Mitchells. They hardly +ever had any entertainment without her. Her success with their friends +delighted Mrs Mitchell, who was not capable of commonplace feminine +jealousy, and who regarded Edith as a find of her own. She often +reproached Winthrop, her husband, for having known Bruce eight years +without discovering his charming wife. + +One evening they had a particularly gay party. Immediately after dinner +Mitchell had insisted on dressing up, and was solemnly announced in his +own house as Prince Gonoff, a Russian noble. He had a mania for +disguising himself. He had once travelled five hundred miles under the +name of Prince Gotoffski, in a fur coat, a foreign accent, a false +moustache and a special saloon carriage. Indeed, only his wife knew all +the secrets of Mitchell's wild early career of unpractical jokes, to +some of which he still clung. When he was younger he had carried it +pretty far. She encouraged him, yet at the same time she acted as +ballast, and was always explaining his jokes; sometimes she was in +danger of explaining him entirely away. She loved to tell of his +earlier exploits. How often, when younger, he had collected money for +charities (particularly for the Deaf and Dumb Cats' League, in which he +took special interest), by painting halves of salmon and ships on fire +on the cold grey pavement! Armed with an accordion, and masked to the +eyes, he had appeared at Eastbourne, and also at the Henley Regatta, as +a Mysterious Musician. At the regatta he had been warned off the +course, to his great pride and joy. Mrs Mitchell assured Edith that his +bath-chair race with a few choice spirits was still talked of at St +Leonard's (bath-chairmen, of course, are put in the chairs, and you +pull them along). Mr Mitchell was beaten by a short head, but that, Mrs +Mitchell declared, was really most unfair, because he was so +handicapped--his man was much stouter than any of the others--and the +race, by rights, should have been run again. + +When he was at Oxford he had been well known for concealing under a +slightly rowdy exterior the highest spirits of any of the +undergraduates. He was looked upon as the most fascinating of +_farceurs_. It seems that he had distinguished himself there less for +writing Greek verse, though he was good at it, than for the wonderful +variety of fireworks that he persistently used to let off under the +dean's window. It was this fancy of his that led, first, to his +popularity, and afterwards to the unfortunate episode of his being sent +down; soon after which he had married privately, chiefly in order to +send his parents an announcement of his wedding in _The Morning Post_, +as a surprise. + +Some people had come in after dinner--for there was going to be a +little _sauterie intime_, as Mrs Mitchell called it, speaking in an +accent of her own, so appalling that, as Vincy observed, it made it +sound quite improper. Edith watched, intensely amused, as she saw that +there were really one or two people present who, never having seen +Mitchell before, naturally did not recognise him now, so that the +disguise was considered a triumph. There was something truly agreeable +in the deference he was showing to a peculiarly yellow lady in red, +adorned with ugly real lace, and beautiful false hair. She was +obviously delighted with the Russian prince. + +'Winthrop is a wonderful man!' said Mrs Mitchell to Edith, as she +watched her husband proudly. 'Who would dream he was clean-shaven! Look +at that moustache! Look at the wonderful way his coat doesn't fit; he's +got just that Russian touch with his clothes; I don't know how he's +done it, I'm sure. How I wish dear Aylmer Ross was here; he _would_ +appreciate it so much.' + +'Yes, I wish he were,' said Edith. + +'I can't think what he went away for. I suppose he heard the East +a-calling, and all that sort of thing. The old wandering craving you +read of came over him again, I suppose. Well, let's hope he'll meet +some charming girl and bring her back as his bride. Where is he now, do +you know, Mrs Ottley?' + +'In Armenia, I fancy,' said Edith. + +'Oh, well, we don't want him to bring home an Armenian, do we? What +colour are they? Blue, or brown, or what? I hope no-one will tell Lady +Hartland that is my husband. She'll expect to see Winthrop tonight; she +never met him, you know; but he really ought to be introduced to her. I +think I shall tell him to go and undress, when they've had a little +dancing and she's been down to supper.' + +Lady Hartland was the yellow lady in red, who thought she was flirting +with a fascinating Slav. + +'She's a sort of celebrity,' continued Mrs Mitchell. 'She was an +American once, and she married Sir Charles Hartland for her money. I +hate these interested marriages, don't you?--especially when they're +international. Sir Charles isn't here; he's such a sweet boy. He's a +friend of Mr Cricker; it's through Mr Cricker I know them, really. Lady +Everard has taken _such_ a fancy to young Cricker; she won't leave him +alone. After all he's _my_ friend, and as he's not musical I don't see +that she has any special right to him; but he's there every Wednesday +now, and does his dances on their Sunday evenings too. He's got a new +one--lovely, quite lovely--an imitation of Lydia Kyasht as a +water-nymph. I wanted him to do it here tonight, but Lady Everard has +taken him to the opera. Now, won't you dance? Your husband promised he +would. You both look so young!' + +Edith refused to dance. She sat in a corner with Vincy and watched the +dancers. + +By special permission, as it was so _intime_, the Turkey Trot was +allowed. Bruce wanted to attempt it with Myra Mooney, but she was +horrified, and insisted on dancing the 1880 _trois-temps_ to a jerky +American two-step. + +'Edith,' said Vincy; 'I think you're quieter than you used to be. +Sometimes you seem rather absent-minded.' + +'Am I? I'm sorry; there's nothing so tedious to other people. Why do +you think I'm more serious?' + +'I think you miss Aylmer.' + +'Yes, I do. He gave a sort of meaning to everything. He's always +interesting. And there's something about him--I don't know what it is. +Oh, don't be frightened, Vincy, I'm not going to use the word +personality. Isn't that one of the words that ought to be forbidden +altogether? In all novels and newspapers that poor, tired word is +always cropping up.' + +'Yes, that and magnetism, and temperament, and technique. Let's cut out +technique altogether. Don't let there be any, that's the best way; then +no-one can say anything about it. I'm fed up with it. Aren't you?' + +'Oh, I don't agree with you at all. I think there ought to be any +amount of technique, and personality, and magnetism, and temperament. I +don't mind _how_ much technique there is, as long as nobody talks about +it. But neither of these expressions is quite so bad as that dreadful +thing you always find in American books, and that lots of people have +caught up--especially palmists and manicures--mentality.' + +'Yes, mentality's very depressing,' said Vincy. 'I could get along +nicely without it, I think.... I had a long letter from Aylmer today. +He seemed unhappy.' + +'I had a few lines yesterday,' said Edith. 'He said he was having a +very good time. What did he say to you?' + +'Oh, he wrote, frankly to _me_.' + +'Bored, is he?' + +'Miserable; enamoured of sorrow; got the hump; frightfully off colour; +wants to come back to London. He misses the Mitchells. I suppose it's +the Mitchells.' + +Edith smiled and looked pleased. 'He asked me not to come here much.' + +'Ah! But he wouldn't want you to go anywhere. That is so like Aylmer. +He's not jealous; of course. How could he be? It's only a little +exclusiveness.... And how delightfully rare that is, Edith dear. I +admire him for it. Most people now seem to treasure anything they value +in proportion to the extent that it's followed about and surrounded by +the vulgar public. I sympathise with that feeling of wishing to +keep--anything of that sort--to oneself.' + +'You are more secretive than jealous, yourself. But I have very much +the same feeling,' Edith said. 'Many women I know think the ideal of +happiness is to be in love with a great man, or to be the wife of a +great public success; to share his triumph! They forget you share the +man as well!' + +'I suppose the idea is that, after the publicity and the acclamation +and the fame and the public glory and the shouting, you take the person +home, and feel he is only yours, really.' + +'But, can a famous person be only yours? No. I shouldn't like it. + +It isn't that I don't _like_ cleverness and brilliance, but I don't +care for the public glory.' + +'I see; you don't mind how great a genius he is, as long as he isn't +appreciated,' replied Vincy. 'Well, then, in heaven's name let us stick +to our obscurities!' + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +The Agonies of Aylmer + +In the fresh cheerfulness of the early morning, after sleep, with the +hot June sun shining in at the window, Aylmer used to think he was +better. He would read his letters and papers, dress slowly, look out of +the window at the crowds on the pavement--he had come back to +Paris--feel the infectious cheeriness and sense of adventure of the +city; then he would say to himself that his trip had been successful. +He _was_ better. When he went out his heart began to sink a little +already, but he fought it off; there would be a glimpse of an English +face flashing past in a carriage--he thought of Edith, but he put it +aside. Then came lunch. For some reason, immediately after lunch his +malady--for, of course, such love is a malady--incongruously attacked +him in an acute form. 'Why after lunch?' he asked himself. Could it be +that only when he was absolutely rested, before he had had any sort of +fatigue, that the deceptive improvement would show itself? He felt a +wondering humiliation at his own narrow grief. + +However, this was the hour that it recurred; he didn't know why. He had +tried all sorts of physical cures--for there is no disguising the fact +that such suffering is physical, and so why should the cure not be, +also? He had tried wine, no wine, exercise, distraction, +everything--and especially a constant change of scene. This last was +the worst of all. He felt so exiled in Sicily, and in Spain--so +terribly far away--it was unbearable. He was happier directly he got +to Paris, because he seemed more in touch with England and her. Yes; +the pain had begun again.... + +Aylmer went and sat alone outside the café. It was not his nature to +dwell on his own sensations. He would diagnose them quickly and +acutely, and then throw them aside. He was quickly bored with himself; +he was no egotist. But today, he thought, he _would_ analyse his state, +to see what could be done. + +Six weeks! He had not seen her for six weeks. The longing was no +better. The pain seemed to begin at his throat, pressing down gradually +on the chest It was that feeling of oppression, he supposed, that makes +one sigh; as though there were a weight on the heart. And certain +little memories made it acute; sudden flashing vivid recollection of +that last drive was like a sharp jagged tear. Had they ever been on +nearer terms, and had she treated him badly, it would not have caused +this slow and insidious suffering. He was a man of spirit; he was proud +and energetic; he would have thrown it off. If he could have been angry +with her, or despised her, he could have cured himself in time. Instead +of that, all the recollections were of an almost sickening sweetness; +particularly that kiss on the day he went to see her. And the other, +the _second_, was also the last; so it had a greater bitterness. + + 'Rapture sharper than a sword, + Joy like o sudden spear.' + +These words, casually read somewhere, came back to him whenever he +remembered her! + +Aylmer had read, heard of these obsessions, but never believed in them. +It was folly, madness! + +He stood up, tossing his head as though to throw it off. + +He went to fetch some friends, went with them to see pictures, to have +tea, and to drive in the Bois, accepting also an invitation to dine +with a man--a nice boy--a fellow who had been at Oxford with him, and +was at the embassy here, a young attaché. + +He was quite nice: a little dull, and a little too fond of talking +about his chief. + +Aylmer got home at about half-past six to dress for dinner. Then the +torture began again. It was always worse towards evening--an agony of +longing, regret, fury, vague jealousy and desire. + +He stood and looked out of the window again at the crowd, hurrying +along now to their pleasures or their happy homes. So many people in +the world, like stars in the sky--why want the one star only? Why cry +for the moon? + +He had no photograph of her, but he still thought she was like his +mother's miniature, and often looked at it. He wished he wasn't going +to dine with that young man tonight. Aylmer was the most genial and +sociable of men; he usually disliked being alone; yet just now being +with people bored him; it seemed an interruption. He was going through +a crisis. + +Yes; he could not stand anyone this evening. He rang the bell and sent +a _petit bleu_ to say he was prevented from dining with his friend. +What a relief when he had sent this--now he could think of her alone +in peace.... + +She had never asked him to go away. It was his own idea. He had come +away to get over it. Well, he hadn't got over it. He was worse. But it +wasn't because he didn't see her; no, he didn't deceive himself. The +more he saw of her the worse he would be. Not one man in a thousand was +capable of feeling so intensely and deeply as Aylmer felt, and never in +his life before had he felt anything like it. And now it came on again +with the ebb and flow of passion, like an illness. Why was he so +miserable--why would nothing else do? He suddenly remembered with a +smile that when he was five years old he had adored a certain nurse, +and for some reason or other his mother sent her away. He had cried and +cried for her to come back. He remembered even now how people had said: +'Oh, the child will soon forget.' But he wore out their patience; he +cried himself to sleep every night. And his perseverance had at last +been rewarded. After six weeks the nurse came back. His mother sent for +her in despair at the boy's misery. How well he remembered that evening +and her plain brown face, with the twinkling eyes. How he kissed his +mother, and thanked her! The nurse stayed till he went to school and +then he soon forgot all about her. Perhaps it was in his nature at rare +intervals to want one particular person so terribly, to pine and die +for someone! + +That was a recollection of babyhood, and yet he remembered even now +that obstinate, aching longing.... He suddenly felt angry, furious. +What was Edith doing now? Saying good-night to Archie and Dilly? They +certainly did look, as she had said, heavenly angels in their night +attire (he had been privileged to see them). Then she was dressing for +dinner and going out with Bruce. Good heavens! what noble action had +Bruce ever done for _him_ that he should go away? Why make such a +sacrifice--for Bruce? + +Perhaps, sometimes, she really missed him a little. They had had great +fun together; she looked upon him as a friend; not only that, but he +knew that he amused her, that she liked him, thought him clever, +and--admired him even. + +But that was all. Yet she _could_ have cared for him. He knew that. And +not only in one way, but in every way. They could have been comrades +interested in the same things; they had the same sense of humour, much +the same point of view. She would have made him, probably, +self-restrained and patient as she was, in certain things. But, in +others, wouldn't he have fired her with his own ideas and feelings, and +violent passions and enthusiasms! + +She was to be always with Bruce! That was to be her life!--Bruce, who +was almost indescribable because he was neither bad, nor stupid, nor +bad-looking. He had only one fault. _'Il n'a qu'un défaut--il est +impossible,'_ said Aylmer aloud to himself. + +He took up a book--of course one of _her_ books, something she had lent +him. + + * * * * * + +Now it was time to go out again--to dinner. He couldn't; it was too +much effort. Tonight he would give way, and suffer grief and desire and +longing like a physical pain. He hadn't heard from her lately. Suppose +she should be ill? Suppose she was forgetting him entirely? Soon they +would be going away to some summer place with the children. He stamped +his foot like an angry child as he imagined her in her thin summer +clothes. How people would admire her! How young she would look! Why +couldn't he find some fault with her?--imagine her cold, priggish, +dull, too cautious. But he could only think of her as lovely, as beyond +expression attractive, drawing him like a magnet, as marvellously kind, +gentle, graceful, and clever. He was obliged to use the stupid word +clever, as there was no other. He suddenly remembered her teeth when +she smiled, and a certain slight wave in her thick hair that was a +natural one. It is really barely decent to write about poor Aylmer as +he is alone, suffering, thinking himself unwatched. He suddenly threw +himself on his bed and gave way to a crisis of despair. + + * * * * * + +About an hour later, when the pain had somehow become stupefied, he lit +a cigarette, ashamed of his emotion even to himself, and rang. The +servant brought him a letter--the English post. + +He had thought so much of her, felt her so deeply the last few days +that he fancied it must somehow have reached her. He read: + +'My Dear Aylmer, + +'I'm glad you are in Paris; it seems nearer home. Last night I went to +the Mitchells' and Mr Mitchell disguised himself as a Russian Count. +Nobody worried about it, and then he went and undisguised himself +again. But Lady Hartland worried about it, and as she didn't know the +Mitchells before, when he was introduced to her properly she begged him +to give her the address of that charming Russian. And Vincy was there, +and darling Vincy told me you'd written him a letter saying you weren't +so very happy. And oh, Aylmer, I don't see the point of your waiting +till September to come back. Why don't you come _now_? + +'We're going away for Archie's holidays. Come back and see us and take +Freddie with us somewhere in England. You told me to ask you when I +wanted you--ask you anything I wanted. Well, I want to see you. I miss +you too much. You arrived in Paris last night. Let me knew when you can +come. I want you. + +Edith.' + +The bell was rung violently. Orders were given, arrangements made, +packing was done. Aylmer was suddenly quite well, quite happy. + +In a few hours he was in the midnight express due to arrive in London +at six in the morning--happy beyond expression. + +By ten o'clock in the morning he would hear her voice on the telephone. + +He met a poor man just outside the hotel selling matches, in rags. +Aylmer gave him three hundred francs. He pretended to himself that he +didn't want any more French money. He felt he wanted someone else to be +happy too. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A Contretemps + +Edith did not know, herself, what had induced her to write that letter +to Paris. Some gradual obscure influence, in an impulsive moment of +weakness, a conventional dread of Paris for one's idol. Then, what +Vincy told her had convinced her Aylmer was unhappy. She thought that +surely there might be some compromise; that matters could be adjusted. +Couldn't they go on seeing each other just as friends? Surely both +would be happier than separated? For, yes--there was no doubt she +missed him, and longed to see him. Is there any woman in the world on +whom a sincere declaration from a charming, interesting person doesn't +make an impression, and particularly if that person goes away +practically the next day, leaving a blank? Edith had a high opinion of +her own strength of will. When she appeared weak it was on some subject +about which she was indifferent. She took a great pride in her own +self-poise; her self-control, which was neither coldness nor density. +She had made up her mind to bear always with the little irritations +Bruce caused her; to guide him in the right direction; keep her +influence with him in order to be able to arrange everything about the +children just as she wished. The children were a deep and intense +preoccupation. To say she adored them is insufficient. Archie she +regarded almost as her greatest friend, Dilly as a pet; for both she +had the strongest feeling that a mother could have. And yet the fact +remained that they did not nearly fill her life. With Edith's intellect +and temperament they could only fill a part. + +Bending down to a lower stature of intelligence all day long would make +one's head ache; standing on tiptoe and stretching up would do the +same; one needs a contemporary and a comrade. + +Perhaps till Edith met Aylmer she had not quite realised what such real +comradeship might mean, coupled with another feeling--not the +intellectual sympathy she had for Vincy, but something quite different. +When she recollected their last drive her heart beat quickly, and the +little memories of the few weeks of their friend-ship gave her +unwonted moments of sentiment. Above all, it was a real, solid +happiness--an uplifting pleasure, to believe he was utterly devoted to +her. And so, in a moment of depression, a feeling of the sense of the +futility of her life, she had, perhaps a little wantonly, written to +ask him to come back. It is human to play with what one loves. + +She thought she had a soft, tender admiration for him, that he had a +charm for her; that she admired him. But she had not the slightest idea +that on her side there was anything that could disturb her in any way. +And so that his sentiment, which she had found to be rather infectious, +should never carry her away, she meant only to see him now and then; to +meet again and be friends. + +As soon as she had written the letter and sent it she felt again a +cheerful excitement. She felt sure he would come in a day or two. + +Aylmer arrived, as I have said, eight hours after he received the +letter. His first intention was to ring her up, or to speak to Bruce on +the telephone. But it so happened that it was engaged. This decided him +to have a short rest, and then go and surprise her with a visit. He +thought he would have lunch at one (he knew she always lunched with the +children at this hour), and would call on her unexpectedly at two, +before she would have time to go out. They might have a long talk; he +would give her the books and things he had bought for her, and he would +have the pleasure of surprising her and seeing on her face that first +look that no-one can disguise, the look of real welcome. + +Merely to be back in the same town made him nearly wild with joy. How +jolly London looked at the beginning of July! So gay, so full of life. +And then he read a letter in a writing he didn't know; it was from +Mavis Argles, the friend of Vincy--the young art-student: Vincy had +given her his address some time ago--asking him for some special +privilege which he possessed, to see some of the Chinese pictures in +the British Museum. He was to oblige her with a letter to the museum. +She would call for it. Vincy was away, and evidently she had by +accident chosen the day of Aylmer's return without knowing anything of +his absence. She had never seen him in her life. + +Aylmer was wandering about the half-dismantled house _désoeuvré_, with +nothing to do, restlessly counting the minutes till two in the +afternoon. He remembered the very little that Vincy had told him of +Mavis; how proud she was and how hard up. He saw her through the +window. She looked pale and rather shabby. He told the servant to show +her in. + +'I've just this moment got your letter, Miss Argles. But, of course, +I'm only too delighted.' + +'Thank you. Mr Vincy said you'd give me the letter.' + +The girl sat down stiffly on the edge of a chair. Vincy had said she +was pretty. Aylmer could not see it. But he felt brimming over with +sympathy and kindness for her--for everyone, in fact. + +She wore a thin light grey cotton dress, and a small grey hat; her hair +looked rich, red, and fluffy as ever; her face white and rather thin. +She looked about seventeen. When she smiled she was pretty; she had a +Rossetti mouth; that must have been what Vincy admired. Aylmer had no +idea that Vincy did more than admire her very mildly. + +'Won't you let me take you there?' suggested Aylmer suddenly. He had +nothing on earth to do, and thought it would fill up the time. 'Yes! +I'll drive you there and show you the pictures. And then, wouldn't you +come and have lunch? I've got an appointment at two.' + +She firmly declined lunch, but consented that he should drive her, and +they went. + +Aylmer talked with the eagerness produced by his restless excitement +and she listened with interest, somewhat fascinated, as people always +were, with his warmth and vitality. + +As they were driving along Oxford Street Edith, walking with Archie, +saw them clearly. She had been taking him on some mission of clothes. +(For the children only she went into shops.) He was talking with such +animation that he did not see her, to a pale young girl with bright red +hair. Edith knew the girl by sight, knew perfectly well that she was +Vincy's friend--there was a photograph of her at his rooms. Aylmer did +not see her. After a start she kept it to herself. She walked a few +steps, then got into a cab. She felt ill. + +So Aylmer had never got her letter? He had been in London without +telling her. He had forgotten her. Perhaps he was deceiving her? And he +was making love obviously to that sickening, irritating red-haired fool +(so Edith thought of her), Vincy's silly, affected art-student. + +When Edith went home she had a bad quarter of an hour. She never even +asked herself what right she had to mind so much; she only knew it +hurt. A messenger boy at once, of course. + +'Dear Mr Ross, + +I saw you this morning. I wrote you a line to Paris, not knowing you +had returned. When you get the note forwarded, will you do me the +little favour to tear it up unopened? I'm sure you will do this to +please me. + +'We are going away in a day or two, but I don't know where. Please +don't trouble to come and see me. + +'Good-bye. + +'EDITH OTTLEY.' + +Aylmer left Miss Argles at the British Museum. When he went back, he +found this letter. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +An Extraordinary Afternoon + +Aylmer guessed at once she had seen him driving. Being a man of sense, +and not an impossible hero in a feuilleton, instead of going away again +and leaving the misunderstanding to ripen, he went to the telephone, +endeavoured to get on, and to explain, in few words, what had obviously +happened. To follow the explanation by an immediate visit was his plan. +Though, of course, slightly irritated that she had seen him under +circumstances conveying a false impression, on the other hand he was +delighted at the pique her letter showed, especially coming immediately +after the almost tender letter in Paris. + +He rang and rang (and used language), and after much difficulty getting +an answer he asked, '_Why he could not get on_' a pathetic question +asked plaintively by many people (not only on the telephone). + +'The line is out of order.' + +In about twenty minutes he was at her door. The lift seemed to him +preternaturally slow. + +'Mrs Ottley?' + +'Mrs Ottley is not at home, sir.' + +At his blank expression the servant, who knew him, and of course liked +him, as they always did, offered the further information that Mrs +Ottley had gone out for the whole afternoon. + +'Are the children at home, or out with Miss Townsend?' + +'The children are out, sir, but not with Miss Townsend. They are +spending the day with their grandmother.' + +'Oh! Do you happen to know if Mr and Mrs Ottley will be at home to +dinner?' + +'I've heard nothing to the contrary, sir.' + +'May I come in and write a note?' + +He went into the little drawing-room. It was intensely associated with +her. He felt a little ému.... There was the writing-table, there the +bookcase, the few chairs, the grey walls; some pale roses fading in a +pewter vase.... The restfulness of the surroundings filled him, and +feeling happier he wrote on the grey notepaper: + +'DEAR MRS OTTLEY, + +I arrived early this morning. I started, in fact, from Paris +immediately after receiving a few lines you very kindly sent me there. +I'm so disappointed not to see you. Unless I hear to the contrary--and +even if I do, I think!--I propose to come round this evening about +nine, and tell you and Bruce all about my travels. + +'Excuse my country manners in thus inviting myself. But I know you will +say no if you don't want me. And in that case I shall have to come +another time, very soon, instead, as I really must see you and show you +something I've got for Archie. Yours always--' + +He paused, and then added: + +'Sincerely, + +'AYLMER ROSS' + +He went to his club, there to try and pass the time until the evening. +He meant to go in the evening, even if she put him off again; and, if +they were out, to wait until they returned, pretending he had not heard +from her again. + +He was no better. He had been away six weeks and was rather more in +love than ever. He would only see her--she _did_ want to see him before +they all separated for the summer! He could not think further than of +the immediate future; he would see her; they could make plans +afterwards. Of course, her letter was simply pique! She had given +herself away--twice--once in the angry letter, also in the previous +one to Paris. Where was she now? What did it mean? Why did she go out +for the whole afternoon? Where was she? + + * * * * * + +After Edith had written and sent her letter to Aylmer in the morning, +Mrs Ottley the elder came to fetch the children to dine, and Edith told +Miss Townsend to go for the afternoon. She was glad she would be +absolutely alone. + +'Aren't you very well, dear Mrs Ottley?' asked this young lady, in her +sweet, sympathetic way. + +Edith was fond of her, and, by implication only, occasionally confided +in her on other subjects than the children. Today, however, Edith +answered that she was _very_ well _indeed_, but was going to see about +things before they went away. 'I don't know how we shall manage without +you for the holidays, Miss Townsend. I think you had better come with +us for the first fortnight, if you don't mind much.' + +Miss Townsend said she would do whatever Edith liked. She could easily +arrange to go with them at once. This was a relief, for just at this +moment Edith felt as if even the children would be a burden. + +Sweet, gentle Miss Townsend went away. She was dressed rather like +herself, Edith observed; she imitated Edith. She had the soft, graceful +manner and sweet voice of her employer. She was slim and had a pretty +figure, but was entirely without Edith's charm or beauty. Vaguely Edith +wondered if she would ever have a love affair, ever marry. She hoped +so, but (selfishly) not till Archie went to Eton. + +Then she found herself looking at her lonely lunch; she tried to eat, +gave it up, asked for a cup of tea. + +At last, she could bear the flat no longer. It was a glorious day, very +hot, Edith felt peculiar. She thought that if she spent all the +afternoon out and alone, it would comfort her, and she would think it +out. Trees and sky and sun had always a soothing effect on her. She +went out, walked a little, felt worried by the crowd of shoppers +swarming to Sloane Street and the Brompton Road, got into a taxi and +drove to the gate of Kensington Gardens, opposite Kensington Gore. Here +she soon found a seat. At this time of the day the gardens were rather +unoccupied, and in the burning July afternoon she felt almost as if in +the country. She took off her gloves--a gesture habitual with her +whenever possible. She looked utterly restful. She had nothing in her +hands, for she never carried either a parasol or a bag, nor even in +winter a muff or in the evening a fan. All these little accessories +seemed unnecessary to her. She liked to simplify. She hated fuss, +anything worrying, agitating. + +... And now she felt deeply miserable, perturbed and agitated. What a +punishment for giving way to that half-coquettish, half self-indulgent +impulse that had made her write to Paris! She had begged him to come +back; while, really, he was here, and had not even let her know. She +had never liked what she had heard of Mavis Argles, but had vaguely +pitied her, wondering what Vincy saw in her, and wishing to believe the +best. Now, she assumed the worst! As soon as Vincy had gone out of +town--he was staying in Surrey with some of his relatives--she, the +minx, began flirting or carrying on with Aylmer. How far had it gone? +she wondered jealously. She did not believe Aylmer's love-making to be +harmless. He was so easily carried away. His feelings were impulsive. +Yet it was only a very short time since Vincy had told her of Aylmer's +miserable letter. Edith was not interested in herself, and seldom +thought much of her own feelings, but she hated self-deception; and now +she faced facts. She adored Aylmer! It had been purely jealousy that +made her write to Paris so touchingly, asking him to come back--vague +fears that, if he were so depressed in Spain, perhaps he might try by +amusements to forget her in Paris. He had once said to her that, of all +places, he thought Paris the least attractive for a romance, because it +was all so obvious, so prepared, so professional. He liked the +unexpected, the veiled and somewhat more hypocritical atmosphere, and +in the fogs of London, he had said, were more romantic mysteries than +in any other city. Still, she had feared. And besides she longed to see +him. So she had unbent and thought herself soon after somewhat +reckless; it was a little wanton and unfair to bring him back. But she +was not a saint; she was a woman; and sometimes Bruce was trying.... + +Edith belonged to the superior class of human being whom jealousy +chills and cures, and does not stimulate to further efforts. It was not +in her to go in for competition. The moment she believed someone else +took her place she relaxed her hold. This is the finer temperament, but +it suffers most. + +She would not try to take Aylmer away. Let him remain with his +red-haired Miss Argles! He might even marry her. He deserved it. + +She meant to tell Vincy, of course. Poor Vincy, _he_ didn't know of the +treachery. Now she must devote herself to the children, and be good and +kind to Bruce. At least, Bruce was _true_ to her in his way. + +He had been in love when they married, but Edith shrewdly suspected he +was not capable of very much more than a weak rather fatuous sentiment +for any woman. And anyone but herself would have lost him many years +ago, would very likely have given him up. But she had kept it all +together, had really helped him, and was touched when she remembered +that jealous scene he made about the letter. The letter she wouldn't at +first let him see. Poor Bruce! Well, they were linked together. There +were Archie, the angel, and Dilly, the pet.... She was twenty-eight and +Aylmer forty. He ought not to hold so strong a position in her mind. +But he did. Yes, she was in love with him in a way--it was a mania, an +obsession. But she would now soon wrestle with it and conquer it. The +great charm had been his exclusive devotion--but also his appearance, +his figure, his voice. He looked sunburnt and handsome. He was laughing +as he talked to the miserable creature (so Edith called her in her own +mind). + +Then Edith had a reaction. She would cure herself today! No more +flirtation, no more amitié amoureuse. They were going away. The +children, darlings, how they loved her! And Bruce. She was reminding +herself she must be gentle, good, to Bruce. He had at least never +deceived her! + +She got up and walked on and on. It was about five o'clock now. As she +walked, she thought how fortunate she was in Miss Townsend; what a nice +girl she was, what a good friend to her and the children. She had a +sort of intuition that made her always have the right word, the right +manner. She had seemed a little odd lately, but she was quite pleased +to come with them to the country. What made her think of Miss Townsend? +Some way off was a girl, with her back to Edith, walking with a man. +Her figure was like Miss Townsend's, and she wore a dress like the one +copied from Edith's. Edith walked more quickly, it was the retired part +of the gardens on the way towards the Bayswater Road. The two figures +turned down a flowery path.... It was Miss Townsend! She had turned her +face. Edith was surprised, was interested, and walked on a few steps. +She had not seen the man clearly. Then they both sat down on a seat. He +took her hand. She left it in his. There was something familiar in his +figure and clothes, and Edith saw his face. + +Yes, it was Bruce. + +Edith turned round and went home. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +Journeys End + +So that was how Bruce behaved to her! + +The deceit of both of them hurt her immensely. But she pulled herself +together. It was a case for action. She felt a bitter, amused contempt, +but she felt it half-urgent _not_ to do anything that would lead to a +life of miserable bickering and mutual harm. + +It must be stopped. And without making Bruce hate her. + +She wrote the second note of this strange day and sent it by a +messenger. + +Giving no reason of any kind, she told the governess that she had +decided the children's holidays should begin from that day, and that +she was unexpectedly going away with them almost immediately, and she +added that she would not require Miss Townsend any more. She enclosed a +cheque, and said she would send on some books and small possessions +that Miss Townsend had kept there. + +This was sent by a messenger to Miss Townsend's home near Westbourne +Grove. She would find it on her return from her walk! + +And now Edith read Aylmer's note--it was so real, so sincere, she began +to disbelieve her eyes this morning. + +It gave her more courage; she wanted to be absolutely calm, and looking +her very best, for Bruce's entrance. + +He came in with his key. He avoided her eye a little--looked rather +sheepish, she thought. It was about seven. + +'Hallo! Aren't the children in yet? Far too late for them to be out.' +'Nurse fetched Dilly. She has gone to bed. Archie is coming presently; +mother will send him all right.' + +'How are you, Edith, old girl?' + +'I'm quite well, Bruce.' + +'I have a sort of idea, as you know,' he said, growing more at ease, +'that we shall rather miss--a--Miss Townsend, when we first go away. +What do you think of taking her for part of the time?' 'Dinner's +ready,' announced Edith, and they dined. Towards the end of dinner he +was about to make the suggestion again, when Edith said in clear, calm +but decided tones: + +'Bruce, I am not going to take Miss Townsend away with us. She is not +coming any more.' + +'Not--Why? What the devil's the idea of this new scheme? What's the +matter with Miss Townsend?' + +'Bruce,' answered Edith, 'I prefer not to go into the question, and +later you will be glad I did not. I've decided that Miss Townsend is +not to come any more at all. I've written to tell her so. I'll look +after the children with nurse until we come back.... It's all settled.' + +Bruce was silent. + +'Well upon my word!' he exclaimed, looking at her uneasily. 'Have it +your own way, of course--but upon my word! Why?' + +'Do you really want me to tell you exactly why? I would so much prefer +not.' + +'Oh, all right, Edith dear; after all--hang it all--you're the +children's mother--it's for you to settle.... No, I don't want to know +anything. Have it as you wish.' + +'Then we won't discuss it again. Shall we?' + +'All right.' + +He was looking really rather shamefaced, and she thought she saw a +gleam of remorse and also of relief in his eye. She went into the other +room. She had not shown him Aylmer's letter. + +After ten minutes he came in and said: 'Look here, Edith. Make what +arrangements you like. _I_ never want to see--Miss Townsend again.' + +She looked a question. + +'And I never shall.' + +She was really pleased at this, and held out her hand. Bruce had tears +in his eyes as he took it. 'Edith, old girl, I think I'll go round to +the club for an hour or two.' + +'Do. And look here, Bruce, leave it to me to tell the children. They'll +forget after the holidays. Archie must not be upset.' + +'Whatever you do, Edith, will be--what I mean to say is that--Well, +good night; I sha'n't be long.' + +Edith was really delighted, she felt she had won, and she _did_ want +that horrid little Townsend to be scored off! Wasn't it natural? She +wanted to hear no more about it. + +There was a ring. It was nine o'clock. It was Aylmer's voice. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +The Great Exception + +The absurdly simple explanation, made almost in dumb show, by action +rather than in dialogue, was soon given. He was surprised, simply +enchanted, at the entire frankness of her recognition; she acknowledged +openly that it mattered to her tremendously whether or not he was on +intimate terms or flirting with little Miss Argles, or with little Miss +anybody. He was not even to look at any woman except herself, that was +arranged between them now and understood. They were side by side, with +hands clasped as a matter of course, things taken for granted that he +formerly never dreamt of. The signs of emotion in her face he +attributed of course to the morning's contretemps, knowing nothing of +the other trouble. + +'It's heavenly being here again. You're prettier than ever, Edith; +sweeter than ever. What a time I had away. It got worse and worse.' + +'Dear Aylmer!' + +'You're far too good and kind to me. But I _have_ suffered--awfully.' + +'So have I, since this morning. I felt--' + +'What did you feel? Tell me!' + +'Must I?' + +'Yes!' + +'I felt, when I saw you with her, as if I hadn't got a friend in the +world. I felt quite alone. I felt as if the ground were going to open +and swallow me up. I relied on you so much, far more than I knew! I was +struck dumb, and rooted to the spot, and knocked all of a heap, in a +manner of speaking, as Vincy would say,' Edith went on, laughing. 'But +now, you've cured me thoroughly; you're such a _real_ person.' + +'Angel!' + +She still left her hand in his. Her eyes were very bright, the result +of few but salt tears, the corners of her mouth were lifted by a happy +smile, not the tantalising, half-mocking smile he used to see. She was +changed, and was, he thought, more lovable--prettier; today's emotion +had shaken her out of herself. The reaction of this evening gave a +brilliancy to her eyes, happy curves to her lips, and the slight +disarrangement of her hair, not quite silky-smooth tonight, gave her a +more irresponsible look. She seemed more careless--younger. + +'Where's Bruce?' Aylmer asked suddenly. + +'He's gone to the club. He'll be back rather soon, I should think.' + +'I won't wait. I would rather not meet him this evening. When shall I +see you again?' + +'Oh, I don't know. I don't think I want to make any plans now.' + +'As you wish. I say, do you really think Vincy can care for that girl?' + +'I believe he has had a very long friendship of some kind with her. +He's never told me actually, but I've felt it,' Edith said. + +'Is he in love with her? Can he be?' + +'In a way--in one of his peculiar ways.' + +'She's in love with him, I suppose,' said Aylmer. 'It was only because +she thought it would please him that she wanted to see those things at +the museum. I think she's a little anxious. I found her a wild, +irritating, unaccountable, empty creature. I believe she wants him to +marry her.' + +'I hope he won't, unless he _really_ wants to,' said Edith. 'It would +be a mistake for Vincy to sacrifice himself as much as that.' + +'I hope indeed he won't,' exclaimed Aylmer. 'And I think it's out of +the question. Miss Argles is only an incident, surely. She looks the +slightest of episodes.' + +'It's a very long episode. It might end, though--if she insists and he +won't.' + +'Oh, bother, never mind them!' Aylmer replied, with boyish impatience. +'Let me look at _you_ again. Do you care for me a little bit, Edith?' + +'Yes; I do.' + +'Well, what's going to be done about it?' he asked, with happy +triviality. + +'Don't talk nonsense,' she replied. 'We're just going to see each other +sometimes.' 'I'll be satisfied with anything!' cried Aylmer, 'after +what I've suffered not seeing you at all. We'll have a new game. You +shall _make_ the rules and I'll keep them.' + +'Naturally.' + +'About the summer?' + +'Oh, no plans tonight. I must think.' She looked thoughtful. + +'Tell me, how's Archie?' he said. + +'Archie's all right--delightful. Dilly, too. But I'm rather bothered.' + +'Why should you bother? What's it about? Tell me at once.' + +She paused a moment. 'Miss Townsend won't be able to come back any +more,' she said steadily. + +'Really? What a pity. I suppose the fool of a girl's engaged, or +something.' + +'She won't come back any more,' answered Edith. + +'Will you have to get a new Miss Townsend?' + +'I thought of being their governess myself--during the holidays, +anyhow.' + +'But that will leave you hardly any time--no leisure.' + +'Leisure for what?' + +'For anything--for me, for instance,' said Aylmer boldly. He was full +of the courage and audacity caused by the immense relief of seeing her +again and finding her so responsive. + +There is, of course, no joy so great as the cessation of pain; in fact +all joy, active or passive, is the cessation of some pain, since it +must be the satisfaction of a longing, even perhaps an unconscious +longing. A desire is a sort of pain, even with hope, without it is +despair. When, for example, one takes artistic pleasure in looking at +something beautiful, that is a cessation of the pain of having been +deprived of it until then, since what one enjoys one must have longed +for even without knowing it. + +'Look here,' said Aylmer suddenly. 'I don't believe I can do without +you.' + +'You said _I_ was to make the rules.' + +'Make them then; go on.' + +'Well, we'll be intimate friends, and meet as often as we can. Once a +week you may say you care for me, and I'll say the same. That's all. If +you find you don't like it--can't stand it, as you say--then you'll +have to go away again.' + +'I agree to it all, to every word. You'll see if I don't stick to it +absolutely.' + +'Thank you, dear Aylmer.' + +He paused. + +'Then I mustn't kiss you?' + +'No. Never again.' + +'All right. Never again after tonight. Tonight is the great exception,' +said Aylmer. + +She made a tardy and futile protest. Then she said: + +'Now, Aylmer, you must go.' She sighed. 'I have a lot of worries.' + +'I never heard you say that before. Let me take them and demolish them +for you. Can't you give them to me?' + +'No; I shall give nothing more to you. Good-bye.... + +'Remember, there are to be no more exceptions,' said Edith. + +'I promise.' + +She sat quietly alone for half-an-hour, waiting for Bruce. + +She now felt sorry for Bruce, utterly and completely indifferent about +'the Townsend case', as she already humorously called it to herself. +But, she thought, she _must_ be strong! She was not prepared to lose +her dignity, nor to allow the children to be educated by a woman whose +faith at least with them and in their home was unreliable; their +surroundings must be crystal-clear. It would make a certain difference +to them, she thought. How could it not? There were so many little ways +in which she might spoil them or tease them, scamp things, or rush +them, or be nicer to one of them, or less nice, if she had any sort of +concealed relation with their father. And as she had been treated +absolutely as a confidante by Edith, the girl had certainly shown +herself treacherous, and rather too clearly capable of dissimulation. +Edith thought this must have a bad effect on the children. + +Edith was essentially a very feminine woman though she had a mental +attitude rightly held to be more characteristic of men. Being so +feminine, so enraged under her calm and ease, she was, of course, not +completely consistent. She was still angry, and very scornful of Miss +Townsend. She was hurt with her; she felt a friend had played her +false--a friend, too, in the position of deepest trust, of grave +responsibility. Miss Townsend knew perfectly well what the children +were to Edith, and, for all she knew, there was no-one in Edith's life +except Bruce; so that it was rather cruel. Edith intended to keep up +her dignity so absolutely that Miss Townsend could never see her again, +that she could never speak to Edith on the subject. She wished also, +_very_ much, that Bruce should never see her again, but didn't know how +to encompass this. She must find a way. + +On the other hand, after the first shock and disgust at seeing him, +Edith's anger with Bruce himself had entirely passed. Had she not +known, for years, that he was a little weak, a little fatuous? He was +just as good a sort now as he had ever been, and as she was not blinded +by the resentment and fury of the real jealousy of passion, Edith saw +clearly, and knew that Bruce cared far more for _her_ than for anybody +else; that in so far as he could love anybody he loved her in his way. +And she wanted to keep the whole thing together on account of Archie, +and for Dilly's sake. She must be so kind, yet so strong that Bruce +would be at once grateful for her forbearance and afraid to take +advantage of it. Rather a difficult undertaking!... + +And she had seen Aylmer again! There was nothing in it about Miss +Argles. What happiness! She ought to have trusted him. He cared for +her. He loved her. His sentiment was worth having. And she cared for +him too; how much she didn't quite know. She admired him; he fascinated +her, and she also felt a deep gratitude because he gave her just the +sort of passionate worship that she must have always unconsciously +craved for. + +Certainly the two little events of today had drawn her nearer to him. +She had been far less reserved that evening. She closed her eyes and +smiled to herself. But this mustn't happen again. + +With a strong effort of self-coercion she banished all delightful +recollections as she heard Bruce come up in the lift. + +He came in with a slightly shy, uncomfortable manner. Again, she felt +sorry for him. + +'Hallo!' he said. + +He gave her a quick glance, a sort of cautious look which made her feel +rather inclined to laugh. Then he said: + +'I've just been down to the club. What have you been doing?' + +'Aylmer's been here.' + +'Didn't know he was in town.' + +'He's only come for a few days.' + +'I should like to see him,' said Bruce, looking brighter. 'Did he ask +after me?' + +'Yes.' + +He looked at her again and said suspiciously: + +'I suppose you didn't mention--' + +'Mention what?' + +'Edith!' + +'Yes?' + +He cleared his throat and then said with an effort of self-assertion +that she thought at once ridiculous and touching: + +'Look here, I don't wish to blame you in any way for what--er-- +arrangements you like to make in your own household. But--er--have you +written to Miss Townsend?' + +'Yes; she won't come back.' + +'Er--but won't she ask why?' + +'I hope not.' + +'Why?' asked Bruce, with a tinge of defiance. + +'Because then I should have to explain. And I don't like explaining.' + +There was another pause. Bruce seemed to take a great interest in his +nails, which he examined separately one at a time, and then all +together, holding both hands in front of him. + +'Did Archie enjoy his day?' + +'Oh yes,' said Edith. + +Bruce suddenly stood up, and a franker, more manly expression came into +his face. He looked at her with a look of pain. Tears were not far from +his eyes. + +'Edith, you're a brick. You're too good for me.' + +She looked down and away without answering. + +'Look here, is there anything I can do to please you?' + +'Yes, there is.' + +'What? I'll do it, whatever it is, on my word of honour.' + +'Well, it's a funny thing to ask you, but you know our late governess, +Miss Townsend? I should like you to promise never to see her again, +even by accident. If you meet her--by accident, I mean--I want you not +to see her.' + +Bruce held out both his hands. + +'I swear I'd never recognise her even if I should meet her +accidentally.' + +'I know it's a very odd thing to ask,' continued Edith, 'just a fancy; +why should I mind your not seeing Miss Townsend?' + +He didn't answer. + +'However, I _do_ mind, and I'll be grateful.' + +Edith thought one might be unfaithful without being disloyal, and she +believed Bruce now. She was too sensible to ask him never to write a +line, never to telephone, never to do anything else; besides, it was +beneath her dignity to go into these details, and common-sense told her +that one or the other must write or communicate if the thing was to be +stopped. If Miss Townsend wrote to him to the club, he would have to +answer. Bruce meant not to see her again, and that was enough. + +'Then you're not cross, Edith--not depressed?' + +She gave her sweetest smile. She looked brilliantly happy and +particularly pretty. + +'Edith!' + +With a violent reaction of remorse, and a sort of tenderness, he tried +to put his arm round her. She moved away. + +'Don't you forgive me, Edith, for anything I've done that you don't +like?' + +'Yes, I _entirely_ forgive you. The incident is closed.' + +'Really forgive me?' + +'Absolutely. And I've had a tiring day and I'm going to sleep. Good +night.' + +With a kind little nod she left him standing in the middle of the room +with that air of stupid distinction that he generally assumed when in a +lift with other people, and that came to his rescue at awkward +moments--a dull, aloof, rather haughty expression. But it was no use to +him now. + +He had considerable difficulty in refraining from venting his temper on +the poor, dumb furniture; in fact, he did give a kick to a pretty +little writing-table. It made no sound, but its curved shoulder looked +resentful. + +'What a day!' said Bruce to himself. + +He went to his room, pouting like Archie. But he knew he had got off +cheaply. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +Another Side of Bruce + +Ever since his earliest youth, Bruce had always had, at intervals, some +vague, vain, half-hearted entanglement with a woman. The slightest +interest, practically even common civility, shown him by anyone of the +feminine sex between the ages of sixteen and sixty, flattered his +vanity to such an extraordinary extent that he immediately thought +these ladies were in love with him, and it didn't take much more for +him to be in love with them. And yet he didn't really care for women. +With regard to them his point of view was entirely that of vanity, and +in fact he only liked both men or women who made up to him, or who gave +him the impression that they did. Edith was really the only woman for +whom his weak and flickering passion had lingered at all long; and in +addition to that (the first glamour of which had faded) she had a real +hold over him. He felt for her the most genuine fondness of which he +was capable, besides trust and a certain admiration. A sort of respect +underlay all his patronising good-nature or caprices with her. But +still he had got into the habit of some feeble flirtation, a little +affair, and at first he missed it very much. He didn't care a straw for +Miss Townsend; he never had. He thought her plain and tedious; she +bored him more than any woman he had ever met, and yet he had slipped +into a silly sort of intrigue, beginning by a few words of pity or +sympathy to her, and by the idea that she looked up to him in +admiration. He was very much ashamed of it and of the circumstances; he +was not proud of his conquest with her, as he generally was. He felt +that on account of the children, and altogether, he had been playing it +a bit low down. + +He was not incapable, either, of appreciating Edith's attitude. She had +never cross-questioned him, never asked him for a single detail, never +laboured the subject, nor driven the point home, nor condescended even +to try to find out how far things had really gone. She hadn't even told +him how she knew; he was ashamed to ask. + +And, after that promise of forgiveness, she never referred to it; there +was never the slightest innuendo, teasing, reproach. Yes, by Jove! +Edith was wonderful! And so Bruce meant to play the game too. + +For several days he asked the porter at the club if there were any +letters, receiving the usual reply, 'None, sir.' + +The third day he received the following note, and took it to read with +enjoyment of the secrecy combined with a sort of self-important shame. +Until now he hadn't communicated with her:-- + +'Dear Mr Ottley, + +Of course you know I'm not returning to the children after the +holidays, nor am I going with you to Westgate. I'm very unhappy, for I +fear I have offended Mrs Ottley. She has always been very kind to me +till now; but I shall let the matter rest. Under the circumstances I +suppose I shall not see you any more. May I ask that you should not +call or write. I and mother are going to spend the summer at Bexhill +with some friends. Our address will be Sandringham, Seaview Road, +Bexhill, if you like to write just one line to say good-bye. I fear I +have been rather to blame in seeing you without Mrs Ottley's knowledge, +but you know how one's feelings sometimes lead one to do what one knows +one ought not to ...' + +'Sandringham, indeed! Some boarding house, I suppose,' said Bruce to +himself. 'What a lot of 'ones'!... Fine grammar for a governess.' + +'... Wishing you every happiness (I _shall_ miss the children!). + +Yours sincerely, + +Margaret Townsend + +'_P.S._--I shall never forget how happy I was with you and Mrs Ottley.' + +Bruce's expression as he read the last line was rather funny. + +'She's a silly little fool, and I shan't answer,' he reflected. + +Re-reading the letter, he found it more unsatisfactory still, and +destroyed it. + +The thought of Miss Townsend bored him unutterably; and indeed he was +incapable of caring for any woman (however feebly) for more than two or +three weeks. He was particularly fickle, vague, and scrappy in his +emotions. Edith was the only woman for whom even a little affection +could last, and he would have long tired of her but for her exceptional +character and the extraordinary trouble and tact she used with him. He +didn't appreciate her fine shades, he was not in love with her, didn't +value her as another man might have done. But he was always coming back +to a certain steady, renewed feeling of tenderness for her. + +With the curious blindness common to all married people (and indeed to +any people who live together), clever Edith had been entirely taken in, +in a certain sense; she had always felt (until the 'Townsend case') +half disdainfully but satisfactorily certain of Bruce's fidelity. She +knew that he had little sham flirtations, but she had never imagined +his going anywhere near an intrigue. She saw now that in that she had +been duped, and that if he didn't do more it was not from loyalty to +her. Still, she now felt convinced that it wouldn't occur again. She +had treated him well; she had spared him in the matter. He was a little +grateful, and she believed he would be straight now, though her opinion +of him had rather gone down. Edith always felt that she must go to the +very extreme of loyalty to anyone who was faithful to her; she valued +fidelity so deeply, and now this feeling was naturally relaxed a +little. She hadn't the slightest desire for revenge, but she felt she +had a slightly freer hand. She didn't see why she should, for instance, +deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing Aylmer; she had not told him +anything about it. + +That day at the club, Bruce in his depression had a chat with +Goldthorpe, his golfing companion and sometime confidant. Over a +cigarette and other refreshments, Bruce murmured how he had put an end +to the little affair for the sake of his wife. + +'Rather jolly little girl, she was.' + +'Oh yes,' said Goldthorpe indifferently. He thought Edith very +attractive, and would have liked to have the duty of consoling her. + +'One of those girls that sort of _get round_ you, and appeal to +you--_you_ know.' + +'Oh yes.' + +'Grey eyes--no, by Jove! I should call them hazel, with black lashes, +no, not exactly black--brown. Nice, white teeth, slim figure--perhaps +a bit too straight. Brownish hair with a tinge of gold in the sun.' + +'Oh yes.' + +'About twenty,' continued Bruce dreamily. He knew that Miss Townsend +was thirty-two, but suspected Goldthorpe of admiring flappers, and so, +with a subconscious desire to impress him, rearranged the lady's age. + +'About twenty--if that. Rather long, thin hands--the hands of a lady. +Well, it's all over now.' + +'That's all right,' said Goldthorpe. He seemed to have had enough of +this retrospective inventory. He looked at his watch and found he had +an appointment. + +Bruce, thinking he seemed jealous, smiled to himself. + +For a few days after what had passed there was a happy reaction in the +house. Everyone was almost unnaturally sweet and polite and unselfish +about trifles to everybody else. Edith was devoting herself to the +children, Bruce had less of her society than usual. She seemed to +assume they were to be like brother and sister. He wouldn't at present +raise the question; thinking she would soon get over such a rotten +idea. Besides, a great many people had left town; and they were, +themselves, in the rather unsettled state of intending to go away in a +fortnight. Though happy at getting off so easily, Bruce was really +missing the meetings and notes (rather than the girl). + +Fortunately, Vincy now returned; he was looking sunburnt and happy. He +had been having a good time. Yet he looked a little anxious +occasionally, as if perplexed. + +One day he told Edith that he had just had a rather serious quarrel +with someone who was awfully cross, and carried on like anything and +wouldn't give over. + +'I guess who she is. What does she want you to do?' + +'She wants me to do what all my relations are always bothering me to +do,' said Vincy, 'only with a different person.' + +'What, to marry?' + +'Yes.' + +'To marry her, I suppose? Shall you?' + +'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'I don't think I quite can.' + +'Don't you think it would be rather unkind to her?' + +Neither of them had mentioned Miss Argles' name. The fact that Vincy +referred to it at all showed her that he had recovered from his +infatuation. + +'But do you think I'm treating the poor girl badly?' + +'Vincy, even if you adored her it would end unhappily. As you don't, +you would both be miserable from the first day. Be firm. Be nice and +kind to her and tell her straight out, and come and stay with us in the +country.' + +'Well, that was rather my idea. Oh, but, Edith, it's hard to hurt +anyone.' + +'You know I saw her driving with Aylmer that day, and I thought he +liked her. I found I was wrong.' + +'Yes. He doesn't. I wish I could get some nice person to--er--take +her out. I mean, take her on.' + +'What sort of person? She's pretty in her way. I daresay she'll attract +someone.' + +'What sort of person? Oh, I don't know. Some nice earl would please +her, or one of those artist chaps you read of in the feuilletons--the +sort of artist who, when he once gets a tiny little picture skied at +the Academy, immediately has fortune, and titles and things, rolling +in. A little picture called 'Eventide' or 'Cows by Moonlight', or +something of that sort, in those jolly stories means ten thousand +pounds a year at once. Jolly, isn't it?' + +'Yes, Vincy dear, but we're not living in a feuilleton. What's really +going to be done? Will she be nasty?' + +'No. But I'm afraid Aunt Jessie will abuse me something cruel.' He +thought a little while. 'In fact she has.' + +'What does she say?' + +'She says I'm no gentleman. She said I had no business to lead the poor +girl on, in a manner of speaking, and walk out with her, and pay her +marked attention, and then not propose marriage like a gentleman.' + +'Then you're rather unhappy just now, Vincy?' + +'Well, I spoke to _her_ frankly, and said I would like to go on being +her friend, but I didn't mean to marry. And _she_ said she'd never see +me again unless I did.' + +'And what else?' + +'That's about all, thanks very much,' said Vincy. + +Here Bruce came in. + +'Edith,' he said,' have you asked Aylmer to come and stay with us at +Westgate?' + +'Oh no. I think I'd rather not.' + +'Why on earth not? How absurd of you. It's a bit selfish, dear, if +you'll excuse my saying so. It's all very well for you: you've got the +children and Vincy to amuse you (you're coming, aren't you, Vincy?). +What price me? I must have someone else who can go for walks and play +golf, a real pal, and so forth. I need exercise, and intellectual +sympathy. Aylmer didn't say he had anywhere else to go.' + +'He's going to take his boy, Freddie, away to some seaside place. He +doesn't like staying with people.' + +'All right, then. I shall go and ask him to come and stay at the hotel, +for at least a fortnight. I shall go and ask him now. You're +inconsistent, Edith. At one moment you seem to like the man, but as +soon as I want to make a pleasant arrangement you're off it. So like a +woman, isn't it, Vincy?' He laughed. + +'Isn't it?' answered Vincy. + +'Well, look here, I'm going right down to Jermyn Street purposely to +tell him. I'll be back to dinner; do stop, Vincy.' + +Bruce was even more anxious than he used to be always to have a third +person present whenever possible. + +He walked through the hot July streets with that feeling of flatness +--of the want of a mild excitement apart from his own home. He saw +Aylmer and persuaded him to come. + +While he was there a rather pretty pale girl, with rough red hair, was +announced. Aylmer introduced Miss Argles. + +'I only came for a minute, to bring back those books, Mr Ross,' she +said shyly. 'I can't stop.' + +'Oh, thank you so much,' said Aylmer. 'Won't you have tea?' + +'No, nothing. I _must_ go at _once_. I only brought you in the books +myself to show you they were safe.' + +She gave a slightly coquettish glance at Aylmer, a half-observant +glance at Bruce, sighed heavily and went away. She was dressed in green +serge, with a turned-down collar of black lace. She wore black suède +gloves, a gold bangle and a smart and pretty hat, the hat Vincy +pretended had been given to _him_ by Cissie Cavanack, his entirely +imaginary cousin, and which he'd really bought for her in Bond Street. + +'Well, I'll be off then. I'll tell Edith you'll write for rooms. Look +sharp about it, because they soon go at the best hotels.' + +'At any rate I'll bring Freddie down for a week,' said Aylmer, 'and +then we'll see.' + +'Who is that girl?' asked Bruce, as he left. + +'She's a young artist, and I lent her some books of old prints she +wanted. She's not a particular friend of mine--I don't care for her +much.' + +Bruce didn't hear the last words, for he was flying out of the door. +Miss Argles was walking very slowly; he joined her. + +'Pardon me,' he said, raising his hat. 'It's so very hot--am I going +your way? Would you allow me to see you home?' + +'Oh, you're very kind, I'm sure,' she said sadly. 'But I don't think--I +live at Ravenscourt Park.' + +Bruce thought there was plenty of time. + +'Why how very curious! That's just where I was going,' said he boldly. + +He put up his stick. Instead of a taxi a hansom drove up. Bruce hailed +it. + +'Always like to give these chaps a turn when I can,' he said. It would +take longer. + +'How kind-hearted you are,' murmured the girl. 'But I'd really rather +not, thank you.' + +'Then how shall you get back?' + +'Walk to the Tube.' + +'Oh no; it's far too hot. Let me drop you, as I'm going in your +direction.' + +He gave her a rather fixed look of admiration, and smiled. She gave a +slight look back and got into the cab. + +'What ripping red hair,' said Bruce to himself as he followed her. + + * * * * * + +Before the end of the drive, which for him was a sort of adventure, +Mavis had promised to meet Bruce when she left her Art School next +Tuesday at a certain tea-shop in Bond Street. + +Bruce went home happy and in good spirits again. There was no earthly +harm in being kind to a poor little girl like this. He might do a great +deal of good. She seemed to admire him. She thought him so clever. +Funny thing, there was no doubt he had the gift; women liked him, and +there you are. Look at Miss Mooney at the Mitchells' the other day, +why, she was ever so nice to him; went for him like one o'clock; but he +gave her no encouragement. Edith was there. He wouldn't worry her, dear +girl. + +As he came towards home he smiled again. And Edith, dear Edith--she, +too, must be frightfully keen on him, when one came to think about it, +to forgive him so readily about Margaret Tow--Oh, confound Miss +Townsend. This girl was a picture, a sort of Rossetti, and she had had +such trouble lately--terrible trouble. The man she had been devoted to +for years had suddenly thrown her over, heartlessly.... What a brute he +must have been! She was going to tell him all about it on Tuesday. That +man must have been a fiend!... + +'Holloa, Vincy! So glad you're still here. Let's have dinner, Edie.' + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +At Lady Everard's + +Lady Everard was sitting in her favourite attitude at her +writing-table, with her face turned to the door. She had once been +photographed at her writing-table, with a curtain behind her, and her +face turned to the door. The photograph had appeared in _The Queen, The +Ladies' Field, The Sketch, The Taller, The Bystander, Home Chat, Home +Notes, The Woman at Home_, and _Our Stately Homes of England_. It was a +favourite photograph of hers; she had taken a fancy to it, and +therefore she always liked to be found in this position. The photo had +been called: 'Lady Everard at work in her Music-Room.' + +What she was supposed to be working at, heaven only knew; for she never +wrote a line of anything, and even her social notes and invitation +cards were always written by her secretary. + +As soon as a visitor came in, she rose from the suspiciously clean +writing-table, put down the dry pen on a spotless blotter, went and sat +in a large brocaded arm-chair in front of some palms, within view of +the piano, and began to talk. The music-room was large, splendid and +elaborately decorated. There was a frieze all round, representing +variously coloured and somewhat shapeless creatures playing what were +supposed to be musical instruments. One, in a short blue skirt, was +blowing at something; another in pink drapery (who squinted) was +strumming on a lyre; other figures were in white, with their mouths +open like young birds preparing to be fed by older birds. They +represented Harmony in all its forms. There were other attempts at the +classical in the decoration of the room; but Lady Everard herself had +reduced this idea to bathos by huge quantities of signed photographs in +silver frames, by large waste-paper baskets, lined with blue satin and +trimmed with pink rosettes, by fans which were pockets, stuffed cats +which were paperweights, oranges which were pincushions, and other +debris from those charitable and social bazaars of which she was a +constant patroness. + +With her usual curious combination of weak volubility and decided +laying-down of the law, she was preparing to hold forth to young La +France (whom she expected), on the subject of Debussy, Edvina, Marcoux, +the appalling singing of all his young friends, his own good looks, and +other subjects of musical interest, when Mr Cricker was announced. + +She greeted him with less eagerness, if less patronage, than her other +protégé, but graciously offered him tea and permitted a cigarette. + +Lady Everard went in for being at once _grande dame_ and Bohemian. She +was truly good-natured and kind, except to rivals in her own sphere, +but when jealous she was rather redoubtable. + +'I'm pleased to see you, my dear Willie,' she said; 'all the more +because I hear Mrs Mitchell has taken Wednesdays now. Not _quite_ a +nice thing to do, I think; although, after all, I suppose we could +hardly really clash. True, we _do_ happen to know a few of the same +people.' (By that Lady Everard meant she had snatched as many of Mrs +Mitchell's friends away as she thought desirable.) 'But as a general +rule I suppose we're not really in the same set. But perhaps you're +going on there afterwards?' + +That had been Mr Clicker's intention, but he denied it, with surprise +and apparent pain at the suspicion. + +She settled down more comfortably. + +'Ah, well, Mrs Mitchell is an extremely nice, hospitable woman, and her +parties are, I know, considered _quite_ amusing, but I do think--I +really do--that her husband carries his practical jokes and things a +_little_ too far. It isn't good form, it really isn't, to see a man of +his age, with his face blacked, coming in after dinner with a banjo, +calling himself the Musical White-eyed Kaffir, as he did the last time +I was there. I find it _déplacé_--that's the word, _déplacé_. He seemed +to think that we were all children at a juvenile party! I was saying so +to Lord Rye only last night. Lord Rye likes it, I think, but he says Mr +Mitchell's mad--that's what it is, a little mad. Last time Lord Rye was +there everybody had a present given them hidden in their table napkins. +There had been some mistake in the parcels, I believe, and Miss +Mooney--you know, the actress, Myra Mooney--received a safety razor, +and Lord Rye a vanity bag. Everybody screamed with laughter, but I must +say it seemed to me rather silly. I wasn't there myself.' + +'I was,' said Mr Cricker. 'I got a very pretty little feather fan. I +suppose the things really had been mixed up, and after all I was very +glad of the fan; I was able to give it to--' He stopped, sighed and +looked down on the floor. + +'And is that affair still going on, Willie dear? It seems to me _such_ +a pity. I _do_ wish you would try and give it up.' + +'I know, but she _won't_,' he said in a voice hoarse with anxiety. +'Dear Lady Everard, you're a woman of the world, and know everything--' + +She smiled. 'Not everything, Willie; a little of music, perhaps. I know +a good voice when I hear it. I have a certain _flair_ for what's going +to be a success in that direction, and of course I've been everywhere +and seen everything. I've a certain natural knowledge of life, too, and +keep well up to date with everything that's going on. I knew about the +Hendon Divorce Case long before anyone else, though it never came off +after all, but that's not the point. But then I'm so discreet; people +tell me things. At any rate, I always _know_.' + +Indeed, Lady Everard firmly believed herself to be a great authority on +most subjects, but especially on contemporary gossip. This was a +delusion. In reality she had that marvellous talent for not knowing +things, that gift for ignorance, and genius for inaccuracy so +frequently seen in that cultured section of society of which she was so +popular and distinguished a member. It is a talent that rarely fails to +please, particularly in a case like her own. There is always a certain +satisfaction in knowing that a woman of position and wealth, who plumes +herself on her early knowledge and special information, is absolutely +and entirely devoid of the one and incorrect in the other. A marked +ignorance in a professionally well-informed person has always something +touching and appealing to those who are able, if not willing, to set +that person right. It was taken for granted among her acquaintances, +and probably was one of the qualities that endeared her to them most, +that dear Lady Everard was generally positive and always wrong. + +'Yes, I do know most things, perhaps,' she said complacently. 'And one +thing I know is that this woman friend of yours is making you perfectly +miserable. You're longing to shake it off. Ah, I know you! You've far +more real happiness in going to the opera with me than even in seeing +her, and the more she pursues you the less you like it. Am I not +right?' + +'Yes, I suppose so. But as a matter of fact, Lady Everard, if she +didn't--well--what you might call make a dash for it, I shouldn't worry +about her at all.' + +'Men,' continued Lady Everard, not listening, 'only like coldness; +coldness, reserve. The only way in the world to draw a man on is to be +always out to him, or to go away, and never even let him hear your name +mentioned.' + +'I daresay there's a lot in that,' said Cricker, wondering why she did +not try that plan with young La France. + +'Women of the present day,' she continued, growing animated, 'make such +a terrible, terrible mistake I What do they do when they like a young +man? Oh, I know! They write to him at his club; they call at his rooms +and leave messages; they telephone whenever they can. The more he +doesn't answer their invitations the more they invite him. It's +appalling! And what's the result? Men are becoming cooler and cooler-- +as a class, I mean. Of course, there are exceptions. But it's such a +mistake of women to run after the few young men there are. There are +such a tremendous lot of girls and married women nowadays, there are so +many more of them.' + +'Well, perhaps that's why they do it,' said Cricker rather stupidly. +'At any rate--oh, well, I know if my friend hadn't been so jolly nice +to me at first and kept it up so--oh, well, you know what I mean--kept +on keeping on, if I may use the expression, I should have drifted away +from her ages ago. Because, you see, supposing I'm beginning to think +about something else, or somebody else, she doesn't stand it; she won't +stand it. And the awkward part is, you see, her being _on_ the stage +_and_ married makes the whole thing about as awkward as a case of that +sort can possibly be.' + +'I would not ask you her name for the world,' said Lady Everard +smoothly. 'Of course I know she's a beautiful young comedy actress, or +is it tragedy? I wonder if I could guess her first name? Will you tell +me if I guess right?' She looked arch. + +'Oh, I say, I can't tell you who it is, Lady Everard; really not.' + +'Only the first name? I don't _want_ you to tell me; I'm discretion +itself, I prefer not to know. The Christian name is not Margaretta, is +it? Ah! no, I thought not. It's Irene Pettifer! There, I've guessed. +The fact is, I always knew it, my dear boy. Your secret is safe with +me. I'm the tomb! I--' + +'Excuse me, Lady Everard,' said Cricker, with every sign of annoyance, +'it's no more Irene Pettifer than it's you yourself. Please believe me. +First of all I don't _know_ Irene Pettifer; I've never even seen her +photograph--she's not young, not married, and an entirely different +sort of person.' + +'What did I tell you? I knew it wasn't; I only said that to draw you. +However, have a little more tea, or some iced coffee, it's so much more +refreshing I always think. My dear Willie, I was only chaffing you. I +knew perfectly well it wasn't either of the people I suggested. The +point is, it seems to prey on your mind, and worry you, and you won't +break it off.' + +'But how can I?' + +'I will dictate you a letter,' she said. 'Far be it from me to +interfere, and I don't pretend to know more about this sort of thing +than anybody else. At the same time, if you'll take it down just as I +tell it, and send it off, you'll find it will do admirably. Have you +got a pencil?' + +As if dully hypnotised, he took out a pencil and notebook. + +'It would be awfully kind of you, Lady Everard. It might give me an +idea anyway.' + +'All right.' + +She leant back and half closed her eyes, as if in thought; then started +up with one finger out. + +'We must be quick, because I'm expecting someone presently,' she said. +'But we've got time for this. Now begin. July 7th, 1912. Have you got +that?' + +'Yes, I've got that.' + +'Or, perhaps, just Thursday. Thursday looks more casual, more full of +feeling than the exact date. Got Thursday?' + +'Yes, but it isn't Thursday, it's Friday.' + +'All right, Friday, or any day you like. The day is not the point. You +can send it tomorrow, or any time you like. Wednesday. My dearest +Irene.' + +'Her name's not Irene.' + +'Oh no, I forgot. Take that out. Dear Margaretta. Circumstances have +occurred since I last had the pleasure of seeing you that make it +absolutely impossible that I could ever meet you again.' + +'Oh, I say!' + +'Go on. Ever see you or meet you again. You wish to be kind to her, I +suppose?' + +'Oh yes.' + +'Then say: Duty has to come between us, but God knows I wish you well.' +Tears were beginning to come to Lady Everard's eyes, and she spoke with +a break in her voice. 'I wish you well, Irene.' + +'It's not Irene.' + +'I wish you well, Margaretta. Some day in the far distant future you'll +think of me, and be thankful for what I have done. It's for your good +and my own happiness that we part now, and for ever. Adieu, and may God +bless you. How do you sign yourself?' + +'Oh, Willie.' + +'Very well then, be more serious this time: Always your faithful +friend, William Stacey Cricker.' + +He glanced over the note, his face falling more and more, while Lady +Everard looked more and more satisfied. + +'Copy that out, word for word, the moment you go back, and send it +off,' she said, 'and all the worst of your troubles will be over.' + +'I should think the worst is yet to come,' said he ruefully. + +'But you promise to do it, Willie? Oh, promise me?' + +'Oh yes rather,' said he half-heartedly. + +'Word for word?' + +'O Lord, yes. That's to say, unless anything--' + +'Not a word, Willie; it will be your salvation. Come and see me soon, +and tell me the result. Ah! here you are, cher maître!' + +With a bright smile she welcomed Mr La France, who was now announced, +gently dismissing Willie with a push of the left hand. + +'Good heavens!' he said to himself, as he got into the cab, 'why, if I +were to send a thing like that there would be murder and suicide! She'd +show it to her husband, and he'd come round and knock me into a cocked +hat for it. Dear Lady Everard--she's a dear, but she doesn't know +anything about anything.' + +He tore the pages out of his pocket-book, and called out to the cabman +the address of the Mitchells. + +'Ah, chère madame, que je suis fatigué!' exclaimed La France, as he +threw himself back against the cushions. + +His hair was long and smooth and fair, so fair that he had been spoken +of by jealous singers as a peroxide blond. His eyes were greenish, and +he had dark eyebrows and eyelashes. He was good-looking. His voice in +speaking was harsh, but his manner soft and insidious. His talents were +cosmopolitan; his tastes international; he had no duties, few pleasures +and that entire want of leisure known only to those who have +practically nothing whatever to do. + +'Fatigued? That's what you always say,' said Lady Everard, laughing. + +'But it is always true,' he said, with a strong French accent. + +'You should take more exercise, Paul. Go out more in the air. You lead +too secluded a life.' + +'What exercises? I practise my voice every day, twenty minutes.' + +'Ah, but I didn't mean that. I mean in the open air--sport--that sort +of thing.' + +'Ah, you wish I go horseback riding. Ver' nice, but not for me. I have +never did it. I cannot begun now, Lady Everard. I spoil all the +_velouté_ of my voice. Have you seen again that pretty little lady I +met here before? Delicious light brown hair, pretty blue eyes, a +wonderful blue, a blue that seem to say to everyone something +different.' + +'What!' exclaimed Lady Everard. 'Are you referring to Mrs Ottley?' She +calmed down again. 'Oh yes, she's charming, awfully sweet--devoted to +her husband, you know--absolutely devoted to her husband; so rare and +delightful nowadays in London.' + +'Oh yes, ver' nice. Me, I am devoted to 'er husband too. I go to see +him. He ask me.' + +'What, without _me_?' exclaimed Lady Everard. + +'I meet him the other night. He ask me to come round and sing him a +song. I cannot ask if I may bring Lady Everard in my pocket.' + +'Really, Paul, I don't think that quite a nice joke to make, I must +say.' Then relenting she said: 'I know it's only your artistic fun.' + +'So she ver' devoted to him? He have great confidence in her; he trust +her quite; he sure she never have any flirt?' + +'He has every confidence; he's certain, absolutely certain!' exclaimed +Lady Everard. + +'He wait till she come and tell him, I suppose. 'E is right.' + +He continued in this strain for some time, constantly going back to his +admiration for Edith, and then began (with a good deal of bitterness) +on the subject of another young singer, whom he declared to be _un +garçon charmant_, but no good. 'He could not sing for nuts.' + +She heartily agreed, and they began to get on beautifully again, when +she suddenly said to him: + +'Is it true you were seen talking in the park to that girl Miss +Turnbull, on Sunday?' + +'If you say I was seen, I was. You could not know I talk to her unless +I was seen. You could not know by wireless.' + +'Don't talk nonsense, Paul,' she answered sharply. 'The point isn't +that you were seen, but that you did it.' + +'Who did it? Me? I didn't do anything.' + +'I don't think it's fair to me, I must say; it hurt my feelings that +you should meet Amy Turnbull in the park and talk to her.' + +'But what could I say? It is ver' difficul. I walk through the park; +she walk through it with another lady. She speak to me. She say: Ah, +dear Mr La France, what pleasure to see you! I ask you, Lady Everard, +could I, a foreigner, not even naturalised here, could I order her out +of the park? Could I scream out to her: Go out, do not walk in ze Hyde +Park! Lady Everard do not like you! I have no authority to say that. I +am not responsible for the persons that walk in their own park in their +own country. She might answer me to go to the devil! She might say to +me: What, Lady Everard not like me, so I am not allowed in the park? +What that got to do with it? In a case like this, chère madame, I have +no legal power.' + +She laughed forgivingly and said: + +'Ah, well, one mustn't be too exacting!' and as she showed some signs +of a desire to pat his hair he rose, sat down to the piano, greatly to +her disappointment, and filled up the rest of the time by improvising +(from memory). It was a little fatiguing, as she thought it her duty to +keep up an expression of acute rapture during the whole of the +performance, which lasted at least three-quarters of an hour. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +Miss Bennett + +Since his return Aylmer saw everything through what he called a +rose-coloured microscope--that is to say, every detail of his life, and +everything connected with it, seemed to him perfect. He saw Edith as +much as ever, and far less formally than before. She treated him with +affectionate ease. She had admitted by her behaviour on the night he +returned that she cared for him, and, for the moment, that was enough. +A sort of general relaxation of formality, due to the waning of the +season, and to people being too busy to bother, or already in thought +away, seemed to give a greater freedom. Everyone seemed more natural, +and more satisfied to follow their own inclinations and let other +people follow theirs. London was getting stale and tired, and the last +feverish flickers of the exhausted season alternated with a kind of +languor in which nobody bothered much about anybody else's affairs. +General interest was exhausted, and only a strong sense of +self-preservation seemed to be left; people clung desperately to their +last hopes. Edith was curiously peaceful and contented. She would have +had scarcely any leisure but that her mother-in-law sometimes relieved +her of the care of the children. + +Being very anxious that they should not lose anything from Miss +Townsend's absence, she gave them lessons every day. + +One day, at the end of a history lesson, Archie said: + +'Where's Miss Townsend?' + +'She's at Bexhill.' + +'Why is she at Bexhill?' + +'Because she likes it.' + +'Where's Bexhill?' + +'In England.' + +'Why isn't Miss Townsend?' + +'What do you mean, Archie?' + +'Well, why isn't she Miss Townsend any more?' + +'She is.' + +'But she's not our Miss Townsend any more. Why isn't she?' + +'She's gone away.' + +'Isn't she coming back?' + +'No.' + +Watching his mother's face he realised that she didn't regret this, so +he said: + +'Is Miss Townsend teaching anybody else?' + +'I daresay she is, or she will, perhaps.' + +'What are their names?' + +'How should I know?' + +'Do you think she'll teach anybody else called Archie?' + +'It's possible.' + +'I wonder if she'll ever be cross with the next boy she teaches.' + +'Miss Townsend was very kind to you,' said Edith. 'But you need not +think about her any more, because you will be going to school when you +come back from the holidays.' + +'That's what I told Dilly,' said Archie. 'But Dilly's not going to +school. Dilly doesn't mind; she says she likes you better than Miss +Townsend.' + +'Very kind of her, I'm sure,' laughed Edith. + +'You see you're not a real governess,' said Archie, putting his arm +round her neck. 'You're not angry, are you, mother? Because you're not +a real one it's more fun for us.' + +'How do you mean, I'm not a real governess?' + +'Well, I mean we're not _obliged_ to do what you tell us!' + +'Oh, aren't you? You've got to; you're to go now because I expect Miss +Bennett.' + +'Can't I see Miss Bennett?' + +'Why do you want to see her?' + +'I don't want to see her; but she always brings parcels. I like to see +the parcels.' + +'They are not for you; she brings parcels because I ask her to do +shopping for me. It's very kind of her.' + +She waited a minute, then he said: + +'Mother, do let me be here when Miss Bennett brings the parcels. I'll +be very useful. I can untie parcels with my teeth, like this. Look! I +throw myself on the parcel just like a dog, and shake it and shake it, +and then I untie it with my teeth. It would be awfully useful.' + +She refused the kind offer. + +Miss Bennett arrived as usual with the parcels, looking pleasantly +business-like and important. + +'I wonder if these things will do?' she said, as she put them out on +the table. + +'Oh, they're sure to do,' said Edith; 'they're perfect.' + +'My dear, wait till you see them. I don't think I've completed all your +list.' She took out a piece of paper. + +'Where did you get everything?' Edith asked, without much interest. + +'At Boots', principally. Then the novels--Arnold Bennett, Maxwell--Oh, +and I've got you the poem: 'What is it?' by Gilbert Frankau.' + +'No, you mean, 'One of us',' corrected Edith. + +'Then white serge for nurse to make Dilly's skirts--skirts a quarter of +a yard long!