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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Irrational Knot, by George Bernard Shaw
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: The Irrational Knot
+       Being the Second Novel of His Nonage
+
+Author: George Bernard Shaw
+
+Release Date: February 28, 2004 [eBook #11354]
+[Most recently updated: January 1, 2022]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Rick Niles, John Hagerson and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRRATIONAL KNOT ***
+
+
+
+
+The Irrational Knot
+
+by George Bernard Shaw
+
+BEING
+THE SECOND NOVEL OF HIS NONAGE
+
+1905
+
+
+Contents
+
+ PREFACE
+
+ BOOK I
+ THE IRRATIONAL KNOT
+ CHAPTER I
+ CHAPTER II
+ CHAPTER III
+ CHAPTER IV
+ CHAPTER V
+ CHAPTER VI
+
+ BOOK II
+ CHAPTER VII
+ CHAPTER VIII
+ CHAPTER IX
+ CHAPTER X
+ CHAPTER XI
+
+ BOOK III
+ CHAPTER XII
+ CHAPTER XIII
+ CHAPTER XIV
+ CHAPTER XV
+ CHAPTER XVI
+ CHAPTER XVII
+
+ BOOK IV
+ CHAPTER XVIII
+ CHAPTER XIX
+ CHAPTER XX
+ CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+TO THE AMERICAN EDITION OF 1905
+
+
+This novel was written in the year 1880, only a few years after I had
+exported myself from Dublin to London in a condition of extreme rawness
+and inexperience concerning the specifically English side of the life
+with which the book pretends to deal. Everybody wrote novels then. It
+was my second attempt; and it shared the fate of my first. That is to
+say, nobody would publish it, though I tried all the London publishers
+and some American ones. And I should not greatly blame them if I could
+feel sure that it was the book’s faults and not its qualities that
+repelled them.
+
+I have narrated elsewhere how in the course of time the rejected MS.
+became Mrs. Annie Besant’s excuse for lending me her ever helping hand
+by publishing it as a serial in a little propagandist magazine of hers.
+That was how it got loose beyond all possibility of recapture. It is
+out of my power now to stand between it and the American public: all I
+can do is to rescue it from unauthorized mutilations and make the best
+of a jejune job.
+
+At present, of course, I am not the author of The Irrational Knot.
+Physiologists inform us that the substance of our bodies (and
+consequently of our souls) is shed and renewed at such a rate that no
+part of us lasts longer than eight years: I am therefore not now in any
+atom of me the person who wrote The Irrational Knot in 1880. The last
+of that author perished in 1888; and two of his successors have since
+joined the majority. Fourth of his line, I cannot be expected to take
+any very lively interest in the novels of my literary
+great-grandfather. Even my personal recollections of him are becoming
+vague and overlaid with those most misleading of all traditions, the
+traditions founded on the lies a man tells, and at last comes to
+believe, about himself _to_ himself. Certain things, however, I
+remember very well. For instance, I am significantly clear as to the
+price of the paper on which I wrote The Irrational Knot. It was cheap—a
+white demy of unpretentious quality—so that sixpennorth lasted a long
+time. My daily allowance of composition was five pages of this demy in
+quarto; and I held my natural laziness sternly to that task day in, day
+out, to the end. I remember also that Bizet’s Carmen being then new in
+London, I used it as a safety-valve for my romantic impulses. When I
+was tired of the sordid realism of Whatshisname (I have sent my only
+copy of The Irrational Knot to the printers, and cannot remember the
+name of my hero) I went to the piano and forgot him in the glamorous
+society of Carmen and her crimson toreador and yellow dragoon. Not that
+Bizet’s music could infatuate me as it infatuated Nietzsche. Nursed on
+greater masters, I thought less of him than he deserved; but the Carmen
+music was—in places—exquisite of its kind, and could enchant a man like
+me, romantic enough to have come to the end of romance before I began
+to create in art for myself.
+
+When I say that _I_ did and felt these things, I mean, of course, that
+the predecessor whose name I bear did and felt them. The I of to-day is
+(? am) cool towards Carmen; and Carmen, I regret to say, does not take
+the slightest interest in him (? me). And now enough of this juggling
+with past and present Shaws. The grammatical complications of being a
+first person and several extinct third persons at the same moment are
+so frightful that I must return to the ordinary misusage, and ask the
+reader to make the necessary corrections in his or her own mind.
+
+This book is not wholly a compound of intuition and ignorance. Take for
+example the profession of my hero, an Irish-American electrical
+engineer. That was by no means a flight of fancy. For you must not
+suppose, because I am a man of letters, that I never tried to earn an
+honest living. I began trying to commit that sin against my nature when
+I was fifteen, and persevered, from youthful timidity and diffidence,
+until I was twenty-three. My last attempt was in 1879, when a company
+was formed in London to exploit an ingenious invention by Mr. Thomas
+Alva Edison—a much too ingenious invention as it proved, being nothing
+less than a telephone of such stentorian efficiency that it bellowed
+your most private communications all over the house instead of
+whispering them with some sort of discretion. This was not what the
+British stockbroker wanted; so the company was soon merged in the
+National Telephone Company, after making a place for itself in the
+history of literature, quite unintentionally, by providing me with a
+job. Whilst the Edison Telephone Company lasted, it crowded the
+basement of a huge pile of offices in Queen Victoria Street with
+American artificers. These deluded and romantic men gave me a glimpse
+of the skilled proletariat of the United States. They sang obsolete
+sentimental songs with genuine emotion; and their language was
+frightful even to an Irishman. They worked with a ferocious energy
+which was out of all proportion to the actual result achieved.
+Indomitably resolved to assert their republican manhood by taking no
+orders from a tall-hatted Englishman whose stiff politeness covered his
+conviction that they were, relatively to himself, inferior and common
+persons, they insisted on being slave-driven with genuine American
+oaths by a genuine free and equal American foreman. They utterly
+despised the artfully slow British workman who did as little for his
+wages as he possibly could; never hurried himself; and had a deep
+reverence for anyone whose pocket could be tapped by respectful
+behavior. Need I add that they were contemptuously wondered at by this
+same British workman as a parcel of outlandish adult boys, who sweated
+themselves for their employer’s benefit instead of looking after their
+own interests? They adored Mr. Edison as the greatest man of all time
+in every possible department of science, art and philosophy, and
+execrated Mr. Graham Bell, the inventor of the rival telephone, as his
+Satanic adversary; but each of them had (or pretended to have) on the
+brink of completion, an improvement on the telephone, usually a new
+transmitter. They were free-souled creatures, excellent company:
+sensitive, cheerful, and profane; liars, braggarts, and hustlers; with
+an air of making slow old England hum which never left them even when,
+as often happened, they were wrestling with difficulties of their own
+making, or struggling in no-thoroughfares from which they had to be
+retrieved like strayed sheep by Englishmen without imagination enough
+to go wrong.
+
+In this environment I remained for some months. As I was interested in
+physics and had read Tyndall and Helmholtz, besides having learnt
+something in Ireland through a fortunate friendship with a cousin of
+Mr. Graham Bell who was also a chemist and physicist, I was, I believe,
+the only person in the entire establishment who knew the current
+scientific explanation of telephony; and as I soon struck up a
+friendship with our official lecturer, a Colchester man whose strong
+point was pre-scientific agriculture, I often discharged his duties for
+him in a manner which, I am persuaded, laid the foundation of Mr.
+Edison’s London reputation: my sole reward being my boyish delight in
+the half-concealed incredulity of our visitors (who were convinced by
+the hoarsely startling utterances of the telephone that the speaker,
+alleged by me to be twenty miles away, was really using a
+speaking-trumpet in the next room), and their obvious uncertainty, when
+the demonstration was over, as to whether they ought to tip me or not:
+a question they either decided in the negative or never decided at all;
+for I never got anything.
+
+So much for my electrical engineer! To get him into contact with
+fashionable society before he became famous was also a problem easily
+solved. I knew of three English peers who actually preferred physical
+laboratories to stables, and scientific experts to gamekeepers: in
+fact, one of the experts was a friend of mine. And I knew from personal
+experience that if science brings men of all ranks into contact, art,
+especially music, does the same for men and women. An electrician who
+can play an accompaniment can go anywhere and know anybody. As far as
+mere access and acquaintance go there are no class barriers for him. My
+difficulty was not to get my hero into society, but to give any sort of
+plausibility to my picture of society when I got him into it. I lacked
+the touch of the literary diner-out; and I had, as the reader will
+probably find to his cost, the classical tradition which makes all the
+persons in a novel, except the comically vernacular ones, or the
+speakers of phonetically spelt dialect, utter themselves in the formal
+phrases and studied syntax of eighteenth century rhetoric. In short, I
+wrote in the style of Scott and Dickens; and as fashionable society
+then spoke and behaved, as it still does, in no style at all, my
+transcriptions of Oxford and Mayfair may nowadays suggest an
+unaccountable and ludicrous ignorance of a very superficial and
+accessible code of manners. I was not, however, so ignorant as might
+have been inferred at that time from my somewhat desperate financial
+condition.
+
+I had, to begin with, a sort of backstairs knowledge; for in my teens I
+struggled for life in the office of an Irish gentleman who acted as
+land agent and private banker for many persons of distinction. Now it
+is possible for a London author to dine out in the highest circles for
+twenty years without learning as much about the human frailties of his
+hosts as the family solicitor or (in Ireland) the family land agent
+learns in twenty days; and some of this knowledge inevitably reaches
+his clerks, especially the clerk who keeps the cash, which was my
+particular department. He learns, if capable of the lesson, that the
+aristocratic profession has as few geniuses as any other profession; so
+that if you want a peerage of more than, say, half a dozen members, you
+must fill it up with many common persons, and even with some deplorably
+mean ones. For “service is no inheritance” either in the kitchen or the
+House of Lords; and the case presented by Mr. Barrie in his play of The
+Admirable Crichton, where the butler is the man of quality, and his
+master, the Earl, the man of rank, is no fantasy, but a quite common
+occurrence, and indeed to some extent an inevitable one, because the
+English are extremely particular in selecting their butlers, whilst
+they do not select their barons at all, taking them as the accident of
+birth sends them. The consequences include much ironic comedy. For
+instance, we have in England a curious belief in first rate people,
+meaning all the people we do not know; and this consoles us for the
+undeniable secondrateness of the people we do know, besides saving the
+credit of aristocracy as an institution. The unmet aristocrat is
+devoutly believed in; but he is always round the corner, never at hand.
+That _the_ smart set exists; that there is above and beyond that smart
+set a class so blue of blood and exquisite in nature that it looks down
+even on the King with haughty condescension; that scepticism on these
+points is one of the stigmata of plebeian baseness: all these
+imaginings are so common here that they constitute the real popular
+sociology of England as much as an unlimited credulity as to
+vaccination constitutes the real popular science of England. It is, of
+course, a timid superstition. A British peer or peeress who happens by
+chance to be genuinely noble is just as isolated at court as Goethe
+would have been among all the other grandsons of publicans, if they had
+formed a distinct class in Frankfurt or Weimar. This I knew very well
+when I wrote my novels; and if, as I suspect, I failed to create a
+convincingly verisimilar atmosphere of aristocracy, it was not because
+I had any illusions or ignorances as to the common humanity of the
+peerage, and not because I gave literary style to its conversation, but
+because, as I had never had any money, I was foolishly indifferent to
+it, and so, having blinded myself to its enormous importance,
+necessarily missed the point of view, and with it the whole moral
+basis, of the class which rightly values money, and plenty of it, as
+the first condition of a bearable life.
+
+Money is indeed the most important thing in the world; and all sound
+and successful personal and national morality should have this fact for
+its basis. Every teacher or twaddler who denies it or suppresses it, is
+an enemy of life. Money controls morality; and what makes the United
+States of America look so foolish even in foolish Europe is that they
+are always in a state of flurried concern and violent interference with
+morality, whereas they throw their money into the street to be
+scrambled for, and presently find that their cash reserves are not in
+their own hands, but in the pockets of a few millionaires who,
+bewildered by their luck, and unspeakably incapable of making any truly
+economic use of it, endeavor to “do good” with it by letting themselves
+be fleeced by philanthropic committee men, building contractors,
+librarians and professors, in the name of education, science, art and
+what not; so that sensible people exhale relievedly when the pious
+millionaire dies, and his heirs, demoralized by being brought up on his
+outrageous income, begin the socially beneficent work of scattering his
+fortune through the channels of the trades that flourish by riotous
+living.
+
+This, as I have said, I did not then understand; for I knew money only
+by the want of it. Ireland is a poor country; and my father was a poor
+man in a poor country. By this I do not mean that he was hungry and
+homeless, a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. My friend Mr. James
+Huneker, a man of gorgeous imagination and incorrigible romanticism,
+has described me to the American public as a peasant lad who has raised
+himself, as all American presidents are assumed to have raised
+themselves, from the humblest departments of manual labor to the
+loftiest eminence. James flatters me. Had I been born a peasant, I
+should now be a tramp. My notion of my father’s income is even vaguer
+than his own was—and that is saying a good deal—but he always had an
+income of at least three figures (four, if you count in dollars instead
+of pounds); and what made him poor was that he conceived himself as
+born to a social position which even in Ireland could have been
+maintained in dignified comfort only on twice or thrice what he had.
+And he married on that assumption. Fortunately for me, social
+opportunity is not always to be measured by income. There is an
+important economic factor, first analyzed by an American economist
+(General Walker), and called rent of ability. Now this rent, when the
+ability is of the artistic or political sort, is often paid in kind.
+For example, a London possessor of such ability may, with barely enough
+money to maintain a furnished bedroom and a single presentable suit of
+clothes, see everything worth seeing that a millionaire can see, and
+know everybody worth knowing that he can know. Long before I reached
+this point myself, a very trifling accomplishment gave me glimpses of
+the sort of fashionable life a peasant never sees. Thus I remember one
+evening during the novel-writing period when nobody would pay a
+farthing for a stroke of my pen, walking along Sloane Street in that
+blessed shield of literary shabbiness, evening dress. A man accosted me
+with an eloquent appeal for help, ending with the assurance that he had
+not a penny in the world. I replied, with exact truth, “Neither have
+I.” He thanked me civilly, and went away, apparently not in the least
+surprised, leaving me to ask myself why I did not turn beggar too,
+since I felt sure that a man who did it as well as he, must be in
+comfortable circumstances.
+
+Another reminiscence. A little past midnight, in the same costume, I
+was turning from Piccadilly into Bond Street, when a lady of the
+pavement, out of luck that evening so far, confided to me that the last
+bus for Brompton had passed, and that she should be grateful to any
+gentleman who would give her a lift in a hansom. My old-fashioned Irish
+gallantry had not then been worn off by age and England: besides, as a
+novelist who could find no publisher, I was touched by the similarity
+of our trades and predicaments. I excused myself very politely on the
+ground that my wife (invented for the occasion) was waiting for me at
+home, and that I felt sure so attractive a lady would have no
+difficulty in finding another escort. Unfortunately this speech made so
+favorable an impression on her that she immediately took my arm and
+declared her willingness to go anywhere with me, on the flattering
+ground that I was a perfect gentleman. In vain did I try to persuade
+her that in coming up Bond Street and deserting Piccadilly, she was
+throwing away her last chance of a hansom: she attached herself so
+devotedly to me that I could not without actual violence shake her off.
+At last I made a stand at the end of Old Bond Street. I took out my
+purse; opened it; and held it upside down. Her countenance fell, poor
+girl! She turned on her heel with a melancholy flirt of her skirt, and
+vanished.
+
+Now on both these occasions I had been in the company of people who
+spent at least as much in a week as I did in a year. Why was I, a
+penniless and unknown young man, admitted there? Simply because, though
+I was an execrable pianist, and never improved until the happy
+invention of the pianola made a Paderewski of me, I could play a simple
+accompaniment at sight more congenially to a singer than most amateurs.
+It is true that the musical side of London society, with its streak of
+Bohemianism, and its necessary toleration of foreign ways and
+professional manners, is far less typically English than the sporting
+side or the political side or the Philistine side; so much so, indeed,
+that people may and do pass their lives in it without ever discovering
+what English plutocracy in the mass is really like: still, if you
+wander in it nocturnally for a fitful year or so as I did, with empty
+pockets and an utter impossibility of approaching it by daylight (owing
+to the deplorable decay of the morning wardrobe), you have something
+more actual to go on than the hallucinations of a peasant lad setting
+his foot manfully on the lowest rung of the social ladder. I never
+climbed any ladder: I have achieved eminence by sheer gravitation; and
+I hereby warn all peasant lads not to be duped by my pretended example
+into regarding their present servitude as a practicable first step to a
+celebrity so dazzling that its subject cannot even suppress his own bad
+novels.
+
+Conceive me then at the writing of The Irrational Knot as a person
+neither belonging to the world I describe nor wholly ignorant of it,
+and on certain points quite incapable of conceiving it intuitively. A
+whole world of art which did not exist for it lay open to me. I was
+familiar with the greatest in that world: mighty poets, painters, and
+musicians were my intimates. I found the world of artificial greatness
+founded on convention and money so repugnant and contemptible by
+comparison that I had no sympathetic understanding of it. People are
+fond of blaming valets because no man is a hero to his valet. But it is
+equally true that no man is a valet to his hero; and the hero,
+consequently, is apt to blunder very ludicrously about valets, through
+judging them from an irrelevant standard of heroism: heroism, remember,
+having its faults as well as its qualities. I, always on the heroic
+plane imaginatively, had two disgusting faults which I did not
+recognize as faults because I could not help them. I was poor and (by
+day) shabby. I therefore tolerated the gross error that poverty, though
+an inconvenience and a trial, is not a sin and a disgrace; and I stood
+for my self-respect on the things I had: probity, ability, knowledge of
+art, laboriousness, and whatever else came cheaply to me. Because I
+could walk into Hampton Court Palace and the National Gallery (on free
+days) and enjoy Mantegna and Michael Angelo whilst millionaires were
+yawning miserably over inept gluttonies; because I could suffer more by
+hearing a movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony taken at a wrong tempo
+than a duchess by losing a diamond necklace, I was indifferent to the
+repulsive fact that if I had fallen in love with the duchess I did not
+possess a morning suit in which I could reasonably have expected her to
+touch me with the furthest protended pair of tongs; and I did not see
+that to remedy this I should have been prepared to wade through seas of
+other people’s blood. Indeed it is this perception which constitutes an
+aristocracy nowadays. It is the secret of all our governing classes,
+which consist finally of people who, though perfectly prepared to be
+generous, humane, cultured, philanthropic, public spirited and
+personally charming in the second instance, are unalterably resolved,
+in the first, to have money enough for a handsome and delicate life,
+and will, in pursuit of that money, batter in the doors of their fellow
+men, sell them up, sweat them in fetid dens, shoot, stab, hang,
+imprison, sink, burn and destroy them in the name of law and order. And
+this shews their fundamental sanity and rightmindedness; for a
+sufficient income is indispensable to the practice of virtue; and the
+man who will let any unselfish consideration stand between him and its
+attainment is a weakling, a dupe and a predestined slave. If I could
+convince our impecunious mobs of this, the world would be reformed
+before the end of the week; for the sluggards who are content to be
+wealthy without working and the dastards who are content to work
+without being wealthy, together with all the pseudo-moralists and
+ethicists and cowardice mongers generally, would be exterminated
+without shrift, to the unutterable enlargement of life and ennoblement
+of humanity. We might even make some beginnings of civilization under
+such happy circumstances.
+
+In the days of The Irrational Knot I had not learnt this lesson;
+consequently I did not understand the British peerage, just as I did
+not understand that glorious and beautiful phenomenon, the “heartless”
+rich American woman, who so thoroughly and admirably understands that
+conscience is a luxury, and should be indulged in only when the vital
+needs of life have been abundantly satisfied. The instinct which has
+led the British peerage to fortify itself by American alliances is
+healthy and well inspired. Thanks to it, we shall still have a few
+people to maintain the tradition of a handsome, free, proud, costly
+life, whilst the craven mass of us are keeping up our starveling
+pretence that it is more important to be good than to be rich, and
+piously cheating, robbing, and murdering one another by doing our duty
+as policemen, soldiers, bailiffs, jurymen, turnkeys, hangmen,
+tradesmen, and curates, at the command of those who know that the
+golden grapes are _not_ sour. Why, good heavens! we shall all pretend
+that this straightforward truth of mine is mere Swiftian satire,
+because it would require a little courage to take it seriously and
+either act on it or make me drink the hemlock for uttering it.
+
+There was the less excuse for my blindness because I was at that very
+moment laying the foundations of my high fortune by the most ruthless
+disregard of all the quack duties which lead the peasant lad of fiction
+to the White House, and harness the real peasant boy to the plough
+until he is finally swept, as rubbish, into the workhouse. I was an
+ablebodied and ableminded young man in the strength of my youth; and my
+family, then heavily embarrassed, needed my help urgently. That I
+should have chosen to be a burden to them instead was, according to all
+the conventions of peasant lad fiction, monstrous. Well, without a
+blush I embraced the monstrosity. I did not throw myself into the
+struggle for life: I threw my mother into it. I was not a staff to my
+father’s old age: I hung on to his coat tails. His reward was to live
+just long enough to read a review of one of these silly novels written
+in an obscure journal by a personal friend of my own (now eminent in
+literature as Mr. John Mackinnon Robertson) prefiguring me to some
+extent as a considerable author. I think, myself, that this was a
+handsome reward, far better worth having than a nice pension from a
+dutiful son struggling slavishly for his parent’s bread in some sordid
+trade. Handsome or not, it was the only return he ever had for the
+little pension he contrived to export from Ireland for his family. My
+mother reinforced it by drudging in her elder years at the art of music
+which she had followed in her prime freely for love. I only helped to
+spend it. People wondered at my heartlessness: one young and romantic
+lady had the courage to remonstrate openly and indignantly with me,
+“for the which” as Pepys said of the shipwright’s wife who refused his
+advances, “I did respect her.” Callous as Comus to moral babble, I
+steadily wrote my five pages a day and made a man of myself (at my
+mother’s expense) instead of a slave. And I protest that I will not
+suffer James Huneker or any romanticist to pass me off as a peasant boy
+qualifying for a chapter in Smiles’s Self Help, or a good son
+supporting a helpless mother, instead of a stupendously selfish artist
+leaning with the full weight of his hungry body on an energetic and
+capable woman. No, James: such lies are not only unnecessary, but
+fearfully depressing and fundamentally immoral, besides being hardly
+fair to the supposed peasant lad’s parents. My mother worked for my
+living instead of preaching that it was my duty to work for hers:
+therefore take off your hat to her, and blush.[A]
+
+It is now open to anyone who pleases to read The Irrational Knot. I do
+not recommend him to; but it is possible that the same mysterious force
+which drove me through the labor of writing it may have had some
+purpose which will sustain others through the labor of reading it, and
+even reward them with some ghastly enjoyment of it. For my own part I
+cannot stand it. It is to me only one of the heaps of spoiled material
+that all apprenticeship involves. I consent to its publication because
+I remember that British colonel who called on Beethoven when the
+elderly composer was working at his posthumous quartets, and offered
+him a commission for a work in the style of his jejune septet.
+Beethoven drove the Colonel out of the house with objurgation. I think
+that was uncivil. There is a time for the septet, and a time for the
+posthumous quartets. It is true that if a man called on me now and
+asked me to write something like The Irrational Knot I should have to
+exercise great self-control. But there are people who read Man and
+Superman, and then tell me (actually to my face) that I have never done
+anything so good as Cashel Byron’s Profession. After this, there may be
+a public for even The Irrational Knot; so let it go.
+
+LONDON, _May_ 26, 1905.
+
+
+[Footnote A: James, having read the above in proof, now protests he
+never called me a peasant lad: that being a decoration by the
+sub-editor. The expression he used was “a poor lad.” This is what James
+calls tact. After all, there is something pastoral, elemental, well
+aerated, about a peasant lad. But a mere poor lad! really, James,
+_really_—!!!]
+
+
+P.S.—Since writing the above I have looked through the proof-sheets of
+this book, and found, with some access of respect for my youth, that it
+is a fiction of the first order. By this I do not mean that it is a
+masterpiece in that order, or even a pleasant example of it, but simply
+that, such as it is, it is one of those fictions in which the morality
+is original and not readymade. Now this quality is the true diagnostic
+of the first order in literature, and indeed in all the arts, including
+the art of life. It is, for example, the distinction that sets
+Shakespear’s Hamlet above his other plays, and that sets Ibsen’s work
+as a whole above Shakespear’s work as a whole. Shakespear’s morality is
+a mere reach-me-down; and because Hamlet does not feel comfortable in
+it, and struggles against the misfit, he suggests something better,
+futile as his struggle is, and incompetent as Shakespear shews himself
+in his effort to think out the revolt of his feeling against readymade
+morality. Ibsen’s morality is original all through: he knows well that
+the men in the street have no use for principles, because they can
+neither understand nor apply them; and that what they can understand
+and apply are arbitrary rules of conduct, often frightfully destructive
+and inhuman, but at least definite rules enabling the common stupid man
+to know where he stands and what he may do and not do without getting
+into trouble. Now to all writers of the first order, these rules, and
+the need for them produced by the moral and intellectual incompetence
+of the ordinary human animal, are no more invariably beneficial and
+respectable than the sunlight which ripens the wheat in Sussex and
+leaves the desert deadly in Sahara, making the cheeks of the
+ploughman’s child rosy in the morning and striking the ploughman
+brainsick or dead in the afternoon; no more inspired (and no less) than
+the religion of the Andaman islanders; as much in need of frequent
+throwing away and replacement as the community’s boots. By writers of
+the second order the readymade morality is accepted as the basis of all
+moral judgment and criticism of the characters they portray, even when
+their genius forces them to represent their most attractive heroes and
+heroines as violating the readymade code in all directions. Far be it
+from me to pretend that the first order is more readable than the
+second! Shakespear, Scott, Dickens, Dumas _père_ are not, to say the
+least, less readable than Euripides and Ibsen. Nor is the first order
+always more constructive; for Byron, Oscar Wilde, and Larochefoucauld
+did not get further in positive philosophy than Ruskin and Carlyle,
+though they could snuff Ruskin’s Seven Lamps with their fingers without
+flinching. Still, the first order remains the first order and the
+second the second for all that: no man who shuts his eyes and opens his
+mouth when religion and morality are offered to him on a long spoon can
+share the same Parnassian bench with those who make an original
+contribution to religion and morality, were it only a criticism.
+
+Therefore on coming back to this Irrational Knot as a stranger after 25
+years, I am proud to find that its morality is not readymade. The
+drunken prima donna of a bygone type of musical burlesque is not
+depicted as an immoral person, but as a person with a morality of her
+own, no worse in its way than the morality of her highly respectable
+wine merchant in _its_ way. The sociology of the successful inventor is
+his own sociology too; and it is by his originality in this respect
+that he passes irresistibly through all the readymade prejudices that
+are set up to bar his promotion. And the heroine, nice, amiable,
+benevolent, and anxious to please and behave well, but hopelessly
+secondhand in her morals and nicenesses, and consequently without any
+real moral force now that the threat of hell has lost its terrors for
+her, is left destitute among the failures which are so puzzling to
+thoughtless people. “I cannot understand why she is so unlucky: she is
+such a nice woman!”: that is the formula. As if people with any force
+in them ever were altogether nice!
+
+And so I claim the first order for this jejune exploit of mine, and
+invite you to note that the final chapter, so remote from Scott and
+Dickens and so close to Ibsen, was written years before Ibsen came to
+my knowledge, thus proving that the revolt of the Life Force against
+readymade morality in the nineteenth century was not the work of a
+Norwegian microbe, but would have worked itself into expression in
+English literature had Norway never existed. In fact, when Miss Lord’s
+translation of A Doll’s House appeared in the eighteen-eighties, and so
+excited some of my Socialist friends that they got up a private reading
+of it in which I was cast for the part of Krogstad, its novelty as a
+morally original study of a marriage did not stagger me as it staggered
+Europe. I had made a morally original study of a marriage myself, and
+made it, too, without any melodramatic forgeries, spinal diseases, and
+suicides, though I had to confess to a study of dipsomania. At all
+events, I chattered and ate caramels in the back drawing-room (our
+green-room) whilst Eleanor Marx, as Nora, brought Helmer to book at the
+other side of the folding doors. Indeed I concerned myself very little
+about Ibsen until, later on, William Archer translated Peer Gynt to me
+_viva voce_, when the magic of the great poet opened my eyes in a flash
+to the importance of the social philosopher.
+
+I seriously suggest that The Irrational Knot may be regarded as an
+early attempt on the part of the Life Force to write A Doll’s House in
+English by the instrumentality of a very immature writer aged 24. And
+though I say it that should not, the choice was not such a bad shot for
+a stupid instinctive force that has to work and become conscious of
+itself by means of human brains. If we could only realize that though
+the Life Force supplies us with its own purpose, it has no other brains
+to work with than those it has painfully and imperfectly evolved in our
+heads, the peoples of the earth would learn some pity for their gods;
+and we should have a religion that would not be contradicted at every
+turn by the thing that is giving the lie to the thing that ought to be.
+
+WELWYN, _Sunday, June_ 25, 1905.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I
+
+
+
+
+THE IRRATIONAL KNOT
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+At seven o’clock on a fine evening in April the gas had just been
+lighted in a room on the first floor of a house in York Road, Lambeth.
+A man, recently washed and brushed, stood on the hearthrug before a
+pier glass, arranging a white necktie, part of his evening dress. He
+was about thirty, well grown, and fully developed muscularly. There was
+no cloud of vice or trouble upon him: he was concentrated and calm,
+making no tentative movements of any sort (even a white tie did not
+puzzle him into fumbling), but acting with a certainty of aim and
+consequent economy of force, dreadful to the irresolute. His face was
+brown, but his auburn hair classed him as a fair man.
+
+The apartment, a drawing-room with two windows, was dusty and untidy.
+The paint and wall paper had not been renewed for years; nor did the
+pianette, which stood near the fireplace, seem to have been closed
+during that time; for the interior was dusty, and the inner end of
+every key begrimed. On a table between the windows were some tea
+things, with a heap of milliner’s materials, and a brass candlestick
+which had been pushed back to make room for a partially unfolded cloth.
+There was a second table near the door, crowded with coils, batteries,
+a galvanometer, and other electrical apparatus. The mantelpiece was
+littered with dusty letters, and two trays of Doulton ware which
+ornamented it were filled with accounts, scraps of twine, buttons, and
+rusty keys.
+
+A shifting, rustling sound, as of somebody dressing, which had been
+audible for some minutes through the folding doors, now ceased, and a
+handsome young woman entered. She had thick black hair, fine dark eyes,
+an oval face, a clear olive complexion, and an elastic figure. She was
+incompletely attired in a petticoat that did not hide her ankles, and
+stays of bright red silk with white laces and seams. Quite unconcerned
+at the presence of the man, she poured out a cup of tea; carried it to
+the mantelpiece; and began to arrange her hair before the glass. He,
+without looking round, completed the arrangement of his tie, looked at
+it earnestly for a moment, and said, “Have you got a pin about you?”
+
+“There is one in the pincushion on my table,” she said; “but I think
+it’s a black one. I dont know where the deuce all the pins go to.”
+Then, casting off the subject, she whistled a long and florid cadenza,
+and added, by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close
+imitation of a violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into her room for
+the pin. On his return she suddenly became curious, and said, “Where
+are you going to-night, if one may ask?”
+
+“I am going out.”
+
+She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemptuously to the
+mirror, saying, “Thank you. Sorry to be inquisitive.”
+
+“I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert at
+Wandsworth.”
+
+“Sing! You! The Countess of Barbury! Does she live at Wandsworth?”
+
+“No. She lives in Park Lane.”
+
+“Oh! I beg her pardon.” The man made no comment on this; and she, after
+looking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest,
+continued, “How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know _you_,
+pray?”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+A long pause ensued. Then she said: “Stuff!”, but without conviction.
+Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned his
+waistcoat and arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet of
+pink paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched it at once;
+opened it; stared incredulously at it; and said, “Pink paper, and
+scalloped edges! How filthily vulgar! I thought she was not much of a
+Countess! Ahem! ‘Music for the People. Parnassus Society. A concert
+will be given at the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th April,
+by the Countess of Carbury, assisted by the following ladies and
+gentlemen. Miss Elinor McQuinch’—what a name! ‘Miss Marian Lind’—who’s
+Miss Marian Lind?”
+
+“How should I know?”
+
+“I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that you would most
+likely be intimate with her. ‘Mrs. Leith Fairfax.’ There is a Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax who writes novels, and very rotten novels they are, too.
+Who are the gentlemen? ‘Mr. Marmaduke Lind’—brother to Miss Marian, I
+suppose. ‘Mr. Edward Conolly’—save the mark! they must have been rather
+hard up for gentlemen when they put _you_ down as one. The Conolly
+family is looking up at last. Hm! nearly a dozen altogether. ‘Tickets
+will be distributed to the families of working men by the Rev. George
+Lind’—pity they didnt engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing with you. ‘A
+limited number of front seats at one shilling. Please turn over. Part
+I. Symphony in F: Haydn. Arranged for four English concertinas by
+Julius Baker. Mr. Julius Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette
+Baker (aged 8); and Miss Totty Baker (aged 6-1/2)’. Good Lord! ‘Song:
+Rose softly blooming: Spohr. Miss Marian Lind.’ I wonder whether she
+can sing! ‘Polonaise in A flat major: Chopin’—what rot! As if working
+people cared about Chopin! Miss Elinor McQuinch is a fool, I see.
+‘Song: The Valley: Gounod.’ Of course: I knew you would try that. Oho!
+Here’s something sensible at last. ‘Nigger melody. Uncle Ned. Mr.
+Marmaduke Lind, accompanied by himself on the banjo.’
+
+Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum—
+‘And there was an ole nigga; and his name was Uncle Ned;
+    An’ him dead long ago, long ago.
+An’ he had no hair on the top of his head
+    In the place where the wool ought to grow,’
+
+
+Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double _encore_; and no one will take the
+least notice of you or the others. ‘Recitation. The Faithful Soul.
+Adelaide Proctor. Mrs. Leith Fairfax.’ Well, this certainly is a
+blessed attempt to amuse Wandsworth. _Another_ reading by the Rev.——”
+
+Here Conolly, who had been putting on his overcoat, picked the program
+deftly from his sister’s fingers, and left the room. She, after damning
+him very heartily, returned to the glass, and continued dressing,
+taking her tea at intervals until she was ready to go out, when she
+sent for a cab, and bade the driver convey her to the Bijou Theatre,
+Soho.
+
+Conolly, on arriving at the Wandsworth Town Hall, was directed to a
+committee room, which served as green-room on this occasion. He was
+greeted by a clean shaven young clergyman who protested that he was
+glad to see him there, but did not offer his hand. Conolly thanked him
+briefly, and went without further ceremony to the table, and was about
+to place his hat and overcoat on a heap of similar garments, when,
+observing that there were some hooks along the wall, he immediately
+crossed over and hung up his things on them, thereby producing an
+underbred effect of being more prudent and observant than the rest.
+Then he looked at his program, and calculated how soon his turn to sing
+would come. Then he unrolled his music, and placed two copies of Le
+Vallon ready to his hand upon the table. Having made these arrangements
+with a self-possession that quite disconcerted the clergyman, he turned
+to examine the rest of the company.
+
+His first glance was arrested by the beauty of a young lady with light
+brown hair and gentle grey eyes, who sat near the fire. Beside her, on
+a lower chair, was a small, lean, and very restless young woman with
+keen dark eyes staring defiantly from a worn face. These two were
+attended by a jovial young gentleman with curly auburn hair, who was
+twanging a banjo, and occasionally provoking an exclamation of
+annoyance from the restless girl by requesting her opinion of his
+progress in tuning the instrument. Near them stood a tall man, dark and
+handsome. He seemed unused to his present circumstances, and
+contemptuous, not of the company nor the object for which they were
+assembled, but in the abstract, as if habitual contempt were part of
+his nature.
+
+The clergyman, who had just conducted to the platform an elderly
+professor in a shabby frock coat, followed by three well-washed
+children, each of whom carried a concertina, now returned and sat down
+beside a middle-aged lady, who made herself conspicuous by using a gold
+framed eyeglass so as to convey an impression that she was an
+exceedingly keen observer.
+
+“It is fortunate that the evening is so fine,” said the clergyman to
+her.
+
+“Yes, is it not, Mr. Lind?”
+
+“My throat is always affected by bad weather, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I
+shall be so handicapped by the inevitable comparison of my elocution
+with yours, that I am glad the weather is favorable to me, though the
+comparison is not.”
+
+“No,” said Mrs. Fairfax, with decision. “I am not in the least an
+orator. I can repeat a poem: that is all. Oh! I hope I have not broken
+my glasses.” They had slipped from her nose to the floor. Conolly
+picked them up and straightened them with one turn of his fingers.
+
+“No harm done, madam,” said he, with a certain elocutionary
+correctness, and rather in the strong voice of the workshop than the
+subdued one of the drawing-room, handing the glasses to her
+ceremoniously as he spoke.
+
+“Thank you. You are very kind, very kind indeed.”
+
+Conolly bowed, and turned again toward the other group.
+
+“Who is that?” whispered Mrs. Fairfax to the clergyman.
+
+“Some young man who attracted the attention of the Countess by his
+singing. He is only a workman.”
+
+“Indeed! Where did she hear him sing?”
+
+“In her son’s laboratory, I believe. He came there to put up some
+electrical machinery, and sang into a telephone for their amusement.
+You know how fond Lord Jasper is of mechanics. Jasper declares that he
+is a genius as an electrician. Indeed it was he, rather than the
+Countess, who thought of getting him to sing for us.”
+
+“How very interesting! I saw that he was clever when he spoke to me.
+There is so much in trifles—in byplay, Mr. Lind. Now, his manner of
+picking up my glass had his entire history in it. You will also see it
+in the solid development of his head. That young man deserves to be
+encouraged.”
+
+“You are very generous, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. It would not be well to
+encourage him too much, however. You must recollect that he is not used
+to society. Injudicious encouragement might perhaps lead him to forget
+his real place in it.”
+
+“I do not agree with you, Mr. Lind. You do not read human nature as I
+do. You know that I am an expert. I see men as he sees a telegraph
+instrument, quite uninfluenced by personal feeling.”
+
+“True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. But the heart is deceitful above all things
+and des—at least I should say—er. That is, you will admit that the
+finest perception may err in its estimate of the inscrutable work of
+the Almighty.”
+
+“Doubtless. But really, Mr. Lind, human beings are _so_ shallow! I
+assure you there is nothing at all inscrutable about them to a trained
+analyst of character. It may be a gift, perhaps; but people’s minds are
+to me only little machines made up of superficial motives.”
+
+“I say,” said the young gentleman with the banjo, interrupting them:
+“have you got a copy of ‘Rose softly blooming’ there?”
+
+“I!” said Mrs. Fairfax. “No, certainly not.”
+
+“Then it’s all up with the concert. We have forgotten Marian’s music;
+and there is nothing for Nelly—I beg pardon, I mean Miss McQuinch—to
+play from. She is above playing by ear.”
+
+“I _cannot_ play by ear,” said the restless young lady, angrily.
+
+“If you will sing ‘Coal black Rose’ instead, Marian, I can accompany
+you on the banjo, and back you up in the chorus. The Wandsworthers—if
+they survive the concertinas—will applaud the change as one man.”
+
+“It is so unkind to joke about it,” said the beautiful young lady.
+“What shall I do? If somebody will vamp an accompaniment, I can get on
+very well without any music. But if I try to play for myself I shall
+break down.”
+
+Conolly here stepped aside, and beckoned to the clergyman.
+
+“That young man wants to speak to you,” whispered Mrs. Fairfax.
+
+“Oh, indeed. Thank you,” said the Rev. Mr. Lind, stiffly. “I suppose I
+had better see what he requires.”
+
+“I suppose you had,” said Mrs. Fairfax, with some impatience.
+
+“I dont wish to intrude where I have no business,” said Conolly quietly
+to the clergyman; “but I can play that lady’s accompaniment, if she
+will allow me.”
+
+The clergyman was too much afraid of Conolly by this time—he did not
+know why—to demur. “I am sure she will not object,” he said, pretending
+to be relieved by the offer. “Your services will be most acceptable.
+Excuse me for one moment, whilst I inform Miss Lind.”
+
+He crossed the room to the lady, and said in a lower tone, “I think I
+have succeeded in arranging the matter, Marian. That man says he will
+play for you.”
+
+“I hope he _can_ play,” said Marian doubtfully. “Who is he?”
+
+“It is Conolly. Jasper’s man.”
+
+Miss Lind’s eyes lighted. “Is that he?” she whispered, glancing
+curiously across the room at him. “Bring him and introduce him to us.”
+
+“Is that necessary?” said the tall man, without lowering his voice
+sufficiently to prevent Conolly from hearing him. The clergyman
+hesitated.
+
+“It is quite necessary: I do not know what he must think of us
+already,” said Marian, ashamed, and looking apprehensively at Conolly.
+He was staring with a policemanlike expression at the tall man, who,
+after a vain attempt to ignore him, had eventually to turn away. The
+Rev. Mr. Lind then led the electrician forward, and avoided a formal
+presentation by saying with a simper: “Here is Mr. Conolly, who will
+extricate us from all our difficulties.”
+
+Miss McQuinch nodded. Miss Lind bowed. Marmaduke shook hands
+good-naturedly, and retired somewhat abashed, thrumming his banjo. Just
+then a faint sound of clapping was followed by the return of the
+quartet party, upon which Miss Lind rose and moved hesitatingly toward
+the platform. The tall man offered his hand.
+
+“Nonsense, Sholto,” said she, laughing. “They will expect you to do
+something if you appear with me.”
+
+“Allow _me_, Marian,” said the clergyman, as the tall man, offended,
+bowed and stood aside. She, pretending not to notice her brother,
+turned toward Conolly, who at once passed the Rev. George, and led her
+to the platform.
+
+“The original key?” he enquired, as they mounted the steps.
+
+“I dont know,” she said, alarmed.
+
+For a moment he was taken aback. Then he said, “What is the highest
+note you can sing?”
+
+“I can sing A sometimes—only when I am alone. I dare not attempt it
+before people.”
+
+Conolly sat down, knowing now that Miss Lind was a commonplace amateur.
+He had been contrasting her with his sister, greatly to the
+disparagement of his home life; and he was disappointed to find the
+lady break down where the actress would have succeeded so well.
+Consoling himself with the reflexion that if Miss Lind could not rap
+out a B flat like Susanna, neither could she rap out an oath, he played
+the accompaniment much better than Marian sang the song. Meanwhile,
+Miss McQuinch, listening jealously in the green-room, hated herself for
+her inferior skill.
+
+“Cool, and reserved, is the modern Benjamin Franklin,” observed
+Marmaduke to her.
+
+“Better a reserved man who can do something than a sulky one who can do
+nothing,” she said, glancing at the tall man, with whom the clergyman
+was nervously striving to converse.
+
+“Exquisite melody, is it not, Mr. Douglas?” said Mrs. Fairfax, coming
+to the clergyman’s rescue.
+
+“I do not care for music,” said Douglas. “I lack the maudlin
+disposition in which the taste usually thrives.”
+
+Miss McQuinch gave an expressive snap, but said nothing; and the
+conversation dropped until Miss Lind had sung her song, and received a
+round of respectful but not enthusiastic applause.
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Conolly,” she said, as she left the platform. “I am
+afraid that Spohr’s music is too good for the people here. Dont you
+think so?”
+
+“Not a bit of it,” replied Conolly. “There is nothing so very
+particular in Spohr. But he requires very good singing—better than he
+is worth.”
+
+Miss Lind colored, and returned in silence to her seat beside Miss
+McQuinch, feeling that she had exposed herself to a remark that no
+gentleman would have made.
+
+“Now then, Nelly,” said Marmaduke: “the parson is going to call time.
+Keep up your courage. Come, get up, get up.”
+
+“Do not be so boisterous, Duke,” said Marian. “It is bad enough to have
+to face an audience without being ridiculed beforehand.”
+
+“Marian,” said Marmaduke, “if you think Nelly will hammer a love of
+music into the British workman, you err. Lots of them get their living
+by hammering, and they will most likely resent feminine competition.
+Bang! There she goes. Pity the sorrows of a poor old piano, and let us
+hope its trembling limbs wont come through the floor.”
+
+“Really, Marmaduke,” said Marian, impatiently, “you are excessively
+foolish. You are like a boy fresh from school.”
+
+Marmaduke, taken aback by her sharp tone, gave a long whispered
+whistle, and pretended to hide under the table. He had a certain gift
+of drollery which made it difficult not to laugh even at his most
+foolish antics, and Marian was giving way in spite of herself when she
+found Douglas bending over her and saying, in a low voice:
+
+“You are tired of this place. The room is very draughty: I fear it will
+give you cold. Let me drive you home now. An apology can be made for
+whatever else you are supposed to do for these people. Let me get your
+cloak and call a cab.”
+
+Marian laughed. “Thank you, Sholto,” she said; “but I assure you I am
+quite happy. Pray do not look offended because I am not so
+uncomfortable as you think I ought to be.”
+
+“I am glad you are happy,” said Douglas in his former cold tone.
+“Perhaps my presence is rather a drawback to your enjoyment than
+otherwise.”
+
+“I told you not to come, Sholto; but you would. Why not adapt yourself
+to the circumstances, and be agreeable?”
+
+“I am not conscious of being disagreeable.”
+
+“I did not mean that. Only I do not like to see you making an enemy of
+every one in the room, and forcing me to say things that I know must
+hurt you.”
+
+“To the enmity of your new associates I am supremely indifferent,
+Marian. To that of your old friends I am accustomed. I am not in the
+mood to be lectured on my behavior at present; besides, the subject is
+hardly worth pursuing. May I gather from your remarks that I shall
+gratify you by withdrawing?”
+
+“Yes,” said Marian, flushing slightly, and looking steadily at him.
+Then, controlling her voice with an effort, she added, “Do not try
+again to browbeat me into telling you a falsehood, Sholto.”
+
+Douglas looked at her in surprise. Before he could answer, Miss
+McQuinch reappeared.
+
+“Well, Nelly,” said Marmaduke: “is there any piano left?”
+
+“Not much,” she replied, with a sullen laugh. “I never played worse in
+my life.”
+
+“Wrong notes? or deficiency in the sacred fire?”
+
+“Both.”
+
+“I believe your song comes next,” said the clergyman to Conolly, who
+had been standing apart, listening to Miss McQuinch’s performance.
+
+“Who is to accompany me, sir?”
+
+“Oh—ah—Miss McQuinch will, I am sure,” replied the Rev. Mr. Lind,
+smiling nervously. Conolly looked grave. The young lady referred to
+closed her lips; frowned; said nothing. Marmaduke chuckled.
+
+“Perhaps you would rather play your own accompaniment,” said the
+clergyman, weakly.
+
+Conolly shook his head decisively, and said, “I can do only one thing
+at a time, sir.”
+
+“Oh, they are not very critical: they are only workmen,” said the
+clergyman, and then reddened deeply as Marmaduke gave him a very
+perceptible nudge.
+
+“I’ll not take advantage of that, as I am only a workman myself,” said
+Conolly. “I had rather leave the song out than accompany myself.”
+
+“Pray dont suppose that I wish to be disagreeable, Mr. Lind,” said Miss
+McQuinch, as the company looked doubtfully at her; “but I have
+disgraced myself too completely to trust my fingers again. I should
+spoil the song if I played the accompaniment.”
+
+“I think you might try, Nell,” said Marmaduke, reproachfully.
+
+“I might,” retorted Miss McQuinch; “but I wont.”
+
+“If somebody doesnt go out and do something, there will be a shindy,”
+said Marmaduke.
+
+Marian hesitated a moment and then rose. “I am a very indifferent
+player,” she said; “but since no better is to be had, I will venture—if
+Mr. Conolly will trust me.”
+
+Conolly bowed.
+
+“If you would rather not,” said Miss McQuinch, shamed into remorse, “I
+will try the accompaniment. But I am sure to play it all wrong.”
+
+“I think Miss McQuinch had better play,” said Douglas.
+
+Conolly looked at Marian; received a reassuring glance; and went to the
+platform with her without further ado. She was not a sympathetic
+accompanist; but, not knowing this, she was not at all put out by it.
+She felt too that she was, as became a lady, giving the workman a
+lesson in courtesy which might stand him in stead when he next
+accompanied “Rose, softly blooming.” She was a little taken aback on
+finding that he not only had a rich baritone voice, but was, as far as
+she could judge, an accomplished singer.
+
+“Really,” she said as they left the platform, “you sing most
+beautifully.”
+
+“One would hardly have expected it,” he said, with a smile.
+
+Marian, annoyed at having this side of her compliment exposed, did not
+return the smile, and went to her chair in the green-room without
+taking any further notice of him.
+
+“I congratulate you,” said Mrs. Leith Fairfax to Conolly, looking at
+him, like all the rest except Douglas, with a marked access of
+interest. “Ah! what wonderful depth there is in Gounod’s music!”
+
+He assented politely with a movement of his head.
+
+“I know nothing at all about music,” said Mrs. Fairfax.
+
+“Very few people do.”
+
+“I mean technically, of course,” she said, not quite pleased.
+
+“Of course.”
+
+A tremendous burst of applause here followed the conclusion of the
+first verse of “Uncle Ned.”
+
+“_Do_ come and listen, Nelly,” said Marian, returning to the door. Mrs.
+Fairfax and Conolly presently went to the door too.
+
+“Would you not like to help in the chorus, Nelly?” said Marian in a low
+voice, as the audience began to join uproariously in the refrain.
+
+“Not particularly,” said Miss McQuinch.
+
+“Sholto,” said Marian, “come and share our vulgar joy. We want you to
+join in the chorus.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Douglas, “I fear I am too indifferent a vocalist to
+do justice to the occasion.”
+
+“Sing with Mr. Conolly and you cannot go wrong,” said Miss McQuinch.
+
+“Hush,” said Marian, interposing quickly lest Douglas should retort.
+“There is the chorus. Shall we really join?”
+
+Conolly struck up the refrain without further hesitation. Marian sang
+with him. Mrs. Fairfax and the clergyman looked furtively at one
+another, but forbore to swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few
+words in a piercing contralto voice, and then stopped with a gesture of
+impatience, feeling that she was out of tune. Marian, with only Conolly
+to keep her in countenance, felt relieved when Marmaduke, thrice
+encored, entered the room in triumph. Whilst he was being
+congratulated, Douglas turned to Miss McQuinch, who was pretending to
+ignore Marmaduke’s success.
+
+“I hope, Miss McQuinch,” he said in a low tone, “that you will be able
+to relieve Marian at the piano next time. You know how she dislikes
+having to play accompaniments for strangers.”
+
+“How mean it is of you to be jealous of a plumber!” said Miss McQuinch,
+with a quick glance at him which she did not dare to sustain, so
+fiercely did he return it.
+
+When she looked again, he seemed unconscious of her presence, and was
+buttoning his overcoat.
+
+“Really going at last, Sholto?” said Marian. Douglas bowed.
+
+“I told you you wouldnt be able to stand it, old man,” said Marmaduke.
+“Mrs. Bluestockings wont be pleased with you for not staying to hear
+her recite.” This referred to Mrs. Fairfax, who had just gone upon the
+platform.
+
+“Good night,” said Miss McQuinch, shortly, anxious to test how far he
+was offended, but unwilling to appear solicitous for a reconciliation.
+
+“Until to-morrow, farewell,” he said, approaching Marian, who gave him
+her hand with a smile: Conolly looking thoughtfully at him meanwhile.
+He left the room; and so, Mrs. Fairfax having gone to the platform to
+recite, quiet prevailed for a few minutes.
+
+“Shall I have the pleasure of playing the accompaniment to your next
+song?” said Conolly, sitting down near Marian.
+
+“Thank you,” said Marian, shrinking a little: “I think Miss McQuinch
+knows it by heart.” Then, still anxious to be affable to the workman,
+she added, “Lord Jasper says you are a great musician.”
+
+“No, I am an electrician. Music is not my business: it is my
+amusement.”
+
+“You have invented something very wonderful, have you not?”
+
+“I have discovered something, and I am trying to invent a means of
+turning it to account. It will be only a cheap electro-motor if it
+comes to anything.”
+
+“You must explain that to me some day, Mr. Conolly. I’m afraid I dont
+know what an electro-motor means.”
+
+“I ought not to have mentioned it,” said Conolly. “It is so constantly
+in my mind that I am easily led to talk about it. I try to prevent
+myself, but the very effort makes me think of it more than ever.”
+
+“But I like to hear you talk about it,” said Marian. “I always try to
+make people talk shop to me, and of course they always repay me by
+trying to keep on indifferent topics, of which I know as much—or as
+little—as they.”
+
+“Well, then,” said Conolly, “an electro-motor is only an engine for
+driving machinery, just like a steam engine, except that it is worked
+by electricity instead of steam. Electric engines are so imperfect now
+that steam ones come cheaper. The man who finds out how to make the
+electric engine do what the steam engine now does, and do it cheaper,
+will make his fortune if he has his wits about him. Thats what I am
+driving at.”
+
+Miss Lind, in spite of her sensible views as to talking shop, was not
+interested in the least. “Indeed!” she said. “How interesting that must
+be! But how did you find time to become so perfect a musician, and to
+sing so exquisitely?”
+
+“I picked most of it up when I was a boy. My grandfather was an Irish
+sailor with such a tremendous voice that a Neapolitan music master
+brought him out in opera as a _buffo_. When he had roared his voice
+away, he went into the chorus. My father was reared in Italy, and
+looked more Italian than most genuine natives. He had no voice; so he
+became first accompanist, then chorus master, and finally trainer for
+the operatic stage. He speculated in an American tour; married out
+there; lost all his money; and came over to England, when I was only
+twelve, to resume his business at Covent Garden. I stayed in America,
+and was apprenticed to an electrical engineer. I worked at the bench
+there for six years.”
+
+“I suppose your father taught you to sing.”
+
+“No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss Lind, he was a
+capital man to teach stage tricks and traditional renderings of old
+operas; but only the exceptionally powerful voices survived his method
+of teaching. He would have finished my career as a singer in two months
+if he had troubled himself to teach me. Never go to Italy to learn
+singing.”
+
+“I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe in your father or
+else be silent about him.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Why! Surely we should hide the failings of those we love? I can
+understand now how your musical and electrical tastes became mixed up;
+but you should not confuse your duties. But please excuse me:”
+(Conolly’s eyes had opened a little wider) “I am lecturing you, without
+the least right to. It is a failing of mine which you must not mind.”
+
+“Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But the world would never
+get on if every practical man were to stand by his father’s mistakes.
+However, I brought it on myself by telling you a long story. This is
+the first opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, and
+I suppose I have abused it.”
+
+Marian laughed. “We had better stop apologizing to one another,” she
+said. “What about the accompaniments to our next songs?”
+
+Meanwhile Marmaduke and Miss McQuinch were becoming curious about
+Marian and Conolly.
+
+“I say, Nelly,” he whispered, “Marian and that young man seem to be
+getting on uncommonly well together. She looks sentimentally happy, and
+he seems pleased with himself. Dont you feel jealous?”
+
+“Jealous! Why should I be?”
+
+“Out of pure cussedness. Not that you care for the electric man, but
+because you hate any one to fall in love with any one else when you are
+by.”
+
+“I wish you would go away.”
+
+“Why? Dont you like me?”
+
+“I _loathe_ you. Now, perhaps you understand me.”
+
+“That’s a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow,” said Marmaduke,
+roused. “I have a great mind to bring you to your senses as Douglas
+does, by not speaking to you for a week.”
+
+“I wish you would let me come to my senses by not speaking to me at
+all.”
+
+“Oh! Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. We are no longer
+on speaking terms. Look as contemptuous as you please: you will be
+sorry when you think over this. Remember: you said you loathed me.”
+
+“So I do,” said Elinor, stubbornly.
+
+“Very good,” said Marmaduke, turning his back on her. Just then the
+concertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared with
+refreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in
+dispensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda water
+a sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making small
+talk, went to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew.
+
+“Well, Nelly,” said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss McQuinch,
+and speaking in a low voice, “what do you think of Jasper’s workman?”
+
+“Not much,” replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. “He is very
+conceited, and very coarse.”
+
+“Do you really think so? I expected to find you delighted with his
+unconventionality. I thought him rather amusing.”
+
+“I thought him extremely aggravating. I hate to have to speak to people
+of that sort.”
+
+“Then you consider him vulgar,” said Marian, disappointed.
+
+“N—no. Not vulgarer than anybody else. He couldnt be that.”
+
+“Sherry and soda, Marian?” said Marmaduke, approaching.
+
+“No, thank you, Marmaduke. Get Nelly something.”
+
+“As Miss McQuinch and I are no longer on speaking terms, I leave her to
+the care of yonder scientific amateur, who has just refused, on
+teetotal grounds, to pledge the Rev. George in a glass of eighteen
+shilling sherry.”
+
+“Dont be silly, Marmaduke. Bring Nelly some soda water.”
+
+“Do nothing of the sort,” said Miss McQuinch.
+
+Marmaduke bowed and retired.
+
+“What is the matter between you and Duke now?” said Marian.
+
+“Nothing. I told him I loathed him.”
+
+“Oh! I dont wonder at his being a little huffed. How _can_ you say
+things you dont mean?”
+
+“I do mean them. What with his folly, Sholto’s mean conceit, George’s
+hypocrisy, that man’s vulgarity, Mrs. Fairfax’s affectation, your
+insufferable amiability, and the dreariness of those concertina people,
+I feel so wretched that I could find it in my heart to loathe anybody
+and everybody.”
+
+“Nonsense, Nelly! You are only in the blues.”
+
+“_Only_ in the blues!” said Miss McQuinch sarcastically. “Yes. That is
+all.”
+
+“Take some sherry. It will brighten you up.”
+
+“Dutch courage! Thank you: I prefer my present moroseness.”
+
+“But you are not morose, Nelly.”
+
+“Oh, stuff, Marian! Dont throw away your amiability on me. Here comes
+your new friend with refreshments. I wonder was he ever a waiter? He
+looks exactly like one.”
+
+After this the conversation flagged. Mrs. Fairfax grew loquacious under
+the influence of sherry, but presently a reaction set in, and she began
+to yawn. Miss McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than before,
+and the audience, longing for another negro melody, paid little
+attention to her. Marian sang a religious song, which was received with
+the respect usually accorded to a dull sermon. The clergyman read a
+comic essay of his own composition, and Mrs. Fairfax recited an ode to
+Mazzini. The concertinists played an arrangement of a quartet by
+Onslow. The working men and women of Wandsworth gaped, and those who
+sat near the door began to slip out. Even Miss McQuinch pitied them.
+
+“The idea of expecting them to be grateful for an infliction like
+that!” she said. “What do people of their class care about Onslow’s
+quartets?”
+
+“Do you think that people of any class, high or low, would be gratified
+by such an entertainment?” said Conolly, with some warmth. No one had
+sufficient spirit left to reply.
+
+At last the concertinists went home, and the reading drew to a close.
+Conolly, again accompanied by Marian, sang “Tom Bowling.” The audience
+awoke, cheered the singer heartily, and made him sing again. On his
+return to the green-room, Miss McQuinch, much affected at the fate of
+Bowling, and indignant with herself for being so, stared defiantly at
+Conolly through a film of tears. When Marmaduke went out, the people
+also were so moved that they were ripe for laughter, and with roars of
+merriment forced him to sing three songs, in the choruses of which they
+joined. Eventually the clergyman had to bid them go home, as Mr. Lind
+had given them all the songs he knew.
+
+“I suppose you will not come with us, Duke,” said Marian, when all was
+over, and they were preparing to leave. “We can drop you at your
+chambers if you like; but you will have to sit on the box. Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax, George, Nelly, and I, will be a carriageful.”
+
+Marmaduke looked at his watch. “By Jove!” he cried, “it is only ten. I
+forgot how early we began to-night. No thank you, Marian: I am not
+going your way; but you may take the banjo and keep it until I call. Ta
+ta!”
+
+They all went out together; and the ladies, followed by the clergyman,
+entered their carriage and drove away, leaving Marmaduke and Conolly
+standing on the pavement. Having shared the success of the concert,
+each felt well disposed to the other.
+
+“What direction are you going in?” said Marmaduke.
+
+“Westminster Bridge or thereabouts,” replied Conolly. “This place is
+rather out of the way.”
+
+“Have you anything particular to do before you turn in for the night?”
+
+“Nothing at all.”
+
+“Then I’ll tell you what it is, old man. Lets take a hansom, and drive
+off to the Bijou. We shall just be in time to see Lalage Virtue in the
+burlesque; and—look here! I’ll introduce you to her: youre just the
+sort of chap she would like to know. Eh?”
+
+Conolly looked at him, nodded, and burst out laughing. Marmaduke, who
+had set him down as a cool, undemonstrative man, was surprised at his
+hilarity for a moment, but presently joined in it. Whilst they were
+both laughing a hansom appeared, and Conolly, recovering himself,
+hailed the driver.
+
+“We shall get on together, I see,” said Marmaduke, jumping into the
+cab. “Hallo! The Bijou Theatre, Soho, and drive as fast as you can
+afford to for half a sovereign.”
+
+“Right you are, sir,” replied the driver, whipping his horse.
+
+The rattling of the cab silenced Conolly; but his companion persisted
+for some time in describing the burlesque to which they were going, and
+particularly the attractions of Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, who enacted
+a principal character therein, and with whom he seemed to be in love.
+When they alighted at the theatre Marmaduke payed the cabman, and
+Conolly took advantage of this to enter the theatre and purchase two
+stall tickets, an arrangement which Lind, suddenly recollecting his new
+friend’s position, disapproved of, but found it useless to protest
+against. He forgot it on hearing the voice of Lalage Virtue, who was at
+that moment singing within; and he went to his stall with his eyes
+turned to the stage, treading on toes and stumbling as children
+commonly do when they walk in one direction and look in another. An
+attendant, who seemed to know him, proffered a glass for hire. He took
+it, and leveled it at Mademoiselle Lalage, who was singing some trivial
+couplets much better than they deserved. Catching sight of him
+presently, she greeted him with a flash of her dark eye that made him
+writhe as though his heart had received a fillip from a ponderable
+missile. She did not spare these roguish glances. They darted
+everywhere; and Conolly, looking about him to note their effect, saw
+rows of callow young faces with parted lips and an expression which
+seemed to have been caught and fixed at the climax of a blissful
+chuckle. There were few women in the stalls, and the silly young faces
+were relieved only by stupid old ones.
+
+The couplets ended amidst great applause. Marmaduke placed his glass on
+his knees, and, clapping his hands vigorously, turned to his companion
+with a triumphant smile, mutely inviting him to clamor for a repetition
+of the air. But Conolly sat motionless, with his arms folded, his cheek
+flushed, and his brow lowered.
+
+“You dont seem used to this sort of thing,” said Lind, somewhat
+disgusted.
+
+“It was well sung,” replied Conolly “—better than most of these
+blackguards know.”
+
+“Then why dont you clap?”
+
+“Because she is not giving herself any trouble. That sort of thing,
+from a woman of her talent, is too cheap to say ‘thank you’ for.”
+
+Marmaduke looked at him, and began to think that he was a priggish
+fellow after all. But as the burlesque went on, Mademoiselle Lalage
+charmed away this disagreeable impression. She warbled in an amorous
+duet, and then sang the pleasures of champagne; tossing her head;
+waving a gilt goblet; and, without the least appearance of effort,
+working hard to captivate those who were to be won by bold smiles and
+arch glances. She displayed her person less freely than her colleagues,
+being, not more modest, but more skilful in the art of seduction. The
+slang that served for dialogue in her part was delivered in all sorts
+of intonations, now demure and mischievous, anon strident and mock
+tragic. Marmaduke was delighted.
+
+“What I like about her is that she is such a genuine little lady,” he
+said, as her exit released his attention. “With all her go, she is
+never a bit vulgar. Off the stage she is just the same. Not a spark of
+affectation about her. It is all natural.”
+
+“You know her, then?” said Conolly.
+
+“I should think I do,” replied Marmaduke, energetically. “You have no
+idea what a rattling sort she is.”
+
+“To you, who only see her occasionally, no doubt she gives—as a
+rattling sort—a heightened charm to the order, the refinement, the—the
+beauty of the home life which you can enjoy. Excuse my introducing such
+a subject, Mr. Lind; but would you bring your cousin—the lady who sang
+to-night at the concert—to see this performance?”
+
+“I would if she asked me to,” said Marmaduke, somewhat taken aback.
+
+“No doubt. But should you be surprised if she asked you?”
+
+“Not a bit. Fine ladies are neither such fools nor such angels as
+you—as some fellows think. Miss Lind’s notion is to see everything. And
+yet she is a thoroughly nice woman too. It is the same with Lalage
+there. She is not squeamish, and she is full of fun; but she knows as
+well as anybody how to pull up a man who doesnt behave himself.”
+
+“And you actually think that this Lalage Virtue is as respectable a
+woman as your cousin?”
+
+“Oh, I dont bother myself about it. I shouldnt have thought of
+comparing them if you hadnt started the idea. Marian’s way is not the
+other one’s way, and each of them is all right in her own way. Look
+here. I’ll introduce you to Lalage. We can pick up somebody else to
+make a party for you, and finish with a supper at Jellicoe’s.”
+
+“Are you privileged to introduce whom you like to Miss Lalage?”
+
+“Well, as to that, she doesnt stand much on ceremony; but then, you
+see, that cuts two ways. The mere introducing is no difficulty; but it
+depends on the man himself whether he gets snubbed afterward or not. By
+the bye, you must understand, if you dont know it already, that Lalage
+is as correct in her morals as a bishop’s wife. I just tell you,
+because some fellows seem to think that a woman who goes on the stage
+leaves her propriety behind as a matter of course. In fact, I rather
+thought so myself once. Not that you wont find loose women there as
+well as anywhere else, if you want to. But dont take it for granted,
+that’s all.”
+
+“Well,” said Conolly, “you may introduce me, and we can consider the
+supper afterwards. Would it be indiscreet to ask how you obtained your
+own introduction? You dont, I suppose, move in the same circle as she;
+and if she is as particular as your own people, she can hardly form
+promiscuous acquaintanceships.”
+
+“A man at the point of death does not stop to think about etiquet. She
+saved my life.”
+
+“Saved your life! That sounds romantic.”
+
+“There was precious little romance about it, though I owe my being
+alive now to her presence of mind. It happened in the rummest way. I
+was brought behind the scenes one night by a Cambridge chum. We were
+painting the town a bit red. We were not exactly drunk; but we were not
+particularly sober either; and I was very green at that time, and made
+a fool of myself about Lalage: staring; clapping like a madman in the
+middle of her songs; getting into the way of everybody and everything,
+and so on. Then a couple of fellows we knew turned up, and we got
+chatting at the wing with some girls. At last a fellow came in with a
+bag of cherries; and we began trying that old trick—you know—taking the
+end of a stalk between your lips and drawing the cherry into the mouth
+without touching it with your hand, you know. I tried it; and I was
+just getting the cherry into my mouth when some idiot gave me a drive
+in the waistcoat. I made a gulp; and the cherry stuck fast in my
+throat. I began to choke. Nobody knew what to do; and while they were
+pushing me about, some thinking I was only pretending, the girls
+beginning to get frightened, and the rest shouting at me to swallow the
+confounded thing, I was getting black in the face, and my head was
+bursting: I could see nothing but red spots. It was a near thing, I
+tell you. Suddenly I got a shake; and then a little fist gave me a
+stunning thump on the back, that made the cherry bounce out against my
+palate. I gasped and coughed like a grampus: the stalk was down my
+throat still. Then the little hand grabbed my throat and made me open
+my mouth wide; and the cherry was pulled out, stalk and all. It was
+Lalage who did this while the rest were gaping helplessly. I dont
+remember what followed. I thought I had fainted; but it appears that I
+nearly cried, and talked the most awful nonsense to her. I suppose the
+choking made me hysterical. However, I distinctly recollect the stage
+manager bullying the girls, and turning us all out. I was very angry
+with myself for being childish, as they told me I had been; and when I
+got back to Cambridge I actually took to reading. A few months
+afterward I made another trip to town, and went behind the scenes
+again. She recognized me, and chaffed me about the cherry. I jumped at
+my chance; I improved the acquaintance; and now I know her pretty
+well.”
+
+“You doubt whether any of the ladies that were with us at the concert
+would have been equally useful in such an emergency?”
+
+“I should think I do doubt it, my boy. Hush! Now that the ballet is
+over, we are annoying people by talking.”
+
+“You are right,” replied Conolly. “Aha! Here is Miss Lalage again.”
+
+Marmaduke raised his opera-glass to his eyes, eager for another smile
+from the actress. He seemed about to be gratified; for her glance was
+travelling toward him along the row of stalls. But it was arrested by
+Conolly, on whom she looked with perceptible surprise and dismay. Lind,
+puzzled, turned toward his companion, and found him smiling maliciously
+at Mademoiselle Lalage, who recovered her vivacity with an effort, and
+continued her part with more nervousness than he had ever seen her
+display before.
+
+Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, and re-entered
+it by the stage door.
+
+“Queer place, isnt it?” said Lind.
+
+Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well accustomed to the dingy
+labyrinth of old-fashioned stages. Presently they came upon Lalage. She
+was much heated by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry.
+
+“Well?” she said quarrelsomely.
+
+Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not addressed to him, but
+to Conolly, looked from one to the other, mystified.
+
+“I have come to see you act at last,” said Conolly.
+
+“You might have told me you were coming. I could have got you a stall,
+although I suppose you would have preferred to throw away your money
+like a fool.”
+
+“I must admit, my dear,” said Conolly, “that I could have spent it to
+much greater advantage.”
+
+“Indeed! and you!” she said, turning to Lind, whose deepening color
+betrayed his growing mortification: “what is the matter with _you_?”
+
+“I have played a trick on your friend,” said Conolly. “He suggested
+this visit; and I did not tell him of the relation between us. Finding
+us on terms of familiarity, if not of affection, he is naturally
+surprised.”
+
+“As I have never tried to meddle with your private affairs,” said
+Marmaduke to Lalage, “I need not apologize for not knowing your
+husband. But I regret——”
+
+The actress laughed in spite of her vexation. “Why, you silly old
+thing!” she exclaimed, “he is no more my husband than you are!”
+
+“Oh!” said Marmaduke. “Indeed!”
+
+“I am her brother,” said Conolly considerately, stifling a smile.
+
+“Why,” said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her voice, “what else
+did you think?”
+
+“Hush,” said Conolly, “we are talking too much in this crowd. You had
+better change your dress, Susanna, and then we can settle what to do
+next.”
+
+“You can settle what you please,” she replied. “I am going home.”
+
+“Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together,” said Conolly, observing
+her curiously.
+
+Susanna looked quickly at them.
+
+“Who is Mr. Lind?” she said.
+
+“Your friend, of course,” said Conolly, with an answering flash of
+intelligence that brought out the resemblance between them startlingly.
+“Mr. Marmaduke Lind.”
+
+Marmaduke became very red as they both waited for him to explain.
+
+“I thought that you would perhaps join us at supper,” he said to
+Susanna.
+
+“Did you?” she said, threateningly. Then she turned her back on him and
+went to her dressing-room.
+
+“Well, Mr. Lind,” said Conolly, “what do you think of Mademoiselle
+Lalage now?”
+
+“I think her annoyance is very natural,” said Marmaduke, gloomily. “No
+doubt you are right to take care of your sister, but you are very much
+mistaken if you think I meant to act badly toward her.”
+
+“It is no part of my duty to take care of her,” said Conolly,
+seriously. “She is her own guardian, and she has never been encouraged
+to suppose that her responsibility lies with any one but herself.”
+
+“It doesnt matter now,” said Marmaduke; “for I intend never to speak to
+her again.”
+
+Conolly laughed. “However that may turn out,” he said, “we are
+evidently not in the mood for further conviviality, so let us postpone
+the supper to some other occasion. May I advise you not to wait until
+Susanna returns. There is no chance of a reconciliation to-night.”
+
+“I dont want any reconciliation.”
+
+“Of course not; I had forgotten,” replied Conolly, placably. “Then I
+suppose you will go before she has finished dressing.”
+
+“I shall go now,” said Marmaduke, buttoning his overcoat, and turning
+away.
+
+“Good-night,” said Conolly.
+
+“Good-night,” muttered Marmaduke, petulantly, and disappeared.
+
+Conolly waited a moment, so that he might not overtake Lind. He then
+went for a cab, and waited at the stage door until his sister came
+down, frowning. She got into the hansom without a word.
+
+“Why dont you have a brougham, instead of going about in cabs?” he
+said, as they drove away.
+
+“Because I like a hansom better than a brougham; and I had rather pay
+four shillings a night and travel comfortably, than thirteen and be
+half suffocated.”
+
+“I thought the appearance of——”
+
+“There is no use in your talking to me. I cant hear a word you say
+going over these stones.”
+
+When they were alone together in their drawing-room in Lambeth, he,
+after walking up and down the room a few times, and laughing softly to
+himself, began to sing the couplets from the burlesque.
+
+“Are you aware,” she inquired, “that it is half past twelve, and that
+the people of the house are trying to sleep.”
+
+“True,” said he, desisting. “By the bye, I, too, have had my triumphs
+this evening. I shared the honors of the concert with Master Lind, who
+was so delighted that he insisted on bringing me off to the Bijou. He
+loves you to distraction, poor devil!”
+
+“Yes: you made a nice piece of mischief there. Where is he?”
+
+“Gone away in a rage, swearing never to speak to you again.”
+
+“Hm! And so his name is Lind, is it?”
+
+“Didnt you know?”
+
+“No, or I should have told you when I read the program this evening.
+The young villain pretended that his name was Marmaduke Sharp.”
+
+“Ah! The name reminds me of one of his cousins, a little spitfire that
+snaps at every one who presumes to talk to her.”
+
+“His cousins! Oh, of course; you met them at the concert. What are they
+like? Are they swells?”
+
+“Yes, they seem to be. There were only two cousins, Miss McQuinch and a
+young woman named Marian, blonde and rather good looking. There was a
+brother of hers there, but he is only a parson, and a tall fellow named
+Douglas, who made rather a fool of himself. I could not make him out
+exactly.”
+
+“Did they snub you?”
+
+“I dont know. Probably they tried. Are you intimate with many of our
+young nobility under assumed names?”
+
+“Steal a few more marches to the Bijou, and perhaps you will find out.”
+
+“Good-night! Pardon my abrupt departure, but you are not the very
+sweetest of Susannas to-night.”
+
+“Oh, _good_-night.”
+
+“By the bye,” said Conolly, returning, “this must be the Mr. Duke Lind
+who is going to marry Lady Constance Carbury, my noble pupil’s sister.”
+
+“I am sure it matters very little whom he marries.”
+
+“If he will pay us a visit here, and witness the working of perfect
+frankness without affection, and perfect liberty without refinement, he
+may find reason to conclude that it matters a good deal. Good-night.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Marian Lind lived at Westbourne Terrace, Paddington, with her father,
+the fourth son of a younger brother of the Earl of Carbury. Mr.
+Reginald Harrington Lind, at the outset of his career, had no object in
+life except that of getting through it as easily as possible; and this
+he understood so little how to achieve that he suffered himself to be
+married at the age of nineteen to a Lancashire cotton spinner’s
+heiress. She bore him three children, and then eloped with a professor
+of spiritualism, who deserted her on the eve of her fourth confinement,
+in the course of which she caught scarlet fever and died. Her child
+survived, but was sent to a baby farm and starved to death in the usual
+manner. Her husband, disgusted by her behavior (for she had been
+introduced by him to many noblemen and gentlemen, his personal friends,
+some one at least of whom, on the slightest encouragement, would, he
+felt sure, have taken the place of the foreign charlatan she had
+disgraced him by preferring), consoled himself for her bad taste by
+entering into her possessions, which comprised a quantity of new
+jewellery, new lace, and feminine apparel, and an income of nearly
+seven thousand pounds a year. After this, he became so welcome in
+society that he could have boasted with truth at the end of any July
+that there were few marriageable gentlewomen of twenty-six and upward
+in London who had not been submitted to his inspection with a view to
+matrimony. But finding it easy to delegate the care of his children to
+school principals and hospitable friends, he concluded that he had
+nothing to gain and much comfort to lose by adding a stepmother to his
+establishment; and, after some time, it became the custom to say of Mr.
+Lind that the memory of his first wife kept him single. Thus, whilst
+his sons were drifting to manhood through Harrow and Cambridge, and his
+daughter passing from one relative’s house to another’s on a continual
+round of visits, sharing such private tuition as the cousins with whom
+she happened to be staying happened to be receiving just then, he lived
+at his club and pursued the usual routine of a gentleman-bachelor in
+London.
+
+In the course of time, Reginald Lind, the eldest child, entered the
+army, and went to India with his regiment. His brother George, less
+stolid, weaker, and more studious, preferred the Church. Marian, the
+youngest, from being constantly in the position of a guest, had early
+acquired habits of self-control and consideration for others, and
+escaped the effects, good and evil, of the subjection in which children
+are held by the direct authority of their parents.
+
+Of the numerous domestic circles of her father’s kin, that with which
+she was the least familiar, because it was the poorest, had sprung from
+the marriage of one of her father’s sisters with a Wiltshire gentleman
+named Hardy McQuinch, who had a small patrimony, a habit of farming,
+and a love of hunting. In the estimation of the peasantry, who would
+not associate lands, horses, and a carriage, with want of money, he was
+a rich man; but Mrs. McQuinch found it hard to live like a lady on
+their income, and had worn many lines into her face by constantly and
+vainly wishing that she could afford to give a ball every season, to
+get a new carriage, and to appear at church with her daughters in new
+dresses oftener than twice a year. Her two eldest girls were plump and
+pleasant, good riders and hearty eaters; and she had reasonable hopes
+of marrying them to prosperous country gentlemen.
+
+Elinor, her third and only other child, was one of her troubles. At an
+early age it was her practice, once a week or thereabouts, to disappear
+in the forenoon; be searched anxiously for all day; and return with a
+torn frock and dirty face at about six o’clock in the afternoon. She
+was stubborn, rebellious, and passionate under reproof or chastisement:
+governesses had left the house because of her; and from one school she
+had run away, from another eloped with a choir boy who wrote verses.
+Him she deserted in a fit of jealousy, quarter of an hour after her
+escape from school. The only one of her tastes that conduced to the
+peace of the house was for reading; and even this made her mother
+uneasy; for the books she liked best were fit, in Mrs. McQuinch’s
+opinion, for the bookcase only. Elinor read openly what she could
+obtain by asking, such as Lamb’s Tales from Shakespear, and The
+Pilgrim’s Progress. The Arabian Nights Entertainments were sternly
+refused her; so she read them by stealth; and from that day there was
+always a collection of books, borrowed from friends, or filched from
+the upper shelf in the library, beneath her mattress. Nobody thought of
+looking there for them; and even if they had, they might have paused to
+reflect on the consequences of betraying her. Her eldest sister having
+given her a small workbox on her eleventh birthday, had the present
+thrown at her head two days later for reporting to her parents that
+Nelly’s fondness for sitting in a certain secluded summer-house was due
+to her desire to read Lord Byron’s poetry unobserved. Miss Lydia’s
+forehead was severely cut; and Elinor, though bitterly remorseful, not
+only refused to beg pardon for her fault, but shattered every brittle
+article in the room to which she was confined for her contumacy. The
+vicar, on being consulted, recommended that she should be well whipped.
+This counsel was repugnant to Hardy McQuinch, but he gave his wife
+leave to use her discretion in the matter. The mother thought that the
+child ought to be beaten into submission; but she was afraid to
+undertake the task, and only uttered a threat, which was received with
+stubborn defiance. This was forgotten next day when Elinor, exhausted
+by a week of remorse, terror, rage, and suspense, became dangerously
+ill. When she recovered, her parents were more indulgent to her, and
+were gratified by finding her former passionate resistance replaced by
+sulky obedience. Five years elapsed, and Elinor began to write fiction.
+The beginning of a novel, and many incoherent verses imitated from
+Lara, were discovered by her mother, and burnt by her father. This
+outrage she never forgave. She was unable to make her resentment felt,
+for she no longer cared to break glass and china. She feared even to
+remonstrate lest she should humiliate herself by bursting into tears,
+as, since her illness, she had been prone to do in the least agitation.
+So she kept silence, and ceased to speak to either of her parents
+except when they addressed questions to her. Her father would neither
+complain of this nor confess the regret he felt for his hasty
+destruction of her manuscripts; but, whilst he proclaimed that he would
+burn every scrap of her nonsense that might come into his hands, he
+took care to be blind when he surprised her with suspicious bundles of
+foolscap, and snubbed his wife for hinting that Elinor was secretly
+disobeying him. Meanwhile her silent resentment never softened, and the
+life of the family was embittered by their consciousness of it. It
+never occurred to Mrs. McQuinch, an excellent mother to her two eldest
+daughters, that she was no more fit to have charge of the youngest than
+a turtle is to rear a young eagle. The discomfort of their relations
+never shook her faith in their “naturalness.” Like her husband and the
+vicar, she believed that when God sent children he made their parents
+fit to rule them. And Elinor resented her parents’ tyranny, as she felt
+it to be, without dreaming of making any allowances for their being in
+a false position towards her.
+
+One morning a letter from London announced that Mr. Lind had taken a
+house in Westbourne Terrace, and intended to live there permanently
+with his daughter. Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post
+came.
+
+“Yes,” said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had communicated the news: “I knew
+there was something the matter when I saw Reginald’s handwriting. It
+must be fully eighteen months since I heard from him last. I am very
+glad he has settled Marian in a proper home, instead of living like a
+bachelor and leaving her to wander about from one house to another. I
+wish we could have afforded to ask her down here oftener.”
+
+“Here is a note from Marian, addressed to Nelly,” said Lydia, who had
+been examining the envelope.
+
+“To Nelly!” said Mrs. McQuinch, vexed. “I think she should have invited
+one of you first.”
+
+“Perhaps it is not an invitation,” said Jane.
+
+“What else is it likely to be, child?” said Mrs. McQuinch. Then, as she
+thought how much pleasanter her home would be without Elinor, she
+added, “After all, it will do Nelly good to get away from here. She
+needs change, I think. I wish she would come down. It is too bad of her
+to be always late like this.”
+
+Elinor came in presently, wearing a neglected black gown; her face
+pale; her eyes surrounded by dark circles; her black hair straggling in
+wisps over her forehead. Her sisters, dressed twinlike in white muslin
+and gold lockets, emphasized her by contrast. Being blond and
+gregarious, they enjoyed the reputation of being pretty and
+affectionate. They had thriven in the soil that had starved Elinor.
+
+“There’s a letter for you from Marian,” said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+“Thanks,” said Elinor, indifferently, putting the note into her pocket.
+She liked Marian’s letters, and kept them to read in her hours of
+solitude.
+
+“What does she say?” said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+“I have not looked,” replied Elinor.
+
+“Well,” said Mrs. McQuinch, plaintively, “I wish you _would_ look. I
+want to know whether she says anything about this letter from your
+uncle Reginald.”
+
+Elinor plucked the note from her pocket, tore it open, and read it.
+Suddenly she set her face to hide some emotion from her family.
+
+“Marian wants me to go and stay with her,” she said. “They have taken a
+house.”
+
+“Poor Marian!” said Jane. “And will you go?”
+
+“I will,” said Elinor. “Have you any objection?”
+
+“Oh dear, no,” said Jane, smoothly.
+
+“I suppose you will be glad to get away from your home,” said Mrs.
+McQuinch, incontinently.
+
+“Very glad,” said Elinor. Mr. McQuinch, hurt, looked at her over his
+newspaper. Mrs. McQuinch was huffed.
+
+“I dont know what you are to do for clothes,” she said, “unless Lydia
+and Jane are content to wear their last winter’s dresses again this
+year.”
+
+The faces of the young ladies elongated. “That’s nonsense, mamma,” said
+Lydia. “We cant wear those brown reps again.” Women wore reps in those
+days.
+
+“You need not be alarmed,” said Elinor. “I dont want any clothes. I can
+go as I am.”
+
+“You dont know what you are talking about, child,” said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+“A nice figure you would make in uncle Reginald’s drawing-room with
+that dress on!” said Lydia.
+
+“And your hair in that state!” added Jane.
+
+“You should remember that there are others to be considered besides
+yourself,” said Lydia. “How would _you_ like _your_ guests to look like
+scarecrows?”
+
+“How could you expect Marian to go about with you, or into the Park? I
+suppose——”
+
+“Here, here!” said Mr. McQuinch, putting down his paper. “Let us have
+no more of this. What else do you need in the Park than a riding habit?
+You have that already. Whatever clothes you want you had better get in
+London, where you will get the proper things for your money.”
+
+“Indeed, Hardy, she is not going to pay a London milliner four prices
+for things she can get quite as good down here.”
+
+“I tell you I dont want anything,” said Elinor impatiently. “It will be
+time enough to begrudge me some decent clothes when I ask for them.”
+
+“I dont begrudge——”
+
+Mrs. McQuinch’s husband interrupted her. “Thats enough, now, everybody.
+It’s settled that she is to go, as she wants to. I will get her what is
+necessary. Give me another egg, and talk about something else.”
+
+Accordingly, Elinor went to live at Westbourne Terrace. Marian had
+spent a month of her childhood in Wiltshire, and had made of Elinor an
+exacting friend, always ready to take offence, and to remain jealous
+and sulky for days if one of her sisters, or any other little girl,
+engaged her cousin’s attention long. On the other hand, Elinor’s
+attachment was idolatrous in its intensity; and as Marian was
+sweet-tempered, and more apt to fear that she had disregarded Elinor’s
+feelings than to take offence at her waywardness, their friendship
+endured after they were parted. Their promises of correspondence were
+redeemed by Elinor with very long letters at uncertain intervals, and
+by Marian with shorter epistles notifying all her important movements.
+Marian, often called upon to defend her cousin from the charge of being
+a little shrew, was led to dwell upon her better qualities. Elinor
+found in Marian what she had never found at her own home, a friend, and
+in her uncle’s house a refuge from that of her father, which she hated.
+She had been Marian’s companion for four years when the concert took
+place at Wandsworth.
+
+Next day they were together in the drawing-room at Westbourne Terrace:
+Marian writing, Elinor at the pianoforte, working at some technical
+studies, to which she had been incited by the shortcoming of her
+performance on the previous night. She stopped on hearing a bell ring.
+
+“What o’clock is it?” she said, after listening a moment. “Surely it is
+too early for a visit.”
+
+“It is only half past two,” replied Marian. “I hope it is not anybody.
+I have not half finished my correspondence.”
+
+“If you please, Miss,” said a maid, entering, “Mr. Douglas wants to see
+you, and he wont come up.”
+
+“I suppose he expects you to go down and talk to him in the hall,” said
+Elinor.
+
+“He is in the dining-room, and wishes to see you most particular,” said
+the maid.
+
+“Tell him I will come down,” said Marian.
+
+“He heard me practising,” said Elinor, “that is why he would not come
+up. I am in disgrace, I suppose.”
+
+“Nonsense, Nelly! But indeed I have no doubt he has come to complain of
+our conduct, since he insists on seeing me alone.”
+
+Miss McQuinch looked sceptically at Marian’s guileless eyes, but
+resumed her technical studies without saying anything. Marian went to
+the dining-room, where she found Douglas standing near the window, tall
+and handsome, frock coated and groomed to a spotless glossiness that
+established a sort of relationship between him and the sideboard, the
+condition of which did credit to Marian’s influence over her
+housemaids. He looked intently at her as she bade him good morning.
+
+“I am afraid I am rather early,” he said, half stiffly, half
+apologetically.
+
+“Not at all,” said Marian.
+
+“I have come to say something which I do not care to keep unsaid longer
+than I can help; so I thought it better to come when I could hope to
+find you alone. I hope I have not disturbed you. I have something
+rather important to say.”
+
+“You are the same as one of ourselves, of course, Sholto. But I believe
+you delight in stiffness and ceremony. Will you not come upstairs?”
+
+“I wish to speak to you privately. First, I have to apologize to you
+for what passed last night.”
+
+“Pray dont, Sholto: it doesnt matter. I am afraid we were rude to you.”
+
+“Pardon me. It is I who am in fault. I never before made an apology to
+any human being; and I should not do so now without a painful
+conviction that I forgot what I owed to myself.”
+
+“Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself—I mean for never having
+apologized before. I am quite sure you have not got through life
+without having done at least one or two things that required an
+apology.”
+
+“I am sorry you hold that opinion of me.”
+
+“How is Brutus’s paw?”
+
+“Brutus!”
+
+“Yes. That abrupt way of changing the subject is what Mrs. Fairfax
+calls a display of tact. I know it is very annoying; so you may talk
+about anything you please. But I really want to hear how the poor dog
+is.”
+
+“His paw is nearly healed.”
+
+“I’m so glad—poor old dear!”
+
+“You are aware that I did not come here to speak of my mother’s dog,
+Marian?”
+
+“I supposed not,” said Marian, with a smile. “But now that you have
+made your apology, wont you come upstairs? Nelly is there.”
+
+“I have something else to say—to you alone, Marian. I entreat you to
+listen to it seriously.” Marian looked as grave as she could. “I
+confess that in some respects I do not understand you; and before you
+enter upon another London season, through which I cannot be at your
+side, I would obtain from you some assurance of the nature of your
+regard for me. I do not wish to harass you with jealous importunity.
+You have given me the most unequivocal tokens of a feeling different
+from that which inspires the ordinary intercourse of a lady and
+gentleman in society; but of late it has seemed to me that you maintain
+as little reserve toward other men as toward me. I am not thinking of
+Marmaduke: he is your cousin. But I observed that even the working man
+who sang at the concert last night was received—I do not say
+intentionally—with a cordiality which might have tempted a more humbly
+disposed person than he seemed to be to forget——” Here Douglas, seeing
+Marian’s bearing change suddenly, hesitated. Her beautiful gray eyes,
+always pleading for peace like those of a good angel, were now full of
+reproach; and her mouth, but for those eyes, would have suggested that
+she was at heart an obstinate woman.
+
+“Sholto,” she said, “I dont know what to say to you. If this is
+jealousy, it may be very flattering; but it is ridiculous. If it is a
+lecture, seriously intended, it is—it is really most insulting. What do
+you mean by my having given you unequivocal signs of regard? Of course
+I think of you very differently from the chance acquaintances I make in
+society. It would be strange if I did not, having known you so long and
+been your mother’s guest so often. But you talk almost as if I had been
+making love to you.”
+
+“No,” said Douglas, forgetting his ceremonious manner and speaking
+angrily and naturally; “but you talk as though I had not been making
+love to _you_.”
+
+“If you have, I never knew it. I never dreamt it.”
+
+“Then, since you are not the stupidest lady of my acquaintance, you
+must be the most innocent.”
+
+“Tell me of one single occasion on which anything has passed between us
+that justifies your speaking to me as you are doing now.”
+
+“Innumerable occasions. But since I cannot compel you to acknowledge
+them, it would be useless to cite them.”
+
+“All I can say is that we have utterly misunderstood one another,” she
+said, after a pause.
+
+He said nothing, but took up his hat, and looked down at it with angry
+determination. Marian, too uneasy to endure silence, added:
+
+“But I shall know better in future.”
+
+“True,” said Douglas, hastily putting down his hat and advancing a
+step. “You cannot plead misunderstanding now. Can you give me the
+assurance I seek?”
+
+“What assurance?”
+
+Douglas shook his shoulders impatiently.
+
+“You expect me to know everything by intuition,” she said.
+
+“Well, my declaration shall be definite enough, even for you. Do you
+love me?”
+
+“No, I dont think I do. In fact, I am quite sure I do not—in the way
+you mean. I wish you would not talk like this, Sholto. We have all got
+on so pleasantly together: you, and I, and Nelly, and Marmaduke, and my
+father. And now you begin making love, and stuff of that kind. Pray let
+us agree to forget all about it, and remain friends as before.”
+
+“You need not be anxious about our future relations: I shall not
+embarrass you with my society again. I hoped to find you a woman
+capable of appreciating a man’s passion, even if you should be unable
+to respond to it. But I perceive that you are only a girl, not yet
+aware of the deeper life that underlies the ice of conventionality.”
+
+“That is a very good metaphor for your own case,” said Marian,
+interrupting him. “Your ordinary manner is all ice, hard and chilling.
+One may suspect that there are depths beneath, but that is only an
+additional inducement to keep on the surface.”
+
+“Then even your amiability is a delusion! Or is it that you are amiable
+to the rest of the world, and reserve taunts of coldness and treachery
+for me?”
+
+“No, no,” she said, angelic again. “You have taken me up wrongly. I did
+not mean to taunt you.”
+
+“You conceal your meaning as skilfully as—according to you—I have
+concealed mine. Good-morning.”
+
+“Are you going already?”
+
+“Do you care one bit for me, Marian?”
+
+“I do indeed. Believe me, you are one of my special friends.”
+
+“I do not want to be _one_ of your friends. Will you be my wife?”
+
+“Sholto!”
+
+“Will you be my wife?”
+
+“No. I——”
+
+“Pardon me. That is quite sufficient. Good-morning.”
+
+The moment he interrupted her, a change in her face shewed she had a
+temper. She did not move a muscle until she heard the house door close
+behind him. Then she ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where Miss
+McQuinch was still practising.
+
+“Oh, Nelly,” she cried, throwing herself into an easy chair, and
+covering her face with her hands. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” She opened her
+fingers and looked whimsically at her cousin, who, despising this stage
+business, said, impatiently:
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Do you know what Sholto came for?”
+
+“To propose to you.”
+
+“Stop, Nelly. You do not know what horrible things one may say in jest.
+He _has_ proposed.”
+
+“When will the wedding be?”
+
+“Dont joke about it, please. I scarcely know how I have behaved, or
+what the meaning of the whole scene is, yet. Listen. Did you ever
+suspect that he was—what shall I say?—_courting_ me?”
+
+“I saw that he was trying to be tender in his own conceited way. I
+fully expected he would propose some day, if he could once reconcile
+himself to a wife who was not afraid of him.”
+
+“And you never told me.”
+
+“I thought you saw it for yourself; particularly as you encouraged
+him.”
+
+“There! The very thing he has been accusing me of! He said I had given
+him unequivocal tokens—yes, unequivocal tokens—that I was madly in love
+with him.”
+
+“What did you say?—if I may ask.”
+
+“I tried to explain things to him; but he persisted in asking me would
+I be his wife; and when I refused he would not listen to anything else,
+and went off in a rage.”
+
+“Yes, I can imagine Sholto’s feelings on discovering that he had
+humbled himself in vain. Why did you refuse him?”
+
+“Why! Fancy being Sholto’s wife! I would as soon think of marrying
+Marmaduke. But I cannot forget what he said about my flirting with him.
+Nelly: will you promise to tell me whenever you think I am behaving in
+a way that might lead anybody on to—like Sholto, you know?”
+
+“Nonsense! If men choose to make fools of themselves, you cannot
+prevent them. Hush! I hear someone coming upstairs. It is Marmaduke, I
+think.”
+
+“Marmaduke would never come up so slowly. He generally comes up three
+steps at a time.”
+
+“Sulky after last night, no doubt. I suppose he wont speak to me.”
+
+Marmaduke entered listlessly. “Good morning, Marian,” he said, sitting
+down on an uncomfortable chair. “Good morrow, Nell.”
+
+Elinor, surprised at the courtesy, looked up and saluted him
+snappishly.
+
+“Is there anything the matter, Duke?” said Marian. “Are you ill?”
+
+“No, I’m all right. Rather busy: thats all.”
+
+“Busy!” said Elinor. “There must be something even more unusual than
+that, when you are too low spirited to keep up a quarrel with me. Why
+dont you sit on the easy chair, or sprawl on the ottoman, after your
+manner?”
+
+“Anything for a quiet life,” he replied, moving to the ottoman.
+
+“You must be hungry,” said Marian, puzzled by his obedience. “Let me
+get you something.”
+
+“No, thank you,” said Marmaduke. “I couldnt eat. Just had lunch. Ive
+come to pack up a few things of mine that you have here.”
+
+“We have your banjo.”
+
+“Oh, I dont want that. You may keep it, or put it in the fire, for all
+I care. I want some clothes I left behind me when we had the
+theatricals.”
+
+“Are you leaving London?”
+
+“Yes. I am getting tired of loafing about here. I think I ought to go
+home for a while. My mother wants me to.”
+
+Miss McQuinch, by a subdued but expressive snort, conveyed the most
+entire scepticism as to his solicitude about his mother. She then
+turned to the piano calmly, observing, “You have probably eaten
+something that disagrees with you.”
+
+“What a shame!” said Marian. “Come, Duke: I have plenty of good news
+for you. Nelly and I are invited to Carbury Park for the autumn; and
+there will be no visitors but us three. We shall have the whole place
+to ourselves.”
+
+“Time enough to think of the autumn yet awhile,” said Marmaduke,
+gloomily.
+
+“Well,” said Miss McQuinch, “here is some better news for you.
+Constance—_Lady_ Constance—will be in town next week.”
+
+Marmaduke muttered something.
+
+“I beg your pardon?” said Elinor, quickly.
+
+“I didnt say anything.”
+
+“I may be wrong; but I thought I heard you say ‘Hang Lady Constance!’.”
+
+“Oh, Marmaduke!” cried Marian, affectedly. “How dare you speak so of
+your betrothed, sir?”
+
+“Who says she is my betrothed?” he said, turning on her angrily.
+
+“Why, everybody. Even Constance admits it.”
+
+“She ought to have the manners to wait until I ask her,” he said,
+subsiding. “I’m not betrothed to her; and I dont intend to become so in
+a hurry, if I can help it. But you neednt tell your father I said so.
+It might get round to my governor; and then there would be a row.”
+
+“You _must_ marry her some day, you know,” said Elinor, maliciously.
+
+“_Must_ I? I shant marry at all. I’ve had enough of women.”
+
+“Indeed? Perhaps they have had enough of you.” Marmaduke reddened. “You
+seem to have exhausted the joys of this world since the concert last
+night. Are you jealous of Mr. Conolly’s success?”
+
+“Your by-play when you found how early it was at the end of the concert
+was not lost on us,” said Marian demurely. “You were going somewhere,
+were you not?”
+
+“Since you are so jolly curious,” said Marmaduke, unreasonably annoyed,
+“I went to the theatre with Connolly; and my by-play, as you call it,
+simply meant my delight at finding that we could get rid of you in time
+to enjoy the evening.”
+
+“With Conolly!” said Marian, interested. What kind of man is he?”
+
+“He is nothing particular. You saw him yourself.”
+
+“Yes. But is he well educated, and—and so forth?”
+
+“Dont know, I’m sure. We didnt talk about mathematics and classics.”
+
+“Well; but—do you like him?”
+
+“I tell you I dont care a damn about him one way or the other,” said
+Marmaduke, rising and walking away to the window. His cousins,
+astonished, exchanged looks.
+
+“Very well, Marmaduke,” said Marian softly, after a pause: “I wont
+tease you any more. Dont be angry.”
+
+“You havnt teased me,” said he, coming back somewhat shamefacedly from
+the window. “I feel savage to-day, though there is no reason why I
+should not be as jolly as a shrimp. Perhaps Nelly will play some
+Chopin, just to soothe me. I should like to hear that polonaise again.”
+
+“I should enjoy nothing better than taking you at your word,” said
+Elinor. “But I heard Mr. Lind come in, a moment ago; and he is not so
+fond of Chopin as you and I.”
+
+Mr. Lind entered whilst she was speaking. He was a dignified gentleman,
+with delicately chiselled features and portly figure. His silky light
+brown hair curled naturally about his brow and set it off imposingly.
+His hands were white and small, with tapering fingers, and small
+thumbs.
+
+“How do you do, sir?” said Marmaduke, blushing.
+
+“Thank you: I am better than I have been.”
+
+Marmaduke murmured congratulations, and looked at his watch as if
+pressed for time. “I must be off now,” he said, rising. “I was just
+going when you came in.”
+
+“So soon! Well, I must not detain you, Marmaduke. I heard from your
+father this morning. He is very anxious to see you settled in life.”
+
+“I suppose I shall shake down some day, sir.”
+
+“You have very good opportunities—very exceptional opportunities. Has
+Marian told you that Constance is expected to arrive in town next
+week?”
+
+“Yes: we told him,” said Marian.
+
+“He thought it too good to be true, and would hardly believe us,” added
+Elinor.
+
+Mr. Lind smiled at his nephew, happily forgetful, worldly wise as he
+was, of the inevitable conspiracy of youth against age. They smiled
+too, except Marmaduke, who, being under observation, kept his
+countenance like the Man in the Iron Mask. “It is quite true, my boy,”
+said the uncle, kindly. “But before she arrives, I should like to have
+a talk with you. When can you come to breakfast with me?”
+
+“Any day you choose to name, sir. I shall be very glad.”
+
+“Let us say to-morrow morning. Will that be too soon?”
+
+“Not at all. It will suit me quite well. Good evening, sir.”
+
+“Good evening to you.”
+
+When Marmaduke was in the street, he stood for a while considering
+which way to go. Before the arrival of his uncle, he had intended to
+spend the afternoon with his cousins. He was now at a loss for a means
+of killing time. On one point he was determined. There was a rehearsal
+that day at the Bijou Theatre; and thither, at least, he would not go.
+He drove to Charing Cross, and drifted back to Leicester Square. He
+turned away from the theatre, and wandered down Piccadilly. Then he
+thought he would return as far as the Criterion, and drink. Finally he
+arrived at the stage door of the Bijou Theatre, and inquired whether
+the rehearsal was over.
+
+“Theyve bin at it since eleven this mornin, and will be pretty nigh til
+the stage is wanted for to-night,” said the janitor. “I’d as lief youd
+wait here as go up, if you dont mind, sir. The guvnor is above; and he
+aint in the best o’ tempers. I’ll send word up.”
+
+Marmaduke looked round irresolutely. A great noise of tramping and
+singing began.
+
+“Thats the new procession,” continued the doorkeeper. “Sixteen hextras
+took on for it. It’s Miss Virtue’s chance for lunch, sir: you wont have
+long to wait now.”
+
+Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the staircase. Marmaduke
+started, and stood biting his lips as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy,
+hungry, and in haste, hurried towards the door.
+
+“Come! Come on,” she said impatiently to him, as she went out. “Go and
+get a cab, will you. I must have something to eat; and I have to get
+back sharp. Do be qu——there goes a hansom. Hi!” She whistled shrilly,
+and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was directed by Marmaduke to
+a restaurant in Regent Street.
+
+“I am absolutely starving,” she said as they drove off. “I have been in
+since eleven this morning; and of course they only called the band for
+half-past. They are such damned fools: they drive me mad.”
+
+“Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make them arrange it
+properly for next day?”
+
+“Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, and lose my rehearsal.
+It is bad enough to lose my temper. I swore, I can tell you.”
+
+“I have no doubt you did.”
+
+“This horse thinks he’s at a funeral. What o’clock is it?”
+
+“It’s only eight minutes past four. There is plenty of time.”
+
+When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restaurant; scrutinized the
+tables; and selected the best lighted one. The waiter, a decorous
+elderly man, approached with some severity of manner, and handed a bill
+of fare to Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and addressed the
+waiter sharply.
+
+“Bring me some thin soup; and get me a steak to follow. Let it be a
+thick juicy one. If its purple and raw I wont have it; and if its done
+to a cinder, I wont have it: it must be red. And get me some spring
+cabbage and potatoes, and a pint of dry champagne—the decentest you
+have. And be quick.”
+
+“And what for you, sir?” said the waiter, turning to Marmaduke.
+
+“Never mind him,” interrupted Susanna. “Go and attend to me.”
+
+The waiter bowed and retired.
+
+“Old stick-in-the-mud!” muttered Miss Lalage. “Is it half-past four
+yet?”
+
+“No. It’s only quarter past. There’s lots of time.”
+
+Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal of bread, the
+steak, the vegetables, and the pint of champagne—less a glassful taken
+by her companion—had disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, and
+consumed two ices.
+
+“Have an ice to finish up with?” he said.
+
+“No. I cant work on sweets,” she replied. “But I am beginning to feel
+alive again and comfortable. Whats the time?”
+
+“Confound the time!” said Marmaduke. “It’s twenty minutes to five.”
+
+“Well, I’ll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start for quarter of an
+hour yet.”
+
+“Thank heaven!” said Marmaduke. “I was afraid I should not be able to
+get a word with you.”
+
+“That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, Mr. Marmaduke
+Lind. What did you mean by telling me your name was Sharp?”
+
+“It’s the name of a cousin of mine,” said Marmaduke, attempting to
+dismiss the subject with a laugh.
+
+“It may be your cousin’s name; but it’s not yours. By the bye, is that
+the cousin youre engaged to?”
+
+“What cousin? I’m not engaged to anybody.”
+
+“That’s a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, come, Master
+Marmaduke: you cant humbug me. Youre too young. Hallo! What do _you_
+want?”
+
+It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing a bill on the
+table. Marmaduke put his hand into his pocket.
+
+“Just wait a minute, please,” said Susanna. The waiter retired.
+
+“Now then,” she resumed, placing her elbows on the table, “let us have
+no more nonsense. What is your little game? Are you going to pay that
+bill or am I?”
+
+“I am, of course.”
+
+“There is no of course in it—not yet, anyhow. What are you hanging
+about the theatre after me for? Tell me that. Dont stop to think.”
+
+Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally he brightened, and
+said, “Look here. Youre angry with me for bringing your brother last
+night. But upon my soul I had no idea—”
+
+“That’s not what I mean at all. You are dodging a plain question. When
+you came to the theatre, I thought you were a nice fellow; and I made
+friends with you. Now I find you have been telling me lies about
+yourself, and trying to play fast and loose. You must either give that
+up or give me up. I wont have you pass that stage door again if you
+only want to amuse yourself like other lounging cads about town.”
+
+“What do you mean by playing fast and loose, and being a cad about
+town?” said Marmaduke angrily.
+
+“I hope youre not going to make a row here in public.”
+
+“No; but I have you where _you_ cant make a row; and I intend to have
+it out with you once and for all. If you quarrel now, so help me Heaven
+I’ll never speak to you again!”
+
+“It is you who are quarrelling.”
+
+“Very well,” said Susanna, opening her purse as though the matter were
+decided. “Waiter.”
+
+“I am going to pay.”
+
+“So you can—for what you had yourself. I dont take dinners from strange
+men, nor pay for their ices.”
+
+Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse determinedly; glanced
+angrily at her; and muttered, “I never thought you were that sort of
+woman.”
+
+“What sort of woman?” demanded Susanna, in a tone that made the other
+occupants of the room turn and stare.
+
+“Never mind,” said Marmaduke. She was about to retort, when she saw him
+looking into his purse with an expression of dismay. The waiter came.
+Susanna, instead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the
+money, changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke searched his pockets.
+Finding nothing, he muttered an imprecation, and, fingering his watch
+chain, glanced doubtfully at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the
+tablecloth.
+
+“There,” said Susanna, putting down a sovereign.
+
+Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter changed the coin and
+thanked Susanna for her gratuity. Then he said, “You must let me settle
+with you for this to-night. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket
+of another waistcoat.”
+
+“You will not have the chance of settling with me, either to-night or
+any other night. I am done with you.” And she rose and left the
+restaurant. Marmaduke sat doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he
+went out, and ran along Regent Street, anxiously looking from face to
+face in search of her. At last he saw her walking at a great pace a
+little distance ahead of him. He made a dash and overtook her.