--how sweet!--and heaps and heaps of muslin, you see, for +her summer dresses. Won't she look an angel? Oh, and you told me to get +some things to keep Archie quiet in the train.' She produced a drum, a +trumpet, and a mechanical railway train. 'Will that do?' + +'Beautifully.' + +'And here's your travelling cloak from the other place.' + +'It looks lovely,' said Edith. + +'Aren't you going to try it on?' + +'No; it's sure to be all right.' + +'I never saw such a woman as you! Here are the hats. You've _got_ to +choose these.' + +Here Edith showed more interest. She put them on, said all the colour +must be taken out of them, white put in one, black velvet in the other. +Otherwise they would do. + +'Thanks, Grace; you're awfully kind and clever. Now do you know what +you're going to do? You're going to the Academy with me and Aylmer. +He's coming to fetch us.' + +'Oh, really--what fun!' + +At this moment he arrived. Edith introduced them. + +'I've been having such a morning's shopping,' she said, 'I deserve a +little treat afterwards, don't I?' + +'What sort of shopping? I'll tell you what you ought to have--a great +cricket match when the shopping season's over, between the Old +Selfridgians, and the Old Harrodians,' he said, laughing. + +They walked through acres of oil paintings and dozens of portraits of +Chief Justices. + +'I can't imagine anyone but Royalty enjoying these pictures,' said +Edith. + +'They don't go to see pictures; they go to view exhibits,' Aylmer +answered. + +Declaring they had 'Academy headache' before they had been through the +second room, they sat down and watched the people. + +One sees people there that are to be seen nowhere else. An +extraordinary large number of clergymen, a peculiar kind of provincial, +and strange Londoners, almost impossible to place, in surprising +clothes. + +Then they gave it up, and Aylmer took them out to lunch at a club +almost as huge and noisy and as miscellaneous as the Academy itself. +However, they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. + +Edith and Bruce were to take up their abode in their little country +house at Westgate next day. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +At Westgate + +'I've got to go up to town on special business,' said Bruce, one +afternoon, after receiving a telegram which he had rather +ostentatiously left about, hoping he would be questioned on the +subject. It had, however, been persistently disregarded. + +'Oh, have you?' + +'Yes. Look at this wire.' + +He read aloud: + +'_Wish to see you at once if possible come up today M_.' + +'Who _is_ 'M'?' + +'Mitchell, of course. Who should it be?' He spoke aggressively, then +softened down to explanation, 'Mitchell's in town a few days on +business, too. I may be detained till Tuesday--or even Wednesday next.' + +Bruce had been to town so often lately, his manner was so vague, he +seemed at once so happy and so preoccupied, so excited, so pleased, so +worried, and yet so unnaturally good-tempered, that Edith had begun to +suspect he was seeing Miss Townsend again. + +The suspicion hurt her, for he had given his word of honour, and had +been nice to her ever since, and amiable (though rather absent and +bored) with the children. + +She walked down to the station with him, though he wished to go in the +cab which took his box and suit-case, but he did not resist her wish. +On the way he said, looking round as if he had only just arrived and +had never seen it before: + +'This is a very nice little place. It's just the right place for you +and the children. If I were you, I should stay on here.' + +It struck her he spoke in a very detached way, and some odd +foreshadowing came to her. + +'Why--aren't you coming back?' she asked jokingly. + +'Me? _What_ an idea! Yes, of course. But I've told you--this +business of mine--well, it'll take a little time to arrange. Still, I +expect to be back on Tuesday. Or quite on Wednesday--or sooner.' + +They walked on and had nearly reached the station. + +'How funny you are, Bruce!' + +'What do you mean? Are you angry with me for going up to see about +important business? Why, here you've got Aylmer and his boy at the +hotel, my mother and Vincy to stay with you. You've got plenty of +companions. I don't suppose you'll miss me much. You see--a--this is a +sort of business matter women don't understand. Women are incapable of +understanding it.' + +'Of what nature is it?' + +'How do you mean, nature? It's not of any particular _nature_. Nature, +indeed! How like a woman! It's just business.' He waited a minute. +'Stockbroking; that's what it is. Yes, it's stockbroking. I want to see +a chap who's put me in to a good thing. A perfectly safe thing. No +gambling. But one has to see into it, you see. Mitchell wants to see me +at once, you see. Do you see? You saw his wire, didn't you? I've +explained, haven't I? Aren't you satisfied with my explanation?' + +'_You_ appear to be--very. But I'm not asking you to tell me any +details about the business, whatever it may be.' + +They arrived at the station, and Bruce gave her what she thought a very +queer look. It was a mixture of fear, daring, caution and a sort of +bravado. Anxiety was in it, as well as a pleased self-consciousness. + +'Tell me, frankly, something I'd like to know, Bruce.' + +'Are you getting suspicious of me, Edith? That's not like you. Mind +you, it's a great mistake in a woman; women should always trust. +Mistrust sometimes drives a man to--to--Oh, anyhow, it's a great +mistake.' + +'I only want you to tell me something, Bruce. I'll believe you +implicitly if you'll answer.... Do you ever see Miss Townsend now?' + +'Never, on my honour! I swear it.' He spoke with such genuine good +faith that she believed him at once. + +'Thanks. I'm glad. And--have you never since--' + +'Never seen her, never written to her, never communicated with her +since she left! Don't know where she is and don't care. Now you do +believe me?' he asked, with all the earnestness and energy of truth. + +'Absolutely. Forgive me for asking.' + +'Oh, that's all right.' + +He was relieved, and smiled. + +'All right, Bruce dear. I'm glad. It would have worried me.' + +'Now go, Edith. Don't bother to wait till I get in. I'll write to +you--I'll write to you soon.' + +She still lingered, seeing something odd in his manner. + +'Give my love to my mother,' he said, looking away. 'I say--' Edith.' + +'Yes, dear?' + +'Oh, nothing.' + +She waited on till the train started. His manner was alternately +peevish and kind, but altogether odd. Her last glimpse was a rather +pale smile from Bruce as he waved his hand and then turned to his +paper.... + +'Well, what _does_ it matter so long as he _has_ gone!' exclaimed +Aylmer impatiently, when she expressed her wonder at Bruce's going. The +tide was low, and they went for a long walk over the hard shining sand, +followed by Archie picking up wonderful shells and slipping on the +green seaweed. Everything seemed fresh, lovely. She herself was as +fresh as the sea breeze, and Aylmer seemed to her as strong as the sea. +(Privately, Edith thought him irresistible in country clothes.) Edith +had everything here to make her happy, including Bruce's mother, who +relieved her of the children when she wanted rest and in whose eyes she +was perfection. + +She saw restrained adoration in Aylmer's eyes, love and trust in the +eyes of the children. She had all she wanted. And yet--something tugged +at her heart, and worried her. She had a strange and melancholy +presentiment. + +But she threw it off. Probably there was nothing really wrong with +Bruce; perhaps only one of those little imaginary romances that he +liked to fabricate for himself; or, perhaps, it was really business? It +was all right if Mr Mitchell knew about it. Yet she could not believe +that 'M' _was_ Mitchell. Bruce had repeated it too often; and, why on +earth should Mitchell suddenly take to sending Bruce fantastic +telegrams and signing them, for no reason, with an initial?... + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +Goggles + +'What divine heavenly pets and ducks of angels they are!' exclaimed +Lady Everard rather distractedly. 'Angels! Divine! And so good, too! I +never saw such darlings in my life. Look at them, Paul. Aren't they +sweet?' + +Lady Everard with her party (what Aylmer called her performing troupe) +had driven over to Westgate, from where she was staying in the +neighbourhood, to have tea with Edith. She had brought with her a sort +of juvenile party, consisting of Mr Cricker, Captain Willis and, of +course, Paul La France, the young singer. She never moved without him. +She explained that two other women had been coming also, but they had +deserted her at the last minute. + +Paul La France had been trying for an hour and a half to make eyes +through motor goggles, which, naturally, was not a success; so he +seemed a little out of temper. Archie was staring at him as if +fascinated. He went up and said: + +'Voulez-vous lend me your goggles?' + +'Mais certainement! Of course I will. Voilà mon petit.' + +'The darling! How sweet and amusing of him! But they're only to be used +in the motor, you know. Don't break them, darling, will you? Monsieur +will want them again. Ah! how sweet he looks!' as he put them on, 'I +never saw such a darling in the whole course of my life! Look at him, +Mrs Ottley. Look at him, Paul!' + +'Charmant. C'est délicieux,' grumbled La France. + +'What a charming little lawn this is, going right down to the sea, too. +Oh, Mr Ross, is that you? Isn't this a delightful little house? More +tea? Yes, please. Mr La France doesn't take sugar, and--' + +'You don't know what I am now,' said Archie, having fixed the goggles +on his own fair head, to the delight of Dilly. + +'Oh, I guess what you are! You're a motorist, aren't you, darling? +That's it! It's extraordinary how well I always get on with children, +Mrs Ottley,' explained Lady Everard. 'I daresay it's through being used +to my little grandchildren, Eva's two angels, you know, but I never see +them because I can't stand their noise, and yet I simply adore them. +Pets!' + +'What am I?' asked Archie, in his persistent way, as he walked round +the group on the lawn, in goggles, followed closely by Dilly, saying, +'Yes, what is he?' looking exactly like a live doll, with her golden +hair and blue ribbons. + +'You're a motorist, darling.' + +'No, I'm not a silly motorist. Guess what I am?' + +'It's so difficult to guess, such hot weather! Can you guess, Paul?' + +'I sink he is a nuisance,' replied the Frenchman, laughing politely. + +'No, that's wrong. You guess what I am.' + +'Guess what he is,' echoed Dilly. + +'O Lord! what does it matter? What I always say is--live and let live, +and let it go at that,' said Captain Willis, with his loud laugh. +'What, Mrs Ottley? But they won't do it, you know--they won't--and +there it is!' + +'Guess what I am,' persisted Archie. + +'Never mind what you are; do go and sit down, and take those things +off,' said Edith. + +'Not till you guess what I am.' + +'Does Dilly know?' + +'No, Dilly doesn't know. Guess what I am, grandmamma!' + +'I give it up.' + +'I thought you'd never guess. Well, I'm a blue-faced mandrill!' +declared Archie, as he took the goggles off reluctantly and gave them +back to La France, who put them under his chair. + +'Yes, he's a two-faced mangle,' repeated Dilly. + +He turned round on her sharply. 'Now, don't talk nonsense! You're a +silly girl. I never said anything about being a two-faced mangle; I'm +a blue-faced mandrill.' + +'Well, I said so; a two-faced mangle.' + +'Don't say anything at all if you can't say it right,' said Archie, +raising his voice and losing his temper. + +'Well, they's both the same.' + +'No, they jolly well aren't.' + +He drew her a little aside. 'A blue-faced mandrill, silly, is real; +it's in my natural history book.' + +'Sorry,' said Dilly apologetically. + +'In my natural history book it is, a _real_ thing. I'm a blue-faced +mandrill.... Now say it after me.' + +'You's a two-faced mangle.' + +'Now you're doing it on purpose! If you weren't a little girl, Dilly--' + +'I wasn't doing it on purpose.' + +'Oh, get away before I hit you! You're a silly little fool.' + +She slowly walked away, calling out: 'And you're a silly two-faced +mangle,' in a very irritating tone. Archie made a tremendous effort to +ignore her, then he ran after her saying: + +'Will you shut up or will you not?' + +Aylmer seized hold of him. + +'What are you going to do, Archie?' + +'Teach Dilly what I am. She says--Oh, she's _such_ a fool!' + +'No, Archie, leave her alone; she's only a baby. Come along, old boy. +Give Mr Cricker a cup of tea; he hasn't had one yet.' + +Archie was devoted to Aylmer. Following him, he handed the tea to Mr +Cricker, saying pathetically: + +'I'm a blue-faced mandrill, and she knew it. I told her so. Aren't +girls fools? They do worry!' + +'They _are_ torments,' said Aylmer. + +'I wish that Frenchman would give me his goggles to keep! He doesn't +want them.' + +'I'll give you a pair,' said Aylmer. + +'Thanks,' said Cricker,' I won't have any tea. I wish you'd come and +have a little talk with me, Ross. Can I have a word with you alone?' + +Aylmer good-naturedly went aside with him. + +'It's worse than ever,' said Cricker, in low, mysterious tones. 'Since +I've been staying with Lady Everard it's been wire, wire, wire--ring, +ring, ring--and letters by every post! You see, I thought it was rather +a good plan to get away for a bit, but I'm afraid I shall have to go +back. Fancy, she's threatened suicide, and telling her husband, and +confiding in Lady Everard! And giving up the stage, and oh, goodness +knows what! There's no doubt the poor child is absolutely raving about +me. No doubt whatever.' + +Aylmer was as sympathetic as he knew how. + +The party was just going off when La France found that the +goggles had disappeared. A search-party was organised; great excitement +prevailed; but in the end they went away without the glasses. + +When Dilly had just gone to sleep in her cot a frightening figure crept +into her room and turned on the electric light. + +'Oh, Archie! What is it! Who is it! Oh!... Oh!' + +'Don't be frightened,' said Archie, in his deepest voice, obviously +hoping she would be frightened. He was in pyjamas and goggles. 'Don't +be frightened! _Now! Say what I am_. What am I?' + +'A blue-faced mandrill,' she whined. + +He took off the goggles and kissed her. + +'Right! Good night, old girl!' + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +The Elopement + +The following Tuesday, Edith, Aylmer, Vincy and Mrs Ottley were sitting +on the veranda after dinner. They had a charming little veranda which +led on to a lawn, and from there straight down to the sea. It was their +custom to sit there in the evening and talk. The elder Mrs Ottley +enjoyed these evenings, and the most modern conversation never seemed +to startle her. She would listen impassively, or with a smile, as if in +silent approval, to the most monstrous of paradoxes or the most +childish chaff. + +Aylmer's attention and kind thought for her had absolutely won her +heart. She consulted him about everything, and was only thoroughly +satisfied when he was there. His strong, kind, decided voice, his good +looks, his decision, and a sort of responsible impulsiveness, all +appealed to her immensely. She looked up to him, in a kind of admiring +maternal way; Edith often wondered, did she not see Aylmer's devotion? +But, if she did, Mrs Ottley thought nothing of it. Her opinion of Edith +was so high that she trusted her in any complications.... + +'Isn't Bruce coming down tonight?' she asked Edith. + +'I'm to have a wire.' + +'Ah, here's the last post. Perhaps he's written instead.' + +Vincy fetched the letters. There was one from Bruce. + +Edith went into the drawing-room to read it; there was not sufficient +light on the veranda.... + +In growing amazement she read the following words:-- + +DEAR EDITH, + +'I hope what I am about to tell you will not worry you too much. At any +rate I do hope you will not allow it to affect your health. It is +inevitable, and you must make up your mind to it as soon as possible. I +say this in no spirit of unkindness; far from it. It is hard to me to +break the news to you, but it must be done. + +'Mavis Argles and I are all in all to each other. We have made up our +minds on account of certain _circumstances_ to throw in our lot +together, and we are starting for Australia today. When this reaches +you, we shall have started. I enclose the address to write to me. + +'In taking this step I have, I am sure, acted for the best. It may +cause you great surprise and pain. I regret it, but we met and became +very quickly devoted to one another. She cannot live without me. What I +am doing is my duty. I now ask you, and believe you will grant my +request, to make arrangements to _give me my freedom as soon as +possible_. Mind you do this, Edith, for it is really my duty to give my +name to Mavis, who, as I have said, is devoted to me heart and soul, +and cannot live without me. + +'I shall always have the greatest regard and respect for you, and _wish +you well_. + +'I am sorry also about my mother, but you must try and explain that it +is for the best. You also will know exactly what to do, and how to +bring up the children just as well without me as with. + +'Hoping this sudden news will not affect your health in any way, and +that you will try and stay on a good while at Westgate, as I am sure +the air is doing you good, believe me, yours affectionately as always, + +'BRUCE. + +'_P.S._--Mind you don't forget to divorce me as soon as you can for +Mavis's sake. Vincy will give you all the advice you need. Don't think +badly of me; I have meant well. Try and cheer up. I am sorry not to +write more fully, but you can imagine how I was rushed to catch today's +steamer.' + +She sat alone gazing at the letter under the light. She was divided at +first between a desire to laugh and cry. Bruce had actually eloped! His +silly weakness had culminated, his vanity had been got hold of. Vincy's +horrid little art-student had positively led him into running away, +and leaving his wife and children. + +Controlling herself, Edith went to the veranda and said to Mrs Ottley +that Bruce wasn't coming back for a day or two, that she had neuralgia +and was going to retire, but begged Aylmer not to go yet. Of course at +this he went at once. + +The next morning Aylmer at his hotel received a little note asking him +to come round and see Edith, while the others were out. + +It was there, in the cool, shady room, that Edith showed him the +letter. + +'Good God!' he exclaimed, looking simply wild with joy. 'This is too +marvellous!--too heavenly! Do you realise it? Edith, don't you see he +wants you to make him free? You will be my wife--that's +settled--that's fixed up.' + +He looked at her in delight almost too great for expression. + +Edith knew she was going to have a hard task now. She was pale, but +looked completely composed. She said: + +'You're wrong, Aylmer. I'm not going to set him free.' + +'What?' he almost shouted. 'Are you mad? What! Stick to him when he +doesn't want you! Ruin the wretched girl's life!' + +'That remains to be seen. I don't believe everything in the letter. The +children--' + +'Edith!' he exclaimed. 'What--when he doesn't _want_ the children--when +he deserts them?' + +'He is their father.' + +'Their father! Then, if you were married to a criminal who implored you +to divorce him you wouldn't, because he was their father!' + +'Bruce is not a criminal. He is not bad. He is a fool. He has behaved +idiotically, and I can never care for him in the way I used to, but I +mean to give him a chance. I'm not going to jump at his first real +folly to get rid of him.... Poor Bruce!' + +She laughed. + +Aylmer threw himself down in an arm-chair, staring at her. + +'You amaze me,' he said. 'You amaze me. You're not human. Do you adore +this man, that you forgive him everything? You don't even seem angry.' + +'I don't adore him, that is why I'm not so very angry. I was terribly +hurt about Miss Townsend. My pride, my trust were hurt but after that I +can't ever feel that personal jealousy any more. What I have got to +think of is what is best.' + +'Edith, you don't care for me. I'd better go away.' He turned away; he +had tears in his eyes. + +'Oh, don't, Aylmer! You know I do!' + +'Well, then, it's all right. Fate seems to have arranged this on +purpose for us--don't you know, dear, how I'd be good to the children? +How I'd do anything on this earth for them? Why, I'd reconcile Mrs +Ottley to it in ten minutes; I'd do _anything_!' He started up. + +'I'm not going to let Mrs Ottley know anything about it for the +present.' + +'You're not going to tell her?' + +'No. I shall invent a story to account for his absence. No-one need +know. But, of course, if, later--I mean if he persists--' + +'Oh, Edith, don't be a fool! You're throwing away our happiness when +you've got it in your hand.' + +'There are some things that one _can't_ do.' said Edith. 'It goes +against the grain. I can't take advantage of his folly to make the path +smoother--for myself. What will become of him when they quarrel! It's +all nonsense. Bruce is only weak. He's a very good fellow, really. He +has no spirit, and not much intellect; but with us to look after him,' +she unconsciously said us, and could not help smiling at the absurdity +of it,' he will get along all right yet.' + +'Edith, you're beyond me,' said Aylmer. 'I give up understanding you.' + +She stood up again and looked out of the window. + +'Let him have his silly holiday and his elopement and his trip! He +thinks it will make a terrific sensation! And I hope she will be +seasick. I'm sure she will; she's the sort of woman who would, and +then--after--' + +'And you'll take him back? You have no pride, Edith.' + +She turned round. 'Take him back?--yes; officially. He has a right to +live in his own house, with his own children. Why, ever since I found +out about Miss Townsend ... I'm sure I was nice to him, but only like a +sister. Yes. I feel just like a sister to him now.' + +'Oh, good God! I haven't patience with all this hair-splitting +nonsense. Brotherly husbands who run away with other girls, and beg you +to divorce them; sisterly wives who forgive them and stick to them +against their will....' + +He suddenly stopped, and held out his hand. + +'Forgive me, Edith. I believe whatever you say is right. Will you +forgive me?' + +'You see, it's chiefly on account of the children. If it weren't for +them I _would_ take advantage of this to be happy with you. At +least--no--I'm not sure that I would; not if I thought it would be +Bruce's ruin.' + +'And you don't think I'd be good to the children?' + +'Good? I know you would be an angel to them! But what's the use? I tell +you I can't do it.' + +'I won't tease you, I won't worry you any more,' he said, in a rather +broken voice. 'At any rate, think what a terrible blow this is to me. +You show me the chance of heaven, then you voluntarily dash it away. +Don't you think you ought to consult someone? You have asked no-one?' + +'I have consulted _you_,' she said, with a slight smile. + +'You take no notice of what I say.' + +'As a matter of fact, I don't wish to consult anyone. I have made my +own decision. I have written my letter.' + +She took it out of her bag. It was directed to Bruce, at the address he +had given her in Australia. + +'I suppose you won't let me read it?' he said sadly. + +'I think I'd rather not,' she said. + +Terribly hurt, he turned to the door. + +'No--no, you shall read it!' she exclaimed. 'But don't say anything, +make no remark about it. You shall read it because I trust you, because +I really care for you.' + +'Perhaps I oughtn't to,' he said. 'No, dear; keep it to yourself.' His +delicacy had revived and he was ashamed of his jealousy. + +But now she insisted on showing it to him, and he read: + +'DEAR BRUCE, + +'I'm not going to make any appeal to your feelings with regard to your +mother and the children, because if you had thought even of me a little +this would not have happened. I'm very, very sorry for it. I believe it +happened from your weakness and foolishness, or you could not have +behaved with such irresponsibility, but I'm trying to look at it quite +calmly. I therefore propose to do nothing at all for three months. If I +acted on your suggestion you might regret it ever after. If in three +months you write to me again in the same strain, still desiring to be +free, I will think of it, though I'm not sure that I should do it even +then. But in case you change your mind I propose to tell nobody, not +even your mother. By the time you get this letter, it will be six weeks +since yours to me, and you may look at things differently. Perhaps by +then you will be glad to hear that I have told your mother merely that +you have been ordered away for a change, and I shall say the same to +anyone else who inquires for you. If you feel after this time still +responsible, and that you have a certain duty, still remember, even so, +you might be very unhappy together all your lives. Excuse me, then, if +I don't take you at your word. + +'Another point occurs to me. In your hurry and excitement, perhaps you +forgot that your father's legacy depended on the condition that you +should not leave the Foreign Office before you were fifty. That is +about fourteen years from now. If you are legally freed, and marry Miss +Argles, you could hardly go back there. I think it would be practically +impossible under those circumstances, while if you live in Australia +you will have hardly any means. I merely remind you of this, in case +you had forgotten. + +'I shall regard it all as an unfortunate aberration; and if you regret +it, and change your mind, you will be free at any time you like to come +back and nothing shall be ever said about it. But I'm not begging you +to do so. I may be wrong; perhaps she's the woman to make you happy. +Let me know within three months how you feel about it. No-one will +suffer except myself during this time, as I shall keep it from your +mother, and shall remain here during this time. Perhaps you will be +very angry with me that I don't wish to take you at your word, Bruce. +At first I thought I would, but I'm doing what I think right, and one +cannot do more. + +'I'm not going to reproach you, for if you don't feel the claims of +others on you, my words will make no difference. + +'Think over what I say. Should you be unhappy and wish to separate from +her without knowing how, and if it becomes a question of money, as so +many things do, I would help you. I did not remind you about your +father's legacy to induce you to come back. If you really find +happiness in the way you expect, we could arrange it. You see, I have +thought of everything, in one night. But you _won't_ be happy. + +'EDITH OTTLEY.' + +'Remember, whenever you like to come back, you will be welcomed, and +nothing shall ever be said about it.' + +Aylmer gave her back the letter. He was touched. + +'You see,' she said eagerly, 'I haven't got a grain of jealousy. All +that part is quite finished. That's the very reason why I can judge +calmly.' + +She fastened up the letter, and then said with a smile: + +'And now, let's be happy the rest of the summer. Won't you?' + +He answered that she was _impayable_--marvellous--that he would help +her--devote himself to doing whatever she wished. On consideration he +saw that there was still hope. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +Bruce Returns + +'Never, Edith!' exclaimed Vincy, fixing his eyeglass in his eye, and +opening his mouth in astonishment. 'Never! Well, I'm gormed!' + +A week had passed since the news of Bruce's elopement. The little group +at Westgate didn't seem to have much been affected by it; and this was +the less surprising as Aylmer and Edith had kept it to themselves. Mrs +Ottley listened imperturbably to Edith's story, a somewhat incoherent +concoction, but told with dash and decision, that Bruce had been +ordered away for a sea-voyage for fear of a nervous breakdown. She +cried a little, said nothing, kissed Edith more than usual, and took +the children away for longer walks and drives. With a mother's +flashlight of intuition she felt at once certain there was something +wrong, but she didn't wish to probe the subject. Her confidence in +Edith reached the point of superstition; she would never ask her +questions. Edith had assured her that Bruce would come back all right, +and that was enough. Personally, Mrs Ottley much preferred the society +of Aylmer to that of her son. Aylmer was far more amusing, far more +considerate to her, and to everybody else, and he didn't use his +natural charm for those who amused him only, as the ordinary +fascinating man does. Probably there was at the back of his attentions +to Mrs Ottley a vague idea that he wanted to get her on his side--that +she might be a useful ally; but he was always charming to elderly +women, and inclined to be brusque with younger ones, excepting Edith; +he remembered his own mother with so great a cult of devotion, and his +late wife with such a depressed indifference. + +Edith had asked Aylmer to try and forget what had happened--to make +himself believe that Bruce had really only gone away medicinally. For +the present, he did as she wished, but he was longing to begin talking +to her on the subject again, both because it interested him +passionately from the psychological point of view, and far more, +naturally, because he had hopes of persuading her in time. She was not +bound by letter; she could change her mind. Bruce might and possibly +would, insist. + +There was difficulty in keeping the secret from Vincy, who was actually +staying in the house, and whose wonderful nerves and whimsical mind +were so sensitive to every variation of his surroundings. He had the +gift of reading people's minds. But it never annoyed anyone; one felt +he had no illusions; that he sympathised with one's weaknesses and +follies and, in a sense, enjoyed them, from a literary point of view. +Probably his friends forgave his clear vision for the sake of his +interest. Most people would far rather be seen through than not be seen +at all. + +One day Vincy, alone on the beach with Edith, remarked that he wondered +what had happened to Mavis. + +Edith told him that she had run away with a married man. + +'Never, Edith!' he exclaimed. 'Who would have thought it! It seems +almost too good to be true!' + +'Don't say that, Vincy.' + +'But how did you hear it? You know everything.' + +'I heard it on good authority. I _know_ it's true.' + +'And to think I was passing the remark only the other day that I +thought I ought to look her up, in a manner of speaking, or write, _or +something_,' continued Vincy; 'and who _is_ the poor dear man? Do you +know?' + +He looked at her with a sudden vague suspicion of he knew not what. + +'Bruce was always inclined to be romantic, you know,' she said +steadily. + +'Oh, give over!' + +'Yes, that's it; I didn't want anyone to know about it. I'm so afraid +of making Mrs Ottley unhappy.' + +'But you're not serious, Edith?' + +'I suppose I'd better show you his letter. He tells me to ask your +advice.' + +She gave it to him. + +'There is only one word for what I feel about it,' Vincy said, as he +gave it back. 'I'm gormed! Simply gormed! Gormed, Edith dear, is really +the only word.' + +'I'm not jealous,' said Edith. 'My last trouble with Bruce seems to +have cured me of any feeling of the kind. But I have a sort of pity and +affection for him still in a way--almost like a mother! I'm really +afraid he will be miserable with her, and then he'll feel tied to her +and be wretched all his life. So I'm giving him a chance.' + +He looked at her with admiring sympathy. + +'But what about other friends?' + +'Well--oh, you know--' + +'Edith, I'm awfully sorry; I wish I'd married her now, then she +wouldn't have bothered about Bruce.' + +'But you can't stand her, Vincy.' + +'I know, Edith dear; but I'd marry any number of people to prevent +anything tiresome for you. And Aylmer, of course--Edith, really, I +think Aylmer ought to go away; I'm sure he ought. It is a mistake to +let him stay here under these circumstances.' + +'Why?' said Edith. 'I don't see that; if I were going to take Bruce at +his word, then it would be different, of course.' + +'It does seem a pity not to, in some ways; everything would be all +nicely settled up, just like the fourth act of a play. And then I +should be glad I hadn't married Mavis... Oh, do let it be like the +fourth act, Edith.' + +'How can life be like a play? It's hopeless to attempt it,' she said +rather sadly. + +'Edith, do you think if Bruce knew--how much you liked Aylmer--he would +have written that letter?' + +'No. And I don't believe he would ever have gone away.' + +'Still, I think you ought to send Aylmer away now.' + +'Why?' she repeated. 'Nothing could be more intensely correct. Mrs +Ottley's staying with me--why shouldn't I have the pleasure of seeing +Aylmer because Bruce is having a heavenly time on board ship?' + +'I suppose there's that point of view,' said Vincy, rather bewildered. +'I say, Edith!' + +'About Bruce having a heavenly time on board ship--a--she always +grumbles; she's always complaining. She's never, never satisfied... She +keeps on making scenes.' + +'So does Bruce.' + +'Yes. But I suppose if there's a certain predicament--then--Oh, +Edith--are you unhappy?' + +'No, not a bit now. I think I'm only really unhappy when I'm undecided. +Once I've taken a line--no matter what it is--I can be happy again. I +can adjust myself to my good fortune.' + +Curiously, when Edith had once got over the pain and shock that the +letter first gave her, she was positively happier now than she ever had +been before. Bruce really must have been a more formidable bore than +she had known, since his absence left such a delicious freedom. The +certainty of having done the right, the wisest thing, was a support, a +proud satisfaction. + +During these summer days Aylmer was not so peacefully happy. His +devotion was assiduous, silent, discreet, and sometimes his feelings +were almost uncontrollable, but he hoped; and he consoled himself by +the thought that some day he would really have his wish--anything might +happen; the chances were all in his favour. + +What an extraordinary woman she was--and how pretty--how subtle; how +perfect their life might be together.... + +He implored Vincy to use his influence. + +'I can't see Edith in anything so crude as the--as--that court,' Vincy +said. + +'But Bruce begs her to do it. What could their life be together +afterwards? It's simply a deliberate sacrifice.' + +'There's every hope that Miss Argles will never let him go,' said +Vincy. 'One has to be very firm to get away from her. Oh, ever so firm, +and _obstinate_, you can't think! How many times a day she must be +reproaching Bruce--that will be rather a change for him. However, +anything may happen,' said Vincy soothingly. He still maintained, for +he had a very strong sense of propriety in matters of form, that Aylmer +ought to go away. But Edith would not agree. + + * * * * * + +So the children played and enjoyed themselves, and sometimes asked +after their father, and Mrs Ottley, though a little anxious, enjoyed +herself too, and Edith had never been so happy. She was having a +holiday. She dismissed all trouble and lived in a sort of dream. + + * * * * * + +Towards the end of the summer, hearing no more from Bruce, Aylmer grew +still more hopeful; he began to regard it as practically settled. The +next letter in answer to Edith's would doubtless convince her, and he +would then persuade her; it was, tacitly, he thought, almost agreed +now; it was not spoken of between them, but he believed it was all +right.... + + * * * * * + +Aylmer had come back to London in the early days of September and was +wandering through his house thinking how he would have it done up and +how he wouldn't leave it when they were married, when a telephone +message summoned him to Knightsbridge. + +He went, and found the elder Mrs Ottley just going away. He thought she +looked at him rather strangely. + +'I think Edith wants to speak to you,' she said, as she left the room. +'Dear Edith! Be nice to her.' And she fled. + + * * * * * + +Aylmer waited alone, looking round the room that he loved because he +associated it with her. + +It was one of the first cold damp days of the autumn, and there was a +fire. Edith came in, in a dark dress, looking pale, and different, he +thought. She had seemed the very spirit of summer only a day or two +before. + +A chill presentiment struck to his heart. + +'You've had a letter? Go on; don't keep me in suspense.' He spoke with +nervous impatience, and no self-restraint. + +She sat down by him. She had no wish to create an effect, but she found +it difficult to speak. + +'Yes, I've had a letter,' she said quietly. 'They've quarrelled. They +quarrelled on board. He hates her. He says he would rather die than +remain with her. He's written me a rather nice letter. They quarrelled +so frightfully that a young man on board interfered,' she said, smiling +faintly. 'As soon as they arrived the young man married her. He's a +commercial traveller. He's only twenty-five.... It seems he pitied her +so much that he proposed to her on board, and she left Bruce. It wasn't +true about the predicament. It was--a mistake. Bruce was grateful for +my letter. He's glad I've not told anyone--not done anything. Now the +children will never know. But I've told Mrs Ottley all about it. I +thought I'd better, now it's over. She won't ask him questions.... +Bruce is on his way home.' + +'All right!' said Aylmer, getting up. 'Let him come. Forgive him again, +that's right! Would you have done that for _me_?' + +'No! Never! If you had once been unfaithful, and I knew it, I'd never +have forgiven you.' + +'I quite believe it. But why?' + +'Because I care for you too much. If you had been in Bruce's position I +should never have seen you again. With him it's different. It's a +feeling of--it's for him, not for me. I've felt no jealousy, no +passion, so I could judge calmly.' + +'All right,' repeated Aylmer ironically; 'all right! Judge calmly! Do +the right thing. You know best.' He stopped a moment, and then said, +taking his hat: 'I understand now. I see clearly at last. You've had +the opportunity and you wouldn't take it; you don't care for me. I'm +going.' + +He went to the door. + +'Oh, come back, Aylmer! Don't go like that! You know I care for you, +but what could I do? I foresaw this...You know, I can't feel _no_ +responsibility about Bruce. I couldn't make my happiness out of someone +else's misery. He would have been miserable and, not only that, it +would have been his ruin. Bruce could never be safe, happy, or all +right, except here.' + +'And you think he'll alter, now, be grateful and devoted, I +suppose--appreciate you?' + +'Do people alter?' she answered. + +'I neither know nor care if he will, but you? I could have made you +happy. You won't let me. Oh, Edith, how could you torture me like this +all the summer?' + +'I didn't mean to torture you. We enjoyed being together.' + +'Yes. But it makes this so much harder.' + +'It would be such a risk!' she answered. 'But is anything worth having +unless you're ready to risk every-thing to get it?' + +'I _would_ risk everything, for myself. But not for others...If you +feel you want to go away,' she said, 'let it be only for a little +while.' + +'A little while! I hope I shall _never_ see you again! Do you think I'm +such a miserable fool--do you think I could endure the position of a +tame cat? You forget I'm a man!... No; I'll never see you again now, +not if it kills me!' + +At these words, the first harsh ones she had ever heard from him, her +nerves gave way, and she burst into tears. + +This made him irresolute, for his tender-heartedness almost reached the +point of weakness. He went up to her, as she lifted her head, and +looked at her once more. Then he said: + +'No, you've chosen. You _have_ been cruel to me, and you're too good to +him. But I suppose you must carry out your own nature, Edith. I've been +the victim. That's all.' + +'And won't you be friends?' she said. + +'No. I won't and I can't.' + +He waited one moment more. + + * * * * * + +'If you'll change your mind--you still can--we can still be happy. We +can be everything to each other.... Give him up. Give him up.' + +'I can't,' said Edith. + +'Then, good-bye.' + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +Intellectual Sympathy + +'What are you going to wear tonight, Edith?' + +'Oh; anything!' + +'Don't say anything. I don't wish you to wear anything. I'm anxious you +should look your best, really nice, especially as we haven't been to +the Mitchells' for so long. Wear your new blue dress.' + +'Very well.' + +Bruce got up and walked across the room and looked in the glass. + +'Certainly, I'm a bit sunburnt,' he remarked thoughtfully. 'But it +doesn't suit me badly, not really badly; does it?' + +'Not at all.' + +'Edith.' + +'Yes?' + +'If I've spoken about it once, I've spoken about it forty times. This +ink-bottle is too full.' + +'I'll see about it.' + +'Don't let me have to speak about it again, will you? I wonder who will +be at the Mitchells' tonight?' + +'Oh, I suppose there'll be the new person--the woman with the dramatic +contralto foghorn voice; and the usual people: Mr Cricker, Lady +Everard, Miss Mooney--' + +'Miss Mooney! I hope not! I can't stand that woman. I think she's +absurd; she's a mass of affectation and prudishness. And--Edith!' + +'Yes?' + +'I don't want to interfere between mother and daughter--I know you're +perfectly capable and thoroughly well suited to bringing up a girl, but +I really do think you're encouraging Dilly in too great extravagance.' + +'Oh! In what way?' + +'I found her making a pinafore for her doll out of a lace flounce of +real old Venetian lace. Dilly said she found it on the floor. 'On the +floor, indeed,' I said to her. 'You mustn't use real lace!' She said, +'Why not? It's a real doll!' Lately Dilly's got a way of answering back +that I don't like at all. Speak to her about it, will you, Edith?' + +'Oh yes, of course I will.' + +'I'm afraid my mother spoils them. However, Archie will be going to +school soon. Of course it isn't for me to interfere. I have always made +a point of letting you do exactly as you like about the children, +haven't I, Edith? But I'm beginning to think, really, Dilly ought to +have another gov--' He stopped, looking self-conscious. + +'Oh, she's only five, quite a baby,' said Edith. 'I daresay I can +manage her for the present. Leave it to me.' + + * * * * * + +Since his return, Edith had never once referred to Bruce's sea-voyage. +Once or twice he had thanked her with real gratitude, and even remorse, +for the line she had taken, but her one revenge had been to change the +subject immediately. If Bruce wished to discuss the elopement that she +had so laboriously concealed, he would have to go elsewhere. + + * * * * * + +A brilliantly coloured version, glittering with success and lurid with +melodrama, had been given (greatly against the hearer's will) to +Goldthorpe at the club. One of the most annoying things to Bruce was +that he was perfectly convinced, when he was confessing the exact +truth, that Goldthorpe didn't believe a word of it. + +It was unfortunate, too, for Bruce, that he felt it incumbent on him to +keep it from Vincy; and not to speak of the affair at all was a real +sacrifice on Vincy's part, also. For they would both have enjoyed +discussing it, while Goldthorpe, the only human being in whom Bruce +ever really confided, was not only bored but incredulous. He considered +Bruce not only tedious to the verge of imbecility, but unreliable +beyond the pardonable point of inaccuracy. In fact, Bruce was his ideal +of the most wearisome of liars and the most untruthful of bores; and +here was poor Vincy dying to hear all about his old friend, Mavis (he +never knew even whether she had mentioned his name), ready to revel, +with his peculiar humour, in every detail of the strange romance, +particularly to enjoy her sudden desertion of Bruce for an unmarried +commercial traveller who had fallen in love with her on board.--And +yet, it had to be withheld! Bruce felt it would be disloyal, and he had +the decency to be ashamed to speak of his escapade to an intimate +friend of his wife. + + * * * * * + +Bruce complained very much of the dullness of the early autumn in +London without Aylmer. This sudden mania for long journeys on Aylmer's +part was a most annoying hobby. He would never get such a pleasant +friend as Aylmer again. Aylmer was his hero. + +'Why do you think he's gone away?' he rather irritatingly persisted. + +'I haven't the slightest idea.' + +'Do you know, Edith, it has sometimes occurred to me that if--that, +well--well, you know what I mean--if things had turned out differently, +and you had done as I asked you--' + +'Well?' + +'Why, I have a sort of idea,' he looked away, 'that Aylmer might--well, +might have proposed to you!' + +'Oh! _What_ an extraordinary idea!' + +'But he never did show any sign whatever, I suppose of--well, +of--being more interested in you than he ought to have been?' + +'Good heavens, no!' + +'Oh, of course, I know that--you're not his style. You liked him very +much, didn't you, Edith?...' + +'I like him very much now.' + +'However, I doubt if you ever quite appreciated him. He's so full of +ability; such an intellectual chap! Aylmer is more a man's man. _I_ +miss him, of course. He was a very great friend of mine. And he didn't +ever at all, in the least--seem to--' + +'Seem to what?' + +'It would have been a very unfair advantage to take of my absence if he +had,' continued Bruce. + +'Oh!' + +'But he was incapable of it, of course.' + +'Of course.' + +'He _never_ showed any special interest, then, beyond--' + +'Never.' + +'I was right, I suppose, as usual. You never appreciated him; he was +not the sort of man a woman _would_ appreciate ... But he's a great +loss to me, Edith. I need a man who can understand--Intellectual +sympathy--' + + * * * * * + +'Mr Vincy!' announced the servant. + +Vincy had not lost his extraordinary gift for turning up at the right +moment. He was more welcome than ever now. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10021 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c2317a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10021 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10021) diff --git a/old/10021-8.txt b/old/10021-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..87b5dcd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10021-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7316 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tenterhooks, by Ada Leverson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Tenterhooks + +Author: Ada Leverson + +Release Date: November 8, 2003 [eBook #10021] + +Language: English + +Chatacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TENTERHOOKS*** + + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Sarah Lewis, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Tenterhooks + +[Book 2 of The Little Ottleys] + +by Ada Leverson + +1912 + + + + + + + +TO ROBERT ROSS + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A Verbal Invitation + +Because Edith had not been feeling very well, that seemed no reason why +she should be the centre of interest; and Bruce, with that jealousy of +the privileges of the invalid and in that curious spirit of rivalry +which his wife had so often observed, had started, with enterprise, an +indisposition of his own, as if to divert public attention. While he +was at Carlsbad he heard the news. Then he received a letter from +Edith, speaking with deference and solicitude of Bruce's rheumatism, +entreating him to do the cure thoroughly, and suggesting that they +should call the little girl Matilda, after a rich and sainted--though +still living--aunt of Edith's. It might be an advantage to the child's +future (in every sense) to have a godmother so wealthy and so +religious. It appeared from the detailed description that the new +daughter had, as a matter of course (and at two days old), long golden +hair, far below her waist, sweeping lashes and pencilled brows, a +rosebud mouth, an intellectual forehead, chiselled features and a tall, +elegant figure. She was a magnificent, regal-looking creature and was a +superb beauty of the classic type, and yet with it she was dainty and +winsome. She had great talent for music. This, it appeared, was shown +by the breadth between the eyes and the timbre of her voice. + +Overwhelmed with joy at the advent of such a paragon, and horrified at +Edith's choice of a name, Bruce had replied at once by wire, +impulsively: + +_'Certainly not Matilda I would rather she were called Aspasia.'_ + +Edith read this expression of feeling on a colourless telegraph form, +and as she was, at Knightsbridge, unable to hear the ironical tone of +the message she took it literally. + +She criticised the name, but was easily persuaded by her mother-in-law +to make no objection. The elder Mrs Ottley pointed out that it might +have been very much worse. + +'But it's not a pretty name,' objected Edith. 'If it wasn't to be +Matilda, I should rather have called her something out of +Maeterlinck--Ygraine, or Ysolyn--something like that.' + +'Yes, dear, Mygraine's a nice name, too,' said Mrs Ottley, in her +humouring way, 'and so is Vaselyn. But what does it really matter? I +shouldn't hold out on a point like this. One gets used to a name. Let +the poor child be called Asparagus if he wishes it, and let him feel he +has got his own way.' + +So the young girl was named Aspasia Matilda Ottley. It was +characteristic of Edith that she kept to her own point, though not +aggressively. When Bruce returned after his after-cure, it was too +late to do anything but pretend he had meant it seriously. + +Archie called his sister Dilly. + +Archie had been rather hurt at the--as it seemed to him--unnecessary +excitement about Dilly. Not that he was jealous in any way. It was +rather that he was afraid it would spoil her to be made so much of at +her age; make her, perhaps, egotistical and vain. But it was not +Archie's way to show these fears openly. He did not weep loudly or +throw things about as many boys might have done. His methods were more +roundabout, more subtle. He gave hints and suggestions of his views +that should have been understood by the intelligent. He said one +morning with some indirectness: + +'I had such a lovely dream last night, Mother.' + +'Did you, pet? How sweet of you. What was it?' + +'Oh, nothing much. It was all right. Very nice. It was a lovely dream. +I dreamt I was in heaven.' + +'Really! How delightful. Who was there?' + +This is always a woman's first question. + +'Oh, you were there, of course. And father. Nurse, too. It was a lovely +dream. Such a nice place.' + +'Was Dilly there?' + +'Dilly? Er--no--no--she wasn't. She was in the night nursery, with +Satan.' + +Sometimes Edith thought that her daughter's names were decidedly a +failure--Aspasia by mistake, Matilda through obstinacy, and Dilly by +accident. However the child herself was a success. She was four years +old when the incident occurred about the Mitchells. The whole of this +story turns eventually on the Mitchells. + +The Ottleys lived in a concise white flat at Knightsbridge. Bruce's +father had some time ago left him a good income on certain conditions; +one was that he was not to leave the Foreign Office before he was +fifty. One afternoon Edith was talking to the telephone in a voice of +agonised entreaty that would have melted the hardest of hearts, but did +not seem to have much effect on the Exchange, which, evidently, was not +responsive to pathos that day. + +'Oh! Exchange, _why_ are you ringing off? _Please_ try again.... Do I +want any number? Yes, I do want any number, of course, or why should I +ring up?... I want 6375 Gerrard.' + +Here Archie interposed. + +'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?' + +'No, Archie, you can't just now, dear.... Go away Archie.... Yes, I +said 6375 Gerrard. Only 6375 Gerrard!... Are you there? Oh, don't keep +on asking me if I've got them!... No, they haven't answered.... Are you +6375?... Oh--wrong number--sorry.... 6375 Gerrard? Only six--are you +there?... Not 6375 Gerrard?... Are you anyone else?... Oh, is it you, +Vincy?... I want to tell you--' + +'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?' + +Here Bruce came in. Edith rang off. Archie disappeared. + +'It's really rather wonderful, Edith, what that Sandow exerciser has +done for me! You laughed at me at first, but I've improved +marvellously.' + +Bruce was walking about doing very mild gymnastics, and occasionally +hitting himself on the left arm with the right fist.' Look at my +muscle--look at it--and all in such a short time!' + +'Wonderful!' said Edith. + +'The reason I know what an extraordinary effect these few days have had +on me is something I have just done which I couldn't have done before. +Of course I'm naturally a very powerful man, and only need a little--' + +'What have you done?' + +'Why--you know that great ridiculous old wooden chest that your awful +Aunt Matilda sent you for your birthday--absurd present I call it--mere +lumber.' + +'Yes?' + +'When it came I could barely push it from one side of the room to the +other. Now I've lifted it from your room to the box-room. Quite +easily. Pretty good, isn't it?' + +'Yes, of course it's very good for you to do all these exercises; no +doubt it's capital.... Er--you know I've had all the things taken out +of the chest since you tried it before, don't you?' + +'Things--what things? I didn't know there was anything in it.' + +'Only a silver tea-service, and a couple of salvers,' said Edith, in a +low voice.... + +...He calmed down fairly soon and said: 'Edith, I have some news for +you. You know the Mitchells?' + +'Do I know the _Mitchells_? Mitchell, your hero in your office, that +you're always being offended with--at _least_ I know the Mitchells by +_name_. I ought to.' + +'Well, what do you think they've done? They've asked us to dinner.' + +'Have they? Fancy!' + +'Yes, and what I thought was so particularly jolly of him was that it +was a verbal invitation. Mitchell said to me, just like this, 'Ottley, +old chap, are you doing anything on Sunday evening?'' + +Here Archie came to the door and said, 'Mother, can I have your long +buttonhook?' + +Edith shook her head and frowned. + +''Ottley, old chap,'' continued Bruce, ''are you and your wife doing +anything on Sunday? If not, I do wish you would waive ceremony and come +and dine with us. Would Mrs Ottley excuse a verbal invitation, do you +think?' I said, 'Well, Mitchell, as a matter of fact I don't believe we +have got anything on. Yes, old boy, we shall be delighted.' I accepted, +you see. I accepted straight out. When you're treated in a friendly +way, I always say why be unfriendly? And Mrs Mitchell is a charming +little woman--I'm sure you'd like her. It seems she's been dying to +know you.' + +'Fancy! I wonder she's still alive, then, because you and Mitchell have +known each other for eight years, and I've never met her yet.' + +'Well, you will now. Let bygones be bygones. They live in Hamilton +Place.' + +'Oh yes....Park Lane?' + +'I told you he was doing very well, and his wife has private means.' + +'Mother,' Archie began again, like a litany, 'can I have your long +buttonhook? I know where it is.' + +'No, Archie, certainly not; you can't fasten laced boots with a +buttonhook.... Well, that will be fun, Bruce.' + +'I believe they're going to have games after dinner,' said Bruce. 'All +very jolly--musical crambo--that sort of thing.... What shall you wear, +Edith?' + +'Mother, do let me have your long buttonhook. I want it. It isn't for +my boots.' + +'_Certainly_ not. What a nuisance you are! Do go away.... I think I +shall wear my salmon-coloured dress with the sort of mayonnaise- +coloured sash.... (No, you're not to have it, Archie).' + +'But, Mother, I've got it.... I can soon mend it, Mother.' + +On Sunday evening Bruce's high spirits seemed to flag; he had one of +his sudden reactions. He looked at everything on its dark side. + +'What on earth's that thing in your hair, Edith?' + +'It's a bandeau.' + +'I don't like it. Your hair looks very nice without it. What on _earth_ +did you get it for?' + +'For about six-and-eleven, I think.' + +'Don't be trivial, Edith. We shall be late. Ah! It really does seem +rather a pity, the very first time one dines with people like the +Mitchells.' + +'We sha'n't be late, Bruce. It's eight o'clock, and eight o'clock I +suppose means--well, eight. Sure you've got the number right?' + +'Really. Edith!... My memory is unerring, dear. I never make a mistake. +Haven't you ever noticed it?' + +'A--oh yes--I think I have.' + +'Well, it's 168 Hamilton Place. Look sharp, dear.' + +On their way in the taxi he gave her a good many instructions and +advised her to be perfectly at her ease and _absolutely natural_; there +was nothing to make one otherwise, in either Mr or Mrs Mitchell. Also, +he said, it didn't matter a bit what she wore, as long as she had put +on her _best_ dress. It seemed a pity she had not got a new one, but +this couldn't be helped, as there was now no time. Edith agreed that +she knew of no really suitable place where she could buy a new evening +dress at eight-thirty on Sunday evening. And, anyhow, he said, she +looked quite nice, really very smart; besides, Mrs Mitchell was not the +sort of person who would think any the less of a pretty woman for being +a little dowdy and out of fashion. + +When they drove up to what house agents call in their emotional way a +superb, desirable, magnificent town mansion, they saw that a large +dinner-party was evidently going on. A hall porter and four powdered +footmen were in evidence. + +'By Jove!' said Bruce, as he got out, 'I'd no idea old Mitchell did +himself so well as this.'... The butler had never heard of the +Mitchells. The house belonged to Lord Rosenberg. + +'Confound it! 'said Bruce, as he flung himself into the taxi. 'Well! +I've made a mistake for once in my life. I admit it. Of course, it's +really Hamilton Gardens. Sorry. Yet somehow I'm rather glad Mitchell +doesn't live in that house.' + +'You are perfectly right,' said Edith: 'the bankruptcy of an old friend +and colleague could be no satisfaction to any man.' + +Hamilton Gardens was a gloomy little place, like a tenement building +out of Marylebone Road. Bruce, in trying to ring the bell, +unfortunately turned out all the electric light in the house, and was +standing alone in despair in the dark when, fortunately the porter, who +had been out to post a letter, ran back, and turned up the light +again.... 'I shouldn't have thought they could play musical crambo +here, 'he called out to Edith while he was waiting. 'And now isn't it +odd? I have a funny kind of feeling that the right address is Hamilton +House.' + +'I suppose you're perfectly certain they don't live at a private idiot +asylum?' Edith suggested doubtfully. + +On inquiry it appeared the Mitchells did not live at Hamilton Gardens. +An idea occurred to Edith, and she asked for a directory. + +The Winthrop Mitchells lived at Hamilton Terrace, St John's Wood. + +'At last!' said Bruce. 'Now we shall be too disgracefully late for the +first time. But be perfectly at your ease, dear. Promise me that. Go in +quite naturally.' + +'How else can I go in?' + +'I mean as if nothing had happened.' + +'I think we'd better tell them what _has_ happened,' said Edith; 'it +will make them laugh. I hope they will have begun their dinner.' + +'Surely they will have finished it.' + +'Perhaps we may find them at their games!' + +'Now, now, don't be bitter, Edith dear--never be bitter--life has its +ups and downs.... Well! I'm rather glad, after all, that Mitchell +doesn't live in that horrid little hole.' + +'I'm sure you are,' said Edith; 'it could be no possible satisfaction +to you to know that a friend and colleague of yours is either +distressingly hard up or painfully penurious.' + +They arrived at the house, but there were no lights, and no sign of +life. The Mitchells lived here all right, but they were out. The +parlourmaid explained. The dinner-party had been Saturday, the night +before.... + +'Strange,' said Bruce, as he got in again. 'I had a curious +presentiment that something was going wrong about this dinner at the +Mitchells'.' + +'What dinner at the Mitchells'? There doesn't seem to be any.' + +'Do you know,' Bruce continued his train of thought, 'I felt certain +somehow that it would be a failure. Wasn't it odd? I often think I'm a +pessimist, and yet look how well I'm taking it. I'm more like a +fatalist--sometimes I hardly know what I am.' + +'I could tell you what you are,' said Edith, 'but I won't, because now +you must take me to the Carlton. We shall get there before it's +closed.' + + + +CHAPTER II + +Opera Glasses + +Whether to behave with some coolness to Mitchell, and be stand-offish, +as though it had been all his fault, or to be lavishly apologetic, was +the question. Bruce could not make up his mind which attitude to take. +In a way, it was all the Mitchells' fault. They oughtn't to have given +him a verbal invitation. It was rude, Bohemian, wanting in good form; +it showed an absolute and complete ignorance of the most ordinary and +elementary usages of society. It was wanting in common courtesy; +really, when one came to think about it, it was an insult. On the other +hand, technically, Bruce was in the wrong. Having accepted he ought to +have turned up on the right night. It may have served them right (as he +said), but the fact of going on the wrong night being a lesson to them +seemed a little obscure. Edith found it difficult to see the point. + +Then he had a more brilliant idea; to go into the office as cheerily as +ever, and say to Mitchell pleasantly, 'We're looking forward to next +Saturday, old chap,' pretending to have believed from the first that +the invitation had been for the Saturday week; and that the dinner was +still to come.... + +This, Edith said, would have been excellent, provided that the +parlourmaid hadn't told them that she and Bruce had arrived about a +quarter to ten on Sunday evening and asked if the Mitchells had begun +dinner. The chances against the servant having kept this curious +incident to herself were almost too great. + +After long argument and great indecision the matter was settled by a +cordial letter from Mrs Mitchell, asking them to dinner on the +following Thursday, and saying she feared there had been some mistake. +So that was all right. + +Bruce was in good spirits again; he was pleased too, because he was +going to the theatre that evening with Edith and Vincy, to see a play +that he thought wouldn't be very good. He had almost beforehand settled +what he thought of it, and practically what he intended to say. + +But when he came in that evening he was overheard to have a strenuous +and increasingly violent argument with Archie in the hall. + +Edith opened the door and wanted to know what the row was about. + +'Will you tell me, Edith, where your son learns such language? He keeps +on worrying me to take him to the Zoological Gardens to see +the--well--you'll hear what he says. The child's a perfect nuisance. +Who put it into his head to want to go and see this animal? I was +obliged to speak quite firmly to him about it.' + +Edith was not alarmed that Bruce had been severe. She thought it much +more likely that Archie had spoken very firmly to him. He was always +strict with his father, and when he was good Bruce found fault with +him. As soon as he grew really tiresome his father became abjectly +apologetic. + +Archie was called and came in, dragging his feet, and pouting, in tears +that he was making a strenuous effort to encourage. + +'You must be firm with him,' continued Bruce. 'Hang it! Good heavens! +Am I master in my own house or am I not?' + +There was no reply to this rhetorical question. + +He turned to Archie and said in a gentle, conciliating voice: + +'Archie, old chap, tell your mother what it is you want to see. Don't +cry, dear.' + +'Want to see the damned chameleon,' said Archie, with his hands in his +eyes. 'Want father to take me to the Zoo.' + +'You can't go to the Zoo this time of the evening. What do you mean?' + +'I want to see the damned chameleon.' + +'You hear!' exclaimed Bruce to Edith. + +'Who taught you this language?' + +'Miss Townsend taught it me.' + +'There! It's dreadful, Edith; he's becoming a reckless liar. Fancy her +dreaming of teaching him such things! If she did, of course she must be +mad, and you must send her away at once. But I'm quite sure she +didn't.' + +'Come, Archie, you know Miss Townsend never taught you to say that. +What have you got into your head?' + +'Well, she didn't exactly teach me to say it--she didn't give me +lessons in it--but she says it herself. She said the damned chameleon +was lovely; and I want to see it. She didn't say I ought to see it. But +I want to. I've been wanting to ever since. She said it at lunch today, +and I do want to. Lots of other boys go to the Zoo, and why shouldn't +I? I want to see it so much.' + +'Edith, I must speak to Miss Townsend about this very seriously. In the +first place, people have got no right to talk about queer animals to +the boy at all--we all know what he is--and in such language! I should +have thought a girl like Miss Townsend, who has passed examinations in +Germany, and so forth, would have had more sense of her +responsibility--more tact. It shows a dreadful want of--I hardly know +what to think of it--the daughter of a clergyman, too!' + +'It's all right, Bruce,' Edith laughed. 'Miss Townsend told me she had +been to see the _Dame aux Camélias_ some time ago. She was enthusiastic +about it. Archie dear, I'll take you to the Zoological Gardens and +we'll see lots of other animals. And don't use that expression.' + +'What! Can't I see the da--' + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + +'I must go and dress,' said Bruce. + +Vincy Wenham Vincy was always called by everyone simply Vincy. Applied +to him it seemed like a pet name. He had arrived at the right moment, +as he always did. He was very devoted to both Edith and Bruce, and he +was a confidant of both. He sometimes said to Edith that he felt he was +just what was wanted in the little home; an intimate stranger coming in +occasionally with a fresh atmosphere was often of great value (as, for +instance, now) in calming or averting storms. + +Had anyone asked Vincy exactly what he was he would probably have said +he was an Observer, and really he did very little else, though after he +left Oxford he had taken to writing a little, and painting less. He was +very fair, the fairest person one could imagine over five years old. He +had pale silky hair, a minute fair moustache, very good features, a +single eyeglass, and the appearance, always, of having been very +recently taken out of a bandbox. + +But when people fancied from this look of his that he was an +empty-headed fop they soon found themselves immensely mistaken. + +He was thirty-eight, but looked a gilded youth of twenty; and _was_ +sufficiently gilded (as he said), not perhaps exactly to be +comfortable, but to enable him to get about comfortably, and see those +who were. + +He had a number of relatives in high places, who bored him, and were +always trying to get him married. He had taken up various occupations +and travelled a good deal. But his greatest pleasure was the study of +people. There was nothing cold in his observation, nothing of the +cynical analyst. He was impulsive, though very quiet, immensely and +ardently sympathetic and almost too impressionable and enthusiastic. It +was not surprising that he was immensely popular generally, as well as +specially; he was so interested in everyone except himself. + +No-one was ever a greater general favourite. There seemed to be no type +of person on whom he jarred. People who disagreed on every other +subject agreed in liking Vincy. + +But he did not care in the least for acquaintances, and spent much +ingenuity in trying to avoid them; he only liked intimate friends, and +of all he had perhaps the Ottleys were his greatest favourites. + +His affection for them dated from a summer they had spent in the same +hotel in France. He had become extraordinarily interested in them. He +delighted in Bruce, but had with Edith, of course, more mutual +understanding and intellectual sympathy, and though they met +constantly, his friendship with her had never been misunderstood. +Frivolous friends of his who did not know her might amuse themselves by +being humorous and flippant about Vincy's little Ottleys, but no-one +who had ever seen them together could possibly make a mistake. They +were an example of the absurdity of a tradition--'the world's' +proneness to calumny. Such friendships, when genuine, are never +misconstrued. Perhaps society is more often taken in the other way. But +as a matter of fact the truth on this subject, as on most others, is +always known in time. No-one had ever even tried to explain away the +intimacy, though Bruce had all the air of being unable to do without +Vincy's society sometimes cynically attributed to husbands in a +different position. + +Vincy was pleased with the story of the Mitchells that Edith told him, +and she was glad to hear that he knew the Mitchells and had been to the +house. + +'How like you to know everyone. What did they do?' + +'The night I was there they played games,' said Vincy. He spoke in a +soft, even voice. 'It was just a little--well--perhaps just a _tiny_ +bit ghastly, I thought; but don't tell Bruce. That evening I thought +the people weren't quite young enough, and when they played 'Oranges +and Lemons, and the Bells of St Clements,' and so on--their bones +seemed to--well, sort of rattle, if you know what I mean. But still +perhaps it was only my fancy. Mitchell has such very high spirits, you +see, and is determined to make everything go. He won't have +conventional parties, and insists on plenty of verve; so, of course, +one's forced to have it.' He sighed. 'They haven't any children, and +they make a kind of hobby of entertaining in an unconventional way.' + +'It sounds rather fun. Perhaps you will be asked next Thursday. Try.' + +'I'll try. I'll call, and remind her of me. I daresay she'll ask me. +She's very good-natured. She believes in spiritualism, too.' + +'I wonder who'll be there?' + +'Anyone might be there, or anyone else. As they say of marriage, it's a +lottery. They might have roulette, or a spiritual séance, or Kubelik, +or fancy dress heads.' + +'Fancy dress heads!' + +'Yes. Or a cotillion, or just bridge. You never know. The house is +rather like a country house, and they behave accordingly. Even +hide-and-seek, I believe, sometimes. And Mitchell adores unpractical +jokes, too.' + +'I see. It's rather exciting that I'm going to the Mitchells at last.' + +'Yes, perhaps it will be the turning-point of your life,' said Vincy. +'Ah! here's Bruce.' + +'I don't think much of that opera glass your mother gave you,' Bruce +remarked to his wife, soon after the curtain rose. + +'It's the fashion,' said Edith. 'It's jade--the latest thing.' + +'I don't care if it is the fashion. It's no use. Here, try it, Vincy.' + +He handed it to Vincy, who gave Bruce a quick look, and then tried it. + +'Rather quaint and pretty, I think. I like the effect,' he said, +handing it back to Bruce. + +'It may be quaint and pretty, and it may be the latest thing, and it +may be jade,' said Bruce rather sarcastically, 'but I'm not a slave to +fashion. I never was. And I don't see any use whatever in an opera +glass that makes everything look smaller instead of larger, and at a +greater distance instead of nearer. I call it rot. I always say what I +think. And you can tell your mother what I said if you like.' + +'You're looking through it the wrong side, dear,' said Edith. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The Golden Quoribus + +Edith had been very pretty at twenty, but at twenty-eight her +prettiness had immensely increased; she had really become a beauty of a +particularly troubling type. She had long, deep blue eyes, clearly-cut +features, hair of that soft, fine light brown just tinged with red +called by the French châtain clair; and a flower-like complexion. She +was slim, but not angular, and had a reposeful grace and a decided +attraction for both men and women. They generally tried to express this +fascination by discovering resemblances in her to various well-known +pictures of celebrated artists. She had been compared to almost every +type of all the great painters: Botticelli, Sir Peter Lely, +Gainsborough, Burne-Jones. Some people said she was like a Sargent, +others called her a post-impressionist type; there was no end to the +old and new masters of whom she seemed to remind people; and she +certainly had the rather insidious charm of somehow recalling the past +while suggesting something undiscovered in the future. There was a good +deal that was enigmatic about her. It was natural, not assumed as a +pose of mysteriousness. She was not all on the surface: not obvious. +One wondered. Was she capable of any depth of feeling? Was she always +just sweet and tactful and clever, or could there be another side to +her character? Had she (for instance) a temperament? This question was +considered one of interest,--so Edith had a great many admirers. Some +were new and fickle, others were old and faithful. She had never yet +shown more than a conversational interest in any of them, but always +seemed to be laughing with a soft mockery at her own success. + +Edith was not a vain woman, not even much interested in dress, though +she had a quick eye and a sure impressionistic gift for it. She was +always an immense favourite with women, who felt subconsciously +grateful to her for her wonderful forbearance. To have the power and +not to use it! To be so pretty, yet never _to take_ _anyone away_!--not +even coldly display her conquests. But this liking she did not, as a +rule, return in any decided fashion. She had dreadfully little to say +to the average woman, except to a few intimate friends, and frankly +preferred the society of the average man, although she had not as yet +developed a taste for coquetry, for which she had, however, many +natural gifts. She was much taken up by Bruce, by Archie and Dilly, and +was fond of losing herself in ideas and in books, and in various +artistic movements and fads in which her interest was cultivated and +perhaps inspired by Vincy. Vincy was her greatest friend and confidant. +He was really a great safety-valve, and she told him nearly every +thought. + +Still, Archie was, so far, her greatest interest. He was a particularly +pretty boy, and she was justified in thinking him rather unusual. At +this period he spent a considerable amount of his leisure time not only +in longing to see real animals, but in inventing and drawing pictures +of non-existent ones--horrible creatures, or quaint creatures, for +which he found the strangest names. He told Dilly about them, but Dilly +was not his audience--she was rather his confidante and literary +adviser; or even sometimes his collaborator. His public consisted +principally of his mother. It was a convention that Edith should be +frightened, shocked and horrified at the creatures of his imagination, +while Dilly privately revelled in their success. Miss Townsend, the +governess, was rather coldly ignored in this matter. She had a way of +speaking of the animals with a smile, as a nice occupation to keep the +children quiet. She did not understand. + +'Please, Madam, would you kindly go into the nursery; Master Archie +wishes you to come and hear about the golden--something he's just made +up like,' said Dilly's nurse with an expression of resignation. + +Edith jumped up at once. + +'Oh dear! Tell Master Archie I'm coming.' + +She ran into the nursery and found Archie and Dilly both looking rather +excited; Archie, fairly self-controlled, with a paper in his hand on +which was a rough sketch which he would not let her see, and hid behind +him. + +'Mother,' Archie began in a low, solemn voice, rather slowly, 'the +golden quoribus is the most horrible animal, the most awful-looking +animal, you ever heard of in _your_ life!' + +'Oh-h-h! How awful!' said Edith, beginning to shiver. 'Wait a +moment--let me sit down quietly and hear about it.' + +She sat down by the fire and clasped her hands, looking at him with a +terrified expression which was part of the ritual. + +Dilly giggled, and put her thumb in her mouth, watching the effect with +widely opened eyes. + +'Much more awful than the gazeka, of course, I suppose?' Edith said +rather rashly. + +'Much,' said Dilly. + +'(Be quiet, Dilly!) Mother!' he was reproachful, 'what do you mean? The +gazeka? Why--the gazeka's nothing at all--it's a rotten little animal. +It doesn't count. Besides, it isn't real--it never was real. Gazeka, +indeed!' + +'Oh, I beg your pardon,' said Edith repentantly; 'do go on.' + +'No... the golden quoribus is far-ar-r-r-r more frightening even than +the jilbery. Do you remember how awful _that_ was? And much larger.' + +'What! Worse than the jilbery! Oh, good gracious! How dreadful! What's +it like?' + +'First of all--it's as long as from here to Brighton,' said Archie. + +'A little longer,' said Dilly. + +'(Shut up, miss!) As long. It's called the golden quoribus because it's +bright gold, except the bumps; and the bumps are green.' + +'Bright green,' said Dilly. + +'(Oh, will you hold your tongue, Dilly?) Green.' + +'How terrible!... And what shape is it?' + +'All pointed and sharp, and three-cornered.' + +'Does it breathe fire?' asked Edith. + +Archie smiled contemptuously. + +'Breathe fire! Oh, Mother! Do you think it's a silly dragon in a fairy +story? Of course it doesn't. How can it breathe fire?' + +'Sorry,' said Edith apologetically. 'Go on.' + +'_But_, the peculiar thing about it, besides that it lives entirely on +muffins and mutton and the frightening part, I'm coming to now.' He +became emphatic, and spoke slowly. 'The golden quoribus has more claws +than any... other... animal... in the whole world!' + +'Oh-h-h,' she shuddered. + +'Yes,' said Archie solemnly. 'It has large claws coming out of its +head.' + +'Its head! Good gracious!' + +'It has claws here and claws there; claws coming out of the eyes; and +claws coming out of the ears; and claws coming out of its shoulders; +and claws coming out of the forehead!' + +Edith shivered with fright and held up her hands in front of her eyes +to ward off the picture. + +'And claws coming out of the mouth,' said Archie, coming a step nearer +to her and raising his voice. + +Edith jumped. + +'And claws coming out of the hands, and claws coming out of the feet!' + +'Yes,' said Dilly, wildly and recklessly and jumping up and down, 'and +claws on the ceiling, and claws on the floor, and claws all over the +world!' + +With one violent slap she was sent sprawling. + +Shrieks, sobs and tears filled the quiet nursery. + +'I know,' said Archie, when he had been persuaded to apologise, 'of +course I know a gentleman oughtn't to hit a lady, not even--I mean, +especially not if she's his little sister. But oh, Mother, ought a lady +to interrupt a story?' + +When Edith told Vincy he entirely took Archie's side. + +Suppose Sargent were painting a beautiful picture, and one of his +pupils, snatching the paint-brush from him, insisted on finishing it, +and spoiling it--how would he like it? Imagine a poet who had just +written a great poem, and been interrupted in reciting it by someone +who quickly finished it off all wrong! The author might be forgiven +under such circumstances if in his irritation he took a strong line. In +Vincy's opinion it served Dilly jolly well right. Young? Of course she +was young, but four (he said) was not a day too soon to begin to learn +to respect the work of the artist. Edith owned that Archie was not +easily exasperated and was as a rule very patient with the child. Bruce +took an entirely different view. He was quite gloomy about it and +feared that Archie showed every sign of growing up to be an Apache. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The Mitchells + +The Mitchells were, as Vincy had said, extremely hospitable; they had a +perfect mania for receiving; they practically lived for it, and the big +house at Hampstead, with its large garden covered in, and a sort of +studio built out, was scarcely ever without guests. When they didn't +have some sort of party they invariably went out. + +Mitchell's great joy was to make his parties different from others by +some childish fantasy or other. He especially delighted in a surprise. +He often took the trouble (for instance) to have a telegram sent to +every one of his guests during the course of the evening. Each of these +wires contained some personal chaff or practical joke. At other times +he would give everyone little presents, concealed in some way. +Christmas didn't come once a year to the Mitchells; it seemed never to +go away. One was always surprised not to find a Christmas tree and +crackers. These entertainments, always splendidly done materially, and +curiously erratic socially, were sometimes extremely amusing; at +others, of course, a frost; it was rather a toss-up. + +And the guests were, without exception, the most extraordinary mixture +in London. They included delightful people, absurd people, average +people; people who were smart and people who were dowdy, some who were +respectable and nothing else, some who were deplorable, others +beautiful, and many merely dull. There was never the slightest attempt +at any sort of harmonising, or of suitability; there was a great deal +of kindness to the hard-up, and a wild and extravagant delight in any +novelty. In fact, the Mitchells were everything except exclusive, and +as they were not guided by any sort of rule, they really lived, in St +John's Wood, superior to suburban or indeed any other restrictions. +They would ask the same guests to dinner time after time, six or seven +times in succession. They would invite cordially a person of no +attraction whatsoever whom they had only just met, and they would +behave with casual coolness to desirable acquaintances or favourite +friends whom they had known all their lives. However, there was no +doubt that their parties had got the name for being funny, and that was +quite enough. London people in every set are so desperate for something +out of the ordinary way, for variety and oddness, that the Mitchells +were frequently asked for invitations by most distinguished persons who +hoped, in their blasé fatigue, to meet something new and queer. + +For the real Londoner is a good deal of a child, and loves Punch and +Judy shows, and conjuring tricks (symbolically speaking)--and is also +often dreaming of the chance of meeting some spring novelty, in the way +of romance. Although the Mitchells were proud of these successes they +were as free from snobbishness as almost anyone could be. On the whole +Mrs Mitchell had a slight weakness for celebrities, while Mr Mitchell +preferred pretty women, or people who romped. It was merely from +carelessness that the Ottleys had never been asked before. + +When Edith and Bruce found themselves in the large square +country-house-looking hall, with its oak beams and early English +fireplace, about twenty people had arrived, and as many more were +expected. A lively chatter had already begun; for each woman had been +offered on her arrival a basket from which she had to choose a brightly +coloured ribbon. These ribbons matched the rosettes presented in an +equally haphazard way to every man. As Vincy observed, it gave one the +rather ghastly impression that there was going to be a cotillion at +once, on sight, before dinner; which was a little frightening. In +reality it was merely so that the partners for the meal should be +chosen by chance. Mitchell thought this more fun than arranging guests; +but there was an element of gambling about it that made wary people +nervous. Everyone present would have cheated had it been possible. But +it was not. + +Mrs Mitchell was a tiny brown-eyed creature, who looked absurdly young; +she was kind, sprightly, and rather like a grouse. Mitchell was a +jovial-looking man, with a high forehead, almost too much ease of +manner, and a twinkling eye. + +The chief guests tonight consisted of Lord Rye, a middle-aged +suffraget, who was known for his habit of barking before he spoke and +for his wonderful ear for music--he could play all Richard, Oscar and +Johann Strauss's compositions by ear on the piano, and never mixed them +up; Aylmer Ross, the handsome barrister; Myra Mooney, who had been on +the stage; and an intelligent foreigner from the embassy, with a +decoration, a goat-like beard, and an Armenian accent. Mrs Mitchell +said he was the minister from some place with a name like Ruritania. +She had a vague memory. There was also a Mr Cricker, a very young man +of whom it was said that he could dance like Nijinsky, but never would; +and the rest were chiefly Foreign Office clerks (like Mitchell and +Bruce), more barristers and their wives, a soldier or two, some +undergraduates, a lady photographer, a few pretty girls, and vague +people. There were to be forty guests for dinner and a few more in the +evening. + +Almost immediately on her arrival Edith noticed a tall, clean-shaven +man, with smooth fair hair, observant blue eyes, and a rather humorous +expression, and she instantly decided that she would try to will him to +take her to dinner. (Rather a superfluous effort of magnetism, since it +must have been settled already by fate and the ribbons.) It was obvious +from one quick glance that he shared the wish. To their absurdly great +mutual disappointment (a lot of ground was covered very quickly at the +Mitchells), their ribbons didn't match, and she was taken to dinner by +Captain Willis, who looked dull. Fortune, however, favoured her. On her +other side she found the man who looked amusing. He was introduced to +her across the table by Mrs Mitchell, with _empressement_, as Mr Aylmer +Ross. + +Edith felt happy tonight; her spirits were raised by what she felt to +be an atmosphere _tiède_, as the French say; full of indulgence, +sympathetic, relaxing, in which either cleverness or stupidity could +float equally at its ease. The puerility of the silly little +arrangements to amuse removed all sense of ceremony. The note is always +struck by the hostess, and she was everything that was amiable, without +effort or affectation. + +No-one was ever afraid of her. + +Bruce's neighbour at dinner was the delicate, battered-looking +actress, in a Royal fringe and a tight bodice with short sleeves, who +had once been a celebrity, though no-one remembered for what. Miss Myra +Mooney, formerly a beauty, had known her days of success. She had been +the supreme performer of ladylike parts. She had been known as the very +quintessence of refinement. It was assumed when she first came out that +a duke would go to the devil for her in her youth, and that in her late +maturity she would tour the provinces with _The Three Musketeers_. +Neither of these prophecies had, however, been fulfilled. She still +occasionally took small middle-aged titled parts in repertoire +matinees. She was unable to help referring constantly to the hit she +made in _Peril_ at Manchester in 1887; nor could she ever resist +speaking of the young man who sent her red carnations every day of his +blighted existence for fifteen years; a pure romance, indeed, for, as +she owned, he never even wished to be introduced to her. She still +called him poor boy, oblivious of the fact that he was now sixty-eight, +and, according to the illustrated papers, spent his entire time in +giving away a numberless succession of daughters in brilliant marriage +at St George's, Hanover Square. + +In this way Miss Mooney lived a good deal in the past, but she was not +unaware of the present, and was always particularly nice to people +generally regarded as bores. So she was never without plenty of +invitations. Mitchell had had formerly a slight _tendre_ for her, and +in his good nature pretended to think she had not altered a bit. She +was still refined _comme cela ne se fait plus_; it was practically no +longer possible to find such a perfect lady, even on the stage. As she +also had all the easy good nature of the artist, and made herself +extremely agreeable, Bruce was delighted with her, and evidently +thought he had drawn a prize. + +'I wondered,' Aylmer Ross said, 'whether this could possibly happen. +First I half hoped it might; then I gave it up in despair.' + +'So did I,' said Edith; 'and yet I generally know. I've a touch of +second sight, I think--at dinner-parties.' + +'Oh, well, I have second sight too--any amount; only it's always wrong. +However!...' + +'Aren't the Mitchells dears?' said Edith. + +'Oh, quite. Do you know them well?' + +'Very well, indeed. But I've never seen them before.' + +'Ah, I see. Well, now we've found our way here--broken the ice and that +sort of thing--we must often come and dine with them, mustn't we, Mrs +Ottley? Can't we come again next week?' + +'Very sweet of you to ask us, I'm sure.' + +'Not at all; very jolly of us to turn up. The boot is on the other leg, +or whatever the phrase is. By the way, I'm sure you know everything, +Mrs Ottley, tell me, did people ever wear only one boot at a time, do +you think, or how did this expression originate?' + +'I wonder.' + +Something in his suave manner of taking everything for granted seemed +to make them know each other almost too quickly, and gave her an odd +sort of self-consciousness. She turned to Captain Willis on her other +side. + +'I say,' he said querulously, 'isn't this a bit off? We've got the same +coloured ribbons and you haven't said a word to me yet! Rather rot, +isn't it, what?' + +'Oh, haven't I? I will now.' + +Captain Willis lowered his voice to a confidential tone and said: 'Do +you know, what I always say is--live and let live and let it go at +that; what?' + +'That's a dark saying,' said Edith. + +'Have a burnt almond,' said Captain Willis inconsequently, as though it +would help her to understand. 'Yes, Mrs Ottley, that's what I always +say.... But people won't, you know--they won't--and there it is.' He +seemed resigned. 