+
+“Look here, Lalage,” he said, keeping up with her as she walked: “this
+is all rot. I didnt mean to offend you. I dont know what you mean, or
+what you want me to do. Dont be so unreasonable.”
+
+No answer.
+
+“I can stand a good deal from you; but it’s too much to be kept at your
+heels as if I were a beggar or a troublesome dog. _Lalage_.” She took
+no notice of him; and he stopped, trying to compose his features, which
+were distorted by rage. She walked on, turning into Glasshouse Street.
+When she had gone twenty yards, she heard him striding behind her.
+
+“If you wont stop and talk to me,” he said, “I’ll make you. If anybody
+interferes with me I’ll smash him into jelly. It would serve you right
+if I did the same to you.”
+
+He put his hand on her arm; and she instantly turned and struck him
+across the face, knocking off his hat. He, who a moment before had been
+excited, red, and almost in tears, was appalled. There was a crowd in a
+moment; and a cabman drew up close to the kerb with a calm conviction
+that his hansom would be wanted presently.
+
+“How dare you put your hand on me, you coward?” she exclaimed, with
+remarkable crispness of utterance and energy of style. “Who are you? I
+dont know you. Where are the police?” She paused for a reply; and a
+bracelet, broken by the blow she had given him, dropped on the
+pavement, and was officiously picked up and handed to her by a battered
+old woman who shewed in every wrinkle her burning sympathy with Woman
+turning at bay against Man. Susanna looked at the broken bracelet, and
+tears of vexation sprang to her eyes. “Look at what youve done!” she
+cried, holding out the bracelet in her left hand and shewing a scrape
+which had drawn blood on her right wrist. “For two pins I’d knock your
+head off!”
+
+Marmaduke, quite out of countenance, and yet sullenly very angry,
+vacillated for a moment between his conflicting impulses to knock her
+down and to fly to the utmost ends of the earth. If he had been ten
+years older he would probably have knocked her down: as it was, he
+signed to the cabman, who gathered up the reins and held them clear of
+his fare’s damaged hat with the gratification of a man whose judgment
+in a delicate matter had just been signally confirmed by events.
+
+As they started, Susanna made a dash at the cab, which was pulled up,
+amid a shout from the crowd, just in time to prevent an accident. Then,
+holding on to the rail and standing on the step, she addressed herself
+to the cabman, and, sacrificing all propriety of language to intensity
+of vituperation, demanded whether he wanted to run his cab over her
+body and kill her. He, with undisturbed foresight, answered not a word,
+but again shifted the reins so as to make way for her bonnet.
+Acknowledging the attention with one more epithet, she seated herself
+in the cab, from which Marmaduke at once indignantly rose to escape.
+But the hardiest Grasmere wrestler, stooping under the hood of a
+hansom, could not resist a vigorous pull at his coat tails; and
+Marmaduke was presently back in his seat again, with Susanna clinging
+to him and half sobbing:
+
+“Oh, Bob, youve killed me. How could you?” Then, with a suspiciously
+sudden recovery of energy, she screamed “Bijou Theatre. Drive on, will
+you” up at the cabman, who was looking down through the trapdoor. The
+horse plunged forward, and, with the jolt, she was fawning on
+Marmaduke’s arm again, saying, “Dont be brutal to me any more, Bob. I
+cant bear it. I have enough trouble without your turning on me.”
+
+He was young and green, and too much confused by this time to feel sure
+that he had not been the aggressor. But he did, on the whole, the
+wisest thing—folded his arms and sat silent, with his cheeks burning.
+
+“Say something to me,” she said, shaking his arm. “I have nothing to
+say,” he replied. “I shall leave town for home to-night. I cant shew my
+face again after this.”
+
+“Home,” she said, in her former contemptuous tone, flinging his arm
+away. “That means your cousin Constance.”
+
+“Who told you about her?”
+
+“Never mind. You are engaged to her.”
+
+“You lie!”
+
+Susanna was shaken. She looked hard at him, wondering whether he was
+deceiving her or not. “Look me in the face, Bob,” she said. If he had
+complied, she would not have believed him. But he treated the challenge
+with supreme disdain and stared straight ahead, obeying his male
+instinct, which taught him that the woman, with all the advantages on
+her side, would nevertheless let him win if he held on. At last she
+came caressingly to his shoulder again, and said:
+
+“Why didnt you tell me about her yourself?”
+
+“Damn it all,” he exclaimed, violently, “there is nothing to tell! I am
+not engaged to her: on my oath I am not. My people at home talk about a
+match between us as if it were a settled thing, though they know I dont
+care for her. But if you want to have the truth, I cant afford to say
+that I wont marry her, because I am too hard up to quarrel with the
+governor, who has set his heart on it. You see, the way I am
+circumstanced——”
+
+“Oh, bother your circumstances! Look here, Bob, I dont want you to
+introduce me to your swell relations; it is not worth _my_ while to
+waste time on people who cant earn their own living. And never mind
+your governor: we can get on without him. If you are hard up for money,
+and he is stingy, you had better get it from me than from the Jews.”
+
+“I couldnt do that,” said Marmaduke, touched. “In fact, I am well
+enough off. By the bye, I must not forget to pay you for that lunch.
+But if I ever am hard up, I will come to you. Will that do?”
+
+“Of course: that is what I meant. Confound it, here we are already. You
+mustnt come in, you would only be in the way. Come to-night after the
+burlesque, if you like. Youre not angry with me, are you?”
+
+Her breast touched his arm just then; and as if she had released some
+spring, all his love for her suddenly surged up within him and got the
+better of him. “Wait—listen,” he said, in a voice half choked with
+tenderness. “Look here, Lalage: the honest truth is that I shall be
+ruined if I marry you openly. Let us be married quietly, and keep it
+dark until I am more independent.”
+
+“Married! Catch me at it—if you can. No, dear boy, I am very fond of
+you, and you are one of the right sort to make me the offer; but I wont
+let you put a collar round _my_ neck. Matrimony is all very fine for
+women who have no better way of supporting themselves, but it wouldnt
+suit me. Dont look so dazed. What difference does it make to _you_?”
+
+“But——” He stopped, bewildered, gazing at her.
+
+“Get out, you great goose!” she said, and suddenly sprang out of the
+hansom and darted into the theatre.
+
+He sat gaping after her, horrified—genuinely horrified.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The Earl of Carbury was a youngish man with no sort of turn for being a
+nobleman. He could not bring himself to behave as if he was anybody in
+particular; and though this passed for perfect breeding whenever he by
+chance appeared in his place in society, on the magisterial bench, or
+in the House of Lords, it prevented him from making the most of the
+earldom, and was a standing grievance with his relatives, many of whom
+were the most impudent and uppish people on the face of the earth. He
+was, if he had only known it, a born republican, with no natural belief
+in earls at all; but as he was rather too modest to indulge his
+consciousness with broad generalizations of this kind, all he knew
+about the matter was that he was sensible of being a bad hand at his
+hereditary trade of territorial aristocrat. At a very early age he had
+disgraced himself by asking his mother whether he might be a watchmaker
+when he grew up, and his feeble sense on that occasion of the
+impropriety of an earl being anything whatsoever except an earl had
+given his mother an imperious contempt for him which afterward got
+curiously mixed with a salutary dread of his moral superiority to her,
+which was considerable. His aspiration to become a watchmaker was an
+early symptom of his extraordinary turn for mechanics. An
+apprenticeship of six years at the bench would have made an educated
+workman of him: as it was, he pottered at every mechanical pursuit as a
+gentleman amateur in a laboratory and workshop which he had got built
+for himself in his park. In this magazine of toys—for such it virtually
+was at first—he satisfied his itchings to play with tools and machines.
+He was no sportsman; but if he saw in a shop window the most trumpery
+patent improvement in a breechloader, he would go in and buy it; and as
+to a new repeating rifle or liquefied gas gun, he would travel to St.
+Petersburg to see it. He wrote very little; but he had sixteen
+different typewriters, each guaranteed perfect by an American agent,
+who had also pledged himself that the other fifteen were miserable
+impostures. A really ingenious bicycle or tricycle always found in him
+a ready purchaser; and he had patented a roller skate and a railway
+brake. When the electric chair for dental operations was invented, he
+sacrificed a tooth to satisfy his curiosity as to its operation. He
+could not play brass instruments to any musical purpose; but his
+collection of double slide trombones, bombardons with patent
+compensating pistons, comma trumpets, and the like, would have equipped
+a small military band; whilst his newly tempered harmonium with
+fifty-three notes to each octave, and his pianos with simplified
+keyboards that nobody could play on, were the despair of all musical
+amateurs who came to stay at Towers Cottage, as his place was called.
+He would buy the most expensive and elaborate lathe, and spend a month
+trying to make a true billiard ball at it. At the end of that time he
+would have to send for a professional hand, who would cornet the ball
+with apparently miraculous skill in a few seconds. He got on better
+with chemistry and photography; but at last he settled down to
+electrical engineering, and, giving up the idea of doing everything
+with his own half-trained hand, kept a skilled man always in his
+laboratory to help him out.
+
+All along there had been a certain love of the marvelous at the bottom
+of his fancy for inventions. Therefore, though he did not in the least
+believe in ghosts, he would “investigate” spiritualism, and part with
+innumerable guineas to mediums, slatewriters, clairvoyants, and even of
+turbaned rascals from the East, who would boldly offer at midnight to
+bring him out into the back yard and there and then raise the devil for
+him. And just as his tendency was to magnify the success and utility of
+his patent purchases, so he would lend himself more or less to gross
+impostures simply because they interested him. This confirmed his
+reputation for being a bit of a crank; and as he had in addition all
+the restlessness and eccentricity of the active spirits of his class,
+arising from the fact that no matter what he busied himself with, it
+never really mattered whether he accomplished it or not, he remained an
+unsatisfied and (considering the money he cost) unsatisfactory specimen
+of a true man in a false position.
+
+Towers Cottage was supposed to be a mere appendage to Carbury Towers,
+which had been burnt down, to the great relief of its noble owners, in
+the reign of William IV. The Cottage, a handsome one-storied Tudor
+mansion, with tall chimneys, gabled roofs, and transom windows, had
+since served the family as a very sufficient residence, needing a much
+smaller staff of servants than the Towers, and accommodating fewer
+visitors. At first it had been assumed on all hands that the stay at
+the Cottage was but a temporary one, pending the re-erection of the
+Towers on a scale of baronial magnificence; but this tradition, having
+passed through its primal stage of being a standing excuse with the
+elders into that of being a standing joke with the children, had
+naturally lapsed as the children grew up. Indeed, the Cottage was now
+too large for the family; for the Earl was still unmarried, and all his
+sisters had contracted splendid alliances except the youngest, Lady
+Constance Carbury, a maiden of twenty-two, with a thin face and slight
+angular figure, who was still on her mother’s hands. The illustrious
+matches made by her sisters had, in fact, been secured by extravagant
+dowering, which had left nothing for poor Lady Constance except a
+miserable three hundred pounds a year, at which paltry figure no man
+had as yet offered to take her. The Countess (Dowager) habitually
+assumed that Marmaduke Lind ardently desired the hand of his cousin;
+and Constance herself supported tacitly this view; but the Earl was apt
+to become restive when it was put forward, though he altogether
+declined to improve his sister’s pecuniary position, having already
+speculated quite heavily enough in brothers-in-law.
+
+In the August following the Wandsworth concert Lord Carbury began to
+take his electrical laboratory with such intensified seriousness that
+he flatly refused to entertain any visitors until the 12th, and held
+fast to his determination in spite of his mother’s threat to leave the
+house, alleging, with a laugh, that he had got hold of a discovery with
+money in it at last. But he felt at such a disadvantage after this
+incredible statement that he hastened to explain that his objection to
+visitors did not apply to relatives who would be sufficiently at home
+at Towers Cottage to require no attention from him. Under the terms of
+this capitulation Marian, as universal favorite, was invited; and since
+there was no getting Marian down without Elinor, she was invited too,
+in spite of the Countess’s strong dislike for her, a sentiment which
+she requited with a pungent mixture of detestation and contempt.
+Marian’s brother, the Reverend George Lind, promised to come down in a
+day or two; and Marmaduke, who was also invited, did not reply.
+
+The morning after her arrival, Marian was awakened at six o’clock by a
+wagon rumbling past the window of her room with a sound quite different
+from that made by the dust-cart in Westbourne Terrace. She peeped out
+at it, and saw that is was laden with packages of irregular shape,
+which, judging by some strange-looking metal rods that projected
+through the covering, she took to be apparatus for Lord Jasper’s
+laboratory. From the wagon, with its patiently trudging horse and dull
+driver, she lifted her eyes to the lawn, where the patches of wet
+shadow beneath the cedars refreshed the sunlit grass around them. It
+looked too fine a morning to spend in bed. Had Marian been able to
+taste and smell the fragrant country air she would not have hesitated a
+moment. But she had been accustomed to believe that fresh air was
+unhealthy at night, and though nothing would have induced her to wash
+in dirty water, she thought nothing of breathing dirty air; and so the
+window was shut and the room close. Still, the window did not exclude
+the loud singing of the birds or the sunlight. She ventured to open it
+a little, not without a sense of imprudence. Twenty minutes later she
+was dressed.
+
+She first looked into the drawing-room, but it was stale and dreary.
+The dining-room, which she tried next, made her hungry. The arrival of
+a servant with a broom suggested to her that she had better get out of
+the way of the household work. She felt half sorry for getting up, and
+went out on the lawn to recover her spirits. There she heard a man’s
+voice trolling a stave somewhere in the direction of the laboratory.
+Thinking that it might be Lord Carbury, and that, if so, he would
+probably not wait until half past nine to break his fast, she ran gaily
+off round the southwest corner of the Cottage to a terrace, from which
+there was access through a great double window, now wide open, to a
+lofty apartment roofed with glass.
+
+At a large table in the middle of the room sat a man with his back to
+the window. He had taken off his coat, and was bending over a small
+round block with little holes sunk into it. Each hole was furnished
+with a neat brass peg, topped with ebony; and the man was lifting and
+replacing one of these pegs whilst he gravely watched the dial of an
+instrument that resembled a small clock. A large straw hat concealed
+his head, and protected it from the rays that were streaming through
+the glass roof and open window. The apparent triviality of his
+occupation, and his intentness upon it, amused Marian. She stole into
+the laboratory, came close behind him, and said:
+
+“Since you have nothing better to do than play cribbage with yourself,
+I——”
+
+She had gently lifted up his straw hat, and found beneath a head that
+was not Lord Carbury’s. The man, who had cowered with surprise at her
+touch and voice, but had waited even then to finish an observation of
+his galvanometer before turning, now turned and stared at her.
+
+“I _beg_ your pardon,” said Marian, blushing vigorously. “I thought it
+was Lord Carbury. I have disturbed you very rudely. I——”
+
+“Not at all,” said the man. “I quite understand. I was not playing
+cribbage, but I was doing nothing very important. However, as you
+certainly did take me by surprise, perhaps you will excuse my coat.”
+
+“Oh, pray dont mind me. I must not interrupt your work.” She looked at
+his face again, but only for an instant, as he was watching her. Then,
+with another blush, she put out her hand and said, “How do you do, Mr.
+Conolly. I did not recognize you at first.”
+
+He shook hands, but did not offer any further conversation. “What a
+wonderful place!” she said, looking round, with a view to making
+herself agreeable by taking an interest in everything. “Wont you
+explain it all to me? To begin with, what is electricity?”
+
+Conolly stared rather at this question, and then shook his head. “I
+dont know anything about that,” he said; “I am only a workman. Perhaps
+Lord Carbury can tell you: he has read a good deal about it.”
+
+Marian looked incredulously at him. “I am sure you are joking,” she
+said. “Lord Carbury says you know ever so much more than he does. I
+suppose I asked a stupid question. What are those reels of green silk
+for?”
+
+“Ah,” said Conolly, relaxing. “Come now, I can tell you that easily
+enough. I dont know what it _is_, but I know what it does, and I can
+lay traps to catch it. Here now, for instance——”
+
+And he went on to deliver a sort of chatty Royal Institution Children’s
+Lecture on Electricity which produced a great impression on Marian, who
+was accustomed to nothing better than small talk. She longed to
+interest him by her comments and questions, but she found that they had
+a most discouraging effect on him. Redoubling her efforts, she at last
+reduced him to silence, of which she availed herself to remark, with
+great earnestness, that science was a very wonderful thing.
+
+“How do you know?” he said, a little bluntly.
+
+“I am sure it must be,” she replied, brightening; for she thought he
+had now made a rather foolish remark. “Is Lord Carbury a very clever
+scientist?”
+
+Conolly looked just grave enough to suggest that the question was not
+altogether a discreet one. Then, brushing off that consideration, he
+replied:
+
+“He has seen a great deal and read a great deal. You see, he has great
+means at his disposal. His property is as good as a joint-stock company
+at his back. Practically, he is very good, considering his method of
+working: not so good, considering the means at his disposal.”
+
+“What would you do if you had his means?”
+
+Conolly made a gesture which plainly signified that he thought he could
+do a great many things.
+
+“And is science, then, so expensive? I thought it was beyond the reach
+of money.”
+
+“Oh, yes: science may be. But I am not a scientific man: I’m an
+inventor. The two things are quite different. Invention is the most
+expensive thing in the world. It takes no end of time, and no end of
+money. Time is money; so it costs both ways.”
+
+“Then why dont you discover something and make your fortune?”
+
+“I have already discovered something.”
+
+“Oh! What is it?”
+
+“That it costs a fortune to make experiments enough to lead to an
+invention.”
+
+“You are exaggerating, are you not? What do you mean by a fortune?”
+
+“In my case, at least four or five hundred pounds.”
+
+“Is that all? Surely you would have no difficulty in getting five
+hundred pounds.”
+
+Conolly laughed. “To be sure,” said he. “What is five hundred pounds?”
+
+“A mere nothing—considering the importance of the object. You really
+ought not to allow such a consideration as that to delay your career. I
+have known people spend as much in one day on the most worthless
+things.”
+
+“There is something in that, Miss Lind. How would you recommend me to
+begin?”
+
+“First,” said Marian, with determination, “make up your mind to spend
+the money. Banish all scruples about the largeness of the sum. Resolve
+not to grudge even twice as much to science.”
+
+“That is done already. I have quite made up my mind to spend the money.
+What next?”
+
+“Well, I suppose the next thing is to spend it.”
+
+“Excuse me. The next thing is to get it. It is a mere detail, I know;
+but I should like to settle it before we go any further.”
+
+“But how can I tell you that? You forget that I am quite unacquainted
+with your affairs. You are a man, and understand business, which of
+course I dont.”
+
+“If you wanted five hundred pounds, Miss Lind, how would you set about
+getting it?—if I may ask.”
+
+“What? I! But, as I say, I am only a woman. I should ask my father for
+it, or sign a receipt for my trustees, or something of that sort.”
+
+“That is a very simple plan. But unfortunately I have no father and no
+trustees. Worse than that, I have no money. You must suggest some other
+way.”
+
+“Do what everybody else does in your circumstances. Borrow it. I am
+sure Lord Carbury would lend it to you.”
+
+Conolly shook his head. “It doesnt do for a man in my position to start
+borrowing the moment he makes the acquaintance of a man in Lord
+Carbury’s,” he said. “We are working a little together already on one
+of my ideas, and that is as far as I care to ask him to go. I am afraid
+I must ask you for another suggestion.”
+
+“Save up all your money until you have enough.”
+
+“That would take some time. Let me see. As I am an exceptionally
+fortunate and specially skilled workman, I can now calculate on making
+from seventy shillings to six pounds a week. Say four pounds on the
+average.”
+
+“Ah,” said Marian, despondingly, “you would have to wait more than two
+years to save five hundred pounds.”
+
+“And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in the meantime.”
+
+“True,” said Marian. “Of course, I see that it is impossible for you to
+save anything. And yet it seems absurd to be stopped by the want of
+such a sum. I have a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments
+to make, and he paid a thousand pounds for a race-horse last spring.”
+
+Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such things happened.
+
+Marian could think of no further expedient. She stood still, thinking,
+whilst Conolly took up a bit of waste and polished a brass cylinder.
+
+“Mr. Conolly,” she said at last, “I cannot absolutely promise you; but
+I think I can get you five hundred pounds.” Conolly stopped polishing
+the cylinder, and stared at her. “If I have not enough, I am sure we
+could make the rest by a bazaar or something. I should like to begin to
+invest my money; and if you make some great invention, like the
+telegraph or steam engine, you will be able to pay it back to me, and
+to lend me money when _I_ want it.”
+
+Conolly blushed. “Thank you, Miss Lind,” said he, “thank you very much
+indeed. I—It would be ungrateful of me to refuse; but I am not so ready
+to begin my experiments as my talking might lead you to suppose. My
+estimate of their cost was a mere guess. I am not satisfied that it is
+not want of time and perseverance more than of money that is the real
+obstacle. However, I will—I will—a——Have you any idea of the value of
+money, Miss Lind? Have you ever had the handling of it?”
+
+“Of course,” said Marian, secretly thinking that the satisfaction of
+shaking his self-possession was cheap at five hundred pounds. “I keep
+house at home, and do all sorts of business things.”
+
+Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the piece of waste again
+as if he had been looking for that; recollected himself; and looked
+unintelligibly at her. Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was
+a delightful sensation: why, she did not know nor care. To her intense
+disappointment, Lord Carbury entered just then, and roused her from
+what was unaccountably like a happy dream.
+
+Nothing more of any importance happened that day except the arrival of
+a letter from Paris, addressed to Lady Constance in Marmaduke’s
+handwriting. Miss McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, where
+she found Constance sitting with her arm around Marian’s waist in a
+summer-house. She sat down opposite them, at a rough oak table.
+
+“A letter, Nelly!” said Marian. “A letter! A letter from Marmaduke! I
+have extorted leave for you to read it. Here it is. Handle it
+carefully, pray.”
+
+“Has he proposed?” said Elinor, taking it.
+
+Constance changed color. Elinor opened the letter in silence, and read:
+
+My dear Constance:
+    I hope you are quite well. I am having an awfully jolly time of it
+    here. What a pity it is you dont come over! I was wishing for you
+    yesterday in the Louvre, where we spent a pleasant day looking at
+    the pictures. I send you the silk you wanted, and had great trouble
+    hunting through half-a-dozen shops for it. Not that I mind the
+    trouble, but just to let you see my devotion to you. I have no more
+    to say at present, as it is nearly post hour. Remember me to the
+    clan.
+
+
+Yours ever,
+DUKE.
+
+
+P.S.—How do Nelly and your mother get along together?
+
+
+Whilst Elinor was reading, the gardener passed the summer-house, and
+Constance went out and spoke to him. Elinor looked significantly at
+Marian.
+
+“Nelly,” returned Marian, in hushed tones of reproach, “you have
+stabbed poor Constance to the heart by telling her that Marmaduke never
+proposed to her. That is why she has gone out.”
+
+“Yes,” said Elinor, “it was brutal. But I thought, as you made such a
+fuss about the letter, that it must have been a proposal at least. It
+cant be helped now. It is one more enemy for me, that is all.”
+
+“What do you think of the letter? Was it not kind of him to
+write—considering how careless he is usually?”
+
+“Hm! Did he match the silk properly?”.
+
+“To perfection. He must really have taken some trouble. You know how he
+botched getting the ribbon for his fancy dress at the ball last year.”
+
+“That is just what I was thinking about. Do you remember also how he
+ridiculed the Louvre after his first trip to Paris, and swore that
+nothing would ever induce him to enter it again?”
+
+“He has got more sense now. He says in the letter that he spent
+yesterday there.”
+
+“Not exactly. He says ‘_we_ spent a pleasant day looking at the
+pictures.’ Who is ‘_we_’?”
+
+“Some companion of his, I suppose. Why?”
+
+“I was just thinking could it be the person who has matched the silk so
+well. The same woman, I mean.”
+
+“Oh, Nelly!”
+
+“Oh, Marian! Do you suppose Marmaduke would spend an afternoon at the
+Louvre with a man, who could just as well go by himself? Do men match
+silks?”
+
+“Of course they do. Any fly-fisher can do it better than a woman.
+Really, Nell, you have an odious imagination.”
+
+“Yes—when my imagination is started on an odious track. Nothing will
+persuade me that Marmaduke cares a straw for Constance. He does not
+want to marry her, though he is too great a coward to own it.”
+
+“Why do you say so? I grant you he is unceremonious and careless. But
+he is the same to everybody.”
+
+“Yes: to everybody _we_ know. What is the use of straining after an
+amiable view of things, Marian, when a cynical view is most likely to
+be the true one.”
+
+“There is no harm in giving people credit for being good.”
+
+“Yes, there is, when people are not good, which is most often the case.
+It sets us wrong practically, and holds virtue cheap. If Marmaduke is a
+noble and warmhearted man, and Constance a lovable, innocent girl, all
+I can say is that it is not worth while to be noble or lovable. If
+amiability consists in maintaining that black is white, it is a quality
+anyone may acquire by telling a lie and sticking to it.”
+
+“But I dont maintain that black is white. Only it seems to me that as
+regards white, you are color blind. Where I see white, you see black;
+and——hush! Here is Constance.”
+
+“Yes,” whispered Elinor: “she comes back quickly enough when it occurs
+to her that we are talking about her.”
+
+Instead of simply asking why Constance should not behave in this very
+natural manner if she chose to, Marian was about to defend Constance
+warmly by denying all motive to her return, when that event took place
+and stopped the discussion. Marian and Nelly spent a considerable part
+of their lives in bandying their likes and dislikes under the
+impression that they were arguing important points of character and
+conduct.
+
+They knew that Constance wanted to answer Marmaduke’s letter; so they
+alleged correspondence of their own, and left her to herself.
+
+Lady Constance went to her brother’s study, where there was a
+comfortable writing-table. She began to write without hesitation, and
+her pen gabbled rapidly until she had covered two sheets of paper,
+when, instead of taking a fresh sheet, she wrote across the lines
+already written. After signing the letter, she read it through, and
+added two postscripts. Then she remembered something she had forgotten
+to say; but there was no more room on her two sheets, and she was
+reluctant to use a third, which might, in a letter to France, involve
+extra postage. Whilst she was hesitating her brother entered.
+
+“Am I in your way?” she said. “I shall have done in a moment.”
+
+“No, I am not going to write. By-the-bye, they tell me you had a letter
+from Marmaduke this morning. Has he anything particular to say?”
+
+“Nothing very particular. He is in Paris.”
+
+“Indeed? Are you writing to him?”
+
+“Yes,” said Constance, irritated by his disparaging tone. “Why not?”
+
+“Do as you please, of course. I am afraid he is a scamp.”
+
+“Are you? You know a great deal about him, I dare say.”
+
+“I am not much reassured by those who do know about him.”
+
+“And who may they be? The only person you know who has seen much of him
+is Marian, and she doesnt speak ill of people behind their backs.”
+
+“Marian takes rather a rose-colored view of everybody, Marmaduke
+included. You should talk to Nelly about him.”
+
+“I knew it. I knew, the minute you began to talk, who had set you on.”
+
+“I am afraid Nelly’s opinion is worth more than Marians.”
+
+“_Her_ opinion! Everybody knows what her opinion is. She is bursting
+with jealousy of me.”
+
+“Jealousy!”
+
+“What else? Marmaduke has never taken the least notice of her, and she
+is madly in love with him.”
+
+“This is quite a new light upon the affair. Constance, are you sure you
+are not romancing?”
+
+“Romancing! Why, she cannot conceal her venom. She taunted me this
+morning in the summer-house because Marmaduke has never made me a
+formal proposal. It was the letter that made her do it. Ask Marian.”
+
+“I can hardly believe it: I should not have supposed, from what I have
+observed, that she cared about him.”
+
+You should not have supposed it from what she _said_: is that what you
+mean? I dont care whether you believe it or not.”
+
+“Well, if you are so confident, there is no occasion to be acrimonious
+about Elinor. She is more to be pitied than blamed.”
+
+“Yes, everybody is to pity Elinor because she cant have her wish and
+make me wretched,” said Constance, beginning to cry. Whereupon Lord
+Carbury immediately left the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Long before the harvest was home, preparations were made at Towers
+Cottage to receive another visitor. The Rev. George Lind was coming.
+Lord Carbury drove in the wagonet to the railway station, and met him
+on the platform.
+
+“How are you, my dear fellow?” cried the clergyman, shaking the earl’s
+hand. “Why did you trouble to meet me? I could have taken a fly. Most
+kind of you, I am sure. How is your dear mother? And Constance: how is
+_she_?”
+
+“All quite well, thank you. Just show my fellow your traps; he will see
+to them.”
+
+“Oh, there is no need to trouble him. I myself or a porter—oh, thank
+you, I am sure; the brown one with G.L. on it—and that small green
+metal box too, if you will be so good. Thank you very much. And how are
+you, Jasper, if I may call you so? Studious still, eh? I hope he will
+be careful of the box. No, not a word to him, I beg: it does not matter
+at all. What a charming little trap! What air! Happy man, Jasper! These
+fields are better than the close alleys and garrets to which my
+profession leads me.”
+
+“Jump in.”
+
+“Thank you. And how is Marian?”
+
+“Quite well, thank you. _Everybody_ is quite well. The girls are at a
+tennis party, or they would have come to meet you. Constance desired me
+particularly to apologize.”
+
+“Oh, needless, most needless. Why should they not enjoy themselves?
+What a landscape! The smiling beauty of nature in the country is like
+a—like a message to us. This is indeed a delightful drive.”
+
+“Yes, she is a capital trotter, this mare of mine. What do you think of
+her?”
+
+“A noble animal, Jasper. Although I never studied horseflesh much, even
+in my university days, I can admire a spirited nag on occasion. But I
+have to content myself with humbler means of locomotion in my own
+calling. A poor parson cannot entertain his friends as a magnate like
+you can. Have you any one at the hall now, besides the girls?”
+
+“No. The place will be rather dull for you, I am afraid.”
+
+“Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. I shall be satisfied and
+thankful under all circumstances.”
+
+“We have led a humdrum life for the past month. Marian and Elinor have
+begun to potter about in my laboratory. They come there every day for
+an hour to work and study, as they call it.”
+
+“Indeed! I have no doubt Marian will find the study of nature most
+improving. It is very generous of you to allow her to trespass on you.”
+
+“I occupy myself chiefly with Nelly McQuinch. Marian is my assistant’s
+pupil, and he has made a very expert workwoman of her already. With a
+little direction, she can put a machine together as well as I can.”
+
+“I am delighted to hear it. And dear Nelly?”
+
+“Oh, dear Nelly treats the subject in her usual way. But she is very
+amusing.”
+
+“Ah, Jasper! Ah! An unstable nature there, an unstable nature! Elinor
+has not been firmly trained. She needs to be tried by adversity.”
+
+“No doubt she will be. Most of us are.”
+
+“And dear Constance? Does she study?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Ahem! A—have you——? That is St. Mildred’s yonder, is it not?”
+
+“It is. They have put a new clock in the tower, worth about sixty
+pounds. I believe they collected a hundred and fifty for the purpose.
+But you were going to say something else.”
+
+“No. At least, I intended to ask you about Marmaduke. He is coming
+down, I understand.”
+
+“I dont know what he is doing. Last week he wrote to us that he had
+just returned from Paris; but I happened to know that he had then been
+back for some time. He has arranged to come twice, but on each
+occasion, at the last moment, he has made excuses. He can do as he
+likes now. I wish he would say definitely that he doesnt intend to
+come, instead of shilly-shallying from week to week. Hallo, Prentice,
+have the ladies returned yet?” This was addressed to the keeper of the
+gate-lodge, at which they had now arrived. He replied that the ladies
+were still absent.
+
+“Then,” said Lord Carbury, “we had better get down and stroll across
+the lawn. Perhaps you are tired, though?”
+
+“Not at all. I should prefer it. What a lovely avenue! What greenery!
+How—”
+
+“We were talking about Marmaduke. Do you know what he is doing at
+present? He talks of being busy, and of not having a moment to spare. I
+can understand a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July,
+but what Marmaduke has to do in London in September is more than I can
+imagine.”
+
+“I do not care to enquire into these things too closely. I had intended
+to speak to you on the subject. Marmaduke, as I suppose you know, has
+taken a house at West Kensington.”
+
+“A house at West Kensington! No, I did not know it. What has he done
+that for?”
+
+“I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on the subject. I
+think he tried to prevent the matter coming to my ears; and when I
+asked him about it, he certainly implied—in fact, I grieve to say he
+left me under the impression that he had taken the house with a view to
+marrying dear Constance, and settling down. I expressed some surprise
+at his going so far out of town; but he did not volunteer any further
+explanation, and so the matter dropped.” The Rev. George paused, and
+then continued in a lower tone, “Not long afterward I met him at a very
+late hour. He had perhaps exceeded a little in his cups; for he spoke
+to me with the most shocking cynicism, inviting me to supper at this
+house of his, and actually accusing me of knowing perfectly well the
+terrible truth about his occupation of it. He assured me that
+she—meaning, I presume, the unhappy person with whom he lives there—was
+exceptionally attractive; and I have since discovered that she is
+connected with the theatre, and of great notoriety. I need not tell you
+how dreadful all this is to me, Jasper; but to the best of my judgment,
+which I have fortified by earnest prayers for guidance, it is my
+imperative duty to tell you of it.”
+
+“The vagabond! It is exactly as I have always said: Constance is too
+tame for him. He does not care a d——”
+
+“Jasper, my dear fellow, gently,” said the clergyman, pressing his arm.
+
+“Pshaw!” said the Earl, “I dont care. I think Constance is well out of
+it. Let us drop the subject for the present. I hear the carriage.”
+
+“Yes, here it is. Dear Lady Carbury has recognized me, and is waving
+her hand.” The Rev. George stood on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished
+his low-crowned soft felt hat.
+
+During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, looking at the
+horses with an expression that made the coachman uneasy. At dinner he
+ate sedulously, and left the task of entertaining the visitor to his
+mother and the girls. The clergyman was at no loss for conversation. He
+was delighted with the dinner, delighted with the house, delighted to
+see the Countess looking so well, and delighted to hear that the tennis
+party that day had been a pleasant one. The Earl listened with
+impatience, and was glad when his mother rose. Before she quitted the
+dining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon returned, leaving
+Marian, Constance, and Elinor in the drawing-room.
+
+“You will not mind my staying, I hope, George,” she said, as she
+resumed her seat.
+
+“A delightful precedent, and from a distinguished source,” said the
+Rev. George. “Allow me to pass the bottle. Ha! ha!”
+
+“Thank you, no,” said the Countess. “I never take wine.” Her tone was
+inconclusive, as if she intended to take something else.
+
+“Will you take brandy-and-soda?” said her son, rather brusquely.
+
+Lady Carbury lowered her eyelids in protest. Then she said: “A very
+little, if you please, Jasper. I dare not touch wine,” she continued to
+the clergyman. “I am the slave of my medical man in all matters
+relating to my unfortunate digestion.”
+
+“Mother,” said Jasper, “George has brought us a nice piece of news
+concerning your pet Marmaduke.”
+
+The clergyman became solemn and looked steadily at his glass.
+
+“I do not know that it is fair to describe him as my pet exactly,” said
+the Countess, a little troubled. “I trust there is nothing unpleasant
+the matter.”
+
+“Oh, nothing! He has settled down domestically in a mansion at West
+Kensington, that is all.”
+
+“What! Married!”
+
+“Unhappily,” said the Rev. George, “no, not married.”
+
+“Oh!” said the Countess slowly, as an expression of relief. “It is very
+shocking, of course; very wrong indeed. Young men _will_ do these
+things. It is especially foolish in Marmaduke’s case, for he really
+cannot afford to make any settlement such as this kind of complication
+usually involves when the time comes for getting rid of it. Pray do not
+let it come to Constance’s ears. It is not a proper subject for a
+girl.”
+
+“Quite as proper a subject as marriage with a fellow like Marmaduke,”
+said Jasper, rising coolly and lighting a cigaret. “However, it will be
+time enough to trouble about that when there is any sign of his having
+the slightest serious intentions toward Constance. For my part I dont
+believe, and I never did believe, that there was anything real in the
+business. This last move of his proves it—to my satisfaction, at any
+rate.”
+
+Lady Carbury, with a slight but impressive bridling, and yet with an
+evident sense of discomfiture, proceeded to assert herself before the
+clergyman. “I beg you will control yourself, Jasper,” she said. “I do
+not like to be spoken to in that tone. In discharging the very great
+responsibility which rests with a mother, I am compelled to take the
+world as I find it, and to acknowledge that certain very deplorable
+tendencies must be allowed for in society. You, in the solitude of your
+laboratory, contemplate an ideal state of things that we all, I am
+sure, long for, but which unhappily does not exist. I have never
+enquired into Marmaduke’s private life, and I think you ought not to
+have done so. I could not disguise from myself the possibility of his
+having entered into some such relations as those you have alluded to.”
+
+Jasper, without the slightest appearance of having heard this speech,
+strolled casually out of the room. The Countess, baffled, turned to her
+sympathetic guest.
+
+“I am sure that you, George, must feel that it is absolutely necessary
+for us to keep this matter to ourselves.”
+
+The Rev. George said, gravely, “I do not indeed see what blessing can
+rest on our interference in such an inexpressibly shocking business. It
+is for Marmaduke to wrestle with his own conscience.”
+
+“Quite so,” said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders as if to invite
+her absent son’s attention to this confirmation of her judgment. “Is it
+not absurd of Jasper to snatch at such an excuse for breaking off the
+match?”
+
+“I can sympathize with Jasper’s feeling, I trust. It is natural for a
+candid nature to recoil from duplicity. But all our actions need
+charitable construction; and, remembering that, we should take heed to
+prevent our forebearance toward others from wavering. Who knows that
+the alliance with your pure and lovely daughter may not be the means
+specially ordained to rescue him from his present condition.”
+
+“I think it very possible,” drawled the Countess, looking at him,
+nevertheless, with a certain contempt for what she privately considered
+his priggish, underbred cant. “Besides, such things are recognized,
+though of course they are not spoken of. No lady could with common
+decency pretend to know that such connexions are possible, much less
+assign one of them as a reason for breaking off an engagement.”
+
+“Pardon me,” said the Rev. George; “but can these worldly
+considerations add anything to the approval of our consciences? I think
+not. We will keep our own counsel in this matter in the sight of
+Heaven. Then, whatever the world may think, all will surely come right
+in the end.”
+
+“Oh, it is sure to come right in the end: these wretched businesses
+always do. I cannot imagine men having such low tastes—as if there were
+anything in these women more than in anybody else! Come into the
+drawing-room, George.”
+
+They went into the drawing-room and found it deserted. The ladies were
+in the veranda. The Countess took up the paper and composed herself for
+a nap. George went into the porch, where the girls, having seen the sun
+go down, were now watching the deepening gloom among the trees that
+skirted the lawn. Marian proposed that they should walk through the
+plantation whilst there was still a little light left, and the
+clergyman readily assented. He rather repented of this when they got
+into the deep gloom under the trees, and Elinor began to tell stories
+about adders, wild cats, poachers, and anything else that could
+possibly make a nervous man uncomfortable under such circumstances. He
+was quite relieved when they saw the spark of a cigaret ahead of them
+and heard the voices of Jasper and Conolly coming toward them through
+the darkness.
+
+“Oh, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Conolly,” said
+the Rev. George, formally, when they met. “I am glad to see you.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Conolly. “If you ladies have thin shoes on as usual,
+we had better come out of this.”
+
+“As we ladies happen to have our boots on,” said Marian, “we shall stay
+as long as we like.”
+
+Nevertheless, they soon turned homeward, and as the path was narrow,
+they walked in pairs. The clergyman, with Constance, led the way. Lord
+Jasper followed with Elinor. Conolly and Marian came last.
+
+“Does that young man—Mr. Conolly—live at the Hall?” was the Rev.
+George’s first remark to Constance.
+
+“No. He has rooms in Rose Cottage, that little place on Quilter’s
+farm.”
+
+“Ha! Then he is very well off here.”
+
+“A great deal too well off. Jasper allows him to speak to him as though
+he were an equal. However, I suppose Jasper knows his own business
+best.”
+
+“I have observed that he is rather disposed to presume upon any
+encouragement he receives. It is a bad sign in a young man, and one, I
+fear, that will greatly interfere with his prospects.”
+
+“He is an American, and I suppose thinks it a fine thing to be
+republican. But it is Jasper’s fault. He spoils him. He once wanted to
+have him in the drawing-room in the evenings to play accompaniments;
+but mamma positively refused to allow it. Jasper is excessively
+obstinate, and though he did not make a fuss, he got quite a habit of
+going over to Rose Cottage and spending his evenings there singing and
+playing. Everybody about the place used to notice it. Mamma was greatly
+disgusted.”
+
+“Do you find him unpleasant—personally, I mean?”
+
+“I! Oh dear, no! I should never dream of speaking to him. His presence
+is unpleasant, because he exercises a bad influence on Jasper; so I
+wish, on that account alone, that he would go.”
+
+“I trust Marian is careful to limit her intercourse with him as much as
+possible.”
+
+“Well, Marian learns electricity from him; and of course that makes a
+difference. I do not care about such things; and I never go into the
+laboratory when he is there; so I do not know whether Marian lets him
+be familiar with her or not. She is rather easygoing; and he is
+insufferably conceited. However, if she wants to learn electricity, I
+suppose she must put up with him. He is no worse, after all, than the
+rest of the people one has to learn things from. They are all
+impossible.”
+
+“It is a strange fancy of the girls, to study science.”
+
+“I am sure I dont know why they do it. It is great nonsense for Jasper
+to do it, either. He will never keep up his position properly until he
+shuts up that stupid workshop. He ought to hunt and shoot and entertain
+a great deal more than he does. It is very hard on us, for we are
+altogether in Jasper’s hands for such matters. I think he is very
+foolish.”
+
+“Not foolish. Dont say that. Excuse my giving you a little lecture; but
+it is not right to speak, even without thought, of your brother as a
+fool. No doubt he is a little injudicious; but all men are not called
+to the same pursuits.”
+
+“If people have a certain position, they ought to make up their minds
+to the duties of their position, whether they are called to them or
+not.”
+
+The Rev. George, missing the deference with which ladies not related to
+him usually received his admonitions, changed the subject.
+
+Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly than the rest, had
+fallen far behind. They had been silent at first. She seemed to be in
+trouble. At last, after some wistful glances at him, she said:
+
+“Have you resolved to go to London to-morrow; or will you wait until
+Friday?”
+
+“To-morrow, Miss Lind. Can I do anything for you in town?”
+
+Marian hesitated painfully.
+
+“Do not mind giving me plenty of bother,” he said. “I am so accustomed
+to superintend the transit of machines as cumbersome as trunks and as
+fragile as bonnet boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary
+luggage would be a mere amusement for me.”
+
+“Thank you; but it is not that. I was only thinking—Are you likely to
+see my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whilst you are in London?”
+
+“N—no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing.”
+
+“Oh! I thought you knew him.”
+
+“I met him at that concert.”
+
+“But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least,
+I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre
+together.”
+
+“So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I have
+never seen him since.”
+
+“Oh, indeed! I quite mistook.”
+
+“If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will.
+It will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him?
+It will be no trouble to me.”
+
+“No, oh no. I wanted—it was something that could only be told to him
+indirectly by an intimate friend—by some one with influence over him.
+More a hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it
+cannot be helped.”
+
+Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in
+silence. Then he said: “If the matter is of serious importance to you,
+Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a
+person who has influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that I
+can; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty.”
+
+Marian looked at him in some surprise. “I hardly know what I ought to
+do,” she said, doubtfully.
+
+“Then do nothing,” said Conolly bluntly. “Or, if you want anything said
+to this gentleman, write to him yourself.”
+
+“But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to write
+to him. I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be told
+something that may prevent a great deal of unhappiness. It seems so
+unfeeling to sit down quietly and say, ‘It is not my business to
+interfere,’ when the mischief might so easily be prevented.”
+
+“I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking care of other
+people’s happiness is thankless and dangerous. You dont know your
+cousin’s address, you say?”
+
+“No. I thought you did.”
+
+Conolly shook his head. “Who does know it?” he said.
+
+“My brother George does; but he refused to tell me. I shall not ask him
+again.”
+
+“Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of what use will that
+be, since you think you ought not to write to him?”
+
+“I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned myself, I would
+not hesitate to tell you the whole story, and ask your advice. I feel
+sure you would shew me what was right. But this is a matter which
+concerns other people only.”
+
+“Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont meddle in it.”
+
+“But—”
+
+“But what?”
+
+“After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring about mischief.
+If Marmaduke could be given a hint to come down here at once—he has
+been invited, and is putting off his visit from week to week—it would
+be sufficient. He will get into trouble if he makes any more excuses.
+And he can set everything right by coming down now.”
+
+“Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth matters over for
+the present?”
+
+“No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth matters over as to rescue
+him from a bad influence that is ruining him. There is a person in
+London from whom he must he got away at all hazards. If you only knew—I
+_wish_ you knew.”
+
+“Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss Lind, let us
+understand one another. Your family want your cousin to marry Lady
+Constance. I know that. She does not object. I know that too. He does.”
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed Marian, “you are wrong. He does not.”
+
+“Anyhow,” continued Conolly, “he acts with a certain degree of
+indifference toward her—keeps away at present, for instance. I infer
+that the bad influence you have mentioned is the cause of his
+remissness.”
+
+“Yes, you are right; only, looking at it all from without as you do,
+you are mistaken as to Marmaduke’s character. He is easily led away,
+and very careless about the little attentions that weigh so much with
+women; but he is thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with
+Lady Constance. Unfortunately, he is easily imposed on, and impatient
+of company in which he cannot be a little uproarious. I fear that
+somebody has taken advantage of this part of his character to establish
+a great ascendency over him. I”—here Marian became nervous, and
+controlled her voice with difficulty—“I saw this person once in a
+theatre; and I can imagine how she would fascinate Marmaduke. She was
+so clever, so handsome, and—and so utterly abominable. I was angry with
+Duke for bringing us to the place; and I remember now that he was angry
+with me because I said she made me shudder.”
+
+“Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman to say of another,”
+said Conolly, with a certain sternness. “However, I can understand your
+having that feeling about her. I know her; and it is through her that I
+hope to find out his address for you.”
+
+“But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I think it is
+somewhere in West Kensington.”
+
+Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled a
+step, frightened.
+
+“Since when, pray?”
+
+“Very lately, I think. I do not know.”
+
+They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regretting
+that she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terrible
+darkness. He walked on at last faster than before. No more words passed
+between them until they came out into the moonlight close to the
+veranda. Then he stopped again, and took off his hat.
+
+“Permit me to leave you now,” he said, with an artificial politeness
+worthy of Douglas himself. “Good-night.”
+
+“Good-night,” faltered Marian.
+
+He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she
+found Jasper and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the
+drawing-room.
+
+“Hallo!” said Jasper, “where is Conolly? I want to say a word to him
+before he goes.”
+
+“He has just gone,” said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasper
+immediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two
+cousins alone together.
+
+“Well, Marian,” said Elinor, “do you know that you have taken more than
+quarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did, and
+that you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls
+her, has been making some kind remarks about it.”
+
+“Do I look disturbed? I hope Auntie wont notice it. I wish I could go
+straight to bed without seeing anybody.”
+
+“Why? What is the matter?”
+
+“I will tell you to-night when you come in to me. I am disgusted with
+myself; and I think Conolly is mad.”
+
+“Mad!”
+
+“On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad,” said Lord Jasper, returning
+at this moment out of breath and laughing.
+
+Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian.
+
+“He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of the yellow field when
+I caught sight of him. Just as I was about to hail him, he started off
+and cleared the fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furious
+rate, swinging his arms about, and laughing as if he was enjoying some
+uncommonly good joke. I am not sure that I did not see him dance a
+hornpipe; but as it is so dark I wont swear to that.”
+
+“You had better not,” said Elinor, sceptically. “Let us go in; and pray
+do not encourage George to talk. I have a headache, and want to go to
+bed.”
+
+“You have been in very good spirits, considering your headache,” he
+replied, in the same incredulous tone. “It has come on rather suddenly,
+has it not?”
+
+When they went into the drawing-room they found that Constance had
+awakened her mother, and had already given her an account of their
+walk. Jasper added a description of what he had just witnessed. “I have
+not laughed so much for a long time,” he said, in conclusion. “He is
+usually such a steady sort of fellow.”
+
+“I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken workman,” said
+the Countess. “How you could have left Marian in his care even for a
+moment I am at a loss to conceive.”
+
+“He was not drunk, indeed,” said Marian.
+
+“Certainly not,” said Jasper, rather indignantly. “I was walking with
+him for some time before we met the girls. You are very pale, Marian.
+Have you also a headache?”
+
+“I have been playing tennis all day; and I am quite tired out.”
+
+Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss McQuinch, according to
+a nightly custom of theirs, was seated on the coverlet with her knees
+doubled up to her chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventure
+very earnestly.
+
+“Dont understand him at all, I confess,” said Elinor, when Marian had
+related what had passed in the plantation. “Wasnt it rather rash to
+make a confidant of him in such a delicate matter?”
+
+“That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He might have known
+that I only wanted to do good. I thought he was so entirely above false
+delicacy.”
+
+“I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is true? You only
+have it from Mrs. Leith Fairfax’s letter; and she is perhaps the
+greatest liar in the world.”
+
+“Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about people. She would
+never venture to tell me a made-up tale about Marmaduke.”
+
+“In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for the sake of using
+her tongue or pen.”
+
+“It is so hard to know what to do. There was nobody whom I could trust,
+was there? Jasper has always been against Marmaduke; and Constance, of
+course, was out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not like
+to tell her.”
+
+“Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no nice woman would
+talk to on such a subject,” said Elinor, giving the bed a kick with her
+heel.
+
+“Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should say something like
+that before other people, out of sheer habit.”
+
+“Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. No use regretting
+what cannot be recalled. You cannot have the security of
+conventionality along with the self-respect of sincerity. By the bye,
+do you remember that Jasper and his fond mamma and George had a family
+council after dinner? You may be sure that George has told them
+everything.”
+
+“What! Then my wretched attempt to have Marmaduke warned was useless.
+Oh, Nelly, this is too bad. Do you really think so? When I told him
+before dinner what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he feared it
+was true, and refused to give me the address.”
+
+“And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the responsibility rests
+with George. He knew very well that it was true; for he had only just
+been telling Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. Master
+Georgy has no right to be your brother. He is worse than a dissenter.
+Dissenters try to be gentlemen; but George has no misgivings about
+himself on that score; so he gives his undivided energy to his efforts
+to be parsonic. He is an arrant hypocrite.”
+
+“I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely believes that his
+duty to the Church requires him to behave as he does.”
+
+“Then he is a donkey, which is worse.”
+
+“I wish he were more natural in his manner.”
+
+“He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: ‘it is their
+nature to.’ Good-night. Men are all the same, my dear, all the same.”
+
+“How do you mean?”
+
+“Never mind. Good-night.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, and
+communicating with it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at
+this time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the opposite side
+were pairs of recently built houses, many of them still unlet. These,
+without depriving the neighbourhood of its suburban quietude, forbade
+any feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to Susanna
+Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind.
+
+One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside each
+was a pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hunger
+was satisfied; but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the
+uppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the flap, and burst
+it open.
+
+“Hm,” she said. “First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at me again to
+make the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he must
+be not to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! Just look at
+the _Times_, Bob, and see if the piece is advertized yet.”
+
+“I should think so, by Jupiter,” said Marmaduke, patiently interrupting
+his meal to open the newspaper.
+
+“Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. ‘The latest Parisian
+success. _La petite Maison du Roi._ Music by M. de Jongleur. Mr.
+Faulkner has the honor to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs of
+M. de Jongleur’s opera bouffe _La petite Maison du Roi_, entitled King
+Lewis on the lewis’—what the deuce does that mean?”
+
+“On the loose, of course.”
+
+“But it is spelt l-e-w——oh! its a pun. What an infernal piece of
+idiocy! Then it goes on as usual, except that each name in the cast has
+a separate line of large print. Here you are: ‘Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry’——”
+
+“Is that at the top?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Before Rose Stella?”
+
+“Yes. Why!—I didnt notice it before—you are down fifteen times! Every
+alternate space has your name over again. ‘Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry. Fred Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. Felix
+Sumner as the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue as _la belle Jeanneton_.’
+By the way, that is all rot. Cardinal Richelieu died four or five
+hundred years before Madame Dubarry was born.”
+
+“Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose Stella the last line
+with a big AND before it. No matter. She is down only once; and I am
+down fifteen times.”
+
+“I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! This is a bill, of
+course. The West Kensington Wine Company. Whew! We are getting through
+the champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not counting
+what we pay for when we dine in town.”
+
+“Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfully
+low without it.”
+
+“All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, and dont injure
+your health, I dont care. Here’s a letter of yours put among mine by
+mistake. It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth.”
+
+“It’s from Ned,” said Susanna, turning pale. “He must be coming home,
+or he would not write. Yes, he is. What shall I do?”
+
+“What does he say?” said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her. “‘_Back
+at 6 on Wednesday evening. Have high tea. N.C._’ Short and sweet! Well,
+he will not turn up til to-morrow, at all events, even if he knows the
+address, which of course he doesnt.”
+
+“He knows nothing. His note shews that. What _will_ he do when he finds
+me gone? He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them
+to send on my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for her
+own information. There is no mistake about it,” said Susanna, rising
+and walking to the window: “I am in a regular funk about him. I have
+half a mind to go back to Lambeth and meet him. I could let the murder
+out gradually, or, perhaps, get him off to the country again before he
+discovers anything.”
+
+“Go back! oh no, nonsense! The worst he can do is to cut you—and a good
+job too.”
+
+“I wish he would. It would be a relief to me at present to know for
+certain that he would.”
+
+“He cant be so very thin-skinned as you fancy, considering the time you
+have been on the stage.”
+
+“There’s nothing wrong in being on the stage. There’s nothing wrong in
+being here either, in spite of Society. After all, what do I care about
+Ned, or anybody else? He always went his own way when it suited him;
+and he has no right to complain if I go mine. Let him come if he likes:
+he will not get much satisfaction from me.” Susanna sat down again, and
+drank some tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate.
+
+“Dont think any more about it,” said Marmaduke. “He wont come.”
+
+“Oh, let him, if he likes,” said Susanna, impatiently. Marmaduke did
+not quite sympathize with her sudden recklessness. He hoped that
+Conolly would have the good sense to keep away.
+
+“Look here, Bob,” said she, when they had finished breakfast. “Let us
+go somewhere to-day. I feel awfully low. Let us have a turn up the
+river.”
+
+“All right,” said Marmaduke, with alacrity. “Whatever you please. How
+shall we go?”
+
+“Anyhow. Let us go to Hampton by train. When we get there we can settle
+what to do afterward. Can you come now?”
+
+“Yes, whenever you are ready.”
+
+“Then I will run upstairs and dress. Go out and amuse yourself with
+that blessed old lawn-mower until I come.”
+
+“Yes, I think I will,” said Marmaduke, seriously. “That plot near the
+gate wants a trimming badly.”
+
+“What a silly old chap you are, Bob!” she said, stopping to kiss him on
+each cheek as she left the room.
+
+Marmaduke had become attached to the pursuit of gardening since his
+domestication. He put on his hat; went out; and set to work on the plot
+near the gate. The sun was shining brightly; and when he had taken a
+few turns with the machine he stopped, raising his face to the breeze,
+and saw Conolly standing so close to him that he started backward, and
+made a vague movement as if to ward off a blow. Conolly, who seemed
+amused by the mowing, said quietly: “That machine wants oiling: the
+clatter prevented you from hearing me come. I have just returned from
+Carbury Towers. Miss Lind is staying there; and she has asked me to
+give you a message.”
+
+This speech perplexed Marmaduke. He inferred from it that Conolly was
+ignorant of Susanna’s proceedings, but he had not sufficient effrontery
+to welcome him unconcernedly at once. So he stood still and stared at
+him.
+
+“I am afraid I have startled you,” Conolly went on, politely. “I found
+the gate unlocked, and thought it would be an unnecessary waste of time
+to ring the bell. You have a charming little place here.”
+
+“Yes, it’s a pretty little place, isnt it?” said Marmaduke. “A—wont you
+come in and have a—excuse my bringing you round this way, will you? My
+snuggery is at the back of the house.”
+
+“Thank you; but I had rather not go in. I have a great deal of business
+to do in town to-day; so I shall just discharge my commission and go.”
+
+“At any rate, come into the shade,” said Marmaduke, glancing uneasily
+toward the windows of the house. “This open place is enough to give us
+sunstroke.”
+
+Conolly followed him to a secluded part of the shrubbery, where they
+sat down on a bench.
+
+“Is there anything up?” said Marmaduke, much oppressed.
+
+“Will you excuse my speaking without ceremony?”
+
+“Oh, certainly. Fire away!”
+
+“Thank you. I must then tell you that the relations between you and
+Lady Constance are a source of anxiety to her brother. You know the way
+men feel bound to look after their sisters. You have, I believe,
+sisters of your own?”
+
+Marmaduke nodded, and stole a doubtful glance at Conolly’s face.
+
+“It appears that Lord Carbury has all along considered your courtship
+too cool to be genuine. In this view he was quite unsupported, the
+Countess being strongly in your favor, and the young lady devoted to
+you.”
+
+“Well, I knew all that. At least, I suspected it. What is up now?”
+
+“This. The fact of your having taken a villa here has reached the ears
+of the family at Carbury. They are, not unnaturally, curious to know
+what use a bachelor can have for such an establishment.”
+
+“But I have my rooms in Clarges Street still. This is not my house. It
+was taken for another person.”
+
+“Precisely what they seem to think. But, to be brief with you, Miss
+Lind thinks that unless you wish to break with the Earl, and quarrel
+with your family, you should go down to Towers Cottage at once.”
+
+“But I cant go away just now. There are reasons.”
+
+“Miss Lind is fully acquainted with your reasons. They are her reasons
+for wishing you to leave London immediately. And now, having executed
+my commission, I must ask you to excuse me. My time is much occupied.”
+
+“Well, I am greatly obliged to you for coming all this way out of town
+to give me the straight tip,” said Marmaduke, relieved at the prospect
+of getting rid of his visitor without alluding to Susanna. “It is very
+good of you; and I am very glad to see you. Jolly place, Carbury Park
+is, isnt it? How will the shooting be?”
+
+“First rate, I am told. I do not know much about it myself.” They had
+risen, and were strolling along the path leading to the gate.
+
+“Shall I see you down there—if I go?”
+
+“Possibly. I shall have to go down for a day at least, to get my
+luggage, in case I decide not to renew my engagement with Lord Jasper.”
+
+“I hope so,” said Marmaduke. Then, as they reached the gate, he
+proffered his hand, in spite of an inward shrinking, and said heartily,
+“Good-bye, old fellow. Youre looking as well as possible.”
+
+Conolly took his hand, and retained it whilst he said: “Good-bye, Mr.
+Lind. I am quite well, thank you. If I may ask—how is Susanna?”
+
+Marmaduke was prevented by a spasm of the throat from replying. Before
+he recovered, Susanna herself, attired for her proposed trip to
+Hampton, emerged from the shrubbery and stood before them, confounded.
+Conolly, still wearing the cordial expression with which he had shaken
+Marmaduke’s hand, looked at her, then at her protector, and then at her
+again.
+
+“I have been admiring the villa, Susanna,” said he, after an emphatic
+silence. “It is better than our place at Lambeth. You wont mind my
+hurrying away: I have a great deal to do in town. Good-bye. Good-bye,
+Mr. Lind.”
+
+Susanna murmured something. Marmaduke, after making an effort to bid
+his guest good-bye genially, opened the gate, and stood for a minute
+watching him as he strode away.
+
+“What does _he_ care what becomes of me, the selfish brute!” cried
+Susanna, passionately.
+
+“He didnt complain: he has nothing to complain of,” said Marmaduke.
+“Anyhow, why didnt he stay at home and look after you? By George,
+Susanna, he is the coolest card I ever came across.”
+
+“What brought him here?” she demanded, vehemently.
+
+“That reminds me. I am afraid I must go down to Carbury for a few
+days.”
+
+“And what am I to do here alone? Are _you_ going to leave me too?”
+
+“Well, I cannot be in two places at the same time. I suppose you can
+manage to get on without me for a few days.”
+
+“I will go home. I can get on without you altogether. I will go home.”
+
+“Come, Susanna! what is the use of kicking up a row? I cant afford to
+quarrel with all my people because you choose to be unreasonable.”
+
+“What do I care about your people, or about you either?”
+
+“Very well, then,” said Marmaduke, offended, “you can go home if you
+like. Perhaps your brother appreciates this sort of thing. I dont.”
+
+“Ah, you coward! You taunt me because you think I have no home. Do you
+flatter yourself that I am dependent on you?”
+
+“Hold your tongue,” said Marmaduke, fiercely. “Dont you turn on me in
+that fashion. Keep your temper if you want me to keep mine.”
+
+“You have ruined me,” said Susanna, sitting down on the grass, and
+beginning to cry.
+
+“Oh, upon my soul, this is too much,” said Marmaduke, with disgust.
+“Get up out of that and dont make a fool of yourself. Ruined indeed!
+Will you get up?”
+
+“No!” screamed Susanna.
+
+“Then stay where you are and be damned,” retorted Marmaduke, turning on
+his heel and walking toward the house. In the hall he met a maid
+carrying an empty champagne bottle and goblet.
+
+“Missis is looking for you, sir,” said the maid.
+
+“All right,” said Marmaduke, “I have seen her. Listen to me. I am going
+to the country. My man Mason will come here to-day to pack up my traps,
+and bring them after me. You had better take a note of my address from
+the card in the strap of my valise.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said the maid. “Any message for missis?”
+
+“No,” said Marmaduke. He then changed his coat and hat, and went out
+again. As he approached the gate he met Susanna, who had risen and was
+walking toward the house.
+
+“I am going to Carbury,” he said. “I dont know when I shall be back.”
+
+She passed on disdainfully, as if she had not heard him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+Three days later Lord Carbury came to luncheon with a letter in his
+hand. Marian had not yet come in; and the Rev. George was absent, his
+place being filled by Marmaduke.
+
+“Good news for you and Constance, mother.”
+
+“Indeed?” said the Countess, smiling.
+
+“Yes. Conolly is coming down this afternoon to collect his traps and
+leave you forever.”
+
+“Really, Jasper, you exaggerate Mr. Conolly’s importance. Intelligence
+of his movements can hardly be news—good or bad—either to me or to
+Constance.”
+
+“I am glad he is going,” said Constance, “for Jasper’s sake.”
+
+“Thank you,” replied Jasper. “I thought you would be. He will be a
+great loss to me.”
+
+“Nonsense!” said the Countess. “If another workman is needed, another
+can easily be had.”
+
+“If I can be of any assistance to you, old man,” said Marmaduke, “make
+what use of me you like. I picked up something about the business
+yesterday.”
+
+“Yes,” said Elinor. “While you were away, Jasper, he went to the
+laboratory with Constance, and fired off a brass cannon with your new
+pile until he had used up all the gunpowder and spoiled the panels of
+the door. That is what he calls picking up something about the
+business.”
+
+“Nothing like experiment for convincing you of the power of
+electricity,” said Marmaduke. “Is there, Conny?”
+
+“It’s very wonderful; but I hate shots.”
+
+“Where is Marian?” said Lady Carbury.
+
+“I left her in the summer-house in the fruit garden,” said Elinor. “She
+was reading.”
+
+“She must have forgotten the hour,” said the Countess. “She has been
+moping, I think, for the last few days. I hope she is not unwell. But
+she would never stay away from luncheon intentionally. I shall send for
+her.”
+
+“I’ll go,” said Marmaduke, eagerly.
+
+“No, no, Duke. You must not leave the table. I will send a servant.”
+
+“I will fetch her here in half the time that any servant will. Poor
+Marian, why shouldnt she have her lunch? I shall be back in a jiffy.”
+
+“What a restless, extraordinary creature he is!” said Lady Carbury,
+displeased, as Marmaduke hastily left the room. “The idea of a man
+leaving the table in that way!”
+
+“I suspect he has his reasons,” said Elinor.
+
+“I think it is a perfectly natural thing for him to do,” said
+Constance, pettishly. “I see nothing extraordinary in it.”
+
+Marmaduke found Marian reading in the summer-house in the fruit garden.
+She looked at him in lazy surprise as he seated himself opposite to her
+at the table.
+
+“This is the first chance I’ve had of talking to you privately since I
+came down,” he said. “I believe you have been keeping out of my way on
+purpose.”
+
+“Well, I concluded that you wanted as many chances as possible of
+talking to some one else in private; so I gave you as many as I could.”
+
+“Yes, you and the rest have been uncommonly considerate in that
+respect: thank you all awfully. But I mean to have it out with you,
+Miss Marian, now that I have caught you alone.”
+
+“With me! Oh, dear! What have I done?”
+
+“What have you done? I’ll tell you what youve done. Why did you send
+Conolly, of all men in the world, to tell me that I was in disgrace
+here?”
+
+“There was no one else, Marmaduke.”
+
+“Well, suppose there wasn’t! Suppose there had been no one else alive
+on the earth except you, and I, and he, and Constance, and Su—and
+Constance! how could you have offered him such a job?”
+
+“Why not? Was there any special reason—”
+
+“Any special reason! Didnt your common sense tell you that a meeting
+between him and me must be particularly awkward for both of us?”
+
+“No. At least I—. Marmaduke: I think you must fancy that I told him
+more than I did. I did not know where you were; and as he was going to
+London, and I thought you knew him well, and I had no other means of
+warning you, I had to make use of him. Jasper will tell you how
+thoroughly trustworthy he is. But all I said—and I really could not say
+less—was that I was afraid you were in bad company, or under bad
+influence, or something like that; and that I only wanted you to come
+down here at once.”
+
+“Oh! Indeed! That was _all_, was it? Merely that I was in bad company.”
+
+“I think I said under bad influence. I was told so; and I believed it
+at the time. I hope it’s not true, Marmaduke. If it is not, I beg your
+pardon with all my heart.”
+
+Marmaduke stared very hard at her for a while, and then said, with the
+emphasis of a man baffled by utter unreason: “Well, I _am_ damned!” at
+which breach of good manners she winced. “Hang me if I understand you,
+Marian,” he continued, more mildly. “Of course it’s not true. Bad
+influence is all bosh. But it was a queer thing to say to his face. He
+knew very well you meant his sister. Hallo! what’s the matter? Are you
+going to faint?”
+
+“No, I—Never mind me.”
+
+“Never mind you!” said Marmaduke. “What are you looking like that for?”
+
+“Because—it is nothing: I only blushed. Dont be stupid, Duke.”
+
+“Blushed! Why dont you blush red, like other people, and not green?
+Shall I get you something?”
+
+“No, no. Oh, Duke, why did you not tell me? How could you be so
+heartless as to leave us all in the dark when we were talking about you
+before him every day! Oh, are you in earnest, Duke? Pray dont jest
+about it. What do you mean by his sister? I never knew he had one. Who
+is she? What happened? I mean when you saw him?”
+
+“Nothing happened. I was mowing in the garden. He just walked in; bade
+me good morning; admired the place; and told me he came with a message
+from you that things were getting hot here. Then he went off, as cool
+as you please. He didnt seem to mind.”
+
+“And he warned you, in spite of all.”
+
+“More for your sake than for mine, I suspect. He’s rather sweet on you,
+isnt he?”
+
+“Oh, Duke, Duke, are you not ashamed of yourself?”
+
+“Deuce a bit. But I’m in trouble; and I want you to stand by me. Look
+here, Marian, you have no nonsense about you, I know. I may tell you
+frankly how I am situated, maynt I?”
+
+Marian looked at him apprehensively, and said nothing.
+
+“You see you will only mix up matters worse than before unless you know
+the truth. Besides, I offered to marry her: upon my soul I did; but she
+refused. Her real name is Susanna Conolly: his sister, worse luck.”
+
+“Dont tell me any more of this, Duke. It is not right.”
+
+“I suppose it’s not right, as you say. But what am I to do? I must tell
+you; or you will go on making mischief with Constance.”
+
+“As if I would tell her! I promise that she shall never know from me.
+Is that enough?”
+
+“No: its too much. The plain truth is that I dont care whether she
+finds me out or not. I want her to understand thoroughly, once and for
+ever, that I wont marry her.”
+
+“Marmaduke!”
+
+“Not if I were fifty Marmadukes!”
+
+“Then you will break her heart.”
+
+“Never fear! Her heart is pretty tough, if she has one. Whether or no,
+I am not going to have her forced on me by the Countess or any one
+else. The truth is, Marian, they have all tried to bully me into this
+match. Constance can’t complain.”
+
+“No, not aloud.”
+
+“Neither aloud or alow. I never proposed to her.”
+
+“Very well, Marmaduke: there is no use now in blaming Auntie or
+excusing yourself. If you have made up your mind, there is an end.”
+
+“But you cant make out that I am acting meanly, Marian. Why, I have
+everything to lose by giving her up. There is her money, and I suppose
+I must prepare for a row with the family; unless the match could be
+dropped quietly. Eh?”
+
+“And is that what you want me to manage for you?”
+
+“Well—. Come, Marian! dont be savage. I have been badly used in this
+affair. They forced it on me. I did all I could to keep out of it. She
+was thrown at my head. Besides, I once really used to think I could
+settle down with her comfortably some day. I only found out what an
+insipid little fool she was when I had a woman of sense to compare her
+with.”
+
+“Dont say hard things about her. I think you might have a little
+forbearance towards her under the circumstances.”
+
+“Hm! I dont feel very forbearing. She has been sticking to me for the
+last few days like a barnacle. Our respectable young ladies think a lot
+of themselves, but—except you and Nelly—I dont know a woman in society
+who has as much brains in her whole body as Susanna Conolly has in her
+little finger nail. I cant imagine how the deuce you all have the cheek
+to expect men to talk to you, much less marry you.”
+
+“Perhaps there is something that honest men value more than brains.”
+
+“I should like to know what it is. If it is something that ladies have
+and Susanna hasnt, it is not either good looks or good sense. If it’s
+respectability, that depends on what you consider respectable. If
+Conny’s respectable and Susanna isnt, then I prefer disrepu—”
+
+“Hush, Duke, you know you have no right to speak to me like this. Let
+us think of poor Constance. How is she to be told the truth?”
+
+“Let her find it out. I shall go back to London as soon as I can; and
+the affair will drop somehow or another. She will forget all about me.”
+
+“Happy-go-lucky Marmaduke. I think if neglect and absence could make
+her forget you, you would have been forgotten before this.”
+
+“Yes. You see you must admit that I gave her no reason to suppose I
+meant anything.”
+
+“I am afraid you have consulted your own humor both in your neglect and
+your attentions, Duke. The more you try to excuse yourself, the more
+inexcusable your conduct appears. I do not know how to advise you. If
+Constance is told, you may some day forget all about your present
+infatuation; and then a mass of mischief and misery will have been made
+for nothing. If she is not told, you will be keeping up a cruel
+deception and wasting her chances of——but she will never care for
+anybody else.”
+
+“Better do as I say. Leave matters alone for the present. But mind! no
+speculating on my changing my intentions. I wont marry her.”
+
+“I wish you hadnt told me about it.”
+
+“Well, Marian, I couldnt help it. I know, of course, that you only
+wanted to make us all happy; but you nursed this match and kept it in
+Constance’s mind as much as you could. Besides—though it was not your
+fault—that mistake about Conolly was too serious not to explain. Dont
+be downcast: I am not blaming you a bit.”
+
+“It seems to me that the worst view of things is always the true one in
+this world. Nelly and Jasper were right about you.”
+
+“Aha! So _they_ saw what I felt. You cant say I did not make my
+intentions plain enough to every unbiassed person. The Countess was
+determined to get Constance off her hands; Constance was determined to
+have me; and you were determined to stick up for your own notions of
+love and honeysuckles.”
+
+“I was determined to stick up for _you_, Marmaduke.”
+
+“Dont be indignant: I knew you would stick up for me in your own way.
+But what I want to shew is, that only three people believed that I was
+in earnest; and those three were prejudiced.”
+
+“I wish you had enlightened Constance, and deceived all the rest of the
+world, instead. No doubt I was wrong, very wrong. I am very sorry.”
+
+“Pshaw! It doesnt matter. It will all blow over some day. Hush, I hear
+the garden gate opening. It is Constance, come to spy what I am doing
+here with you. She is as jealous as a crocodile—very nearly made a
+scene yesterday because I played with Nelly against her at tennis. I
+have to drive her to Bushy Copse this afternoon, confound it!”
+
+“And _will_ you, after what you have just confessed?”
+
+“I must. Besides, Jasper says that Conolly is coming this evening to
+pack up his traps and go; and I want to be out of the way when he is
+about.”
+
+“This evening!”
+
+“Yes. Between ourselves, Marian, Susanna and I were so put out by the
+cool way he carried on when he called, that we had a regular quarrel
+after he went; and we haven’t made it up yet.”
+
+“Pray dont talk about it to me, Duke. Here is Constance.”
+
+“So you are here,” said Constance, gaily, but with a quick glance at
+them. “That is a pretty way to bring your cousin in to luncheon, sir.”
+
+“We got chatting about you, my ownest,” said Marmaduke; “and the
+subject was so sweet, and the moments were so fleet, that we talked for
+quite an hour on the strict q.t. Eh, Marian?”
+
+“As a punishment, you shall have no lunch. Mamma is very angry with you
+both.”
+
+“Always ready to make allowances for her, provided she sends you to
+lecture me, Conny. Why dont you wear your hat properly?” He arranged
+her hat as he spoke. Constance laughed and blushed. Marian shuddered.
+“Now youre all that fancy painted you: youre lovely, youre divine. Are
+you ready for Bushy Copse?”
+
+Constance replied by singing:
+
+“Oh yes, if you please, kind sir, she said; sir, she said; sir, she
+said;
+Oh! yes if you ple—ease, kind sir, she said.”
+
+
+“Then come along. After your ladyship,” he said, taking her elbows as
+if they were the handles of a wheelbarrow, and pushing her out before
+him through the narrow entrance to the summer-house. On the threshold
+he turned for a moment; met Marian’s reproachful eyes with a wink;
+grinned; and disappeared.
+
+For half an hour afterward Marian sat alone in the summer-house,
+thinking of the mistake she had made. Then she returned to the Cottage,
+where she found Miss McQuinch writing in the library, and related to
+her all that had passed in the summer-house. Elinor listened, seated in
+a rocking-chair, restlessly clapping her protended ankles together.
+When she heard of Conolly’s relationship to Susanna, she kept still for
+a few moments, looking with widely opened eyes at Marian. Then, with a
+sharp laugh, she said:
+
+“Well, I beg his pardon. I thought he was another of that woman’s
+retainers. I never dreamt of his being her brother.”
+
+Marian was horror stricken. “You thought—! Oh, Nelly, what puts such
+things into your head?”
+
+“So would you have thought it if you had the least gumption about
+people. However, I was wrong; and I’m glad of it. However, I was right
+about Marmaduke. I told you so, over and over and over again.”
+
+“I know you did; but I didnt think you were in earnest.”
+
+“No, you never can conceive my being in earnest when I differ from you,
+until the event proves me to be right.”
+
+“I am afraid it will kill Constance.”
+
+“_Dont_, Marian!” cried Elinor, giving her chair a violent swing.
+
+“I am quite serious. You know how delicate she is.”
+
+“Well, if she dies of any sentiment, it will be wounded vanity. Serve
+her right for allowing a man to be forced into marrying her. I believe
+she knows in her soul that he does not care about her. Why else should
+she be jealous of me, of you, and of everybody?”
+
+“It seems to me that instead of sympathizing with the unfortunate girl,
+both you and Marmaduke exult in her disappointment.”
+
+“I pity her, poor little wretch. But I dont sympathize with her. I dont
+pity Marmaduke one bit: if the whole family cuts him he will deserve it
+richly, but I do sympathize with him. Can you wonder at his preference?
+When we went to see that woman last June I envied her. There she was,
+clever, independent, successful, holding her own in the world, earning
+her living, fascinating a crowd of people, whilst we poor respectable
+nonentities sat pretending to despise her—as if we were not waiting
+until some man in want of a female slave should offer us our board and
+lodging and the privilege of his lordly name with ‘Missis’ before it
+for our lifelong services. You may make up as many little
+bread-and-butter romances as you please, Marian; but I defy you to give
+me any sensible reason why Marmaduke should chain himself for ever to a
+little inane thing like Constance, when he can enjoy the society of a
+capable woman like that without binding himself at all.”
+
+“Nonsense, Nelly! Really, you oughtnt to say such things.”
+
+“No. I ought to keep both eyes tight shut so that I may be contented in
+that station to which it has pleased God to call me.”
+
+“Imagine his proposing to marry her, Nell! I am just as wicked as you;
+for I am very glad she refused; though I cant conceive why she did it.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Miss McQuinch, becoming excited, “she refused because
+she had too much good sense: aye, and too much common decency to
+accept. It is all very well for us fortunate good-for-nothings to
+resort to prostitution——”
+
+“Oh, Nelly!”
+
+“—I say, to prostitution, to secure ourselves a home and an income.
+Somebody said openly in Parliament the other day that marriage was the
+true profession of women. So it is a profession; and except that it is
+a harder bargain for both parties, and that society countenances it, I
+dont see how it differs from what we—bless our virtuous
+indignation!—stigmatize as prostitution. _I_ dont mean ever to be
+married, I can tell you, Marian. I would rather die than sell myself
+forever to a man, and stand in a church before a lot of people whilst
+George or somebody read out that cynically plain-spoken marriage
+service over me.”
+
+“Stop Nelly! Pray stop! If you thought for a moment you would never say
+such awful things.”
+
+“I thought we had agreed long ago that marriage is a mistake.”
+
+“Yes; but that is very different to what you are saying now.”
+
+“I cannot see——”
+
+“Pray stop, Nelly. Dont go on in that strain. It does no good; and it
+makes me very uncomfortable.”
+
+“I’ll take it out in work,” said Nelly calmly, returning to her
+manuscript. “I can see that, as you say, talking does no good. All the
+more reason why I should have another try at earning my own living.
+When I become a great novelist I shall say what I like and do what I
+please. For the present I am your obedient, humble servant.”
+
+At any other time Marian would have protested, and explained, and
+soothed. Now she was too heavily preoccupied by her guilty conscience.
+She strolled disconsolately to the window, and presently, seeing that
+Miss McQuinch was at work in earnest and had better not be disturbed,
+went off for a lonely walk. It was a glorious afternoon; and nature
+heaped its peculiar consolations on her; so that she never thought of
+returning until the sun was close to the horizon. As she came, tired,
+through the plantation, with the evening glow and the light wind, in
+which the branches were rustling and the leaves dropping, lulling her
+luxuriously, she heard some one striding swiftly along the path behind.
+She looked back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could not
+see who was coming. Then it occurred to her that it might be Conolly.
+Dreading to face him after what had happened, she stole aside among the
+trees a little way, and sat down on a stone, hoping that he might pass
+by without seeing her. The next moment he came round the curve, looking
+so resolute and vigorous that her heart became fainter as she watched
+him. Just opposite where she sat, he stopped, having a clear view of
+the path ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled. Marian held her
+breath. He looked to the left through the trees, then to the right,
+where she was.
+
+“Good-evening, Miss Lind,” he said respectfully, raising his hat.
+
+“Good-evening,” said she, trembling.
+
+“You are not looking quite well.”
+
+“I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. That is why I had
+to sit down. I shall be rested presently.”
+
+Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. “This is my last
+visit to Carbury Towers,” he said. “No doubt you know that I am going
+for good.”
+
+“Yes,” said Marian. “I—I am greatly obliged to you for all the pains
+you have taken with me in the laboratory. You have been very patient. I
+suppose I have often wasted your time unreasonably.”
+
+“No,” said Conolly, unceremoniously, “you have not wasted my time: I
+never let anybody do that. My time belonged to Lord Carbury, not to
+myself. However, that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving you
+lessons. Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole obligation rests on
+me.”
+
+“They were very pleasant.”
+
+He shifted himself into an easier position, looking well pleased. Then
+he said, carelessly, “Has Mr. Marmaduke Lind come down?”
+
+Marian reddened and felt giddy.
+
+“I want to avoid meeting him,” continued Conolly; “and I thought
+perhaps you might know enough of his movements this evening to help me
+to do so. It does not matter much; but I have a reason.”
+
+Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she tried to speak; but
+she repressed it, and said:
+
+“Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know before: I am sure you
+did not think I did. I made a dreadful mistake.”
+
+“Why!” said Conolly, with some indignation, “who has told you since?”
+
+“Marmaduke,” said Marian, roused to reply quickly by the energy of the
+questioner. “He did not mean to be indiscreet: he thought I knew.”
+
+“Thought! He never thought in his life, Miss Lind. However, he was
+right enough to tell you; and I am glad you know the truth, because it
+explains my behavior the last time we met. It took me aback a bit for
+the moment.”
+
+“You were very forbearing. I hope you will not think me intrusive if I
+tell you how sincerely sorry I am for the misfortune which has come to
+you.”
+
+“What misfortune?”
+
+Marian lost confidence again, and looked at him in silent distress.
+
+“To be sure,” he interposed, quickly. “I know; but you had put it all
+out of my head. I am much obliged to you. Not that I am much concerned
+about it. You will perhaps think it an instance of the depravity of my
+order, Miss Lind; but I am not one of those people who think it pious
+to consider their near relatives as if they were outside the natural
+course of things. I never was a good son or a good brother or a good
+patriot in the sense of thinking that my mother and my sister and my
+native country were better than other people’s because I happened to
+belong to them. I knew what would happen some day, though, as usual, my
+foreknowledge did not save me from a little emotion when the event came
+to pass. Besides, to tell you the truth, I dont feel it as a
+misfortune. You know what my sister’s profession is. You told me how
+you felt when you saw her act. Now, tell me fairly, and without
+stopping to think of whether your answer will hurt me, would you
+consent to know her in private even if you had heard nothing to her
+disadvantage? Would you invite her to your house, or go to a party at
+which all the other women were like her? Would you introduce young
+ladies to her, as you would introduce them to Miss McQuinch? Dont stop
+to imagine exceptional circumstances which might justify you in doing
+these things; but tell me yes or no, _would_ you?”
+
+“You see, Mr. Conolly, I should really never have an opportunity of
+doing them.”
+
+“By your leave, Miss Lind, that means No. Honestly, then, what has
+Susanna to lose by disregarding your rules of behavior? Even if, by
+marrying, she conciliated the notions of your class, she would only
+give some man the right to ill-treat her and spend her earnings,
+without getting anything in return—and remember there is a special
+danger of that on the stage, for several reasons. She would not really
+conciliate you by marrying, for you wouldnt associate with her a bit
+the more because of her marriage certificate. Of course I am putting
+her self-respect out of the question, that being a matter between
+herself and her conscience, with which we have no concern. Believe me,
+neither actresses nor any other class will trouble themselves about the
+opinion of a society in which they are allowed to have neither part nor
+lot. Perhaps I am wrong to talk about such matters to you; but you are
+trained to feel all the worst that can be felt for my sister; and I
+feel bound to let you know that there is something to be said in her
+defence. I have no right to blame her, as she has done me no harm. The
+only way in which her conduct can influence my prospects will be
+through her being an undesirable sister-in-law in case I should want to
+marry.”
+
+“If the person you choose hesitate on that account, you can let her go
+without regret,” said Marian. “She will not be worthy of your regard.”
+
+“I am not so sure of that,” said Conolly, laughing. “You see, Miss
+Lind, if that invention of mine succeeds, I may become a noted man; and
+it is fashionable nowadays for society to patronize geniuses who hit on
+a new illustration of what people call the marvels of science. I am
+ambitious. As a celebrity, I might win the affections of a duchess. Who
+knows?”
+
+“I should not advise you to marry a duchess. I do not know many of
+them, as I am a comparatively humble person; but I am sure you would
+not like them.”
+
+“Aye. And possibly a lady of gentle nurture would not like me.”
+
+“On the contrary, clever people are so rare in society that I think you
+would have a better chance than most men.”
+
+“Do you think my manners would pass? I learnt to dance and bow before I
+was twelve years old from the most experienced master in Europe; and I
+used to mix with all the counts, dukes, and queens in my father’s opera
+company, not to mention the fashionable people I have read about in
+novels.”
+
+“You are jesting, Mr. Conolly. I do not believe that your manners give
+you the least real concern.”
+
+“And you think that I may aspire in time—if I am successful in
+public—to the hand of a lady?”
+
+“Surely you know as much of the world as I. Why should you not marry a
+lady, if you wish to?”
+
+“I am afraid class prejudice would be too strong for me, after all.”
+
+“I dont think so. What hour is it now, Mr. Conolly?”
+
+“It wants ten minutes of seven.”
+
+“Oh!” cried Marian, rising. “Miss McQuinch is probably wondering
+whether I am drowned or lost. I must get back to the Hall as fast as I
+can. They have returned from Bushy Copse before this; and I am sure
+they are asking about me.”
+
+Conolly rose silently and walked with her as far as the path from the
+cottage to the laboratory.
+
+“This is my way, Miss Lind,” said he. “I am going to the laboratory.
+Will you be so kind as to give my respects to Miss McQuinch. I shall
+not see her again, as I must return to town by the last train
+to-night.”
+
+“And are you not coming back—not at all, I mean?”
+
+“Not at all.”
+
+“Oh!” said Marian slowly.
+
+“Good bye, Miss Lind.”
+
+He was about to raise his hat as usual; but Marian, with a smile, put
+out her hand. He took it for the first time; looked at her for a moment
+gravely; and left her.
+
+Lest they should surprise one another in the act, neither of them
+looked back at the other as they went their several ways.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+In the spring, eighteen months after his daughter’s visit to Carbury
+Towers, Mr. Reginald Harrington Lind called at a house in Manchester
+Square and found Mrs. Douglas at home. Sholto’s mother was a widow lady
+older than Mr. Lind, with a rather glassy eye and shaky hand, who would
+have looked weak and shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty of
+money, unlimited domestic service, and unhesitating deference from
+attendants who were all trained artists in their occupation, made a
+fair shew of being a dignified and interesting old lady. When he was
+seated, her first action was to take a new photograph from a little
+table at her side, and hand it to him without a word, awaiting his
+recognition of it with a shew of natural pride and affection which was
+amateurish in comparison to the more polished and skilful comedy with
+which her visitor took it and pretended to admire it.
+
+“Capital. Capital,” said Mr. Lind. “He must give us one.”
+
+“You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do you?” said Mrs.
+Douglas.
+
+“Certainly not: it is an improvement,” said Mr. Lind, decisively. “You
+are glad to have him back again with you, I dare say. Ah yes, yes”
+(Mrs. Douglas’s eyes had answered for her). “Did he tell you that he
+met me? I saw him on Wednesday last for the first time since his return
+to London. How long was he away?”
+
+“Two years,” she replied, with slow emphasis, as if such an absence
+were hardly credible. “Two long years. He has been staying in Paris, in
+Venice, in Florence: a month here, a week there, dissatisfied
+everywhere. He would have been almost as happy with me at home. And how
+is Marian?”
+
+“Well,” said Mr. Lind, smiling, “I believe she is still disengaged; and
+she professes to be fancy free. She is fond of saying, generally, that
+she will never marry, and so forth. That is the new fashion with young
+women—if saying what they dont mean can be called a new fashion.”
+
+“Marian is sure to get married,” said Mrs. Douglas. “She must have had
+offers already. There are few parents who have not cause to envy you.”
+
+“We have both been happy in that respect, Mrs. Douglas. Sholto is a
+highly distinguished young man. I wish I had started in life with half
+his advantages. I thought at one time he was perhaps becoming attached
+to Marian.”
+
+“You are quite sure, Mr. Lind, that you could forgive his being a plain
+gentleman? A little bird whispered to me that you desired a title for
+Marian.”
+
+“My dear Mrs. Douglas, we, who are familiar with titles, understand
+their true value. I should be very sorry to see Marian lose, by an
+unsuitable alliance, the social position I have been able to give her.
+I should set my face resolutely against such an alliance. But few
+English titles can boast a pedigree comparable with Sholto’s. The name
+of Douglas is historic—far more so than that of Lind, which is not even
+English except by naturalization. Besides, Sholto’s talents are very
+remarkable. He will certainly adopt a political career; and, with his
+opportunities and abilities, a peerage is anything but a remote
+contingency.”
+
+“Sholto, you know, is perfectly unembarrassed. There is not a charge on
+his property. I think that even Marian, good as she is, and lovely as
+she is, will not easily find a better match. But I am well known to be
+a little crazy about my dear boy. That is because I know him so much
+better than anyone else does. Now let us talk about other matters. Let
+me see. Oh yes, I got a prospectus of some company from the city the
+other day; and whose name should there be upon the list of directors
+but Reginald Harrington Lind’s! And Lord Carbury’s, too! Pray, is the
+entire family going into business?”
+
+“Well, I believe the undertaking to be a commercially sound one; and—”
+
+“Fancy _you_ talking about commercial soundness!”
+
+“True. It must sound strange to you. But it is no longer unusual for
+men in my position to take an active part in the direction of commerce.
+We have duties as well as privileges. I gave my name and took a few
+shares chiefly on the recommendation of Jasper and of my own
+stockbroker. I think there can be no doubt that Jasper and Mr. Conolly
+have made a very remarkable discovery, and one which must prove highly
+remunerative and beneficial.”
+
+“What is the discovery? I did not quite understand the prospectus.”
+
+“Well, it is called the Conolly Electro-motor.”
+
+“Yes, I know that.”
+
+“And it—it turns all sorts of machinery. I cannot explain it
+scientifically to you: you would not understand me. But it is, in
+short, a method of driving machinery by electricity at a less cost than
+by steam. It is connected in principle with the conservation of energy
+and other technical matters. You must come and see the machinery at
+work some day.”
+
+“I must, indeed. And is it true that Mr. Conolly was a common working
+man?”
+
+“Yes, a practical man, undoubtedly, but highly educated. He speaks
+French and Italian fluently, and is a remarkable musician. Altogether a
+man of very superior attainments, and by no means deficient in
+culture.”
+
+“Dear me! Jasper told me something of that sort about him; but Lady
+Carbury gave him a very different character. She assured me that he was
+sprung from the dregs of the people, and that she had a great deal of
+trouble to teach him his proper place. Still, we know that she is not
+very particular as to what she says when she dislikes people. Yet she
+ought to know; for he was Jasper’s laboratory servant—at least so she
+said.”
+
+“Oh, surely not a servant. Jasper never regarded him in that light. The
+Countess disapproves of Jasper’s scientific pursuits, and sets her face
+against all who encourage him in them. However, I really know nothing
+about Mr. Conolly’s antecedents. His manner when he appears at our
+board meetings is quiet and not unpleasant. Marian, it appears, met him
+at Towers Cottage the year before last, and had some scientific lessons
+from him. He was quite unknown then. It was rather a curious
+coincidence. I did not know of it until about a month ago, when he read
+a paper at the Society of Arts on his invention. I attended the meeting
+with Marian; and when it was over, I introduced him to her, and was
+surprised to learn that they knew one another already. He told me
+afterward that Marian had shewn an unusual degree of cleverness in
+studying electricity, and that she greatly interested him at the time.”
+
+“No doubt. Marian interests everybody; and even great discoverers, when
+they are young, are only human.”
+
+“Ah! Perhaps so. But she must have shewn some ability or she would
+never have elicited a remark from him. He is full of his business.”
+
+“And what is the latest news of the family scamp?”
+
+“Do you mean my Reginald?”
+
+“Dear me, no! What a shame to call poor Reggy a scamp! I mean young
+Marmaduke, of course. Is it true that he has a daughter now?”
+
+“Oh yes. Perfectly true.”
+
+“The reprobate! And he was always such a pleasant fellow.”
+
+“Yes; but he is annoyingly inconsiderate. About a fortnight ago, Marian
+and Elinor went to Putney to a private view at Mr. Scott’s studio. On
+their way back they saw Marmaduke on the river, and, rather
+unnecessarily, I think, entered into conversation with him. He begged
+them to come to Hammersmith in his boat, saying that he had something
+there to shew them. Elinor, it appears, had the sense to ask whether it
+was anything they ought not to see; but he replied on his honor that it
+was something perfectly innocent, and promised that they should be
+delighted with it. So they foolishly consented, and went with him to
+Hammersmith, where they left the river and walked some distance with
+him. He left them in a road somewhere in West Kensington, and came back
+after about fifteen minutes with a little girl. He actually presented
+her to Marian and Elinor as a member of the family whom they, as a
+matter of course, would like to know.”
+
+“Well, _such_ a thing to do! And what happened?”
+
+“Marian seems to have thought of nothing but the prettiness of the
+unhappy child. She gravely informed me that she forgave Marmaduke
+everything when she saw how he doted on it. Elinor has always shewn a
+disposition to defend him——”
+
+“She is full of perversity, and always was.”
+
+“——and this incident did not damage his credit with _her_. However,
+after the little waif had been sufficiently petted and praised to
+gratify Master Marmaduke’s paternal feelings, they came home, and,
+instead of holding their tongues, began to tell all our people what a
+dear little child Marmaduke had, and how they considered that it ought
+not to be made to suffer for his follies. In fact, I think they would
+have adopted it, if I had allowed them.”
+
+“That is Marian all over. Some of her ideas will serve her very well
+when she goes to heaven; but they will get her into scrapes in this
+wicked world if you do not take care of her.”
+
+“I fear so. For that reason I tolerate a degree of cynicism in Elinor’s
+character which would otherwise be most disagreeable to me. It is often
+useful in correcting Marian’s extravagances. Unfortunately, the
+incident at Hammersmith did not pass off without making mischief. It
+happens that my sister Julia is interested in a Home for foundling
+girls—a semi-private place, where a dozen children are trained as
+domestic servants.”
+
+“Yes. I have been through it. It is very neat and pretty; but they
+really treat the poor girls as if they ought to be thankful for
+permission to exist. Their dresses are so ugly!”
+
+“Possibly. I assure you that presentations are much sought after, and
+are very difficult to get. Julia is a patroness. Marian told her about
+this child of Marmaduke’s; and it happened that a vacancy had just
+occurred at the Home in consequence of one of the girls dying of
+melancholia and spinal affection. Julia, who has perhaps more piety
+than tact, wrote to Marmaduke offering to present his daughter, and
+expatiating on the advantages of the Home to the poor little lost one.
+In her desire to reclaim Marmaduke also, she entrusted the letter to
+George, who undertook to deliver it, and further Julia’s project by
+personal persuasion. George described the interview to me, and shewed
+me, I am sorry to say, how much downright ferocity may exist beneath an
+apparently frank, jovial, reckless exterior like Marmaduke’s.”
+
+“Well, I hardly wonder at his refusing. Of course, he might have known
+that the motive of the offer was a kind one.”
+
+“Refused! A gentleman can always refuse an offer with dignity.
+Marmaduke was outrageous. George—a clergyman—owed his escape from
+actual violence to the interference of the woman, and to a timely
+representation that he had undertaken to bear the message in order to
+soften any angry feelings that it might give rise to. Marmaduke
+repeatedly applied foul language to his aunt and to her offer; and
+George with great difficulty dissuaded him from writing a most
+offensive letter to her. Julia was so hurt by this that she complained
+to Dora—Marmaduke’s mother—who had up to that time been kept in
+ignorance of his doings; and now it is hard to say where the mischief
+will end. Dora is overwhelmed by the revelation of the life her son is
+leading. Marmaduke has consequently forfeited his father’s countenance,
+which had to be extended to him so far as to allow of his occasional
+appearance at home, in order to keep Dora in the dark. Now that she is
+enlightened, of course there is an end of all that, and he is forbidden
+the house.”
+
+“What a lot of mischief! Dear me!”
+
+“So I said to Marian. Had she refused to go up the river with
+Marmaduke, as she should have done, all this would not have occurred.
+She will not see it in that light, but lays all the blame on her aunt
+Julia, whose offer fell somewhat short of her own notions of providing
+for the child’s future.”
+
+“How does Marmaduke stand with respect to money? I suppose his father
+has stopped his allowance.”
+
+“No. He threatened to do it, and went so far as to make his solicitor
+write to that effect to Marmaduke, who had the consummate impudence to
+reply that he should in that case be compelled to provide for himself
+by contracting a marriage of which he could not expect his family to
+approve. Still, he added, if the family chose to sever their connexion
+with him, they could not expect him to consult their feelings in his
+future disposal of himself. In plain English, he threatened to marry
+this woman if his income was cut off. He carried his point, too; for no
+alteration has been made in his allowance. Indeed, as he has money of
+his own, and as part of the property is entailed, it would be easier to
+irritate him uselessly than to subject him to any material
+deprivation.”
+
+“The young scamp! I wonder he was clever enough to take advantage like
+that.”
+
+“He has shewn no lack of acuteness of late. I suspect he is under
+shrewd guidance.”
+
+“Have you ever seen the—the guidance?”
+
+“Not in person. I seldom enter a theatre now. But I am of course
+familiar with her appearance from the photographic portraits of her.
+They are in all the shop windows.”
+
+“Yes. I think I have noticed them.”
+
+“And now, Mrs. Douglas, I fear I have paid you a very long visit.”
+
+“Why dont you come oftener?”
+
+“I wish I could find time. I have not so much leisure for enjoyment as
+I used.”
+
+“I am not so sure of that. But we are always glad to have a chat with
+one another, I know. We are agreed about the dear children, I think?”
+
+“Cordially. Cordially. Good-bye.”
+
+“Good-bye.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+On the morning of the first Friday in May Marian received this letter:
+
+“Uxbridge Road, Holland Park, W.
+
+
+“DEAR MISS LIND: I must begin by explaining why I make this
+communication to you by letter instead of orally. It is because I am
+about to ask you to do me a favor. If you asked me to do anything for
+you, then, no matter how much my judgment might protest against my
+compliance, I could not without pain to myself refuse you face to face.
+I have no right to assume that your heart would plead on my behalf
+against your head in this fashion; but, on the other hand—the wish is
+father to the thought here—I have no right to assume that it would not.
+Therefore, to spare you all influences except the fair ones of your own
+interest and inclination, I make my proposal in writing. You will
+please put the usual construction on the word ‘proposal.’ What I desire
+is your consent to marry me. If your first impulse now is to refuse, I
+beg you to do so in plain terms at once, and destroy this letter
+without reading further. If you think, on the contrary, that we could
+achieve a future as pleasant as our past association has been—to me at
+least, here is what, as I think, you have to consider.
+
+“You are a lady, rich, well-born, beautiful, loved by many persons
+besides myself, too happily circumstanced to have any pressing
+inducement to change your condition, and too fortunately endowed in
+every way to have reason to anticipate the least difficulty in changing
+it to the greatest worldly advantage when you please.
+
+“What I am and have been, you know. I may estrange from you some of the
+society which you enjoy, and I can introduce you to none that would
+compensate you for the loss. I am what you call poor: my income at
+present does not amount to much more than fifteen hundred pounds; and I
+should not ask you to marry me if it were not that your own inheritance
+is sufficient, as I have ascertained, to provide for you in case of my
+early death. You know how my sister is situated; how your family are
+likely to feel toward me on her account and my own; and how impatient I
+am of devoting much time to what is fashionably supposed to be
+pleasure. On the other hand, as I am bidding for a consent and not for
+a refusal, I hope you will not take my disadvantages for more, or my
+advantages for less, than they are honestly worth. At Carbury Park you
+often said that you would never marry; and I have said the same myself.
+So, as we neither of us overrate the possibilities of happiness in
+marriage, perhaps we might, if you would be a little forbearing with
+me, succeed in proving that we have greatly underrated them. As for the
+prudence of the step, I have seen and practised too much prudence to
+believe that it is worth much as a rule of conduct in a world of
+accidents. If there were a science of life as there is one of
+mechanics, we could plan our lives scientifically and run no risks; but
+as it is, we must—together or apart—take our chance: cautiousness and
+recklessness divide the great stock of regrets pretty equally.
+
+“Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting you, for my own
+good, to forfeit your present happy independence among your friends,
+and involve your fortunes with those of a man whom you have only seen
+on occasions when ceremony compelled him to observe his best behavior.
+I can only excuse myself by reminding you that no matter whom you
+marry, you must do so at the same disadvantages, except as to the
+approval of your friends, of which the value is for you to consider.
+That being so, why should I not profit by your hazard as well as
+another? Besides, there are many other feelings impelling me. I should
+like to describe them to you, and would if I understood them well
+enough to do it accurately.
+
+“However, nothing is further from my intention than to indite a love
+letter; so I will return to graver questions. One, in particular, must
+be clearly understood between us. You are too earnest to consider an
+allusion to religious matters out of place here. I do not know exactly
+what you believe; but I have gathered from stray remarks of yours that
+you belong to what is called the Broad Church. If so, we must to some
+extent agree to differ. I should never interfere in any way with your
+liberty as far as your actions concerned yourself only. But, frankly, I
+should not permit my wife to teach my children to know Christianity in
+any other way than that in which an educated Englishman knows Buddhism.
+I will not go through any ceremony whatever in a church, or enter one
+except to play the organ. I am prejudiced against religions of all
+sorts. The Church has made itself the natural enemy of the theatre; and
+I was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor workman earning
+wages, when I found the Church always taking part against me and my
+comrades with the rich who did no work. If the Church had never set
+itself against me, perhaps I should never have set myself against the
+Church; but what is done is done: you will find me irreligious, but
+not, I hope, unreasonable.
+
+“I will be at the Academy to-morrow at about four o’clock, as I do not
+care to remain longer in suspense than is absolutely necessary; but if
+you are not prepared to meet me then, I shall faithfully help you in
+any effort I may perceive you make to avoid me.
+
+“I am, dear Miss Lind,
+“Yours sincerely,
+“EDWARD CONOLLY.  ”
+
+
+This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations set
+forth in it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just
+what she should have hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the
+quaint earnestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as she
+thought) of the advantages which she might forfeit by marrying him,
+there was just enough of the workman to make them characteristic. She
+wished that she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She was
+afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off, occupied
+herself during the forenoon with her household duties, with some
+pianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuade
+herself were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient of
+further delay. She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, and
+re-read the letter resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she
+read it again. The third time she liked it better than the first; and
+she would have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to go to Burlington House.
+
+“It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy,” said Mrs.
+Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. “I have been there at the press
+view, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, of
+course, I am expected to be there.”
+
+“If I were in your place,” said Elinor, “I——”
+
+“Last night,” continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her, “I was
+not in bed until half-past two o’clock. On the night before, I was up
+until five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all.”
+
+“Why do you do such things?” said Marian.
+
+“My dear, I _must_. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on Tuesday
+at three o’clock, and said he must have an article on the mango
+experiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. For
+his paper, the _Fortnightly Naturalist_, you know. ‘My dear John
+Metcalf,’ I said, ‘I dont know what a mango is.’ ‘No more do I, Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax,’ said he: ‘I think it’s something that blooms only once
+in a hundred years. No matter what it is, you must let me have the
+article. Nobody else can do it.’ I told him it was impossible. My
+London letter for the _Hari Kari_ was not even begun; and the last post
+to catch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the morning. I
+had an article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had been
+shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. ‘If you were
+to go down on your knees,’ I said, ‘I could not find time to read up
+the _flora_ of the West Indies and finish an article before morning.’
+He went down on his knees. ‘Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax,’ said he, ‘I am
+going to stay here until you promise.’ What could I do but promise and
+get rid of him? I did it, too: how, I dont know; but I did it. John
+Metcalf told me yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the
+Society for Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, and the
+greatest living authority on the subject, has got the credit of having
+written my article.”
+
+“How flattered he must feel!” said Elinor.
+
+“What article had you to write for papa?” said Marian.
+
+“On the electro-motor—the Conolly electro-motor. I went down to the
+City on Wednesday, and saw it working. It is most wonderful, and very
+interesting. Mr. Conolly explained it to me himself. I was able to
+follow every step that his mind has made in inventing it. I remember
+him as a common workman. He fitted the electric bell in my study four
+years ago with his own hands. You may remember that we met him at a
+concert once. He is a thorough man of business. The Company is making
+upward of fifty pounds an hour by the motor at present; and they expect
+their receipts to be a thousand a day next year. My article will be in
+the _Dynamic Statistician_ next week. Have you seen Sholto Douglas
+since he came back from the continent?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“I want to see him. When you meet him next, tell him to call on me. Why
+has he not been here? Surely you are not keeping up your old quarrel?”
+
+“What old quarrel?”
+
+“I always understood that he went abroad on your account.”
+
+“I never quarreled with him. Perhaps he did with me, as he has not come
+to see us since his return. It used to be so easy to offend him that
+his retirement in good temper after a visit was quite exceptional.”
+
+“Come, come, my dear child! that is all nonsense. You must be kind to
+the poor fellow. Perhaps he will be at the Academy.”
+
+“I hope not,” said Marian, quickly.
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I mean if he cherishes any grudge against me; for he will be very
+disagreeable.”
+
+“A grudge against you! Ah, Marian, how little you understand him! What
+perverse creatures all you young people are! I must bring about an
+_éclaircissement_.”
+
+“I advise you not to,” said Elinor. “If you succeed, no one will admit
+that you have done anything; and if you fail, everybody will blame
+you.”
+
+“But there is nothing to be _éclairci_,” said Marian. We are talking
+nonsense, which is silly——”
+
+“And French, which is vulgar,” interposed Miss McQuinch, delivering the
+remark like a pistol shot at Mrs. Fairfax, who had been trying to
+convey by facial expression that she pitied the folly of Elinor’s
+advice, and was scandalized by her presumption in offering it. “It is
+time to start for the Academy.”
+
+When they arrived at Burlington House, Mrs. Fairfax put on her gold
+rimmed spectacles, and led the way up the stairs like one having
+important business in a place to which others came for pleasure. When
+they had passed the turnstiles, Elinor halted, and said:
+
+“There is no sort of reason for our pushing through this crowd in a
+gang of three. Besides, I want to look at the pictures, and not after
+you to see which way you go. I shall meet you here at six o’clock,
+sharp. Good-bye.”
+
+“What an extraordinary girl!” said Mrs. Fairfax, as Elinor opened her
+catalogue at the end, and suddenly disappeared to the right amongst the
+crowd.
+
+“She always does so,” said Marian; “and I think she is quite right. Two
+people cannot make their way about as easily as one; and they never
+want to see the same pictures.”
+
+“But, my dear, consider the impropriety of a young girl walking about
+by herself.”
+
+“Surely there is no impropriety in it. Lots of people—all sensible
+women do it. Who can tell, in this crowd, whether you are by yourself
+or not? And what does it matter if——”
+
+Here Mrs. Fairfax’s attention was diverted by the approach of one of
+her numerous acquaintances. Marian, after a moment’s indecision,
+slipped away and began her tour of the rooms alone, passing quickly
+through the first in order to escape pursuit. In the second she tried
+to look at the pictures; but as she now for the first time realized
+that she might meet Conolly at any moment, doubt as to what answer she
+should give him seized her; and she felt a strong impulse to fly. The
+pictures were unintelligible to her: she kept her face turned to the
+inharmonious shew of paint and gilding only because she shrank from
+looking at the people about. Whenever she stood still, and any man
+approached and remained near her, she contemplated the wall fixedly,
+and did not dare to look round or even to stir until he moved away,
+lest he should be Conolly. When she passed from the second room to the
+large one, she felt as though she were making a tremendous plunge; and
+indeed the catastrophe occurred before she had accomplished the
+movement, for she came suddenly face to face with him in the doorway.
+He did not flinch: he raised his hat, and prepared to pass on. She
+involuntarily put out her hand in remonstrance. He took it as a gift at
+once; and she, confused, said anxiously: “We must not stand in the
+doorway. The people cannot pass us,” as if her action had meant nothing
+more than an attempt to draw him out of the way. Then, perceiving the
+absurdity of this pretence, she was quite lost for a moment. When she
+recovered her self-possession they were standing together in the less
+thronged space near a bust of the Queen; and Conolly was saying:
+
+“I have been here half an hour; and I have not seen a single picture.”
+
+“Nor I,” she said timidly, looking down at her catalogue. “Shall we try
+to see some now?”
+
+He opened his catalogue; and they turned together toward the pictures
+and were soon discussing them sedulously, as if they wished to shut out
+the subject of the very recent crisis in their affairs, which was
+nevertheless constantly present in their minds. Marian was saluted by
+many acquaintances. At each encounter she made an effort to appear
+unconcerned, and suffered immediately afterward from a suspicion that
+the effort had defeated its own object, as such efforts often do.
+Conolly had something to say about most of the pictures: generally an
+unanswerable objection to some historical or technical inaccuracy,
+which sometimes convinced her, and always impressed her with a
+confiding sense of ignorance in herself and infallible judgment in him.
+
+“I think we have done enough for one day,” she said at last. “The
+watercolors and the sculpture must wait until next time.”
+
+“We had better watch for a vacant seat. You must be tired.”
+
+“I am, a little. I think I should like to sit in some other room. Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax is over there with Mr. Douglas—a gentleman whom I know
+and would rather not meet just now. You saw him at Wandsworth.”
+
+“Yes. That tall man? He has let his beard grow since.”
+
+“That is he. Let us go to the room where the drawings are: we shall
+have a better chance of a seat there. I have not seen Sholto for two
+years; and our last meeting was rather a stormy one.”
+
+“What happened?”
+
+Marian was a little hurt by being questioned. She missed the reticence
+of a gentleman. Then she reproached herself for not understanding that
+his frank curiosity was a delicate appeal to her confidence in him, and
+answered: “He proposed to me.”
+
+Conolly immediately dropped the subject, and went in search of a vacant
+seat. They found one in the little room where the architects’ drawings
+languish. They were silent for some time.
+
+Then he began, seriously: “Is it too soon to call you by your own name?
+‘Miss Lind’ is distant; but ‘Marian’ might shock you if it came too
+confidently without preparation.”
+
+“Whichever you please.”
+
+“Whichever I please!”
+
+“That is the worst of being a woman. Little speeches that are sheer
+coquetry when you analyze them, come to our lips and escape even when
+we are most anxious to be straightforward.”
+
+“In the same way,” said Conolly, “the most enlightened men often
+express themselves in a purely conventional manner on subjects on which
+they have the deepest convictions.” This sententious utterance had the
+effect of extinguishing the conversation for some moments, Marian being
+unable to think of a worthy rejoinder. At last she said:
+
+“What is your name?”
+
+“Edward, or, familiarly, Ned. Commonly Ted. In America, Ed. With, of
+course, the diminutives Neddy, Teddy, and Eddy.”
+
+“I think I should prefer Ned.”
+
+“I prefer Ned myself.”
+
+“Have you any other name?”
+
+“Yes; but it is a secret. Why people should be plagued with two
+Christian names, I do not know. No one would have believed in the motor
+if they had known that my name was Sebastian.”
+
+“Sebastian!”
+
+“Hush. I was actually christened Edoardo Sebastiano Conolly. My father
+used to spell his name Conollj whilst he was out of Italy. I have
+frustrated the bounty of my godfathers by suppressing all but the
+sensible Edward Conolly.”
+
+There was a pause. Then Marian spoke.
+
+“Do you intend to make our—our engagement known at once?”
+
+“I have considered the point; and as you are the person likely to be
+inconvenienced by its publication, I am bound to let you conceal it for
+the present, if you wish to. It must transpire sometime: the sooner the
+better. You will feel uncomfortably deceitful with such a secret; and
+as for me, every time your father greets me cordially in the City I
+shall feel mean. However, you can watch for your opportunity. Let me
+know at once when the cat comes out of the bag.”
+
+“I will. I think, as you say, the right course is to tell at once.”
+
+“Undoubtedly. But from the moment you do so until we are married you
+will be worried by remonstrances, entreaties, threats, and what not; so
+that we cannot possibly make that interval too short.”
+
+“We must take Nelly into our confidence. You will not object to that?”
+
+“Certainly not. I like Miss McQuinch.”
+
+“You really do! Oh, I am so glad. Well, we are accustomed to go about
+together, especially to picture galleries. We can come to the Academy
+as often as we like; and you can come as often as you like, can you
+not?”
+
+“Opening day, for instance.”
+
+“Yes, if you wish.”
+
+“Let us say between half-past four and five, then. I would willingly be
+here when the doors open in the morning; but my business will not do
+itself while I am philandering and making you tired of me before your
+time. The consciousness of having done a day’s work is necessary to my
+complete happiness.”
+
+“I, too, have my day’s work to do, silly as it is. I have to housekeep,
+to receive visitors, to write notes about nothing, and to think of the
+future. We can say half-past four or any later hour that may suit you.”
+
+“Agreed. And now, Marian——”
+
+“Dont let me disturb you,” said Miss McQuinch, at his elbow, to Marian;
+“but Mrs. Leith Fairfax will be here with Sholto Douglas presently; and
+I thought you might like to have an opportunity of avoiding him. How do
+you do, Mr. Conolly?”
+
+“I must see him sooner or later,” said Marian, rising. “Better face him
+at once and get it over. I will go back by myself and meet them.” Then,
+with a smile at Conolly, she went out through the door leading to the
+water-color gallery.
+
+“Marian does not stand on much ceremony with you, Mr. Conolly,” said
+Miss McQuinch, glancing at him.
+
+“No,” said Conolly. “Do you think you could face the Academy again on
+Monday at half-past four?”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Miss Lind is coming to meet me here at that hour.”
+
+“Marian!”
+
+“Precisely. Marian. She has promised to marry me. At present it is a
+secret. But it was to be mentioned to you.”
+
+“It will not be a secret very long if you allow people to overhear you
+calling her by her Christian name in the middle of the Academy, as you
+did me just now,” said Elinor, privately much taken aback, but resolute
+not to appear so.
+
+“Did you overhear us? I should have been more careful. You do not seem
+surprised.”
+
+“Just a little, at your audacity. Not in the least at Marian’s
+consenting.”
+
+“Thank you.”
+
+“I did not mean it in that way at all,” said Elinor resentfully. “I
+think you have been very fortunate, as I suppose you would have married
+somebody in any case. I believe you are able to appreciate her. That’s
+a compliment.”
+
+“Yes. I hope I deserve it. Do you think you will ever forgive me for
+supplanting the hero Marian deserves?”
+
+“If you had let your chance of her slip, I should have despised you, I
+think: at least, I should if you had missed it with your eyes open. I
+am so far prejudiced in your favor that I think Marian would not like
+you unless you were good. I have known her to pity people who deserved
+to be strangled; but I never knew her to be attracted by any unworthy
+person except myself; and even I have my good points. You need not
+trouble yourself to agree with me: you could not do less, in common
+politeness. As I am rather tired, I shall go and sit in the vestibule
+until the others are ready to go home. In the meantime you can tell me
+all the particulars you care to trust me with. Marian will tell me the
+rest when we go home.”
+
+“That is an undeserved stab,” said Conolly.
+
+“Never mind: I am always stabbing people. I suppose I like it,” she
+added, as they went together to the vestibule.
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Leith Fairfax had not been wasting her time. She had
+come upon Douglas in the large room, and had recognized him by his
+stature and proud bearing, in spite of the handsome Assyrian beard he
+had allowed to grow during his stay abroad.
+
+“I have been very anxious to see you,” said she, forcing a conversation
+upon him, though he had saluted her formally, and had evidently
+intended to pass on without speaking. “If your time were not too
+valuable to be devoted to a poor hard-working woman, I should have
+asked you to call on me. Dont deprecate my forbearance. You are
+Somebody in the literary world now.”
+
+“Indeed? I was not aware that I had done anything to raise me from
+obscurity.”
+
+“I assure you you are very much mistaken, or else very modest. Has no
+one told you about the effect your book produced here?”
+
+“I know nothing of it, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I never enquire after the
+effect of my work. I have lived in comparative seclusion; and I
+scarcely know what collection of fugitive notes of mine you honor by
+describing as a book.”
+
+“I mean your ‘Note on three pictures in last year’s _Salon_,’ with the
+sonnets, and the fragment from your unfinished drama. Is it finished,
+may I ask?”
+
+“It is not finished. I shall never finish it now.”
+
+“I will tell you—between ourselves—that I heard one of the foremost
+critics of the age say, in the presence of a great poet (whom we both
+know), that it was such another fragment as the Venus of Milo, ‘whose
+lost arms,’ said he, ‘we should fear to see, lest they should be
+unworthy of her.’ ‘You are right,’ said the poet: ‘I, for one, should
+shudder to see the fragment completed.’ That is a positive fact. But
+look at some of the sonnets! Burgraves says that his collection of
+English sonnets is incomplete because it does not contain your
+‘Clytemnestra,’ which he had not seen when his book went to press. You
+stand in the very forefront of literature—far higher than I, who
+am—dont tell anybody—five years older than you.”
+
+“You are very good. I do not value any distinction of the sort. I write
+sometimes because, I suppose, the things that are in me must come out,
+whether I will or not. Let us talk of something else. You are quite
+well I hope?”
+
+“Very far from it. I am never well; but since I never have a moment’s
+rest from work, I must bear with it. People expect me to think, when I
+have hardly time to eat.”
+
+“If you have no time to think, I envy you. But I am truly sorry that
+your health remains so bad.”
+
+“Thank you. But what is the cause of all this gloomy cynicism, Mr.
+Douglas? Why should you, who are young, distinguished, gifted, and
+already famous, envy me for having no leisure to think?”
+
+“You exaggerate the sadness of my unfortunate insensibility to the
+admiration of the crowd,” said Douglas, coldly. “I am, nevertheless,
+flattered by the interest you take in my affairs.”
+
+“You need not be, Mr. Douglas,” said Mrs. Fairfax, earnestly, fearing
+that he would presently succeed in rebuffing her. “I think you are much
+better off than you deserve. You may despise your reputation as much as
+you like: that only affects yourself. But when a beautiful girl pays
+you the compliment of almost dying of love for you, I think you ought
+to buy a wedding-ring and jump for joy, instead of sulking in remote
+corners of the continent.”
+
+“And pray, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, what lady has so honored me?”
+
+“You must know, unless you are blind.”
+
+“Pardon me. I do not habitually imply what is not the case. I beg you
+to believe that I do _not_ know.”
+
+“Not know! What moles men are! Poor Marian!”
+
+“Oblige me by taking this seat,” said Douglas, sternly, pointing to one
+just vacated. “I shall not detain you many minutes,” he added, sitting
+down beside her. “May I understand that Miss Lind is the lady of whom
+you spoke just now?”
+
+“Yes. Remember that I am speaking to you as a friend, and that I trust
+to you not to mention the effort I am making to clear up the
+misunderstanding which causes her so much unhappiness.”
+
+“Are you then in Miss Lind’s confidence? Did she ask you to tell me
+this?”
+
+“What do you mean, Mr. Douglas?”
+
+“I am quite innocent of any desire to shock or offend you, Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax. Does your question imply a negative?”
+
+“Most certainly. Marian ask me to tell! you must be dreaming. Do you
+think, even if Marian were capable of making an advance, that _I_ would
+consent to act as a go-between? Really, Mr. Douglas!”
+
+“I confess I do not understand these matters; and you must bear with my
+ineptitude. If Miss Lind entertains any sentiment for me but one of
+mistrust and aversion, her behavior is singularly misleading.”
+
+“Mistrust! Aversion! I tell you she is in love with you.”
+
+“But you have not, you admit, her authority for saying so, whereas I
+_have_ her authority for the contrary.”
+
+“You do not understand girls. You are mistaken.”
+
+“Possibly; but you must pardon me if I hesitate to set aside my own
+judgment in deference to your low estimate of it.”
+
+“Very well,” said Mrs. Fairfax, her patience yielding a little to his
+persistent stiffness: “be it so. Many men would be glad to beg what you
+will not be bribed to accept.”
+
+“No doubt. I trust that when they so humble themselves they may not
+encounter a flippant repulse.”
+
+“If they do, it will spring from her unmerited regard for you.”
+
+He bowed slightly, and turned away, arranging his gloves as if about to
+rise.
+
+“Pray what is that large picture which is skied over there to the
+right?” said Mrs. Fairfax, after a pause, during which she had feigned
+to examine her catalogue. “I cannot see the number at this distance.”
+
+“Do you defend her conduct on the ground of that senseless and cruel
+caprice which your sex seem to consider becoming to them; or has she
+changed her mind in my absence?”
+
+“Oh! you are talking of Marian. I do not know what you have to complain
+of in her conduct. Mind, she has never breathed a word to me on the
+subject. I am quite ignorant of the details of your difference with
+her. But she has confessed to me that she is very sorry for what
+passed—I am abusing her confidence by telling you so—and I am a woman,
+with eyes and brains, and know what the poor girl feels well enough. I
+will tell you nothing more: I have no right to; and Marian would be
+indignant if she knew how much I have said already. But I know what I
+should do were I in your place.”
+
+“Expose myself to another refusal, perhaps?”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, learning now for the first time that he had actually
+proposed to Marian, looked at him for some moments in silence with a
+smile which was assumed to cover her surprise. He thought it expressed
+incredulity at the idea of his being refused again.
+
+“Are you sure?” he began, speaking courteously to her for the first
+time. “May I rely upon the accuracy of your impressions on this
+subject? I know you are incapable of trifling in a matter which might
+expose me to humiliation; but can you give me any guarantee—any—”
+
+“Certainly not, Mr. Douglas. I am really sorry that I cannot give you a
+written undertaking that your suit shall succeed: perhaps that might
+encourage you to brave the scorn of a poor child who adores you. But if
+you need so much encouragement, I fear you do not greatly relish the
+prospect of success. Doubtless it has already struck her that since you
+found absence from her very bearable for two years, and have avoided
+meeting her on your return, her society cannot be very important to
+your happiness.”
+
+“But it was her own fault. If she accuses me of having gone away to
+enjoy myself, her thoughts are a bitter sarcasm on the truth.”
+
+“Granted that it was her own fault, if you please. But surely you have
+punished her enough by your long seclusion, and can afford to shew a
+tardy magnanimity by this time. There she is, I think, just come in at
+the door on the left. My sight is so wretched. Is it not she?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Then let us get up and speak to her. Come.”
+
+“You must excuse me, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I have distinctly given her my
+word that I will not intrude upon her again.”
+
+“Dont be so foolish.”
+
+Douglas’s face clouded. “You are privileged to say so,” he said.
+
+“Not at all,” said Mrs. Fairfax, frightened. “But when I think of
+Marian, I feel like an old woman, and venture to remonstrate with all
+the presumption of age. I beg your pardon.”
+
+He bowed. Then Marian joined them, and Mrs. Fairfax again gave tongue.
+
+“Where have you been?” she cried. “You vanished from my side like a
+sprite. I have been searching for you ever since.”
+
+“I have been looking at the pictures, of course. I am so glad you have
+come back, Sholto. I think you might have made time to pay us a visit
+before this. You look so strong and well! Your beard is a great
+improvement. Have you met Nelly?”
+
+“I think we saw her at some distance,” said Douglas. “I have not been
+speaking to her.”
+
+“How did you enjoy yourself while you were away?”
+
+“As best I could.”
+
+“You look as if you had succeeded very fairly. What o’clock is it?
+Remember that we have to meet Nelly at the turnstiles at six.”
+
+“It is five minutes to six now, Miss Lind.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Douglas. We had better go, I think.”
+
+As they left the room, Mrs. Fairfax purposely lingered behind them.
+
+“Am I right in concluding that you are as frivolous as ever, Marian?”
+he said.
+
+“Quite,” she replied. “To-day especially so. I am very happy to-day.”
+
+“May I ask why?”
+
+“Something has happened. I will tell you what it is some day perhaps,
+but not now. Something that realizes a romantic dream of mine. The
+dream has been hovering vaguely about me for nearly two years; but I
+never ventured to teach myself exactly what it was until to-day.”
+
+“Realized here? in the Academy?”
+
+“It was foreshadowed—promised, at home this morning; but it was
+realized here.”
+
+“Did you know beforehand that I was coming?”
+
+“Not until to-day. Mrs. Leith Fairfax said that you would most likely
+be here.”
+
+“And you are happy?”
+
+“So much so that I cannot help talking about my happiness to you, who
+are the very last person—as you will admit when everything is
+explained—to whom I should unlock my lips on the subject.”
+
+“And why? Am I not interested in your happiness?”
+
+“I suppose so. I hope so. But when you learn the truth, you will be
+more astonished than gratified.”
+
+“I dare swear that you are mistaken. Is this dream of yours an affair
+of the heart?”
+
+“Now you are beginning to ask questions.”
+
+“Well, I will ask no more at present. But if you fear that my long
+absence has rendered me indifferent in the least degree to your
+happiness, you do me a great injustice.”
+
+“Well, you were not in a very good humor with me when you went away.”
+
+“I will forget that if you wish me to.”
+
+“I do wish you to forget it. And you forgive me?”
+
+“Most assuredly.”
+
+“Then we are the best friends in the world again. This is a great deal
+better than meeting and pretending to ignore the very thing of which
+our minds are full. You will not delay visiting us any longer now, I
+hope.”
+
+“I will call on your father to-morrow morning. May I?”
+
+“He is out of town until Monday. He will be delighted to see you then.
+He has been talking to me about you a great deal of late. But if you
+want to see him in the morning you had better go to the club. I will
+write to him to-night if you like; so that he can write to you and make
+an appointment.”
+
+“Do. Ah, Marian, instinct is better and truer than intellect. I have
+been for two years trying to believe all kinds of evil of you; and yet
+I knew all the time that you were an angel.”
+
+Marian laughed. “I suppose that under our good understanding I must let
+you say pretty things to me. You must write me a sonnet before your
+enthusiasm evaporates. I am sure I deserve it as well as Clytemnestra.”
+
+“I will. But I fear I shall tear it up for its unworthiness afterward.”
+
+“Dont: I am not a critic. Talking of critics, where has Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax gone to? Oh, there she is!”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax came up when she saw Marian look round for her. “My dear,”
+she said: “it is past six. We must go. Elinor may be waiting for us.”
+
+They found Elinor seated in the vestibule with Conolly, at whom Mrs.
+Fairfax plunged, full of words. Conolly and Douglas, introduced to one
+another by Marian, gravely raised their hats. When they had descended
+the stairs, they stood in a group near one of the doors whilst Conolly
+went aside to get their umbrellas. Just then Marmaduke Lind entered the
+building, and halted in surprise at finding himself among so many
+acquaintances.
+
+“Hallo!” he cried, seizing Douglas’s hand, and attracting the attention
+of the bystanders by his boisterous tone. “Here you are again, old man!
+Delighted to see you. Didnt spot you at first, in the beard. George
+told me you were back. I met your mother in Knightsbridge last
+Thursday; but she pretended not to see me. How have you enjoyed
+yourself abroad, eh? Very much in the old style, I suppose?”
+
+“Thank you,” said Douglas. “I trust your people are quite well.”
+
+“Hang me if I know!” said Marmaduke. “I have not troubled them much of
+late. How d’ye do, Mrs. Leith Fairfax? How are all the celebrities?”
+Mrs. Fairfax bowed coldly.
+
+“Dont roar so, Marmaduke,” said Marian. “Everybody is looking at you.”
+
+“Everybody is welcome,” said Marmaduke, loudly. “Douglas: you must come
+and see me. By Jove, now that I think of it, come and see me, all of
+you. I am by myself on week-nights from six to twelve; and I should
+enjoy a housewarming. If Mrs. Leith Fairfax comes, it will be all
+proper and right. Let us have a regular party.”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax looked indignantly at him. Elinor looked round anxiously
+for Conolly. Marian, struck with the same fear, moved toward the door.
+
+“Here, Marmaduke,” she said, offering him her hand. “Good-bye. You are
+in one of your outrageous humors this afternoon.”
+
+“What am I doing?” he replied. “I am behaving myself perfectly. Let us
+settle about the party before we go.”
+
+“Good evening, Mr. Lind,” said Conolly, coming up to them with the
+umbrellas. “This is yours, I think, Mrs. Leith Fairfax.”
+
+“Good evening,” said Marmaduke, subsiding. “I——Well, you are all off,
+are you?”
+
+“Quite time for us, I think,” said Elinor. “Good-bye.”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, with a second and more distant bow, passed out with
+Conolly and Douglas. Elinor waited a moment to whisper to Marmaduke.
+
+“First rate,” said Marmaduke, in reply to the whisper; “and beginning
+to talk like one o’clock. Oh yes, I tell you!” He shook Elinor’s hand
+at such length in his gratitude for the inquiry that she was much
+relieved when a servant in livery interrupted him.
+
+“Missus wants to speak to you, sir, afore she goes,” said the man.
+
+Elinor shook her head at Marmaduke, and hurried away to rejoin the rest
+outside. As they went through the courtyard, they passed an open
+carriage, in which reclined a pretty woman with dark eyes and delicate
+artificial complexion. Her beauty and the elegance of her dress
+attracted their attention. Suddenly Marian became aware that Conolly
+was watching her as she looked at the woman in the carriage. She was
+about to say something, when, to her bewilderment, Elinor nudged her.
+Then she understood too, and looked solemnly at Susanna. Susanna,
+observing her, stared insolently in return, and Marian averted her head
+like a guilty person and hurried on. Conolly saw it all, and did not
+speak until they rejoined Mrs. Fairfax and Douglas in Piccadilly.
+
+“How do you propose to go home?” said Douglas.
+
+“Walk to St. James’s Street, where the carriage is waiting at the club;
+take Uncle Reginald with us; and drive home through the park,” said
+Elinor.
+
+“I will come with you as far as the club, if you will allow me,” said
+Douglas.
+
+Conolly then took leave of them, and stood still until they
+disappeared, when he returned to the courtyard, and went up to his
+sister’s carriage.
+
+“Well, Susanna,” said he. “How are you?”
+
+“Oh, there’s nothing the matter with me,” she replied carelessly, her
+eyes filling with tears, nevertheless.
+
+“I hear that I have been an uncle for some time past.”
+
+“Yes, on the wrong side of the blanket.”
+
+“What is its name?” he said more gravely.
+
+“Lucy.”
+
+“Is it quite well?”
+
+“I suppose not. According to Nurse, it is always ill.”
+
+Conolly shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into the cynical manner in
+which he had used to talk with his sister. “Tired of it already?” he
+said. “Poor little wretch!”
+
+“It is very well off,” she retorted, angrily: “a precious deal better
+than I was at its age. It gets petting enough from its father, heaven
+knows! He has nothing else to do. I have to work.”
+
+“You have it all your own way at the theatre now, I suppose. You are
+quite famous.”
+
+“Yes,” she said, bitterly. “We are both celebrities. Rather different
+from old times.”
+
+“We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. However, let us
+hope all that is over now.”
+
+“Who were those women who were with you a minute ago?”
+
+“Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss McQuinch.”
+
+“I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, she hasnt an idea to
+bless herself with. The other looks more of a devil. Now that you are a
+great man, why dont you marry a swell?”
+
+“I intend to do so.”
+
+“The Lord help her then!”
+
+“Amen. Good-bye.”
+
+“Oh, good-bye. Go on to Soho,” she added, to the coachman, settling
+herself fretfully on the cushions.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+On Monday morning Douglas received a note inviting him to lunch at Mr.
+Lind’s club. He had spent the greater part of the previous night
+composing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his pocket to St.
+James’s Street. Mr. Lind received him cordially; listened to an account
+of his recent stay abroad; and described his own continental
+excursions, both gentlemen expressing great interest at such
+coincidences as their having put up at the same hotel or travelled by
+the same line of railway. When luncheon was over, Mr. Lind proposed
+that they should retire to the smoking-room.
+
+“I should like to have a few words with you first, as we are alone
+here,” said Douglas.
+
+“Certainly,” said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity in anticipation of
+being appealed to as a parent. “Certainly, Sholto.”
+
+“What I have to say, coming so soon after my long absence, will
+probably surprise you. I had it in contemplation before my departure,
+and was only prevented from broaching it to you then by circumstances
+which have happily since lost their significance. When I tell you that
+my communication has reference to Marian, you will perhaps guess its
+nature.”
+
+“Indeed!” said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. “Well, Sholto, if it be
+so, you have my heartiest approval. You know what a lonely life her
+marriage will entail on me; so you will not expect me to consent
+without a few regrets. But I could not desire a better settlement for
+her. She must leave me some day. I have no right to complain.”
+
+“We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is in Marian’s nature
+to form many ties, but to break none.”
+
+“She is an amiable girl, my—my darling child. Does she know anything of
+this?”
+
+“I am here at her express request; and there remains to me the pleasure
+of getting her own final consent, which I would not press for until
+armed with your sanction.”
+
+Except for an involuntary hitch of his eyelids, Mr. Lind looked as if
+he believed perfectly in Douglas’s respect for his parental claims.
+“Quite right,” he said, “quite right. You have my best wishes. I have
+no doubt you will succeed: none. There are, of course, a few affairs to
+be settled—a few contingencies to be provided
+for—children—accidents—and so forth. No difficulty is likely to arise
+between us on that score; but still, these things have to be arranged.”
+
+“I propose a very simple method of arranging them. You are a man of
+honor, and more conversant with business than I. Give me your
+instructions. My lawyer shall have them within half an hour.”
+
+“That is said like a gentleman and a Douglas, Sholto. But I must
+consider before giving you an answer. You have thrown upon me the duty
+of studying your position as well as Marian’s; and I must neither abuse
+your generosity nor neglect her interest.”
+
+“You will, nevertheless, allow me to consider the conditions as
+settled, since I leave them entirely in your hands.”
+
+“My own means have been seriously crippled by the extravagance of
+Reginald. Indeed both my boys have cost me much money. I had not, like
+you, the good fortune to be an only son. I was the fourth son of a
+younger son: there was very little left for me. I will treat Marian as
+liberally as I can; but I fear I cannot do anything for her that will
+bear comparison with your munificence.”
+
+“Surely I can give her enough. I should prefer to be solely responsible
+for her welfare.”
+
+“Oh no. That would be too bad. Oh no, Sholto: I will give her
+something, please God.”
+
+“As you wish, Mr. Lind. We can arrange it to your satisfaction
+afterward. Do you intend returning to Westbourne Terrace soon?”
+
+“I am afraid not. I have to go into the City. If you would care to come
+with me, I can shew you the Company’s place there, and the working of
+the motor. It is well worth seeing. Then you can return with me to the
+Terrace and dine with us. After dinner you can talk to Marian.”
+
+Douglas consented; and they went to Queen Victoria Street, to a
+building which had on each doorpost a brass shield inscribed THE
+CONOLLY ELECTRO-MOTOR COMPANY OF LONDON, LIMITED. At the offices, on
+the first floor, they were received obsequiously and informed that Mr.
+Conolly was within. They then went to a door on which appeared the name
+of the inventor, and entered a handsomely furnished office containing
+several working models of machinery, and a writing-table, from his seat
+at which Conolly rose to salute his visitors.
+
+“Good evening, Mr. Lind. How do you do, Mr. Douglas?”
+
+“Oh!” said Mr. Lind. “You two are acquainted. I did not know that.”
+
+“Yes,” said Conolly, “I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Douglas at the
+Academy yesterday evening.”
+
+“Indeed? Marian did not mention that you were there. Well, can we see
+the wonders of the place, Mr. Conolly; or do we disturb you?”
+
+“Not at all,” replied Conolly, turning to one of the models, and
+beginning his showman’s lecture with disquieting promptitude.
+“Hitherto, as you are no doubt aware, Mr. Douglas, steam has kept
+electricity, as a motive power, out of the field; because it is much
+less expensive. Even induced magnetic currents, the cheapest known form
+of electric energy, can be obtained only by the use of steam power. You
+generate steam by the combustion of coal: electricity, without steam,
+can only be generated by the combustion of metals. Coal is much cheaper
+than metal: consider the vast amount of coal consumed in smelting
+metals. Still, electricity is a much greater force than steam: it’s
+stronger, so to speak. Sixpennorth of electricity would do more work
+than sixpennorth of steam if only you could catch it and hold it
+without waste. Up to the present the waste has been so enormous in
+electric engines as compared with steam engines that steam has held its
+own in spite of its inferior strength. What I have invented is, to put
+it shortly, an electric engine in which there is hardly any waste; and
+we can now pump water, turn mill-stones, draw railway trains, and lift
+elevators, at a saving, in fuel and labor, of nearly seventy per cent,
+of the cost of steam. And,” added Conolly, glancing at Douglas, “as a
+motor of six-horsepower can be made to weigh less than thirty pounds,
+including fuel, flying is now perfectly feasible.”
+
+“What!” said Douglas, incredulously. “Does not all trustworthy evidence
+prove that flying is a dream?”
+
+“So it did; because a combination of great power with little weight,
+such as an eagle, for instance, possesses, could not formerly be
+realized in a machine. The lightest known four-horse-power steam engine
+weighs nearly fifty pounds. With my motor, a machine weighing thirty
+pounds will give rather more than six-horse-power, or, in other words,
+will produce a wing power competent to overcome much more than its own
+gravity. If the Aeronautical Society does not, within the next few
+years, make a machine capable of carrying passengers through the air to
+New York in less than two days, I will make one myself.”
+
+“Very wonderful, indeed,” said Douglas, politely, looking askance at
+him.
+
+“No more wonderful than the flight of a sparrow, I assure you. We shall
+presently be conveyed to the top of this building by my motor. Here you
+have a model locomotive, a model steam hammer, and a sewing machine:
+all of which, as you see, I can set to work. However, this is mere
+show. You must always bear in mind that the novelty is not in the
+working of these machines, but the smallness of the cost of working.”
+
+Douglas endured the rest of the exhibition in silence, understanding
+none of the contrivances until they were explained, and not always
+understanding them even then. It was disagreeable to be instructed by
+Conolly—to feel that there were matters of which Conolly knew
+everything and he nothing. If he could have but shaped a pertinent
+question or two, enough to prove that he was quite capable of the
+subject if he chose to turn his attention to it, he could have accepted
+Conolly’s information on the machinery as indifferently as that of a
+policeman on the shortest way to some place that it was no part of a
+gentleman’s routine to frequent. As it was, he took refuge in his
+habitual reserve, and, lest the exhibition should be prolonged on his
+account, took care to shew no more interest in it than was barely
+necessary to satisfy Mr. Lind. At last it was over; and they returned
+westward together in a hansom.
+
+“He is a Yankee, I suppose,’” said Douglas, as if ingenuity were a low
+habit that must be tolerated in an American.
+
+“Yes. They are a wonderful people for that sort of thing. Curious turn
+of mind the mechanical instinct is!”
+
+“It is one with which I have no sympathy. It is generally subject to
+the delusion that it has a monopoly of utility. Your mechanic hates
+art; pelts it with lumps of iron; and strives to extinguish it beneath
+all the hard and ugly facts of existence. On the other hand, your
+artist instinctively hates machinery. I fear I am an artist.”
+
+“I dont think you are quite right there, Sholto. No. Look at the steam
+engine, the electric telegraph, the—the other inventions of the
+century. How could we get on without them?”
+
+“Quite as well as Athens got on without them. Our mechanical
+contrivances seem to serve us; but they are really mastering us,
+crowding and crushing the beauty out of our lives, and making commerce
+the only god.”
+
+“I certainly admit that the coarser forms of Radicalism have made
+alarming strides under the influence of our modern civilization. But
+the convenience of steam conveyance is so remarkable that I doubt if we
+could now dispense with it. Nor, as a consistent Liberal, a moderate
+Liberal, do I care to advocate any retrogression, even in the direction
+of ancient Greece.”
+
+Douglas was seized with a certain impatience of Mr. Lind, as of a
+well-mannered man who had never learned anything, and had forgotten all
+that he had been taught. He did not attempt to argue, but merely said,
+coldly: “I can only say that I wish Fate had made me an Athenian
+instead of an Englishman of the nineteenth century.”
+
+Mr. Lind smiled complacently: he knew Douglas, if not Athens, better,
+but was in too tolerant a humor to say so. Little more passed between
+the two until they reached Westbourne Terrace, where Marian and her
+cousin were dressing for dinner. When Marian came down, her beauty so
+affected Douglas that his voice was low and his manner troubled as he
+greeted her. He took her in to dinner, and sat in silence beside her,
+heedless alike of his host’s commonplaces and Miss McQuinch’s
+acridities.
+
+Mr. Lind unceremoniously took a nap after his wine that evening, and
+allowed his guest to go upstairs alone. Douglas hoped that Elinor would
+be equally considerate, but, to his disappointment, he found her by
+herself in the drawing-room. She hastened to explain.
+
+“Marian is looking for some music. She will be back directly.”
+
+He sat down and took an album from the table, saying: “Have you many
+new faces here?”
+
+“Yes. But we never discard old faces for new ones. It is the old ones
+that are really interesting.”
+
+“I have not seen this one of Mr. Lind before. It is capital. Ah! this
+of you is an old friend.”
+
+“Yes. What do you think of the one of Constance on the opposite page?”
+
+“She looks as if she were trying to be as lugubrious as possible. What
+dress is that? Is it a uniform?”
+
+“Yes. She joined a nursing guild. Didnt Mrs. Douglas tell you?”
+
+“I believe so. I forgot. She went into a cottage hospital or something
+of that kind, did she not?”
+
+“She left it because one of the doctors offended her. He was rather
+dreadful. He said that in two months she had contributed more to the
+mortality among the patients than he had in two years, and told her
+flatly that she had been trained for the drawing-room and ought to stay
+there. She was glad enough to have an excuse for leaving; for she was
+heartily sick of making a fool of herself.”
+
+“Indeed! Where is she now?”
+
+“Back at Towers Cottage, moping, I suppose. That’s Mr. Conolly the
+inventor, there under Jasper.”
+
+“So I perceive. Clever head, rather! A plain, hard nature, with no
+depths in it. Is that his wife, with the Swiss bonnet?”
+
+“His wife! Why, that is a Swiss girl, the daughter of a guide at
+Chamounix, who nursed Marian when she sprained her ankle. Mr. Conolly
+is not married.”
+
+“I thought men of his stamp always married early.”
+
+“No. He is engaged, and engaged to a lady of very good position.”
+
+“He owes that to the diseased craving of modern women for notoriety of
+any sort. What an admirable photograph of Marian! I never saw it
+before. It is really most charming. When was it taken?”
+
+“Last August, at Geneva. She does not like it—thinks it too
+coquettish.”
+
+“Then perhaps she will give it to me.”
+
+“She will be only too glad, I daresay. You have caught her at a soft
+moment to-night.”
+
+“I cannot find that duet anywhere,” said Marian, entering. “What! up
+already, Sholto? Where is papa?”
+
+“I left him asleep in the dining-room. I have just been asking Miss
+McQuinch whether she thought you would give me a copy of this carte.”
+
+“That Geneva one. It is most annoying how people persist in admiring
+it. It always looks to me as if it belonged to an assortment of popular
+beauties at one shilling each. I dont think I have another. But you may
+take that if you wish.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Douglas, drawing it from the book.
+
+“I think you have a copy of every photograph I have had taken in my
+life,” she said, sitting down near him, and taking the album. “I have
+several of yours, too. You must get one taken soon for me; I have not
+got you with your beard yet. I have a little album upstairs which Aunt
+Dora gave me on my eighth birthday; and the first picture in it is you,
+dressed in flannels, holding a bat, and looking very stern as captain
+of your eleven at Eton. I used to stand in great awe of you then. Do
+you remember telling me once that ‘Zanoni’ was a splendid book, and
+that I ought to read it?”
+
+“Pshaw! No. I must have been a young fool. But it seems that I had the
+grace even then to desire your sympathy.”
+
+“I assure you I read it most reverently down in Wiltshire, where Nelly
+kept a select library of fiction concealed underneath her mattress; and
+I believed every word of it. Nelly and I agreed that you were exactly
+like Zanoni; but she was hardly to blame; for she had never seen you.”
+
+“Things like that make deep impressions on children,” said Elinor,
+thoughtfully. “You were a Zanoni in my imagination for years before I
+saw you. When we first met you treated me insufferably. If you had
+known how my childish fancy had predisposed me to worship you, you
+might have vouchsafed me some more consideration, and I might have gone
+on believing you a demigod to the end of the chapter. I have hardly
+forgiven you yet for disenchanting me.”
+
+“I am sorry,” said Douglas sarcastically. “I must have been sadly
+lacking in impressiveness. But on the other hand I recollect that you
+did not disappoint me in the least. You fully bore out the expectations
+I had been led to form of you.”
+
+“I have no doubt I did,” said Elinor. “Yet I protest that my reputation
+was as unjust as yours. However, I have outlived my sensitiveness to
+this injustice, and have even contracted a bad habit of pretending to
+act up to it occasionally before foolish people. Marian: are you sure
+that duet is not on the sofa in my room?”
+
+“Oh, the sofa! I looked only in the green case.”
+
+“I will go and hunt it out myself. Excuse me for a few minutes.”
+
+Douglas was glad to see her go. Yet he was confused when he was alone
+with Marian. He strolled to the window, outside which the roof of the
+porch had been converted into a summer retreat by a tent of
+pink-striped canvass. “The tent is up already,” he said. “I noticed it
+as we came in.”
+
+“Yes. Would you prefer to sit there? We can carry out this little
+table, and put the lamp on it. There is just room for three chairs.”
+
+“We need not crowd ourselves with the table,” he said. “There will be
+light enough. We only want to talk.”
+
+“Very well,” said Marian, rising. “Will you give me that woolen thing
+that is on the sofa? It will do me for a shawl.” He placed it on her
+shoulders, and they went out.
+
+“I will sit in this corner,” said Marian. “You are too big for the
+campstool. You had better bring a chair. I am fond of sitting here.
+When the crimson shade is on the lamp, and papa asleep in its roseate
+glow, the view is quite romantic: there is something ecstatically snug
+in hiding here and watching it.” Douglas smiled, and seated himself as
+she suggested, near her, with his shoulder against the stone
+balustrade.
+
+“Marian,” said he, after a pause: “you remember what passed between us
+at the Academy yesterday?”
+
+“You mean our solemn league and covenant. Yes.”
+
+“Why did we not make that covenant before? Life is not so long, nor
+happiness so common, that we can afford to trifle away two years of it.
+I wish you had told me when I last came here of that old photograph of
+mine in your album.”
+
+“But this is not a new covenant. It is only an old one mended. We were
+always good friends until you quarrelled and ran away.”
+
+“That was not my fault, Marian.”
+
+“Then it must have been mine. However, it does not matter now.”
+
+“You are right. Prometheus is unbound now; and his despair is only a
+memory sanctifying his present happiness. You know why I called on your
+father this morning?”
+
+“It was to see the electro-motor in the city, was it not?”
+
+“Good Heavens, Marian!” he said, rising, “what spirit of woman or
+spirit of mischief tempts you to coquet with me even now?”
+
+“I really thought that was the reason—besides, of course, your desire
+to make papa amends for not having been to see him sooner after your
+return.”
+
+“Marian!” he said, still remonstrantly.
+
+She looked at him with sudden dread, and instinctively recognized the
+expression in his face.
+
+“You know as well as I,” he continued, “that I went to seek his consent
+to our solemn league and covenant, as you call it. If that covenant
+were written on your heart as it is on mine, you would not inflict on
+me this pretty petty torture. Your father has consented: he is
+delighted. Now may I make a guess at that happy secret you told me of
+yesterday, and promised I should know one day?”
+
+“Stop! Wait,” said Marian, very pale. “I must tell you that secret
+myself.”
+
+“Hush. Do not be so moved. Remember that your confession is to be
+whispered to me alone.”
+
+“Dont talk like that. It is all a mistake. My secret has nothing to do
+with you.” Douglas drew back a little way.
+
+“I am engaged to be married.”
+
+“What do you mean?” he said sternly, advancing a step and looking down
+menacingly at her with his hand on the back of his chair.
+
+“I have said what I mean,” replied Marian with dignity. But she rose
+quickly as soon as she had spoken, and got past him into the
+drawing-room. He followed her; and she turned and faced him in the
+middle of the room, paler than before.
+
+“You are engaged to _me_,” he said.
+
+“I am not,” she replied.
+
+“That is a lie!” he exclaimed, struggling in his rage to break through
+the strong habit of self-control. “It is a damnable lie; but it is the
+most cruel way of getting rid of me, and therefore the one most
+congenial to your heartlessness.”
+
+“Sholto,” said Marian, her cheeks beginning to redden: “you should not
+speak to me like that.”
+
+“I say,” he cried fiercely, “that it is a lie!”
+
+“Whats the matter?” said Elinor, coming hastily into the room.
+
+“Sholto has lost his temper,” said Marian, firmly, her indignation
+getting the better of her fear now that she was no longer alone with
+him.
+
+“It is a lie,” repeated Douglas, unable to shape a new sentence. Elinor
+and Marian looked at one another in perplexity. Then Mr. Lind entered.
+
+“Gently, pray,” said he. “You can be heard all through the house.
+Marian: what is the matter?”
+
+She did not answer; but Douglas succeeded, after a few efforts, in
+speaking intelligibly. “Your daughter,” he said, “with the assistance
+of her friend Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and a sufficient degree of direct
+assurance on her own part, has achieved the triumph of bringing me to
+her feet a second time, after I had unfortunately wounded her vanity by
+breaking her chains for two years.”
+
+“That is utterly false,” interrupted Marian, with excitement.
+
+“I say,” said Douglas, in a deeper tone and with a more determined
+manner, “that she set Mrs. Leith Fairfax on me with a tale of love and
+regret for my absence. She herself with her own lips deliberately
+invited me to seek your consent to our union. She caused you to write
+me the invitation I received from you this morning. She told me that my
+return realized a dream that had been haunting her for two years. She
+begged me to forgive her the past, and to write her a sonnet, of which
+she said she was at least more worthy than Clytemnestra, and of which I
+say she is at best less worthy than Cressida.” He took a paper from his
+pocket as he spoke; and, with a theatrical gesture, tore it into
+fragments.
+
+“This is very extraordinary,” said Mr. Lind irresolutely. “Is it some
+foolish quarrel, or what is the matter? Pray let us have no more
+unpleasantness.”
+
+“You need fear none from me,” said Douglas. “I do not propose to
+continue my acquaintance with Miss Lind.”
+
+“Mr. Douglas has proposed to marry me; and I have refused him,” said
+Marian. “He has lost his temper and insulted me. I think you ought to
+tell him to go away.”
+
+“Gently, Marian, gently. What am I to believe about this?”
+
+“What I have told you,” said Douglas, “I confirm _on my honor_, which
+you can weigh against the pretences of a twice perjured woman.”
+
+“Sholto!”
+
+“I have to speak plainly on my own behalf, Mr. Lind. I regret that you
+were not in a position this morning to warn me of your daughter’s
+notable secret.”
+
+“If it is a secret, and you are a gentleman, you will hold your
+tongue,” interposed Elinor, sharply.
+
+“Papa,” said Marian: “I became engaged yesterday to Mr. Conolly. I told
+Mr. Douglas this in order to save him from making me a proposal. That
+is the reason he has forgotten himself. I had not intended to tell you
+so suddenly; but this misunderstanding has forced me to.”
+
+“Engaged to Mr. Conolly!” cried Mr. Lind. “I begin to fear
+that——Enga——” He took breath, and continued, to Marian: “I forbid you
+to entertain any such engagement. Sholto: there is evidently nothing to
+be gained by discussing this matter in hot blood. It is some girlish
+absurdity—some—some—some—”
+
+“I apologize for having doubted the truth of the excuse,” said Douglas;
+“but I see that I have failed to gauge Miss Lind’s peculiar taste. I
+beg you to understand, Mr. Lind, that my pretensions are at an end. I
+do not aspire to the position of Mr. Conolly’s rival.”
+
+“You are already in the position of Mr. Conolly’s unsuccessful rival;
+and you fill it with a very bad grace,” said Elinor.
+
+“Pray be silent, Elinor,” said Mr. Lind. “This matter does not concern
+you. Marian: go to your room for the present. I shall speak to you
+afterwards.”
+
+Marian flushed, and repressed a sob. “I wish I were under _his_
+protection now,” she said, looking reproachfully at Douglas as she
+crossed the room.
+
+“What can you expect from a father but hostility?” said Elinor,
+bitterly. “You are a coward, like all your sex,” she added, turning to
+Douglas. Then she suddenly opened the door, and passed out through it
+with Marian, whilst the housemaids fled upstairs, the footman shrank
+into a corner of the landing, and the page hastily dragged the cook
+down to the kitchen.
+
+The two men, left together in the drawing-room, were for some moments
+quite at a loss. Then Mr. Lind, after a preliminary cough or two, said:
+“Sholto: I cannot describe to you how shocked I am by what I have just
+heard. I am deeply disappointed in Marian. I trusted her implicitly;
+but of course I now see that I have been wrong in allowing her so much
+liberty. Evidently a great deal has been going on of which I had not
+any suspicion.”
+
+Douglas said nothing. His resentment was unabated; but his rage,
+naturally peevish and thin in quality, was subsiding, though it surged
+back on him at intervals. But now that he no longer desired to speak
+passionately, he would not trust himself to speak at all. Suddenly Mr.
+Lind broke out with a fury that astonished him, preoccupied as he was.
+
+“This—this fellow must have had opportunities of thrusting himself into
+her society of which I knew nothing. I thought she barely knew him. And
+if I had known, could I have suspected her of intriguing with an
+ill-bred adventurer! Yes, I might: my experience ought to have warned
+me that the taint was in her blood. Her mother did the same thing—left
+the position I had given her to run away with a charlatan, disgracing
+me without the shadow of an excuse or reason except her own innate love
+for what was low. I thought Marian had escaped that. I was proud of
+her—placed un—unbounded confidence in her.”
+
+“She has struck me a blow,” said Douglas, “the infernal treachery——.”
+He checked himself, and after a moment resumed in his ordinary formal
+manner. “I must leave you, Mr. Lind. I am quite unable at present to
+discuss what has passed. Any conventional expressions of regret would
+be——Good-night.”
+
+He bowed and left the room. Mr. Lind, taken aback, did not attempt to
+detain him or even return his bow, but stood biting his lips with a
+frown of discomfiture and menace. When he was alone, he paced the room
+several times. Then he procured some writing materials and sat down
+before them. He wrote nothing, but, after sitting for some time, he
+went upstairs. Passing Marian’s room he listened. The sharp voice and
+restless movements of his niece were the only sounds he heard. They
+seemed to frighten him; for he stole on quickly to his own room, and
+went to bed. Even there he could hear a shrill note of conversation
+occasionally from the opposite room, where Marian was sitting on a
+sofa, trying to subdue the hysteria which had been gaining on her since
+her escape from the balcony; whilst Elinor, seated on the corner of a
+drawer which projected from the dressing-table, talked incessantly in
+her most acrid tones.
+
+“Henceforth,” she said, “Uncle Reginald is welcome to my heartiest
+detestation. I have been waiting ever since I knew him for an excuse to
+hate him; and now he has given me one. He has taken part—like a true
+parent—against you with a self-intoxicated fool whom he ought to have
+put out of the house. He has told me to mind my own business. I shall
+be even with him for that some day. I am as vindictive as an elephant:
+I hate people who are not vindictive: they are never grateful either,
+only incapable of any enduring sentiment. And Douglas! Sholto Douglas!
+The hero, the Newdigate poet, the handsome man! What a noble fellow he
+is when a little disappointment rubs his varnish off! I am glad I
+called him a coward to his face. I am thoroughly well satisfied with
+myself altogether: at last I have come out of a scene without having
+forgotten the right thing to say. You never see people in all their
+selfishness until they pretend to love you. See what you owe to your
+loving suitor, Sholto Douglas! See what you owe to your loving father,
+Reginald Lind!”
+
+“I do not think that my father should have told me to leave the room,”
+said Marian. “It was Sholto’s place to have gone, not mine.”
+
+“Mr. Lind, who has so suddenly and deservedly descended from ‘papa’ to
+‘my father,’ judiciously sided with the stronger and richer party.”
+
+“Nelly: I shall be as unhappy after this as even Sholto can desire. I
+feel very angry with papa; and yet I have no right to be. I suppose it
+is because I am in the wrong. I deceived him about the engagement.”
+
+“Bosh! You didnt tell him because you knew you couldnt trust him; and
+now you see how right you were.”
+
+“Even so, Nelly, I must not forget all his past care of me.”
+
+“What care has he ever taken of you? He was very little better
+acquainted with you than he was with me, when you came to keep house
+for him and make yourself useful. Of course, he had to pay for your
+board and lodging and education. The police would not have allowed him
+to leave you to the parish. Besides, he was proud of having a nice,
+pretty daughter to dispose of. You were quite welcome to be happy so
+long as you did not do anything except what he approved of. But the
+moment you claim your independence as a grown woman, the moment you
+attempt to dispose of yourself instead of letting him dispose of you!
+Bah! _I_ might have been _my_ father’s pet, if I had been a nonentity.
+As it was, he spared no pains to make me miserable; and as I was only a
+helpless little devil of a girl, he succeeded to his heart’s content.
+Uncle Reginald will try to do exactly the same to-morrow, he will come
+and bully you, instead of apologizing as he ought. See if he doesnt!”
+
+“If I had as much reason to complain of my childhood as you have,
+perhaps I should not feel so shocked and disappointed by his turning on
+me to-night. Surely, when he saw me attacked as I was, he ought to have
+come to my assistance.”
+
+“Any stranger would have taken your part. The footman would, if you had
+asked him. But then, James is not your father.”
+
+“It seems a very small thing to be bidden to leave the room. But I will
+never expose myself to a repetition of it.”
+
+“Quite right. But what do you mean to do? for, after all, though
+parental love is an imposition, parental authority is a fact.”
+
+“I will get married.”
+
+“Out of the frying pan into the fire! Certainly, if you are resolved to
+marry, the present is as good as another time, and more convenient. But
+there must be some legal formalities to go through. You cannot turn
+into the first church you meet, and be married off-hand.”
+
+“Ned must find out all that. I am sadly disappointed and disilluded,
+Nelly.”
+
+“Time will cure you as it does everybody; and you will be the better
+for being wiser. By the bye, what did Sholto mean about Mrs. Fairfax?”
+
+“I dont know.”
+
+“She has evidently been telling him a parcel of lies. Do you remember
+her hints about him yesterday at lunch? I have not the least doubt that
+she has told him you are frantically in love with him. She as good as
+told you the same about him.”
+
+“Oh! she is not capable of doing such a thing.”
+
+“Isnt she? We shall see.”
+
+“I dont know what to think,” said Marian, despondently. “I used to
+believe that both you and Ned thought too little of other people; but
+it seems now that the world is nothing but a morass of wickedness and
+falsehood. And Sholto, too! Who would have believed that he could break
+out in that coarse way? Do you remember the day that Fleming, the
+coachman, lost his temper with Auntie down at the Cottage. Sholto was
+exactly like that; not a bit more refined or dignified.”
+
+“Rather less so, because Fleming was in the right. Let us go to bed. We
+can do nothing to-night, but fret, and wish for to-morrow. Better get
+to sleep. Resentment does not keep me awake, I can vouch for that: I
+got well broken in to it when I was a child. I heard Uncle Reginald
+going to his room some time ago. I am getting sleepy, too, though I
+feel the better for the excitement.”
+
+“Very well. To bed be it,” said Marian. But she did not sleep at all as
+well as Nelly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Next morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter was astir, and went to
+his club, where he breakfasted. He then went to the offices in Queen
+Victoria Street. Finding the board-room unoccupied, he sat down there,
+and said to one of the clerks:
+
+“Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to him, if he is
+disengaged. And if anyone wants to come in, say that I am busy here. I
+do not wish to be disturbed for half an hour or so.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” said the clerk, departing. A minute later, he returned, and
+said: “Mr. Conly is disengaged; and he says will you be so good as to
+come to his room, sir.”
+
+“I told you to ask him to come here,” said Mr. Lind.
+
+“Well, thats what he said, sir,” said the clerk, speaking in official
+Board School English. “Shloy gow to him and tell him again?”
+
+“No, no: it does not matter,” said Mr. Lind, and walked out through the
+office. The clerk held the door open for him, and carefully closed it
+when he had passed through.
+
+“Ow, oy sy!” cried the clerk. “This is fawn, this is.”
+
+“Wots the row?” said another clerk.
+
+“Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to him into the
+board-room. ‘Aw right,’ says Conly, ‘awsk him to cam in eah to me.’ You
+should ’a seen the owld josser’s feaches wnoy towld im. ‘Oyd zoyred jou
+to sy e was to cam in eah to me.’ ‘Shloy gow and tell him again?’ I
+says, as cool as ennything. ‘Now,’ says he, ‘Oil gow myself.’ Thets wot
+Aw loike in Conly. He tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owver
+im.”
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly’s room; returned his greeting by a
+dignified inclination of the head; and accepted, with a cold “Thank
+you,” the chair offered him. Conolly, who had received him cordially,
+checked himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind lost
+countenance a little. Then Conolly sat down, and waited.
+
+“Ahem!” said Mr. Lind. “I have to speak to you with—with reference
+to—to a—a matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. It would
+be painful and unnecessary—quite unnecessary, to go into particulars.”
+
+Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. Mr. Lind began
+to feel very angry, but this helped him to the point.
+
+“I merely wish—that is, I quite wish you to understand that any
+intimacy that may have arisen between you and—and a member of my family
+must—must, in short, be considered to be at an end. My daughter is—I
+may tell you—engaged to Mr. Sholto Douglas, whom you know; and
+therefore—you understand.”
+
+“Mr. Lind,” said Conolly, decisively: “your daughter is engaged to me.”
+
+Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, “I beg you will not
+repeat that, either here or elsewhere.”
+
+“Pray be seated,” said Conolly courteously.
+
+“I have nothing more to say, sir.”
+
+Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, and seemed to
+wait for his visitor to go.
+
+“We understand one another, I presume,” said Mr. Lind, dubiously.
+
+“Not quite, I think,” said Conolly, relenting. “I should suggest our
+discussing the matter in full, now that we have a favorable
+opportunity—if you will be so good.”
+
+Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, “I am quite willing to
+listen to you.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Conolly. “Will you tell me what your objections are
+to my engagement with your daughter?”
+
+“I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and knowledge of the world
+would have rendered an explanation superfluous.”
+
+“They havnt,” said Conolly.
+
+Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. “Oh, Mr. Conolly, I assure you I
+have no objection to explain myself: none whatever. I merely wished to
+spare you as far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what I
+think you must be perfectly well aware of, I can only say that from the
+point of view of English society our positions are different; and
+therefore an engagement between you and any member of my family is
+unsuitable, and—in short—out of the question, however advantageous it
+might be to you. That is all.”
+
+Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, and leaned back in
+his chair more confidently. Conolly smiled and shook his head,
+appreciative of the clearness with which Mr. Lind had put his case, but
+utterly unmoved by it. He considered for a moment, and then said,
+weighing his words carefully:
+
+“Your daughter, with her natural refinement and delicate habits, is
+certainly not fit to be married to a foul-mouthed fellow, ignorant,
+dirty, besotted, and out of place in any company except at the bar in a
+public house. That is probably your idea of a workman. But the fact of
+her having consented to marry me is a proof that I do not answer to any
+such description. As you have hinted, it will be an advantage to me in
+some ways to have a lady for my wife; but I should have no difficulty
+in purchasing that advantage, even with my present means, which I
+expect to increase largely in the course of some years. Do you not
+underrate your daughter’s personal qualities when you assume that it
+was her position that induced me to seek her hand?”
+
+“I am quite aware of my daughter’s personal advantages. They are
+additional reasons against her contracting an imprudent marriage.”
+
+“Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage with me be
+imprudent? I possess actual competence, and a prospect of wealth. I
+come of a long lived and healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison,
+more widely known than yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now find myself
+everywhere treated with a certain degree of consideration, which an
+alliance with your daughter will not diminish.”
+
+“In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my family by
+condescending to marry into it?”
+
+“I dont understand that way of looking at things, Mr. Lind; and so I
+leave you to settle the question of honor as you please. But you must
+not condemn me for putting my position in the best possible light in
+order to reconcile you to an inevitable fact.”
+
+“What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?”
+
+“My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will take place.”
+
+“But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think to ignore me in
+the matter?”
+
+“Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be glad for the sake
+of Marian, who will be gratified by it. But if you withhold it, we must
+dispense with it. By opposing us, you will simply—by making Marian’s
+home unbearable to her—precipitate the wedding.” Conolly, under the
+influence of having put the case neatly, here relaxed his manner so far
+as to rest his elbows on the table and look pleasantly at his visitor.
+
+“Do you know to whom you are speaking?” said Mr. Lind, driven by rage
+and a growing fear of defeat into desperate self-assertion.
+
+“I am speaking,” said Conolly with a smile, “to my future
+father-in-law.”
+
+“I am a director of this company, of which you are the servant, as you
+shall find to your cost if you persist in holding insulting language to
+me.”
+
+“If I found any director of this company allowing other than strictly
+business considerations to influence him at the Board, I should insist
+on his resigning.”
+
+Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, then unsteadily,
+without moving him in the least. At last he said, more humbly: “I hope
+you will not abuse your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether
+you have sufficient influence over Marian to induce her to defy me; but
+however that may be, I appeal to your better feelings. Put yourself in
+my place. If you had an only daughter——”
+
+“Excuse my interrupting you,” said Conolly, gently; “but that will not
+advance the argument unless you put yourself in mine. Besides, I am
+pledged to Marian. If she asks me to break off the match, I shall
+release her instantly.”
+
+“You will bind yourself to do that?”
+
+“I cannot help myself. I have no more power to make her marry me than
+you have to prevent her.”
+
+“I have the authority of a parent. And I must tell you, Mr. Conolly,
+that it will be my duty to enlighten my poor child as to the effect a
+union with you must have on her social position. You have made the most
+of your celebrity and your prospects. She may be dazzled for the
+moment; but her good sense will come to the rescue yet, I am
+convinced.”
+
+“I have certainly spared no pains to persuade her. Unless the habit of
+her childhood can induce Marian to defer to your prejudice—you must
+allow me to call it so: it is really nothing more—she will keep her
+word to me.”
+
+Mr. Lind winced, recollecting how little his conduct toward Marian
+during her childhood was calculated to accustom her to his influence.
+“It seems to me, sir,” he said, suddenly thinking of a new form of
+reproach, “that, to use your own plain language, you are nothing more
+or less than a Radical.”
+
+“Radicalism is not considered a reproach amongst workmen,” said
+Conolly.
+
+“I shall not fail to let her know the confidence with which you boast
+of your power over her.”
+
+“I have simply tried to be candid with you. You know exactly how I
+stand. If I have omitted anything, ask me, and I will tell you at
+once.”
+
+Mr. Kind rose. “I know quite as much as I care to know,” he said. “I
+distinctly object to and protest against all your proceedings, Mr.
+Conolly. If my daughter marries you, she shall have neither my
+countenance in society nor one solitary farthing of the fortune I had
+destined for her. I recommend the latter point to your attention.”
+
+“I have considered it carefully, Mr. Lind; and I am satisfied with what
+she possesses in her own right.”
+
+“Oh! You have ascertained _that_, have you?”
+
+“I should hardly have proposed to marry her but for her entire
+pecuniary independence of me.”
+
+“Indeed. And have you explained to her that you wish to marry her for
+the sake of securing her income?”
+
+“I have explained to her everything she ought to know, taking care, of
+course, to have full credit for my frankness.”
+
+Mr. Lind, after regarding him with amazement for a moment, walked to
+the door.
+
+“I am a gentleman,” he said, pausing there for a moment, “and too
+old-fashioned to discuss the obligations of good breeding with a
+Radical. If I had believed you capable of the cynical impudence with
+which you have just met my remonstrances, I should have spared myself
+this meeting. Good-morning.”
+
+“Good-morning,” said Conolly, gravely. When the door closed, he sprang
+up and walked to and fro, chuckling, rubbing his hands, and
+occasionally uttering a short laugh. When he had sufficiently relieved
+himself by this exercise, he sat down at his desk, and wrote a note.
+
+“The Conolly Electro-Motor Company of London, Limited. Queen Victoria
+Street, E.C.
+    “This is to let your ever-radiant ladyship know that I am fresh
+    from an encounter with your father, who has retired in great wrath,
+    defeated, but of opinion that he deserved no better for arguing
+    with a Radical. I thought it better to put forth my strength at
+    once so as to save future trouble. I send this post haste in order
+    that you may be warned in case he should go straight home and scold
+    you. I hope he will not annoy you much.—E.C.”
+
+
+Having despatched the office boy to Westbourne Terrace with this
+letter, Conolly went off to lunch. Mr. Lind went back to his club, and
+then to Westbourne Terrace, where he was informed that the young ladies
+were together in the drawing-room. Some minutes later, Marian,
+discussing Conolly’s letter with Elinor, was interrupted by a servant,
+who informed her that her father desired to see her in his study.
+
+“Now for it, Marian!” said Nelly, when the servant was gone. “Remember
+that you have to meet the most unreasonable of adversaries, a parent
+asserting his proprietary rights in his child. Dont be sentimental.
+Leave that to him: he will be full of a father’s anguish on discovering
+that his cherished daughter has feelings and interests of her own.
+Besides, Conolly has crushed him; and he will try to crush you in
+revenge.”
+
+“I wish I were not so nervous,” said Marian. “I am not really afraid,
+but for all that, my heart is beating very unpleasantly.”
+
+“I wish I were in your place,” said Elinor. “I feel like a charger at
+the sound of the trumpet.”
+
+“I am glad, for poor papa’s sake, that you are not,” said Marian, going
+out.
+
+She knocked at the study door; and her father’s voice, as he bade her
+come in, impressed her more than ever before. He was seated behind the
+writing-table, in front of which a chair was set for his daughter. She,
+unaccustomed from her childhood to submit to any constraint but that
+which the position of a guest, which she so often occupied, had trained
+her to impose on herself, was rather roused than awed by this
+magisterial arrangement. She sat down with less than her usual grace of
+manner, and looked at him with her brows knitted. It was one of the
+rare moments in which she reminded him of her mother. An angry impulse
+to bid her not dare look so at him almost got the better of him.
+However, he began prudently with a carefully premeditated speech.
+
+“It is my duty, Marian,” he said gravely, “to speak of the statement
+you made last night. We need not allude to the painful scene which took
+place then: better let that rest and be forgotten as soon as possible.
+But the discovery of what you have been doing without my knowledge has
+cost me a sleepless night and a great deal of anxiety. I wish to reason
+with you now quite calmly and dispassionately; and I trust you will
+remember that I am older and have far more experience of the world than
+you, and that I am a better judge of your interests than you yourself
+can possibly be. Ahem! I have been this morning to the City, where I
+saw Mr. Conolly, and endeavored to make him understand the true nature
+of his conduct toward me—and, I may add, toward you—in working his way
+clandestinely into an intimacy with you. I shall not describe to you
+what passed; but I may say that I have found him to be a person with
+whom you could not hope for a day’s happiness. Even apart from his
+habits and tastes, which are those of a mere workman, his social (and,
+I fear, his religious) views are such as no lady, no properly-minded
+woman of any class, could sympathize with. You will be better able to
+judge of his character when I tell you that he informed me of his
+having taken care, before making any advances to you, to ascertain how
+much money you had. He boasted in the coarsest terms of his complete
+influence over you, evidently without a suspicion of the impression of
+venality and indelicacy which his words were calculated to make on me.
+Besides, Marian, I am sure you would not like to contract a marriage
+which would give me the greatest pain; which would offend my family;
+and which would have the effect of shutting you out from all good
+society.”
+
+“You are mistaken in him, papa.”
+
+“I beg you will allow me to finish, Marian. [He had to think for a
+moment before he could substantiate this pretence of having something
+more to say.] I have quite made up my mind, from personal observation
+of Mr. Conolly, that even an ordinary acquaintance between you is out
+of the question. I, in short, refuse to allow anything of the kind to
+proceed; and I must ask you to respect my wishes in the matter. There
+is another subject which I will take this opportunity of mentioning;
+but as I have no desire to force your inclinations, I shall not press
+you for a declaration of your feelings at present. Sholto Douglas——”
+
+“I do not want to hear _anything_ about Sholto Douglas,” said Marian,
+rising.
+
+“I expect you, Marian, to listen to what I have to say.”
+
+“On that subject I will not listen. I have felt very sore and angry
+ever since you told me last night to leave the room when Sholto
+insulted me, as if I were the aggressor.”
+
+“Angry! I am sorry to hear you say so to me.”
+
+“It is better to say so than to think so. There is no use in going on
+with this conversation, papa. It will only lead to more bitterness
+between us; and I had enough of that when I tasted it for the first
+time last night. We shall never agree about Mr. Conolly. I have
+promised to marry him; and therefore I am not free to withdraw, even if
+I wished to.”
+
+“A promise made by you without my sanction is not binding. And—listen
+to me, if you please—I have obtained Mr. Conolly’s express assurance
+that if you wish to withdraw, he is perfectly willing that you should.”
+
+“Of course, he would not marry me if I did not wish it.”
+
+“But he is willing that you should withdraw. He leaves you quite free.”
+
+“Yes; and, as you told me, he is quite confident that I will keep faith
+with him; and so I will. I have had a letter from him since you saw
+him.”
+
+“What!” said Mr. Lind, rising also.
+
+“Dont let us quarrel, papa,” said Marian, appealingly. “Why may I not
+marry whom I please?”
+
+“Who wants to prevent you, pray? I have most carefully abstained from
+influencing you with regard to Sholto Douglas. But this is a totally
+different question. It is my duty to save you from disgracing
+yourself.”
+
+“Where is the disgrace? Mr. Conolly is an eminent man. I am not poor,
+and can afford to marry anyone I can respect. I can respect him. What
+objection have you to him? I am sure he is far superior to Sholto.”
+
+“Mr. Douglas is a gentleman, Marian: Mr. Conolly is not; and it is out
+of the question for you to ally yourself with a—a member of the
+proletariat, however skilful he may be in his handicraft.”
+
+“What _is_ a gentleman, papa?”
+
+“A gentleman, Marian, is one who is well born and well bred, and who
+has that peculiar tone and culture which can only be acquired by
+intercourse with the best society. I think you should know that as well
+as I. I hope you do not put these questions from a desire to argue with
+me.”
+
+“I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no harm in arguing
+when one is not convinced.”
+
+“Humph! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I am sure that you
+will not take any step calculated to inflict pain on me—at least an act
+of selfishness on your part would be a new and shocking experience for
+me.
+
+“That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You give me no good
+reason for breaking my word, and making myself unhappy; and yet you
+accuse me of selfishness in not being ready to do both.”
+
+“I think I have already given you my assurance, weighted as it is by my
+age, my experience, my regard for your welfare, and, I hope, my
+authority as a parent, that both your honor and happiness will be
+secured by your obeying me, and forfeited by following your own
+headstrong inclinations.”
+
+Marian, almost crushed by this, hesitated a moment, twisting her
+fingers and looking pitiably at him. Then she thought of Conolly;
+rallied; and said: “I can only say that I am sorry to disagree with
+you; but I am not convinced.”
+
+“Do you mean that you refuse to obey me?”
+
+“I cannot obey you in this matter, papa. I—”
+
+“That is enough,” said Mr. Lind, gravely, beginning, to busy himself
+with the writing materials. Marian for a moment seemed about to protest
+against this dismissal. Then she checked herself and went out of the
+room, closing the door quite quietly behind her, thereby unconsciously
+terrifying her father, who had calculated on a slam.
+
+“Well,” said Elinor, when her cousin rejoined her in the drawing-room:
+“have you been selfish and disobedient? Have you lacerated a father’s
+heart?”
+
+“He is thoroughly unfair,” said Marian. “However, it all comes to this:
+he is annoyed at my wanting to marry Ned: and I believe there will be
+no more peace for me until I am in a house of my own. What shall we do
+in the meantime? Where shall we go? I cannot stay here.”
+
+“Why not? Uncle Reginald will sulk; sit at dinner without speaking to
+us; and keep out of our way as much as he can. But you can talk to me:
+we neednt mind him. It is he who will be out in the cold, biting his
+nose to vex his face. Such a state of things is new to you; but I have
+survived weeks of it without a single sympathizer, and been none the
+worse, except, perhaps, in temper. He will pretend to be inexorable at
+first: then he will come down to wounded affection; and he will end by
+giving in.”
+
+“No, Nelly, I couldnt endure that sort of existence. If people cannot
+remain friends they should separate at once. I will not sleep in this
+house to-night.”
+
+“Hurrah!” cried Miss McQuinch. “That will be beginning the war with
+spirit. If I were in your place, I would stay and fight it out at close
+quarters. I would make myself so disagreeable that nobody can imagine
+what life in this house would be. But your plan is the best—if you
+really mean it.”
+
+“Certainly I mean it. Where shall we go, Nelly?”
+
+“Hm! I am afraid none of the family would make us very comfortable
+under the circumstances, except Marmaduke. It would be a splendid joke
+to go to West Kensington; only it would tell as much against us and Ned
+as against the Roman father. I have it! We will go to Mrs. Toplis’s in
+St. Mary’s Terrace: my mother always stays there when she is in town.
+Mrs. Toplis knows us: if she has a room to spare she will give it to us
+without making any bother.”
+
+“Yes, that will do. Are you ready to come now?”
+
+“If you can possibly wait five minutes I should like to put on my hat
+and change my boots. We will have to come back and pack up when we have
+settled about the room. We cannot go without clothes. I should like to
+have a nightdress, at least. Have you any money?”
+
+“I have the housekeeping money; but that, of course, I shall not take.
+I have thirty pounds of my own.”
+
+“And I have my old stocking, which contains nearly seventeen. Say fifty
+in round numbers. That will keep us going very comfortably for a
+month.”
+
+“Ridiculous! It will last longer than that. Oh!”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“We mustnt go, after all. I forgot _you_.”
+
+“What of me?”
+
+“Where will you go when I am married? You cant live by yourself; and
+papa may not welcome you back if you take my part against him.”
+
+“He would not, in any case; so it makes no difference to me. I can go
+home if the worst comes to the worst. It does not matter: my present
+luxurious existence must come to an end some time or another, whether
+we go to Mrs. Toplis’s or not.”
+
+“I am sure Ned will not object to your continuing with me, if I ask
+him.”
+
+“No, poor fellow! He wont object—at first; but he might not like it.
+You have no right to inflict me on him. No: I stick to my resolution on
+that point. Send for the carriage. It is time for us to be off; and
+Mrs. Toplis will be more impressed if we come in state than if we
+trudge afoot.”
+
+“Hush,” said Marian, who was standing near the window. “Here is George,
+with a face full of importance.”
+
+“Uncle Reginald has written to him,” said Elinor.
+
+“Then the sooner we go, the better,” said Marian.
+
+“I do not care to have the whole argument over again with George.”
+
+As they passed through the hall on their way out they met the
+clergyman.
+
+“Well, George,” said Elinor, “how are the heathen getting on in
+Belgravia? You look lively.”
+
+“Are you going out, Marian,” he said, solemnly, disregarding his
+cousin’s banter.
+
+“We are going to engage a couple of rooms for some errant members of
+the family,” said Elinor. “May we give you as a reference?”
+
+“Certainly. I may want to speak to you before I go, Marian. When will
+you return?”
+
+“I do not know. Probably we shall not be long. You will have plenty of
+opportunities, in any case.”
+
+“Will you walk into the study, please, sir,” said the parlormaid.
+
+The Rev. George was closeted with his father for an hour. When he came
+out, he left the house, and travelled by omnibus to Westbourne Grove,
+whence he walked to a house in Uxbridge Road. Here he inquired for Mr.
+Conolly, and, learning that he had just come in, sent up a card. He was
+presently ushered into a comfortable room, with a pleasant view of the
+garden. A meal of tea, wheatcakes, and fruit was ready on the table.
+Conolly greeted his visitor cordially, and rang for another cup. The
+Rev. George silently noted that his host dined in the middle of the day
+and had tea in the evening. Afraid though as he was of Conolly, he felt
+strengthened in his mission by these habits, quite out of the question
+for Marian. The tea also screwed up his courage a little; but he talked
+about the electro-motor in spite of himself until the cloth was
+removed, when Conolly placed two easy chairs opposite one another at
+the window; put a box of cigarets on a little table close at hand; and
+invited his visitor to smoke. But as it was now clearly time to come to
+business, the cigaret was declined solemnly. So Conolly, having settled
+himself in an easy attitude, waited for the clergyman to begin. The
+Rev. George seemed at a loss.
+
+“Has your father spoken to you about an interview he had with me this
+morning?” said Conolly, good-naturedly helping him out.
+
+“Yes. That, in fact, is one of the causes of my visit.”
+
+“What does he say?”
+
+“I believe he adheres to the opinion he expressed to you. But I fear he
+may not have exhibited that self-control in speaking to you which I
+fully admit you have as much right to expect as anyone else.”
+
+“It does not matter. I can quite understand his feeling.”
+
+“It does matter—pardon me. We should be sorry to appear wanting in
+consideration for you.”
+
+“That is a trifle. Let us keep the question straight before us. We need
+make no show of consideration for one another. I have shown none toward
+your family.”
+
+“But I assure you our only desire is to arrange everything in a
+friendly spirit.”
+
+“No doubt. But when I am bent on doing a certain thing which you are
+equally bent on preventing, no very friendly spirit is possible except
+one of us surrender unconditionally.”
+
+“Hear me a moment, Mr. Conolly. I have no doubt I shall be able to
+convince you that this romantic project of my sister’s is out of the
+question. Your ambition—if I may say so without offence—very naturally
+leads you to think otherwise; but the prompting of self-interest is not
+our safest guide in this life.”
+
+“It is the only guide I recognize. If you are going to argue the
+question, and your arguments are to prevail, they must be addressed to
+my self-interest.”
+
+“I cannot think you quite mean that, Mr. Conolly.”
+
+“Well, waive the point for the present: I am open to conviction. You
+know what my mind is. I have not changed it since I saw your father
+this morning. You think I am wrong?”
+
+“Not wrong. I do not say for a moment that you are wrong. I——”
+
+“Mistaken. Ill-advised. Any term you like.”
+
+“I certainly believe that you are mistaken. Let me urge upon you first
+the fact that you are causing a daughter to disobey her father. Now
+that is an awful fact. May I—appealing to that righteousness in which I
+am sure you are not naturally deficient—ask you whether you have
+reflected on that fact?”
+
+“It is not half so awful to me as the fact of a father forcing his
+daughter’s inclinations. However, awful is hardly the word for the
+occasion. Let us come to business, Mr. Lind. I want to marry your
+sister because I have fallen in love with her. You object. Have you any
+other motive than aristocratic exclusiveness?”
+
+“Indeed, you quite mistake. I have no such feeling. We are willing to
+treat you with every possible consideration.”
+
+“Then why object?”
+
+“Well, we are bound to look to her happiness. We cannot believe that it
+would be furthered by an unsuitable match. I am now speaking to you
+frankly as a man of the world.”
+
+“As a man of the world you know that she has a right to choose for
+herself. You see, our points of view are different. On Sundays, for
+instance, you preach to a highly privileged audience at your church in
+Belgravia; whilst I lounge here over my breakfast, reading _Reynold’s
+Newspaper_. I have not many social prejudices. Although a workman, I
+dont look on every gentleman as a bloodsucker who seizes on the fruits
+of my labor only to pursue a career of vice. I will even admit that
+there are gentlemen who deserve to be respected more than the workmen
+who have neglected all their opportunities—slender as they are—of
+cultivating themselves a little. You, on the other hand, know that an
+honest man’s the noblest work of God; that nature’s gentlemen are the
+only real gentlemen; that kind hearts are more than coronets, and
+simple faith than Norman blood, and so forth. But when your approval of
+these benevolent claptraps is brought to such a practical test as the
+marriage of your sister to a workman, you see clearly enough that they
+do not establish the suitability of personal intercourse between
+members of different classes. That being so, let us put our respective
+philosophies of society out of the question, and argue on the facts of
+this particular case. What qualifications do you consider essential in
+a satisfactory brother-in-law?”
+
+“I am not bound to answer that; but, primarily, I should consider it
+necessary to my sister’s happiness that her husband should belong to
+the same rank as she.”
+
+“You see you are changing your ground. I am not in the same rank—after
+your sense—as she; but a moment ago you objected to the match solely on
+the ground of unsuitability.”
+
+“Where is the difference?” said the clergyman, with some warmth. “I
+have not changed my ground at all. It is the difference in rank that
+constitutes the unsuitability.
+
+“Let us see, then, how far you are right—how far suitability is a
+question of rank. A gentleman may be, and frequently is, a drunkard, a
+gambler, a libertine, or all three combined.”
+
+“Stay, Mr. Conolly! You show how little you understand the only true
+significance——”
+
+“One moment, Mr. Lind. You are about to explain away the term gentleman
+into man of honor, honest man, or some other quite different thing. Let
+me put a case to you. I have a fellow at Queen Victoria Street working
+for thirty shillings a week, who is the honestest man I know. He is as
+steady as a rock; supports all his wife’s family without complaining;
+and denies himself beer to buy books for his son, because he himself
+has experienced what it is to be without education. But he is not a
+gentleman.”
+
+“Pardon me, sir. He is a true gentleman.”
+
+“Suppose he calls on you to-morrow, and sends up his name with a
+request for an interview. You wont know his name; and the first
+question you will put to your servant is ‘What sort of person is he?’
+Suppose the servant knows him, and, sharing your professed opinion of
+the meaning of the word, replies ‘He is a gentleman!’ On the strength
+of that you will order him to be shewn in; and the moment you see him
+you will feel angry with your servant for deceiving you completely as
+to the sort of man you were to expect by using the word gentleman in
+what you call its true sense. Or reverse the case. Suppose the caller
+is your cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, and your high-principled servant by
+mistaking the name or how not, causes you to ask the same question with
+respect to him. The answer will be that Mr. Marmaduke—being a scamp—is
+not a gentleman. You would be just as completely deceived as in the
+other case. No, Mr. Lind, you might as well say that this workman of
+mine is a true lord or a true prince as a true gentleman. A gentleman
+may be a rogue; and a knifegrinder may be a philosopher and
+philanthropist. But they dont change their ranks for all that.”
+
+The clergyman hesitated. Then he said timidly, “Even admitting this
+peculiar view of yours, Mr. Conolly, does it not tell strongly against
+yourself in the present instance?”
+
+“No; and I will presently shew you why not. When we digressed as to the
+meaning of the word gentleman, we were considering the matter of
+suitability. I was saying that a gentleman might be a drunkard, or,
+briefly, a scoundrel. A scoundrel would be a very unsuitable husband
+for Marian—I perceive I annoy you by calling her by her name.”
+
+“N—no. Oh, no. It does not matter.”
+
+“Therefore gentility alone is no guarantee of suitability. The only
+gentlemanliness she needs in a husband is ordinary good address,
+presentable manners, sense enough to avoid ridiculous solecisms in
+society, and so forth. Marian is satisfied with me on these points; and
+her approval settles the question finally. As to rank, I am a skilled
+workman, the first in my trade; and it is only by courtesy and
+forbearance that I suffer any man to speak of my class as inferior.
+Take us all, professions and trades together; and you will find by
+actual measurement round the head and round the chest, and round our
+manners and characters, if you like, that we are the only genuine
+aristocracy at present in existence. Therefore I meet your objection to
+my rank with a point-blank assertion of its superiority. Now let us
+have the other objections, if there _are_ any others.”
+
+The clergyman received this challenge in silence. Then, after clearing
+his throat uneasily twice, he said:
+
+“I had hoped, Mr. Conolly, to have been able to persuade you on general
+grounds to relinquish your design. But as you are evidently not within
+reach of those considerations which I am accustomed to see universally
+admitted, it becomes my painful duty to assure you that a circumstance,
+on the secrecy of which you are relying, is known to me, and, through
+me, to my father.”
+
+“What circumstance is that?”
+
+“A circumstance connected with Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whom you mentioned
+just now. You understand me, I presume?”
+
+“Oh! you have found that out?”
+
+“I have. It only remains for me to warn my sister that she is about to
+contract a close relationship with one who is—I must say it—living in
+sin with our cousin.”
+
+“What do you suppose will be the result of that?”
+
+“I leave you to imagine,” said the clergyman indignantly, rising.
+
+“Stop a bit. You do not understand me yet, I see. You have said that my
+views are peculiar. What if I have taken the peculiar view that I was
+bound to tell Marian this before proposing to her, and have actually
+told her?”
+
+“But surely—That is not very likely.”
+
+“The whole affair is not very likely. Our marriage is not likely; but
+it is going to happen, nevertheless. She knows this circumstance
+perfectly well. You told her yourself.”
+
+“I! When?”
+
+“The year before last, at Carbury Towers. It is worth your
+consideration, too, that by mistrusting Marian at that time, and
+refusing to give her my sister’s address, you forced her to appeal to
+me for help, and so advanced me from the position of consulting
+electrician to that of friend in need. She knew nothing about my
+relationship to the woman in a state of sin (as you call it), and
+actually deputed me to warn your cousin of the risk he was running by
+his intimacy with her. Whilst I was away running this queer errand for
+her, she found out that the woman was my sister, and of course rushed
+to the conclusion that she had inflicted the deepest pain on me. Her
+penitence was the beginning of the sentimental side of our
+acquaintance. Had you recognized that she was a woman with as good a
+right as you to know the truth concerning all matters in this world
+which she has to make her way through, you would have answered her
+question, and then I suppose I should have gone away without having
+exchanged a word with her on any more personal matters than induction
+coils and ohms of resistance; and in all probability you would have
+been spared the necessity of having me for a brother-in-law.”
+
+“Well, sir,” said the Rev. George dejectedly, “if what you say be true,
+I cannot understand Marian, I can only grieve for her. I shall not
+argue with you on the nature of the influence you have obtained over
+her. I shall speak to her myself; since you will not hear me.”
+
+“That is hardly fair. I have heard you, and am willing to hear more, if
+you have anything new to urge.”
+
+“You have certainly listened to my voice, Mr. Conolly. But I fear I
+have used it to very little purpose.”
+
+“You will fail equally with Marian, believe me. Even I, whose ability
+to exercise influence you admit, never obtained the least over my own
+sister. She knew me too well on my worst side and not at all on my
+best. If, as I presume, your father has tried in vain, what hope is
+there for you?”
+
+“Only my humble trust that a priest may be blessed in his appeal to
+duty even where a father’s appeal to natural affection has been
+disregarded.”
+
+“Well, well,” said Conolly, kindly, rising as his visitor
+disconsolately prepared to go, “you can try. _I_ got on by dint of
+dogged faith in myself.”
+
+“And I get on by lowly faith in my Master. I would I could imbue you
+with the same feeling!”
+
+Conolly shook his head; and they went downstairs in silence. “Hallo!”
+said he, as he opened the door, “it is raining. Let me lend you a
+coat.”
+
+“Thank you, no. Not at all. Good-night,” said the clergyman, quickly,
+and hastened away through the rain from Conolly’s civilities.
+
+When he arrived at Westbourne Terrace, there was a cab waiting before
+the house. The door was opened to him by Marian’s maid, who was dressed
+for walking.
+
+“Master is in the drawing-room, sir, with Miss McQuinch,” she said,
+meaning, evidently, “Look out for squalls.”
+
+He went upstairs, and found Elinor, with her hat on, standing by the
+pianoforte, with battle in her nostrils. Mr. Lind, looking perplexed
+and angry, was opposite to her.
+
+“George,” said Mr. Lind, “close the door. Do you know the latest news?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Marian has run away!”
+
+“Run away!”
+
+“Yes,” said Miss McQuinch. “She has fled to Mrs. Toplis’s, at St.
+Mary’s Terrace, with—as Uncle Reginald was just saying—a most dangerous
+associate.”
+
+“With—?”
+
+“With _me_, in short.”
+
+“And you have counselled her to take this fatal step?”
+
+“No. I advised her to stay. But she is not so well used to domestic
+discomfort as I am; so she insisted on going. We have got very nice
+rooms: you may come and see us, if you like.”
+
+“Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant humor?” said the
+Rev. George, indignantly. “I think the spectacle of a wrecked home—”
+
+“Stuff!” interrupted Elinor, impatiently. “What else can I say? Uncle
+Reginald tells me I have corrupted Marian, and refuses to believe what
+I tell him. And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you have
+driven her away. If you want to see her, she is within five minutes
+walk of you. It is you who have wrecked her home, not she who has
+wrecked yours.”
+
+“There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George,” said Mr. Lind, with
+the air of a man who had tried it. “You had better go to Marian, and
+tell her what you mentioned this afternoon. What has been the result of
+your visit?”
+
+“He maintains that she knows everything,” said the Rev. George, with a
+dispirited glance at Elinor. “I fear my visit has been worse than
+useless.”
+
+“It is impossible that she should know. He lies,” said Mr. Lind. “Go
+and tell her the truth, George; and say that I desire her—I order
+her—to come back at once. Say that I am waiting here for her.”
+
+“But, Uncle Reginald,” began Elinor, in a softer tone than before,
+whilst the clergyman stood in doubt—
+
+“I think,” continued Mr. Lind, “that I must request you, Elinor, to
+occupy the rooms you have taken, until you return to your parents. I
+regret that you have forced me to take this step; but I cannot continue
+to offer you facilities for exercising your influence over my daughter.
+I will charge myself with all your expenses until you go to Wiltshire.”
+
+Elinor looked at him as if she despaired of his reason. Then, seeing
+her cousin slowly going to the door, she said:
+
+“You dont really mean to go on such a fool’s errand to Marian, George?”
+
+“Elinor!” cried Mr. Lind.
+
+“What else is it?” said Elinor. “You asserted all your authority
+yourself this morning, and only made matters worse. Yet you expect her
+to obey you at second hand. Besides, she is bound in honor not to
+desert _me_ now; and I will tell her so, too, if I see any sign of her
+letting herself be bullied.”
+
+“I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say to her,” said the
+clergyman.
+
+“If you are coming,” said Elinor, “you had better come in my cab.
+Good-night, Uncle Reginald.”
+
+“Stay,” said Mr. Lind, irresolutely. “Elinor, I—you—Will you exercise
+your influence to induce Marian to return? I think you owe me at least
+so much.”
+
+“I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her marriage and let
+her do as she likes. But if you can give her no better reason for
+returning than that she can be more conveniently persecuted here than
+at St. Mary’s Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter
+how I may influence her.”
+
+“If she is resolved to quarrel with me, I cannot help it,” said Mr.
+Lind, pettishly.
+
+“You know very well that she is the last person on earth to quarrel
+with anyone.”
+
+“She has been indulged in every way. This is the first time she has
+been asked to sacrifice her own wishes.”
+
+“To sacrifice her whole life, you mean. It is the first time she has
+ever hesitated to sacrifice her own comfort, and therefore the first
+time you are conscious that any sacrifice is required. Let me tell her
+that you will allow her to take her own course, Uncle Reginald. He is
+well enough off; and they are fond of one another. A man of genius is
+worth fifty men of rank.”
+
+“Tell her, if you please, Elinor, that she must choose between Mr.
+Conolly and me. If she prefers him, well and good: I have done with
+her. That is my last word.”
+
+“So now she has nobody to turn to in the world except him. That is
+sensible. Come, cousin George! I am off.”
+
+“I do not think I should do any good by going,” said the clergyman.
+
+“Then stay where you are,” said Elinor. “Good-night.” And she abruptly
+left the room.
+
+“It was a dreadful mistake ever to have allowed that young fury to
+enter the house,” said Mr. Lind. “She must be mad. What did _he_ say?”
+
+“He said a great deal in attempted self-justification. But I could make
+no impression on him. We have no feelings in common with a man of his
+type. No. He is evidently bent on raising himself by a good marriage.”
+
+“We cannot prevent it.”
+
+“Oh, surely we——”
+
+“I tell you we _cannot_ prevent it,” repeated Mr. Lind, turning angrily
+upon his son. “How can we? What can we do? She will marry
+this—this—this—this beggar. I wish to God I had never seen her mother.”
+
+The clergyman stood by, cowed, and said nothing.
+
+“You had better go to that woman of Marmaduke’s,” continued Mr. Lind,
+“and try whether she can persuade her brother to commute his interest
+in the company, and go back to America, or to the devil. I will take
+care that he gets good terms, even if I have to make them up out of my
+own pocket. If the worst comes, _she_ must be persuaded to leave
+Marmaduke. Offer her money. Women of that sort drive a hard bargain;
+but they have their price.”
+
+“But, sir, consider my profession. How can I go to drive a bargain with
+a woman of evil reputation?”
+
+“Well, I must go myself, I suppose.”
+
+“Oh, no. I will go. Only I thought I would mention it.”
+
+“A clergyman can go anywhere. You are privileged. Come to breakfast in
+the morning: we can talk over matters then.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+One morning the Rev. George Lind received a letter addressed in a
+handwriting which he did not remember and never thenceforth forgot.
+Within the envelope he found a dainty little bag made of blue satin,
+secured by ribbons of the same material. This contained a note written
+on scented paper, edged with gold, and decorated with a miniature
+representation of a _pierrot_, sitting cross-legged, conning a book, on
+the open pages of which appeared the letters L.V. The clergyman
+recognized the monogram no more than the writing. But as it was
+evidently from a lady, he felt a pleasant thrill of expectation as he
+unfolded the paper.
+
+“Laurel Grove West Kensington
+“Wednesday
+
+
+“Dear Mr. George
+    “I have made poor little Lucy believe that Kew is the most heavenly
+    place on earth to spend a May morning so Bob has had to promise to
+    row her down there to-morrow (Thursday) after breakfast and I shall
+    be at home alone from eleven to one this is very short notice I
+    know but opportunities are scarce and another might not present
+    itself for a month.
+    “Believe me Dear Mr. George
+
+
+“Yours sincerely
+Lalage Virtue.”
+
+
+The Rev. George became thoughtful, and absently put the note in a
+little rack over the mantelpiece. Then, recollecting that a prying
+servant or landlady might misinterpret it, he transferred it to his
+pocket. After breakfast, having satisfied himself before the mirror
+that his dress was faultless, and his expression saintly, he went out
+and travelled by rail from Sloane Square to West Kensington, whence he
+walked to Laurel Grove. An elderly maid opened the gate. It was a rule
+with the Rev. George not to look at strange women; and this morning the
+asceticism which he thought proper to his office was unusually
+prominent in his thoughts. He did not look up once while the maid
+conducted him through the shrubbery to the house; and he fully believed
+that he had not seen at the first glance that she was remarkably plain,
+as Susanna took care that all her servants should be. Passing by the
+drawing-room, where he had been on a previous occasion, they went on to
+a smaller apartment at the back of the house.
+
+“What room is this?” he asked, uneasily.
+
+“Missus’s Purjin bodoor, sir,” replied the main.
+
+She opened the door; and the clergyman, entering, found himself in a
+small room, luxuriously decorated in sham Persian, but containing
+ornaments of all styles and periods, which had been purchased and
+introduced just as they had caught Susanna’s fancy. She was seated on a
+ottoman, dressed in wide trousers, Turkish slippers, a voluminous sash,
+a short Greek jacket, a long silk robe with sleeves, and a turban, all
+of fine soft materials and rare colors. Her face was skilfully painted,
+and her dark hair disposed so as not to overweight her small head. The
+clergyman, foolishly resisting a natural impulse to admire her, felt
+like St. Anthony struggling with the fascination of a disguised devil.
+He responded to her smile of welcome by a stiff bow.
+
+“Sit down,” she said. “You mustnt mind this absurd dress: it belongs to
+a new piece I am studying. I always study in character. It is the only
+way to identify myself with my part, you see.”
+
+“It seems a very magnificent dress, certainly,” said the clergyman,
+nervously.
+
+“Thank you for the compliment——”
+
+“No, no,” said he, hastily. “I had no such intention.”
+
+“Of course not,” said Susanna, with a laugh. “It was merely an
+unpremeditated remark: all compliments are, of course. I know all about
+that. But do you think it a proper costume?”
+
+“In what sense, may I ask?”
+
+“Is it a correct Eastern dress? I am supposed to be one of the wives of
+the Caliph Somebody al Something. You have no idea how difficult it is
+to get a reliable model for a dress before laying out a heap of money
+on it. This was designed in Paris; but I should like to hear it
+criticized—chronologically, or whatever you call it—by a scholar.”
+
+“I really do not know, Madam. I am not an Orientalist; and my studies
+take a widely different direction from yours.”
+
+“Yes, of course,” said Susanna, with a sigh. “But I assure you I often
+wish for your advice, particularly as to my elocution, which is very
+faulty. You are such a master of the art.”
+
+The clergyman bowed in acceptance of the compliment, and began to take
+heart; for to receive flattery from ladies in exchange for severe
+reproof was part of his daily experience.
+
+“I have come here,” he said, “to have a very serious conversation with
+you.”
+
+“All right, Doctor. Fire away.”
+
+This sudden whim of conferring on him a degree in divinity, and her
+change of manner—implying that she had been laughing at him
+before—irritated him. “I presume,” he said, “that you are acquainted
+with the movements of your brother.”
+
+“Of Ned?” said Susanna, frowning a little. “No. What should I know
+about him?”
+
+“He is, I believe, about to be married.”
+
+“No!” screamed Susanna, throwing herself back, and making her bangles
+and ornaments clatter. “Get out, Doctor. You dont mean it.”
+
+“Certainly I mean it. It is not my profession to jest. I must also tell
+you that his marriage will make it quite impossible for you to continue
+here with my cousin.”
+
+“Why? Who is he going to marry?”
+
+“Ahem! He has succeeded in engaging the affections of my sister.”
+
+“What! Your sister? Marian Lind?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Susanna uttered a long whistle, and then, with a conviction and
+simplicity which prevented even the Rev. George from being shocked,
+said: “Well, I _am_ damned! I know more than one fool of a girl who
+will be sick and sorry to hear it.” She paused, and added carelessly:
+“I suppose all your people are delighted?”
+
+“I do not know why you should suppose so. We have had no hand in the
+matter. My sister has followed her own inclinations.”
+
+“Indeed! Let me tell you, young man, that your sister might have gone
+farther and fared worse.”
+
+“Doubtless. However, you will see now how impossible it is that you
+should remain in your present—that you should continue here, in fact.”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“You cannot,” said the clergyman, accustomed to be bold and stern with
+female sinners, “when you are sister-in-law to Miss Lind, live as you
+are now doing with her cousin.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“Because it would be a scandal. I will say nothing at present of the
+sin of it: you will have to account for that before a greater than I.”
+
+“Just so, Doctor. You dont mind the sin; but when it comes to a
+scandal——!”
+
+“I did not say so. I abhor the sin. I have prayed earnestly for your
+awakening, and shall do so in spite of the unregenerate hardness of
+heart——”
+
+“Hallo, Doctor! draw it mild, if you please. I am not one of your
+parishioners, you know. Perhaps that is the reason your prayers for me
+have not met with much attention. Let us stick to business: you may
+talk shop as much as you please afterwards. What do you want me to do?”
+
+“To sever your connexion with Marmaduke at once. Believe me, it will
+not prove so hard a step as it may seem. You have but to ask for
+strength to do it, and you will find yourself strong. It will profit
+you even more than poor Marmaduke.”
+
+“Will it? I dont see it, Doctor. You think it will profit _you_: thats
+plain enough. But it wont profit me; it wont profit Bob; and it wont by
+any means profit the child.”
+
+“Not immediately, perhaps, in a worldly sense——”
+
+“That is the sense I mean. Drop all that other stuff: I dont believe in
+you parsons: you are about the worst lot going, as far as I can see.
+Just tell me this, Doctor. Your sister is a very nice girl, I have no
+doubt: she would hardly have snapped up Ned if she wasn’t. But why is
+she to have everything her own way?”
+
+“I do not understand.”
+
+“Well, listen. Here is a young woman who has had every chance in life
+that hick could give her: silk cradles, gold rattles, rank, wealth,
+schooling, travelling, swell acquaintances, and anything else she chose
+to ask for. Even when she is fool enough to want to get married, her
+luck sticks to her, and she catches Ned, who is a man in a
+thousand—though Lord forbid we should have many of his sort about! Yet
+she’s not satisfied. She wants _me_ to give up my establishment just to
+keep her family in countenance.”
+
+“She knows nothing of my visit, I assure you.”
+
+“Even if she doesnt, it makes no odds as to the facts. She can go her
+own way; and I will go mine. I shant want to visit her; and I dont
+suppose she will visit me. So she need trouble herself no more than if
+there was no such person as I in the world.”
+
+“But you will find that it will be greatly to your advantage to leave
+this house. It is not our intention that you shall suffer in a
+pecuniary point of view by doing so. My father is rich——”
+
+“What is that to me? He doesnt want me to go and live with him, does
+he?”
+
+“You quite misunderstand me. No such idea ever entered——”
+
+“There! go on. I only said that to get a rise out of you, Doctor. How
+do you make out that I should gain by leaving this house?”
+
+“My father is willing to make you some amends for the withdrawal of
+such portion of Marmaduke’s income as you may forfeit by ceasing your
+connexion with him.”
+
+“You have come to buy me out, in fact: is that it? What a clever old
+man your father must be! Knows the world thoroughly, eh?”
+
+“I hope I have not offended you?”
+
+“Bless you, Doctor! nobody could be offended with you. Suppose I agree
+to oblige you (you have a very seductive High Church way about you) who
+is to make Marmaduke amends for such portion of _my_ income as our
+separation will deprive _him_ of? Eh? I see that that staggers you a
+little. If you will just tot up the rent of this house since we have
+had it; the price of the furniture; our expenses, including my carriage
+and Marmaduke’s horse and the boat; six hundred pounds of debt that he
+ran up before he settled down with me; and other little things; and
+then find out from his father how much money he has drawn within the
+last two years, I think you will find it rather hard to make the two
+balance. Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke money to
+spend on me; but he was not too good to keep me playing in the
+provinces all through last autumn just to make both ends meet, when I
+ought to have been taking my holiday. I wish you would tell his mother,
+your blessed pious Aunt Dora, to send Bob the set of diamonds his
+grandmother left him, instead of sermons which he never reads.”
+
+“I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, independently of his
+father.”
+
+“A thousand a year! What is that? And your uncle would stop even that,
+if he could, to keep it out of my hands. You may tell him that if it
+didnt come into my hands it would hardly last a week. Only for the
+child, and the garden, and the sort of quiet life he leads here, he
+would spend a thousand a month. And look at _my_ expenses! Look at my
+dresses! I suppose you think that people wear cotton velvet and glazed
+calico on the stage, as Mrs. Siddons did in the old days when they
+acted by candlelight. Why, between dress and jewellery, I have about
+two hundred pounds on my back at the present moment; and you neednt
+think that any manager alive will find dresses to that tune. At the
+theatre they think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they
+might shut up the house to-morrow if my name was taken out of the
+bills. Tell your father that so far from my living on Bob, it is as
+much as I can do to keep this place going by my work—not to mention the
+worry of it, which always falls on the woman.”
+
+“I certainly had no idea of the case being as you describe,” said the
+clergyman, losing his former assurance. “But would it not then be
+better for you to separate?”
+
+“Certainly not. I want my house and home. So does he. If an income is
+rather tight, halving it is a very good way to make it tighter. No: if
+I left Bob, he would go to the devil; and very likely I should go to
+the devil, too, and disgrace you in earnest.”
+
+“But, my dear madam, consider the disgrace at present!”
+
+“What disgrace? When your sister becomes Mrs. Ned, what will be the
+difference between her position and mine? Dont look aghast. What will
+be the difference?”
+
+“Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense with the sacrament of
+marriage before casting in her lot with your brother!”
+
+“I bet you my next week’s salary that you dont get Ned to enter a
+church. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of course, your sister will
+have the law of him somehow: she cant help herself. She is not
+independent; and so she must be guaranteed against his leaving her
+without bread and butter. _I_ can support myself, and may shew Bob a
+clean pair of heels to-morrow, if I choose. Even if she has money of
+her own, she darent stick to her freedom for fear of society. _I_ snap
+my fingers at society, and care as little about it as it cares about
+me; and I have no doubt she would be glad to do the same if she had the
+pluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a regular legal bargain of
+going to live with a man. I dont care to make love a matter of money;
+it gives it a taste of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to
+be honorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. George’s,
+Hanover Square, before we came to live here; but, of course, I refused,
+as any decent woman in my circumstances would. Understand me now,
+Doctor: I dont want to give myself any virtuous airs, or to boast of
+behaving better than your sister. I know the world; and I know that she
+will marry Ned just as much because she thinks it right as because she
+cant help herself. But dont you try to make me swallow any gammon about
+my disgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I am. I can respect
+myself; and I dont care whether you or your family respect me or not.
+If you dont approve of me, why! nobody asks you to associate with me.
+If you want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If I want it, I
+can fill this house to-morrow. Not with stupid fine ladies, but with
+really clever people, who are not at all shy of me. Look at me at the
+present moment! I am receiving a morning visit from the best born and
+most popular parson in Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, what your
+parishioners would think if they could see you now.”
+
+“I must confess that I do not understand you at all. You seem to see
+everything reversed—upside down. You—I—you bewilder me, Miss Conol—”
+
+“Sh! Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or you may call me
+Susanna, if you like, since we are as good as related.”
+
+“I fear,” said the clergyman, blushing, “that we have no common ground
+on which to argue. I am sorry I have no power to influence you.”
+
+“Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and would do more for
+you than most people. If your father had had the cheek to come himself
+to offer me money, and so forth, I would have put him out of the house
+double quick; whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. Never mind
+your hat yet. Have a bottle of champagne with me?”
+
+“Thank you, no.”
+
+“Dont you drink at all?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“You should. It would give a fillip to your sermons. Let me send you a
+case of champagne. Promise to drink a bottle every Sunday in the vestry
+before you come out to preach, and I will take a pew for the season in
+your church. Thats good of me, isnt it?”
+
+“I must go,” said the Rev. George, rising, after hastily pretending to
+look at his watch. “Will you excuse me?”
+
+“Nonsense,” she said, rising also, and slipping her hand through his
+arm to detain him. “Wait and have some luncheon. Why, Doctor, I really
+think youre afraid of me. _Do_ stay.”
+
+“Impossible. I have much business which I am bound——Pray, let me go,”
+pleaded the clergyman, piteously, ineffectually struggling with
+Susanna, who had now got his arm against her breast. “You must be mad!”
+he cried, drops of sweat breaking out on his brow as he felt himself
+being pulled helplessly toward the ottoman. She got her knee on it at
+last; and he made a desperate effort to free himself.
+
+“Oh, how rough you are!” she exclaimed in her softest voice, adroitly
+tumbling into the seat as if he had thrown her down, and clinging to
+his arms; so that it was as much as he could do to keep his feet as he
+stooped over her, striving to get upright. At which supreme moment the
+door was opened by Marmaduke, who halted on the threshold to survey the
+two reproachfully for a moment. Then he said:
+
+“George: I’m astonished at you. I have not much opinion of parsons as a
+rule; but I really did think that _you_ were to be depended on.”
+
+“Marmaduke,” said the clergyman, colouring furiously, and almost beside
+himself with shame and anger: “you know perfectly well that I am
+actuated in coming here by no motive unworthy of my profession. You
+misunderstand what you have seen. I will not hear my calling made a
+jest of.”
+
+“Quite right, Doctor,” said Susanna, giving him a gentle pat of
+encouragement on the shoulder. “Defend the cloth, always. I was only
+asking him to stay to lunch, Bob. Cant you persuade him?”
+
+“Do, old fellow,” said Marmaduke. “Come! you must: I havnt had a chat
+with you for ever so long. I’m really awfully sorry I interrupted you.
+What on earth did you make Susanna rig herself out like that for?”
+
+“Hold your tongue, Bob. Mr. George has nothing to do with my being in
+character. This is what came last night in the box: I could not resist
+trying it on this morning. I am Zobeida, the light of the harem, if you
+please. I must have your opinion of the rouge song, Doctor. Observe.
+This is a powder puff: I suppose you never saw such a thing before. I
+am making up my face for a visit of the Sultan; and I am apologizing to
+the audience for using cosmetics. The original French is improper; so I
+will give you the English version, by the celebrated Robinson, the
+cleverest adapter of the day:
+
+‘Poor odalisques in captive thrall
+Must never let their charms pall:
+    If they get the sack
+    They ne’er come back;
+For the Bosphorus is the boss for all
+In this harem, harem, harem, harem, harum scarum place.’
+
+
+Intellectual, isnt it?”
+
+Susanna, whilst singing, executed a fantastic slow dance, stopping at
+certain points to clink a pair of little cymbals attached to her
+ankles, and to look for a moment archly at the clergyman.
+
+“No,” he said, hurt and offended into a sincerity of manner which
+compelled them to respect him for the first time, “I will not stay; and
+I am very sorry I came.” And he left the room, his cheeks tingling.
+Marmaduke followed him to the gate. “Come and look us up soon again,
+old fellow,” he said.
+
+“Marmaduke,” said the clergyman: “you are travelling as fast as you can
+along the road to Hell.”
+
+As he hurried away, Marmaduke leaned against the gate and made the
+villas opposite echo his laughter.
+
+“On my soul, it’s a shame,” said he, when he returned to the house.
+“Poor old George!”
+
+“He found no worse than he had made up his mind to find,” said Susanna.
+“What right has he to come into my house and take it for granted, to my
+face, that I am a disgrace to his sister? One would think I was a
+common woman from the streets.”
+
+“Pshaw! What does he know? He is only a molly-coddling parson, poor
+fellow. He will give them a rare account of you when he goes back.”
+
+“Let him,” said Susanna. “He can tell them how little I care for their
+opinion, anyhow.”
+
+The Rev. George took the next train to the City, and went to the
+offices of the Electro-Motor Company, where he found his father. They
+retired together to the board-room, which was unoccupied just then.
+
+“I have been to that woman,” said the clergyman.
+
+“Well, what does she say?”
+
+“She is an entirely abandoned person. She glories in her shame. I have
+never before met with such an example of complete and unconscious
+depravity. Yet she is not unattractive. There is a wonderfully clever
+refinement even in her coarseness which goes far to account for her
+influence over Marmaduke.”
+
+“No doubt; but apart from her personal charms, about which I am not
+curious, is she willing to assist us?”
+
+“No. I could make no impression on her at all.”
+
+“Well, it cannot be helped. Did you say anything about Conolly’s
+selling his interest here and leaving the country?”
+
+“No,” said the clergyman, struck with a sense of remissness. “I forgot
+that. The fact is, I hardly had the oppor——”
+
+“Never mind. It is just as well that you did not: it might have made
+mischief.”
+
+“I do not think it is of the least use to pursue her with any further
+overtures. Besides, I really could not undertake to conduct them.”
+
+“May I ask,” said Mr. Lind, turning on him suddenly, “what objection
+you have to Marian’s wishes being consulted in this matter?”
+
+The Rev. George recoiled, speechless.
+
+“I certainly think,” said Mr. Lind, more smoothly, “that Marian might
+have trusted to my indulgence instead of hurrying away to a lodging and
+writing the news in all directions. But I must say I have received some
+very nice letters about it. Jasper is quite congratulatory. The _Court
+Journal_ has a paragraph this week alluding to it with quite good
+taste. Conolly is a very remarkable man; and, as the _Court Journal_
+truly enough remarks, he has won a high place in the republic of art
+and science. As a Liberal, I cannot say that I disapprove of Marian’s
+choice; and I really think that it will be looked on in society as an
+interesting one.”