'Good chap, Mitchell, isn't he? Musical chairs, I +believe--that's what we're to play this evening; or bridge, whichever +we like. I shall go in for bridge. I'm not musical.' + +'And which shall you do?' asked Aylmer of Edith. He had evidently been +listening. + +'Neither.' + +'We'll talk then, shall we? I can't play bridge either.... Mrs +Ottley--which is your husband? I didn't notice when you came in.' + +'Over there, opposite; the left-hand corner.' + +'Good-looking chap with the light moustache--next to Myra Mooney?' + +'That's it,' she said. 'He seems to be enjoying himself. I'm glad he's +got Miss Mooney. He's lucky.' + +'He is indeed,' said Aylmer. + +'She's a wonderful-looking woman--like an old photograph, or someone in +a book,' said Edith. + +'Do you care for books?' + +'Oh, yes, rather. I've just been discovering Bourget. Fancy, I didn't +know about him! I've just read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' + +'Oh yes. Rather a pompous chap, isn't he? But you could do worse than +read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' + +'I _have_ done worse. I've been reading Rudyard Kipling for the last +time.' + +'Really! Don't you like him? Why?' + +'I feel all the time, somehow, as if he were calling me by my Christian +name without an introduction, or as if he wanted me to exchange hats +with him,' she said. 'He's so fearfully familiar with his readers.' + +'But you think he keeps at a respectful distance from his characters? +However--why worry about books at all, Mrs Ottley? Flowers, lilies of +the field, and so forth, don't toil or spin; why should they belong to +libraries? I don't think you ever ought to read--except perhaps +sometimes a little poetry, or romance.... You see, that is what you +are, rather, isn't it?' + +'Don't you care for books?' she answered, ignoring the compliment. 'I +should have thought you loved them, and knew everything about them. I'm +not sure that I know.' + +'You know quite enough, believe me,' he answered earnestly. 'Oh, don't +be cultured--don't talk about Lloyd George! Don't take an intelligent +interest in the subjects of the day!' + +'All right; I'll try not.' + +She turned with a laugh to Captain Willis, who seemed very depressed. + +'I say, you know,' he said complainingly, 'this is all very well. It's +all very well no doubt. But I only ask one thing--just one. Is this +cricket? I merely ask, you know. Just that--is it cricket; what?' + +'It isn't meant to be. What's the matter?' + +'Why, I'm simply fed up and broken-hearted, you know. Hardly two words +have I had with you tonight, Mrs Ottley.... I suppose that chap's +awfully amusing, what? I'm not amusing.... I know that.' + +'Oh, don't say that. Indeed you are.' she consoled him. + +'Am I though?' + +'Well, you amuse _me_!' + +'Right!' He laughed cheerily. He always filled up pauses with a laugh. + + + +CHAPTER V + +The Surprise + +Certainly Mrs Mitchell on one side and Captain Willis on the other had +suffered neglect. But they seemed to become hardened to it towards the +end of dinner.... + +'I have a boy, too,' Aylmer remarked irrelevantly, 'rather a nice chap. +Just ten.' + +Though only by the merest, slightest movement of an eyelash Edith could +not avoid showing her surprise. No-one ever had less the air of a +married man. Also, she was quite ridiculously disappointed. One can't +say why, but one doesn't talk to a married man quite in the same way or +so frankly as to a bachelor--if one is a married woman. She did not ask +about his wife, but said: + +'Fancy! Boys are rather nice things to have about, aren't they?' + +She was looking round the table, trying to divine which was Mrs Aylmer +Ross. No, she wasn't there. Edith felt sure of it. It was an +unaccountable satisfaction. + +'Yes; he's all right. And now give me a detailed description of _your_ +children.' + +'I can't. I never could talk about them.' + +'I see.... I should like to see them.... I saw you speak to Vincy. Dear +little fellow, isn't he?' + +'He's a great friend of mine.' + +'I'm tremendously devoted to him, too. He's what used to be called an +exquisite. And he _is_ exquisite; he has an exquisite mind. But, of +course, you know what a good sort he is.' + +'Rather.' + +'He seems rather to look at life than to act in it, doesn't he?' +continued Aylmer. 'He's a brilliant sort of spectator. Vincy thinks +that all the world's a stage, but _he's_ always in the front row of the +stalls. I never could be like that ... I always want to be right in the +thick of it, on in every scene, and always performing!' + +'To an audience?' said Edith. + +He smiled and went on. + +'What's so jolly about him is that though he's so quiet, yet he's +genial; not chilly and reserved. He's frank, I mean--and confiding. +Without ever saying much. He expresses himself in his own way.' + +'That's quite true.' + +'And, after all, it's really only expression that makes things real. +'If you don't talk about a thing, it has never happened.'' + +'But it doesn't always follow that a thing has happened because you do +talk about it,' said Edith. 'Ah, Mrs Mitchell's going !' + +She floated away. + +He remained in a rather ecstatic state of absence of mind. + + * * * * * + +Mrs Mitchell gladly told Edith all about Aylmer Ross, how clever he +was, how nice, how devoted to his little boy. He had married very +young, it seemed, and had lost his wife two years after. This was ten +years ago, and according to Mrs Mitchell he had never looked at another +woman since. Women love to simplify in this sentimental way. + +'However,' she said consolingly, 'he's still quite young, under forty, +and he's sure to fall in love and marry again.' + +'No doubt,' said Edith, wishing the first wife had remained alive. She +disliked the non-existent second one. + + * * * * * + +Nearly all the men had now joined the ladies in the studio, with the +exception of Bruce and of Aylmer Ross. Mrs Mitchell had taken an +immense fancy to Edith and showed it by telling her all about a +wonderful little tailor who made coats and skirts better than Lucile +for next to nothing, and by introducing to her Lord Rye and the embassy +man, and Mr Cricker. Edith was sitting in a becoming corner under a +shaded light from which she could watch the door, when Vincy came up to +talk to her. + +'You seemed to get on rather well at dinner,' he said. + +'Yes; isn't Captain Willis a dear?' + +'Oh, simply sweet. So bright and clever. I was sure you'd like him, +Edith.' + +Captain Willis here came up and said, a shade more jovially than he had +spoken at dinner, with his laugh: + +'Well, you know, Mrs Ottley, what I always say is--live and let live +and let it go at that; what? But they never _do_, you know! They +won't--and there it is!' + +Edith now did a thing she had never done in her life before and which +was entirely unlike her. She tried her utmost to retain the group round +her, and to hold their attention. For a reason of which she was hardly +conscious, she wanted Aylmer Ross to see her surrounded. The minister +from the place with a name like Ruritania was so immensely bowled over +that he was already murmuring in a low voice (almost a hiss, as they +say in melodrama): 'Vous êtes chez vous, quand? Dites un mot, un mot +seulement, et je me précipiterai à vos pieds_,' while at the same time, +in her other ear, Lord Rye was explaining (to her pretended intense +interest) how he could play the whole of _Elektra, The Chocolate +Soldier_ and _Nightbirds_ by ear without a single mistake. ('Perfectly +sound!' grumbled Captain Willis, 'but why do it?') Vincy was listening, +enjoying himself. Bruce came in at last, evidently engaged in an +absorbed and intimate conversation with Aylmer Ross. They seemed so +much interested in their talk that they went to the other end of the +room and sat down there together. Aylmer gave her one glance only. + +Edith was unreasonably annoyed. What on earth could he and Bruce find +to talk about? At length, growing tired of her position, she got up, +and walked across the room to look at a picture on the wall, turning +her graceful back to the room. + +Bruce had now at last left his companion, but still Aylmer Ross did not +go and speak to her, though he was sitting alone. + +Musical chairs began in the studio. Someone was playing 'Baby, +look-a-here,' stopping suddenly in the middle to shouts of laughter and +shrieks from the romping players. In the drawing-room some of the +people were playing bridge. How dull the rest of the evening was! Just +before the party practically broke up, Edith had an opportunity of +saying as she passed Aylmer: + +'I thought we were going to have a talk instead of playing games?' + +'I saw you were occupied,' he answered ceremoniously. 'I didn't +like--to interrupt.' + +She laughed. 'Is this a jealous scene, Mr Ross?' + +'I wonder,' he said, smiling, 'and if so, whose. Well, I hope to see +you again soon.' + +'_What_ a success your charming wife has had tonight,' said Mrs +Mitchell to Bruce, as they took leave. 'Everyone is quite wild about +her. How pretty she is! You _must_ be proud of her.' + +They were nearly the last. Mr Cricker, who had firmly refused the whole +evening, in spite of abject entreaties, to dance like Nijinsky, +suddenly relented when everyone had forgotten all about it, and was +leaping alone in the studio, while Lord Rye, always a great lingerer, +was playing Richard Strauss to himself on the baby Grand, and smoking a +huge cigar. + +'Edith,' said Bruce solemnly, as they drove away, 'I've made a friend +tonight. There was one really charming man there--he took an immense +fancy to me.' + +'Oh--who was that?' + +'Who was that?' he mimicked her, but quite good-naturedly. 'How stupid +women are in some things! Why, Aylmer Ross, the chap who sat next to +you at dinner! I suppose you didn't appreciate him. Very clever, very +interesting. He was anxious to know several things which I was glad to +be in a position to tell him. Yes--an awfully good sort. I asked him to +dine at my club one day, to go on with our conversation.' + +'Oh, did you?' + +'Yes. Why shouldn't I? However, it seems from what he said that he +thinks the Carlton's nicer for a talk, so I'm going to ask him there +instead. You can come too, dear. He won't mind; it won't prevent our +talking.' + +'Oh, are we going to give a dinner at the Carlton?' + +'I wish you wouldn't oppose me, Edith. Once in a way! Of course I +shall. Our flat's too small to give a decent dinner. He's one of the +nicest chaps I've ever met.' + +'Well, do you want me to write tomorrow morning then, dear?' + +'Er--no--I have asked him already.' + +'Oh, really--which day?' + +'Well, I suggested next Thursday--but he thought tomorrow would be +better; he's engaged for every other day. Now don't go and say you're +engaged tomorrow. If you are, you'll have to chuck it!' + +'Oh no; I'm not engaged.' + +Mentally rearranging her evening dress, Edith drove home thoughtfully. +She was attracted and did not know why, and for the first time hoped +she had made an impression. It had been a long evening, and her +headache, she said, necessitated solitude and darkness at once. + +'All right. I've got a much worse headache--gout, I think, but never +mind about me. Don't be anxious, dear! I say, that Miss Mooney is a +very charming woman. She took rather a fancy to me, Edith. Er--you +might ask her to dinner too, if you like, to make a fourth!' + +'But--really! Ought we to snatch all the Mitchells' friends the first +time, Bruce?' + +'Why, of course, it's only courteous. It's all right. One must return +their hospitality.' + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The Visit + +The following afternoon Edith was standing by the piano in her +condensed white drawing-room, trying over a song, which she was +accompanying with one hand, when to her surprise the maid announced 'Mr +Aylmer Ross.' It was a warm day, and though there was a fire the +windows were open, letting in the scent of the mauve and pink hyacinths +in the little window-boxes. She thought as she came forward to meet him +that he seemed entirely different from last night. Her first impression +was that he was too big for the room, her second that he was very +handsome, and also a little agitated. + +'I really hardly know how to apologise, Mrs Ottley. I oughtn't to have +turned up in this cool way. But your husband has kindly asked me to +dine with you tonight, and I wasn't sure of the time. I thought I'd +come and ask you.' He waited a minute. 'Of course, if I hadn't been so +fortunate as to find you in, I should just have left a note.' He looked +round the room. + + * * * * * + +Obviously it was quite unnecessary for him to have called; he could +have sent the note that he had brought with him. She was flattered. She +thought that she liked his voice and the flash of his white teeth when +he smiled. + +'Oh, I'm glad I'm at home,' she said, in a gentle way that put him at +his ease, and yet at an immense distance. 'I felt in the mood to stop +at home and play the piano today. I'm delighted to see you.' They sat +down by the fire. 'It's at eight tonight. Shall we have tea?' + +'Oh no, thanks; isn't it too early? I sha'n't keep you a moment. Thanks +very much.... You were playing something when I came in. I wish you'd +play it to me over again.' + + * * * * * + +Nine women out of ten would have refused, saying they knew nothing of +music, or that they were out of practice, or that they never played +except for their own amusement, or something of the kind; especially if +they took no pride whatever in that accomplishment. But Edith went back +to the piano at once, and went on trying over the song that she didn't +know, without making any excuse for the faltering notes. + +'That's charming,' he said. 'Thanks. Tosti, of course.' + +She came back to the fireplace. 'Of course. We had great fun last +night, didn't we?' + +'Oh, _I_ enjoyed myself immensely; part of the time at least.' + +'But after dinner you were rather horrid, Mr Ross. You wouldn't come +and talk to me, would you?' + +'Wouldn't I? I was afraid. Tell me, do I seem many years older since +last night?' he asked. + +'I don't see any difference. Why?' + +'Because I've lived months--almost years--since I saw you last. Time +doesn't go by hours, does it?... What a charming little room this is. +It suits you. There's hardly anything in it, but everything is right.' + +'I don't like to have many things in a room,' said Edith, holding out +her delicate hands to the fire. 'It makes me nervous. I have gradually +accustomed Bruce to my idea by removing one thing at a time +--photographs, pictures, horrid old wedding presents, all the +little things people have. They suggest too many different trains of +thought. They worry me. He's getting used to it now. He says, soon +there'll be nothing left but a couple of chairs and a bookcase!' + +'And how right! I've had rather the same idea in my house, but I +couldn't keep it up. It's different for a man alone; things seem to +accumulate; especially pictures. I know such a lot of artists. I'm very +unfortunate in that respect.... I really feel I oughtn't to have turned +up like this, Mrs Ottley.' + +'Why not?' + +'You're very kind.... Excuse my country manners, but how nice your +husband is. He was very kind to me.' + +'He liked _you_ very much, too.' + +'He seems charming,' he repeated, then said with a change of tone and +with his occasional impulsive brusqueness, 'I wonder--does he ever jar +on you in any way?' + +'Oh no. Never. He couldn't. He amuses me,' Edith replied softly. + +'Oh, does he?... If I had the opportunity I wonder if I should _amuse_ +you,' he spoke thoughtfully. + +'No; I don't think you would at all,' said Edith, looking him straight +in the face. + +'That's quite fair,' he laughed, and seemed rather pleased. 'You mean I +should bore you to death! Do forgive me, Mrs Ottley. Let's go on with +our talk of last night.... I feel it's rather like the Palace of Truth +here; I don't know why. There must be something in the atmosphere--I +seem to find it difficult not to think aloud--Vincy, now--do you see +much of Vincy?' + +'Oh yes; he comes here most days, or we talk on the telephone.' + +'I see; he's your confidant, and you're his. Dear Vincy. By the way, he +asked me last night to go to a tea-party at his flat next week. He was +going to ask one or two other kindred spirits--as I think they're +called. To see something--some collection. Including you, of course?' + +'I shall certainly go,' said Edith, 'whether he asks me or not.' + +Aylmer seemed to be trying to leave. He nearly got up once or twice and +sat down again. + +'Well, I shall see you tonight,' he said. 'At eight.' + +'Yes.' + +'What shall you wear, Mrs Ottley?' + +'Oh, I thought, perhaps, my mauve chiffon? What do you advise?' she +smiled. + +'Not what you wore last night?' + +'Oh no.' + +'It was very jolly. I liked it. Er--red, wasn't it?' + +'Oh no! It was pink!' she answered. + +Then there was an extraordinary pause, in which neither of them seemed +able to think of anything to say. There was a curious sort of vibration +in the air. + +'Isn't it getting quite springy?' said Edith, as she glanced at the +window. 'It's one of those sort of warm days that seem to have got +mixed up by mistake with the winter.' + +'Very,' was his reply, which was not very relevant. + +Another pause was beginning. + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + +He was received with enthusiasm, and Aylmer Ross now recovered his ease +and soon went away. + +'Edith!' said Vincy, in a reproving tone. '_Really_! How _very_ soon!' + +'He came to know what time we dine. He was just passing.' + +'Oh, yes. He would want to know. He lives in Jermyn Street. I +suppose Knightsbridge is on his way to there.' + +'From where?' she asked. + +'From here,' said Vincy. + +'What happened after we left?' said Edith. 'I saw the Cricker man +beginning to dance with hardly anyone looking at him.' + +'Isn't his imitation of Nijinsky wonderful?' asked Vincy. + +'Simply marvellous! I thought he was imitating George Grossmith. Do you +know, I love the Mitchells, Vincy. It's really great fun there. Fancy, +Bruce seems so delighted with Aylmer Ross and Miss Mooney that he +insisted on their both dining with us tonight.' + +'He seemed rather carried away, I thought. There's a fascination about +Aylmer. There are so many things he's not,' said Vincy. + +'Tell me some of them.' + +'Well, for one thing, he's not fatuous, though he's so good-looking. +He's not a lady-killing sort of person or anything else tedious.' + +She was delighted at this especially. + +'If he took a fancy to a person--well, it might be rather serious, if +you take my meaning,' said Vincy. + +'How sweet of him! So unusual. Do you like Myra Mooney?' + +'Me? Oh, rather; I'm devoted to her. She's a delightful type. Get her +on to the subject of the red carnations. She's splendid about them.... +She received them every day at breakfast-time for fifteen years. +Another jolly thing about Aylmer is that he has none of that awful +old-fashioned modernness, thank goodness!' + +'Ah, I noticed that.' + +'I suppose he wasn't brilliant today. He was too thrilled. But, do be +just a teeny bit careful, Edith dear, because when he is at all he's +very much so. Do you see?' + +'What a lot you seem to think of one little visit, Vincy! After all, it +was only one.' + +'There hasn't been time yet for many more, has there, Edith dear? He +could hardly call twice the same day, on the first day, too.... Yes, I +come over quite queer and you might have knocked me down with a +feather, in a manner of speaking, when I clapped eyes on him setting +here.' + +Edith liked Vincy to talk in his favourite Cockney strain. It +contrasted pleasantly with his soft, even voice and _raffiné_ +appearance. + +'Here's Bruce,' she said. + +Bruce came in carrying an enormous basket of gilded straw. It was +filled with white heather, violets, lilies, jonquils, gardenias and +mimosa. The handle was trimmed with mauve ribbon. + +'Oh, Bruce! How angelic of you!' + +'Don't be in such a hurry, dear. These are not from me. They arrived +just at the same time that I did. Brought by a commissionaire. There +was hardly room for it in the lift.' + +Edith looked quickly at the card. It bore the name of the minister of +the place with a name like Ruritania. + +'What cheek!' exclaimed Bruce, who was really flattered. 'What infernal +impertinence. Upon my word I've more than half a mind to go and tell +him what I think of him--straight from the shoulder. What's the +address?' + +'Grosvenor Square.' + +'Well, I don't care. I shall go straight to the embassy,' said Bruce. +'No, I sha'n't. I'll send them back and write him a line--tell him that +Englishwomen are not in the habit of accepting presents from +undesirable aliens.... I consider it a great liberty. Aren't I right, +Vincy?' + +'Quite. But perhaps he means no harm, Bruce. I daresay it's the custom +in the place with the funny name. You see, you never know, in a place +like that.' + +'Then you don't think I ought to take it up?' + +'I don't want them. It's a very oppressive basket,' Edith said. + +'How like you, Edith! I thought you were fond of flowers.' + +'So I am, but I like one at a time. This is too miscellaneous and +crowded.' + +'Some women are never satisfied. It's very rude and ungrateful to the +poor old man, who meant to be nice, no doubt, and to show his respect +for Englishwomen. I think you ought to write and thank him,' said +Bruce. 'And let me see the letter before it goes.' + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Coup de Foudre + +When Aylmer Ross got back to the little brown house in Jermyn Street he +went to his library, and took from a certain drawer an ivory miniature +framed in black. He looked at it for some time. It had a sweet, +old-fashioned face, with a very high forehead, blue eyes, and dark hair +arranged in two festoons of plaits, turned up at the sides. It +represented his mother in the early sixties and he thought it was like +Edith. He had a great devotion and cult for the memory of his mother. +When he was charmed with a woman he always imagined her to be like his +mother. + +He had never thought this about his wife People had said how +extraordinarily Aylmer must have been in love to have married that +uninteresting girl, no-one in particular, not pretty and a little +second-rate. As a matter of fact the marriage had happened entirely by +accident. It had occurred through a misunderstanding during a game of +consequences in a country house. She was terribly literal. Having taken +some joke of his seriously, she had sent him a touchingly coy letter +saying she was overwhelmed at his offer (feeling she was hardly worthy +to be his wife) and must think it over. He did not like to hurt her +feelings by explaining, and when she relented and accepted him he +couldn't bear to tell her the truth. He was absurdly tender-hearted, +and he thought that, after all, it didn't matter so very much. The +little house left him by his mother needed a mistress; he would +probably marry somebody or other, anyhow; and she seemed such a +harmless little thing. It would please her so much! When the hurried +marriage had come to a pathetic end by her early death everyone was +tragic about it except Aylmer. All his friends declared he was +heart-broken and lonely and would never marry again. He had indeed been +shocked and grieved at her death, but only for her--not at being left +alone. That part, was a relief. The poor little late Mrs Aylmer Ross +had turned out a terrible mistake. She had said the wrong thing from +morning till night, and, combining a prim, refined manner with a vulgar +point of view, had been in every way dreadfully impossible. He had +really been patience and unselfishness itself to her, but he had +suffered. The fact was, he had never even liked her. That was the +reason he had not married again. + +But he was devoted to his boy in a quiet way. He was the sort of man +who is adored by children, animals, servants and women. Tall, strong +and handsome, with intelligence beyond the average, yet with nothing +alarming about him, good-humoured about trifles, jealous in matters of +love--perhaps that is, after all, the type women really like best. It +is sheer nonsense to say that women enjoy being tyrannised over. No +doubt there are some who would rather be bullied than ignored. But the +hectoring man is, with few exceptions, secretly detested. In so far as +one can generalise (always a dangerous thing to do) it may be said that +women like best a kind, clever man who can be always trusted; and +occasionally (if necessary) deceived. + +Aylmer hardly ever got angry except in an argument about ideas. Yet his +feelings were violent; he was impulsive, and under his suave and +easy-going manner emotional. He was certainly good-looking, but had he +not been he would have pleased all the same. He seemed to radiate +warmth, life, a certain careless good-humour. To be near him was like +warming one's hands at a warm fire. Superficially susceptible and +inclined to be experimental he had not the instinct of the collector +and was devoid of fatuousness. But he could have had more genuine +successes than all the Don Juans and Romeos and Fausts who ever climbed +rope ladders. Besides his physical attraction he inspired a feeling of +reliance. Women felt safe with him; he would never treat anyone badly. +He inspired that kind of trust enormously in men also, and his house +was constantly filled with people asking his advice and begging him to +do things--sometimes not very easy ones. He was always being left +guardian to young persons who would never require one, and said himself +he had become almost a professional trustee. + +As Aylmer was generous and very extravagant in a way of his own (though +he cared nothing for show), he really worked hard at the bar to add to +his already large income. He always wanted a great deal of money. He +required ease, margin and elbow-room. He had no special hobbies, but he +needed luxury in general of a kind, and especially the luxury of +getting things in a hurry, his theory being that everything comes to +the man who won't wait. He was not above detesting little material +hardships. He was not the sort of man, for instance, even in his +youngest days, who would go by omnibus to the gallery to the opera, to +hear a favourite singer or a special performance; not that he had the +faintest tinge of snobbishness, but simply because such trifling +drawbacks irritated him, and spoilt his pleasure. + +Impressionistic as he was in life, on the other hand, curiously, +Aylmer's real taste in art and decoration was Pre-Raphaelite; +delicate, detailed and meticulous almost to preciousness. He often had +delightful things in his house, but never for long. He had no pleasure +in property; valuable possessions worried him, and after any amount of +trouble to get some object of art he would often give it away the next +week. For he really liked money only for freedom and ease. The general +look of the house was, consequently, distinguished, sincere and +extremely comfortable. It was neither hackneyed nor bizarre, and, while +it contained some interesting things, had no superfluities. + +Aylmer had been spoilt as a boy and was still wilful and a little +impatient. For instance he could never wait even for a boy-messenger, +but always sent his notes by taxi to wait for an answer. And now he +wanted something in a hurry, and was very much afraid he would never +get it. + +Aylmer was, as I have said, often a little susceptible. This time he +felt completely bowled over. He had only seen her twice. That made no +difference. + +The truth was--it sounds romantic, but is really scientific, all +romance being, perhaps, based on science--that Edith's appearance +corresponded in every particular with an ideal that had grown up with +him. Whether he had seen some picture as a child that had left a vague +and lasting impression, or whatever the reason was, the moment he saw +her he felt, with a curious mental sensation, as of something that fell +into its place with a click ('Ça y est!'), that she realised some +half-forgotten dream. In fact, it was a rare and genuine case of _coup +de foudre_. Had she been a girl he would have proposed to her the next +day, and they might quite possibly have married in a month, and lived +happily ever after. These things occasionally happen. But she was +married already. + +Had she been a fool, or a bore, a silly little idiot or a fisher of +men, a social sham who prattled of duchesses or a strenuous feminine +politician who babbled of votes; a Christian Scientist bent on +converting, an adventuress without adventures (the worst kind), a +mind-healer or a body-snatcher, a hockey-player or even a lady +novelist, it would have been exactly the same; whatever she had been, +mentally or morally, he would undoubtedly have fallen in love with her +physically, at first sight. But it was very much worse than that. He +found her delightful, and clever; he was certain she was an angel. She +was married to Ottley. Ottley was all right.... Rather an ass ... +rather ridiculous; apparently in every way but one. + + * * * * * + +So absurdly hard hit was Aylmer that it seemed to him as if to see her +again as soon as possible was already the sole object in his life. Did +she like him? Intuitively he felt that during his little visit his +intense feeling had radiated, and not displeased--perhaps a little +impressed--her. He could easily, he knew, form a friendship with them; +arrange to see her often. He was going to meet her tonight, through his +own arrangement. He would get them to come and dine with him soon--no, +the next day. + +What was the good? + +Well, where was the harm? + +Aylmer had about the same code of morals as the best of his numerous +friends in Bohemia, in clubland and in social London. He was no more +scrupulous on most subjects than the ordinary man of his own class. +Still, _he had been married himself_. That made an immense difference, +for he was positively capable of seeing (and with sympathy) from the +husband's point of view. Even now, indifferent as he had been to his +own wife, and after ten years, it would have caused him pain and fury +had he found out that she had ever tried to play him false. Of course, +cases varied. He knew that if Edith had been free his one thought would +have been to marry her. Had she been different, and differently placed, +he would have blindly tried for anything he could get, in any possible +way. But, as she was?... He felt convinced he could never succeed in +making her care for him; there was not the slightest chance of it. And, +supposing even that he could? And here came in the delicacy and scruple +of the man who had been married himself. He thought he wouldn't even +wish to spoil, by the vulgarity of compromising, or by the shadow of a +secret, the serenity of her face, the gay prettiness of that life. No, +he wouldn't if he could. And yet how exciting it would be to rouse her +from that cool composure. She was rather enigmatic. But he thought she +could be roused. And she was so clever. How well she would carry it +off! How she would never bore a man! And he suddenly imagined a day +with her in the country.... Then he thought that his imagination was +flying on far too fast. He decided not to be a hopeless fool, but just +to go ahead, and talk to her, and get to know her; not to think too +much about her. She needn't even know how he felt. To idolise her from +a distance would be quite delightful enough. When a passion is not +realised, he thought, it fades away, or becomes ideal worship +--Dante--Petrarch--that sort of thing! It could never fade away +in this case, he was sure. How pretty she was, how lovely her mouth was +when she smiled! She had no prejudices, apparently; no affectations; +how she played and sang that song again when he asked her! With what a +delightful sense of humour she had dealt with him, and also with Bruce, +at the Mitchells. Ottley must be a little difficult sometimes. She had +read and thought; she had the same tastes as he. He wondered if she +would have liked that thing in _The Academy_, on Gardens, that he had +just read. He began looking for it. He thought he would send it to her, +asking her opinion; then he would get an answer, and see her +handwriting. You don't know a woman until you have had a letter from +her. + +But no--what a fool he would look! Besides he was going to see her +tonight. It was about time to get ready.... Knowing subconsciously that +he had made some slight favourable impression--at any rate that he +hadn't repelled or bored her--he dressed with all the anxiety, joy and +thrills of excitement of a boy of twenty; and no boy of twenty can ever +feel these things as keenly or half as elaborately as a man nearly +twice that age, since all the added experiences, disillusions, +practice, knowledge and life of the additional years help to form a +part of the same emotion, making it infinitely deeper, and all the +stronger because so much more _averti_ and conscious of itself. + +He seemed so nervous while dressing that Soames, the valet, to whom he +was a hero, ventured respectfully to hope there was nothing wrong. + +'No. I'm all right,' said Aylmer. 'I'm never ill. I think, Soames, I +shall probably die of middle age.' + +He went out laughing, leaving the valet smiling coldly out of +politeness. + + * * * * * + +Soames never understood any kind of jest. He took himself and everyone +else seriously. But he already knew perfectly well that his master had +fallen in love last night, and he disapproved very strongly. He thought +all that sort of thing ought to be put a stop to. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Archie's Essay + +'Mrs Ottley,' said Miss Townsend,' do you mind looking at this essay of +Archie's? I really don't know what to think of it. I think it shows +talent, except the spelling. But it's _very_ naughty of him to have +written what is at the end.' + +Edith took the paper and read: + +'TRAYS OF CHARACTER + +trays of character will always show threw how ever much you may polish +it up trays of character will always show threw the grane of the wood. + +A burd will keep on singing because he wants to and they can't help +doing what it wants this is instinkt. and it is the same with trays of +charicter. having thus shown my theory that trays of carocter will +always show threw in spite of all trubble and in any circemstances +whatever I will conclude Archibald Bruce Ottley please t.o.' + +On the other side of the paper was written very neatly, still in +Archie's writing: + +'3 LINDEN MANSIONS, CADOGAN SQUARE, KNIGHTSBRIDGE. _Second Floor_ + +1. Mr Bruce Ottley (FO) 2. Mrs Bruce Ottley 3. Master Archibald Bruce +Ottley 4. Little _beast_ 5. Mary Johnson housemaid 6. Miss Thrupp Cook +7. Marie maid + +8. Dorothy Margaret Miss Townsend governess 9. Ellen Maud Parrot +nurse.' + +'Do you see?' said Miss Townsend. 'It's his way of slyly calling poor +Dilly a beast, because he's angry with her. Isn't it a shame? What +shall I do?' Both of them laughed and enjoyed it. + +'Archie, what is the meaning of this? Why did you make this census of +your home?' Edith asked him gently. + +'Why, I didn't make senses of my home; I just wrote down who lived +here.' + +Edith looked at him reproachfully. + +'Well, I didn't call Dilly a beast. I haven't broken Miss Townsend's +rules. She made a new rule I wasn't to call her a beast before +breakfast--' + +'What, you're allowed to call her these awful names after breakfast?' + +'No. She made a rule before breakfast I wasn't to call Dilly a beast, +and I haven't. How did you know it meant her anyway? It might have +meant somebody else.' + +'That's prevaricating; it's mean--not like you, Archie.' + +'Well, I never called her a beast. No-one can say I did. And besides, +anybody would have called her a beast after how she went on.' + +'What are you angry with the child for?' + +'Oh, she bothers so. The moment I imitate the man with the German +accent she begins to cry. She says she doesn't like me to do it. She +says she can't bear me to. Then she goes and tells Miss Townsend I +slapped her, and Miss Townsend blames me.' + +'Then you shouldn't have slapped her; it was horrid of you; you ought +to remember she's a little girl and weaker than you.' + +'I did remember...' + +'Oh, Archie!' + +'Well, I'll make it up if she begs my pardon; not unless she does I +sha'n't,' said Archie magnanimously. + +'I shall certainly not allow her to do anything of the kind.' + +At this moment Dilly came in, with her finger in her tiny mouth, and +went up to Archie, drawling with a pout, and in a whining voice: + +'I didn't mean to.' + +Archie beamed at once. + +'That's all right, Dilly,' he said forgivingly. + +Then he turned to his mother. + +'Mother, have you got that paper?' + +'Yes, I have indeed!' + +'Well, cross out--that, and put in Aspasia Matilda Ottley. Sorry, +Dilly!' He kissed her, and they ran off together hand in hand; looking +like cherubs, and laughing musically. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Aylmer + +At the Carlton Aylmer had easily persuaded Bruce and Edith to dine with +him next day, although they were engaged to the elder Mrs Ottley +already. He said he expected two or three friends, and he convinced +them they must come too. It is only in London that people meet for the +first time at a friend's house, and then, if they take to each other, +practically live together for weeks after. No matter what social +engagements they may happen to have, these are all thrown aside for the +new friend. London people, with all their correctness, are really more +unconventional than any other people in the world. For instance, in +Paris such a thing could never happen in any kind of _monde_, unless, +perhaps, it were among artists and Bohemians; and even then it would be +their great object to prove to one another that they were not wanting +in distractions and were very much in demand; the lady, especially, +would make the man wait for an opportunity of seeing her again, from +calculation, to make herself seem of more value. Such second-rate +solicitudes would never even occur to Edith. But she had a scruple +about throwing over old Mrs Ottley. + + * * * * * + +'Won't your mother be disappointed?' Edith asked. + +'My dear Edith, you can safely leave that to me. Of course she'll be +disappointed, but you can go round and see her, and speak to her nicely +and tell her that after all we can't come because we've got another +engagement.' + +'And am I to tell her it's a subsequent one? Otherwise she'll wonder we +didn't mention it before.' + +'Don't be in a hurry, dear. Don't rush things; remember... she's my +mother. Perhaps to you, Edith, it seems a rather old-fashioned idea, +and I daresay you think it's rot, but to me there's something very +sacred about the idea of a mother.' He lit a cigarette and looked in +the glass. + +'Yes, dear. Then, don't you think we really ought to have kept our +promise to dine with her? She'll probably be looking forward to it. I +daresay she's asked one or two people she thinks we like, to meet us.' + +'Circumstances alter cases, Edith. If it comes to that, Aylmer Ross has +got two or three people coming to dine with him whom he thinks we might +like. He said so himself. That's why he's asked us.' + +'Yes, but he can't have asked them on purpose, Bruce, because, you see, +we didn't know him on Thursday.' + +'Well, why should he have asked them on purpose? _How_ you argue! _How_ +you go on! It really seems to me you're getting absurdly exacting and +touchy, Edith dear. I believe all those flowers from the embassy have +positively turned your head. _Why_ should he have asked them on +purpose. You admit yourself that we didn't even know the man last +Thursday, and yet you expect--' Bruce stopped. He had got into a slight +tangle. + +Edith looked away. She had not quite mastered the art of the inward +smile. + +'Far better, in my opinion,' continued Bruce, walking up and down the +room.--'Now, don't interrupt me in your impulsive way, but hear me +out--it would be far more kind and sensible in every way for you to sit +right down at that little writing-table, take out your stylographic pen +and write and tell my mother that I have a bad attack of influenza.... +Yes; one should always be considerate to one's parents. I suppose it +really is the way I was brought up that makes me feel this so keenly,' +he explained. + +Edith sat down to the writing-table. 'How bad is your influenza?' + +'Oh, not very bad; because it would worry her: a slight attack.--Stop! +Not so very slight--we must let her think it's the ordinary kind, and +then she'll think it's catching and she won't come here for a few days, +and that will avoid our going into the matter in detail, which would be +better.' + +'If she thinks it's catching, dear, she'll want Archie and Dilly, and +Miss Townsend and Nurse to go and stay with her in South Kensington, +and that will be quite an affair.' + +'Right as usual; very thoughtful of you; you're a clever little woman +sometimes, Edith. Wait!'--he put up his hand with a gesture frequent +with him, like a policeman stopping the traffic at Hyde Park Corner. +'Wait!--leave out the influenza altogether, and just say I've caught a +slight chill.' + +'Yes. Then she'll come over at once, and you'll have to go to bed.' + +'My dear Edith,' said Bruce, 'you're over-anxious; I shall do nothing +of the kind. There's no need that I should be laid up for this. It's +not serious.' + +He was beginning to believe in his own illness, as usual. + +'Air! (I want to go round to the club)--tonic treatment!--that's the +thing!--that's often the very best thing for a chill--this sort of +chill.... Ah, that will do very nicely. Very neatly written.... +Good-bye, dear.' + + * * * * * + +As soon as Bruce had gone out Edith rang up the elder Mrs Ottley on the +telephone, and relieved her anxiety in advance. They were great +friends; the sense of humour possessed by her mother-in-law took the +sting out of the relationship. + + * * * * * + +The dinner at Aylmer's house was a great success. Bruce enjoyed himself +enormously, for he liked nothing better in the world than to give his +opinion. And Aylmer was specially anxious for his view as to the +authenticity of a little Old Master he had acquired, and took notes, +also, of a word of advice with regard to electric lighting, admitting +he was not a very practical man, and Bruce evidently was. + +Edith was interested and pleased to go to the house of her new friend +and to reconstruct the scene as it must have been when Mrs Aylmer Ross +had been there. + +Freddy, the boy, was at school, but there was a portrait of him. +Evidently he resembled his father. The sketch represented him with the +same broad forehead, smooth, dense light hair, pale blue eyes under +eyebrows with a slight frown in them, and the charming mouth rather +fully curved, expressing an amiable and pleasure-loving nature. The boy +was good-looking, but not, Edith thought, as handsome as Aylmer. + +The only other woman present was Lady Everard, a plump, talkative, +middle-aged woman in black; the smiling widow of Lord Everard, and well +known for her lavish musical hospitality and her vague and +indiscriminate good nature. She bristled with aigrettes and sparkled +with diamonds and determination. She was marvellously garrulous about +nothing in particular. She was a woman who never stopped talking for a +single moment, but in a way that resembled leaking rather than laying +down the law. Tepidly, indifferently and rather amusingly she prattled +on without ceasing, on every subject under the sun, and was socially a +valuable help because where she was there was never an awkward +pause--or any other kind. + +Vincy was there and young Cricker, whose occasional depressed silences +were alternated with what he called a certain amount of sparkling +chaff. + +Lady Everard told Edith that she felt quite like a sort of mother to +Aylmer. + +'Don't you think it's sad, Mrs Ottley,' she said, when they were alone, +'to think that the dear fellow has no wife to look after this dear +little house? It always seems to me such a pity, but still, I always +say, at any rate Aylmer's married once, and that's more than most of +them do nowadays. It's simply horse's work to get them to do it at all. +Sometimes I think it's perfectly disgraceful. And yet I can't help +seeing how sensible it is of them too; you know, when you think of it, +what with one thing and another, what does a man of the present day +need a wife for? What with the flats, where everything on earth is done +for them, and the kindness of friends--just think how bachelors are +spoilt by their married friends!--and their clubs, and the frightful +expense of everything, it seems to me, as a general rule, that the +average man must be madly unselfish or a perfect idiot to marry at +all--that's what it seems to me--don't you? When you think of all the +responsibilities they take upon themselves!--and I'm sure there are not +many modern wives who expect to do anything on earth but have their +bills and bridge debts paid, and their perpetual young men asked to +dinner, and one thing and another. Of course, though, there are some +exceptions.' She smiled amiably. 'Aylmer tells me you have two +children; very sweet of you, I'm sure. What darling pets they must be! +Angels!--Angels! Oh, I'm so fond of children! But, particularly--isn't +it funny?--when they're not there, because I can't stand their noise. +Now my little grandchildren--my daughter Eva's been married ten +years--Lady Lindley, you know--hers are perfect pets and heavenly +angels, but I can't stand them for more than a few minutes at a time. I +have nerves, so much so, do you know (partly because I go in a good +deal for music and intellect and so on), so much so, that I very nearly +had a rest cure at the end of last season, and I should have had, +probably, but that new young French singer came over with a letter of +introduction to me, and of course I couldn't desert him, but had to do +my very best. Ever heard him sing? Yes, you would, of course. Oh, how +wonderful it is!' + +Edith waited in vain for a pause to say she didn't know the name of the +singer. Lady Everard went on, leaning comfortably back in Aylmer's +arm-chair. + +'Willie Cricker dances very prettily, too; he came to one of my +evenings and had quite a success. Only an amateur, of course; but +rather nice. However, like all amateurs he wants to perform only when +people would rather he didn't, and when they want him to he won't; he +refuses. That's the amateur all over. The professional comes up to the +scratch when wanted and stops when the performance is not required. +It's all the difference in the world, isn't it, Mrs Ottley? Still, he's +a nice boy. Are you fond of music?' + +'Very. Really fond of it; but I'm only a listener.' + +Lady Everard seemed delighted and brightened up. + +'Oh, you don't sing or play?--you must come to one of my Musical +Evenings. We have all the stars in the season at times--dear Melba and +Caruso--and darling Bemberk and dear Debussy! Oh! don't laugh at my +enthusiasm, my dear; but I'm quite music-mad--and then, of course, we +have any amount of amateurs, and all the new young professionals that +are coming on. In my opinion Paul La France, that's the young man I was +telling you about, will be one of the very very best--quite at the top +of the tree, and I'm determined he shall. But of course, he needs care +and encouragement. I think of his giving a _Conférence_, in which he'll +lecture on his own singing. I shall be on the platform to make a sort +of introductory speech and Monti, of course, will accompany. He is the +only accompanist that counts. But then I suppose he's been accompanying +somebody or other ever since he was a little boy, so it's second nature +to him. And you must come, and bring your husband. Does he go with you +to places? Very nice of him. Nowadays if husbands and wives don't +occasionally go to the same parties they have hardly any opportunity of +meeting at all; that's what I always say. But then, of course, _you're_ +still almost on your honeymoon, aren't you? Charming!' + +In the dining-room Cricker was confiding in Aylmer, while Vincy and +Bruce discussed the Old Master. + +'Awful, you know,' Cricker said, in a low voice--' this girl's mania +for me! I get wires and telephones all day long; she hardly gives me +time to shave. And she's jolly pretty, so I don't like to chuck it; in +fact, I daren't. But her one cry is 'Cold; cold; cold!' She says I'm as +cold as a stone. What do you thing of that?' + +'You may be a stone, and a rolling one at that, said Aylmer, 'but there +are other pebbles on the beach, I daresay.' + +'I bet not one of them as stony as I am!' cried Cricker. + +Cricker came a little nearer, lowering his voice again. + +'It's a very peculiar case,' he said proudly. + +'Of course; it always is.' + +'You see, she's frightfully pretty, on the stage, and married! One of +the most awkward positions a person can be in. Mind you, I'm sorry for +her. I thought of consulting you about something if you'll give me a +minute or two, old chap.' + +He took out a letter-case. + +'I don't mean Ill show you this--oh no, I can't show it--it isn't +compromising.' + +'Of course not. No-one really likes to show a really lukewarm love +letter. Besides it would hardly be--' + +Cricker put the case back. + +My dear chap! I wasn't going to show it to you--I shouldn't dream of +such a thing--to anybody; but I was just going to read you out a +sentence from which you can form an opinion of my predicament. It's no +good mincing matters, old boy, the woman is crazy mad about me--there +you've got it straight--in a nutshell.--Crazy!' + +'She certainly can't be very sane,' returned Aylmer. + +Before the end of the evening Aylmer had arranged to take the Ottleys +to see a play that was having a run. After this he dropped in to tea to +discuss it and Bruce kept him to dinner. + +Day after day went on, and they saw him continually. He had never shown +by word or manner any more of his sentiment than on the second occasion +when they had met but Edith was growing thoroughly accustomed to this +new interest, and it certainly gave a zest to her existence, for she +knew, as women do know, or at any rate she believed, that she had an +attraction for him, which he didn't intend to give away. The situation +was pleasant and notwithstanding Vincy's slight anxiety, she persisted +in seeing nothing in it to fear in any way. Aylmer didn't even flirt. + +One day, at Vincy's rooms, she thought he seemed different. + +Vincy, with all his gentle manner, had in art an extraordinary taste +for brutality and violence, and his rooms were covered with pictures by +Futurists and Cubists, wild studies by wild men from Tahiti and a +curious collection of savage ornaments and weapons. + +'I don't quite see Vincy handling that double-edged Chinese sword, do +you? said Aylmer, laughing. + +'No, nor do I; but I do like to look at it,' Vincy said. + +They went into the little dining-room, which was curiously furnished +with a green marble dining-table, narrow, as in the pictures of the +Last Supper, at which the guests could sit on one side only to be +waited on from the other. On it as decoration (it was laid for two, +side by side) were some curious straw mats, a few laurel leaves, a +little marble statuette of Pan, and three Tangerine oranges. + +'Oh, Vincy, do tell me--what are you going to eat tonight?' Edith +exclaimed. 'Unless you're with other people I can never imagine you +sitting down to a proper meal.' + +Eat? Oh a nice orange, I think,' said he. Sometimes when I'm alone I +just have a nice egg and a glass of water, I do myself very well. Don't +worry about me, Edith.' + +When they were alone for a moment Aylmer looked out of the window. It +was rather high up, and they looked down on the hustling crowds of +people pushing along through the warm air in Victoria Street. + +'It's getting decent weather,' he said. + +'Yes, quite warm.' + +They always suddenly talked commonplaces when they were first left +alone. + +'I may be going away pretty soon,' he said. + +'Going away! Oh, where?' + +'I'm not quite sure yet.' + +There was a pause. + +'Well, you'll come to tea tomorrow, won't you? said Edith. 'Yes, +indeed, thank you--thank you so much. I shall look forward to it. At +five?' He spoke formally. + +'At four,' said Edith. + +'I shall be lunching not very far from you tomorrow.' + +'At a quarter to four,' said Edith. + +'I wonder who this other place is laid for,' said Aylmer, looking at +the table. + +'How indiscreet of you! So do I. One must find out.' + +'How? By asking?' + +'Good heavens, no!' cried Edith. 'What an extraordinary idea!' + + + +CHAPTER X + +Shopping Chez Soi + +Edith was expecting Aylmer to call that afternoon before he went away. +She was surprised to find how perturbed she was at the idea of his +going away. He had become almost a part of their daily existence, and +seeing him was certainly quite the most amusing and exciting experience +she had ever had. And now it was coming to an end. Some obscure +clairvoyance told her that his leaving and telling her of it in this +vague way had some reference to her; but perhaps (she thought) she was +wrong; perhaps it was simply that, after the pleasant intercourse and +semi-intimacy of the last few weeks, he was going to something that +interested him more? He was a widower; and still a young man. Perhaps +he was in love with someone. This idea was far from agreeable, although +except the first and second time they met he had never said a word that +could be described even as flirtation. He showed admiration for her, +and pleasure in her society, but he rarely saw her alone. The few +visits and _tête-à-têtes_ had always begun by conventional commonplace +phrases and embarrassment, and had ended in a delightful sympathy, in +animated conversation, in a flowing confidence and gaiety, and in long +discussions on books, and art, and principally people. That was all. In +fact he had become, in two or three weeks, in a sense _l'ami de la +maison_; they went everywhere with him and met nearly every day, and +Bruce appeared to adore him. It was entirely different from her long +and really intimate friendship with Vincy. Vincy was her confidant, her +friend. She could tell _him_ everything, and she did, and he confided +in her and told her all except one side of his life, of which she was +aware, but to which she never referred. This was his secret romance +with a certain girl artist of whom he never spoke, although Edith knew +that some day he would tell her about that also. + +But with Aylmer there was, and would always be, less real freedom and +impersonal frankness, because there was so much more selfconsciousness; +in fact because there was an unacknowledged but very strong mutual +physical attraction. Edith had, however, felt until now merely the +agreeable excitement of knowing that a man she liked, and in whom she +was immensely interested, was growing apparently devoted to her, while +_she_ had always believed that she would know how to deal with the case +in such a way that it could never lead to anything more--that is to +say, to more than _she_ wished. + +And now, he was going away. Why? And where? However, the first thing to +consider was that she would see him today. The result of this +consideration was the obvious one. She must do some shopping. + +Edith was remarkably feminine in every attribute, in manner, in +movement and in appearance; indeed, for a woman of the present day +unusually and refreshingly feminine. Yet she had certain mental +characteristics which were entirely unlike most women. One was her +extreme aversion for shops, and indeed for going into any concrete +little details. It has been said that her feeling for dress was sure +and unerring. But it was entirely that of the artist; it was +impressionistic. Edith was very clever, indeed, most ingenious, in +managing practical affairs, as long as she was the director, the +general of the campaign. But she did not like carrying out in detail +her plans. She liked to be the architect, not the workman. + +For example, the small household affairs in the flat went on wheels; +everything was almost always perfect. But Edith did not rattle her +housekeeping keys, or count the coals, nor did she even go through +accounts, or into the kitchen every day. The secret was simple. She had +a good cook and housekeeper, who managed all these important but +tedious details admirably, under her suggestions. In order to do this +Edith had to practise a little fraud on Bruce, a justifiable and quite +unselfish one. She gave the cook and housekeeper a quarter of her dress +allowance, in addition to the wages Bruce considered sufficient; +because Bruce believed that they could not afford more than a certain +amount for a cook, while he admitted that Edith, who had a few hundred +pounds a year of her own, might need to spend this on dress. Very +little of it went on dress, although Edith was not very economical. But +she had a plan of her own; she knew that to be dressed in a very +ordinary style (that is to say, simple, conventional, comme il faut) +suited her, by throwing her unusual beauty into relief. Occasionally a +touch of individuality was added, when she wanted to have a special +effect. But she never entered a shop; very rarely interviewed a +milliner. It was always done for her. She was easy to dress, being +tall, slim and remarkably pretty. She thought that most women make a +great mistake in allowing dress to be the master instead of the servant +of their good looks; many women were, she considered, entirely crushed +and made insignificant by the beauty of their clothes. The important +thing was to have a distinguished appearance, and this cannot, of +course, easily be obtained without expensive elegance. But Edith was +twenty-eight, and looked younger, so she could dress simply. + +This morning Edith had telephoned to her friend, Miss Bennett, an old +schoolfellow who had nothing to do, and adored commissions. Edith, +sitting by the fire or at the 'phone, gave her orders, which were +always decisive, short and yet meticulous. Miss Bennett was a little +late this morning, and Edith had been getting quite anxious to see her. +When she at last arrived--she was a nondescript-looking girl, with a +small hat squashed on her head, a serge coat and skirt, black gloves +and shoes with spats--Edith greeted her rather reproachfully with: + +'You're late, Grace.' + +'Sorry,' said Grace. + +The name suited her singularly badly. She was plain, but had a pleasant +face, a pink complexion, small bright eyes, protruding teeth and a +scenario for a figure, merely a collection of bones on which a dress +could be hung. She was devoted to Edith, and to a few other friends of +both sexes, of whom she made idols. She was hard, abrupt, enthusiastic, +ignorant and humorous. + +'Sorry, but I had to do a lot of--' + +'All right,' interrupted Edith. 'You couldn't help it. Listen' to what +I want you to do.' + +'Go ahead,' said Miss Bennett, taking out a note-book and pencil. + +Edith spoke in her low, soft, impressive voice, rather slowly. + +'Go anywhere you like and bring me back two or three perfectly simple +tea-gowns--you know the sort of shape, rather like evening +cloaks--straight lines--none of the new draperies and curves--in red, +blue and black.' + +'On appro.?' asked Miss Bennett. + +'On anything you like, but made of Liberty satin, with a dull surface.' + +'There's no such thing.' Grace Bennett laughed. 'You mean charmeuse, or +crepe-de-chine, perhaps?' + +'Call it what you like, only get it. You must bring them back in a +taxi.' + +'Extravagant girl!' + +'They're not to cost more than--oh! not much,' added Edith, 'at the +most.' + +'Economical woman! Why not have a really good tea-gown while you're +about it?' + +'These _will_ be good. I want to have a hard outline like a +Fergusson.' + +'Oh, really? What's that?' + +'Never mind. And suppose you can't get the shape, Grace.' + +'Yes?' + +'Bring some evening cloaks--the kimonoish kind--I could wear one over a +lace blouse; it would look exactly the same.' + +'Edith, what curious ideas you have! But you're right enough. Anything +else?' said Miss Bennett, standing up, ready to go. 'I like shopping +for you. You know what you want.' + +'Buy me an azalea, not a large one, and a bit of some dull material of +the same colour to drape round it.' + +'How extraordinary it is the way you hate anything shiny!' exclaimed +Miss Bennett, making a note. + +'I know; I only like _mat_ effects. Oh, and in case I choose a +light-coloured gown, get me just one very large black velvet orchid, +too.' + +'Right. That all?' + +Edith looked at her shoes; they were perfect, tiny, pointed and made of +black suède. She decided they would do. + +'Yes, that's all, dear.' + +'And might I kindly ask,' said Miss Bennett, getting up, 'any +particular reason for all this? Are you going to have the flu, or a +party, or what?' + +'No,' said Edith, who was always frank when it was possible. 'I'm +expecting a visitor who's never seen me in anything but a coat and +skirt, or in evening dress.' + +'Oh! He wants a change, does he?' + +'Don't be vulgar, Grace. Thanks awfully, dear. You're really kind.' + +They both laughed, and Edith gently pushed her friend out of the room. +Then she sat down on a sofa, put up her feet, and began to read +_Rhythm_ to divert her thoughts. Vincy had brought it to convert her to +Post-Impressionism. + +When Archie and Dilly were out, and Edith, who always got up rather +early, was alone, she often passed her morning hours in reading, +dreaming, playing the piano, or even in thinking. She was one of the +few women who really can think, and enjoy it. This morning she soon put +down the mad clever little prophetic Oxford journal. Considering she +was usually the most reposeful woman in London, she was rather restless +today. She glanced round the little room; there was nothing in it to +distract or irritate, or even to suggest a train of thought; except +perhaps the books; everything was calming and soothing, with a touch of +gaiety in the lightness of the wall decorations. An azalea, certainly, +would be a good note. The carpet, and almost everything in the room, +was green, except the small white enamelled piano. Today she felt that +she wanted to use all her influence to get Aylmer to confide in her +more. Perhaps he was slipping away from her--she would have been only a +little incident in his existence--while she certainly wished it to go +on. Seeing this, perhaps it oughtn't to go on. She wondered if he would +laugh or be serious today... whether... + + * * * * * + +Miss Bennett had come up in the lift with a heap of cardboard boxes, +and the azalea. A taxi was waiting at the door. + +Edith opened the boxes, cutting the string with scissors. She put four +gowns out on the sofa. Grace explained that two were cloaks, two were +gowns--all she could get. + +'That's the one,' said Edith, taking out one of a deep blue colour, +like an Italian sky on a coloured picture post-card. It had a collar of +the same deep blue, spotted with white--a birdseye effect. Taking off +her coat Edith slipped the gown over her dress, and went to her room +(followed closely by Miss Bennett) to see herself in the long mirror. + +'Perfect!' said Edith. 'Only I must cut off those buttons. I hate +buttons.' + +'How are you going to fasten it, then, dear?' + +'With hooks and eyes. Marie can sew them on.' + +The deep blue with the white spots had a vivid and charming effect, and +suited her blonde colouring; she saw she was very pretty in it, and was +pleased. + +'Aren't you going to try the others on, dear?' asked Grace. + +'No; what's the good? This one will do.' + +'Right. Then I'll take them back.' + +'You're sweet. Won't you come back to lunch?' + +'I'll come back to lunch tomorrow,' said Miss Bennett, 'and you can +tell me about your tea-party. Oh, and here's a little bit of stuff for +the plant. I suppose you'll put the azalea into the large pewter vase?' + +'Yes, and I'll tie this round its neck.' + +'Sorry it's cotton,' said Miss Bennett. 'I couldn't get any silk the +right colour.' + +'Oh, I like cotton, if only it's not called sateen! Good-bye, darling. +You're delightfully quick!' + +'Yes, I don't waste time,' said Miss Bennett. 'Mother says, too, that +I'm the best shopper in the world.' She turned round to add, 'I'm dying +to know why you want to look so pretty. Who is it?' + +With a quiet smile, Edith dismissed her. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +P.P.C. + +'It always seems to me so unlike you,' Aylmer said (he had arrived +punctually at twenty minutes to four)--'your extreme fondness for +newspapers. You're quite celebrated as a collector of Last Editions, +aren't you?' + +'I know it's very unliterary of me, but I enjoy reading newspapers +better than reading anything else in the world. After all, it's +contemporary history, that's my defence. But I suppose it is because +I'm so intensely interested in life.' + +'Tell me exactly, what papers do you really read?' + +She laughed. 'Four morning papers--never mind their names--four +evening papers; five Sunday papers: _The Academy, The Saturday Review, +The Bookman, The World, The English Review_.' + +'Well, I think it's wicked of you to encourage all this frivolity. And +what price _The Queen, Horrie Notes, or The Tatler_?' + +'Oh, we have those too--for Bruce.' + +'And does Archie show any of this morbid desire for journalism?' + +'Oh yes. He takes in _Chums and Little Folks_.' + +'And I see you're reading _Rhythm_. That's Vincy's fault, of course.' + +'Perhaps it is.' + +'How do you find time for all this culture?' + +'I read quickly, and what I have to do I do rather quickly.' + +'Is that why you never seem in a hurry? I think you're the only +leisured-looking woman I know in London.' + +'I do think I've solved the problem of labour-saving; I've reduced it +to a science.' + +'How?' + +'By not working, I suppose.' + +'You're wonderful. And that blue....' + +'Do you really think so?' + +He was beginning to get carried away. He stood up and looked out of the +window. The pink and white hyacinths were strongly scented in the warm +air. He turned round. + +She said demurely: 'It will be nice weather for you to go away now, +won't it?' + +'I don't think so.' He spoke impulsively. 'I shall hate it; I shall be +miserable.' + +'Really!' in a tone of great surprise. + +'You're dying to ask me something,' he said. + +'Which am I dying to ask you: _where_ you're going, or _why_ you're +going?' She gave her most vivid smile. He sat down with a sigh. People +still sigh, sometimes, even nowadays. + +'I don't know where I'm going; but I'll tell you why.... I'm seeing too +much of you.' + +She was silent. + +'You see, Mrs Ottley, seeing a great deal of you is very entrancing, +but it's dangerous.' + +'In what way?' + +'Well--your society--you see one gets to feel one can't do without it, +do you see?' + +'But why should you do without it?' + +He looked at her. 'You mean there's no reason why we shouldn't keep on +going to plays with Bruce, dining with Bruce, being always with Bruce?' +(Bruce and Aylmer had become so intimate that they called each other by +their Christian names.) 'Don't you see, it makes one sometimes feel one +wants more and more of you--of your society I mean. One could talk +better alone.' + +'But you can come and see me sometimes, can't you?' + +'Yes; that's the worst of all,' he answered, with emphasis. + +'Oh.' + +Aylmer spoke decidedly: 'I'm not a man who could ever be a tame cat. +And also I'm not, I hope, a man who--who would dare to think, or even +wish, to spoil--to--' + +'And is that really why you're going?' she asked gently. + +'You're forcing me to answer you.' + +'And shall you soon forget all about it?' + +He changed his position and sat next to her on the sofa. + +'And so you won't miss me a bit,' he said caressingly. 'You wouldn't +care if you never saw me again, would you?' + +'Yes, I should care. Why, you know we're awfully good friends; I like +you immensely.' + +'As much as Vincy?' + +'Oh! So differently.' + +'I'm glad of that, at any rate!' + +There was an embarrassed pause. + +'So this is really the last time I'm to see you for ages, Mrs Ottley?' + +'But aren't we all going to the theatre tomorrow? With you, I mean? +Bruce said so.' + +'Oh yes. I mean the last time alone. Yes, I've got a box for _The +Moonshine Girl_. Bruce said you'd come. Lady Everard and Vincy will be +there.' + +'That will be fun--I love that sort of show. It takes one right away +from life instead of struggling to imitate it badly like most plays.' + +'It's always delightful to hear what you say. And anything I see with +you I enjoy, and believe to be better than it is,' said Aylmer. 'You +know you cast a glamour over anything. But the next day I'm going away +for three months at least.' + +'A long time.' + +'Is it? Will it seem long to you?' + +'Why, of course. We shall--I shall miss you very much. I told you so.' + +'Really?' he insisted. + +'Really,' she smiled. + +They looked at each other. + +Edith felt less mistress of the situation than she had expected. She +was faced with a choice; she felt it; she knew it. She didn't want him +to go. Still, perhaps.... There was a vibration in the air. Suddenly a +sharp ring was heard. + +Overpowered by a sudden impulse, Aylmer seized her impetuously by the +shoulders, kissed her roughly and at random before she could stop him, +and said incoherently: 'Edith! Good-bye. I love you, Edith,' and then +stood up by the mantelpiece. + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +'The Moonshine Girl' + +The next evening Bruce and Edith were going to the Society Theatre with +Aylmer. It was their last meeting before he was to go away, Edith half +expected that he would put it off, but there was no change made in the +plans, and they met in the box as arranged. + +Aylmer had expected during the whole day to hear that she had managed +to postpone the party. At one moment he was frightened and rather +horrified when he thought of what he had done. At another he was +delighted and enchanted about it, and told himself that it was +absolutely justified. After all, he couldn't do more than go away if he +found he was too fond of her. No hero of romance could be expected to +do more than that, and he wasn't a hero of romance; he didn't pretend +to be. But he _was_ a good fellow--and though Bruce's absurdities +irritated him a great deal he had a feeling of delicacy towards him, +and a scrupulousness that is not to be found every day. At other +moments Aylmer swore to himself, cursing his impulsiveness, fearing she +now would really not ever think of him as he wished, but as a hustling +sort of brute. But no--he didn't care. He had come at last to close +quarters with her. He had kissed the pretty little mouth that he had so +often watched with longing. He admitted to himself that he had really +wished to pose a little in her eyes: to be the noble hero in the third +act who goes away from temptation. But who does not wish for the _beau +rôle_ before one's idol? + + * * * * * + +This meeting at the play tonight was the sort of anti-climax that is +almost invariable in a London romance. How he looked forward to it! For +after Vincy came in only a few banalities had been said. He was to see +her now for the last time--the first time since he had given himself +away to her. Probably it was only her usual kindness to others that +prevented her getting out of the evening plans, he thought. Or--did she +want to see him once more? + +At dinner before the play Edith was very bright, and particularly +pretty. Bruce, too, was in good spirits. + +'It's rather sickening,' he remarked, 'Aylmer going away like this; we +shall miss him horribly, sha'n't we? And then, where's the sense, +Edith, in a chap leaving London where he's been the whole of the awful +winter, just as it begins to be pleasant here? Pass the salt; don't +spill it--that's unlucky. Not that I believe in any superstitious rot. +I can see the charm of the quaint old ideas about black cats and so +forth, but I don't for one moment attach any importance to them, nor to +the number thirteen, nor any of that sort of bosh. Indeed as a matter +of fact, I walked round a ladder only today rather than go under it. +But that's simply because I don't go in for trying to be especially +original.' + +'No, dear. I think you're quite right.' + +'And oddly enough--as I was trying to tell you just now, only you +didn't seem to be listening--a black cat ran across my path only this +afternoon.' He smiled, gratified at the recollection. + +'How do you mean, your path? I didn't know you had one--or that there +were any paths about here.' + +'How literal women are! I mean _I_ nearly ran over it in a taxi. When I +say I nearly ran over it, I mean that a black cat on the same side of +the taxi (if you must have details) ran away as the taxi drove on.... +Yes, Aylmer is a thoroughly good chap, and he and I have enormous +sympathy. I don't know any man in the world with whom I have more +intellectual sympathy than Aylmer Ross. Do you remember how I pointed +him out to you at once at the Mitchells'? And sometimes when I think +how you used to sneer at the Mitchells--oh, you did, you know, dear, +before you knew them--and I remember all the trouble I had to get you +to go there, I wonder--I simply wonder! Don't you see, through going +there, as I advised, we've made one of the nicest friends we ever had.' + +'Really, Bruce, you didn't have _any_ trouble to get me to go to the +Mitchells; you're forgetting. The trouble was I couldn't go there very +well until I was asked. The very first time we were asked (if you +recollect), we flew!' + +'Flew? Why, we went on the wrong night. That doesn't look as if I was +very keen about it! However, I'm not blaming you, dear. It wasn't your +fault. Mind you,' continued Bruce, 'I consider the Society Theatre pure +frivolity. But one thing I'll say, a bad show there is better than a +good show anywhere else. There's always jolly music, pretty dresses, +pretty girls--you don't mind my saying so, dear, do you?' + +'No, indeed. I think so myself.' + +'Of course, the first row of the chorus is not what it was when I was a +bachelor,' continued Bruce, frowning thoughtfully. 'Either they're not +so good-looking, or I don't admire them so much, or they don't admire +_me_ as much, or they're a different class, or--or--something!' he +laughed. + +'You're pleased to be facetious,' remarked Edith. + +'My dear girl, you know perfectly well I think there's no-one else in +the world like you. Wherever I go I always say there's no-one to touch +my wife. No-one!' + +Edith got up. 'Very sweet of you.' + +'But,' continued Bruce, 'because I think you pretty, it doesn't follow +that I think everybody else is hideous. I tell you that straight from +the shoulder, and I must say this for you, dear, I've never seen any +sign of jealousy on your part.' + +'I'd show it soon enough if I felt it--if I thought I'd any cause,' +said Edith; 'but I didn't think I had.' + +Bruce gave a rather fatuous smile. 'Oh, go and get ready, my dear,' he +answered. 'Don't let's talk nonsense. Who's going to be there tonight, +do you know?' + +'Oh, only Lady Everard and Vincy.' + +'Lady Everard is a nice woman. You're going to that musical thing of +hers, I suppose?' + +'Yes, I suppose so.' + +'It's in the afternoon, and it's not very easy for me to get away in +the afternoon, but to please you, I'll take you--see? I loathe music +(except musical comedies), and I think if ever there was a set of +appalling rotters--I feel inclined to knock them off the music-stool +the way they go on at Lady Everard's--at the same time, some of them +are very cultured and intelligent chaps, and _she's_ a very charming +woman. One can't get in a word edgeways, but _when_ one does--well, she +listens, and laughs at one's jokes, and that sort of thing. I think I'm +rather glad you're not musical, Edith, it takes a woman away from her +husband.' + +'Not musical! Oh dear! I thought I was,' said Edith. + +'Oh, anyhow, not when I'm here, so it doesn't matter. Besides, your +being appreciative and that sort of thing is very nice. Look what a +social success you've had at the Everards', for instance, through +listening and understanding these things; it is not an accomplishment +to throw away. No, Edith dear, I should tell you, if you would only +listen to me, to keep up your music, but you won't and there's an end +of it...That soufflé was really very good. Cook's improving. For a +plain little cook like that, with such small wages, and no kitchenmaid, +she does quite well.' + +'Oh yes, she's not bad,' said Edith. She knew that if Bruce had been +aware the cook's remuneration was adequate he would not have enjoyed +his dinner. + + * * * * * + +They were in the box in the pretty theatre. Lady Everard, very smart in +black, sparkling with diamonds, was already there with Aylmer. Vincy +had not arrived. + +The house was crammed to the ceiling. Gay, electrical music of +exhilarating futility was being played by the orchestra. The scene +consisted of model cottages; a chorus of pretty girls in striped cotton +were singing. The heroine came on; she was well known for her smile, +which had become public property on picture post-cards and the Obosh +bottles. She was dressed as a work-girl also, but in striped silk with +a real lace apron and a few diamonds. Then the hero arrived. He wore a +red shirt, brown boots, and had a tenor voice. He explained an +interesting little bit of the plot, which included an eccentric will +and other novelties. The humorous dandy of the play was greeted with +shouts of joy by the chorus and equal enthusiasm by the audience. He +agreed to change places with the hero, who wished to give up one +hundred and forty thousand pounds a year to marry the heroine. + +'Very disinterested,' murmured Lady Everard. 'Very nice of him, I'm +sure. It isn't many people that would do a thing like that. A nice +voice, too. Of course, this is not what _I_ call good music, but it's +very bright in its way, and the words--I always think these words are +so clever. So witty. Listen to them--do listen to them, dear Mrs +Ottley.' + +They listened to the beautiful words sung, of which the refrain ran as +follows:-- + + 'The Author told the Actor, + (The Actor had a fit). + The Box Office man told the Programme-girl, + The Theatre all was in quite a whirl. + The call-boy told the Chorus. + (Whatever could it be?) + The super asked the Manager, + What did the Censor see?' + +'Charming,' murmured Lady Everard; 'brilliant--I know his father so +well.' + +'Whose father--the censor's?' + +'Oh, the father of the composer--a very charming man. When he was young +he used to come to my parties--my Wednesdays. I used to have Wednesdays +then. I don't have Wednesdays now. I think it better to telephone at +the last minute any particular day for my afternoons because, after +all, you never know when the artists one wants are disengaged, does +one? You're coming on Wednesday to hear Paul La France sing, dear Mrs +Ottley?' + +Edith smiled and nodded assent, trying to stop the incessant trickle of +Lady Everard's leaking conversation. She loved theatres, and she +enjoyed hearing every word, which was impossible while there was more +dialogue in the box than on the stage; also, Aylmer was sitting behind +her. + +The comic lady now came on; there were shrieks of laughter at her +unnecessary and irrelevant green boots and crinoline and Cockney +accent. She proposed to marry the hero, who ran away from her. There +was more chorus; and the curtain fell. + +In the interval Vincy arrived. He and Bruce went into the little salon +behind the box. Lady Everard joined them there. Edith and Aylmer looked +round the house. The audience at the Society Theatre is a special one; +as at the plays in which the favourite actor-managers and _jeunes +premiers_ perform there are always far more women than men, at this +theatre there are always far more men than women. + +The stage box opposite our friends was filled with a party of about ten +men. + +'It looks like a jury,' said Edith. 'Perhaps it is.' 'Probably a board +of directors,' said Aylmer. + +The first two rows of the stalls were principally occupied by +middle-aged and rather elderly gentlemen. Many had grey moustaches and +a military bearing. Others were inclined to be stout, with brilliant +exuberant manners and very dark hair that simply wouldn't lie flat. +There were a great many parties made up like those of our friends--of +somebody in love with somebody, surrounded by chaperons. These were the +social people, and also there were a certain number of young men with +pretty women who were too fashionably dressed, too much made up, and +who were looking forward too much to supper. These ladies seemed +inclined to crab the play, and to find unimportant little faults with +the unimportant actresses. There were many Americans--who took it +seriously; and altogether one could see it was an immense success; in +other words everyone had paid for their seats... + + * * * * * + +The play was over; Aylmer had not had a word with Edith. He was going +away the next day, and he asked them all to supper. Of course he drove +Edith, and Lady Everard took the other two in her motor.... + +'You're an angel if you've forgiven me,' he said, as they went out. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +The Supper-party + +'Have you forgiven me?' he asked anxiously, as soon as they were in the +dark shelter of the cab. + +'Yes, oh yes. Please don't let's talk about it any more... What time do +you start tomorrow?' + +'You think I ought to go then?' + +'You say so.' + +'But you'd rather I remained here; rather we should go on as we +are--wouldn't you?' + +'Well, you know I should never have dreamt of suggesting you should go +away. I like you to be here.' + +'At any cost to me? No, Edith; I can't stand it. And since I've told +you it's harder. Your knowing makes it harder.' + +'I should have thought that if you liked anyone so _very_ much, you +would want to see them all the time, as much as possible, always--even +with other people...anything rather than not see them--be away +altogether. At least, that's how I should feel.' + +'No doubt you would; that's a woman's view. And besides, you see, you +don't care!' + +'The more I cared, the less I should go away, I think.' + +'But, haven't I tried? And I can't bear it. You don't know how cruel +you are with your sweetness, Edith...Oh, put yourself in my place! How +do you suppose I feel when I've been with you like this, near you, +looking at you, delighting in you the whole evening--and then, after +supper, you go away with Bruce? _You've_ had a very pleasant evening, +no doubt; it's all right for you to feel you've got me, as you know you +have--and with no fear, no danger. Yes, you enjoy it!' + +'Oh, Aylmer!' + +He saw in the half-darkness that her eyes looked reproachful. + +'I didn't mean it. I'm sorry--I'm always being sorry.' His bitter tone +changed to gentleness. 'I want to speak to you now, Edith. We haven't +much time. Don't take away your hand a minute....I always told you, +didn't I, that the atmosphere round you is so clear that I feel with +you I'm in the Palace of Truth? You're so _real_. You're the only woman +I ever met who really cared for truth. You're not afraid of it; and +you're as straight and honourable as a man! I don't mean you can't +diplomatise if you choose, of course, and better than anyone; but it +isn't your nature to deceive yourself, nor anyone else. I recognise +that in you. I love it. And that's why I can't pretend or act with you; +I must be frank.' + +'Please, do be frank.' + +'I love you. I'm madly in love with you. I adore you.' + +Aylmer stopped, deeply moved at the sound of his own words. Few people +realise the effect such words have on the speaker. Saying them to her +was a great joy, and an indulgence, but it increased painfully his +passionate feeling, making it more accentuated and acute. To let +himself go verbally was a wild, bitter pleasure. It hurt him, and he +enjoyed it. + +'And I'd do anything in the world to get you. And I'd do anything in +the world for you, too. And if you cared for me I'd go away all the +same. At least, I believe I should...We shall be there in a minute. + +'Listen, dear. I want you, occasionally, to write to me; there's no +earthly reason why you shouldn't. I'll let you know my address. It will +prevent my being too miserable, or rushing back. And will you do +something else for me?' + +'Anything.' + +'Angel! Well, when you write, call me Aylmer. You never have yet, in a +letter. Treat me just like a friend--as you treat Vincy. Tell me what +you're doing, where you're going, who you see; about Archie and Dilly; +about your new dresses and hats; what you're reading--any little thing, +so that I'm still in touch with you.' + +'Yes, I will; I shall like to. And don't be depressed, Aylmer. Do enjoy +your journey; write to me, too.' + +'Yes, I'm going to write to you, but only in an official way, only for +Bruce. And, listen. Take care of yourself. You're too unselfish. Do +what you want sometimes, not what other people want all the time. Don't +read too much by electric light and try your eyes. And don't go out in +these thin shoes in damp weather--promise!' + +She laughed a little--touched. + +'Be a great deal with the children. I like to think of you with them. +And I hope you won't be always going out,' he continued, in a tone of +unconscious command, which she enjoyed....'Please don't be continually +at Lady Everard's, or at the Mitchells', or anywhere. I hate you to be +admired--how I hate it!' + +'Fancy! And I was always brought up to believe people are proud of +what's called the 'success' of the people that they--like.' + +'Don't you believe it, Edith! That's all bosh--vanity and nonsense. At +any rate, I know I'm not. In fact, as I can't have you myself, I would +really like you to be shut up. Very happy, very well, with everything +in the world you like, even thinking of me a little, but absolutely +shut up! And if you did go out, for a breath of air, I should like +no-one to see you. I'd like you to cover up your head--wear a thick +veil--and a thick loose dress!' + +'You're very Oriental!' she laughed. + +'I'm not a bit Oriental; I'm human. It's selfish, I suppose, you think? +Well, let me tell you, if you care to know, that it's _love_, and +nothing else, Edith....Now, is there anything in the world I can do for +you while I'm away? It would be kind to ask me. Remember I shan't see +you for three months. I may come back in September. Can't I send you +something--do something that you'd like? I count on you to ask me at +any time if there's anything in the world I could do for you, no matter +what!' + +No woman could help being really pleased at such whole-hearted +devotion and such Bluebeard-like views--especially when they were not +going to be carried out. Edith was thrilled by the passionate emotion +she felt near her. How cold it would be when he had gone! He _was_ +nice, handsome, clever--a darling! + +'Don't forget me, Aylmer. I don't want you to forget me. Later on we'll +have a real friendship.' + +'_Friendship!_ Don't use that word. It's so false--such humbug--for +_me_ at any rate. To say I could care for you as a friend is simply +blasphemy! How can it be possible for _me_? But I'll try. Thanks for +_any_thing! You're an angel--I'll try.' + +'And it's horribly inconsistent, and no doubt very wicked of me, but, +do you know, I should be rather pained if I heard you had fallen in +love with someone else.' + +'Ah, that would be impossible!' he cried. 'Never--never! It's the real +thing; there never was anyone like you, there never will be. + +Let me look at you once more....Oh, Edith! And now--here we are.' + +Edith took away her hand. 'Your scarf's coming off, you'll catch +cold,' said Aylmer, and as he was trying, rather awkwardly, to put the +piece of blue chiffon round her head he drew the dear head to him and +kissed her harshly. She could not protest; it was too final; besides, +they were arriving; the cab stopped. Vincy came to the door. + +'Welcome to Normanhurst!' cried Vincy, with unnecessary facetiousness, +giving them a slightly anxious glance. He thought Edith had more colour +than usual. Aylmer was pale. + + * * * * * + +The supper was an absolute and complete failure; the guests +displayed the forced gaiety and real depression, and constrained +absentmindedness, of genuine and hopeless boredom. Except for Lady +Everard's ceaseless flow of empty prattle the pauses would have been +too obvious. Edith, for whom it was a dreary anti-climax, was rather +silent. Aylmer talked more, and a little more loudly, than usual, and +looked worn. Bruce, whom champagne quickly saddened, became vaguely +reminiscent and communicative about old, dead, forgotten grievances of +the past, while Vincy, who was a little shocked at what he saw (and he +always saw everything), did his very best, just saving the +entertainment from being a too disastrous frost. + +'Well! Good luck!' said Aylmer, lifting his glass with sham +conviviality.' I start tomorrow morning by the Orient Express.' + +'Hooray!' whispered Vincy primly. + +'Doesn't it sound romantic and exciting?' Edith said. 'The two words +together are so delightfully adventurous. Orient--the languid East, +and yet express--quickness, speed. It's a fascinating blend of ideas.' + +'Whether it's adventurous or not isn't the question, my dear girl; I +only wish we were going too,' said Bruce, with a sigh; 'but, I never +can get away from my wretched work, to have any fun, like you lucky +chaps, with no responsibilities or troubles! I suppose perhaps we may +take the children to Westgate for Whitsuntide, and that's about all. +Not that there isn't quite a good hotel there, and of course it's all +right for me, because I shall play golf all day and run up to town when +I want to. Still, it's very different from one of these jolly long +journeys that you gay bachelors can indulge in.' + +'But I'm not a gay bachelor. My boy is coming to join me in the summer +holidays, wherever I am,' said Aylmer. + +'Ah, but that's not the point. I should like to go with you now--at +once. Don't you wish we were both going, Edith? Why aren't we going +with him tomorrow?' + +'Surely June's just the nice time in London, Bruce,' said Vincy, in his +demure voice. + +'Won't it be terribly hot?' said Lady Everard vaguely. She always +thought every place must be terribly hot. 'Venice? Are you going to +Venice? Delightful! The Viennese are so charming, and the Austrian +officers--Oh, you're going to Sicily first? Far too hot. Paul La +France--the young singer, you know--told me that when he was in Sicily +his voice completely altered; the heat quite affected the _velouté_ of +his voice, as the French call it--and what a voice it is at its best! +It's not the _highest_ tenor, of course, but the medium is so +wonderfully soft and well developed. I don't say for a moment that he +will ever be a Caruso, but as far as he goes--and he goes pretty far, +mind--it's really wonderful. You're coming on Wednesday, aren't you, +dear Mrs Ottley? Ah!'... She stopped and held up her small beaded fan, +'what's that the band's playing? I know it so well; everyone knows it; +it's either _Pagliacci_ or _Bohème_, or _some_thing. No, isn't it +really? What is it? All the old Italian operas are coming in again, by +the way, you know, my dear... _Rigoletto_, _Lucia_, _Traviata_--the +_bel canto_--that sort of thing; there's nothing like it for showing +off the voice. Wagner's practically gone out (at least what _I_ call +out), and I always said Debussy wouldn't last. Paul La France still +clings to Brahms--Brahms suits his voice better than anyone else. He +always falls back on Brahms, and dear de Lara; and Tosti; of course, +Tosti. I remember...' + + * * * * * + +Aylmer and his guests had reached the stage of being apparently all +lost in their own thoughts, and the conversation had been practically +reduced to a disjointed monologue on music by Lady Everard, when the +lights began to be lowered, and the party broke up. + +'I'm coming to see you so soon,' said Vincy. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +The Letter + +It was about a fortnight later. + +Edith and Bruce, from different directions, arrived at the same moment +at their door, and went up together in the lift. On the little +hall-table was a letter addressed to Edith. She took it up rather +quickly, and went into the drawing-room. Bruce followed her. + +'That a letter, Edith?' + +'What do you suppose it is, Bruce?' + +'What _could_ I have supposed it was, Edith? A plum pudding?' He +laughed very much. + +'You are very humorous today, Bruce.' + +She sat down with her hat, veil and gloves on, holding the letter. She +did not go to her room, because that would leave her no further +retreat. Bruce sat down exactly opposite to her, with his coat and +gloves on. He slowly drew off one glove, folded it carefully, and put +it down. Then he said amiably, a little huskily: + +'Letter from a friend?' + +'I beg your pardon? What did you say, dear?' + +He raised his voice unnecessarily: + +'I Said A LETTER FROM A FRIEND!' + +She started. 'Oh yes! I heard this time.' + +'Edith, I know of an excellent aurist in Bond Street. I wish you'd go +and see him. I'll give you the address.' + +'I know of a very good elocutionist in Oxford Street. I think I would +go and have some lessons, if I were you, Bruce; the summer classes are +just beginning. They teach you to speak so clearly, to get your voice +over the footlights, as it were. I think all men require to study +oratory and elocution. It comes in so useful!' + +Bruce lowered his voice almost to a whisper. + +'Are you playing the fool with me?' + +She nodded amiably in the manner of a person perfectly deaf, but who is +pretending to hear. + +'Yes, dear; yes, quite right.' + +'What do you mean by 'quite right'?' He unfastened his coat and threw +it open, glaring at her a little. + +'Who--me? _I_ don't know.' + +'Who is that letter from, Edith?' he said breezily, in a tone of sudden +careless and cheery interest. + +'I haven't read it yet, Bruce,' she answered, in the same tone, +brightly. + +'Oh. Why don't you read it?' + +'Oh! I shall presently.' + +'When?' + +'When I've opened it.' + +He took off his other glove, folded it with the first one, made them +into a ball, and threw it across the room against the window, while his +colour deepened. + +'Oh, do you want to have a game? Shall I send for Archie?' + +'Edith, why don't you take off your hat?' + +'I can't think. Why don't you take off your coat?' + +'I haven't time. Show me that letter.' + +'What letter?' + +'Don't prevaricate with me.' Bruce had now definitely lost his temper. +'I can stand anything except prevarication. Anything in the world, but +prevarication, I can endure, with patience. But _not_ that! As if you +didn't know perfectly well there's only one letter I want to see.' + +'Really?' + +'Who's your letter from?' + +'How should I know?' + +Edith got up and went towards the door. Bruce was beforehand with her +and barred the way, standing with his arms outstretched and his back to +the door. + +'Edith, I'm pained and surprised at your conduct!' + +'Conduct!' she exclaimed. + +'Don't echo my words! I will _not_ be echoed, do you hear?... +Behaviour, then, if you prefer the word.... Why don't you wish me to +see that letter?' + +Edith quickly looked at the letter. Until this moment she had had an +unreasonable and nervous terror that Aylmer might have forgotten his +intention of writing what he called officially, and might have written +her what she now inwardly termed a lot of nonsense. But she now saw she +had made a mistake: it was not his handwriting nor his postmark. She +became firmer. + +'Look here Bruce,' she said, in a decided voice, quietly. 'We have been +married eight years, and I consider you ought to trust me sufficiently +to allow me to open my own letters.' + +'Oh, you do, do you? What next? What next! I suppose the next thing +you'll wish is to be a suffragette.' + +'The question,' said Edith, in the most cool, high, irritating voice +she could command, 'really, of votes for women hardly enters into our +argument here. As a matter of fact, I take no interest in any kind of +politics, and, I may be entirely wrong, but if I were compelled to take +sides on the subject, I should be an anti-suffragist.' + +'Oh, you would, would you? That's as well to know! That's interesting. +Give me that letter.' + +'Do you think you have the right to speak to me like that?' + +'Edith,' he said rather pathetically, trying to control himself. 'I beg +you, I _implore_ you to let me see the letter! Hang it all! You know +perfectly well, old girl, how fond I am of you. I may worry you a bit +sometimes, but you know my heart's all right.' + +'Of course, Bruce; I'm not finding fault with you. I only want to read +my own letter, that's all.' + +'But if I let you out of this room without having shown it me, then if +there's something you don't want me to see, you'll tear it up or chuck +it in the fire.' + +Edith was quite impressed at this flash of prophetic insight. She +admitted to herself he was right. + +'It's entirely a matter of principle,' she said after another +reassuring look at the envelope. 'It's only a matter of principle, +dear, I'm twenty-eight years old, we've been married eight years; you +leave the housekeeping, the whole ordering of the children's education, +and heaps of other quite important things, entirely to me; in fact, you +lead almost the life of a schoolboy, without any of the tiresome part, +and with freedom, going to school in the day and amusing yourself in +the evening, while everything disagreeable and important is thought of +and seen to for you. You only have the children with you when they +amuse you. I have all the responsibility; I have to be patient, +thoughtful--in fact, you leave things to me more than most men do to +their wives, Bruce. You won't be bothered even to look at an +account--to do a thing. But I'm not complaining.' + +'Oh, you're not! It sounded a little like it.' + +'But it isn't. I don't _mind_ all this responsibility, but I ought, at +least, to be allowed to read my letters.' + +'Well, darling, you shall, as a rule. Look here, old girl, you shall. I +promise you, faithfully, dear. Oh, Edith, you're looking awfully +pretty; I like that hat. Look here, I promise you, dear, I'll _never_ +ask you again, never as long as I live. But I've a fancy to read this +particular letter. Why not just gratify it? It's a very harmless whim.' +His tone suddenly changed. 'What do you suppose there's _in_ the damned +letter? Something you're jolly well anxious I shouldn't see.' + +She made a step forward. He rushed at her, snatched the letter out of +her hand, and went to the window with it. + +She went into her own room, shut the door, and threw herself on the +bed, her whole frame shaking with suppressed laughter. + + * * * * * + +Bruce, alone, with trembling fingers tore open the envelope. Never in +his life had he been opposed by Edith before in this way. He read these +words in stereotyped writing: + +_'Van will call on receipt of post-card. The Lavender Laundry hopes +that you will give them a trial, as their terms are extremely mod--'_ + +Bruce rushed to the door and called out: + +'Edith! Sorry! Edie, I say, I'm sorry. Come back.' + +There was no answer. + +He pushed the letter under the door of her room, and said through the +keyhole: + +'Edith, look here, I'm just going for a little walk. I'll be back to +dinner. Don't be angry.' + +Bruce brought her home a large bunch of Parma violets. But neither of +them ever referred to the question again, and for some time there was a +little less of the refrain of 'Am I master in my own house, or am I +not?' + +The next morning, when a long letter came from Aylmer, from Spain, +Edith read it at breakfast and Bruce didn't ask a single question. +However, she left it on his plate, as if by mistake. He might just as +well read it. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Mavis Argles + +Vincy had the reputation of spending his fortune with elaborate yet +careful lavishness, buying nothing that he did not enjoy, and giving +away everything he did not want. At the same time his friends +occasionally wondered on what he _did_ spend both his time and his +money. He was immensely popular, quite sought after socially; but he +declined half his invitations and lived a rather quiet existence in the +small flat, with its Oriental decorations and violent post-impressions +and fierce Chinese weapons, high up in Victoria Street. Vincy really +concealed under an amiable and gentle exterior the kindest heart of any +man in London. There was 'more in him than met the eye,' as people say, +and, frank and confidential as he was to his really intimate friends, +at least one side of his life was lived in shadow. It was his secret +romance with a certain young girl artist, whom he saw rarely, for +sufficient reasons. He was not devoted to her in the way that he was to +Edith, for whom he had the wholehearted enthusiasm of a loyal friend, +and the idolising worship of a fanatic admirer. It was perhaps Vincy's +nature, a little, to sacrifice himself for anyone he was fond of. He +spent a great deal of time thinking out means of helping materially the +young art-student, and always he succeeded in this object by his +elaborate and tactful care. For he knew she was very, very poor, and +that her pride was of an old-fashioned order--she never said she was +hard up, as every modern person does, whether rich or poor, but he knew +that she really lacked what he considered very nearly--if not +quite--the necessities of life. + +Vincy's feeling for her was a curious one. He had known her since she +was sixteen (she was now twenty-four). Yet he did not trust her, and +she troubled him. He had met her at a studio at a time when he had +thought of studying art seriously. Sometimes, something about her +worried and wearied him, yet he couldn't do without her for long. The +fact that he knew he was of great help to her fascinated him; he often +thought that if she had been rich and he poor he would never wish to +see her again. Certainly it was the touch of pathos in her life that +held him; also, of course, she was pretty, with a pale thin face, deep +blue eyes, and rich dark red frizzy hair that was always coming +down--the untidy hair of the art-student. + +He was very much afraid of compromising her, and _she_ was very much +afraid of the elderly aunt with whom she lived. She had no parents, +which made her more pathetic, but no more free. He could not go and see +her, with any satisfaction to either of them, at _her_ home, though he +did so occasionally. This was why she first went to see him at his +flat. But these visits, as they were both placed, could, of course, +happen rarely. + +Mavis Argles--this was the girl's extraordinary name--had a curious +fascination for him. He was rather fond of her, yet the greatest wish +he had in the world was to break it off. When with her he felt himself +to be at once a criminal and a benefactor, a sinner and a saint. +Theoretically, theatrically, and perhaps conventionally, his relations +with her constituted him the villain of the piece. Yet he behaved to +her more like Don Quixote than Don Juan.... + + * * * * * + +One afternoon about four o'clock--he was expecting her--Vincy had +arranged an elaborate tea on his little green marble dining-table. +Everything was there that she liked. She was particularly attached to +scones; he also had cream-cakes, sandwiches, sweets, chocolate and +strawberries. As he heard the well-known slightly creaking step, his +heart began to beat loudly--quick beats. He changed colour, smiled, and +nervously went to the door. + +'Here you are, Mavis!' He calmed her and himself by this banal welcome. + +He made a movement to help her off with her coat, but she stopped him, +and he didn't insist, guessing that she supposed her blouse to be unfit +for publication. + +She sat down on the sofa, and leaned back, looking at him with her +pretty, weary, dreary, young, blue eyes. + +'It seems such a long time since I saw you,' said Vincy. 'You're tired; +I wish I had a lift.' + +'I am tired,' she spoke in rather a hoarse voice always. 'And I ought +not to stop long.' + +'Oh, stay a minute longer, won't you?' he asked. + +'Well, I like that! I've only just this moment arrived!' + +'Oh, Mavis, don't say that! Have some tea.' + +He waited on her till she looked brighter. + +'How is Aunt Jessie?' + +'Aunt Jessie's been rather ill.' + +'Still that nasty pain?' asked Vincy. + +She stared at him, then laughed. + +'As if you remember anything about it.' + +'Oh, Mavis! I do remember it. I remember what was the matter with her +quite well.' + +'I bet you don't. What was it?' she asked, with childish eagerness. + +'It was that wind round the heart that she gets sometimes. She told me +about it. Nothing seems to shift it, either.' + +Mavis laughed--hoarse, childlike laughter that brought tears to her +eyes. + +'It's a shame to make fun of Aunt Jessie; she's a very, very good +sort.' + +'Oh, good gracious, Mavis, if it comes to sorts, I'm sure she's quite +at the top of the tree. But don't let's bother about her now.' + +'What _do_ you want to bother about?' + +'Couldn't you come out and dine with me, Mavis? It would be a +change'--he was going to say 'for you', but altered it--'for me.' + +'Oh no, Vincy; you can't take me out to dinner. I don't look up to the +mark.' She looked in a glass. 'My hat--it's a very good hat--it cost +more than you'd think--but it shows signs of wear.' + +'Oh, that reminds me,' began Vincy. 'What _do_ you think happened the +other day? A cousin of mine who was up in London a little while bought +a hat--it didn't suit her, and she insisted on giving it to me! She +didn't know what to do to get rid of it! I'd given her something or +other, for her birthday, and _she_ declared she would give this to _me_ +for _my_ birthday, and so--I've got it on my hands.' + +'What a very queer thing! It doesn't sound true.' + +'No; does it? Do have some more tea, Mavis darling.' + +'No, thanks; I'll have another cake.' + +'May I smoke?' + +She laughed. 'Asking _me_! You do what you like in your own house.' + +'It's yours,' he answered, 'when you're here. And when you're not, even +more,' he added as an afterthought. + +He struck a match; she laughed and said: 'I don't believe I understand +you a bit.' + +'Oh--I went to the play last night,' said Vincy. 'Oh, Mavis, it was +such a wearing play.' + +'All about nothing, I suppose? They always are, now.' + +'Oh no. It was all about everything. The people were _so_ clever; it +was something cruel how clever they were. One man _did_ lay down the +law! Oh, didn't he though! I don't hold with being bullied and lectured +from the stage, do you, Mavis? It seems so unfair when you can't answer +back.' + +'Was it Bernard Shaw?' she asked. + +'No; it wasn't; not this time; it was someone else. Oh, I do feel +sometimes when I'm sitting in my stall, so good and quiet, holding my +programme nicely and sitting up straight to the table, as it were, and +then a fellow lets me have it, tells me where I'm wrong and all that; I +_should_ like to stand up and give a back answer, wouldn't you?' + +'No; I'd like to see _you_ do it! Er--what colour is that hat that your +cousin gave you?' + +'Oh, colour?' he said thoughtfully, smoking. 'Let me see--what colour +was it? It doesn't seem to me that it was any particular colour. It was +a very curious colour. Sort of mole-colour. Or was it cerise? Or +violet?... You wouldn't like to see it, would you?' + +'Why, yes, I'd like to see it; I wouldn't try it on of course.' + +He opened the box. + +'Why, what a jolly hat!' she exclaimed. 'You may not know it, but that +would just suit me; it would go with my dress, too.' + +'Fancy.' + +She took off her own hat, and touched up her hair with her fingers, and +tried on the other. Under it her eyes brightened in front of the glass; +her colour rose; she changed as one looked at her--she was sixteen +again--the child he had first met at the Art School. + +'Don't you think it suits me?' she said, turning round. + +'Yes, I think you look very charming in it. Shall I put it back?' + +There was a pause. + +'I sha'n't know what on earth to do with it,' he said discontentedly. +'It's so silly having a hat about in a place like this. Of course you +wouldn't dare to keep it, I suppose? It does suit you all right, you +know; it would be awfully kind of you.' + +'What a funny person you are, Vincy. I _should_ like to keep it. What +could I tell Aunt Jessie?' + +'Ah, well, you see, that's where it is! I suppose it wouldn't do for +you to tell her the truth.' + +'What do you mean by the truth?' + +'I mean what I told you--how my cousin, Cissie Cavanack,' he smiled a +little as he invented this name, 'came up to town, chose the wrong hat, +didn't know what to do with it--and, you know!' + +'I could tell her all that, of course.' + +'All right,' said Vincy, putting the other hat--the old one--in the +box.' Where shall we dine?' + +'Oh, Vincy, I think you're very sweet to me, but how late dare I get +back to Ravenscourt Park?' + +'Why not miss the eight-five train?--then you'll catch the quarter to +ten and get back at about eleven.' + +'Which would you _rather_ I did?' + +'Well, need you ask?' + +'I don't know, Vincy. I have a curious feeling sometimes. I believe +you're rather glad when I've gone--relieved!' + +'Well, my dear,' he answered, 'look how you worry all the time! If +you'd only have what I call a quiet set-down and a chat, without being +always on the fidget, always looking either at the glass or at the +clock, one might _not_ have that feeling.' + +Her colour rose, and tears came to her eyes. 'Oh, then you _are_ glad +when I'm gone!' She pouted. 'You don't care for me a bit, Vincy,' she +said, in a plaintive voice. + +He sat down next to her on the little striped sofa, and took her hand. + +'Oh, give over, Mavis, do give over! I wish you wouldn't carry on like +that; you do carry on, Mavis dear, don't you? Some days you go on +something cruel, you do really. Reely, I mean. Now, cheer up and be +jolly. Give a kiss to the pretty gentleman, and look at all these +pretty good-conduct stripes on the sofa! There! That's better.' + +'Don't speak as if I were a baby!' + +'Do you mind telling me what we're quarrelling about, my dear? I only +ask for information.' + +'Oh, we're _not_. You're awfully sweet. You know I love you, Vincy.' + +'I thought, perhaps, it was really all right.' + +'Sometimes I feel miserable and jealous.' + +He smiled. 'Ah! What are you jealous of, Mavis?' + +'Oh, everything--everyone--all the people you meet.' + +'Is that all? Well, you're the only person I ever meet--by appointment, +at any rate.' + +'Well--the Ottleys!' + +His eye instinctively travelled to a photograph of Edith, all tulle and +roses; a rather fascinating portrait. + +'What about _her_?' asked Mavis. 'What price Mrs Ottley?' + +'Really, Mavis!--What price? No price. Nothing about her; she's just a +great friend of mine. I think I told you that before. ... What a +frightfully bright light there is in the room,' Vincy said. He got up +and drew the blind down. He came back to her. + +'Your hair's coming down,' he remarked. + +'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But at the back it generally is.' + +'Don't move--let me do it.' + +Pretending to arrange it, he took all the hairpins out, and the cloud +of dark red hair fell down on her shoulders. + +'I like your hair, Mavis.' + + * * * * * + +'It seems too awful I should have been with you such a long time this +afternoon,' she exclaimed. + +'It _isn't_ long.' + +'And sometimes it seems so dreadful to think I can't be with you +always.' + +'Yes, doesn't it? Mavis dear, will you do up your hair and come out to +dinner?' + +'Vincy dear, I think I'd better not, because of Aunt Jessie.' + +'Oh, very well; all right. Then you will another time?' + +'Oh, you don't want me to stay?' + +'Yes, I do; do stay.' + +'No, next time--next Tuesday.' + +'Very well, very well.' + +He took a dark red carnation out of one of the vases and pinned it on +to her coat. + +'The next time I see you,' she said, 'I want to have a long, _long_ +talk.' + +'Oh yes; we must, mustn't we?' + +He took her downstairs, put her into a cab. It was half-past six. + +He felt something false, worrying, unreliable and incalculable in +Mavis. She didn't seem real.... He wished she were fortunate and happy; +but he wished even more that he were never going to see her again. And +still!... + +He walked a little way, then got into a taxi and drove to see Edith. +When he was in this peculiar condition of mind--the odd mixture of +self-reproach, satisfaction, amusement and boredom that he felt now +--he always went to see Edith, throwing himself into the little affairs +of her life as if he had nothing else on his mind. He was a little +anxious about Edith. It seemed to him that since Aylmer had been away +she had altered a little. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +More of the Mitchells + +Edith had become an immense favourite with the Mitchells. They hardly +ever had any entertainment without her. Her success with their friends +delighted Mrs Mitchell, who was not capable of commonplace feminine +jealousy, and who regarded Edith as a find of her own. She often +reproached Winthrop, her husband, for having known Bruce eight years +without discovering his charming wife. + +One evening they had a particularly gay party. Immediately after dinner +Mitchell had insisted on dressing up, and was solemnly announced in his +own house as Prince Gonoff, a Russian noble. He had a mania for +disguising himself. He had once travelled five hundred miles under the +name of Prince Gotoffski, in a fur coat, a foreign accent, a false +moustache and a special saloon carriage. Indeed, only his wife knew all +the secrets of Mitchell's wild early career of unpractical jokes, to +some of which he still clung. When he was younger he had carried it +pretty far. She encouraged him, yet at the same time she acted as +ballast, and was always explaining his jokes; sometimes she was in +danger of explaining him entirely away. She loved to tell of his +earlier exploits. How often, when younger, he had collected money for +charities (particularly for the Deaf and Dumb Cats' League, in which he +took special interest), by painting halves of salmon and ships on fire +on the cold grey pavement! Armed with an accordion, and masked to the +eyes, he had appeared at Eastbourne, and also at the Henley Regatta, as +a Mysterious Musician. At the regatta he had been warned off the +course, to his great pride and joy. Mrs Mitchell assured Edith that his +bath-chair race with a few choice spirits was still talked of at St +Leonard's (bath-chairmen, of course, are put in the chairs, and you +pull them along). Mr Mitchell was beaten by a short head, but that, Mrs +Mitchell declared, was really most unfair, because he was so +handicapped--his man was much stouter than any of the others--and the +race, by rights, should have been run again. + +When he was at Oxford he had been well known for concealing under a +slightly rowdy exterior the highest spirits of any of the +undergraduates. He was looked upon as the most fascinating of +_farceurs_. It seems that he had distinguished himself there less for +writing Greek verse, though he was good at it, than for the wonderful +variety of fireworks that he persistently used to let off under the +dean's window. It was this fancy of his that led, first, to his +popularity, and afterwards to the unfortunate episode of his being sent +down; soon after which he had married privately, chiefly in order to +send his parents an announcement of his wedding in _The Morning Post_, +as a surprise. + +Some people had come in after dinner--for there was going to be a +little _sauterie intime_, as Mrs Mitchell called it, speaking in an +accent of her own, so appalling that, as Vincy observed, it made it +sound quite improper. Edith watched, intensely amused, as she saw that +there were really one or two people present who, never having seen +Mitchell before, naturally did not recognise him now, so that the +disguise was considered a triumph. There was something truly agreeable +in the deference he was showing to a peculiarly yellow lady in red, +adorned with ugly real lace, and beautiful false hair. She was +obviously delighted with the Russian prince. + +'Winthrop is a wonderful man!' said Mrs Mitchell to Edith, as she +watched her husband proudly. 'Who would dream he was clean-shaven! Look +at that moustache! Look at the wonderful way his coat doesn't fit; he's +got just that Russian touch with his clothes; I don't know how he's +done it, I'm sure. How I wish dear Aylmer Ross was here; he _would_ +appreciate it so much.' + +'Yes, I wish he were,' said Edith. + +'I can't think what he went away for. I suppose he heard the East +a-calling, and all that sort of thing. The old wandering craving you +read of came over him again, I suppose. Well, let's hope he'll meet +some charming girl and bring her back as his bride. Where is he now, do +you know, Mrs Ottley?' + +'In Armenia, I fancy,' said Edith. + +'Oh, well, we don't want him to bring home an Armenian, do we? What +colour are they? Blue, or brown, or what? I hope no-one will tell Lady +Hartland that is my husband. She'll expect to see Winthrop tonight; she +never met him, you know; but he really ought to be introduced to her. I +think I shall tell him to go and undress, when they've had a little +dancing and she's been down to supper.' + +Lady Hartland was the yellow lady in red, who thought she was flirting +with a fascinating Slav. + +'She's a sort of celebrity,' continued Mrs Mitchell. 'She was an +American once, and she married Sir Charles Hartland for her money. I +hate these interested marriages, don't you?--especially when they're +international. Sir Charles isn't here; he's such a sweet boy. He's a +friend of Mr Cricker; it's through Mr Cricker I know them, really. Lady +Everard has taken _such_ a fancy to young Cricker; she won't leave him +alone. After all he's _my_ friend, and as he's not musical I don't see +that she has any special right to him; but he's there every Wednesday +now, and does his dances on their Sunday evenings too. He's got a new +one--lovely, quite lovely--an imitation of Lydia Kyasht as a +water-nymph. I wanted him to do it here tonight, but Lady Everard has +taken him to the opera. Now, won't you dance? Your husband promised he +would. You both look so young!' + +Edith refused to dance. She sat in a corner with Vincy and watched the +dancers. + +By special permission, as it was so _intime_, the Turkey Trot was +allowed. Bruce wanted to attempt it with Myra Mooney, but she was +horrified, and insisted on dancing the 1880 _trois-temps_ to a jerky +American two-step. + +'Edith,' said Vincy; 'I think you're quieter than you used to be. +Sometimes you seem rather absent-minded.' + +'Am I? I'm sorry; there's nothing so tedious to other people. Why do +you think I'm more serious?' + +'I think you miss Aylmer.' + +'Yes, I do. He gave a sort of meaning to everything. He's always +interesting. And there's something about him--I don't know what it is. +Oh, don't be frightened, Vincy, I'm not going to use the word +personality. Isn't that one of the words that ought to be forbidden +altogether? In all novels and newspapers that poor, tired word is +always cropping up.' + +'Yes, that and magnetism, and temperament, and technique. Let's cut out +technique altogether. Don't let there be any, that's the best way; then +no-one can say anything about it. I'm fed up with it. Aren't you?' + +'Oh, I don't agree with you at all. I think there ought to be any +amount of technique, and personality, and magnetism, and temperament. I +don't mind _how_ much technique there is, as long as nobody talks about +it. But neither of these expressions is quite so bad as that dreadful +thing you always find in American books, and that lots of people have +caught up--especially palmists and manicures--mentality.' + +'Yes, mentality's very depressing,' said Vincy. 'I could get along +nicely without it, I think.... I had a long letter from Aylmer today. +He seemed unhappy.' + +'I had a few lines yesterday,' said Edith. 'He said he was having a +very good time. What did he say to you?' + +'Oh, he wrote, frankly to _me_.' + +'Bored, is he?' + +'Miserable; enamoured of sorrow; got the hump; frightfully off colour; +wants to come back to London. He misses the Mitchells. I suppose it's +the Mitchells.' + +Edith smiled and looked pleased. 'He asked me not to come here much.' + +'Ah! But he wouldn't want you to go anywhere. That is so like Aylmer. +He's not jealous; of course. How could he be? It's only a little +exclusiveness.... And how delightfully rare that is, Edith dear. I +admire him for it. Most people now seem to treasure anything they value +in proportion to the extent that it's followed about and surrounded by +the vulgar public. I sympathise with that feeling of wishing to +keep--anything of that sort--to oneself.' + +'You are more secretive than jealous, yourself. But I have very much +the same feeling,' Edith said. 'Many women I know think the ideal of +happiness is to be in love with a great man, or to be the wife of a +great public success; to share his triumph! They forget you share the +man as well!' + +'I suppose the idea is that, after the publicity and the acclamation +and the fame and the public glory and the shouting, you take the person +home, and feel he is only yours, really.' + +'But, can a famous person be only yours? No. I shouldn't like it. + +It isn't that I don't _like_ cleverness and brilliance, but I don't +care for the public glory.' + +'I see; you don't mind how great a genius he is, as long as he isn't +appreciated,' replied Vincy. 'Well, then, in heaven's name let us stick +to our obscurities!' + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +The Agonies of Aylmer + +In the fresh cheerfulness of the early morning, after sleep, with the +hot June sun shining in at the window, Aylmer used to think he was +better. He would read his letters and papers, dress slowly, look out of +the window at the crowds on the pavement--he had come back to +Paris--feel the infectious cheeriness and sense of adventure of the +city; then he would say to himself that his trip had been successful. +He _was_ better. When he went out his heart began to sink a little +already, but he fought it off; there would be a glimpse of an English +face flashing past in a carriage--he thought of Edith, but he put it +aside. Then came lunch. For some reason, immediately after lunch his +malady--for, of course, such love is a malady--incongruously attacked +him in an acute form. 'Why after lunch?' he asked himself. Could it be +that only when he was absolutely rested, before he had had any sort of +fatigue, that the deceptive improvement would show itself? He felt a +wondering humiliation at his own narrow grief. + +However, this was the hour that it recurred; he didn't know why. He had +tried all sorts of physical cures--for there is no disguising the fact +that such suffering is physical, and so why should the cure not be, +also? He had tried wine, no wine, exercise, distraction, +everything--and especially a constant change of scene. This last was +the worst of all. He felt so exiled in Sicily, and in Spain--so +terribly far away--it was unbearable. He was happier directly he got +to Paris, because he seemed more in touch with England and her. Yes; +the pain had begun again.... + +Aylmer went and sat alone outside the café. It was not his nature to +dwell on his own sensations. He would diagnose them quickly and +acutely, and then throw them aside. He was quickly bored with himself; +he was no egotist. But today, he thought, he _would_ analyse his state, +to see what could be done. + +Six weeks! He had not seen her for six weeks. The longing was no +better. The pain seemed to begin at his throat, pressing down gradually +on the chest It was that feeling of oppression, he supposed, that makes +one sigh; as though there were a weight on the heart. And certain +little memories made it acute; sudden flashing vivid recollection of +that last drive was like a sharp jagged tear. Had they ever been on +nearer terms, and had she treated him badly, it would not have caused +this slow and insidious suffering. He was a man of spirit; he was proud +and energetic; he would have thrown it off. If he could have been angry +with her, or despised her, he could have cured himself in time. Instead +of that, all the recollections were of an almost sickening sweetness; +particularly that kiss on the day he went to see her. And the other, +the _second_, was also the last; so it had a greater bitterness. + + 'Rapture sharper than a sword, + Joy like o sudden spear.' + +These words, casually read somewhere, came back to him whenever he +remembered her! + +Aylmer had read, heard of these obsessions, but never believed in them. +It was folly, madness! + +He stood up, tossing his head as though to throw it off. + +He went to fetch some friends, went with them to see pictures, to have +tea, and to drive in the Bois, accepting also an invitation to dine +with a man--a nice boy--a fellow who had been at Oxford with him, and +was at the embassy here, a young attaché. + +He was quite nice: a little dull, and a little too fond of talking +about his chief. + +Aylmer got home at about half-past six to dress for dinner. Then the +torture began again. It was always worse towards evening--an agony of +longing, regret, fury, vague jealousy and desire. + +He stood and looked out of the window again at the crowd, hurrying +along now to their pleasures or their happy homes. So many people in +the world, like stars in the sky--why want the one star only? Why cry +for the moon? + +He had no photograph of her, but he still thought she was like his +mother's miniature, and often looked at it. He wished he wasn't going +to dine with that young man tonight. Aylmer was the most genial and +sociable of men; he usually disliked being alone; yet just now being +with people bored him; it seemed an interruption. He was going through +a crisis. + +Yes; he could not stand anyone this evening. He rang the bell and sent +a _petit bleu_ to say he was prevented from dining with his friend. +What a relief when he had sent this--now he could think of her alone +in peace.... + +She had never asked him to go away. It was his own idea. He had come +away to get over it. Well, he hadn't got over it. He was worse. But it +wasn't because he didn't see her; no, he didn't deceive himself. The +more he saw of her the worse he would be. Not one man in a thousand was +capable of feeling so intensely and deeply as Aylmer felt, and never in +his life before had he felt anything like it. And now it came on again +with the ebb and flow of passion, like an illness. Why was he so +miserable--why would nothing else do? He suddenly remembered with a +smile that when he was five years old he had adored a certain nurse, +and for some reason or other his mother sent her away. He had cried and +cried for her to come back. He remembered even now how people had said: +'Oh, the child will soon forget.' But he wore out their patience; he +cried himself to sleep every night. And his perseverance had at last +been rewarded. After six weeks the nurse came back. His mother sent for +her in despair at the boy's misery. How well he remembered that evening +and her plain brown face, with the twinkling eyes. How he kissed his +mother, and thanked her! The nurse stayed till he went to school and +then he soon forgot all about her. Perhaps it was in his nature at rare +intervals to want one particular person so terribly, to pine and die +for someone! + +That was a recollection of babyhood, and yet he remembered even now +that obstinate, aching longing.... He suddenly felt angry, furious. +What was Edith doing now? Saying good-night to Archie and Dilly? They +certainly did look, as she had said, heavenly angels in their night +attire (he had been privileged to see them). Then she was dressing for +dinner and going out with Bruce. Good heavens! what noble action had +Bruce ever done for _him_ that he should go away? Why make such a +sacrifice--for Bruce? + +Perhaps, sometimes, she really missed him a little. They had had great +fun together; she looked upon him as a friend; not only that, but he +knew that he amused her, that she liked him, thought him clever, +and--admired him even. + +But that was all. Yet she _could_ have cared for him. He knew that. And +not only in one way, but in every way. They could have been comrades +interested in the same things; they had the same sense of humour, much +the same point of view. She would have made him, probably, +self-restrained and patient as she was, in certain things. But, in +others, wouldn't he have fired her with his own ideas and feelings, and +violent passions and enthusiasms! + +She was to be always with Bruce! That was to be her life!--Bruce, who +was almost indescribable because he was neither bad, nor stupid, nor +bad-looking. He had only one fault. _'Il n'a qu'un défaut--il est +impossible,'_ said Aylmer aloud to himself. + +He took up a book--of course one of _her_ books, something she had lent +him. + + * * * * * + +Now it was time to go out again--to dinner. He couldn't; it was too +much effort. Tonight he would give way, and suffer grief and desire and +longing like a physical pain. He hadn't heard from her lately. Suppose +she should be ill? Suppose she was forgetting him entirely? Soon they +would be going away to some summer place with the children. He stamped +his foot like an angry child as he imagined her in her thin summer +clothes. How people would admire her! How young she would look! Why +couldn't he find some fault with her?--imagine her cold, priggish, +dull, too cautious. But he could only think of her as lovely, as beyond +expression attractive, drawing him like a magnet, as marvellously kind, +gentle, graceful, and clever. He was obliged to use the stupid word +clever, as there was no other. He suddenly remembered her teeth when +she smiled, and a certain slight wave in her thick hair that was a +natural one. It is really barely decent to write about poor Aylmer as +he is alone, suffering, thinking himself unwatched. He suddenly threw +himself on his bed and gave way to a crisis of despair. + + * * * * * + +About an hour later, when the pain had somehow become stupefied, he lit +a cigarette, ashamed of his emotion even to himself, and rang. The +servant brought him a letter--the English post. + +He had thought so much of her, felt her so deeply the last few days +that he fancied it must somehow have reached her. He read: + +'My Dear Aylmer, + +'I'm glad you are in Paris; it seems nearer home. Last night I went to +the Mitchells' and Mr Mitchell disguised himself as a Russian Count. +Nobody worried about it, and then he went and undisguised himself +again. But Lady Hartland worried about it, and as she didn't know the +Mitchells before, when he was introduced to her properly she begged him +to give her the address of that charming Russian. And Vincy was there, +and darling Vincy told me you'd written him a letter saying you weren't +so very happy. And oh, Aylmer, I don't see the point of your waiting +till September to come back. Why don't you come _now_? + +'We're going away for Archie's holidays. Come back and see us and take +Freddie with us somewhere in England. You told me to ask you when I +wanted you--ask you anything I wanted. Well, I want to see you. I miss +you too much. You arrived in Paris last night. Let me knew when you can +come. I want you. + +Edith.' + +The bell was rung violently. Orders were given, arrangements made, +packing was done. Aylmer was suddenly quite well, quite happy. + +In a few hours he was in the midnight express due to arrive in London +at six in the morning--happy beyond expression. + +By ten o'clock in the morning he would hear her voice on the telephone. + +He met a poor man just outside the hotel selling matches, in rags. +Aylmer gave him three hundred francs. He pretended to himself that he +didn't want any more French money. He felt he wanted someone else to be +happy too. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A Contretemps + +Edith did not know, herself, what had induced her to write that letter +to Paris. Some gradual obscure influence, in an impulsive moment of +weakness, a conventional dread of Paris for one's idol. Then, what +Vincy told her had convinced her Aylmer was unhappy. She thought that +surely there might be some compromise; that matters could be adjusted. +Couldn't they go on seeing each other just as friends? Surely both +would be happier than separated? For, yes--there was no doubt she +missed him, and longed to see him. Is there any woman in the world on +whom a sincere declaration from a charming, interesting person doesn't +make an impression, and particularly if that person goes away +practically the next day, leaving a blank? Edith had a high opinion of +her own strength of will. When she appeared weak it was on some subject +about which she was indifferent. She took a great pride in her own +self-poise; her self-control, which was neither coldness nor density. +She had made up her mind to bear always with the little irritations +Bruce caused her; to guide him in the right direction; keep her +influence with him in order to be able to arrange everything about the +children just as she wished. The children were a deep and intense +preoccupation. To say she adored them is insufficient. Archie she +regarded almost as her greatest friend, Dilly as a pet; for both she +had the strongest feeling that a mother could have. And yet the fact +remained that they did not nearly fill her life. With Edith's intellect +and temperament they could only fill a part. + +Bending down to a lower stature of intelligence all day long would make +one's head ache; standing on tiptoe and stretching up would do the +same; one needs a contemporary and a comrade. + +Perhaps till Edith met Aylmer she had not quite realised what such real +comradeship might mean, coupled with another feeling--not the +intellectual sympathy she had for Vincy, but something quite different. +When she recollected their last drive her heart beat quickly, and the +little memories of the few weeks of their friend-ship gave her +unwonted moments of sentiment. Above all, it was a real, solid +happiness--an uplifting pleasure, to believe he was utterly devoted to +her. And so, in a moment of depression, a feeling of the sense of the +futility of her life, she had, perhaps a little wantonly, written to +ask him to come back. It is human to play with what one loves. + +She thought she had a soft, tender admiration for him, that he had a +charm for her; that she admired him. But she had not the slightest idea +that on her side there was anything that could disturb her in any way. +And so that his sentiment, which she had found to be rather infectious, +should never carry her away, she meant only to see him now and then; to +meet again and be friends. + +As soon as she had written the letter and sent it she felt again a +cheerful excitement. She felt sure he would come in a day or two. + +Aylmer arrived, as I have said, eight hours after he received the +letter. His first intention was to ring her up, or to speak to Bruce on +the telephone. But it so happened that it was engaged. This decided him +to have a short rest, and then go and surprise her with a visit. He +thought he would have lunch at one (he knew she always lunched with the +children at this hour), and would call on her unexpectedly at two, +before she would have time to go out. They might have a long talk; he +would give her the books and things he had bought for her, and he would +have the pleasure of surprising her and seeing on her face that first +look that no-one can disguise, the look of real welcome. + +Merely to be back in the same town made him nearly wild with joy. How +jolly London looked at the beginning of July! So gay, so full of life. +And then he read a letter in a writing he didn't know; it was from +Mavis Argles, the friend of Vincy--the young art-student: Vincy had +given her his address some time ago--asking him for some special +privilege which he possessed, to see some of the Chinese pictures in +the British Museum. He was to oblige her with a letter to the museum. +She would call for it. Vincy was away, and evidently she had by +accident chosen the day of Aylmer's return without knowing anything of +his absence. She had never seen him in her life. + +Aylmer was wandering about the half-dismantled house _désoeuvré_, with +nothing to do, restlessly counting the minutes till two in the +afternoon. He remembered the very little that Vincy had told him of +Mavis; how proud she was and how hard up. He saw her through the +window. She looked pale and rather shabby. He told the servant to show +her in. + +'I've just this moment got your letter, Miss Argles. But, of course, +I'm only too delighted.' + +'Thank you. Mr Vincy said you'd give me the letter.' + +The girl sat down stiffly on the edge of a chair. Vincy had said she +was pretty. Aylmer could not see it. But he felt brimming over with +sympathy and kindness for her--for everyone, in fact. + +She wore a thin light grey cotton dress, and a small grey hat; her hair +looked rich, red, and fluffy as ever; her face white and rather thin. +She looked about seventeen. When she smiled she was pretty; she had a +Rossetti mouth; that must have been what Vincy admired. Aylmer had no +idea that Vincy did more than admire her very mildly. + +'Won't you let me take you there?' suggested Aylmer suddenly. He had +nothing on earth to do, and thought it would fill up the time. 'Yes! +I'll drive you there and show you the pictures. And then, wouldn't you +come and have lunch? I've got an appointment at two.' + +She firmly declined lunch, but consented that he should drive her, and +they went. + +Aylmer talked with the eagerness produced by his restless excitement +and she listened with interest, somewhat fascinated, as people always +were, with his warmth and vitality. + +As they were driving along Oxford Street Edith, walking with Archie, +saw them clearly. She had been taking him on some mission of clothes. +(For the children only she went into shops.) He was talking with such +animation that he did not see her, to a pale young girl with bright red +hair. Edith knew the girl by sight, knew perfectly well that she was +Vincy's friend--there was a photograph of her at his rooms. Aylmer did +not see her. After a start she kept it to herself. She walked a few +steps, then got into a cab. She felt ill. + +So Aylmer had never got her letter? He had been in London without +telling her. He had forgotten her. Perhaps he was deceiving her? And he +was making love obviously to that sickening, irritating red-haired fool +(so Edith thought of her), Vincy's silly, affected art-student. + +When Edith went home she had a bad quarter of an hour. She never even +asked herself what right she had to mind so much; she only knew it +hurt. A messenger boy at once, of course. + +'Dear Mr Ross, + +I saw you this morning. I wrote you a line to Paris, not knowing you +had returned. When you get the note forwarded, will you do me the +little favour to tear it up unopened? I'm sure you will do this to +please me. + +'We are going away in a day or two, but I don't know where. Please +don't trouble to come and see me. + +'Good-bye. + +'EDITH OTTLEY.' + +Aylmer left Miss Argles at the British Museum. When he went back, he +found this letter. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +An Extraordinary Afternoon + +Aylmer guessed at once she had seen him driving. Being a man of sense, +and not an impossible hero in a feuilleton, instead of going away again +and leaving the misunderstanding to ripen, he went to the telephone, +endeavoured to get on, and to explain, in few words, what had obviously +happened. To follow the explanation by an immediate visit was his plan. +Though, of course, slightly irritated that she had seen him under +circumstances conveying a false impression, on the other hand he was +delighted at the pique her letter showed, especially coming immediately +after the almost tender letter in Paris. + +He rang and rang (and used language), and after much difficulty getting +an answer he asked, '_Why he could not get on_' a pathetic question +asked plaintively by many people (not only on the telephone). + +'The line is out of order.' + +In about twenty minutes he was at her door. The lift seemed to him +preternaturally slow. + +'Mrs Ottley?' + +'Mrs Ottley is not at home, sir.' + +At his blank expression the servant, who knew him, and of course liked +him, as they always did, offered the further information that Mrs +Ottley had gone out for the whole afternoon. + +'Are the children at home, or out with Miss Townsend?' + +'The children are out, sir, but not with Miss Townsend. They are +spending the day with their grandmother.' + +'Oh! Do you happen to know if Mr and Mrs Ottley will be at home to +dinner?' + +'I've heard nothing to the contrary, sir.' + +'May I come in and write a note?' + +He went into the little drawing-room. It was intensely associated with +her. He felt a little ému.... There was the writing-table, there the +bookcase, the few chairs, the grey walls; some pale roses fading in a +pewter vase.... The restfulness of the surroundings filled him, and +feeling happier he wrote on the grey notepaper: + +'DEAR MRS OTTLEY, + +I arrived early this morning. I started, in fact, from Paris +immediately after receiving a few lines you very kindly sent me there. +I'm so disappointed not to see you. Unless I hear to the contrary--and +even if I do, I think!--I propose to come round this evening about +nine, and tell you and Bruce all about my travels. + +'Excuse my country manners in thus inviting myself. But I know you will +say no if you don't want me. And in that case I shall have to come +another time, very soon, instead, as I really must see you and show you +something I've got for Archie. Yours always--' + +He paused, and then added: + +'Sincerely, + +'AYLMER ROSS' + +He went to his club, there to try and pass the time until the evening. +He meant to go in the evening, even if she put him off again; and, if +they were out, to wait until they returned, pretending he had not heard +from her again. + +He was no better. He had been away six weeks and was rather more in +love than ever. He would only see her--she _did_ want to see him before +they all separated for the summer! He could not think further than of +the immediate future; he would see her; they could make plans +afterwards. Of course, her letter was simply pique! She had given +herself away--twice--once in the angry letter, also in the previous +one to Paris. Where was she now? What did it mean? Why did she go out +for the whole afternoon? Where was she? + + * * * * * + +After Edith had written and sent her letter to Aylmer in the morning, +Mrs Ottley the elder came to fetch the children to dine, and Edith told +Miss Townsend to go for the afternoon. She was glad she would be +absolutely alone. + +'Aren't you very well, dear Mrs Ottley?' asked this young lady, in her +sweet, sympathetic way. + +Edith was fond of her, and, by implication only, occasionally confided +in her on other subjects than the children. Today, however, Edith +answered that she was _very_ well _indeed_, but was going to see about +things before they went away. 'I don't know how we shall manage without +you for the holidays, Miss Townsend. I think you had better come with +us for the first fortnight, if you don't mind much.' + +Miss Townsend said she would do whatever Edith liked. She could easily +arrange to go with them at once. This was a relief, for just at this +moment Edith felt as if even the children would be a burden. + +Sweet, gentle Miss Townsend went away. She was dressed rather like +herself, Edith observed; she imitated Edith. She had the soft, graceful +manner and sweet voice of her employer. She was slim and had a pretty +figure, but was entirely without Edith's charm or beauty. Vaguely Edith +wondered if she would ever have a love affair, ever marry. She hoped +so, but (selfishly) not till Archie went to Eton. + +Then she found herself looking at her lonely lunch; she tried to eat, +gave it up, asked for a cup of tea. + +At last, she could bear the flat no longer. It was a glorious day, very +hot, Edith felt peculiar. She thought that if she spent all the +afternoon out and alone, it would comfort her, and she would think it +out. Trees and sky and sun had always a soothing effect on her. She +went out, walked a little, felt worried by the crowd of shoppers +swarming to Sloane Street and the Brompton Road, got into a taxi and +drove to the gate of Kensington Gardens, opposite Kensington Gore. Here +she soon found a seat. At this time of the day the gardens were rather +unoccupied, and in the burning July afternoon she felt almost as if in +the country. She took off her gloves--a gesture habitual with her +whenever possible. She looked utterly restful. She had nothing in her +hands, for she never carried either a parasol or a bag, nor even in +winter a muff or in the evening a fan. All these little accessories +seemed unnecessary to her. She liked to simplify. She hated fuss, +anything worrying, agitating. + +... And now she felt deeply miserable, perturbed and agitated. What a +punishment for giving way to that half-coquettish, half self-indulgent +impulse that had made her write to Paris! She had begged him to come +back; while, really, he was here, and had not even let her know. She +had never liked what she had heard of Mavis Argles, but had vaguely +pitied her, wondering what Vincy saw in her, and wishing to believe the +best. Now, she assumed the worst! As soon as Vincy had gone out of +town--he was staying in Surrey with some of his relatives--she, the +minx, began flirting or carrying on with Aylmer. How far had it gone? +she wondered jealously. She did not believe Aylmer's love-making to be +harmless. He was so easily carried away. His feelings were impulsive. +Yet it was only a very short time since Vincy had told her of Aylmer's +miserable letter. Edith was not interested in herself, and seldom +thought much of her own feelings, but she hated self-deception; and now +she faced facts. She adored Aylmer! It had been purely jealousy that +made her write to Paris so touchingly, asking him to come back--vague +fears that, if he were so depressed in Spain, perhaps he might try by +amusements to forget her in Paris. He had once said to her that, of all +places, he thought Paris the least attractive for a romance, because it +was all so obvious, so prepared, so professional. He liked the +unexpected, the veiled and somewhat more hypocritical atmosphere, and +in the fogs of London, he had said, were more romantic mysteries than +in any other city. Still, she had feared. And besides she longed to see +him. So she had unbent and thought herself soon after somewhat +reckless; it was a little wanton and unfair to bring him back. But she +was not a saint; she was a woman; and sometimes Bruce was trying.... + +Edith belonged to the superior class of human being whom jealousy +chills and cures, and does not stimulate to further efforts. It was not +in her to go in for competition. The moment she believed someone else +took her place she relaxed her hold. This is the finer temperament, but +it suffers most. + +She would not try to take Aylmer away. Let him remain with his +red-haired Miss Argles! He might even marry her. He deserved it. + +She meant to tell Vincy, of course. Poor Vincy, _he_ didn't know of the +treachery. Now she must devote herself to the children, and be good and +kind to Bruce. At least, Bruce was _true_ to her in his way. + +He had been in love when they married, but Edith shrewdly suspected he +was not capable of very much more than a weak rather fatuous sentiment +for any woman. And anyone but herself would have lost him many years +ago, would very likely have given him up. But she had kept it all +together, had really helped him, and was touched when she remembered +that jealous scene he made about the letter. The letter she wouldn't at +first let him see. Poor Bruce! Well, they were linked together. There +were Archie, the angel, and Dilly, the pet.... She was twenty-eight and +Aylmer forty. He ought not to hold so strong a position in her mind. +But he did. Yes, she was in love with him in a way--it was a mania, an +obsession. But she would now soon wrestle with it and conquer it. The +great charm had been his exclusive devotion--but also his appearance, +his figure, his voice. He looked sunburnt and handsome. He was laughing +as he talked to the miserable creature (so Edith called her in her own +mind). + +Then Edith had a reaction. She would cure herself today! No more +flirtation, no more amitié amoureuse. They were going away. The +children, darlings, how they loved her! And Bruce. She was reminding +herself she must be gentle, good, to Bruce. He had at least never +deceived her! + +She got up and walked on and on. It was about five o'clock now. As she +walked, she thought how fortunate she was in Miss Townsend; what a nice +girl she was, what a good friend to her and the children. She had a +sort of intuition that made her always have the right word, the right +manner. She had seemed a little odd lately, but she was quite pleased +to come with them to the country. What made her think of Miss Townsend? +Some way off was a girl, with her back to Edith, walking with a man. +Her figure was like Miss Townsend's, and she wore a dress like the one +copied from Edith's. Edith walked more quickly, it was the retired part +of the gardens on the way towards the Bayswater Road. The two figures +turned down a flowery path.... It was Miss Townsend! She had turned her +face. Edith was surprised, was interested, and walked on a few steps. +She had not seen the man clearly. Then they both sat down on a seat. He +took her hand. She left it in his. There was something familiar in his +figure and clothes, and Edith saw his face. + +Yes, it was Bruce. + +Edith turned round and went home. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +Journeys End + +So that was how Bruce behaved to her! + +The deceit of both of them hurt her immensely. But she pulled herself +together. It was a case for action. She felt a bitter, amused contempt, +but she felt it half-urgent _not_ to do anything that would lead to a +life of miserable bickering and mutual harm. + +It must be stopped. And without making Bruce hate her. + +She wrote the second note of this strange day and sent it by a +messenger. + +Giving no reason of any kind, she told the governess that she had +decided the children's holidays should begin from that day, and that +she was unexpectedly going away with them almost immediately, and she +added that she would not require Miss Townsend any more. She enclosed a +cheque, and said she would send on some books and small possessions +that Miss Townsend had kept there. + +This was sent by a messenger to Miss Townsend's home near Westbourne +Grove. She would find it on her return from her walk! + +And now Edith read Aylmer's note--it was so real, so sincere, she began +to disbelieve her eyes this morning. + +It gave her more courage; she wanted to be absolutely calm, and looking +her very best, for Bruce's entrance. + +He came in with his key. He avoided her eye a little--looked rather +sheepish, she thought. It was about seven. + +'Hallo! Aren't the children in yet? Far too late for them to be out.' +'Nurse fetched Dilly. She has gone to bed. Archie is coming presently; +mother will send him all right.' + +'How are you, Edith, old girl?' + +'I'm quite well, Bruce.' + +'I have a sort of idea, as you know,' he said, growing more at ease, +'that we shall rather miss--a--Miss Townsend, when we first go away. +What do you think of taking her for part of the time?' 'Dinner's +ready,' announced Edith, and they dined. Towards the end of dinner he +was about to make the suggestion again, when Edith said in clear, calm +but decided tones: + +'Bruce, I am not going to take Miss Townsend away with us. She is not +coming any more.' + +'Not--Why? What the devil's the idea of this new scheme? What's the +matter with Miss Townsend?' + +'Bruce,' answered Edith, 'I prefer not to go into the question, and +later you will be glad I did not. I've decided that Miss Townsend is +not to come any more at all. I've written to tell her so. I'll look +after the children with nurse until we come back.... It's all settled.' + +Bruce was silent. + +'Well upon my word!' he exclaimed, looking at her uneasily. 'Have it +your own way, of course--but upon my word! Why?' + +'Do you really want me to tell you exactly why? I would so much prefer +not.' + +'Oh, all right, Edith dear; after all--hang it all--you're the +children's mother--it's for you to settle.... No, I don't want to know +anything. Have it as you wish.' + +'Then we won't discuss it again. Shall we?' + +'All right.' + +He was looking really rather shamefaced, and she thought she saw a +gleam of remorse and also of relief in his eye. She went into the other +room. She had not shown him Aylmer's letter. + +After ten minutes he came in and said: 'Look here, Edith. Make what +arrangements you like. _I_ never want to see--Miss Townsend again.' + +She looked a question. + +'And I never shall.' + +She was really pleased at this, and held out her hand. Bruce had tears +in his eyes as he took it. 'Edith, old girl, I think I'll go round to +the club for an hour or two.' + +'Do. And look here, Bruce, leave it to me to tell the children. They'll +forget after the holidays. Archie must not be upset.' + +'Whatever you do, Edith, will be--what I mean to say is that--Well, +good night; I sha'n't be long.' + +Edith was really delighted, she felt she had won, and she _did_ want +that horrid little Townsend to be scored off! Wasn't it natural? She +wanted to hear no more about it. + +There was a ring. It was nine o'clock. It was Aylmer's voice. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +The Great Exception + +The absurdly simple explanation, made almost in dumb show, by action +rather than in dialogue, was soon given. He was surprised, simply +enchanted, at the entire frankness of her recognition; she acknowledged +openly that it mattered to her tremendously whether or not he was on +intimate terms or flirting with little Miss Argles, or with little Miss +anybody. He was not even to look at any woman except herself, that was +arranged between them now and understood. They were side by side, with +hands clasped as a matter of course, things taken for granted that he +formerly never dreamt of. The signs of emotion in her face he +attributed of course to the morning's contretemps, knowing nothing of +the other trouble. + +'It's heavenly being here again. You're prettier than ever, Edith; +sweeter than ever. What a time I had away. It got worse and worse.' + +'Dear Aylmer!' + +'You're far too good and kind to me. But I _have_ suffered--awfully.' + +'So have I, since this morning. I felt--' + +'What did you feel? Tell me!' + +'Must I?' + +'Yes!' + +'I felt, when I saw you with her, as if I hadn't got a friend in the +world. I felt quite alone. I felt as if the ground were going to open +and swallow me up. I relied on you so much, far more than I knew! I was +struck dumb, and rooted to the spot, and knocked all of a heap, in a +manner of speaking, as Vincy would say,' Edith went on, laughing. 'But +now, you've cured me thoroughly; you're such a _real_ person.' + +'Angel!' + +She still left her hand in his. Her eyes were very bright, the result +of few but salt tears, the corners of her mouth were lifted by a happy +smile, not the tantalising, half-mocking smile he used to see. She was +changed, and was, he thought, more lovable--prettier; today's emotion +had shaken her out of herself. The reaction of this evening gave a +brilliancy to her eyes, happy curves to her lips, and the slight +disarrangement of her hair, not quite silky-smooth tonight, gave her a +more irresponsible look. She seemed more careless--younger. + +'Where's Bruce?' Aylmer asked suddenly. + +'He's gone to the club. He'll be back rather soon, I should think.' + +'I won't wait. I would rather not meet him this evening. When shall I +see you again?' + +'Oh, I don't know. I don't think I want to make any plans now.' + +'As you wish. I say, do you really think Vincy can care for that girl?' + +'I believe he has had a very long friendship of some kind with her. +He's never told me actually, but I've felt it,' Edith said. + +'Is he in love with her? Can he be?' + +'In a way--in one of his peculiar ways.' + +'She's in love with him, I suppose,' said Aylmer. 'It was only because +she thought it would please him that she wanted to see those things at +the museum. I think she's a little anxious. I found her a wild, +irritating, unaccountable, empty creature. I believe she wants him to +marry her.' + +'I hope he won't, unless he _really_ wants to,' said Edith. 'It would +be a mistake for Vincy to sacrifice himself as much as that.' + +'I hope indeed he won't,' exclaimed Aylmer. 'And I think it's out of +the question. Miss Argles is only an incident, surely. She looks the +slightest of episodes.' + +'It's a very long episode. It might end, though--if she insists and he +won't.' + +'Oh, bother, never mind them!' Aylmer replied, with boyish impatience. +'Let me look at _you_ again. Do you care for me a little bit, Edith?' + +'Yes; I do.' + +'Well, what's going to be done about it?' he asked, with happy +triviality. + +'Don't talk nonsense,' she replied. 'We're just going to see each other +sometimes.' 'I'll be satisfied with anything!' cried Aylmer, 'after +what I've suffered not seeing you at all. We'll have a new game. You +shall _make_ the rules and I'll keep them.' + +'Naturally.' + +'About the summer?' + +'Oh, no plans tonight. I must think.' She looked thoughtful. + +'Tell me, how's Archie?' he said. + +'Archie's all right--delightful. Dilly, too. But I'm rather bothered.' + +'Why should you bother? What's it about? Tell me at once.' + +She paused a moment. 'Miss Townsend won't be able to come back any +more,' she said steadily. + +'Really? What a pity. I suppose the fool of a girl's engaged, or +something.' + +'She won't come back any more,' answered Edith. + +'Will you have to get a new Miss Townsend?' + +'I thought of being their governess myself--during the holidays, +anyhow.' + +'But that will leave you hardly any time--no leisure.' + +'Leisure for what?' + +'For anything--for me, for instance,' said Aylmer boldly. He was full +of the courage and audacity caused by the immense relief of seeing her +again and finding her so responsive. + +There is, of course, no joy so great as the cessation of pain; in fact +all joy, active or passive, is the cessation of some pain, since it +must be the satisfaction of a longing, even perhaps an unconscious +longing. A desire is a sort of pain, even with hope, without it is +despair. When, for example, one takes artistic pleasure in looking at +something beautiful, that is a cessation of the pain of having been +deprived of it until then, since what one enjoys one must have longed +for even without knowing it. + +'Look here,' said Aylmer suddenly. 'I don't believe I can do without +you.' + +'You said _I_ was to make the rules.' + +'Make them then; go on.' + +'Well, we'll be intimate friends, and meet as often as we can. Once a +week you may say you care for me, and I'll say the same. That's all. If +you find you don't like it--can't stand it, as you say--then you'll +have to go away again.' + +'I agree to it all, to every word. You'll see if I don't stick to it +absolutely.' + +'Thank you, dear Aylmer.' + +He paused. + +'Then I mustn't kiss you?' + +'No. Never again.' + +'All right. Never again after tonight. Tonight is the great exception,' +said Aylmer. + +She made a tardy and futile protest. Then she said: + +'Now, Aylmer, you must go.' She sighed. 'I have a lot of worries.' + +'I never heard you say that before. Let me take them and demolish them +for you. Can't you give them to me?' + +'No; I shall give nothing more to you. Good-bye.... + +'Remember, there are to be no more exceptions,' said Edith. + +'I promise.' + +She sat quietly alone for half-an-hour, waiting for Bruce. + +She now felt sorry for Bruce, utterly and completely indifferent about +'the Townsend case', as she already humorously called it to herself. +But, she thought, she _must_ be strong! She was not prepared to lose +her dignity, nor to allow the children to be educated by a woman whose +faith at least with them and in their home was unreliable; their +surroundings must be crystal-clear. It would make a certain difference +to them, she thought. How could it not? There were so many little ways +in which she might spoil them or tease them, scamp things, or rush +them, or be nicer to one of them, or less nice, if she had any sort of +concealed relation with their father. And as she had been treated +absolutely as a confidante by Edith, the girl had certainly shown +herself treacherous, and rather too clearly capable of dissimulation. +Edith thought this must have a bad effect on the children. + +Edith was essentially a very feminine woman though she had a mental +attitude rightly held to be more characteristic of men. Being so +feminine, so enraged under her calm and ease, she was, of course, not +completely consistent. She was still angry, and very scornful of Miss +Townsend. She was hurt with her; she felt a friend had played her +false--a friend, too, in the position of deepest trust, of grave +responsibility. Miss Townsend knew perfectly well what the children +were to Edith, and, for all she knew, there was no-one in Edith's life +except Bruce; so that it was rather cruel. Edith intended to keep up +her dignity so absolutely that Miss Townsend could never see her again, +that she could never speak to Edith on the subject. She wished also, +_very_ much, that Bruce should never see her again, but didn't know how +to encompass this. She must find a way. + +On the other hand, after the first shock and disgust at seeing him, +Edith's anger with Bruce himself had entirely passed. Had she not +known, for years, that he was a little weak, a little fatuous? He was +just as good a sort now as he had ever been, and as she was not blinded +by the resentment and fury of the real jealousy of passion, Edith saw +clearly, and knew that Bruce cared far more for _her_ than for anybody +else; that in so far as he could love anybody he loved her in his way. +And she wanted to keep the whole thing together on account of Archie, +and for Dilly's sake. She must be so kind, yet so strong that Bruce +would be at once grateful for her forbearance and afraid to take +advantage of it. Rather a difficult undertaking!... + +And she had seen Aylmer again! There was nothing in it about Miss +Argles. What happiness! She ought to have trusted him. He cared for +her. He loved her. His sentiment was worth having. And she cared for +him too; how much she didn't quite know. She admired him; he fascinated +her, and she also felt a deep gratitude because he gave her just the +sort of passionate worship that she must have always unconsciously +craved for. + +Certainly the two little events of today had drawn her nearer to him. +She had been far less reserved that evening. She closed her eyes and +smiled to herself. But this mustn't happen again. + +With a strong effort of self-coercion she banished all delightful +recollections as she heard Bruce come up in the lift. + +He came in with a slightly shy, uncomfortable manner. Again, she felt +sorry for him. + +'Hallo!' he said. + +He gave her a quick glance, a sort of cautious look which made her feel +rather inclined to laugh. Then he said: + +'I've just been down to the club. What have you been doing?' + +'Aylmer's been here.' + +'Didn't know he was in town.' + +'He's only come for a few days.' + +'I should like to see him,' said Bruce, looking brighter. 'Did he ask +after me?' + +'Yes.' + +He looked at her again and said suspiciously: + +'I suppose you didn't mention--' + +'Mention what?' + +'Edith!' + +'Yes?' + +He cleared his throat and then said with an effort of self-assertion +that she thought at once ridiculous and touching: + +'Look here, I don't wish to blame you in any way for what--er-- +arrangements you like to make in your own household. But--er--have you +written to Miss Townsend?' + +'Yes; she won't come back.' + +'Er--but won't she ask why?' + +'I hope not.' + +'Why?' asked Bruce, with a tinge of defiance. + +'Because then I should have to explain. And I don't like explaining.' + +There was another pause. Bruce seemed to take a great interest in his +nails, which he examined separately one at a time, and then all +together, holding both hands in front of him. + +'Did Archie enjoy his day?' + +'Oh yes,' said Edith. + +Bruce suddenly stood up, and a franker, more manly expression came into +his face. He looked at her with a look of pain. Tears were not far from +his eyes. + +'Edith, you're a brick. You're too good for me.' + +She looked down and away without answering. + +'Look here, is there anything I can do to please you?' + +'Yes, there is.' + +'What? I'll do it, whatever it is, on my word of honour.' + +'Well, it's a funny thing to ask you, but you know our late governess, +Miss Townsend? I should like you to promise never to see her again, +even by accident. If you meet her--by accident, I mean--I want you not +to see her.' + +Bruce held out both his hands. + +'I swear I'd never recognise her even if I should meet her +accidentally.' + +'I know it's a very odd thing to ask,' continued Edith, 'just a fancy; +why should I mind your not seeing Miss Townsend?' + +He didn't answer. + +'However, I _do_ mind, and I'll be grateful.' + +Edith thought one might be unfaithful without being disloyal, and she +believed Bruce now. She was too sensible to ask him never to write a +line, never to telephone, never to do anything else; besides, it was +beneath her dignity to go into these details, and common-sense told her +that one or the other must write or communicate if the thing was to be +stopped. If Miss Townsend wrote to him to the club, he would have to +answer. Bruce meant not to see her again, and that was enough. + +'Then you're not cross, Edith--not depressed?' + +She gave her sweetest smile. She looked brilliantly happy and +particularly pretty. + +'Edith!' + +With a violent reaction of remorse, and a sort of tenderness, he tried +to put his arm round her. She moved away. + +'Don't you forgive me, Edith, for anything I've done that you don't +like?' + +'Yes, I _entirely_ forgive you. The incident is closed.' + +'Really forgive me?' + +'Absolutely. And I've had a tiring day and I'm going to sleep. Good +night.' + +With a kind little nod she left him standing in the middle of the room +with that air of stupid distinction that he generally assumed when in a +lift with other people, and that came to his rescue at awkward +moments--a dull, aloof, rather haughty expression. But it was no use to +him now. + +He had considerable difficulty in refraining from venting his temper on +the poor, dumb furniture; in fact, he did give a kick to a pretty +little writing-table. It made no sound, but its curved shoulder looked +resentful. + +'What a day!' said Bruce to himself. + +He went to his room, pouting like Archie. But he knew he had got off +cheaply. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +Another Side of Bruce + +Ever since his earliest youth, Bruce had always had, at intervals, some +vague, vain, half-hearted entanglement with a woman. The slightest +interest, practically even common civility, shown him by anyone of the +feminine sex between the ages of sixteen and sixty, flattered his +vanity to such an extraordinary extent that he immediately thought +these ladies were in love with him, and it didn't take much more for +him to be in love with them. And yet he didn't really care for women. +With regard to them his point of view was entirely that of vanity, and +in fact he only liked both men or women who made up to him, or who gave +him the impression that they did. Edith was really the only woman for +whom his weak and flickering passion had lingered at all long; and in +addition to that (the first glamour of which had faded) she had a real +hold over him. He felt for her the most genuine fondness of which he +was capable, besides trust and a certain admiration. A sort of respect +underlay all his patronising good-nature or caprices with her. But +still he had got into the habit of some feeble flirtation, a little +affair, and at first he missed it very much. He didn't care a straw for +Miss Townsend; he never had. He thought her plain and tedious; she +bored him more than any woman he had ever met, and yet he had slipped +into a silly sort of intrigue, beginning by a few words of pity or +sympathy to her, and by the idea that she looked up to him in +admiration. He was very much ashamed of it and of the circumstances; he +was not proud of his conquest with her, as he generally was. He felt +that on account of the children, and altogether, he had been playing it +a bit low down. + +He was not incapable, either, of appreciating Edith's attitude. She had +never cross-questioned him, never asked him for a single detail, never +laboured the subject, nor driven the point home, nor condescended even +to try to find out how far things had really gone. She hadn't even told +him how she knew; he was ashamed to ask. + +And, after that promise of forgiveness, she never referred to it; there +was never the slightest innuendo, teasing, reproach. Yes, by Jove! +Edith was wonderful! And so Bruce meant to play the game too. + +For several days he asked the porter at the club if there were any +letters, receiving the usual reply, 'None, sir.' + +The third day he received the following note, and took it to read with +enjoyment of the secrecy combined with a sort of self-important shame. +Until now he hadn't communicated with her:-- + +'Dear Mr Ottley, + +Of course you know I'm not returning to the children after the +holidays, nor am I going with you to Westgate. I'm very unhappy, for I +fear I have offended Mrs Ottley. She has always been very kind to me +till now; but I shall let the matter rest. Under the circumstances I +suppose I shall not see you any more. May I ask that you should not +call or write. I and mother are going to spend the summer at Bexhill +with some friends. Our address will be Sandringham, Seaview Road, +Bexhill, if you like to write just one line to say good-bye. I fear I +have been rather to blame in seeing you without Mrs Ottley's knowledge, +but you know how one's feelings sometimes lead one to do what one knows +one ought not to ...' + +'Sandringham, indeed! Some boarding house, I suppose,' said Bruce to +himself. 'What a lot of 'ones'!... Fine grammar for a governess.' + +'... Wishing you every happiness (I _shall_ miss the children!). + +Yours sincerely, + +Margaret Townsend + +'_P.S._--I shall never forget how happy I was with you and Mrs Ottley.' + +Bruce's expression as he read the last line was rather funny. + +'She's a silly little fool, and I shan't answer,' he reflected. + +Re-reading the letter, he found it more unsatisfactory still, and +destroyed it. + +The thought of Miss Townsend bored him unutterably; and indeed he was +incapable of caring for any woman (however feebly) for more than two or +three weeks. He was particularly fickle, vague, and scrappy in his +emotions. Edith was the only woman for whom even a little affection +could last, and he would have long tired of her but for her exceptional +character and the extraordinary trouble and tact she used with him. He +didn't appreciate her fine shades, he was not in love with her, didn't +value her as another man might have done. But he was always coming back +to a certain steady, renewed feeling of tenderness for her. + +With the curious blindness common to all married people (and indeed to +any people who live together), clever Edith had been entirely taken in, +in a certain sense; she had always felt (until the 'Townsend case') +half disdainfully but satisfactorily certain of Bruce's fidelity. She +knew that he had little sham flirtations, but she had never imagined +his going anywhere near an intrigue. She saw now that in that she had +been duped, and that if he didn't do more it was not from loyalty to +her. Still, she now felt convinced that it wouldn't occur again. She +had treated him well; she had spared him in the matter. He was a little +grateful, and she believed he would be straight now, though her opinion +of him had rather gone down. Edith always felt that she must go to the +very extreme of loyalty to anyone who was faithful to her; she valued +fidelity so deeply, and now this feeling was naturally relaxed a +little. She hadn't the slightest desire for revenge, but she felt she +had a slightly freer hand. She didn't see why she should, for instance, +deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing Aylmer; she had not told him +anything about it. + +That day at the club, Bruce in his depression had a chat with +Goldthorpe, his golfing companion and sometime confidant. Over a +cigarette and other refreshments, Bruce murmured how he had put an end +to the little affair for the sake of his wife. + +'Rather jolly little girl, she was.' + +'Oh yes,' said Goldthorpe indifferently. He thought Edith very +attractive, and would have liked to have the duty of consoling her. + +'One of those girls that sort of _get round_ you, and appeal to +you--_you_ know.' + +'Oh yes.' + +'Grey eyes--no, by Jove! I should call them hazel, with black lashes, +no, not exactly black--brown. Nice, white teeth, slim figure--perhaps +a bit too straight. Brownish hair with a tinge of gold in the sun.' + +'Oh yes.' + +'About twenty,' continued Bruce dreamily. He knew that Miss Townsend +was thirty-two, but suspected Goldthorpe of admiring flappers, and so, +with a subconscious desire to impress him, rearranged the lady's age. + +'About twenty--if that. Rather long, thin hands--the hands of a lady. +Well, it's all over now.' + +'That's all right,' said Goldthorpe. He seemed to have had enough of +this retrospective inventory. He looked at his watch and found he had +an appointment. + +Bruce, thinking he seemed jealous, smiled to himself. + +For a few days after what had passed there was a happy reaction in the +house. Everyone was almost unnaturally sweet and polite and unselfish +about trifles to everybody else. Edith was devoting herself to the +children, Bruce had less of her society than usual. She seemed to +assume they were to be like brother and sister. He wouldn't at present +raise the question; thinking she would soon get over such a rotten +idea. Besides, a great many people had left town; and they were, +themselves, in the rather unsettled state of intending to go away in a +fortnight. Though happy at getting off so easily, Bruce was really +missing the meetings and notes (rather than the girl). + +Fortunately, Vincy now returned; he was looking sunburnt and happy. He +had been having a good time. Yet he looked a little anxious +occasionally, as if perplexed. + +One day he told Edith that he had just had a rather serious quarrel +with someone who was awfully cross, and carried on like anything and +wouldn't give over. + +'I guess who she is. What does she want you to do?' + +'She wants me to do what all my relations are always bothering me to +do,' said Vincy, 'only with a different person.' + +'What, to marry?' + +'Yes.' + +'To marry her, I suppose? Shall you?' + +'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'I don't think I quite can.' + +'Don't you think it would be rather unkind to her?' + +Neither of them had mentioned Miss Argles' name. The fact that Vincy +referred to it at all showed her that he had recovered from his +infatuation. + +'But do you think I'm treating the poor girl badly?' + +'Vincy, even if you adored her it would end unhappily. As you don't, +you would both be miserable from the first day. Be firm. Be nice and +kind to her and tell her straight out, and come and stay with us in the +country.' + +'Well, that was rather my idea. Oh, but, Edith, it's hard to hurt +anyone.' + +'You know I saw her driving with Aylmer that day, and I thought he +liked her. I found I was wrong.' + +'Yes. He doesn't. I wish I could get some nice person to--er--take +her out. I mean, take her on.' + +'What sort of person? She's pretty in her way. I daresay she'll attract +someone.' + +'What sort of person? Oh, I don't know. Some nice earl would please +her, or one of those artist chaps you read of in the feuilletons--the +sort of artist who, when he once gets a tiny little picture skied at +the Academy, immediately has fortune, and titles and things, rolling +in. A little picture called 'Eventide' or 'Cows by Moonlight', or +something of that sort, in those jolly stories means ten thousand +pounds a year at once. Jolly, isn't it?' + +'Yes, Vincy dear, but we're not living in a feuilleton. What's really +going to be done? Will she be nasty?' + +'No. But I'm afraid Aunt Jessie will abuse me something cruel.' He +thought a little while. 'In fact she has.' + +'What does she say?' + +'She says I'm no gentleman. She said I had no business to lead the poor +girl on, in a manner of speaking, and walk out with her, and pay her +marked attention, and then not propose marriage like a gentleman.' + +'Then you're rather unhappy just now, Vincy?' + +'Well, I spoke to _her_ frankly, and said I would like to go on being +her friend, but I didn't mean to marry. And _she_ said she'd never see +me again unless I did.' + +'And what else?' + +'That's about all, thanks very much,' said Vincy. + +Here Bruce came in. + +'Edith,' he said,' have you asked Aylmer to come and stay with us at +Westgate?' + +'Oh no. I think I'd rather not.' + +'Why on earth not? How absurd of you. It's a bit selfish, dear, if +you'll excuse my saying so. It's all very well for you: you've got the +children and Vincy to amuse you (you're coming, aren't you, Vincy?). +What price me? I must have someone else who can go for walks and play +golf, a real pal, and so forth. I need exercise, and intellectual +sympathy. Aylmer didn't say he had anywhere else to go.' + +'He's going to take his boy, Freddie, away to some seaside place. He +doesn't like staying with people.' + +'All right, then. I shall go and ask him to come and stay at the hotel, +for at least a fortnight. I shall go and ask him now. You're +inconsistent, Edith. At one moment you seem to like the man, but as +soon as I want to make a pleasant arrangement you're off it. So like a +woman, isn't it, Vincy?' He laughed. + +'Isn't it?' answered Vincy. + +'Well, look here, I'm going right down to Jermyn Street purposely to +tell him. I'll be back to dinner; do stop, Vincy.' + +Bruce was even more anxious than he used to be always to have a third +person present whenever possible. + +He walked through the hot July streets with that feeling of flatness +--of the want of a mild excitement apart from his own home. He saw +Aylmer and persuaded him to come. + +While he was there a rather pretty pale girl, with rough red hair, was +announced. Aylmer introduced Miss Argles. + +'I only came for a minute, to bring back those books, Mr Ross,' she +said shyly. 'I can't stop.' + +'Oh, thank you so much,' said Aylmer. 'Won't you have tea?' + +'No, nothing. I _must_ go at _once_. I only brought you in the books +myself to show you they were safe.' + +She gave a slightly coquettish glance at Aylmer, a half-observant +glance at Bruce, sighed heavily and went away. She was dressed in green +serge, with a turned-down collar of black lace. She wore black suède +gloves, a gold bangle and a smart and pretty hat, the hat Vincy +pretended had been given to _him_ by Cissie Cavanack, his entirely +imaginary cousin, and which he'd really bought for her in Bond Street. + +'Well, I'll be off then. I'll tell Edith you'll write for rooms. Look +sharp about it, because they soon go at the best hotels.' + +'At any rate I'll bring Freddie down for a week,' said Aylmer, 'and +then we'll see.' + +'Who is that girl?' asked Bruce, as he left. + +'She's a young artist, and I lent her some books of old prints she +wanted. She's not a particular friend of mine--I don't care for her +much.' + +Bruce didn't hear the last words, for he was flying out of the door. +Miss Argles was walking very slowly; he joined her. + +'Pardon me,' he said, raising his hat. 'It's so very hot--am I going +your way? Would you allow me to see you home?' + +'Oh, you're very kind, I'm sure,' she said sadly. 'But I don't think--I +live at Ravenscourt Park.' + +Bruce thought there was plenty of time. + +'Why how very curious! That's just where I was going,' said he boldly. + +He put up his stick. Instead of a taxi a hansom drove up. Bruce hailed +it. + +'Always like to give these chaps a turn when I can,' he said. It would +take longer. + +'How kind-hearted you are,' murmured the girl. 