+
+Mr. Lind’s son eyed him dubiously for quite a long time. Then he said,
+slowly, “Am I to understand that I may now speak of the marriage as a
+recognized thing?”
+
+“Why not, pray?”
+
+“Of course, since you wish it, and it cannot be helped—” The clergyman
+again looked at his father, still more dubiously. He saw in his eye
+that there would be a quarrel if the interview lasted much longer. So
+he said “I must go home now. I have to write my sermon for next
+Sunday.”
+
+“Very good. Do not let me detain you. Good-bye.”
+
+The Rev. George returned to his rooms quite dazed by the novelty of his
+sensations. He had always respected his father beyond other men; and
+now he knew that his father did not deserve his respect in the least.
+That was one conviction uprooted. And Susanna had done something to
+him—he did not exactly know what; but he felt altogether a different
+man from the clergyman of the day before. He had come face to face with
+what he called Vice for the first time, and found it not at all what he
+had supposed it to be. He had believed that he knew it to be most
+dangerously attractive to the physical, but utterly repugnant to the
+moral sense; and such fascination he was prepared to resist to the
+utmost. But he was attacked in just the opposite way, and thereby so
+thrown off his guard that he did not know he was attacked at all; so
+that he told himself vaingloriously that the shafts of the enemy had
+fallen harmlessly from his breastplate of faith. For he was not in the
+least charmed by Susanna’s person. He had detected the paint on her
+cheeks, and had noted with aversion a certain unhealthy bloat in her
+face, and an alcoholic taint in her breath. He exulted in the
+consciousness that he had been genuinely disgusted, not as a matter of
+duty, but unaffectedly, as a matter of simple nature. What interested
+him in her was her novel and bold moral attitude, her self-respect in
+the midst of her sin, her striking arguments in favor of an apparently
+indefensible course of life. Hers was no common case of loose living,
+he felt: there was a soul to be saved there, if only Heaven would raise
+her up a friend in some man absolutely proof against the vulgar
+fascination of her prettiness. He began to imagine a certain greatness
+of character about her, a capacity for heroic repentance as well as for
+heroic sin. Before long he was amusing himself by thinking how it might
+have gone with her if she had him for her counsellor instead of a gross
+and thoughtless rake like Marmaduke.
+
+It is not necessary to follow the wild goose chase which the Rev.
+George’s imagination ran from this starting-point to the moment when he
+was suddenly awakened, by an unmistakable symptom, to the fact that he
+was being outwitted and beglamoured, like the utter novice he was, by a
+power which he believed to be the devil. He rushed to the little
+oratory he had arranged with a screen in the corner of his
+sitting-room, and prayed aloud, long and earnestly. But the hypnotizing
+process did not tranquilize him as usual. It excited him, and led him
+finally to a passionate appeal for pardon and intercession to a statuet
+of the Virgin Mother, of whom he was a very devout adorer. He had
+always regarded himself as her especial champion in the Church of
+England; and now he had been faithless to her, and indelicate into the
+bargain. And yet, in spite of his contrition, he felt that he was
+having a tremendous spiritual experience, which he would not for worlds
+have missed. The climax of it was the composition of his Sunday sermon,
+the labor of which secured him a sound sleep that night. It was duly
+delivered on the following Sunday morning in this form:
+
+“Dearly beloved Brethren: In the twenty-third verse of the third
+chapter of St. Mark’s gospel, we find this question: ‘_How can Satan
+cast out Satan_?’ How can Satan cast out Satan? If you will read what
+follows, you will perceive that that question was not answered. My
+brethren, it is unanswerable: it never has been, and it never can be
+answered.
+
+“In these latter days, when the power of Satan has become so vast, when
+his empire and throne tower in our midst so that the faithful are cast
+down by the exceeding great shadow thereof, and when temples
+innumerable are open for his worship, it is no strange thing that many
+faint-hearted ones should give half their hearts to Beelzebub, and
+should hope by the prince of devils to cast out devils. Yes, this is
+what is taking place daily around us. Oh, you, who seek to excuse this
+book to infidel philosophers by shewing with how much facility a glib
+tongue may reconcile it with their so-called science, I tell you that
+it is science and not the Bible that shall need that apology in the
+great day of wrath. And, therefore, I would have you, my brethren,
+earnestly discountenance all endeavors to justify the Word of God by
+explaining it in conformity with the imaginations of the men of
+science. How can Satan cast out Satan? He cannot; but he can lead you
+into the sin of adding to and of taking from the words of this book. He
+can add plagues unto you, and take away your part out of the holy city.
+
+“In this great London which we inhabit we are come upon evil day’s. The
+rage of the blasphemer, the laugh at the scoffer, the heartless
+lip-service of the worldling, and the light dalliance of the daughters
+of music, are offered every hour upon a thousand Baal-altars within
+this very parish. I would ask some of you who spend your evenings in
+the playhouses which multiply around us like weeds sown in the rank
+soil of human frailty, what justification you make to yourselves when
+you are alone in the watches of the night, and your conscience saith,
+‘_What went ye out for to see_?’ You will then complain of the
+bitterness of life, and prate of the refining influences of music; of
+the help to spiritual-mindedness given by the exhibition on the public
+stage of mockeries of God’s world, wherein some pitiful temporal
+triumph of simulated virtue in the last act is the apology for the
+vicious trifling that has gone before. And in whom do you there see
+typified that virtue which you should shield in your hearts from the
+contamination of the theatre? Is it not in some woman whose private
+life is the scandalous matter of your whispered conversations, and
+whose shameless face smirks at you from the windows of those
+picture-shops which are a disgrace to our national morality? Is it from
+such as she that you will learn to be spiritual-minded? Does she appear
+before your carnal crowds repentant, her forehead covered with ashes,
+her limbs covered with sackcloth? No! Her brow is glowing with
+unquenchable fire to kindle the fuel that the devil has hidden in your
+hearts. Her raiment is cloth of gold; and she is not covered with it.
+Naked and unashamed, she smiles and weeps in mockery of the virtue
+which you would persuade yourselves that she represents to you. Will
+you learn spiritual-mindedness from the sight of her eyes, from the
+sound of her mouth, from the measure of her steps, or from the music
+and the dancing that cease not within the doors of her temple? How can
+Satan cast out Satan? Whom think ye to deceive by whitening the
+sepulchre? Is it yourselves? The devil has blinded you already. Is it
+God? Who shall hide anything from Him? I tell you that he who makes the
+pursuit of virtue a luxury, and takes refuge from sin, not before the
+altar, but in the playhouse, is casting out devils by Beelzebub, the
+prince of the devils.
+
+“As I look about me in this church; I see many things intended to give
+pleasure to the carnal eye. Were the cost of all these dainty robes,
+this delicate headgear, these clouds of silk, of satin, of lace, and of
+sparkling jewels, were the price of these things brought into the
+Church’s treasury, how loudly might the Gospel resound in lands between
+whose torrid shores and the tropical sun the holy shade of Calvary has
+not yet fallen! But, you will say, it is a good thing to be comely in
+the house of the Lord. The sight of what is beautiful elevates the
+mind. Uncleanness is a vice. This, then, is how you will war with
+uncleanness. Not by prayer and holy living. Not by pouring of your
+superfluity into the lap of the poor, and entering by the strait gate
+upon the narrow path in a garment without seam. No. By the dead and
+damning gold; by the purple and by the scarlet; by the brightness of
+the eyes that is born of new wine; by the mincing gait and the gloved
+fingers; and by the musk and civet instead of the myrrh and
+frankincense: by these things are you fain to purge your uncleanness.
+And will they suffice? Can Satan cast out Satan? Beware! ‘_For though
+thou wash thee with nitre and take thee much soap, yet thine iniquity
+is marked before me, saith the Lord God_.’ There shall come a day when
+your lace and feathers shall hang on you as heavy as your chains of
+gold, to drag you down to him in whose name you have thought to cast
+out devils. Do not think that these things are harmless vanities.
+Nothing can fill the human heart and be harmless. If your thoughts be
+not of God, they will keep your minds distraught from His grace as
+effectually as the blackest broodings of crime. ‘_Can a maid forget her
+ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people have forgotten me days
+without number, saith the Lord God_.’ Yes, your minds are too puny to
+entertain the full worship of God: do you think they are spacious
+enough to harbor the worship of Baal side by side with it? Much less
+dare you pretend that the Baal altar is erected for the honor of God,
+that you may come into His presence comely and clean. It is but a few
+days since I stood in the presence of a woman who boasted to me that
+she bore upon her the value of two hundred pounds of our money. I cared
+little for the value of money that was upon her. But what shall be said
+of the weight of sin her attire represented? For, those costly garments
+were the wages of sin—of hardened, shameless, damnable sin. Yet there
+is not before me a finer dress or a fairer face. Will you, my sisters,
+trust to the comeliness of visage and splendor of raiment in which such
+a woman as this can outshine you? Will you continue to cast out your
+devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils? Be advised whilst there is
+yet time. Ask yourself again and again, how can Satan cast out Satan?
+
+“When sin is committed in a great city for wages, is there no fault on
+the side of those who pay the wages? There is more than fault: there is
+crime. I trust there are few among you who have done such crime. But I
+know full well that it may be said of London to-day ‘_Thou art full of
+stirs, a joyous city: thy slain men are not slain with the sword, nor
+dead in battle_.’ No. Our young men are slain by the poison of
+Beelzebub, the prince of the devils. Nor is the crafty old subterfuge
+lacking here. There are lost ones in this town who say, ‘It is by our
+means that virtue is preserved to the rich: it is we who appease the
+wicked rage which would otherwise wreck society.’ There are men who
+boast that they have brought their sins only to the houses of shame,
+and that they have respected purity in the midst of their foulness.
+‘Such things must be,’ they say: ‘let us alone, lest a worse thing
+ensue.’ When they are filled full with sin, they cry ‘Lo! our appetite
+has gone from us and we are clean.’ They are willing to slake lust with
+satiety, but not to combat it with prayer. They tread one woman into
+the mire, and excuse themselves because the garment of her sister is
+spotless. How vain is this lying homage to virtue! How can Satan cast
+out Satan?
+
+“Oh, my brethren, this hypocrisy is the curse and danger of our age.
+The Atheist, no longer an execration, an astonishment, a curse, and a
+reproach, poses now as the friend of man and the champion of right.
+Those who incur the last and most terrible curse in this book, do so in
+the name of that truth for which they profess to be seeking. Art,
+profanely veiling its voluptuous nakedness with the attributes of
+religion, disguises folly so subtly that it seems like virtue in the
+slothful eyes of those who neglect continually to watch and pray. The
+vain woman puts on her ornaments to do honor to her Creator’s
+handiwork: the lustful man casts away his soul that society may be kept
+clean: there is not left in these latter days a sin that does not
+pretend to work the world’s salvation, nor a man who flatters not
+himself that the sin of one may be the purging of many. To such I say,
+Look to your own soul: of no other shall any account be demanded of
+you. A day shall come in which a fire shall be kindled among your gods.
+The Lord shall array Himself with this land as a shepherd putteth on
+his garment. Be sure that then if ye shall say ‘I am a devil; but I
+have cast out many devils,’ He will reply unto you, How can Satan cast
+out Satan? Who shall prompt you to an answer to that question? Nay,
+though in His boundless mercy He give you a thousand years to search,
+and spread before you all the books of science and sociology in which
+you were wont to find excuses for sin, what will it avail you? Will a
+scoff, or a quibble over a doubtful passage, serve your turn? No. You
+cannot scoff whilst your tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth for
+fear, and there will be no passage doubtful in all the Scriptures on
+that day; for the light of the Lord’s countenance will be over all
+things.”
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+One Sunday afternoon, as the sun was making rainbows in the cloud of
+spray thrown from the fountain in Kew Gardens, Sholto Douglas appeared
+there amongst the promenaders on the banks of the pond. He halted on
+the steps leading down to the basin, gazing idly at the waterfowl
+paddling at his feet. A lady in a becoming grey dress came to the top
+of the steps, and looked curiously at him. Somehow aware of this, he
+turned indifferently, as if to leave, and found that the lady was
+Marian. Her ripened beauty, her perfect self-possession, a gain in her
+as of added strength and wisdom, and a loss in her as of gentleness
+outgrown and timidity overcome, dazzled him for a moment—caused a
+revulsion in him which he half recognized as the beginning of a
+dangerous passion. His former love for her suddenly appeared boyish and
+unreal to him; and this ruin of a once cherished illusion cost him a
+pang. Meanwhile, there she was, holding out her hand and smiling with a
+cool confidence in the success of her advance that would have been
+impossible to Marian Lind.
+
+“How do you do?” she said.
+
+“Thank you: I am fairly well. You are quite well, I hope?”
+
+“I am in rude health. I hardly knew you at first.”
+
+“Am I altered?”
+
+“You are growing stout.”
+
+“Indeed? Time has not been so bounteous to me as to you.”
+
+“You mean that I am stouter than you?” She laughed; and the sound
+startled him. He got from it an odd impression that her soul was gone.
+But he hastened to protest.
+
+“No, no. You know I do not. I meant that you have achieved the
+impossible—altered for the better.”
+
+“I am glad you think so. I cling to my good looks desperately now that
+I am growing matronly. How is Mrs. Douglas?”
+
+“She is quite well, thank you. Mr. Conolly is, I trust—”
+
+“He is suffering from Eucalyptus on the brain at present. Do not
+trouble yourself to maintain that admirable expression of shocked
+sadness. Eucalyptus means gum-tree; and Ned is at present studying the
+species somewhere in the neighborhood. He came here with that object:
+he never goes anywhere without an object. He wants to plant
+Eucalyptuses round some new works where the people suffer from ague.”
+
+“Oh! You mean that he is here in the gardens.”
+
+“Yes. I left him among the trees, as I prefer the flowers. I want to
+see the lilies. There used to be some in a hot-house, or rather a hot
+bath, near this.”
+
+“That is it on our right. May I go through it with you?”
+
+“Just as you please.”
+
+“Thank you. It is a long time since we last met, is it not?”
+
+“More than a year. Fifteen months. I have not seen you since I was
+married.”
+
+Douglas looked rather foolish at this. He was fatter, lazier,
+altogether less tenacious of his dignity than of old; and his
+embarrassment brought out the change strikingly. Marian liked him all
+the better for it; he was less imposing; but he was more a man and less
+a mere mask. At last, reddening a little, he said, “I remember our last
+meeting very well. We were very angry then: I was infuriated. In fact,
+when I recognized you a minute ago, I was not quite sure that you would
+renew our acquaintance.”
+
+“I had exactly the same doubt about you.”
+
+“A very unnecessary doubt. Not a sincere one, I am afraid. You know too
+well that your least beck will bring me to you at any time.”
+
+“Dont you think we had better not begin that. I generally repeat my
+conversations to Ned. Not that he will mind, if you dont.”
+
+Douglas now felt at his ease and in his clement. He was clearly welcome
+to philander. Recovering his poise at once, he began, in his finest
+voice, “You need not chide me. There can be no mistake on my part now.
+You can entangle me without fear; and I can love without hope. Ned is
+an unrepealed statute of Forbiddance. Go on, Mrs. Conolly. Play with
+me: it will amuse you. And—spiritless wretch that I am!—it will help me
+to live until you throw me away, crushed again.”
+
+“You seem to have been quite comfortable without me: at least you look
+extremely well. I suspect you are becoming a little lazy and attached
+to your dinner. Your old haughtiness seems to have faded into a mere
+habit. It used to be the most active principle in you. Are you quite
+sure that nobody else has been helping you to live, as you call it?”
+
+“Helping me to forget, you mean. No, not one. Time has taught me the
+way to vegetate; and so I no longer need to live. As you have remarked,
+I have habits, not active principles. But one at least of these
+principles is blossoming again even as I speak. If I could only live as
+that lily lives now!”
+
+“In a warm bath?”
+
+“No. Floating on the surface of a quiet pool, looking up into your
+eyes, with no memory for the past, no anticipation of the future.”
+
+“Delightful! especially for me. I think we had better go and look for
+Ned.”
+
+“Were I in his place I would not be absent from your side now—or ever.”
+
+“That is to say, if you were in his place, you wouldnt be in his
+place—among the gum trees. Perhaps you would be right.”
+
+“He is the only man I have ever stooped to envy.”
+
+“You have reason to,” said Marian, suddenly grave.
+
+“I envy him sometimes myself. What would you give to be never without a
+purpose, never with a regret, to regard life as a succession of objects
+each to be accomplished by so many days’ work; to take your pleasure in
+trifling lazily with the consciousness of possessing a strong brain; to
+study love, family affection, and friendship as a doctor studies
+breathing or digestion; to look on disinterestedness as either weakness
+or hypocrisy, and on death as a mere transfer of your social function
+to some member of the next generation?”
+
+“I could achieve all that, if I would, at the cost of my soul. I would
+not for worlds be such a man, save on one condition.”
+
+“To wit?”
+
+“That only as such could I win the woman I loved.”
+
+“Oh, you would not think so much of an insignificant factor like love
+if you were Ned.”
+
+“May I ask, do you, too, think of love as ‘an insignificant factor’?”
+
+“I? Oh, I am not a sociologist. Besides, I have never been in love.”
+
+“What! You have never been in love?”
+
+“Not the real, romantic, burning, suicidal love your sonnets used to
+breathe.”
+
+“Then you do not know what love is.”
+
+“Do you?”
+
+“You should know whether I do or not.”
+
+“Should I? Then I conclude that you do not. You are growing stout. Your
+dress is not in the least neglected. I am certain you enjoy life
+thoroughly. No, you have never known love in all its novelistic-poetic
+outrageousness. That respectable old passion is a myth.”
+
+“You look for signs that only children shew. When an oak dies, it does
+not wither and fall at once as a sapling does. Perhaps you will one day
+know what it is to love.”
+
+“Perhaps so.”
+
+“In any case, you will be able to boast of having inspired the
+passion.”
+
+“I hope so—at least, I mean that it is all nonsense. Do look at that
+vegetable lobster of a thing, that cactus.”
+
+“In order to set off its ugliness properly, you should see yourself
+against the background of palms, with that great fan-like leaf for a
+halo, and——”
+
+“Thank you. I see it all in my mind’s eye by your eloquent description.
+You are quite right in supposing that I like compliments; but I am
+particular about their quality; and I dont need to be told I am pretty
+in comparison with a hideous cactus. You would not have condescended to
+make such a speech long ago. You are changed.”
+
+“Not toward you, on my honor.”
+
+“I did not mean that: I meant toward yourself.”
+
+“I am glad you have taken even that slender note of me. I find you
+somewhat changed, too.”
+
+“I did not know that I shewed it; but it is true. I feel as if Marian
+Lind was a person whom I knew once, but whom I should hardly know
+again.”
+
+“The change in me has not produced that effect. I feel as though Marian
+Lind were the history of my life.”
+
+“You have become quite a master of the art of saying pretty things. You
+are nearly as glib at it as Ned.”
+
+“We have the same incentive to admiration.”
+
+“The same! You do not suppose that Ned pays _me_ compliments. He never
+did such a thing in his life. No: I first discovered his talent in that
+direction at Palermo, where I surprised him in an animated discourse
+with the dark-eyed daughter of an innkeeper there. That was the first
+conversation in Italian I succeeded in following. A week later I could
+understand the language almost as well as he. However, dont let us
+waste the whole afternoon talking stuff. I want to ask you about your
+mother. I should greatly like to call upon her; but she has never made
+me any sign since my marriage; and Mrs. Leith Fairfax tells me that she
+never allows my name to be mentioned to her. I thought she was fond of
+me.”
+
+“So she was. But she has never forgiven you for making me suffer as you
+did. You see she has more spirit than I. She would be angered if she
+saw me now tamely following the triumphal chariot of my fair tyrant.”
+
+“Seriously, do you think, if I made a raid on Manchester Square some
+morning, I could coax back her old feeling for me?”
+
+“I think you will be quite safe in calling, at all events. Tell me what
+day you intend to venture. I know my mother will not oppose me if I
+shew that I wish you to be kindly received.”
+
+“Most disinterested of you. Thank you: I will fail or succeed on my own
+merits, not on your recommendation. You must not say a word to her
+about me or my project.”
+
+“If you command me not to——”
+
+“I do command you.”
+
+“I must obey. But I fear that the more submissive I am, the more
+imperious you will become.”
+
+“Very likely. And now look along that avenue to the left. Do you see a
+man in a brown suit, with straw hat to match, walking towards us at a
+regular pace, and keeping in a perfectly straight course? He looks at
+everybody he passes as if he were counting them.”
+
+“He is looking back at somebody now, as if he had missed the number.”
+
+“Just so; but that somebody is a woman; doubtless a pretty one,
+probably dark. You recognize him, I see. There is a frost come over you
+which convinces me that you are preparing to receive him in your old
+ungracious way. I warn you that I am accustomed to see Ned made much
+of. He has caught sight of us.”
+
+“And has just remarked that there is a man talking to his wife.”
+
+“Quite right. See his speculative air! Now he no longer attends to us.
+He is looking at the passers-by as before. That means that he has
+recognized you, and has stowed the observation compactly away in his
+brain, to be referred to when he comes up to us.”
+
+“So much method must economize his intellect very profitably. How do
+you do, Mr. Conolly? It is some time since we have had the pleasure of
+meeting.”
+
+“Glad to see you, Mr. Douglas. We have been away all the winter. Are
+you staying in London?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I hope you will spend an occasional hour with us at Holland Park.”
+
+“You are very kind. Thank you: yes, if Mrs. Conolly will permit me.”
+
+“I should make you come home with us now,” said Marian, “but for this
+Sunday being a special occasion. Nelly McQuinch is to spend the evening
+with us; and as I have not seen her since we came back, I must have her
+all to myself. Come next Sunday, if you care to.”
+
+“Do,” said Conolly. “Half past three is our Sunday hour. If you cannot
+face that, we are usually at home afterwards the entire evening.
+Marian: we have exactly fifteen minutes to catch our train.”
+
+“Oh! let us fly. If we miss it, Nelly will be kept waiting half an
+hour.”
+
+Then they parted, Douglas promising to come to them on that day week.
+
+“Dont you think he is growing very fat?” said she, as they walked away.
+
+“Yes. He is beginning to take the world easily. He does not seem to be
+making much of his life.”
+
+“What matter, so long as he enjoys it?”
+
+“Pooh! He doesnt know what enjoyment means.”
+
+They said nothing further until they were in the train, where Marian
+sat looking listlessly through the window, whilst Conolly, opposite,
+reclining against the cushions, looked thoughtfully at her.
+
+“Ned,” said she, suddenly.
+
+“My dear.”
+
+“Do you know that Sholto is more infatuated about me than ever?”
+
+“Naturally. You are lovelier than when he last saw you.”
+
+“You are nearly as complimentary as he,” said Marian, blushing with a
+gratification which she was very unwilling to betray. “He noticed it
+sooner than you. I discovered it myself in the glass before either of
+you.”
+
+“No doubt you did. What station is this?”
+
+“I dont know.” Then, raising her voice so as to be overheard, she
+exclaimed “Here is a stupid man coming into our carriage.”
+
+A young man entered the compartment, and, after one glance at Marian,
+who turned her back on him impatiently, spent the remainder of the
+journey making furtive attempts to catch a second glimpse of her face.
+Conolly looked a shade graver at his wife’s failure in perfect
+self-control; but he by no means shared her feelings toward the
+intrusive passenger. Marian and he were in different humors; and he did
+not wish to be left alone with her.
+
+As they walked from Addison Road railway station to their house,
+Conolly mused in silence with his eyes on the gardens by the way.
+Marian, who wished to talk, followed his measured steps with
+impatience.
+
+“Let me take your arm, Ned: I cannot keep up with you.”
+
+“Certainly.”
+
+“I hope I am not inconveniencing you,” she said, after a further
+interval of silence.
+
+“Hm—no.”
+
+“I am afraid I am. It does not matter. I can get on by myself.”
+
+“Arm in arm is such an inconvenient and ridiculous mode of
+locomotion—you need not struggle in the public street: now that you
+have got my arm you shall keep it—I say it is such an inconvenient and
+ridiculous mode of locomotion that if you were any one else I should
+prefer to wheel you home in a barrow. Our present mode of proceeding
+would be inexcusable if I were a traction-engine, and you my tender.”
+
+“Then let me go. What will the people think if they see a great
+engineer violating the laws of mechanics by dragging his wife by the
+arm?”
+
+“They will appreciate my motives; and, in fact, if you watch them, you
+will detect a thinly-disguised envy in their countenances. I violate
+the laws of mechanics—to use your own sarcastic phrase—for many
+reasons. I like to be envied when there are solid reasons for it. It
+gratifies my vanity to be seen in this artistic quarter with a pretty
+woman on my arm. Again, the sense of possessing you is no longer an
+abstraction when I hold you bodily, and feel the impossibility of
+keeping step with you. Besides, Man, who was a savage only yesterday,
+has his infirmities, and finds a poetic pleasure in the touch of the
+woman he loves. And I may add that you have been in such a bad temper
+all the afternoon that I suspect you of an itching to box my ears, and
+therefore feel safer with your arm in my custody.”
+
+“Oh! _Indeed_ I have not been in a bad temper. I have been most anxious
+to spend a happy day.”
+
+“And I have been placidly reflective, and not anxious at all. Is that
+what has provoked you?”
+
+“I am not provoked. But you might tell me what your reflections are
+about.”
+
+“They would fill volumes, if I could recollect them.”
+
+“You must recollect some of them. From the time we left the station
+until a moment ago, when we began to talk, you were pondering something
+with the deepest seriousness. What was it?”
+
+“I forget.”
+
+“Of course you forget—just because I want to know. What a crowded road
+this is!” She disengaged herself from his arm; and this time he did not
+resist her.
+
+“That reminds me of it. The crowd consists partly of people going to
+the pro-Cathedral. The pro-Cathedral contains an altar. An altar
+suggests kneeling on hard stone; and that brings me to the disease
+called ‘housemaids’ knee,’ which was the subject of my reflections.”
+
+“A pleasant subject for a fine Sunday! Thank you. I dont want to hear
+any more.”
+
+“But you will hear more of it; for I am going to have the steps of our
+house taken away and replaced by marble, or slate, or something that
+can be cleaned with a mop and a pail of water in five minutes.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“My chain of thought began at the door steps we have passed, all
+whitened beautifully so as to display every footprint, and all
+representing an expenditure of useless, injurious labor in
+hearthstoning, that ought to madden an intelligent housemaid. I dont
+think our Armande is particularly intelligent; but I am resolved to
+spare her knees and her temper in future by banishing hearthstone from
+our establishment forever. I shudder to think that I have been walking
+upon those white steps and flag ways of ours every day without
+awakening to a sense of their immorality.”
+
+“I cannot understand why you are always disparaging Armande. And I hate
+an ill-kept house front. None of our housemaids ever objected to
+hearthstoning, or were any the worse for it.”
+
+“No. They would not have gained anything by objecting: they would only
+have lost their situations. You need not fear for your house front. I
+will order a porch with porphyry steps and alabaster pillars to replace
+your beloved hearthstone.”
+
+“Yes. That will be clever. Do you know how easy it is to stain marble?
+Armande will be on her knees all day with a bottle of turpentine and a
+bit of flannel.”
+
+“You are thinking of inkstains, Marian. You forget that it does not
+rain ink, and that Nelly will hardly select the porch to write her
+novels in.”
+
+“Lots of people bring ink on a doorstep. Tax collectors and gasmen
+carry bottles in their pockets.”
+
+“Ask them into the drawing-room when they call, my dear; or, better
+still, dont pay them, so that they will have no need to write a
+receipt. Let me remind you that ink shews as much on white hearthstone
+as it can possibly do on marble. Yet extensive disfigurements of steps
+from the visits of tax collectors are not common.”
+
+“Now, Ned, you know that you are talking utter nonsense.”
+
+“Yes, my dear. I think I perceive Nelly looking out of the window for
+us. Here she is at the door.”
+
+Marian hastened forward and embraced her cousin. Miss McQuinch looked
+older; and her complexion was drier than before. But she had apparently
+begun to study her appearance; for her hat and shoes were neat and even
+elegant, which they had never been within Marian’s previous experience
+of her.
+
+“_You_ are not changed in the least,” she said, as she gave Conolly her
+hand. “I have just been wondering at the alteration in Marian. She has
+grown lovely.”
+
+“I have been telling her so all day, in the vain hope of getting her
+into a better temper. Come into the drawing-room. Have you been waiting
+for us long?”
+
+“About fifteen minutes. I have been admiring your organ. I should have
+tried the piano; but I did not know whether that was allowable on
+Sunday.”
+
+“Oh! Why did you not pound it to your heart’s content? Ned scandalizes
+the neighbors every Sunday by continually playing. Armande: dinner as
+soon as possible, please.”
+
+“I like this house. It is exactly my idea of a comfortable modern
+home.”
+
+“You must stay long enough to find out its defects,” said Conolly. “We
+read your novel at Verona; but we could not agree as to which
+characters you meant to be taken as the good ones.”
+
+“That was only Ned’s nonsense,” said Marian. “Most novels are such
+rubbish! I am sure you will be able to live by writing just as well as
+Mrs. Fairfax can.” Conolly shewed Miss McQuinch his opinion of this
+unhappy remark by a whimsical glance, which she repudiated by turning
+sharply away from him, and speaking as affectionately as she could to
+Marian.
+
+After dinner they returned to the drawing-room, which ran from the
+front to the back of the house. Marian opened a large window which gave
+access to the garden, and sat down with Elinor on a little terrace
+outside. Conolly went to the organ.
+
+“May I play a voluntary while you talk?” he asked. “I shall not
+scandalize any one: the neighbors think all music sacred when it is
+played on the organ.”
+
+“We have a nice view of the sunset from here,” said Marian, in a low
+voice, turning her forehead to the cool evening breeze.
+
+“Stuff!” said Elinor. “We didnt come here to talk about the sunset, and
+what a pretty house you have, and so forth. I want to know—good
+heavens! what a thundering sound that organ makes!”
+
+“Please dont say anything about it to him: he likes it,” said Marian.
+“When he wishes to exalt himself, he goes to it and makes it roar until
+the whole house shakes. Whenever he feels an emotional impulse, he
+vents it at the organ or the piano, or by singing. When he stops, he is
+satisfied; his mind is cleared; and he is in a good-humored, playful
+frame of mind, such as _I_ can gratify.”
+
+“But you were always very fond of music. Dont you ever play together,
+as we used to do; or sing to one another’s accompaniments?”
+
+“I cannot. I hardly ever touch the piano when he is in the house.”
+
+“Why? Are you afraid of preventing him from having his turn?”
+
+“No: it is not so much that. But—it sounds very silly—if I attempt to
+play or sing in his presence, I become so frightfully nervous that I
+hardly know what I am doing. I know he does not like my singing.”
+
+“Are you sure that is not merely your fancy? It sounds very like it.”
+
+“No. At first I used to play a good deal for him, knowing that he was
+fond of music, and fancying—poor fool that I was! [here Marian spoke so
+bitterly that Nelly turned and looked hard at her] that it was part of
+a married woman’s duty in a house to supply music after dinner. At that
+time he was working hard at his business; and he spent so much time in
+the city that he had to give up playing himself. Besides, we were
+flying all about England opening those branch offices, and what not. He
+always took me with him; and I really enjoyed it, and took quite an
+interest in the Company. When we were in London, although I was so much
+alone in the daytime, I was happy in anticipating our deferred
+honeymoon. Then the time for that paradise came. Ned said that the
+Company was able to walk by itself at last, and that he was going to
+have a long holiday after his dry-nursing of it. We went first to
+Paris, where we heard all the classical concerts that were given while
+we were there. I found that he never tired of listening to orchestral
+music; and yet he never ceased grumbling at it. He thought nothing of
+the great artists in Paris. Then we went for a tour through Brittany;
+and there, in spite of his classical tastes, he used to listen to the
+peasants’ songs and write them down. He seemed to like folk songs of
+all kinds, Irish, Scotch, Russian, German, Italian, no matter where
+from. So one evening, at a lodging where there was a piano, I played
+for him that old arrangement of Irish melodies—you know—‘Irish
+Diamonds,’ it is called.”
+
+“Oh Lord! Yes, I remember. ‘Believe me if all,’ with variations.”
+
+“Yes. He thought I meant it in jest: he laughed at it, and played a lot
+of ridiculous variations to burlesque it. I didnt tell him that I had
+been in earnest: perhaps you can imagine how I felt about it. Then,
+after that, in Italy, he got permission—or rather bought it—to try the
+organ in a church. It was growing dusk; I was tired with walking; and
+somehow between the sense of repose, and the mysterious twilight in the
+old church, I was greatly affected by his playing. I thought it must be
+part of some great mass or symphony; and I felt how little I knew about
+music, and how trivial my wretched attempts must appear to him when he
+had such grand harmonies at his fingers’ ends. But he soon stopped; and
+when I was about to tell him how I appreciated his performance, he
+said, ‘What an abominable instrument a bad organ is!’ I had thought it
+beautiful, of course. I asked him what he had been playing. I said was
+it not by Mozart; and then I saw his eyebrows go up; so I added, as a
+saving clause, that perhaps it was something of his own. ‘My dear
+girl,’ said he, ‘it was only an _entr’acte_ from an opera of
+Donizetti’s.’ He was carrying my shawl at the time; and he wrapped it
+about my shoulders in the tenderest manner as he said this, and made
+love to me all the evening to console me. In his opinion, the greatest
+misfortune that can happen anyone is to make a fool of oneself; and
+whenever I do it, he pets me in the most delicate manner, as if I were
+a child who had just got a tumble. When we settled down here and got
+the organ, he began to play constantly, and I used to practise the
+piano in the daytime so as to have duets with him. But though he was
+always ready to play whenever I proposed it, he was quite different
+then from what he was when he played by himself. He was all eyes and
+ears, and the moment I played a wrong note he would name the right one.
+Then I generally got worse and stopped. He never lost his patience or
+complained; but I used to feel that he was urging me on, or pulling me
+back, or striving to get me to do something which I could not grasp.
+Then he would give me up in despair, and play on mechanically from the
+notes before him, thinking of something else all the time. I practised
+harder, and tried again. I thought at first I had succeeded; because
+our duets went so smoothly and we were always so perfectly together.
+But I discovered—by instinct I believe—that instead of having a musical
+treat, he was only trying to please me. He thought I liked playing
+duets with him; and accordingly he used to sit down beside me and
+accompany me faithfully, no matter how I chose to play.”
+
+“Dear me! Why doesnt he get Rubinstein to play with him, since he is so
+remarkably fastidious?”
+
+“It is not so much mechanical skill that I lack; but there is
+something—I cannot tell what it is. I found it out one night when we
+were at Mrs. Saunders’s. She is an incurable flirt; and she was quite
+sure that she had captivated Ned, who is always ready to make love to
+anyone that will listen to him.”
+
+“A nice sort of man to be married to!”
+
+“He only does it to amuse himself. He does not really care for them: I
+almost wish he did, sometimes; but it is often none the less provoking.
+What is worse, no amount of flirtation on my part would make _him_
+angry. What happened at Mrs. Saunders’s was this. The Scotts, of
+Putney, were there; and the first remark Ned made to me was, ‘Who is
+the woman that knows how to walk?’ It was Mrs. Scott: you know you used
+to say she moved like a panther. Afterward Mrs. Scott sang ‘Caller
+Herrin’ in that vulgar Scotch accent that leaks out occasionally in her
+speech, with Ned at the piano. Everybody came crowding in to listen;
+and there was great applause. I cannot understand it: she is as hard
+and matter-of-fact as a woman can be: I dont believe the expression in
+her singing comes one bit from true feeling. I heard Ned say to her,
+‘Thank you, Mrs. Scott: no Englishwoman has the secret of singing a
+ballad as you have it.’ I knew very well what that meant. _I_ have not
+the secret. Well, Mrs. Scott came over to me and said ‘Mr. Conolly is a
+very _pair_tinaceous man. He persuaded me into shewing him the way the
+little song is sung in Scotland; and I stood up without thinking. And
+see now, I have been _rag_uilarly singing a song in company for the
+first time in my life.’ Of course, it was a ridiculous piece of
+affectation. Ned talked about Mrs. Scott all the way home, and played
+‘Caller Herrin’ four times next day. That finished my domestic musical
+career. I have never sung for him since, except once or twice when he
+has asked me to try the effect of some passage in one of his
+music-books.”
+
+“And do you never sing when you go out, as you used to?”
+
+“Only when he is not with me, or when people force me to. If he is in
+the room, I am so nervous that I can hardly get through the easiest
+song. He never offers to accompany me now, and generally leaves the
+room when I am asked to sing.”
+
+“Perhaps he sees the effect his presence has on you.”
+
+“Even so, he ought to stay. He used to like _me_ to listen to _him_, at
+first.”
+
+Miss McQuinch looked at the sunset with exceeding glumness. There was
+an ominous pause. Then she said, abruptly, “You remember how we used to
+debate whether marriage was a mistake or not. Have you found out?”
+
+“I dont know.”
+
+“That sounds rather as if you did know. Are you quite sure you are not
+in low spirits this evening? He was bantering you about being out of
+temper when you came in. Perhaps you quarrelled at Kew.”
+
+“Quarrel! He quarrel! I cannot explain to you how we are situated,
+Nelly. You would not understand me.”
+
+“Suppose you try. For instance, is he as fond of you as he was before
+you married him?”
+
+“I dont know.”
+
+Miss McQuinch shrugged herself impatiently.
+
+“Really I do not, Nelly. He has changed in a way—I do not quite know
+how or why. At first he was not very ceremonious. He used to make
+remarks about people, and discuss everything that came into his head
+quite freely before me. He was always kind, and never grumbled about
+his dinner, or lost his temper, or anything of that kind; but—it was
+not that he was coarse exactly: he was not that in the least; but he
+was very open and unreserved and plain in his language; and somehow I
+did not quite like it. He must have found this out: he sees and feels
+everything by instinct; for he slipped back into his old manner, and
+became more considerate and attentive than he had ever been before. I
+was made very happy at first by the change; but I do not think he quite
+understood what I wanted. I did not at all object to going down to the
+country with him on his business trips; but he always goes alone now;
+and he never mentions his work to me. And he is too careful as to what
+he says to me. Of course, I know that he is right not to speak ill of
+anybody; but still a man need not be so particular before his wife as
+before strangers. He has given up talking to me altogether: that is the
+plain truth, whatever he may pretend. When we do converse, his manner
+is something like what it was in the laboratory at the Towers. Of
+course, he sometimes becomes more familiar; only then he never seems in
+earnest, but makes love to me in a bantering, half playful, half
+sarcastic way.”
+
+“You are rather hard to please, perhaps. I remember you used to say
+that a husband should be just as tender and respectful after marriage
+as before it. You seem to have broken poor Ned into this; and now you
+are not satisfied.”
+
+“Nelly, if there is one subject on which girls are more idiotically
+ignorant than on any other, it is happiness in marriage. A courtier, a
+lover, a man who will not let the winds of heaven visit your face too
+harshly, is very nice, no doubt; but he is not a husband. I want to be
+a wife and not a fragile ornament kept in a glass case. He would as
+soon think of submitting any project of his to the judgment of a doll
+as to mine. If he has to explain or discuss any serious matter of
+business with me, he does so apologetically, as if he were treating me
+roughly.”
+
+“Well, my dear, you see, when he tried the other plan, you did not like
+that either. What is the unfortunate man to do?”
+
+“I dont know. I suppose I was wrong in shrinking from his confidence. I
+am always wrong. It seems to me that the more I try to do right, the
+more mischief I contrive to make.”
+
+“This is all pretty dismal, Marian. What sort of conduct on his part
+would make you happy?”
+
+“Oh, there are so many little things. He makes me jealous of everything
+and everybody. I am jealous of the men in the city—I was jealous of the
+sanitary inspector the other day—because he talks with interest to
+them. I know he stays in the city later than he need. It is a relief to
+me to go out in the evening, or to have a few people here once or twice
+a week; but I am angry because I know it is a relief to him too. I am
+jealous even of that organ. How I hale those Bach fugues! Listen to the
+maddening thing twisting and rolling and racing and then mixing itself
+up into one great boom. He can get on with Bach: he can’t get on with
+me. I have even condescended to be jealous of other women—of such women
+as Mrs. Saunders. He despises her: he plays with her as dexterously as
+she thinks she plays with him; but he likes to chat with her; and they
+rattle away for a whole evening without the least constraint. She has
+no conscience: she talks absolute nonsense about art and literature:
+she flirts even more disgustingly than she used to when she was Belle
+Woodward; but she is quickwitted, like most Irish people; and she
+enjoys a broad style of jesting which Ned is a great deal too tolerant
+of, though he would as soon die as indulge in it before me. Then there
+is Mrs. Scott, who is just as shrewd as Belle, and much cleverer. I
+have heard him ask her opinion as to whether he had acted well or not
+in some stroke of business—something that I had never heard of, of
+course. I wish I were half as hard and strong and self-reliant as she
+is. _Her_ husband would be nothing without her.”
+
+“I am afraid I was right all along, Marian. Marriage _is_ a mistake.
+There is something radically wrong in the institution. If you and Ned
+cannot be happy, no pair in the world can.”
+
+“We might be very happy if——” Marian stopped to repress a sob.
+
+“Anybody might be very happy If. There is not much consolation in Ifs.
+You could not be better off than you are unless you could be Marian
+Lind again. Think of all the women who would give their souls to have a
+husband who would neither drink, nor swear at them, nor kick them, nor
+sulk whenever he was kept waiting half a minute for anything. You have
+no little pests of children——”
+
+“I wish I had. That would give us some interest in common. We sometimes
+have Lucy, Marmaduke’s little girl, up here; and Ned seems to me to be
+fond of her. She is a very bold little thing.”
+
+“I saw Marmaduke last week. He is not half so jolly as he was.”
+
+“He lives in chambers in Westminster now, and only comes out in this
+direction occasionally to see Lucy. I am afraid _she_ has taken to
+drinking. I believe she is going to America. I hope she is; for she
+makes me uncomfortable when I think of her.”
+
+“Does your—your Ned ever speak of her?”
+
+“No. He used to, before he changed as I described. Now, he never
+mentions her. Hush! Here he is.”
+
+The sound of the organ had ceased; and Conolly came out and stood
+between them.
+
+“How do you like my consoler, as Marian calls it?” said he.
+
+“Do you mean the organ?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I wasn’t listening to you.”
+
+“You should have: I played the great fugue in A minor expressly for
+your entertainment: you used to work at Liszt’s transcription of it.
+The organ is only occasionally my consoler. For the most part I am
+driven to it by habit and a certain itching in my fingers. Marian is my
+real consoler.”
+
+“So she has just been telling me,” said Elinor. Conolly’s surprise
+escaped him for just a moment in a quick glance at Marian. She colored,
+and looked reproachfully at her cousin, who added, “I am sure you must
+be a nuisance to the neighbors.”
+
+“Probably,” said Conolly.
+
+“I do not think you should play so much on Sunday,” said Marian.
+
+“I know. [Marian winced.] Well, if the neighbors will either melt down
+the church bells they jangle so horribly within fifteen yards or so of
+my unfortunate ears, or else hang them up two hundred feet high in a
+beautiful tower where they would sound angelic, as they do at Utrecht,
+then perhaps I will stop the organ to listen to them. Until then, I
+will take the liberty of celebrating the day of rest with such devices
+as the religious folk cannot forbid me.”
+
+“Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned.”
+
+“My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss McQuinch. I admit
+that it does not, at first sight, seem pretty or sentimental. But I do
+not know how even Marian can prefer the church bells to Bach.”
+
+“What do you mean by ‘_even_ Marian’?” said Elinor, sharply.
+
+“I should have said, ‘Marian, who is tolerant and kind to everybody and
+everything.’ I hope you have forgiven me for carrying her off from you,
+Miss McQuinch. You are adopting an ominous tone toward me. I fear she
+has been telling you of our quarrels, and my many domestic
+shortcomings.”
+
+“No,” said Elinor. “As far as I can judge from her account, you are a
+monotonously amiable husband.”
+
+“Indeed! Hm! Would you like your coffee out here?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Do not stir, Marian: I will ring for it.”
+
+When he was gone, Marian said “Nelly: for Heaven’s sake say nothing
+that could make the slightest coldness between Ned and me. I am
+clinging to him with all my heart and soul; and you must help me. Those
+sharp things that you say to him stab me cruelly; and he is clever
+enough to guess everything I have said to you from them.”
+
+“If I cannot keep myself from making mischief, I shall go away,” said
+Elinor. “Dont suppose I am in a huff: I am quite serious. I have an
+unlucky tongue; and my disposition is such that when I see that a jug
+is cracked, I feel more inclined to smash and have done with it than to
+mend it and handle it tenderly ever after. However, I hope your
+marriage is not a cracked jug yet.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+On the following Wednesday Douglas called on his mother at Manchester
+Square in the afternoon. As if to emphasize the purely filial motive of
+his visit, he saluted his mother so affectionately that she was
+emboldened to be more demonstrative with him than she usually ventured
+to be.
+
+“My darling boy,” she said, holding him fondly for a moment, “this is
+the second visit you have paid your poor old mother this week. I want
+to speak to you about something, too. Marian has been with me this
+morning.”
+
+“What! Has she gone?” said Douglas.
+
+“Why?” said Mrs. Douglas. “Did you know she was coming?”
+
+“She mentioned to me that she intended to come,” he replied,
+carelessly; “but she bade me not to tell you.”
+
+“That accounts for your two visits. Well, Sholto, I do not blame you
+for spending your time in gayer places than this.”
+
+“You must not reproach me for neglecting you, mother. You know my
+disposition. I am seldom good company for any one; and I do not care to
+come only to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am morose. I
+hope you received Marian kindly.”
+
+“I did not expect to see her; and I told her so.”
+
+“Mother!”
+
+“But it made no difference. There is no holding her in check now,
+Sholto; she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father or
+you. What could I do but kiss and forgive her? She got the better of
+me.”
+
+“Yes,” said Douglas, gloomily. “She has a wonderful face.”
+
+“The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I hope you will not
+go to her house too often.”
+
+“Do you doubt my discretion, mother?”
+
+“No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasantness arising between
+you and that man. These working men are so savage to their wives, and
+so jealous of gentlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at
+all.”
+
+“Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a navvy in fustian and
+corduroys. He seems a sensible man: his address is really remarkably
+good, considering what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite the
+reverse. His head is full of figures and machinery; and I am told that
+he does nothing at home but play the piano. He must bore Marian
+terribly. I do not want to go to his house particularly; but Marian and
+he are, of course, very sensitive to anything that can be construed as
+a slight; and I shall visit them once or twice to prevent them from
+thinking that I wish to snub Conolly. He will be glad enough to have me
+at his dinner-table. I am afraid I must hurry away now: I have an
+appointment at the club. Can I do anything for you in town?”
+
+“No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have stayed with me for a
+cup of tea.”
+
+“Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the club.”
+
+“If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come again
+soon, will you not?”
+
+“Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother.”
+
+Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had no
+real appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother,
+who, though a little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat
+relieved by being rid of him. They maintained toward one another an
+attitude which their friends found beautiful and edifying; but, like
+artists’ models, they found the attitude fatiguing, in spite of their
+practice and its dignity.
+
+At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted.
+Turning, he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little
+behind him.
+
+“Where are you going to?” said Marmaduke, abruptly.
+
+“Why do you ask?” said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right of
+another to question him.
+
+“I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch somewhere, will you?”
+
+“Yes, if you wish.”
+
+“Let’s go to the South Kensington Museum.”
+
+“The South——! My dear fellow, why not suggest Putney, or the Star and
+Garter? Why do you wish to go westward from Hyde Park in search of
+luncheon?”
+
+“I have a particular reason. I am to meet someone at the Museum this
+afternoon; and I want to ask your advice first. You might as well come;
+it’s only a matter of a few minutes if we drive.”
+
+“Well, as you please. I have not been to the Museum for years.”
+
+“All right. Come al——oh, damn! There’s Lady Carbury and Constance
+coming out of the Park. Dont look at them. Come on.”
+
+But Constance, sitting a little more uprightly than her mother, who was
+supine upon the carriage cushions, had seen the two gentlemen as they
+stood talking.
+
+“Mamma,” she said, “there’s Marmaduke and Sholto Douglas.”
+
+“Where???” said the Countess, lifting her head quickly. “Josephs, drive
+slowly. Where are they, Constance?”
+
+“They are going away. I believe Marmaduke saw us. There he is, passing
+the hospital.”
+
+“We must go and speak to them. Look pleasant, child; and dont make a
+fool of yourself.”
+
+“Surely youll not speak to him, mamma! You dont expect me——”
+
+“Nonsense. I heard a great deal about him the other day. He has moved
+from where he was living, and is quite reformed. His father is very
+ill. Do as I tell you. Josephs, stop half way to the hotel.”
+
+“I say,” said Marmaduke, finding himself out-manoeuvred: “come back.
+There they are right ahead, confound them. What are they up to?”
+
+“It cannot be helped,” said Douglas. “There is no escape. You must not
+cross: it would be pointedly rude.”
+
+Marmaduke went on grumbling. When he attempted to pass, the Countess
+called his name, and greeted him with smiles.
+
+“We want to know how your father is,” she said. “We have had such
+alarming accounts of him. I hope he is better.”
+
+“They havnt told me much about him,” said Marmaduke. “There was deuced
+little the matter with the governor when I saw him last.”
+
+“Wicked prodigal! What shall we do to reform him, Mr. Douglas? He has
+not been to see us for three years past, and during that time we have
+had the worst reports of him.”
+
+“You never asked me to go and see you.”
+
+“Silly fellow! Did you expect me to send you invitations and leave
+cards on you, who are one of ourselves? Come to-morrow to dinner. Your
+uncle the Bishop will be there; and you will see nearly all the family
+besides. You cannot plead that you have not been invited now. Will you
+come?”
+
+“No. I cant stand the Bishop. Besides, I have taken to dining in the
+middle of the day.”
+
+“Come after dinner, then?”
+
+“Mamma,” said Constance, peevishly, “can’t you see that he does not
+want to come at all? What is the use of persecuting him?”
+
+“No, I assure you,” said Marmaduke. “It’s only the Bishop I object to.
+I’ll come after dinner, if I can.”
+
+“And pray what is likely to prevent you?” said the Countess.
+
+“Devilment of some sort, perhaps,” he replied. “Since you have all
+given me a bad name, I dont see why I should make any secret of earning
+it.”
+
+The Countess smiled slyly at him, implying that she was amused, but
+must not laugh at such a sentiment in Constance’s presence. Then,
+turning so as to give the rest of the conversation an air of privacy,
+she whispered, “I must tell you that you no longer have a bad name. It
+is said that your wild oats are all sown, and I will answer for it that
+even the Bishop will receive you with open arms.”
+
+“And dry my repentant tears on his apron, the old hypocrite,” said
+Marmaduke, speaking rather more loudly than before. “Well, we must be
+trotting. We are going to the South Kensington Museum—to improve our
+minds.”
+
+“Why, that is where we are going; at least, Constance is. She is going
+to work at her painting while I pay a round of visits. Wont you come
+with us?”
+
+“Thank you: I’d rather walk. A man should have gloves and a proper hat
+for your sort of travelling.”
+
+“Nonsense! you look very nice. Besides, it is only down the Brompton
+Road.”
+
+“The worst neighborhood in London to be seen in with me. I know all
+sorts of queer people down Brompton way. I should have to bow to them
+if we met; and that wouldnt do before _her_,”—indicating Constance, who
+was conversing with Douglas.
+
+“You are incorrigible: I give you up. Good-bye, and dont forget
+to-morrow evening.”
+
+“I wonder,” said Marmaduke, as the carriage drove off, “what she’s
+saying about me to Constance now.”
+
+“That you are the rudest man in London, perhaps.”
+
+“Serve her right! I hate her. I have got so now that I can’t stand that
+sort of woman. You see her game, dont you; she can’t get Constance off
+her hands; and she thinks there’s a chance of me still. How well she
+knows about the governor’s state of health! And Conny, too, grinning at
+me as if we were the best friends in the world. If that girl had an
+ounce of spirit she would not look on the same side of the street with
+me.”
+
+Douglas, without replying, called a cab. Marmaduke’s loud conversation
+was irksome in the street, and it was now clear that he was unusually
+excited. At the museum they alighted, and passed through the courts
+into the grill-room, where they sat down together at a vacant table,
+and ordered luncheon.
+
+“You were good enough to ask my advice about something,” said Douglas.
+“What is the matter?”
+
+“Well,” said Marmaduke, “I am in a fix. Affairs have become so
+uncomfortable at home that I have had to take up my quarters
+elsewhere.”
+
+“I did not know that you had been living at home. I thought your father
+and you were on the usual terms.”
+
+“My father! Look here: I mean home—_my_ home. My place at Hammersmith,
+not down at the governor’s.”
+
+“Oh! I beg your pardon.”
+
+“Of course, you know all about my establishment there with Lalage
+Virtue? her real name is Susanna Conolly.”
+
+“Is it true, then, that she is a cousin of Marian’s husband?”
+
+“Cousin! She’s his sister, and Marian’s sister-in-law.”
+
+“I never believed it.”
+
+“It’s true enough. But thats not the mischief. Douglas: I tell you
+she’s the cleverest woman in London. She can do anything she likes. She
+can manage a conversation with any foreigner in his own language,
+whether she knows it or not. She gabbles Italian like a native. She can
+learn off her part in a new piece, music and all, between breakfast and
+luncheon, any day. She can cook: she can make a new bonnet out of the
+lining of an old coat: she can drive a bargain with a Jew. She says she
+never learns a thing at all unless she can learn it in ten minutes. She
+can fence, and shoot. She can dance anything in the world. I never knew
+such a mimic as she is. If you saw her take off the Bones at the
+Christy Minstrels, you’d say she was the lowest of the low. Next minute
+she will give herself the airs of a duchess, or do the ingenuous in a
+style that would make Conny burst with envy. To see her preaching like
+George would make you laugh for a week. There’s nothing she couldnt do
+if she chose. And now, what do you think she has taken to? Liquor.
+Champagne by the gallon. She used to drink it by the bottle: now she
+drinks it by the dozen—by the case. She wanted it to keep up her
+spirits. That was the way it began. If she felt down, a glass of
+champagne would set her up. Then she was always feeling down, and
+always setting herself up. At last feeling down came to mean the same
+thing as being sober. You dont know what a drunken woman is, Douglas,
+unless youve lived in the same house with one.” Douglas recoiled, and
+looked very sternly at Marmaduke, who proceeded more vehemently. “She’s
+nothing but a downright beast. She’s either screaming at you in a fit
+of rage, or clawing at you in a fit of fondness that makes you sick.
+When she falls asleep, there she is, a besotted heap tumbled anyhow
+into bed, snoring and grunting like a pig. When she wakes, she begins
+planning how to get more liquor. Think of what you or I would feel if
+we saw our mothers tipsy. By God, that child of mine wouldnt believe
+its eyes if it saw its mother sober. Only for Lucy, I’d have pitched
+her over long ago. I did all I could when I first saw that she was
+overdoing the champagne. I swore I’d break the neck of any man I caught
+bringing wine into the house. I sacked the whole staff of servants
+twice because I found a lot of fresh corks swept into the dustpan. I
+stopped drinking at home myself: I got in doctors to frighten her: I
+tried bribing, coaxing, threatening: I knocked her down once when I
+caught her with a bottle in her hand; and she fell with her head
+against the fender, and frightened me a good deal more than she hurt
+herself. It was no use. Sometimes she used to defy me, and say she
+_would_ drink, she didnt care whether she was killing herself or not.
+Other times she cried; implored me to save her from destroying herself;
+asked me why I didnt thrash the life out of her whenever I caught her
+drunk; promised on her oath never to touch another drop. The same
+evening she would be drunk again, and, when I taxed her with it, say
+that she wasn’t drunk, that she was sick, and that she prayed the
+Almighty on her knees to strike her dead if she had a bottle in the
+house. Aye, and the very stool she knelt on would be a wine case with a
+red cloth stuck to it with a few gilt-headed nails to make it look like
+a piece of furniture. Next day she would laugh at me for believing her,
+and ask me what use I supposed there was in talking to her. How she
+managed to hold on at the theatre, I dont know. She wouldnt learn new
+parts, and stuck to old ones that she could do in her sleep, she knew
+them so well. She would go on the stage and get through a long part
+when she couldnt walk straight from the wing to her dressing-room. Of
+course, her voice went to the dogs long ago; but by dint of screeching
+and croaking she pulls through. She says she darent go on sober now;
+that she knows she should break down. The theatre has fallen off, too.
+The actors got out of the place one by one—they didnt like playing with
+her—and were replaced by a third-rate lot. The audiences used to be
+very decent: now they are all cads and fast women. The game is up for
+her in London. She has been offered an engagement in America on the
+strength of her old reputation; but what is the use of it if she
+continues drinking.”
+
+“That is very sad,” said Douglas, with cold disgust, perfunctorily
+veiled by a conventional air of sympathy. “But if she is irreclaimable,
+why not leave her?”
+
+“So I would, only for the child. I _have_ left her—at least, I’ve taken
+lodgings in town; but I am always running out to Laurel Grove. I darent
+trust Lucy to her; and she knows it; for she wouldnt let me take the
+poor little creature away, although she doesnt care two straws for it.
+She knows that it gives her a grip over me. Well, I have not seen her
+for a week past. I have tried the trick of only going out in the
+evening when she has to be at the theatre. And now she has sent me a
+long letter; and I dont exactly know what to do about it. She swears
+she has given up drinking—not touched a spoonful since I saw her last.
+She’s as superstitious as an old woman; and yet she will swear to that
+lie with oaths that make _me_ uncomfortable, although I am pretty
+thick-skinned in religious matters. Then she goes drivelling on about
+me having encouraged her to drink at first, and then turned upon her
+and deserted her when I found out the mischief I had done. I used to
+stand plenty of champagne, but I am sure I never thought what would
+come of it. Then she says she gave up every friend in the world for me:
+broke with her brother, and lost her place in society. _Her_ place in
+society, mind you, Douglas! Thats not bad, is it? Then, of course, I am
+leaving her to die alone with her helpless child: I might have borne
+with her a little longer: she will not trouble me nor anyone else much
+more; and so on. The upshot is that she wants me to come back. She says
+I ought to be there to save the child from her, if I dont care to save
+her from herself; that I was the last restraint on her; and that if I
+dont come she will make an end of the business by changing her tipple
+to prussic acid. The whole thing is a string of maudlin rot from
+beginning to end; and I believe she primed herself with about four
+bottles of champagne to write it. Still, I dont want to leave her in
+the lurch. You are a man who stand pretty closely on your honor. Do you
+think I ought to go back? I may tell you that as regards money she is
+under no compliment to me. Her earnings were a good half of our income;
+and she saved nothing out of them. In fact, I owe her some money for
+two or three old debts she paid for me. We always shared like husband
+and wife.”
+
+“I hardly understand your hesitation, Lind. You can take the little
+girl out of her hands; allow her something; and be quit of her.”
+
+“Thats very easy to say; but I cant drag her child away from her if she
+insists on keeping it.”
+
+“Well, so much the better for you. It would be a burden to you. Pay her
+for its maintenance: that is probably what she wants.”
+
+“No, no,” said Marmaduke, impatiently. “You dont understand. Youre
+talking as if I were a rake living with a loose woman.”
+
+Douglas looked at him doubtfully. “I confess I do not understand,” he
+said. “Perhaps you will be good enough to explain.”
+
+“It’s very simple. I went to live with her because I fell in love with
+her, and she wouldnt marry me. She had a horror of marriage; and I was
+naturally not very eager for it myself. Matters must be settled between
+us as if we were husband and wife. Paying her off is all nonsense. She
+doesnt want money; and I want the child; so she has the advantage of
+me. Only for the drink I would go back to her to-morrow; but I cant
+stand her when she is not sober. I bore with it long enough; and now
+all I want is to get Lucy out of her hands and be quit of her, as you
+say—although it seems mean to leave her.”
+
+“She must certainly be a very extraordinary woman if she refused to
+marry you. Are you sure she is not married already?”
+
+“Bosh! Not she. She likes to be independent; and she has a sort of
+self-respect—not like Constance and the old Countess, who hunted me
+long enough in the hope of running me down at last in a church.”
+
+“If you offered her marriage, that certainly frees you from the least
+obligation to stay with her. She reserved liberty to leave you; and, of
+course, the same privilege was implied on your part. If you have no
+sentimental wish to return to her, you are most decidedly not bound in
+honor to.”
+
+“I’m fond enough of her when she is sober; but I loathe her when she is
+fuddled. If she would only give up drinking, we might make a fresh
+start. But she wont.”
+
+“You must not think of doing that. Get rid of her, my dear fellow. This
+marriage of Marian’s has put the affair on a new footing altogether. I
+tell you candidly, I think that under the circumstances your connexion
+with Conolly’s sister is a disgraceful one.”
+
+“Hang Conolly! Everybody thinks of Marian, and nobody of Susanna. I
+have heard enough of that side of the question. Marian married him with
+her eyes open.”
+
+“Do you mean to say that she knew?”
+
+“Of course she did. Conolly told her, fairly enough. He’s an
+extraordinary card, that fellow.”
+
+“Reginald Lind told my mother that the discovery was made by accident
+after the marriage, and that they were all shocked by it. It was he who
+said that it was Conolly’s _cousin_ that you were with.”
+
+“Uncle Rej. is an old liar. So are most of the family: I never believe
+a word they say.”
+
+“Marian must have been infatuated. I advise you to break the connexion.
+She will be glad to give you the child if she sees that you are
+resolved to leave her. She only holds on because she hopes to make it
+the means of bringing you back.”
+
+“I expect youre about right. She wants me to meet her here to-day at
+half past three. Thats the reason I came.”
+
+“Do you know that it now wants twenty minutes of four?”
+
+“Whew! So it does. I had better go and look for her. I’m very much
+obliged to you, old fellow, for talking it over with me. I suppose you
+dont want to meet her.”
+
+“I should be in the way at present.”
+
+“Then good-bye.”
+
+Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to the
+picture galleries, where several students were more or less busy at
+their easels. Lady Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying
+“Sterne’s Maria,” by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She had been
+annoyed some minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a rich
+costume of black silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect her
+drawing. Lady Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she was
+considered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady Constance out
+of countenance, and then deliberately scanned her work with an
+expression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit. Having thus
+revenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute,
+and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. A few minutes
+later Marmaduke entered, looking round as if in search of someone.
+
+“Here I am,” said Constance to him, playfully.
+
+“So I see,” said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful astonishment.
+“You knew I was looking for you, did you?”
+
+“Of course I did, sir.”
+
+“Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing here?”
+
+“Dont you see? I am copying a picture.”
+
+“Oh! it’s very pretty. Which one are you copying?”
+
+“What an impertinent question! You can tell my poor copy well enough,
+only you pretend not to.”
+
+“Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it’s a little like Mary
+the maid of the inn there.”
+
+“It’s not Mary: it’s Maria—Sterne’s Maria.”
+
+“Indeed! Do you read Sterne?”
+
+“Certainly not,” said Constance, looking very serious.
+
+“Then what do you paint his Maria for? How do you know whether she is a
+fit subject for you?”
+
+“Hush, sir! You must not interrupt my work.”
+
+“I suppose you have lots of fun here over your art studies, eh?”
+
+“Who?”
+
+“You, and all the other girls here.”
+
+“Oh, I am sure I dont know any of them.”
+
+“Quite right, too, your ladyship. Dont make yourself cheap. I hope none
+of the low beggars ever have the audacity to speak to you.”
+
+“I dont know anything about them,” said Lady Constance, pettishly. “All
+I mean is that they are strangers to me.”
+
+“Most likely theyll remain so. You all seem to stick to the little
+pictures tremendously. Why dont you go in for high art? There’s a big
+picture of Adam and Eve! Why dont you paint that?”
+
+“Will you soon be leaving town?” she replied, looking steadily at her
+work, and declining to discuss Adam and Eve, who were depicted naked.
+Receiving no reply, she looked round, and saw Marmaduke leaving the
+room with the woman in the black silk dress.
+
+“Who is that girl?” said Susanna, as they went out.
+
+“That’s Lady Constance, whom I was to have married.”
+
+“I guessed as much when I saw you talking to her. She is a true English
+lady, heaven bless her! I took the liberty of looking at her painting;
+and she stared at me as if I had bitten her.”
+
+“She is a little fool.”
+
+“She will not be such a little fool as to try to snub me again, I
+think. Bob: did you get my letter?”
+
+“Of course I got it, or I shouldnt be here.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Well, I dont believe a word of it.”
+
+“That’s plain speaking.”
+
+“There is no use mincing matters. You are just as likely to stop
+drinking as you are to stop breathing.”
+
+“Perhaps I shall stop breathing before long.”
+
+“Very likely, at your present rate.”
+
+“That will be a relief to you.”
+
+“It will be a relief to everybody, and a release for yourself. You have
+made me miserable for a year past; and now you expect me to be
+frightened at the prospect of being rid of you.”
+
+“I dont expect you to be frightened. I expect you to do what all men
+do: throw me aside as soon as I have served your turn.”
+
+“Yes. Of course, _you_ are the aggrieved party. Where’s Lucy?”
+
+“I dont know, and I dont care.”
+
+“Well, I want to know; and I do care. Is she at home?”
+
+“How do I know whether she is at home or not. I left her there. Very
+likely she is with her Aunt Marian, telling stories about her mother.”
+
+“She is better there than with you. What harm has she done you that you
+should talk about her in that way?”
+
+“No harm. I dont object to her being there. She has very pleasant
+conversations with Mrs. Ned, which she retails to me at home. ‘Aunty
+Marian: why do you never drink champagne? Mamma is always drinking it.’
+And then, ‘Mamma: why do you drink so much wine? Aunty Marian never
+drinks any.’ Good heavens! the little devil told me this morning by way
+of consolation that she always takes care not to tell her Aunty that I
+get drunk.”
+
+“What did you do to her for saying it?”
+
+“Dont lose your temper. I didnt strangle her, nor even box her ears.
+Why should I? She only repeats what you teach her.”
+
+“She repeats what her eyes and ears teach her. If she learned the word
+from me, she learned the meaning from you. A nice lesson for a child
+hardly three years old.”
+
+Susanna sat down on a bench, and looked down at her feet. After a few
+moments, she tightened her lips; rose; and walked away.
+
+“Hallo! Where are you going to?” said Marmaduke, following her.
+
+“I’m going to get some drink. I have been sober and miserable ever
+since I wrote to you. I have not got much thanks for it, except to be
+made more miserable. So I’ll get drunk, and be happy.”
+
+“No, you shant,” said Marmaduke, seizing her arm, and forcibly stopping
+her.
+
+“What does it matter to you whether I do or not? You say you won’t come
+back. Then leave me to go my own way.”
+
+“Here! you sit down,” he said, pushing her into a chair. “I know your
+game well enough. You think you have me safe as long as you have the
+child.”
+
+“Oh, thats it, is it? Why dont you go out; take a cab; and go to Laurel
+Grove for her? There is nothing to prevent you taking her away.”
+
+“I have a good mind to do it.”
+
+“Well, _do_ it. I wont stop you. Why didnt you do it long ago? Her home
+is no place for her. I’m not fit to have charge of her. I have no fancy
+for having her talking about me, and most likely mimicking me to other
+people.”
+
+“Thats exactly what I want to arrange with you to do, if you will only
+be reasonable. Listen. Let us part friends, Susanna, since there is no
+use in our going on together. You must give me the child. It would only
+be a burden to you; and I can have it well taken care of. You can keep
+the house just as it is: I will pay the rent of it.”
+
+“What good is the house to me?”
+
+“Can’t you hear me out? It will be good to you to live in, I suppose;
+or you can set it on fire, and wipe it off the face of the earth, for
+what I care. I can give you five hundred pounds down——”
+
+“Five hundred pounds! And what will you live on until your October
+dividends come in? On credit, I suppose. Do you think you can impose on
+me by flourishing money before me? I will never take a halfpenny from
+you; no, not if I starve for it.”
+
+“Thats all nonsense, Susanna. You must.”
+
+“Must I? Do you think you can make me take your money as you made me
+sit down here? by force!”
+
+“I only offer you what I owe you. Those debts——”
+
+“I dont want what you owe me. If you think it mean to leave me, you
+shant plaster up your conscience with bank notes. You would like to be
+able to say in your club that you treated me handsomely.”
+
+“I dont think it mean to leave you, not a bit of it. Any other man
+would have left you months ago. If I had married that little fool
+inside there, and she had taken to drink, I wouldnt have stood it a
+week. I have stood it from you nearly a year. Can you expect me to stay
+under the same roof with you, with the very thought of you making me
+sick and angry? I was looking at some of your old likenesses the other
+day; and I declare that it is enough to make a man cry to look at your
+face now and listen to your voice. When you used to lecture me for
+losing a twenty pound note at billiards, and coming home half
+screwed—no man shall ever see me drunk again—I little thought which of
+us would be the first to go to the dogs.”
+
+“I shall not trouble you long.”
+
+“What is the use of harping on that? I have seen you drunk so often
+that I should almost be glad to see you dead.”
+
+“Stop!” said Susanna, rising. “All right: you need say no more. Talking
+will not remedy matters; and it makes me feel pretty much as if you
+were throwing big stones at my heart. Youre in the right, I suppose:
+I’ve chosen to make a beast of myself, and I must take the
+consequences. You can have the child. I will send for my things: you
+wont see me at Laurel Grove again. Good-bye.”
+
+“But——”
+
+“Dont say another word, Bob. Good-bye.” He took her hand irresolutely.
+She drew it quickly away; nodded to him; and went out, whilst he stood
+wondering whether it would be safe—seeing that he did not desire a
+reconciliation—to kiss her good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+On Sunday afternoon Douglas walked, facing a glorious sunset, along
+Uxbridge Road to Holland Park, where he found Mrs. Conolly, Miss
+McQuinch, and Marmaduke. A little girl was playing in the garden. They
+were all so unconstrained, and so like their old selves, that Douglas
+at once felt that Conolly was absent.
+
+“I am to make Ned’s excuses,” said Marian. “He has some pressing family
+affairs to arrange.” She seemed about to explain further; but Marmaduke
+looked so uneasily at her that she stopped. Then, resuming gaily, she
+added, “I told Ned that he need not stand on ceremony with you. Fancy
+my saying that of you, the most punctilious of men!”
+
+“Quite right. I am glad that Mr. Conolly has not suffered me to
+interfere with his movements,” he replied, with a smile, which he
+suppressed as he turned and greeted Miss McQuinch with his usual cold
+composure. But to Marmaduke, who seemed much cast down, he gave an
+encouraging squeeze of the hand. Not that he was moved by the
+misfortunes of Marmaduke; but he was thawed by the beauty of Marian.
+
+“We shall have a pleasant evening,” continued Marian. “Let us fancy
+ourselves back at Westbourne Terrace again. Reminiscences make one feel
+so deliciously aged and sad. Let us think that it is one of our old
+Sunday afternoons. Sholto had better go upstairs and shave, to heighten
+the illusion.”
+
+“Not for me, since I cannot see myself, particularly if I have to call
+you Mrs. Conolly. If I may call you Marian, as I used to do, I think
+that our conversation will contain fewer reminders of the lapse of
+time.”
+
+“Of course,” said Marian, disregarding an anxious glance from Elinor.
+“What else should you call me? We were talking about Nelly’s fame when
+you came in. The colonial edition of her book has just appeared. Behold
+the advertisement!”
+
+There was a newspaper open on the table; and Marian pointed to one of
+its columns as she spoke. Douglas took it up and read the following:
+
+Now Ready, a New and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 5s.
+
+
+THE WATERS OF MARAH,
+
+
+BY ELINOR MCQUINCH.
+
+
+“Superior to many of the numerous tales which find a ready sale at the
+railway bookstall.” _Athenaeum_.
+    “There is nothing to fatigue, and something to gratify, the idle
+    reader.” _Examiner_.
+    “There is a ring of solid metal in ‘The Waters of Marah.’” _Daily
+    Telegraph_.
+    “Miss McQuinch has fairly established her claim to be considered
+    the greatest novelist of the age.” _Middlingtown Mercury._
+
+    “Replete with thrilling and dramatic incident….. Instinct with
+    passion and pathos.” _Ladies’ Gazette_.
+
+
+TABUTEAU & SON, COVENT GARDEN.
+
+
+“That is very flattering,” said Douglas, as he replaced the paper on
+the table.
+
+“Highly so,” said Elinor. “Coriolanus displaying his wounds in the
+Forum is nothing to it.” And she abruptly took the paper, and threw it
+disgustedly behind the sofa. Just then a message from the kitchen
+engaged Marian’s attention, and Douglas, to relieve her from her guests
+for the moment, strolled out upon the little terrace, whither Marmaduke
+had moodily preceded him.
+
+“Still in your difficulties, Lind?” he said, with his perfunctory air
+of concern, looking at the garden with some interest.
+
+“I’m out of my difficulties clean enough,” said Marmaduke. “There’s the
+child among the currant bushes; and I am rid of her mother: for good, I
+suppose.”
+
+“So much the better! I hope it has not cost you too much.”
+
+“Not a rap. I met her in the museum after our confab on Wednesday, and
+told her what you recommended: that I must have the child, and that she
+must go. She said all right, and shook hands. I havnt seen her since.”
+
+“I congratulate you.”
+
+“I dont feel comfortable about her.”
+
+“Absurd, man! What better could you have done?”
+
+“Thats just what I say. It was her own fault; I did all in my power. I
+offered her five hundred pounds down. She wouldnt have it, of course;
+but could I help that? Next day, when she sent her maid for her things,
+I felt so uneasy that I came to Conolly, and told him the whole affair.
+He behaved very decently about it, and said that I might as well have
+left her six months ago for all the good my staying had done or was
+likely to do. He has gone off to see her to-day—she is in lodgings
+somewhere near the theatre; and he will let me know in case any money
+is required. I should like to know what they are saying to one another
+about me. They’re a rum pair.”
+
+“Well, let us eat and drink; for to-morrow we die,” said Douglas, with
+an unnatural attempt at humor. “Marian seems happy. We must not spoil
+her evening.”
+
+“Yes: she is always in good spirits when he is away.”
+
+“Indeed?”
+
+“It seems to me that they dont pull together. I think she is afraid of
+him.”
+
+“You dont mean to say that he ill-treats her?” said Douglas, fiercely.
+
+“No: I dont mean that he thrashes her, or anything of that sort. And
+yet he is just that sort of chap that I shouldnt be surprised at
+anything he might do. As far as ordinary matters go, he seems to treat
+her particularly well. But Ive noticed that she shuts up and gets
+anxious when he comes into the room; and he has his own way in
+everything.”
+
+“Is that all? He embarrasses her by his behavior, I suppose. Perhaps
+she is afraid of his allowing his breeding to peep out.”
+
+“Not she. His manners are all right enough. Besides, as he is a genius
+and a celebrity and all that, people dont expect him to be
+conventional. He might stand on his head, if he chose.”
+
+“Sholto,” said Marian, joining them: “have you spoken to little Lucy?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Then you are unacquainted with the most absolute imp on the face of
+the earth,” said Elinor. “You neednt frown, Marmaduke: it is you who
+have made her so.”
+
+“Leave her alone,” said Marmaduke to Marian, who was about to call the
+child. “Petting babies is not in Douglas’s line: she will only bore
+him.”
+
+“Not at all,” said Douglas.
+
+“It does not matter whether she bores him or not,” said Marian. “He
+must learn to take a proper interest in children. Lucy: come here.”
+
+Lucy stopped playing, and said, “What for?”
+
+“Because I ask you to, dear,” said Marian, gently.
+
+The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. Miss
+McQuinch laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down the
+garden. Lucy did not perceive him until he was within a few steps of
+her, when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the other side
+of a flower-bed too wide for him to spring across. He gave chase; but
+she, with screams of laughter, avoided him by running to and fro so as
+to keep on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it was undignified to
+dodge his child thus, he stopped and bade her come to him; but she only
+laughed the more. He called her in tones of command, entreaty,
+expostulation, and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly.
+She placed her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; spread her
+fingers; and made him a curtsy. He uttered an imprecation, and returned
+angrily to the house, saying, between his teeth:
+
+“Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate.”
+
+“She is really too bad to-day,” said Marian. “I am quite shocked at
+her.”
+
+“She is quite right not to come in and be handed round for inspection
+like a doll,” said Elinor.
+
+“She is very bold not to come when she is told,” said Marian.
+
+“Yes, from your point of view,” said Elinor. “I like bold children.”
+
+Marmaduke was sulky and Marian serious for some time after this
+incident. They recovered their spirits at dinner, when Marian related
+to Douglas how she had become reconciled to his mother. Afterward,
+Marmaduke suggested a game at whist.
+
+“Oh no, not on Sunday,” said Marian. “Whist is too wicked.”
+
+“Then what the dickens _may_ we do?” said Marmaduke. “May Nelly play
+_écarté_ with me?”
+
+“Well, please dont play for money. And dont sit close to the front
+window.”
+
+“Come along, then, Nell. You two may sing hymns, if you like.”
+
+“I wish you could sing, Sholto,” said Marian. “It is an age since we
+last had a game of chess together. Do you still play?”
+
+“Yes,” said Douglas; “I shall be delighted. But I fear you will beat me
+now, as I suppose you have been practising with Mr. Conolly.”
+
+“Playing with Ned! No: he hates chess. He says it is a foolish
+expedient for making idle people believe they are doing something very
+clever when they are only wasting their time. He actually grumbled
+about the price of the table and the pieces; but I insisted on having
+them, I suppose in remembrance of you.”
+
+“It is kind of you to say that, Marian. Will you have black or white?”
+
+“White, please, unless you wish me to be always making moves with your
+men.”
+
+“Now. Will you move?”
+
+“I think I had rather you began. Remember our old conditions. You are
+not to checkmate me in three moves; and you are not to take my queen.”
+
+“Very well. You may rely upon it I shall think more of my adversary
+than of my game. Check.”
+
+“Oh! You have done it in three moves. That is not fair. I won’t play
+any more unless you take back that.”
+
+“No, I assure you it is not checkmate. My bishop should be at the other
+side for that. There! of course, that will do.”
+
+“What a noise Marmaduke makes over his cards! I hope the people next
+door will not hear him swearing.”
+
+“Impossible. You must not move that knight: it exposes your king. Do
+you know, I think there is a great charm about this house.”
+
+“Indeed? Yes, it is a pretty house.”
+
+“And this sunset hour makes it additionally so; Besides, it is
+inexpressibly sad to see you here, a perfectly happy and perfectly
+beautiful mistress of this romantic foreign home.”
+
+“What do you mean, Sholto?”
+
+“I call it a foreign home because, though it is yours, I have no part
+nor lot in it. Remember, we are only playing at old times to-night.
+Everything around, from the organ to the ring on your finger, reminds
+me that I am a stranger here. It seems almost unkind of you to regret
+nothing whilst I am full of regrets.”
+
+“Check,” said Marian. “Mind your game, sir.”
+
+“Flippant!” exclaimed Douglas, impatiently moving his king. “I verily
+believe that if your husband were at the bottom of the Thames at this
+moment, you would fly off unconcernedly to some other nest, and break
+hearts with as much indifference as ever.”
+
+“I wish you would not make suggestions of that sort, Sholto. You make
+me uncomfortable. Something _might_ happen to Ned. I wish he were home.
+He is very late.”
+
+“Happy man. You can be serious when you think about him. I envy him.”
+
+“What! Sholto Douglas stoop to envy any mortal! Prodigious!”
+
+“Yes: it has come to that with me. Why should I not envy him? His
+career has been upward throughout. He has been a successful worker in
+the world, where I have had nothing real to do. When the good things I
+had been dreaming of and longing for all my life came in his path, he
+had them for the mere asking. I valued them so highly that when I
+fancied I possessed them, I was the proudest of men. I am humble enough
+now that I am beggared.”
+
+“You are really talking the greatest nonsense.”
+
+“No doubt I am. Still in love, Marian, you see. There is no harm in
+telling you so now.”
+
+“On the contrary, it is now that there is harm. For shame, Sholto!”
+
+“I am not ashamed. I tell you of my love because now you can listen to
+me without uneasiness, knowing that it is no longer associated with
+hope, or desire, or anything but regret. You see that I do not affect
+the romantic lover. I eat very well; I play chess; I go into society;
+and you reproach me for growing fat.”
+
+Marian bent over the chessboard for a moment to hide her face. Then she
+said in a lower voice, “I have thoroughly convinced myself that there
+is no such thing as love in the world.”
+
+“That means that you have never experienced it.”
+
+“I have told you already that I have never been in love, and that I
+dont believe a bit in it. I mean romantic love, of course.”
+
+“I verily believe that you have not. The future has one more pang in
+store for me; for you will surely love some day.”
+
+“I am getting too old for that, I fear. At what age, pray, did you
+receive the arrow in your heart?”
+
+“When I was a boy, I loved a vision. The happiest hours of my life were
+those in which I was slowly, tremulously daring to believe that I had
+found my vision at last in you. And then the dreams that followed! What
+a career was to have been mine! I remember how you used to reproach me
+because I was austere with women and proud with men. How could I have
+been otherwise? I contrasted the gifts of all other women with those of
+my elect, and the lot of all other men with my own. Can you wonder
+that, doing so, I carried my head among the clouds? You must remember
+how unfamiliar failure was to me. At school, at Oxford, in society, I
+had sought distinction without misgiving, and attained it without
+difficulty. My one dearest object I deemed secure long before I opened
+my lips and asked expressly for it. I think I walked through life at
+that time like a somnambulist; for I have since seen that I must have
+been piling mistake upon mistake until out of a chaos of meaningless
+words and smiles I had woven a Paphian love temple. At the first menace
+of disappointment—a thing as new and horrible to me as death—I fled the
+country. I came back with only the ruins of the doomed temple. You were
+not content to destroy a ruin: the feat was too easy to be glorious. So
+you rebuilt it in one hour to the very dome, and lighted its altars
+with more than their former radiance. Then, as though it were but a
+house of cards—as indeed it was nothing else—you gave it one delicate
+touch and razed it to its foundations. Yet I am afraid those altar
+lamps were not wholly extinguished. They smoulder beneath the ruins
+still.”
+
+“I wonder why they made you the Newdigate poet at Oxford, Sholto: you
+mix your metaphors most dreadfully. Dont be angry with me: I understand
+what you mean; and I am very sorry. I say flippant things because I
+must. How _can_ one meet seriousness in modern society except by
+chaff?”
+
+“I am not angry. I had rather you did not understand. The more flippant
+you are, the more you harden my heart; and I want it to be as hard as
+the nether millstone. Your pity would soften me; and I dread that.”
+
+“I believe it does every man good to be softened. If you ever really
+felt what you describe, you greatly over-estimated me. What can you
+lose by a little more softness? I often think that men—particularly
+good men—make their way through the world too much as if it were a
+solid mass of iron through which they must cut—as if they dared not
+relax their hardest edge and finest temper for a moment. Surely, that
+is not the way to enjoy life.”
+
+“Perhaps not. Still, it is the way to conquer in life. It may be
+pleasant to have a soft heart; but then someone is sure to break it.”
+
+“I do not believe much in broken hearts. Besides, I do not mean that
+men should be too soft. For instance, sentimental young men of about
+twenty are odious. But for a man to get into a fighting attitude at the
+barest suggestion of sentiment; to believe in nature as something
+inexorable, and to aim at being as inexorable as nature: is not that
+almost as bad?”
+
+“Do you know any such man? You must not attribute that sort of hardness
+to me.”
+
+“Oh no; I was not thinking of you. I was not thinking of anyone in
+fact. I only put a case. I sometimes have disputes with Ned on the
+subject. One of his cardinal principles is that there is no use in
+crying for spilt milk. I always argue that as irremediable disasters
+are the only ones that deserve or obtain sympathy, he might as well say
+that there is no use in crying for anything. Then he slips out of the
+difficulty by saying that that was just what he meant, and that there
+is actually no place for regret in a well-regulated scheme of life. In
+debating with women, men brazen out all the ridiculous conclusions of
+which they are convicted; and then they say that there is no use in
+arguing with a woman. Neither is there, because the woman is always
+right.”
+
+“Yes; because she suffers her heart to direct her.”
+
+“You are just as bad as the rest of your sex, I see. Where you cannot
+withold credit from a woman, you give it to her heart and deny it to
+her head.”
+
+“There! I wont play any more,” said Miss McQuinch, suddenly, at the
+other end of the room. “Have you finished your chess, Marian?”
+
+“We are nearly done. Ring for the lamps, please, Nelly. Let us finish,
+Sholto.”
+
+“Whose turn is it to move? I beg your pardon for my inattention.”
+
+“Mine—no, yours. Stop! it must be mine. I really dont know.”
+
+“Nor do I. I have forgotten my game.”
+
+“Then let us put up the board. We can finish some other night.”
+
+It had become dark by this time; and the lamps were brought in whilst
+Douglas was replacing the chessmen in their box.
+
+“Now,” said Marian, “let us have some music. Marmaduke: will you sing
+Uncle Ned for us? We have not heard you sing for ages.”
+
+“I believe it is more than three years since that abominable concert at
+Wandsworth; and I have not heard you sing since,” said Elinor.
+
+“I forget all my songs—havnt sung one of them for months. However, here
+goes! Have you a banjo in the house?”
+
+“No,” said Marian. “I will play an accompaniment for you.”
+
+“All right. See here: you need only play these three chords. When one
+sounds wrong, play another. Youll learn it in a moment.”
+
+Marmaduke’s voice was not so fresh, nor his fun so spontaneous, as at
+Wandsworth; but they were not critical enough to appreciate the
+difference: they laughed like children at him. Elinor was asked to
+play; but she would not: she had renounced that folly, she said. Then,
+at Douglas’s request, Marian sang, in memory of Wandsworth, “Rose,
+softly blooming.” When she had finished, Elinor asked for some old
+melodies, knowing that Marian liked these best. So she began gaily with
+The Oak and the Ash and Robin Adair. After that, finding both herself
+and the others in a more pathetic vein, she sang them The Bailiff’s
+Daughter of Islington, and The Banks of Allan Water, at the end of
+which Marmaduke’s eyes were full of tears, and the rest sat quite
+still. She paused for a minute, and then broke the silence with Auld
+Robin Gray, which affected even Douglas, who had no ear. As she sang
+the last strain, the click of a latchkey was heard from without.
+Instantly she rose; closed the pianoforte softly; and sat down at some
+distance from it. Her action was reflected by a change in their
+behavior. They remembered that they were not at home, and became more
+or less uneasily self-conscious. Elinor was the least disturbed.
+Conolly’s first glance on entering was at the piano: his next went in
+search of his wife.
+
+“Ah!” he said, surprised. “I thought somebody was singing.”
+
+“Oh dear no!” said Elinor drily. “You must have been mistaken.”
+
+“Perhaps so,” said he, smiling. “But I have been listening carefully at
+the window for ten minutes; and I certainly dreamt that I heard Auld
+Robin Gray.”
+
+Marian blushed. Conolly did not seem to have been moved by the song. He
+was alert and loquacious: before he had finished his greeting and
+apology to Douglas, they all felt as little sentimental as they had
+ever done in their lives. Marian, after asking whether he had dined,
+became silent, and dropped the pretty airs of command which, as
+hostess, she had worn before.
+
+“Have you any news?” said Marmaduke at last. “Douglas knows the whole
+business. We are all friends here.”
+
+“Only what we expected,” said Conolly. “Affairs are exactly as they
+were. I called to-day at her address—”
+
+“How did you get it?” said Marmaduke.
+
+“I wrote for it to her at the theatre.”
+
+“And did she send it?”
+
+“Of course. But she did not give me any encouragement to call on her,
+and, in fact, evidently did not want to see me. Her appearance has
+altered very much for the worse. She is a confirmed dipsomaniac; and
+she knows it. I advised her to abstain in future. She asked me, in her
+sarcastic, sisterly way, whether I had any other advice to give her. I
+told her that if she meant to go on, her proper course was to purchase
+a hogshead of brandy; keep it by her side; and condense the process of
+killing herself, which may at present take some years, into a few
+days.”
+
+“Oh, Ned, you did not really say that to her!” said Marian.
+
+“I did indeed. The shocking part of the affair is not, as you seem to
+think, my giving the advice, but that it should be the very best advice
+I could have given.”
+
+“I do not think I would have said so.”
+
+“Most likely not,” said Conolly, with a smile. “You would have said
+something much prettier. But dipsomania is not one of the pretty things
+of life; nor can it by any stretch of benevolent hypocrisy be made to
+pass as one. When Susanna and I get talking, we do not waste time in
+trying to spare one another’s feelings. If we did, we should both see
+through the attempt and be very impatient of it.”
+
+“Did she tell you what she intends to do?” said Marmaduke.
+
+“She has accepted an American engagement. When that draws to a close,
+it will, she says, be time enough for her to consider her next step.
+But she has no intention of leaving the stage until she is compelled.”
+
+“Has she any intention of reforming her habits?” said Elinor, bluntly.
+
+“I should say every intention, but no prospect of doing so.
+Dipsomaniacs are always intending to reform; but they rarely succeed.
+Has Lucy been put to bed?”
+
+“Lucy is in disgrace,” said Elinor. Marian looked at her
+apprehensively.
+
+“In disgrace!” said Conolly, more seriously. “How so?”
+
+Elinor described what had taken place in the garden. When she told how
+the child had disregarded Marian’s appeal, Conolly laughed.
+
+“Lucy has no sense of how pretty she would have looked toddling in
+obediently because her aunt asked her to,” he said. “She is, like all
+children, very practical, and will not assist in getting up amiable
+little scenes without good reason rendered.”
+
+Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Douglas was speaking to
+her in a low voice, she was listening nervously to her husband. So she
+said sharply, “It is a pity you were not here to tell us what to do.”
+
+“Apparently it is,” said Conolly, complacently.
+
+“What would you have done?” said Marian suddenly, interrupting Douglas.
+
+“I suppose,” said Conolly, looking round at her in surprise, “I should
+have answered her question—told her what she was wanted for. If I asked
+you to do anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely
+annoyed if I answered, ‘because I ask you.’”
+
+“I would not ask why,” said Marian. “I would do it.”
+
+“That would be very nice of you,” said Conolly; “but you cannot: expect
+such a selfish, mistrustful, and curious animal as a little child to be
+equally kind and confiding. Lucy is too acute not to have learned long
+since that grown people systematically impose on the credulity and
+helplessness of children.”
+
+“Thats true,” said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned away and quietly
+resumed her conversation with Douglas. After a minute she strolled with
+him into the garden, whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke.
+
+“Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss McQuinch?” said Conolly,
+left alone with her.
+
+“Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. We played chess and
+_écarté_; and we all agreed to make old times of it. Marmaduke sang for
+us; and Marian had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers.”
+
+“And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh?”
+
+“Certainly not. Why do you say that?”
+
+“Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true: jealousy, perhaps,
+because I missed being here earlier. You think, then, that if I had
+been here, the evening would have been equally pleasant, and Marian
+equally happy in her singing?”
+
+“Dont you like Marian’s singing?”
+
+“Could you not have refrained from that most indiscreet question?”
+
+“I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not answer it.”
+
+“That would make matters worse. And there is no reason whatever why the
+plain truth should not be told. When I was a child I heard every day
+better performances than Marian’s. She believes there is something
+pretty and good in music, and patronizes it accordingly to the best of
+her ability. I do not like to hear music patronized; and when Marian,
+lovely as she is, gives her pretty renderings of songs which I have
+heard a hundred times from singers who knew what they were about, then,
+though I admire her as I must always, my admiration is rather increased
+than otherwise when she stops; because then I am no longer conscious of
+a deficiency which even my unfortunate sister could supply.”
+
+“Your criticism of her singing sounds more sincere than your admiration
+of her loveliness. I am not musician enough to judge. All I know is
+that her singing is good enough for me.”
+
+“I know you are displeased because it is not good enough for me; but
+how can I help myself? Poor Marian——”
+
+“Do hush!” said Elinor. “Here she is.”
+
+“You need not be in such a hurry, Duke,” said Marian. “What can it
+matter to you how late you get back?”
+
+“No,” said Marmaduke. “I’ve got to write home. The governor is ill; and
+my mammy will send me a five-sheet sermon if I neglect writing
+to-night. You will keep Lucy for another week, wont you? Box her ears
+if she gives you any cheek. She wants it: she’s been spoiled.”
+
+“If we find we can do no better than that with her, we shall hand her
+back to you,” said Conolly. Then the visitors took their leave. Marian
+gently pressed Douglas’s hand and looked into his eyes as he bade her
+farewell. Elinor, seeing this, glanced uneasily at Conolly, and
+unexpectedly met his eye. There was a gleam of cynical intelligence in
+it that did not reassure her. A few minutes later she went to bed,
+leaving the couple alone together. Conolly looked at his wife for a
+moment with an amused expression; but she closed her lips
+irresponsively, and went to the table for a book which she wanted to
+bring upstairs. She would have gone without a word had he not spoken to
+her.
+
+“Marian: Douglas is in love with you.”
+
+She blushed; thought a moment; and said quietly, “Very well. I shall
+not ask him to come again.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, “I thought you cared.
+I beg your pardon.”
+
+“My dear,” he replied, amiably: “if you exclude everybody who falls in
+love with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men.”
+
+“And do you like men to be in love with me?”
+
+“Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them; it makes them attentive to
+you; and it gives you great power for good. When I was a romantic boy,
+any good woman could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love
+with you as much as they please. Afterwards they will seek wives
+according to a higher standard than if they had never known you. But do
+not return the compliment, or your influence will become an evil one.”
+
+“Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I will. Sholto
+Douglas not only loves me, but he told me so to-day.”
+
+“Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or later.”
+
+Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for some time gravely and
+a little wistfully. “I think,” she said, “I should feel very angry if
+any woman made such a confession to you.”
+
+“A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a breach of
+convention; nor a woman an invasion of her privileges, even when they
+have become a burden to her.”
+
+“What do you mean by that?” she said, rising.
+
+“Marian,” he said, looking straight at her: “are you dissatisfied?”
+
+“What reason have I to—”
+
+“Never mind the reasons. Are you?”
+
+“No,” said she, steadfastly.
+
+He smiled indulgently; pressed her hand for a moment against his cheek;
+and went out for the short walk he was accustomed to take before
+retiring.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+In October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at the house of Hardy
+McQuinch’s brother, who had recently returned to England with a fortune
+made in Australia. Conolly, having the house at Holland Park to
+himself, fitted a spare room as a laboratory, and worked there every
+night. One evening, returning home alone a little before five o’clock,
+he shut himself into this laboratory, and had just set to work when
+Armande, the housemaid, interrupted him.
+
+“Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir.”
+
+Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax since before his
+marriage, when he had once shewn her the working of his invention at
+Queen Victoria Street; and as Marian had since resented her share of
+Douglas’s second proposal by avoiding her society as far as possible
+without actually discontinuing her acquaintance, this visit was a
+surprise. Conolly looked darkly at Armande, and went to the
+drawing-room without a word.
+
+“_How_ do you do, Mr. Conolly?” said Mrs. Fairfax, as he entered. “I
+need not ask: you are looking so well. Have I disturbed you?”
+
+“You have—most agreeably. Pray sit down.”
+
+“I know your time is priceless. I should never have ventured to come,
+but that I felt sure you would like to hear all the news from Sark. I
+have been there for the last fortnight. Marian told me to call on you
+the moment I returned.”
+
+“Yes,” said Conolly, convinced that this was not true. “She promised to
+do so in her last letter.”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, on the point of publishing a few supplementary fictions,
+checked herself, and looked suspiciously at him.
+
+“The air of Sark has evidently benefited you,” he said, as she paused.
+“You are looking very well—I had almost said charming.”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax glanced archly at him, and said, “Nonsense! but, indeed,
+the trip was absolutely necessary for me. I should hardly have been
+alive had I remained at work; and poor Willie McQuinch was bent on
+having me.”
+
+“He has been described to me as an inveterate lion hunter.”
+
+“It is not at all pleasant, I assure you, to be persecuted with
+invitations from people who wish to see a real live novelist. But
+William McQuinch’s place at Sark is really palatial. He is called
+Sarcophagus on account of his wealth. A great many people whom he knew
+were staying in the island, besides those in the house with us. Marian
+was the beauty of the place. How every one admires her! Why do you not
+go down, Mr. Conolly?”
+
+“I am too busy. Besides, it will do Marian good to be rid of me for a
+while.”
+
+“Absurd, Mr. Conolly! You should not leave her there by herself.”
+
+“By herself! Why, is not the place full?”
+
+“Yes; but I do not mean that. There is nobody belonging to her there.”
+
+“You forget. Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend. There is Marmaduke, her
+cousin; and his mother, her Aunt Dora. Then, is there not Mr. Sholto
+Douglas, one of her oldest and most attached friends?”
+
+“Oh! Is Mr. Douglas in charge of her?”
+
+“No doubt he will take charge of her, if she is overtaken by her second
+childhood whilst he is there. Meanwhile, she is in charge of herself,
+is she not? And there is hardly any danger of her feeling lonely.”
+
+“No. Sholto Douglas will provide against that.”
+
+“Your opinion confirms the accounts I have had from other sources. It
+appears that Mr. Douglas is very attentive to my wife.”
+
+“Very, indeed, Mr. Conolly. You must not think that I am afraid of
+anything—anything—”
+
+“Anything?”
+
+“Well—Oh, you know what I mean. Anything wrong. At least, not exactly
+wrong, but—”
+
+“Anything undomestic.”
+
+“Yes. You see, Marian’s position is a very difficult one. She is so
+young and so good looking that she is very much observed; and it seems
+so strange her being without her husband.”
+
+“Pretty ladies whose husbands are never seen, often get talked about in
+the world, do they not?”
+
+“That is just what I mean. How cleverly you get everything out of me,
+Mr. Conolly! I called here without the faintest idea of alluding to
+Marian’s situation; and now you have made me say all sorts of things.
+What a fortune you would have made at the bar!”
+
+“I must apologize, I did not mean to cross-examine you. Naturally, of
+course, you would not like to make me uneasy about Marian.”
+
+“It is the very last thing I should desire. But now that it has slipped
+out, I really think you ought to go to Sark.”
+
+“Indeed! I rather infer that I should be very much in the way.”
+
+“The more reason for you to go, Mr. Conolly.”
+
+“Not at all, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. The attentions of a husband are stale,
+unsuited to holiday time. Picture to yourself my arrival at Sark with
+the tender assurance in my mouth, ‘Marian, I love you.’ She would
+reply, ‘So you ought. Am I not your wife?’ The same advance from
+another—Mr. Douglas, for instance—would affect her quite differently,
+and much more pleasantly.”
+
+“Mr. Conolly; is this indifference, or supreme confidence?”
+
+“Neither of these conjugal claptraps. I merely desire that Marian
+should enjoy herself as much as possible; and the more a woman is
+admired, the happier she is. Perhaps you think that, in deference to
+the general feeling in such matters, I should become jealous.”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax again looked doubtfully at him. “I cannot make you out at
+all, Mr. Conolly,” she said submissively. “I hope I have not offended
+you.”
+
+“Not in the least. I take it that having observed certain circumstances
+which seemed to threaten the welfare of one very dear to you (as, I am
+aware, Marian is), the trouble they caused you found unpremeditated
+expression in the course of a conversation with me.” Conolly beamed at
+her, as if he thought this rather neatly turned.
+
+“Exactly so. But I do not wish you to think that I have observed
+anything particular.”
+
+“Certainly not. Still, you think there would be no harm in my writing
+to Marian to say that her behavior has attracted your notice, and——”
+
+“Good heavens, Mr. Conolly, you must not mention _me_ in the matter!
+You are so innocent—at least so frank, so workmanlike, if I may say so,
+in your way of dealing with things! I would not have Marian know what I
+have said—I really did not notice anything—for worlds. You had better
+not write at all, but just go down as if you went merely to enjoy
+yourself; and dont on any account let Marian suspect that you have
+heard anything. Goodness knows what mischief you might make, in
+your—your ingenuousness!”
+
+“But I should have thought that the opinion of an old and valued friend
+like yourself would have special weight with her.”
+
+“You know nothing about it. Clever engineer as you are, you do not
+understand the little wheels by which our great machine of society is
+worked.”
+
+“True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax,” he rejoined, echoing the cadence of her
+sentence. “Educated as a mere mechanic, I am still a stranger to the
+elegancies of life. I usually depend on Marian for direction; but since
+you think that it would be injudicious to appeal to her in the present
+instance——”
+
+“Out of the question, Mr. Conolly.”
+
+“—I must trust to your guidance in the matter. What do you suggest?”
+
+Mrs. Fairfax was about to reply, when the expression which she
+habitually wore like a mask in society, wavered and broke. Her lip
+trembled: her eyes filled with tears: she rose with a sniff that was
+half a sob. When she spoke, her voice was sincere for the first time,
+and at the sound of it Conolly’s steely, hard manner melted, and his
+inhuman self-possession vanished.
+
+“You think,” she said, “that I came here to make mischief. I did not.
+Marian is nothing to me: she does not even like me; but I dont want to
+see her ruin herself merely because she is too inexperienced to know
+when she is well off. I have had to fight my way in London: and I know
+what it is, and what the world is. She is not fit to take charge of
+herself. Good-bye, Mr. Conolly: you are a great deal too young yourself
+to know the danger, for all your cleverness. You may tell her that I
+came here and gossipped against her, if you like. She will never speak
+to me again; but if it saves her, I dont care. Good-bye.”
+
+“My dear Mrs. Fairfax,” he said, with entire frankness, “I am now
+deeply and sincerely obliged to you.” And in proof that he was touched,
+he kissed her hand with the ease and grace of a man who had been
+carefully taught how to do it. Mrs. Fairfax recovered herself and
+almost blushed as he went with her to the door, chatting easily about
+the weather and the Addison Road trains.
+
+She was not the last visitor that evening. She had hardly been fifteen
+minutes gone when the Rev. George presented himself, and was conducted
+to the laboratory, where he found Conolly, with his coat off,
+surrounded by apparatus. The glowing fire, comfortable chairs, and
+preparations for an evening meal, gladdened him more than the presence
+of his brother-in-law, with whom he never felt quite at ease.
+
+“You wont mind my fiddling with these machines while I talk,” said
+Conolly.
+
+“Not at all, not at all. I shall witness your operations with great
+interest. You must not think that the wonders of science are
+indifferent to me.”
+
+“So you are going on to Sark, you say?”
+
+“Yes. May I ask whether you will be persuaded to come?”
+
+“No, for certain. I have other fish to fry here.”
+
+“I think it would renovate your health to come for a few days.”
+
+“My health is always right as long as I have work. Did you meet Mrs.
+Fairfax outside?”
+
+“A—yes. I passed her.”
+
+“You spoke to her, I suppose?”
+
+“A few words. Yes.”
+
+“Do you know what she came here for?”
+
+“No. But stay. I am wrong. She mentioned that she came for a book she
+lent you.”
+
+“She mentioned what was not true. What did she say to you about
+Marian?”
+
+“Well, she—She was just saying that it is perhaps as well that I should
+go down to Sark at once, as Marian is quite alone.”
+
+The clergyman looked so guilty as he said this that Conolly laughed
+outright at him. “You mean,” he said, “that Marian is _not_ quite
+alone. Well, very likely Douglas occupies himself a good deal with her.
+If so, there may be some busybody or another down there fool enough to
+tell her that people are talking about her. That would spoil her
+holiday; so it is lucky that you are going down. No one will take it
+upon themselves to speak to her when you are there; and if they say
+anything to you, you can let it in at one ear and out at the other.”
+
+“That is, of course, unless I should see her really acting
+indiscreetly.”
+
+“I had better tell you beforehand what you will see if you keep your
+eyes open. You will see very plainly that Douglas is in love with her.
+Also that she knows that he is in love with her. In fact, she told me
+so. And you will see she rather likes it. Every married woman requires
+a holiday from her husband occasionally, even when he suits her
+perfectly.”
+
+The Rev. George stared. “If I follow you aright—I am not sure that I
+do—you impute to Marian the sin of entertaining feelings which it is
+her duty to repress.”
+
+“I impute no sin to her. You might as well tell a beggar that he has no
+right to be hungry, as a woman that it is her duty to feel this and not
+to feel that.”
+
+“But Marian has been educated to feel only in accordance with her
+duty.”
+
+“So have you. How does it work? However,” continued Conolly, without
+waiting for an answer, “I dont deny that Marian shews the effects of
+her education. They are deplorably evident in all her conscientious
+actions.”
+
+“You surprise and distress me. This is the first intimation I have
+received of your having any cause to complain of Marian.”
+
+“Nonsense! I dont complain of her. But what you call her education, as
+far as I can make it out, appears to have consisted of stuffing her
+with lies, and making it a point of honor with her to believe them in
+spite of sense and reason. The sense of duty that rises on that sort of
+foundation is more mischievous than downright want of principle. I dont
+dispute your right, you who constitute polite society, to skin over all
+the ugly facts of life. But to make your daughters believe that the
+skin covers healthy flesh is a crime. Poor Marian thinks that a room is
+clean when all the dust is swept out of sight under the furniture; and
+if honest people rake it out to bring it under the notice of those
+whose duty it is to remove it, she is disgusted with them, and ten to
+one accuses them of having made it themselves. She doesnt know what
+sort of world she is in, thanks to the misrepresentations of those who
+should have taught her. She will deceive her children in just the same
+way, if she ever has any. If she had been taught the truth in her own
+childhood, she would know how to face it, and would be a strong woman
+as well as an amiable one. But it is too late now. The truth seems
+natural to a child; but to a grown woman or man, it is a bitter lesson
+in the learning, though it may be invigorating when it is well
+mastered. And you know how seldom a hard task forced on an unwilling
+pupil _is_ well mastered.”
+
+“What is truth?” said the clergyman, sententiously.
+
+“All that we know, Master Pilate,” retorted Conolly with a laugh. “And
+we know a good deal. It may seem small in comparison with what we dont
+know; but it is more than any one of us can hold, for all that. We
+know, for instance, that the world was not planned by a sentimental
+landscape gardener. If Marian ever learns that—which she may, although
+I am neither able nor willing to teach it to her—she will not thank
+those who gave her so much falsehood to unlearn. Until then, she will,
+I am afraid, do little else than lay up a store of regrets for
+herself.”
+
+“This is very strange. We always looked upon Marian as an exceptionally
+amiable girl.”
+
+“So she is, unfortunately. There is no institution so villainous but
+she will defend it; no tyranny so oppressive but she will make a virtue
+of submitting to it; no social cancer so venomous but she will shrink
+from cutting it out, and plead that it is a comfortable thing, and much
+better as it is. She knows that she disobeyed her father, and that he
+deserved to be disobeyed; yet she condemns other women who are
+disobedient, and stands out against Nelly McQuinch in defence of the
+unselfishness of parental love. She knows that the increased freedom of
+movement allowed to her as a married woman has been healthy for her;
+yet she looks coldly at other young women who assert their right to
+freedom, and are not afraid to walk through the streets without a
+sheepdog, human or otherwise, at their heels. She knows that marriage
+is not what she expected it to be, and that it gives me many unfair
+advantages over her; and she knows also that ours is a happier marriage
+than most. Nevertheless she will encourage other girls to marry; she
+will maintain that the chain which galls her own wrists so often is a
+string of honeysuckles; and if a woman identifies herself with any
+public movement for the lightening of that chain, she wont allow that
+that woman is fit to be admitted into decent society. There is not one
+of these shams to which she clings that I would not like to take by the
+throat and shake the life out of; and she knows it. Even in that she
+has not the consistency to believe me wrong, because it is undutiful
+and out of keeping with the honeysuckles to lack faith in her husband.
+In order to blind herself to her inconsistencies, she has to live in a
+rose-colored fog; and what with me constantly, in spite of myself,
+blowing this fog away on the one side, and the naked facts of her
+everyday experience as constantly letting in the daylight on the other,
+she must spend half the time wondering whether she is mad or sane.
+Between her desire to do right and her discoveries that it generally
+leads her to do wrong, she passes her life in a wistful melancholy
+which I cant dispel. I can only pity her. I suppose I could pet her;
+but I hate treating a woman like a child: it means giving up all hope
+of her becoming rational. She may turn for relief any day either to
+love or religion; and for her own sake I hope she will choose the
+first. Of the two evils, it is the least permanent.” And Conolly,
+having disburdened himself, resumed his work without any pretence of
+waiting for the clergyman’s comments.
+
+“Well,” said the Rev. George, cautiously, “I do not think I have quite
+followed your opinions, which seem to me to be exactly upside down, as
+if they were projected upon the retina of your mind’s eye—to use
+Shakspear’s happy phrase—just as they would be upon your—your real eye,
+you know. But I can assure you that your view of Marian is an entirely
+mistaken one. You seem to think that she does not give in her entire
+adherence to the doctrines of the Establishment. This is a matter which
+I venture to say you do not understand.”
+
+“Admitted,” interposed Conolly, hastily. “Here is my workman’s tea. Are
+you fond of scones?”
+
+“I hardly know. Anything—the simplest fare, will satisfy me.”
+
+“So it does me, when I can get nothing better. Help yourself, pray.”
+
+Conolly did not sit down to the meal, but worked whilst the clergyman
+ate. Presently the Rev. George, warmed by the fire and cheered by the
+repast, returned to the subject of his host’s domestic affairs.
+
+“Come,” he said, “I am sure that a few judicious words would lead to an
+explanation between you and Marian.”
+
+“I also think that a few words might do so. But they would not be
+judicious words.”
+
+“Why not? Can it be injudicious to restore harmony in a household?”
+
+“No; but that would not be the effect of an explanation, because the
+truth is not likely to reconcile us. If I were to explain the
+difficulty to a man, he would argue. But Marian would just infer that I
+despised her, and nothing else.”
+
+“Oh no! Oh dear no! A few kind words; an appeal to her good sense; a
+little concession on both sides——”
+
+“All excellent for a pair estranged by a flash of temper, or a
+mother-in-law, or a trifle of jealousy, or too many evenings spent at
+the club on the man’s part, or too many dances with a gallant on the
+woman’s; but no good for us. We have never exchanged unkind words:
+there are no concessions to be made: her good sense is not at fault.
+Besides, these few kind words that are supposed to be such a sovereign
+remedy for all sorts of domestic understandings are generally a few
+kind fibs. If I told them, Marian wouldnt believe them. Fibs dont make
+lasting truces either. No: the situation is graver than you think. Just
+suppose, for instance, that you undertake to restore harmony, as you
+call it! what will you say to her?”
+
+“Well, it would depend on circumstances.”
+
+“But you know the circumstances on which it depends. How would you
+begin?”
+
+“There are little ways of approaching delicate subjects with women. For
+instance, I might say, casually, that it was a pity that a pair so
+happily situated as you two should not agree perfectly.”
+
+“You would get no further; for Marian would never admit that we do not
+agree. She does not know what her complaint is, and therefore feels
+bound in honor to maintain that she has nothing to complain of. She is
+not the woman to cast reproach on me for a discontent she cannot
+explain. Or, if she could explain it, how much wiser should you be? _I_
+have explained; and you confess you cannot understand me. The
+difference between us is neither her fault nor mine; and all the
+explanations in the world will not remove it.”
+
+“If you would allow me to appeal to her religious duty——”
+
+“Religion! She doesnt believe in it.”
+
+“What!” exclaimed the clergyman, unaffectedly shocked. “Surely,
+surely——”
+
+“Listen. To me, believing in a doctrine doesnt mean holding up your
+hand and saying, ‘Credo.’ It means habitually acting on the assumption
+that the doctrine is true. Marian thinks it wrong not to go to church;
+and she will hold up her hand and cry ‘Credo’ to the immortality of her
+soul, or to any verse in the New Testament. The shareholders of our
+concern in the city will do the same. But do they or she ever act on
+the assumption that they are immortal, or that riches are dross, or
+that class prejudice is damnable? Never. They dont believe it. You will
+find that Marian has been thoroughly trained to separate her practice
+from her religious professions; and if you allude to the inconsistency
+she will instinctively feel that you are offending against good taste.
+In short, her ‘Credo’ doesnt mean faith: it means church-going, which
+is practised because it is respectable, and is respectable because it
+is a habit of the upper caste. But church-going is church-going; and
+business is business, as Marian will soon let you know if you meddle
+with _her_ business. However, we need not argue about that: we know one
+another’s views and can agree to differ.”
+
+“I should be false to my duty as a Christian priest if I made any such
+agreement.”
+
+“Perhaps so; but, at any rate, we cant spend all our lives over the
+same argument. No, as I was saying, take my advice, and let Marian
+alone.”
+
+“But what do you intend to do, then?”
+
+“What _can_ I do but wait? Experience must wear out some of her
+illusions. She will at least find out that she is no worse off than
+other women, and better off than some of them. Since the job cannot be
+undone, we must try how making the best of it will work. I am pretty
+hopeful myself. How are affairs getting on at your chapel? I am told
+that the sermons of your _locum tenens_ send the congregation asleep.”
+
+“He is not at his best in the pulpit. A good fellow! a most loving man
+but not able to grapple with a large congregation. After all, I am
+obliged to confess that very few of our cloth are. The power of
+preaching is quite an exceptional one; and it is a gift as well as a
+trust. I humbly believe that the power of the tongue comes of a higher
+ordination than the bishop’s.”
+
+Nothing further was said about Marian. The clergyman’s object in
+visiting Conolly was, it presently appeared, to borrow a portmanteau.
+When he was gone, Conolly returned to the laboratory, and wrote the
+following letter:
+
+“My dear Marian
+
+
+“I have just had two unexpected visits, one from Mrs. Fairfax, and one
+from George. Mrs. L.F. said you asked her to call and give me the news.
+When I told her, without blushing, that you had written to prepare me
+for her visit, she was rather put out, justly thinking me to mean that
+I did not believe her. As this is fully the thirty-sixth falsehood in
+which you have detected good Mrs. F., I fear you will be compelled, in
+spite of your principle of believing the best of everybody, to regard
+her in future as a not invariably accurate woman. She came with the
+object of making me go down to Sark. You were so young and so much
+admired: Mr. Douglas was so attentive: you should not be left entirely
+alone, and so forth. You will be angry with her; but she thinks Douglas
+so irresistible that she is genuinely anxious about you: I believe she
+really meant well this time. As to our reverend brother, his
+portmanteau burst in the train coming from Edinburgh; so he came to
+borrow mine, having apparently resolved to wear out those of all his
+friends before buying a new one. Unfortunately, he met Mrs. F. down the
+road; and she urged him to go down to Sark just as she had urged me.
+Now as George is incapable of holding his tongue when he ought, I feel
+sure that unless I tell you what Mrs. F. said, he will anticipate me.
+Otherwise I should not have mentioned it until your return, for fear of
+annoying you and spoiling your visit. So if his reverence hints or
+lectures, you will know what he means and not heed him. Mrs. F’s
+confidences have probably not been confined to me; but were I in your
+place, I should not make the slightest change in my conduct in
+consequence. At all events, if you feel constrained to display any
+sudden accession of reserve toward Douglas, tell him the reason;
+because if you dont, he will ascribe the change to coquetry.
+
+“I have turned the spare room on the first floor into a laboratory, and
+am sitting in it now. I’m thinking of fitting it up like a studio, and
+having private views of my inventions, as Scott has of his pictures.
+Parson’s man came with some flowers the other day, and informed me that
+three balls, to the first of which he was invited, took place in the
+house while I was away. One or two trifling dilapidations, and the fact
+that somebody has been tampering with the locks of the organ and piano,
+dispose me to believe this tale. Parson’s man declares that he was too
+virtuous to come to the two last entertainments after finding out that
+the first was a clandestine one; but I believe he made himself
+disagreeable, and was not invited. Probably he quarrelled with some
+military follower of Armande’s; for he was particularly bitter on the
+subject of a common soldier making free in a gentleman’s house. I have
+not said anything to the two culprits; but I have contrived to make
+them suspect that I know all; and they now do their duty with trembling
+diligence. Some man sat on the little walnut table and broke it; but no
+other damage worth mentioning has been done. The table was absurdly
+repaired with a piece of twine, and pushed into the recess between the
+organ and the front window, whence I sometimes amuse myself by the
+experiment of pulling it into broad daylight. It is always pushed back
+again before I return in the evening.
+
+“How are you off for money? I have plenty of loose cash just now.
+Madame called last Monday, and asked Matilda, who opened the door, when
+you would be back. Thereupon I interviewed her. I must say she is loyal
+to her clients; for I had great difficulty in extracting her bill,
+which was, of course, what she called about. She evidently recognizes
+the necessity of keeping husbands in the dark in such matters. One of
+the items was for the lace on your maccaroni-colored body, which, as I
+chanced to remember, you supplied yourself. After a brief struggle she
+deducted it; so I paid her the balance: only 35£ 13s. 9d.
+
+“When are you coming back to me? After Sark I fear you will find home a
+little dull. Nevertheless, I should like to see you again. Come back
+before Christmas, at any rate.
+
+“Yours, dear Marian, in solitude,
+“NED.”
+
+
+The answer came two days later than return of post, and ran thus:
+
+“Melbourne House, Sark,
+“Sunday.
+
+
+“My dear Ned
+
+
+“How very provoking about the servants! I do not mind Matilda so much;
+but I do think it hard that we could not depend on Armande, considering
+all the kindness we have shewn her. I can scarcely believe that she
+would have acted so badly unless she were led away by Matilda, whom I
+will pack off the moment I return. As to Armande, I will give her
+another chance; but she shall have a sharp talking to. I am quite sure
+that a great deal more mischief has been done than you noticed. If the
+carpet was danced on for three nights by men in heavy boots, it must be
+in ribbons. It is really too bad. I do not want any money. Indeed the
+twenty pounds you sent me last was quite unnecessary, as I have nearly
+sixteen left. What a rogue Madame is to try and make you pay for my
+lace! I am sorry you paid the bill. She had no business to call for her
+money: she is _never_ paid so soon by _anybody_. We have had great fun
+down here. It has been one continual garden party all through; and the
+weather is still lovely. Mr. McQuinch is very colonial: but I think his
+ways make the house pleasanter than if he were still English. Carbury
+is quite stupid in comparison to this place. I have danced more than I
+ever did in my life before; and now we are so tired of frivolity that
+if any one ventures to strum a waltz or propose a game, we all protest.
+We tried to get up some choral music; but it was a failure. On Friday,
+George, who is looked on as a great man here, was asked to give us a
+Shakespeare reading. He was only too glad to be asked; for he had heard
+Simonton, the actor, read at a bazaar in Scotland, and was full of
+Richard the Third in consequence. He was not very bad; but his
+imitation of Simonton was so obvious and so queerly mixed with his own
+churchy style that he seemed rather monotonous and affected. At least I
+thought so. I was dreadfully uncomfortable during the reading because
+of Marmaduke, who behaved scandalously. There were some schoolboys
+present; and he not only encouraged them to misbehave themselves, but
+was worse than any of them himself. At last he pretended to be overcome
+by the heat, and went out of the room, to my great relief; but when the
+passage about the early village cock came, he crew outside the door,
+where he had been waiting expressly to do it. Nobody could help
+laughing; and the boys screamed so that Mr. McQuinch took two of them
+out by the collar. I believe he was glad of the excuse to go out and
+laugh himself. George was very angry, and no wonder! He will hardly
+speak to Marmaduke, who, of course, denies all knowledge of the
+interruption; but George knows better. All the Hardy McQuinches are
+down here. Uncle Hardy is rather stooped from rheumatism. Nelly is now
+the chief personage in the family: Lydia and Jane are nowhere beside
+her. They are good-humored, bouncing girls; but they are certainly not
+brilliant. I hope it is not Aunt Dora’s walnut table that is broken.
+Was it not mean of Parson’s man to tell on Armande? I think, since you
+have plenty of loose cash, we might venture on a set of those curtains
+we saw at Protheroe’s, for the drawing-room. I can easily use the ones
+that are there now for _portières_.
+
+“You must not think that I have written this all at once. I shall be
+able to finish to-day, as it is Sunday, and I have made an excuse to
+stay away from church. George is to preach; and somehow I never feel
+toward the service as I ought when he officiates. I know you will laugh
+at this.
+
+“The first part of your letter must have a paragraph all to itself. I
+hardly know what to say. I could not have believed that Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax would have behaved as she has done. I was so angry at first
+that for fully an hour I felt ill; and I spoke quite wickedly to George
+the day after he arrived, because he said that Sholto had better not
+take me down to dinner, although his doing so was quite accidental. I
+know you will believe me when I tell you that I was quite unconscious
+that he had been unusually attentive to me; and I was about to write
+you an indignant denial, only I shewed Nelly your letter, and she
+crushed me by telling me she had noticed it too. We nearly had a
+quarrel about it; but she counted up the number of times I had danced
+with him and sat beside him at dinner; and I suppose an evil-minded
+woman looking on might think what Mrs. Leith Fairfax thought. But there
+is no excuse for her. She knows that Sholto and I have been intimate
+since we were children; and there is something odious in her, of all
+people, pretending to misunderstand us. What is worse, she was
+particularly friendly and confidential with me while she was here; and
+although I tried to keep away from her at first, she persisted in
+conciliating me, and persuaded me that Douglas had entirely mistaken
+what she said that other time. Who could have expected her to turn
+round and calumniate me the moment my back was turned! How can people
+do such things! I hope we shall not meet her again; for I will never
+speak to her. I have not said anything to Douglas. How could I? It
+would only make mischief. I feel that the right course is to come home
+as soon as I can, and in the meantime to avoid him as much as possible.
+So you may expect me on Saturday next. Mr. McQuinch is quite dismayed
+at my departure, which he says will be the signal for a general
+breaking up; but this I cannot help. I shall be glad to go home, of
+course. Still, I am sorry to leave this place, where we have all been
+so jolly. I will write and let you know what train I shall come by; but
+you need not trouble to meet me, unless you like: I can get home quite
+well by myself. After all, it is just as well that I am getting away.
+It _was_ pleasant enough; but now I feel utterly disgusted with
+everything and everybody. I find I must stop. They have just come in
+from church; and I must go down.
+
+“Your affectionate
+“MARIAN.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+One Saturday afternoon in December Marian and Elinor sat drinking tea
+in the drawing-room at Holland Park. Elinor was present as an afternoon
+caller: she no longer resided with the Conollys. Marian had been lamely
+excusing herself for not having read Elinor’s last book.
+
+“Pray dont apologize,” said Elinor. “I remember the time when you would
+have forced yourself to read it from a sense of duty; and I am too
+delighted to find that nonsense washing out of you at last to feel the
+wound to my vanity. Oh, say no more, my dear you can read it still
+whenever you please. Brother George read it, and was shocked because
+the heroine loves the villain and tells him so without waiting to be
+asked. It is odd that long ago, when I believed so devoutly in the
+tender passion, I never could write a really flaming love story.”
+
+“Dont begin to talk like that,” said Marian, crossly. “People _do_ fall
+in love, fortunately for them. It may be injudicious; and it may turn
+out badly; but it fills up life in a way that all the barren philosophy
+and cynicism on earth cannot. Do you think I would not rather have to
+regret a lost love than to repine because I had been too cautious to
+love at all? The disappointments of love warm the heart more than the
+triumphs of insensibility.”
+
+“Thats rather a good sentence,” said Elinor. “Your talk is more
+classical than my writing. But what would the departed Marian Lind have
+said?”
+
+“The departed Marian Lind was so desperately wise that she neglected
+that excellent precept, ‘Be not righteous over much, neither make
+thyself over wise; why shouldest thou destroy thyself?’ I took up the
+Bible last night for the first time since my marriage; and I thought
+what fools we two used to be when we made up our minds to avoid all the
+mistakes and follies and feelings of other people, and to be quite
+superior and rational. ‘He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and
+he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.’ It is all so true, in
+spite of what Ned says. We were very clever at observing the wind and
+regarding the clouds; and what are we the better for it? How much
+irreparable mischief, I wonder, did we do ourselves by letting our
+little wisdoms stifle all our big instincts! Look at those very other
+people whom we despised; how happy they are, in spite of their having
+always done exactly what their hearts told them!”
+
+“I think we are pretty well off as people go. I know I am. Certainly it
+was part of our wisdom that marriage was a bad thing; and I grant that
+though you married in obedience to your instincts you are as well off
+as I. But I dont see that we are the worse for having thought a
+little.”
+
+“I did _not_ marry in obedience to my instincts, Nelly; and you know
+it. I made a disinterested marriage with a man whom I felt I could
+respect as my superior. I was convinced then that a grand passion was a
+folly.”
+
+“And what do you think now?”
+
+“I think that I did not know what I was talking about.”
+
+“I believe you were in love with Ned when you married him, and long
+enough before that, too.”
+
+“Of course I loved him. I love him still.”
+
+“Do you, really? To hear you, one would think that you only respected
+him as a superior.”
+
+“You have no right to say that. You dont understand.”
+
+“Perhaps not. Would you mind explaining?”
+
+“I do not mean anything particular; but there are two kinds of love.
+There is a love which one’s good sense suggests—a sort of moral
+approval——”
+
+Elinor laughed. “Go on,” she said. “What is the other sort?”
+
+“The other sort has nothing to do with good sense. It is an
+overpowering impulse—a craving—a faith that defies logic—something to
+look forward to feeling in your youth, and look back to with a kindling
+heart in your age.”
+
+“Indeed! Isnt the difference between the two sorts much the same as the
+difference between the old love and the new?”
+
+“What do you mean?”
+
+“I think I will take another cup of tea. You neednt stop flying out at
+me, though: I dont mind it.”
+
+“Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you.”
+
+“It’s rather odd that we so seldom meet now without getting on this
+subject and having a row. Has that struck you at all?”
+
+Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent.
+
+“Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why dont you go to Ned,
+and tell him that he is a cast-iron walking machine, and that you are
+unhappy, and want the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furious
+scene with him, and all will come right.”
+
+“It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and make myself
+ridiculous like that: the words would choke me. Besides, I am not
+unhappy.”
+
+“What a lie! You wicked woman! A moment ago you were contemning all
+prudence; and now you will not speak your mind because you are afraid
+of being ridiculous. What is that but observing the wind and regarding
+the clouds, I should like to know?”
+
+“I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in jest. It hurts me.”
+
+“Serve you right! I am not a bit remorseful. No matter: let us talk of
+something else. Where did those flowers come from?”
+
+“Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to-night; and I wanted a
+bouquet.”
+
+“Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it himself. He rarely
+misses an excuse for coming.”
+
+“Why do you say that, Nelly? He comes here very seldom, except on
+Sunday; and that is a regular thing, just as your coming is.”
+
+“He was here on Tuesday; you saw him at Mrs. Saunders’s on Wednesday;
+he was at your at-home on Thursday; and he sends a bouquet on
+Saturday.”
+
+“I cannot help meeting him out; and not to invite him to my at-home
+would be to cut him. Pray are you growing spiteful, like Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax?”
+
+“Marian: you got out of bed at the wrong side this morning; and you
+have made that mistake oftener since your return from Sark than in all
+your life before. Douglas has become a lazy good-for-nothing; and he
+comes here a great deal too often. Instead of encouraging him to dangle
+after you as he does, and to teach you all those finely turned
+sentiments about love which you were airing a minute ago, you ought to
+make him get called to the bar, or sent into Parliament, or put to work
+in some fashion.”
+
+“Nelly!”
+
+“Bother Nelly! It is true; and you know it as well as I do.”
+
+“If he fancies himself in love with me, I cannot help it.”
+
+“You can help his following you about.”
+
+“I cannot. He does not follow me about. Why does not Ned object? He
+knows that Sholto is in love with me; and he does not care.”
+
+“Oh, if it is only to make Ned jealous, then I have nothing more to
+say: you may flirt away as hard as you please. There’s a knock at the
+door, just in time to prevent us from quarrelling. I know whose knock
+it is, too.”
+
+Marian had flushed slightly at the sound; and Elinor, with her feet
+stretched out before her, lapped the carpet restlessly with her heels,
+and watched her cousin sourly as Douglas entered. He was in evening
+dress.
+
+“Good-evening,” said Elinor. “So you are going to the theatre, too?”
+
+“Why?” said Douglas. “Is any one coming with us? Shall we have the
+pleasure of your company?”
+
+“No,” replied Elinor, drily. “I thought Mr. Conolly was perhaps going
+with you.”
+
+“I shall be very glad, I am sure, if he will,” said Douglas.
+
+“He will not,” said Marian. “I doubt if he will come home before we
+start.”
+
+“You got my flowers safely, I see.”
+
+“Yes, thank you. They are beautiful.”
+
+“They need be, if you are to wear them.”
+
+“I think I will go,” said Elinor, “if you can spare me. Marian has been
+far from amiable; and if you are going to pay her compliments, I shall
+very soon be as bad as she. Good-bye.” Douglas gratefully went with her
+to the door. She looked very hard at him, and almost made a grimace as
+they parted; but she said nothing.
+
+“I am very glad she went,” said Marian, when Douglas returned. “She
+annoys me. Everything annoys me.”
+
+“You are leading an impossible life here, Marian,” he said, putting his
+hand on her chair and bending over her. “Whilst it lasts, everything
+will annoy you; and I, who would give the last drop of my blood to
+spare you a moment’s pain, shall never experience the delight of seeing
+you happy.”
+
+“What other life can I lead?”
+
+Douglas made an impulsive movement, as though to reply; but he
+hesitated, and did not speak. Marian was not looking at him. She was
+gazing into the fire.
+
+“Sholto,” she said, after an interval of silence, “you must not come
+here any more.”
+
+“What!”
+
+“You are too idle. You come here too often. Why do you not become a
+barrister, or go into Parliament, or at least write books? If Nelly can
+succeed as an author, surely you can.”
+
+“I have left all that behind me. I am a failure: you know why. Let us
+talk no more of it.”
+
+“Do not go on like that,” said Marian, pettishly. “I dont like it.”
+
+“I am afraid to say or do anything, you are so easily distressed.”
+
+“Yes, I know I am very cross. Elinor remarked it too. I think you might
+bear with me, Sholto.” Here, most unexpectedly, she rose and burst into
+tears. “When my whole life is one dreary record of misery, I cannot
+always be patient. I have been forbearing toward you many times.”
+
+Douglas was at first frightened; for he had never seen her cry before.
+Then, as she sat down again, and covered her face with her
+handkerchief, he advanced, intending to kneel and put his arm about
+her; but his courage failed: he only drew a chair to the fire, and bent
+over, as he sat beside her, till his face was close to hers, saying,
+“It is all the fault of your mad marriage. You were happy until then. I
+have been silent hitherto; but now that I see your tears, I can no
+longer master myself. Listen to me, Marian. You asked me a moment since
+what other life was open to you. There is a better life. Leave England
+with me; and—and——” Marian had raised her head; and as she looked
+steadily at him, he stopped, and his lips became white.
+
+“Go on,” she said. “I am not angry. What else?”
+
+“Nothing else except happiness.” His voice died away: there was a
+pause. Then, recovering himself, he went on with something of his
+characteristic stateliness. “There is no use in prolonging your present
+life; it is a failure, like mine. Why should you hesitate? You know how
+seldom the mere letter of duty leads to either happiness or justice.
+You can rescue me from a wasted existence. You can preserve your own
+heart from a horrible slow domestic decay. _He_ will not care: he cares
+for nothing: he is morally murdering you. You have no children to think
+of. I love you; and I offer you your choice of the fairest spots in the
+wide world to pass our future in, with my protection to ensure your
+safety and comfort there, wherever it may be. You know what a hollow
+thing conventional virtue is. Who are the virtuous people about you?
+Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and her like. If you love me, you must know that
+you are committing a crime against nature in living as you are with a
+man who is as far removed from you in every human emotion as his
+workshop is from heaven. You have striven to do your duty by him in
+vain. He is none the happier: we are unutterably the more miserable.
+Let us try a new life. I have lived in society here all my days, and
+have found its atmosphere most worthless, most selfish, most impure. I
+want to be free—to shake the dust of London off my feet, and enter on a
+life made holy by love. You can respond to such an aspiration: you,
+too, must yearn for a pure and free life. It is within our reach: you
+have but to stretch out your hand. Say something to me. Are you
+listening?”
+
+“It seems strange that I should be listening to you quite calmly, as I
+am; although you are proposing what the world thinks a disgraceful
+thing.”
+
+“Does it matter what the world thinks? I would not, even to save myself
+from a wasted career, ask you to take a step that would really disgrace
+you. But I cannot bear to think of you looking back some day over a
+barren past, and knowing that you sacrificed your happiness to
+Fashion—an idol. Do you remember last Sunday when we discussed that
+bitter saying that women who have sacrificed their feelings to the laws
+of society secretly know that they have been fools for their pains?
+_He_ did not deny it. You could give no good reason for disbelieving
+it. You know it to be true; and I am only striving to save you from
+that vain regret. You have shewn that you can obey the world with grace
+and dignity when the world is right. Shew now that you can defy it
+fearlessly when it is tyrannical. Trust your heart, Marian—my darling
+Marian: trust your heart—and mine.”
+
+“For what hour have you ordered the carriage?”
+
+“The carriage! Is that what you say to me at such a moment? Are you
+still flippant as ever?”
+
+“I am quite serious. Say no more now. If I go, I will go deliberately,
+and not on the spur of your persuasion. I must have time to think. What
+hour did you say?”
+
+“Seven.”
+
+“Then it is time for me to dress. You will not mind waiting here
+alone?”
+
+“If you would only give me one hopeful word, I think I could wait
+happily forever.”
+
+“What can I say?”
+
+“Say that you love me.”
+
+“I am striving to discover whether I have always loved you or not.
+Surely, if there be such a thing as love, we should be lovers.”
+
+He was chilled by her solemn tone; but he made a movement as if to
+embrace her.
+
+“No,” she said, stopping him. “I am his wife still. I have not yet
+pronounced my own divorce.”
+
+She left the room; and he walked uneasily to and fro Until she
+returned, dressed in white. He gazed at her with quickened breath as
+she confronted him. Neither heeded the click of her husband’s latchkey
+in the door without.
+
+“When I was a little boy, Marian,” he said, gazing at her, “I used to
+think that Paul Delaroche’s Christian martyr was the most exquisite
+vision of beauty in the world. I have the same feeling as I look at you
+now.”
+
+“Marian reminds me of that picture too,” said Conolly. “I remember
+wondering,” he continued, smiling, as they started and turned toward
+him, “why the young lady—she was such a perfect lady—was martyred in a
+ball dress, as I took her costume to be. Marian’s wreath adds to the
+force of the reminiscence.”
+
+“If I recollect aright,” said Marian, taking up his bantering tone with
+a sharper irony, “Delaroche’s martyr shewed a fine sense of the
+necessity of having her wrists gracefully tied. I am about to follow
+her example by wearing these bracelets, which I can never fasten. Be
+good enough to assist me, both of you.”
+
+She extended a hand to each; and Conolly, after looking at the catch
+for a moment, closed it dexterously at the first snap. “By the bye,” he
+said, whilst Douglas fumbled at the other bracelet, “I have to run away
+to Glasgow to-night by the ten train. We shall not see one another
+again until Monday evening.”
+
+Douglas’s hand began to shake so that the gold band chafed Marian’s
+arm. “There, there,” she said, drawing it away from him, “you do it for
+me, Ned. Sholto has no mechanical genius.” Her hand was quite steady as
+Conolly shut the clasp. “Why must you go to Glasgow?”
+
+“They have got into a mess at the works there; and the engineer has
+telegraphed for me to go down and see what is the matter. I shall
+certainly be back on Monday. Have something for me to eat at half past
+seven. I am sorry to be away from our Sunday dinner, Douglas; but you
+know the popular prejudice. If you want a thing done, see to it
+yourself.”
+
+“Sholto has been very eloquent this evening on the subject of popular
+prejudices,” said Marian. “He says that to defy the world is a proof of
+honesty.”
+
+“So it is,” said Conolly. “I get on in the world by defying its old
+notions, and taking nobody’s advice but my own. Follow Douglas’s
+precepts by all means. Do you know that it is nearly a quarter to
+eight?”
+
+“Oh! Let us go. We shall be late.”
+
+“I shall not see you to-morrow, Douglas. Good-night.”
+
+“Good-night,” said Douglas, keeping at some distance; for he did not
+care to offer Conolly his hand before Marian now. “Pleasant journey.”
+
+“Thank you. Hallo! [Marian had impatiently turned back.] What have you
+forgotten?”
+
+“My opera-glass,” said Marian. “No, thanks: you would not know where to
+look for it: I will go myself.”
+
+She went upstairs; and Conolly, after a pause, followed, and found her
+in their bedroom, closing the drawer from which she had just taken the
+opera-glass.
+
+“Marian,” he said: “you have been crying to-day. Is anything wrong? or
+is it only nervousness?”
+
+“Only nervousness,” said Marian. “How did you find out that I had been
+crying? it was only for an instant, because Nelly annoyed me. Does my
+face shew it?”
+
+“It does to me, not to anyone else. Are you more cheerful now?”
+
+“Yes, I am all right. I will go to Glasgow with you, if you like.”
+
+Conolly recoiled, disconcerted. “Why?” he said. “Do you wish——?” He
+recovered himself, and added, “It is too cold, my dear; and I must
+travel very fast. I shall be busy all the time. Besides, you are
+forgetting the theatre and Douglas, who, by the bye, is catching cold
+on the steps.”
+
+“Well, I had better go with Douglas, since it will make you happier.”
+
+“Go with Douglas, my dear one, if it will make _you_ happier,” said he,
+kissing her. To his surprise, she threw her arm round him, held him
+fast by the shoulder, and looked at him with extraordinary earnestness.
+He gave a little laugh, and disengaged himself gently, saying, “Dont
+you think your nervousness is taking a turn rather inconvenient for
+Douglas?” She let her hands fall; closed her lips; and passed quietly
+out. He went to the window and watched her as she entered the carriage.
+Douglas held the door open for her; and Conolly, looking at him with a
+sort of pity, noted that he was, in his way, a handsome man and that
+his habit of taking himself very seriously gave him a certain, dignity.
+The brougham rolled away into the fog. Conolly pulled down the blind,
+and began to pack his portmanteau to a vigorously whistled
+accompaniment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Conolly returned from Glasgow a little before eight on Monday evening.
+There was no light in the window when he entered the garden. Miss
+McQuinch opened the door before he reached it.
+
+“What!” he said. “Going the moment I come in!” Then, seeing her face by
+the hall lamp, he put down his bag quickly, and asked what the matter
+was.
+
+“I dont know whether anything is the matter. I am very glad you have
+returned. Come into the drawing-room: I dont want the servants to hear
+us talking.”
+
+“There is no light here,” he said, following her in. “Is it possible
+you have been waiting in the dark?”
+
+He lit a candle, and was about to light a lamp when she exclaimed
+impatiently, “Oh, I did not notice it: what does it matter? Do let the
+lamp alone, and listen to me.” He obeyed, much amused at her
+irritation.
+
+“Where has Marian gone to?” she asked.
+
+“Is she out?” he said, suddenly grave. “You forget that I have come
+straight from Glasgow.”
+
+“I have been here since three o’clock. Marian sent me a note not to
+come on Sunday—that she should be out and that you were away. But they
+tell me that she was at home all yesterday, except for two hours when
+she was out with Sholto. She packed her trunks in the evening, and went
+away with them. She told the cabman to drive to Euston. I dont know
+what it all means; and I have been half distracted waiting here for
+you. I thought you would never come. There is a note for you on your
+dressing-table.”
+
+He pursed his lips a little and looked attentively at her, but said
+nothing.
+
+“Wont you go and open it?” she said anxiously. “It must contain some
+explanation.”
+
+“I am afraid the explanation is obvious.”
+
+“You have no right to say that. How do you know? If you are not going
+to read her letter, you had better say so at once. I dont want to pry
+into it: I only want to know what is become of Marian.”
+
+“You shall read it by all means. Will you excuse me whilst I fetch it?”
+
+She stamped with impatience. He smiled and went for the letter, which,
+after a brief absence, he placed unopened on the table before her,
+saying:
+
+“I suppose this is it. I laid my hand on it in the dark.”
+
+“Are you going to open it?” she said, hardly able to contain herself.
+
+“No.”
+
+He had not raised his voice; but it struck her that he was in a rage.
+His friendly look and quiet attitude first reassured, then, on second
+thoughts, exasperated her.
+
+“Why wont you?”
+
+“I really dont know. Somehow, I am not curious. It interests you. Pray
+open it.”
+
+“I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will lie there
+forever.”
+
+He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, and handed her the
+enclosure. She kept down her hands stubbornly. He smiled a little,
+still presenting it. At last she snatched it, much as she would have
+liked to snatch a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned pale,
+and looked as she had used to in her childhood, when in disgrace and
+resolute not to cry. “I had rather have had my two hands cut off,” she
+said passionately, after a pause.
+
+“It is very sad for you,” said Conolly, sympathetically. “He is an
+educated man; but I cannot think that he has much in him.”
+
+“He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, indeed! And what
+are _you_ going to do, may I ask?”
+
+“Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear.”
+
+“Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening.” He seemed to know that
+she would not leave; for he made no movement to open the door for her.
+On her way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists clenched,
+that for a moment he was doubtful whether she would not bodily assault
+him.
+
+“Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?” she said, letting her temper
+loose. “How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?”
+
+“What _can_ I do, Miss McQuinch?” he said, gently.
+
+“You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utter
+idiot of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him?
+If you are, I will go with you, and not let him touch you.”
+
+“Thank you,” he said, good-humoredly. “But you see she does not wish to
+live with me.”
+
+“Good God, man, what woman do you think _could_ wish to live with you!
+I suppose Marian wanted a human being to live with, and not a
+calculating machine. You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling
+enough to have kicked him out of the house, and then beaten her black
+and blue for encouraging him, you would have been more of a man than
+you are: she would have loved you more. You are not a man: you are a
+stone full of brains—such as they are! Listen to me, Mr. Conolly. There
+is one chance left—if you will only make haste. Go after them; overtake
+them; thrash him within an inch of his life; and bring her back and
+punish her how you please so long as you shew her that you care. You
+can do it if you will only make up your mind: he is a coward; and he is
+afraid of you: I have seen it in his eye. You are worth fifty of him—if
+you would only not be so cold blooded—if you will only go—_dear_ Mr.
+Conolly—youre not really insensible—you will, wont you?”
+
+This, the first tender tone he had ever heard in her voice, made him
+look at her curiously. “What does the letter say?” he asked, still
+quietly, but inexorably.
+
+She snatched it up again. “Here,” she said. “‘_Our marriage was a
+mistake. I am going away with Douglas to the other side of the world.
+It is all I can do to mend matters. Pray forget me_.’ That is what her
+letter says, since you condescend to ask.”
+
+“It is too late, then. You felt that as you read it, I think?”
+
+“Yes,” she cried, sitting down in a paroxysm of grief, but unable to
+weep. “It is too late; and it is all your fault. What business had you
+to go away? You knew what was going to happen. You intended it to
+happen. You wanted it to happen. You are glad it has happened; and it
+serves you right. ‘_Pray forget her_.’ Oh, yes, poor girl! she need not
+trouble about that. I declare there is nothing viler, meaner,
+cowardlier, selfisher on earth than a man. Oh, if we had only done what
+we always said we would do—kept free from you!”
+
+“It was a good plan,” said Conolly, submissively.
+
+“Was it? How were we to know that you were not made of flesh and blood,
+pray? There, let me go. [The table was between them; but she rose and
+shook off an imaginary detaining hand.] I dont want to hear anything
+more about it. I suppose you are right not to care. Very likely she was
+right to go, too; so we are all right, and everything is for the best,
+no doubt. Marian is ruined, of course; but what does that matter to
+you? She was only in your way. You can console yourself with your—”
+Here Armande came in; and Elinor turned quickly to the fireplace and
+stood there, so that the housemaid should not see her face.
+
+“Your dinner, sir,” said Armande, with a certain artificiality of
+manner that was, under the circumstances, significant. “There is a nice
+fire in the laboratory.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Conolly. “Presently, Armande.”
+
+“The things will spoil if you wait too long, sir. The mistress was very
+particular with me and cook about it.” And Armande, with an air of
+declining further responsibility, went out.
+
+“What shall I do without Marian?” said Conolly. “Not one woman in a
+hundred is capable of being a mistress to her servants. She saved me
+all the friction of housekeeping.”
+
+“You are beginning to feel your loss,” said Elinor, facing him again.
+“A pleasant thing for a woman of her talent to be thrown away to save
+you the friction of housekeeping. If you had paid half the attention to
+her happiness that she did to your dinners you would not be in your
+present predicament.”
+
+“Have you really calculated that it is twice as easy to make a woman
+happy as to feed a man?”
+
+“Calc—! Yes, I have. I tell you that it is three times as easy—six
+times as easy: more fool the woman! You can make a woman happy for a
+week by a word or a kiss. How long do you think it takes to order a
+week’s dinners? I suppose you consider a kiss a weakness?”
+
+“I am afraid—judging by the result—that I am not naturally clever at
+kissing.”
+
+“No, I should think not, indeed. Then you had better go and do what you
+_are_ clever at—eat your dinner.”
+
+“Miss McQuinch: did you ever see an unfortunate little child get a
+severe fall, and then, instead of a little kindly petting, catch a
+sound whacking from its nurse for daring to startle her and spoil its
+clothes?”
+
+“Well, what is the point of that?”
+
+“You remind me a little of the nurse. I have had a sort of fall this
+evening.”
+
+“And now you are going to pretend to be hurt, I suppose; because you
+dont care to be told that it is your own fault. That is a common
+experience with children, too. I tell you plainly that I dont believe
+you are hurt at all; though you may not be exactly pleased—just for the
+moment. However, I did not mean to be uncivil. If you are really sorry,
+I am at least _as_ sorry. I have not said all I think.”
+
+“What more?”
+
+“Nothing of any use to say. I see I am wasting my time here—and no
+doubt wasting yours too.”
+
+“Well, I think you have had your turn. If you are not thoroughly
+satisfied, pray go on for ten minutes longer: your feelings do you
+credit, as the phrase goes. Still, do not forget that you thought just
+the same of me a week ago; and that if you had said as much then you
+might have prevented what has happened. Giving me a piece of your mind
+now is of no use except as far as it relieves you. To Marian or me or
+anyone else it does no good. So when you have said your worst, we
+cannot do better, I think, than set our wits to work about our next
+move.”
+
+Elinor received this for a moment in dudgeon. Then she laughed sourly,
+and said, “There is some sense in that. I am as much to blame as
+anybody: I dont deny it—if that is any comfort to you. But as to the
+next move, you say yourself that it is too late to do anything; and I
+dont see that you can do much.”
+
+“That is so. But there are a few things to be faced. First, I have to
+set Marian and myself free.”
+
+“How?”
+
+“Divorce her.”
+
+“Divorce!” Elinor looked at him in dismay. He was unmoved. Then her
+gaze fell slowly, and she said: “Yes: I suppose you have a right to
+that.”
+
+“She also.”
+
+“So that she may marry him—from a sense of duty. That will be so happy
+for her!”
+
+“She will have time, before she is free to find out whether she likes
+him or not. There will be a great fuss in the family over the scandal.”
+
+“Do you care about that? _I_ dont.”
+
+“No. However, thats a detail. Marian will perhaps write to you. If so,
+just point out to her that her five hundred a year belongs to her
+still, and makes her quite independent of him and of me. That is all, I
+think. You need take no pains now to conceal what has happened: the
+servants below know it as well as we: in a week it will be town talk.”
+
+Elinor looked wistfully at him, her impetuosity failing her as she felt
+how little effect it was producing. Yet her temper rather rose than
+fell at him. There was a much more serious hostility than before in her
+tone as she said:
+
+“You seem to have been thoroughly prepared for what has happened. I do
+not want any instructions from you as to what I shall write to Marian
+about her money affairs: I want to know, in case she takes it into her
+head to come back when she has found what a fool she has made of
+herself, whether I may tell her that you are glad to be rid of her, and
+that there is no use in her humiliating herself by coming to your door
+and being turned away.”
+
+“Shall I explain the situation to you from my point of view?” said he.
+At the sound of his voice she looked up in alarm. The indulgent,
+half-playful manner which she had almost lost the sense of because it
+was so invariable with him in speaking to ladies was suddenly gone. She
+felt that the real man was coming out now without ceremony. He was
+quick to perceive the effect he had produced. To soften it, he placed a
+comfortable chair on the hearthrug, and said, in his ordinary friendly
+way: “Sit nearer the fire: we can talk more comfortably. Now,” he
+continued, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, “let me tell you,
+Miss McQuinch, that when you talk of my turning people away from my
+door you are not talking fair and square sense to me. I dont turn my
+acquaintances off in that way, much less my friends; and a woman who
+has lived with me as my wife for eighteen months must always be a
+rather particular friend. I liked her before I was her husband, and I
+shall continue to like her when I am no longer her husband. So you need
+have no fear on that score. But I wont remain her husband. You said
+just now that I knew what was going to happen; that I intended it to
+happen, wanted it to happen, and am glad it happened. There is more
+truth in that than you thought when you said it. For some time past
+Marian has been staying with me as a matter of custom and convenience
+only, using me as a cover for her philandering with Douglas, and paying
+me by keeping the house very nicely for me. I had asked myself once or
+twice how long this was to last. I was in no hurry for the answer; for
+although I was wifeless and had no one to live with who really cared
+for me, I was quite prepared to wait a couple of years if necessary, on
+the chance of our making it up somehow. But sooner or later I should
+have insisted on closing our accounts and parting; and I am not sorry
+now that the end has come, since it was inevitable; though I am right
+sorry for the way it has come. Instead of eloping in the conventional
+way, she should have come to an understanding with me. I could easily
+have taken her for a trip in the States, where we could have stopped a
+few months in South Dakota and got divorced without any scandal. I have
+never made any claims on her since she found out that she didnt care
+for me; and she might have known from that that I was not the man to
+keep her against her will and play dog in the manger with a fellow like
+Douglas. However, thats past praying for now. She has had enough of me;
+and I have had more than enough of her set and her family, except that
+I should like to remain good friends with you. You are the only one of
+the whole lot worth your salt. It is understood, of course, that you
+take Marian’s part against me on all issues; but will you be friends as
+far as is consistent with that?”
+
+“All right,” said Nelly, shortly.
+
+“Shake hands on it; and I’ll tell you something else that will help you
+to understand me better,” he said, holding out his hand. She gave hers;
+and when the bargain was struck, he turned to the fire and seated
+himself on the edge of the table.
+
+“You know that when I married,” he resumed, “I was promoted to mix in
+fashionable society for the first time. Of course you do: that was the
+whole excitement of the affair for the family. You know the impression
+I made on polite society better, probably, than I do. Now tell me: do
+you know what impression polite society made on me?”
+
+“Dont understand.”
+
+“Perhaps it has never occurred even to you, sharp as you are, that I
+could have taken society otherwise than at its own valuation of itself,
+as something much higher, more cultivated and refined than anything
+that I had been accustomed to. Well, I never believed in that much at
+any time; but it was not until I had made a _mésalliance_ for Marian’s
+sake that I realized how infinitely beneath me and my class was the one
+I had married into.”
+
+“_Mésalliance!_—with Marian! I take back the shake hands.”
+
+“_Mésalliance_ with her class, for her sake: I made the distinction
+purposely. Now what am I, Miss McQuinch? A worker. I belonged and
+belong to the class that keeps up the world by its millions of
+serviceable hands and serviceable brains. All the pride of caste in me
+settles on that point. I admit no loafer as my equal. The man who is
+working at the bench is my equal, whether he can do my day’s work or
+not, provided he is doing the best he can. But the man who does not
+work anyhow, and the class that does not work, is a class below mine.
+When I annoyed Marian by refusing to wear a tall hat and cuffs, I did
+so because I wanted to have it seen as I walked through Piccadilly and
+St. James’s Street that I did not belong there, just as your people
+walk through a poor street dressed so as to shew that they dont belong
+there. To me a man like your uncle, Marian’s father, or like Marmaduke
+or Douglas, loafing idly round spending money that has been made by the
+sweat of men like myself, are little better than thieves. They get on
+with the queerest makeshifts for self-respect: old Mr. Lind with family
+pride. Douglas with personal vanity, and Marmaduke with a sort of
+interest in his own appetites and his own jollity. Everything is a sham
+with them: they have drill and etiquet instead of manners, fashions
+instead of tastes, small talk instead of intercourse. Everything that
+is special to them as distinguished from workers is a sham: when you
+get down to the real element in them, good or bad, you find that it is
+something that is common to them and to all civilized mankind. The
+reason that this isnt as clear to other workmen who come among them as
+it is to me is that most workmen share their ignorance of the things
+they affect superiority in. Poor Jackson, whom you all call the Yankee
+cad, and who is not a cad at all in his proper place among the
+engineers at our works, believes in the sham refinements he sees around
+him at the at-homes he is so fond of. He has no art in him—no trained
+ear for music or for fine diction, no trained eye for pictures and
+colors and buildings, no cultivated sense of dignified movement,
+gesture, and manner. But he knows what fashionable London listens to
+and looks at, and how it talks and behaves; and he makes that his
+standard, and sets down what is different from it as vulgar. Now the
+difference between me and him is that I got an artistic training by
+accident when I was young, and had the natural turn to profit by it.
+Before I ever saw a West End Londoner I knew beautiful from ugly, rare
+from common, in music, speech, costume, and gesture; for in my father’s
+operatic and theatrical companies there did come now and then, among
+the crowd of thirdraters, a dancer, an actor, a scenepainter, a singer,
+or a bandsman or conductor who was a fine artist. Consequently, I was
+not to be taken in like Jackson by made-up faces, trashy pictures,
+drawling and lounging and strutting and tailoring, drawing-room singing
+and drawing-room dancing, any more than by bad ventilation and
+unwholesome hours and food, not to mention polite dram drinking, and
+the round of cruelties they call sport. I found that the moment I
+refused to accept the habits of the rich as standards of refinement and
+propriety, the whole illusion of their superiority vanished at once.
+When I married Marian I was false to my class. I had a sort of idea
+that my early training had accustomed me to a degree of artistic
+culture that I could not easily find in a working girl, and that would
+be quite natural to Marian. I soon found that she had the keenest sense
+of what was ladylike, and no sense of what was beautiful at all. A
+drawing, a photograph, or an engraving sensibly framed without a white
+mount round it to spoil it pained her as much as my wrists without
+cuffs on them. No mill girl could have been less in sympathy with me on
+the very points for which I had preferred her to the mill girls. The
+end of it was that I felt that love had made me do a thoroughly vulgar
+thing—marry beneath me. These aristocratic idle gentlemen will never be
+shamed out of their laziness and low-mindedness until the democratic
+working gentlemen refuse to associate with them instead of running
+after them and licking their boots. I am heartily glad now to be out of
+their set and rid of them, instead of having to receive them civilly in
+my house for Marian’s sake. The whole business was strangling me: the
+strain of keeping my feeling to myself was more than you can imagine.
+Do you know that there have been times when I have been so carried away
+with the idea that she must be as tired of the artificiality of our
+life as I was, that I have begun to speak my mind frankly to her; and
+when she recoiled, hurt and surprised and frightened that I was going
+to turn coarse at last, I have shut up and sat there apparently silent,
+but really saying under my breath: ‘Why dont you go? Why dont you leave
+me, vanish, fly away to your own people? You must be a dream: I never
+married you. You dont know me: you cant be my wife: your lungs were not
+made to breathe the air I live in.’ I have said a thousand things like
+that, and then wondered whether there was any truth in
+telepathy—whether she could possibly be having my thoughts transferred
+to her mind and thinking it only her imagination. I would ask myself
+whether I despised her or not, calling on myself for the truth as if I
+did not believe the excuses I made for her out of the fondness I could
+not get over. I am fond of her still, sometimes. I did not
+really—practically, I mean—despise her until I gave up thinking about
+her at all. There was a certain kind of contempt in that indifference,
+beyond a doubt: there is no use denying it. Besides, it is proved to me
+now by the new respect I feel for her because she has had the courage
+and grit to try going away with Douglas. But my love for her is over:
+nothing short of her being born over again—a thing that sometimes
+happens—will ever bring her into contact with me after this. To put it
+philosophically, she made the mistake of avoiding all realities, and
+yet marrying herself to the hardest of realities, a working man; so it
+was inevitable that she should go back at last to the region of shadows
+and mate with that ghostliest of all unrealities, the non-working man.
+Perhaps, too, the union may be more fruitful than ours: the cross
+between us was too violent. Now you have the whole story from my point
+of view. What do you—”
+
+“Hush!” said Elinor, interrupting him. “What is that noise outside?”
+
+The house bell began to ring violently; and they could hear a confused
+noise of voices and footsteps without.
+
+“Can she have come back?” said Elinor, starting up.
+
+“Impossible!” said Conolly, looking disturbed for the first time. They
+stood a moment listening, with averted eyes. A second peal from the
+bell was followed by roars of laughter, amid which a remonstrant voice
+was audible. Then the house door was hammered with a stick. Conolly ran
+downstairs at once and opened it. On the step he found Marmaduke
+reeling in the arms of the Rev. George.
+
+“How are you, ol’ fler?” said Marmaduke, plunging into the hall. “The
+parson is tight. I found him tumbling about High Street, and brought
+him along.”
+
+“Pray excuse this intrusion,” whispered the Rev. George. “You see the
+state he is in. He accosted me near Campden Hill; and I really could
+not be seen walking with him into town. I wonder he was not arrested.”
+
+“He is the worse for drink; but he is sober enough to know how to amuse
+himself at your expense,” said Conolly, aloud. “Come up to the
+laboratory. Miss McQuinch is there.”
+
+“But he is not fit,” urged the clergyman. “Look at him trying to hang
+up his hat. How absurd—I should rather say how deplorable! I assure you
+he is perfectly tipsy. He has been ringing the bells of the houses, and
+requesting females to accompany us. Better warn Elinor.”
+
+“Nonsense!” said Conolly. “I have some news that will sober him. Here
+is Miss McQuinch. Are you going?”
+
+“Yes,” said Elinor. “I should lose my patience if I had to listen to
+George’s comments; and I am tired. I would rather go.”
+
+“Not yet, Nelly. Wont um stay and talk to um’s Marmadukes?”
+
+“Let me go,” said Elinor, snatching away her hand, which he had seized.
+“You ought to be at home in bed. You are a sot.” At this Marmaduke
+laughed boisterously. She passed him contemptuously, and left. The
+three men then went upstairs, Marmaduke dropping his pretence of
+drunkenness under the influence of Conolly’s presence.
+
+“Marian is not in, I presume,” said the clergyman, when they were
+seated.
+
+“No.” said Conolly. “She has eloped with Douglas.”
+
+They stared at him. Then Marmaduke gave a long whistle; and the
+clergyman rose, pale. “What do you mean, sir?” he said.
+
+Conolly did not answer; and the Rev. George slowly sat down again.
+
+“Well, I’m damned sorry for it,” said Marmaduke, emphatically. “It was
+a mean thing for Douglas to do, with all his brag about his honor.”
+
+The Rev. George covered his face with his handkerchief and sobbed.
+
+“Come, shut up, old fellow; and dont make an ass of yourself,” said
+Marmaduke. “What are you going to do, Conolly?”
+
+“I must simply divorce her.”
+
+“Go for heavy damages, Conolly. Knock a few thousand out of him, just
+to punish him.”
+
+“He could easily afford it. Besides, why should I punish him?”
+
+“My dear friend,” cried the clergyman, “you must not dream of a
+divorce. I implore you to abandon such an idea. Consider the disgrace,
+the impiety! The publicity would kill my father.”
+
+Conolly shook his head.
+
+“There is no such thing as divorce known to the Church. ‘What God hath
+joined together, let no man put asunder.’”
+
+“She had no right to bolt,” said Marmaduke. “Thats certain.”
+
+“I was married by a registrar,” said Conolly; “and as there is no such
+thing as civil marriage known to the Church, our union, from the
+ecclesiastical point of view, has no existence. We were not joined by
+God, in fact, in your sense. To deny her the opportunity of remarrying
+would be to compel her to live as an adulteress in the eye of the law,
+which, by the bye, would make me the father of Douglas’s children. I
+cannot, merely because your people are afraid of scandal, take such a
+revenge on Marian as to refuse her the freedom she has sacrificed so
+much for. After all, since our marriage has proved a childless one, the
+only reason for our submitting to be handcuffed to one another, now
+that our hearts are no longer in the arrangement, is gone.”
+
+“The game began at Sark,” said Marmaduke. “Douglas stuck to her there
+like a leech. He’s been about the house here a good deal since she came
+back. I often wondered you didnt kick him out. But, of course, it was
+not my business to say anything. Was she huffed into going? You hadnt
+any row with her just before, had you?
+
+“We never had rows.”
+
+“That was your mistake, Conolly. You should have heard poor Susanna and
+me fighting. We always ended by swearing we would never speak to one
+another again. Nothing duller than a smooth life. If you had given
+Marian something to complain of, she would have been too much taken up
+with it to bother about Douglas.”
+
+“But have you ascertained whither they have gone?” said the clergyman,
+distractedly. “Will you not follow them?”
+
+“I know nothing of their movements. Probably they are crossing to New
+York.”
+
+“But surely you ought to follow her,” said the Rev. George. “You may
+yet be in time to save her from worse than death.”
+
+“Yah!” said Marmaduke. “Drop all that rot, George. Worse than death be
+hanged! Serves the family right! They are a jolly sight too virtuous:
+it will do them good to get shewn up a bit.”
+
+“If you have no respect for the convictions of a priest,” exclaimed the
+Rev. George, shedding tears, “you might at least be silent in the
+presence of a heartbroken brother and husband.”
+
+“Oh, I dont want to shew any want of consideration for you or Conolly,”
+said Marmaduke, sulkily. “No doubt it’s rough on you. But as to the
+feelings of the family, I tell you flatly that I dont care if the whole
+crew were brought to the Old Bailey to-morrow and convicted of bigamy.
+It would take the conceit out of them.”
+
+“I know not how to break this wretched news to my father,” said the
+Rev. George, turning disconsolately from his sottish cousin to Conolly.
+
+“It is no such uncommon occurrence. The less fuss made about it the
+better. She is not to blame, and I shall not be heard crying out misery
+and disgrace. Your family can very well follow my example. I have
+nothing to say against her, and I believe she has nothing to say
+against me. Nothing can prevent such publicity as a petition for
+divorce must entail. Your father will survive it, never fear.”
+
+The clergyman, remembering how vainly he had tried to change Conolly’s
+intention when Marian was to be married, felt that he should succeed no
+better now that she was to be divorced. Silent and cast down, he sat
+dangling his handkerchief between his knees and leaning forward on his
+elbows toward the fire.
+
+“You must excuse me if I see my way straight through to the end. I
+daresay you would rather realize it gradually, inevitable as it is,”
+added Conolly, looking down with some pity at his drooping figure. “I
+cannot help my habit of mind. When are you going to be married?” he
+continued, to Marmaduke.
+
+“I dont know. The Countess is in a hurry. I’m not. But I suppose it
+will be some time in spring.”
+
+“You have made up your mind to it at last?”
+
+“Oh, I never had any particular objection to it, only I dont like to be
+hunted into a corner. Conny is a good little girl, and will make a
+steady wife. I dont like her mother; but as for herself, she is fond of
+me; and after all, I _did_ lead her a dance long ago. Besides, old boy,
+the Earl is forking out handsomely; and as I have some notion of
+settling down to farm, his dust will come in conveniently as capital.”
+
+The clergyman rose, and slowly pulled on his woolen gloves.
+
+“If youre going, I will see you part of the way,” said Marmaduke. “I’ll
+cheer you up. You know you neednt tell the governor until to-morrow.”
+
+“I had rather go alone, if you intend to behave as you did before.”
+
+“Never fear. I’m as sober as a judge now. Come along. Away with
+melancholy! Youll have Douglas for a brother-in-law before this time
+next year.”
+
+This seemed to have been in the clergyman’s mind; for he shook hands
+with his host more distantly than usual. When they were gone, Conolly
+went to the laboratory, and rang for his neglected dinner, which he ate
+with all a traveller’s appetite. From the dinner table he went straight
+to the organ, and played until a little before midnight, when, after a
+brief turn in the open air, he retired to bed, and was soon quietly
+asleep.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Miss McQuinch spent Christmas morning in her sitting-room reading; a
+letter which had come by the morning post. It was dated the 17th
+December at New York: and the formal beginning and ending were omitted.
+This was an old custom between Marian and her cousin. In their girlish
+correspondence they had expressed their affection by such modes of
+address as “My darling Marian,” and “My dearest Nelly.” Subsequently
+they became oppressed by these ceremonies and dropped them. Thereafter
+their letters contained only the matter to be communicated and the
+signature.
+
+“You are the only person in England,” wrote Marian, “to whom I dare
+write now. A month ago I had more correspondents than I had time to
+answer. Do you know, Nelly, I hesitated before commencing this letter,
+lest you should no longer care to have anything to do with me. That may
+have been an unworthy thought for a friend: but it was an unavoidable
+one for a woman.
+
+“And now comes the great vain question: What does everybody say? Oh, if
+I could only disembody myself; fly back to London for a few hours; and
+listen invisibly to society talking about me. I know this is mean: but
+one must fill up life with some mean curiosities. So please tell me
+what kind of sensation I have caused. Just the usual one. I suppose.
+Half the people never would have thought it; and the other half knew
+all along what it would come to. Well, I do not care much about the
+world in general; but I cannot quiet my conscience on the subject of my
+father and George. It must be very hard on papa that, after being
+disappointed in my marriage and having suffered long ago from what my
+mother did, he should now be disgraced by his daughter. For disgraced,
+alas! is the word. I am afraid poor George’s prospects must be spoiled
+by the scandal, which, I know well, must be terrible. I thought my
+first duty was to leave Ned free, and to free myself, at all hazards;
+and so I did not dwell on the feelings and interests of others as much
+as I perhaps ought to have done. There is one point about which I am
+especially anxious. It never occurred to me before I went that people
+might say that my going was Ned’s fault, and that he had treated me
+badly. You must contradict this with all your might and main if you
+hear it even hinted at.
+
+“There is no use in putting off the confession any longer, Nelly: I
+have made an utter fool of myself. _I wish I were back with Ned again_.
+There! what do you think of that? Now for another great confession, and
+a most humiliating one. Sholto is a—I dont know what epithet is fair. I
+suppose I have no right to call him an impostor merely because we were
+foolish enough to overrate him. But I can hardly believe now that we
+ever really thought that there were great qualities and powers latent
+beneath his proud reserve. Ned, I know, never believed in Sholto; and
+I, in my infinite wisdom, set that down to his not understanding him.
+Ned was right, as usual. If you want to see how selfish people are, and
+how skin-deep fashionable politeness is, take a voyage. Go with a
+picked company of the nice people you have met for an hour or so at a
+dinner or an at-home; and see how different they will appear when they
+have been cooped up in a ship with you day and night for a week. An
+ocean steamer is the next worst thing to the Palace of Truth. Poor
+Sholto did not stand the ordeal. He was ridiculously distant in his
+manner to the rest of the passengers, and in little matters at table
+and so forth he was really just as selfish as he could be. He was
+impatient because I was ill the first two days, and afterwards he
+seemed to think that I ought not to speak to anyone but himself. The
+doctor, who was very attentive to me, was his particular aversion; and
+it was on his account that we had our first quarrel, the upshot of
+which was a scene between them, which I overheard. One very fine day,
+when all the passengers were on deck, Sholto met the doctor in the
+saloon, and offered him a guinea for his attendance on me, telling him
+in the most offensively polite way that I would not trouble him for any
+further services. The doctor retorted very promptly and concisely; and
+though what he said was not dignified, I sympathized with him, and took
+care to be very friendly with him at dinner. (Meals take place on hoard
+ship at intervals of ten minutes: it is horrifying to see the quantity
+of food the elderly people consume.) To prevent further hostilities I
+took care to be always in the way when the doctor encountered Sholto
+afterwards. I cannot imagine Ned involving himself in such a paltry
+squabble. It is odd how things come about. I used to take Sholto’s
+genius for granted, and think a great deal of it. In another sense, I
+used to take Ned’s genius for granted, and think nothing of it. Now I
+have found out in a single fortnight that we saw all of Sholto that
+there was to be seen. His reserves of talent existed only in our
+imagination. He has absolutely no sense of humor; and he is always
+grumbling. Neither the servants, nor the food, nor the rooms, nor the
+wine, satisfy him. Imagine how this comes home to me, who, from not
+having heard grumbling for two years, had forgotten that men ever were
+guilty of it. I flirted a little, a very little, with the doctor; not
+because I meant anything serious, but because it amused me and made the
+trip pleasant. Sholto will not understand this. One day, on board, I
+was indiscreet enough to ask Sholto the use of a piece of machinery
+belonging to the ship. Ned would have known, or, if he had not, would
+very soon have found out. Sholto didnt know, and was weak enough to
+pretend that he did; so he snubbed me by saying that I could not
+understand it. This put me on my mettle; and I asked the surgeon that
+afternoon about it. The surgeon didnt know, and said so; but he
+appealed to the first officer, who explained it. I intended to revenge
+myself on Sholto by retailing the explanation to him next day; but
+unfortunately, whether through the first officer’s want of perspicuity
+or my own stupidity, I was not a bit the wiser for the explanation.
+
+“I can tell you nothing as to what we are likely to do next. As Sholto
+has given up all his prospects for me, I cannot honorably desert him. I
+know now that I have ruined myself for nothing, and I must at least try
+to hide from him that he has done likewise. I can see that he is not
+happy; but he tries so desperately to persuade himself that he is, and
+clings so to the idea that the world is well lost for me, that I have
+not the heart to undeceive him. So we are still lovers; and, cynical
+though it sounds, I make him a great deal happier in my insincerity
+than I could if I really loved him, because I humor him with a cunning
+quite incompatible with passion. He, on the other hand, being still
+sincere, tries my patience terribly with his jealousies and
+importunities. As he has nothing to do, he is almost always with me;
+and a man who has no office to go to—I dont care who he is—is a trial
+of which you can have no conception. So much for our present relations.
+But I fear—indeed I know—that they will not last long. I dare not look
+steadily at the future. In spite of all that he has sacrificed for me,
+I cannot live forever with him. There are times at which he inspires me
+with such a frenzy of aversion and disgust that I have to put the
+strongest constraint upon myself to avoid betraying my feelings to him.
+We intended going to the West Indies direct from here, in search of
+some idyllic retreat where we could live alone together. He still
+entertains this project; but as I have totally abandoned it I put him
+off with some pretext for remaining here whenever he mentions it. I
+have only one hope of gaining a separation without being open to the
+reproach of having deserted him. You remember how we disputed that
+Saturday about the merits of a grand passion, which I so foolishly
+longed for. Well, I have tried it, and proved it to be a lamentable
+delusion, selfish, obstinate, blind, intemperate, and transient. As it
+has evaporated from me, so it will evaporate from Sholto in the course
+of time. It would have done so already, but that his love was more
+genuine than mine. When the time comes, he will get rid of me without
+the least remorse; and so he will have no excuse for reviving his old
+complaints of my treachery.
+
+“One new and very disagreeable feature in my existence, which I had
+partly prepared myself for, is the fear of detection. We sailed before
+our flight had become public; and as there was fortunately no one on
+board who knew us, I had a nine days’ respite, and could fearlessly
+approach the other women, who, I suppose, would not have spoken to me
+had they known the truth. But here it is different. Ned’s patents are
+so much more extensively worked here than in England, and the people
+are so go-ahead, that they take a great interest in him, and are proud
+of him as an American. The news got into the papers a few days after we
+arrived. To appreciate the full significance of this, you should know
+what American newspapers are. One of them actually printed a long
+account of my going away, with every paragraph headed in large print,
+‘Domestic Unhappiness,’ ‘The Serpent in the Laboratory,’ ‘The
+Temptation,’ ‘The Flight,’ ‘The Pursuit,’ and so on, all invented, of
+course. Other papers give the most outrageous anecdotes. Old jokes are
+revived and ascribed to us. I am accused of tearing his hair out, and
+he of coming home late at nights drunk. Two portraits of ferocious old
+women supposed to be Ned’s mother-in-law have been published. The
+latest version appeared in a Sunday paper, and is quite popular in this
+hotel. According to it, Ned was in the habit of ‘devoting me to
+science’ by trying electrical experiments on me. ‘This,’ the account
+says, ‘was kind of rough on the poor woman.’ The day before I
+‘scooted,’ a new machine appeared before the house, drawn by six
+horses. ‘What are them men foolin’ round with, Mr. C.?’ said I. ‘That’s
+hubby’s latest,’ replied Ned. ‘I guess it’s the boss electro-dynamic
+fixin’ in the universe. Full charge that battery with a pint of washing
+soda, an’ youll fetch up a current fit to ravage a cont’nent. You shall
+have a try t’morro’ mornin’, Sal. Youre better seasoned to it than most
+Britishers; but if it dont straighten your hair and lift the sparks
+outer your eyelashes—!’ ‘You bet it wont, Mr. C.,’ said I. That night
+(this is only what the paper says, mind) I stole out of bed; arranged
+the wires on each side of Ned so that if he stirred an inch he would
+make contact; charged the battery; and gently woke him, saying, ‘Mr. C,
+love, dont stir for your life. Them things that’s ticklin’ your
+whiskers is the conductors of that boss fixin’ o’ yourn. If I was you,
+I’d lie still until the battery runs down.’ ‘Darn it all,’ said Ned,
+afraid to lift his lips for a shout, and coming out in cold water all
+over the forehead, ‘it wont run down for a week clear.’ ‘That’ll answer
+me nicely,’ I replied. ‘Good-bye, Mr. C. Young Douglas from the corner
+grocery is waitin’ for me with a shay down the avenue.’ I cannot help
+laughing at these things, but they drive Sholto frantic. He is always
+described in them as a young man from some shop or other. He tries
+hard, out of delicacy, to keep the papers which contain them away from
+me; but I hear about them at breakfast, and buy them downstairs in the
+hall for myself. Another grievance of Sholto’s is that I will not have
+meals privately. But my dislike to being always alone with him is
+greater than my dread that my secret will leak out, and that some
+morning I shall see in the people’s faces that the Mrs. Forster who has
+so often been regaled with the latest account of the great scandal, is
+no other than the famous Mrs. Conolly. That evil day will come, sooner
+or later; but I had rather face it in one of these wonderful hotels
+than in a boarding-house, which I might be asked to leave. As to taking
+a house of our own, I shrink from any such permanent arrangement. We
+are noticed a good deal. Sholto is, of course, handsome and
+distinguished; and people take a fancy to me just as they used to long
+ago. I was once proud of this; but now it is a burden to me. For
+instance, there was a Mrs. Crawford staying here with her husband, a
+general, who has just built a house here. She was so determined to know
+me that I found it hard to keep her off without offending her. At last
+she got ill; and then I felt justified in nursing her. Sholto was very
+sulky because I did so, and wanted to know what business it was of
+mine. I did not trouble myself about his anger, and Mrs. Crawford was
+well in two days. In fact, I think Sholto was right in saying that she
+had only overeaten herself. After that I could avoid her no longer, and
+she was exceedingly kind to me. She wanted to introduce me to all her
+New York friends, and begged me to leave the hotel and go to her new
+mansion. There was plenty of room for us, she said. I did not know what
+to say. I could not repay her kindness by going to her house under
+false colors, and letting her introduce me to her circle; and yet I
+could make no reasonable excuse. At last, seeing that she attributed my
+refusals to pride, I told her plainly that if her friends were to learn
+my history by any accident they might not thank her for the
+introduction. She was quite confounded; but she did not abate her
+kindness in the least, although my reservation of confidence in only
+giving her a hint of the truth, checked her advances. You may think
+this an insane indiscretion on my part; but if you knew how often I
+have longed to stand up before everybody and proclaim who I am, and so
+get rid of the incubus of a perpetual falsehood, you would not be so
+much surprised. There is one unspeakable blessing in American law. It
+is quite easy to obtain a divorce. One can get free without sacrificing
+everything except bare existence. I do not care what anybody may argue
+to the contrary, our marriage laws are shameful.
+
+“I shall expect to hear from you very soon. If you desert me, Nelly,
+there is no such thing as friendship in the world. I want particularly
+to know what Ned did—as far as you know—when he heard the news. Is papa
+very angry? And, above all, could you find out how Mrs. Douglas is? I
+thought that Sholto would be uneasy and remorseful about her; but he
+does not really care half so much as I do. How selfish I have been! I
+used to flatter myself that I was thoughtful for others because I made
+a habit—a detestably self-conscious habit—of being considerate in
+trifles. And in the end, after being so vain-gloriously attentive to
+the momentary comfort of all connected with me, I utterly forgot them
+and thought only of myself when their whole happiness was concerned. I
+never knew how high I stood in my own estimation until I found how far
+the discovery of my folly and selfishness made me fall. Tell me
+everything”. I cannot write any more now. My eyes are smarting: I feel
+as if I had been writing for a whole month instead of two days.
+Good-bye for three weeks.
+
+“MARIAN.”
+
+
+“P.S. I have just learnt from a very severe criticism in one of the
+papers that Mdlle. Lalage Virtue has failed here completely. I fear
+from the wording that her unfortunate habit was apparent to the
+audience.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+On a cold afternoon in January, Sholto Douglas entered a hold in New
+York, and ascended to a room on the first floor. Marian was sitting
+there, thinking, with a letter in her lap, She only looked up for a
+moment when he entered; and he plucked off his sealskin gloves and
+threw aside his overcoat in silence.
+
+“It is an infernal day,” he said presently.
+
+Marian sighed, and roused herself. “The rooms look cheerless in winter
+without the open fireplaces we are accustomed to in England.”
+
+“Damn the rooms!” he muttered.
+
+Marian took up her letter again.
+
+“Do you know that he has filed a petition for divorce?” he said,
+aggressively.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“You might have mentioned it to me. Probably you have known it for days
+past.”
+
+“Yes. I thought it was a matter of course.”
+
+“Or rather you did not think at nil. I suppose you would have left me
+in ignorance forever, if I had not heard from London myself.”
+
+“Is it of importance, then?”
+
+“Certainly it is—of vital importance.”
+
+“Have you any other news? From whom have you heard?”
+
+“I have received some private letters.”
+
+“Oh! I beg your pardon.”
+
+Five minutes passed in silence. He looked out of the window, frowning.
+She sat as before.
+
+“How much longer do you intend to stay in this place?” he said, turning
+upon her suddenly.
+
+“In New York?”
+
+“This is New York, I believe.”
+
+“I think we may as well stay here as anywhere else.”
+
+“Indeed! On what grounds have you arrived at that cheering conclusion?”
+
+Marian shrugged her shoulders. “I dont know,” she said.
+
+“Nor do I. You do not seem happy here. At least, if you are, you fail
+to communicate your state of mind to those about you.”
+
+“So it seems.”
+
+“What does that mean?”
+
+“That you do not seem to be happy either.”
+
+“How in the devil’s name can you expect me to be happy in this city? Do
+you think it is pleasant to have no alternative to the society of
+American men except that of a sulky woman?”
+
+“Sholto!” said Marian, rising quickly, and looking at him in surprise.
+
+“Spare me these airs,” he said, coldly. “You will have to accustom
+yourself to hear the truth occasionally.”
+
+She sat down again. “I am not giving myself airs,” she said, earnestly.
+“I am astonished. Have I really been sulky?”
+
+“You have been in the sulks for days past: and you are in them at this
+moment.”
+
+“There is some misunderstanding between us then; for you have seemed to
+me quite cross and out of sorts for the last week; and I thought you
+were out of temper when you came in just now.”
+
+“That is rather an old-fashioned retort.”
+
+“Sholto: I do not know whether you intend it or not; but you are
+speaking very slightingly to me.”
+
+He muttered something, and walked across the room and back. “I am quite
+clear on one point at least,” he said. “It was not for this sort of
+thing that I crossed the Atlantic with you; and you had bettor make our
+relations more agreeable if you wish me to make them permanent.”
+
+“You to make them permanent? I do not understand.”
+
+“I shall not shrink from explaining myself. If your husband’s suit is
+undefended, he will obtain a decree which will leave you a single woman
+in six months. Now, whatever you may think to the contrary, there is
+not a club in London that would hold me in any way bound to marry you
+after the manner in which you have behaved. Let me remind you that your
+future position depends on your present conduct. You have apparently
+forgotten it.”
+
+She looked at him; and he went back to the window.
+
+“My husband’s suit cannot be defended,” she said. “Doubtless you will
+act according to the dictates of the London clubs.”
+
+“I do not say so,” he said, turning angrily. “I shall act according to
+the dictates of my own common sense. And do not be too sure that the
+petition will be unopposed. The law recognizes the plea of connivance.”
+
+“But it would be a false plea,” said Marian, raising her voice.
+
+“I shall not discuss that with you. Whether your husband was blind, or
+merely kept his eyes shut will not be decided by us. You have been
+warned. We will drop the subject now, if you please.”
+
+“Do you suppose,” said Marian, with a bright color in her cheeks, “that
+after what you have said, anything could induce me to marry you?”
+
+He was startled, and remained for a moment motionless. Then he said, in
+his usual cold tone, “As you please. You may think better of it. I will
+leave you for the present. When we meet again, you will be calmer.”
+
+“Yes,” she said. “Good-bye.”
+
+Without answering, he changed his coat for a silk jacket, transferred
+his cigar-case to a pocket in it, and went out. When he had passed the
+threshold, he hesitated, and returned.
+
+“Why do you say good-bye?” he said, after clearing his throat uneasily.
+
+“I do not like to leave you without saying it.”
+
+“I hope you have not misunderstood me, Marian. I did not mean that we
+should part.”
+
+“I know that. Nevertheless, we shall part. I will never sleep beneath
+the same roof with you again.”
+
+“Come!” he said, shutting the door: “this is nonsense. You are out of
+temper.”
+
+“So you have already told me,” she said, becoming pale.
+
+“Well, but—Marian: perhaps I may have spoken rather harshly just now;
+but I did not mean you to take it so. You must be reasonable.”
+
+“Pray let us have no more words about it. I need no apologies, and
+desire no advances. Good-bye is enough.”
+
+“But, Marian,” said he, coming nearer, “you must not fancy that I have
+ceased to love you.”
+
+“Above all,” said Marian, “let us have no more of that. You say you
+hate this place and the life we lead here. I am heartily sick of it,
+and have been so for a long time.”
+
+“Let us go elsewhere.”
+
+“Yes, but not together. One word,” she added resolutely, seeing his
+expression become fierce. “I will not endure any violence, even of
+language, from you. I know of old what you are when you lose your
+temper; and if you insult me I will summon aid, and proclaim who I am.”
+
+“Do you think I am going to strike you?”
+
+“No, because you dare not. But I will not listen to oaths or abuse.”
+
+“What have you to complain of? What is your grievance?”
+
+“I make no complaint. I exercise the liberty I bought so dearly to go
+where I please and do what I please.”
+
+“And to desert me when I have sacrificed everything for you. I have
+incurred enormous expenses; alienated my friends; risked my position in
+society; and broken my mother’s heart for your sake.”
+
+“But for that I would have left you before. I am very sorry.”
+
+“You have heard something in that letter which makes you hope that your
+husband will take you back. Not a woman in London will speak to you.”
+
+“I tell you I am not going back. Oh, Sholto, dont be so mean. Can we
+not part with dignity? We have made a mistake. Let us acknowledge it
+quietly, and go our several ways.”
+
+“I will not be got rid of so easily as you suppose,” he said, his face
+darkening menacingly. “Do you think I believe in your going out alone
+from this hotel and living by yourself in a strange city? Come! who is
+it?”
+
+“Who is——? What do you mean?”
+
+“What new connexion have you formed? You were very anxious about our
+ship returning the other day—anxious about the mails, of course.
+Perhaps also about the surgeon.”
+
+“I understand. You think I am leaving you to go to some other man. I
+will tell you now the true reason.”
+
+“Do,” said he, sarcastically, biting his lip.
+
+“I will. I am leaving you because, instead of loving you, as I
+foolishly thought I could, I neither respect nor even like you. You are
+utterly selfish and narrow-minded; and I deserve my disappointment for
+having deserted for your sake a far better man. I am sorry you have
+sacrificed so much for me; but if you had been worthy of a woman’s
+regard, you would not have lost me.”
+
+Douglas stared at her. “_I_ selfish and narrow-minded!” he said, with
+the calm of stupefaction.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I may have been narrow-minded in devoting myself so entirely to you,”
+said he slowly, after a pause. “But, though I do not ask for gratitude,
+I think I have been sufficiently a loser to disregard such a monstrous
+assertion as that I am selfish.”
+
+“You show your selfishness by dwelling on what you have lost. You never
+think of what I have lost. I make no profession of unselfishness. I am
+suffering for my folly and egoism; and I deserve to suffer.”
+
+“In what way, pray, are you suffering? You came here because you had a
+wretched home, and a husband who was glad to be rid of you. You do what
+you like, and have what you like. Name one solitary wish of yours that
+has not been silently gratified.”
+
+“I do not find fault with you. You have been generous in supplying me
+with luxuries such as money can obtain. But it was not the want of
+money that made me fancy my home wretched. It is not true that I can do
+as I like. How many minutes is it since you threatened to cast me off
+if I did not make myself agreeable to you? Can you boast of your
+generosity after taunting me with my dependence on you?”
+
+“You misunderstood me, Marian. I neither boasted, nor threatened, nor
+taunted. I have even apologized for that moment’s irritation. If you
+cannot forgive such a trifle, you yourself can have very little
+generosity.”
+
+“Perhaps not. I do not violently resent things; but I cannot forget
+them, nor feel as I did before they happened.”
+
+“You think so at present. Let us cease this bickering. Lovers’ quarrels
+should not be carried too far.”
+
+“I am longing to cease it. It worries me; and it does not alter my
+determination in the least.”
+
+“Do you mean——”
+
+“I do mean. Dont look at me like that: you make me angry instead of
+frightening me.”
+
+“And do you think I will suffer this quietly?”
+
+“You may suffer it as you please,” said Marian, stepping quietly to the
+wall, and pressing a button. “I will never see you again if I can help
+it. If you follow me, or persecute me in any way, I will appeal to the
+police for protection as Mrs. Conolly. I despise you more than I do any
+one on earth.”
+
+He turned away, and snatched up his coat and hat. She stood apparently
+watching him quietly, but really listening with quickened heart to his
+loud and irregular breathing. As he opened the door to go out, he was
+confronted on the threshold by a foreign waiter.
+
+“Vas you reeng?” said the waiter doubtfully, retreating a step.
+
+“I will not be accountable for that woman’s expenses from this time
+forth,” said Douglas, pointing at her, “You can keep her at your own
+risk, or turn her into the streets to pursue her profession, as you
+please.”
+
+The waiter, smiting vaguely, looked first at the retreating figure of
+Douglas, and then at Marian.
+
+“I want another room, if you please,” she said. “One on any of the
+upper floors will do; but I must have my things moved there at once.”
+
+Her instructions were carried out after some parley. In the meantime,
+Douglas’s man servant appeared, and said that he had been instructed to
+remove his master’s luggage.
+
+“Is Mr. Forster leaving the hotel?” she asked.
+
+“I dont know his arrangements, madam.”
+
+“I guess I do, then,” said a sulky man, who was preparing to wheel away
+Marian’s trunk. “He’s about to shift his billet to the Gran’ Central.”
+
+Marian, still in a towering rage, sat down in her new room to consider
+her situation. To fix her attention, which repeatedly wandered to what
+had passed between her and Douglas, she counted her money, and found
+that she had, besides a twenty pound note which she had brought with
+her from London, only a few loose dollars in her purse. Her practice in
+housekeeping at Westbourne Terrace and Holland Park had taught her the
+value of money too well to let her suppose that she could afford to
+remain at a first rate American hotel with so small a sum in her
+possession. At home Conolly had made her keep a separate banking
+account; and there was money to her credit there; but in her ignorance
+of the law, she was not sure that she had not forfeited all her
+property by eloping. She resolved to move at once into some cheap
+lodging, and to live economically until she could ascertain the true
+state of her affairs, or until she could obtain some employment, to
+support her. She faced poverty without fear, never having experienced
+it.
+
+It was still early in the afternoon when she left the hotel and drove
+to the Crawfords’.
+
+“So you have come at last,” cried Mrs. Crawford, who was fifty years of
+age and stout, but leaner in the face than fat Englishwomen of that age
+usually are.
+
+“I just expected you’d soon git tired of being grand all by yourself in
+the hotel yonder.”
+
+“I fear I shall have to be the reverse of grand all by myself in some
+very shabby lodging,” said Marian. “Dont be surprised Mrs. Crawford.
+Can one live in New York on ten dollars a week?”
+
+“_You_ cant live on ten dollars a week in New York nor on a hundred.
+You rode here, didnt you?”
+
+“Yes, of course.”
+
+“Of course. If you have only ten dollars a week you should have walked.
+I know the sort you are, Mrs. Forster. You wont be long getting rid of
+your money, no matter where you live. But whats wrong? Hows your
+husband?”
+
+“I dont know. I hope he is quite well,” said Marian, her voice
+trembling a little. “Mrs. Crawford: you are the only friend I have in
+America; and you have been so very kind to me that since I must trouble
+some one, I have ventured to come to you. The truth is that I have left
+my husband; and I have only about one hundred dollars in the world. I
+must live on that until I get some employment, or perhaps some money of
+my own from England.”
+
+“Chut, child! Nawnsnse!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, with benevolent
+intolerance. “You go right back to your husband. I spose youve had a
+rumpus with him; but you mustnt mind that. All men are a bit selfish;
+and I should say from what I have seen of him that he is no exception
+to the rule. But you cant have perfection. He’s a fine handsome fellow;
+and he knows it. And, as for you, I dont know what they reckon you in
+England; but youre the best-looking woman in Noo York: thats surtn.
+It’s a pity for such a pair to fall out.”
+
+“He is not selfish,” said Marian. “You never saw him. I am afraid I
+must shock you, Mrs. Crawford. Mr. Forster is not my husband.”
+
+“No! Do! Did you ever tell the General that?”
+
+“General Crawford! Oh, no.”
+
+“Think of that man being cuter than me, a woman! He always said so. And
+the grit you must have, to tell it out as cool as that! Well! I’m sorry
+to hear it though, Mrs. Forster. It’s a bad account—a very bad one. But
+if I take what you said just now rightly, youre married.”
+
+“I am. I have deserted a very good husband.”
+
+“It’s a pity you didnt find that out a little sooner, isnt it?”
+
+“I know, Mrs. Crawford. I thought I was acting for the best.”
+
+“Thought you were acting for the best in running away from a good
+husband! Well, you British aristocrats are singular. You throw stones
+at us because our women are so free and our divorces so easy. Yet youre
+always scandlizing us; and now _you_ tell me youve done it on morl
+grounds! Who educated you, child? And what do you intend to do now?”
+
+“For the present, only to get a lodging. Will you tell me where I
+should look for one? I dont know the east from the west end of this
+town; and I am so inexperienced that I might make a mistake easily as
+to the character of the places. Will you direct me to some street or
+quarter in which I should he likely to find suitable rooms? I can live
+very economically.”
+
+“I dont know what to do,” said Mrs. Crawford, perplexedly, turning her
+rings on her fingers. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you so
+pretty!”
+
+“Perhaps you would rather not assist me. You may tell me so candidly. I
+shall not be offended.”
+
+“You mustnt take me up like that. I must have a talk with the General
+about you. I dont feel like letting you go into some ordinary place by
+yourself. But I cant ask you to stay here without consulting——”
+
+“Oh, no, you must not think of any such thing: I must begin to face the
+world alone at once. I assure you, Mrs. Crawford, I could not come
+here. I should only keep your friends away.”
+
+“But nobody knows you.”
+
+“Sooner or later I should meet someone who does. There are hundreds of
+people who know me by sight, who travel every year. Besides, my case is
+a very public one, unfortunately. May I take you into my confidence?”
+
+“If you wish, my dear. I dont ask you for it; but I will take it
+kindly.”
+
+“I know you will. You must have heard all about me. Mr. Forster’s real
+name is Douglas.”
+
+Mrs. Crawford stifled a whoop of surprise. “And you! Are you——?”
+
+“I am.”
+
+“Only think! And that was Douglas! Why, I thought he was a
+straight-haired, sleeky, canting snake of a man. And you too are not a
+bit like what I thought. You are quite a person, Mrs.—Mrs. Conolly.”
+
+“I have no right to bear that name any longer. Pray call me by my
+assumed name still, and keep my secret. I hope you do not believe all
+the newspapers said?”
+
+“No, of course not,” said Mrs. Crawford. “But whose fault was it?”
+
+“Mine. Altogether mine. I wish you would tell people that Mr. Conolly
+is blameless in the matter.”
+
+“He will take care of his own credit, never fear. I am sure you got
+some provocation: I know what men are. The General is not my first
+husband.”
+
+“No, I got no provocation. Mr. Conolly is not like other men. I got
+discontented because I had nothing to desire. And now, about the
+lodgings, Mrs. Crawford. Do not think I am changing the subject from
+reticence. It is the question of money that makes me anxious. All my
+resources would be swallowed up at the hotel in less than a week.”
+
+“Lodgings? You mean rooms, I guess. People here mostly go to
+boarding-houses. And as to the cheapness, you dont know what cheapness
+is. Cant you make some arrangement with your great relations in
+England? Have you no property of your own?”
+
+“I cannot tell whether my property remains my own or not. You must
+regard me as a poor woman. I am quite determined to have the lodgings;
+and I should like to arrange about them at once; for I am rather upset
+by something that happened this morning.”
+
+“Well, if you must, you must, I know a place that might suit you: I
+lived in it myself when I was not so well off as I am at present. It is
+a little down-town; but you will have to put up with that for the sake
+of economy.”
+
+Mrs. Crawford, who had read in the papers of her guest’s relationship
+to the Earl of Carbury, then sent for her carriage, and dressed herself
+handsomely. When they had gone some distance, they entered a wide
+street, crossed half way along by an avenue and an elevated railway.
+
+“What do you think of this neighborhood?” said Mrs. Crawford.
+
+“It is a fine, wide street,” replied Marian; “but it looks as if it
+needed to be swept and painted.”
+
+“The other end is quieter. I’m afraid you wont like living here.”
+
+Marian had hitherto thought of such streets as thoroughfares, not as
+places in which she could dwell. “Beggars cannot be choosers,” she
+said, with affected cheerfulness, looking anxiously ahead for the
+promised quiet part.
+
+“Boarding-houses are so much the rule here, that it is not easy to get
+rooms. You will find Mrs. Myers a good soul, and though the house is
+not much to look at, it is comfortable enough inside.”
+
+The appearance of the street improved as they went on; and the house
+they stopped at, though the windows were dingy and the paint old, was
+better than Marian had hoped for a minute before. She remained in the
+carriage whilst her companion conferred with the landlady within.
+Twenty minutes passed before Mrs. Crawford reappeared, looking much
+perplexed.
+
+“Mrs. Myers has a couple of rooms that would do you very well; only you
+would be on the same floor with a woman who is always drunk. She has
+pawned a heap of clothes, and promises to leave every day; but Mrs.
+Myers hasnt got rid of her yet. It’s very provoking. She’s quiet, and
+doesnt trouble any one; but still, of course——”
+
+“She cannot interfere with me,” said Marian. “If that is the only
+objection, let it pass. I need have nothing to say to her. If she is
+not violent nor noisy, her habits are her own affair.”
+
+“Oh, she wont trouble you. You can keep to yourself, English fashion.”
+
+“Then let us agree at once. I cannot face any more searching and
+bargaining.”
+
+“Youre looking pale. Are you sure you are not ill?”
+
+“No. It is nothing. I am rather tired.”
+
+They went in together; and Marian was introduced to Mrs. Myers, a
+nervous widow of fifty. The rooms were small, and the furniture and
+carpets old and worn; but all was clean; and there was an open
+fireplace in the sitting-room.
+
+“They will do very nicely, thank you,” said Marian. “I will send for my
+luggage; and I think I will just telegraph my new address and a few
+words to a friend in London.”
+
+“If you feel played out, I can see after your luggage,” said Mrs.
+Crawford. “But I advise you to come back with me; have a good lunch at
+Delmonico’s; and send your cablegram yourself.”
+
+Marian roused herself from a lassitude which was coming upon her, and
+took Mrs. Crawford’s advice. When they returned to the richer quarter
+of the town, and especially after luncheon, her spirits revived. At the
+hotel she observed that the clerk was surprised when, arranging for the
+removal of her luggage and the forwarding of her letters, she mentioned
+her new address. Douglas, she found, had paid all expenses before
+leaving. She did not linger in the building; for the hotel staff stared
+at her curiously. She finished her business by telegraphing to Elinor:
+“_Separated. Write to new address. Have I forfeited my money?_” This
+cost her nearly five dollars.
+
+“Only that you must find out about your money, I wouldnt have let you
+spend all that,” said Mrs. Crawford.
+
+“I did not think it would have cost so much,” said Marian. “I was
+horrified when he named the price. However, it cannot be helped.”
+
+“We may as well be getting back to Mrs. Myers’s now. It’s late.”
+
+“Yes, I suppose so,” said Marian, sighing. “I am sorry I did not ask
+Nelly to telegraph me. I am afraid my funds will not last so long as I
+thought.”
+
+“Well, we shall see. The General was greatly taken with you for the way
+you looked after me when I was ill yonder; so you have two friends in
+Noo York City, at any rate.”
+
+“You have proved that to me to-day. I am afraid I shall have to trouble
+you further if I get bad news. You will have to help me to find some
+work.”
+
+“Yes. Never mind that until the bad news comes. I hope you wont mope at
+Mrs. Myers’s. How does the American air agree with you?”
+
+“Pretty well. I was sick for the first two days of our passage across,
+and somehow my digestion seems to have got out of order in consequence.
+Of late I have been a little unwell in the mornings.”
+
+“Oh! Thats so, is it? Humph! I see I shall have to come and look after
+you occasionally.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Never you mind, my dear. But dont go moping, nor going without food to
+save money. Take care of yourself.”
+
+“It is nothing serious,” said Marian, with a smile. “Only a passing
+indisposition. You need not be uneasy about me. This is the house, is
+it not? I shall lose myself whenever I go out for a walk here.”
+
+“This is it. Now good-bye. I’ll see you soon. Meanwhile, you take care
+of yourself, as youre told.”
+
+It was dark when Marian entered her new residence. Mrs. Myers was
+standing at the open door, remonstrating with a milkman. Marian hastily
+assured her that she knew the way, and went upstairs alone. She was
+chilled and weary; her spirits had fallen again during her journey from
+the telegraph office. As she approached her room, hoping to find a good
+fire, she heard a flapping noise, which was suddenly interrupted by the
+rattle of a falling poker, followed by the exclamation, in a woman’s
+voice, “Och, musha, I wouldnt doubt you.” Marian, entering, saw a
+robust young woman kneeling before the grate, trying to improve a dull
+fire that burnt there. She had taken up the poker and placed it
+standing against the bars so that it pointed up the chimney; and she
+was now using her apron fanwise as a bellows. The fire glowed in the
+draught; and Marian, by its light, noted with displeasure that the
+young woman’s calico dress was soiled, and her hair untidy.
+
+“I think——”
+
+“God bless us!” ejaculated the servant, starting and turning a comely
+dirty face toward Marian.
+
+“Did I frighten you?” said Marian, herself startled by the exclamation.
+
+“You put the life acrass in me,” said the servant, panting, and
+pressing her hand on her bosom.
+
+“I am sorry for that. I was going to say that I think you need not take
+any further trouble with the fire. It will light of itself now.”
+
+“Very well, miss.”
+
+“What is your name?”
+
+“Liza Redmon’, miss.”
+
+“I should like some light, Eliza, if you please.”
+
+“Yis, miss. Would you wish to take your tay now, miss?”
+
+“Yes, thank you.”
+
+Eliza went away with alacrity. Marian put off her bonnet and furs, and
+sat down before the fire to despond over the prospect of living in that
+shabby room, waited on by that slipshod Irish girl, who roused in her
+something very like racial antipathy. Presently Eliza returned,
+carrying a small tray, upon which she had crowded a lighted kerosene
+lamp, a china tea service, a rolled-up table cloth, a supply of bread
+and butter, and a copper kettle. When she had placed the lamp on the
+mantelpiece, and the kettle by the fire, she put the tray on the sofa,
+and proceeded to lay the cloth, which she shook from its folds and
+spread like a sail in the air by seizing two of the corners in her
+hands, and pulling them apart whilst she held the middle fold in her
+teeth. Then she adroitly wafted it over the table, making a breeze in
+which the lamp flared and Marian blinked. Her movements were very
+rapid; and in a few moments she had arranged the tea service, and was
+ready to withdraw.
+
+“My luggage will be sent here this evening or to-morrow, Eliza. Will
+you tell me when it comes?”
+
+“Yis, miss.”
+
+“You know that my name is _Mrs_. Forster, do you not?”
+
+“Mrs. Forster. Yis, miss.”
+
+Marian made no further attempt to get miss changed to maam; and Eliza
+left the room. As she crossed the landing, she was called by someone on
+the same floor. Marian started at the sound. It was a woman’s voice,
+disagreeably husky: a voice she felt sure she had heard before, and yet
+one that was not familiar to her.
+
+“Eliza. Eli-za!” Marian shuddered.
+
+“Yis, yis,” said Eliza, impatiently, opening a door.
+
+“Come here, alanna,” said the voice, with mock fondness. The door was
+then closed, and Marian could hear the murmur of the conversation which
+followed. It was still proceeding when Mrs. Myers came in.
+
+“I didnt ought to have left you to find your way up here alone, Mrs.
+Forster,” she said; “but I do have such worry sometimes that I’m bound
+to leave either one thing or another undone.”
+
+“It does not matter at all, Mrs. Myers. Your servant has been very
+attentive to me.”
+
+“The hired girl? She’s smart, she is—does everything right slick away.
+The only trouble is to keep her out of that room. She’s in there now.
+Unless I am always after her, she is slipping out on errands, pawning
+and buying drink for that unfortunate young creature.”
+
+“For whom?”
+
+“A person that Mrs. Crawford promised to tell you about.”
+
+“So she did,” said Marian. “But I did not know she was young.”
+
+“She’s older than you, a deal. I knew her when she was a little girl,
+and I often forget how old she is. She was the prettiest child! Even
+now she would talk you into anything. But I cant help her. It’s nothing
+but drink, drink, drink from morning til night. There’s Eliza coming
+out of her room. Eliza.”
+
+“Yis, maam,” said Eliza, looking in.
+
+“You stay in the house, Eliza, do you hear? I wont have you go out.”
+
+“Could I spake a word to you, maam?” said Eliza, lowering her voice.
+
+“No, Eliza. I’m engaged with Mrs. Forster.”
+
+“She wants to see you,” whispered Eliza.
+
+“Go downrs, Eliza, this minute. I wont see her.”
+
+“Mrs. Myers,” cried the voice. Marian again shrank from the sound.
+“Mrs. My-ers. Aunt Sally. Come to your poor Soozy.” Mrs. Myers looked
+perplexedly at Marian. The voice resumed after a pause, with an
+affected Yankee accent, “I guess I’ll raise a shine if you dont come.”
+
+“I must go,” said Mrs. Myers. “I promise you, Mrs. Forster, she shall
+not annoy you. She shall go this week. It aint right that you should be
+disturbed by her.”
+
+Mrs. Myers went into the other room. Eliza ran downrs, and Marian heard
+her open the house door softly and go out. She also heard indistinctly
+the voices of the landlady and her lodger. After a time these ceased,
+and she drank her tea in peace. She was glad that Mrs. Myers did not
+return, although she made no more comfortable use of her solitude than
+to think of her lost home in Holland Park, comparing it with her dingy
+apartment, and pressing her handkerchief upon her eyes when they became
+too full of tears. She had passed more than an hour thus when Eliza
+roused her by announcing the arrival of the luggage. Thereupon she
+bestirred herself to superintend its removal to her bedroom, where she
+unpacked a trunk which contained her writing-case and some books. With
+these were stowed her dresses, much miscellaneous finery, and some
+handsomely worked underclothing. Eliza, standing by, could not contain
+her admiration; and Marian, though she did not permit her to handle the
+clothes, had not the heart to send her away until she had seen all that
+the trunk contained. Marian heard her voice afterward in the apartment
+of the drunken lodger, and suspected from its emphasis that the girl
+was describing the rare things she had seen.
+
+Marian imparted some interest to her surroundings that evening by
+describing them in a letter to Elinor. When she had finished, she was
+weary; and the fire was nearly out. She looked at her watch, and,
+finding to her surprise that is was two hours after midnight, rose to
+go to bed. Before leaving the room, she stood for a minute before the
+old-fashioned pier-glass, with one foot on the fender, and looked at
+her image, pitying her own weariness, and enjoying the soft beauty of
+her face and the gentleness of her expression. Her appearance did not
+always please her; but on this occasion the mirror added so much to the
+solace she had found in writing to Elinor, that she felt almost happy
+as she took the lamp to light her to her bedroom.
+
+She had gone no farther than the landing when a sound of unsteady
+footsteps on the stairs caused her to stop. As she lifted the lamp and
+looked up, she saw a strange woman descending toward her, holding the
+balustrade, and moving as though with pains in her limbs. This woman,
+whose black hair fell nearly to her waist, was dressed in a crimson
+satin dressing-gown, warmly padded, and much stained and splashed. She
+had fine dark eyes, and was young, bold-looking, and handsome; but when
+she came nearer, the moist pallor of her skin, the slackness of her
+lower lip and jaw, and an eager and worn expression in her fine eyes,
+gave her a thirsty, reckless leer that filled Marian with loathing. Her
+aspect conveyed the same painful suggestion as her voice had done
+before, but more definitely; for it struck Marian, with a shock, that
+Conolly, in the grotesque metamorphosis of a nightmare, might appear in
+some such likeness. The lamp did not seem to attract her attention at
+first; but when she came within a few steps, she saw some one before
+her, and, dazzled by the light, peered at Marian, who lost her presence
+of mind, and stood motionless. Gradually the woman’s expression changed
+to one of astonishment. She came down to the landing; stopped, grasping
+the handrail to steady herself; and said in her husky voice:
+
+“Oh, Lord! It’s not a woman at all. It’s D. Ts.” Then, not quite
+convinced by this explanation, she suddenly stretched out her hand and
+attempted to grasp Marian’s arm. Missing her aim, she touched her on
+the breast, and immediately cried, “Mrs. Ned!”
+
+Marian shrank from her touch, and recovered her courage.
+
+“Do you know me?” she said.
+
+“I should rather think I do. I have gone off a good deal in my
+appearance, or you would know me. Youve seen me on the stage, I
+suppose. I’m your sister-in-law. Perhaps you didnt know you had one.”
+
+“Are you Miss Susanna Conolly?”
+
+“Thats who I am. At least I am what is left of Miss Susanna. You dont
+look overjoyed to make my acquaintance; but I was as good-looking as
+you once. Take my advice, Mrs. Ned: dont drink champagne. The end of
+champagne is brandy; and the end of brandy is——” Susanna made a grimace
+and indicated herself.
+
+“I am afraid we shall disturb the house if we talk here. We had better
+say good-night.”
+
+“No, no. Dont be in such a hurry to get rid of me. Come into my room
+with me for a while. I’ll talk quietly: I’m not drunk. Ive just slept
+it off; and I was coming down for some more. You may as well keep me
+from it for a few minutes. I suppose Ned hasnt forbidden you to speak
+to me.”
+
+“Oh, no,” said Marian, yielding to a feeling of pity. “Come into my
+room. There is a scrap of fire there still.”
+
+“We used to lodge in this room long ago, in my father’s time,” said
+Susanna, following Marian into the room, and reclining with a groan on
+the sofa. “I’m rather in a fog, you know: I cant make out how the deuce
+you come to be here. Did Ned send you to look after me? Is he in New
+York? Is he here?”
+
+“No,” said Marian, foreseeing with a bitter pang and a terrible blush
+what must follow. “He is in England. I am alone here.”
+
+“Well, why—? what—? I dont understand.”
+
+“Have you not read the papers?” said Marian, in a low voice, turning
+her head away.
+
+“Papers! No, not since I saw an account of my brilliant _debût_ here,
+of which I suppose you have heard. I never read: I do nothing but
+drink. What has happened?”
+
+Marian hesitated.
+
+“Is it any secret?” said Susanna.
+
+“No, it is no secret,” said Marian, turning, and looking at her
+steadily. “All the world knows it. I have left your brother; and I do
+not know whether I am still his wife, or whether I am already
+divorced.”
+
+“You dont mean to say youre on the loose!” cried Susanna.
+
+Marian was silent.
+
+“I always told Ned that no woman could stand him,” said Susanna, with
+sodden vivacity, after a pause, during which Marian had to endure her
+astonished stare. “He always thought you the very pink of propriety. Of
+course, there was another man in it. Whats become of him, if I may
+ask?”
+
+“I have left him,” said Marian, sternly. “You need impute no fault to
+your brother in the matter, Miss Conolly. He is quite blameless.”
+
+“Yes,” said Susanna, not in the least impressed, “he always is
+blameless. How is Bob? I mean Marmaduke, your cousin. I call him Bob,
+short for Cherry Bob.”
+
+“He is very well, thank you.”
+
+“Now, Bob was not a blameless man, but altogether the reverse; and he
+was a capital fellow to get on with. Ned was always right, always sure
+of himself; and there was an end. He has no variety. I wonder will Bob
+ever get married?”
+
+“He is going to be married in the spring.”
+
+“Who to?”
+
+“To Lady Constance Car——”
+
+“Damn that woman!” exclaimed Susanna. “I hate her. She was always
+throwing herself at his head. Curse her! Damn her! I wish——”
+
+“Miss Conolly,” said Marian: “I hope you will not think me rude; but I
+am very tired, and it is very late. I must go to bed.”
+
+“Well, will you come and see me to-morrow? It will be an act of
+charity. I am dying here all alone. You are a nice woman, and I know
+what you must feel about me; but you will get used to me. I wont annoy
+you. I wont swear. I wont say anything about your cousin. I’ll keep
+sober. Do come. You are a good sort: Bob always said so; and you might
+save me from destroying myself. Say youll come.”
+
+“If you particularly wish it, I will,” said Marian, not disguising her
+reluctance.
+
+“Youd rather not, of course,” said Susanna, despondently.
+
+“I am afraid I cannot be of any use to you.”
+
+“For that matter, no one is likely to be of much use to me. But it’s
+hard to be imprisoned in this den without anyone to speak to but Eliza.
+However, do as you please. I did as I pleased; and I must take the
+consequences. Just tell me one thing. Did you find me out by accident?”
+
+“Quite.”
+
+“That was odd.” Susanna groaned again as she rose from the sofa. “Well,
+since you wont have anything to do with me, good-bye. Youre quite
+right.”
+
+“I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid you if you are in
+trouble.”
+
+“Do,” said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian’s hand with her moist
+palm. “We’ll get on better than you think. I like you, and I’ll make
+you like me. If I could only keep from it for two days, I shouldnt be a
+bit disgusting. Good-night.”
+
+“Good-night,” said Marian, overcoming her repugnance to Susanna’s hand,
+and clasping it. “Remember that my name here is Mrs. Forster.”
+
+“All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never be sorry for having
+compassion on me.”
+
+“Wont you take a light?”
+
+“I dont require one. I can find what I want in the dark.”
+
+She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly up to her own bedroom
+and locked herself in. Her first loathing for Susanna had partly given
+way to pity; but the humiliation of confessing herself to such a woman
+as an unfaithful wife was galling. When she went to sleep she dreamed
+that she was unmarried and at home with her father, and that the
+household was troubled by Susanna, who lodged in a room upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Sholto Douglas returned to England in the ship which carried Marian’s
+letter to Elinor. On reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel at
+Euston, and sent his man next day to take rooms for him at the West
+End. Early in the afternoon the man reported that he had secured
+apartments in Charles Street, St. James’s. It was a fine wintry day,
+and Douglas resolved to walk, not without a sense of being about to run
+the gauntlet.
+
+It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever taken in his life.
+Everybody he knew seemed to be lying in wait for him. In Portland Place
+he met Miss McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, looked
+at him indignantly, and cut him. At the Laugham Hotel he passed a
+member of his club, who seemed surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent
+Street he saw Lady Carbury’s carriage waiting before a shop. He hurried
+past the door, for he had lost courage at his encounter with Elinor.
+There were, however, two doors; and as he passed the second, the
+Countess, Lady Constance, and Marmaduke came out just before him.
+
+“Where the devil is the carriage?” said Marmaduke, loudly.
+
+“Hush! Everybody can hear you,” said Lady Constance.
+
+“What do I care whether—Hal-lo! Douglas! How are you?”
+
+Marmaduke proffered his hand. Lady Carbury plucked her daughter by the
+sleeve and hurried to her carriage, after returning Douglas’s stern
+look with the slightest possible bow. Constance imitated her mother.
+Douglas haughtily raised his hat.
+
+“How obstinate Marmaduke is!” said the Countess, when she had bidden
+the coachman drive away at once. “He is going to walk down Regent
+Street with that man.”
+
+“But you didnt cut him, mamma.”
+
+“I never dreamed of his coming back so soon; and, of course, I cannot
+tell whether he will be cut or not. We must wait and see what other
+people will do. If we meet him again we had better not see him.”
+
+“Look here, old fellow,” said Marmaduke, as he walked away with
+Douglas. “Youve come back too soon. It wont do. Take my advice and go
+away again until matters have blown over. Hang it, it’s too flagrant!
+You have not been away two months.”
+
+“I believe you are going to be married,” said Douglas. “Allow me to
+congratulate you.”
+
+“Thank you. Fine day, isnt it?”
+
+“Very fine.”
+
+Marmaduke walked on in silence. Douglas presently recommenced the
+conversation.
+
+“I only arrived in London last night. I have come from New York.”
+
+“Indeed. Pleasant voyage?”
+
+“Very pleasant.”
+
+Another pause.
+
+“Has anything special happened during my absence?”
+
+“Nothing special.”
+
+“Was there much fuss made about my going?”
+
+“Well, there was a great deal of fuss made about it. Excuse my alluding
+to the subject again. I shouldnt have done so if you hadnt asked me.”
+
+“Oh, my dear fellow, you neednt stand on ceremony with me.”
+
+“That’s all very well, Douglas; but when I alluded to it just now, you
+as good as told me to mind my own business.”
+
+“I told you so!”
+
+“Not in those words, perhaps. However, the matter is easily settled.
+You bolted with Marian. I know that, and you know it. If the topic is
+disagreeable, say so, and it is easily avoided. If you want to talk
+about it, better not change the subject when I mention it.”
+
+“You have taken offence needlessly. I changed the subject
+inadvertently.”
+
+“Hm! Well, has she come back with you?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Do you mean that youve thrown her over?”
+
+“I have said nothing of the kind. As a matter of fact, she has thrown
+me over.”