'But I'd really rather +not, thank you.' + +'Then how shall you get back?' + +'Walk to the Tube.' + +'Oh no; it's far too hot. Let me drop you, as I'm going in your +direction.' + +He gave her a rather fixed look of admiration, and smiled. She gave a +slight look back and got into the cab. + +'What ripping red hair,' said Bruce to himself as he followed her. + + * * * * * + +Before the end of the drive, which for him was a sort of adventure, +Mavis had promised to meet Bruce when she left her Art School next +Tuesday at a certain tea-shop in Bond Street. + +Bruce went home happy and in good spirits again. There was no earthly +harm in being kind to a poor little girl like this. He might do a great +deal of good. She seemed to admire him. She thought him so clever. +Funny thing, there was no doubt he had the gift; women liked him, and +there you are. Look at Miss Mooney at the Mitchells' the other day, +why, she was ever so nice to him; went for him like one o'clock; but he +gave her no encouragement. Edith was there. He wouldn't worry her, dear +girl. + +As he came towards home he smiled again. And Edith, dear Edith--she, +too, must be frightfully keen on him, when one came to think about it, +to forgive him so readily about Margaret Tow--Oh, confound Miss +Townsend. This girl was a picture, a sort of Rossetti, and she had had +such trouble lately--terrible trouble. The man she had been devoted to +for years had suddenly thrown her over, heartlessly.... What a brute he +must have been! She was going to tell him all about it on Tuesday. That +man must have been a fiend!... + +'Holloa, Vincy! So glad you're still here. Let's have dinner, Edie.' + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +At Lady Everard's + +Lady Everard was sitting in her favourite attitude at her +writing-table, with her face turned to the door. She had once been +photographed at her writing-table, with a curtain behind her, and her +face turned to the door. The photograph had appeared in _The Queen, The +Ladies' Field, The Sketch, The Taller, The Bystander, Home Chat, Home +Notes, The Woman at Home_, and _Our Stately Homes of England_. It was a +favourite photograph of hers; she had taken a fancy to it, and +therefore she always liked to be found in this position. The photo had +been called: 'Lady Everard at work in her Music-Room.' + +What she was supposed to be working at, heaven only knew; for she never +wrote a line of anything, and even her social notes and invitation +cards were always written by her secretary. + +As soon as a visitor came in, she rose from the suspiciously clean +writing-table, put down the dry pen on a spotless blotter, went and sat +in a large brocaded arm-chair in front of some palms, within view of +the piano, and began to talk. The music-room was large, splendid and +elaborately decorated. There was a frieze all round, representing +variously coloured and somewhat shapeless creatures playing what were +supposed to be musical instruments. One, in a short blue skirt, was +blowing at something; another in pink drapery (who squinted) was +strumming on a lyre; other figures were in white, with their mouths +open like young birds preparing to be fed by older birds. They +represented Harmony in all its forms. There were other attempts at the +classical in the decoration of the room; but Lady Everard herself had +reduced this idea to bathos by huge quantities of signed photographs in +silver frames, by large waste-paper baskets, lined with blue satin and +trimmed with pink rosettes, by fans which were pockets, stuffed cats +which were paperweights, oranges which were pincushions, and other +debris from those charitable and social bazaars of which she was a +constant patroness. + +With her usual curious combination of weak volubility and decided +laying-down of the law, she was preparing to hold forth to young La +France (whom she expected), on the subject of Debussy, Edvina, Marcoux, +the appalling singing of all his young friends, his own good looks, and +other subjects of musical interest, when Mr Cricker was announced. + +She greeted him with less eagerness, if less patronage, than her other +protégé, but graciously offered him tea and permitted a cigarette. + +Lady Everard went in for being at once _grande dame_ and Bohemian. She +was truly good-natured and kind, except to rivals in her own sphere, +but when jealous she was rather redoubtable. + +'I'm pleased to see you, my dear Willie,' she said; 'all the more +because I hear Mrs Mitchell has taken Wednesdays now. Not _quite_ a +nice thing to do, I think; although, after all, I suppose we could +hardly really clash. True, we _do_ happen to know a few of the same +people.' (By that Lady Everard meant she had snatched as many of Mrs +Mitchell's friends away as she thought desirable.) 'But as a general +rule I suppose we're not really in the same set. But perhaps you're +going on there afterwards?' + +That had been Mr Clicker's intention, but he denied it, with surprise +and apparent pain at the suspicion. + +She settled down more comfortably. + +'Ah, well, Mrs Mitchell is an extremely nice, hospitable woman, and her +parties are, I know, considered _quite_ amusing, but I do think--I +really do--that her husband carries his practical jokes and things a +_little_ too far. It isn't good form, it really isn't, to see a man of +his age, with his face blacked, coming in after dinner with a banjo, +calling himself the Musical White-eyed Kaffir, as he did the last time +I was there. I find it _déplacé_--that's the word, _déplacé_. He seemed +to think that we were all children at a juvenile party! I was saying so +to Lord Rye only last night. Lord Rye likes it, I think, but he says Mr +Mitchell's mad--that's what it is, a little mad. Last time Lord Rye was +there everybody had a present given them hidden in their table napkins. +There had been some mistake in the parcels, I believe, and Miss +Mooney--you know, the actress, Myra Mooney--received a safety razor, +and Lord Rye a vanity bag. Everybody screamed with laughter, but I must +say it seemed to me rather silly. I wasn't there myself.' + +'I was,' said Mr Cricker. 'I got a very pretty little feather fan. I +suppose the things really had been mixed up, and after all I was very +glad of the fan; I was able to give it to--' He stopped, sighed and +looked down on the floor. + +'And is that affair still going on, Willie dear? It seems to me _such_ +a pity. I _do_ wish you would try and give it up.' + +'I know, but she _won't_,' he said in a voice hoarse with anxiety. +'Dear Lady Everard, you're a woman of the world, and know everything--' + +She smiled. 'Not everything, Willie; a little of music, perhaps. I know +a good voice when I hear it. I have a certain _flair_ for what's going +to be a success in that direction, and of course I've been everywhere +and seen everything. I've a certain natural knowledge of life, too, and +keep well up to date with everything that's going on. I knew about the +Hendon Divorce Case long before anyone else, though it never came off +after all, but that's not the point. But then I'm so discreet; people +tell me things. At any rate, I always _know_.' + +Indeed, Lady Everard firmly believed herself to be a great authority on +most subjects, but especially on contemporary gossip. This was a +delusion. In reality she had that marvellous talent for not knowing +things, that gift for ignorance, and genius for inaccuracy so +frequently seen in that cultured section of society of which she was so +popular and distinguished a member. It is a talent that rarely fails to +please, particularly in a case like her own. There is always a certain +satisfaction in knowing that a woman of position and wealth, who plumes +herself on her early knowledge and special information, is absolutely +and entirely devoid of the one and incorrect in the other. A marked +ignorance in a professionally well-informed person has always something +touching and appealing to those who are able, if not willing, to set +that person right. It was taken for granted among her acquaintances, +and probably was one of the qualities that endeared her to them most, +that dear Lady Everard was generally positive and always wrong. + +'Yes, I do know most things, perhaps,' she said complacently. 'And one +thing I know is that this woman friend of yours is making you perfectly +miserable. You're longing to shake it off. Ah, I know you! You've far +more real happiness in going to the opera with me than even in seeing +her, and the more she pursues you the less you like it. Am I not +right?' + +'Yes, I suppose so. But as a matter of fact, Lady Everard, if she +didn't--well--what you might call make a dash for it, I shouldn't worry +about her at all.' + +'Men,' continued Lady Everard, not listening, 'only like coldness; +coldness, reserve. The only way in the world to draw a man on is to be +always out to him, or to go away, and never even let him hear your name +mentioned.' + +'I daresay there's a lot in that,' said Cricker, wondering why she did +not try that plan with young La France. + +'Women of the present day,' she continued, growing animated, 'make such +a terrible, terrible mistake I What do they do when they like a young +man? Oh, I know! They write to him at his club; they call at his rooms +and leave messages; they telephone whenever they can. The more he +doesn't answer their invitations the more they invite him. It's +appalling! And what's the result? Men are becoming cooler and cooler-- +as a class, I mean. Of course, there are exceptions. But it's such a +mistake of women to run after the few young men there are. There are +such a tremendous lot of girls and married women nowadays, there are so +many more of them.' + +'Well, perhaps that's why they do it,' said Cricker rather stupidly. +'At any rate--oh, well, I know if my friend hadn't been so jolly nice +to me at first and kept it up so--oh, well, you know what I mean--kept +on keeping on, if I may use the expression, I should have drifted away +from her ages ago. Because, you see, supposing I'm beginning to think +about something else, or somebody else, she doesn't stand it; she won't +stand it. And the awkward part is, you see, her being _on_ the stage +_and_ married makes the whole thing about as awkward as a case of that +sort can possibly be.' + +'I would not ask you her name for the world,' said Lady Everard +smoothly. 'Of course I know she's a beautiful young comedy actress, or +is it tragedy? I wonder if I could guess her first name? Will you tell +me if I guess right?' She looked arch. + +'Oh, I say, I can't tell you who it is, Lady Everard; really not.' + +'Only the first name? I don't _want_ you to tell me; I'm discretion +itself, I prefer not to know. The Christian name is not Margaretta, is +it? Ah! no, I thought not. It's Irene Pettifer! There, I've guessed. +The fact is, I always knew it, my dear boy. Your secret is safe with +me. I'm the tomb! I--' + +'Excuse me, Lady Everard,' said Cricker, with every sign of annoyance, +'it's no more Irene Pettifer than it's you yourself. Please believe me. +First of all I don't _know_ Irene Pettifer; I've never even seen her +photograph--she's not young, not married, and an entirely different +sort of person.' + +'What did I tell you? I knew it wasn't; I only said that to draw you. +However, have a little more tea, or some iced coffee, it's so much more +refreshing I always think. My dear Willie, I was only chaffing you. I +knew perfectly well it wasn't either of the people I suggested. The +point is, it seems to prey on your mind, and worry you, and you won't +break it off.' + +'But how can I?' + +'I will dictate you a letter,' she said. 'Far be it from me to +interfere, and I don't pretend to know more about this sort of thing +than anybody else. At the same time, if you'll take it down just as I +tell it, and send it off, you'll find it will do admirably. Have you +got a pencil?' + +As if dully hypnotised, he took out a pencil and notebook. + +'It would be awfully kind of you, Lady Everard. It might give me an +idea anyway.' + +'All right.' + +She leant back and half closed her eyes, as if in thought; then started +up with one finger out. + +'We must be quick, because I'm expecting someone presently,' she said. +'But we've got time for this. Now begin. July 7th, 1912. Have you got +that?' + +'Yes, I've got that.' + +'Or, perhaps, just Thursday. Thursday looks more casual, more full of +feeling than the exact date. Got Thursday?' + +'Yes, but it isn't Thursday, it's Friday.' + +'All right, Friday, or any day you like. The day is not the point. You +can send it tomorrow, or any time you like. Wednesday. My dearest +Irene.' + +'Her name's not Irene.' + +'Oh no, I forgot. Take that out. Dear Margaretta. Circumstances have +occurred since I last had the pleasure of seeing you that make it +absolutely impossible that I could ever meet you again.' + +'Oh, I say!' + +'Go on. Ever see you or meet you again. You wish to be kind to her, I +suppose?' + +'Oh yes.' + +'Then say: Duty has to come between us, but God knows I wish you well.' +Tears were beginning to come to Lady Everard's eyes, and she spoke with +a break in her voice. 'I wish you well, Irene.' + +'It's not Irene.' + +'I wish you well, Margaretta. Some day in the far distant future you'll +think of me, and be thankful for what I have done. It's for your good +and my own happiness that we part now, and for ever. Adieu, and may God +bless you. How do you sign yourself?' + +'Oh, Willie.' + +'Very well then, be more serious this time: Always your faithful +friend, William Stacey Cricker.' + +He glanced over the note, his face falling more and more, while Lady +Everard looked more and more satisfied. + +'Copy that out, word for word, the moment you go back, and send it +off,' she said, 'and all the worst of your troubles will be over.' + +'I should think the worst is yet to come,' said he ruefully. + +'But you promise to do it, Willie? Oh, promise me?' + +'Oh yes rather,' said he half-heartedly. + +'Word for word?' + +'O Lord, yes. That's to say, unless anything--' + +'Not a word, Willie; it will be your salvation. Come and see me soon, +and tell me the result. Ah! here you are, cher maître!' + +With a bright smile she welcomed Mr La France, who was now announced, +gently dismissing Willie with a push of the left hand. + +'Good heavens!' he said to himself, as he got into the cab, 'why, if I +were to send a thing like that there would be murder and suicide! She'd +show it to her husband, and he'd come round and knock me into a cocked +hat for it. Dear Lady Everard--she's a dear, but she doesn't know +anything about anything.' + +He tore the pages out of his pocket-book, and called out to the cabman +the address of the Mitchells. + +'Ah, chère madame, que je suis fatigué!' exclaimed La France, as he +threw himself back against the cushions. + +His hair was long and smooth and fair, so fair that he had been spoken +of by jealous singers as a peroxide blond. His eyes were greenish, and +he had dark eyebrows and eyelashes. He was good-looking. His voice in +speaking was harsh, but his manner soft and insidious. His talents were +cosmopolitan; his tastes international; he had no duties, few pleasures +and that entire want of leisure known only to those who have +practically nothing whatever to do. + +'Fatigued? That's what you always say,' said Lady Everard, laughing. + +'But it is always true,' he said, with a strong French accent. + +'You should take more exercise, Paul. Go out more in the air. You lead +too secluded a life.' + +'What exercises? I practise my voice every day, twenty minutes.' + +'Ah, but I didn't mean that. I mean in the open air--sport--that sort +of thing.' + +'Ah, you wish I go horseback riding. Ver' nice, but not for me. I have +never did it. I cannot begun now, Lady Everard. I spoil all the +_velouté_ of my voice. Have you seen again that pretty little lady I +met here before? Delicious light brown hair, pretty blue eyes, a +wonderful blue, a blue that seem to say to everyone something +different.' + +'What!' exclaimed Lady Everard. 'Are you referring to Mrs Ottley?' She +calmed down again. 'Oh yes, she's charming, awfully sweet--devoted to +her husband, you know--absolutely devoted to her husband; so rare and +delightful nowadays in London.' + +'Oh yes, ver' nice. Me, I am devoted to 'er husband too. I go to see +him. He ask me.' + +'What, without _me_?' exclaimed Lady Everard. + +'I meet him the other night. He ask me to come round and sing him a +song. I cannot ask if I may bring Lady Everard in my pocket.' + +'Really, Paul, I don't think that quite a nice joke to make, I must +say.' Then relenting she said: 'I know it's only your artistic fun.' + +'So she ver' devoted to him? He have great confidence in her; he trust +her quite; he sure she never have any flirt?' + +'He has every confidence; he's certain, absolutely certain!' exclaimed +Lady Everard. + +'He wait till she come and tell him, I suppose. 'E is right.' + +He continued in this strain for some time, constantly going back to his +admiration for Edith, and then began (with a good deal of bitterness) +on the subject of another young singer, whom he declared to be _un +garçon charmant_, but no good. 'He could not sing for nuts.' + +She heartily agreed, and they began to get on beautifully again, when +she suddenly said to him: + +'Is it true you were seen talking in the park to that girl Miss +Turnbull, on Sunday?' + +'If you say I was seen, I was. You could not know I talk to her unless +I was seen. You could not know by wireless.' + +'Don't talk nonsense, Paul,' she answered sharply. 'The point isn't +that you were seen, but that you did it.' + +'Who did it? Me? I didn't do anything.' + +'I don't think it's fair to me, I must say; it hurt my feelings that +you should meet Amy Turnbull in the park and talk to her.' + +'But what could I say? It is ver' difficul. I walk through the park; +she walk through it with another lady. She speak to me. She say: Ah, +dear Mr La France, what pleasure to see you! I ask you, Lady Everard, +could I, a foreigner, not even naturalised here, could I order her out +of the park? Could I scream out to her: Go out, do not walk in ze Hyde +Park! Lady Everard do not like you! I have no authority to say that. I +am not responsible for the persons that walk in their own park in their +own country. She might answer me to go to the devil! She might say to +me: What, Lady Everard not like me, so I am not allowed in the park? +What that got to do with it? In a case like this, chère madame, I have +no legal power.' + +She laughed forgivingly and said: + +'Ah, well, one mustn't be too exacting!' and as she showed some signs +of a desire to pat his hair he rose, sat down to the piano, greatly to +her disappointment, and filled up the rest of the time by improvising +(from memory). It was a little fatiguing, as she thought it her duty to +keep up an expression of acute rapture during the whole of the +performance, which lasted at least three-quarters of an hour. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +Miss Bennett + +Since his return Aylmer saw everything through what he called a +rose-coloured microscope--that is to say, every detail of his life, and +everything connected with it, seemed to him perfect. He saw Edith as +much as ever, and far less formally than before. She treated him with +affectionate ease. She had admitted by her behaviour on the night he +returned that she cared for him, and, for the moment, that was enough. +A sort of general relaxation of formality, due to the waning of the +season, and to people being too busy to bother, or already in thought +away, seemed to give a greater freedom. Everyone seemed more natural, +and more satisfied to follow their own inclinations and let other +people follow theirs. London was getting stale and tired, and the last +feverish flickers of the exhausted season alternated with a kind of +languor in which nobody bothered much about anybody else's affairs. +General interest was exhausted, and only a strong sense of +self-preservation seemed to be left; people clung desperately to their +last hopes. Edith was curiously peaceful and contented. She would have +had scarcely any leisure but that her mother-in-law sometimes relieved +her of the care of the children. + +Being very anxious that they should not lose anything from Miss +Townsend's absence, she gave them lessons every day. + +One day, at the end of a history lesson, Archie said: + +'Where's Miss Townsend?' + +'She's at Bexhill.' + +'Why is she at Bexhill?' + +'Because she likes it.' + +'Where's Bexhill?' + +'In England.' + +'Why isn't Miss Townsend?' + +'What do you mean, Archie?' + +'Well, why isn't she Miss Townsend any more?' + +'She is.' + +'But she's not our Miss Townsend any more. Why isn't she?' + +'She's gone away.' + +'Isn't she coming back?' + +'No.' + +Watching his mother's face he realised that she didn't regret this, so +he said: + +'Is Miss Townsend teaching anybody else?' + +'I daresay she is, or she will, perhaps.' + +'What are their names?' + +'How should I know?' + +'Do you think she'll teach anybody else called Archie?' + +'It's possible.' + +'I wonder if she'll ever be cross with the next boy she teaches.' + +'Miss Townsend was very kind to you,' said Edith. 'But you need not +think about her any more, because you will be going to school when you +come back from the holidays.' + +'That's what I told Dilly,' said Archie. 'But Dilly's not going to +school. Dilly doesn't mind; she says she likes you better than Miss +Townsend.' + +'Very kind of her, I'm sure,' laughed Edith. + +'You see you're not a real governess,' said Archie, putting his arm +round her neck. 'You're not angry, are you, mother? Because you're not +a real one it's more fun for us.' + +'How do you mean, I'm not a real governess?' + +'Well, I mean we're not _obliged_ to do what you tell us!' + +'Oh, aren't you? You've got to; you're to go now because I expect Miss +Bennett.' + +'Can't I see Miss Bennett?' + +'Why do you want to see her?' + +'I don't want to see her; but she always brings parcels. I like to see +the parcels.' + +'They are not for you; she brings parcels because I ask her to do +shopping for me. It's very kind of her.' + +She waited a minute, then he said: + +'Mother, do let me be here when Miss Bennett brings the parcels. I'll +be very useful. I can untie parcels with my teeth, like this. Look! I +throw myself on the parcel just like a dog, and shake it and shake it, +and then I untie it with my teeth. It would be awfully useful.' + +She refused the kind offer. + +Miss Bennett arrived as usual with the parcels, looking pleasantly +business-like and important. + +'I wonder if these things will do?' she said, as she put them out on +the table. + +'Oh, they're sure to do,' said Edith; 'they're perfect.' + +'My dear, wait till you see them. I don't think I've completed all your +list.' She took out a piece of paper. + +'Where did you get everything?' Edith asked, without much interest. + +'At Boots', principally. Then the novels--Arnold Bennett, Maxwell--Oh, +and I've got you the poem: 'What is it?' by Gilbert Frankau.' + +'No, you mean, 'One of us',' corrected Edith. + +'Then white serge for nurse to make Dilly's skirts--skirts a quarter of +a yard long!--how sweet!--and heaps and heaps of muslin, you see, for +her summer dresses. Won't she look an angel? Oh, and you told me to get +some things to keep Archie quiet in the train.' She produced a drum, a +trumpet, and a mechanical railway train. 'Will that do?' + +'Beautifully.' + +'And here's your travelling cloak from the other place.' + +'It looks lovely,' said Edith. + +'Aren't you going to try it on?' + +'No; it's sure to be all right.' + +'I never saw such a woman as you! Here are the hats. You've _got_ to +choose these.' + +Here Edith showed more interest. She put them on, said all the colour +must be taken out of them, white put in one, black velvet in the other. +Otherwise they would do. + +'Thanks, Grace; you're awfully kind and clever. Now do you know what +you're going to do? You're going to the Academy with me and Aylmer. +He's coming to fetch us.' + +'Oh, really--what fun!' + +At this moment he arrived. Edith introduced them. + +'I've been having such a morning's shopping,' she said, 'I deserve a +little treat afterwards, don't I?' + +'What sort of shopping? I'll tell you what you ought to have--a great +cricket match when the shopping season's over, between the Old +Selfridgians, and the Old Harrodians,' he said, laughing. + +They walked through acres of oil paintings and dozens of portraits of +Chief Justices. + +'I can't imagine anyone but Royalty enjoying these pictures,' said +Edith. + +'They don't go to see pictures; they go to view exhibits,' Aylmer +answered. + +Declaring they had 'Academy headache' before they had been through the +second room, they sat down and watched the people. + +One sees people there that are to be seen nowhere else. An +extraordinary large number of clergymen, a peculiar kind of provincial, +and strange Londoners, almost impossible to place, in surprising +clothes. + +Then they gave it up, and Aylmer took them out to lunch at a club +almost as huge and noisy and as miscellaneous as the Academy itself. +However, they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. + +Edith and Bruce were to take up their abode in their little country +house at Westgate next day. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +At Westgate + +'I've got to go up to town on special business,' said Bruce, one +afternoon, after receiving a telegram which he had rather +ostentatiously left about, hoping he would be questioned on the +subject. It had, however, been persistently disregarded. + +'Oh, have you?' + +'Yes. Look at this wire.' + +He read aloud: + +'_Wish to see you at once if possible come up today M_.' + +'Who _is_ 'M'?' + +'Mitchell, of course. Who should it be?' He spoke aggressively, then +softened down to explanation, 'Mitchell's in town a few days on +business, too. I may be detained till Tuesday--or even Wednesday next.' + +Bruce had been to town so often lately, his manner was so vague, he +seemed at once so happy and so preoccupied, so excited, so pleased, so +worried, and yet so unnaturally good-tempered, that Edith had begun to +suspect he was seeing Miss Townsend again. + +The suspicion hurt her, for he had given his word of honour, and had +been nice to her ever since, and amiable (though rather absent and +bored) with the children. + +She walked down to the station with him, though he wished to go in the +cab which took his box and suit-case, but he did not resist her wish. +On the way he said, looking round as if he had only just arrived and +had never seen it before: + +'This is a very nice little place. It's just the right place for you +and the children. If I were you, I should stay on here.' + +It struck her he spoke in a very detached way, and some odd +foreshadowing came to her. + +'Why--aren't you coming back?' she asked jokingly. + +'Me? _What_ an idea! Yes, of course. But I've told you--this +business of mine--well, it'll take a little time to arrange. Still, I +expect to be back on Tuesday. Or quite on Wednesday--or sooner.' + +They walked on and had nearly reached the station. + +'How funny you are, Bruce!' + +'What do you mean? Are you angry with me for going up to see about +important business? Why, here you've got Aylmer and his boy at the +hotel, my mother and Vincy to stay with you. You've got plenty of +companions. I don't suppose you'll miss me much. You see--a--this is a +sort of business matter women don't understand. Women are incapable of +understanding it.' + +'Of what nature is it?' + +'How do you mean, nature? It's not of any particular _nature_. Nature, +indeed! How like a woman! It's just business.' He waited a minute. +'Stockbroking; that's what it is. Yes, it's stockbroking. I want to see +a chap who's put me in to a good thing. A perfectly safe thing. No +gambling. But one has to see into it, you see. Mitchell wants to see me +at once, you see. Do you see? You saw his wire, didn't you? I've +explained, haven't I? Aren't you satisfied with my explanation?' + +'_You_ appear to be--very. But I'm not asking you to tell me any +details about the business, whatever it may be.' + +They arrived at the station, and Bruce gave her what she thought a very +queer look. It was a mixture of fear, daring, caution and a sort of +bravado. Anxiety was in it, as well as a pleased self-consciousness. + +'Tell me, frankly, something I'd like to know, Bruce.' + +'Are you getting suspicious of me, Edith? That's not like you. Mind +you, it's a great mistake in a woman; women should always trust. +Mistrust sometimes drives a man to--to--Oh, anyhow, it's a great +mistake.' + +'I only want you to tell me something, Bruce. I'll believe you +implicitly if you'll answer.... Do you ever see Miss Townsend now?' + +'Never, on my honour! I swear it.' He spoke with such genuine good +faith that she believed him at once. + +'Thanks. I'm glad. And--have you never since--' + +'Never seen her, never written to her, never communicated with her +since she left! Don't know where she is and don't care. Now you do +believe me?' he asked, with all the earnestness and energy of truth. + +'Absolutely. Forgive me for asking.' + +'Oh, that's all right.' + +He was relieved, and smiled. + +'All right, Bruce dear. I'm glad. It would have worried me.' + +'Now go, Edith. Don't bother to wait till I get in. I'll write to +you--I'll write to you soon.' + +She still lingered, seeing something odd in his manner. + +'Give my love to my mother,' he said, looking away. 'I say--' Edith.' + +'Yes, dear?' + +'Oh, nothing.' + +She waited on till the train started. His manner was alternately +peevish and kind, but altogether odd. Her last glimpse was a rather +pale smile from Bruce as he waved his hand and then turned to his +paper.... + +'Well, what _does_ it matter so long as he _has_ gone!' exclaimed +Aylmer impatiently, when she expressed her wonder at Bruce's going. The +tide was low, and they went for a long walk over the hard shining sand, +followed by Archie picking up wonderful shells and slipping on the +green seaweed. Everything seemed fresh, lovely. She herself was as +fresh as the sea breeze, and Aylmer seemed to her as strong as the sea. +(Privately, Edith thought him irresistible in country clothes.) Edith +had everything here to make her happy, including Bruce's mother, who +relieved her of the children when she wanted rest and in whose eyes she +was perfection. + +She saw restrained adoration in Aylmer's eyes, love and trust in the +eyes of the children. She had all she wanted. And yet--something tugged +at her heart, and worried her. She had a strange and melancholy +presentiment. + +But she threw it off. Probably there was nothing really wrong with +Bruce; perhaps only one of those little imaginary romances that he +liked to fabricate for himself; or, perhaps, it was really business? It +was all right if Mr Mitchell knew about it. Yet she could not believe +that 'M' _was_ Mitchell. Bruce had repeated it too often; and, why on +earth should Mitchell suddenly take to sending Bruce fantastic +telegrams and signing them, for no reason, with an initial?... + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +Goggles + +'What divine heavenly pets and ducks of angels they are!' exclaimed +Lady Everard rather distractedly. 'Angels! Divine! And so good, too! I +never saw such darlings in my life. Look at them, Paul. Aren't they +sweet?' + +Lady Everard with her party (what Aylmer called her performing troupe) +had driven over to Westgate, from where she was staying in the +neighbourhood, to have tea with Edith. She had brought with her a sort +of juvenile party, consisting of Mr Cricker, Captain Willis and, of +course, Paul La France, the young singer. She never moved without him. +She explained that two other women had been coming also, but they had +deserted her at the last minute. + +Paul La France had been trying for an hour and a half to make eyes +through motor goggles, which, naturally, was not a success; so he +seemed a little out of temper. Archie was staring at him as if +fascinated. He went up and said: + +'Voulez-vous lend me your goggles?' + +'Mais certainement! Of course I will. Voilà mon petit.' + +'The darling! How sweet and amusing of him! But they're only to be used +in the motor, you know. Don't break them, darling, will you? Monsieur +will want them again. Ah! how sweet he looks!' as he put them on, 'I +never saw such a darling in the whole course of my life! Look at him, +Mrs Ottley. Look at him, Paul!' + +'Charmant. C'est délicieux,' grumbled La France. + +'What a charming little lawn this is, going right down to the sea, too. +Oh, Mr Ross, is that you? Isn't this a delightful little house? More +tea? Yes, please. Mr La France doesn't take sugar, and--' + +'You don't know what I am now,' said Archie, having fixed the goggles +on his own fair head, to the delight of Dilly. + +'Oh, I guess what you are! You're a motorist, aren't you, darling? +That's it! It's extraordinary how well I always get on with children, +Mrs Ottley,' explained Lady Everard. 'I daresay it's through being used +to my little grandchildren, Eva's two angels, you know, but I never see +them because I can't stand their noise, and yet I simply adore them. +Pets!' + +'What am I?' asked Archie, in his persistent way, as he walked round +the group on the lawn, in goggles, followed closely by Dilly, saying, +'Yes, what is he?' looking exactly like a live doll, with her golden +hair and blue ribbons. + +'You're a motorist, darling.' + +'No, I'm not a silly motorist. Guess what I am?' + +'It's so difficult to guess, such hot weather! Can you guess, Paul?' + +'I sink he is a nuisance,' replied the Frenchman, laughing politely. + +'No, that's wrong. You guess what I am.' + +'Guess what he is,' echoed Dilly. + +'O Lord! what does it matter? What I always say is--live and let live, +and let it go at that,' said Captain Willis, with his loud laugh. +'What, Mrs Ottley? But they won't do it, you know--they won't--and +there it is!' + +'Guess what I am,' persisted Archie. + +'Never mind what you are; do go and sit down, and take those things +off,' said Edith. + +'Not till you guess what I am.' + +'Does Dilly know?' + +'No, Dilly doesn't know. Guess what I am, grandmamma!' + +'I give it up.' + +'I thought you'd never guess. Well, I'm a blue-faced mandrill!' +declared Archie, as he took the goggles off reluctantly and gave them +back to La France, who put them under his chair. + +'Yes, he's a two-faced mangle,' repeated Dilly. + +He turned round on her sharply. 'Now, don't talk nonsense! You're a +silly girl. I never said anything about being a two-faced mangle; I'm +a blue-faced mandrill.' + +'Well, I said so; a two-faced mangle.' + +'Don't say anything at all if you can't say it right,' said Archie, +raising his voice and losing his temper. + +'Well, they's both the same.' + +'No, they jolly well aren't.' + +He drew her a little aside. 'A blue-faced mandrill, silly, is real; +it's in my natural history book.' + +'Sorry,' said Dilly apologetically. + +'In my natural history book it is, a _real_ thing. I'm a blue-faced +mandrill.... Now say it after me.' + +'You's a two-faced mangle.' + +'Now you're doing it on purpose! If you weren't a little girl, Dilly--' + +'I wasn't doing it on purpose.' + +'Oh, get away before I hit you! You're a silly little fool.' + +She slowly walked away, calling out: 'And you're a silly two-faced +mangle,' in a very irritating tone. Archie made a tremendous effort to +ignore her, then he ran after her saying: + +'Will you shut up or will you not?' + +Aylmer seized hold of him. + +'What are you going to do, Archie?' + +'Teach Dilly what I am. She says--Oh, she's _such_ a fool!' + +'No, Archie, leave her alone; she's only a baby. Come along, old boy. +Give Mr Cricker a cup of tea; he hasn't had one yet.' + +Archie was devoted to Aylmer. Following him, he handed the tea to Mr +Cricker, saying pathetically: + +'I'm a blue-faced mandrill, and she knew it. I told her so. Aren't +girls fools? They do worry!' + +'They _are_ torments,' said Aylmer. + +'I wish that Frenchman would give me his goggles to keep! He doesn't +want them.' + +'I'll give you a pair,' said Aylmer. + +'Thanks,' said Cricker,' I won't have any tea. I wish you'd come and +have a little talk with me, Ross. Can I have a word with you alone?' + +Aylmer good-naturedly went aside with him. + +'It's worse than ever,' said Cricker, in low, mysterious tones. 'Since +I've been staying with Lady Everard it's been wire, wire, wire--ring, +ring, ring--and letters by every post! You see, I thought it was rather +a good plan to get away for a bit, but I'm afraid I shall have to go +back. Fancy, she's threatened suicide, and telling her husband, and +confiding in Lady Everard! And giving up the stage, and oh, goodness +knows what! There's no doubt the poor child is absolutely raving about +me. No doubt whatever.' + +Aylmer was as sympathetic as he knew how. + +The party was just going off when La France found that the +goggles had disappeared. A search-party was organised; great excitement +prevailed; but in the end they went away without the glasses. + +When Dilly had just gone to sleep in her cot a frightening figure crept +into her room and turned on the electric light. + +'Oh, Archie! What is it! Who is it! Oh!... Oh!' + +'Don't be frightened,' said Archie, in his deepest voice, obviously +hoping she would be frightened. He was in pyjamas and goggles. 'Don't +be frightened! _Now! Say what I am_. What am I?' + +'A blue-faced mandrill,' she whined. + +He took off the goggles and kissed her. + +'Right! Good night, old girl!' + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +The Elopement + +The following Tuesday, Edith, Aylmer, Vincy and Mrs Ottley were sitting +on the veranda after dinner. They had a charming little veranda which +led on to a lawn, and from there straight down to the sea. It was their +custom to sit there in the evening and talk. The elder Mrs Ottley +enjoyed these evenings, and the most modern conversation never seemed +to startle her. She would listen impassively, or with a smile, as if in +silent approval, to the most monstrous of paradoxes or the most +childish chaff. + +Aylmer's attention and kind thought for her had absolutely won her +heart. She consulted him about everything, and was only thoroughly +satisfied when he was there. His strong, kind, decided voice, his good +looks, his decision, and a sort of responsible impulsiveness, all +appealed to her immensely. She looked up to him, in a kind of admiring +maternal way; Edith often wondered, did she not see Aylmer's devotion? +But, if she did, Mrs Ottley thought nothing of it. Her opinion of Edith +was so high that she trusted her in any complications.... + +'Isn't Bruce coming down tonight?' she asked Edith. + +'I'm to have a wire.' + +'Ah, here's the last post. Perhaps he's written instead.' + +Vincy fetched the letters. There was one from Bruce. + +Edith went into the drawing-room to read it; there was not sufficient +light on the veranda.... + +In growing amazement she read the following words:-- + +DEAR EDITH, + +'I hope what I am about to tell you will not worry you too much. At any +rate I do hope you will not allow it to affect your health. It is +inevitable, and you must make up your mind to it as soon as possible. I +say this in no spirit of unkindness; far from it. It is hard to me to +break the news to you, but it must be done. + +'Mavis Argles and I are all in all to each other. We have made up our +minds on account of certain _circumstances_ to throw in our lot +together, and we are starting for Australia today. When this reaches +you, we shall have started. I enclose the address to write to me. + +'In taking this step I have, I am sure, acted for the best. It may +cause you great surprise and pain. I regret it, but we met and became +very quickly devoted to one another. She cannot live without me. What I +am doing is my duty. I now ask you, and believe you will grant my +request, to make arrangements to _give me my freedom as soon as +possible_. Mind you do this, Edith, for it is really my duty to give my +name to Mavis, who, as I have said, is devoted to me heart and soul, +and cannot live without me. + +'I shall always have the greatest regard and respect for you, and _wish +you well_. + +'I am sorry also about my mother, but you must try and explain that it +is for the best. You also will know exactly what to do, and how to +bring up the children just as well without me as with. + +'Hoping this sudden news will not affect your health in any way, and +that you will try and stay on a good while at Westgate, as I am sure +the air is doing you good, believe me, yours affectionately as always, + +'BRUCE. + +'_P.S._--Mind you don't forget to divorce me as soon as you can for +Mavis's sake. Vincy will give you all the advice you need. Don't think +badly of me; I have meant well. Try and cheer up. I am sorry not to +write more fully, but you can imagine how I was rushed to catch today's +steamer.' + +She sat alone gazing at the letter under the light. She was divided at +first between a desire to laugh and cry. Bruce had actually eloped! His +silly weakness had culminated, his vanity had been got hold of. Vincy's +horrid little art-student had positively led him into running away, +and leaving his wife and children. + +Controlling herself, Edith went to the veranda and said to Mrs Ottley +that Bruce wasn't coming back for a day or two, that she had neuralgia +and was going to retire, but begged Aylmer not to go yet. Of course at +this he went at once. + +The next morning Aylmer at his hotel received a little note asking him +to come round and see Edith, while the others were out. + +It was there, in the cool, shady room, that Edith showed him the +letter. + +'Good God!' he exclaimed, looking simply wild with joy. 'This is too +marvellous!--too heavenly! Do you realise it? Edith, don't you see he +wants you to make him free? You will be my wife--that's +settled--that's fixed up.' + +He looked at her in delight almost too great for expression. + +Edith knew she was going to have a hard task now. She was pale, but +looked completely composed. She said: + +'You're wrong, Aylmer. I'm not going to set him free.' + +'What?' he almost shouted. 'Are you mad? What! Stick to him when he +doesn't want you! Ruin the wretched girl's life!' + +'That remains to be seen. I don't believe everything in the letter. The +children--' + +'Edith!' he exclaimed. 'What--when he doesn't _want_ the children--when +he deserts them?' + +'He is their father.' + +'Their father! Then, if you were married to a criminal who implored you +to divorce him you wouldn't, because he was their father!' + +'Bruce is not a criminal. He is not bad. He is a fool. He has behaved +idiotically, and I can never care for him in the way I used to, but I +mean to give him a chance. I'm not going to jump at his first real +folly to get rid of him.... Poor Bruce!' + +She laughed. + +Aylmer threw himself down in an arm-chair, staring at her. + +'You amaze me,' he said. 'You amaze me. You're not human. Do you adore +this man, that you forgive him everything? You don't even seem angry.' + +'I don't adore him, that is why I'm not so very angry. I was terribly +hurt about Miss Townsend. My pride, my trust were hurt but after that I +can't ever feel that personal jealousy any more. What I have got to +think of is what is best.' + +'Edith, you don't care for me. I'd better go away.' He turned away; he +had tears in his eyes. + +'Oh, don't, Aylmer! You know I do!' + +'Well, then, it's all right. Fate seems to have arranged this on +purpose for us--don't you know, dear, how I'd be good to the children? +How I'd do anything on this earth for them? Why, I'd reconcile Mrs +Ottley to it in ten minutes; I'd do _anything_!' He started up. + +'I'm not going to let Mrs Ottley know anything about it for the +present.' + +'You're not going to tell her?' + +'No. I shall invent a story to account for his absence. No-one need +know. But, of course, if, later--I mean if he persists--' + +'Oh, Edith, don't be a fool! You're throwing away our happiness when +you've got it in your hand.' + +'There are some things that one _can't_ do.' said Edith. 'It goes +against the grain. I can't take advantage of his folly to make the path +smoother--for myself. What will become of him when they quarrel! It's +all nonsense. Bruce is only weak. He's a very good fellow, really. He +has no spirit, and not much intellect; but with us to look after him,' +she unconsciously said us, and could not help smiling at the absurdity +of it,' he will get along all right yet.' + +'Edith, you're beyond me,' said Aylmer. 'I give up understanding you.' + +She stood up again and looked out of the window. + +'Let him have his silly holiday and his elopement and his trip! He +thinks it will make a terrific sensation! And I hope she will be +seasick. I'm sure she will; she's the sort of woman who would, and +then--after--' + +'And you'll take him back? You have no pride, Edith.' + +She turned round. 'Take him back?--yes; officially. He has a right to +live in his own house, with his own children. Why, ever since I found +out about Miss Townsend ... I'm sure I was nice to him, but only like a +sister. Yes. I feel just like a sister to him now.' + +'Oh, good God! I haven't patience with all this hair-splitting +nonsense. Brotherly husbands who run away with other girls, and beg you +to divorce them; sisterly wives who forgive them and stick to them +against their will....' + +He suddenly stopped, and held out his hand. + +'Forgive me, Edith. I believe whatever you say is right. Will you +forgive me?' + +'You see, it's chiefly on account of the children. If it weren't for +them I _would_ take advantage of this to be happy with you. At +least--no--I'm not sure that I would; not if I thought it would be +Bruce's ruin.' + +'And you don't think I'd be good to the children?' + +'Good? I know you would be an angel to them! But what's the use? I tell +you I can't do it.' + +'I won't tease you, I won't worry you any more,' he said, in a rather +broken voice. 'At any rate, think what a terrible blow this is to me. +You show me the chance of heaven, then you voluntarily dash it away. +Don't you think you ought to consult someone? You have asked no-one?' + +'I have consulted _you_,' she said, with a slight smile. + +'You take no notice of what I say.' + +'As a matter of fact, I don't wish to consult anyone. I have made my +own decision. I have written my letter.' + +She took it out of her bag. It was directed to Bruce, at the address he +had given her in Australia. + +'I suppose you won't let me read it?' he said sadly. + +'I think I'd rather not,' she said. + +Terribly hurt, he turned to the door. + +'No--no, you shall read it!' she exclaimed. 'But don't say anything, +make no remark about it. You shall read it because I trust you, because +I really care for you.' + +'Perhaps I oughtn't to,' he said. 'No, dear; keep it to yourself.' His +delicacy had revived and he was ashamed of his jealousy. + +But now she insisted on showing it to him, and he read: + +'DEAR BRUCE, + +'I'm not going to make any appeal to your feelings with regard to your +mother and the children, because if you had thought even of me a little +this would not have happened. I'm very, very sorry for it. I believe it +happened from your weakness and foolishness, or you could not have +behaved with such irresponsibility, but I'm trying to look at it quite +calmly. I therefore propose to do nothing at all for three months. If I +acted on your suggestion you might regret it ever after. If in three +months you write to me again in the same strain, still desiring to be +free, I will think of it, though I'm not sure that I should do it even +then. But in case you change your mind I propose to tell nobody, not +even your mother. By the time you get this letter, it will be six weeks +since yours to me, and you may look at things differently. Perhaps by +then you will be glad to hear that I have told your mother merely that +you have been ordered away for a change, and I shall say the same to +anyone else who inquires for you. If you feel after this time still +responsible, and that you have a certain duty, still remember, even so, +you might be very unhappy together all your lives. Excuse me, then, if +I don't take you at your word. + +'Another point occurs to me. In your hurry and excitement, perhaps you +forgot that your father's legacy depended on the condition that you +should not leave the Foreign Office before you were fifty. That is +about fourteen years from now. If you are legally freed, and marry Miss +Argles, you could hardly go back there. I think it would be practically +impossible under those circumstances, while if you live in Australia +you will have hardly any means. I merely remind you of this, in case +you had forgotten. + +'I shall regard it all as an unfortunate aberration; and if you regret +it, and change your mind, you will be free at any time you like to come +back and nothing shall be ever said about it. But I'm not begging you +to do so. I may be wrong; perhaps she's the woman to make you happy. +Let me know within three months how you feel about it. No-one will +suffer except myself during this time, as I shall keep it from your +mother, and shall remain here during this time. Perhaps you will be +very angry with me that I don't wish to take you at your word, Bruce. +At first I thought I would, but I'm doing what I think right, and one +cannot do more. + +'I'm not going to reproach you, for if you don't feel the claims of +others on you, my words will make no difference. + +'Think over what I say. Should you be unhappy and wish to separate from +her without knowing how, and if it becomes a question of money, as so +many things do, I would help you. I did not remind you about your +father's legacy to induce you to come back. If you really find +happiness in the way you expect, we could arrange it. You see, I have +thought of everything, in one night. But you _won't_ be happy. + +'EDITH OTTLEY.' + +'Remember, whenever you like to come back, you will be welcomed, and +nothing shall ever be said about it.' + +Aylmer gave her back the letter. He was touched. + +'You see,' she said eagerly, 'I haven't got a grain of jealousy. All +that part is quite finished. That's the very reason why I can judge +calmly.' + +She fastened up the letter, and then said with a smile: + +'And now, let's be happy the rest of the summer. Won't you?' + +He answered that she was _impayable_--marvellous--that he would help +her--devote himself to doing whatever she wished. On consideration he +saw that there was still hope. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +Bruce Returns + +'Never, Edith!' exclaimed Vincy, fixing his eyeglass in his eye, and +opening his mouth in astonishment. 'Never! Well, I'm gormed!' + +A week had passed since the news of Bruce's elopement. The little group +at Westgate didn't seem to have much been affected by it; and this was +the less surprising as Aylmer and Edith had kept it to themselves. Mrs +Ottley listened imperturbably to Edith's story, a somewhat incoherent +concoction, but told with dash and decision, that Bruce had been +ordered away for a sea-voyage for fear of a nervous breakdown. She +cried a little, said nothing, kissed Edith more than usual, and took +the children away for longer walks and drives. With a mother's +flashlight of intuition she felt at once certain there was something +wrong, but she didn't wish to probe the subject. Her confidence in +Edith reached the point of superstition; she would never ask her +questions. Edith had assured her that Bruce would come back all right, +and that was enough. Personally, Mrs Ottley much preferred the society +of Aylmer to that of her son. Aylmer was far more amusing, far more +considerate to her, and to everybody else, and he didn't use his +natural charm for those who amused him only, as the ordinary +fascinating man does. Probably there was at the back of his attentions +to Mrs Ottley a vague idea that he wanted to get her on his side--that +she might be a useful ally; but he was always charming to elderly +women, and inclined to be brusque with younger ones, excepting Edith; +he remembered his own mother with so great a cult of devotion, and his +late wife with such a depressed indifference. + +Edith had asked Aylmer to try and forget what had happened--to make +himself believe that Bruce had really only gone away medicinally. For +the present, he did as she wished, but he was longing to begin talking +to her on the subject again, both because it interested him +passionately from the psychological point of view, and far more, +naturally, because he had hopes of persuading her in time. She was not +bound by letter; she could change her mind. Bruce might and possibly +would, insist. + +There was difficulty in keeping the secret from Vincy, who was actually +staying in the house, and whose wonderful nerves and whimsical mind +were so sensitive to every variation of his surroundings. He had the +gift of reading people's minds. But it never annoyed anyone; one felt +he had no illusions; that he sympathised with one's weaknesses and +follies and, in a sense, enjoyed them, from a literary point of view. +Probably his friends forgave his clear vision for the sake of his +interest. Most people would far rather be seen through than not be seen +at all. + +One day Vincy, alone on the beach with Edith, remarked that he wondered +what had happened to Mavis. + +Edith told him that she had run away with a married man. + +'Never, Edith!' he exclaimed. 'Who would have thought it! It seems +almost too good to be true!' + +'Don't say that, Vincy.' + +'But how did you hear it? You know everything.' + +'I heard it on good authority. I _know_ it's true.' + +'And to think I was passing the remark only the other day that I +thought I ought to look her up, in a manner of speaking, or write, _or +something_,' continued Vincy; 'and who _is_ the poor dear man? Do you +know?' + +He looked at her with a sudden vague suspicion of he knew not what. + +'Bruce was always inclined to be romantic, you know,' she said +steadily. + +'Oh, give over!' + +'Yes, that's it; I didn't want anyone to know about it. I'm so afraid +of making Mrs Ottley unhappy.' + +'But you're not serious, Edith?' + +'I suppose I'd better show you his letter. He tells me to ask your +advice.' + +She gave it to him. + +'There is only one word for what I feel about it,' Vincy said, as he +gave it back. 'I'm gormed! Simply gormed! Gormed, Edith dear, is really +the only word.' + +'I'm not jealous,' said Edith. 'My last trouble with Bruce seems to +have cured me of any feeling of the kind. But I have a sort of pity and +affection for him still in a way--almost like a mother! I'm really +afraid he will be miserable with her, and then he'll feel tied to her +and be wretched all his life. So I'm giving him a chance.' + +He looked at her with admiring sympathy. + +'But what about other friends?' + +'Well--oh, you know--' + +'Edith, I'm awfully sorry; I wish I'd married her now, then she +wouldn't have bothered about Bruce.' + +'But you can't stand her, Vincy.' + +'I know, Edith dear; but I'd marry any number of people to prevent +anything tiresome for you. And Aylmer, of course--Edith, really, I +think Aylmer ought to go away; I'm sure he ought. It is a mistake to +let him stay here under these circumstances.' + +'Why?' said Edith. 'I don't see that; if I were going to take Bruce at +his word, then it would be different, of course.' + +'It does seem a pity not to, in some ways; everything would be all +nicely settled up, just like the fourth act of a play. And then I +should be glad I hadn't married Mavis... Oh, do let it be like the +fourth act, Edith.' + +'How can life be like a play? It's hopeless to attempt it,' she said +rather sadly. + +'Edith, do you think if Bruce knew--how much you liked Aylmer--he would +have written that letter?' + +'No. And I don't believe he would ever have gone away.' + +'Still, I think you ought to send Aylmer away now.' + +'Why?' she repeated. 'Nothing could be more intensely correct. Mrs +Ottley's staying with me--why shouldn't I have the pleasure of seeing +Aylmer because Bruce is having a heavenly time on board ship?' + +'I suppose there's that point of view,' said Vincy, rather bewildered. +'I say, Edith!' + +'About Bruce having a heavenly time on board ship--a--she always +grumbles; she's always complaining. She's never, never satisfied... She +keeps on making scenes.' + +'So does Bruce.' + +'Yes. But I suppose if there's a certain predicament--then--Oh, +Edith--are you unhappy?' + +'No, not a bit now. I think I'm only really unhappy when I'm undecided. +Once I've taken a line--no matter what it is--I can be happy again. I +can adjust myself to my good fortune.' + +Curiously, when Edith had once got over the pain and shock that the +letter first gave her, she was positively happier now than she ever had +been before. Bruce really must have been a more formidable bore than +she had known, since his absence left such a delicious freedom. The +certainty of having done the right, the wisest thing, was a support, a +proud satisfaction. + +During these summer days Aylmer was not so peacefully happy. His +devotion was assiduous, silent, discreet, and sometimes his feelings +were almost uncontrollable, but he hoped; and he consoled himself by +the thought that some day he would really have his wish--anything might +happen; the chances were all in his favour. + +What an extraordinary woman she was--and how pretty--how subtle; how +perfect their life might be together.... + +He implored Vincy to use his influence. + +'I can't see Edith in anything so crude as the--as--that court,' Vincy +said. + +'But Bruce begs her to do it. What could their life be together +afterwards? It's simply a deliberate sacrifice.' + +'There's every hope that Miss Argles will never let him go,' said +Vincy. 'One has to be very firm to get away from her. Oh, ever so firm, +and _obstinate_, you can't think! How many times a day she must be +reproaching Bruce--that will be rather a change for him. However, +anything may happen,' said Vincy soothingly. He still maintained, for +he had a very strong sense of propriety in matters of form, that Aylmer +ought to go away. But Edith would not agree. + + * * * * * + +So the children played and enjoyed themselves, and sometimes asked +after their father, and Mrs Ottley, though a little anxious, enjoyed +herself too, and Edith had never been so happy. She was having a +holiday. She dismissed all trouble and lived in a sort of dream. + + * * * * * + +Towards the end of the summer, hearing no more from Bruce, Aylmer grew +still more hopeful; he began to regard it as practically settled. The +next letter in answer to Edith's would doubtless convince her, and he +would then persuade her; it was, tacitly, he thought, almost agreed +now; it was not spoken of between them, but he believed it was all +right.... + + * * * * * + +Aylmer had come back to London in the early days of September and was +wandering through his house thinking how he would have it done up and +how he wouldn't leave it when they were married, when a telephone +message summoned him to Knightsbridge. + +He went, and found the elder Mrs Ottley just going away. He thought she +looked at him rather strangely. + +'I think Edith wants to speak to you,' she said, as she left the room. +'Dear Edith! Be nice to her.' And she fled. + + * * * * * + +Aylmer waited alone, looking round the room that he loved because he +associated it with her. + +It was one of the first cold damp days of the autumn, and there was a +fire. Edith came in, in a dark dress, looking pale, and different, he +thought. She had seemed the very spirit of summer only a day or two +before. + +A chill presentiment struck to his heart. + +'You've had a letter? Go on; don't keep me in suspense.' He spoke with +nervous impatience, and no self-restraint. + +She sat down by him. She had no wish to create an effect, but she found +it difficult to speak. + +'Yes, I've had a letter,' she said quietly. 'They've quarrelled. They +quarrelled on board. He hates her. He says he would rather die than +remain with her. He's written me a rather nice letter. They quarrelled +so frightfully that a young man on board interfered,' she said, smiling +faintly. 'As soon as they arrived the young man married her. He's a +commercial traveller. He's only twenty-five.... It seems he pitied her +so much that he proposed to her on board, and she left Bruce. It wasn't +true about the predicament. It was--a mistake. Bruce was grateful for +my letter. He's glad I've not told anyone--not done anything. Now the +children will never know. But I've told Mrs Ottley all about it. I +thought I'd better, now it's over. She won't ask him questions.... +Bruce is on his way home.' + +'All right!' said Aylmer, getting up. 'Let him come. Forgive him again, +that's right! Would you have done that for _me_?' + +'No! Never! If you had once been unfaithful, and I knew it, I'd never +have forgiven you.' + +'I quite believe it. But why?' + +'Because I care for you too much. If you had been in Bruce's position I +should never have seen you again. With him it's different. It's a +feeling of--it's for him, not for me. I've felt no jealousy, no +passion, so I could judge calmly.' + +'All right,' repeated Aylmer ironically; 'all right! Judge calmly! Do +the right thing. You know best.' He stopped a moment, and then said, +taking his hat: 'I understand now. I see clearly at last. You've had +the opportunity and you wouldn't take it; you don't care for me. I'm +going.' + +He went to the door. + +'Oh, come back, Aylmer! Don't go like that! You know I care for you, +but what could I do? I foresaw this...You know, I can't feel _no_ +responsibility about Bruce. I couldn't make my happiness out of someone +else's misery. He would have been miserable and, not only that, it +would have been his ruin. Bruce could never be safe, happy, or all +right, except here.' + +'And you think he'll alter, now, be grateful and devoted, I +suppose--appreciate you?' + +'Do people alter?' she answered. + +'I neither know nor care if he will, but you? I could have made you +happy. You won't let me. Oh, Edith, how could you torture me like this +all the summer?' + +'I didn't mean to torture you. We enjoyed being together.' + +'Yes. But it makes this so much harder.' + +'It would be such a risk!' she answered. 'But is anything worth having +unless you're ready to risk every-thing to get it?' + +'I _would_ risk everything, for myself. But not for others...If you +feel you want to go away,' she said, 'let it be only for a little +while.' + +'A little while! I hope I shall _never_ see you again! Do you think I'm +such a miserable fool--do you think I could endure the position of a +tame cat? You forget I'm a man!... No; I'll never see you again now, +not if it kills me!' + +At these words, the first harsh ones she had ever heard from him, her +nerves gave way, and she burst into tears. + +This made him irresolute, for his tender-heartedness almost reached the +point of weakness. He went up to her, as she lifted her head, and +looked at her once more. Then he said: + +'No, you've chosen. You _have_ been cruel to me, and you're too good to +him. But I suppose you must carry out your own nature, Edith. I've been +the victim. That's all.' + +'And won't you be friends?' she said. + +'No. I won't and I can't.' + +He waited one moment more. + + * * * * * + +'If you'll change your mind--you still can--we can still be happy. We +can be everything to each other.... Give him up. Give him up.' + +'I can't,' said Edith. + +'Then, good-bye.' + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +Intellectual Sympathy + +'What are you going to wear tonight, Edith?' + +'Oh; anything!' + +'Don't say anything. I don't wish you to wear anything. I'm anxious you +should look your best, really nice, especially as we haven't been to +the Mitchells' for so long. Wear your new blue dress.' + +'Very well.' + +Bruce got up and walked across the room and looked in the glass. + +'Certainly, I'm a bit sunburnt,' he remarked thoughtfully. 'But it +doesn't suit me badly, not really badly; does it?' + +'Not at all.' + +'Edith.' + +'Yes?' + +'If I've spoken about it once, I've spoken about it forty times. This +ink-bottle is too full.' + +'I'll see about it.' + +'Don't let me have to speak about it again, will you? I wonder who will +be at the Mitchells' tonight?' + +'Oh, I suppose there'll be the new person--the woman with the dramatic +contralto foghorn voice; and the usual people: Mr Cricker, Lady +Everard, Miss Mooney--' + +'Miss Mooney! I hope not! I can't stand that woman. I think she's +absurd; she's a mass of affectation and prudishness. And--Edith!' + +'Yes?' + +'I don't want to interfere between mother and daughter--I know you're +perfectly capable and thoroughly well suited to bringing up a girl, but +I really do think you're encouraging Dilly in too great extravagance.' + +'Oh! In what way?' + +'I found her making a pinafore for her doll out of a lace flounce of +real old Venetian lace. Dilly said she found it on the floor. 'On the +floor, indeed,' I said to her. 'You mustn't use real lace!' She said, +'Why not? It's a real doll!' Lately Dilly's got a way of answering back +that I don't like at all. Speak to her about it, will you, Edith?' + +'Oh yes, of course I will.' + +'I'm afraid my mother spoils them. However, Archie will be going to +school soon. Of course it isn't for me to interfere. I have always made +a point of letting you do exactly as you like about the children, +haven't I, Edith? But I'm beginning to think, really, Dilly ought to +have another gov--' He stopped, looking self-conscious. + +'Oh, she's only five, quite a baby,' said Edith. 'I daresay I can +manage her for the present. Leave it to me.' + + * * * * * + +Since his return, Edith had never once referred to Bruce's sea-voyage. +Once or twice he had thanked her with real gratitude, and even remorse, +for the line she had taken, but her one revenge had been to change the +subject immediately. If Bruce wished to discuss the elopement that she +had so laboriously concealed, he would have to go elsewhere. + + * * * * * + +A brilliantly coloured version, glittering with success and lurid with +melodrama, had been given (greatly against the hearer's will) to +Goldthorpe at the club. One of the most annoying things to Bruce was +that he was perfectly convinced, when he was confessing the exact +truth, that Goldthorpe didn't believe a word of it. + +It was unfortunate, too, for Bruce, that he felt it incumbent on him to +keep it from Vincy; and not to speak of the affair at all was a real +sacrifice on Vincy's part, also. For they would both have enjoyed +discussing it, while Goldthorpe, the only human being in whom Bruce +ever really confided, was not only bored but incredulous. He considered +Bruce not only tedious to the verge of imbecility, but unreliable +beyond the pardonable point of inaccuracy. In fact, Bruce was his ideal +of the most wearisome of liars and the most untruthful of bores; and +here was poor Vincy dying to hear all about his old friend, Mavis (he +never knew even whether she had mentioned his name), ready to revel, +with his peculiar humour, in every detail of the strange romance, +particularly to enjoy her sudden desertion of Bruce for an unmarried +commercial traveller who had fallen in love with her on board.--And +yet, it had to be withheld! Bruce felt it would be disloyal, and he had +the decency to be ashamed to speak of his escapade to an intimate +friend of his wife. + + * * * * * + +Bruce complained very much of the dullness of the early autumn in +London without Aylmer. This sudden mania for long journeys on Aylmer's +part was a most annoying hobby. He would never get such a pleasant +friend as Aylmer again. Aylmer was his hero. + +'Why do you think he's gone away?' he rather irritatingly persisted. + +'I haven't the slightest idea.' + +'Do you know, Edith, it has sometimes occurred to me that if--that, +well--well, you know what I mean--if things had turned out differently, +and you had done as I asked you--' + +'Well?' + +'Why, I have a sort of idea,' he looked away, 'that Aylmer might--well, +might have proposed to you!' + +'Oh! _What_ an extraordinary idea!' + +'But he never did show any sign whatever, I suppose of--well, +of--being more interested in you than he ought to have been?' + +'Good heavens, no!' + +'Oh, of course, I know that--you're not his style. You liked him very +much, didn't you, Edith?...' + +'I like him very much now.' + +'However, I doubt if you ever quite appreciated him. He's so full of +ability; such an intellectual chap! Aylmer is more a man's man. _I_ +miss him, of course. He was a very great friend of mine. And he didn't +ever at all, in the least--seem to--' + +'Seem to what?' + +'It would have been a very unfair advantage to take of my absence if he +had,' continued Bruce. + +'Oh!' + +'But he was incapable of it, of course.' + +'Of course.' + +'He _never_ showed any special interest, then, beyond--' + +'Never.' + +'I was right, I suppose, as usual. You never appreciated him; he was +not the sort of man a woman _would_ appreciate ... But he's a great +loss to me, Edith. I need a man who can understand--Intellectual +sympathy--' + + * * * * * + +'Mr Vincy!' announced the servant. + +Vincy had not lost his extraordinary gift for turning up at the right +moment. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** diff --git a/old/10021-8.zip b/old/10021-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2f0980 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10021-8.zip diff --git a/old/10021.txt b/old/10021.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9830dd --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10021.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7316 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tenterhooks, by Ada Leverson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Tenterhooks + +Author: Ada Leverson + +Release Date: November 8, 2003 [eBook #10021] + +Language: English + +Chatacter set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TENTERHOOKS*** + + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Sarah Lewis, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +Tenterhooks + +[Book 2 of The Little Ottleys] + +by Ada Leverson + +1912 + + + + + + + +TO ROBERT ROSS + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A Verbal Invitation + +Because Edith had not been feeling very well, that seemed no reason why +she should be the centre of interest; and Bruce, with that jealousy of +the privileges of the invalid and in that curious spirit of rivalry +which his wife had so often observed, had started, with enterprise, an +indisposition of his own, as if to divert public attention. While he +was at Carlsbad he heard the news. Then he received a letter from +Edith, speaking with deference and solicitude of Bruce's rheumatism, +entreating him to do the cure thoroughly, and suggesting that they +should call the little girl Matilda, after a rich and sainted--though +still living--aunt of Edith's. It might be an advantage to the child's +future (in every sense) to have a godmother so wealthy and so +religious. It appeared from the detailed description that the new +daughter had, as a matter of course (and at two days old), long golden +hair, far below her waist, sweeping lashes and pencilled brows, a +rosebud mouth, an intellectual forehead, chiselled features and a tall, +elegant figure. She was a magnificent, regal-looking creature and was a +superb beauty of the classic type, and yet with it she was dainty and +winsome. She had great talent for music. This, it appeared, was shown +by the breadth between the eyes and the timbre of her voice. + +Overwhelmed with joy at the advent of such a paragon, and horrified at +Edith's choice of a name, Bruce had replied at once by wire, +impulsively: + +_'Certainly not Matilda I would rather she were called Aspasia.'_ + +Edith read this expression of feeling on a colourless telegraph form, +and as she was, at Knightsbridge, unable to hear the ironical tone of +the message she took it literally. + +She criticised the name, but was easily persuaded by her mother-in-law +to make no objection. The elder Mrs Ottley pointed out that it might +have been very much worse. + +'But it's not a pretty name,' objected Edith. 'If it wasn't to be +Matilda, I should rather have called her something out of +Maeterlinck--Ygraine, or Ysolyn--something like that.' + +'Yes, dear, Mygraine's a nice name, too,' said Mrs Ottley, in her +humouring way, 'and so is Vaselyn. But what does it really matter? I +shouldn't hold out on a point like this. One gets used to a name. Let +the poor child be called Asparagus if he wishes it, and let him feel he +has got his own way.' + +So the young girl was named Aspasia Matilda Ottley. It was +characteristic of Edith that she kept to her own point, though not +aggressively. When Bruce returned after his after-cure, it was too +late to do anything but pretend he had meant it seriously. + +Archie called his sister Dilly. + +Archie had been rather hurt at the--as it seemed to him--unnecessary +excitement about Dilly. Not that he was jealous in any way. It was +rather that he was afraid it would spoil her to be made so much of at +her age; make her, perhaps, egotistical and vain. But it was not +Archie's way to show these fears openly. He did not weep loudly or +throw things about as many boys might have done. His methods were more +roundabout, more subtle. He gave hints and suggestions of his views +that should have been understood by the intelligent. He said one +morning with some indirectness: + +'I had such a lovely dream last night, Mother.' + +'Did you, pet? How sweet of you. What was it?' + +'Oh, nothing much. It was all right. Very nice. It was a lovely dream. +I dreamt I was in heaven.' + +'Really! How delightful. Who was there?' + +This is always a woman's first question. + +'Oh, you were there, of course. And father. Nurse, too. It was a lovely +dream. Such a nice place.' + +'Was Dilly there?' + +'Dilly? Er--no--no--she wasn't. She was in the night nursery, with +Satan.' + +Sometimes Edith thought that her daughter's names were decidedly a +failure--Aspasia by mistake, Matilda through obstinacy, and Dilly by +accident. However the child herself was a success. She was four years +old when the incident occurred about the Mitchells. The whole of this +story turns eventually on the Mitchells. + +The Ottleys lived in a concise white flat at Knightsbridge. Bruce's +father had some time ago left him a good income on certain conditions; +one was that he was not to leave the Foreign Office before he was +fifty. One afternoon Edith was talking to the telephone in a voice of +agonised entreaty that would have melted the hardest of hearts, but did +not seem to have much effect on the Exchange, which, evidently, was not +responsive to pathos that day. + +'Oh! Exchange, _why_ are you ringing off? _Please_ try again.... Do I +want any number? Yes, I do want any number, of course, or why should I +ring up?... I want 6375 Gerrard.' + +Here Archie interposed. + +'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?' + +'No, Archie, you can't just now, dear.... Go away Archie.... Yes, I +said 6375 Gerrard. Only 6375 Gerrard!... Are you there? Oh, don't keep +on asking me if I've got them!... No, they haven't answered.... Are you +6375?... Oh--wrong number--sorry.... 6375 Gerrard? Only six--are you +there?... Not 6375 Gerrard?... Are you anyone else?... Oh, is it you, +Vincy?... I want to tell you--' + +'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?' + +Here Bruce came in. Edith rang off. Archie disappeared. + +'It's really rather wonderful, Edith, what that Sandow exerciser has +done for me! You laughed at me at first, but I've improved +marvellously.' + +Bruce was walking about doing very mild gymnastics, and occasionally +hitting himself on the left arm with the right fist.' Look at my +muscle--look at it--and all in such a short time!' + +'Wonderful!' said Edith. + +'The reason I know what an extraordinary effect these few days have had +on me is something I have just done which I couldn't have done before. +Of course I'm naturally a very powerful man, and only need a little--' + +'What have you done?' + +'Why--you know that great ridiculous old wooden chest that your awful +Aunt Matilda sent you for your birthday--absurd present I call it--mere +lumber.' + +'Yes?' + +'When it came I could barely push it from one side of the room to the +other. Now I've lifted it from your room to the box-room. Quite +easily. Pretty good, isn't it?' + +'Yes, of course it's very good for you to do all these exercises; no +doubt it's capital.... Er--you know I've had all the things taken out +of the chest since you tried it before, don't you?' + +'Things--what things? I didn't know there was anything in it.' + +'Only a silver tea-service, and a couple of salvers,' said Edith, in a +low voice.... + +...He calmed down fairly soon and said: 'Edith, I have some news for +you. You know the Mitchells?' + +'Do I know the _Mitchells_? Mitchell, your hero in your office, that +you're always being offended with--at _least_ I know the Mitchells by +_name_. I ought to.' + +'Well, what do you think they've done? They've asked us to dinner.' + +'Have they? Fancy!' + +'Yes, and what I thought was so particularly jolly of him was that it +was a verbal invitation. Mitchell said to me, just like this, 'Ottley, +old chap, are you doing anything on Sunday evening?'' + +Here Archie came to the door and said, 'Mother, can I have your long +buttonhook?' + +Edith shook her head and frowned. + +''Ottley, old chap,'' continued Bruce, ''are you and your wife doing +anything on Sunday? If not, I do wish you would waive ceremony and come +and dine with us. Would Mrs Ottley excuse a verbal invitation, do you +think?' I said, 'Well, Mitchell, as a matter of fact I don't believe we +have got anything on. Yes, old boy, we shall be delighted.' I accepted, +you see. I accepted straight out. When you're treated in a friendly +way, I always say why be unfriendly? And Mrs Mitchell is a charming +little woman--I'm sure you'd like her. It seems she's been dying to +know you.' + +'Fancy! I wonder she's still alive, then, because you and Mitchell have +known each other for eight years, and I've never met her yet.' + +'Well, you will now. Let bygones be bygones. They live in Hamilton +Place.' + +'Oh yes....Park Lane?' + +'I told you he was doing very well, and his wife has private means.' + +'Mother,' Archie began again, like a litany, 'can I have your long +buttonhook? I know where it is.' + +'No, Archie, certainly not; you can't fasten laced boots with a +buttonhook.... Well, that will be fun, Bruce.' + +'I believe they're going to have games after dinner,' said Bruce. 'All +very jolly--musical crambo--that sort of thing.... What shall you wear, +Edith?' + +'Mother, do let me have your long buttonhook. I want it. It isn't for +my boots.' + +'_Certainly_ not. What a nuisance you are! Do go away.... I think I +shall wear my salmon-coloured dress with the sort of mayonnaise- +coloured sash.... (No, you're not to have it, Archie).' + +'But, Mother, I've got it.... I can soon mend it, Mother.' + +On Sunday evening Bruce's high spirits seemed to flag; he had one of +his sudden reactions. He looked at everything on its dark side. + +'What on earth's that thing in your hair, Edith?' + +'It's a bandeau.' + +'I don't like it. Your hair looks very nice without it. What on _earth_ +did you get it for?' + +'For about six-and-eleven, I think.' + +'Don't be trivial, Edith. We shall be late. Ah! It really does seem +rather a pity, the very first time one dines with people like the +Mitchells.' + +'We sha'n't be late, Bruce. It's eight o'clock, and eight o'clock I +suppose means--well, eight. Sure you've got the number right?' + +'Really. Edith!... My memory is unerring, dear. I never make a mistake. +Haven't you ever noticed it?' + +'A--oh yes--I think I have.' + +'Well, it's 168 Hamilton Place. Look sharp, dear.' + +On their way in the taxi he gave her a good many instructions and +advised her to be perfectly at her ease and _absolutely natural_; there +was nothing to make one otherwise, in either Mr or Mrs Mitchell. Also, +he said, it didn't matter a bit what she wore, as long as she had put +on her _best_ dress. It seemed a pity she had not got a new one, but +this couldn't be helped, as there was now no time. Edith agreed that +she knew of no really suitable place where she could buy a new evening +dress at eight-thirty on Sunday evening. And, anyhow, he said, she +looked quite nice, really very smart; besides, Mrs Mitchell was not the +sort of person who would think any the less of a pretty woman for being +a little dowdy and out of fashion. + +When they drove up to what house agents call in their emotional way a +superb, desirable, magnificent town mansion, they saw that a large +dinner-party was evidently going on. A hall porter and four powdered +footmen were in evidence. + +'By Jove!' said Bruce, as he got out, 'I'd no idea old Mitchell did +himself so well as this.'... The butler had never heard of the +Mitchells. The house belonged to Lord Rosenberg. + +'Confound it! 'said Bruce, as he flung himself into the taxi. 'Well! +I've made a mistake for once in my life. I admit it. Of course, it's +really Hamilton Gardens. Sorry. Yet somehow I'm rather glad Mitchell +doesn't live in that house.' + +'You are perfectly right,' said Edith: 'the bankruptcy of an old friend +and colleague could be no satisfaction to any man.' + +Hamilton Gardens was a gloomy little place, like a tenement building +out of Marylebone Road. Bruce, in trying to ring the bell, +unfortunately turned out all the electric light in the house, and was +standing alone in despair in the dark when, fortunately the porter, who +had been out to post a letter, ran back, and turned up the light +again.... 'I shouldn't have thought they could play musical crambo +here, 'he called out to Edith while he was waiting. 'And now isn't it +odd? I have a funny kind of feeling that the right address is Hamilton +House.' + +'I suppose you're perfectly certain they don't live at a private idiot +asylum?' Edith suggested doubtfully. + +On inquiry it appeared the Mitchells did not live at Hamilton Gardens. +An idea occurred to Edith, and she asked for a directory. + +The Winthrop Mitchells lived at Hamilton Terrace, St John's Wood. + +'At last!' said Bruce. 'Now we shall be too disgracefully late for the +first time. But be perfectly at your ease, dear. Promise me that. Go in +quite naturally.' + +'How else can I go in?' + +'I mean as if nothing had happened.' + +'I think we'd better tell them what _has_ happened,' said Edith; 'it +will make them laugh. I hope they will have begun their dinner.' + +'Surely they will have finished it.' + +'Perhaps we may find them at their games!' + +'Now, now, don't be bitter, Edith dear--never be bitter--life has its +ups and downs.... Well! I'm rather glad, after all, that Mitchell +doesn't live in that horrid little hole.' + +'I'm sure you are,' said Edith; 'it could be no possible satisfaction +to you to know that a friend and colleague of yours is either +distressingly hard up or painfully penurious.' + +They arrived at the house, but there were no lights, and no sign of +life. The Mitchells lived here all right, but they were out. The +parlourmaid explained. The dinner-party had been Saturday, the night +before.... + +'Strange,' said Bruce, as he got in again. 'I had a curious +presentiment that something was going wrong about this dinner at the +Mitchells'.' + +'What dinner at the Mitchells'? There doesn't seem to be any.' + +'Do you know,' Bruce continued his train of thought, 'I felt certain +somehow that it would be a failure. Wasn't it odd? I often think I'm a +pessimist, and yet look how well I'm taking it. I'm more like a +fatalist--sometimes I hardly know what I am.' + +'I could tell you what you are,' said Edith, 'but I won't, because now +you must take me to the Carlton. We shall get there before it's +closed.' + + + +CHAPTER II + +Opera Glasses + +Whether to behave with some coolness to Mitchell, and be stand-offish, +as though it had been all his fault, or to be lavishly apologetic, was +the question. Bruce could not make up his mind which attitude to take. +In a way, it was all the Mitchells' fault. They oughtn't to have given +him a verbal invitation. It was rude, Bohemian, wanting in good form; +it showed an absolute and complete ignorance of the most ordinary and +elementary usages of society. It was wanting in common courtesy; +really, when one came to think about it, it was an insult. On the other +hand, technically, Bruce was in the wrong. Having accepted he ought to +have turned up on the right night. It may have served them right (as he +said), but the fact of going on the wrong night being a lesson to them +seemed a little obscure. Edith found it difficult to see the point. + +Then he had a more brilliant idea; to go into the office as cheerily as +ever, and say to Mitchell pleasantly, 'We're looking forward to next +Saturday, old chap,' pretending to have believed from the first that +the invitation had been for the Saturday week; and that the dinner was +still to come.... + +This, Edith said, would have been excellent, provided that the +parlourmaid hadn't told them that she and Bruce had arrived about a +quarter to ten on Sunday evening and asked if the Mitchells had begun +dinner. The chances against the servant having kept this curious +incident to herself were almost too great. + +After long argument and great indecision the matter was settled by a +cordial letter from Mrs Mitchell, asking them to dinner on the +following Thursday, and saying she feared there had been some mistake. +So that was all right. + +Bruce was in good spirits again; he was pleased too, because he was +going to the theatre that evening with Edith and Vincy, to see a play +that he thought wouldn't be very good. He had almost beforehand settled +what he thought of it, and practically what he intended to say. + +But when he came in that evening he was overheard to have a strenuous +and increasingly violent argument with Archie in the hall. + +Edith opened the door and wanted to know what the row was about. + +'Will you tell me, Edith, where your son learns such language? He keeps +on worrying me to take him to the Zoological Gardens to see +the--well--you'll hear what he says. The child's a perfect nuisance. +Who put it into his head to want to go and see this animal? I was +obliged to speak quite firmly to him about it.' + +Edith was not alarmed that Bruce had been severe. She thought it much +more likely that Archie had spoken very firmly to him. He was always +strict with his father, and when he was good Bruce found fault with +him. As soon as he grew really tiresome his father became abjectly +apologetic. + +Archie was called and came in, dragging his feet, and pouting, in tears +that he was making a strenuous effort to encourage. + +'You must be firm with him,' continued Bruce. 'Hang it! Good heavens! +Am I master in my own house or am I not?' + +There was no reply to this rhetorical question. + +He turned to Archie and said in a gentle, conciliating voice: + +'Archie, old chap, tell your mother what it is you want to see. Don't +cry, dear.' + +'Want to see the damned chameleon,' said Archie, with his hands in his +eyes. 'Want father to take me to the Zoo.' + +'You can't go to the Zoo this time of the evening. What do you mean?' + +'I want to see the damned chameleon.' + +'You hear!' exclaimed Bruce to Edith. + +'Who taught you this language?' + +'Miss Townsend taught it me.' + +'There! It's dreadful, Edith; he's becoming a reckless liar. Fancy her +dreaming of teaching him such things! If she did, of course she must be +mad, and you must send her away at once. But I'm quite sure she +didn't.' + +'Come, Archie, you know Miss Townsend never taught you to say that. +What have you got into your head?' + +'Well, she didn't exactly teach me to say it--she didn't give me +lessons in it--but she says it herself. She said the damned chameleon +was lovely; and I want to see it. She didn't say I ought to see it. But +I want to. I've been wanting to ever since. She said it at lunch today, +and I do want to. Lots of other boys go to the Zoo, and why shouldn't +I? I want to see it so much.' + +'Edith, I must speak to Miss Townsend about this very seriously. In the +first place, people have got no right to talk about queer animals to +the boy at all--we all know what he is--and in such language! I should +have thought a girl like Miss Townsend, who has passed examinations in +Germany, and so forth, would have had more sense of her +responsibility--more tact. It shows a dreadful want of--I hardly know +what to think of it--the daughter of a clergyman, too!' + +'It's all right, Bruce,' Edith laughed. 'Miss Townsend told me she had +been to see the _Dame aux Camelias_ some time ago. She was enthusiastic +about it. Archie dear, I'll take you to the Zoological Gardens and +we'll see lots of other animals. And don't use that expression.' + +'What! Can't I see the da--' + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + +'I must go and dress,' said Bruce. + +Vincy Wenham Vincy was always called by everyone simply Vincy. Applied +to him it seemed like a pet name. He had arrived at the right moment, +as he always did. He was very devoted to both Edith and Bruce, and he +was a confidant of both. He sometimes said to Edith that he felt he was +just what was wanted in the little home; an intimate stranger coming in +occasionally with a fresh atmosphere was often of great value (as, for +instance, now) in calming or averting storms. + +Had anyone asked Vincy exactly what he was he would probably have said +he was an Observer, and really he did very little else, though after he +left Oxford he had taken to writing a little, and painting less. He was +very fair, the fairest person one could imagine over five years old. He +had pale silky hair, a minute fair moustache, very good features, a +single eyeglass, and the appearance, always, of having been very +recently taken out of a bandbox. + +But when people fancied from this look of his that he was an +empty-headed fop they soon found themselves immensely mistaken. + +He was thirty-eight, but looked a gilded youth of twenty; and _was_ +sufficiently gilded (as he said), not perhaps exactly to be +comfortable, but to enable him to get about comfortably, and see those +who were. + +He had a number of relatives in high places, who bored him, and were +always trying to get him married. He had taken up various occupations +and travelled a good deal. But his greatest pleasure was the study of +people. There was nothing cold in his observation, nothing of the +cynical analyst. He was impulsive, though very quiet, immensely and +ardently sympathetic and almost too impressionable and enthusiastic. It +was not surprising that he was immensely popular generally, as well as +specially; he was so interested in everyone except himself. + +No-one was ever a greater general favourite. There seemed to be no type +of person on whom he jarred. People who disagreed on every other +subject agreed in liking Vincy. + +But he did not care in the least for acquaintances, and spent much +ingenuity in trying to avoid them; he only liked intimate friends, and +of all he had perhaps the Ottleys were his greatest favourites. + +His affection for them dated from a summer they had spent in the same +hotel in France. He had become extraordinarily interested in them. He +delighted in Bruce, but had with Edith, of course, more mutual +understanding and intellectual sympathy, and though they met +constantly, his friendship with her had never been misunderstood. +Frivolous friends of his who did not know her might amuse themselves by +being humorous and flippant about Vincy's little Ottleys, but no-one +who had ever seen them together could possibly make a mistake. They +were an example of the absurdity of a tradition--'the world's' +proneness to calumny. Such friendships, when genuine, are never +misconstrued. Perhaps society is more often taken in the other way. But +as a matter of fact the truth on this subject, as on most others, is +always known in time. No-one had ever even tried to explain away the +intimacy, though Bruce had all the air of being unable to do without +Vincy's society sometimes cynically attributed to husbands in a +different position. + +Vincy was pleased with the story of the Mitchells that Edith told him, +and she was glad to hear that he knew the Mitchells and had been to the +house. + +'How like you to know everyone. What did they do?' + +'The night I was there they played games,' said Vincy. He spoke in a +soft, even voice. 