+
+“Thats very strange. You are not going to marry her then, I suppose?”
+
+“How can I? I tell you she has deserted me. Let me remind you, Lind,
+that I should not be bound to marry her in any case, and I shall
+certainly not do so now. If I chose to justify myself, I could easily
+do so by her own conduct.”
+
+“I expect you will not be troubled for any justification. People seem
+to have made up their minds that you were wrong in the first instance,
+and you ought to keep out of the way until they have forgotten——Oh,
+confound it, here’s Conolly! Now, for God’s sake, dont let us have any
+row.”
+
+Douglas whitened, and took a step back into the roadway before he
+recovered himself; for Conolly had come upon them suddenly as they
+turned into Charles Street. A group of gentlemen stood on the steps of
+the clubhouse which stands at that corner.
+
+“Bless me!” said Conolly, with perfect good humor. “Douglas back again!
+Why on earth did you run away with my wife? and what have you done with
+her?”
+
+The party on the steps ceased chatting and began to stare.
+
+“This is not the place to call me to account, sir,” said Douglas, still
+on his guard, and very ill at ease. “If you have anything to say to me
+which cannot be communicated through a friend, it had better be said in
+private.”
+
+“I shall trouble you for a short conversation,” said Conolly. “How do
+you do, Lind? Where can we go? I do not belong to any club.”
+
+“My apartments are at hand,” said Douglas.
+
+“I suppose I had better leave you,” said Marmaduke.
+
+“Your presence will not embarrass me in the least,” said Conolly.
+
+“I have not sought this interview,” said Douglas. “I therefore prefer
+Mr. Lind to witness what passes.”
+
+Conolly nodded assent; and they went to a house on the doorstep of
+which Douglas’s man was waiting, and ascended to the front
+drawing-room.
+
+“Now, sir,” said Douglas, without inviting his guests to sit down.
+Conolly alone took off his hat. Marmaduke went aside, and looked out of
+the window.
+
+“I know the circumstances that have led to your return,” said Conolly;
+“so we need not go into that. I want you, however, to assist me on one
+point. Do you know what Marian’s pecuniary position is at present?’
+
+“I decline to admit that it concerns me in any way.”
+
+“Of course not. But it concerns me, as I do not wish that she should be
+without money in a foreign city. She has telegraphed a question about
+her property to Miss McQuinch. That by itself is nothing; but her new
+address, which I first saw on a letter this morning, happens to be
+known to me as that of a rather shabby lodging-house.”
+
+“I know nothing of it.”
+
+“I do: it means that she is poor. I can guess at the sum she carried
+with her to America. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me whether
+you have ever given her money; if so, how much; and what her
+expenditure has been, you will enable me to estimate her position at
+present.”
+
+“I do not know that you have any right to ask such questions.”
+
+“I do not assert any right to ask them. On the contrary, I have
+explained their object. I shall not press them, if you think that an
+answer will in any way compromise you.”
+
+“I have no fear of being compromised. None whatever.”
+
+Conolly nodded, and waited for an answer.
+
+“I may say that my late trip has cost me a considerable sum. I paid all
+the expenses; and Miss—Mrs. Conolly did not, to my knowledge, disburse
+a single fraction. She did not ask me to give her money. Had she done
+so, I should have complied at once.”
+
+“Thank you. Thats all right: she will be able to hold out until she
+hears from us. Good-afternoon.”
+
+“Allow me to add, sir, before you go,” said Douglas, asserting himself
+desperately against Conolly’s absolutely sincere disregard of him and
+preoccupation with Marian, “that Mrs. Conolly has been placed in her
+present position entirely through her own conduct. I repudiate the
+insinuation that I have deserted her in a foreign city; and I challenge
+inquiry on the point.”
+
+“Quite so, quite so,” assented Conolly, carelessly. “Good-bye, Lind.”
+And he took his hat and went out.
+
+“By George!” said Marmaduke, admiringly, “he did that damned
+well—_damned_ well. Look here, old man: take my advice and clear out
+for another year or so. You cant stay here. As a looker-on, I see most
+of the game; and thats my advice to you as a friend.”
+
+Douglas, whose face had reddened and reddened with successive rushes of
+blood until it was now purple, lost all self-control at Marmaduke’s
+commiserating tone. “I will see whether I cannot put him in the wrong,”
+he burst out, in the debased voice of an ignobly angry man. “Do you
+think I will let him tell the world that I have been thrown over and
+fooled?”
+
+“Thats your own story, isnt it? At least, I understood you to say so as
+we came along.”
+
+“Let him say so, and I’ll thrash him like, a dog in the street. I’ll——”
+
+“Whats the use of thrashing a man who will simply hand you over to the
+police? and quite right, too! What rot!”
+
+“We shall see. We shall see.”
+
+“Very well. Do as you like. You may twist one another’s heads off for
+what I care. He has had the satisfaction of putting you into a rage, at
+all events.”
+
+“I am not in a rage.”
+
+“Very well. Have it your own way.”
+
+“Will you take a challenge to him from me?”
+
+“No. I am not a born fool.”
+
+“That is plain speaking.”
+
+Marmaduke put his hands into his pockets, and whistled. “I think I will
+take myself off,” he said, presently.
+
+“As you please,” replied Douglas, coldly.
+
+“I will look in on you some day next week, when you have cooled down a
+bit. Good-bye.”
+
+Douglas said nothing, and Marmaduke, with a nod, went out. Some minutes
+later the servant entered and said that Mr. Lind was below.
+
+“What! Back again!” said Douglas, with an oath.
+
+“No, sir. It’s old Mr. Lind—Mr. Reginald.”
+
+“Did you say I was in?”
+
+“The man belonging to the house did, sir.”
+
+“Confound his officiousness! I suppose he must come up.”
+
+Reginald Lind entered, and bowed. Douglas placed a chair for him, and
+waited, mute, and a little put out. Mr. Lind’s eyes and voice shewed
+that he also was not at his ease; but his manner was courtly and his
+expression grave, as Douglas had, in his boyhood, been accustomed to
+see them.
+
+“I am sorry, Sholto,” said Mr. Lind, “that I cannot for the present
+meet you with the cordiality which formerly existed between us. However
+unbearable your disappointment at Marian’s marriage may have been, you
+should not have taken a reprehensible and desperate means of remedying
+it. I speak to you now as an old friend—as one who knew you when the
+disparity in our ages was more marked than it is at present.”
+
+Douglas bowed.
+
+“I have just heard from Mr. Conolly—whom I met accidentally in Pall
+Mall—that you have returned from America. He gave me no further account
+of you, except that he had met you and spoken to you here. I hope
+nothing unpleasant passed.”
+
+“The meeting was not a pleasant one. I shall take steps to make Mr.
+Conolly understand that.”
+
+“Nothing approaching to violence, I trust.”
+
+“No. Mr. Conolly’s discretion averted it. I am not sure that a second
+interview between us will end so quietly.”
+
+“The interview should not have taken place at all, Sholto. I need not
+point out to you that prudence and good taste forbid any repetition of
+it.”
+
+“I did not seek it, Mr. Lind. He forced it upon me. I promise you that
+if a second meeting takes place, it will be forced upon him by me, and
+will take place in another country.”
+
+“That is a young man’s idea, Sholto. The day for such crimes, thank
+Heaven, is past and gone. Let us say no more of it. I was speaking to
+your mother on Sunday. Have you seen her yet?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Sholto, you hit us all very hard that Monday before Christmas. I know
+what I felt about my daughter. But I can only imagine what your mother
+must have felt about her son.”
+
+“I am not insensible to that. I has been rather my misfortune than my
+fault that I have caused you to suffer. If it will gratify you to know
+that I have suffered deeply myself, and am now, indeed, a broken man, I
+can assure you that such is the case.”
+
+“It is fortunate for us all that matters are not absolutely
+irremediable. I will so far take you into my confidence as to tell you
+that I have never felt any satisfaction in Marian’s union with Mr.
+Conolly. Though he is unquestionably a remarkable man, yet there was a
+certain degree of incongruity in the match—you will understand me—which
+placed Marian apart from her family whilst she was with him. I have
+never entered my daughter’s house without a feeling that I was more or
+less a stranger there. Had she married you in the first instance, the
+case would have been different: I wish she had. However, that is past
+regretting now. What I wish to say is that I can still welcome you as
+Marian’s husband, even though she will have a serious error to live
+down; and I shall be no less liberal to her than if her previous
+marriage had never taken place.”
+
+Douglas cleared his throat, but did not speak.
+
+“Well?” said Mr. Lind after a pause, reddening.
+
+“This is a very painful matter,” said Douglas at last. “As a man of the
+world, Mr. Lind, you must be aware that I am not bound to your daughter
+in any way.”
+
+“I am not speaking to you as a man of the world. I am speaking as a
+father, and as a gentleman.”
+
+“Doubtless your position as a father is an unfortunate one. I can
+sympathize with your feelings. But as a gentleman——”
+
+“Think of what you are going to say, Sholto. If you speak as a
+gentleman, you can have only one answer. If you have any other, you
+will speak as a scoundrel.” The last sentence came irrepressibly to Mr.
+Lind’s lips; but the moment he had uttered it, he felt that he had been
+too precipitate.
+
+“Sir!”
+
+“I repeat, as a scoundrel—if you deny your duty in the matter.”
+
+“I decline to continue this conversation with you, Mr. Lind. You know
+as well as I do that no gentleman is expected or even permitted by
+society to take as his wife a woman who has lived with him as his
+mistress.”
+
+“No man who betrays a lady and refuses to make her all the reparation
+in his power can claim to be a gentleman.”
+
+“You are dreaming, Mr. Lind. Your daughter was the guardian of her own
+honor. I made her no promises. It is absurd to speak of a woman of her
+age and experience being betrayed, as though she were a child.”
+
+“I always understood that you prided yourself on acting up to a higher
+standard of honorable dealing than other men. If this is your
+boasted——”
+
+“Mr. Lind,” said Douglas, interrupting him with determination, “no more
+of this, if you please. Briefly, I will have nothing whatever to say to
+Mrs. Conolly in the future. If her reputation were as unstained as your
+own, I would still refuse to know her. I have suffered from her the
+utmost refinements of caprice and treachery, and the coarsest tirades
+of abuse. She left me of her own accord, in spite of my entreaties to
+her to stay—entreaties which I made her in response to an exhibition of
+temper which would have justified me in parting from her there and
+then. It is true that I have moulded my life according to a higher
+standard of honor than ordinary men; and it is also true that that
+standard is never higher, never more fastidiously acted up to, than
+where a woman is concerned. I have only to add that I am perfectly
+satisfied as to the propriety of my behavior in Marian’s case, and that
+I absolutely refuse to hear another accusation of unworthiness from
+you, much as I respect you and your sorrow.”
+
+Mr. Lind, though he saw that he must change his tone, found it hard to
+subdue his temper; for though not a strong man, he was unaccustomed to
+be thwarted. “Sholto,” he said: “you are not serious. You are irritated
+by some lovers’ quarrel.”
+
+“I am justly estranged from your daughter, and I am resolved never to
+give her a place in my thoughts again. I have madly wasted my youth on
+her. Let her be content with that and the other things I have
+sacrificed for her sake.”
+
+“But this is dreadful. Think of the life she must lead if you do not
+marry her. She will be an outcast. She will not even have a name.”
+
+“She would not be advised. She made her choice in defiance of an
+explicit warning of the inevitable results, and she must abide by it. I
+challenge the most searching inquiry into my conduct, Mr. Lind. It will
+be found, if the truth be told, that I spared her no luxury before she
+left me; and that, far from being the aggressor, it is I who have the
+right to complain of insult and desertion.”
+
+“Still, even granting that her unhappy position may have rendered her a
+little sore and impatient at times, do you not owe her some forbearance
+since she gave up her home and her friends for you?”
+
+“Sacrifice for sacrifice, mine was the greater of the two. Like her, I
+have lost my friends and my position here—to some extent, at least.
+Worse, I have let my youth slip by in fruitless pursuit of her. For the
+home which she hated, I offered her one ten times more splendid. I gave
+her the devotion of a gentleman to replace the indifference of a
+blacksmith. What have I not done for her? I freed her from her bondage;
+I carried her across the globe; I watched her, housed her, fed her,
+clothed her as a princess. I loved her with a love that taught her a
+meaning of the word she had never known before. And when I had served
+her turn—when I had rescued her from her husband and placed her beyond
+his reach—when she became surfeited with a wealth of chivalrous love
+which she could not comprehend, and when a new world opened before her
+a fresh field for intrigue, I was assailed with slanderous lies, and
+forsaken. Do you think, Mr. Lind, that in addition to this, I will
+endure the reproaches of any man—even were he my own father?”
+
+“But she suffers more, being a woman. The world will be comparatively
+lenient toward you. If you and she were married and settled, with no
+consciousness of being in a false position, and no wearing fear of
+detection, you would get on together quite differently.”
+
+“It may be so, but I shall never put it to the test.”
+
+“Listen a moment, Sholto. Just consider the matter calmly and
+rationally. I am a rich man—at least, I can endow Marian better than
+you perhaps think. I see that you feel aggrieved, and that you fear
+being forced into a marriage which you have, as you say—I fully admit
+it, most fully—a perfect right to decline. But I am urging you to make
+Marian your legal wife solely because it is the best course for both of
+you. That, I assure you, is the feeling of society in the matter.
+Everybody speaks to me of your becoming my son-in-law. The Earl says no
+other course is possible. I will give you ten thousand pounds down on
+her wedding-day. You will lose nothing: Conolly will not claim damages.
+He has contradicted the report that he would. I will pay the costs of
+the divorce as well. Mind! I do not mean that I will settle the money
+on her. I will give it to her unconditionally. In other words, it will
+become your property the moment you become her husband.”
+
+“I understand,” said Douglas contemptuously. “However, as it is merely
+a question of making your daughter an honest woman in consideration of
+so much cash, I have no doubt you will find plenty of poorer men who
+will be glad to close with you for half the money. You are much in the
+city now, I believe. Allow me to suggest that you will find a dealer
+there more easily than in St. James’s.”
+
+Mr. Lind reddened again. “I do not think you see the matter in the
+proper light,” he said. “You are asked to repair the disgrace you have
+brought on a lady and upon her family. I offer you a guarantee that you
+will not lose pecuniarily by doing so. Whatever other loss you may
+incur, you are bound to bear it as the penalty of your own act. I
+appeal to you, sir, as one gentleman appeals to another, to remove the
+dishonor you have brought upon my name.”
+
+“To transfer it to my own, you mean. Thank you, Mr. Lind. The public is
+more accustomed to associate conjugal levity with the name of Lind than
+with that of Douglas.”
+
+“If you refuse me the justice you owe to my daughter, you need not
+couple that refusal with an insult.”
+
+“I have already explained that I owe your daughter nothing. You come
+here and offer me ten thousand pounds to marry her. I decline the
+bargain. You then take your stand upon the injury to your name. I
+merely remind you that your name was somewhat tarnished even before
+Mrs. Conolly changed it for the less distinguished one which she has
+really dishonored.”
+
+“Douglas,” said Mr. Lind, trembling, “I will make you repent this. I
+will have satisfaction.”
+
+“As you remarked when I declared my readiness to give satisfaction in
+the proper quarter, the practice you allude to is obsolete. Fortunately
+so, I think, in our case.”
+
+“You are a coward, sir.” Douglas rang the bell. “I will expose you in
+every club in London.”
+
+“Shew this gentleman out,” said Douglas to his servant.
+
+“You have received that order because I told your master that he is a
+rascal,” said Mr. Lind to the man. “I shall say the same thing to every
+man I meet between this house and the committee-room of his club.”
+
+The servant looked grave as Mr. Lind left the room. Soon after,
+Douglas, whose self-respect, annihilated by Conolly, had at first been
+thoroughly restored by Mr. Lind, felt upset again by the conclusion of
+the interview. Finding solitude and idleness intolerable, he went into
+the streets, though he no longer felt any desire to meet his
+acquaintances, and twice crossed the Haymarket to avoid them. As he
+strolled about, thinking of all that had been said to him that
+afternoon, he grew morose. Twice he calculated his expenditure on the
+American trip, and the difference that an increment of ten thousand
+pounds would make in his property. Suddenly, in turning out of Air
+Street into Piccadilly, he found himself face to face with Lord
+Carbury.
+
+“How do you do?” said the latter pleasantly, but without the
+unceremonious fellowship that had formerly existed between them.
+
+“Thank you,” said Douglas, “I am quite well.”
+
+A pause followed, Jasper not knowing exactly what to say next.
+
+“I am considering where I shall dine,” said Douglas. “Have you dined
+yet?”
+
+“No. I promised to dine at home this evening. My mother likes to have a
+family dinner occasionally.”
+
+Douglas knew that before the elopement he would have been asked to join
+the party. “I suppose people have been pleased to talk a good deal
+about me of late,” he said.
+
+“Yes, I fear so. However, I hope it will pass over.”
+
+“It shews no sign of passing over as yet, then?”
+
+“Well, it has become a little stale as a topic; but there is undeniably
+a good deal of feeling about it still. If you will excuse my saying so,
+I think that perhaps you would do well to keep out of the way a little
+longer.”
+
+“Presuming, of course, that popular feeling is a matter about which I
+am likely to concern myself.”
+
+“That is a question for you to decide. Excuse the hint.”
+
+“The question is whether it is not better to be on the spot, so as to
+strangle calumny at its source, than to hide myself abroad whilst a
+host of malicious tongues are busy with me.”
+
+“As to that, Douglas, I assure you you have been very fairly treated.
+The chief blame, as usual, has fallen on the weaker sex. Nothing could
+exceed the moderation of those from whom the loudest complaints might
+have been expected. Reginald Lind has hardly ever mentioned the
+subject. Even to me, he only shook his head and said that it was an old
+attachment. As to Conolly, we have actually reproached him for making
+excuses for you.”
+
+“Aye. A very astute method of bringing me into contempt. Allow me to
+enlighten you a little, Jasper. Lind, whose daughter I have discovered
+to be one of the worst of women, has just offered me ten thousand
+pounds to marry her. That speaks for itself. Conolly, who drove her
+into my arms by playing the tyrant whilst I played the lover, is only
+too glad to get rid of her. At the same time, he is afraid to fight me,
+and ashamed to say so. Therefore, he impudently pretends to pity me for
+being his gull in the matter. But I will stop that.”
+
+“Conolly is a particular friend of mine, Douglas, Let us drop the
+subject, if you dont mind.”
+
+“If he is your friend, of course I have nothing more to say. I think I
+will turn in here and dine. Good-evening.”
+
+They parted without any salutation: and Douglas entered the restaurant
+and dined alone, he came out an hour later in improved spirits, and
+began to consider whether he would go to the theatre or venture into
+his club. He was close to a lamp at a corner of Leicester Square when
+he stopped to debate the point with himself; and in his preoccupation
+he did not notice a four-wheeled cab going slowly past him, carrying a
+lady in an old white opera cloak. This was Mrs. Leith Fairfax, who,
+recognizing him, called to the cabman to drive a little past the lamp
+and stop.
+
+“Good heavens!” she said in a half-whisper: “you here! What madness
+possessed you to come back?”
+
+“I had no further occasion to stay away.”
+
+“How coolly you say so! You have iron nerves, all you Douglases. I have
+heard all, and I know what you have suffered. How soon will you leave
+London?”
+
+“I have no intention of leaving it at present.”
+
+“But you cannot stay here.”
+
+“Pray why not? Is not London large enough for any man who does not live
+by the breath of the world?”
+
+“Out of the question, Mr. Douglas. Absolutely out of the question. You
+_must_ go away for a year at the very least. You must yield something
+to propriety.”
+
+“I shall yield nothing. I can do without any section of society that
+may feel called upon to do without me.”
+
+“Oh, you must subdue that imperious nature of yours for your mother’s
+sake if not for your own. Besides, you have been very wicked and
+reckless and daring, just like a Douglas. You ought to do penance with
+a good grace. I may conclude, since you are here, that Elinor
+McQuinch’s story is true as far as the facts go.”
+
+“I have not heard her story.”
+
+“It is only that you have parted from—you know.”
+
+“That is true. Can I gratify your curiosity in any other particular?”
+
+“Strive not to let yourself be soured, Mr. Douglas. I shudder when I
+think of what you have undergone at the hands of one woman. There! I
+will not allude to it again.”
+
+“You will do wisely, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. What I have suffered, I have
+suffered. I desire no pity, and will endure none.”
+
+“That is so like yourself. I must hurry on to Covent Garden, or I shall
+be late. Will you come and see me quietly some day before you go? I am
+never at home to any one on Tuesdays; but if you come at about five,
+Caroline will let you in. It will be dark: nobody will see you. We can
+have a chat then.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Douglas, coldly, stepping back, and raising his hat,
+“I shall not intrude on you. Good-evening.”
+
+She waved her hand at him; and the cab departed. He walked quickly back
+to Charles Street, and called his servant.
+
+“I suppose no one has called?”
+
+“Yes, sir. Mrs. Douglas came very shortly after you went out. She
+wishes you to go to the Square this evening, sir.”
+
+“This evening? I am afraid—Buckstone.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Is she looking well?”
+
+“A little tired, sir. But quite well, I have no doubt.”
+
+“How much of the luggage have you unpacked?”
+
+“Only your portmanteau, sir. I thought——”
+
+“So much the better. Pack it again. I am going to Brussels to-night.
+Find out about the trains. I shall want you to take a hansom and take a
+note to Chester Square; but come back at once without waiting to be
+spoken to.”
+
+“Very good, sir.”
+
+Douglas then sat down and wrote the note.
+
+“My dear Mother:
+
+
+“I am sorry I was out when you called. I did not expect you, as I am
+only passing through London on my way to Brussels. I am anxious to get
+clear of this vile city, and so shall start to-night. Buckstone tells
+me you are looking well; and this assurance must content me for the
+present, as I find it impossible to go to you. You were quite right in
+warning me against what has happened; but it is all past and broken off
+now, and I am still as ever,
+
+“Your affectionate son,
+“SHOLTO DOUGLAS.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+One day Eliza, out of patience, came to Mrs. Myers, and said:
+
+“A’ thin, maam, will you come up and spake to Miss Conolly. She’s rasin
+ructions above stairs.”
+
+“Oh dear, oh dear!” said Mrs. Myers. “Cant you keep her quiet?”
+
+“Arra, how can I kape her quiet, an she cryin an roarin, dyin an
+desarted?”
+
+“Ask Mrs. Forster to go in and coax her to stop.”
+
+“Mrs. Forsther’s at dhuddher ind o the town. Whisht! There she is,
+callin me. Youll have to gup to her, maam. Faith I wont go next or near
+her.”
+
+“There’s no use in my going up, Eliza. What can I do?”
+
+Eliza had nothing to suggest. “I’m sure, maam,” she pleaded, “if she
+wont mind you, she wont mind me—bad manners to her!”
+
+Mrs. Myers hesitated. The lodger became noisier.
+
+“I spose Ive got to go,” said Mrs. Myers, plaintively. She went
+upstairs and found Susanna lying on the sofa, groaning, with a
+dressing-gown and a pair of thick boots on.
+
+“What _is_ the matter with you, Miss Susan? Youre goin on fit to raise
+the street.”
+
+“For God’s sake go and get something for me. Make the doctor do
+something. I’m famishing. I must be poisoned.”
+
+“Lord forbid!”
+
+“Look at me. I cant eat anything. Oh! I cant even drink. I tell you I
+am dying of thirst.”
+
+“Well, Miss Susan, thers plenty for you to eat and drink.”
+
+“What is the good of that, when I can neither eat nor drink? Nothing
+will stay inside me. If I could only swallow brandy, I shouldnt care. I
+thought I could die drunk. Oh! Send Eliza out for some laudanum. I cant
+stand this: I’ll kill myself.”
+
+“Be quiet, Miss Susan: youll be better presently. Whats the use of
+talking-about the doctor? He says youll not be able to drink for days,
+and that you will get your health back in consequence. You are doing
+yourself no good by screeching like that, and you are ruining me and my
+house.”
+
+“Your house is all you care about. Curse you! I hope you may die
+deserted yourself. Dont go away. _Dear_ Aunt Sally, you wont leave me
+here alone, will you? If you do, I’ll scream like a hundred devils.”
+
+“I dont know what to do with you,” said Mrs. Myers, crying. “Youll
+drive me as mad as yourself. Why did I ever let you into this house?”
+
+“Oh, bother! Are _you_ beginning to howl now? Have you any sardines, or
+anything spicy? I think I could eat some salted duck. No, I couldnt,
+though. Go for the doctor. There must be something that will do me
+good. What use is he if he can’t set me right? All I want is something
+that will make me able to drink a tumbler of brandy.”
+
+“The Lord help you! Praise goodness! here’s Mrs. Forster coming up.
+Whatll she think of you if you keep moaning like that? Mrs. Forster:
+will you step in here and try to quiet her a bit? She’s clean mad.”
+
+“Come here,” cried Susanna, as Marian entered. “Come and sit beside me.
+You may get out, you old cat: I dont want you any longer.”
+
+“Hush, pray,” said Marian, putting her bonnet aside and sitting down by
+the sofa. “What is the matter?”
+
+“The same as last night, only a great deal worse,” said Susanna,
+shutting her eyes and turning her head aside. “It’s all up with me this
+time, Mrs. Ned. I’m dying, not of drink, but of the want of it. Is that
+fiend of a woman gone?”
+
+“Yes. You ought not to wound her as you did just now. She has been very
+kind to you.”
+
+“I dont care. Oh, dear me, I wonder how long this is going to last?”
+
+“Shall I go for the doctor?”
+
+“No; what can he do? Stay with me. I wish I could sleep or eat.”
+
+“You will be better soon. The doctor says that Nature is making an
+effort to rescue you from your habit by making it impossible for you to
+drink. Try and be patient. Will you not take off those heavy boots?”
+
+“No, I cant feel my feet without them. I shall never be better,” said
+Susanna, writhing impatiently. “I’m done for. How old are you? You
+neednt mind telling me. I shall soon be beyond repeating it.”
+
+“I was twenty-five in June last”
+
+“I am only twenty-nine. I started at eighteen, and got to the top of
+the tree in seven years. I came down quicker than I went up. I might
+have gone on easily for fifteen years more, only for drinking
+champagne. I wish I had my life to live over again: you wouldnt catch
+me playing burlesque. If I had got the chance, I know I could have
+played tragedy or real Italian opera. I had to work hard at first; and
+they wont fill my place, very readily: thats one comfort. My cleverness
+was my ruin. Ned was not half so quick. It used to take him months to
+learn things that I picked up offhand, and yet you see how much better
+he has done than I.”
+
+“Do not disturb yourself with vain regrets. Think of something else.
+Shall we talk about Marmaduke?”
+
+“No, I dont particularly care to. Somehow, at my pass, one thinks most
+about one’s self, and about things that happened long ago. People that
+I came to know later on, like Bob, seem to be slipping away from me.
+There was a baritone in my father’s company, a tremendous man, with
+shining black eyes, and a voice like a great bell—quite pretty at the
+top, though: he must have been sixty at least; and he was very fat; but
+he was the most dignified man I ever saw. You should have heard him do
+the Duke in Lucrezia Borgia, or sing Pro Peccatis from Rossini’s Stabat
+Mater! I was ten years old when he was with us, and my grand ambition
+was to sing with him when I grew up. He would shake his head if he saw
+Susanetta now. I would rather hear him sing three bars than have ten
+visits from Bob. Oh, dear! I thought this cursed pain was getting
+numbed, but it is worse than ever.”
+
+“Try to keep from thinking of it. I have often wondered that you never
+speak of your child. I have heard from my friend in London that it is
+very well and happy.”
+
+“Oh, you mean Lucy. She was a lively little imp.”
+
+“Would you not like to see her again?”
+
+“No, thank you. She is well taken care of, I suppose. I am glad she is
+out of my hands. She was a nuisance to me, and I am not a very edifying
+example for her. What on earth should I want to see her for?”
+
+“I wish I had the good fortune to be a mother.”
+
+Susanna laughed. “Never say die, Mrs. Ned. You dont know what may
+happen to you yet. There now! I know, without opening my eyes, that you
+are shocked, bless your delicacy! How do you think I should have got
+through life if I’d been thin-skinned? What good does it do you? You
+are pining away in this hole of a lodging. You squirm when Mrs. Myers
+tries to be friendly with you; and I sometimes laugh at your expression
+when Eliza treats you to a little blarney about your looks. Now _I_
+would just as soon gossip and swear at her as go to tea with the
+Queen.”
+
+“I am not shocked at all. You see as badly as other people when your
+eyes are shut.”
+
+“They will soon shut up forever. I half wish they would do it at once,
+I wonder whether I will get any ease before there is an end of me.”
+
+“Perhaps the end of you on earth will be a good beginning for you
+somewhere else, Susanna.”
+
+“Thank you. Now the conversation has taken a nice, cheerful turn, hasnt
+it? Well, I cant be much worse off than I am at present. Anyhow, I must
+take my chance.”
+
+“Would you like to see a clergyman? I dont want to alarm you: I am sure
+you will get better: the doctor told me so; but I will go for one if
+you like.”
+
+“No: I dont want to be bothered—at least not yet. Besides, I hate
+clergymen, all except your brother, the doctor, who fell in love with
+me.”
+
+“Very well. I only suggested it in case you should feel uneasy.”
+
+“I dont feel quite easy; but I dont care sufficiently about it to make
+a fuss. It will be time enough when I am actually at death’s door. All
+I know is that if there is a place of punishment in the next world, it
+is very unfair, considering what we suffer in this. I didnt make myself
+or my circumstances. I think I will try to sleep. I am half dead as it
+is with pain and weariness. Dont go until I am asleep.”
+
+“I will not. Let me get you another pillow.”
+
+“No,” said Susanna, drowsily: “dont touch me.”
+
+Marian sat listening to her moaning respiration for nearly half an
+hour. Then, having some letters to write, she went to her own room to
+fetch her desk. Whilst she was looking for her pen, which was mislaid,
+she heard Susanna stirring. The floor creaked, and there was a clink as
+of a bottle. A moment later, Marian, listening with awakened suspicion,
+was startled by the sound of a heavy fall mingled with a crash of
+breaking glass. She ran back into the next room just in time to see
+Susanna, on her hands and knees near the stove, lift her white face for
+a moment, displaying a bleeding wound on her temple, and then stumble
+forward and fall prone on the carpet. Marian saw this; saw the walls of
+the room revolve before her; and fainted upon the sofa, which she had
+reached without knowing how.
+
+When she recovered the doctor was standing by her; and Eliza was
+picking up fragments of the broken bottle. The smell of the spilled
+brandy reminded her of what had happened.
+
+“Where is Miss Conolly?” she said, trying to collect her wits. “I am
+afraid I fainted at the very moment when I was most wanted.”
+
+“All right,” said the doctor. “Keep quiet; youll be well presently.
+Dont be in a hurry to talk.”
+
+Marian obeyed; and the doctor, whose manner was kind, though different
+to that of the London physicians to whom she was accustomed, presently
+left the room and went upstairs. Eliza was howling like an animal. The
+sound irritated Marian even at that pass: she despised the whole Irish
+race on its account. She could hardly keep her temper as she said:
+
+“Is Miss Conolly seriously hurt?”
+
+“Oa, blessed hour! she’s kilt. Her head’s dhreepin wid blood.”
+
+Marian shuddered and felt faint again.
+
+“Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she done it at all, at all. She
+must ha fell agin the stoave. It’s the dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, that
+brought her to it. It’s little I knew what that wairy bottle o brandy
+would do to her, or sorra bit o me would ha got it.”
+
+“You did very wrong in getting it, Eliza.”
+
+“What could I do, miss, when she axed me?”
+
+“There is no use in crying over it now. It would have been kinder to
+have kept it from her.”
+
+“Sure I know. Many’s the time I tould her so. But she could talk the
+birds off the bushes, and it wint to me heart to refuse her. God send
+her well out of her throuble!”
+
+Here the doctor returned. “How are you now?” he said.
+
+“I think I am better. Pray dont think of me. How is she?”
+
+“It’s all over. Hallo! Come, Miss Biddy! you go and cry in the
+kitchen,” he added, pushing Eliza, who had set up an intolerable
+lamentation, out of the room.
+
+“How awful!” said Marian, stunned. “Are you quite sure? She seemed
+better this morning.”
+
+“Quite sure,” said the doctor, smiling grimly at the question. “She was
+practically dead when they carried her upstairs, poor girl. It’s easier
+to kill a person than you think, Mrs. Forster, although she tried so
+long and so hard without succeeding. But she’d have done it. She’d have
+been starved into health only to drink herself back into starvation,
+and the end would have been a very bad one. Better as it is, by far!”
+
+“Doctor: I must go out and telegraph the news to London. I know one of
+her relatives there.”
+
+The doctor shook his head. “I will telegraph if you like, but you must
+stay here. Youre not yet fit to go out.”
+
+“I am afraid I have not been well lately,” said Marian. “I want to
+consult you about myself—not now, of course, after what has happened,
+but some day when you have leisure to call.”
+
+“You can put off consulting me just as long as you please; but this
+accident is no reason why you shouldnt do it at once. If there is
+anything wrong, the sooner you have advice—you neednt have it from me
+if you prefer some other doctor—the better.”
+
+Upon this encouragement Marian described to him her state of health. He
+seemed a little amused, asked her a few questions, and finally told her
+coolly that she might expect to become a mother next fall. She was so
+utterly dismayed that he began to look stern in anticipation of an
+appeal to him to avert this; an appeal which he had often had to refuse
+without ever having succeeded in persuading a woman that it was futile,
+or convincing her that it was immoral. But Marian spared him this: she
+was overwhelmed by the new certainty that a reconciliation with her
+husband was no longer possible. Her despair at the discovery shewed her
+for the first time how homesick she really was.
+
+When the doctor left, Mrs. Myers came. She exclaimed; wept; and
+gossiped until two police officers arrived. Marian related to them what
+she had seen of the accident, and became indignant at the apparent
+incredulity with which they questioned her and examined the room. After
+their departure Eliza came to her, and invited her to go upstairs and
+see the body of Susanna. She refused with a shudder; but when she saw
+that the girl was hurt as well as astonished, it occurred to her that
+avoidance of the dead might, if it came to Conolly’s knowledge, be
+taken by him to indicate a lack of kind feeling toward his sister. So
+she overcame her repugnance, and went with Eliza. The window-shades
+were drawn down, and the dressing-table had been covered with a white
+cloth, on which stood a plaster statuet of the Virgin and Child, with
+two lighted candles before it. To please Eliza, who had evidently made
+these arrangements, Marian whispered a few words of approval, and
+turned curiously to the bed. The sight made her uncomfortable. The body
+was decently laid out, its wounded forehead covered with a bandage, and
+Eliza’s rosary and crucifix on its breast; but it did not, as Marian
+had hoped, suggest peace or sleep. It was not Susanna, but a vacant
+thing that had always underlain her, and which, apart from her, was
+ghastly.
+
+“She died a good Catholic anyhow: the light o Heaven to her sowl!” said
+Eliza, whimpering, but speaking as though she expected and defied
+Marian to contradict her.
+
+“Amen,” said Marian.
+
+“It’s sure and sartin. There never was a Conolly a Prodestan yet.”
+
+Marian left the room, resolving to avoid such sights in future. Mrs.
+Myers was below, anxious to resume the conversation which the visit of
+the police had interrupted. Marian could not bear this. To escape, she
+left the house, and went to her only friend in New York, Mrs. Crawford,
+whose frequent visits she had never before ventured to return. To her
+she narrated the events of the day.
+
+“This business of the poor girl killing herself is real shocking,” said
+Mrs. Crawford. “Perhaps your husband will come over here now, and give
+you a chance of making up with him.”
+
+“If he does, I must leave New York, Mrs. Crawford.”
+
+“What are you frightened of? If he is as good a man as you say, you
+ought to be glad to see him. I’m sure he would have you back. Depend on
+it, he has been longing for you all this time; and when he sees you
+again as pretty as ever, he will open his arms to you. He wont like you
+any the worse for being a little bashful with him after such an
+escapade.”
+
+“I would not meet him for any earthly consideration. After what the
+doctor told me to-day, I should throw myself out of the window, I
+think, if I heard him coming upstairs. I should like to see him, if I
+were placed where he could not see me; but face him I _could_ not.”
+
+“Well, my dear, I think it’s right silly of you, though the little
+stranger—it will be a regular stranger—is a difficulty: there’s no two
+ways about that.”
+
+“Besides, I have been thinking over things alone in my room; and I see
+that it is better for him to be free. I know he was disappointed in me.
+He is not the sort of man to be tied down to such an ignorant woman as
+I.”
+
+“What does he expect from a woman? If youre not good enough for him, he
+must be very hard to please.”
+
+Marian shook her head. “He is capable of pitying and being considerate
+with me,” she said: “I know that. But I am not sure that it is a good
+thing to be pitied and forborne with. There is something humiliating in
+it. I suppose I am proud, as you often tell me; but I should like to be
+amongst women what he is amongst men, supported by my own strength.
+Even within the last three weeks I have felt myself becoming more
+independent in my isolation. I was afraid to go about the streets by
+myself at first. Now I am getting quite brave. That unfortunate woman
+did me good. Taking care of her, and being relied on so much by her,
+has made me rely on myself more. Thanks to you, I have not much
+loneliness to complain of. And yet I have been utterly cast down
+sometimes. I cannot tell what is best. Sometimes I think that
+independence is worth all the solitary struggling it costs. Then again
+I remember how free from real care I was at home, and yearn to be back
+there. It is so hard to know what one ought to do.”
+
+“You have been more lively since you got such a pleasant answer to your
+telegram. I wish the General would offer to let me keep my own money
+and as much more as I wanted. Not that he is close-fisted, poor man!
+That reminds me to tell you that you must stay the evening. He wants to
+see you as bad as can be—never stops asking me to bring you up some
+time when he’s at home. You mustnt excuse yourself: the General will
+see you safe back to your place.”
+
+“But if visitors come, Mrs. Crawford?”
+
+“Nobody will come. If they do, they will be glad to see you. What do
+they know about you? You cant live like a hermit all your life.”
+
+Marian, sooner than go back to Mrs. Myers’s, stayed; and the evening
+passed pleasantly enough, although three visitors came: a gentleman,
+with his wife and brother. The lady, besides eating, and replying to
+the remarks with which Mrs. Crawford occasionally endeavored to
+entertain her, did nothing but admire Marian’s dress and listen to her
+conversation. Her husband was polite; but Marian, comparing him with
+the English gentlemen of her acquaintance, thought him rather
+oppressively respectful, and too much given to conversing in little
+speeches. He had been in London; and he described, in a correct
+narrative style, his impressions of St. Paul’s, the Tower, and
+Westminster Palace. His brother fell in love with Mrs. Forster at first
+sight, and sat silent until she remarked to him how strangely the hotel
+omnibuses resembled old English stage coaches, when he became
+recklessly talkative and soon convinced her that American society
+produced quite as choice a compound of off-handedness and folly as
+London could. But all this was amusing after her long seclusion; and
+once or twice, when the thought of dead Susanna came back to her, she
+was ashamed to be so gay.
+
+No one was stirring at Mrs. Myers’s when she returned. They had left
+her lamp in the entry; and she took it upstairs with her, going softly
+lest she should disturb the household. Susanna’s usual call and
+petition for a few minutes talk was no longer to be feared, for Susanna
+was now only a memory. Marian tried not to think of the body in the
+room above. Though she was free from the dread which was just then
+making Eliza tremble, cry, and cross herself to sleep, she disliked the
+body all the more as she distinguished it from the no-longer existent
+woman: a feat quite beyond the Irish peasant girl. She sat down and
+began to think. The Crawfords and their friends had been very nice to
+her: no doubt the lady would not have been civil had she known all;
+but, then, the lady was a silly person. They were not exactly what
+Marian considered the best sort of people; but New York was not London.
+She would not stay at Mrs. Myers’s: her income would enable her to
+lodge more luxuriously. If she could afford to furnish some rooms for
+herself, she would get some curtains she had seen one day lately when
+shopping with Mrs. Crawford. They would go well with——
+
+A noise in the room overhead: Susanna’s death chamber. Marian gave a
+great start, and understood what Eliza meant by having “the life put
+across in her.” She listened, painfully conscious of the beats of her
+heart. The noise came again: a footstep, or a chair pushed back, or—she
+was not certain what. Could Mrs. Myers be watching at the bedside? It
+was not unlikely. Could Susanna be recovering—finding herself laid out
+for dead, and making a struggle for life up there alone? That would be
+inconvenient, undesirable: even Marian forgot just then to consider
+that obvious view wrong and unfeeling; but, anyhow, she must go and
+see, and, if necessary, help. She wished there were some one to keep
+her company; but was ashamed to call Eliza; and she felt that she would
+be as well by herself as with Mrs. Myers. There was nothing for it but
+to take a candle and go alone. No repetition of the noise occurred to
+daunt her afresh; and she reached the landing above almost reassured,
+and thinking how odd it was that the idea of finding
+somebody—Susanna—there, though it had come as a fear, was fading out as
+a disappointed hope.
+
+Finding herself loth to open the door, she at last set her teeth and
+did it swiftly, as if to surprise someone within. She did surprise some
+one: her husband, sitting by his sister’s body. He started violently on
+seeing her, and rose; whilst she, mechanically shutting the door
+without turning, leaned back against it with her hand behind her, and
+looked at him open-mouthed.
+
+“Marian,” he said, in a quite unexpectedly apprehensive tone, putting
+up his hand deprecatingly: “remember, here”—indicating the figure on
+the bed—“is an end of hypocrisy! No unrealities now: I cannot bear
+them. Let us have no trash of magnanimous injured husband, erring but
+repentant wife. We are man and woman, nothing less and nothing more.
+After our marriage you declined intercourse on those terms; and I
+accepted your conventions to please you. Now I refuse all conventions:
+you have broken them yourself. If you will not have the truth between
+us, avoid me until I have subsided into the old groove again. There!”
+he added, wincing, “dont blush. What have you to blush for? It was the
+only honest thing you ever did.”
+
+“I dont understand.”
+
+“No,” he said gently, but with a gesture of despair; “how could you?
+You never did, and you never will.”
+
+“If you mean to accuse me of having deceived you,” said Marian, greatly
+relieved and encouraged by a sense of being now the injured party, “you
+are most unjust. I dont excuse myself for behaving wickedly, but I
+_never_ deceived you or told you a falsehood. Never. When he first
+spoke wrongly to me, I told you at once; and you did not care.”
+
+“Not a straw. It was nothing to me that he loved you: the point was,
+did you love him? If not, then all was well: if so, our marriage was
+already at an end. But you mistake my drift. Falsehood is something
+more than fibbing. You never told fibs—except the two or three dozen a
+week that mere politeness required and which you never thought of
+counting; but you never told me the truth, Marian, because you never
+told your self the truth. You told me what you told yourself, I grant
+you; and so you were not conscious of deceit. I dont reproach you.
+Surely you can bear to be told what every honest man tells himself
+almost daily.”
+
+“I suppose I have deserved it,” said Marian; “but unkind words from you
+are a new experience. You are very unlike yourself to-night.”
+
+He repressed, with visible effort, an explosion of impatience. “On the
+contrary, I am like myself—I actually am myself to-night, I hope.” Then
+the explosion came. “Is it utterly impossible for you to say something
+real to me? Only learn to do that, and you may have ten love romances
+every year with other men, if you like. Be anything rather than a
+ladylike slave and liar. There! as usual, the truth makes you shrink
+from me. As I said before, I refuse further intercourse on such terms.
+They have proved unkind in the long run.”
+
+“You spoke plainly enough to her,” said Marian, glancing at the bed,
+“but in the long run it did her no good.”
+
+“She would have laughed me to scorn if I had minced matters, for she
+never deceived herself. Society, by the power of the purse, set her to
+nautch-girl’s work, and forbade her the higher work that was equally
+within her power. Being enslaved and debauched in this fashion, how
+could she be happy except when she was not sober? It was her own
+immediate interest to drink; it was her tradesman’s interest that she
+should drink; it was her servants’ interest that she should be pleased
+with them for getting drink for her. She was clever, good-natured, more
+constant to her home and her man than you, a living fountain of
+innocent pleasure as a dancer, singer, and actress; and here she lies,
+after mischievously spending her talent in a series of entertainments
+too dull for hell and too debased for any better place, dead of a
+preventable disease, chiefly because most of the people she came in
+contact with had a direct pecuniary interest in depraving and poisoning
+her. Aye, look at her! with the cross on her breast, the virgin mother
+in plaster looking on from where she kept her mirror when she was
+alive, and the people outside complacently saying ‘Serve her right!’”
+
+Marian feared for a moment that he would demolish Eliza’s altar by
+hurling the chair through it. “Dont, Ned,” she said, timidly, putting
+her hand on his arm.
+
+“Dont what?” he said, taken aback. She drew her hand away and retreated
+a step, coloring at the wifely liberty she had permitted herself to
+take. “I beg your pardon. I thought—I thought you were going to take
+the cross away. No,” she added quickly, seeing him about to speak, and
+anticipating a burst of scepticism: “it is not that; but the servant is
+an Irish girl—a Roman Catholic. She put it there; and she meant well,
+and will be hurt if it is thrown aside.”
+
+“And you think it better that she should remain in ignorance of what
+educated people think about her superstition than that she should
+suffer the mortification of learning that her opinions are not those of
+all the world! However, I had no such intention. Eliza’s idol is a
+respectable one as idols go.”
+
+There was a pause. Then Marian said: “It must have been a great shock
+to you when you came and found what had happened. I am very sorry. But
+had we not better go downrs? It seems so unfeeling, somehow, to talk
+without minding her. I suppose you consider that foolish; but I think
+you are upset by it yourself.”
+
+“You see a change in me, then?”
+
+“You are not quite yourself, I think.”
+
+“I tell you again that I _am_ myself at last. You do not seem to like
+the real man any better than the unreal: I am afraid you will not have
+me on any terms. Well, let us go downstairs, since you prefer it.”
+
+“Oh, not unless you wish it too,” said Marian, a little bewildered.
+
+He took her candle and led the way out without another word or a look
+at the bed. Marian, as he stood aside to let her go downstairs before
+him, was suddenly seized with a fantastic fear that he was going to
+kill her. She did not condescend to hurry or look back; but she only
+felt safe when they were in her room, and he no longer behind her.
+
+“Sit down,” he said, placing the candle on the mantelpiece. She sat
+down at the table, and he stood on the hearthrug. “Now,” said he,
+“about the future. Are you coming back? Will you give the life at
+Holland Park another trial?”
+
+“I cannot,” she said, bending her head almost on her hands. “I should
+disgrace you. And there is another reason.”
+
+“It is not in your power, nor in that of all London, to disgrace me if
+I do not feel disgraced. It is useless to say that you cannot. If you
+say ‘I will not,’ then that will settle it. What is the other reason?”
+
+“It is not yet born. But it will be.”
+
+“That is no reason to me. Do you think I shall be a worse father to it
+than he would have been?”
+
+“No, indeed. But it would be unfair to you.” He made an impatient
+gesture. “I dont understand you, Ned. Would you not rather be free?”
+
+“Freedom is a fool’s dream. I am free. I can divorce you if I please:
+if I live with you again it will be by my own choice. You are free too:
+you have burnt your boats, and are rid of fashionable society, of your
+family, your position, your principles, and all the rest of your chains
+forever. You are declassed by your own act; and if you can frankly give
+a sigh of relief and respect yourself for breaking loose from what is
+called your duty, then you are the very woman I want for a wife. I may
+not be the very man you want for a husband; but at all events you are
+free to choose, free to change after you choose if you choose me, free
+anyhow; for I will divorce you if you refuse; and then you will
+be—independent—your own mistress—absolute proprietor of your own
+child—everything that married women and girls envy. You have a
+foretaste of that freedom now. What is it worth? One or two conditions
+more or less to comply with, that is all: nature and society still have
+you hard and fast; the main rules of the game are inviolable.”
+
+“I think it is a good thing to be free,” said Marian, timidly.
+
+“That means ‘I will not.’”
+
+“Not ‘will not’; but I think I had better not.”
+
+“A characteristic distinction, Marian. I once thought, like you, that
+freedom was the one condition to be gained at all cost and hazard. My
+favorite psalm was that nonsense of John Hay’s:
+
+‘For always in thine eyes, O Liberty,
+Shines that high light whereby the world is saved;
+And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee.’
+
+
+And she does slay us. Now I am for the fullest attainable life. That
+involves the least endurable liberty. You dont see that yet. Very well:
+you have liberty—liberty to hurt as well as help yourself; and you are
+right to try whether it will not make you happier than wedlock has
+done.”
+
+“It was not your fault; and it is very good of you to offer to take me
+back, I know. Will my refusing disappoint you at all, Ned?”
+
+“I am prepared for it. You may refuse or accept: I foresee how I shall
+adapt myself to either set of circumstances.”
+
+“Yes, I forgot. You foresee everything,” said Marian, with some
+bitterness.
+
+“No: I only face what I see. That is why you do not like living with
+me. Good-bye. Do not look troubled: we shall meet again to-morrow and
+often afterward, I hope; but to-night makes an end of the irrational
+knot.”
+
+“Good-night,” said Marian rather forlornly, after a pause, proffering
+her hand.
+
+“One folly more,” he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her. She
+made no resistance. “If such a moment could be eternal, we should never
+say good-bye,” he added. “As it is, we are wise not to tempt Fortune by
+asking her for such another.”
+
+“You are too wise, Ned,” she said, suffering him to replace her gently
+in the chair.
+
+“It is impossible to be too wise, dearest,” he said, and unhesitatingly
+turned and left her.
+
+
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Irrational Knot, by George Bernard Shaw</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Irrational Knot<br />
+  Being the Second Novel of His Nonage</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: George Bernard Shaw</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 28, 2004 [eBook #11354]<br />
+[Most recently updated: January 1, 2022]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Rick Niles, John Hagerson and PG Distributed Proofreaders</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRRATIONAL KNOT ***</div>
+
+<h1>The Irrational Knot</h1>
+
+<h2 class="no-break">by George Bernard Shaw</h2>
+
+<h5>BEING</h5>
+
+<h5>THE SECOND NOVEL OF HIS NONAGE</h5>
+
+<p class="center">
+1905
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<table summary="" style="">
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#pref01">PREFACE</a><br /><br /></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#book01"><b>BOOK I</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap00"><b>THE IRRATIONAL KNOT</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</a><br /><br /></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#book02"><b>BOOK II</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</a><br /><br /></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#book03"><b>BOOK III</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /><br /></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#book04"><b>BOOK IV</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="pref01"></a>PREFACE</h2>
+
+<h5>TO THE AMERICAN EDITION OF 1905</h5>
+
+<p>
+This novel was written in the year 1880, only a few years after I had exported
+myself from Dublin to London in a condition of extreme rawness and inexperience
+concerning the specifically English side of the life with which the book
+pretends to deal. Everybody wrote novels then. It was my second attempt; and it
+shared the fate of my first. That is to say, nobody would publish it, though I
+tried all the London publishers and some American ones. And I should not
+greatly blame them if I could feel sure that it was the book&rsquo;s faults and
+not its qualities that repelled them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I have narrated elsewhere how in the course of time the rejected MS. became
+Mrs. Annie Besant&rsquo;s excuse for lending me her ever helping hand by
+publishing it as a serial in a little propagandist magazine of hers. That was
+how it got loose beyond all possibility of recapture. It is out of my power now
+to stand between it and the American public: all I can do is to rescue it from
+unauthorized mutilations and make the best of a jejune job.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At present, of course, I am not the author of The Irrational Knot.
+Physiologists inform us that the substance of our bodies (and consequently of
+our souls) is shed and renewed at such a rate that no part of us lasts longer
+than eight years: I am therefore not now in any atom of me the person who wrote
+The Irrational Knot in 1880. The last of that author perished in 1888; and two
+of his successors have since joined the majority. Fourth of his line, I cannot
+be expected to take any very lively interest in the novels of my literary
+great-grandfather. Even my personal recollections of him are becoming vague and
+overlaid with those most misleading of all traditions, the traditions founded
+on the lies a man tells, and at last comes to believe, about himself <i>to</i>
+himself. Certain things, however, I remember very well. For instance, I am
+significantly clear as to the price of the paper on which I wrote The
+Irrational Knot. It was cheap&mdash;a white demy of unpretentious quality&mdash;so
+that sixpennorth lasted a long time. My daily allowance of composition was five
+pages of this demy in quarto; and I held my natural laziness sternly to that
+task day in, day out, to the end. I remember also that Bizet&rsquo;s Carmen
+being then new in London, I used it as a safety-valve for my romantic impulses.
+When I was tired of the sordid realism of Whatshisname (I have sent my only
+copy of The Irrational Knot to the printers, and cannot remember the name of my
+hero) I went to the piano and forgot him in the glamorous society of Carmen and
+her crimson toreador and yellow dragoon. Not that Bizet&rsquo;s music could
+infatuate me as it infatuated Nietzsche. Nursed on greater masters, I thought
+less of him than he deserved; but the Carmen music was&mdash;in places&mdash;exquisite of
+its kind, and could enchant a man like me, romantic enough to have come to the
+end of romance before I began to create in art for myself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When I say that <i>I</i> did and felt these things, I mean, of course, that the
+predecessor whose name I bear did and felt them. The I of to-day is (? am) cool
+towards Carmen; and Carmen, I regret to say, does not take the slightest
+interest in him (? me). And now enough of this juggling with past and present
+Shaws. The grammatical complications of being a first person and several
+extinct third persons at the same moment are so frightful that I must return to
+the ordinary misusage, and ask the reader to make the necessary corrections in
+his or her own mind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This book is not wholly a compound of intuition and ignorance. Take for example
+the profession of my hero, an Irish-American electrical engineer. That was by
+no means a flight of fancy. For you must not suppose, because I am a man of
+letters, that I never tried to earn an honest living. I began trying to commit
+that sin against my nature when I was fifteen, and persevered, from youthful
+timidity and diffidence, until I was twenty-three. My last attempt was in 1879,
+when a company was formed in London to exploit an ingenious invention by Mr.
+Thomas Alva Edison&mdash;a much too ingenious invention as it proved, being nothing
+less than a telephone of such stentorian efficiency that it bellowed your most
+private communications all over the house instead of whispering them with some
+sort of discretion. This was not what the British stockbroker wanted; so the
+company was soon merged in the National Telephone Company, after making a place
+for itself in the history of literature, quite unintentionally, by providing me
+with a job. Whilst the Edison Telephone Company lasted, it crowded the basement
+of a huge pile of offices in Queen Victoria Street with American artificers.
+These deluded and romantic men gave me a glimpse of the skilled proletariat of
+the United States. They sang obsolete sentimental songs with genuine emotion;
+and their language was frightful even to an Irishman. They worked with a
+ferocious energy which was out of all proportion to the actual result achieved.
+Indomitably resolved to assert their republican manhood by taking no orders
+from a tall-hatted Englishman whose stiff politeness covered his conviction
+that they were, relatively to himself, inferior and common persons, they
+insisted on being slave-driven with genuine American oaths by a genuine free
+and equal American foreman. They utterly despised the artfully slow British
+workman who did as little for his wages as he possibly could; never hurried
+himself; and had a deep reverence for anyone whose pocket could be tapped by
+respectful behavior. Need I add that they were contemptuously wondered at by
+this same British workman as a parcel of outlandish adult boys, who sweated
+themselves for their employer&rsquo;s benefit instead of looking after their
+own interests? They adored Mr. Edison as the greatest man of all time in every
+possible department of science, art and philosophy, and execrated Mr. Graham
+Bell, the inventor of the rival telephone, as his Satanic adversary; but each
+of them had (or pretended to have) on the brink of completion, an improvement
+on the telephone, usually a new transmitter. They were free-souled creatures,
+excellent company: sensitive, cheerful, and profane; liars, braggarts, and
+hustlers; with an air of making slow old England hum which never left them even
+when, as often happened, they were wrestling with difficulties of their own
+making, or struggling in no-thoroughfares from which they had to be retrieved
+like strayed sheep by Englishmen without imagination enough to go wrong.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In this environment I remained for some months. As I was interested in physics
+and had read Tyndall and Helmholtz, besides having learnt something in Ireland
+through a fortunate friendship with a cousin of Mr. Graham Bell who was also a
+chemist and physicist, I was, I believe, the only person in the entire
+establishment who knew the current scientific explanation of telephony; and as
+I soon struck up a friendship with our official lecturer, a Colchester man
+whose strong point was pre-scientific agriculture, I often discharged his
+duties for him in a manner which, I am persuaded, laid the foundation of Mr.
+Edison&rsquo;s London reputation: my sole reward being my boyish delight in the
+half-concealed incredulity of our visitors (who were convinced by the hoarsely
+startling utterances of the telephone that the speaker, alleged by me to be
+twenty miles away, was really using a speaking-trumpet in the next room), and
+their obvious uncertainty, when the demonstration was over, as to whether they
+ought to tip me or not: a question they either decided in the negative or never
+decided at all; for I never got anything.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+So much for my electrical engineer! To get him into contact with fashionable
+society before he became famous was also a problem easily solved. I knew of
+three English peers who actually preferred physical laboratories to stables,
+and scientific experts to gamekeepers: in fact, one of the experts was a friend
+of mine. And I knew from personal experience that if science brings men of all
+ranks into contact, art, especially music, does the same for men and women. An
+electrician who can play an accompaniment can go anywhere and know anybody. As
+far as mere access and acquaintance go there are no class barriers for him. My
+difficulty was not to get my hero into society, but to give any sort of
+plausibility to my picture of society when I got him into it. I lacked the
+touch of the literary diner-out; and I had, as the reader will probably find to
+his cost, the classical tradition which makes all the persons in a novel,
+except the comically vernacular ones, or the speakers of phonetically spelt
+dialect, utter themselves in the formal phrases and studied syntax of
+eighteenth century rhetoric. In short, I wrote in the style of Scott and
+Dickens; and as fashionable society then spoke and behaved, as it still does,
+in no style at all, my transcriptions of Oxford and Mayfair may nowadays
+suggest an unaccountable and ludicrous ignorance of a very superficial and
+accessible code of manners. I was not, however, so ignorant as might have been
+inferred at that time from my somewhat desperate financial condition.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I had, to begin with, a sort of backstairs knowledge; for in my teens I
+struggled for life in the office of an Irish gentleman who acted as land agent
+and private banker for many persons of distinction. Now it is possible for a
+London author to dine out in the highest circles for twenty years without
+learning as much about the human frailties of his hosts as the family solicitor
+or (in Ireland) the family land agent learns in twenty days; and some of this
+knowledge inevitably reaches his clerks, especially the clerk who keeps the
+cash, which was my particular department. He learns, if capable of the lesson,
+that the aristocratic profession has as few geniuses as any other profession;
+so that if you want a peerage of more than, say, half a dozen members, you must
+fill it up with many common persons, and even with some deplorably mean ones.
+For &ldquo;service is no inheritance&rdquo; either in the kitchen or the House
+of Lords; and the case presented by Mr. Barrie in his play of The Admirable
+Crichton, where the butler is the man of quality, and his master, the Earl, the
+man of rank, is no fantasy, but a quite common occurrence, and indeed to some
+extent an inevitable one, because the English are extremely particular in
+selecting their butlers, whilst they do not select their barons at all, taking
+them as the accident of birth sends them. The consequences include much ironic
+comedy. For instance, we have in England a curious belief in first rate people,
+meaning all the people we do not know; and this consoles us for the undeniable
+secondrateness of the people we do know, besides saving the credit of
+aristocracy as an institution. The unmet aristocrat is devoutly believed in;
+but he is always round the corner, never at hand. That <i>the</i> smart set
+exists; that there is above and beyond that smart set a class so blue of blood
+and exquisite in nature that it looks down even on the King with haughty
+condescension; that scepticism on these points is one of the stigmata of
+plebeian baseness: all these imaginings are so common here that they constitute
+the real popular sociology of England as much as an unlimited credulity as to
+vaccination constitutes the real popular science of England. It is, of course,
+a timid superstition. A British peer or peeress who happens by chance to be
+genuinely noble is just as isolated at court as Goethe would have been among
+all the other grandsons of publicans, if they had formed a distinct class in
+Frankfurt or Weimar. This I knew very well when I wrote my novels; and if, as I
+suspect, I failed to create a convincingly verisimilar atmosphere of
+aristocracy, it was not because I had any illusions or ignorances as to the
+common humanity of the peerage, and not because I gave literary style to its
+conversation, but because, as I had never had any money, I was foolishly
+indifferent to it, and so, having blinded myself to its enormous importance,
+necessarily missed the point of view, and with it the whole moral basis, of the
+class which rightly values money, and plenty of it, as the first condition of a
+bearable life.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Money is indeed the most important thing in the world; and all sound and
+successful personal and national morality should have this fact for its basis.
+Every teacher or twaddler who denies it or suppresses it, is an enemy of life.
+Money controls morality; and what makes the United States of America look so
+foolish even in foolish Europe is that they are always in a state of flurried
+concern and violent interference with morality, whereas they throw their money
+into the street to be scrambled for, and presently find that their cash
+reserves are not in their own hands, but in the pockets of a few millionaires
+who, bewildered by their luck, and unspeakably incapable of making any truly
+economic use of it, endeavor to &ldquo;do good&rdquo; with it by letting
+themselves be fleeced by philanthropic committee men, building contractors,
+librarians and professors, in the name of education, science, art and what not;
+so that sensible people exhale relievedly when the pious millionaire dies, and
+his heirs, demoralized by being brought up on his outrageous income, begin the
+socially beneficent work of scattering his fortune through the channels of the
+trades that flourish by riotous living.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This, as I have said, I did not then understand; for I knew money only by the
+want of it. Ireland is a poor country; and my father was a poor man in a poor
+country. By this I do not mean that he was hungry and homeless, a hewer of wood
+and a drawer of water. My friend Mr. James Huneker, a man of gorgeous
+imagination and incorrigible romanticism, has described me to the American
+public as a peasant lad who has raised himself, as all American presidents are
+assumed to have raised themselves, from the humblest departments of manual
+labor to the loftiest eminence. James flatters me. Had I been born a peasant, I
+should now be a tramp. My notion of my father&rsquo;s income is even vaguer
+than his own was&mdash;and that is saying a good deal&mdash;but he always had an income of
+at least three figures (four, if you count in dollars instead of pounds); and
+what made him poor was that he conceived himself as born to a social position
+which even in Ireland could have been maintained in dignified comfort only on
+twice or thrice what he had. And he married on that assumption. Fortunately for
+me, social opportunity is not always to be measured by income. There is an
+important economic factor, first analyzed by an American economist (General
+Walker), and called rent of ability. Now this rent, when the ability is of the
+artistic or political sort, is often paid in kind. For example, a London
+possessor of such ability may, with barely enough money to maintain a furnished
+bedroom and a single presentable suit of clothes, see everything worth seeing
+that a millionaire can see, and know everybody worth knowing that he can know.
+Long before I reached this point myself, a very trifling accomplishment gave me
+glimpses of the sort of fashionable life a peasant never sees. Thus I remember
+one evening during the novel-writing period when nobody would pay a farthing
+for a stroke of my pen, walking along Sloane Street in that blessed shield of
+literary shabbiness, evening dress. A man accosted me with an eloquent appeal
+for help, ending with the assurance that he had not a penny in the world. I
+replied, with exact truth, &ldquo;Neither have I.&rdquo; He thanked me civilly,
+and went away, apparently not in the least surprised, leaving me to ask myself
+why I did not turn beggar too, since I felt sure that a man who did it as well
+as he, must be in comfortable circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another reminiscence. A little past midnight, in the same costume, I was
+turning from Piccadilly into Bond Street, when a lady of the pavement, out of
+luck that evening so far, confided to me that the last bus for Brompton had
+passed, and that she should be grateful to any gentleman who would give her a
+lift in a hansom. My old-fashioned Irish gallantry had not then been worn off
+by age and England: besides, as a novelist who could find no publisher, I was
+touched by the similarity of our trades and predicaments. I excused myself very
+politely on the ground that my wife (invented for the occasion) was waiting for
+me at home, and that I felt sure so attractive a lady would have no difficulty
+in finding another escort. Unfortunately this speech made so favorable an
+impression on her that she immediately took my arm and declared her willingness
+to go anywhere with me, on the flattering ground that I was a perfect
+gentleman. In vain did I try to persuade her that in coming up Bond Street and
+deserting Piccadilly, she was throwing away her last chance of a hansom: she
+attached herself so devotedly to me that I could not without actual violence
+shake her off. At last I made a stand at the end of Old Bond Street. I took out
+my purse; opened it; and held it upside down. Her countenance fell, poor girl!
+She turned on her heel with a melancholy flirt of her skirt, and vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Now on both these occasions I had been in the company of people who spent at
+least as much in a week as I did in a year. Why was I, a penniless and unknown
+young man, admitted there? Simply because, though I was an execrable pianist,
+and never improved until the happy invention of the pianola made a Paderewski
+of me, I could play a simple accompaniment at sight more congenially to a
+singer than most amateurs. It is true that the musical side of London society,
+with its streak of Bohemianism, and its necessary toleration of foreign ways
+and professional manners, is far less typically English than the sporting side
+or the political side or the Philistine side; so much so, indeed, that people
+may and do pass their lives in it without ever discovering what English
+plutocracy in the mass is really like: still, if you wander in it nocturnally
+for a fitful year or so as I did, with empty pockets and an utter impossibility
+of approaching it by daylight (owing to the deplorable decay of the morning
+wardrobe), you have something more actual to go on than the hallucinations of a
+peasant lad setting his foot manfully on the lowest rung of the social ladder.
+I never climbed any ladder: I have achieved eminence by sheer gravitation; and
+I hereby warn all peasant lads not to be duped by my pretended example into
+regarding their present servitude as a practicable first step to a celebrity so
+dazzling that its subject cannot even suppress his own bad novels.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conceive me then at the writing of The Irrational Knot as a person neither
+belonging to the world I describe nor wholly ignorant of it, and on certain
+points quite incapable of conceiving it intuitively. A whole world of art which
+did not exist for it lay open to me. I was familiar with the greatest in that
+world: mighty poets, painters, and musicians were my intimates. I found the
+world of artificial greatness founded on convention and money so repugnant and
+contemptible by comparison that I had no sympathetic understanding of it.
+People are fond of blaming valets because no man is a hero to his valet. But it
+is equally true that no man is a valet to his hero; and the hero, consequently,
+is apt to blunder very ludicrously about valets, through judging them from an
+irrelevant standard of heroism: heroism, remember, having its faults as well as
+its qualities. I, always on the heroic plane imaginatively, had two disgusting
+faults which I did not recognize as faults because I could not help them. I was
+poor and (by day) shabby. I therefore tolerated the gross error that poverty,
+though an inconvenience and a trial, is not a sin and a disgrace; and I stood
+for my self-respect on the things I had: probity, ability, knowledge of art,
+laboriousness, and whatever else came cheaply to me. Because I could walk into
+Hampton Court Palace and the National Gallery (on free days) and enjoy Mantegna
+and Michael Angelo whilst millionaires were yawning miserably over inept
+gluttonies; because I could suffer more by hearing a movement of
+Beethoven&rsquo;s Ninth Symphony taken at a wrong tempo than a duchess by
+losing a diamond necklace, I was indifferent to the repulsive fact that if I
+had fallen in love with the duchess I did not possess a morning suit in which I
+could reasonably have expected her to touch me with the furthest protended pair
+of tongs; and I did not see that to remedy this I should have been prepared to
+wade through seas of other people&rsquo;s blood. Indeed it is this perception
+which constitutes an aristocracy nowadays. It is the secret of all our
+governing classes, which consist finally of people who, though perfectly
+prepared to be generous, humane, cultured, philanthropic, public spirited and
+personally charming in the second instance, are unalterably resolved, in the
+first, to have money enough for a handsome and delicate life, and will, in
+pursuit of that money, batter in the doors of their fellow men, sell them up,
+sweat them in fetid dens, shoot, stab, hang, imprison, sink, burn and destroy
+them in the name of law and order. And this shews their fundamental sanity and
+rightmindedness; for a sufficient income is indispensable to the practice of
+virtue; and the man who will let any unselfish consideration stand between him
+and its attainment is a weakling, a dupe and a predestined slave. If I could
+convince our impecunious mobs of this, the world would be reformed before the
+end of the week; for the sluggards who are content to be wealthy without
+working and the dastards who are content to work without being wealthy,
+together with all the pseudo-moralists and ethicists and cowardice mongers
+generally, would be exterminated without shrift, to the unutterable enlargement
+of life and ennoblement of humanity. We might even make some beginnings of
+civilization under such happy circumstances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the days of The Irrational Knot I had not learnt this lesson; consequently I
+did not understand the British peerage, just as I did not understand that
+glorious and beautiful phenomenon, the &ldquo;heartless&rdquo; rich American
+woman, who so thoroughly and admirably understands that conscience is a luxury,
+and should be indulged in only when the vital needs of life have been
+abundantly satisfied. The instinct which has led the British peerage to fortify
+itself by American alliances is healthy and well inspired. Thanks to it, we
+shall still have a few people to maintain the tradition of a handsome, free,
+proud, costly life, whilst the craven mass of us are keeping up our starveling
+pretence that it is more important to be good than to be rich, and piously
+cheating, robbing, and murdering one another by doing our duty as policemen,
+soldiers, bailiffs, jurymen, turnkeys, hangmen, tradesmen, and curates, at the
+command of those who know that the golden grapes are <i>not</i> sour. Why, good
+heavens! we shall all pretend that this straightforward truth of mine is mere
+Swiftian satire, because it would require a little courage to take it seriously
+and either act on it or make me drink the hemlock for uttering it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was the less excuse for my blindness because I was at that very moment
+laying the foundations of my high fortune by the most ruthless disregard of all
+the quack duties which lead the peasant lad of fiction to the White House, and
+harness the real peasant boy to the plough until he is finally swept, as
+rubbish, into the workhouse. I was an ablebodied and ableminded young man in
+the strength of my youth; and my family, then heavily embarrassed, needed my
+help urgently. That I should have chosen to be a burden to them instead was,
+according to all the conventions of peasant lad fiction, monstrous. Well,
+without a blush I embraced the monstrosity. I did not throw myself into the
+struggle for life: I threw my mother into it. I was not a staff to my
+father&rsquo;s old age: I hung on to his coat tails. His reward was to live
+just long enough to read a review of one of these silly novels written in an
+obscure journal by a personal friend of my own (now eminent in literature as
+Mr. John Mackinnon Robertson) prefiguring me to some extent as a considerable
+author. I think, myself, that this was a handsome reward, far better worth
+having than a nice pension from a dutiful son struggling slavishly for his
+parent&rsquo;s bread in some sordid trade. Handsome or not, it was the only
+return he ever had for the little pension he contrived to export from Ireland
+for his family. My mother reinforced it by drudging in her elder years at the
+art of music which she had followed in her prime freely for love. I only helped
+to spend it. People wondered at my heartlessness: one young and romantic lady
+had the courage to remonstrate openly and indignantly with me, &ldquo;for the
+which&rdquo; as Pepys said of the shipwright&rsquo;s wife who refused his
+advances, &ldquo;I did respect her.&rdquo; Callous as Comus to moral babble, I
+steadily wrote my five pages a day and made a man of myself (at my
+mother&rsquo;s expense) instead of a slave. And I protest that I will not
+suffer James Huneker or any romanticist to pass me off as a peasant boy
+qualifying for a chapter in Smiles&rsquo;s Self Help, or a good son supporting
+a helpless mother, instead of a stupendously selfish artist leaning with the
+full weight of his hungry body on an energetic and capable woman. No, James:
+such lies are not only unnecessary, but fearfully depressing and fundamentally
+immoral, besides being hardly fair to the supposed peasant lad&rsquo;s parents.
+My mother worked for my living instead of preaching that it was my duty to work
+for hers: therefore take off your hat to her, and blush.[A]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is now open to anyone who pleases to read The Irrational Knot. I do not
+recommend him to; but it is possible that the same mysterious force which drove
+me through the labor of writing it may have had some purpose which will sustain
+others through the labor of reading it, and even reward them with some ghastly
+enjoyment of it. For my own part I cannot stand it. It is to me only one of the
+heaps of spoiled material that all apprenticeship involves. I consent to its
+publication because I remember that British colonel who called on Beethoven
+when the elderly composer was working at his posthumous quartets, and offered
+him a commission for a work in the style of his jejune septet. Beethoven drove
+the Colonel out of the house with objurgation. I think that was uncivil. There
+is a time for the septet, and a time for the posthumous quartets. It is true
+that if a man called on me now and asked me to write something like The
+Irrational Knot I should have to exercise great self-control. But there are
+people who read Man and Superman, and then tell me (actually to my face) that I
+have never done anything so good as Cashel Byron&rsquo;s Profession. After
+this, there may be a public for even The Irrational Knot; so let it go.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+LONDON, <i>May</i> 26, 1905.
+</p>
+
+<p class="footnote">
+[Footnote A: James, having read the above in proof, now protests he never
+called me a peasant lad: that being a decoration by the sub-editor. The
+expression he used was &ldquo;a poor lad.&rdquo; This is what James calls tact.
+After all, there is something pastoral, elemental, well aerated, about a
+peasant lad. But a mere poor lad! really, James, <i>really</i>&mdash;!!!]
+</p>
+
+<p>
+P.S.&mdash;Since writing the above I have looked through the proof-sheets of this
+book, and found, with some access of respect for my youth, that it is a fiction
+of the first order. By this I do not mean that it is a masterpiece in that
+order, or even a pleasant example of it, but simply that, such as it is, it is
+one of those fictions in which the morality is original and not readymade. Now
+this quality is the true diagnostic of the first order in literature, and
+indeed in all the arts, including the art of life. It is, for example, the
+distinction that sets Shakespear&rsquo;s Hamlet above his other plays, and that
+sets Ibsen&rsquo;s work as a whole above Shakespear&rsquo;s work as a whole.
+Shakespear&rsquo;s morality is a mere reach-me-down; and because Hamlet does
+not feel comfortable in it, and struggles against the misfit, he suggests
+something better, futile as his struggle is, and incompetent as Shakespear
+shews himself in his effort to think out the revolt of his feeling against
+readymade morality. Ibsen&rsquo;s morality is original all through: he knows
+well that the men in the street have no use for principles, because they can
+neither understand nor apply them; and that what they can understand and apply
+are arbitrary rules of conduct, often frightfully destructive and inhuman, but
+at least definite rules enabling the common stupid man to know where he stands
+and what he may do and not do without getting into trouble. Now to all writers
+of the first order, these rules, and the need for them produced by the moral
+and intellectual incompetence of the ordinary human animal, are no more
+invariably beneficial and respectable than the sunlight which ripens the wheat
+in Sussex and leaves the desert deadly in Sahara, making the cheeks of the
+ploughman&rsquo;s child rosy in the morning and striking the ploughman
+brainsick or dead in the afternoon; no more inspired (and no less) than the
+religion of the Andaman islanders; as much in need of frequent throwing away
+and replacement as the community&rsquo;s boots. By writers of the second order
+the readymade morality is accepted as the basis of all moral judgment and
+criticism of the characters they portray, even when their genius forces them to
+represent their most attractive heroes and heroines as violating the readymade
+code in all directions. Far be it from me to pretend that the first order is
+more readable than the second! Shakespear, Scott, Dickens, Dumas <i>père</i>
+are not, to say the least, less readable than Euripides and Ibsen. Nor is the
+first order always more constructive; for Byron, Oscar Wilde, and
+Larochefoucauld did not get further in positive philosophy than Ruskin and
+Carlyle, though they could snuff Ruskin&rsquo;s Seven Lamps with their fingers
+without flinching. Still, the first order remains the first order and the
+second the second for all that: no man who shuts his eyes and opens his mouth
+when religion and morality are offered to him on a long spoon can share the
+same Parnassian bench with those who make an original contribution to religion
+and morality, were it only a criticism.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Therefore on coming back to this Irrational Knot as a stranger after 25 years,
+I am proud to find that its morality is not readymade. The drunken prima donna
+of a bygone type of musical burlesque is not depicted as an immoral person, but
+as a person with a morality of her own, no worse in its way than the morality
+of her highly respectable wine merchant in <i>its</i> way. The sociology of the
+successful inventor is his own sociology too; and it is by his originality in
+this respect that he passes irresistibly through all the readymade prejudices
+that are set up to bar his promotion. And the heroine, nice, amiable,
+benevolent, and anxious to please and behave well, but hopelessly secondhand in
+her morals and nicenesses, and consequently without any real moral force now
+that the threat of hell has lost its terrors for her, is left destitute among
+the failures which are so puzzling to thoughtless people. &ldquo;I cannot
+understand why she is so unlucky: she is such a nice woman!&rdquo;: that is the
+formula. As if people with any force in them ever were altogether nice!
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And so I claim the first order for this jejune exploit of mine, and invite you
+to note that the final chapter, so remote from Scott and Dickens and so close
+to Ibsen, was written years before Ibsen came to my knowledge, thus proving
+that the revolt of the Life Force against readymade morality in the nineteenth
+century was not the work of a Norwegian microbe, but would have worked itself
+into expression in English literature had Norway never existed. In fact, when
+Miss Lord&rsquo;s translation of A Doll&rsquo;s House appeared in the
+eighteen-eighties, and so excited some of my Socialist friends that they got up
+a private reading of it in which I was cast for the part of Krogstad, its
+novelty as a morally original study of a marriage did not stagger me as it
+staggered Europe. I had made a morally original study of a marriage myself, and
+made it, too, without any melodramatic forgeries, spinal diseases, and
+suicides, though I had to confess to a study of dipsomania. At all events, I
+chattered and ate caramels in the back drawing-room (our green-room) whilst
+Eleanor Marx, as Nora, brought Helmer to book at the other side of the folding
+doors. Indeed I concerned myself very little about Ibsen until, later on,
+William Archer translated Peer Gynt to me <i>viva voce</i>, when the magic of
+the great poet opened my eyes in a flash to the importance of the social
+philosopher.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+I seriously suggest that The Irrational Knot may be regarded as an early
+attempt on the part of the Life Force to write A Doll&rsquo;s House in English
+by the instrumentality of a very immature writer aged 24. And though I say it
+that should not, the choice was not such a bad shot for a stupid instinctive
+force that has to work and become conscious of itself by means of human brains.
+If we could only realize that though the Life Force supplies us with its own
+purpose, it has no other brains to work with than those it has painfully and
+imperfectly evolved in our heads, the peoples of the earth would learn some
+pity for their gods; and we should have a religion that would not be
+contradicted at every turn by the thing that is giving the lie to the thing
+that ought to be.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+WELWYN, <i>Sunday, June</i> 25, 1905.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="book01"></a>BOOK I</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap00"></a>THE IRRATIONAL KNOT</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<p>
+At seven o&rsquo;clock on a fine evening in April the gas had just been lighted
+in a room on the first floor of a house in York Road, Lambeth. A man, recently
+washed and brushed, stood on the hearthrug before a pier glass, arranging a
+white necktie, part of his evening dress. He was about thirty, well grown, and
+fully developed muscularly. There was no cloud of vice or trouble upon him: he
+was concentrated and calm, making no tentative movements of any sort (even a
+white tie did not puzzle him into fumbling), but acting with a certainty of aim
+and consequent economy of force, dreadful to the irresolute. His face was
+brown, but his auburn hair classed him as a fair man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The apartment, a drawing-room with two windows, was dusty and untidy. The paint
+and wall paper had not been renewed for years; nor did the pianette, which
+stood near the fireplace, seem to have been closed during that time; for the
+interior was dusty, and the inner end of every key begrimed. On a table between
+the windows were some tea things, with a heap of milliner&rsquo;s materials,
+and a brass candlestick which had been pushed back to make room for a partially
+unfolded cloth. There was a second table near the door, crowded with coils,
+batteries, a galvanometer, and other electrical apparatus. The mantelpiece was
+littered with dusty letters, and two trays of Doulton ware which ornamented it
+were filled with accounts, scraps of twine, buttons, and rusty keys.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A shifting, rustling sound, as of somebody dressing, which had been audible for
+some minutes through the folding doors, now ceased, and a handsome young woman
+entered. She had thick black hair, fine dark eyes, an oval face, a clear olive
+complexion, and an elastic figure. She was incompletely attired in a petticoat
+that did not hide her ankles, and stays of bright red silk with white laces and
+seams. Quite unconcerned at the presence of the man, she poured out a cup of
+tea; carried it to the mantelpiece; and began to arrange her hair before the
+glass. He, without looking round, completed the arrangement of his tie, looked
+at it earnestly for a moment, and said, &ldquo;Have you got a pin about
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is one in the pincushion on my table,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;but
+I think it&rsquo;s a black one. I dont know where the deuce all the pins go
+to.&rdquo; Then, casting off the subject, she whistled a long and florid
+cadenza, and added, by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close
+imitation of a violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into her room for the pin.
+On his return she suddenly became curious, and said, &ldquo;Where are you going
+to-night, if one may ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am going out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemptuously to the mirror,
+saying, &ldquo;Thank you. Sorry to be inquisitive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert at
+Wandsworth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sing! You! The Countess of Barbury! Does she live at Wandsworth?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. She lives in Park Lane.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! I beg her pardon.&rdquo; The man made no comment on this; and she,
+after looking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest,
+continued, &ldquo;How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know
+<i>you</i>, pray?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A long pause ensued. Then she said: &ldquo;Stuff!&rdquo;, but without
+conviction. Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned
+his waistcoat and arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet of pink
+paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched it at once; opened it; stared
+incredulously at it; and said, &ldquo;Pink paper, and scalloped edges! How
+filthily vulgar! I thought she was not much of a Countess! Ahem! &lsquo;Music
+for the People. Parnassus Society. A concert will be given at the Town Hall,
+Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th April, by the Countess of Carbury, assisted by
+the following ladies and gentlemen. Miss Elinor McQuinch&rsquo;&mdash;what a name!
+&lsquo;Miss Marian Lind&rsquo;&mdash;who&rsquo;s Miss Marian Lind?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How should I know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that you would most
+likely be intimate with her. &lsquo;Mrs. Leith Fairfax.&rsquo; There is a Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax who writes novels, and very rotten novels they are, too. Who are
+the gentlemen? &lsquo;Mr. Marmaduke Lind&rsquo;&mdash;brother to Miss Marian, I
+suppose. &lsquo;Mr. Edward Conolly&rsquo;&mdash;save the mark! they must have been
+rather hard up for gentlemen when they put <i>you</i> down as one. The Conolly
+family is looking up at last. Hm! nearly a dozen altogether. &lsquo;Tickets
+will be distributed to the families of working men by the Rev. George
+Lind&rsquo;&mdash;pity they didnt engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing with you.
+&lsquo;A limited number of front seats at one shilling. Please turn over. Part
+I. Symphony in F: Haydn. Arranged for four English concertinas by Julius Baker.
+Mr. Julius Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette Baker (aged 8); and
+Miss Totty Baker (aged 6-1/2)&rsquo;. Good Lord! &lsquo;Song: Rose softly
+blooming: Spohr. Miss Marian Lind.&rsquo; I wonder whether she can sing!
+&lsquo;Polonaise in A flat major: Chopin&rsquo;&mdash;what rot! As if working people
+cared about Chopin! Miss Elinor McQuinch is a fool, I see. &lsquo;Song: The
+Valley: Gounod.&rsquo; Of course: I knew you would try that. Oho! Here&rsquo;s
+something sensible at last. &lsquo;Nigger melody. Uncle Ned. Mr. Marmaduke
+Lind, accompanied by himself on the banjo.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum&mdash;<br/>
+&lsquo;And there was an ole nigga; and his name was Uncle Ned;<br/>
+    An&rsquo; him dead long ago, long ago.<br/>
+An&rsquo; he had no hair on the top of his head<br/>
+    In the place where the wool ought to grow,&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double <i>encore</i>; and no one will take the
+least notice of you or the others. &lsquo;Recitation. The Faithful Soul.
+Adelaide Proctor. Mrs. Leith Fairfax.&rsquo; Well, this certainly is a blessed
+attempt to amuse Wandsworth. <i>Another</i> reading by the Rev.&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Conolly, who had been putting on his overcoat, picked the program deftly
+from his sister&rsquo;s fingers, and left the room. She, after damning him very
+heartily, returned to the glass, and continued dressing, taking her tea at
+intervals until she was ready to go out, when she sent for a cab, and bade the
+driver convey her to the Bijou Theatre, Soho.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly, on arriving at the Wandsworth Town Hall, was directed to a committee
+room, which served as green-room on this occasion. He was greeted by a clean
+shaven young clergyman who protested that he was glad to see him there, but did
+not offer his hand. Conolly thanked him briefly, and went without further
+ceremony to the table, and was about to place his hat and overcoat on a heap of
+similar garments, when, observing that there were some hooks along the wall, he
+immediately crossed over and hung up his things on them, thereby producing an
+underbred effect of being more prudent and observant than the rest. Then he
+looked at his program, and calculated how soon his turn to sing would come.
+Then he unrolled his music, and placed two copies of Le Vallon ready to his
+hand upon the table. Having made these arrangements with a self-possession that
+quite disconcerted the clergyman, he turned to examine the rest of the company.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+His first glance was arrested by the beauty of a young lady with light brown
+hair and gentle grey eyes, who sat near the fire. Beside her, on a lower chair,
+was a small, lean, and very restless young woman with keen dark eyes staring
+defiantly from a worn face. These two were attended by a jovial young gentleman
+with curly auburn hair, who was twanging a banjo, and occasionally provoking an
+exclamation of annoyance from the restless girl by requesting her opinion of
+his progress in tuning the instrument. Near them stood a tall man, dark and
+handsome. He seemed unused to his present circumstances, and contemptuous, not
+of the company nor the object for which they were assembled, but in the
+abstract, as if habitual contempt were part of his nature.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman, who had just conducted to the platform an elderly professor in a
+shabby frock coat, followed by three well-washed children, each of whom carried
+a concertina, now returned and sat down beside a middle-aged lady, who made
+herself conspicuous by using a gold framed eyeglass so as to convey an
+impression that she was an exceedingly keen observer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is fortunate that the evening is so fine,&rdquo; said the clergyman
+to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, is it not, Mr. Lind?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My throat is always affected by bad weather, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I shall
+be so handicapped by the inevitable comparison of my elocution with yours, that
+I am glad the weather is favorable to me, though the comparison is not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, with decision. &ldquo;I am not in the
+least an orator. I can repeat a poem: that is all. Oh! I hope I have not broken
+my glasses.&rdquo; They had slipped from her nose to the floor. Conolly picked
+them up and straightened them with one turn of his fingers.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No harm done, madam,&rdquo; said he, with a certain elocutionary
+correctness, and rather in the strong voice of the workshop than the subdued
+one of the drawing-room, handing the glasses to her ceremoniously as he spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. You are very kind, very kind indeed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly bowed, and turned again toward the other group.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is that?&rdquo; whispered Mrs. Fairfax to the clergyman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Some young man who attracted the attention of the Countess by his
+singing. He is only a workman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! Where did she hear him sing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In her son&rsquo;s laboratory, I believe. He came there to put up some
+electrical machinery, and sang into a telephone for their amusement. You know
+how fond Lord Jasper is of mechanics. Jasper declares that he is a genius as an
+electrician. Indeed it was he, rather than the Countess, who thought of getting
+him to sing for us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How very interesting! I saw that he was clever when he spoke to me.
+There is so much in trifles&mdash;in byplay, Mr. Lind. Now, his manner of picking up
+my glass had his entire history in it. You will also see it in the solid
+development of his head. That young man deserves to be encouraged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are very generous, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. It would not be well to
+encourage him too much, however. You must recollect that he is not used to
+society. Injudicious encouragement might perhaps lead him to forget his real
+place in it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not agree with you, Mr. Lind. You do not read human nature as I do.
+You know that I am an expert. I see men as he sees a telegraph instrument,
+quite uninfluenced by personal feeling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. But the heart is deceitful above all things
+and des&mdash;at least I should say&mdash;er. That is, you will admit that the finest
+perception may err in its estimate of the inscrutable work of the
+Almighty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doubtless. But really, Mr. Lind, human beings are <i>so</i> shallow! I
+assure you there is nothing at all inscrutable about them to a trained analyst
+of character. It may be a gift, perhaps; but people&rsquo;s minds are to me
+only little machines made up of superficial motives.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; said the young gentleman with the banjo, interrupting
+them: &ldquo;have you got a copy of &lsquo;Rose softly blooming&rsquo;
+there?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I!&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax. &ldquo;No, certainly not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it&rsquo;s all up with the concert. We have forgotten
+Marian&rsquo;s music; and there is nothing for Nelly&mdash;I beg pardon, I mean Miss
+McQuinch&mdash;to play from. She is above playing by ear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I <i>cannot</i> play by ear,&rdquo; said the restless young lady,
+angrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you will sing &lsquo;Coal black Rose&rsquo; instead, Marian, I can
+accompany you on the banjo, and back you up in the chorus. The Wandsworthers&mdash;if
+they survive the concertinas&mdash;will applaud the change as one man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is so unkind to joke about it,&rdquo; said the beautiful young lady.
+&ldquo;What shall I do? If somebody will vamp an accompaniment, I can get on
+very well without any music. But if I try to play for myself I shall break
+down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly here stepped aside, and beckoned to the clergyman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That young man wants to speak to you,&rdquo; whispered Mrs. Fairfax.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, indeed. Thank you,&rdquo; said the Rev. Mr. Lind, stiffly. &ldquo;I
+suppose I had better see what he requires.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you had,&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, with some impatience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont wish to intrude where I have no business,&rdquo; said Conolly
+quietly to the clergyman; &ldquo;but I can play that lady&rsquo;s
+accompaniment, if she will allow me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman was too much afraid of Conolly by this time&mdash;he did not know
+why&mdash;to demur. &ldquo;I am sure she will not object,&rdquo; he said, pretending
+to be relieved by the offer. &ldquo;Your services will be most acceptable.
+Excuse me for one moment, whilst I inform Miss Lind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He crossed the room to the lady, and said in a lower tone, &ldquo;I think I
+have succeeded in arranging the matter, Marian. That man says he will play for
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope he <i>can</i> play,&rdquo; said Marian doubtfully. &ldquo;Who is
+he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is Conolly. Jasper&rsquo;s man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Lind&rsquo;s eyes lighted. &ldquo;Is that he?&rdquo; she whispered,
+glancing curiously across the room at him. &ldquo;Bring him and introduce him
+to us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that necessary?&rdquo; said the tall man, without lowering his voice
+sufficiently to prevent Conolly from hearing him. The clergyman hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is quite necessary: I do not know what he must think of us
+already,&rdquo; said Marian, ashamed, and looking apprehensively at Conolly. He
+was staring with a policemanlike expression at the tall man, who, after a vain
+attempt to ignore him, had eventually to turn away. The Rev. Mr. Lind then led
+the electrician forward, and avoided a formal presentation by saying with a
+simper: &ldquo;Here is Mr. Conolly, who will extricate us from all our
+difficulties.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss McQuinch nodded. Miss Lind bowed. Marmaduke shook hands good-naturedly,
+and retired somewhat abashed, thrumming his banjo. Just then a faint sound of
+clapping was followed by the return of the quartet party, upon which Miss Lind
+rose and moved hesitatingly toward the platform. The tall man offered his hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense, Sholto,&rdquo; said she, laughing. &ldquo;They will expect you
+to do something if you appear with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Allow <i>me</i>, Marian,&rdquo; said the clergyman, as the tall man,
+offended, bowed and stood aside. She, pretending not to notice her brother,
+turned toward Conolly, who at once passed the Rev. George, and led her to the
+platform.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The original key?&rdquo; he enquired, as they mounted the steps.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know,&rdquo; she said, alarmed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For a moment he was taken aback. Then he said, &ldquo;What is the highest note
+you can sing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can sing A sometimes&mdash;only when I am alone. I dare not attempt it
+before people.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly sat down, knowing now that Miss Lind was a commonplace amateur. He had
+been contrasting her with his sister, greatly to the disparagement of his home
+life; and he was disappointed to find the lady break down where the actress
+would have succeeded so well. Consoling himself with the reflexion that if Miss
+Lind could not rap out a B flat like Susanna, neither could she rap out an
+oath, he played the accompaniment much better than Marian sang the song.
+Meanwhile, Miss McQuinch, listening jealously in the green-room, hated herself
+for her inferior skill.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cool, and reserved, is the modern Benjamin Franklin,&rdquo; observed
+Marmaduke to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better a reserved man who can do something than a sulky one who can do
+nothing,&rdquo; she said, glancing at the tall man, with whom the clergyman was
+nervously striving to converse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exquisite melody, is it not, Mr. Douglas?&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax,
+coming to the clergyman&rsquo;s rescue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not care for music,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;I lack the maudlin
+disposition in which the taste usually thrives.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss McQuinch gave an expressive snap, but said nothing; and the conversation
+dropped until Miss Lind had sung her song, and received a round of respectful
+but not enthusiastic applause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, Mr. Conolly,&rdquo; she said, as she left the platform.
+&ldquo;I am afraid that Spohr&rsquo;s music is too good for the people here.
+Dont you think so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not a bit of it,&rdquo; replied Conolly. &ldquo;There is nothing so very
+particular in Spohr. But he requires very good singing&mdash;better than he is
+worth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Lind colored, and returned in silence to her seat beside Miss McQuinch,
+feeling that she had exposed herself to a remark that no gentleman would have
+made.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now then, Nelly,&rdquo; said Marmaduke: &ldquo;the parson is going to
+call time. Keep up your courage. Come, get up, get up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not be so boisterous, Duke,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;It is bad
+enough to have to face an audience without being ridiculed beforehand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, &ldquo;if you think Nelly will hammer a
+love of music into the British workman, you err. Lots of them get their living
+by hammering, and they will most likely resent feminine competition. Bang!
+There she goes. Pity the sorrows of a poor old piano, and let us hope its
+trembling limbs wont come through the floor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really, Marmaduke,&rdquo; said Marian, impatiently, &ldquo;you are
+excessively foolish. You are like a boy fresh from school.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke, taken aback by her sharp tone, gave a long whispered whistle, and
+pretended to hide under the table. He had a certain gift of drollery which made
+it difficult not to laugh even at his most foolish antics, and Marian was
+giving way in spite of herself when she found Douglas bending over her and
+saying, in a low voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are tired of this place. The room is very draughty: I fear it will
+give you cold. Let me drive you home now. An apology can be made for whatever
+else you are supposed to do for these people. Let me get your cloak and call a
+cab.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian laughed. &ldquo;Thank you, Sholto,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;but I assure
+you I am quite happy. Pray do not look offended because I am not so
+uncomfortable as you think I ought to be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am glad you are happy,&rdquo; said Douglas in his former cold tone.
+&ldquo;Perhaps my presence is rather a drawback to your enjoyment than
+otherwise.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told you not to come, Sholto; but you would. Why not adapt yourself to
+the circumstances, and be agreeable?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not conscious of being disagreeable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not mean that. Only I do not like to see you making an enemy of
+every one in the room, and forcing me to say things that I know must hurt
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To the enmity of your new associates I am supremely indifferent, Marian.
+To that of your old friends I am accustomed. I am not in the mood to be
+lectured on my behavior at present; besides, the subject is hardly worth
+pursuing. May I gather from your remarks that I shall gratify you by
+withdrawing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Marian, flushing slightly, and looking steadily at him.
+Then, controlling her voice with an effort, she added, &ldquo;Do not try again
+to browbeat me into telling you a falsehood, Sholto.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas looked at her in surprise. Before he could answer, Miss McQuinch
+reappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Nelly,&rdquo; said Marmaduke: &ldquo;is there any piano
+left?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not much,&rdquo; she replied, with a sullen laugh. &ldquo;I never played
+worse in my life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wrong notes? or deficiency in the sacred fire?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Both.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe your song comes next,&rdquo; said the clergyman to Conolly,
+who had been standing apart, listening to Miss McQuinch&rsquo;s performance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is to accompany me, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh&mdash;ah&mdash;Miss McQuinch will, I am sure,&rdquo; replied the Rev. Mr. Lind,
+smiling nervously. Conolly looked grave. The young lady referred to closed her
+lips; frowned; said nothing. Marmaduke chuckled.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you would rather play your own accompaniment,&rdquo; said the
+clergyman, weakly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly shook his head decisively, and said, &ldquo;I can do only one thing at
+a time, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, they are not very critical: they are only workmen,&rdquo; said the
+clergyman, and then reddened deeply as Marmaduke gave him a very perceptible
+nudge.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll not take advantage of that, as I am only a workman
+myself,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;I had rather leave the song out than
+accompany myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray dont suppose that I wish to be disagreeable, Mr. Lind,&rdquo; said
+Miss McQuinch, as the company looked doubtfully at her; &ldquo;but I have
+disgraced myself too completely to trust my fingers again. I should spoil the
+song if I played the accompaniment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you might try, Nell,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, reproachfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I might,&rdquo; retorted Miss McQuinch; &ldquo;but I wont.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If somebody doesnt go out and do something, there will be a
+shindy,&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian hesitated a moment and then rose. &ldquo;I am a very indifferent
+player,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;but since no better is to be had, I will
+venture&mdash;if Mr. Conolly will trust me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you would rather not,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch, shamed into remorse,
+&ldquo;I will try the accompaniment. But I am sure to play it all wrong.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think Miss McQuinch had better play,&rdquo; said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly looked at Marian; received a reassuring glance; and went to the
+platform with her without further ado. She was not a sympathetic accompanist;
+but, not knowing this, she was not at all put out by it. She felt too that she
+was, as became a lady, giving the workman a lesson in courtesy which might
+stand him in stead when he next accompanied &ldquo;Rose, softly
+blooming.&rdquo; She was a little taken aback on finding that he not only had a
+rich baritone voice, but was, as far as she could judge, an accomplished
+singer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really,&rdquo; she said as they left the platform, &ldquo;you sing most
+beautifully.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One would hardly have expected it,&rdquo; he said, with a smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian, annoyed at having this side of her compliment exposed, did not return
+the smile, and went to her chair in the green-room without taking any further
+notice of him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I congratulate you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Leith Fairfax to Conolly, looking
+at him, like all the rest except Douglas, with a marked access of interest.
+&ldquo;Ah! what wonderful depth there is in Gounod&rsquo;s music!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He assented politely with a movement of his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know nothing at all about music,&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very few people do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean technically, of course,&rdquo; she said, not quite pleased.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A tremendous burst of applause here followed the conclusion of the first verse
+of &ldquo;Uncle Ned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Do</i> come and listen, Nelly,&rdquo; said Marian, returning to the
+door. Mrs. Fairfax and Conolly presently went to the door too.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you not like to help in the chorus, Nelly?&rdquo; said Marian in a
+low voice, as the audience began to join uproariously in the refrain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not particularly,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto,&rdquo; said Marian, &ldquo;come and share our vulgar joy. We
+want you to join in the chorus.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Douglas, &ldquo;I fear I am too indifferent a
+vocalist to do justice to the occasion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sing with Mr. Conolly and you cannot go wrong,&rdquo; said Miss
+McQuinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush,&rdquo; said Marian, interposing quickly lest Douglas should
+retort. &ldquo;There is the chorus. Shall we really join?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly struck up the refrain without further hesitation. Marian sang with him.
+Mrs. Fairfax and the clergyman looked furtively at one another, but forbore to
+swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few words in a piercing contralto voice,
+and then stopped with a gesture of impatience, feeling that she was out of
+tune. Marian, with only Conolly to keep her in countenance, felt relieved when
+Marmaduke, thrice encored, entered the room in triumph. Whilst he was being
+congratulated, Douglas turned to Miss McQuinch, who was pretending to ignore
+Marmaduke&rsquo;s success.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope, Miss McQuinch,&rdquo; he said in a low tone, &ldquo;that you
+will be able to relieve Marian at the piano next time. You know how she
+dislikes having to play accompaniments for strangers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How mean it is of you to be jealous of a plumber!&rdquo; said Miss
+McQuinch, with a quick glance at him which she did not dare to sustain, so
+fiercely did he return it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she looked again, he seemed unconscious of her presence, and was buttoning
+his overcoat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really going at last, Sholto?&rdquo; said Marian. Douglas bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told you you wouldnt be able to stand it, old man,&rdquo; said
+Marmaduke. &ldquo;Mrs. Bluestockings wont be pleased with you for not staying
+to hear her recite.&rdquo; This referred to Mrs. Fairfax, who had just gone
+upon the platform.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good night,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch, shortly, anxious to test how far
+he was offended, but unwilling to appear solicitous for a reconciliation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Until to-morrow, farewell,&rdquo; he said, approaching Marian, who gave
+him her hand with a smile: Conolly looking thoughtfully at him meanwhile. He
+left the room; and so, Mrs. Fairfax having gone to the platform to recite,
+quiet prevailed for a few minutes.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I have the pleasure of playing the accompaniment to your next
+song?&rdquo; said Conolly, sitting down near Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Marian, shrinking a little: &ldquo;I think Miss
+McQuinch knows it by heart.&rdquo; Then, still anxious to be affable to the
+workman, she added, &ldquo;Lord Jasper says you are a great musician.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I am an electrician. Music is not my business: it is my
+amusement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have invented something very wonderful, have you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have discovered something, and I am trying to invent a means of
+turning it to account. It will be only a cheap electro-motor if it comes to
+anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must explain that to me some day, Mr. Conolly. I&rsquo;m afraid I
+dont know what an electro-motor means.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I ought not to have mentioned it,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;It is so
+constantly in my mind that I am easily led to talk about it. I try to prevent
+myself, but the very effort makes me think of it more than ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I like to hear you talk about it,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I
+always try to make people talk shop to me, and of course they always repay me
+by trying to keep on indifferent topics, of which I know as much&mdash;or as
+little&mdash;as they.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; said Conolly, &ldquo;an electro-motor is only an
+engine for driving machinery, just like a steam engine, except that it is
+worked by electricity instead of steam. Electric engines are so imperfect now
+that steam ones come cheaper. The man who finds out how to make the electric
+engine do what the steam engine now does, and do it cheaper, will make his
+fortune if he has his wits about him. Thats what I am driving at.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss Lind, in spite of her sensible views as to talking shop, was not
+interested in the least. &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;How interesting
+that must be! But how did you find time to become so perfect a musician, and to
+sing so exquisitely?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I picked most of it up when I was a boy. My grandfather was an Irish
+sailor with such a tremendous voice that a Neapolitan music master brought him
+out in opera as a <i>buffo</i>. When he had roared his voice away, he went into
+the chorus. My father was reared in Italy, and looked more Italian than most
+genuine natives. He had no voice; so he became first accompanist, then chorus
+master, and finally trainer for the operatic stage. He speculated in an
+American tour; married out there; lost all his money; and came over to England,
+when I was only twelve, to resume his business at Covent Garden. I stayed in
+America, and was apprenticed to an electrical engineer. I worked at the bench
+there for six years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose your father taught you to sing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss Lind, he was a capital
+man to teach stage tricks and traditional renderings of old operas; but only
+the exceptionally powerful voices survived his method of teaching. He would
+have finished my career as a singer in two months if he had troubled himself to
+teach me. Never go to Italy to learn singing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe in your father or
+else be silent about him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why! Surely we should hide the failings of those we love? I can
+understand now how your musical and electrical tastes became mixed up; but you
+should not confuse your duties. But please excuse me:&rdquo; (Conolly&rsquo;s
+eyes had opened a little wider) &ldquo;I am lecturing you, without the least
+right to. It is a failing of mine which you must not mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But the world would never get
+on if every practical man were to stand by his father&rsquo;s mistakes.
+However, I brought it on myself by telling you a long story. This is the first
+opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, and I suppose I have
+abused it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian laughed. &ldquo;We had better stop apologizing to one another,&rdquo;
+she said. &ldquo;What about the accompaniments to our next songs?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile Marmaduke and Miss McQuinch were becoming curious about Marian and
+Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say, Nelly,&rdquo; he whispered, &ldquo;Marian and that young man seem
+to be getting on uncommonly well together. She looks sentimentally happy, and
+he seems pleased with himself. Dont you feel jealous?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jealous! Why should I be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Out of pure cussedness. Not that you care for the electric man, but
+because you hate any one to fall in love with any one else when you are
+by.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you would go away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why? Dont you like me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I <i>loathe</i> you. Now, perhaps you understand me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow,&rdquo; said
+Marmaduke, roused. &ldquo;I have a great mind to bring you to your senses as
+Douglas does, by not speaking to you for a week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you would let me come to my senses by not speaking to me at
+all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. We are no longer on
+speaking terms. Look as contemptuous as you please: you will be sorry when you
+think over this. Remember: you said you loathed me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I do,&rdquo; said Elinor, stubbornly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very good,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, turning his back on her. Just then the
+concertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared with
+refreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in
+dispensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda water a
+sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making small talk, went
+to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Nelly,&rdquo; said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss
+McQuinch, and speaking in a low voice, &ldquo;what do you think of
+Jasper&rsquo;s workman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not much,&rdquo; replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. &ldquo;He is
+very conceited, and very coarse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you really think so? I expected to find you delighted with his
+unconventionality. I thought him rather amusing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought him extremely aggravating. I hate to have to speak to people
+of that sort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you consider him vulgar,&rdquo; said Marian, disappointed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;N&mdash;no. Not vulgarer than anybody else. He couldnt be that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sherry and soda, Marian?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, approaching.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thank you, Marmaduke. Get Nelly something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As Miss McQuinch and I are no longer on speaking terms, I leave her to
+the care of yonder scientific amateur, who has just refused, on teetotal
+grounds, to pledge the Rev. George in a glass of eighteen shilling
+sherry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont be silly, Marmaduke. Bring Nelly some soda water.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do nothing of the sort,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke bowed and retired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is the matter between you and Duke now?&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing. I told him I loathed him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! I dont wonder at his being a little huffed. How <i>can</i> you say
+things you dont mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do mean them. What with his folly, Sholto&rsquo;s mean conceit,
+George&rsquo;s hypocrisy, that man&rsquo;s vulgarity, Mrs. Fairfax&rsquo;s
+affectation, your insufferable amiability, and the dreariness of those
+concertina people, I feel so wretched that I could find it in my heart to
+loathe anybody and everybody.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense, Nelly! You are only in the blues.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Only</i> in the blues!&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch sarcastically.
+&ldquo;Yes. That is all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Take some sherry. It will brighten you up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dutch courage! Thank you: I prefer my present moroseness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you are not morose, Nelly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, stuff, Marian! Dont throw away your amiability on me. Here comes
+your new friend with refreshments. I wonder was he ever a waiter? He looks
+exactly like one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After this the conversation flagged. Mrs. Fairfax grew loquacious under the
+influence of sherry, but presently a reaction set in, and she began to yawn.
+Miss McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than before, and the audience,
+longing for another negro melody, paid little attention to her. Marian sang a
+religious song, which was received with the respect usually accorded to a dull
+sermon. The clergyman read a comic essay of his own composition, and Mrs.
+Fairfax recited an ode to Mazzini. The concertinists played an arrangement of a
+quartet by Onslow. The working men and women of Wandsworth gaped, and those who
+sat near the door began to slip out. Even Miss McQuinch pitied them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The idea of expecting them to be grateful for an infliction like
+that!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;What do people of their class care about
+Onslow&rsquo;s quartets?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think that people of any class, high or low, would be gratified
+by such an entertainment?&rdquo; said Conolly, with some warmth. No one had
+sufficient spirit left to reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At last the concertinists went home, and the reading drew to a close. Conolly,
+again accompanied by Marian, sang &ldquo;Tom Bowling.&rdquo; The audience
+awoke, cheered the singer heartily, and made him sing again. On his return to
+the green-room, Miss McQuinch, much affected at the fate of Bowling, and
+indignant with herself for being so, stared defiantly at Conolly through a film
+of tears. When Marmaduke went out, the people also were so moved that they were
+ripe for laughter, and with roars of merriment forced him to sing three songs,
+in the choruses of which they joined. Eventually the clergyman had to bid them
+go home, as Mr. Lind had given them all the songs he knew.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you will not come with us, Duke,&rdquo; said Marian, when all
+was over, and they were preparing to leave. &ldquo;We can drop you at your
+chambers if you like; but you will have to sit on the box. Mrs. Leith Fairfax,
+George, Nelly, and I, will be a carriageful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke looked at his watch. &ldquo;By Jove!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;it is
+only ten. I forgot how early we began to-night. No thank you, Marian: I am not
+going your way; but you may take the banjo and keep it until I call. Ta
+ta!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They all went out together; and the ladies, followed by the clergyman, entered
+their carriage and drove away, leaving Marmaduke and Conolly standing on the
+pavement. Having shared the success of the concert, each felt well disposed to
+the other.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What direction are you going in?&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Westminster Bridge or thereabouts,&rdquo; replied Conolly. &ldquo;This
+place is rather out of the way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you anything particular to do before you turn in for the
+night?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll tell you what it is, old man. Lets take a hansom, and
+drive off to the Bijou. We shall just be in time to see Lalage Virtue in the
+burlesque; and&mdash;look here! I&rsquo;ll introduce you to her: youre just the sort
+of chap she would like to know. Eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly looked at him, nodded, and burst out laughing. Marmaduke, who had set
+him down as a cool, undemonstrative man, was surprised at his hilarity for a
+moment, but presently joined in it. Whilst they were both laughing a hansom
+appeared, and Conolly, recovering himself, hailed the driver.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We shall get on together, I see,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, jumping into the
+cab. &ldquo;Hallo! The Bijou Theatre, Soho, and drive as fast as you can afford
+to for half a sovereign.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Right you are, sir,&rdquo; replied the driver, whipping his horse.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The rattling of the cab silenced Conolly; but his companion persisted for some
+time in describing the burlesque to which they were going, and particularly the
+attractions of Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, who enacted a principal character
+therein, and with whom he seemed to be in love. When they alighted at the
+theatre Marmaduke payed the cabman, and Conolly took advantage of this to enter
+the theatre and purchase two stall tickets, an arrangement which Lind, suddenly
+recollecting his new friend&rsquo;s position, disapproved of, but found it
+useless to protest against. He forgot it on hearing the voice of Lalage Virtue,
+who was at that moment singing within; and he went to his stall with his eyes
+turned to the stage, treading on toes and stumbling as children commonly do
+when they walk in one direction and look in another. An attendant, who seemed
+to know him, proffered a glass for hire. He took it, and leveled it at
+Mademoiselle Lalage, who was singing some trivial couplets much better than
+they deserved. Catching sight of him presently, she greeted him with a flash of
+her dark eye that made him writhe as though his heart had received a fillip
+from a ponderable missile. She did not spare these roguish glances. They darted
+everywhere; and Conolly, looking about him to note their effect, saw rows of
+callow young faces with parted lips and an expression which seemed to have been
+caught and fixed at the climax of a blissful chuckle. There were few women in
+the stalls, and the silly young faces were relieved only by stupid old ones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The couplets ended amidst great applause. Marmaduke placed his glass on his
+knees, and, clapping his hands vigorously, turned to his companion with a
+triumphant smile, mutely inviting him to clamor for a repetition of the air.
+But Conolly sat motionless, with his arms folded, his cheek flushed, and his
+brow lowered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You dont seem used to this sort of thing,&rdquo; said Lind, somewhat
+disgusted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was well sung,&rdquo; replied Conolly &ldquo;&mdash;better than most of
+these blackguards know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then why dont you clap?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because she is not giving herself any trouble. That sort of thing, from
+a woman of her talent, is too cheap to say &lsquo;thank you&rsquo; for.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke looked at him, and began to think that he was a priggish fellow after
+all. But as the burlesque went on, Mademoiselle Lalage charmed away this
+disagreeable impression. She warbled in an amorous duet, and then sang the
+pleasures of champagne; tossing her head; waving a gilt goblet; and, without
+the least appearance of effort, working hard to captivate those who were to be
+won by bold smiles and arch glances. She displayed her person less freely than
+her colleagues, being, not more modest, but more skilful in the art of
+seduction. The slang that served for dialogue in her part was delivered in all
+sorts of intonations, now demure and mischievous, anon strident and mock
+tragic. Marmaduke was delighted.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What I like about her is that she is such a genuine little lady,&rdquo;
+he said, as her exit released his attention. &ldquo;With all her go, she is
+never a bit vulgar. Off the stage she is just the same. Not a spark of
+affectation about her. It is all natural.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know her, then?&rdquo; said Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should think I do,&rdquo; replied Marmaduke, energetically. &ldquo;You
+have no idea what a rattling sort she is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To you, who only see her occasionally, no doubt she gives&mdash;as a rattling
+sort&mdash;a heightened charm to the order, the refinement, the&mdash;the beauty of the
+home life which you can enjoy. Excuse my introducing such a subject, Mr. Lind;
+but would you bring your cousin&mdash;the lady who sang to-night at the concert&mdash;to
+see this performance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would if she asked me to,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, somewhat taken aback.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt. But should you be surprised if she asked you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not a bit. Fine ladies are neither such fools nor such angels as you&mdash;as
+some fellows think. Miss Lind&rsquo;s notion is to see everything. And yet she
+is a thoroughly nice woman too. It is the same with Lalage there. She is not
+squeamish, and she is full of fun; but she knows as well as anybody how to pull
+up a man who doesnt behave himself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you actually think that this Lalage Virtue is as respectable a woman
+as your cousin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I dont bother myself about it. I shouldnt have thought of comparing
+them if you hadnt started the idea. Marian&rsquo;s way is not the other
+one&rsquo;s way, and each of them is all right in her own way. Look here.
+I&rsquo;ll introduce you to Lalage. We can pick up somebody else to make a
+party for you, and finish with a supper at Jellicoe&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you privileged to introduce whom you like to Miss Lalage?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, as to that, she doesnt stand much on ceremony; but then, you see,
+that cuts two ways. The mere introducing is no difficulty; but it depends on
+the man himself whether he gets snubbed afterward or not. By the bye, you must
+understand, if you dont know it already, that Lalage is as correct in her
+morals as a bishop&rsquo;s wife. I just tell you, because some fellows seem to
+think that a woman who goes on the stage leaves her propriety behind as a
+matter of course. In fact, I rather thought so myself once. Not that you wont
+find loose women there as well as anywhere else, if you want to. But dont take
+it for granted, that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Conolly, &ldquo;you may introduce me, and we can
+consider the supper afterwards. Would it be indiscreet to ask how you obtained
+your own introduction? You dont, I suppose, move in the same circle as she; and
+if she is as particular as your own people, she can hardly form promiscuous
+acquaintanceships.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A man at the point of death does not stop to think about etiquet. She
+saved my life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Saved your life! That sounds romantic.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was precious little romance about it, though I owe my being alive
+now to her presence of mind. It happened in the rummest way. I was brought
+behind the scenes one night by a Cambridge chum. We were painting the town a
+bit red. We were not exactly drunk; but we were not particularly sober either;
+and I was very green at that time, and made a fool of myself about Lalage:
+staring; clapping like a madman in the middle of her songs; getting into the
+way of everybody and everything, and so on. Then a couple of fellows we knew
+turned up, and we got chatting at the wing with some girls. At last a fellow
+came in with a bag of cherries; and we began trying that old trick&mdash;you
+know&mdash;taking the end of a stalk between your lips and drawing the cherry into
+the mouth without touching it with your hand, you know. I tried it; and I was
+just getting the cherry into my mouth when some idiot gave me a drive in the
+waistcoat. I made a gulp; and the cherry stuck fast in my throat. I began to
+choke. Nobody knew what to do; and while they were pushing me about, some
+thinking I was only pretending, the girls beginning to get frightened, and the
+rest shouting at me to swallow the confounded thing, I was getting black in the
+face, and my head was bursting: I could see nothing but red spots. It was a
+near thing, I tell you. Suddenly I got a shake; and then a little fist gave me
+a stunning thump on the back, that made the cherry bounce out against my
+palate. I gasped and coughed like a grampus: the stalk was down my throat
+still. Then the little hand grabbed my throat and made me open my mouth wide;
+and the cherry was pulled out, stalk and all. It was Lalage who did this while
+the rest were gaping helplessly. I dont remember what followed. I thought I had
+fainted; but it appears that I nearly cried, and talked the most awful nonsense
+to her. I suppose the choking made me hysterical. However, I distinctly
+recollect the stage manager bullying the girls, and turning us all out. I was
+very angry with myself for being childish, as they told me I had been; and when
+I got back to Cambridge I actually took to reading. A few months afterward I
+made another trip to town, and went behind the scenes again. She recognized me,
+and chaffed me about the cherry. I jumped at my chance; I improved the
+acquaintance; and now I know her pretty well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You doubt whether any of the ladies that were with us at the concert
+would have been equally useful in such an emergency?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should think I do doubt it, my boy. Hush! Now that the ballet is over,
+we are annoying people by talking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are right,&rdquo; replied Conolly. &ldquo;Aha! Here is Miss Lalage
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke raised his opera-glass to his eyes, eager for another smile from the
+actress. He seemed about to be gratified; for her glance was travelling toward
+him along the row of stalls. But it was arrested by Conolly, on whom she looked
+with perceptible surprise and dismay. Lind, puzzled, turned toward his
+companion, and found him smiling maliciously at Mademoiselle Lalage, who
+recovered her vivacity with an effort, and continued her part with more
+nervousness than he had ever seen her display before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, and re-entered it by
+the stage door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Queer place, isnt it?&rdquo; said Lind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well accustomed to the dingy
+labyrinth of old-fashioned stages. Presently they came upon Lalage. She was
+much heated by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; she said quarrelsomely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not addressed to him, but to
+Conolly, looked from one to the other, mystified.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have come to see you act at last,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You might have told me you were coming. I could have got you a stall,
+although I suppose you would have preferred to throw away your money like a
+fool.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must admit, my dear,&rdquo; said Conolly, &ldquo;that I could have
+spent it to much greater advantage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! and you!&rdquo; she said, turning to Lind, whose deepening color
+betrayed his growing mortification: &ldquo;what is the matter with
+<i>you</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have played a trick on your friend,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;He
+suggested this visit; and I did not tell him of the relation between us.
+Finding us on terms of familiarity, if not of affection, he is naturally
+surprised.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As I have never tried to meddle with your private affairs,&rdquo; said
+Marmaduke to Lalage, &ldquo;I need not apologize for not knowing your husband.
+But I regret&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The actress laughed in spite of her vexation. &ldquo;Why, you silly old
+thing!&rdquo; she exclaimed, &ldquo;he is no more my husband than you
+are!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am her brother,&rdquo; said Conolly considerately, stifling a smile.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her voice,
+&ldquo;what else did you think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush,&rdquo; said Conolly, &ldquo;we are talking too much in this crowd.
+You had better change your dress, Susanna, and then we can settle what to do
+next.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can settle what you please,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;I am going
+home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together,&rdquo; said Conolly,
+observing her curiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Susanna looked quickly at them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is Mr. Lind?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your friend, of course,&rdquo; said Conolly, with an answering flash of
+intelligence that brought out the resemblance between them startlingly.
+&ldquo;Mr. Marmaduke Lind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke became very red as they both waited for him to explain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought that you would perhaps join us at supper,&rdquo; he said to
+Susanna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you?&rdquo; she said, threateningly. Then she turned her back on him
+and went to her dressing-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Mr. Lind,&rdquo; said Conolly, &ldquo;what do you think of
+Mademoiselle Lalage now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think her annoyance is very natural,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, gloomily.
+&ldquo;No doubt you are right to take care of your sister, but you are very
+much mistaken if you think I meant to act badly toward her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is no part of my duty to take care of her,&rdquo; said Conolly,
+seriously. &ldquo;She is her own guardian, and she has never been encouraged to
+suppose that her responsibility lies with any one but herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It doesnt matter now,&rdquo; said Marmaduke; &ldquo;for I intend never
+to speak to her again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly laughed. &ldquo;However that may turn out,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;we
+are evidently not in the mood for further conviviality, so let us postpone the
+supper to some other occasion. May I advise you not to wait until Susanna
+returns. There is no chance of a reconciliation to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont want any reconciliation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not; I had forgotten,&rdquo; replied Conolly, placably.
+&ldquo;Then I suppose you will go before she has finished dressing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall go now,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, buttoning his overcoat, and
+turning away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; muttered Marmaduke, petulantly, and disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly waited a moment, so that he might not overtake Lind. He then went for a
+cab, and waited at the stage door until his sister came down, frowning. She got
+into the hansom without a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why dont you have a brougham, instead of going about in cabs?&rdquo; he
+said, as they drove away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because I like a hansom better than a brougham; and I had rather pay
+four shillings a night and travel comfortably, than thirteen and be half
+suffocated.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought the appearance of&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no use in your talking to me. I cant hear a word you say going
+over these stones.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they were alone together in their drawing-room in Lambeth, he, after
+walking up and down the room a few times, and laughing softly to himself, began
+to sing the couplets from the burlesque.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you aware,&rdquo; she inquired, &ldquo;that it is half past twelve,
+and that the people of the house are trying to sleep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True,&rdquo; said he, desisting. &ldquo;By the bye, I, too, have had my
+triumphs this evening. I shared the honors of the concert with Master Lind, who
+was so delighted that he insisted on bringing me off to the Bijou. He loves you
+to distraction, poor devil!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes: you made a nice piece of mischief there. Where is he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gone away in a rage, swearing never to speak to you again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hm! And so his name is Lind, is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Didnt you know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, or I should have told you when I read the program this evening. The
+young villain pretended that his name was Marmaduke Sharp.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! The name reminds me of one of his cousins, a little spitfire that
+snaps at every one who presumes to talk to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;His cousins! Oh, of course; you met them at the concert. What are they
+like? Are they swells?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, they seem to be. There were only two cousins, Miss McQuinch and a
+young woman named Marian, blonde and rather good looking. There was a brother
+of hers there, but he is only a parson, and a tall fellow named Douglas, who
+made rather a fool of himself. I could not make him out exactly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did they snub you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know. Probably they tried. Are you intimate with many of our
+young nobility under assumed names?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Steal a few more marches to the Bijou, and perhaps you will find
+out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night! Pardon my abrupt departure, but you are not the very
+sweetest of Susannas to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, <i>good</i>-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By the bye,&rdquo; said Conolly, returning, &ldquo;this must be the Mr.
+Duke Lind who is going to marry Lady Constance Carbury, my noble pupil&rsquo;s
+sister.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sure it matters very little whom he marries.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he will pay us a visit here, and witness the working of perfect
+frankness without affection, and perfect liberty without refinement, he may
+find reason to conclude that it matters a good deal. Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<p>
+Marian Lind lived at Westbourne Terrace, Paddington, with her father, the
+fourth son of a younger brother of the Earl of Carbury. Mr. Reginald Harrington
+Lind, at the outset of his career, had no object in life except that of getting
+through it as easily as possible; and this he understood so little how to
+achieve that he suffered himself to be married at the age of nineteen to a
+Lancashire cotton spinner&rsquo;s heiress. She bore him three children, and
+then eloped with a professor of spiritualism, who deserted her on the eve of
+her fourth confinement, in the course of which she caught scarlet fever and
+died. Her child survived, but was sent to a baby farm and starved to death in
+the usual manner. Her husband, disgusted by her behavior (for she had been
+introduced by him to many noblemen and gentlemen, his personal friends, some
+one at least of whom, on the slightest encouragement, would, he felt sure, have
+taken the place of the foreign charlatan she had disgraced him by preferring),
+consoled himself for her bad taste by entering into her possessions, which
+comprised a quantity of new jewellery, new lace, and feminine apparel, and an
+income of nearly seven thousand pounds a year. After this, he became so welcome
+in society that he could have boasted with truth at the end of any July that
+there were few marriageable gentlewomen of twenty-six and upward in London who
+had not been submitted to his inspection with a view to matrimony. But finding
+it easy to delegate the care of his children to school principals and
+hospitable friends, he concluded that he had nothing to gain and much comfort
+to lose by adding a stepmother to his establishment; and, after some time, it
+became the custom to say of Mr. Lind that the memory of his first wife kept him
+single. Thus, whilst his sons were drifting to manhood through Harrow and
+Cambridge, and his daughter passing from one relative&rsquo;s house to
+another&rsquo;s on a continual round of visits, sharing such private tuition as
+the cousins with whom she happened to be staying happened to be receiving just
+then, he lived at his club and pursued the usual routine of a
+gentleman-bachelor in London.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the course of time, Reginald Lind, the eldest child, entered the army, and
+went to India with his regiment. His brother George, less stolid, weaker, and
+more studious, preferred the Church. Marian, the youngest, from being
+constantly in the position of a guest, had early acquired habits of
+self-control and consideration for others, and escaped the effects, good and
+evil, of the subjection in which children are held by the direct authority of
+their parents.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Of the numerous domestic circles of her father&rsquo;s kin, that with which she
+was the least familiar, because it was the poorest, had sprung from the
+marriage of one of her father&rsquo;s sisters with a Wiltshire gentleman named
+Hardy McQuinch, who had a small patrimony, a habit of farming, and a love of
+hunting. In the estimation of the peasantry, who would not associate lands,
+horses, and a carriage, with want of money, he was a rich man; but Mrs.
+McQuinch found it hard to live like a lady on their income, and had worn many
+lines into her face by constantly and vainly wishing that she could afford to
+give a ball every season, to get a new carriage, and to appear at church with
+her daughters in new dresses oftener than twice a year. Her two eldest girls
+were plump and pleasant, good riders and hearty eaters; and she had reasonable
+hopes of marrying them to prosperous country gentlemen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor, her third and only other child, was one of her troubles. At an early
+age it was her practice, once a week or thereabouts, to disappear in the
+forenoon; be searched anxiously for all day; and return with a torn frock and
+dirty face at about six o&rsquo;clock in the afternoon. She was stubborn,
+rebellious, and passionate under reproof or chastisement: governesses had left
+the house because of her; and from one school she had run away, from another
+eloped with a choir boy who wrote verses. Him she deserted in a fit of
+jealousy, quarter of an hour after her escape from school. The only one of her
+tastes that conduced to the peace of the house was for reading; and even this
+made her mother uneasy; for the books she liked best were fit, in Mrs.
+McQuinch&rsquo;s opinion, for the bookcase only. Elinor read openly what she
+could obtain by asking, such as Lamb&rsquo;s Tales from Shakespear, and The
+Pilgrim&rsquo;s Progress. The Arabian Nights Entertainments were sternly
+refused her; so she read them by stealth; and from that day there was always a
+collection of books, borrowed from friends, or filched from the upper shelf in
+the library, beneath her mattress. Nobody thought of looking there for them;
+and even if they had, they might have paused to reflect on the consequences of
+betraying her. Her eldest sister having given her a small workbox on her
+eleventh birthday, had the present thrown at her head two days later for
+reporting to her parents that Nelly&rsquo;s fondness for sitting in a certain
+secluded summer-house was due to her desire to read Lord Byron&rsquo;s poetry
+unobserved. Miss Lydia&rsquo;s forehead was severely cut; and Elinor, though
+bitterly remorseful, not only refused to beg pardon for her fault, but
+shattered every brittle article in the room to which she was confined for her
+contumacy. The vicar, on being consulted, recommended that she should be well
+whipped. This counsel was repugnant to Hardy McQuinch, but he gave his wife
+leave to use her discretion in the matter. The mother thought that the child
+ought to be beaten into submission; but she was afraid to undertake the task,
+and only uttered a threat, which was received with stubborn defiance. This was
+forgotten next day when Elinor, exhausted by a week of remorse, terror, rage,
+and suspense, became dangerously ill. When she recovered, her parents were more
+indulgent to her, and were gratified by finding her former passionate
+resistance replaced by sulky obedience. Five years elapsed, and Elinor began to
+write fiction. The beginning of a novel, and many incoherent verses imitated
+from Lara, were discovered by her mother, and burnt by her father. This outrage
+she never forgave. She was unable to make her resentment felt, for she no
+longer cared to break glass and china. She feared even to remonstrate lest she
+should humiliate herself by bursting into tears, as, since her illness, she had
+been prone to do in the least agitation. So she kept silence, and ceased to
+speak to either of her parents except when they addressed questions to her. Her
+father would neither complain of this nor confess the regret he felt for his
+hasty destruction of her manuscripts; but, whilst he proclaimed that he would
+burn every scrap of her nonsense that might come into his hands, he took care
+to be blind when he surprised her with suspicious bundles of foolscap, and
+snubbed his wife for hinting that Elinor was secretly disobeying him. Meanwhile
+her silent resentment never softened, and the life of the family was embittered
+by their consciousness of it. It never occurred to Mrs. McQuinch, an excellent
+mother to her two eldest daughters, that she was no more fit to have charge of
+the youngest than a turtle is to rear a young eagle. The discomfort of their
+relations never shook her faith in their &ldquo;naturalness.&rdquo; Like her
+husband and the vicar, she believed that when God sent children he made their
+parents fit to rule them. And Elinor resented her parents&rsquo; tyranny, as
+she felt it to be, without dreaming of making any allowances for their being in
+a false position towards her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One morning a letter from London announced that Mr. Lind had taken a house in
+Westbourne Terrace, and intended to live there permanently with his daughter.
+Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post came.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had communicated the news:
+&ldquo;I knew there was something the matter when I saw Reginald&rsquo;s
+handwriting. It must be fully eighteen months since I heard from him last. I am
+very glad he has settled Marian in a proper home, instead of living like a
+bachelor and leaving her to wander about from one house to another. I wish we
+could have afforded to ask her down here oftener.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here is a note from Marian, addressed to Nelly,&rdquo; said Lydia, who
+had been examining the envelope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Nelly!&rdquo; said Mrs. McQuinch, vexed. &ldquo;I think she should
+have invited one of you first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps it is not an invitation,&rdquo; said Jane.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What else is it likely to be, child?&rdquo; said Mrs. McQuinch. Then, as
+she thought how much pleasanter her home would be without Elinor, she added,
+&ldquo;After all, it will do Nelly good to get away from here. She needs
+change, I think. I wish she would come down. It is too bad of her to be always
+late like this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor came in presently, wearing a neglected black gown; her face pale; her
+eyes surrounded by dark circles; her black hair straggling in wisps over her
+forehead. Her sisters, dressed twinlike in white muslin and gold lockets,
+emphasized her by contrast. Being blond and gregarious, they enjoyed the
+reputation of being pretty and affectionate. They had thriven in the soil that
+had starved Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a letter for you from Marian,&rdquo; said Mrs. McQuinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Elinor, indifferently, putting the note into her
+pocket. She liked Marian&rsquo;s letters, and kept them to read in her hours of
+solitude.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does she say?&rdquo; said Mrs. McQuinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have not looked,&rdquo; replied Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mrs. McQuinch, plaintively, &ldquo;I wish you
+<i>would</i> look. I want to know whether she says anything about this letter
+from your uncle Reginald.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor plucked the note from her pocket, tore it open, and read it. Suddenly
+she set her face to hide some emotion from her family.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian wants me to go and stay with her,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;They
+have taken a house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Poor Marian!&rdquo; said Jane. &ldquo;And will you go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;Have you any objection?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh dear, no,&rdquo; said Jane, smoothly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you will be glad to get away from your home,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+McQuinch, incontinently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very glad,&rdquo; said Elinor. Mr. McQuinch, hurt, looked at her over
+his newspaper. Mrs. McQuinch was huffed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know what you are to do for clothes,&rdquo; she said,
+&ldquo;unless Lydia and Jane are content to wear their last winter&rsquo;s
+dresses again this year.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The faces of the young ladies elongated. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s nonsense,
+mamma,&rdquo; said Lydia. &ldquo;We cant wear those brown reps again.&rdquo;
+Women wore reps in those days.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You need not be alarmed,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;I dont want any
+clothes. I can go as I am.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You dont know what you are talking about, child,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+McQuinch.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A nice figure you would make in uncle Reginald&rsquo;s drawing-room with
+that dress on!&rdquo; said Lydia.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And your hair in that state!&rdquo; added Jane.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You should remember that there are others to be considered besides
+yourself,&rdquo; said Lydia. &ldquo;How would <i>you</i> like <i>your</i>
+guests to look like scarecrows?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How could you expect Marian to go about with you, or into the Park? I
+suppose&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, here!&rdquo; said Mr. McQuinch, putting down his paper. &ldquo;Let
+us have no more of this. What else do you need in the Park than a riding habit?
+You have that already. Whatever clothes you want you had better get in London,
+where you will get the proper things for your money.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, Hardy, she is not going to pay a London milliner four prices for
+things she can get quite as good down here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell you I dont want anything,&rdquo; said Elinor impatiently.
+&ldquo;It will be time enough to begrudge me some decent clothes when I ask for
+them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont begrudge&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. McQuinch&rsquo;s husband interrupted her. &ldquo;Thats enough, now,
+everybody. It&rsquo;s settled that she is to go, as she wants to. I will get
+her what is necessary. Give me another egg, and talk about something
+else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Accordingly, Elinor went to live at Westbourne Terrace. Marian had spent a
+month of her childhood in Wiltshire, and had made of Elinor an exacting friend,
+always ready to take offence, and to remain jealous and sulky for days if one
+of her sisters, or any other little girl, engaged her cousin&rsquo;s attention
+long. On the other hand, Elinor&rsquo;s attachment was idolatrous in its
+intensity; and as Marian was sweet-tempered, and more apt to fear that she had
+disregarded Elinor&rsquo;s feelings than to take offence at her waywardness,
+their friendship endured after they were parted. Their promises of
+correspondence were redeemed by Elinor with very long letters at uncertain
+intervals, and by Marian with shorter epistles notifying all her important
+movements. Marian, often called upon to defend her cousin from the charge of
+being a little shrew, was led to dwell upon her better qualities. Elinor found
+in Marian what she had never found at her own home, a friend, and in her
+uncle&rsquo;s house a refuge from that of her father, which she hated. She had
+been Marian&rsquo;s companion for four years when the concert took place at
+Wandsworth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Next day they were together in the drawing-room at Westbourne Terrace: Marian
+writing, Elinor at the pianoforte, working at some technical studies, to which
+she had been incited by the shortcoming of her performance on the previous
+night. She stopped on hearing a bell ring.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What o&rsquo;clock is it?&rdquo; she said, after listening a moment.
+&ldquo;Surely it is too early for a visit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is only half past two,&rdquo; replied Marian. &ldquo;I hope it is not
+anybody. I have not half finished my correspondence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you please, Miss,&rdquo; said a maid, entering, &ldquo;Mr. Douglas
+wants to see you, and he wont come up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose he expects you to go down and talk to him in the hall,&rdquo;
+said Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is in the dining-room, and wishes to see you most particular,&rdquo;
+said the maid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell him I will come down,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He heard me practising,&rdquo; said Elinor, &ldquo;that is why he would
+not come up. I am in disgrace, I suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense, Nelly! But indeed I have no doubt he has come to complain of
+our conduct, since he insists on seeing me alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss McQuinch looked sceptically at Marian&rsquo;s guileless eyes, but resumed
+her technical studies without saying anything. Marian went to the dining-room,
+where she found Douglas standing near the window, tall and handsome, frock
+coated and groomed to a spotless glossiness that established a sort of
+relationship between him and the sideboard, the condition of which did credit
+to Marian&rsquo;s influence over her housemaids. He looked intently at her as
+she bade him good morning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I am rather early,&rdquo; he said, half stiffly, half
+apologetically.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have come to say something which I do not care to keep unsaid longer
+than I can help; so I thought it better to come when I could hope to find you
+alone. I hope I have not disturbed you. I have something rather important to
+say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are the same as one of ourselves, of course, Sholto. But I believe
+you delight in stiffness and ceremony. Will you not come upstairs?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish to speak to you privately. First, I have to apologize to you for
+what passed last night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray dont, Sholto: it doesnt matter. I am afraid we were rude to
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me. It is I who am in fault. I never before made an apology to
+any human being; and I should not do so now without a painful conviction that I
+forgot what I owed to myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself&mdash;I mean for never having
+apologized before. I am quite sure you have not got through life without having
+done at least one or two things that required an apology.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry you hold that opinion of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How is Brutus&rsquo;s paw?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Brutus!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That abrupt way of changing the subject is what Mrs. Fairfax calls
+a display of tact. I know it is very annoying; so you may talk about anything
+you please. But I really want to hear how the poor dog is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;His paw is nearly healed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m so glad&mdash;poor old dear!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are aware that I did not come here to speak of my mother&rsquo;s
+dog, Marian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I supposed not,&rdquo; said Marian, with a smile. &ldquo;But now that
+you have made your apology, wont you come upstairs? Nelly is there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have something else to say&mdash;to you alone, Marian. I entreat you to
+listen to it seriously.&rdquo; Marian looked as grave as she could. &ldquo;I
+confess that in some respects I do not understand you; and before you enter
+upon another London season, through which I cannot be at your side, I would
+obtain from you some assurance of the nature of your regard for me. I do not
+wish to harass you with jealous importunity. You have given me the most
+unequivocal tokens of a feeling different from that which inspires the ordinary
+intercourse of a lady and gentleman in society; but of late it has seemed to me
+that you maintain as little reserve toward other men as toward me. I am not
+thinking of Marmaduke: he is your cousin. But I observed that even the working
+man who sang at the concert last night was received&mdash;I do not say
+intentionally&mdash;with a cordiality which might have tempted a more humbly disposed
+person than he seemed to be to forget&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Here Douglas, seeing
+Marian&rsquo;s bearing change suddenly, hesitated. Her beautiful gray eyes,
+always pleading for peace like those of a good angel, were now full of
+reproach; and her mouth, but for those eyes, would have suggested that she was
+at heart an obstinate woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I dont know what to say to you. If this
+is jealousy, it may be very flattering; but it is ridiculous. If it is a
+lecture, seriously intended, it is&mdash;it is really most insulting. What do you
+mean by my having given you unequivocal signs of regard? Of course I think of
+you very differently from the chance acquaintances I make in society. It would
+be strange if I did not, having known you so long and been your mother&rsquo;s
+guest so often. But you talk almost as if I had been making love to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Douglas, forgetting his ceremonious manner and speaking
+angrily and naturally; &ldquo;but you talk as though I had not been making love
+to <i>you</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you have, I never knew it. I never dreamt it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then, since you are not the stupidest lady of my acquaintance, you must
+be the most innocent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell me of one single occasion on which anything has passed between us
+that justifies your speaking to me as you are doing now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Innumerable occasions. But since I cannot compel you to acknowledge
+them, it would be useless to cite them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All I can say is that we have utterly misunderstood one another,&rdquo;
+she said, after a pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He said nothing, but took up his hat, and looked down at it with angry
+determination. Marian, too uneasy to endure silence, added:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I shall know better in future.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True,&rdquo; said Douglas, hastily putting down his hat and advancing a
+step. &ldquo;You cannot plead misunderstanding now. Can you give me the
+assurance I seek?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What assurance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas shook his shoulders impatiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You expect me to know everything by intuition,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, my declaration shall be definite enough, even for you. Do you love
+me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I dont think I do. In fact, I am quite sure I do not&mdash;in the way you
+mean. I wish you would not talk like this, Sholto. We have all got on so
+pleasantly together: you, and I, and Nelly, and Marmaduke, and my father. And
+now you begin making love, and stuff of that kind. Pray let us agree to forget
+all about it, and remain friends as before.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You need not be anxious about our future relations: I shall not
+embarrass you with my society again. I hoped to find you a woman capable of
+appreciating a man&rsquo;s passion, even if you should be unable to respond to
+it. But I perceive that you are only a girl, not yet aware of the deeper life
+that underlies the ice of conventionality.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a very good metaphor for your own case,&rdquo; said Marian,
+interrupting him. &ldquo;Your ordinary manner is all ice, hard and chilling.
+One may suspect that there are depths beneath, but that is only an additional
+inducement to keep on the surface.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then even your amiability is a delusion! Or is it that you are amiable
+to the rest of the world, and reserve taunts of coldness and treachery for
+me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; she said, angelic again. &ldquo;You have taken me up
+wrongly. I did not mean to taunt you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You conceal your meaning as skilfully as&mdash;according to you&mdash;I have
+concealed mine. Good-morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you going already?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you care one bit for me, Marian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do indeed. Believe me, you are one of my special friends.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not want to be <i>one</i> of your friends. Will you be my
+wife?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you be my wife?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me. That is quite sufficient. Good-morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The moment he interrupted her, a change in her face shewed she had a temper.
+She did not move a muscle until she heard the house door close behind him. Then
+she ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where Miss McQuinch was still practising.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Nelly,&rdquo; she cried, throwing herself into an easy chair, and
+covering her face with her hands. &ldquo;Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!&rdquo; She opened
+her fingers and looked whimsically at her cousin, who, despising this stage
+business, said, impatiently:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know what Sholto came for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To propose to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop, Nelly. You do not know what horrible things one may say in jest.
+He <i>has</i> proposed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When will the wedding be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont joke about it, please. I scarcely know how I have behaved, or what
+the meaning of the whole scene is, yet. Listen. Did you ever suspect that he
+was&mdash;what shall I say?&mdash;<i>courting</i> me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw that he was trying to be tender in his own conceited way. I fully
+expected he would propose some day, if he could once reconcile himself to a
+wife who was not afraid of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you never told me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought you saw it for yourself; particularly as you encouraged
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There! The very thing he has been accusing me of! He said I had given
+him unequivocal tokens&mdash;yes, unequivocal tokens&mdash;that I was madly in love with
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did you say?&mdash;if I may ask.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tried to explain things to him; but he persisted in asking me would I
+be his wife; and when I refused he would not listen to anything else, and went
+off in a rage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I can imagine Sholto&rsquo;s feelings on discovering that he had
+humbled himself in vain. Why did you refuse him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why! Fancy being Sholto&rsquo;s wife! I would as soon think of marrying
+Marmaduke. But I cannot forget what he said about my flirting with him. Nelly:
+will you promise to tell me whenever you think I am behaving in a way that
+might lead anybody on to&mdash;like Sholto, you know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense! If men choose to make fools of themselves, you cannot prevent
+them. Hush! I hear someone coming upstairs. It is Marmaduke, I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marmaduke would never come up so slowly. He generally comes up three
+steps at a time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sulky after last night, no doubt. I suppose he wont speak to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke entered listlessly. &ldquo;Good morning, Marian,&rdquo; he said,
+sitting down on an uncomfortable chair. &ldquo;Good morrow, Nell.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor, surprised at the courtesy, looked up and saluted him snappishly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there anything the matter, Duke?&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Are you
+ill?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I&rsquo;m all right. Rather busy: thats all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Busy!&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;There must be something even more
+unusual than that, when you are too low spirited to keep up a quarrel with me.
+Why dont you sit on the easy chair, or sprawl on the ottoman, after your
+manner?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything for a quiet life,&rdquo; he replied, moving to the ottoman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must be hungry,&rdquo; said Marian, puzzled by his obedience.
+&ldquo;Let me get you something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thank you,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;I couldnt eat. Just had
+lunch. Ive come to pack up a few things of mine that you have here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have your banjo.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I dont want that. You may keep it, or put it in the fire, for all I
+care. I want some clothes I left behind me when we had the theatricals.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you leaving London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I am getting tired of loafing about here. I think I ought to go
+home for a while. My mother wants me to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss McQuinch, by a subdued but expressive snort, conveyed the most entire
+scepticism as to his solicitude about his mother. She then turned to the piano
+calmly, observing, &ldquo;You have probably eaten something that disagrees with
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a shame!&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Come, Duke: I have plenty of
+good news for you. Nelly and I are invited to Carbury Park for the autumn; and
+there will be no visitors but us three. We shall have the whole place to
+ourselves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Time enough to think of the autumn yet awhile,&rdquo; said Marmaduke,
+gloomily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch, &ldquo;here is some better news for
+you. Constance&mdash;<i>Lady</i> Constance&mdash;will be in town next week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke muttered something.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I beg your pardon?&rdquo; said Elinor, quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didnt say anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I may be wrong; but I thought I heard you say &lsquo;Hang Lady
+Constance!&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Marmaduke!&rdquo; cried Marian, affectedly. &ldquo;How dare you
+speak so of your betrothed, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who says she is my betrothed?&rdquo; he said, turning on her angrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, everybody. Even Constance admits it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She ought to have the manners to wait until I ask her,&rdquo; he said,
+subsiding. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m not betrothed to her; and I dont intend to become
+so in a hurry, if I can help it. But you neednt tell your father I said so. It
+might get round to my governor; and then there would be a row.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You <i>must</i> marry her some day, you know,&rdquo; said Elinor,
+maliciously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Must</i> I? I shant marry at all. I&rsquo;ve had enough of
+women.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed? Perhaps they have had enough of you.&rdquo; Marmaduke reddened.
+&ldquo;You seem to have exhausted the joys of this world since the concert last
+night. Are you jealous of Mr. Conolly&rsquo;s success?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your by-play when you found how early it was at the end of the concert
+was not lost on us,&rdquo; said Marian demurely. &ldquo;You were going
+somewhere, were you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since you are so jolly curious,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, unreasonably
+annoyed, &ldquo;I went to the theatre with Connolly; and my by-play, as you
+call it, simply meant my delight at finding that we could get rid of you in
+time to enjoy the evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With Conolly!&rdquo; said Marian, interested. What kind of man is
+he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is nothing particular. You saw him yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But is he well educated, and&mdash;and so forth?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont know, I&rsquo;m sure. We didnt talk about mathematics and
+classics.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well; but&mdash;do you like him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell you I dont care a damn about him one way or the other,&rdquo;
+said Marmaduke, rising and walking away to the window. His cousins, astonished,
+exchanged looks.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, Marmaduke,&rdquo; said Marian softly, after a pause: &ldquo;I
+wont tease you any more. Dont be angry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You havnt teased me,&rdquo; said he, coming back somewhat shamefacedly
+from the window. &ldquo;I feel savage to-day, though there is no reason why I
+should not be as jolly as a shrimp. Perhaps Nelly will play some Chopin, just
+to soothe me. I should like to hear that polonaise again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should enjoy nothing better than taking you at your word,&rdquo; said
+Elinor. &ldquo;But I heard Mr. Lind come in, a moment ago; and he is not so
+fond of Chopin as you and I.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind entered whilst she was speaking. He was a dignified gentleman, with
+delicately chiselled features and portly figure. His silky light brown hair
+curled naturally about his brow and set it off imposingly. His hands were white
+and small, with tapering fingers, and small thumbs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you do, sir?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, blushing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you: I am better than I have been.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke murmured congratulations, and looked at his watch as if pressed for
+time. &ldquo;I must be off now,&rdquo; he said, rising. &ldquo;I was just going
+when you came in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So soon! Well, I must not detain you, Marmaduke. I heard from your
+father this morning. He is very anxious to see you settled in life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose I shall shake down some day, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have very good opportunities&mdash;very exceptional opportunities. Has
+Marian told you that Constance is expected to arrive in town next week?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes: we told him,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He thought it too good to be true, and would hardly believe us,&rdquo;
+added Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind smiled at his nephew, happily forgetful, worldly wise as he was, of
+the inevitable conspiracy of youth against age. They smiled too, except
+Marmaduke, who, being under observation, kept his countenance like the Man in
+the Iron Mask. &ldquo;It is quite true, my boy,&rdquo; said the uncle, kindly.
+&ldquo;But before she arrives, I should like to have a talk with you. When can
+you come to breakfast with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any day you choose to name, sir. I shall be very glad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us say to-morrow morning. Will that be too soon?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all. It will suit me quite well. Good evening, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When Marmaduke was in the street, he stood for a while considering which way to
+go. Before the arrival of his uncle, he had intended to spend the afternoon
+with his cousins. He was now at a loss for a means of killing time. On one
+point he was determined. There was a rehearsal that day at the Bijou Theatre;
+and thither, at least, he would not go. He drove to Charing Cross, and drifted
+back to Leicester Square. He turned away from the theatre, and wandered down
+Piccadilly. Then he thought he would return as far as the Criterion, and drink.
+Finally he arrived at the stage door of the Bijou Theatre, and inquired whether
+the rehearsal was over.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Theyve bin at it since eleven this mornin, and will be pretty nigh til
+the stage is wanted for to-night,&rdquo; said the janitor. &ldquo;I&rsquo;d as
+lief youd wait here as go up, if you dont mind, sir. The guvnor is above; and
+he aint in the best o&rsquo; tempers. I&rsquo;ll send word up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke looked round irresolutely. A great noise of tramping and singing
+began.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats the new procession,&rdquo; continued the doorkeeper.
+&ldquo;Sixteen hextras took on for it. It&rsquo;s Miss Virtue&rsquo;s chance
+for lunch, sir: you wont have long to wait now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the staircase. Marmaduke started,
+and stood biting his lips as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy, hungry, and in haste,
+hurried towards the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come! Come on,&rdquo; she said impatiently to him, as she went out.
+&ldquo;Go and get a cab, will you. I must have something to eat; and I have to
+get back sharp. Do be qu&mdash;&mdash;there goes a hansom. Hi!&rdquo; She whistled shrilly,
+and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was directed by Marmaduke to a
+restaurant in Regent Street.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am absolutely starving,&rdquo; she said as they drove off. &ldquo;I
+have been in since eleven this morning; and of course they only called the band
+for half-past. They are such damned fools: they drive me mad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make them arrange it properly
+for next day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, and lose my rehearsal.
+It is bad enough to lose my temper. I swore, I can tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no doubt you did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This horse thinks he&rsquo;s at a funeral. What o&rsquo;clock is
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s only eight minutes past four. There is plenty of time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restaurant; scrutinized the tables;
+and selected the best lighted one. The waiter, a decorous elderly man,
+approached with some severity of manner, and handed a bill of fare to
+Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and addressed the waiter sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bring me some thin soup; and get me a steak to follow. Let it be a thick
+juicy one. If its purple and raw I wont have it; and if its done to a cinder, I
+wont have it: it must be red. And get me some spring cabbage and potatoes, and
+a pint of dry champagne&mdash;the decentest you have. And be quick.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what for you, sir?&rdquo; said the waiter, turning to Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind him,&rdquo; interrupted Susanna. &ldquo;Go and attend to
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The waiter bowed and retired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Old stick-in-the-mud!&rdquo; muttered Miss Lalage. &ldquo;Is it
+half-past four yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. It&rsquo;s only quarter past. There&rsquo;s lots of time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal of bread, the steak, the
+vegetables, and the pint of champagne&mdash;less a glassful taken by her
+companion&mdash;had disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, and consumed two
+ices.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have an ice to finish up with?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I cant work on sweets,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;But I am beginning
+to feel alive again and comfortable. Whats the time?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Confound the time!&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s twenty
+minutes to five.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;ll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start for quarter
+of an hour yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank heaven!&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;I was afraid I should not be
+able to get a word with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, Mr. Marmaduke Lind.
+What did you mean by telling me your name was Sharp?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the name of a cousin of mine,&rdquo; said Marmaduke,
+attempting to dismiss the subject with a laugh.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It may be your cousin&rsquo;s name; but it&rsquo;s not yours. By the
+bye, is that the cousin youre engaged to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What cousin? I&rsquo;m not engaged to anybody.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, come, Master
+Marmaduke: you cant humbug me. Youre too young. Hallo! What do <i>you</i>
+want?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing a bill on the table.
+Marmaduke put his hand into his pocket.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just wait a minute, please,&rdquo; said Susanna. The waiter retired.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now then,&rdquo; she resumed, placing her elbows on the table,
+&ldquo;let us have no more nonsense. What is your little game? Are you going to
+pay that bill or am I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no of course in it&mdash;not yet, anyhow. What are you hanging about
+the theatre after me for? Tell me that. Dont stop to think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally he brightened, and said,
+&ldquo;Look here. Youre angry with me for bringing your brother last night. But
+upon my soul I had no idea&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s not what I mean at all. You are dodging a plain question.
+When you came to the theatre, I thought you were a nice fellow; and I made
+friends with you. Now I find you have been telling me lies about yourself, and
+trying to play fast and loose. You must either give that up or give me up. I
+wont have you pass that stage door again if you only want to amuse yourself
+like other lounging cads about town.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean by playing fast and loose, and being a cad about
+town?&rdquo; said Marmaduke angrily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope youre not going to make a row here in public.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; but I have you where <i>you</i> cant make a row; and I intend to
+have it out with you once and for all. If you quarrel now, so help me Heaven
+I&rsquo;ll never speak to you again!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is you who are quarrelling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Susanna, opening her purse as though the matter
+were decided. &ldquo;Waiter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am going to pay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you can&mdash;for what you had yourself. I dont take dinners from strange
+men, nor pay for their ices.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse determinedly; glanced angrily at
+her; and muttered, &ldquo;I never thought you were that sort of woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What sort of woman?&rdquo; demanded Susanna, in a tone that made the
+other occupants of the room turn and stare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. She was about to retort, when she saw
+him looking into his purse with an expression of dismay. The waiter came.
+Susanna, instead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the money,
+changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke searched his pockets. Finding nothing,
+he muttered an imprecation, and, fingering his watch chain, glanced doubtfully
+at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the tablecloth.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There,&rdquo; said Susanna, putting down a sovereign.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter changed the coin and thanked
+Susanna for her gratuity. Then he said, &ldquo;You must let me settle with you
+for this to-night. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket of another
+waistcoat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will not have the chance of settling with me, either to-night or any
+other night. I am done with you.&rdquo; And she rose and left the restaurant.
+Marmaduke sat doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he went out, and ran along
+Regent Street, anxiously looking from face to face in search of her. At last he
+saw her walking at a great pace a little distance ahead of him. He made a dash
+and overtook her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Lalage,&rdquo; he said, keeping up with her as she walked:
+&ldquo;this is all rot. I didnt mean to offend you. I dont know what you mean,
+or what you want me to do. Dont be so unreasonable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can stand a good deal from you; but it&rsquo;s too much to be kept at
+your heels as if I were a beggar or a troublesome dog. <i>Lalage</i>.&rdquo;
+She took no notice of him; and he stopped, trying to compose his features,
+which were distorted by rage. She walked on, turning into Glasshouse Street.
+When she had gone twenty yards, she heard him striding behind her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you wont stop and talk to me,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll make
+you. If anybody interferes with me I&rsquo;ll smash him into jelly. It would
+serve you right if I did the same to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He put his hand on her arm; and she instantly turned and struck him across the
+face, knocking off his hat. He, who a moment before had been excited, red, and
+almost in tears, was appalled. There was a crowd in a moment; and a cabman drew
+up close to the kerb with a calm conviction that his hansom would be wanted
+presently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How dare you put your hand on me, you coward?&rdquo; she exclaimed, with
+remarkable crispness of utterance and energy of style. &ldquo;Who are you? I
+dont know you. Where are the police?&rdquo; She paused for a reply; and a
+bracelet, broken by the blow she had given him, dropped on the pavement, and
+was officiously picked up and handed to her by a battered old woman who shewed
+in every wrinkle her burning sympathy with Woman turning at bay against Man.
+Susanna looked at the broken bracelet, and tears of vexation sprang to her
+eyes. &ldquo;Look at what youve done!&rdquo; she cried, holding out the
+bracelet in her left hand and shewing a scrape which had drawn blood on her
+right wrist. &ldquo;For two pins I&rsquo;d knock your head off!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke, quite out of countenance, and yet sullenly very angry, vacillated
+for a moment between his conflicting impulses to knock her down and to fly to
+the utmost ends of the earth. If he had been ten years older he would probably
+have knocked her down: as it was, he signed to the cabman, who gathered up the
+reins and held them clear of his fare&rsquo;s damaged hat with the
+gratification of a man whose judgment in a delicate matter had just been
+signally confirmed by events.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they started, Susanna made a dash at the cab, which was pulled up, amid a
+shout from the crowd, just in time to prevent an accident. Then, holding on to
+the rail and standing on the step, she addressed herself to the cabman, and,
+sacrificing all propriety of language to intensity of vituperation, demanded
+whether he wanted to run his cab over her body and kill her. He, with
+undisturbed foresight, answered not a word, but again shifted the reins so as
+to make way for her bonnet. Acknowledging the attention with one more epithet,
+she seated herself in the cab, from which Marmaduke at once indignantly rose to
+escape. But the hardiest Grasmere wrestler, stooping under the hood of a
+hansom, could not resist a vigorous pull at his coat tails; and Marmaduke was
+presently back in his seat again, with Susanna clinging to him and half
+sobbing:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Bob, youve killed me. How could you?&rdquo; Then, with a
+suspiciously sudden recovery of energy, she screamed &ldquo;Bijou Theatre.
+Drive on, will you&rdquo; up at the cabman, who was looking down through the
+trapdoor. The horse plunged forward, and, with the jolt, she was fawning on
+Marmaduke&rsquo;s arm again, saying, &ldquo;Dont be brutal to me any more, Bob.
+I cant bear it. I have enough trouble without your turning on me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was young and green, and too much confused by this time to feel sure that he
+had not been the aggressor. But he did, on the whole, the wisest thing&mdash;folded
+his arms and sat silent, with his cheeks burning.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say something to me,&rdquo; she said, shaking his arm. &ldquo;I have
+nothing to say,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I shall leave town for home to-night.
+I cant shew my face again after this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Home,&rdquo; she said, in her former contemptuous tone, flinging his arm
+away. &ldquo;That means your cousin Constance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who told you about her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind. You are engaged to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You lie!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Susanna was shaken. She looked hard at him, wondering whether he was deceiving
+her or not. &ldquo;Look me in the face, Bob,&rdquo; she said. If he had
+complied, she would not have believed him. But he treated the challenge with
+supreme disdain and stared straight ahead, obeying his male instinct, which
+taught him that the woman, with all the advantages on her side, would
+nevertheless let him win if he held on. At last she came caressingly to his
+shoulder again, and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why didnt you tell me about her yourself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Damn it all,&rdquo; he exclaimed, violently, &ldquo;there is nothing to
+tell! I am not engaged to her: on my oath I am not. My people at home talk
+about a match between us as if it were a settled thing, though they know I dont
+care for her. But if you want to have the truth, I cant afford to say that I
+wont marry her, because I am too hard up to quarrel with the governor, who has
+set his heart on it. You see, the way I am circumstanced&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, bother your circumstances! Look here, Bob, I dont want you to
+introduce me to your swell relations; it is not worth <i>my</i> while to waste
+time on people who cant earn their own living. And never mind your governor: we
+can get on without him. If you are hard up for money, and he is stingy, you had
+better get it from me than from the Jews.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I couldnt do that,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, touched. &ldquo;In fact, I am
+well enough off. By the bye, I must not forget to pay you for that lunch. But
+if I ever am hard up, I will come to you. Will that do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course: that is what I meant. Confound it, here we are already. You
+mustnt come in, you would only be in the way. Come to-night after the
+burlesque, if you like. Youre not angry with me, are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her breast touched his arm just then; and as if she had released some spring,
+all his love for her suddenly surged up within him and got the better of him.
+&ldquo;Wait&mdash;listen,&rdquo; he said, in a voice half choked with tenderness.
+&ldquo;Look here, Lalage: the honest truth is that I shall be ruined if I marry
+you openly. Let us be married quietly, and keep it dark until I am more
+independent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Married! Catch me at it&mdash;if you can. No, dear boy, I am very fond of you,
+and you are one of the right sort to make me the offer; but I wont let you put
+a collar round <i>my</i> neck. Matrimony is all very fine for women who have no
+better way of supporting themselves, but it wouldnt suit me. Dont look so
+dazed. What difference does it make to <i>you</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped, bewildered, gazing at her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Get out, you great goose!&rdquo; she said, and suddenly sprang out of
+the hansom and darted into the theatre.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat gaping after her, horrified&mdash;genuinely horrified.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<p>
+The Earl of Carbury was a youngish man with no sort of turn for being a
+nobleman. He could not bring himself to behave as if he was anybody in
+particular; and though this passed for perfect breeding whenever he by chance
+appeared in his place in society, on the magisterial bench, or in the House of
+Lords, it prevented him from making the most of the earldom, and was a standing
+grievance with his relatives, many of whom were the most impudent and uppish
+people on the face of the earth. He was, if he had only known it, a born
+republican, with no natural belief in earls at all; but as he was rather too
+modest to indulge his consciousness with broad generalizations of this kind,
+all he knew about the matter was that he was sensible of being a bad hand at
+his hereditary trade of territorial aristocrat. At a very early age he had
+disgraced himself by asking his mother whether he might be a watchmaker when he
+grew up, and his feeble sense on that occasion of the impropriety of an earl
+being anything whatsoever except an earl had given his mother an imperious
+contempt for him which afterward got curiously mixed with a salutary dread of
+his moral superiority to her, which was considerable. His aspiration to become
+a watchmaker was an early symptom of his extraordinary turn for mechanics. An
+apprenticeship of six years at the bench would have made an educated workman of
+him: as it was, he pottered at every mechanical pursuit as a gentleman amateur
+in a laboratory and workshop which he had got built for himself in his park. In
+this magazine of toys&mdash;for such it virtually was at first&mdash;he satisfied his
+itchings to play with tools and machines. He was no sportsman; but if he saw in
+a shop window the most trumpery patent improvement in a breechloader, he would
+go in and buy it; and as to a new repeating rifle or liquefied gas gun, he
+would travel to St. Petersburg to see it. He wrote very little; but he had
+sixteen different typewriters, each guaranteed perfect by an American agent,
+who had also pledged himself that the other fifteen were miserable impostures.
+A really ingenious bicycle or tricycle always found in him a ready purchaser;
+and he had patented a roller skate and a railway brake. When the electric chair
+for dental operations was invented, he sacrificed a tooth to satisfy his
+curiosity as to its operation. He could not play brass instruments to any
+musical purpose; but his collection of double slide trombones, bombardons with
+patent compensating pistons, comma trumpets, and the like, would have equipped
+a small military band; whilst his newly tempered harmonium with fifty-three
+notes to each octave, and his pianos with simplified keyboards that nobody
+could play on, were the despair of all musical amateurs who came to stay at
+Towers Cottage, as his place was called. He would buy the most expensive and
+elaborate lathe, and spend a month trying to make a true billiard ball at it.
+At the end of that time he would have to send for a professional hand, who
+would cornet the ball with apparently miraculous skill in a few seconds. He got
+on better with chemistry and photography; but at last he settled down to
+electrical engineering, and, giving up the idea of doing everything with his
+own half-trained hand, kept a skilled man always in his laboratory to help him
+out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+All along there had been a certain love of the marvelous at the bottom of his
+fancy for inventions. Therefore, though he did not in the least believe in
+ghosts, he would &ldquo;investigate&rdquo; spiritualism, and part with
+innumerable guineas to mediums, slatewriters, clairvoyants, and even of
+turbaned rascals from the East, who would boldly offer at midnight to bring him
+out into the back yard and there and then raise the devil for him. And just as
+his tendency was to magnify the success and utility of his patent purchases, so
+he would lend himself more or less to gross impostures simply because they
+interested him. This confirmed his reputation for being a bit of a crank; and
+as he had in addition all the restlessness and eccentricity of the active
+spirits of his class, arising from the fact that no matter what he busied
+himself with, it never really mattered whether he accomplished it or not, he
+remained an unsatisfied and (considering the money he cost) unsatisfactory
+specimen of a true man in a false position.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Towers Cottage was supposed to be a mere appendage to Carbury Towers, which had
+been burnt down, to the great relief of its noble owners, in the reign of
+William IV. The Cottage, a handsome one-storied Tudor mansion, with tall
+chimneys, gabled roofs, and transom windows, had since served the family as a
+very sufficient residence, needing a much smaller staff of servants than the
+Towers, and accommodating fewer visitors. At first it had been assumed on all
+hands that the stay at the Cottage was but a temporary one, pending the
+re-erection of the Towers on a scale of baronial magnificence; but this
+tradition, having passed through its primal stage of being a standing excuse
+with the elders into that of being a standing joke with the children, had
+naturally lapsed as the children grew up. Indeed, the Cottage was now too large
+for the family; for the Earl was still unmarried, and all his sisters had
+contracted splendid alliances except the youngest, Lady Constance Carbury, a
+maiden of twenty-two, with a thin face and slight angular figure, who was still
+on her mother&rsquo;s hands. The illustrious matches made by her sisters had,
+in fact, been secured by extravagant dowering, which had left nothing for poor
+Lady Constance except a miserable three hundred pounds a year, at which paltry
+figure no man had as yet offered to take her. The Countess (Dowager) habitually
+assumed that Marmaduke Lind ardently desired the hand of his cousin; and
+Constance herself supported tacitly this view; but the Earl was apt to become
+restive when it was put forward, though he altogether declined to improve his
+sister&rsquo;s pecuniary position, having already speculated quite heavily
+enough in brothers-in-law.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+In the August following the Wandsworth concert Lord Carbury began to take his
+electrical laboratory with such intensified seriousness that he flatly refused
+to entertain any visitors until the 12th, and held fast to his determination in
+spite of his mother&rsquo;s threat to leave the house, alleging, with a laugh,
+that he had got hold of a discovery with money in it at last. But he felt at
+such a disadvantage after this incredible statement that he hastened to explain
+that his objection to visitors did not apply to relatives who would be
+sufficiently at home at Towers Cottage to require no attention from him. Under
+the terms of this capitulation Marian, as universal favorite, was invited; and
+since there was no getting Marian down without Elinor, she was invited too, in
+spite of the Countess&rsquo;s strong dislike for her, a sentiment which she
+requited with a pungent mixture of detestation and contempt. Marian&rsquo;s
+brother, the Reverend George Lind, promised to come down in a day or two; and
+Marmaduke, who was also invited, did not reply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The morning after her arrival, Marian was awakened at six o&rsquo;clock by a
+wagon rumbling past the window of her room with a sound quite different from
+that made by the dust-cart in Westbourne Terrace. She peeped out at it, and saw
+that is was laden with packages of irregular shape, which, judging by some
+strange-looking metal rods that projected through the covering, she took to be
+apparatus for Lord Jasper&rsquo;s laboratory. From the wagon, with its
+patiently trudging horse and dull driver, she lifted her eyes to the lawn,
+where the patches of wet shadow beneath the cedars refreshed the sunlit grass
+around them. It looked too fine a morning to spend in bed. Had Marian been able
+to taste and smell the fragrant country air she would not have hesitated a
+moment. But she had been accustomed to believe that fresh air was unhealthy at
+night, and though nothing would have induced her to wash in dirty water, she
+thought nothing of breathing dirty air; and so the window was shut and the room
+close. Still, the window did not exclude the loud singing of the birds or the
+sunlight. She ventured to open it a little, not without a sense of imprudence.
+Twenty minutes later she was dressed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She first looked into the drawing-room, but it was stale and dreary. The
+dining-room, which she tried next, made her hungry. The arrival of a servant
+with a broom suggested to her that she had better get out of the way of the
+household work. She felt half sorry for getting up, and went out on the lawn to
+recover her spirits. There she heard a man&rsquo;s voice trolling a stave
+somewhere in the direction of the laboratory. Thinking that it might be Lord
+Carbury, and that, if so, he would probably not wait until half past nine to
+break his fast, she ran gaily off round the southwest corner of the Cottage to
+a terrace, from which there was access through a great double window, now wide
+open, to a lofty apartment roofed with glass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At a large table in the middle of the room sat a man with his back to the
+window. He had taken off his coat, and was bending over a small round block
+with little holes sunk into it. Each hole was furnished with a neat brass peg,
+topped with ebony; and the man was lifting and replacing one of these pegs
+whilst he gravely watched the dial of an instrument that resembled a small
+clock. A large straw hat concealed his head, and protected it from the rays
+that were streaming through the glass roof and open window. The apparent
+triviality of his occupation, and his intentness upon it, amused Marian. She
+stole into the laboratory, came close behind him, and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since you have nothing better to do than play cribbage with yourself,
+I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had gently lifted up his straw hat, and found beneath a head that was not
+Lord Carbury&rsquo;s. The man, who had cowered with surprise at her touch and
+voice, but had waited even then to finish an observation of his galvanometer
+before turning, now turned and stared at her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I <i>beg</i> your pardon,&rdquo; said Marian, blushing vigorously.
+&ldquo;I thought it was Lord Carbury. I have disturbed you very rudely.
+I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said the man. &ldquo;I quite understand. I was not
+playing cribbage, but I was doing nothing very important. However, as you
+certainly did take me by surprise, perhaps you will excuse my coat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, pray dont mind me. I must not interrupt your work.&rdquo; She looked
+at his face again, but only for an instant, as he was watching her. Then, with
+another blush, she put out her hand and said, &ldquo;How do you do, Mr.
+Conolly. I did not recognize you at first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shook hands, but did not offer any further conversation. &ldquo;What a
+wonderful place!&rdquo; she said, looking round, with a view to making herself
+agreeable by taking an interest in everything. &ldquo;Wont you explain it all
+to me? To begin with, what is electricity?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly stared rather at this question, and then shook his head. &ldquo;I dont
+know anything about that,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I am only a workman. Perhaps
+Lord Carbury can tell you: he has read a good deal about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian looked incredulously at him. &ldquo;I am sure you are joking,&rdquo; she
+said. &ldquo;Lord Carbury says you know ever so much more than he does. I
+suppose I asked a stupid question. What are those reels of green silk
+for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Conolly, relaxing. &ldquo;Come now, I can tell you that
+easily enough. I dont know what it <i>is</i>, but I know what it does, and I
+can lay traps to catch it. Here now, for instance&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+And he went on to deliver a sort of chatty Royal Institution Children&rsquo;s
+Lecture on Electricity which produced a great impression on Marian, who was
+accustomed to nothing better than small talk. She longed to interest him by her
+comments and questions, but she found that they had a most discouraging effect
+on him. Redoubling her efforts, she at last reduced him to silence, of which
+she availed herself to remark, with great earnestness, that science was a very
+wonderful thing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you know?&rdquo; he said, a little bluntly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sure it must be,&rdquo; she replied, brightening; for she thought
+he had now made a rather foolish remark. &ldquo;Is Lord Carbury a very clever
+scientist?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly looked just grave enough to suggest that the question was not
+altogether a discreet one. Then, brushing off that consideration, he replied:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He has seen a great deal and read a great deal. You see, he has great
+means at his disposal. His property is as good as a joint-stock company at his
+back. Practically, he is very good, considering his method of working: not so
+good, considering the means at his disposal.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What would you do if you had his means?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly made a gesture which plainly signified that he thought he could do a
+great many things.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And is science, then, so expensive? I thought it was beyond the reach of
+money.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, yes: science may be. But I am not a scientific man: I&rsquo;m an
+inventor. The two things are quite different. Invention is the most expensive
+thing in the world. It takes no end of time, and no end of money. Time is
+money; so it costs both ways.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then why dont you discover something and make your fortune?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have already discovered something.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! What is it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That it costs a fortune to make experiments enough to lead to an
+invention.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are exaggerating, are you not? What do you mean by a fortune?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In my case, at least four or five hundred pounds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that all? Surely you would have no difficulty in getting five hundred
+pounds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly laughed. &ldquo;To be sure,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;What is five hundred
+pounds?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A mere nothing&mdash;considering the importance of the object. You really
+ought not to allow such a consideration as that to delay your career. I have
+known people spend as much in one day on the most worthless things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is something in that, Miss Lind. How would you recommend me to
+begin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First,&rdquo; said Marian, with determination, &ldquo;make up your mind
+to spend the money. Banish all scruples about the largeness of the sum. Resolve
+not to grudge even twice as much to science.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is done already. I have quite made up my mind to spend the money.
+What next?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I suppose the next thing is to spend it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me. The next thing is to get it. It is a mere detail, I know; but
+I should like to settle it before we go any further.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But how can I tell you that? You forget that I am quite unacquainted
+with your affairs. You are a man, and understand business, which of course I
+dont.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you wanted five hundred pounds, Miss Lind, how would you set about
+getting it?&mdash;if I may ask.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What? I! But, as I say, I am only a woman. I should ask my father for
+it, or sign a receipt for my trustees, or something of that sort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a very simple plan. But unfortunately I have no father and no
+trustees. Worse than that, I have no money. You must suggest some other
+way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do what everybody else does in your circumstances. Borrow it. I am sure
+Lord Carbury would lend it to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly shook his head. &ldquo;It doesnt do for a man in my position to start
+borrowing the moment he makes the acquaintance of a man in Lord
+Carbury&rsquo;s,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We are working a little together
+already on one of my ideas, and that is as far as I care to ask him to go. I am
+afraid I must ask you for another suggestion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Save up all your money until you have enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That would take some time. Let me see. As I am an exceptionally
+fortunate and specially skilled workman, I can now calculate on making from
+seventy shillings to six pounds a week. Say four pounds on the average.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Marian, despondingly, &ldquo;you would have to wait more
+than two years to save five hundred pounds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in the meantime.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Of course, I see that it is impossible
+for you to save anything. And yet it seems absurd to be stopped by the want of
+such a sum. I have a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments to
+make, and he paid a thousand pounds for a race-horse last spring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such things happened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian could think of no further expedient. She stood still, thinking, whilst
+Conolly took up a bit of waste and polished a brass cylinder.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Conolly,&rdquo; she said at last, &ldquo;I cannot absolutely promise
+you; but I think I can get you five hundred pounds.&rdquo; Conolly stopped
+polishing the cylinder, and stared at her. &ldquo;If I have not enough, I am
+sure we could make the rest by a bazaar or something. I should like to begin to
+invest my money; and if you make some great invention, like the telegraph or
+steam engine, you will be able to pay it back to me, and to lend me money when
+<i>I</i> want it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly blushed. &ldquo;Thank you, Miss Lind,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;thank you
+very much indeed. I&mdash;It would be ungrateful of me to refuse; but I am not so
+ready to begin my experiments as my talking might lead you to suppose. My
+estimate of their cost was a mere guess. I am not satisfied that it is not want
+of time and perseverance more than of money that is the real obstacle. However,
+I will&mdash;I will&mdash;a&mdash;&mdash;Have you any idea of the value of money, Miss Lind? Have you
+ever had the handling of it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said Marian, secretly thinking that the satisfaction
+of shaking his self-possession was cheap at five hundred pounds. &ldquo;I keep
+house at home, and do all sorts of business things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the piece of waste again as if he
+had been looking for that; recollected himself; and looked unintelligibly at
+her. Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was a delightful sensation:
+why, she did not know nor care. To her intense disappointment, Lord Carbury
+entered just then, and roused her from what was unaccountably like a happy
+dream.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing more of any importance happened that day except the arrival of a letter
+from Paris, addressed to Lady Constance in Marmaduke&rsquo;s handwriting. Miss
+McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, where she found Constance
+sitting with her arm around Marian&rsquo;s waist in a summer-house. She sat
+down opposite them, at a rough oak table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A letter, Nelly!&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;A letter! A letter from
+Marmaduke! I have extorted leave for you to read it. Here it is. Handle it
+carefully, pray.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has he proposed?&rdquo; said Elinor, taking it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Constance changed color. Elinor opened the letter in silence, and read:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+My dear Constance:<br/>
+    I hope you are quite well. I am having an awfully jolly time of it here. What a
+pity it is you dont come over! I was wishing for you yesterday in the Louvre,
+where we spent a pleasant day looking at the pictures. I send you the silk you
+wanted, and had great trouble hunting through half-a-dozen shops for it. Not
+that I mind the trouble, but just to let you see my devotion to you. I have no
+more to say at present, as it is nearly post hour. Remember me to the clan.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+Yours ever,<br/>
+DUKE.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+P.S.&mdash;How do Nelly and your mother get along together?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Whilst Elinor was reading, the gardener passed the summer-house, and Constance
+went out and spoke to him. Elinor looked significantly at Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nelly,&rdquo; returned Marian, in hushed tones of reproach, &ldquo;you
+have stabbed poor Constance to the heart by telling her that Marmaduke never
+proposed to her. That is why she has gone out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Elinor, &ldquo;it was brutal. But I thought, as you
+made such a fuss about the letter, that it must have been a proposal at least.
+It cant be helped now. It is one more enemy for me, that is all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you think of the letter? Was it not kind of him to
+write&mdash;considering how careless he is usually?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hm! Did he match the silk properly?&rdquo;.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To perfection. He must really have taken some trouble. You know how he
+botched getting the ribbon for his fancy dress at the ball last year.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is just what I was thinking about. Do you remember also how he
+ridiculed the Louvre after his first trip to Paris, and swore that nothing
+would ever induce him to enter it again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He has got more sense now. He says in the letter that he spent yesterday
+there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not exactly. He says &lsquo;<i>we</i> spent a pleasant day looking at
+the pictures.&rsquo; Who is &lsquo;<i>we</i>&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Some companion of his, I suppose. Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was just thinking could it be the person who has matched the silk so
+well. The same woman, I mean.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Nelly!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Marian! Do you suppose Marmaduke would spend an afternoon at the
+Louvre with a man, who could just as well go by himself? Do men match
+silks?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course they do. Any fly-fisher can do it better than a woman. Really,
+Nell, you have an odious imagination.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes&mdash;when my imagination is started on an odious track. Nothing will
+persuade me that Marmaduke cares a straw for Constance. He does not want to
+marry her, though he is too great a coward to own it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you say so? I grant you he is unceremonious and careless. But he
+is the same to everybody.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes: to everybody <i>we</i> know. What is the use of straining after an
+amiable view of things, Marian, when a cynical view is most likely to be the
+true one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no harm in giving people credit for being good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, there is, when people are not good, which is most often the case.
+It sets us wrong practically, and holds virtue cheap. If Marmaduke is a noble
+and warmhearted man, and Constance a lovable, innocent girl, all I can say is
+that it is not worth while to be noble or lovable. If amiability consists in
+maintaining that black is white, it is a quality anyone may acquire by telling
+a lie and sticking to it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I dont maintain that black is white. Only it seems to me that as
+regards white, you are color blind. Where I see white, you see black;
+and&mdash;&mdash;hush! Here is Constance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; whispered Elinor: &ldquo;she comes back quickly enough when
+it occurs to her that we are talking about her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Instead of simply asking why Constance should not behave in this very natural
+manner if she chose to, Marian was about to defend Constance warmly by denying
+all motive to her return, when that event took place and stopped the
+discussion. Marian and Nelly spent a considerable part of their lives in
+bandying their likes and dislikes under the impression that they were arguing
+important points of character and conduct.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They knew that Constance wanted to answer Marmaduke&rsquo;s letter; so they
+alleged correspondence of their own, and left her to herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lady Constance went to her brother&rsquo;s study, where there was a comfortable
+writing-table. She began to write without hesitation, and her pen gabbled
+rapidly until she had covered two sheets of paper, when, instead of taking a
+fresh sheet, she wrote across the lines already written. After signing the
+letter, she read it through, and added two postscripts. Then she remembered
+something she had forgotten to say; but there was no more room on her two
+sheets, and she was reluctant to use a third, which might, in a letter to
+France, involve extra postage. Whilst she was hesitating her brother entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I in your way?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I shall have done in a
+moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I am not going to write. By-the-bye, they tell me you had a letter
+from Marmaduke this morning. Has he anything particular to say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing very particular. He is in Paris.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed? Are you writing to him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Constance, irritated by his disparaging tone.
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do as you please, of course. I am afraid he is a scamp.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you? You know a great deal about him, I dare say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not much reassured by those who do know about him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And who may they be? The only person you know who has seen much of him
+is Marian, and she doesnt speak ill of people behind their backs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian takes rather a rose-colored view of everybody, Marmaduke
+included. You should talk to Nelly about him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I knew it. I knew, the minute you began to talk, who had set you
+on.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid Nelly&rsquo;s opinion is worth more than Marians.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Her</i> opinion! Everybody knows what her opinion is. She is bursting
+with jealousy of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jealousy!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What else? Marmaduke has never taken the least notice of her, and she is
+madly in love with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is quite a new light upon the affair. Constance, are you sure you
+are not romancing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Romancing! Why, she cannot conceal her venom. She taunted me this
+morning in the summer-house because Marmaduke has never made me a formal
+proposal. It was the letter that made her do it. Ask Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can hardly believe it: I should not have supposed, from what I have
+observed, that she cared about him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+You should not have supposed it from what she <i>said</i>: is that what you
+mean? I dont care whether you believe it or not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if you are so confident, there is no occasion to be acrimonious
+about Elinor. She is more to be pitied than blamed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, everybody is to pity Elinor because she cant have her wish and make
+me wretched,&rdquo; said Constance, beginning to cry. Whereupon Lord Carbury
+immediately left the room.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<p>
+Long before the harvest was home, preparations were made at Towers Cottage to
+receive another visitor. The Rev. George Lind was coming. Lord Carbury drove in
+the wagonet to the railway station, and met him on the platform.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How are you, my dear fellow?&rdquo; cried the clergyman, shaking the
+earl&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;Why did you trouble to meet me? I could have taken a
+fly. Most kind of you, I am sure. How is your dear mother? And Constance: how
+is <i>she</i>?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All quite well, thank you. Just show my fellow your traps; he will see
+to them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, there is no need to trouble him. I myself or a porter&mdash;oh, thank you,
+I am sure; the brown one with G.L. on it&mdash;and that small green metal box too, if
+you will be so good. Thank you very much. And how are you, Jasper, if I may
+call you so? Studious still, eh? I hope he will be careful of the box. No, not
+a word to him, I beg: it does not matter at all. What a charming little trap!
+What air! Happy man, Jasper! These fields are better than the close alleys and
+garrets to which my profession leads me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jump in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. And how is Marian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite well, thank you. <i>Everybody</i> is quite well. The girls are at
+a tennis party, or they would have come to meet you. Constance desired me
+particularly to apologize.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, needless, most needless. Why should they not enjoy themselves? What
+a landscape! The smiling beauty of nature in the country is like a&mdash;like a
+message to us. This is indeed a delightful drive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, she is a capital trotter, this mare of mine. What do you think of
+her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A noble animal, Jasper. Although I never studied horseflesh much, even
+in my university days, I can admire a spirited nag on occasion. But I have to
+content myself with humbler means of locomotion in my own calling. A poor
+parson cannot entertain his friends as a magnate like you can. Have you any one
+at the hall now, besides the girls?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. The place will be rather dull for you, I am afraid.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. I shall be satisfied and
+thankful under all circumstances.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have led a humdrum life for the past month. Marian and Elinor have
+begun to potter about in my laboratory. They come there every day for an hour
+to work and study, as they call it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! I have no doubt Marian will find the study of nature most
+improving. It is very generous of you to allow her to trespass on you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I occupy myself chiefly with Nelly McQuinch. Marian is my
+assistant&rsquo;s pupil, and he has made a very expert workwoman of her
+already. With a little direction, she can put a machine together as well as I
+can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am delighted to hear it. And dear Nelly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, dear Nelly treats the subject in her usual way. But she is very
+amusing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, Jasper! Ah! An unstable nature there, an unstable nature! Elinor has
+not been firmly trained. She needs to be tried by adversity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt she will be. Most of us are.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And dear Constance? Does she study?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ahem! A&mdash;have you&mdash;&mdash;? That is St. Mildred&rsquo;s yonder, is it
+not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is. They have put a new clock in the tower, worth about sixty pounds.
+I believe they collected a hundred and fifty for the purpose. But you were
+going to say something else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. At least, I intended to ask you about Marmaduke. He is coming down,
+I understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know what he is doing. Last week he wrote to us that he had just
+returned from Paris; but I happened to know that he had then been back for some
+time. He has arranged to come twice, but on each occasion, at the last moment,
+he has made excuses. He can do as he likes now. I wish he would say definitely
+that he doesnt intend to come, instead of shilly-shallying from week to week.
+Hallo, Prentice, have the ladies returned yet?&rdquo; This was addressed to the
+keeper of the gate-lodge, at which they had now arrived. He replied that the
+ladies were still absent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; said Lord Carbury, &ldquo;we had better get down and stroll
+across the lawn. Perhaps you are tired, though?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all. I should prefer it. What a lovely avenue! What greenery!
+How&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We were talking about Marmaduke. Do you know what he is doing at
+present? He talks of being busy, and of not having a moment to spare. I can
+understand a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July, but what
+Marmaduke has to do in London in September is more than I can imagine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not care to enquire into these things too closely. I had intended
+to speak to you on the subject. Marmaduke, as I suppose you know, has taken a
+house at West Kensington.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A house at West Kensington! No, I did not know it. What has he done that
+for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on the subject. I think
+he tried to prevent the matter coming to my ears; and when I asked him about
+it, he certainly implied&mdash;in fact, I grieve to say he left me under the
+impression that he had taken the house with a view to marrying dear Constance,
+and settling down. I expressed some surprise at his going so far out of town;
+but he did not volunteer any further explanation, and so the matter
+dropped.&rdquo; The Rev. George paused, and then continued in a lower tone,
+&ldquo;Not long afterward I met him at a very late hour. He had perhaps
+exceeded a little in his cups; for he spoke to me with the most shocking
+cynicism, inviting me to supper at this house of his, and actually accusing me
+of knowing perfectly well the terrible truth about his occupation of it. He
+assured me that she&mdash;meaning, I presume, the unhappy person with whom he lives
+there&mdash;was exceptionally attractive; and I have since discovered that she is
+connected with the theatre, and of great notoriety. I need not tell you how
+dreadful all this is to me, Jasper; but to the best of my judgment, which I
+have fortified by earnest prayers for guidance, it is my imperative duty to
+tell you of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The vagabond! It is exactly as I have always said: Constance is too tame
+for him. He does not care a d&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Jasper, my dear fellow, gently,&rdquo; said the clergyman, pressing his
+arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pshaw!&rdquo; said the Earl, &ldquo;I dont care. I think Constance is
+well out of it. Let us drop the subject for the present. I hear the
+carriage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, here it is. Dear Lady Carbury has recognized me, and is waving her
+hand.&rdquo; The Rev. George stood on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished his
+low-crowned soft felt hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, looking at the horses with
+an expression that made the coachman uneasy. At dinner he ate sedulously, and
+left the task of entertaining the visitor to his mother and the girls. The
+clergyman was at no loss for conversation. He was delighted with the dinner,
+delighted with the house, delighted to see the Countess looking so well, and
+delighted to hear that the tennis party that day had been a pleasant one. The
+Earl listened with impatience, and was glad when his mother rose. Before she
+quitted the dining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon returned, leaving
+Marian, Constance, and Elinor in the drawing-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will not mind my staying, I hope, George,&rdquo; she said, as she
+resumed her seat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A delightful precedent, and from a distinguished source,&rdquo; said the
+Rev. George. &ldquo;Allow me to pass the bottle. Ha! ha!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, no,&rdquo; said the Countess. &ldquo;I never take
+wine.&rdquo; Her tone was inconclusive, as if she intended to take something
+else.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you take brandy-and-soda?&rdquo; said her son, rather brusquely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lady Carbury lowered her eyelids in protest. Then she said: &ldquo;A very
+little, if you please, Jasper. I dare not touch wine,&rdquo; she continued to
+the clergyman. &ldquo;I am the slave of my medical man in all matters relating
+to my unfortunate digestion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother,&rdquo; said Jasper, &ldquo;George has brought us a nice piece of
+news concerning your pet Marmaduke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman became solemn and looked steadily at his glass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know that it is fair to describe him as my pet exactly,&rdquo;
+said the Countess, a little troubled. &ldquo;I trust there is nothing
+unpleasant the matter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, nothing! He has settled down domestically in a mansion at West
+Kensington, that is all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Married!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Unhappily,&rdquo; said the Rev. George, &ldquo;no, not married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said the Countess slowly, as an expression of relief.
+&ldquo;It is very shocking, of course; very wrong indeed. Young men <i>will</i>
+do these things. It is especially foolish in Marmaduke&rsquo;s case, for he
+really cannot afford to make any settlement such as this kind of complication
+usually involves when the time comes for getting rid of it. Pray do not let it
+come to Constance&rsquo;s ears. It is not a proper subject for a girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite as proper a subject as marriage with a fellow like
+Marmaduke,&rdquo; said Jasper, rising coolly and lighting a cigaret.
+&ldquo;However, it will be time enough to trouble about that when there is any
+sign of his having the slightest serious intentions toward Constance. For my
+part I dont believe, and I never did believe, that there was anything real in
+the business. This last move of his proves it&mdash;to my satisfaction, at any
+rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lady Carbury, with a slight but impressive bridling, and yet with an evident
+sense of discomfiture, proceeded to assert herself before the clergyman.
+&ldquo;I beg you will control yourself, Jasper,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I do
+not like to be spoken to in that tone. In discharging the very great
+responsibility which rests with a mother, I am compelled to take the world as I
+find it, and to acknowledge that certain very deplorable tendencies must be
+allowed for in society. You, in the solitude of your laboratory, contemplate an
+ideal state of things that we all, I am sure, long for, but which unhappily
+does not exist. I have never enquired into Marmaduke&rsquo;s private life, and
+I think you ought not to have done so. I could not disguise from myself the
+possibility of his having entered into some such relations as those you have
+alluded to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Jasper, without the slightest appearance of having heard this speech, strolled
+casually out of the room. The Countess, baffled, turned to her sympathetic
+guest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sure that you, George, must feel that it is absolutely necessary
+for us to keep this matter to ourselves.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George said, gravely, &ldquo;I do not indeed see what blessing can
+rest on our interference in such an inexpressibly shocking business. It is for
+Marmaduke to wrestle with his own conscience.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so,&rdquo; said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders as if to
+invite her absent son&rsquo;s attention to this confirmation of her judgment.
+&ldquo;Is it not absurd of Jasper to snatch at such an excuse for breaking off
+the match?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can sympathize with Jasper&rsquo;s feeling, I trust. It is natural for
+a candid nature to recoil from duplicity. But all our actions need charitable
+construction; and, remembering that, we should take heed to prevent our
+forebearance toward others from wavering. Who knows that the alliance with your
+pure and lovely daughter may not be the means specially ordained to rescue him
+from his present condition.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it very possible,&rdquo; drawled the Countess, looking at him,
+nevertheless, with a certain contempt for what she privately considered his
+priggish, underbred cant. &ldquo;Besides, such things are recognized, though of
+course they are not spoken of. No lady could with common decency pretend to
+know that such connexions are possible, much less assign one of them as a
+reason for breaking off an engagement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; said the Rev. George; &ldquo;but can these worldly
+considerations add anything to the approval of our consciences? I think not. We
+will keep our own counsel in this matter in the sight of Heaven. Then, whatever
+the world may think, all will surely come right in the end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, it is sure to come right in the end: these wretched businesses
+always do. I cannot imagine men having such low tastes&mdash;as if there were
+anything in these women more than in anybody else! Come into the drawing-room,
+George.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went into the drawing-room and found it deserted. The ladies were in the
+veranda. The Countess took up the paper and composed herself for a nap. George
+went into the porch, where the girls, having seen the sun go down, were now
+watching the deepening gloom among the trees that skirted the lawn. Marian
+proposed that they should walk through the plantation whilst there was still a
+little light left, and the clergyman readily assented. He rather repented of
+this when they got into the deep gloom under the trees, and Elinor began to
+tell stories about adders, wild cats, poachers, and anything else that could
+possibly make a nervous man uncomfortable under such circumstances. He was
+quite relieved when they saw the spark of a cigaret ahead of them and heard the
+voices of Jasper and Conolly coming toward them through the darkness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Conolly,&rdquo;
+said the Rev. George, formally, when they met. &ldquo;I am glad to see
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;If you ladies have thin shoes on
+as usual, we had better come out of this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As we ladies happen to have our boots on,&rdquo; said Marian, &ldquo;we
+shall stay as long as we like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nevertheless, they soon turned homeward, and as the path was narrow, they
+walked in pairs. The clergyman, with Constance, led the way. Lord Jasper
+followed with Elinor. Conolly and Marian came last.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does that young man&mdash;Mr. Conolly&mdash;live at the Hall?&rdquo; was the Rev.
+George&rsquo;s first remark to Constance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. He has rooms in Rose Cottage, that little place on Quilter&rsquo;s
+farm.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ha! Then he is very well off here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A great deal too well off. Jasper allows him to speak to him as though
+he were an equal. However, I suppose Jasper knows his own business best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have observed that he is rather disposed to presume upon any
+encouragement he receives. It is a bad sign in a young man, and one, I fear,
+that will greatly interfere with his prospects.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is an American, and I suppose thinks it a fine thing to be
+republican. But it is Jasper&rsquo;s fault. He spoils him. He once wanted to
+have him in the drawing-room in the evenings to play accompaniments; but mamma
+positively refused to allow it. Jasper is excessively obstinate, and though he
+did not make a fuss, he got quite a habit of going over to Rose Cottage and
+spending his evenings there singing and playing. Everybody about the place used
+to notice it. Mamma was greatly disgusted.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you find him unpleasant&mdash;personally, I mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I! Oh dear, no! I should never dream of speaking to him. His presence is
+unpleasant, because he exercises a bad influence on Jasper; so I wish, on that
+account alone, that he would go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I trust Marian is careful to limit her intercourse with him as much as
+possible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Marian learns electricity from him; and of course that makes a
+difference. I do not care about such things; and I never go into the laboratory
+when he is there; so I do not know whether Marian lets him be familiar with her
+or not. She is rather easygoing; and he is insufferably conceited. However, if
+she wants to learn electricity, I suppose she must put up with him. He is no
+worse, after all, than the rest of the people one has to learn things from.
+They are all impossible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a strange fancy of the girls, to study science.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sure I dont know why they do it. It is great nonsense for Jasper to
+do it, either. He will never keep up his position properly until he shuts up
+that stupid workshop. He ought to hunt and shoot and entertain a great deal
+more than he does. It is very hard on us, for we are altogether in
+Jasper&rsquo;s hands for such matters. I think he is very foolish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not foolish. Dont say that. Excuse my giving you a little lecture; but
+it is not right to speak, even without thought, of your brother as a fool. No
+doubt he is a little injudicious; but all men are not called to the same
+pursuits.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If people have a certain position, they ought to make up their minds to
+the duties of their position, whether they are called to them or not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George, missing the deference with which ladies not related to him
+usually received his admonitions, changed the subject.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly than the rest, had fallen
+far behind. They had been silent at first. She seemed to be in trouble. At
+last, after some wistful glances at him, she said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you resolved to go to London to-morrow; or will you wait until
+Friday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To-morrow, Miss Lind. Can I do anything for you in town?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian hesitated painfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not mind giving me plenty of bother,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I am so
+accustomed to superintend the transit of machines as cumbersome as trunks and
+as fragile as bonnet boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary luggage
+would be a mere amusement for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you; but it is not that. I was only thinking&mdash;Are you likely to see
+my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whilst you are in London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;N&mdash;no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! I thought you knew him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I met him at that concert.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least, I
+understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre together.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I have
+never seen him since.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, indeed! I quite mistook.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will. It
+will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him? It will be
+no trouble to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, oh no. I wanted&mdash;it was something that could only be told to him
+indirectly by an intimate friend&mdash;by some one with influence over him. More a
+hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it cannot be
+helped.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in silence.
+Then he said: &ldquo;If the matter is of serious importance to you, Miss Lind,
+I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a person who has
+influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that I can; but probably I
+shall succeed without any great difficulty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian looked at him in some surprise. &ldquo;I hardly know what I ought to
+do,&rdquo; she said, doubtfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then do nothing,&rdquo; said Conolly bluntly. &ldquo;Or, if you want
+anything said to this gentleman, write to him yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to write to
+him. I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be told something that may
+prevent a great deal of unhappiness. It seems so unfeeling to sit down quietly
+and say, &lsquo;It is not my business to interfere,&rsquo; when the mischief
+might so easily be prevented.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking care of other
+people&rsquo;s happiness is thankless and dangerous. You dont know your
+cousin&rsquo;s address, you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I thought you did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly shook his head. &ldquo;Who does know it?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My brother George does; but he refused to tell me. I shall not ask him
+again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of what use will that be,
+since you think you ought not to write to him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned myself, I would not
+hesitate to tell you the whole story, and ask your advice. I feel sure you
+would shew me what was right. But this is a matter which concerns other people
+only.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont meddle in it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring about mischief. If
+Marmaduke could be given a hint to come down here at once&mdash;he has been invited,
+and is putting off his visit from week to week&mdash;it would be sufficient. He will
+get into trouble if he makes any more excuses. And he can set everything right
+by coming down now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth matters over for the
+present?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth matters over as to rescue
+him from a bad influence that is ruining him. There is a person in London from
+whom he must he got away at all hazards. If you only knew&mdash;I <i>wish</i> you
+knew.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss Lind, let us understand
+one another. Your family want your cousin to marry Lady Constance. I know that.
+She does not object. I know that too. He does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed Marian, &ldquo;you are wrong. He does not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anyhow,&rdquo; continued Conolly, &ldquo;he acts with a certain degree
+of indifference toward her&mdash;keeps away at present, for instance. I infer that
+the bad influence you have mentioned is the cause of his remissness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, you are right; only, looking at it all from without as you do, you
+are mistaken as to Marmaduke&rsquo;s character. He is easily led away, and very
+careless about the little attentions that weigh so much with women; but he is
+thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with Lady Constance.
+Unfortunately, he is easily imposed on, and impatient of company in which he
+cannot be a little uproarious. I fear that somebody has taken advantage of this
+part of his character to establish a great ascendency over him. I&rdquo;&mdash;here
+Marian became nervous, and controlled her voice with difficulty&mdash;&ldquo;I saw
+this person once in a theatre; and I can imagine how she would fascinate
+Marmaduke. She was so clever, so handsome, and&mdash;and so utterly abominable. I was
+angry with Duke for bringing us to the place; and I remember now that he was
+angry with me because I said she made me shudder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman to say of
+another,&rdquo; said Conolly, with a certain sternness. &ldquo;However, I can
+understand your having that feeling about her. I know her; and it is through
+her that I hope to find out his address for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I think it is somewhere
+in West Kensington.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled a step,
+frightened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Since when, pray?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very lately, I think. I do not know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regretting that
+she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terrible darkness. He
+walked on at last faster than before. No more words passed between them until
+they came out into the moonlight close to the veranda. Then he stopped again,
+and took off his hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Permit me to leave you now,&rdquo; he said, with an artificial
+politeness worthy of Douglas himself. &ldquo;Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; faltered Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she found Jasper
+and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the drawing-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hallo!&rdquo; said Jasper, &ldquo;where is Conolly? I want to say a word
+to him before he goes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He has just gone,&rdquo; said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasper
+immediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two cousins alone
+together.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Marian,&rdquo; said Elinor, &ldquo;do you know that you have taken
+more than quarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did,
+and that you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls her,
+has been making some kind remarks about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do I look disturbed? I hope Auntie wont notice it. I wish I could go
+straight to bed without seeing anybody.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why? What is the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will tell you to-night when you come in to me. I am disgusted with
+myself; and I think Conolly is mad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mad!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad,&rdquo; said Lord Jasper,
+returning at this moment out of breath and laughing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of the yellow field when I
+caught sight of him. Just as I was about to hail him, he started off and
+cleared the fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furious rate, swinging
+his arms about, and laughing as if he was enjoying some uncommonly good joke. I
+am not sure that I did not see him dance a hornpipe; but as it is so dark I
+wont swear to that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had better not,&rdquo; said Elinor, sceptically. &ldquo;Let us go
+in; and pray do not encourage George to talk. I have a headache, and want to go
+to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have been in very good spirits, considering your headache,&rdquo; he
+replied, in the same incredulous tone. &ldquo;It has come on rather suddenly,
+has it not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they went into the drawing-room they found that Constance had awakened her
+mother, and had already given her an account of their walk. Jasper added a
+description of what he had just witnessed. &ldquo;I have not laughed so much
+for a long time,&rdquo; he said, in conclusion. &ldquo;He is usually such a
+steady sort of fellow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken workman,&rdquo;
+said the Countess. &ldquo;How you could have left Marian in his care even for a
+moment I am at a loss to conceive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was not drunk, indeed,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; said Jasper, rather indignantly. &ldquo;I was
+walking with him for some time before we met the girls. You are very pale,
+Marian. Have you also a headache?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been playing tennis all day; and I am quite tired out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss McQuinch, according to a
+nightly custom of theirs, was seated on the coverlet with her knees doubled up
+to her chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventure very earnestly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont understand him at all, I confess,&rdquo; said Elinor, when Marian
+had related what had passed in the plantation. &ldquo;Wasnt it rather rash to
+make a confidant of him in such a delicate matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He might have known that
+I only wanted to do good. I thought he was so entirely above false
+delicacy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is true? You only have
+it from Mrs. Leith Fairfax&rsquo;s letter; and she is perhaps the greatest liar
+in the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about people. She would
+never venture to tell me a made-up tale about Marmaduke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for the sake of using her
+tongue or pen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is so hard to know what to do. There was nobody whom I could trust,
+was there? Jasper has always been against Marmaduke; and Constance, of course,
+was out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not like to tell
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no nice woman would talk
+to on such a subject,&rdquo; said Elinor, giving the bed a kick with her heel.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should say something like
+that before other people, out of sheer habit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. No use regretting
+what cannot be recalled. You cannot have the security of conventionality along
+with the self-respect of sincerity. By the bye, do you remember that Jasper and
+his fond mamma and George had a family council after dinner? You may be sure
+that George has told them everything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Then my wretched attempt to have Marmaduke warned was useless. Oh,
+Nelly, this is too bad. Do you really think so? When I told him before dinner
+what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he feared it was true, and refused
+to give me the address.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the responsibility rests
+with George. He knew very well that it was true; for he had only just been
+telling Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. Master Georgy has no
+right to be your brother. He is worse than a dissenter. Dissenters try to be
+gentlemen; but George has no misgivings about himself on that score; so he
+gives his undivided energy to his efforts to be parsonic. He is an arrant
+hypocrite.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely believes that his
+duty to the Church requires him to behave as he does.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then he is a donkey, which is worse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish he were more natural in his manner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: &lsquo;it is
+their nature to.&rsquo; Good-night. Men are all the same, my dear, all the
+same.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind. Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<p>
+A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, and communicating with
+it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at this time a detached villa
+called Laurel Grove. On the opposite side were pairs of recently built houses,
+many of them still unlet. These, without depriving the neighbourhood of its
+suburban quietude, forbade any feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it
+agreeable to Susanna Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside each was a
+pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hunger was satisfied;
+but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the uppermost envelope,
+thrust her little finger under the flap, and burst it open.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hm,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at
+me again to make the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he
+must be not to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! Just look at
+the <i>Times</i>, Bob, and see if the piece is advertized yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should think so, by Jupiter,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, patiently
+interrupting his meal to open the newspaper.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. &lsquo;The latest
+Parisian success. <i>La petite Maison du Roi.</i> Music by M. de Jongleur. Mr.
+Faulkner has the honor to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs of M. de
+Jongleur&rsquo;s opera bouffe <i>La petite Maison du Roi</i>, entitled King
+Lewis on the lewis&rsquo;&mdash;what the deuce does that mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On the loose, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it is spelt l-e-w&mdash;&mdash;oh! its a pun. What an infernal piece of idiocy!
+Then it goes on as usual, except that each name in the cast has a separate line
+of large print. Here you are: &lsquo;Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry&rsquo;&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that at the top?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Before Rose Stella?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Why!&mdash;I didnt notice it before&mdash;you are down fifteen times! Every
+alternate space has your name over again. &lsquo;Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry. Fred Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. Felix Sumner as
+the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue as <i>la belle Jeanneton</i>.&rsquo; By the
+way, that is all rot. Cardinal Richelieu died four or five hundred years before
+Madame Dubarry was born.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose Stella the last line
+with a big AND before it. No matter. She is down only once; and I am down
+fifteen times.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! This is a bill, of
+course. The West Kensington Wine Company. Whew! We are getting through the
+champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not counting what we pay
+for when we dine in town.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfully low
+without it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, and dont injure your
+health, I dont care. Here&rsquo;s a letter of yours put among mine by mistake.
+It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s from Ned,&rdquo; said Susanna, turning pale. &ldquo;He must
+be coming home, or he would not write. Yes, he is. What shall I do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does he say?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her.
+&ldquo;&lsquo;<i>Back at 6 on Wednesday evening. Have high tea. N.C.</i>&rsquo;
+Short and sweet! Well, he will not turn up til to-morrow, at all events, even
+if he knows the address, which of course he doesnt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He knows nothing. His note shews that. What <i>will</i> he do when he
+finds me gone? He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them to
+send on my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for her own
+information. There is no mistake about it,&rdquo; said Susanna, rising and
+walking to the window: &ldquo;I am in a regular funk about him. I have half a
+mind to go back to Lambeth and meet him. I could let the murder out gradually,
+or, perhaps, get him off to the country again before he discovers
+anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go back! oh no, nonsense! The worst he can do is to cut you&mdash;and a good
+job too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish he would. It would be a relief to me at present to know for
+certain that he would.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He cant be so very thin-skinned as you fancy, considering the time you
+have been on the stage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nothing wrong in being on the stage. There&rsquo;s nothing
+wrong in being here either, in spite of Society. After all, what do I care
+about Ned, or anybody else? He always went his own way when it suited him; and
+he has no right to complain if I go mine. Let him come if he likes: he will not
+get much satisfaction from me.&rdquo; Susanna sat down again, and drank some
+tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont think any more about it,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;He wont
+come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, let him, if he likes,&rdquo; said Susanna, impatiently. Marmaduke
+did not quite sympathize with her sudden recklessness. He hoped that Conolly
+would have the good sense to keep away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, Bob,&rdquo; said she, when they had finished breakfast.
+&ldquo;Let us go somewhere to-day. I feel awfully low. Let us have a turn up
+the river.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, with alacrity. &ldquo;Whatever you
+please. How shall we go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anyhow. Let us go to Hampton by train. When we get there we can settle
+what to do afterward. Can you come now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, whenever you are ready.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then I will run upstairs and dress. Go out and amuse yourself with that
+blessed old lawn-mower until I come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I think I will,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, seriously. &ldquo;That plot
+near the gate wants a trimming badly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a silly old chap you are, Bob!&rdquo; she said, stopping to kiss
+him on each cheek as she left the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke had become attached to the pursuit of gardening since his
+domestication. He put on his hat; went out; and set to work on the plot near
+the gate. The sun was shining brightly; and when he had taken a few turns with
+the machine he stopped, raising his face to the breeze, and saw Conolly
+standing so close to him that he started backward, and made a vague movement as
+if to ward off a blow. Conolly, who seemed amused by the mowing, said quietly:
+&ldquo;That machine wants oiling: the clatter prevented you from hearing me
+come. I have just returned from Carbury Towers. Miss Lind is staying there; and
+she has asked me to give you a message.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This speech perplexed Marmaduke. He inferred from it that Conolly was ignorant
+of Susanna&rsquo;s proceedings, but he had not sufficient effrontery to welcome
+him unconcernedly at once. So he stood still and stared at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I have startled you,&rdquo; Conolly went on, politely.
+&ldquo;I found the gate unlocked, and thought it would be an unnecessary waste
+of time to ring the bell. You have a charming little place here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, it&rsquo;s a pretty little place, isnt it?&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+&ldquo;A&mdash;wont you come in and have a&mdash;excuse my bringing you round this way,
+will you? My snuggery is at the back of the house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you; but I had rather not go in. I have a great deal of business
+to do in town to-day; so I shall just discharge my commission and go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;At any rate, come into the shade,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, glancing
+uneasily toward the windows of the house. &ldquo;This open place is enough to
+give us sunstroke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly followed him to a secluded part of the shrubbery, where they sat down
+on a bench.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is there anything up?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, much oppressed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you excuse my speaking without ceremony?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, certainly. Fire away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. I must then tell you that the relations between you and Lady
+Constance are a source of anxiety to her brother. You know the way men feel
+bound to look after their sisters. You have, I believe, sisters of your
+own?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke nodded, and stole a doubtful glance at Conolly&rsquo;s face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It appears that Lord Carbury has all along considered your courtship too
+cool to be genuine. In this view he was quite unsupported, the Countess being
+strongly in your favor, and the young lady devoted to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I knew all that. At least, I suspected it. What is up now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This. The fact of your having taken a villa here has reached the ears of
+the family at Carbury. They are, not unnaturally, curious to know what use a
+bachelor can have for such an establishment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I have my rooms in Clarges Street still. This is not my house. It
+was taken for another person.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Precisely what they seem to think. But, to be brief with you, Miss Lind
+thinks that unless you wish to break with the Earl, and quarrel with your
+family, you should go down to Towers Cottage at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I cant go away just now. There are reasons.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Lind is fully acquainted with your reasons. They are her reasons
+for wishing you to leave London immediately. And now, having executed my
+commission, I must ask you to excuse me. My time is much occupied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I am greatly obliged to you for coming all this way out of town to
+give me the straight tip,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, relieved at the prospect of
+getting rid of his visitor without alluding to Susanna. &ldquo;It is very good
+of you; and I am very glad to see you. Jolly place, Carbury Park is, isnt it?
+How will the shooting be?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First rate, I am told. I do not know much about it myself.&rdquo; They
+had risen, and were strolling along the path leading to the gate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I see you down there&mdash;if I go?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly. I shall have to go down for a day at least, to get my luggage,
+in case I decide not to renew my engagement with Lord Jasper.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope so,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. Then, as they reached the gate, he
+proffered his hand, in spite of an inward shrinking, and said heartily,
+&ldquo;Good-bye, old fellow. Youre looking as well as possible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly took his hand, and retained it whilst he said: &ldquo;Good-bye, Mr.
+Lind. I am quite well, thank you. If I may ask&mdash;how is Susanna?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke was prevented by a spasm of the throat from replying. Before he
+recovered, Susanna herself, attired for her proposed trip to Hampton, emerged
+from the shrubbery and stood before them, confounded. Conolly, still wearing
+the cordial expression with which he had shaken Marmaduke&rsquo;s hand, looked
+at her, then at her protector, and then at her again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been admiring the villa, Susanna,&rdquo; said he, after an
+emphatic silence. &ldquo;It is better than our place at Lambeth. You wont mind
+my hurrying away: I have a great deal to do in town. Good-bye. Good-bye, Mr.
+Lind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Susanna murmured something. Marmaduke, after making an effort to bid his guest
+good-bye genially, opened the gate, and stood for a minute watching him as he
+strode away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does <i>he</i> care what becomes of me, the selfish brute!&rdquo;
+cried Susanna, passionately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He didnt complain: he has nothing to complain of,&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+&ldquo;Anyhow, why didnt he stay at home and look after you? By George,
+Susanna, he is the coolest card I ever came across.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What brought him here?&rdquo; she demanded, vehemently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That reminds me. I am afraid I must go down to Carbury for a few
+days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what am I to do here alone? Are <i>you</i> going to leave me
+too?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I cannot be in two places at the same time. I suppose you can
+manage to get on without me for a few days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will go home. I can get on without you altogether. I will go
+home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, Susanna! what is the use of kicking up a row? I cant afford to
+quarrel with all my people because you choose to be unreasonable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do I care about your people, or about you either?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, then,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, offended, &ldquo;you can go home
+if you like. Perhaps your brother appreciates this sort of thing. I
+dont.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah, you coward! You taunt me because you think I have no home. Do you
+flatter yourself that I am dependent on you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold your tongue,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, fiercely. &ldquo;Dont you turn
+on me in that fashion. Keep your temper if you want me to keep mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have ruined me,&rdquo; said Susanna, sitting down on the grass, and
+beginning to cry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, upon my soul, this is too much,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, with disgust.
+&ldquo;Get up out of that and dont make a fool of yourself. Ruined indeed! Will
+you get up?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No!&rdquo; screamed Susanna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then stay where you are and be damned,&rdquo; retorted Marmaduke,
+turning on his heel and walking toward the house. In the hall he met a maid
+carrying an empty champagne bottle and goblet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Missis is looking for you, sir,&rdquo; said the maid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, &ldquo;I have seen her. Listen to me.
+I am going to the country. My man Mason will come here to-day to pack up my
+traps, and bring them after me. You had better take a note of my address from
+the card in the strap of my valise.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the maid. &ldquo;Any message for missis?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. He then changed his coat and hat, and went
+out again. As he approached the gate he met Susanna, who had risen and was
+walking toward the house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am going to Carbury,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I dont know when I shall
+be back.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She passed on disdainfully, as if she had not heard him.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<p>
+Three days later Lord Carbury came to luncheon with a letter in his hand.
+Marian had not yet come in; and the Rev. George was absent, his place being
+filled by Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good news for you and Constance, mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo; said the Countess, smiling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Conolly is coming down this afternoon to collect his traps and
+leave you forever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really, Jasper, you exaggerate Mr. Conolly&rsquo;s importance.
+Intelligence of his movements can hardly be news&mdash;good or bad&mdash;either to me or to
+Constance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am glad he is going,&rdquo; said Constance, &ldquo;for Jasper&rsquo;s
+sake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; replied Jasper. &ldquo;I thought you would be. He will
+be a great loss to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; said the Countess. &ldquo;If another workman is needed,
+another can easily be had.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I can be of any assistance to you, old man,&rdquo; said Marmaduke,
+&ldquo;make what use of me you like. I picked up something about the business
+yesterday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;While you were away, Jasper, he went to
+the laboratory with Constance, and fired off a brass cannon with your new pile
+until he had used up all the gunpowder and spoiled the panels of the door. That
+is what he calls picking up something about the business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing like experiment for convincing you of the power of
+electricity,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;Is there, Conny?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very wonderful; but I hate shots.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is Marian?&rdquo; said Lady Carbury.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I left her in the summer-house in the fruit garden,&rdquo; said Elinor.
+&ldquo;She was reading.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She must have forgotten the hour,&rdquo; said the Countess. &ldquo;She
+has been moping, I think, for the last few days. I hope she is not unwell. But
+she would never stay away from luncheon intentionally. I shall send for
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, eagerly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, Duke. You must not leave the table. I will send a
+servant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will fetch her here in half the time that any servant will. Poor
+Marian, why shouldnt she have her lunch? I shall be back in a jiffy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a restless, extraordinary creature he is!&rdquo; said Lady Carbury,
+displeased, as Marmaduke hastily left the room. &ldquo;The idea of a man
+leaving the table in that way!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suspect he has his reasons,&rdquo; said Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it is a perfectly natural thing for him to do,&rdquo; said
+Constance, pettishly. &ldquo;I see nothing extraordinary in it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke found Marian reading in the summer-house in the fruit garden. She
+looked at him in lazy surprise as he seated himself opposite to her at the
+table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is the first chance I&rsquo;ve had of talking to you privately
+since I came down,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I believe you have been keeping out
+of my way on purpose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I concluded that you wanted as many chances as possible of talking
+to some one else in private; so I gave you as many as I could.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, you and the rest have been uncommonly considerate in that respect:
+thank you all awfully. But I mean to have it out with you, Miss Marian, now
+that I have caught you alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With me! Oh, dear! What have I done?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What have you done? I&rsquo;ll tell you what youve done. Why did you
+send Conolly, of all men in the world, to tell me that I was in disgrace
+here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There was no one else, Marmaduke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, suppose there wasn&rsquo;t! Suppose there had been no one else
+alive on the earth except you, and I, and he, and Constance, and Su&mdash;and
+Constance! how could you have offered him such a job?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not? Was there any special reason&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any special reason! Didnt your common sense tell you that a meeting
+between him and me must be particularly awkward for both of us?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. At least I&mdash;. Marmaduke: I think you must fancy that I told him more
+than I did. I did not know where you were; and as he was going to London, and I
+thought you knew him well, and I had no other means of warning you, I had to
+make use of him. Jasper will tell you how thoroughly trustworthy he is. But all
+I said&mdash;and I really could not say less&mdash;was that I was afraid you were in bad
+company, or under bad influence, or something like that; and that I only wanted
+you to come down here at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Indeed! That was <i>all</i>, was it? Merely that I was in bad
+company.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I said under bad influence. I was told so; and I believed it at
+the time. I hope it&rsquo;s not true, Marmaduke. If it is not, I beg your
+pardon with all my heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke stared very hard at her for a while, and then said, with the emphasis
+of a man baffled by utter unreason: &ldquo;Well, I <i>am</i> damned!&rdquo; at
+which breach of good manners she winced. &ldquo;Hang me if I understand you,
+Marian,&rdquo; he continued, more mildly. &ldquo;Of course it&rsquo;s not true.