'It was just a little--well--perhaps just a _tiny_ +bit ghastly, I thought; but don't tell Bruce. That evening I thought +the people weren't quite young enough, and when they played 'Oranges +and Lemons, and the Bells of St Clements,' and so on--their bones +seemed to--well, sort of rattle, if you know what I mean. But still +perhaps it was only my fancy. Mitchell has such very high spirits, you +see, and is determined to make everything go. He won't have +conventional parties, and insists on plenty of verve; so, of course, +one's forced to have it.' He sighed. 'They haven't any children, and +they make a kind of hobby of entertaining in an unconventional way.' + +'It sounds rather fun. Perhaps you will be asked next Thursday. Try.' + +'I'll try. I'll call, and remind her of me. I daresay she'll ask me. +She's very good-natured. She believes in spiritualism, too.' + +'I wonder who'll be there?' + +'Anyone might be there, or anyone else. As they say of marriage, it's a +lottery. They might have roulette, or a spiritual seance, or Kubelik, +or fancy dress heads.' + +'Fancy dress heads!' + +'Yes. Or a cotillion, or just bridge. You never know. The house is +rather like a country house, and they behave accordingly. Even +hide-and-seek, I believe, sometimes. And Mitchell adores unpractical +jokes, too.' + +'I see. It's rather exciting that I'm going to the Mitchells at last.' + +'Yes, perhaps it will be the turning-point of your life,' said Vincy. +'Ah! here's Bruce.' + +'I don't think much of that opera glass your mother gave you,' Bruce +remarked to his wife, soon after the curtain rose. + +'It's the fashion,' said Edith. 'It's jade--the latest thing.' + +'I don't care if it is the fashion. It's no use. Here, try it, Vincy.' + +He handed it to Vincy, who gave Bruce a quick look, and then tried it. + +'Rather quaint and pretty, I think. I like the effect,' he said, +handing it back to Bruce. + +'It may be quaint and pretty, and it may be the latest thing, and it +may be jade,' said Bruce rather sarcastically, 'but I'm not a slave to +fashion. I never was. And I don't see any use whatever in an opera +glass that makes everything look smaller instead of larger, and at a +greater distance instead of nearer. I call it rot. I always say what I +think. And you can tell your mother what I said if you like.' + +'You're looking through it the wrong side, dear,' said Edith. + + + +CHAPTER III + +The Golden Quoribus + +Edith had been very pretty at twenty, but at twenty-eight her +prettiness had immensely increased; she had really become a beauty of a +particularly troubling type. She had long, deep blue eyes, clearly-cut +features, hair of that soft, fine light brown just tinged with red +called by the French chatain clair; and a flower-like complexion. She +was slim, but not angular, and had a reposeful grace and a decided +attraction for both men and women. They generally tried to express this +fascination by discovering resemblances in her to various well-known +pictures of celebrated artists. She had been compared to almost every +type of all the great painters: Botticelli, Sir Peter Lely, +Gainsborough, Burne-Jones. Some people said she was like a Sargent, +others called her a post-impressionist type; there was no end to the +old and new masters of whom she seemed to remind people; and she +certainly had the rather insidious charm of somehow recalling the past +while suggesting something undiscovered in the future. There was a good +deal that was enigmatic about her. It was natural, not assumed as a +pose of mysteriousness. She was not all on the surface: not obvious. +One wondered. Was she capable of any depth of feeling? Was she always +just sweet and tactful and clever, or could there be another side to +her character? Had she (for instance) a temperament? This question was +considered one of interest,--so Edith had a great many admirers. Some +were new and fickle, others were old and faithful. She had never yet +shown more than a conversational interest in any of them, but always +seemed to be laughing with a soft mockery at her own success. + +Edith was not a vain woman, not even much interested in dress, though +she had a quick eye and a sure impressionistic gift for it. She was +always an immense favourite with women, who felt subconsciously +grateful to her for her wonderful forbearance. To have the power and +not to use it! To be so pretty, yet never _to take_ _anyone away_!--not +even coldly display her conquests. But this liking she did not, as a +rule, return in any decided fashion. She had dreadfully little to say +to the average woman, except to a few intimate friends, and frankly +preferred the society of the average man, although she had not as yet +developed a taste for coquetry, for which she had, however, many +natural gifts. She was much taken up by Bruce, by Archie and Dilly, and +was fond of losing herself in ideas and in books, and in various +artistic movements and fads in which her interest was cultivated and +perhaps inspired by Vincy. Vincy was her greatest friend and confidant. +He was really a great safety-valve, and she told him nearly every +thought. + +Still, Archie was, so far, her greatest interest. He was a particularly +pretty boy, and she was justified in thinking him rather unusual. At +this period he spent a considerable amount of his leisure time not only +in longing to see real animals, but in inventing and drawing pictures +of non-existent ones--horrible creatures, or quaint creatures, for +which he found the strangest names. He told Dilly about them, but Dilly +was not his audience--she was rather his confidante and literary +adviser; or even sometimes his collaborator. His public consisted +principally of his mother. It was a convention that Edith should be +frightened, shocked and horrified at the creatures of his imagination, +while Dilly privately revelled in their success. Miss Townsend, the +governess, was rather coldly ignored in this matter. She had a way of +speaking of the animals with a smile, as a nice occupation to keep the +children quiet. She did not understand. + +'Please, Madam, would you kindly go into the nursery; Master Archie +wishes you to come and hear about the golden--something he's just made +up like,' said Dilly's nurse with an expression of resignation. + +Edith jumped up at once. + +'Oh dear! Tell Master Archie I'm coming.' + +She ran into the nursery and found Archie and Dilly both looking rather +excited; Archie, fairly self-controlled, with a paper in his hand on +which was a rough sketch which he would not let her see, and hid behind +him. + +'Mother,' Archie began in a low, solemn voice, rather slowly, 'the +golden quoribus is the most horrible animal, the most awful-looking +animal, you ever heard of in _your_ life!' + +'Oh-h-h! How awful!' said Edith, beginning to shiver. 'Wait a +moment--let me sit down quietly and hear about it.' + +She sat down by the fire and clasped her hands, looking at him with a +terrified expression which was part of the ritual. + +Dilly giggled, and put her thumb in her mouth, watching the effect with +widely opened eyes. + +'Much more awful than the gazeka, of course, I suppose?' Edith said +rather rashly. + +'Much,' said Dilly. + +'(Be quiet, Dilly!) Mother!' he was reproachful, 'what do you mean? The +gazeka? Why--the gazeka's nothing at all--it's a rotten little animal. +It doesn't count. Besides, it isn't real--it never was real. Gazeka, +indeed!' + +'Oh, I beg your pardon,' said Edith repentantly; 'do go on.' + +'No... the golden quoribus is far-ar-r-r-r more frightening even than +the jilbery. Do you remember how awful _that_ was? And much larger.' + +'What! Worse than the jilbery! Oh, good gracious! How dreadful! What's +it like?' + +'First of all--it's as long as from here to Brighton,' said Archie. + +'A little longer,' said Dilly. + +'(Shut up, miss!) As long. It's called the golden quoribus because it's +bright gold, except the bumps; and the bumps are green.' + +'Bright green,' said Dilly. + +'(Oh, will you hold your tongue, Dilly?) Green.' + +'How terrible!... And what shape is it?' + +'All pointed and sharp, and three-cornered.' + +'Does it breathe fire?' asked Edith. + +Archie smiled contemptuously. + +'Breathe fire! Oh, Mother! Do you think it's a silly dragon in a fairy +story? Of course it doesn't. How can it breathe fire?' + +'Sorry,' said Edith apologetically. 'Go on.' + +'_But_, the peculiar thing about it, besides that it lives entirely on +muffins and mutton and the frightening part, I'm coming to now.' He +became emphatic, and spoke slowly. 'The golden quoribus has more claws +than any... other... animal... in the whole world!' + +'Oh-h-h,' she shuddered. + +'Yes,' said Archie solemnly. 'It has large claws coming out of its +head.' + +'Its head! Good gracious!' + +'It has claws here and claws there; claws coming out of the eyes; and +claws coming out of the ears; and claws coming out of its shoulders; +and claws coming out of the forehead!' + +Edith shivered with fright and held up her hands in front of her eyes +to ward off the picture. + +'And claws coming out of the mouth,' said Archie, coming a step nearer +to her and raising his voice. + +Edith jumped. + +'And claws coming out of the hands, and claws coming out of the feet!' + +'Yes,' said Dilly, wildly and recklessly and jumping up and down, 'and +claws on the ceiling, and claws on the floor, and claws all over the +world!' + +With one violent slap she was sent sprawling. + +Shrieks, sobs and tears filled the quiet nursery. + +'I know,' said Archie, when he had been persuaded to apologise, 'of +course I know a gentleman oughtn't to hit a lady, not even--I mean, +especially not if she's his little sister. But oh, Mother, ought a lady +to interrupt a story?' + +When Edith told Vincy he entirely took Archie's side. + +Suppose Sargent were painting a beautiful picture, and one of his +pupils, snatching the paint-brush from him, insisted on finishing it, +and spoiling it--how would he like it? Imagine a poet who had just +written a great poem, and been interrupted in reciting it by someone +who quickly finished it off all wrong! The author might be forgiven +under such circumstances if in his irritation he took a strong line. In +Vincy's opinion it served Dilly jolly well right. Young? Of course she +was young, but four (he said) was not a day too soon to begin to learn +to respect the work of the artist. Edith owned that Archie was not +easily exasperated and was as a rule very patient with the child. Bruce +took an entirely different view. He was quite gloomy about it and +feared that Archie showed every sign of growing up to be an Apache. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The Mitchells + +The Mitchells were, as Vincy had said, extremely hospitable; they had a +perfect mania for receiving; they practically lived for it, and the big +house at Hampstead, with its large garden covered in, and a sort of +studio built out, was scarcely ever without guests. When they didn't +have some sort of party they invariably went out. + +Mitchell's great joy was to make his parties different from others by +some childish fantasy or other. He especially delighted in a surprise. +He often took the trouble (for instance) to have a telegram sent to +every one of his guests during the course of the evening. Each of these +wires contained some personal chaff or practical joke. At other times +he would give everyone little presents, concealed in some way. +Christmas didn't come once a year to the Mitchells; it seemed never to +go away. One was always surprised not to find a Christmas tree and +crackers. These entertainments, always splendidly done materially, and +curiously erratic socially, were sometimes extremely amusing; at +others, of course, a frost; it was rather a toss-up. + +And the guests were, without exception, the most extraordinary mixture +in London. They included delightful people, absurd people, average +people; people who were smart and people who were dowdy, some who were +respectable and nothing else, some who were deplorable, others +beautiful, and many merely dull. There was never the slightest attempt +at any sort of harmonising, or of suitability; there was a great deal +of kindness to the hard-up, and a wild and extravagant delight in any +novelty. In fact, the Mitchells were everything except exclusive, and +as they were not guided by any sort of rule, they really lived, in St +John's Wood, superior to suburban or indeed any other restrictions. +They would ask the same guests to dinner time after time, six or seven +times in succession. They would invite cordially a person of no +attraction whatsoever whom they had only just met, and they would +behave with casual coolness to desirable acquaintances or favourite +friends whom they had known all their lives. However, there was no +doubt that their parties had got the name for being funny, and that was +quite enough. London people in every set are so desperate for something +out of the ordinary way, for variety and oddness, that the Mitchells +were frequently asked for invitations by most distinguished persons who +hoped, in their blase fatigue, to meet something new and queer. + +For the real Londoner is a good deal of a child, and loves Punch and +Judy shows, and conjuring tricks (symbolically speaking)--and is also +often dreaming of the chance of meeting some spring novelty, in the way +of romance. Although the Mitchells were proud of these successes they +were as free from snobbishness as almost anyone could be. On the whole +Mrs Mitchell had a slight weakness for celebrities, while Mr Mitchell +preferred pretty women, or people who romped. It was merely from +carelessness that the Ottleys had never been asked before. + +When Edith and Bruce found themselves in the large square +country-house-looking hall, with its oak beams and early English +fireplace, about twenty people had arrived, and as many more were +expected. A lively chatter had already begun; for each woman had been +offered on her arrival a basket from which she had to choose a brightly +coloured ribbon. These ribbons matched the rosettes presented in an +equally haphazard way to every man. As Vincy observed, it gave one the +rather ghastly impression that there was going to be a cotillion at +once, on sight, before dinner; which was a little frightening. In +reality it was merely so that the partners for the meal should be +chosen by chance. Mitchell thought this more fun than arranging guests; +but there was an element of gambling about it that made wary people +nervous. Everyone present would have cheated had it been possible. But +it was not. + +Mrs Mitchell was a tiny brown-eyed creature, who looked absurdly young; +she was kind, sprightly, and rather like a grouse. Mitchell was a +jovial-looking man, with a high forehead, almost too much ease of +manner, and a twinkling eye. + +The chief guests tonight consisted of Lord Rye, a middle-aged +suffraget, who was known for his habit of barking before he spoke and +for his wonderful ear for music--he could play all Richard, Oscar and +Johann Strauss's compositions by ear on the piano, and never mixed them +up; Aylmer Ross, the handsome barrister; Myra Mooney, who had been on +the stage; and an intelligent foreigner from the embassy, with a +decoration, a goat-like beard, and an Armenian accent. Mrs Mitchell +said he was the minister from some place with a name like Ruritania. +She had a vague memory. There was also a Mr Cricker, a very young man +of whom it was said that he could dance like Nijinsky, but never would; +and the rest were chiefly Foreign Office clerks (like Mitchell and +Bruce), more barristers and their wives, a soldier or two, some +undergraduates, a lady photographer, a few pretty girls, and vague +people. There were to be forty guests for dinner and a few more in the +evening. + +Almost immediately on her arrival Edith noticed a tall, clean-shaven +man, with smooth fair hair, observant blue eyes, and a rather humorous +expression, and she instantly decided that she would try to will him to +take her to dinner. (Rather a superfluous effort of magnetism, since it +must have been settled already by fate and the ribbons.) It was obvious +from one quick glance that he shared the wish. To their absurdly great +mutual disappointment (a lot of ground was covered very quickly at the +Mitchells), their ribbons didn't match, and she was taken to dinner by +Captain Willis, who looked dull. Fortune, however, favoured her. On her +other side she found the man who looked amusing. He was introduced to +her across the table by Mrs Mitchell, with _empressement_, as Mr Aylmer +Ross. + +Edith felt happy tonight; her spirits were raised by what she felt to +be an atmosphere _tiede_, as the French say; full of indulgence, +sympathetic, relaxing, in which either cleverness or stupidity could +float equally at its ease. The puerility of the silly little +arrangements to amuse removed all sense of ceremony. The note is always +struck by the hostess, and she was everything that was amiable, without +effort or affectation. + +No-one was ever afraid of her. + +Bruce's neighbour at dinner was the delicate, battered-looking +actress, in a Royal fringe and a tight bodice with short sleeves, who +had once been a celebrity, though no-one remembered for what. Miss Myra +Mooney, formerly a beauty, had known her days of success. She had been +the supreme performer of ladylike parts. She had been known as the very +quintessence of refinement. It was assumed when she first came out that +a duke would go to the devil for her in her youth, and that in her late +maturity she would tour the provinces with _The Three Musketeers_. +Neither of these prophecies had, however, been fulfilled. She still +occasionally took small middle-aged titled parts in repertoire +matinees. She was unable to help referring constantly to the hit she +made in _Peril_ at Manchester in 1887; nor could she ever resist +speaking of the young man who sent her red carnations every day of his +blighted existence for fifteen years; a pure romance, indeed, for, as +she owned, he never even wished to be introduced to her. She still +called him poor boy, oblivious of the fact that he was now sixty-eight, +and, according to the illustrated papers, spent his entire time in +giving away a numberless succession of daughters in brilliant marriage +at St George's, Hanover Square. + +In this way Miss Mooney lived a good deal in the past, but she was not +unaware of the present, and was always particularly nice to people +generally regarded as bores. So she was never without plenty of +invitations. Mitchell had had formerly a slight _tendre_ for her, and +in his good nature pretended to think she had not altered a bit. She +was still refined _comme cela ne se fait plus_; it was practically no +longer possible to find such a perfect lady, even on the stage. As she +also had all the easy good nature of the artist, and made herself +extremely agreeable, Bruce was delighted with her, and evidently +thought he had drawn a prize. + +'I wondered,' Aylmer Ross said, 'whether this could possibly happen. +First I half hoped it might; then I gave it up in despair.' + +'So did I,' said Edith; 'and yet I generally know. I've a touch of +second sight, I think--at dinner-parties.' + +'Oh, well, I have second sight too--any amount; only it's always wrong. +However!...' + +'Aren't the Mitchells dears?' said Edith. + +'Oh, quite. Do you know them well?' + +'Very well, indeed. But I've never seen them before.' + +'Ah, I see. Well, now we've found our way here--broken the ice and that +sort of thing--we must often come and dine with them, mustn't we, Mrs +Ottley? Can't we come again next week?' + +'Very sweet of you to ask us, I'm sure.' + +'Not at all; very jolly of us to turn up. The boot is on the other leg, +or whatever the phrase is. By the way, I'm sure you know everything, +Mrs Ottley, tell me, did people ever wear only one boot at a time, do +you think, or how did this expression originate?' + +'I wonder.' + +Something in his suave manner of taking everything for granted seemed +to make them know each other almost too quickly, and gave her an odd +sort of self-consciousness. She turned to Captain Willis on her other +side. + +'I say,' he said querulously, 'isn't this a bit off? We've got the same +coloured ribbons and you haven't said a word to me yet! Rather rot, +isn't it, what?' + +'Oh, haven't I? I will now.' + +Captain Willis lowered his voice to a confidential tone and said: 'Do +you know, what I always say is--live and let live and let it go at +that; what?' + +'That's a dark saying,' said Edith. + +'Have a burnt almond,' said Captain Willis inconsequently, as though it +would help her to understand. 'Yes, Mrs Ottley, that's what I always +say.... But people won't, you know--they won't--and there it is.' He +seemed resigned. 'Good chap, Mitchell, isn't he? Musical chairs, I +believe--that's what we're to play this evening; or bridge, whichever +we like. I shall go in for bridge. I'm not musical.' + +'And which shall you do?' asked Aylmer of Edith. He had evidently been +listening. + +'Neither.' + +'We'll talk then, shall we? I can't play bridge either.... Mrs +Ottley--which is your husband? I didn't notice when you came in.' + +'Over there, opposite; the left-hand corner.' + +'Good-looking chap with the light moustache--next to Myra Mooney?' + +'That's it,' she said. 'He seems to be enjoying himself. I'm glad he's +got Miss Mooney. He's lucky.' + +'He is indeed,' said Aylmer. + +'She's a wonderful-looking woman--like an old photograph, or someone in +a book,' said Edith. + +'Do you care for books?' + +'Oh, yes, rather. I've just been discovering Bourget. Fancy, I didn't +know about him! I've just read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' + +'Oh yes. Rather a pompous chap, isn't he? But you could do worse than +read _Mensonges_ for the first time.' + +'I _have_ done worse. I've been reading Rudyard Kipling for the last +time.' + +'Really! Don't you like him? Why?' + +'I feel all the time, somehow, as if he were calling me by my Christian +name without an introduction, or as if he wanted me to exchange hats +with him,' she said. 'He's so fearfully familiar with his readers.' + +'But you think he keeps at a respectful distance from his characters? +However--why worry about books at all, Mrs Ottley? Flowers, lilies of +the field, and so forth, don't toil or spin; why should they belong to +libraries? I don't think you ever ought to read--except perhaps +sometimes a little poetry, or romance.... You see, that is what you +are, rather, isn't it?' + +'Don't you care for books?' she answered, ignoring the compliment. 'I +should have thought you loved them, and knew everything about them. I'm +not sure that I know.' + +'You know quite enough, believe me,' he answered earnestly. 'Oh, don't +be cultured--don't talk about Lloyd George! Don't take an intelligent +interest in the subjects of the day!' + +'All right; I'll try not.' + +She turned with a laugh to Captain Willis, who seemed very depressed. + +'I say, you know,' he said complainingly, 'this is all very well. It's +all very well no doubt. But I only ask one thing--just one. Is this +cricket? I merely ask, you know. Just that--is it cricket; what?' + +'It isn't meant to be. What's the matter?' + +'Why, I'm simply fed up and broken-hearted, you know. Hardly two words +have I had with you tonight, Mrs Ottley.... I suppose that chap's +awfully amusing, what? I'm not amusing.... I know that.' + +'Oh, don't say that. Indeed you are.' she consoled him. + +'Am I though?' + +'Well, you amuse _me_!' + +'Right!' He laughed cheerily. He always filled up pauses with a laugh. + + + +CHAPTER V + +The Surprise + +Certainly Mrs Mitchell on one side and Captain Willis on the other had +suffered neglect. But they seemed to become hardened to it towards the +end of dinner.... + +'I have a boy, too,' Aylmer remarked irrelevantly, 'rather a nice chap. +Just ten.' + +Though only by the merest, slightest movement of an eyelash Edith could +not avoid showing her surprise. No-one ever had less the air of a +married man. Also, she was quite ridiculously disappointed. One can't +say why, but one doesn't talk to a married man quite in the same way or +so frankly as to a bachelor--if one is a married woman. She did not ask +about his wife, but said: + +'Fancy! Boys are rather nice things to have about, aren't they?' + +She was looking round the table, trying to divine which was Mrs Aylmer +Ross. No, she wasn't there. Edith felt sure of it. It was an +unaccountable satisfaction. + +'Yes; he's all right. And now give me a detailed description of _your_ +children.' + +'I can't. I never could talk about them.' + +'I see.... I should like to see them.... I saw you speak to Vincy. Dear +little fellow, isn't he?' + +'He's a great friend of mine.' + +'I'm tremendously devoted to him, too. He's what used to be called an +exquisite. And he _is_ exquisite; he has an exquisite mind. But, of +course, you know what a good sort he is.' + +'Rather.' + +'He seems rather to look at life than to act in it, doesn't he?' +continued Aylmer. 'He's a brilliant sort of spectator. Vincy thinks +that all the world's a stage, but _he's_ always in the front row of the +stalls. I never could be like that ... I always want to be right in the +thick of it, on in every scene, and always performing!' + +'To an audience?' said Edith. + +He smiled and went on. + +'What's so jolly about him is that though he's so quiet, yet he's +genial; not chilly and reserved. He's frank, I mean--and confiding. +Without ever saying much. He expresses himself in his own way.' + +'That's quite true.' + +'And, after all, it's really only expression that makes things real. +'If you don't talk about a thing, it has never happened.'' + +'But it doesn't always follow that a thing has happened because you do +talk about it,' said Edith. 'Ah, Mrs Mitchell's going !' + +She floated away. + +He remained in a rather ecstatic state of absence of mind. + + * * * * * + +Mrs Mitchell gladly told Edith all about Aylmer Ross, how clever he +was, how nice, how devoted to his little boy. He had married very +young, it seemed, and had lost his wife two years after. This was ten +years ago, and according to Mrs Mitchell he had never looked at another +woman since. Women love to simplify in this sentimental way. + +'However,' she said consolingly, 'he's still quite young, under forty, +and he's sure to fall in love and marry again.' + +'No doubt,' said Edith, wishing the first wife had remained alive. She +disliked the non-existent second one. + + * * * * * + +Nearly all the men had now joined the ladies in the studio, with the +exception of Bruce and of Aylmer Ross. Mrs Mitchell had taken an +immense fancy to Edith and showed it by telling her all about a +wonderful little tailor who made coats and skirts better than Lucile +for next to nothing, and by introducing to her Lord Rye and the embassy +man, and Mr Cricker. Edith was sitting in a becoming corner under a +shaded light from which she could watch the door, when Vincy came up to +talk to her. + +'You seemed to get on rather well at dinner,' he said. + +'Yes; isn't Captain Willis a dear?' + +'Oh, simply sweet. So bright and clever. I was sure you'd like him, +Edith.' + +Captain Willis here came up and said, a shade more jovially than he had +spoken at dinner, with his laugh: + +'Well, you know, Mrs Ottley, what I always say is--live and let live +and let it go at that; what? But they never _do_, you know! They +won't--and there it is!' + +Edith now did a thing she had never done in her life before and which +was entirely unlike her. She tried her utmost to retain the group round +her, and to hold their attention. For a reason of which she was hardly +conscious, she wanted Aylmer Ross to see her surrounded. The minister +from the place with a name like Ruritania was so immensely bowled over +that he was already murmuring in a low voice (almost a hiss, as they +say in melodrama): 'Vous etes chez vous, quand? Dites un mot, un mot +seulement, et je me precipiterai a vos pieds_,' while at the same time, +in her other ear, Lord Rye was explaining (to her pretended intense +interest) how he could play the whole of _Elektra, The Chocolate +Soldier_ and _Nightbirds_ by ear without a single mistake. ('Perfectly +sound!' grumbled Captain Willis, 'but why do it?') Vincy was listening, +enjoying himself. Bruce came in at last, evidently engaged in an +absorbed and intimate conversation with Aylmer Ross. They seemed so +much interested in their talk that they went to the other end of the +room and sat down there together. Aylmer gave her one glance only. + +Edith was unreasonably annoyed. What on earth could he and Bruce find +to talk about? At length, growing tired of her position, she got up, +and walked across the room to look at a picture on the wall, turning +her graceful back to the room. + +Bruce had now at last left his companion, but still Aylmer Ross did not +go and speak to her, though he was sitting alone. + +Musical chairs began in the studio. Someone was playing 'Baby, +look-a-here,' stopping suddenly in the middle to shouts of laughter and +shrieks from the romping players. In the drawing-room some of the +people were playing bridge. How dull the rest of the evening was! Just +before the party practically broke up, Edith had an opportunity of +saying as she passed Aylmer: + +'I thought we were going to have a talk instead of playing games?' + +'I saw you were occupied,' he answered ceremoniously. 'I didn't +like--to interrupt.' + +She laughed. 'Is this a jealous scene, Mr Ross?' + +'I wonder,' he said, smiling, 'and if so, whose. Well, I hope to see +you again soon.' + +'_What_ a success your charming wife has had tonight,' said Mrs +Mitchell to Bruce, as they took leave. 'Everyone is quite wild about +her. How pretty she is! You _must_ be proud of her.' + +They were nearly the last. Mr Cricker, who had firmly refused the whole +evening, in spite of abject entreaties, to dance like Nijinsky, +suddenly relented when everyone had forgotten all about it, and was +leaping alone in the studio, while Lord Rye, always a great lingerer, +was playing Richard Strauss to himself on the baby Grand, and smoking a +huge cigar. + +'Edith,' said Bruce solemnly, as they drove away, 'I've made a friend +tonight. There was one really charming man there--he took an immense +fancy to me.' + +'Oh--who was that?' + +'Who was that?' he mimicked her, but quite good-naturedly. 'How stupid +women are in some things! Why, Aylmer Ross, the chap who sat next to +you at dinner! I suppose you didn't appreciate him. Very clever, very +interesting. He was anxious to know several things which I was glad to +be in a position to tell him. Yes--an awfully good sort. I asked him to +dine at my club one day, to go on with our conversation.' + +'Oh, did you?' + +'Yes. Why shouldn't I? However, it seems from what he said that he +thinks the Carlton's nicer for a talk, so I'm going to ask him there +instead. You can come too, dear. He won't mind; it won't prevent our +talking.' + +'Oh, are we going to give a dinner at the Carlton?' + +'I wish you wouldn't oppose me, Edith. Once in a way! Of course I +shall. Our flat's too small to give a decent dinner. He's one of the +nicest chaps I've ever met.' + +'Well, do you want me to write tomorrow morning then, dear?' + +'Er--no--I have asked him already.' + +'Oh, really--which day?' + +'Well, I suggested next Thursday--but he thought tomorrow would be +better; he's engaged for every other day. Now don't go and say you're +engaged tomorrow. If you are, you'll have to chuck it!' + +'Oh no; I'm not engaged.' + +Mentally rearranging her evening dress, Edith drove home thoughtfully. +She was attracted and did not know why, and for the first time hoped +she had made an impression. It had been a long evening, and her +headache, she said, necessitated solitude and darkness at once. + +'All right. I've got a much worse headache--gout, I think, but never +mind about me. Don't be anxious, dear! I say, that Miss Mooney is a +very charming woman. She took rather a fancy to me, Edith. Er--you +might ask her to dinner too, if you like, to make a fourth!' + +'But--really! Ought we to snatch all the Mitchells' friends the first +time, Bruce?' + +'Why, of course, it's only courteous. It's all right. One must return +their hospitality.' + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The Visit + +The following afternoon Edith was standing by the piano in her +condensed white drawing-room, trying over a song, which she was +accompanying with one hand, when to her surprise the maid announced 'Mr +Aylmer Ross.' It was a warm day, and though there was a fire the +windows were open, letting in the scent of the mauve and pink hyacinths +in the little window-boxes. She thought as she came forward to meet him +that he seemed entirely different from last night. Her first impression +was that he was too big for the room, her second that he was very +handsome, and also a little agitated. + +'I really hardly know how to apologise, Mrs Ottley. I oughtn't to have +turned up in this cool way. But your husband has kindly asked me to +dine with you tonight, and I wasn't sure of the time. I thought I'd +come and ask you.' He waited a minute. 'Of course, if I hadn't been so +fortunate as to find you in, I should just have left a note.' He looked +round the room. + + * * * * * + +Obviously it was quite unnecessary for him to have called; he could +have sent the note that he had brought with him. She was flattered. She +thought that she liked his voice and the flash of his white teeth when +he smiled. + +'Oh, I'm glad I'm at home,' she said, in a gentle way that put him at +his ease, and yet at an immense distance. 'I felt in the mood to stop +at home and play the piano today. I'm delighted to see you.' They sat +down by the fire. 'It's at eight tonight. Shall we have tea?' + +'Oh no, thanks; isn't it too early? I sha'n't keep you a moment. Thanks +very much.... You were playing something when I came in. I wish you'd +play it to me over again.' + + * * * * * + +Nine women out of ten would have refused, saying they knew nothing of +music, or that they were out of practice, or that they never played +except for their own amusement, or something of the kind; especially if +they took no pride whatever in that accomplishment. But Edith went back +to the piano at once, and went on trying over the song that she didn't +know, without making any excuse for the faltering notes. + +'That's charming,' he said. 'Thanks. Tosti, of course.' + +She came back to the fireplace. 'Of course. We had great fun last +night, didn't we?' + +'Oh, _I_ enjoyed myself immensely; part of the time at least.' + +'But after dinner you were rather horrid, Mr Ross. You wouldn't come +and talk to me, would you?' + +'Wouldn't I? I was afraid. Tell me, do I seem many years older since +last night?' he asked. + +'I don't see any difference. Why?' + +'Because I've lived months--almost years--since I saw you last. Time +doesn't go by hours, does it?... What a charming little room this is. +It suits you. There's hardly anything in it, but everything is right.' + +'I don't like to have many things in a room,' said Edith, holding out +her delicate hands to the fire. 'It makes me nervous. I have gradually +accustomed Bruce to my idea by removing one thing at a time +--photographs, pictures, horrid old wedding presents, all the +little things people have. They suggest too many different trains of +thought. They worry me. He's getting used to it now. He says, soon +there'll be nothing left but a couple of chairs and a bookcase!' + +'And how right! I've had rather the same idea in my house, but I +couldn't keep it up. It's different for a man alone; things seem to +accumulate; especially pictures. I know such a lot of artists. I'm very +unfortunate in that respect.... I really feel I oughtn't to have turned +up like this, Mrs Ottley.' + +'Why not?' + +'You're very kind.... Excuse my country manners, but how nice your +husband is. He was very kind to me.' + +'He liked _you_ very much, too.' + +'He seems charming,' he repeated, then said with a change of tone and +with his occasional impulsive brusqueness, 'I wonder--does he ever jar +on you in any way?' + +'Oh no. Never. He couldn't. He amuses me,' Edith replied softly. + +'Oh, does he?... If I had the opportunity I wonder if I should _amuse_ +you,' he spoke thoughtfully. + +'No; I don't think you would at all,' said Edith, looking him straight +in the face. + +'That's quite fair,' he laughed, and seemed rather pleased. 'You mean I +should bore you to death! Do forgive me, Mrs Ottley. Let's go on with +our talk of last night.... I feel it's rather like the Palace of Truth +here; I don't know why. There must be something in the atmosphere--I +seem to find it difficult not to think aloud--Vincy, now--do you see +much of Vincy?' + +'Oh yes; he comes here most days, or we talk on the telephone.' + +'I see; he's your confidant, and you're his. Dear Vincy. By the way, he +asked me last night to go to a tea-party at his flat next week. He was +going to ask one or two other kindred spirits--as I think they're +called. To see something--some collection. Including you, of course?' + +'I shall certainly go,' said Edith, 'whether he asks me or not.' + +Aylmer seemed to be trying to leave. He nearly got up once or twice and +sat down again. + +'Well, I shall see you tonight,' he said. 'At eight.' + +'Yes.' + +'What shall you wear, Mrs Ottley?' + +'Oh, I thought, perhaps, my mauve chiffon? What do you advise?' she +smiled. + +'Not what you wore last night?' + +'Oh no.' + +'It was very jolly. I liked it. Er--red, wasn't it?' + +'Oh no! It was pink!' she answered. + +Then there was an extraordinary pause, in which neither of them seemed +able to think of anything to say. There was a curious sort of vibration +in the air. + +'Isn't it getting quite springy?' said Edith, as she glanced at the +window. 'It's one of those sort of warm days that seem to have got +mixed up by mistake with the winter.' + +'Very,' was his reply, which was not very relevant. + +Another pause was beginning. + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + +He was received with enthusiasm, and Aylmer Ross now recovered his ease +and soon went away. + +'Edith!' said Vincy, in a reproving tone. '_Really_! How _very_ soon!' + +'He came to know what time we dine. He was just passing.' + +'Oh, yes. He would want to know. He lives in Jermyn Street. I +suppose Knightsbridge is on his way to there.' + +'From where?' she asked. + +'From here,' said Vincy. + +'What happened after we left?' said Edith. 'I saw the Cricker man +beginning to dance with hardly anyone looking at him.' + +'Isn't his imitation of Nijinsky wonderful?' asked Vincy. + +'Simply marvellous! I thought he was imitating George Grossmith. Do you +know, I love the Mitchells, Vincy. It's really great fun there. Fancy, +Bruce seems so delighted with Aylmer Ross and Miss Mooney that he +insisted on their both dining with us tonight.' + +'He seemed rather carried away, I thought. There's a fascination about +Aylmer. There are so many things he's not,' said Vincy. + +'Tell me some of them.' + +'Well, for one thing, he's not fatuous, though he's so good-looking. +He's not a lady-killing sort of person or anything else tedious.' + +She was delighted at this especially. + +'If he took a fancy to a person--well, it might be rather serious, if +you take my meaning,' said Vincy. + +'How sweet of him! So unusual. Do you like Myra Mooney?' + +'Me? Oh, rather; I'm devoted to her. She's a delightful type. Get her +on to the subject of the red carnations. She's splendid about them.... +She received them every day at breakfast-time for fifteen years. +Another jolly thing about Aylmer is that he has none of that awful +old-fashioned modernness, thank goodness!' + +'Ah, I noticed that.' + +'I suppose he wasn't brilliant today. He was too thrilled. But, do be +just a teeny bit careful, Edith dear, because when he is at all he's +very much so. Do you see?' + +'What a lot you seem to think of one little visit, Vincy! After all, it +was only one.' + +'There hasn't been time yet for many more, has there, Edith dear? He +could hardly call twice the same day, on the first day, too.... Yes, I +come over quite queer and you might have knocked me down with a +feather, in a manner of speaking, when I clapped eyes on him setting +here.' + +Edith liked Vincy to talk in his favourite Cockney strain. It +contrasted pleasantly with his soft, even voice and _raffine_ +appearance. + +'Here's Bruce,' she said. + +Bruce came in carrying an enormous basket of gilded straw. It was +filled with white heather, violets, lilies, jonquils, gardenias and +mimosa. The handle was trimmed with mauve ribbon. + +'Oh, Bruce! How angelic of you!' + +'Don't be in such a hurry, dear. These are not from me. They arrived +just at the same time that I did. Brought by a commissionaire. There +was hardly room for it in the lift.' + +Edith looked quickly at the card. It bore the name of the minister of +the place with a name like Ruritania. + +'What cheek!' exclaimed Bruce, who was really flattered. 'What infernal +impertinence. Upon my word I've more than half a mind to go and tell +him what I think of him--straight from the shoulder. What's the +address?' + +'Grosvenor Square.' + +'Well, I don't care. I shall go straight to the embassy,' said Bruce. +'No, I sha'n't. I'll send them back and write him a line--tell him that +Englishwomen are not in the habit of accepting presents from +undesirable aliens.... I consider it a great liberty. Aren't I right, +Vincy?' + +'Quite. But perhaps he means no harm, Bruce. I daresay it's the custom +in the place with the funny name. You see, you never know, in a place +like that.' + +'Then you don't think I ought to take it up?' + +'I don't want them. It's a very oppressive basket,' Edith said. + +'How like you, Edith! I thought you were fond of flowers.' + +'So I am, but I like one at a time. This is too miscellaneous and +crowded.' + +'Some women are never satisfied. It's very rude and ungrateful to the +poor old man, who meant to be nice, no doubt, and to show his respect +for Englishwomen. I think you ought to write and thank him,' said +Bruce. 'And let me see the letter before it goes.' + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Coup de Foudre + +When Aylmer Ross got back to the little brown house in Jermyn Street he +went to his library, and took from a certain drawer an ivory miniature +framed in black. He looked at it for some time. It had a sweet, +old-fashioned face, with a very high forehead, blue eyes, and dark hair +arranged in two festoons of plaits, turned up at the sides. It +represented his mother in the early sixties and he thought it was like +Edith. He had a great devotion and cult for the memory of his mother. +When he was charmed with a woman he always imagined her to be like his +mother. + +He had never thought this about his wife People had said how +extraordinarily Aylmer must have been in love to have married that +uninteresting girl, no-one in particular, not pretty and a little +second-rate. As a matter of fact the marriage had happened entirely by +accident. It had occurred through a misunderstanding during a game of +consequences in a country house. She was terribly literal. Having taken +some joke of his seriously, she had sent him a touchingly coy letter +saying she was overwhelmed at his offer (feeling she was hardly worthy +to be his wife) and must think it over. He did not like to hurt her +feelings by explaining, and when she relented and accepted him he +couldn't bear to tell her the truth. He was absurdly tender-hearted, +and he thought that, after all, it didn't matter so very much. The +little house left him by his mother needed a mistress; he would +probably marry somebody or other, anyhow; and she seemed such a +harmless little thing. It would please her so much! When the hurried +marriage had come to a pathetic end by her early death everyone was +tragic about it except Aylmer. All his friends declared he was +heart-broken and lonely and would never marry again. He had indeed been +shocked and grieved at her death, but only for her--not at being left +alone. That part, was a relief. The poor little late Mrs Aylmer Ross +had turned out a terrible mistake. She had said the wrong thing from +morning till night, and, combining a prim, refined manner with a vulgar +point of view, had been in every way dreadfully impossible. He had +really been patience and unselfishness itself to her, but he had +suffered. The fact was, he had never even liked her. That was the +reason he had not married again. + +But he was devoted to his boy in a quiet way. He was the sort of man +who is adored by children, animals, servants and women. Tall, strong +and handsome, with intelligence beyond the average, yet with nothing +alarming about him, good-humoured about trifles, jealous in matters of +love--perhaps that is, after all, the type women really like best. It +is sheer nonsense to say that women enjoy being tyrannised over. No +doubt there are some who would rather be bullied than ignored. But the +hectoring man is, with few exceptions, secretly detested. In so far as +one can generalise (always a dangerous thing to do) it may be said that +women like best a kind, clever man who can be always trusted; and +occasionally (if necessary) deceived. + +Aylmer hardly ever got angry except in an argument about ideas. Yet his +feelings were violent; he was impulsive, and under his suave and +easy-going manner emotional. He was certainly good-looking, but had he +not been he would have pleased all the same. He seemed to radiate +warmth, life, a certain careless good-humour. To be near him was like +warming one's hands at a warm fire. Superficially susceptible and +inclined to be experimental he had not the instinct of the collector +and was devoid of fatuousness. But he could have had more genuine +successes than all the Don Juans and Romeos and Fausts who ever climbed +rope ladders. Besides his physical attraction he inspired a feeling of +reliance. Women felt safe with him; he would never treat anyone badly. +He inspired that kind of trust enormously in men also, and his house +was constantly filled with people asking his advice and begging him to +do things--sometimes not very easy ones. He was always being left +guardian to young persons who would never require one, and said himself +he had become almost a professional trustee. + +As Aylmer was generous and very extravagant in a way of his own (though +he cared nothing for show), he really worked hard at the bar to add to +his already large income. He always wanted a great deal of money. He +required ease, margin and elbow-room. He had no special hobbies, but he +needed luxury in general of a kind, and especially the luxury of +getting things in a hurry, his theory being that everything comes to +the man who won't wait. He was not above detesting little material +hardships. He was not the sort of man, for instance, even in his +youngest days, who would go by omnibus to the gallery to the opera, to +hear a favourite singer or a special performance; not that he had the +faintest tinge of snobbishness, but simply because such trifling +drawbacks irritated him, and spoilt his pleasure. + +Impressionistic as he was in life, on the other hand, curiously, +Aylmer's real taste in art and decoration was Pre-Raphaelite; +delicate, detailed and meticulous almost to preciousness. He often had +delightful things in his house, but never for long. He had no pleasure +in property; valuable possessions worried him, and after any amount of +trouble to get some object of art he would often give it away the next +week. For he really liked money only for freedom and ease. The general +look of the house was, consequently, distinguished, sincere and +extremely comfortable. It was neither hackneyed nor bizarre, and, while +it contained some interesting things, had no superfluities. + +Aylmer had been spoilt as a boy and was still wilful and a little +impatient. For instance he could never wait even for a boy-messenger, +but always sent his notes by taxi to wait for an answer. And now he +wanted something in a hurry, and was very much afraid he would never +get it. + +Aylmer was, as I have said, often a little susceptible. This time he +felt completely bowled over. He had only seen her twice. That made no +difference. + +The truth was--it sounds romantic, but is really scientific, all +romance being, perhaps, based on science--that Edith's appearance +corresponded in every particular with an ideal that had grown up with +him. Whether he had seen some picture as a child that had left a vague +and lasting impression, or whatever the reason was, the moment he saw +her he felt, with a curious mental sensation, as of something that fell +into its place with a click ('Ca y est!'), that she realised some +half-forgotten dream. In fact, it was a rare and genuine case of _coup +de foudre_. Had she been a girl he would have proposed to her the next +day, and they might quite possibly have married in a month, and lived +happily ever after. These things occasionally happen. But she was +married already. + +Had she been a fool, or a bore, a silly little idiot or a fisher of +men, a social sham who prattled of duchesses or a strenuous feminine +politician who babbled of votes; a Christian Scientist bent on +converting, an adventuress without adventures (the worst kind), a +mind-healer or a body-snatcher, a hockey-player or even a lady +novelist, it would have been exactly the same; whatever she had been, +mentally or morally, he would undoubtedly have fallen in love with her +physically, at first sight. But it was very much worse than that. He +found her delightful, and clever; he was certain she was an angel. She +was married to Ottley. Ottley was all right.... Rather an ass ... +rather ridiculous; apparently in every way but one. + + * * * * * + +So absurdly hard hit was Aylmer that it seemed to him as if to see her +again as soon as possible was already the sole object in his life. Did +she like him? Intuitively he felt that during his little visit his +intense feeling had radiated, and not displeased--perhaps a little +impressed--her. He could easily, he knew, form a friendship with them; +arrange to see her often. He was going to meet her tonight, through his +own arrangement. He would get them to come and dine with him soon--no, +the next day. + +What was the good? + +Well, where was the harm? + +Aylmer had about the same code of morals as the best of his numerous +friends in Bohemia, in clubland and in social London. He was no more +scrupulous on most subjects than the ordinary man of his own class. +Still, _he had been married himself_. That made an immense difference, +for he was positively capable of seeing (and with sympathy) from the +husband's point of view. Even now, indifferent as he had been to his +own wife, and after ten years, it would have caused him pain and fury +had he found out that she had ever tried to play him false. Of course, +cases varied. He knew that if Edith had been free his one thought would +have been to marry her. Had she been different, and differently placed, +he would have blindly tried for anything he could get, in any possible +way. But, as she was?... He felt convinced he could never succeed in +making her care for him; there was not the slightest chance of it. And, +supposing even that he could? And here came in the delicacy and scruple +of the man who had been married himself. He thought he wouldn't even +wish to spoil, by the vulgarity of compromising, or by the shadow of a +secret, the serenity of her face, the gay prettiness of that life. No, +he wouldn't if he could. And yet how exciting it would be to rouse her +from that cool composure. She was rather enigmatic. But he thought she +could be roused. And she was so clever. How well she would carry it +off! How she would never bore a man! And he suddenly imagined a day +with her in the country.... Then he thought that his imagination was +flying on far too fast. He decided not to be a hopeless fool, but just +to go ahead, and talk to her, and get to know her; not to think too +much about her. She needn't even know how he felt. To idolise her from +a distance would be quite delightful enough. When a passion is not +realised, he thought, it fades away, or becomes ideal worship +--Dante--Petrarch--that sort of thing! It could never fade away +in this case, he was sure. How pretty she was, how lovely her mouth was +when she smiled! She had no prejudices, apparently; no affectations; +how she played and sang that song again when he asked her! With what a +delightful sense of humour she had dealt with him, and also with Bruce, +at the Mitchells. Ottley must be a little difficult sometimes. She had +read and thought; she had the same tastes as he. He wondered if she +would have liked that thing in _The Academy_, on Gardens, that he had +just read. He began looking for it. He thought he would send it to her, +asking her opinion; then he would get an answer, and see her +handwriting. You don't know a woman until you have had a letter from +her. + +But no--what a fool he would look! Besides he was going to see her +tonight. It was about time to get ready.... Knowing subconsciously that +he had made some slight favourable impression--at any rate that he +hadn't repelled or bored her--he dressed with all the anxiety, joy and +thrills of excitement of a boy of twenty; and no boy of twenty can ever +feel these things as keenly or half as elaborately as a man nearly +twice that age, since all the added experiences, disillusions, +practice, knowledge and life of the additional years help to form a +part of the same emotion, making it infinitely deeper, and all the +stronger because so much more _averti_ and conscious of itself. + +He seemed so nervous while dressing that Soames, the valet, to whom he +was a hero, ventured respectfully to hope there was nothing wrong. + +'No. I'm all right,' said Aylmer. 'I'm never ill. I think, Soames, I +shall probably die of middle age.' + +He went out laughing, leaving the valet smiling coldly out of +politeness. + + * * * * * + +Soames never understood any kind of jest. He took himself and everyone +else seriously. But he already knew perfectly well that his master had +fallen in love last night, and he disapproved very strongly. He thought +all that sort of thing ought to be put a stop to. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Archie's Essay + +'Mrs Ottley,' said Miss Townsend,' do you mind looking at this essay of +Archie's? I really don't know what to think of it. I think it shows +talent, except the spelling. But it's _very_ naughty of him to have +written what is at the end.' + +Edith took the paper and read: + +'TRAYS OF CHARACTER + +trays of character will always show threw how ever much you may polish +it up trays of character will always show threw the grane of the wood. + +A burd will keep on singing because he wants to and they can't help +doing what it wants this is instinkt. and it is the same with trays of +charicter. having thus shown my theory that trays of carocter will +always show threw in spite of all trubble and in any circemstances +whatever I will conclude Archibald Bruce Ottley please t.o.' + +On the other side of the paper was written very neatly, still in +Archie's writing: + +'3 LINDEN MANSIONS, CADOGAN SQUARE, KNIGHTSBRIDGE. _Second Floor_ + +1. Mr Bruce Ottley (FO) 2. Mrs Bruce Ottley 3. Master Archibald Bruce +Ottley 4. Little _beast_ 5. Mary Johnson housemaid 6. Miss Thrupp Cook +7. Marie maid + +8. Dorothy Margaret Miss Townsend governess 9. Ellen Maud Parrot +nurse.' + +'Do you see?' said Miss Townsend. 'It's his way of slyly calling poor +Dilly a beast, because he's angry with her. Isn't it a shame? What +shall I do?' Both of them laughed and enjoyed it. + +'Archie, what is the meaning of this? Why did you make this census of +your home?' Edith asked him gently. + +'Why, I didn't make senses of my home; I just wrote down who lived +here.' + +Edith looked at him reproachfully. + +'Well, I didn't call Dilly a beast. I haven't broken Miss Townsend's +rules. She made a new rule I wasn't to call her a beast before +breakfast--' + +'What, you're allowed to call her these awful names after breakfast?' + +'No. She made a rule before breakfast I wasn't to call Dilly a beast, +and I haven't. How did you know it meant her anyway? It might have +meant somebody else.' + +'That's prevaricating; it's mean--not like you, Archie.' + +'Well, I never called her a beast. No-one can say I did. And besides, +anybody would have called her a beast after how she went on.' + +'What are you angry with the child for?' + +'Oh, she bothers so. The moment I imitate the man with the German +accent she begins to cry. She says she doesn't like me to do it. She +says she can't bear me to. Then she goes and tells Miss Townsend I +slapped her, and Miss Townsend blames me.' + +'Then you shouldn't have slapped her; it was horrid of you; you ought +to remember she's a little girl and weaker than you.' + +'I did remember...' + +'Oh, Archie!' + +'Well, I'll make it up if she begs my pardon; not unless she does I +sha'n't,' said Archie magnanimously. + +'I shall certainly not allow her to do anything of the kind.' + +At this moment Dilly came in, with her finger in her tiny mouth, and +went up to Archie, drawling with a pout, and in a whining voice: + +'I didn't mean to.' + +Archie beamed at once. + +'That's all right, Dilly,' he said forgivingly. + +Then he turned to his mother. + +'Mother, have you got that paper?' + +'Yes, I have indeed!' + +'Well, cross out--that, and put in Aspasia Matilda Ottley. Sorry, +Dilly!' He kissed her, and they ran off together hand in hand; looking +like cherubs, and laughing musically. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Aylmer + +At the Carlton Aylmer had easily persuaded Bruce and Edith to dine with +him next day, although they were engaged to the elder Mrs Ottley +already. He said he expected two or three friends, and he convinced +them they must come too. It is only in London that people meet for the +first time at a friend's house, and then, if they take to each other, +practically live together for weeks after. No matter what social +engagements they may happen to have, these are all thrown aside for the +new friend. London people, with all their correctness, are really more +unconventional than any other people in the world. For instance, in +Paris such a thing could never happen in any kind of _monde_, unless, +perhaps, it were among artists and Bohemians; and even then it would be +their great object to prove to one another that they were not wanting +in distractions and were very much in demand; the lady, especially, +would make the man wait for an opportunity of seeing her again, from +calculation, to make herself seem of more value. Such second-rate +solicitudes would never even occur to Edith. But she had a scruple +about throwing over old Mrs Ottley. + + * * * * * + +'Won't your mother be disappointed?' Edith asked. + +'My dear Edith, you can safely leave that to me. Of course she'll be +disappointed, but you can go round and see her, and speak to her nicely +and tell her that after all we can't come because we've got another +engagement.' + +'And am I to tell her it's a subsequent one? Otherwise she'll wonder we +didn't mention it before.' + +'Don't be in a hurry, dear. Don't rush things; remember... she's my +mother. Perhaps to you, Edith, it seems a rather old-fashioned idea, +and I daresay you think it's rot, but to me there's something very +sacred about the idea of a mother.' He lit a cigarette and looked in +the glass. + +'Yes, dear. Then, don't you think we really ought to have kept our +promise to dine with her? She'll probably be looking forward to it. I +daresay she's asked one or two people she thinks we like, to meet us.' + +'Circumstances alter cases, Edith. If it comes to that, Aylmer Ross has +got two or three people coming to dine with him whom he thinks we might +like. He said so himself. That's why he's asked us.' + +'Yes, but he can't have asked them on purpose, Bruce, because, you see, +we didn't know him on Thursday.' + +'Well, why should he have asked them on purpose? _How_ you argue! _How_ +you go on! It really seems to me you're getting absurdly exacting and +touchy, Edith dear. I believe all those flowers from the embassy have +positively turned your head. _Why_ should he have asked them on +purpose. You admit yourself that we didn't even know the man last +Thursday, and yet you expect--' Bruce stopped. He had got into a slight +tangle. + +Edith looked away. She had not quite mastered the art of the inward +smile. + +'Far better, in my opinion,' continued Bruce, walking up and down the +room.--'Now, don't interrupt me in your impulsive way, but hear me +out--it would be far more kind and sensible in every way for you to sit +right down at that little writing-table, take out your stylographic pen +and write and tell my mother that I have a bad attack of influenza.... +Yes; one should always be considerate to one's parents. I suppose it +really is the way I was brought up that makes me feel this so keenly,' +he explained. + +Edith sat down to the writing-table. 'How bad is your influenza?' + +'Oh, not very bad; because it would worry her: a slight attack.--Stop! +Not so very slight--we must let her think it's the ordinary kind, and +then she'll think it's catching and she won't come here for a few days, +and that will avoid our going into the matter in detail, which would be +better.' + +'If she thinks it's catching, dear, she'll want Archie and Dilly, and +Miss Townsend and Nurse to go and stay with her in South Kensington, +and that will be quite an affair.' + +'Right as usual; very thoughtful of you; you're a clever little woman +sometimes, Edith. Wait!'--he put up his hand with a gesture frequent +with him, like a policeman stopping the traffic at Hyde Park Corner. +'Wait!--leave out the influenza altogether, and just say I've caught a +slight chill.' + +'Yes. Then she'll come over at once, and you'll have to go to bed.' + +'My dear Edith,' said Bruce, 'you're over-anxious; I shall do nothing +of the kind. There's no need that I should be laid up for this. It's +not serious.' + +He was beginning to believe in his own illness, as usual. + +'Air! (I want to go round to the club)--tonic treatment!--that's the +thing!--that's often the very best thing for a chill--this sort of +chill.... Ah, that will do very nicely. Very neatly written.... +Good-bye, dear.' + + * * * * * + +As soon as Bruce had gone out Edith rang up the elder Mrs Ottley on the +telephone, and relieved her anxiety in advance. They were great +friends; the sense of humour possessed by her mother-in-law took the +sting out of the relationship. + + * * * * * + +The dinner at Aylmer's house was a great success. Bruce enjoyed himself +enormously, for he liked nothing better in the world than to give his +opinion. And Aylmer was specially anxious for his view as to the +authenticity of a little Old Master he had acquired, and took notes, +also, of a word of advice with regard to electric lighting, admitting +he was not a very practical man, and Bruce evidently was. + +Edith was interested and pleased to go to the house of her new friend +and to reconstruct the scene as it must have been when Mrs Aylmer Ross +had been there. + +Freddy, the boy, was at school, but there was a portrait of him. +Evidently he resembled his father. The sketch represented him with the +same broad forehead, smooth, dense light hair, pale blue eyes under +eyebrows with a slight frown in them, and the charming mouth rather +fully curved, expressing an amiable and pleasure-loving nature. The boy +was good-looking, but not, Edith thought, as handsome as Aylmer. + +The only other woman present was Lady Everard, a plump, talkative, +middle-aged woman in black; the smiling widow of Lord Everard, and well +known for her lavish musical hospitality and her vague and +indiscriminate good nature. She bristled with aigrettes and sparkled +with diamonds and determination. She was marvellously garrulous about +nothing in particular. She was a woman who never stopped talking for a +single moment, but in a way that resembled leaking rather than laying +down the law. Tepidly, indifferently and rather amusingly she prattled +on without ceasing, on every subject under the sun, and was socially a +valuable help because where she was there was never an awkward +pause--or any other kind. + +Vincy was there and young Cricker, whose occasional depressed silences +were alternated with what he called a certain amount of sparkling +chaff. + +Lady Everard told Edith that she felt quite like a sort of mother to +Aylmer. + +'Don't you think it's sad, Mrs Ottley,' she said, when they were alone, +'to think that the dear fellow has no wife to look after this dear +little house? It always seems to me such a pity, but still, I always +say, at any rate Aylmer's married once, and that's more than most of +them do nowadays. It's simply horse's work to get them to do it at all. +Sometimes I think it's perfectly disgraceful. And yet I can't help +seeing how sensible it is of them too; you know, when you think of it, +what with one thing and another, what does a man of the present day +need a wife for? What with the flats, where everything on earth is done +for them, and the kindness of friends--just think how bachelors are +spoilt by their married friends!--and their clubs, and the frightful +expense of everything, it seems to me, as a general rule, that the +average man must be madly unselfish or a perfect idiot to marry at +all--that's what it seems to me--don't you? When you think of all the +responsibilities they take upon themselves!--and I'm sure there are not +many modern wives who expect to do anything on earth but have their +bills and bridge debts paid, and their perpetual young men asked to +dinner, and one thing and another. Of course, though, there are some +exceptions.' She smiled amiably. 'Aylmer tells me you have two +children; very sweet of you, I'm sure. What darling pets they must be! +Angels!--Angels! Oh, I'm so fond of children! But, particularly--isn't +it funny?--when they're not there, because I can't stand their noise. +Now my little grandchildren--my daughter Eva's been married ten +years--Lady Lindley, you know--hers are perfect pets and heavenly +angels, but I can't stand them for more than a few minutes at a time. I +have nerves, so much so, do you know (partly because I go in a good +deal for music and intellect and so on), so much so, that I very nearly +had a rest cure at the end of last season, and I should have had, +probably, but that new young French singer came over with a letter of +introduction to me, and of course I couldn't desert him, but had to do +my very best. Ever heard him sing? Yes, you would, of course. Oh, how +wonderful it is!' + +Edith waited in vain for a pause to say she didn't know the name of the +singer. Lady Everard went on, leaning comfortably back in Aylmer's +arm-chair. + +'Willie Cricker dances very prettily, too; he came to one of my +evenings and had quite a success. Only an amateur, of course; but +rather nice. However, like all amateurs he wants to perform only when +people would rather he didn't, and when they want him to he won't; he +refuses. That's the amateur all over. The professional comes up to the +scratch when wanted and stops when the performance is not required. +It's all the difference in the world, isn't it, Mrs Ottley? Still, he's +a nice boy. Are you fond of music?' + +'Very. Really fond of it; but I'm only a listener.' + +Lady Everard seemed delighted and brightened up. + +'Oh, you don't sing or play?--you must come to one of my Musical +Evenings. We have all the stars in the season at times--dear Melba and +Caruso--and darling Bemberk and dear Debussy! Oh! don't laugh at my +enthusiasm, my dear; but I'm quite music-mad--and then, of course, we +have any amount of amateurs, and all the new young professionals that +are coming on. In my opinion Paul La France, that's the young man I was +telling you about, will be one of the very very best--quite at the top +of the tree, and I'm determined he shall. But of course, he needs care +and encouragement. I think of his giving a _Conference_, in which he'll +lecture on his own singing. I shall be on the platform to make a sort +of introductory speech and Monti, of course, will accompany. He is the +only accompanist that counts. But then I suppose he's been accompanying +somebody or other ever since he was a little boy, so it's second nature +to him. And you must come, and bring your husband. Does he go with you +to places? Very nice of him. Nowadays if husbands and wives don't +occasionally go to the same parties they have hardly any opportunity of +meeting at all; that's what I always say. But then, of course, _you're_ +still almost on your honeymoon, aren't you? Charming!' + +In the dining-room Cricker was confiding in Aylmer, while Vincy and +Bruce discussed the Old Master. + +'Awful, you know,' Cricker said, in a low voice--' this girl's mania +for me! I get wires and telephones all day long; she hardly gives me +time to shave. And she's jolly pretty, so I don't like to chuck it; in +fact, I daren't. But her one cry is 'Cold; cold; cold!' She says I'm as +cold as a stone. What do you thing of that?' + +'You may be a stone, and a rolling one at that, said Aylmer, 'but there +are other pebbles on the beach, I daresay.' + +'I bet not one of them as stony as I am!' cried Cricker. + +Cricker came a little nearer, lowering his voice again. + +'It's a very peculiar case,' he said proudly. + +'Of course; it always is.' + +'You see, she's frightfully pretty, on the stage, and married! One of +the most awkward positions a person can be in. Mind you, I'm sorry for +her. I thought of consulting you about something if you'll give me a +minute or two, old chap.' + +He took out a letter-case. + +'I don't mean Ill show you this--oh no, I can't show it--it isn't +compromising.' + +'Of course not. No-one really likes to show a really lukewarm love +letter. Besides it would hardly be--' + +Cricker put the case back. + +My dear chap! I wasn't going to show it to you--I shouldn't dream of +such a thing--to anybody; but I was just going to read you out a +sentence from which you can form an opinion of my predicament. It's no +good mincing matters, old boy, the woman is crazy mad about me--there +you've got it straight--in a nutshell.--Crazy!' + +'She certainly can't be very sane,' returned Aylmer. + +Before the end of the evening Aylmer had arranged to take the Ottleys +to see a play that was having a run. After this he dropped in to tea to +discuss it and Bruce kept him to dinner. + +Day after day went on, and they saw him continually. He had never shown +by word or manner any more of his sentiment than on the second occasion +when they had met but Edith was growing thoroughly accustomed to this +new interest, and it certainly gave a zest to her existence, for she +knew, as women do know, or at any rate she believed, that she had an +attraction for him, which he didn't intend to give away. The situation +was pleasant and notwithstanding Vincy's slight anxiety, she persisted +in seeing nothing in it to fear in any way. Aylmer didn't even flirt. + +One day, at Vincy's rooms, she thought he seemed different. + +Vincy, with all his gentle manner, had in art an extraordinary taste +for brutality and violence, and his rooms were covered with pictures by +Futurists and Cubists, wild studies by wild men from Tahiti and a +curious collection of savage ornaments and weapons. + +'I don't quite see Vincy handling that double-edged Chinese sword, do +you? said Aylmer, laughing. + +'No, nor do I; but I do like to look at it,' Vincy said. + +They went into the little dining-room, which was curiously furnished +with a green marble dining-table, narrow, as in the pictures of the +Last Supper, at which the guests could sit on one side only to be +waited on from the other. On it as decoration (it was laid for two, +side by side) were some curious straw mats, a few laurel leaves, a +little marble statuette of Pan, and three Tangerine oranges. + +'Oh, Vincy, do tell me--what are you going to eat tonight?' Edith +exclaimed. 'Unless you're with other people I can never imagine you +sitting down to a proper meal.' + +Eat? Oh a nice orange, I think,' said he. Sometimes when I'm alone I +just have a nice egg and a glass of water, I do myself very well. Don't +worry about me, Edith.' + +When they were alone for a moment Aylmer looked out of the window. It +was rather high up, and they looked down on the hustling crowds of +people pushing along through the warm air in Victoria Street. + +'It's getting decent weather,' he said. + +'Yes, quite warm.' + +They always suddenly talked commonplaces when they were first left +alone. + +'I may be going away pretty soon,' he said. + +'Going away! Oh, where?' + +'I'm not quite sure yet.' + +There was a pause. + +'Well, you'll come to tea tomorrow, won't you? said Edith. 'Yes, +indeed, thank you--thank you so much. I shall look forward to it. At +five?' He spoke formally. + +'At four,' said Edith. + +'I shall be lunching not very far from you tomorrow.' + +'At a quarter to four,' said Edith. + +'I wonder who this other place is laid for,' said Aylmer, looking at +the table. + +'How indiscreet of you! So do I. One must find out.' + +'How? By asking?' + +'Good heavens, no!' cried Edith. 'What an extraordinary idea!' + + + +CHAPTER X + +Shopping Chez Soi + +Edith was expecting Aylmer to call that afternoon before he went away. +She was surprised to find how perturbed she was at the idea of his +going away. He had become almost a part of their daily existence, and +seeing him was certainly quite the most amusing and exciting experience +she had ever had. And now it was coming to an end. Some obscure +clairvoyance told her that his leaving and telling her of it in this +vague way had some reference to her; but perhaps (she thought) she was +wrong; perhaps it was simply that, after the pleasant intercourse and +semi-intimacy of the last few weeks, he was going to something that +interested him more? He was a widower; and still a young man. Perhaps +he was in love with someone. This idea was far from agreeable, although +except the first and second time they met he had never said a word that +could be described even as flirtation. He showed admiration for her, +and pleasure in her society, but he rarely saw her alone. The few +visits and _tete-a-tetes_ had always begun by conventional commonplace +phrases and embarrassment, and had ended in a delightful sympathy, in +animated conversation, in a flowing confidence and gaiety, and in long +discussions on books, and art, and principally people. That was all. In +fact he had become, in two or three weeks, in a sense _l'ami de la +maison_; they went everywhere with him and met nearly every day, and +Bruce appeared to adore him. It was entirely different from her long +and really intimate friendship with Vincy. Vincy was her confidant, her +friend. She could tell _him_ everything, and she did, and he confided +in her and told her all except one side of his life, of which she was +aware, but to which she never referred. This was his secret romance +with a certain girl artist of whom he never spoke, although Edith knew +that some day he would tell her about that also. + +But with Aylmer there was, and would always be, less real freedom and +impersonal frankness, because there was so much more selfconsciousness; +in fact because there was an unacknowledged but very strong mutual +physical attraction. Edith had, however, felt until now merely the +agreeable excitement of knowing that a man she liked, and in whom she +was immensely interested, was growing apparently devoted to her, while +_she_ had always believed that she would know how to deal with the case +in such a way that it could never lead to anything more--that is to +say, to more than _she_ wished. + +And now, he was going away. Why? And where? However, the first thing to +consider was that she would see him today. The result of this +consideration was the obvious one. She must do some shopping. + +Edith was remarkably feminine in every attribute, in manner, in +movement and in appearance; indeed, for a woman of the present day +unusually and refreshingly feminine. Yet she had certain mental +characteristics which were entirely unlike most women. One was her +extreme aversion for shops, and indeed for going into any concrete +little details. It has been said that her feeling for dress was sure +and unerring. But it was entirely that of the artist; it was +impressionistic. Edith was very clever, indeed, most ingenious, in +managing practical affairs, as long as she was the director, the +general of the campaign. But she did not like carrying out in detail +her plans. She liked to be the architect, not the workman. + +For example, the small household affairs in the flat went on wheels; +everything was almost always perfect. But Edith did not rattle her +housekeeping keys, or count the coals, nor did she even go through +accounts, or into the kitchen every day. The secret was simple. She had +a good cook and housekeeper, who managed all these important but +tedious details admirably, under her suggestions. In order to do this +Edith had to practise a little fraud on Bruce, a justifiable and quite +unselfish one. She gave the cook and housekeeper a quarter of her dress +allowance, in addition to the wages Bruce considered sufficient; +because Bruce believed that they could not afford more than a certain +amount for a cook, while he admitted that Edith, who had a few hundred +pounds a year of her own, might need to spend this on dress. Very +little of it went on dress, although Edith was not very economical. But +she had a plan of her own; she knew that to be dressed in a very +ordinary style (that is to say, simple, conventional, comme il faut) +suited her, by throwing her unusual beauty into relief. Occasionally a +touch of individuality was added, when she wanted to have a special +effect. But she never entered a shop; very rarely interviewed a +milliner. It was always done for her. She was easy to dress, being +tall, slim and remarkably pretty. She thought that most women make a +great mistake in allowing dress to be the master instead of the servant +of their good looks; many women were, she considered, entirely crushed +and made insignificant by the beauty of their clothes. The important +thing was to have a distinguished appearance, and this cannot, of +course, easily be obtained without expensive elegance. But Edith was +twenty-eight, and looked younger, so she could dress simply. + +This morning Edith had telephoned to her friend, Miss Bennett, an old +schoolfellow who had nothing to do, and adored commissions. Edith, +sitting by the fire or at the 'phone, gave her orders, which were +always decisive, short and yet meticulous. Miss Bennett was a little +late this morning, and Edith had been getting quite anxious to see her. +When she at last arrived--she was a nondescript-looking girl, with a +small hat squashed on her head, a serge coat and skirt, black gloves +and shoes with spats--Edith greeted her rather reproachfully with: + +'You're late, Grace.' + +'Sorry,' said Grace. + +The name suited her singularly badly. She was plain, but had a pleasant +face, a pink complexion, small bright eyes, protruding teeth and a +scenario for a figure, merely a collection of bones on which a dress +could be hung. She was devoted to Edith, and to a few other friends of +both sexes, of whom she made idols. She was hard, abrupt, enthusiastic, +ignorant and humorous. + +'Sorry, but I had to do a lot of--' + +'All right,' interrupted Edith. 'You couldn't help it. Listen' to what +I want you to do.' + +'Go ahead,' said Miss Bennett, taking out a note-book and pencil. + +Edith spoke in her low, soft, impressive voice, rather slowly. + +'Go anywhere you like and bring me back two or three perfectly simple +tea-gowns--you know the sort of shape, rather like evening +cloaks--straight lines--none of the new draperies and curves--in red, +blue and black.' + +'On appro.?' asked Miss Bennett. + +'On anything you like, but made of Liberty satin, with a dull surface.' + +'There's no such thing.' Grace Bennett laughed. 'You mean charmeuse, or +crepe-de-chine, perhaps?' + +'Call it what you like, only get it. You must bring them back in a +taxi.' + +'Extravagant girl!' + +'They're not to cost more than--oh! not much,' added Edith, 'at the +most.' + +'Economical woman! Why not have a really good tea-gown while you're +about it?' + +'These _will_ be good. I want to have a hard outline like a +Fergusson.' + +'Oh, really? What's that?' + +'Never mind. And suppose you can't get the shape, Grace.' + +'Yes?' + +'Bring some evening cloaks--the kimonoish kind--I could wear one over a +lace blouse; it would look exactly the same.' + +'Edith, what curious ideas you have! But you're right enough. Anything +else?' said Miss Bennett, standing up, ready to go. 'I like shopping +for you. You know what you want.' + +'Buy me an azalea, not a large one, and a bit of some dull material of +the same colour to drape round it.' + +'How extraordinary it is the way you hate anything shiny!' exclaimed +Miss Bennett, making a note. + +'I know; I only like _mat_ effects. Oh, and in case I choose a +light-coloured gown, get me just one very large black velvet orchid, +too.' + +'Right. That all?' + +Edith looked at her shoes; they were perfect, tiny, pointed and made of +black suede. She decided they would do. + +'Yes, that's all, dear.' + +'And might I kindly ask,' said Miss Bennett, getting up, 'any +particular reason for all this? Are you going to have the flu, or a +party, or what?' + +'No,' said Edith, who was always frank when it was possible. 'I'm +expecting a visitor who's never seen me in anything but a coat and +skirt, or in evening dress.' + +'Oh! He wants a change, does he?' + +'Don't be vulgar, Grace. Thanks awfully, dear. You're really kind.' + +They both laughed, and Edith gently pushed her friend out of the room. +Then she sat down on a sofa, put up her feet, and began to read +_Rhythm_ to divert her thoughts. Vincy had brought it to convert her to +Post-Impressionism. + +When Archie and Dilly were out, and Edith, who always got up rather +early, was alone, she often passed her morning hours in reading, +dreaming, playing the piano, or even in thinking. She was one of the +few women who really can think, and enjoy it. This morning she soon put +down the mad clever little prophetic Oxford journal. Considering she +was usually the most reposeful woman in London, she was rather restless +today. She glanced round the little room; there was nothing in it to +distract or irritate, or even to suggest a train of thought; except +perhaps the books; everything was calming and soothing, with a touch of +gaiety in the lightness of the wall decorations. An azalea, certainly, +would be a good note. The carpet, and almost everything in the room, +was green, except the small white enamelled piano. Today she felt that +she wanted to use all her influence to get Aylmer to confide in her +more. Perhaps he was slipping away from her--she would have been only a +little incident in his existence--while she certainly wished it to go +on. Seeing this, perhaps it oughtn't to go on. She wondered if he would +laugh or be serious today... whether... + + * * * * * + +Miss Bennett had come up in the lift with a heap of cardboard boxes, +and the azalea. A taxi was waiting at the door. + +Edith opened the boxes, cutting the string with scissors. She put four +gowns out on the sofa. Grace explained that two were cloaks, two were +gowns--all she could get. + +'That's the one,' said Edith, taking out one of a deep blue colour, +like an Italian sky on a coloured picture post-card. It had a collar of +the same deep blue, spotted with white--a birdseye effect. Taking off +her coat Edith slipped the gown over her dress, and went to her room +(followed closely by Miss Bennett) to see herself in the long mirror. + +'Perfect!' said Edith. 'Only I must cut off those buttons. I hate +buttons.' + +'How are you going to fasten it, then, dear?' + +'With hooks and eyes. Marie can sew them on.' + +The deep blue with the white spots had a vivid and charming effect, and +suited her blonde colouring; she saw she was very pretty in it, and was +pleased. + +'Aren't you going to try the others on, dear?' asked Grace. + +'No; what's the good? This one will do.' + +'Right. Then I'll take them back.' + +'You're sweet. Won't you come back to lunch?' + +'I'll come back to lunch tomorrow,' said Miss Bennett, 'and you can +tell me about your tea-party. Oh, and here's a little bit of stuff for +the plant. I suppose you'll put the azalea into the large pewter vase?' + +'Yes, and I'll tie this round its neck.' + +'Sorry it's cotton,' said Miss Bennett. 'I couldn't get any silk the +right colour.' + +'Oh, I like cotton, if only it's not called sateen! Good-bye, darling. +You're delightfully quick!' + +'Yes, I don't waste time,' said Miss Bennett. 'Mother says, too, that +I'm the best shopper in the world.' She turned round to add, 'I'm dying +to know why you want to look so pretty. Who is it?' + +With a quiet smile, Edith dismissed her. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +P.P.C. + +'It always seems to me so unlike you,' Aylmer said (he had arrived +punctually at twenty minutes to four)--'your extreme fondness for +newspapers. You're quite celebrated as a collector of Last Editions, +aren't you?' + +'I know it's very unliterary of me, but I enjoy reading newspapers +better than reading anything else in the world. After all, it's +contemporary history, that's my defence. But I suppose it is because +I'm so intensely interested in life.' + +'Tell me exactly, what papers do you really read?' + +She laughed. 'Four morning papers--never mind their names--four +evening papers; five Sunday papers: _The Academy, The Saturday Review, +The Bookman, The World, The English Review_.' + +'Well, I think it's wicked of you to encourage all this frivolity. And +what price _The Queen, Horrie Notes, or The Tatler_?' + +'Oh, we have those too--for Bruce.' + +'And does Archie show any of this morbid desire for journalism?' + +'Oh yes. He takes in _Chums and Little Folks_.' + +'And I see you're reading _Rhythm_. That's Vincy's fault, of course.' + +'Perhaps it is.' + +'How do you find time for all this culture?' + +'I read quickly, and what I have to do I do rather quickly.' + +'Is that why you never seem in a hurry? I think you're the only +leisured-looking woman I know in London.' + +'I do think I've solved the problem of labour-saving; I've reduced it +to a science.' + +'How?' + +'By not working, I suppose.' + +'You're wonderful. And that blue....' + +'Do you really think so?' + +He was beginning to get carried away. He stood up and looked out of the +window. The pink and white hyacinths were strongly scented in the warm +air. He turned round. + +She said demurely: 'It will be nice weather for you to go away now, +won't it?' + +'I don't think so.' He spoke impulsively. 'I shall hate it; I shall be +miserable.' + +'Really!' in a tone of great surprise. + +'You're dying to ask me something,' he said. + +'Which am I dying to ask you: _where_ you're going, or _why_ you're +going?' She gave her most vivid smile. He sat down with a sigh. People +still sigh, sometimes, even nowadays. + +'I don't know where I'm going; but I'll tell you why.... I'm seeing too +much of you.' + +She was silent. + +'You see, Mrs Ottley, seeing a great deal of you is very entrancing, +but it's dangerous.' + +'In what way?' + +'Well--your society--you see one gets to feel one can't do without it, +do you see?' + +'But why should you do without it?' + +He looked at her. 'You mean there's no reason why we shouldn't keep on +going to plays with Bruce, dining with Bruce, being always with Bruce?' +(Bruce and Aylmer had become so intimate that they called each other by +their Christian names.) 'Don't you see, it makes one sometimes feel one +wants more and more of you--of your society I mean. One could talk +better alone.' + +'But you can come and see me sometimes, can't you?' + +'Yes; that's the worst of all,' he answered, with emphasis. + +'Oh.' + +Aylmer spoke decidedly: 'I'm not a man who could ever be a tame cat. +And also I'm not, I hope, a man who--who would dare to think, or even +wish, to spoil--to--' + +'And is that really why you're going?' she asked gently. + +'You're forcing me to answer you.' + +'And shall you soon forget all about it?' + +He changed his position and sat next to her on the sofa. + +'And so you won't miss me a bit,' he said caressingly. 'You wouldn't +care if you never saw me again, would you?' + +'Yes, I should care. Why, you know we're awfully good friends; I like +you immensely.' + +'As much as Vincy?' + +'Oh! So differently.' + +'I'm glad of that, at any rate!' + +There was an embarrassed pause. + +'So this is really the last time I'm to see you for ages, Mrs Ottley?' + +'But aren't we all going to the theatre tomorrow? With you, I mean? +Bruce said so.' + +'Oh yes. I mean the last time alone. Yes, I've got a box for _The +Moonshine Girl_. Bruce said you'd come. Lady Everard and Vincy will be +there.' + +'That will be fun--I love that sort of show. It takes one right away +from life instead of struggling to imitate it badly like most plays.' + +'It's always delightful to hear what you say. And anything I see with +you I enjoy, and believe to be better than it is,' said Aylmer. 'You +know you cast a glamour over anything. But the next day I'm going away +for three months at least.' + +'A long time.' + +'Is it? Will it seem long to you?' + +'Why, of course. We shall--I shall miss you very much. I told you so.' + +'Really?' he insisted. + +'Really,' she smiled. + +They looked at each other. + +Edith felt less mistress of the situation than she had expected. She +was faced with a choice; she felt it; she knew it. She didn't want him +to go. Still, perhaps.... There was a vibration in the air. Suddenly a +sharp ring was heard. + +Overpowered by a sudden impulse, Aylmer seized her impetuously by the +shoulders, kissed her roughly and at random before she could stop him, +and said incoherently: 'Edith! Good-bye. I love you, Edith,' and then +stood up by the mantelpiece. + +'Mr Vincy,' announced the servant. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +'The Moonshine Girl' + +The next evening Bruce and Edith were going to the Society Theatre with +Aylmer. It was their last meeting before he was to go away, Edith half +expected that he would put it off, but there was no change made in the +plans, and they met in the box as arranged. + +Aylmer had expected during the whole day to hear that she had managed +to postpone the party. At one moment he was frightened and rather +horrified when he thought of what he had done. At another he was +delighted and enchanted about it, and told himself that it was +absolutely justified. After all, he couldn't do more than go away if he +found he was too fond of her. No hero of romance could be expected to +do more than that, and he wasn't a hero of romance; he didn't pretend +to be. But he _was_ a good fellow--and though Bruce's absurdities +irritated him a great deal he had a feeling of delicacy towards him, +and a scrupulousness that is not to be found every day. At other +moments Aylmer swore to himself, cursing his impulsiveness, fearing she +now would really not ever think of him as he wished, but as a hustling +sort of brute. But no--he didn't care. He had come at last to close +quarters with her. He had kissed the pretty little mouth that he had so +often watched with longing. He admitted to himself that he had really +wished to pose a little in her eyes: to be the noble hero in the third +act who goes away from temptation. But who does not wish for the _beau +role_ before one's idol? + + * * * * * + +This meeting at the play tonight was the sort of anti-climax that is +almost invariable in a London romance. How he looked forward to it! For +after Vincy came in only a few banalities had been said. He was to see +her now for the last time--the first time since he had given himself +away to her. Probably it was only her usual kindness to others that +prevented her getting out of the evening plans, he thought. Or--did she +want to see him once more? + +At dinner before the play Edith was very bright, and particularly +pretty. Bruce, too, was in good spirits. + +'It's rather sickening,' he remarked, 'Aylmer going away like this; we +shall miss him horribly, sha'n't we? And then, where's the sense, +Edith, in a chap leaving London where he's been the whole of the awful +winter, just as it begins to be pleasant here? Pass the salt; don't +spill it--that's unlucky. Not that I believe in any superstitious rot. +I can see the charm of the quaint old ideas about black cats and so +forth, but I don't for one moment attach any importance to them, nor to +the number thirteen, nor any of that sort of bosh. Indeed as a matter +of fact, I walked round a ladder only today rather than go under it. +But that's simply because I don't go in for trying to be especially +original.' + +'No, dear. I think you're quite right.' + +'And oddly enough--as I was trying to tell you just now, only you +didn't seem to be listening--a black cat ran across my path only this +afternoon.' He smiled, gratified at the recollection. + +'How do you mean, your path? I didn't know you had one--or that there +were any paths about here.' + +'How literal women are! I mean _I_ nearly ran over it in a taxi. When I +say I nearly ran over it, I mean that a black cat on the same side of +the taxi (if you must have details) ran away as the taxi drove on.... +Yes, Aylmer is a thoroughly good chap, and he and I have enormous +sympathy. I don't know any man in the world with whom I have more +intellectual sympathy than Aylmer Ross. Do you remember how I pointed +him out to you at once at the Mitchells'? And sometimes when I think +how you used to sneer at the Mitchells--oh, you did, you know, dear, +before you knew them--and I remember all the trouble I had to get you +to go there, I wonder--I simply wonder! Don't you see, through going +there, as I advised, we've made one of the nicest friends we ever had.' + +'Really, Bruce, you didn't have _any_ trouble to get me to go to the +Mitchells; you're forgetting. The trouble was I couldn't go there very +well until I was asked. The very first time we were asked (if you +recollect), we flew!' + +'Flew? Why, we went on the wrong night. That doesn't look as if I was +very keen about it! However, I'm not blaming you, dear. It wasn't your +fault. Mind you,' continued Bruce, 'I consider the Society Theatre pure +frivolity. But one thing I'll say, a bad show there is better than a +good show anywhere else. There's always jolly music, pretty dresses, +pretty girls--you don't mind my saying so, dear, do you?' + +'No, indeed. I think so myself.' + +'Of course, the first row of the chorus is not what it was when I was a +bachelor,' continued Bruce, frowning thoughtfully. 'Either they're not +so good-looking, or I don't admire them so much, or they don't admire +_me_ as much, or they're a different class, or--or--something!' he +laughed. + +'You're pleased to be facetious,' remarked Edith. + +'My dear girl, you know perfectly well I think there's no-one else in +the world like you. Wherever I go I always say there's no-one to touch +my wife. No-one!' + +Edith got up. 'Very sweet of you.' + +'But,' continued Bruce, 'because I think you pretty, it doesn't follow +that I think everybody else is hideous. I tell you that straight from +the shoulder, and I must say this for you, dear, I've never seen any +sign of jealousy on your part.' + +'I'd show it soon enough if I felt it--if I thought I'd any cause,' +said Edith; 'but I didn't think I had.' + +Bruce gave a rather fatuous smile. 'Oh, go and get ready, my dear,' he +answered. 'Don't let's talk nonsense. Who's going to be there tonight, +do you know?' + +'Oh, only Lady Everard and Vincy.' + +'Lady Everard is a nice woman. You're going to that musical thing of +hers, I suppose?' + +'Yes, I suppose so.' + +'It's in the afternoon, and it's not very easy for me to get away in +the afternoon, but to please you, I'll take you--see? I loathe music +(except musical comedies), and I think if ever there was a set of +appalling rotters--I feel inclined to knock them off the music-stool +the way they go on at Lady Everard's--at the same time, some of them +are very cultured and intelligent chaps, and _she's_ a very charming +woman. One can't get in a word edgeways, but _when_ one does--well, she +listens, and laughs at one's jokes, and that sort of thing. I think I'm +rather glad you're not musical, Edith, it takes a woman away from her +husband.' + +'Not musical! Oh dear! I thought I was,' said Edith. + +'Oh, anyhow, not when I'm here, so it doesn't matter. Besides, your +being appreciative and that sort of thing is very nice. Look what a +social success you've had at the Everards', for instance, through +listening and understanding these things; it is not an accomplishment +to throw away. No, Edith dear, I should tell you, if you would only +listen to me, to keep up your music, but you won't and there's an end +of it...That souffle was really very good. Cook's improving. For a +plain little cook like that, with such small wages, and no kitchenmaid, +she does quite well.' + +'Oh yes, she's not bad,' said Edith. She knew that if Bruce had been +aware the cook's remuneration was adequate he would not have enjoyed +his dinner. + + * * * * * + +They were in the box in the pretty theatre. Lady Everard, very smart in +black, sparkling with diamonds, was already there with Aylmer. Vincy +had not arrived. + +The house was crammed to the ceiling. Gay, electrical music of +exhilarating futility was being played by the orchestra. The scene +consisted of model cottages; a chorus of pretty girls in striped cotton +were singing. The heroine came on; she was well known for her smile, +which had become public property on picture post-cards and the Obosh +bottles. She was dressed as a work-girl also, but in striped silk with +a real lace apron and a few diamonds. Then the hero arrived. He wore a +red shirt, brown boots, and had a tenor voice. He explained an +interesting little bit of the plot, which included an eccentric will +and other novelties. The humorous dandy of the play was greeted with +shouts of joy by the chorus and equal enthusiasm by the audience. He +agreed to change places with the hero, who wished to give up one +hundred and forty thousand pounds a year to marry the heroine. + +'Very disinterested,' murmured Lady Everard. 'Very nice of him, I'm +sure. It isn't many people that would do a thing like that. A nice +voice, too. Of course, this is not what _I_ call good music, but it's +very bright in its way, and the words--I always think these words are +so clever. So witty. Listen to them--do listen to them, dear Mrs +Ottley.' + +They listened to the beautiful words sung, of which the refrain ran as +follows:-- + + 'The Author told the Actor, + (The Actor had a fit). + The Box Office man told the Programme-girl, + The Theatre all was in quite a whirl. + The call-boy told the Chorus. + (Whatever could it be?) + The super asked the Manager, + What did the Censor see?' + +'Charming,' murmured Lady Everard; 'brilliant--I know his father so +well.' + +'Whose father--the censor's?' + +'Oh, the father of the composer--a very charming man. When he was young +he used to come to my parties--my Wednesdays. I used to have Wednesdays +then. I don't have Wednesdays now. I think it better to telephone at +the last minute any particular day for my afternoons because, after +all, you never know when the artists one wants are disengaged, does +one? You're coming on Wednesday to hear Paul La France sing, dear Mrs +Ottley?' + +Edith smiled and nodded assent, trying to stop the incessant trickle of +Lady Everard's leaking conversation. She loved theatres, and she +enjoyed hearing every word, which was impossible while there was more +dialogue in the box than on the stage; also, Aylmer was sitting behind +her. + +The comic lady now came on; there were shrieks of laughter at her +unnecessary and irrelevant green boots and crinoline and Cockney +accent. She proposed to marry the hero, who ran away from her. There +was more chorus; and the curtain fell. + +In the interval Vincy arrived. He and Bruce went into the little salon +behind the box. Lady Everard joined them there. Edith and Aylmer looked +round the house. The audience at the Society Theatre is a special one; +as at the plays in which the favourite actor-managers and _jeunes +premiers_ perform there are always far more women than men, at this +theatre there are always far more men than women. + +The stage box opposite our friends was filled with a party of about ten +men. + +'It looks like a jury,' said Edith. 'Perhaps it is.' 'Probably a board +of directors,' said Aylmer. + +The first two rows of the stalls were principally occupied by +middle-aged and rather elderly gentlemen. Many had grey moustaches and +a military bearing. Others were inclined to be stout, with brilliant +exuberant manners and very dark hair that simply wouldn't lie flat. +There were a great many parties made up like those of our friends--of +somebody in love with somebody, surrounded by chaperons. These were the +social people, and also there were a certain number of young men with +pretty women who were too fashionably dressed, too much made up, and +who were looking forward too much to supper. These ladies seemed +inclined to crab the play, and to find unimportant little faults with +the unimportant actresses. There were many Americans--who took it +seriously; and altogether one could see it was an immense success; in +other words everyone had paid for their seats... + + * * * * * + +The play was over; Aylmer had not had a word with Edith. He was going +away the next day, and he asked them all to supper. Of course he drove +Edith, and Lady Everard took the other two in her motor.... + +'You're an angel if you've forgiven me,' he said, as they went out. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +The Supper-party + +'Have you forgiven me?' he asked anxiously, as soon as they were in the +dark shelter of the cab. + +'Yes, oh yes. Please don't let's talk about it any more... What time do +you start tomorrow?' + +'You think I ought to go then?' + +'You say so.' + +'But you'd rather I remained here; rather we should go on as we +are--wouldn't you?' + +'Well, you know I should never have dreamt of suggesting you should go +away. I like you to be here.' + +'At any cost to me? No, Edith; I can't stand it. And since I've told +you it's harder. Your knowing makes it harder.' + +'I should have thought that if you liked anyone so _very_ much, you +would want to see them all the time, as much as possible, always--even +with other people...anything rather than not see them--be away +altogether. At least, that's how I should feel.' + +'No doubt you would; that's a woman's view. And besides, you see, you +don't care!' + +'The more I cared, the less I should go away, I think.' + +'But, haven't I tried? And I can't bear it. You don't know how cruel +you are with your sweetness, Edith...Oh, put yourself in my place! How +do you suppose I feel when I've been with you like this, near you, +looking at you, delighting in you the whole evening--and then, after +supper, you go away with Bruce? _You've_ had a very pleasant evening, +no doubt; it's all right for you to feel you've got me, as you know you +have--and with no fear, no danger. Yes, you enjoy it!' + +'Oh, Aylmer!' + +He saw in the half-darkness that her eyes looked reproachful. + +'I didn't mean it. I'm sorry--I'm always being sorry.' His bitter tone +changed to gentleness. 'I want to speak to you now, Edith. We haven't +much time. Don't take away your hand a minute....I always told you, +didn't I, that the atmosphere round you is so clear that I feel with +you I'm in the Palace of Truth? You're so _real_. You're the only woman +I ever met who really cared for truth. You're not afraid of it; and +you're as straight and honourable as a man! I don't mean you can't +diplomatise if you choose, of course, and better than anyone; but it +isn't your nature to deceive yourself, nor anyone else. I recognise +that in you. I love it. And that's why I can't pretend or act with you; +I must be frank.' + +'Please, do be frank.' + +'I love you. I'm madly in love with you. I adore you.' + +Aylmer stopped, deeply moved at the sound of his own words. Few people +realise the effect such words have on the speaker. Saying them to her +was a great joy, and an indulgence, but it increased painfully his +passionate feeling, making it more accentuated and acute. To let +himself go verbally was a wild, bitter pleasure. It hurt him, and he +enjoyed it. + +'And I'd do anything in the world to get you. And I'd do anything in +the world for you, too. And if you cared for me I'd go away all the +same. At least, I believe I should...We shall be there in a minute. + +'Listen, dear. I want you, occasionally, to write to me; there's no +earthly reason why you shouldn't. I'll let you know my address. It will +prevent my being too miserable, or rushing back. And will you do +something else for me?' + +'Anything.' + +'Angel! Well, when you write, call me Aylmer. You never have yet, in a +letter. Treat me just like a friend--as you treat Vincy. Tell me what +you're doing, where you're going, who you see; about Archie and Dilly; +about your new dresses and hats; what you're reading--any little thing, +so that I'm still in touch with you.' + +'Yes, I will; I shall like to. And don't be depressed, Aylmer. Do enjoy +your journey; write to me, too.' + +'Yes, I'm going to write to you, but only in an official way, only for +Bruce. And, listen. Take care of yourself. You're too unselfish. Do +what you want sometimes, not what other people want all the time. Don't +read too much by electric light and try your eyes. And don't go out in +these thin shoes in damp weather--promise!' + +She laughed a little--touched. + +'Be a great deal with the children. I like to think of you with them. +And I hope you won't be always going out,' he continued, in a tone of +unconscious command, which she enjoyed....'Please don't be continually +at Lady Everard's, or at the Mitchells', or anywhere. I hate you to be +admired--how I hate it!' + +'Fancy! And I was always brought up to believe people are proud of +what's called the 'success' of the people that they--like.' + +'Don't you believe it, Edith! That's all bosh--vanity and nonsense. At +any rate, I know I'm not. In fact, as I can't have you myself, I would +really like you to be shut up. Very happy, very well, with everything +in the world you like, even thinking of me a little, but absolutely +shut up! And if you did go out, for a breath of air, I should like +no-one to see you. I'd like you to cover up your head--wear a thick +veil--and a thick loose dress!' + +'You're very Oriental!' she laughed. + +'I'm not a bit Oriental; I'm human. It's selfish, I suppose, you think? +Well, let me tell you, if you care to know, that it's _love_, and +nothing else, Edith....Now, is there anything in the world I can do for +you while I'm away? It would be kind to ask me. Remember I shan't see +you for three months. I may come back in September. Can't I send you +something--do something that you'd like? I count on you to ask me at +any time if there's anything in the world I could do for you, no matter +what!' + +No woman could help being really pleased at such whole-hearted +devotion and such Bluebeard-like views--especially when they were not +going to be carried out. Edith was thrilled by the passionate emotion +she felt near her. How cold it would be when he had gone! He _was_ +nice, handsome, clever--a darling! + +'Don't forget me, Aylmer. I don't want you to forget me. Later on we'll +have a real friendship.' + +'_Friendship!_ Don't use that word. It's so false--such humbug--for +_me_ at any rate. To say I could care for you as a friend is simply +blasphemy! How can it be possible for _me_? But I'll try. Thanks for +_any_thing! You're an angel--I'll try.' + +'And it's horribly inconsistent, and no doubt very wicked of me, but, +do you know, I should be rather pained if I heard you had fallen in +love with someone else.' + +'Ah, that would be impossible!' he cried. 'Never--never! It's the real +thing; there never was anyone like you, there never will be. + +Let me look at you once more....Oh, Edith! And now--here we are.' + +Edith took away her hand. 'Your scarf's coming off, you'll catch +cold,' said Aylmer, and as he was trying, rather awkwardly, to put the +piece of blue chiffon round her head he drew the dear head to him and +kissed her harshly. She could not protest; it was too final; besides, +they were arriving; the cab stopped. Vincy came to the door. + +'Welcome to Normanhurst!' cried Vincy, with unnecessary facetiousness, +giving them a slightly anxious glance. He thought Edith had more colour +than usual. Aylmer was pale. + + * * * * * + +The supper was an absolute and complete failure; the guests +displayed the forced gaiety and real depression, and constrained +absentmindedness, of genuine and hopeless boredom. Except for Lady +Everard's ceaseless flow of empty prattle the pauses would have been +too obvious. Edith, for whom it was a dreary anti-climax, was rather +silent. Aylmer talked more, and a little more loudly, than usual, and +looked worn. Bruce, whom champagne quickly saddened, became vaguely +reminiscent and communicative about old, dead, forgotten grievances of +the past, while Vincy, who was a little shocked at what he saw (and he +always saw everything), did his very best, just saving the +entertainment from being a too disastrous frost. + +'Well! Good luck!' said Aylmer, lifting his glass with sham +conviviality.' I start tomorrow morning by the Orient Express.' + +'Hooray!' whispered Vincy primly. + +'Doesn't it sound romantic and exciting?' Edith said. 'The two words +together are so delightfully adventurous. Orient--the languid East, +and yet express--quickness, speed. It's a fascinating blend of ideas.' + +'Whether it's adventurous or not isn't the question, my dear girl; I +only wish we were going too,' said Bruce, with a sigh; 'but, I never +can get away from my wretched work, to have any fun, like you lucky +chaps, with no responsibilities or troubles! I suppose perhaps we may +take the children to Westgate for Whitsuntide, and that's about all. +Not that there isn't quite a good hotel there, and of course it's all +right for me, because I shall play golf all day and run up to town when +I want to. Still, it's very different from one of these jolly long +journeys that you gay bachelors can indulge in.' + +'But I'm not a gay bachelor. My boy is coming to join me in the summer +holidays, wherever I am,' said Aylmer. + +'Ah, but that's not the point. I should like to go with you now--at +once. Don't you wish we were both going, Edith? Why aren't we going +with him tomorrow?' + +'Surely June's just the nice time in London, Bruce,' said Vincy, in his +demure voice. + +'Won't it be terribly hot?' said Lady Everard vaguely. She always +thought every place must be terribly hot. 'Venice? Are you going to +Venice? Delightful! The Viennese are so charming, and the Austrian +officers--Oh, you're going to Sicily first? Far too hot. Paul La +France--the young singer, you know--told me that when he was in Sicily +his voice completely altered; the heat quite affected the _veloute_ of +his voice, as the French call it--and what a voice it is at its best! +It's not the _highest_ tenor, of course, but the medium is so +wonderfully soft and well developed. I don't say for a moment that he +will ever be a Caruso, but as far as he goes--and he goes pretty far, +mind--it's really wonderful. You're coming on Wednesday, aren't you, +dear Mrs Ottley? Ah!'... She stopped and held up her small beaded fan, +'what's that the band's playing? I know it so well; everyone knows it; +it's either _Pagliacci_ or _Boheme_, or _some_thing. No, isn't it +really? What is it? All the old Italian operas are coming in again, by +the way, you know, my dear... _Rigoletto_, _Lucia_, _Traviata_--the +_bel canto_--that sort of thing; there's nothing like it for showing +off the voice. Wagner's practically gone out (at least what _I_ call +out), and I always said Debussy wouldn't last. Paul La France still +clings to Brahms--Brahms suits his voice better than anyone else. He +always falls back on Brahms, and dear de Lara; and Tosti; of course, +Tosti. I remember...' + + * * * * * + +Aylmer and his guests had reached the stage of being apparently all +lost in their own thoughts, and the conversation had been practically +reduced to a disjointed monologue on music by Lady Everard, when the +lights began to be lowered, and the party broke up. + +'I'm coming to see you so soon,' said Vincy. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +The Letter + +It was about a fortnight later. + +Edith and Bruce, from different directions, arrived at the same moment +at their door, and went up together in the lift. On the little +hall-table was a letter addressed to Edith. She took it up rather +quickly, and went into the drawing-room. Bruce followed her. + +'That a letter, Edith?' + +'What do you suppose it is, Bruce?' + +'What _could_ I have supposed it was, Edith? A plum pudding?' He +laughed very much. + +'You are very humorous today, Bruce.' + +She sat down with her hat, veil and gloves on, holding the letter. She +did not go to her room, because that would leave her no further +retreat. Bruce sat down exactly opposite to her, with his coat and +gloves on. He slowly drew off one glove, folded it carefully, and put +it down. Then he said amiably, a little huskily: + +'Letter from a friend?' + +'I beg your pardon? What did you say, dear?' + +He raised his voice unnecessarily: + +'I Said A LETTER FROM A FRIEND!' + +She started. 'Oh yes! I heard this time.' + +'Edith, I know of an excellent aurist in Bond Street. I wish you'd go +and see him. I'll give you the address.' + +'I know of a very good elocutionist in Oxford Street. I think I would +go and have some lessons, if I were you, Bruce; the summer classes are +just beginning. They teach you to speak so clearly, to get your voice +over the footlights, as it were. I think all men require to study +oratory and elocution. It comes in so useful!' + +Bruce lowered his voice almost to a whisper. + +'Are you playing the fool with me?' + +She nodded amiably in the manner of a person perfectly deaf, but who is +pretending to hear. + +'Yes, dear; yes, quite right.' + +'What do you mean by 'quite right'?' He unfastened his coat and threw +it open, glaring at her a little. + +'Who--me? _I_ don't know.' + +'Who is that letter from, Edith?' he said breezily, in a tone of sudden +careless and cheery interest. + +'I haven't read it yet, Bruce,' she answered, in the same tone, +brightly. + +'Oh. Why don't you read it?' + +'Oh! I shall presently.' + +'When?' + +'When I've opened it.' + +He took off his other glove, folded it with the first one, made them +into a ball, and threw it across the room against the window, while his +colour deepened. + +'Oh, do you want to have a game? Shall I send for Archie?' + +'Edith, why don't you take off your hat?' + +'I can't think. Why don't you take off your coat?' + +'I haven't time. Show me that letter.' + +'What letter?' + +'Don't prevaricate with me.' Bruce had now definitely lost his temper. +'I can stand anything except prevarication. Anything in the world, but +prevarication, I can endure, with patience. But _not_ that! As if you +didn't know perfectly well there's only one letter I want to see.' + +'Really?' + +'Who's your letter from?' + +'How should I know?' + +Edith got up and went towards the door. Bruce was beforehand with her +and barred the way, standing with his arms outstretched and his back to +the door. + +'Edith, I'm pained and surprised at your conduct!' + +'Conduct!' she exclaimed. + +'Don't echo my words! I will _not_ be echoed, do you hear?... +Behaviour, then, if you prefer the word.... Why don't you wish me to +see that letter?' + +Edith quickly looked at the letter. Until this moment she had had an +unreasonable and nervous terror that Aylmer might have forgotten his +intention of writing what he called officially, and might have written +her what she now inwardly termed a lot of nonsense. But she now saw she +had made a mistake: it was not his handwriting nor his postmark. She +became firmer. + +'Look here Bruce,' she said, in a decided voice, quietly. 'We have been +married eight years, and I consider you ought to trust me sufficiently +to allow me to open my own letters.' + +'Oh, you do, do you? What next? What next! I suppose the next thing +you'll wish is to be a suffragette.' + +'The question,' said Edith, in the most cool, high, irritating voice +she could command, 'really, of votes for women hardly enters into our +argument here. As a matter of fact, I take no interest in any kind of +politics, and, I may be entirely wrong, but if I were compelled to take +sides on the subject, I should be an anti-suffragist.' + +'Oh, you would, would you? That's as well to know! That's interesting. +Give me that letter.' + +'Do you think you have the right to speak to me like that?' + +'Edith,' he said rather pathetically, trying to control himself. 'I beg +you, I _implore_ you to let me see the letter! Hang it all! You know +perfectly well, old girl, how fond I am of you. I may worry you a bit +sometimes, but you know my heart's all right.' + +'Of course, Bruce; I'm not finding fault with you. I only want to read +my own letter, that's all.' + +'But if I let you out of this room without having shown it me, then if +there's something you don't want me to see, you'll tear it up or chuck +it in the fire.' + +Edith was quite impressed at this flash of prophetic insight. She +admitted to herself he was right. + +'It's entirely a matter of principle,' she said after another +reassuring look at the envelope. 'It's only a matter of principle, +dear, I'm twenty-eight years old, we've been married eight years; you +leave the housekeeping, the whole ordering of the children's education, +and heaps of other quite important things, entirely to me; in fact, you +lead almost the life of a schoolboy, without any of the tiresome part, +and with freedom, going to school in the day and amusing yourself in +the evening, while everything disagreeable and important is thought of +and seen to for you. You only have the children with you when they +amuse you. I have all the responsibility; I have to be patient, +thoughtful--in fact, you leave things to me more than most men do to +their wives, Bruce. You won't be bothered even to look at an +account--to do a thing. But I'm not complaining.' + +'Oh, you're not! It sounded a little like it.' + +'But it isn't. I don't _mind_ all this responsibility, but I ought, at +least, to be allowed to read my letters.' + +'Well, darling, you shall, as a rule. Look here, old girl, you shall. I +promise you, faithfully, dear. Oh, Edith, you're looking awfully +pretty; I like that hat. Look here, I promise you, dear, I'll _never_ +ask you again, never as long as I live. But I've a fancy to read this +particular letter. Why not just gratify it? It's a very harmless whim.' +His tone suddenly changed. 'What do you suppose there's _in_ the damned +letter? Something you're jolly well anxious I shouldn't see.' + +She made a step forward. He rushed at her, snatched the letter out of +her hand, and went to the window with it. + +She went into her own room, shut the door, and threw herself on the +bed, her whole frame shaking with suppressed laughter. + + * * * * * + +Bruce, alone, with trembling fingers tore open the envelope. Never in +his life had he been opposed by Edith before in this way. He read these +words in stereotyped writing: + +_'Van will call on receipt of post-card. The Lavender Laundry hopes +that you will give them a trial, as their terms are extremely mod--'_ + +Bruce rushed to the door and called out: + +'Edith! Sorry! Edie, I say, I'm sorry. Come back.' + +There was no answer. + +He pushed the letter under the door of her room, and said through the +keyhole: + +'Edith, look here, I'm just going for a little walk. I'll be back to +dinner. Don't be angry.' + +Bruce brought her home a large bunch of Parma violets. But neither of +them ever referred to the question again, and for some time there was a +little less of the refrain of 'Am I master in my own house, or am I +not?' + +The next morning, when a long letter came from Aylmer, from Spain, +Edith read it at breakfast and Bruce didn't ask a single question. +However, she left it on his plate, as if by mistake. He might just as +well read it. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Mavis Argles + +Vincy had the reputation of spending his fortune with elaborate yet +careful lavishness, buying nothing that he did not enjoy, and giving +away everything he did not want. At the same time his friends +occasionally wondered on what he _did_ spend both his time and his +money. He was immensely popular, quite sought after socially; but he +declined half his invitations and lived a rather quiet existence in the +small flat, with its Oriental decorations and violent post-impressions +and fierce Chinese weapons, high up in Victoria Street. Vincy really +concealed under an amiable and gentle exterior the kindest heart of any +man in London. There was 'more in him than met the eye,' as people say, +and, frank and confidential as he was to his really intimate friends, +at least one side of his life was lived in shadow. It was his secret +romance with a certain young girl artist, whom he saw rarely, for +sufficient reasons. He was not devoted to her in the way that he was to +Edith, for whom he had the wholehearted enthusiasm of a loyal friend, +and the idolising worship of a fanatic admirer. It was perhaps Vincy's +nature, a little, to sacrifice himself for anyone he was fond of. He +spent a great deal of time thinking out means of helping materially the +young art-student, and always he succeeded in this object by his +elaborate and tactful care. For he knew she was very, very poor, and +that her pride was of an old-fashioned order--she never said she was +hard up, as every modern person does, whether rich or poor, but he knew +that she really lacked what he considered very nearly--if not +quite--the necessities of life. + +Vincy's feeling for her was a curious one. He had known her since she +was sixteen (she was now twenty-four). Yet he did not trust her, and +she troubled him. He had met her at a studio at a time when he had +thought of studying art seriously. Sometimes, something about her +worried and wearied him, yet he couldn't do without her for long. The +fact that he knew he was of great help to her fascinated him; he often +thought that if she had been rich and he poor he would never wish to +see her again. Certainly it was the touch of pathos in her life that +held him; also, of course, she was pretty, with a pale thin face, deep +blue eyes, and rich dark red frizzy hair that was always coming +down--the untidy hair of the art-student. + +He was very much afraid of compromising her, and _she_ was very much +afraid of the elderly aunt with whom she lived. She had no parents, +which made her more pathetic, but no more free. He could not go and see +her, with any satisfaction to either of them, at _her_ home, though he +did so occasionally. This was why she first went to see him at his +flat. But these visits, as they were both placed, could, of course, +happen rarely. + +Mavis Argles--this was the girl's extraordinary name--had a curious +fascination for him. He was rather fond of her, yet the greatest wish +he had in the world was to break it off. When with her he felt himself +to be at once a criminal and a benefactor, a sinner and a saint. +Theoretically, theatrically, and perhaps conventionally, his relations +with her constituted him the villain of the piece. Yet he behaved to +her more like Don Quixote than Don Juan.... + + * * * * * + +One afternoon about four o'clock--he was expecting her--Vincy had +arranged an elaborate tea on his little green marble dining-table. +Everything was there that she liked. She was particularly attached to +scones; he also had cream-cakes, sandwiches, sweets, chocolate and +strawberries. As he heard the well-known slightly creaking step, his +heart began to beat loudly--quick beats. He changed colour, smiled, and +nervously went to the door. + +'Here you are, Mavis!' He calmed her and himself by this banal welcome. + +He made a movement to help her off with her coat, but she stopped him, +and he didn't insist, guessing that she supposed her blouse to be unfit +for publication. + +She sat down on the sofa, and leaned back, looking at him with her +pretty, weary, dreary, young, blue eyes. + +'It seems such a long time since I saw you,' said Vincy. 'You're tired; +I wish I had a lift.' + +'I am tired,' she spoke in rather a hoarse voice always. 'And I ought +not to stop long.' + +'Oh, stay a minute longer, won't you?' he asked. + +'Well, I like that! I've only just this moment arrived!' + +'Oh, Mavis, don't say that! Have some tea.' + +He waited on her till she looked brighter. + +'How is Aunt Jessie?' + +'Aunt Jessie's been rather ill.' + +'Still that nasty pain?' asked Vincy. + +She stared at him, then laughed. + +'As if you remember anything about it.' + +'Oh, Mavis! I do remember it. I remember what was the matter with her +quite well.' + +'I bet you don't. What was it?' she asked, with childish eagerness. + +'It was that wind round the heart that she gets sometimes. She told me +about it. Nothing seems to shift it, either.' + +Mavis laughed--hoarse, childlike laughter that brought tears to her +eyes. + +'It's a shame to make fun of Aunt Jessie; she's a very, very good +sort.' + +'Oh, good gracious, Mavis, if it comes to sorts, I'm sure she's quite +at the top of the tree. But don't let's bother about her now.' + +'What _do_ you want to bother about?' + +'Couldn't you come out and dine with me, Mavis? It would be a +change'--he was going to say 'for you', but altered it--'for me.' + +'Oh no, Vincy; you can't take me out to dinner. I don't look up to the +mark.' She looked in a glass. 'My hat--it's a very good hat--it cost +more than you'd think--but it shows signs of wear.' + +'Oh, that reminds me,' began Vincy. 'What _do_ you think happened the +other day? A cousin of mine who was up in London a little while bought +a hat--it didn't suit her, and she insisted on giving it to me! She +didn't know what to do to get rid of it! I'd given her something or +other, for her birthday, and _she_ declared she would give this to _me_ +for _my_ birthday, and so--I've got it on my hands.' + +'What a very queer thing! It doesn't sound true.' + +'No; does it? Do have some more tea, Mavis darling.' + +'No, thanks; I'll have another cake.' + +'May I smoke?' + +She laughed. 'Asking _me_! You do what you like in your own house.' + +'It's yours,' he answered, 'when you're here. And when you're not, even +more,' he added as an afterthought. + +He struck a match; she laughed and said: 'I don't believe I understand +you a bit.' + +'Oh--I went to the play last night,' said Vincy. 'Oh, Mavis, it was +such a wearing play.' + +'All about nothing, I suppose? They always are, now.' + +'Oh no. It was all about everything. The people were _so_ clever; it +was something cruel how clever they were. One man _did_ lay down the +law! Oh, didn't he though! I don't hold with being bullied and lectured +from the stage, do you, Mavis? It seems so unfair when you can't answer +back.' + +'Was it Bernard Shaw?' she asked. + +'No; it wasn't; not this time; it was someone else. Oh, I do feel +sometimes when I'm sitting in my stall, so good and quiet, holding my +programme nicely and sitting up straight to the table, as it were, and +then a fellow lets me have it, tells me where I'm wrong and all that; I +_should_ like to stand up and give a back answer, wouldn't you?' + +'No; I'd like to see _you_ do it! Er--what colour is that hat that your +cousin gave you?' + +'Oh, colour?' he said thoughtfully, smoking. 'Let me see--what colour +was it? It doesn't seem to me that it was any particular colour. It was +a very curious colour. Sort of mole-colour. Or was it cerise? Or +violet?... You wouldn't like to see it, would you?' + +'Why, yes, I'd like to see it; I wouldn't try it on of course.' + +He opened the box. + +'Why, what a jolly hat!' she exclaimed. 'You may not know it, but that +would just suit me; it would go with my dress, too.' + +'Fancy.' + +She took off her own hat, and touched up her hair with her fingers, and +tried on the other. Under it her eyes brightened in front of the glass; +her colour rose; she changed as one looked at her--she was sixteen +again--the child he had first met at the Art School. + +'Don't you think it suits me?' she said, turning round. + +'Yes, I think you look very charming in it. Shall I put it back?' + +There was a pause. + +'I sha'n't know what on earth to do with it,' he said discontentedly. +'It's so silly having a hat about in a place like this. Of course you +wouldn't dare to keep it, I suppose? It does suit you all right, you +know; it would be awfully kind of you.' + +'What a funny person you are, Vincy. I _should_ like to keep it. What +could I tell Aunt Jessie?' + +'Ah, well, you see, that's where it is! I suppose it wouldn't do for +you to tell her the truth.' + +'What do you mean by the truth?' + +'I mean what I told you--how my cousin, Cissie Cavanack,' he smiled a +little as he invented this name, 'came up to town, chose the wrong hat, +didn't know what to do with it--and, you know!' + +'I could tell her all that, of course.' + +'All right,' said Vincy, putting the other hat--the old one--in the +box.' Where shall we dine?' + +'Oh, Vincy, I think you're very sweet to me, but how late dare I get +back to Ravenscourt Park?' + +'Why not miss the eight-five train?--then you'll catch the quarter to +ten and get back at about eleven.' + +'Which would you _rather_ I did?' + +'Well, need you ask?' + +'I don't know, Vincy. I have a curious feeling sometimes. I believe +you're rather glad when I've gone--relieved!' + +'Well, my dear,' he answered, 'look how you worry all the time! If +you'd only have what I call a quiet set-down and a chat, without being +always on the fidget, always looking either at the glass or at the +clock, one might _not_ have that feeling.' + +Her colour rose, and tears came to her eyes. 'Oh, then you _are_ glad +when I'm gone!' She pouted. 'You don't care for me a bit, Vincy,' she +said, in a plaintive voice. + +He sat down next to her on the little striped sofa, and took her hand. + +'Oh, give over, Mavis, do give over! I wish you wouldn't carry on like +that; you do carry on, Mavis dear, don't you? Some days you go on +something cruel, you do really. Reely, I mean. Now, cheer up and be +jolly. Give a kiss to the pretty gentleman, and look at all these +pretty good-conduct stripes on the sofa! There! That's better.' + +'Don't speak as if I were a baby!' + +'Do you mind telling me what we're quarrelling about, my dear? I only +ask for information.' + +'Oh, we're _not_. You're awfully sweet. You know I love you, Vincy.' + +'I thought, perhaps, it was really all right.' + +'Sometimes I feel miserable and jealous.' + +He smiled. 'Ah! What are you jealous of, Mavis?' + +'Oh, everything--everyone--all the people you meet.' + +'Is that all? Well, you're the only person I ever meet--by appointment, +at any rate.' + +'Well--the Ottleys!' + +His eye instinctively travelled to a photograph of Edith, all tulle and +roses; a rather fascinating portrait. + +'What about _her_?' asked Mavis. 'What price Mrs Ottley?' + +'Really, Mavis!--What price? No price. Nothing about her; she's just a +great friend of mine. I think I told you that before. ... What a +frightfully bright light there is in the room,' Vincy said. He got up +and drew the blind down. He came back to her. + +'Your hair's coming down,' he remarked. + +'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But at the back it generally is.' + +'Don't move--let me do it.' + +Pretending to arrange it, he took all the hairpins out, and the cloud +of dark red hair fell down on her shoulders. + +'I like your hair, Mavis.' + + * * * * * + +'It seems too awful I should have been with you such a long time this +afternoon,' she exclaimed. + +'It _isn't_ long.' + +'And sometimes it seems so dreadful to think I can't be with you +always.' + +'Yes, doesn't it? Mavis dear, will you do up your hair and come out to +dinner?' + +'Vincy dear, I think I'd better not, because of Aunt Jessie.' + +'Oh, very well; all right. Then you will another time?' + +'Oh, you don't want me to stay?' + +'Yes, I do; do stay.' + +'No, next time--next Tuesday.' + +'Very well, very well.' + +He took a dark red carnation out of one of the vases and pinned it on +to her coat. + +'The next time I see you,' she said, 'I want to have a long, _long_ +talk.' + +'Oh yes; we must, mustn't we?' + +He took her downstairs, put her into a cab. It was half-past six. + +He felt something false, worrying, unreliable and incalculable in +Mavis. She didn't seem real.... He wished she were fortunate and happy; +but he wished even more that he were never going to see her again. And +still!... + +He walked a little way, then got into a taxi and drove to see Edith. +When he was in this peculiar condition of mind--the odd mixture of +self-reproach, satisfaction, amusement and boredom that he felt now +--he always went to see Edith, throwing himself into the little affairs +of her life as if he had nothing else on his mind. He was a little +anxious about Edith. It seemed to him that since Aylmer had been away +she had altered a little. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +More of the Mitchells + +Edith had become an immense favourite with the Mitchells. They hardly +ever had any entertainment without her. Her success with their friends +delighted Mrs Mitchell, who was not capable of commonplace feminine +jealousy, and who regarded Edith as a find of her own. She often +reproached Winthrop, her husband, for having known Bruce eight years +without discovering his charming wife. + +One evening they had a particularly gay party. Immediately after dinner +Mitchell had insisted on dressing up, and was solemnly announced in his +own house as Prince Gonoff, a Russian noble. He had a mania for +disguising himself. He had once travelled five hundred miles under the +name of Prince Gotoffski, in a fur coat, a foreign accent, a false +moustache and a special saloon carriage. Indeed, only his wife knew all +the secrets of Mitchell's wild early career of unpractical jokes, to +some of which he still clung. When he was younger he had carried it +pretty far. She encouraged him, yet at the same time she acted as +ballast, and was always explaining his jokes; sometimes she was in +danger of explaining him entirely away. She loved to tell of his +earlier exploits. How often, when younger, he had collected money for +charities (particularly for the Deaf and Dumb Cats' League, in which he +took special interest), by painting halves of salmon and ships on fire +on the cold grey pavement! Armed with an accordion, and masked to the +eyes, he had appeared at Eastbourne, and also at the Henley Regatta, as +a Mysterious Musician. At the regatta he had been warned off the +course, to his great pride and joy. Mrs Mitchell assured Edith that his +bath-chair race with a few choice spirits was still talked of at St +Leonard's (bath-chairmen, of course, are put in the chairs, and you +pull them along). Mr Mitchell was beaten by a short head, but that, Mrs +Mitchell declared, was really most unfair, because he was so +handicapped--his man was much stouter than any of the others--and the +race, by rights, should have been run again. + +When he was at Oxford he had been well known for concealing under a +slightly rowdy exterior the highest spirits of any of the +undergraduates. He was looked upon as the most fascinating of +_farceurs_. It seems that he had distinguished himself there less for +writing Greek verse, though he was good at it, than for the wonderful +variety of fireworks that he persistently used to let off under the +dean's window. It was this fancy of his that led, first, to his +popularity, and afterwards to the unfortunate episode of his being sent +down; soon after which he had married privately, chiefly in order to +send his parents an announcement of his wedding in _The Morning Post_, +as a surprise. + +Some people had come in after dinner--for there was going to be a +little _sauterie intime_, as Mrs Mitchell called it, speaking in an +accent of her own, so appalling that, as Vincy observed, it made it +sound quite improper. Edith watched, intensely amused, as she saw that +there were really one or two people present who, never having seen +Mitchell before, naturally did not recognise him now, so that the +disguise was considered a triumph. There was something truly agreeable +in the deference he was showing to a peculiarly yellow lady in red, +adorned with ugly real lace, and beautiful false hair. She was +obviously delighted with the Russian prince. + +'Winthrop is a wonderful man!' said Mrs Mitchell to Edith, as she +watched her husband proudly. 'Who would dream he was clean-shaven! Look +at that moustache! Look at the wonderful way his coat doesn't fit; he's +got just that Russian touch with his clothes; I don't know how he's +done it, I'm sure. How I wish dear Aylmer Ross was here; he _would_ +appreciate it so much.' + +'Yes, I wish he were,' said Edith. + +'I can't think what he went away for. I suppose he heard the East +a-calling, and all that sort of thing. The old wandering craving you +read of came over him again, I suppose. Well, let's hope he'll meet +some charming girl and bring her back as his bride. Where is he now, do +you know, Mrs Ottley?' + +'In Armenia, I fancy,' said Edith. + +'Oh, well, we don't want him to bring home an Armenian, do we? What +colour are they? Blue, or brown, or what? I hope no-one will tell Lady +Hartland that is my husband. She'll expect to see Winthrop tonight; she +never met him, you know; but he really ought to be introduced to her. I +think I shall tell him to go and undress, when they've had a little +dancing and she's been down to supper.' + +Lady Hartland was the yellow lady in red, who thought she was flirting +with a fascinating Slav. + +'She's a sort of celebrity,' continued Mrs Mitchell. 'She was an +American once, and she married Sir Charles Hartland for her money. I +hate these interested marriages, don't you?--especially when they're +international. Sir Charles isn't here; he's such a sweet boy. He's a +friend of Mr Cricker; it's through Mr Cricker I know them, really. Lady +Everard has taken _such_ a fancy to young Cricker; she won't leave him +alone. After all he's _my_ friend, and as he's not musical I don't see +that she has any special right to him; but he's there every Wednesday +now, and does his dances on their Sunday evenings too. He's got a new +one--lovely, quite lovely--an imitation of Lydia Kyasht as a +water-nymph. I wanted him to do it here tonight, but Lady Everard has +taken him to the opera. Now, won't you dance? Your husband promised he +would. You both look so young!' + +Edith refused to dance. She sat in a corner with Vincy and watched the +dancers. + +By special permission, as it was so _intime_, the Turkey Trot was +allowed. Bruce wanted to attempt it with Myra Mooney, but she was +horrified, and insisted on dancing the 1880 _trois-temps_ to a jerky +American two-step. + +'Edith,' said Vincy; 'I think you're quieter than you used to be. +Sometimes you seem rather absent-minded.' + +'Am I? I'm sorry; there's nothing so tedious to other people. Why do +you think I'm more serious?' + +'I think you miss Aylmer.' + +'Yes, I do. He gave a sort of meaning to everything. He's always +interesting. And there's something about him--I don't know what it is. +Oh, don't be frightened, Vincy, I'm not going to use the word +personality. Isn't that one of the words that ought to be forbidden +altogether? In all novels and newspapers that poor, tired word is +always cropping up.' + +'Yes, that and magnetism, and temperament, and technique. Let's cut out +technique altogether. Don't let there be any, that's the best way; then +no-one can say anything about it. I'm fed up with it. Aren't you?' + +'Oh, I don't agree with you at all. I think there ought to be any +amount of technique, and personality, and magnetism, and temperament. I +don't mind _how_ much technique there is, as long as nobody talks about +it. But neither of these expressions is quite so bad as that dreadful +thing you always find in American books, and that lots of people have +caught up--especially palmists and manicures--mentality.' + +'Yes, mentality's very depressing,' said Vincy. 'I could get along +nicely without it, I think.... I had a long letter from Aylmer today. +He seemed unhappy.' + +'I had a few lines yesterday,' said Edith. 'He said he was having a +very good time. What did he say to you?' + +'Oh, he wrote, frankly to _me_.' + +'Bored, is he?' + +'Miserable; enamoured of sorrow; got the hump; frightfully off colour; +wants to come back to London. He misses the Mitchells. I suppose it's +the Mitchells.' + +Edith smiled and looked pleased. 'He asked me not to come here much.' + +'Ah! But he wouldn't want you to go anywhere. That is so like Aylmer. +He's not jealous; of course. How could he be? It's only a little +exclusiveness.... And how delightfully rare that is, Edith dear. I +admire him for it. Most people now seem to treasure anything they value +in proportion to the extent that it's followed about and surrounded by +the vulgar public. I sympathise with that feeling of wishing to +keep--anything of that sort--to oneself.' + +'You are more secretive than jealous, yourself. But I have very much +the same feeling,' Edith said. 'Many women I know think the ideal of +happiness is to be in love with a great man, or to be the wife of a +great public success; to share his triumph! They forget you share the +man as well!' + +'I suppose the idea is that, after the publicity and the acclamation +and the fame and the public glory and the shouting, you take the person +home, and feel he is only yours, really.' + +'But, can a famous person be only yours? No. I shouldn't like it. + +It isn't that I don't _like_ cleverness and brilliance, but I don't +care for the public glory.' + +'I see; you don't mind how great a genius he is, as long as he isn't +appreciated,' replied Vincy. 'Well, then, in heaven's name let us stick +to our obscurities!' + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +The Agonies of Aylmer + +In the fresh cheerfulness of the early morning, after sleep, with the +hot June sun shining in at the window, Aylmer used to think he was +better. He would read his letters and papers, dress slowly, look out of +the window at the crowds on the pavement--he had come back to +Paris--feel the infectious cheeriness and sense of adventure of the +city; then he would say to himself that his trip had been successful. +He _was_ better. When he went out his heart began to sink a little +already, but he fought it off; there would be a glimpse of an English +face flashing past in a carriage--he thought of Edith, but he put it +aside. Then came lunch. For some reason, immediately after lunch his +malady--for, of course, such love is a malady--incongruously attacked +him in an acute form. 'Why after lunch?' he asked himself. Could it be +that only when he was absolutely rested, before he had had any sort of +fatigue, that the deceptive improvement would show itself? He felt a +wondering humiliation at his own narrow grief. + +However, this was the hour that it recurred; he didn't know why. He had +tried all sorts of physical cures--for there is no disguising the fact +that such suffering is physical, and so why should the cure not be, +also? He had tried wine, no wine, exercise, distraction, +everything--and especially a constant change of scene. This last was +the worst of all. He felt so exiled in Sicily, and in Spain--so +terribly far away--it was unbearable. He was happier directly he got +to Paris, because he seemed more in touch with England and her. Yes; +the pain had begun again.... + +Aylmer went and sat alone outside the cafe. It was not his nature to +dwell on his own sensations. He would diagnose them quickly and +acutely, and then throw them aside. He was quickly bored with himself; +he was no egotist. But today, he thought, he _would_ analyse his state, +to see what could be done. + +Six weeks! He had not seen her for six weeks. The longing was no +better. The pain seemed to begin at his throat, pressing down gradually +on the chest It was that feeling of oppression, he supposed, that makes +one sigh; as though there were a weight on the heart. And certain +little memories made it acute; sudden flashing vivid recollection of +that last drive was like a sharp jagged tear. Had they ever been on +nearer terms, and had she treated him badly, it would not have caused +this slow and insidious suffering. He was a man of spirit; he was proud +and energetic; he would have thrown it off. If he could have been angry +with her, or despised her, he could have cured himself in time. Instead +of that, all the recollections were of an almost sickening sweetness; +particularly that kiss on the day he went to see her. And the other, +the _second_, was also the last; so it had a greater bitterness. + + 'Rapture sharper than a sword, + Joy like o sudden spear.' + +These words, casually read somewhere, came back to him whenever he +remembered her! + +Aylmer had read, heard of these obsessions, but never believed in them. +It was folly, madness! + +He stood up, tossing his head as though to throw it off. + +He went to fetch some friends, went with them to see pictures, to have +tea, and to drive in the Bois, accepting also an invitation to dine +with a man--a nice boy--a fellow who had been at Oxford with him, and +was at the embassy here, a young attache. + +He was quite nice: a little dull, and a little too fond of talking +about his chief. + +Aylmer got home at about half-past six to dress for dinner. Then the +torture began again. It was always worse towards evening--an agony of +longing, regret, fury, vague jealousy and desire. + +He stood and looked out of the window again at the crowd, hurrying +along now to their pleasures or their happy homes. So many people in +the world, like stars in the sky--why want the one star only? Why cry +for the moon? + +He had no photograph of her, but he still thought she was like his +mother's miniature, and often looked at it. He wished he wasn't going +to dine with that young man tonight. Aylmer was the most genial and +sociable of men; he usually disliked being alone; yet just now being +with people bored him; it seemed an interruption. He was going through +a crisis. + +Yes; he could not stand anyone this evening. He rang the bell and sent +a _petit bleu_ to say he was prevented from dining with his friend. +What a relief when he had sent this--now he could think of her alone +in peace.... + +She had never asked him to go away. It was his own idea. He had come +away to get over it. Well, he hadn't got over it. He was worse. But it +wasn't because he didn't see her; no, he didn't deceive himself. The +more he saw of her the worse he would be. Not one man in a thousand was +capable of feeling so intensely and deeply as Aylmer felt, and never in +his life before had he felt anything like it. And now it came on again +with the ebb and flow of passion, like an illness. Why was he so +miserable--why would nothing else do? He suddenly remembered with a +smile that when he was five years old he had adored a certain nurse, +and for some reason or other his mother sent her away. He had cried and +cried for her to come back. He remembered even now how people had said: +'Oh, the child will soon forget.' But he wore out their patience; he +cried himself to sleep every night. And his perseverance had at last +been rewarded. After six weeks the nurse came back. His mother sent for +her in despair at the boy's misery. How well he remembered that evening +and her plain brown face, with the twinkling eyes. How he kissed his +mother, and thanked her! The nurse stayed till he went to school and +then he soon forgot all about her. Perhaps it was in his nature at rare +intervals to want one particular person so terribly, to pine and die +for someone! + +That was a recollection of babyhood, and yet he remembered even now +that obstinate, aching longing.... He suddenly felt angry, furious. +What was Edith doing now? Saying good-night to Archie and Dilly? They +certainly did look, as she had said, heavenly angels in their night +attire (he had been privileged to see them). Then she was dressing for +dinner and going out with Bruce. Good heavens! what noble action had +Bruce ever done for _him_ that he should go away? Why make such a +sacrifice--for Bruce? + +Perhaps, sometimes, she really missed him a little. They had had great +fun together; she looked upon him as a friend; not only that, but he +knew that he amused her, that she liked him, thought him clever, +and--admired him even. + +But that was all. Yet she _could_ have cared for him. He knew that. And +not only in one way, but in every way. They could have been comrades +interested in the same things; they had the same sense of humour, much +the same point of view. She would have made him, probably, +self-restrained and patient as she was, in certain things. But, in +others, wouldn't he have fired her with his own ideas and feelings, and +violent passions and enthusiasms! + +She was to be always with Bruce! That was to be her life!--Bruce, who +was almost indescribable because he was neither bad, nor stupid, nor +bad-looking. He had only one fault. _'Il n'a qu'un defaut--il est +impossible,'_ said Aylmer aloud to himself. + +He took up a book--of course one of _her_ books, something she had lent +him. + + * * * * * + +Now it was time to go out again--to dinner. He couldn't; it was too +much effort. Tonight he would give way, and suffer grief and desire and +longing like a physical pain. He hadn't heard from her lately. Suppose +she should be ill? Suppose she was forgetting him entirely? Soon they +would be going away to some summer place with the children. He stamped +his foot like an angry child as he imagined her in her thin summer +clothes. How people would admire her! How young she would look! Why +couldn't he find some fault with her?--imagine her cold, priggish, +dull, too cautious. But he could only think of her as lovely, as beyond +expression attractive, drawing him like a magnet, as marvellously kind, +gentle, graceful, and clever. He was obliged to use the stupid word +clever, as there was no other. He suddenly remembered her teeth when +she smiled, and a certain slight wave in her thick hair that was a +natural one. It is really barely decent to write about poor Aylmer as +he is alone, suffering, thinking himself unwatched. He suddenly threw +himself on his bed and gave way to a crisis of despair. + + * * * * * + +About an hour later, when the pain had somehow become stupefied, he lit +a cigarette, ashamed of his emotion even to himself, and rang. The +servant brought him a letter--the English post. + +He had thought so much of her, felt her so deeply the last few days +that he fancied it must somehow have reached her. He read: + +'My Dear Aylmer, + +'I'm glad you are in Paris; it seems nearer home. Last night I went to +the Mitchells' and Mr Mitchell disguised himself as a Russian Count. +Nobody worried about it, and then he went and undisguised himself +again. But Lady Hartland worried about it, and as she didn't know the +Mitchells before, when he was introduced to her properly she begged him +to give her the address of that charming Russian. And Vincy was there, +and darling Vincy told me you'd written him a letter saying you weren't +so very happy. And oh, Aylmer, I don't see the point of your waiting +till September to come back. Why don't you come _now_? + +'We're going away for Archie's holidays. Come back and see us and take +Freddie with us somewhere in England. You told me to ask you when I +wanted you--ask you anything I wanted. Well, I want to see you. I miss +you too much. You arrived in Paris last night. Let me knew when you can +come. I want you. + +Edith.' + +The bell was rung violently. Orders were given, arrangements made, +packing was done. Aylmer was suddenly quite well, quite happy. + +In a few hours he was in the midnight express due to arrive in London +at six in the morning--happy beyond expression. + +By ten o'clock in the morning he would hear her voice on the telephone. + +He met a poor man just outside the hotel selling matches, in rags. +Aylmer gave him three hundred francs. He pretended to himself that he +didn't want any more French money. He felt he wanted someone else to be +happy too. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +A Contretemps + +Edith did not know, herself, what had induced her to write that letter +to Paris. Some gradual obscure influence, in an impulsive moment of +weakness, a conventional dread of Paris for one's idol. Then, what +Vincy told her had convinced her Aylmer was unhappy. She thought that +surely there might be some compromise; that matters could be adjusted. +Couldn't they go on seeing each other just as friends? Surely both +would be happier than separated? For, yes--there was no doubt she +missed him, and longed to see him. Is there any woman in the world on +whom a sincere declaration from a charming, interesting person doesn't +make an impression, and particularly if that person goes away +practically the next day, leaving a blank? Edith had a high opinion of +her own strength of will. When she appeared weak it was on some subject +about which she was indifferent. She took a great pride in her own +self-poise; her self-control, which was neither coldness nor density. +She had made up her mind to bear always with the little irritations +Bruce caused her; to guide him in the right direction; keep her +influence with him in order to be able to arrange everything about the +children just as she wished. The children were a deep and intense +preoccupation. To say she adored them is insufficient. Archie she +regarded almost as her greatest friend, Dilly as a pet; for both she +had the strongest feeling that a mother could have. And yet the fact +remained that they did not nearly fill her life. With Edith's intellect +and temperament they could only fill a part. + +Bending down to a lower stature of intelligence all day long would make +one's head ache; standing on tiptoe and stretching up would do the +same; one needs a contemporary and a comrade. + +Perhaps till Edith met Aylmer she had not quite realised what such real +comradeship might mean, coupled with another feeling--not the +intellectual sympathy she had for Vincy, but something quite different. +When she recollected their last drive her heart beat quickly, and the +little memories of the few weeks of their friend-ship gave her +unwonted moments of sentiment. Above all, it was a real, solid +happiness--an uplifting pleasure, to believe he was utterly devoted to +her. And so, in a moment of depression, a feeling of the sense of the +futility of her life, she had, perhaps a little wantonly, written to +ask him to come back. It is human to play with what one loves. + +She thought she had a soft, tender admiration for him, that he had a +charm for her; that she admired him. But she had not the slightest idea +that on her side there was anything that could disturb her in any way. +And so that his sentiment, which she had found to be rather infectious, +should never carry her away, she meant only to see him now and then; to +meet again and be friends. + +As soon as she had written the letter and sent it she felt again a +cheerful excitement. She felt sure he would come in a day or two. + +Aylmer arrived, as I have said, eight hours after he received the +letter. His first intention was to ring her up, or to speak to Bruce on +the telephone. But it so happened that it was engaged. This decided him +to have a short rest, and then go and surprise her with a visit. He +thought he would have lunch at one (he knew she always lunched with the +children at this hour), and would call on her unexpectedly at two, +before she would have time to go out. They might have a long talk; he +would give her the books and things he had bought for her, and he would +have the pleasure of surprising her and seeing on her face that first +look that no-one can disguise, the look of real welcome. + +Merely to be back in the same town made him nearly wild with joy. How +jolly London looked at the beginning of July! So gay, so full of life. +And then he read a letter in a writing he didn't know; it was from +Mavis Argles, the friend of Vincy--the young art-student: Vincy had +given her his address some time ago--asking him for some special +privilege which he possessed, to see some of the Chinese pictures in +the British Museum. He was to oblige her with a letter to the museum. +She would call for it. Vincy was away, and evidently she had by +accident chosen the day of Aylmer's return without knowing anything of +his absence. She had never seen him in her life. + +Aylmer was wandering about the half-dismantled house _desoeuvre_, with +nothing to do, restlessly counting the minutes till two in the +afternoon. He remembered the very little that Vincy had told him of +Mavis; how proud she was and how hard up. He saw her through the +window. She looked pale and rather shabby. He told the servant to show +her in. + +'I've just this moment got your letter, Miss Argles. But, of course, +I'm only too delighted.' + +'Thank you. Mr Vincy said you'd give me the letter.' + +The girl sat down stiffly on the edge of a chair. Vincy had said she +was pretty. Aylmer could not see it. But he felt brimming over with +sympathy and kindness for her--for everyone, in fact. + +She wore a thin light grey cotton dress, and a small grey hat; her hair +looked rich, red, and fluffy as ever; her face white and rather thin. +She looked about seventeen. When she smiled she was pretty; she had a +Rossetti mouth; that must have been what Vincy admired. Aylmer had no +idea that Vincy did more than admire her very mildly. + +'Won't you let me take you there?' suggested Aylmer suddenly. He had +nothing on earth to do, and thought it would fill up the time. 'Yes! +I'll drive you there and show you the pictures. And then, wouldn't you +come and have lunch? I've got an appointment at two.' + +She firmly declined lunch, but consented that he should drive her, and +they went. + +Aylmer talked with the eagerness produced by his restless excitement +and she listened with interest, somewhat fascinated, as people always +were, with his warmth and vitality. + +As they were driving along Oxford Street Edith, walking with Archie, +saw them clearly. She had been taking him on some mission of clothes. +(For the children only she went into shops.) He was talking with such +animation that he did not see her, to a pale young girl with bright red +hair. Edith knew the girl by sight, knew perfectly well that she was +Vincy's friend--there was a photograph of her at his rooms. Aylmer did +not see her. After a start she kept it to herself. She walked a few +steps, then got into a cab. She felt ill. + +So Aylmer had never got her letter? He had been in London without +telling her. He had forgotten her. Perhaps he was deceiving her? And he +was making love obviously to that sickening, irritating red-haired fool +(so Edith thought of her), Vincy's silly, affected art-student. + +When Edith went home she had a bad quarter of an hour. She never even +asked herself what right she had to mind so much; she only knew it +hurt. A messenger boy at once, of course. + +'Dear Mr Ross, + +I saw you this morning. I wrote you a line to Paris, not knowing you +had returned. When you get the note forwarded, will you do me the +little favour to tear it up unopened? I'm sure you will do this to +please me. + +'We are going away in a day or two, but I don't know where. Please +don't trouble to come and see me. + +'Good-bye. + +'EDITH OTTLEY.' + +Aylmer left Miss Argles at the British Museum. When he went back, he +found this letter. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +An Extraordinary Afternoon + +Aylmer guessed at once she had seen him driving. Being a man of sense, +and not an impossible hero in a feuilleton, instead of going away again +and leaving the misunderstanding to ripen, he went to the telephone, +endeavoured to get on, and to explain, in few words, what had obviously +happened. To follow the explanation by an immediate visit was his plan. +Though, of course, slightly irritated that she had seen him under +circumstances conveying a false impression, on the other hand he was +delighted at the pique her letter showed, especially coming immediately +after the almost tender letter in Paris. + +He rang and rang (and used language), and after much difficulty getting +an answer he asked, '_Why he could not get on_' a pathetic question +asked plaintively by many people (not only on the telephone). + +'The line is out of order.' + +In about twenty minutes he was at her door. The lift seemed to him +preternaturally slow. + +'Mrs Ottley?' + +'Mrs Ottley is not at home, sir.' + +At his blank expression the servant, who knew him, and of course liked +him, as they always did, offered the further information that Mrs +Ottley had gone out for the whole afternoon. + +'Are the children at home, or out with Miss Townsend?' + +'The children are out, sir, but not with Miss Townsend. They are +spending the day with their grandmother.' + +'Oh! Do you happen to know if Mr and Mrs Ottley will be at home to +dinner?' + +'I've heard nothing to the contrary, sir.' + +'May I come in and write a note?' + +He went into the little drawing-room. It was intensely associated with +her. He felt a little emu.... There was the writing-table, there the +bookcase, the few chairs, the grey walls; some pale roses fading in a +pewter vase.... The restfulness of the surroundings filled him, and +feeling happier he wrote on the grey notepaper: + +'DEAR MRS OTTLEY, + +I arrived early this morning. I started, in fact, from Paris +immediately after receiving a few lines you very kindly sent me there. +I'm so disappointed not to see you. Unless I hear to the contrary--and +even if I do, I think!--I propose to come round this evening about +nine, and tell you and Bruce all about my travels. + +'Excuse my country manners in thus inviting myself. But I know you will +say no if you don't want me. And in that case I shall have to come +another time, very soon, instead, as I really must see you and show you +something I've got for Archie. Yours always--' + +He paused, and then added: + +'Sincerely, + +'AYLMER ROSS' + +He went to his club, there to try and pass the time until the evening. +He meant to go in the evening, even if she put him off again; and, if +they were out, to wait until they returned, pretending he had not heard +from her again. + +He was no better. He had been away six weeks and was rather more in +love than ever. He would only see her--she _did_ want to see him before +they all separated for the summer! He could not think further than of +the immediate future; he would see her; they could make plans +afterwards. Of course, her letter was simply pique! She had given +herself away--twice--once in the angry letter, also in the previous +one to Paris. Where was she now? What did it mean? Why did she go out +for the whole afternoon? Where was she? + + * * * * * + +After Edith had written and sent her letter to Aylmer in the morning, +Mrs Ottley the elder came to fetch the children to dine, and Edith told +Miss Townsend to go for the afternoon. She was glad she would be +absolutely alone. + +'Aren't you very well, dear Mrs Ottley?' asked this young lady, in her +sweet, sympathetic way. + +Edith was fond of her, and, by implication only, occasionally confided +in her on other subjects than the children. Today, however, Edith +answered that she was _very_ well _indeed_, but was going to see about +things before they went away. 'I don't know how we shall manage without +you for the holidays, Miss Townsend. I think you had better come with +us for the first fortnight, if you don't mind much.' + +Miss Townsend said she would do whatever Edith liked. She could easily +arrange to go with them at once. This was a relief, for just at this +moment Edith felt as if even the children would be a burden. + +Sweet, gentle Miss Townsend went away. She was dressed rather like +herself, Edith observed; she imitated Edith. She had the soft, graceful +manner and sweet voice of her employer. She was slim and had a pretty +figure, but was entirely without Edith's charm or beauty. Vaguely Edith +wondered if she would ever have a love affair, ever marry. She hoped +so, but (selfishly) not till Archie went to Eton. + +Then she found herself looking at her lonely lunch; she tried to eat, +gave it up, asked for a cup of tea. + +At last, she could bear the flat no longer. It was a glorious day, very +hot, Edith felt peculiar. She thought that if she spent all the +afternoon out and alone, it would comfort her, and she would think it +out. Trees and sky and sun had always a soothing effect on her. She +went out, walked a little, felt worried by the crowd of shoppers +swarming to Sloane Street and the Brompton Road, got into a taxi and +drove to the gate of Kensington Gardens, opposite Kensington Gore. Here +she soon found a seat. At this time of the day the gardens were rather +unoccupied, and in the burning July afternoon she felt almost as if in +the country. She took off her gloves--a gesture habitual with her +whenever possible. She looked utterly restful. She had nothing in her +hands, for she never carried either a parasol or a bag, nor even in +winter a muff or in the evening a fan. All these little accessories +seemed unnecessary to her. She liked to simplify. She hated fuss, +anything worrying, agitating. + +... And now she felt deeply miserable, perturbed and agitated. What a +punishment for giving way to that half-coquettish, half self-indulgent +impulse that had made her write to Paris! She had begged him to come +back; while, really, he was here, and had not even let her know. She +had never liked what she had heard of Mavis Argles, but had vaguely +pitied her, wondering what Vincy saw in her, and wishing to believe the +best. Now, she assumed the worst! As soon as Vincy had gone out of +town--he was staying in Surrey with some of his relatives--she, the +minx, began flirting or carrying on with Aylmer. How far had it gone? +she wondered jealously. She did not believe Aylmer's love-making to be +harmless. He was so easily carried away. His feelings were impulsive. +Yet it was only a very short time since Vincy had told her of Aylmer's +miserable letter. Edith was not interested in herself, and seldom +thought much of her own feelings, but she hated self-deception; and now +she faced facts. She adored Aylmer! It had been purely jealousy that +made her write to Paris so touchingly, asking him to come back--vague +fears that, if he were so depressed in Spain, perhaps he might try by +amusements to forget her in Paris. He had once said to her that, of all +places, he thought Paris the least attractive for a romance, because it +was all so obvious, so prepared, so professional. He liked the +unexpected, the veiled and somewhat more hypocritical atmosphere, and +in the fogs of London, he had said, were more romantic mysteries than +in any other city. Still, she had feared. And besides she longed to see +him. So she had unbent and thought herself soon after somewhat +reckless; it was a little wanton and unfair to bring him back. But she +was not a saint; she was a woman; and sometimes Bruce was trying.... + +Edith belonged to the superior class of human being whom jealousy +chills and cures, and does not stimulate to further efforts. It was not +in her to go in for competition. The moment she believed someone else +took her place she relaxed her hold. This is the finer temperament, but +it suffers most. + +She would not try to take Aylmer away. Let him remain with his +red-haired Miss Argles! He might even marry her. He deserved it. + +She meant to tell Vincy, of course. Poor Vincy, _he_ didn't know of the +treachery. Now she must devote herself to the children, and be good and +kind to Bruce. At least, Bruce was _true_ to her in his way. + +He had been in love when they married, but Edith shrewdly suspected he +was not capable of very much more than a weak rather fatuous sentiment +for any woman. And anyone but herself would have lost him many years +ago, would very likely have given him up. But she had kept it all +together, had really helped him, and was touched when she remembered +that jealous scene he made about the letter. The letter she wouldn't at +first let him see. Poor Bruce! Well, they were linked together. There +were Archie, the angel, and Dilly, the pet.... She was twenty-eight and +Aylmer forty. He ought not to hold so strong a position in her mind. +But he did. Yes, she was in love with him in a way--it was a mania, an +obsession. But she would now soon wrestle with it and conquer it. The +great charm had been his exclusive devotion--but also his appearance, +his figure, his voice. He looked sunburnt and handsome. He was laughing +as he talked to the miserable creature (so Edith called her in her own +mind). + +Then Edith had a reaction. She would cure herself today! No more +flirtation, no more amitie amoureuse. They were going away. The +children, darlings, how they loved her! And Bruce. She was reminding +herself she must be gentle, good, to Bruce. He had at least never +deceived her! + +She got up and walked on and on. It was about five o'clock now. As she +walked, she thought how fortunate she was in Miss Townsend; what a nice +girl she was, what a good friend to her and the children. She had a +sort of intuition that made her always have the right word, the right +manner. She had seemed a little odd lately, but she was quite pleased +to come with them to the country. What made her think of Miss Townsend? +Some way off was a girl, with her back to Edith, walking with a man. +Her figure was like Miss Townsend's, and she wore a dress like the one +copied from Edith's. Edith walked more quickly, it was the retired part +of the gardens on the way towards the Bayswater Road. The two figures +turned down a flowery path.... It was Miss Townsend! She had turned her +face. Edith was surprised, was interested, and walked on a few steps. +She had not seen the man clearly. Then they both sat down on a seat. He +took her hand. She left it in his. There was something familiar in his +figure and clothes, and Edith saw his face. + +Yes, it was Bruce. + +Edith turned round and went home. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +Journeys End + +So that was how Bruce behaved to her! + +The deceit of both of them hurt her immensely. But she pulled herself +together. It was a case for action. She felt a bitter, amused contempt, +but she felt it half-urgent _not_ to do anything that would lead to a +life of miserable bickering and mutual harm. + +It must be stopped. And without making Bruce hate her. + +She wrote the second note of this strange day and sent it by a +messenger. + +Giving no reason of any kind, she told the governess that she had +decided the children's holidays should begin from that day, and that +she was unexpectedly going away with them almost immediately, and she +added that she would not require Miss Townsend any more. She enclosed a +cheque, and said she would send on some books and small possessions +that Miss Townsend had kept there. + +This was sent by a messenger to Miss Townsend's home near Westbourne +Grove. She would find it on her return from her walk! + +And now Edith read Aylmer's note--it was so real, so sincere, she began +to disbelieve her eyes this morning. + +It gave her more courage; she wanted to be absolutely calm, and looking +her very best, for Bruce's entrance. + +He came in with his key. He avoided her eye a little--looked rather +sheepish, she thought. It was about seven. + +'Hallo! Aren't the children in yet? Far too late for them to be out.' +'Nurse fetched Dilly. She has gone to bed. Archie is coming presently; +mother will send him all right.' + +'How are you, Edith, old girl?' + +'I'm quite well, Bruce.' + +'I have a sort of idea, as you know,' he said, growing more at ease, +'that we shall rather miss--a--Miss Townsend, when we first go away. +What do you think of taking her for part of the time?' 'Dinner's +ready,' announced Edith, and they dined. Towards the end of dinner he +was about to make the suggestion again, when Edith said in clear, calm +but decided tones: + +'Bruce, I am not going to take Miss Townsend away with us. She is not +coming any more.' + +'Not--Why? What the devil's the idea of this new scheme? What's the +matter with Miss Townsend?' + +'Bruce,' answered Edith, 'I prefer not to go into the question, and +later you will be glad I did not. I've decided that Miss Townsend is +not to come any more at all. I've written to tell her so. I'll look +after the children with nurse until we come back.... It's all settled.' + +Bruce was silent. + +'Well upon my word!' he exclaimed, looking at her uneasily. 'Have it +your own way, of course--but upon my word! Why?' + +'Do you really want me to tell you exactly why? I would so much prefer +not.' + +'Oh, all right, Edith dear; after all--hang it all--you're the +children's mother--it's for you to settle.... No, I don't want to know +anything. Have it as you wish.' + +'Then we won't discuss it again. Shall we?' + +'All right.' + +He was looking really rather shamefaced, and she thought she saw a +gleam of remorse and also of relief in his eye. She went into the other +room. She had not shown him Aylmer's letter. + +After ten minutes he came in and said: 'Look here, Edith. Make what +arrangements you like. _I_ never want to see--Miss Townsend again.' + +She looked a question. + +'And I never shall.' + +She was really pleased at this, and held out her hand. Bruce had tears +in his eyes as he took it. 'Edith, old girl, I think I'll go round to +the club for an hour or two.' + +'Do. And look here, Bruce, leave it to me to tell the children. They'll +forget after the holidays. Archie must not be upset.' + +'Whatever you do, Edith, will be--what I mean to say is that--Well, +good night; I sha'n't be long.' + +Edith was really delighted, she felt she had won, and she _did_ want +that horrid little Townsend to be scored off! Wasn't it natural? She +wanted to hear no more about it. + +There was a ring. It was nine o'clock. It was Aylmer's voice. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +The Great Exception + +The absurdly simple explanation, made almost in dumb show, by action +rather than in dialogue, was soon given. He was surprised, simply +enchanted, at the entire frankness of her recognition; she acknowledged +openly that it mattered to her tremendously whether or not he was on +intimate terms or flirting with little Miss Argles, or with little Miss +anybody. He was not even to look at any woman except herself, that was +arranged between them now and understood. They were side by side, with +hands clasped as a matter of course, things taken for granted that he +formerly never dreamt of. The signs of emotion in her face he +attributed of course to the morning's contretemps, knowing nothing of +the other trouble. + +'It's heavenly being here again. You're prettier than ever, Edith; +sweeter than ever. What a time I had away. It got worse and worse.' + +'Dear Aylmer!' + +'You're far too good and kind to me. But I _have_ suffered--awfully.' + +'So have I, since this morning. I felt--' + +'What did you feel? Tell me!' + +'Must I?' + +'Yes!' + +'I felt, when I saw you with her, as if I hadn't got a friend in the +world. I felt quite alone. I felt as if the ground were going to open +and swallow me up. I relied on you so much, far more than I knew! I was +struck dumb, and rooted to the spot, and knocked all of a heap, in a +manner of speaking, as Vincy would say,' Edith went on, laughing. 'But +now, you've cured me thoroughly; you're such a _real_ person.' + +'Angel!' + +She still left her hand in his. Her eyes were very bright, the result +of few but salt tears, the corners of her mouth were lifted by a happy +smile, not the tantalising, half-mocking smile he used to see. She was +changed, and was, he thought, more lovable--prettier; today's emotion +had shaken her out of herself. The reaction of this evening gave a +brilliancy to her eyes, happy curves to her lips, and the slight +disarrangement of her hair, not quite silky-smooth tonight, gave her a +more irresponsible look. She seemed more careless--younger. + +'Where's Bruce?' Aylmer asked suddenly. + +'He's gone to the club. He'll be back rather soon, I should think.' + +'I won't wait. I would rather not meet him this evening. When shall I +see you again?' + +'Oh, I don't know. I don't think I want to make any plans now.' + +'As you wish. I say, do you really think Vincy can care for that girl?' + +'I believe he has had a very long friendship of some kind with her. +He's never told me actually, but I've felt it,' Edith said. + +'Is he in love with her? Can he be?' + +'In a way--in one of his peculiar ways.' + +'She's in love with him, I suppose,' said Aylmer. 'It was only because +she thought it would please him that she wanted to see those things at +the museum. I think she's a little anxious. I found her a wild, +irritating, unaccountable, empty creature. I believe she wants him to +marry her.' + +'I hope he won't, unless he _really_ wants to,' said Edith. 'It would +be a mistake for Vincy to sacrifice himself as much as that.' + +'I hope indeed he won't,' exclaimed Aylmer. 'And I think it's out of +the question. Miss Argles is only an incident, surely. She looks the +slightest of episodes.' + +'It's a very long episode. It might end, though--if she insists and he +won't.' + +'Oh, bother, never mind them!' Aylmer replied, with boyish impatience. +'Let me look at _you_ again. Do you care for me a little bit, Edith?' + +'Yes; I do.' + +'Well, what's going to be done about it?' he asked, with happy +triviality. + +'Don't talk nonsense,' she replied. 'We're just going to see each other +sometimes.' 'I'll be satisfied with anything!' cried Aylmer, 'after +what I've suffered not seeing you at all. We'll have a new game. You +shall _make_ the rules and I'll keep them.' + +'Naturally.' + +'About the summer?' + +'Oh, no plans tonight. I must think.' She looked thoughtful. + +'Tell me, how's Archie?' he said. + +'Archie's all right--delightful. Dilly, too. But I'm rather bothered.' + +'Why should you bother? What's it about? Tell me at once.' + +She paused a moment. 'Miss Townsend won't be able to come back any +more,' she said steadily. + +'Really? What a pity. I suppose the fool of a girl's engaged, or +something.' + +'She won't come back any more,' answered Edith. + +'Will you have to get a new Miss Townsend?' + +'I thought of being their governess myself--during the holidays, +anyhow.' + +'But that will leave you hardly any time--no leisure.' + +'Leisure for what?' + +'For anything--for me, for instance,' said Aylmer boldly. He was full +of the courage and audacity caused by the immense relief of seeing her +again and finding her so responsive. + +There is, of course, no joy so great as the cessation of pain; in fact +all joy, active or passive, is the cessation of some pain, since it +must be the satisfaction of a longing, even perhaps an unconscious +longing. A desire is a sort of pain, even with hope, without it is +despair. When, for example, one takes artistic pleasure in looking at +something beautiful, that is a cessation of the pain of having been +deprived of it until then, since what one enjoys one must have longed +for even without knowing it. + +'Look here,' said Aylmer suddenly. 'I don't believe I can do without +you.' + +'You said _I_ was to make the rules.' + +'Make them then; go on.' + +'Well, we'll be intimate friends, and meet as often as we can. Once a +week you may say you care for me, and I'll say the same. That's all. If +you find you don't like it--can't stand it, as you say--then you'll +have to go away again.' + +'I agree to it all, to every word. You'll see if I don't stick to it +absolutely.' + +'Thank you, dear Aylmer.' + +He paused. + +'Then I mustn't kiss you?' + +'No. Never again.' + +'All right. Never again after tonight. Tonight is the great exception,' +said Aylmer. + +She made a tardy and futile protest. Then she said: + +'Now, Aylmer, you must go.' She sighed. 'I have a lot of worries.' + +'I never heard you say that before. Let me take them and demolish them +for you. Can't you give them to me?' + +'No; I shall give nothing more to you. Good-bye.... + +'Remember, there are to be no more exceptions,' said Edith. + +'I promise.' + +She sat quietly alone for half-an-hour, waiting for Bruce. + +She now felt sorry for Bruce, utterly and completely indifferent about +'the Townsend case', as she already humorously called it to herself. +But, she thought, she _must_ be strong! She was not prepared to lose +her dignity, nor to allow the children to be educated by a woman whose +faith at least with them and in their home was unreliable; their +surroundings must be crystal-clear. It would make a certain difference +to them, she thought. How could it not? There were so many little ways +in which she might spoil them or tease them, scamp things, or rush +them, or be nicer to one of them, or less nice, if she had any sort of +concealed relation with their father. And as she had been treated +absolutely as a confidante by Edith, the girl had certainly shown +herself treacherous, and rather too clearly capable of dissimulation. +Edith thought this must have a bad effect on the children. + +Edith was essentially a very feminine woman though she had a mental +attitude rightly held to be more characteristic of men. Being so +feminine, so enraged under her calm and ease, she was, of course, not +completely consistent. She was still angry, and very scornful of Miss +Townsend. She was hurt with her; she felt a friend had played her +false--a friend, too, in the position of deepest trust, of grave +responsibility. Miss Townsend knew perfectly well what the children +were to Edith, and, for all she knew, there was no-one in Edith's life +except Bruce; so that it was rather cruel. Edith intended to keep up +her dignity so absolutely that Miss Townsend could never see her again, +that she could never speak to Edith on the subject. She wished also, +_very_ much, that Bruce should never see her again, but didn't know how +to encompass this. She must find a way. + +On the other hand, after the first shock and disgust at seeing him, +Edith's anger with Bruce himself had entirely passed. Had she not +known, for years, that he was a little weak, a little fatuous? He was +just as good a sort now as he had ever been, and as she was not blinded +by the resentment and fury of the real jealousy of passion, Edith saw +clearly, and knew that Bruce cared far more for _her_ than for anybody +else; that in so far as he could love anybody he loved her in his way. +And she wanted to keep the whole thing together on account of Archie, +and for Dilly's sake. She must be so kind, yet so strong that Bruce +would be at once grateful for her forbearance and afraid to take +advantage of it. Rather a difficult undertaking!... + +And she had seen Aylmer again! There was nothing in it about Miss +Argles. What happiness! She ought to have trusted him. He cared for +her. He loved her. His sentiment was worth having. And she cared for +him too; how much she didn't quite know. She admired him; he fascinated +her, and she also felt a deep gratitude because he gave her just the +sort of passionate worship that she must have always unconsciously +craved for. + +Certainly the two little events of today had drawn her nearer to him. +She had been far less reserved that evening. She closed her eyes and +smiled to herself. But this mustn't happen again. + +With a strong effort of self-coercion she banished all delightful +recollections as she heard Bruce come up in the lift. + +He came in with a slightly shy, uncomfortable manner. Again, she felt +sorry for him. + +'Hallo!' he said. + +He gave her a quick glance, a sort of cautious look which made her feel +rather inclined to laugh. Then he said: + +'I've just been down to the club. What have you been doing?' + +'Aylmer's been here.' + +'Didn't know he was in town.' + +'He's only come for a few days.' + +'I should like to see him,' said Bruce, looking brighter. 'Did he ask +after me?' + +'Yes.' + +He looked at her again and said suspiciously: + +'I suppose you didn't mention--' + +'Mention what?' + +'Edith!' + +'Yes?' + +He cleared his throat and then said with an effort of self-assertion +that she thought at once ridiculous and touching: + +'Look here, I don't wish to blame you in any way for what--er-- +arrangements you like to make in your own household. But--er--have you +written to Miss Townsend?' + +'Yes; she won't come back.' + +'Er--but won't she ask why?' + +'I hope not.' + +'Why?' asked Bruce, with a tinge of defiance. + +'Because then I should have to explain. And I don't like explaining.' + +There was another pause. Bruce seemed to take a great interest in his +nails, which he examined separately one at a time, and then all +together, holding both hands in front of him. + +'Did Archie enjoy his day?' + +'Oh yes,' said Edith. + +Bruce suddenly stood up, and a franker, more manly expression came into +his face. He looked at her with a look of pain. Tears were not far from +his eyes. + +'Edith, you're a brick. You're too good for me.' + +She looked down and away without answering. + +'Look here, is there anything I can do to please you?' + +'Yes, there is.' + +'What? I'll do it, whatever it is, on my word of honour.' + +'Well, it's a funny thing to ask you, but you know our late governess, +Miss Townsend? I should like you to promise never to see her again, +even by accident. If you meet her--by accident, I mean--I want you not +to see her.' + +Bruce held out both his hands. + +'I swear I'd never recognise her even if I should meet her +accidentally.' + +'I know it's a very odd thing to ask,' continued Edith, 'just a fancy; +why should I mind your not seeing Miss Townsend?' + +He didn't answer. + +'However, I _do_ mind, and I'll be grateful.' + +Edith thought one might be unfaithful without being disloyal, and she +believed Bruce now. She was too sensible to ask him never to write a +line, never to telephone, never to do anything else; besides, it was +beneath her dignity to go into these details, and common-sense told her +that one or the other must write or communicate if the thing was to be +stopped. If Miss Townsend wrote to him to the club, he would have to +answer. Bruce meant not to see her again, and that was enough. + +'Then you're not cross, Edith--not depressed?' + +She gave her sweetest smile. She looked brilliantly happy and +particularly pretty. + +'Edith!' + +With a violent reaction of remorse, and a sort of tenderness, he tried +to put his arm round her. She moved away. + +'Don't you forgive me, Edith, for anything I've done that you don't +like?' + +'Yes, I _entirely_ forgive you. The incident is closed.' + +'Really forgive me?' + +'Absolutely. And I've had a tiring day and I'm going to sleep. Good +night.' + +With a kind little nod she left him standing in the middle of the room +with that air of stupid distinction that he generally assumed when in a +lift with other people, and that came to his rescue at awkward +moments--a dull, aloof, rather haughty expression. But it was no use to +him now. + +He had considerable difficulty in refraining from venting his temper on +the poor, dumb furniture; in fact, he did give a kick to a pretty +little writing-table. It made no sound, but its curved shoulder looked +resentful. + +'What a day!' said Bruce to himself. + +He went to his room, pouting like Archie. But he knew he had got off +cheaply. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +Another Side of Bruce + +Ever since his earliest youth, Bruce had always had, at intervals, some +vague, vain, half-hearted entanglement with a woman. The slightest +interest, practically even common civility, shown him by anyone of the +feminine sex between the ages of sixteen and sixty, flattered his +vanity to such an extraordinary extent that he immediately thought +these ladies were in love with him, and it didn't take much more for +him to be in love with them. And yet he didn't really care for women. +With regard to them his point of view was entirely that of vanity, and +in fact he only liked both men or women who made up to him, or who gave +him the impression that they did. Edith was really the only woman for +whom his weak and flickering passion had lingered at all long; and in +addition to that (the first glamour of which had faded) she had a real +hold over him. He felt for her the most genuine fondness of which he +was capable, besides trust and a certain admiration. A sort of respect +underlay all his patronising good-nature or caprices with her. But +still he had got into the habit of some feeble flirtation, a little +affair, and at first he missed it very much. He didn't care a straw for +Miss Townsend; he never had. He thought her plain and tedious; she +bored him more than any woman he had ever met, and yet he had slipped +into a silly sort of intrigue, beginning by a few words of pity or +sympathy to her, and by the idea that she looked up to him in +admiration. He was very much ashamed of it and of the circumstances; he +was not proud of his conquest with her, as he generally was. He felt +that on account of the children, and altogether, he had been playing it +a bit low down. + +He was not incapable, either, of appreciating Edith's attitude. She had +never cross-questioned him, never asked him for a single detail, never +laboured the subject, nor driven the point home, nor condescended even +to try to find out how far things had really gone. She hadn't even told +him how she knew; he was ashamed to ask. + +And, after that promise of forgiveness, she never referred to it; there +was never the slightest innuendo, teasing, reproach. Yes, by Jove! +Edith was wonderful! And so Bruce meant to play the game too. + +For several days he asked the porter at the club if there were any +letters, receiving the usual reply, 'None, sir.' + +The third day he received the following note, and took it to read with +enjoyment of the secrecy combined with a sort of self-important shame. +Until now he hadn't communicated with her:-- + +'Dear Mr Ottley, + +Of course you know I'm not returning to the children after the +holidays, nor am I going with you to Westgate. I'm very unhappy, for I +fear I have offended Mrs Ottley. She has always been very kind to me +till now; but I shall let the matter rest. Under the circumstances I +suppose I shall not see you any more. May I ask that you should not +call or write. I and mother are going to spend the summer at Bexhill +with some friends. Our address will be Sandringham, Seaview Road, +Bexhill, if you like to write just one line to say good-bye. I fear I +have been rather to blame in seeing you without Mrs Ottley's knowledge, +but you know how one's feelings sometimes lead one to do what one knows +one ought not to ...' + +'Sandringham, indeed! Some boarding house, I suppose,' said Bruce to +himself. 'What a lot of 'ones'!... Fine grammar for a governess.' + +'... Wishing you every happiness (I _shall_ miss the children!). + +Yours sincerely, + +Margaret Townsend + +'_P.S._--I shall never forget how happy I was with you and Mrs Ottley.' + +Bruce's expression as he read the last line was rather funny. + +'She's a silly little fool, and I shan't answer,' he reflected. + +Re-reading the letter, he found it more unsatisfactory still, and +destroyed it. + +The thought of Miss Townsend bored him unutterably; and indeed he was +incapable of caring for any woman (however feebly) for more than two or +three weeks. He was particularly fickle, vague, and scrappy in his +emotions. Edith was the only woman for whom even a little affection +could last, and he would have long tired of her but for her exceptional +character and the extraordinary trouble and tact she used with him. He +didn't appreciate her fine shades, he was not in love with her, didn't +value her as another man might have done. But he was always coming back +to a certain steady, renewed feeling of tenderness for her. + +With the curious blindness common to all married people (and indeed to +any people who live together), clever Edith had been entirely taken in, +in a certain sense; she had always felt (until the 'Townsend case') +half disdainfully but satisfactorily certain of Bruce's fidelity. She +knew that he had little sham flirtations, but she had never imagined +his going anywhere near an intrigue. She saw now that in that she had +been duped, and that if he didn't do more it was not from loyalty to +her. Still, she now felt convinced that it wouldn't occur again. She +had treated him well; she had spared him in the matter. He was a little +grateful, and she believed he would be straight now, though her opinion +of him had rather gone down. Edith always felt that she must go to the +very extreme of loyalty to anyone who was faithful to her; she valued +fidelity so deeply, and now this feeling was naturally relaxed a +little. She hadn't the slightest desire for revenge, but she felt she +had a slightly freer hand. She didn't see why she should, for instance, +deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing Aylmer; she had not told him +anything about it. + +That day at the club, Bruce in his depression had a chat with +Goldthorpe, his golfing companion and sometime confidant. Over a +cigarette and other refreshments, Bruce murmured how he had put an end +to the little affair for the sake of his wife. + +'Rather jolly little girl, she was.' + +'Oh yes,' said Goldthorpe indifferently. He thought Edith very +attractive, and would have liked to have the duty of consoling her. + +'One of those girls that sort of _get round_ you, and appeal to +you--_you_ know.' + +'Oh yes.' + +'Grey eyes--no, by Jove! I should call them hazel, with black lashes, +no, not exactly black--brown. Nice, white teeth, slim figure--perhaps +a bit too straight. Brownish hair with a tinge of gold in the sun.' + +'Oh yes.' + +'About twenty,' continued Bruce dreamily. He knew that Miss Townsend +was thirty-two, but suspected Goldthorpe of admiring flappers, and so, +with a subconscious desire to impress him, rearranged the lady's age. + +'About twenty--if that. Rather long, thin hands--the hands of a lady. +Well, it's all over now.' + +'That's all right,' said Goldthorpe. He seemed to have had enough of +this retrospective inventory. He looked at his watch and found he had +an appointment. + +Bruce, thinking he seemed jealous, smiled to himself. + +For a few days after what had passed there was a happy reaction in the +house. Everyone was almost unnaturally sweet and polite and unselfish +about trifles to everybody else. Edith was devoting herself to the +children, Bruce had less of her society than usual. She seemed to +assume they were to be like brother and sister. He wouldn't at present +raise the question; thinking she would soon get over such a rotten +idea. Besides, a great many people had left town; and they were, +themselves, in the rather unsettled state of intending to go away in a +fortnight. Though happy at getting off so easily, Bruce was really +missing the meetings and notes (rather than the girl). + +Fortunately, Vincy now returned; he was looking sunburnt and happy. He +had been having a good time. Yet he looked a little anxious +occasionally, as if perplexed. + +One day he told Edith that he had just had a rather serious quarrel +with someone who was awfully cross, and carried on like anything and +wouldn't give over. + +'I guess who she is. What does she want you to do?' + +'She wants me to do what all my relations are always bothering me to +do,' said Vincy, 'only with a different person.' + +'What, to marry?' + +'Yes.' + +'To marry her, I suppose? Shall you?' + +'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'I don't think I quite can.' + +'Don't you think it would be rather unkind to her?' + +Neither of them had mentioned Miss Argles' name. The fact that Vincy +referred to it at all showed her that he had recovered from his +infatuation. + +'But do you think I'm treating the poor girl badly?' + +'Vincy, even if you adored her it would end unhappily. As you don't, +you would both be miserable from the first day. Be firm. Be nice and +kind to her and tell her straight out, and come and stay with us in the +country.' + +'Well, that was rather my idea. Oh, but, Edith, it's hard to hurt +anyone.' + +'You know I saw her driving with Aylmer that day, and I thought he +liked her. I found I was wrong.' + +'Yes. He doesn't. I wish I could get some nice person to--er--take +her out. I mean, take her on.' + +'What sort of person? She's pretty in her way. I daresay she'll attract +someone.' + +'What sort of person? Oh, I don't know. Some nice earl would please +her, or one of those artist chaps you read of in the feuilletons--the +sort of artist who, when he once gets a tiny little picture skied at +the Academy, immediately has fortune, and titles and things, rolling +in. A little picture called 'Eventide' or 'Cows by Moonlight', or +something of that sort, in those jolly stories means ten thousand +pounds a year at once. Jolly, isn't it?' + +'Yes, Vincy dear, but we're not living in a feuilleton. What's really +going to be done? Will she be nasty?' + +'No. But I'm afraid Aunt Jessie will abuse me something cruel.' He +thought a little while. 'In fact she has.' + +'What does she say?' + +'She says I'm no gentleman. She said I had no business to lead the poor +girl on, in a manner of speaking, and walk out with her, and pay her +marked attention, and then not propose marriage like a gentleman.' + +'Then you're rather unhappy just now, Vincy?' + +'Well, I spoke to _her_ frankly, and said I would like to go on being +her friend, but I didn't mean to marry. And _she_ said she'd never see +me again unless I did.' + +'And what else?' + +'That's about all, thanks very much,' said Vincy. + +Here Bruce came in. + +'Edith,' he said,' have you asked Aylmer to come and stay with us at +Westgate?' + +'Oh no. I think I'd rather not.' + +'Why on earth not? How absurd of you. It's a bit selfish, dear, if +you'll excuse my saying so. It's all very well for you: you've got the +children and Vincy to amuse you (you're coming, aren't you, Vincy?). +What price me? I must have someone else who can go for walks and play +golf, a real pal, and so forth. I need exercise, and intellectual +sympathy. Aylmer didn't say he had anywhere else to go.' + +'He's going to take his boy, Freddie, away to some seaside place. He +doesn't like staying with people.' + +'All right, then. I shall go and ask him to come and stay at the hotel, +for at least a fortnight. I shall go and ask him now. You're +inconsistent, Edith. At one moment you seem to like the man, but as +soon as I want to make a pleasant arrangement you're off it. So like a +woman, isn't it, Vincy?' He laughed. + +'Isn't it?' answered Vincy. + +'Well, look here, I'm going right down to Jermyn Street purposely to +tell him. I'll be back to dinner; do stop, Vincy.' + +Bruce was even more anxious than he used to be always to have a third +person present whenever possible. + +He walked through the hot July streets with that feeling of flatness +--of the want of a mild excitement apart from his own home. He saw +Aylmer and persuaded him to come. + +While he was there a rather pretty pale girl, with rough red hair, was +announced. Aylmer introduced Miss Argles. + +'I only came for a minute, to bring back those books, Mr Ross,' she +said shyly. 'I can't stop.' + +'Oh, thank you so much,' said Aylmer. 'Won't you have tea?' + +'No, nothing. I _must_ go at _once_. I only brought you in the books +myself to show you they were safe.' + +She gave a slightly coquettish glance at Aylmer, a half-observant +glance at Bruce, sighed heavily and went away. She was dressed in green +serge, with a turned-down collar of black lace. She wore black suede +gloves, a gold bangle and a smart and pretty hat, the hat Vincy +pretended had been given to _him_ by Cissie Cavanack, his entirely +imaginary cousin, and which he'd really bought for her in Bond Street. + +'Well, I'll be off then. I'll tell Edith you'll write for rooms. Look +sharp about it, because they soon go at the best hotels.' + +'At any rate I'll bring Freddie down for a week,' said Aylmer, 'and +then we'll see.' + +'Who is that girl?' asked Bruce, as he left. + +'She's a young artist, and I lent her some books of old prints she +wanted. She's not a particular friend of mine--I don't care for her +much.' + +Bruce didn't hear the last words, for he was flying out of the door. +Miss Argles was walking very slowly; he joined her. + +'Pardon me,' he said, raising his hat. 'It's so very hot--am I going +your way? Would you allow me to see you home?' + +'Oh, you're very kind, I'm sure,' she said sadly. 'But I don't think--I +live at Ravenscourt Park.' + +Bruce thought there was plenty of time. + +'Why how very curious! That's just where I was going,' said he boldly. + +He put up his stick. Instead of a taxi a hansom drove up. Bruce hailed +it. + +'Always like to give these chaps a turn when I can,' he said. It would +take longer. + +'How kind-hearted you are,' murmured the girl. 'But I'd really rather +not, thank you.' + +'Then how shall you get back?' + +'Walk to the Tube.' + +'Oh no; it's far too hot. Let me drop you, as I'm going in your +direction.' + +He gave her a rather fixed look of admiration, and smiled. She gave a +slight look back and got into the cab. + +'What ripping red hair,' said Bruce to himself as he followed her. + + * * * * * + +Before the end of the drive, which for him was a sort of adventure, +Mavis had promised to meet Bruce when she left her Art School next +Tuesday at a certain tea-shop in Bond Street. + +Bruce went home happy and in good spirits again. There was no earthly +harm in being kind to a poor little girl like this. He might do a great +deal of good. She seemed to admire him. She thought him so clever. +Funny thing, there was no doubt he had the gift; women liked him, and +there you are. Look at Miss Mooney at the Mitchells' the other day, +why, she was ever so nice to him; went for him like one o'clock; but he +gave her no encouragement. Edith was there. He wouldn't worry her, dear +girl. + +As he came towards home he smiled again. And Edith, dear Edith--she, +too, must be frightfully keen on him, when one came to think about it, +to forgive him so readily about Margaret Tow--Oh, confound Miss +Townsend. This girl was a picture, a sort of Rossetti, and she had had +such trouble lately--terrible trouble. The man she had been devoted to +for years had suddenly thrown her over, heartlessly.... What a brute he +must have been! She was going to tell him all about it on Tuesday. That +man must have been a fiend!... + +'Holloa, Vincy! So glad you're still here. Let's have dinner, Edie.' + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +At Lady Everard's + +Lady Everard was sitting in her favourite attitude at her +writing-table, with her face turned to the door. She had once been +photographed at her writing-table, with a curtain behind her, and her +face turned to the door. The photograph had appeared in _The Queen, The +Ladies' Field, The Sketch, The Taller, The Bystander, Home Chat, Home +Notes, The Woman at Home_, and _Our Stately Homes of England_. It was a +favourite photograph of hers; she had taken a fancy to it, and +therefore she always liked to be found in this position. The photo had +been called: 'Lady Everard at work in her Music-Room.' + +What she was supposed to be working at, heaven only knew; for she never +wrote a line of anything, and even her social notes and invitation +cards were always written by her secretary. + +As soon as a visitor came in, she rose from the suspiciously clean +writing-table, put down the dry pen on a spotless blotter, went and sat +in a large brocaded arm-chair in front of some palms, within view of +the piano, and began to talk. The music-room was large, splendid and +elaborately decorated. There was a frieze all round, representing +variously coloured and somewhat shapeless creatures playing what were +supposed to be musical instruments. One, in a short blue skirt, was +blowing at something; another in pink drapery (who squinted) was +strumming on a lyre; other figures were in white, with their mouths +open like young birds preparing to be fed by older birds. They +represented Harmony in all its forms. There were other attempts at the +classical in the decoration of the room; but Lady Everard herself had +reduced this idea to bathos by huge quantities of signed photographs in +silver frames, by large waste-paper baskets, lined with blue satin and +trimmed with pink rosettes, by fans which were pockets, stuffed cats +which were paperweights, oranges which were pincushions, and other +debris from those charitable and social bazaars of which she was a +constant patroness. + +With her usual curious combination of weak volubility and decided +laying-down of the law, she was preparing to hold forth to young La +France (whom she expected), on the subject of Debussy, Edvina, Marcoux, +the appalling singing of all his young friends, his own good looks, and +other subjects of musical interest, when Mr Cricker was announced. + +She greeted him with less eagerness, if less patronage, than her other +protege, but graciously offered him tea and permitted a cigarette. + +Lady Everard went in for being at once _grande dame_ and Bohemian. She +was truly good-natured and kind, except to rivals in her own sphere, +but when jealous she was rather redoubtable. + +'I'm pleased to see you, my dear Willie,' she said; 'all the more +because I hear Mrs Mitchell has taken Wednesdays now. Not _quite_ a +nice thing to do, I think; although, after all, I suppose we could +hardly really clash. True, we _do_ happen to know a few of the same +people.' (By that Lady Everard meant she had snatched as many of Mrs +Mitchell's friends away as she thought desirable.) 'But as a general +rule I suppose we're not really in the same set. But perhaps you're +going on there afterwards?' + +That had been Mr Clicker's intention, but he denied it, with surprise +and apparent pain at the suspicion. + +She settled down more comfortably. + +'Ah, well, Mrs Mitchell is an extremely nice, hospitable woman, and her +parties are, I know, considered _quite_ amusing, but I do think--I +really do--that her husband carries his practical jokes and things a +_little_ too far. It isn't good form, it really isn't, to see a man of +his age, with his face blacked, coming in after dinner with a banjo, +calling himself the Musical White-eyed Kaffir, as he did the last time +I was there. I find it _deplace_--that's the word, _deplace_. He seemed +to think that we were all children at a juvenile party! I was saying so +to Lord Rye only last night. Lord Rye likes it, I think, but he says Mr +Mitchell's mad--that's what it is, a little mad. Last time Lord Rye was +there everybody had a present given them hidden in their table napkins. +There had been some mistake in the parcels, I believe, and Miss +Mooney--you know, the actress, Myra Mooney--received a safety razor, +and Lord Rye a vanity bag. Everybody screamed with laughter, but I must +say it seemed to me rather silly. I wasn't there myself.' + +'I was,' said Mr Cricker. 'I got a very pretty little feather fan. I +suppose the things really had been mixed up, and after all I was very +glad of the fan; I was able to give it to--' He stopped, sighed and +looked down on the floor. + +'And is that affair still going on, Willie dear? It seems to me _such_ +a pity. I _do_ wish you would try and give it up.' + +'I know, but she _won't_,' he said in a voice hoarse with anxiety. +'Dear Lady Everard, you're a woman of the world, and know everything--' + +She smiled. 'Not everything, Willie; a little of music, perhaps. I know +a good voice when I hear it. I have a certain _flair_ for what's going +to be a success in that direction, and of course I've been everywhere +and seen everything. I've a certain natural knowledge of life, too, and +keep well up to date with everything that's going on. I knew about the +Hendon Divorce Case long before anyone else, though it never came off +after all, but that's not the point. But then I'm so discreet; people +tell me things. At any rate, I always _know_.' + +Indeed, Lady Everard firmly believed herself to be a great authority on +most subjects, but especially on contemporary gossip. This was a +delusion. In reality she had that marvellous talent for not knowing +things, that gift for ignorance, and genius for inaccuracy so +frequently seen in that cultured section of society of which she was so +popular and distinguished a member. It is a talent that rarely fails to +please, particularly in a case like her own. There is always a certain +satisfaction in knowing that a woman of position and wealth, who plumes +herself on her early knowledge and special information, is absolutely +and entirely devoid of the one and incorrect in the other. A marked +ignorance in a professionally well-informed person has always something +touching and appealing to those who are able, if not willing, to set +that person right. It was taken for granted among her acquaintances, +and probably was one of the qualities that endeared her to them most, +that dear Lady Everard was generally positive and always wrong. + +'Yes, I do know most things, perhaps,' she said complacently. 'And one +thing I know is that this woman friend of yours is making you perfectly +miserable. You're longing to shake it off. Ah, I know you! You've far +more real happiness in going to the opera with me than even in seeing +her, and the more she pursues you the less you like it. Am I not +right?' + +'Yes, I suppose so. But as a matter of fact, Lady Everard, if she +didn't--well--what you might call make a dash for it, I shouldn't worry +about her at all.' + +'Men,' continued Lady Everard, not listening, 'only like coldness; +coldness, reserve. The only way in the world to draw a man on is to be +always out to him, or to go away, and never even let him hear your name +mentioned.' + +'I daresay there's a lot in that,' said Cricker, wondering why she did +not try that plan with young La France. + +'Women of the present day,' she continued, growing animated, 'make such +a terrible, terrible mistake I What do they do when they like a young +man? Oh, I know! They write to him at his club; they call at his rooms +and leave messages; they telephone whenever they can. The more he +doesn't answer their invitations the more they invite him. It's +appalling! And what's the result? Men are becoming cooler and cooler-- +as a class, I mean. Of course, there are exceptions. But it's such a +mistake of women to run after the few young men there are. There are +such a tremendous lot of girls and married women nowadays, there are so +many more of them.' + +'Well, perhaps that's why they do it,' said Cricker rather stupidly. +'At any rate--oh, well, I know if my friend hadn't been so jolly nice +to me at first and kept it up so--oh, well, you know what I mean--kept +on keeping on, if I may use the expression, I should have drifted away +from her ages ago. Because, you see, supposing I'm beginning to think +about something else, or somebody else, she doesn't stand it; she won't +stand it. And the awkward part is, you see, her being _on_ the stage +_and_ married makes the whole thing about as awkward as a case of that +sort can possibly be.' + +'I would not ask you her name for the world,' said Lady Everard +smoothly. 'Of course I know she's a beautiful young comedy actress, or +is it tragedy? I wonder if I could guess her first name? Will you tell +me if I guess right?' She looked arch. + +'Oh, I say, I can't tell you who it is, Lady Everard; really not.' + +'Only the first name? I don't _want_ you to tell me; I'm discretion +itself, I prefer not to know. The Christian name is not Margaretta, is +it? Ah! no, I thought not. It's Irene Pettifer! There, I've guessed. +The fact is, I always knew it, my dear boy. Your secret is safe with +me. I'm the tomb! I--' + +'Excuse me, Lady Everard,' said Cricker, with every sign of annoyance, +'it's no more Irene Pettifer than it's you yourself. Please believe me. +First of all I don't _know_ Irene Pettifer; I've never even seen her +photograph--she's not young, not married, and an entirely different +sort of person.' + +'What did I tell you? I knew it wasn't; I only said that to draw you. +However, have a little more tea, or some iced coffee, it's so much more +refreshing I always think. My dear Willie, I was only chaffing you. I +knew perfectly well it wasn't either of the people I suggested. The +point is, it seems to prey on your mind, and worry you, and you won't +break it off.' + +'But how can I?' + +'I will dictate you a letter,' she said. 'Far be it from me to +interfere, and I don't pretend to know more about this sort of thing +than anybody else. At the same time, if you'll take it down just as I +tell it, and send it off, you'll find it will do admirably. Have you +got a pencil?' + +As if dully hypnotised, he took out a pencil and notebook. + +'It would be awfully kind of you, Lady Everard. It might give me an +idea anyway.' + +'All right.' + +She leant back and half closed her eyes, as if in thought; then started +up with one finger out. + +'We must be quick, because I'm expecting someone presently,' she said. +'But we've got time for this. Now begin. July 7th, 1912. Have you got +that?' + +'Yes, I've got that.' + +'Or, perhaps, just Thursday. Thursday looks more casual, more full of +feeling than the exact date. Got Thursday?' + +'Yes, but it isn't Thursday, it's Friday.' + +'All right, Friday, or any day you like. The day is not the point. You +can send it tomorrow, or any time you like. Wednesday. My dearest +Irene.' + +'Her name's not Irene.' + +'Oh no, I forgot. Take that out. Dear Margaretta. Circumstances have +occurred since I last had the pleasure of seeing you that make it +absolutely impossible that I could ever meet you again.' + +'Oh, I say!' + +'Go on. Ever see you or meet you again. You wish to be kind to her, I +suppose?' + +'Oh yes.' + +'Then say: Duty has to come between us, but God knows I wish you well.' +Tears were beginning to come to Lady Everard's eyes, and she spoke with +a break in her voice. 'I wish you well, Irene.' + +'It's not Irene.' + +'I wish you well, Margaretta. Some day in the far distant future you'll +think of me, and be thankful for what I have done. It's for your good +and my own happiness that we part now, and for ever. Adieu, and may God +bless you. How do you sign yourself?' + +'Oh, Willie.' + +'Very well then, be more serious this time: Always your faithful +friend, William Stacey Cricker.' + +He glanced over the note, his face falling more and more, while Lady +Everard looked more and more satisfied. + +'Copy that out, word for word, the moment you go back, and send it +off,' she said, 'and all the worst of your troubles will be over.' + +'I should think the worst is yet to come,' said he ruefully. + +'But you promise to do it, Willie? Oh, promise me?' + +'Oh yes rather,' said he half-heartedly. + +'Word for word?' + +'O Lord, yes. That's to say, unless anything--' + +'Not a word, Willie; it will be your salvation. Come and see me soon, +and tell me the result. Ah! here you are, cher maitre!' + +With a bright smile she welcomed Mr La France, who was now announced, +gently dismissing Willie with a push of the left hand. + +'Good heavens!' he said to himself, as he got into the cab, 'why, if I +were to send a thing like that there would be murder and suicide! She'd +show it to her husband, and he'd come round and knock me into a cocked +hat for it. Dear Lady Everard--she's a dear, but she doesn't know +anything about anything.' + +He tore the pages out of his pocket-book, and called out to the cabman +the address of the Mitchells. + +'Ah, chere madame, que je suis fatigue!' exclaimed La France, as he +threw himself back against the cushions. + +His hair was long and smooth and fair, so fair that he had been spoken +of by jealous singers as a peroxide blond. His eyes were greenish, and +he had dark eyebrows and eyelashes. He was good-looking. His voice in +speaking was harsh, but his manner soft and insidious. His talents were +cosmopolitan; his tastes international; he had no duties, few pleasures +and that entire want of leisure known only to those who have +practically nothing whatever to do. + +'Fatigued? That's what you always say,' said Lady Everard, laughing. + +'But it is always true,' he said, with a strong French accent. + +'You should take more exercise, Paul. Go out more in the air. You lead +too secluded a life.' + +'What exercises? I practise my voice every day, twenty minutes.' + +'Ah, but I didn't mean that. I mean in the open air--sport--that sort +of thing.' + +'Ah, you wish I go horseback riding. Ver' nice, but not for me. I have +never did it. I cannot begun now, Lady Everard. I spoil all the +_veloute_ of my voice. Have you seen again that pretty little lady I +met here before? Delicious light brown hair, pretty blue eyes, a +wonderful blue, a blue that seem to say to everyone something +different.' + +'What!' exclaimed Lady Everard. 'Are you referring to Mrs Ottley?' She +calmed down again. 'Oh yes, she's charming, awfully sweet--devoted to +her husband, you know--absolutely devoted to her husband; so rare and +delightful nowadays in London.' + +'Oh yes, ver' nice. Me, I am devoted to 'er husband too. I go to see +him. He ask me.' + +'What, without _me_?' exclaimed Lady Everard. + +'I meet him the other night. He ask me to come round and sing him a +song. I cannot ask if I may bring Lady Everard in my pocket.' + +'Really, Paul, I don't think that quite a nice joke to make, I must +say.' Then relenting she said: 'I know it's only your artistic fun.' + +'So she ver' devoted to him? He have great confidence in her; he trust +her quite; he sure she never have any flirt?' + +'He has every confidence; he's certain, absolutely certain!' exclaimed +Lady Everard. + +'He wait till she come and tell him, I suppose. 'E is right.' + +He continued in this strain for some time, constantly going back to his +admiration for Edith, and then began (with a good deal of bitterness) +on the subject of another young singer, whom he declared to be _un +garcon charmant_, but no good. 'He could not sing for nuts.' + +She heartily agreed, and they began to get on beautifully again, when +she suddenly said to him: + +'Is it true you were seen talking in the park to that girl Miss +Turnbull, on Sunday?' + +'If you say I was seen, I was. You could not know I talk to her unless +I was seen. You could not know by wireless.' + +'Don't talk nonsense, Paul,' she answered sharply. 'The point isn't +that you were seen, but that you did it.' + +'Who did it? Me? I didn't do anything.' + +'I don't think it's fair to me, I must say; it hurt my feelings that +you should meet Amy Turnbull in the park and talk to her.' + +'But what could I say? It is ver' difficul. I walk through the park; +she walk through it with another lady. She speak to me. She say: Ah, +dear Mr La France, what pleasure to see you! I ask you, Lady Everard, +could I, a foreigner, not even naturalised here, could I order her out +of the park? Could I scream out to her: Go out, do not walk in ze Hyde +Park! Lady Everard do not like you! I have no authority to say that. I +am not responsible for the persons that walk in their own park in their +own country. She might answer me to go to the devil! She might say to +me: What, Lady Everard not like me, so I am not allowed in the park? +What that got to do with it? In a case like this, chere madame, I have +no legal power.' + +She laughed forgivingly and said: + +'Ah, well, one mustn't be too exacting!' and as she showed some signs +of a desire to pat his hair he rose, sat down to the piano, greatly to +her disappointment, and filled up the rest of the time by improvising +(from memory). It was a little fatiguing, as she thought it her duty to +keep up an expression of acute rapture during the whole of the +performance, which lasted at least three-quarters of an hour. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +Miss Bennett + +Since his return Aylmer saw everything through what he called a +rose-coloured microscope--that is to say, every detail of his life, and +everything connected with it, seemed to him perfect. He saw Edith as +much as ever, and far less formally than before. She treated him with +affectionate ease. She had admitted by her behaviour on the night he +returned that she cared for him, and, for the moment, that was enough. +A sort of general relaxation of formality, due to the waning of the +season, and to people being too busy to bother, or already in thought +away, seemed to give a greater freedom. Everyone seemed more natural, +and more satisfied to follow their own inclinations and let other +people follow theirs. London was getting stale and tired, and the last +feverish flickers of the exhausted season alternated with a kind of +languor in which nobody bothered much about anybody else's affairs. +General interest was exhausted, and only a strong sense of +self-preservation seemed to be left; people clung desperately to their +last hopes. Edith was curiously peaceful and contented. She would have +had scarcely any leisure but that her mother-in-law sometimes relieved +her of the care of the children. + +Being very anxious that they should not lose anything from Miss +Townsend's absence, she gave them lessons every day. + +One day, at the end of a history lesson, Archie said: + +'Where's Miss Townsend?' + +'She's at Bexhill.' + +'Why is she at Bexhill?' + +'Because she likes it.' + +'Where's Bexhill?' + +'In England.' + +'Why isn't Miss Townsend?' + +'What do you mean, Archie?' + +'Well, why isn't she Miss Townsend any more?' + +'She is.' + +'But she's not our Miss Townsend any more. Why isn't she?' + +'She's gone away.' + +'Isn't she coming back?' + +'No.' + +Watching his mother's face he realised that she didn't regret this, so +he said: + +'Is Miss Townsend teaching anybody else?' + +'I daresay she is, or she will, perhaps.' + +'What are their names?' + +'How should I know?' + +'Do you think she'll teach anybody else called Archie?' + +'It's possible.' + +'I wonder if she'll ever be cross with the next boy she teaches.' + +'Miss Townsend was very kind to you,' said Edith. 'But you need not +think about her any more, because you will be going to school when you +come back from the holidays.' + +'That's what I told Dilly,' said Archie. 'But Dilly's not going to +school. Dilly doesn't mind; she says she likes you better than Miss +Townsend.' + +'Very kind of her, I'm sure,' laughed Edith. + +'You see you're not a real governess,' said Archie, putting his arm +round her neck. 'You're not angry, are you, mother? Because you're not +a real one it's more fun for us.' + +'How do you mean, I'm not a real governess?' + +'Well, I mean we're not _obliged_ to do what you tell us!' + +'Oh, aren't you? You've got to; you're to go now because I expect Miss +Bennett.' + +'Can't I see Miss Bennett?' + +'Why do you want to see her?' + +'I don't want to see her; but she always brings parcels. I like to see +the parcels.' + +'They are not for you; she brings parcels because I ask her to do +shopping for me. It's very kind of her.' + +She waited a minute, then he said: + +'Mother, do let me be here when Miss Bennett brings the parcels. I'll +be very useful. I can untie parcels with my teeth, like this. Look! I +throw myself on the parcel just like a dog, and shake it and shake it, +and then I untie it with my teeth. It would be awfully useful.' + +She refused the kind offer. + +Miss Bennett arrived as usual with the parcels, looking pleasantly +business-like and important. + +'I wonder if these things will do?' she said, as she put them out on +the table. + +'Oh, they're sure to do,' said Edith; 'they're perfect.' + +'My dear, wait till you see them. I don't think I've completed all your +list.' She took out a piece of paper. + +'Where did you get everything?' Edith asked, without much interest. + +'At Boots', principally. Then the novels--Arnold Bennett, Maxwell--Oh, +and I've got you the poem: 'What is it?' by Gilbert Frankau.' + +'No, you mean, 'One of us',' corrected Edith. + +'Then white serge for nurse to make Dilly's skirts--skirts a quarter of +a yard long!--how sweet!--and heaps and heaps of muslin, you see, for +her summer dresses. Won't she look an angel? Oh, and you told me to get +some things to keep Archie quiet in the train.' She produced a drum, a +trumpet, and a mechanical railway train. 'Will that do?' + +'Beautifully.' + +'And here's your travelling cloak from the other place.' + +'It looks lovely,' said Edith. + +'Aren't you going to try it on?' + +'No; it's sure to be all right.' + +'I never saw such a woman as you! Here are the hats. You've _got_ to +choose these.' + +Here Edith showed more interest. She put them on, said all the colour +must be taken out of them, white put in one, black velvet in the other. +Otherwise they would do. + +'Thanks, Grace; you're awfully kind and clever. Now do you know what +you're going to do? You're going to the Academy with me and Aylmer. +He's coming to fetch us.' + +'Oh, really--what fun!' + +At this moment he arrived. Edith introduced them. + +'I've been having such a morning's shopping,' she said, 'I deserve a +little treat afterwards, don't I?' + +'What sort of shopping? I'll tell you what you ought to have--a great +cricket match when the shopping season's over, between the Old +Selfridgians, and the Old Harrodians,' he said, laughing. + +They walked through acres of oil paintings and dozens of portraits of +Chief Justices. + +'I can't imagine anyone but Royalty enjoying these pictures,' said +Edith. + +'They don't go to see pictures; they go to view exhibits,' Aylmer +answered. + +Declaring they had 'Academy headache' before they had been through the +second room, they sat down and watched the people. + +One sees people there that are to be seen nowhere else. An +extraordinary large number of clergymen, a peculiar kind of provincial, +and strange Londoners, almost impossible to place, in surprising +clothes. + +Then they gave it up, and Aylmer took them out to lunch at a club +almost as huge and noisy and as miscellaneous as the Academy itself. +However, they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. + +Edith and Bruce were to take up their abode in their little country +house at Westgate next day. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +At Westgate + +'I've got to go up to town on special business,' said Bruce, one +afternoon, after receiving a telegram which he had rather +ostentatiously left about, hoping he would be questioned on the +subject. It had, however, been persistently disregarded. + +'Oh, have you?' + +'Yes. Look at this wire.' + +He read aloud: + +'_Wish to see you at once if possible come up today M_.' + +'Who _is_ 'M'?' + +'Mitchell, of course. Who should it be?' He spoke aggressively, then +softened down to explanation, 'Mitchell's in town a few days on +business, too. I may be detained till Tuesday--or even Wednesday next.' + +Bruce had been to town so often lately, his manner was so vague, he +seemed at once so happy and so preoccupied, so excited, so pleased, so +worried, and yet so unnaturally good-tempered, that Edith had begun to +suspect he was seeing Miss Townsend again. + +The suspicion hurt her, for he had given his word of honour, and had +been nice to her ever since, and amiable (though rather absent and +bored) with the children. + +She walked down to the station with him, though he wished to go in the +cab which took his box and suit-case, but he did not resist her wish. +On the way he said, looking round as if he had only just arrived and +had never seen it before: + +'This is a very nice little place. It's just the right place for you +and the children. If I were you, I should stay on here.' + +It struck her he spoke in a very detached way, and some odd +foreshadowing came to her. + +'Why--aren't you coming back?' she asked jokingly. + +'Me? _What_ an idea! Yes, of course. But I've told you--this +business of mine--well, it'll take a little time to arrange. Still, I +expect to be back on Tuesday. Or quite on Wednesday--or sooner.' + +They walked on and had nearly reached the station. + +'How funny you are, Bruce!' + +'What do you mean? Are you angry with me for going up to see about +important business? Why, here you've got Aylmer and his boy at the +hotel, my mother and Vincy to stay with you. You've got plenty of +companions. I don't suppose you'll miss me much. You see--a--this is a +sort of business matter women don't understand. Women are incapable of +understanding it.' + +'Of what nature is it?' + +'How do you mean, nature? It's not of any particular _nature_. Nature, +indeed! How like a woman! It's just business.' He waited a minute. +'Stockbroking; that's what it is. Yes, it's stockbroking. I want to see +a chap who's put me in to a good thing. A perfectly safe thing. No +gambling. But one has to see into it, you see. Mitchell wants to see me +at once, you see. Do you see? You saw his wire, didn't you? I've +explained, haven't I? Aren't you satisfied with my explanation?' + +'_You_ appear to be--very. But I'm not asking you to tell me any +details about the business, whatever it may be.' + +They arrived at the station, and Bruce gave her what she thought a very +queer look. It was a mixture of fear, daring, caution and a sort of +bravado. Anxiety was in it, as well as a pleased self-consciousness. + +'Tell me, frankly, something I'd like to know, Bruce.' + +'Are you getting suspicious of me, Edith? That's not like you. Mind +you, it's a great mistake in a woman; women should always trust. +Mistrust sometimes drives a man to--to--Oh, anyhow, it's a great +mistake.' + +'I only want you to tell me something, Bruce. I'll believe you +implicitly if you'll answer.... Do you ever see Miss Townsend now?' + +'Never, on my honour! I swear it.' He spoke with such genuine good +faith that she believed him at once. + +'Thanks. I'm glad. And--have you never since--' + +'Never seen her, never written to her, never communicated with her +since she left! Don't know where she is and don't care. Now you do +believe me?' he asked, with all the earnestness and energy of truth. + +'Absolutely. Forgive me for asking.' + +'Oh, that's all right.' + +He was relieved, and smiled. + +'All right, Bruce dear. I'm glad. It would have worried me.' + +'Now go, Edith. Don't bother to wait till I get in. I'll write to +you--I'll write to you soon.' + +She still lingered, seeing something odd in his manner. + +'Give my love to my mother,' he said, looking away. 'I say--' Edith.' + +'Yes, dear?' + +'Oh, nothing.' + +She waited on till the train started. His manner was alternately +peevish and kind, but altogether odd. Her last glimpse was a rather +pale smile from Bruce as he waved his hand and then turned to his +paper.... + +'Well, what _does_ it matter so long as he _has_ gone!' exclaimed +Aylmer impatiently, when she expressed her wonder at Bruce's going. The +tide was low, and they went for a long walk over the hard shining sand, +followed by Archie picking up wonderful shells and slipping on the +green seaweed. Everything seemed fresh, lovely. She herself was as +fresh as the sea breeze, and Aylmer seemed to her as strong as the sea. +(Privately, Edith thought him irresistible in country clothes.) Edith +had everything here to make her happy, including Bruce's mother, who +relieved her of the children when she wanted rest and in whose eyes she +was perfection. + +She saw restrained adoration in Aylmer's eyes, love and trust in the +eyes of the children. She had all she wanted. And yet--something tugged +at her heart, and worried her. She had a strange and melancholy +presentiment. + +But she threw it off. Probably there was nothing really wrong with +Bruce; perhaps only one of those little imaginary romances that he +liked to fabricate for himself; or, perhaps, it was really business? It +was all right if Mr Mitchell knew about it. Yet she could not believe +that 'M' _was_ Mitchell. Bruce had repeated it too often; and, why on +earth should Mitchell suddenly take to sending Bruce fantastic +telegrams and signing them, for no reason, with an initial?... + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +Goggles + +'What divine heavenly pets and ducks of angels they are!' exclaimed +Lady Everard rather distractedly. 'Angels! Divine! And so good, too! I +never saw such darlings in my life. Look at them, Paul. Aren't they +sweet?' + +Lady Everard with her party (what Aylmer called her performing troupe) +had driven over to Westgate, from where she was staying in the +neighbourhood, to have tea with Edith. She had brought with her a sort +of juvenile party, consisting of Mr Cricker, Captain Willis and, of +course, Paul La France, the young singer. She never moved without him. +She explained that two other women had been coming also, but they had +deserted her at the last minute. + +Paul La France had been trying for an hour and a half to make eyes +through motor goggles, which, naturally, was not a success; so he +seemed a little out of temper. Archie was staring at him as if +fascinated. He went up and said: + +'Voulez-vous lend me your goggles?' + +'Mais certainement! Of course I will. Voila mon petit.' + +'The darling! How sweet and amusing of him! But they're only to be used +in the motor, you know. Don't break them, darling, will you? Monsieur +will want them again. Ah! how sweet he looks!' as he put them on, 'I +never saw such a darling in the whole course of my life! Look at him, +Mrs Ottley. Look at him, Paul!' + +'Charmant. C'est delicieux,' grumbled La France. + +'What a charming little lawn this is, going right down to the sea, too. +Oh, Mr Ross, is that you? Isn't this a delightful little house? More +tea? Yes, please. Mr La France doesn't take sugar, and--' + +'You don't know what I am now,' said Archie, having fixed the goggles +on his own fair head, to the delight of Dilly. + +'Oh, I guess what you are! You're a motorist, aren't you, darling? +That's it! It's extraordinary how well I always get on with children, +Mrs Ottley,' explained Lady Everard. 'I daresay it's through being used +to my little grandchildren, Eva's two angels, you know, but I never see +them because I can't stand their noise, and yet I simply adore them. +Pets!' + +'What am I?' asked Archie, in his persistent way, as he walked round +the group on the lawn, in goggles, followed closely by Dilly, saying, +'Yes, what is he?' looking exactly like a live doll, with her golden +hair and blue ribbons. + +'You're a motorist, darling.' + +'No, I'm not a silly motorist. Guess what I am?' + +'It's so difficult to guess, such hot weather! Can you guess, Paul?' + +'I sink he is a nuisance,' replied the Frenchman, laughing politely. + +'No, that's wrong. You guess what I am.' + +'Guess what he is,' echoed Dilly. + +'O Lord! what does it matter? What I always say is--live and let live, +and let it go at that,' said Captain Willis, with his loud laugh. +'What, Mrs Ottley? But they won't do it, you know--they won't--and +there it is!' + +'Guess what I am,' persisted Archie. + +'Never mind what you are; do go and sit down, and take those things +off,' said Edith. + +'Not till you guess what I am.' + +'Does Dilly know?' + +'No, Dilly doesn't know. Guess what I am, grandmamma!' + +'I give it up.' + +'I thought you'd never guess. Well, I'm a blue-faced mandrill!' +declared Archie, as he took the goggles off reluctantly and gave them +back to La France, who put them under his chair. + +'Yes, he's a two-faced mangle,' repeated Dilly. + +He turned round on her sharply. 'Now, don't talk nonsense! You're a +silly girl. I never said anything about being a two-faced mangle; I'm +a blue-faced mandrill.' + +'Well, I said so; a two-faced mangle.' + +'Don't say anything at all if you can't say it right,' said Archie, +raising his voice and losing his temper. + +'Well, they's both the same.' + +'No, they jolly well aren't.' + +He drew her a little aside. 'A blue-faced mandrill, silly, is real; +it's in my natural history book.' + +'Sorry,' said Dilly apologetically. + +'In my natural history book it is, a _real_ thing. I'm a blue-faced +mandrill.... Now say it after me.' + +'You's a two-faced mangle.' + +'Now you're doing it on purpose! If you weren't a little girl, Dilly--' + +'I wasn't doing it on purpose.' + +'Oh, get away before I hit you! You're a silly little fool.' + +She slowly walked away, calling out: 'And you're a silly two-faced +mangle,' in a very irritating tone. Archie made a tremendous effort to +ignore her, then he ran after her saying: + +'Will you shut up or will you not?' + +Aylmer seized hold of him. + +'What are you going to do, Archie?' + +'Teach Dilly what I am. She says--Oh, she's _such_ a fool!' + +'No, Archie, leave her alone; she's only a baby. Come along, old boy. +Give Mr Cricker a cup of tea; he hasn't had one yet.' + +Archie was devoted to Aylmer. Following him, he handed the tea to Mr +Cricker, saying pathetically: + +'I'm a blue-faced mandrill, and she knew it. I told her so. Aren't +girls fools? They do worry!' + +'They _are_ torments,' said Aylmer. + +'I wish that Frenchman would give me his goggles to keep! He doesn't +want them.' + +'I'll give you a pair,' said Aylmer. + +'Thanks,' said Cricker,' I won't have any tea. I wish you'd come and +have a little talk with me, Ross. Can I have a word with you alone?' + +Aylmer good-naturedly went aside with him. + +'It's worse than ever,' said Cricker, in low, mysterious tones. 'Since +I've been staying with Lady Everard it's been wire, wire, wire--ring, +ring, ring--and letters by every post! You see, I thought it was rather +a good plan to get away for a bit, but I'm afraid I shall have to go +back. Fancy, she's threatened suicide, and telling her husband, and +confiding in Lady Everard! And giving up the stage, and oh, goodness +knows what! There's no doubt the poor child is absolutely raving about +me. No doubt whatever.' + +Aylmer was as sympathetic as he knew how. + +The party was just going off when La France found that the +goggles had disappeared. A search-party was organised; great excitement +prevailed; but in the end they went away without the glasses. + +When Dilly had just gone to sleep in her cot a frightening figure crept +into her room and turned on the electric light. + +'Oh, Archie! What is it! Who is it! Oh!... Oh!' + +'Don't be frightened,' said Archie, in his deepest voice, obviously +hoping she would be frightened. He was in pyjamas and goggles. 'Don't +be frightened! _Now! Say what I am_. What am I?' + +'A blue-faced mandrill,' she whined. + +He took off the goggles and kissed her. + +'Right! Good night, old girl!' + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +The Elopement + +The following Tuesday, Edith, Aylmer, Vincy and Mrs Ottley were sitting +on the veranda after dinner. They had a charming little veranda which +led on to a lawn, and from there straight down to the sea. It was their +custom to sit there in the evening and talk. The elder Mrs Ottley +enjoyed these evenings, and the most modern conversation never seemed +to startle her. She would listen impassively, or with a smile, as if in +silent approval, to the most monstrous of paradoxes or the most +childish chaff. + +Aylmer's attention and kind thought for her had absolutely won her +heart. She consulted him about everything, and was only thoroughly +satisfied when he was there. His strong, kind, decided voice, his good +looks, his decision, and a sort of responsible impulsiveness, all +appealed to her immensely. She looked up to him, in a kind of admiring +maternal way; Edith often wondered, did she not see Aylmer's devotion? +But, if she did, Mrs Ottley thought nothing of it. Her opinion of Edith +was so high that she trusted her in any complications.... + +'Isn't Bruce coming down tonight?' she asked Edith. + +'I'm to have a wire.' + +'Ah, here's the last post. Perhaps he's written instead.' + +Vincy fetched the letters. There was one from Bruce. + +Edith went into the drawing-room to read it; there was not sufficient +light on the veranda.... + +In growing amazement she read the following words:-- + +DEAR EDITH, + +'I hope what I am about to tell you will not worry you too much. At any +rate I do hope you will not allow it to affect your health. It is +inevitable, and you must make up your mind to it as soon as possible. I +say this in no spirit of unkindness; far from it. It is hard to me to +break the news to you, but it must be done. + +'Mavis Argles and I are all in all to each other. We have made up our +minds on account of certain _circumstances_ to throw in our lot +together, and we are starting for Australia today. When this reaches +you, we shall have started. I enclose the address to write to me. + +'In taking this step I have, I am sure, acted for the best. It may +cause you great surprise and pain. I regret it, but we met and became +very quickly devoted to one another. She cannot live without me. What I +am doing is my duty. I now ask you, and believe you will grant my +request, to make arrangements to _give me my freedom as soon as +possible_. Mind you do this, Edith, for it is really my duty to give my +name to Mavis, who, as I have said, is devoted to me heart and soul, +and cannot live without me. + +'I shall always have the greatest regard and respect for you, and _wish +you well_. + +'I am sorry also about my mother, but you must try and explain that it +is for the best. You also will know exactly what to do, and how to +bring up the children just as well without me as with. + +'Hoping this sudden news will not affect your health in any way, and +that you will try and stay on a good while at Westgate, as I am sure +the air is doing you good, believe me, yours affectionately as always, + +'BRUCE. + +'_P.S._--Mind you don't forget to divorce me as soon as you can for +Mavis's sake. Vincy will give you all the advice you need. Don't think +badly of me; I have meant well. Try and cheer up. I am sorry not to +write more fully, but you can imagine how I was rushed to catch today's +steamer.' + +She sat alone gazing at the letter under the light. She was divided at +first between a desire to laugh and cry. Bruce had actually eloped! His +silly weakness had culminated, his vanity had been got hold of. Vincy's +horrid little art-student had positively led him into running away, +and leaving his wife and children. + +Controlling herself, Edith went to the veranda and said to Mrs Ottley +that Bruce wasn't coming back for a day or two, that she had neuralgia +and was going to retire, but begged Aylmer not to go yet. Of course at +this he went at once. + +The next morning Aylmer at his hotel received a little note asking him +to come round and see Edith, while the others were out. + +It was there, in the cool, shady room, that Edith showed him the +letter. + +'Good God!' he exclaimed, looking simply wild with joy. 'This is too +marvellous!--too heavenly! Do you realise it? Edith, don't you see he +wants you to make him free? You will be my wife--that's +settled--that's fixed up.' + +He looked at her in delight almost too great for expression. + +Edith knew she was going to have a hard task now. She was pale, but +looked completely composed. She said: + +'You're wrong, Aylmer. I'm not going to set him free.' + +'What?' he almost shouted. 'Are you mad? What! Stick to him when he +doesn't want you! Ruin the wretched girl's life!' + +'That remains to be seen. I don't believe everything in the letter. The +children--' + +'Edith!' he exclaimed. 'What--when he doesn't _want_ the children--when +he deserts them?' + +'He is their father.' + +'Their father! Then, if you were married to a criminal who implored you +to divorce him you wouldn't, because he was their father!' + +'Bruce is not a criminal. He is not bad. He is a fool. He has behaved +idiotically, and I can never care for him in the way I used to, but I +mean to give him a chance. I'm not going to jump at his first real +folly to get rid of him.... Poor Bruce!' + +She laughed. + +Aylmer threw himself down in an arm-chair, staring at her. + +'You amaze me,' he said. 'You amaze me. You're not human. Do you adore +this man, that you forgive him everything? You don't even seem angry.' + +'I don't adore him, that is why I'm not so very angry. I was terribly +hurt about Miss Townsend. My pride, my trust were hurt but after that I +can't ever feel that personal jealousy any more. What I have got to +think of is what is best.' + +'Edith, you don't care for me. I'd better go away.' He turned away; he +had tears in his eyes. + +'Oh, don't, Aylmer! You know I do!' + +'Well, then, it's all right. Fate seems to have arranged this on +purpose for us--don't you know, dear, how I'd be good to the children? +How I'd do anything on this earth for them? Why, I'd reconcile Mrs +Ottley to it in ten minutes; I'd do _anything_!' He started up. + +'I'm not going to let Mrs Ottley know anything about it for the +present.' + +'You're not going to tell her?' + +'No. I shall invent a story to account for his absence. No-one need +know. But, of course, if, later--I mean if he persists--' + +'Oh, Edith, don't be a fool! You're throwing away our happiness when +you've got it in your hand.' + +'There are some things that one _can't_ do.' said Edith. 'It goes +against the grain. I can't take advantage of his folly to make the path +smoother--for myself. What will become of him when they quarrel! It's +all nonsense. Bruce is only weak. He's a very good fellow, really. He +has no spirit, and not much intellect; but with us to look after him,' +she unconsciously said us, and could not help smiling at the absurdity +of it,' he will get along all right yet.' + +'Edith, you're beyond me,' said Aylmer. 'I give up understanding you.' + +She stood up again and looked out of the window. + +'Let him have his silly holiday and his elopement and his trip! He +thinks it will make a terrific sensation! And I hope she will be +seasick. I'm sure she will; she's the sort of woman who would, and +then--after--' + +'And you'll take him back? You have no pride, Edith.' + +She turned round. 'Take him back?--yes; officially. He has a right to +live in his own house, with his own children. Why, ever since I found +out about Miss Townsend ... I'm sure I was nice to him, but only like a +sister. Yes. I feel just like a sister to him now.' + +'Oh, good God! I haven't patience with all this hair-splitting +nonsense. Brotherly husbands who run away with other girls, and beg you +to divorce them; sisterly wives who forgive them and stick to them +against their will....' + +He suddenly stopped, and held out his hand. + +'Forgive me, Edith. I believe whatever you say is right. Will you +forgive me?' + +'You see, it's chiefly on account of the children. If it weren't for +them I _would_ take advantage of this to be happy with you. At +least--no--I'm not sure that I would; not if I thought it would be +Bruce's ruin.' + +'And you don't think I'd be good to the children?' + +'Good? I know you would be an angel to them! But what's the use? I tell +you I can't do it.' + +'I won't tease you, I won't worry you any more,' he said, in a rather +broken voice. 'At any rate, think what a terrible blow this is to me. +You show me the chance of heaven, then you voluntarily dash it away. +Don't you think you ought to consult someone? You have asked no-one?' + +'I have consulted _you_,' she said, with a slight smile. + +'You take no notice of what I say.' + +'As a matter of fact, I don't wish to consult anyone. I have made my +own decision. I have written my letter.' + +She took it out of her bag. It was directed to Bruce, at the address he +had given her in Australia. + +'I suppose you won't let me read it?' he said sadly. + +'I think I'd rather not,' she said. + +Terribly hurt, he turned to the door. + +'No--no, you shall read it!' she exclaimed. 'But don't say anything, +make no remark about it. You shall read it because I trust you, because +I really care for you.' + +'Perhaps I oughtn't to,' he said. 'No, dear; keep it to yourself.' His +delicacy had revived and he was ashamed of his jealousy. + +But now she insisted on showing it to him, and he read: + +'DEAR BRUCE, + +'I'm not going to make any appeal to your feelings with regard to your +mother and the children, because if you had thought even of me a little +this would not have happened. I'm very, very sorry for it. I believe it +happened from your weakness and foolishness, or you could not have +behaved with such irresponsibility, but I'm trying to look at it quite +calmly. I therefore propose to do nothing at all for three months. If I +acted on your suggestion you might regret it ever after. If in three +months you write to me again in the same strain, still desiring to be +free, I will think of it, though I'm not sure that I should do it even +then. But in case you change your mind I propose to tell nobody, not +even your mother. By the time you get this letter, it will be six weeks +since yours to me, and you may look at things differently. Perhaps by +then you will be glad to hear that I have told your mother merely that +you have been ordered away for a change, and I shall say the same to +anyone else who inquires for you. If you feel after this time still +responsible, and that you have a certain duty, still remember, even so, +you might be very unhappy together all your lives. Excuse me, then, if +I don't take you at your word. + +'Another point occurs to me. In your hurry and excitement, perhaps you +forgot that your father's legacy depended on the condition that you +should not leave the Foreign Office before you were fifty. That is +about fourteen years from now. If you are legally freed, and marry Miss +Argles, you could hardly go back there. I think it would be practically +impossible under those circumstances, while if you live in Australia +you will have hardly any means. I merely remind you of this, in case +you had forgotten. + +'I shall regard it all as an unfortunate aberration; and if you regret +it, and change your mind, you will be free at any time you like to come +back and nothing shall be ever said about it. But I'm not begging you +to do so. I may be wrong; perhaps she's the woman to make you happy. +Let me know within three months how you feel about it. No-one will +suffer except myself during this time, as I shall keep it from your +mother, and shall remain here during this time. Perhaps you will be +very angry with me that I don't wish to take you at your word, Bruce. +At first I thought I would, but I'm doing what I think right, and one +cannot do more. + +'I'm not going to reproach you, for if you don't feel the claims of +others on you, my words will make no difference. + +'Think over what I say. Should you be unhappy and wish to separate from +her without knowing how, and if it becomes a question of money, as so +many things do, I would help you. I did not remind you about your +father's legacy to induce you to come back. If you really find +happiness in the way you expect, we could arrange it. You see, I have +thought of everything, in one night. But you _won't_ be happy. + +'EDITH OTTLEY.' + +'Remember, whenever you like to come back, you will be welcomed, and +nothing shall ever be said about it.' + +Aylmer gave her back the letter. He was touched. + +'You see,' she said eagerly, 'I haven't got a grain of jealousy. All +that part is quite finished. That's the very reason why I can judge +calmly.' + +She fastened up the letter, and then said with a smile: + +'And now, let's be happy the rest of the summer. Won't you?' + +He answered that she was _impayable_--marvellous--that he would help +her--devote himself to doing whatever she wished. On consideration he +saw that there was still hope. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +Bruce Returns + +'Never, Edith!' exclaimed Vincy, fixing his eyeglass in his eye, and +opening his mouth in astonishment. 'Never! Well, I'm gormed!' + +A week had passed since the news of Bruce's elopement. The little group +at Westgate didn't seem to have much been affected by it; and this was +the less surprising as Aylmer and Edith had kept it to themselves. Mrs +Ottley listened imperturbably to Edith's story, a somewhat incoherent +concoction, but told with dash and decision, that Bruce had been +ordered away for a sea-voyage for fear of a nervous breakdown. She +cried a little, said nothing, kissed Edith more than usual, and took +the children away for longer walks and drives. With a mother's +flashlight of intuition she felt at once certain there was something +wrong, but she didn't wish to probe the subject. Her confidence in +Edith reached the point of superstition; she would never ask her +questions. Edith had assured her that Bruce would come back all right, +and that was enough. Personally, Mrs Ottley much preferred the society +of Aylmer to that of her son. Aylmer was far more amusing, far more +considerate to her, and to everybody else, and he didn't use his +natural charm for those who amused him only, as the ordinary +fascinating man does. Probably there was at the back of his attentions +to Mrs Ottley a vague idea that he wanted to get her on his side--that +she might be a useful ally; but he was always charming to elderly +women, and inclined to be brusque with younger ones, excepting Edith; +he remembered his own mother with so great a cult of devotion, and his +late wife with such a depressed indifference. + +Edith had asked Aylmer to try and forget what had happened--to make +himself believe that Bruce had really only gone away medicinally. For +the present, he did as she wished, but he was longing to begin talking +to her on the subject again, both because it interested him +passionately from the psychological point of view, and far more, +naturally, because he had hopes of persuading her in time. She was not +bound by letter; she could change her mind. Bruce might and possibly +would, insist. + +There was difficulty in keeping the secret from Vincy, who was actually +staying in the house, and whose wonderful nerves and whimsical mind +were so sensitive to every variation of his surroundings. He had the +gift of reading people's minds. But it never annoyed anyone; one felt +he had no illusions; that he sympathised with one's weaknesses and +follies and, in a sense, enjoyed them, from a literary point of view. +Probably his friends forgave his clear vision for the sake of his +interest. Most people would far rather be seen through than not be seen +at all. + +One day Vincy, alone on the beach with Edith, remarked that he wondered +what had happened to Mavis. + +Edith told him that she had run away with a married man. + +'Never, Edith!' he exclaimed. 'Who would have thought it! It seems +almost too good to be true!' + +'Don't say that, Vincy.' + +'But how did you hear it? You know everything.' + +'I heard it on good authority. I _know_ it's true.' + +'And to think I was passing the remark only the other day that I +thought I ought to look her up, in a manner of speaking, or write, _or +something_,' continued Vincy; 'and who _is_ the poor dear man? Do you +know?' + +He looked at her with a sudden vague suspicion of he knew not what. + +'Bruce was always inclined to be romantic, you know,' she said +steadily. + +'Oh, give over!' + +'Yes, that's it; I didn't want anyone to know about it. I'm so afraid +of making Mrs Ottley unhappy.' + +'But you're not serious, Edith?' + +'I suppose I'd better show you his letter. He tells me to ask your +advice.' + +She gave it to him. + +'There is only one word for what I feel about it,' Vincy said, as he +gave it back. 'I'm gormed! Simply gormed! Gormed, Edith dear, is really +the only word.' + +'I'm not jealous,' said Edith. 'My last trouble with Bruce seems to +have cured me of any feeling of the kind. But I have a sort of pity and +affection for him still in a way--almost like a mother! I'm really +afraid he will be miserable with her, and then he'll feel tied to her +and be wretched all his life. So I'm giving him a chance.' + +He looked at her with admiring sympathy. + +'But what about other friends?' + +'Well--oh, you know--' + +'Edith, I'm awfully sorry; I wish I'd married her now, then she +wouldn't have bothered about Bruce.' + +'But you can't stand her, Vincy.' + +'I know, Edith dear; but I'd marry any number of people to prevent +anything tiresome for you. And Aylmer, of course--Edith, really, I +think Aylmer ought to go away; I'm sure he ought. It is a mistake to +let him stay here under these circumstances.' + +'Why?' said Edith. 'I don't see that; if I were going to take Bruce at +his word, then it would be different, of course.' + +'It does seem a pity not to, in some ways; everything would be all +nicely settled up, just like the fourth act of a play. And then I +should be glad I hadn't married Mavis... Oh, do let it be like the +fourth act, Edith.' + +'How can life be like a play? It's hopeless to attempt it,' she said +rather sadly. + +'Edith, do you think if Bruce knew--how much you liked Aylmer--he would +have written that letter?' + +'No. And I don't believe he would ever have gone away.' + +'Still, I think you ought to send Aylmer away now.' + +'Why?' she repeated. 'Nothing could be more intensely correct. Mrs +Ottley's staying with me--why shouldn't I have the pleasure of seeing +Aylmer because Bruce is having a heavenly time on board ship?' + +'I suppose there's that point of view,' said Vincy, rather bewildered. +'I say, Edith!' + +'About Bruce having a heavenly time on board ship--a--she always +grumbles; she's always complaining. She's never, never satisfied... She +keeps on making scenes.' + +'So does Bruce.' + +'Yes. But I suppose if there's a certain predicament--then--Oh, +Edith--are you unhappy?' + +'No, not a bit now. I think I'm only really unhappy when I'm undecided. +Once I've taken a line--no matter what it is--I can be happy again. I +can adjust myself to my good fortune.' + +Curiously, when Edith had once got over the pain and shock that the +letter first gave her, she was positively happier now than she ever had +been before. Bruce really must have been a more formidable bore than +she had known, since his absence left such a delicious freedom. The +certainty of having done the right, the wisest thing, was a support, a +proud satisfaction. + +During these summer days Aylmer was not so peacefully happy. His +devotion was assiduous, silent, discreet, and sometimes his feelings +were almost uncontrollable, but he hoped; and he consoled himself by +the thought that some day he would really have his wish--anything might +happen; the chances were all in his favour. + +What an extraordinary woman she was--and how pretty--how subtle; how +perfect their life might be together.... + +He implored Vincy to use his influence. + +'I can't see Edith in anything so crude as the--as--that court,' Vincy +said. + +'But Bruce begs her to do it. What could their life be together +afterwards? It's simply a deliberate sacrifice.' + +'There's every hope that Miss Argles will never let him go,' said +Vincy. 'One has to be very firm to get away from her. Oh, ever so firm, +and _obstinate_, you can't think! How many times a day she must be +reproaching Bruce--that will be rather a change for him. However, +anything may happen,' said Vincy soothingly. He still maintained, for +he had a very strong sense of propriety in matters of form, that Aylmer +ought to go away. But Edith would not agree. + + * * * * * + +So the children played and enjoyed themselves, and sometimes asked +after their father, and Mrs Ottley, though a little anxious, enjoyed +herself too, and Edith had never been so happy. She was having a +holiday. She dismissed all trouble and lived in a sort of dream. + + * * * * * + +Towards the end of the summer, hearing no more from Bruce, Aylmer grew +still more hopeful; he began to regard it as practically settled. The +next letter in answer to Edith's would doubtless convince her, and he +would then persuade her; it was, tacitly, he thought, almost agreed +now; it was not spoken of between them, but he believed it was all +right.... + + * * * * * + +Aylmer had come back to London in the early days of September and was +wandering through his house thinking how he would have it done up and +how he wouldn't leave it when they were married, when a telephone +message summoned him to Knightsbridge. + +He went, and found the elder Mrs Ottley just going away. He thought she +looked at him rather strangely. + +'I think Edith wants to speak to you,' she said, as she left the room. +'Dear Edith! Be nice to her.' And she fled. + + * * * * * + +Aylmer waited alone, looking round the room that he loved because he +associated it with her. + +It was one of the first cold damp days of the autumn, and there was a +fire. Edith came in, in a dark dress, looking pale, and different, he +thought. She had seemed the very spirit of summer only a day or two +before. + +A chill presentiment struck to his heart. + +'You've had a letter? Go on; don't keep me in suspense.' He spoke with +nervous impatience, and no self-restraint. + +She sat down by him. She had no wish to create an effect, but she found +it difficult to speak. + +'Yes, I've had a letter,' she said quietly. 'They've quarrelled. They +quarrelled on board. He hates her. He says he would rather die than +remain with her. He's written me a rather nice letter. They quarrelled +so frightfully that a young man on board interfered,' she said, smiling +faintly. 'As soon as they arrived the young man married her. He's a +commercial traveller. He's only twenty-five.... It seems he pitied her +so much that he proposed to her on board, and she left Bruce. It wasn't +true about the predicament. It was--a mistake. Bruce was grateful for +my letter. He's glad I've not told anyone--not done anything. Now the +children will never know. But I've told Mrs Ottley all about it. I +thought I'd better, now it's over. She won't ask him questions.... +Bruce is on his way home.' + +'All right!' said Aylmer, getting up. 'Let him come. Forgive him again, +that's right! Would you have done that for _me_?' + +'No! Never! If you had once been unfaithful, and I knew it, I'd never +have forgiven you.' + +'I quite believe it. But why?' + +'Because I care for you too much. If you had been in Bruce's position I +should never have seen you again. With him it's different. It's a +feeling of--it's for him, not for me. I've felt no jealousy, no +passion, so I could judge calmly.' + +'All right,' repeated Aylmer ironically; 'all right! Judge calmly! Do +the right thing. You know best.' He stopped a moment, and then said, +taking his hat: 'I understand now. I see clearly at last. You've had +the opportunity and you wouldn't take it; you don't care for me. I'm +going.' + +He went to the door. + +'Oh, come back, Aylmer! Don't go like that! You know I care for you, +but what could I do? I foresaw this...You know, I can't feel _no_ +responsibility about Bruce. I couldn't make my happiness out of someone +else's misery. He would have been miserable and, not only that, it +would have been his ruin. Bruce could never be safe, happy, or all +right, except here.' + +'And you think he'll alter, now, be grateful and devoted, I +suppose--appreciate you?' + +'Do people alter?' she answered. + +'I neither know nor care if he will, but you? I could have made you +happy. You won't let me. Oh, Edith, how could you torture me like this +all the summer?' + +'I didn't mean to torture you. We enjoyed being together.' + +'Yes. But it makes this so much harder.' + +'It would be such a risk!' she answered. 'But is anything worth having +unless you're ready to risk every-thing to get it?' + +'I _would_ risk everything, for myself. But not for others...If you +feel you want to go away,' she said, 'let it be only for a little +while.' + +'A little while! I hope I shall _never_ see you again! Do you think I'm +such a miserable fool--do you think I could endure the position of a +tame cat? You forget I'm a man!... No; I'll never see you again now, +not if it kills me!' + +At these words, the first harsh ones she had ever heard from him, her +nerves gave way, and she burst into tears. + +This made him irresolute, for his tender-heartedness almost reached the +point of weakness. He went up to her, as she lifted her head, and +looked at her once more. Then he said: + +'No, you've chosen. You _have_ been cruel to me, and you're too good to +him. But I suppose you must carry out your own nature, Edith. I've been +the victim. That's all.' + +'And won't you be friends?' she said. + +'No. I won't and I can't.' + +He waited one moment more. + + * * * * * + +'If you'll change your mind--you still can--we can still be happy. We +can be everything to each other.... Give him up. Give him up.' + +'I can't,' said Edith. + +'Then, good-bye.' + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +Intellectual Sympathy + +'What are you going to wear tonight, Edith?' + +'Oh; anything!' + +'Don't say anything. I don't wish you to wear anything. I'm anxious you +should look your best, really nice, especially as we haven't been to +the Mitchells' for so long. Wear your new blue dress.' + +'Very well.' + +Bruce got up and walked across the room and looked in the glass. + +'Certainly, I'm a bit sunburnt,' he remarked thoughtfully. 'But it +doesn't suit me badly, not really badly; does it?' + +'Not at all.' + +'Edith.' + +'Yes?' + +'If I've spoken about it once, I've spoken about it forty times. This +ink-bottle is too full.' + +'I'll see about it.' + +'Don't let me have to speak about it again, will you? I wonder who will +be at the Mitchells' tonight?' + +'Oh, I suppose there'll be the new person--the woman with the dramatic +contralto foghorn voice; and the usual people: Mr Cricker, Lady +Everard, Miss Mooney--' + +'Miss Mooney! I hope not! I can't stand that woman. I think she's +absurd; she's a mass of affectation and prudishness. And--Edith!' + +'Yes?' + +'I don't want to interfere between mother and daughter--I know you're +perfectly capable and thoroughly well suited to bringing up a girl, but +I really do think you're encouraging Dilly in too great extravagance.' + +'Oh! In what way?' + +'I found her making a pinafore for her doll out of a lace flounce of +real old Venetian lace. Dilly said she found it on the floor. 'On the +floor, indeed,' I said to her. 'You mustn't use real lace!' She said, +'Why not? It's a real doll!' Lately Dilly's got a way of answering back +that I don't like at all. Speak to her about it, will you, Edith?' + +'Oh yes, of course I will.' + +'I'm afraid my mother spoils them. However, Archie will be going to +school soon. Of course it isn't for me to interfere. I have always made +a point of letting you do exactly as you like about the children, +haven't I, Edith? But I'm beginning to think, really, Dilly ought to +have another gov--' He stopped, looking self-conscious. + +'Oh, she's only five, quite a baby,' said Edith. 'I daresay I can +manage her for the present. Leave it to me.' + + * * * * * + +Since his return, Edith had never once referred to Bruce's sea-voyage. +Once or twice he had thanked her with real gratitude, and even remorse, +for the line she had taken, but her one revenge had been to change the +subject immediately. If Bruce wished to discuss the elopement that she +had so laboriously concealed, he would have to go elsewhere. + + * * * * * + +A brilliantly coloured version, glittering with success and lurid with +melodrama, had been given (greatly against the hearer's will) to +Goldthorpe at the club. One of the most annoying things to Bruce was +that he was perfectly convinced, when he was confessing the exact +truth, that Goldthorpe didn't believe a word of it. + +It was unfortunate, too, for Bruce, that he felt it incumbent on him to +keep it from Vincy; and not to speak of the affair at all was a real +sacrifice on Vincy's part, also. For they would both have enjoyed +discussing it, while Goldthorpe, the only human being in whom Bruce +ever really confided, was not only bored but incredulous. He considered +Bruce not only tedious to the verge of imbecility, but unreliable +beyond the pardonable point of inaccuracy. In fact, Bruce was his ideal +of the most wearisome of liars and the most untruthful of bores; and +here was poor Vincy dying to hear all about his old friend, Mavis (he +never knew even whether she had mentioned his name), ready to revel, +with his peculiar humour, in every detail of the strange romance, +particularly to enjoy her sudden desertion of Bruce for an unmarried +commercial traveller who had fallen in love with her on board.--And +yet, it had to be withheld! Bruce felt it would be disloyal, and he had +the decency to be ashamed to speak of his escapade to an intimate +friend of his wife. + + * * * * * + +Bruce complained very much of the dullness of the early autumn in +London without Aylmer. This sudden mania for long journeys on Aylmer's +part was a most annoying hobby. He would never get such a pleasant +friend as Aylmer again. Aylmer was his hero. + +'Why do you think he's gone away?' he rather irritatingly persisted. + +'I haven't the slightest idea.' + +'Do you know, Edith, it has sometimes occurred to me that if--that, +well--well, you know what I mean--if things had turned out differently, +and you had done as I asked you--' + +'Well?' + +'Why, I have a sort of idea,' he looked away, 'that Aylmer might--well, +might have proposed to you!' + +'Oh! _What_ an extraordinary idea!' + +'But he never did show any sign whatever, I suppose of--well, +of--being more interested in you than he ought to have been?' + +'Good heavens, no!' + +'Oh, of course, I know that--you're not his style. You liked him very +much, didn't you, Edith?...' + +'I like him very much now.' + +'However, I doubt if you ever quite appreciated him. He's so full of +ability; such an intellectual chap! Aylmer is more a man's man. _I_ +miss him, of course. He was a very great friend of mine. And he didn't +ever at all, in the least--seem to--' + +'Seem to what?' + +'It would have been a very unfair advantage to take of my absence if he +had,' continued Bruce. + +'Oh!' + +'But he was incapable of it, of course.' + +'Of course.' + +'He _never_ showed any special interest, then, beyond--' + +'Never.' + +'I was right, I suppose, as usual. You never appreciated him; he was +not the sort of man a woman _would_ appreciate ... But he's a great +loss to me, Edith. I need a man who can understand--Intellectual +sympathy--' + + * * * * * + +'Mr Vincy!' announced the servant. + +Vincy had not lost his extraordinary gift for turning up at the right +moment. 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