+Bad influence is all bosh. But it was a queer thing to say to his face. He knew
+very well you meant his sister. Hallo! what&rsquo;s the matter? Are you going
+to faint?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I&mdash;Never mind me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind you!&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;What are you looking like
+that for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because&mdash;it is nothing: I only blushed. Dont be stupid, Duke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Blushed! Why dont you blush red, like other people, and not green? Shall
+I get you something?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no. Oh, Duke, why did you not tell me? How could you be so heartless
+as to leave us all in the dark when we were talking about you before him every
+day! Oh, are you in earnest, Duke? Pray dont jest about it. What do you mean by
+his sister? I never knew he had one. Who is she? What happened? I mean when you
+saw him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing happened. I was mowing in the garden. He just walked in; bade me
+good morning; admired the place; and told me he came with a message from you
+that things were getting hot here. Then he went off, as cool as you please. He
+didnt seem to mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And he warned you, in spite of all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;More for your sake than for mine, I suspect. He&rsquo;s rather sweet on
+you, isnt he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Duke, Duke, are you not ashamed of yourself?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Deuce a bit. But I&rsquo;m in trouble; and I want you to stand by me.
+Look here, Marian, you have no nonsense about you, I know. I may tell you
+frankly how I am situated, maynt I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian looked at him apprehensively, and said nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see you will only mix up matters worse than before unless you know
+the truth. Besides, I offered to marry her: upon my soul I did; but she
+refused. Her real name is Susanna Conolly: his sister, worse luck.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont tell me any more of this, Duke. It is not right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose it&rsquo;s not right, as you say. But what am I to do? I must
+tell you; or you will go on making mischief with Constance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As if I would tell her! I promise that she shall never know from me. Is
+that enough?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No: its too much. The plain truth is that I dont care whether she finds
+me out or not. I want her to understand thoroughly, once and for ever, that I
+wont marry her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marmaduke!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not if I were fifty Marmadukes!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you will break her heart.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never fear! Her heart is pretty tough, if she has one. Whether or no, I
+am not going to have her forced on me by the Countess or any one else. The
+truth is, Marian, they have all tried to bully me into this match. Constance
+can&rsquo;t complain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, not aloud.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Neither aloud or alow. I never proposed to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, Marmaduke: there is no use now in blaming Auntie or excusing
+yourself. If you have made up your mind, there is an end.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you cant make out that I am acting meanly, Marian. Why, I have
+everything to lose by giving her up. There is her money, and I suppose I must
+prepare for a row with the family; unless the match could be dropped quietly.
+Eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And is that what you want me to manage for you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well&mdash;. Come, Marian! dont be savage. I have been badly used in this
+affair. They forced it on me. I did all I could to keep out of it. She was
+thrown at my head. Besides, I once really used to think I could settle down
+with her comfortably some day. I only found out what an insipid little fool she
+was when I had a woman of sense to compare her with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont say hard things about her. I think you might have a little
+forbearance towards her under the circumstances.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hm! I dont feel very forbearing. She has been sticking to me for the
+last few days like a barnacle. Our respectable young ladies think a lot of
+themselves, but&mdash;except you and Nelly&mdash;I dont know a woman in society who has as
+much brains in her whole body as Susanna Conolly has in her little finger nail.
+I cant imagine how the deuce you all have the cheek to expect men to talk to
+you, much less marry you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps there is something that honest men value more than
+brains.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should like to know what it is. If it is something that ladies have
+and Susanna hasnt, it is not either good looks or good sense. If it&rsquo;s
+respectability, that depends on what you consider respectable. If Conny&rsquo;s
+respectable and Susanna isnt, then I prefer disrepu&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush, Duke, you know you have no right to speak to me like this. Let us
+think of poor Constance. How is she to be told the truth?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her find it out. I shall go back to London as soon as I can; and the
+affair will drop somehow or another. She will forget all about me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Happy-go-lucky Marmaduke. I think if neglect and absence could make her
+forget you, you would have been forgotten before this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. You see you must admit that I gave her no reason to suppose I meant
+anything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid you have consulted your own humor both in your neglect and
+your attentions, Duke. The more you try to excuse yourself, the more
+inexcusable your conduct appears. I do not know how to advise you. If Constance
+is told, you may some day forget all about your present infatuation; and then a
+mass of mischief and misery will have been made for nothing. If she is not
+told, you will be keeping up a cruel deception and wasting her chances of&mdash;&mdash;but
+she will never care for anybody else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Better do as I say. Leave matters alone for the present. But mind! no
+speculating on my changing my intentions. I wont marry her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you hadnt told me about it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Marian, I couldnt help it. I know, of course, that you only wanted
+to make us all happy; but you nursed this match and kept it in
+Constance&rsquo;s mind as much as you could. Besides&mdash;though it was not your
+fault&mdash;that mistake about Conolly was too serious not to explain. Dont be
+downcast: I am not blaming you a bit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems to me that the worst view of things is always the true one in
+this world. Nelly and Jasper were right about you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aha! So <i>they</i> saw what I felt. You cant say I did not make my
+intentions plain enough to every unbiassed person. The Countess was determined
+to get Constance off her hands; Constance was determined to have me; and you
+were determined to stick up for your own notions of love and
+honeysuckles.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was determined to stick up for <i>you</i>, Marmaduke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont be indignant: I knew you would stick up for me in your own way. But
+what I want to shew is, that only three people believed that I was in earnest;
+and those three were prejudiced.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you had enlightened Constance, and deceived all the rest of the
+world, instead. No doubt I was wrong, very wrong. I am very sorry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pshaw! It doesnt matter. It will all blow over some day. Hush, I hear
+the garden gate opening. It is Constance, come to spy what I am doing here with
+you. She is as jealous as a crocodile&mdash;very nearly made a scene yesterday
+because I played with Nelly against her at tennis. I have to drive her to Bushy
+Copse this afternoon, confound it!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And <i>will</i> you, after what you have just confessed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must. Besides, Jasper says that Conolly is coming this evening to pack
+up his traps and go; and I want to be out of the way when he is about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This evening!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Between ourselves, Marian, Susanna and I were so put out by the
+cool way he carried on when he called, that we had a regular quarrel after he
+went; and we haven&rsquo;t made it up yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray dont talk about it to me, Duke. Here is Constance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you are here,&rdquo; said Constance, gaily, but with a quick glance
+at them. &ldquo;That is a pretty way to bring your cousin in to luncheon,
+sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We got chatting about you, my ownest,&rdquo; said Marmaduke; &ldquo;and
+the subject was so sweet, and the moments were so fleet, that we talked for
+quite an hour on the strict q.t. Eh, Marian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As a punishment, you shall have no lunch. Mamma is very angry with you
+both.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Always ready to make allowances for her, provided she sends you to
+lecture me, Conny. Why dont you wear your hat properly?&rdquo; He arranged her
+hat as he spoke. Constance laughed and blushed. Marian shuddered. &ldquo;Now
+youre all that fancy painted you: youre lovely, youre divine. Are you ready for
+Bushy Copse?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Constance replied by singing:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&ldquo;Oh yes, if you please, kind sir, she said; sir, she said; sir, she said;<br/>
+Oh! yes if you ple&mdash;ease, kind sir, she said.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then come along. After your ladyship,&rdquo; he said, taking her elbows
+as if they were the handles of a wheelbarrow, and pushing her out before him
+through the narrow entrance to the summer-house. On the threshold he turned for
+a moment; met Marian&rsquo;s reproachful eyes with a wink; grinned; and
+disappeared.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+For half an hour afterward Marian sat alone in the summer-house, thinking of
+the mistake she had made. Then she returned to the Cottage, where she found
+Miss McQuinch writing in the library, and related to her all that had passed in
+the summer-house. Elinor listened, seated in a rocking-chair, restlessly
+clapping her protended ankles together. When she heard of Conolly&rsquo;s
+relationship to Susanna, she kept still for a few moments, looking with widely
+opened eyes at Marian. Then, with a sharp laugh, she said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I beg his pardon. I thought he was another of that woman&rsquo;s
+retainers. I never dreamt of his being her brother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian was horror stricken. &ldquo;You thought&mdash;! Oh, Nelly, what puts such
+things into your head?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So would you have thought it if you had the least gumption about people.
+However, I was wrong; and I&rsquo;m glad of it. However, I was right about
+Marmaduke. I told you so, over and over and over again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know you did; but I didnt think you were in earnest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you never can conceive my being in earnest when I differ from you,
+until the event proves me to be right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid it will kill Constance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Dont</i>, Marian!&rdquo; cried Elinor, giving her chair a violent
+swing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am quite serious. You know how delicate she is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if she dies of any sentiment, it will be wounded vanity. Serve her
+right for allowing a man to be forced into marrying her. I believe she knows in
+her soul that he does not care about her. Why else should she be jealous of me,
+of you, and of everybody?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems to me that instead of sympathizing with the unfortunate girl,
+both you and Marmaduke exult in her disappointment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I pity her, poor little wretch. But I dont sympathize with her. I dont
+pity Marmaduke one bit: if the whole family cuts him he will deserve it richly,
+but I do sympathize with him. Can you wonder at his preference? When we went to
+see that woman last June I envied her. There she was, clever, independent,
+successful, holding her own in the world, earning her living, fascinating a
+crowd of people, whilst we poor respectable nonentities sat pretending to
+despise her&mdash;as if we were not waiting until some man in want of a female slave
+should offer us our board and lodging and the privilege of his lordly name with
+&lsquo;Missis&rsquo; before it for our lifelong services. You may make up as
+many little bread-and-butter romances as you please, Marian; but I defy you to
+give me any sensible reason why Marmaduke should chain himself for ever to a
+little inane thing like Constance, when he can enjoy the society of a capable
+woman like that without binding himself at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense, Nelly! Really, you oughtnt to say such things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I ought to keep both eyes tight shut so that I may be contented in
+that station to which it has pleased God to call me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Imagine his proposing to marry her, Nell! I am just as wicked as you;
+for I am very glad she refused; though I cant conceive why she did it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch, becoming excited, &ldquo;she refused
+because she had too much good sense: aye, and too much common decency to
+accept. It is all very well for us fortunate good-for-nothings to resort to
+prostitution&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Nelly!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&mdash;I say, to prostitution, to secure ourselves a home and an income.
+Somebody said openly in Parliament the other day that marriage was the true
+profession of women. So it is a profession; and except that it is a harder
+bargain for both parties, and that society countenances it, I dont see how it
+differs from what we&mdash;bless our virtuous indignation!&mdash;stigmatize as
+prostitution. <i>I</i> dont mean ever to be married, I can tell you, Marian. I
+would rather die than sell myself forever to a man, and stand in a church
+before a lot of people whilst George or somebody read out that cynically
+plain-spoken marriage service over me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop Nelly! Pray stop! If you thought for a moment you would never say
+such awful things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought we had agreed long ago that marriage is a mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes; but that is very different to what you are saying now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot see&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray stop, Nelly. Dont go on in that strain. It does no good; and it
+makes me very uncomfortable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take it out in work,&rdquo; said Nelly calmly, returning to
+her manuscript. &ldquo;I can see that, as you say, talking does no good. All
+the more reason why I should have another try at earning my own living. When I
+become a great novelist I shall say what I like and do what I please. For the
+present I am your obedient, humble servant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At any other time Marian would have protested, and explained, and soothed. Now
+she was too heavily preoccupied by her guilty conscience. She strolled
+disconsolately to the window, and presently, seeing that Miss McQuinch was at
+work in earnest and had better not be disturbed, went off for a lonely walk. It
+was a glorious afternoon; and nature heaped its peculiar consolations on her;
+so that she never thought of returning until the sun was close to the horizon.
+As she came, tired, through the plantation, with the evening glow and the light
+wind, in which the branches were rustling and the leaves dropping, lulling her
+luxuriously, she heard some one striding swiftly along the path behind. She
+looked back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could not see who was
+coming. Then it occurred to her that it might be Conolly. Dreading to face him
+after what had happened, she stole aside among the trees a little way, and sat
+down on a stone, hoping that he might pass by without seeing her. The next
+moment he came round the curve, looking so resolute and vigorous that her heart
+became fainter as she watched him. Just opposite where she sat, he stopped,
+having a clear view of the path ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled.
+Marian held her breath. He looked to the left through the trees, then to the
+right, where she was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-evening, Miss Lind,&rdquo; he said respectfully, raising his hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-evening,&rdquo; said she, trembling.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are not looking quite well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. That is why I had to
+sit down. I shall be rested presently.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. &ldquo;This is my last
+visit to Carbury Towers,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No doubt you know that I am
+going for good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I&mdash;I am greatly obliged to you for all
+the pains you have taken with me in the laboratory. You have been very patient.
+I suppose I have often wasted your time unreasonably.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Conolly, unceremoniously, &ldquo;you have not wasted my
+time: I never let anybody do that. My time belonged to Lord Carbury, not to
+myself. However, that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving you lessons.
+Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole obligation rests on me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They were very pleasant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He shifted himself into an easier position, looking well pleased. Then he said,
+carelessly, &ldquo;Has Mr. Marmaduke Lind come down?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian reddened and felt giddy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to avoid meeting him,&rdquo; continued Conolly; &ldquo;and I
+thought perhaps you might know enough of his movements this evening to help me
+to do so. It does not matter much; but I have a reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she tried to speak; but she
+repressed it, and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know before: I am sure you did
+not think I did. I made a dreadful mistake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why!&rdquo; said Conolly, with some indignation, &ldquo;who has told you
+since?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marmaduke,&rdquo; said Marian, roused to reply quickly by the energy of
+the questioner. &ldquo;He did not mean to be indiscreet: he thought I
+knew.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thought! He never thought in his life, Miss Lind. However, he was right
+enough to tell you; and I am glad you know the truth, because it explains my
+behavior the last time we met. It took me aback a bit for the moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You were very forbearing. I hope you will not think me intrusive if I
+tell you how sincerely sorry I am for the misfortune which has come to
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What misfortune?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian lost confidence again, and looked at him in silent distress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To be sure,&rdquo; he interposed, quickly. &ldquo;I know; but you had
+put it all out of my head. I am much obliged to you. Not that I am much
+concerned about it. You will perhaps think it an instance of the depravity of
+my order, Miss Lind; but I am not one of those people who think it pious to
+consider their near relatives as if they were outside the natural course of
+things. I never was a good son or a good brother or a good patriot in the sense
+of thinking that my mother and my sister and my native country were better than
+other people&rsquo;s because I happened to belong to them. I knew what would
+happen some day, though, as usual, my foreknowledge did not save me from a
+little emotion when the event came to pass. Besides, to tell you the truth, I
+dont feel it as a misfortune. You know what my sister&rsquo;s profession is.
+You told me how you felt when you saw her act. Now, tell me fairly, and without
+stopping to think of whether your answer will hurt me, would you consent to
+know her in private even if you had heard nothing to her disadvantage? Would
+you invite her to your house, or go to a party at which all the other women
+were like her? Would you introduce young ladies to her, as you would introduce
+them to Miss McQuinch? Dont stop to imagine exceptional circumstances which
+might justify you in doing these things; but tell me yes or no, <i>would</i>
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see, Mr. Conolly, I should really never have an opportunity of doing
+them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By your leave, Miss Lind, that means No. Honestly, then, what has
+Susanna to lose by disregarding your rules of behavior? Even if, by marrying,
+she conciliated the notions of your class, she would only give some man the
+right to ill-treat her and spend her earnings, without getting anything in
+return&mdash;and remember there is a special danger of that on the stage, for several
+reasons. She would not really conciliate you by marrying, for you wouldnt
+associate with her a bit the more because of her marriage certificate. Of
+course I am putting her self-respect out of the question, that being a matter
+between herself and her conscience, with which we have no concern. Believe me,
+neither actresses nor any other class will trouble themselves about the opinion
+of a society in which they are allowed to have neither part nor lot. Perhaps I
+am wrong to talk about such matters to you; but you are trained to feel all the
+worst that can be felt for my sister; and I feel bound to let you know that
+there is something to be said in her defence. I have no right to blame her, as
+she has done me no harm. The only way in which her conduct can influence my
+prospects will be through her being an undesirable sister-in-law in case I
+should want to marry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If the person you choose hesitate on that account, you can let her go
+without regret,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;She will not be worthy of your
+regard.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not so sure of that,&rdquo; said Conolly, laughing. &ldquo;You see,
+Miss Lind, if that invention of mine succeeds, I may become a noted man; and it
+is fashionable nowadays for society to patronize geniuses who hit on a new
+illustration of what people call the marvels of science. I am ambitious. As a
+celebrity, I might win the affections of a duchess. Who knows?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should not advise you to marry a duchess. I do not know many of them,
+as I am a comparatively humble person; but I am sure you would not like
+them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aye. And possibly a lady of gentle nurture would not like me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On the contrary, clever people are so rare in society that I think you
+would have a better chance than most men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think my manners would pass? I learnt to dance and bow before I
+was twelve years old from the most experienced master in Europe; and I used to
+mix with all the counts, dukes, and queens in my father&rsquo;s opera company,
+not to mention the fashionable people I have read about in novels.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are jesting, Mr. Conolly. I do not believe that your manners give
+you the least real concern.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you think that I may aspire in time&mdash;if I am successful in public&mdash;to
+the hand of a lady?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you know as much of the world as I. Why should you not marry a
+lady, if you wish to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid class prejudice would be too strong for me, after
+all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont think so. What hour is it now, Mr. Conolly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It wants ten minutes of seven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Marian, rising. &ldquo;Miss McQuinch is probably
+wondering whether I am drowned or lost. I must get back to the Hall as fast as
+I can. They have returned from Bushy Copse before this; and I am sure they are
+asking about me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly rose silently and walked with her as far as the path from the cottage
+to the laboratory.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is my way, Miss Lind,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am going to the
+laboratory. Will you be so kind as to give my respects to Miss McQuinch. I
+shall not see her again, as I must return to town by the last train
+to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And are you not coming back&mdash;not at all, I mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Marian slowly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good bye, Miss Lind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was about to raise his hat as usual; but Marian, with a smile, put out her
+hand. He took it for the first time; looked at her for a moment gravely; and
+left her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lest they should surprise one another in the act, neither of them looked back
+at the other as they went their several ways.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="book02"></a>BOOK II</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<p>
+In the spring, eighteen months after his daughter&rsquo;s visit to Carbury
+Towers, Mr. Reginald Harrington Lind called at a house in Manchester Square and
+found Mrs. Douglas at home. Sholto&rsquo;s mother was a widow lady older than
+Mr. Lind, with a rather glassy eye and shaky hand, who would have looked weak
+and shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty of money, unlimited
+domestic service, and unhesitating deference from attendants who were all
+trained artists in their occupation, made a fair shew of being a dignified and
+interesting old lady. When he was seated, her first action was to take a new
+photograph from a little table at her side, and hand it to him without a word,
+awaiting his recognition of it with a shew of natural pride and affection which
+was amateurish in comparison to the more polished and skilful comedy with which
+her visitor took it and pretended to admire it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Capital. Capital,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind. &ldquo;He must give us
+one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do you?&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not: it is an improvement,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, decisively.
+&ldquo;You are glad to have him back again with you, I dare say. Ah yes,
+yes&rdquo; (Mrs. Douglas&rsquo;s eyes had answered for her). &ldquo;Did he tell
+you that he met me? I saw him on Wednesday last for the first time since his
+return to London. How long was he away?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Two years,&rdquo; she replied, with slow emphasis, as if such an absence
+were hardly credible. &ldquo;Two long years. He has been staying in Paris, in
+Venice, in Florence: a month here, a week there, dissatisfied everywhere. He
+would have been almost as happy with me at home. And how is Marian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, smiling, &ldquo;I believe she is still
+disengaged; and she professes to be fancy free. She is fond of saying,
+generally, that she will never marry, and so forth. That is the new fashion
+with young women&mdash;if saying what they dont mean can be called a new
+fashion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian is sure to get married,&rdquo; said Mrs. Douglas. &ldquo;She must
+have had offers already. There are few parents who have not cause to envy
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have both been happy in that respect, Mrs. Douglas. Sholto is a
+highly distinguished young man. I wish I had started in life with half his
+advantages. I thought at one time he was perhaps becoming attached to
+Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are quite sure, Mr. Lind, that you could forgive his being a plain
+gentleman? A little bird whispered to me that you desired a title for
+Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear Mrs. Douglas, we, who are familiar with titles, understand their
+true value. I should be very sorry to see Marian lose, by an unsuitable
+alliance, the social position I have been able to give her. I should set my
+face resolutely against such an alliance. But few English titles can boast a
+pedigree comparable with Sholto&rsquo;s. The name of Douglas is historic&mdash;far
+more so than that of Lind, which is not even English except by naturalization.
+Besides, Sholto&rsquo;s talents are very remarkable. He will certainly adopt a
+political career; and, with his opportunities and abilities, a peerage is
+anything but a remote contingency.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto, you know, is perfectly unembarrassed. There is not a charge on
+his property. I think that even Marian, good as she is, and lovely as she is,
+will not easily find a better match. But I am well known to be a little crazy
+about my dear boy. That is because I know him so much better than anyone else
+does. Now let us talk about other matters. Let me see. Oh yes, I got a
+prospectus of some company from the city the other day; and whose name should
+there be upon the list of directors but Reginald Harrington Lind&rsquo;s! And
+Lord Carbury&rsquo;s, too! Pray, is the entire family going into
+business?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I believe the undertaking to be a commercially sound one;
+and&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Fancy <i>you</i> talking about commercial soundness!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True. It must sound strange to you. But it is no longer unusual for men
+in my position to take an active part in the direction of commerce. We have
+duties as well as privileges. I gave my name and took a few shares chiefly on
+the recommendation of Jasper and of my own stockbroker. I think there can be no
+doubt that Jasper and Mr. Conolly have made a very remarkable discovery, and
+one which must prove highly remunerative and beneficial.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is the discovery? I did not quite understand the prospectus.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it is called the Conolly Electro-motor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I know that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And it&mdash;it turns all sorts of machinery. I cannot explain it
+scientifically to you: you would not understand me. But it is, in short, a
+method of driving machinery by electricity at a less cost than by steam. It is
+connected in principle with the conservation of energy and other technical
+matters. You must come and see the machinery at work some day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must, indeed. And is it true that Mr. Conolly was a common working
+man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, a practical man, undoubtedly, but highly educated. He speaks French
+and Italian fluently, and is a remarkable musician. Altogether a man of very
+superior attainments, and by no means deficient in culture.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear me! Jasper told me something of that sort about him; but Lady
+Carbury gave him a very different character. She assured me that he was sprung
+from the dregs of the people, and that she had a great deal of trouble to teach
+him his proper place. Still, we know that she is not very particular as to what
+she says when she dislikes people. Yet she ought to know; for he was
+Jasper&rsquo;s laboratory servant&mdash;at least so she said.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, surely not a servant. Jasper never regarded him in that light. The
+Countess disapproves of Jasper&rsquo;s scientific pursuits, and sets her face
+against all who encourage him in them. However, I really know nothing about Mr.
+Conolly&rsquo;s antecedents. His manner when he appears at our board meetings
+is quiet and not unpleasant. Marian, it appears, met him at Towers Cottage the
+year before last, and had some scientific lessons from him. He was quite
+unknown then. It was rather a curious coincidence. I did not know of it until
+about a month ago, when he read a paper at the Society of Arts on his
+invention. I attended the meeting with Marian; and when it was over, I
+introduced him to her, and was surprised to learn that they knew one another
+already. He told me afterward that Marian had shewn an unusual degree of
+cleverness in studying electricity, and that she greatly interested him at the
+time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt. Marian interests everybody; and even great discoverers, when
+they are young, are only human.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah! Perhaps so. But she must have shewn some ability or she would never
+have elicited a remark from him. He is full of his business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what is the latest news of the family scamp?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean my Reginald?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear me, no! What a shame to call poor Reggy a scamp! I mean young
+Marmaduke, of course. Is it true that he has a daughter now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh yes. Perfectly true.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The reprobate! And he was always such a pleasant fellow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes; but he is annoyingly inconsiderate. About a fortnight ago, Marian
+and Elinor went to Putney to a private view at Mr. Scott&rsquo;s studio. On
+their way back they saw Marmaduke on the river, and, rather unnecessarily, I
+think, entered into conversation with him. He begged them to come to
+Hammersmith in his boat, saying that he had something there to shew them.
+Elinor, it appears, had the sense to ask whether it was anything they ought not
+to see; but he replied on his honor that it was something perfectly innocent,
+and promised that they should be delighted with it. So they foolishly
+consented, and went with him to Hammersmith, where they left the river and
+walked some distance with him. He left them in a road somewhere in West
+Kensington, and came back after about fifteen minutes with a little girl. He
+actually presented her to Marian and Elinor as a member of the family whom
+they, as a matter of course, would like to know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, <i>such</i> a thing to do! And what happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian seems to have thought of nothing but the prettiness of the
+unhappy child. She gravely informed me that she forgave Marmaduke everything
+when she saw how he doted on it. Elinor has always shewn a disposition to
+defend him&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is full of perversity, and always was.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&mdash;&mdash;and this incident did not damage his credit with <i>her</i>. However,
+after the little waif had been sufficiently petted and praised to gratify
+Master Marmaduke&rsquo;s paternal feelings, they came home, and, instead of
+holding their tongues, began to tell all our people what a dear little child
+Marmaduke had, and how they considered that it ought not to be made to suffer
+for his follies. In fact, I think they would have adopted it, if I had allowed
+them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is Marian all over. Some of her ideas will serve her very well when
+she goes to heaven; but they will get her into scrapes in this wicked world if
+you do not take care of her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear so. For that reason I tolerate a degree of cynicism in
+Elinor&rsquo;s character which would otherwise be most disagreeable to me. It
+is often useful in correcting Marian&rsquo;s extravagances. Unfortunately, the
+incident at Hammersmith did not pass off without making mischief. It happens
+that my sister Julia is interested in a Home for foundling girls&mdash;a semi-private
+place, where a dozen children are trained as domestic servants.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I have been through it. It is very neat and pretty; but they really
+treat the poor girls as if they ought to be thankful for permission to exist.
+Their dresses are so ugly!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly. I assure you that presentations are much sought after, and are
+very difficult to get. Julia is a patroness. Marian told her about this child
+of Marmaduke&rsquo;s; and it happened that a vacancy had just occurred at the
+Home in consequence of one of the girls dying of melancholia and spinal
+affection. Julia, who has perhaps more piety than tact, wrote to Marmaduke
+offering to present his daughter, and expatiating on the advantages of the Home
+to the poor little lost one. In her desire to reclaim Marmaduke also, she
+entrusted the letter to George, who undertook to deliver it, and further
+Julia&rsquo;s project by personal persuasion. George described the interview to
+me, and shewed me, I am sorry to say, how much downright ferocity may exist
+beneath an apparently frank, jovial, reckless exterior like
+Marmaduke&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I hardly wonder at his refusing. Of course, he might have known
+that the motive of the offer was a kind one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Refused! A gentleman can always refuse an offer with dignity. Marmaduke
+was outrageous. George&mdash;a clergyman&mdash;owed his escape from actual violence to the
+interference of the woman, and to a timely representation that he had
+undertaken to bear the message in order to soften any angry feelings that it
+might give rise to. Marmaduke repeatedly applied foul language to his aunt and
+to her offer; and George with great difficulty dissuaded him from writing a
+most offensive letter to her. Julia was so hurt by this that she complained to
+Dora&mdash;Marmaduke&rsquo;s mother&mdash;who had up to that time been kept in ignorance of
+his doings; and now it is hard to say where the mischief will end. Dora is
+overwhelmed by the revelation of the life her son is leading. Marmaduke has
+consequently forfeited his father&rsquo;s countenance, which had to be extended
+to him so far as to allow of his occasional appearance at home, in order to
+keep Dora in the dark. Now that she is enlightened, of course there is an end
+of all that, and he is forbidden the house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a lot of mischief! Dear me!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I said to Marian. Had she refused to go up the river with Marmaduke,
+as she should have done, all this would not have occurred. She will not see it
+in that light, but lays all the blame on her aunt Julia, whose offer fell
+somewhat short of her own notions of providing for the child&rsquo;s
+future.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How does Marmaduke stand with respect to money? I suppose his father has
+stopped his allowance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. He threatened to do it, and went so far as to make his solicitor
+write to that effect to Marmaduke, who had the consummate impudence to reply
+that he should in that case be compelled to provide for himself by contracting
+a marriage of which he could not expect his family to approve. Still, he added,
+if the family chose to sever their connexion with him, they could not expect
+him to consult their feelings in his future disposal of himself. In plain
+English, he threatened to marry this woman if his income was cut off. He
+carried his point, too; for no alteration has been made in his allowance.
+Indeed, as he has money of his own, and as part of the property is entailed, it
+would be easier to irritate him uselessly than to subject him to any material
+deprivation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The young scamp! I wonder he was clever enough to take advantage like
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He has shewn no lack of acuteness of late. I suspect he is under shrewd
+guidance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you ever seen the&mdash;the guidance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not in person. I seldom enter a theatre now. But I am of course familiar
+with her appearance from the photographic portraits of her. They are in all the
+shop windows.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I think I have noticed them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now, Mrs. Douglas, I fear I have paid you a very long visit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why dont you come oftener?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I could find time. I have not so much leisure for enjoyment as I
+used.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not so sure of that. But we are always glad to have a chat with one
+another, I know. We are agreed about the dear children, I think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cordially. Cordially. Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<p>
+On the morning of the first Friday in May Marian received this letter:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Uxbridge Road, Holland Park, W.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;DEAR MISS LIND: I must begin by explaining why I make this communication
+to you by letter instead of orally. It is because I am about to ask you to do
+me a favor. If you asked me to do anything for you, then, no matter how much my
+judgment might protest against my compliance, I could not without pain to
+myself refuse you face to face. I have no right to assume that your heart would
+plead on my behalf against your head in this fashion; but, on the other
+hand&mdash;the wish is father to the thought here&mdash;I have no right to assume that it
+would not. Therefore, to spare you all influences except the fair ones of your
+own interest and inclination, I make my proposal in writing. You will please
+put the usual construction on the word &lsquo;proposal.&rsquo; What I desire is
+your consent to marry me. If your first impulse now is to refuse, I beg you to
+do so in plain terms at once, and destroy this letter without reading further.
+If you think, on the contrary, that we could achieve a future as pleasant as
+our past association has been&mdash;to me at least, here is what, as I think, you
+have to consider.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a lady, rich, well-born, beautiful, loved by many persons
+besides myself, too happily circumstanced to have any pressing inducement to
+change your condition, and too fortunately endowed in every way to have reason
+to anticipate the least difficulty in changing it to the greatest worldly
+advantage when you please.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What I am and have been, you know. I may estrange from you some of the
+society which you enjoy, and I can introduce you to none that would compensate
+you for the loss. I am what you call poor: my income at present does not amount
+to much more than fifteen hundred pounds; and I should not ask you to marry me
+if it were not that your own inheritance is sufficient, as I have ascertained,
+to provide for you in case of my early death. You know how my sister is
+situated; how your family are likely to feel toward me on her account and my
+own; and how impatient I am of devoting much time to what is fashionably
+supposed to be pleasure. On the other hand, as I am bidding for a consent and
+not for a refusal, I hope you will not take my disadvantages for more, or my
+advantages for less, than they are honestly worth. At Carbury Park you often
+said that you would never marry; and I have said the same myself. So, as we
+neither of us overrate the possibilities of happiness in marriage, perhaps we
+might, if you would be a little forbearing with me, succeed in proving that we
+have greatly underrated them. As for the prudence of the step, I have seen and
+practised too much prudence to believe that it is worth much as a rule of
+conduct in a world of accidents. If there were a science of life as there is
+one of mechanics, we could plan our lives scientifically and run no risks; but
+as it is, we must&mdash;together or apart&mdash;take our chance: cautiousness and
+recklessness divide the great stock of regrets pretty equally.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting you, for my own
+good, to forfeit your present happy independence among your friends, and
+involve your fortunes with those of a man whom you have only seen on occasions
+when ceremony compelled him to observe his best behavior. I can only excuse
+myself by reminding you that no matter whom you marry, you must do so at the
+same disadvantages, except as to the approval of your friends, of which the
+value is for you to consider. That being so, why should I not profit by your
+hazard as well as another? Besides, there are many other feelings impelling me.
+I should like to describe them to you, and would if I understood them well
+enough to do it accurately.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;However, nothing is further from my intention than to indite a love
+letter; so I will return to graver questions. One, in particular, must be
+clearly understood between us. You are too earnest to consider an allusion to
+religious matters out of place here. I do not know exactly what you believe;
+but I have gathered from stray remarks of yours that you belong to what is
+called the Broad Church. If so, we must to some extent agree to differ. I
+should never interfere in any way with your liberty as far as your actions
+concerned yourself only. But, frankly, I should not permit my wife to teach my
+children to know Christianity in any other way than that in which an educated
+Englishman knows Buddhism. I will not go through any ceremony whatever in a
+church, or enter one except to play the organ. I am prejudiced against
+religions of all sorts. The Church has made itself the natural enemy of the
+theatre; and I was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor workman
+earning wages, when I found the Church always taking part against me and my
+comrades with the rich who did no work. If the Church had never set itself
+against me, perhaps I should never have set myself against the Church; but what
+is done is done: you will find me irreligious, but not, I hope, unreasonable.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will be at the Academy to-morrow at about four o&rsquo;clock, as I do
+not care to remain longer in suspense than is absolutely necessary; but if you
+are not prepared to meet me then, I shall faithfully help you in any effort I
+may perceive you make to avoid me.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;I am, dear Miss Lind,                  <br/>
+&ldquo;Yours sincerely,             <br/>
+&ldquo;EDWARD CONOLLY.  &rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations set forth in
+it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just what she should have
+hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the quaint earnestness about
+religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as she thought) of the advantages which
+she might forfeit by marrying him, there was just enough of the workman to make
+them characteristic. She wished that she could make some real sacrifice for his
+sake. She was afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off,
+occupied herself during the forenoon with her household duties, with some
+pianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuade herself
+were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient of further delay.
+She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, and re-read the letter
+resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she read it again. The third time
+she liked it better than the first; and she would have gone through it yet
+again but for the arrival of Mrs. Leith Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to
+go to Burlington House.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy,&rdquo; said
+Mrs. Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. &ldquo;I have been there at the press
+view, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, of course,
+I am expected to be there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I were in your place,&rdquo; said Elinor, &ldquo;I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last night,&rdquo; continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her,
+&ldquo;I was not in bed until half-past two o&rsquo;clock. On the night before,
+I was up until five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you do such things?&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear, I <i>must</i>. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on
+Tuesday at three o&rsquo;clock, and said he must have an article on the mango
+experiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. For his
+paper, the <i>Fortnightly Naturalist</i>, you know. &lsquo;My dear John
+Metcalf,&rsquo; I said, &lsquo;I dont know what a mango is.&rsquo; &lsquo;No
+more do I, Mrs. Leith Fairfax,&rsquo; said he: &lsquo;I think it&rsquo;s
+something that blooms only once in a hundred years. No matter what it is, you
+must let me have the article. Nobody else can do it.&rsquo; I told him it was
+impossible. My London letter for the <i>Hari Kari</i> was not even begun; and
+the last post to catch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the
+morning. I had an article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had
+been shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. &lsquo;If you
+were to go down on your knees,&rsquo; I said, &lsquo;I could not find time to
+read up the <i>flora</i> of the West Indies and finish an article before
+morning.&rsquo; He went down on his knees. &lsquo;Now Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I am going to stay here until you
+promise.&rsquo; What could I do but promise and get rid of him? I did it, too:
+how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf told me yesterday that Sir James
+Hooker, the president of the Society for Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in
+Britain, and the greatest living authority on the subject, has got the credit
+of having written my article.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How flattered he must feel!&rdquo; said Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What article had you to write for papa?&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On the electro-motor&mdash;the Conolly electro-motor. I went down to the City
+on Wednesday, and saw it working. It is most wonderful, and very interesting.
+Mr. Conolly explained it to me himself. I was able to follow every step that
+his mind has made in inventing it. I remember him as a common workman. He
+fitted the electric bell in my study four years ago with his own hands. You may
+remember that we met him at a concert once. He is a thorough man of business.
+The Company is making upward of fifty pounds an hour by the motor at present;
+and they expect their receipts to be a thousand a day next year. My article
+will be in the <i>Dynamic Statistician</i> next week. Have you seen Sholto
+Douglas since he came back from the continent?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to see him. When you meet him next, tell him to call on me. Why
+has he not been here? Surely you are not keeping up your old quarrel?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What old quarrel?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I always understood that he went abroad on your account.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never quarreled with him. Perhaps he did with me, as he has not come
+to see us since his return. It used to be so easy to offend him that his
+retirement in good temper after a visit was quite exceptional.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, come, my dear child! that is all nonsense. You must be kind to the
+poor fellow. Perhaps he will be at the Academy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope not,&rdquo; said Marian, quickly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean if he cherishes any grudge against me; for he will be very
+disagreeable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A grudge against you! Ah, Marian, how little you understand him! What
+perverse creatures all you young people are! I must bring about an
+<i>éclaircissement</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I advise you not to,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;If you succeed, no one
+will admit that you have done anything; and if you fail, everybody will blame
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But there is nothing to be <i>éclairci</i>,&rdquo; said Marian. We are
+talking nonsense, which is silly&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And French, which is vulgar,&rdquo; interposed Miss McQuinch, delivering
+the remark like a pistol shot at Mrs. Fairfax, who had been trying to convey by
+facial expression that she pitied the folly of Elinor&rsquo;s advice, and was
+scandalized by her presumption in offering it. &ldquo;It is time to start for
+the Academy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When they arrived at Burlington House, Mrs. Fairfax put on her gold rimmed
+spectacles, and led the way up the stairs like one having important business in
+a place to which others came for pleasure. When they had passed the turnstiles,
+Elinor halted, and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no sort of reason for our pushing through this crowd in a gang
+of three. Besides, I want to look at the pictures, and not after you to see
+which way you go. I shall meet you here at six o&rsquo;clock, sharp.
+Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What an extraordinary girl!&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, as Elinor opened
+her catalogue at the end, and suddenly disappeared to the right amongst the
+crowd.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She always does so,&rdquo; said Marian; &ldquo;and I think she is quite
+right. Two people cannot make their way about as easily as one; and they never
+want to see the same pictures.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, my dear, consider the impropriety of a young girl walking about by
+herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely there is no impropriety in it. Lots of people&mdash;all sensible women
+do it. Who can tell, in this crowd, whether you are by yourself or not? And
+what does it matter if&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here Mrs. Fairfax&rsquo;s attention was diverted by the approach of one of her
+numerous acquaintances. Marian, after a moment&rsquo;s indecision, slipped away
+and began her tour of the rooms alone, passing quickly through the first in
+order to escape pursuit. In the second she tried to look at the pictures; but
+as she now for the first time realized that she might meet Conolly at any
+moment, doubt as to what answer she should give him seized her; and she felt a
+strong impulse to fly. The pictures were unintelligible to her: she kept her
+face turned to the inharmonious shew of paint and gilding only because she
+shrank from looking at the people about. Whenever she stood still, and any man
+approached and remained near her, she contemplated the wall fixedly, and did
+not dare to look round or even to stir until he moved away, lest he should be
+Conolly. When she passed from the second room to the large one, she felt as
+though she were making a tremendous plunge; and indeed the catastrophe occurred
+before she had accomplished the movement, for she came suddenly face to face
+with him in the doorway. He did not flinch: he raised his hat, and prepared to
+pass on. She involuntarily put out her hand in remonstrance. He took it as a
+gift at once; and she, confused, said anxiously: &ldquo;We must not stand in
+the doorway. The people cannot pass us,&rdquo; as if her action had meant
+nothing more than an attempt to draw him out of the way. Then, perceiving the
+absurdity of this pretence, she was quite lost for a moment. When she recovered
+her self-possession they were standing together in the less thronged space near
+a bust of the Queen; and Conolly was saying:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been here half an hour; and I have not seen a single
+picture.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; she said timidly, looking down at her catalogue.
+&ldquo;Shall we try to see some now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He opened his catalogue; and they turned together toward the pictures and were
+soon discussing them sedulously, as if they wished to shut out the subject of
+the very recent crisis in their affairs, which was nevertheless constantly
+present in their minds. Marian was saluted by many acquaintances. At each
+encounter she made an effort to appear unconcerned, and suffered immediately
+afterward from a suspicion that the effort had defeated its own object, as such
+efforts often do. Conolly had something to say about most of the pictures:
+generally an unanswerable objection to some historical or technical inaccuracy,
+which sometimes convinced her, and always impressed her with a confiding sense
+of ignorance in herself and infallible judgment in him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think we have done enough for one day,&rdquo; she said at last.
+&ldquo;The watercolors and the sculpture must wait until next time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We had better watch for a vacant seat. You must be tired.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am, a little. I think I should like to sit in some other room. Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax is over there with Mr. Douglas&mdash;a gentleman whom I know and would
+rather not meet just now. You saw him at Wandsworth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That tall man? He has let his beard grow since.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is he. Let us go to the room where the drawings are: we shall have
+a better chance of a seat there. I have not seen Sholto for two years; and our
+last meeting was rather a stormy one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian was a little hurt by being questioned. She missed the reticence of a
+gentleman. Then she reproached herself for not understanding that his frank
+curiosity was a delicate appeal to her confidence in him, and answered:
+&ldquo;He proposed to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly immediately dropped the subject, and went in search of a vacant seat.
+They found one in the little room where the architects&rsquo; drawings
+languish. They were silent for some time.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then he began, seriously: &ldquo;Is it too soon to call you by your own name?
+&lsquo;Miss Lind&rsquo; is distant; but &lsquo;Marian&rsquo; might shock you if
+it came too confidently without preparation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whichever you please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whichever I please!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is the worst of being a woman. Little speeches that are sheer
+coquetry when you analyze them, come to our lips and escape even when we are
+most anxious to be straightforward.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In the same way,&rdquo; said Conolly, &ldquo;the most enlightened men
+often express themselves in a purely conventional manner on subjects on which
+they have the deepest convictions.&rdquo; This sententious utterance had the
+effect of extinguishing the conversation for some moments, Marian being unable
+to think of a worthy rejoinder. At last she said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is your name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Edward, or, familiarly, Ned. Commonly Ted. In America, Ed. With, of
+course, the diminutives Neddy, Teddy, and Eddy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I should prefer Ned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I prefer Ned myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you any other name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes; but it is a secret. Why people should be plagued with two Christian
+names, I do not know. No one would have believed in the motor if they had known
+that my name was Sebastian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sebastian!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush. I was actually christened Edoardo Sebastiano Conolly. My father
+used to spell his name Conollj whilst he was out of Italy. I have frustrated
+the bounty of my godfathers by suppressing all but the sensible Edward
+Conolly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a pause. Then Marian spoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you intend to make our&mdash;our engagement known at once?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have considered the point; and as you are the person likely to be
+inconvenienced by its publication, I am bound to let you conceal it for the
+present, if you wish to. It must transpire sometime: the sooner the better. You
+will feel uncomfortably deceitful with such a secret; and as for me, every time
+your father greets me cordially in the City I shall feel mean. However, you can
+watch for your opportunity. Let me know at once when the cat comes out of the
+bag.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will. I think, as you say, the right course is to tell at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Undoubtedly. But from the moment you do so until we are married you will
+be worried by remonstrances, entreaties, threats, and what not; so that we
+cannot possibly make that interval too short.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must take Nelly into our confidence. You will not object to
+that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not. I like Miss McQuinch.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You really do! Oh, I am so glad. Well, we are accustomed to go about
+together, especially to picture galleries. We can come to the Academy as often
+as we like; and you can come as often as you like, can you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Opening day, for instance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, if you wish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us say between half-past four and five, then. I would willingly be
+here when the doors open in the morning; but my business will not do itself
+while I am philandering and making you tired of me before your time. The
+consciousness of having done a day&rsquo;s work is necessary to my complete
+happiness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I, too, have my day&rsquo;s work to do, silly as it is. I have to
+housekeep, to receive visitors, to write notes about nothing, and to think of
+the future. We can say half-past four or any later hour that may suit
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Agreed. And now, Marian&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont let me disturb you,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch, at his elbow, to
+Marian; &ldquo;but Mrs. Leith Fairfax will be here with Sholto Douglas
+presently; and I thought you might like to have an opportunity of avoiding him.
+How do you do, Mr. Conolly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must see him sooner or later,&rdquo; said Marian, rising.
+&ldquo;Better face him at once and get it over. I will go back by myself and
+meet them.&rdquo; Then, with a smile at Conolly, she went out through the door
+leading to the water-color gallery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian does not stand on much ceremony with you, Mr. Conolly,&rdquo;
+said Miss McQuinch, glancing at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;Do you think you could face the Academy
+again on Monday at half-past four?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Lind is coming to meet me here at that hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Precisely. Marian. She has promised to marry me. At present it is a
+secret. But it was to be mentioned to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will not be a secret very long if you allow people to overhear you
+calling her by her Christian name in the middle of the Academy, as you did me
+just now,&rdquo; said Elinor, privately much taken aback, but resolute not to
+appear so.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you overhear us? I should have been more careful. You do not seem
+surprised.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just a little, at your audacity. Not in the least at Marian&rsquo;s
+consenting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not mean it in that way at all,&rdquo; said Elinor resentfully.
+&ldquo;I think you have been very fortunate, as I suppose you would have
+married somebody in any case. I believe you are able to appreciate her.
+That&rsquo;s a compliment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I hope I deserve it. Do you think you will ever forgive me for
+supplanting the hero Marian deserves?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you had let your chance of her slip, I should have despised you, I
+think: at least, I should if you had missed it with your eyes open. I am so far
+prejudiced in your favor that I think Marian would not like you unless you were
+good. I have known her to pity people who deserved to be strangled; but I never
+knew her to be attracted by any unworthy person except myself; and even I have
+my good points. You need not trouble yourself to agree with me: you could not
+do less, in common politeness. As I am rather tired, I shall go and sit in the
+vestibule until the others are ready to go home. In the meantime you can tell
+me all the particulars you care to trust me with. Marian will tell me the rest
+when we go home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is an undeserved stab,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind: I am always stabbing people. I suppose I like it,&rdquo; she
+added, as they went together to the vestibule.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Leith Fairfax had not been wasting her time. She had come upon
+Douglas in the large room, and had recognized him by his stature and proud
+bearing, in spite of the handsome Assyrian beard he had allowed to grow during
+his stay abroad.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been very anxious to see you,&rdquo; said she, forcing a
+conversation upon him, though he had saluted her formally, and had evidently
+intended to pass on without speaking. &ldquo;If your time were not too valuable
+to be devoted to a poor hard-working woman, I should have asked you to call on
+me. Dont deprecate my forbearance. You are Somebody in the literary world
+now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed? I was not aware that I had done anything to raise me from
+obscurity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I assure you you are very much mistaken, or else very modest. Has no one
+told you about the effect your book produced here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know nothing of it, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I never enquire after the
+effect of my work. I have lived in comparative seclusion; and I scarcely know
+what collection of fugitive notes of mine you honor by describing as a
+book.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I mean your &lsquo;Note on three pictures in last year&rsquo;s
+<i>Salon</i>,&rsquo; with the sonnets, and the fragment from your unfinished
+drama. Is it finished, may I ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not finished. I shall never finish it now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will tell you&mdash;between ourselves&mdash;that I heard one of the foremost
+critics of the age say, in the presence of a great poet (whom we both know),
+that it was such another fragment as the Venus of Milo, &lsquo;whose lost
+arms,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;we should fear to see, lest they should be
+unworthy of her.&rsquo; &lsquo;You are right,&rsquo; said the poet: &lsquo;I,
+for one, should shudder to see the fragment completed.&rsquo; That is a
+positive fact. But look at some of the sonnets! Burgraves says that his
+collection of English sonnets is incomplete because it does not contain your
+&lsquo;Clytemnestra,&rsquo; which he had not seen when his book went to press.
+You stand in the very forefront of literature&mdash;far higher than I, who am&mdash;dont
+tell anybody&mdash;five years older than you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are very good. I do not value any distinction of the sort. I write
+sometimes because, I suppose, the things that are in me must come out, whether
+I will or not. Let us talk of something else. You are quite well I hope?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very far from it. I am never well; but since I never have a
+moment&rsquo;s rest from work, I must bear with it. People expect me to think,
+when I have hardly time to eat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you have no time to think, I envy you. But I am truly sorry that your
+health remains so bad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. But what is the cause of all this gloomy cynicism, Mr.
+Douglas? Why should you, who are young, distinguished, gifted, and already
+famous, envy me for having no leisure to think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You exaggerate the sadness of my unfortunate insensibility to the
+admiration of the crowd,&rdquo; said Douglas, coldly. &ldquo;I am,
+nevertheless, flattered by the interest you take in my affairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You need not be, Mr. Douglas,&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, earnestly,
+fearing that he would presently succeed in rebuffing her. &ldquo;I think you
+are much better off than you deserve. You may despise your reputation as much
+as you like: that only affects yourself. But when a beautiful girl pays you the
+compliment of almost dying of love for you, I think you ought to buy a
+wedding-ring and jump for joy, instead of sulking in remote corners of the
+continent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And pray, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, what lady has so honored me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must know, unless you are blind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me. I do not habitually imply what is not the case. I beg you to
+believe that I do <i>not</i> know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not know! What moles men are! Poor Marian!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oblige me by taking this seat,&rdquo; said Douglas, sternly, pointing to
+one just vacated. &ldquo;I shall not detain you many minutes,&rdquo; he added,
+sitting down beside her. &ldquo;May I understand that Miss Lind is the lady of
+whom you spoke just now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Remember that I am speaking to you as a friend, and that I trust to
+you not to mention the effort I am making to clear up the misunderstanding
+which causes her so much unhappiness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you then in Miss Lind&rsquo;s confidence? Did she ask you to tell me
+this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean, Mr. Douglas?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am quite innocent of any desire to shock or offend you, Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax. Does your question imply a negative?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most certainly. Marian ask me to tell! you must be dreaming. Do you
+think, even if Marian were capable of making an advance, that <i>I</i> would
+consent to act as a go-between? Really, Mr. Douglas!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I confess I do not understand these matters; and you must bear with my
+ineptitude. If Miss Lind entertains any sentiment for me but one of mistrust
+and aversion, her behavior is singularly misleading.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mistrust! Aversion! I tell you she is in love with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you have not, you admit, her authority for saying so, whereas I
+<i>have</i> her authority for the contrary.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You do not understand girls. You are mistaken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Possibly; but you must pardon me if I hesitate to set aside my own
+judgment in deference to your low estimate of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, her patience yielding a little to
+his persistent stiffness: &ldquo;be it so. Many men would be glad to beg what
+you will not be bribed to accept.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt. I trust that when they so humble themselves they may not
+encounter a flippant repulse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If they do, it will spring from her unmerited regard for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bowed slightly, and turned away, arranging his gloves as if about to rise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray what is that large picture which is skied over there to the
+right?&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, after a pause, during which she had feigned to
+examine her catalogue. &ldquo;I cannot see the number at this distance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you defend her conduct on the ground of that senseless and cruel
+caprice which your sex seem to consider becoming to them; or has she changed
+her mind in my absence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! you are talking of Marian. I do not know what you have to complain
+of in her conduct. Mind, she has never breathed a word to me on the subject. I
+am quite ignorant of the details of your difference with her. But she has
+confessed to me that she is very sorry for what passed&mdash;I am abusing her
+confidence by telling you so&mdash;and I am a woman, with eyes and brains, and know
+what the poor girl feels well enough. I will tell you nothing more: I have no
+right to; and Marian would be indignant if she knew how much I have said
+already. But I know what I should do were I in your place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Expose myself to another refusal, perhaps?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax, learning now for the first time that he had actually proposed to
+Marian, looked at him for some moments in silence with a smile which was
+assumed to cover her surprise. He thought it expressed incredulity at the idea
+of his being refused again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you sure?&rdquo; he began, speaking courteously to her for the first
+time. &ldquo;May I rely upon the accuracy of your impressions on this subject?
+I know you are incapable of trifling in a matter which might expose me to
+humiliation; but can you give me any guarantee&mdash;any&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not, Mr. Douglas. I am really sorry that I cannot give you a
+written undertaking that your suit shall succeed: perhaps that might encourage
+you to brave the scorn of a poor child who adores you. But if you need so much
+encouragement, I fear you do not greatly relish the prospect of success.
+Doubtless it has already struck her that since you found absence from her very
+bearable for two years, and have avoided meeting her on your return, her
+society cannot be very important to your happiness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it was her own fault. If she accuses me of having gone away to enjoy
+myself, her thoughts are a bitter sarcasm on the truth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Granted that it was her own fault, if you please. But surely you have
+punished her enough by your long seclusion, and can afford to shew a tardy
+magnanimity by this time. There she is, I think, just come in at the door on
+the left. My sight is so wretched. Is it not she?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then let us get up and speak to her. Come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must excuse me, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I have distinctly given her my
+word that I will not intrude upon her again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont be so foolish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas&rsquo;s face clouded. &ldquo;You are privileged to say so,&rdquo; he
+said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, frightened. &ldquo;But when I
+think of Marian, I feel like an old woman, and venture to remonstrate with all
+the presumption of age. I beg your pardon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bowed. Then Marian joined them, and Mrs. Fairfax again gave tongue.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where have you been?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You vanished from my side
+like a sprite. I have been searching for you ever since.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been looking at the pictures, of course. I am so glad you have
+come back, Sholto. I think you might have made time to pay us a visit before
+this. You look so strong and well! Your beard is a great improvement. Have you
+met Nelly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think we saw her at some distance,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;I have
+not been speaking to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you enjoy yourself while you were away?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As best I could.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You look as if you had succeeded very fairly. What o&rsquo;clock is it?
+Remember that we have to meet Nelly at the turnstiles at six.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is five minutes to six now, Miss Lind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, Mr. Douglas. We had better go, I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they left the room, Mrs. Fairfax purposely lingered behind them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I right in concluding that you are as frivolous as ever,
+Marian?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite,&rdquo; she replied. &ldquo;To-day especially so. I am very happy
+to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I ask why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Something has happened. I will tell you what it is some day perhaps, but
+not now. Something that realizes a romantic dream of mine. The dream has been
+hovering vaguely about me for nearly two years; but I never ventured to teach
+myself exactly what it was until to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Realized here? in the Academy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was foreshadowed&mdash;promised, at home this morning; but it was realized
+here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you know beforehand that I was coming?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not until to-day. Mrs. Leith Fairfax said that you would most likely be
+here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you are happy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So much so that I cannot help talking about my happiness to you, who are
+the very last person&mdash;as you will admit when everything is explained&mdash;to whom I
+should unlock my lips on the subject.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And why? Am I not interested in your happiness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose so. I hope so. But when you learn the truth, you will be more
+astonished than gratified.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dare swear that you are mistaken. Is this dream of yours an affair of
+the heart?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now you are beginning to ask questions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I will ask no more at present. But if you fear that my long
+absence has rendered me indifferent in the least degree to your happiness, you
+do me a great injustice.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, you were not in a very good humor with me when you went
+away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will forget that if you wish me to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do wish you to forget it. And you forgive me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most assuredly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then we are the best friends in the world again. This is a great deal
+better than meeting and pretending to ignore the very thing of which our minds
+are full. You will not delay visiting us any longer now, I hope.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will call on your father to-morrow morning. May I?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is out of town until Monday. He will be delighted to see you then. He
+has been talking to me about you a great deal of late. But if you want to see
+him in the morning you had better go to the club. I will write to him to-night
+if you like; so that he can write to you and make an appointment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do. Ah, Marian, instinct is better and truer than intellect. I have been
+for two years trying to believe all kinds of evil of you; and yet I knew all
+the time that you were an angel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian laughed. &ldquo;I suppose that under our good understanding I must let
+you say pretty things to me. You must write me a sonnet before your enthusiasm
+evaporates. I am sure I deserve it as well as Clytemnestra.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will. But I fear I shall tear it up for its unworthiness
+afterward.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont: I am not a critic. Talking of critics, where has Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax gone to? Oh, there she is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax came up when she saw Marian look round for her. &ldquo;My
+dear,&rdquo; she said: &ldquo;it is past six. We must go. Elinor may be waiting
+for us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They found Elinor seated in the vestibule with Conolly, at whom Mrs. Fairfax
+plunged, full of words. Conolly and Douglas, introduced to one another by
+Marian, gravely raised their hats. When they had descended the stairs, they
+stood in a group near one of the doors whilst Conolly went aside to get their
+umbrellas. Just then Marmaduke Lind entered the building, and halted in
+surprise at finding himself among so many acquaintances.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hallo!&rdquo; he cried, seizing Douglas&rsquo;s hand, and attracting the
+attention of the bystanders by his boisterous tone. &ldquo;Here you are again,
+old man! Delighted to see you. Didnt spot you at first, in the beard. George
+told me you were back. I met your mother in Knightsbridge last Thursday; but
+she pretended not to see me. How have you enjoyed yourself abroad, eh? Very
+much in the old style, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;I trust your people are quite
+well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hang me if I know!&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;I have not troubled
+them much of late. How d&rsquo;ye do, Mrs. Leith Fairfax? How are all the
+celebrities?&rdquo; Mrs. Fairfax bowed coldly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont roar so, Marmaduke,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Everybody is looking
+at you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Everybody is welcome,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, loudly. &ldquo;Douglas: you
+must come and see me. By Jove, now that I think of it, come and see me, all of
+you. I am by myself on week-nights from six to twelve; and I should enjoy a
+housewarming. If Mrs. Leith Fairfax comes, it will be all proper and right. Let
+us have a regular party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax looked indignantly at him. Elinor looked round anxiously for
+Conolly. Marian, struck with the same fear, moved toward the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here, Marmaduke,&rdquo; she said, offering him her hand.
+&ldquo;Good-bye. You are in one of your outrageous humors this
+afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What am I doing?&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;I am behaving myself
+perfectly. Let us settle about the party before we go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening, Mr. Lind,&rdquo; said Conolly, coming up to them with the
+umbrellas. &ldquo;This is yours, I think, Mrs. Leith Fairfax.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, subsiding. &ldquo;I&mdash;&mdash;Well, you are
+all off, are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite time for us, I think,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax, with a second and more distant bow, passed out with Conolly and
+Douglas. Elinor waited a moment to whisper to Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;First rate,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, in reply to the whisper; &ldquo;and
+beginning to talk like one o&rsquo;clock. Oh yes, I tell you!&rdquo; He shook
+Elinor&rsquo;s hand at such length in his gratitude for the inquiry that she
+was much relieved when a servant in livery interrupted him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Missus wants to speak to you, sir, afore she goes,&rdquo; said the man.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor shook her head at Marmaduke, and hurried away to rejoin the rest
+outside. As they went through the courtyard, they passed an open carriage, in
+which reclined a pretty woman with dark eyes and delicate artificial
+complexion. Her beauty and the elegance of her dress attracted their attention.
+Suddenly Marian became aware that Conolly was watching her as she looked at the
+woman in the carriage. She was about to say something, when, to her
+bewilderment, Elinor nudged her. Then she understood too, and looked solemnly
+at Susanna. Susanna, observing her, stared insolently in return, and Marian
+averted her head like a guilty person and hurried on. Conolly saw it all, and
+did not speak until they rejoined Mrs. Fairfax and Douglas in Piccadilly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you propose to go home?&rdquo; said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Walk to St. James&rsquo;s Street, where the carriage is waiting at the
+club; take Uncle Reginald with us; and drive home through the park,&rdquo; said
+Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will come with you as far as the club, if you will allow me,&rdquo;
+said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly then took leave of them, and stood still until they disappeared, when
+he returned to the courtyard, and went up to his sister&rsquo;s carriage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Susanna,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;How are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, there&rsquo;s nothing the matter with me,&rdquo; she replied
+carelessly, her eyes filling with tears, nevertheless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hear that I have been an uncle for some time past.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, on the wrong side of the blanket.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is its name?&rdquo; he said more gravely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lucy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it quite well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose not. According to Nurse, it is always ill.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into the cynical manner in which
+he had used to talk with his sister. &ldquo;Tired of it already?&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;Poor little wretch!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is very well off,&rdquo; she retorted, angrily: &ldquo;a precious
+deal better than I was at its age. It gets petting enough from its father,
+heaven knows! He has nothing else to do. I have to work.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have it all your own way at the theatre now, I suppose. You are
+quite famous.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, bitterly. &ldquo;We are both celebrities. Rather
+different from old times.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. However, let us hope
+all that is over now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who were those women who were with you a minute ago?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss McQuinch.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, she hasnt an idea to
+bless herself with. The other looks more of a devil. Now that you are a great
+man, why dont you marry a swell?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I intend to do so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord help her then!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Amen. Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, good-bye. Go on to Soho,&rdquo; she added, to the coachman, settling
+herself fretfully on the cushions.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<p>
+On Monday morning Douglas received a note inviting him to lunch at Mr.
+Lind&rsquo;s club. He had spent the greater part of the previous night
+composing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his pocket to St.
+James&rsquo;s Street. Mr. Lind received him cordially; listened to an account
+of his recent stay abroad; and described his own continental excursions, both
+gentlemen expressing great interest at such coincidences as their having put up
+at the same hotel or travelled by the same line of railway. When luncheon was
+over, Mr. Lind proposed that they should retire to the smoking-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should like to have a few words with you first, as we are alone
+here,&rdquo; said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity in anticipation
+of being appealed to as a parent. &ldquo;Certainly, Sholto.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What I have to say, coming so soon after my long absence, will probably
+surprise you. I had it in contemplation before my departure, and was only
+prevented from broaching it to you then by circumstances which have happily
+since lost their significance. When I tell you that my communication has
+reference to Marian, you will perhaps guess its nature.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. &ldquo;Well, Sholto,
+if it be so, you have my heartiest approval. You know what a lonely life her
+marriage will entail on me; so you will not expect me to consent without a few
+regrets. But I could not desire a better settlement for her. She must leave me
+some day. I have no right to complain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is in Marian&rsquo;s
+nature to form many ties, but to break none.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is an amiable girl, my&mdash;my darling child. Does she know anything of
+this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am here at her express request; and there remains to me the pleasure
+of getting her own final consent, which I would not press for until armed with
+your sanction.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Except for an involuntary hitch of his eyelids, Mr. Lind looked as if he
+believed perfectly in Douglas&rsquo;s respect for his parental claims.
+&ldquo;Quite right,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;quite right. You have my best
+wishes. I have no doubt you will succeed: none. There are, of course, a few
+affairs to be settled&mdash;a few contingencies to be provided
+for&mdash;children&mdash;accidents&mdash;and so forth. No difficulty is likely to arise between
+us on that score; but still, these things have to be arranged.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I propose a very simple method of arranging them. You are a man of
+honor, and more conversant with business than I. Give me your instructions. My
+lawyer shall have them within half an hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is said like a gentleman and a Douglas, Sholto. But I must consider
+before giving you an answer. You have thrown upon me the duty of studying your
+position as well as Marian&rsquo;s; and I must neither abuse your generosity
+nor neglect her interest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will, nevertheless, allow me to consider the conditions as settled,
+since I leave them entirely in your hands.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My own means have been seriously crippled by the extravagance of
+Reginald. Indeed both my boys have cost me much money. I had not, like you, the
+good fortune to be an only son. I was the fourth son of a younger son: there
+was very little left for me. I will treat Marian as liberally as I can; but I
+fear I cannot do anything for her that will bear comparison with your
+munificence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely I can give her enough. I should prefer to be solely responsible
+for her welfare.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no. That would be too bad. Oh no, Sholto: I will give her something,
+please God.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As you wish, Mr. Lind. We can arrange it to your satisfaction afterward.
+Do you intend returning to Westbourne Terrace soon?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid not. I have to go into the City. If you would care to come
+with me, I can shew you the Company&rsquo;s place there, and the working of the
+motor. It is well worth seeing. Then you can return with me to the Terrace and
+dine with us. After dinner you can talk to Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas consented; and they went to Queen Victoria Street, to a building which
+had on each doorpost a brass shield inscribed THE CONOLLY ELECTRO-MOTOR COMPANY
+OF LONDON, LIMITED. At the offices, on the first floor, they were received
+obsequiously and informed that Mr. Conolly was within. They then went to a door
+on which appeared the name of the inventor, and entered a handsomely furnished
+office containing several working models of machinery, and a writing-table,
+from his seat at which Conolly rose to salute his visitors.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good evening, Mr. Lind. How do you do, Mr. Douglas?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Mr. Lind. &ldquo;You two are acquainted. I did not know
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Conolly, &ldquo;I had the pleasure of meeting Mr.
+Douglas at the Academy yesterday evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed? Marian did not mention that you were there. Well, can we see the
+wonders of the place, Mr. Conolly; or do we disturb you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; replied Conolly, turning to one of the models, and
+beginning his showman&rsquo;s lecture with disquieting promptitude.
+&ldquo;Hitherto, as you are no doubt aware, Mr. Douglas, steam has kept
+electricity, as a motive power, out of the field; because it is much less
+expensive. Even induced magnetic currents, the cheapest known form of electric
+energy, can be obtained only by the use of steam power. You generate steam by
+the combustion of coal: electricity, without steam, can only be generated by
+the combustion of metals. Coal is much cheaper than metal: consider the vast
+amount of coal consumed in smelting metals. Still, electricity is a much
+greater force than steam: it&rsquo;s stronger, so to speak. Sixpennorth of
+electricity would do more work than sixpennorth of steam if only you could
+catch it and hold it without waste. Up to the present the waste has been so
+enormous in electric engines as compared with steam engines that steam has held
+its own in spite of its inferior strength. What I have invented is, to put it
+shortly, an electric engine in which there is hardly any waste; and we can now
+pump water, turn mill-stones, draw railway trains, and lift elevators, at a
+saving, in fuel and labor, of nearly seventy per cent, of the cost of steam.
+And,&rdquo; added Conolly, glancing at Douglas, &ldquo;as a motor of
+six-horsepower can be made to weigh less than thirty pounds, including fuel,
+flying is now perfectly feasible.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What!&rdquo; said Douglas, incredulously. &ldquo;Does not all
+trustworthy evidence prove that flying is a dream?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it did; because a combination of great power with little weight, such
+as an eagle, for instance, possesses, could not formerly be realized in a
+machine. The lightest known four-horse-power steam engine weighs nearly fifty
+pounds. With my motor, a machine weighing thirty pounds will give rather more
+than six-horse-power, or, in other words, will produce a wing power competent
+to overcome much more than its own gravity. If the Aeronautical Society does
+not, within the next few years, make a machine capable of carrying passengers
+through the air to New York in less than two days, I will make one
+myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very wonderful, indeed,&rdquo; said Douglas, politely, looking askance
+at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No more wonderful than the flight of a sparrow, I assure you. We shall
+presently be conveyed to the top of this building by my motor. Here you have a
+model locomotive, a model steam hammer, and a sewing machine: all of which, as
+you see, I can set to work. However, this is mere show. You must always bear in
+mind that the novelty is not in the working of these machines, but the
+smallness of the cost of working.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas endured the rest of the exhibition in silence, understanding none of
+the contrivances until they were explained, and not always understanding them
+even then. It was disagreeable to be instructed by Conolly&mdash;to feel that there
+were matters of which Conolly knew everything and he nothing. If he could have
+but shaped a pertinent question or two, enough to prove that he was quite
+capable of the subject if he chose to turn his attention to it, he could have
+accepted Conolly&rsquo;s information on the machinery as indifferently as that
+of a policeman on the shortest way to some place that it was no part of a
+gentleman&rsquo;s routine to frequent. As it was, he took refuge in his
+habitual reserve, and, lest the exhibition should be prolonged on his account,
+took care to shew no more interest in it than was barely necessary to satisfy
+Mr. Lind. At last it was over; and they returned westward together in a hansom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is a Yankee, I suppose,&rsquo;&rdquo; said Douglas, as if ingenuity
+were a low habit that must be tolerated in an American.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. They are a wonderful people for that sort of thing. Curious turn of
+mind the mechanical instinct is!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is one with which I have no sympathy. It is generally subject to the
+delusion that it has a monopoly of utility. Your mechanic hates art; pelts it
+with lumps of iron; and strives to extinguish it beneath all the hard and ugly
+facts of existence. On the other hand, your artist instinctively hates
+machinery. I fear I am an artist.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont think you are quite right there, Sholto. No. Look at the steam
+engine, the electric telegraph, the&mdash;the other inventions of the century. How
+could we get on without them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite as well as Athens got on without them. Our mechanical contrivances
+seem to serve us; but they are really mastering us, crowding and crushing the
+beauty out of our lives, and making commerce the only god.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I certainly admit that the coarser forms of Radicalism have made
+alarming strides under the influence of our modern civilization. But the
+convenience of steam conveyance is so remarkable that I doubt if we could now
+dispense with it. Nor, as a consistent Liberal, a moderate Liberal, do I care
+to advocate any retrogression, even in the direction of ancient Greece.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas was seized with a certain impatience of Mr. Lind, as of a well-mannered
+man who had never learned anything, and had forgotten all that he had been
+taught. He did not attempt to argue, but merely said, coldly: &ldquo;I can only
+say that I wish Fate had made me an Athenian instead of an Englishman of the
+nineteenth century.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind smiled complacently: he knew Douglas, if not Athens, better, but was
+in too tolerant a humor to say so. Little more passed between the two until
+they reached Westbourne Terrace, where Marian and her cousin were dressing for
+dinner. When Marian came down, her beauty so affected Douglas that his voice
+was low and his manner troubled as he greeted her. He took her in to dinner,
+and sat in silence beside her, heedless alike of his host&rsquo;s commonplaces
+and Miss McQuinch&rsquo;s acridities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind unceremoniously took a nap after his wine that evening, and allowed
+his guest to go upstairs alone. Douglas hoped that Elinor would be equally
+considerate, but, to his disappointment, he found her by herself in the
+drawing-room. She hastened to explain.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian is looking for some music. She will be back directly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He sat down and took an album from the table, saying: &ldquo;Have you many new
+faces here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. But we never discard old faces for new ones. It is the old ones
+that are really interesting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have not seen this one of Mr. Lind before. It is capital. Ah! this of
+you is an old friend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. What do you think of the one of Constance on the opposite
+page?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She looks as if she were trying to be as lugubrious as possible. What
+dress is that? Is it a uniform?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. She joined a nursing guild. Didnt Mrs. Douglas tell you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe so. I forgot. She went into a cottage hospital or something of
+that kind, did she not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She left it because one of the doctors offended her. He was rather
+dreadful. He said that in two months she had contributed more to the mortality
+among the patients than he had in two years, and told her flatly that she had
+been trained for the drawing-room and ought to stay there. She was glad enough
+to have an excuse for leaving; for she was heartily sick of making a fool of
+herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! Where is she now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Back at Towers Cottage, moping, I suppose. That&rsquo;s Mr. Conolly the
+inventor, there under Jasper.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I perceive. Clever head, rather! A plain, hard nature, with no depths
+in it. Is that his wife, with the Swiss bonnet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;His wife! Why, that is a Swiss girl, the daughter of a guide at
+Chamounix, who nursed Marian when she sprained her ankle. Mr. Conolly is not
+married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought men of his stamp always married early.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. He is engaged, and engaged to a lady of very good position.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He owes that to the diseased craving of modern women for notoriety of
+any sort. What an admirable photograph of Marian! I never saw it before. It is
+really most charming. When was it taken?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Last August, at Geneva. She does not like it&mdash;thinks it too
+coquettish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then perhaps she will give it to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She will be only too glad, I daresay. You have caught her at a soft
+moment to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot find that duet anywhere,&rdquo; said Marian, entering.
+&ldquo;What! up already, Sholto? Where is papa?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I left him asleep in the dining-room. I have just been asking Miss
+McQuinch whether she thought you would give me a copy of this carte.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That Geneva one. It is most annoying how people persist in admiring it.
+It always looks to me as if it belonged to an assortment of popular beauties at
+one shilling each. I dont think I have another. But you may take that if you
+wish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Douglas, drawing it from the book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you have a copy of every photograph I have had taken in my
+life,&rdquo; she said, sitting down near him, and taking the album. &ldquo;I
+have several of yours, too. You must get one taken soon for me; I have not got
+you with your beard yet. I have a little album upstairs which Aunt Dora gave me
+on my eighth birthday; and the first picture in it is you, dressed in flannels,
+holding a bat, and looking very stern as captain of your eleven at Eton. I used
+to stand in great awe of you then. Do you remember telling me once that
+&lsquo;Zanoni&rsquo; was a splendid book, and that I ought to read it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pshaw! No. I must have been a young fool. But it seems that I had the
+grace even then to desire your sympathy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I assure you I read it most reverently down in Wiltshire, where Nelly
+kept a select library of fiction concealed underneath her mattress; and I
+believed every word of it. Nelly and I agreed that you were exactly like
+Zanoni; but she was hardly to blame; for she had never seen you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Things like that make deep impressions on children,&rdquo; said Elinor,
+thoughtfully. &ldquo;You were a Zanoni in my imagination for years before I saw
+you. When we first met you treated me insufferably. If you had known how my
+childish fancy had predisposed me to worship you, you might have vouchsafed me
+some more consideration, and I might have gone on believing you a demigod to
+the end of the chapter. I have hardly forgiven you yet for disenchanting
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; said Douglas sarcastically. &ldquo;I must have been
+sadly lacking in impressiveness. But on the other hand I recollect that you did
+not disappoint me in the least. You fully bore out the expectations I had been
+led to form of you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no doubt I did,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;Yet I protest that my
+reputation was as unjust as yours. However, I have outlived my sensitiveness to
+this injustice, and have even contracted a bad habit of pretending to act up to
+it occasionally before foolish people. Marian: are you sure that duet is not on
+the sofa in my room?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, the sofa! I looked only in the green case.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will go and hunt it out myself. Excuse me for a few minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas was glad to see her go. Yet he was confused when he was alone with
+Marian. He strolled to the window, outside which the roof of the porch had been
+converted into a summer retreat by a tent of pink-striped canvass. &ldquo;The
+tent is up already,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I noticed it as we came in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Would you prefer to sit there? We can carry out this little table,
+and put the lamp on it. There is just room for three chairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We need not crowd ourselves with the table,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;There
+will be light enough. We only want to talk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Marian, rising. &ldquo;Will you give me that
+woolen thing that is on the sofa? It will do me for a shawl.&rdquo; He placed
+it on her shoulders, and they went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will sit in this corner,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;You are too big
+for the campstool. You had better bring a chair. I am fond of sitting here.
+When the crimson shade is on the lamp, and papa asleep in its roseate glow, the
+view is quite romantic: there is something ecstatically snug in hiding here and
+watching it.&rdquo; Douglas smiled, and seated himself as she suggested, near
+her, with his shoulder against the stone balustrade.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian,&rdquo; said he, after a pause: &ldquo;you remember what passed
+between us at the Academy yesterday?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You mean our solemn league and covenant. Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why did we not make that covenant before? Life is not so long, nor
+happiness so common, that we can afford to trifle away two years of it. I wish
+you had told me when I last came here of that old photograph of mine in your
+album.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But this is not a new covenant. It is only an old one mended. We were
+always good friends until you quarrelled and ran away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was not my fault, Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it must have been mine. However, it does not matter now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are right. Prometheus is unbound now; and his despair is only a
+memory sanctifying his present happiness. You know why I called on your father
+this morning?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was to see the electro-motor in the city, was it not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good Heavens, Marian!&rdquo; he said, rising, &ldquo;what spirit of
+woman or spirit of mischief tempts you to coquet with me even now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really thought that was the reason&mdash;besides, of course, your desire to
+make papa amends for not having been to see him sooner after your
+return.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian!&rdquo; he said, still remonstrantly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at him with sudden dread, and instinctively recognized the
+expression in his face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know as well as I,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;that I went to seek
+his consent to our solemn league and covenant, as you call it. If that covenant
+were written on your heart as it is on mine, you would not inflict on me this
+pretty petty torture. Your father has consented: he is delighted. Now may I
+make a guess at that happy secret you told me of yesterday, and promised I
+should know one day?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop! Wait,&rdquo; said Marian, very pale. &ldquo;I must tell you that
+secret myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush. Do not be so moved. Remember that your confession is to be
+whispered to me alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont talk like that. It is all a mistake. My secret has nothing to do
+with you.&rdquo; Douglas drew back a little way.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am engaged to be married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; he said sternly, advancing a step and looking
+down menacingly at her with his hand on the back of his chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have said what I mean,&rdquo; replied Marian with dignity. But she
+rose quickly as soon as she had spoken, and got past him into the drawing-room.
+He followed her; and she turned and faced him in the middle of the room, paler
+than before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are engaged to <i>me</i>,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not,&rdquo; she replied.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a lie!&rdquo; he exclaimed, struggling in his rage to break
+through the strong habit of self-control. &ldquo;It is a damnable lie; but it
+is the most cruel way of getting rid of me, and therefore the one most
+congenial to your heartlessness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto,&rdquo; said Marian, her cheeks beginning to redden: &ldquo;you
+should not speak to me like that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; he cried fiercely, &ldquo;that it is a lie!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whats the matter?&rdquo; said Elinor, coming hastily into the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto has lost his temper,&rdquo; said Marian, firmly, her indignation
+getting the better of her fear now that she was no longer alone with him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a lie,&rdquo; repeated Douglas, unable to shape a new sentence.
+Elinor and Marian looked at one another in perplexity. Then Mr. Lind entered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gently, pray,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You can be heard all through the
+house. Marian: what is the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She did not answer; but Douglas succeeded, after a few efforts, in speaking
+intelligibly. &ldquo;Your daughter,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;with the assistance
+of her friend Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and a sufficient degree of direct assurance
+on her own part, has achieved the triumph of bringing me to her feet a second
+time, after I had unfortunately wounded her vanity by breaking her chains for
+two years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is utterly false,&rdquo; interrupted Marian, with excitement.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; said Douglas, in a deeper tone and with a more determined
+manner, &ldquo;that she set Mrs. Leith Fairfax on me with a tale of love and
+regret for my absence. She herself with her own lips deliberately invited me to
+seek your consent to our union. She caused you to write me the invitation I
+received from you this morning. She told me that my return realized a dream
+that had been haunting her for two years. She begged me to forgive her the
+past, and to write her a sonnet, of which she said she was at least more worthy
+than Clytemnestra, and of which I say she is at best less worthy than
+Cressida.&rdquo; He took a paper from his pocket as he spoke; and, with a
+theatrical gesture, tore it into fragments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is very extraordinary,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind irresolutely. &ldquo;Is
+it some foolish quarrel, or what is the matter? Pray let us have no more
+unpleasantness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You need fear none from me,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;I do not propose
+to continue my acquaintance with Miss Lind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Douglas has proposed to marry me; and I have refused him,&rdquo;
+said Marian. &ldquo;He has lost his temper and insulted me. I think you ought
+to tell him to go away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Gently, Marian, gently. What am I to believe about this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What I have told you,&rdquo; said Douglas, &ldquo;I confirm <i>on my
+honor</i>, which you can weigh against the pretences of a twice perjured
+woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have to speak plainly on my own behalf, Mr. Lind. I regret that you
+were not in a position this morning to warn me of your daughter&rsquo;s notable
+secret.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If it is a secret, and you are a gentleman, you will hold your
+tongue,&rdquo; interposed Elinor, sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Papa,&rdquo; said Marian: &ldquo;I became engaged yesterday to Mr.
+Conolly. I told Mr. Douglas this in order to save him from making me a
+proposal. That is the reason he has forgotten himself. I had not intended to
+tell you so suddenly; but this misunderstanding has forced me to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Engaged to Mr. Conolly!&rdquo; cried Mr. Lind. &ldquo;I begin to fear
+that&mdash;&mdash;Enga&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; He took breath, and continued, to Marian: &ldquo;I forbid
+you to entertain any such engagement. Sholto: there is evidently nothing to be
+gained by discussing this matter in hot blood. It is some girlish
+absurdity&mdash;some&mdash;some&mdash;some&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I apologize for having doubted the truth of the excuse,&rdquo; said
+Douglas; &ldquo;but I see that I have failed to gauge Miss Lind&rsquo;s
+peculiar taste. I beg you to understand, Mr. Lind, that my pretensions are at
+an end. I do not aspire to the position of Mr. Conolly&rsquo;s rival.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are already in the position of Mr. Conolly&rsquo;s unsuccessful
+rival; and you fill it with a very bad grace,&rdquo; said Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray be silent, Elinor,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind. &ldquo;This matter does
+not concern you. Marian: go to your room for the present. I shall speak to you
+afterwards.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian flushed, and repressed a sob. &ldquo;I wish I were under <i>his</i>
+protection now,&rdquo; she said, looking reproachfully at Douglas as she
+crossed the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What can you expect from a father but hostility?&rdquo; said Elinor,
+bitterly. &ldquo;You are a coward, like all your sex,&rdquo; she added, turning
+to Douglas. Then she suddenly opened the door, and passed out through it with
+Marian, whilst the housemaids fled upstairs, the footman shrank into a corner
+of the landing, and the page hastily dragged the cook down to the kitchen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The two men, left together in the drawing-room, were for some moments quite at
+a loss. Then Mr. Lind, after a preliminary cough or two, said: &ldquo;Sholto: I
+cannot describe to you how shocked I am by what I have just heard. I am deeply
+disappointed in Marian. I trusted her implicitly; but of course I now see that
+I have been wrong in allowing her so much liberty. Evidently a great deal has
+been going on of which I had not any suspicion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas said nothing. His resentment was unabated; but his rage, naturally
+peevish and thin in quality, was subsiding, though it surged back on him at
+intervals. But now that he no longer desired to speak passionately, he would
+not trust himself to speak at all. Suddenly Mr. Lind broke out with a fury that
+astonished him, preoccupied as he was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This&mdash;this fellow must have had opportunities of thrusting himself into
+her society of which I knew nothing. I thought she barely knew him. And if I
+had known, could I have suspected her of intriguing with an ill-bred
+adventurer! Yes, I might: my experience ought to have warned me that the taint
+was in her blood. Her mother did the same thing&mdash;left the position I had given
+her to run away with a charlatan, disgracing me without the shadow of an excuse
+or reason except her own innate love for what was low. I thought Marian had
+escaped that. I was proud of her&mdash;placed un&mdash;unbounded confidence in her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has struck me a blow,&rdquo; said Douglas, &ldquo;the infernal
+treachery&mdash;&mdash;.&rdquo; He checked himself, and after a moment resumed in his
+ordinary formal manner. &ldquo;I must leave you, Mr. Lind. I am quite unable at
+present to discuss what has passed. Any conventional expressions of regret
+would be&mdash;&mdash;Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He bowed and left the room. Mr. Lind, taken aback, did not attempt to detain
+him or even return his bow, but stood biting his lips with a frown of
+discomfiture and menace. When he was alone, he paced the room several times.
+Then he procured some writing materials and sat down before them. He wrote
+nothing, but, after sitting for some time, he went upstairs. Passing
+Marian&rsquo;s room he listened. The sharp voice and restless movements of his
+niece were the only sounds he heard. They seemed to frighten him; for he stole
+on quickly to his own room, and went to bed. Even there he could hear a shrill
+note of conversation occasionally from the opposite room, where Marian was
+sitting on a sofa, trying to subdue the hysteria which had been gaining on her
+since her escape from the balcony; whilst Elinor, seated on the corner of a
+drawer which projected from the dressing-table, talked incessantly in her most
+acrid tones.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Henceforth,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;Uncle Reginald is welcome to my
+heartiest detestation. I have been waiting ever since I knew him for an excuse
+to hate him; and now he has given me one. He has taken part&mdash;like a true
+parent&mdash;against you with a self-intoxicated fool whom he ought to have put out
+of the house. He has told me to mind my own business. I shall be even with him
+for that some day. I am as vindictive as an elephant: I hate people who are not
+vindictive: they are never grateful either, only incapable of any enduring
+sentiment. And Douglas! Sholto Douglas! The hero, the Newdigate poet, the
+handsome man! What a noble fellow he is when a little disappointment rubs his
+varnish off! I am glad I called him a coward to his face. I am thoroughly well
+satisfied with myself altogether: at last I have come out of a scene without
+having forgotten the right thing to say. You never see people in all their
+selfishness until they pretend to love you. See what you owe to your loving
+suitor, Sholto Douglas! See what you owe to your loving father, Reginald
+Lind!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not think that my father should have told me to leave the
+room,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;It was Sholto&rsquo;s place to have gone, not
+mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Lind, who has so suddenly and deservedly descended from
+&lsquo;papa&rsquo; to &lsquo;my father,&rsquo; judiciously sided with the
+stronger and richer party.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nelly: I shall be as unhappy after this as even Sholto can desire. I
+feel very angry with papa; and yet I have no right to be. I suppose it is
+because I am in the wrong. I deceived him about the engagement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bosh! You didnt tell him because you knew you couldnt trust him; and now
+you see how right you were.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Even so, Nelly, I must not forget all his past care of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What care has he ever taken of you? He was very little better acquainted
+with you than he was with me, when you came to keep house for him and make
+yourself useful. Of course, he had to pay for your board and lodging and
+education. The police would not have allowed him to leave you to the parish.
+Besides, he was proud of having a nice, pretty daughter to dispose of. You were
+quite welcome to be happy so long as you did not do anything except what he
+approved of. But the moment you claim your independence as a grown woman, the
+moment you attempt to dispose of yourself instead of letting him dispose of
+you! Bah! <i>I</i> might have been <i>my</i> father&rsquo;s pet, if I had been
+a nonentity. As it was, he spared no pains to make me miserable; and as I was
+only a helpless little devil of a girl, he succeeded to his heart&rsquo;s
+content. Uncle Reginald will try to do exactly the same to-morrow, he will come
+and bully you, instead of apologizing as he ought. See if he doesnt!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I had as much reason to complain of my childhood as you have, perhaps
+I should not feel so shocked and disappointed by his turning on me to-night.
+Surely, when he saw me attacked as I was, he ought to have come to my
+assistance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Any stranger would have taken your part. The footman would, if you had
+asked him. But then, James is not your father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems a very small thing to be bidden to leave the room. But I will
+never expose myself to a repetition of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite right. But what do you mean to do? for, after all, though parental
+love is an imposition, parental authority is a fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will get married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Out of the frying pan into the fire! Certainly, if you are resolved to
+marry, the present is as good as another time, and more convenient. But there
+must be some legal formalities to go through. You cannot turn into the first
+church you meet, and be married off-hand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ned must find out all that. I am sadly disappointed and disilluded,
+Nelly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Time will cure you as it does everybody; and you will be the better for
+being wiser. By the bye, what did Sholto mean about Mrs. Fairfax?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has evidently been telling him a parcel of lies. Do you remember her
+hints about him yesterday at lunch? I have not the least doubt that she has
+told him you are frantically in love with him. She as good as told you the same
+about him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! she is not capable of doing such a thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Isnt she? We shall see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know what to think,&rdquo; said Marian, despondently. &ldquo;I
+used to believe that both you and Ned thought too little of other people; but
+it seems now that the world is nothing but a morass of wickedness and
+falsehood. And Sholto, too! Who would have believed that he could break out in
+that coarse way? Do you remember the day that Fleming, the coachman, lost his
+temper with Auntie down at the Cottage. Sholto was exactly like that; not a bit
+more refined or dignified.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Rather less so, because Fleming was in the right. Let us go to bed. We
+can do nothing to-night, but fret, and wish for to-morrow. Better get to sleep.
+Resentment does not keep me awake, I can vouch for that: I got well broken in
+to it when I was a child. I heard Uncle Reginald going to his room some time
+ago. I am getting sleepy, too, though I feel the better for the
+excitement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. To bed be it,&rdquo; said Marian. But she did not sleep at
+all as well as Nelly.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<p>
+Next morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter was astir, and went to his club,
+where he breakfasted. He then went to the offices in Queen Victoria Street.
+Finding the board-room unoccupied, he sat down there, and said to one of the
+clerks:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to him, if he is
+disengaged. And if anyone wants to come in, say that I am busy here. I do not
+wish to be disturbed for half an hour or so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir,&rdquo; said the clerk, departing. A minute later, he returned,
+and said: &ldquo;Mr. Conly is disengaged; and he says will you be so good as to
+come to his room, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told you to ask him to come here,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, thats what he said, sir,&rdquo; said the clerk, speaking in
+official Board School English. &ldquo;Shloy gow to him and tell him
+again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no: it does not matter,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, and walked out through
+the office. The clerk held the door open for him, and carefully closed it when
+he had passed through.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ow, oy sy!&rdquo; cried the clerk. &ldquo;This is fawn, this is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wots the row?&rdquo; said another clerk.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to him into the
+board-room. &lsquo;Aw right,&rsquo; says Conly, &lsquo;awsk him to cam in eah
+to me.&rsquo; You should &rsquo;a seen the owld josser&rsquo;s feaches wnoy
+towld im. &lsquo;Oyd zoyred jou to sy e was to cam in eah to me.&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Shloy gow and tell him again?&rsquo; I says, as cool as ennything.
+&lsquo;Now,&rsquo; says he, &lsquo;Oil gow myself.&rsquo; Thets wot Aw loike in
+Conly. He tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owver im.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly&rsquo;s room; returned his greeting by a
+dignified inclination of the head; and accepted, with a cold &ldquo;Thank
+you,&rdquo; the chair offered him. Conolly, who had received him cordially,
+checked himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind lost countenance a
+little. Then Conolly sat down, and waited.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ahem!&rdquo; said Mr. Lind. &ldquo;I have to speak to you with&mdash;with
+reference to&mdash;to a&mdash;a matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. It
+would be painful and unnecessary&mdash;quite unnecessary, to go into
+particulars.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. Mr. Lind began to feel
+very angry, but this helped him to the point.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I merely wish&mdash;that is, I quite wish you to understand that any intimacy
+that may have arisen between you and&mdash;and a member of my family must&mdash;must, in
+short, be considered to be at an end. My daughter is&mdash;I may tell you&mdash;engaged to
+Mr. Sholto Douglas, whom you know; and therefore&mdash;you understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Lind,&rdquo; said Conolly, decisively: &ldquo;your daughter is
+engaged to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, &ldquo;I beg you will not
+repeat that, either here or elsewhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray be seated,&rdquo; said Conolly courteously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have nothing more to say, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, and seemed to wait for
+his visitor to go.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We understand one another, I presume,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, dubiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not quite, I think,&rdquo; said Conolly, relenting. &ldquo;I should
+suggest our discussing the matter in full, now that we have a favorable
+opportunity&mdash;if you will be so good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, &ldquo;I am quite willing to
+listen to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;Will you tell me what your
+objections are to my engagement with your daughter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and knowledge of the world
+would have rendered an explanation superfluous.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They havnt,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. &ldquo;Oh, Mr. Conolly, I assure you I
+have no objection to explain myself: none whatever. I merely wished to spare
+you as far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what I think you must
+be perfectly well aware of, I can only say that from the point of view of
+English society our positions are different; and therefore an engagement
+between you and any member of my family is unsuitable, and&mdash;in short&mdash;out of the
+question, however advantageous it might be to you. That is all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, and leaned back in his chair
+more confidently. Conolly smiled and shook his head, appreciative of the
+clearness with which Mr. Lind had put his case, but utterly unmoved by it. He
+considered for a moment, and then said, weighing his words carefully:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your daughter, with her natural refinement and delicate habits, is
+certainly not fit to be married to a foul-mouthed fellow, ignorant, dirty,
+besotted, and out of place in any company except at the bar in a public house.
+That is probably your idea of a workman. But the fact of her having consented
+to marry me is a proof that I do not answer to any such description. As you
+have hinted, it will be an advantage to me in some ways to have a lady for my
+wife; but I should have no difficulty in purchasing that advantage, even with
+my present means, which I expect to increase largely in the course of some
+years. Do you not underrate your daughter&rsquo;s personal qualities when you
+assume that it was her position that induced me to seek her hand?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am quite aware of my daughter&rsquo;s personal advantages. They are
+additional reasons against her contracting an imprudent marriage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage with me be imprudent?
+I possess actual competence, and a prospect of wealth. I come of a long lived
+and healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison, more widely known than
+yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now find myself everywhere treated with a certain
+degree of consideration, which an alliance with your daughter will not
+diminish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my family by condescending
+to marry into it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont understand that way of looking at things, Mr. Lind; and so I
+leave you to settle the question of honor as you please. But you must not
+condemn me for putting my position in the best possible light in order to
+reconcile you to an inevitable fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will take place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think to ignore me in
+the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be glad for the sake
+of Marian, who will be gratified by it. But if you withhold it, we must
+dispense with it. By opposing us, you will simply&mdash;by making Marian&rsquo;s home
+unbearable to her&mdash;precipitate the wedding.&rdquo; Conolly, under the influence
+of having put the case neatly, here relaxed his manner so far as to rest his
+elbows on the table and look pleasantly at his visitor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know to whom you are speaking?&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, driven by
+rage and a growing fear of defeat into desperate self-assertion.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am speaking,&rdquo; said Conolly with a smile, &ldquo;to my future
+father-in-law.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am a director of this company, of which you are the servant, as you
+shall find to your cost if you persist in holding insulting language to
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I found any director of this company allowing other than strictly
+business considerations to influence him at the Board, I should insist on his
+resigning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, then unsteadily, without
+moving him in the least. At last he said, more humbly: &ldquo;I hope you will
+not abuse your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether you have sufficient
+influence over Marian to induce her to defy me; but however that may be, I
+appeal to your better feelings. Put yourself in my place. If you had an only
+daughter&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse my interrupting you,&rdquo; said Conolly, gently; &ldquo;but that
+will not advance the argument unless you put yourself in mine. Besides, I am
+pledged to Marian. If she asks me to break off the match, I shall release her
+instantly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will bind yourself to do that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot help myself. I have no more power to make her marry me than you
+have to prevent her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have the authority of a parent. And I must tell you, Mr. Conolly, that
+it will be my duty to enlighten my poor child as to the effect a union with you
+must have on her social position. You have made the most of your celebrity and
+your prospects. She may be dazzled for the moment; but her good sense will come
+to the rescue yet, I am convinced.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have certainly spared no pains to persuade her. Unless the habit of
+her childhood can induce Marian to defer to your prejudice&mdash;you must allow me to
+call it so: it is really nothing more&mdash;she will keep her word to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind winced, recollecting how little his conduct toward Marian during her
+childhood was calculated to accustom her to his influence. &ldquo;It seems to
+me, sir,&rdquo; he said, suddenly thinking of a new form of reproach,
+&ldquo;that, to use your own plain language, you are nothing more or less than
+a Radical.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Radicalism is not considered a reproach amongst workmen,&rdquo; said
+Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall not fail to let her know the confidence with which you boast of
+your power over her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have simply tried to be candid with you. You know exactly how I stand.
+If I have omitted anything, ask me, and I will tell you at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Kind rose. &ldquo;I know quite as much as I care to know,&rdquo; he said.
+&ldquo;I distinctly object to and protest against all your proceedings, Mr.
+Conolly. If my daughter marries you, she shall have neither my countenance in
+society nor one solitary farthing of the fortune I had destined for her. I
+recommend the latter point to your attention.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have considered it carefully, Mr. Lind; and I am satisfied with what
+she possesses in her own right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! You have ascertained <i>that</i>, have you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should hardly have proposed to marry her but for her entire pecuniary
+independence of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed. And have you explained to her that you wish to marry her for the
+sake of securing her income?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have explained to her everything she ought to know, taking care, of
+course, to have full credit for my frankness.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind, after regarding him with amazement for a moment, walked to the door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am a gentleman,&rdquo; he said, pausing there for a moment, &ldquo;and
+too old-fashioned to discuss the obligations of good breeding with a Radical.
+If I had believed you capable of the cynical impudence with which you have just
+met my remonstrances, I should have spared myself this meeting.
+Good-morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-morning,&rdquo; said Conolly, gravely. When the door closed, he
+sprang up and walked to and fro, chuckling, rubbing his hands, and occasionally
+uttering a short laugh. When he had sufficiently relieved himself by this
+exercise, he sat down at his desk, and wrote a note.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;The Conolly Electro-Motor Company of London, Limited. Queen Victoria
+Street, E.C.<br/>
+    &ldquo;This is to let your ever-radiant ladyship know that I am fresh from
+an encounter with your father, who has retired in great wrath, defeated, but of
+opinion that he deserved no better for arguing with a Radical. I thought it
+better to put forth my strength at once so as to save future trouble. I send
+this post haste in order that you may be warned in case he should go straight
+home and scold you. I hope he will not annoy you much.&mdash;E.C.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Having despatched the office boy to Westbourne Terrace with this letter,
+Conolly went off to lunch. Mr. Lind went back to his club, and then to
+Westbourne Terrace, where he was informed that the young ladies were together
+in the drawing-room. Some minutes later, Marian, discussing Conolly&rsquo;s
+letter with Elinor, was interrupted by a servant, who informed her that her
+father desired to see her in his study.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now for it, Marian!&rdquo; said Nelly, when the servant was gone.
+&ldquo;Remember that you have to meet the most unreasonable of adversaries, a
+parent asserting his proprietary rights in his child. Dont be sentimental.
+Leave that to him: he will be full of a father&rsquo;s anguish on discovering
+that his cherished daughter has feelings and interests of her own. Besides,
+Conolly has crushed him; and he will try to crush you in revenge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I were not so nervous,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I am not really
+afraid, but for all that, my heart is beating very unpleasantly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I were in your place,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;I feel like a
+charger at the sound of the trumpet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am glad, for poor papa&rsquo;s sake, that you are not,&rdquo; said
+Marian, going out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She knocked at the study door; and her father&rsquo;s voice, as he bade her
+come in, impressed her more than ever before. He was seated behind the
+writing-table, in front of which a chair was set for his daughter. She,
+unaccustomed from her childhood to submit to any constraint but that which the
+position of a guest, which she so often occupied, had trained her to impose on
+herself, was rather roused than awed by this magisterial arrangement. She sat
+down with less than her usual grace of manner, and looked at him with her brows
+knitted. It was one of the rare moments in which she reminded him of her
+mother. An angry impulse to bid her not dare look so at him almost got the
+better of him. However, he began prudently with a carefully premeditated
+speech.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is my duty, Marian,&rdquo; he said gravely, &ldquo;to speak of the
+statement you made last night. We need not allude to the painful scene which
+took place then: better let that rest and be forgotten as soon as possible. But
+the discovery of what you have been doing without my knowledge has cost me a
+sleepless night and a great deal of anxiety. I wish to reason with you now
+quite calmly and dispassionately; and I trust you will remember that I am older
+and have far more experience of the world than you, and that I am a better
+judge of your interests than you yourself can possibly be. Ahem! I have been
+this morning to the City, where I saw Mr. Conolly, and endeavored to make him
+understand the true nature of his conduct toward me&mdash;and, I may add, toward
+you&mdash;in working his way clandestinely into an intimacy with you. I shall not
+describe to you what passed; but I may say that I have found him to be a person
+with whom you could not hope for a day&rsquo;s happiness. Even apart from his
+habits and tastes, which are those of a mere workman, his social (and, I fear,
+his religious) views are such as no lady, no properly-minded woman of any
+class, could sympathize with. You will be better able to judge of his character
+when I tell you that he informed me of his having taken care, before making any
+advances to you, to ascertain how much money you had. He boasted in the
+coarsest terms of his complete influence over you, evidently without a
+suspicion of the impression of venality and indelicacy which his words were
+calculated to make on me. Besides, Marian, I am sure you would not like to
+contract a marriage which would give me the greatest pain; which would offend
+my family; and which would have the effect of shutting you out from all good
+society.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are mistaken in him, papa.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I beg you will allow me to finish, Marian. [He had to think for a moment
+before he could substantiate this pretence of having something more to say.] I
+have quite made up my mind, from personal observation of Mr. Conolly, that even
+an ordinary acquaintance between you is out of the question. I, in short,
+refuse to allow anything of the kind to proceed; and I must ask you to respect
+my wishes in the matter. There is another subject which I will take this
+opportunity of mentioning; but as I have no desire to force your inclinations,
+I shall not press you for a declaration of your feelings at present. Sholto
+Douglas&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not want to hear <i>anything</i> about Sholto Douglas,&rdquo; said
+Marian, rising.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect you, Marian, to listen to what I have to say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On that subject I will not listen. I have felt very sore and angry ever
+since you told me last night to leave the room when Sholto insulted me, as if I
+were the aggressor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Angry! I am sorry to hear you say so to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is better to say so than to think so. There is no use in going on
+with this conversation, papa. It will only lead to more bitterness between us;
+and I had enough of that when I tasted it for the first time last night. We
+shall never agree about Mr. Conolly. I have promised to marry him; and
+therefore I am not free to withdraw, even if I wished to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A promise made by you without my sanction is not binding. And&mdash;listen to
+me, if you please&mdash;I have obtained Mr. Conolly&rsquo;s express assurance that if
+you wish to withdraw, he is perfectly willing that you should.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, he would not marry me if I did not wish it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he is willing that you should withdraw. He leaves you quite
+free.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes; and, as you told me, he is quite confident that I will keep faith
+with him; and so I will. I have had a letter from him since you saw him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What!&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, rising also.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont let us quarrel, papa,&rdquo; said Marian, appealingly. &ldquo;Why
+may I not marry whom I please?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who wants to prevent you, pray? I have most carefully abstained from
+influencing you with regard to Sholto Douglas. But this is a totally different
+question. It is my duty to save you from disgracing yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is the disgrace? Mr. Conolly is an eminent man. I am not poor, and
+can afford to marry anyone I can respect. I can respect him. What objection
+have you to him? I am sure he is far superior to Sholto.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Douglas is a gentleman, Marian: Mr. Conolly is not; and it is out of
+the question for you to ally yourself with a&mdash;a member of the proletariat,
+however skilful he may be in his handicraft.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What <i>is</i> a gentleman, papa?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A gentleman, Marian, is one who is well born and well bred, and who has
+that peculiar tone and culture which can only be acquired by intercourse with
+the best society. I think you should know that as well as I. I hope you do not
+put these questions from a desire to argue with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no harm in arguing when
+one is not convinced.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Humph! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I am sure that you will
+not take any step calculated to inflict pain on me&mdash;at least an act of
+selfishness on your part would be a new and shocking experience for me.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You give me no good
+reason for breaking my word, and making myself unhappy; and yet you accuse me
+of selfishness in not being ready to do both.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I have already given you my assurance, weighted as it is by my
+age, my experience, my regard for your welfare, and, I hope, my authority as a
+parent, that both your honor and happiness will be secured by your obeying me,
+and forfeited by following your own headstrong inclinations.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian, almost crushed by this, hesitated a moment, twisting her fingers and
+looking pitiably at him. Then she thought of Conolly; rallied; and said:
+&ldquo;I can only say that I am sorry to disagree with you; but I am not
+convinced.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean that you refuse to obey me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot obey you in this matter, papa. I&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is enough,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, gravely, beginning, to busy
+himself with the writing materials. Marian for a moment seemed about to protest
+against this dismissal. Then she checked herself and went out of the room,
+closing the door quite quietly behind her, thereby unconsciously terrifying her
+father, who had calculated on a slam.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Elinor, when her cousin rejoined her in the
+drawing-room: &ldquo;have you been selfish and disobedient? Have you lacerated
+a father&rsquo;s heart?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is thoroughly unfair,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;However, it all
+comes to this: he is annoyed at my wanting to marry Ned: and I believe there
+will be no more peace for me until I am in a house of my own. What shall we do
+in the meantime? Where shall we go? I cannot stay here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not? Uncle Reginald will sulk; sit at dinner without speaking to us;
+and keep out of our way as much as he can. But you can talk to me: we neednt
+mind him. It is he who will be out in the cold, biting his nose to vex his
+face. Such a state of things is new to you; but I have survived weeks of it
+without a single sympathizer, and been none the worse, except, perhaps, in
+temper. He will pretend to be inexorable at first: then he will come down to
+wounded affection; and he will end by giving in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, Nelly, I couldnt endure that sort of existence. If people cannot
+remain friends they should separate at once. I will not sleep in this house
+to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hurrah!&rdquo; cried Miss McQuinch. &ldquo;That will be beginning the
+war with spirit. If I were in your place, I would stay and fight it out at
+close quarters. I would make myself so disagreeable that nobody can imagine
+what life in this house would be. But your plan is the best&mdash;if you really mean
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly I mean it. Where shall we go, Nelly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hm! I am afraid none of the family would make us very comfortable under
+the circumstances, except Marmaduke. It would be a splendid joke to go to West
+Kensington; only it would tell as much against us and Ned as against the Roman
+father. I have it! We will go to Mrs. Toplis&rsquo;s in St. Mary&rsquo;s
+Terrace: my mother always stays there when she is in town. Mrs. Toplis knows
+us: if she has a room to spare she will give it to us without making any
+bother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, that will do. Are you ready to come now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you can possibly wait five minutes I should like to put on my hat and
+change my boots. We will have to come back and pack up when we have settled
+about the room. We cannot go without clothes. I should like to have a
+nightdress, at least. Have you any money?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have the housekeeping money; but that, of course, I shall not take. I
+have thirty pounds of my own.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I have my old stocking, which contains nearly seventeen. Say fifty
+in round numbers. That will keep us going very comfortably for a month.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ridiculous! It will last longer than that. Oh!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We mustnt go, after all. I forgot <i>you</i>.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What of me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where will you go when I am married? You cant live by yourself; and papa
+may not welcome you back if you take my part against him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He would not, in any case; so it makes no difference to me. I can go
+home if the worst comes to the worst. It does not matter: my present luxurious
+existence must come to an end some time or another, whether we go to Mrs.
+Toplis&rsquo;s or not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sure Ned will not object to your continuing with me, if I ask
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, poor fellow! He wont object&mdash;at first; but he might not like it. You
+have no right to inflict me on him. No: I stick to my resolution on that point.
+Send for the carriage. It is time for us to be off; and Mrs. Toplis will be
+more impressed if we come in state than if we trudge afoot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush,&rdquo; said Marian, who was standing near the window. &ldquo;Here
+is George, with a face full of importance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Uncle Reginald has written to him,&rdquo; said Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then the sooner we go, the better,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not care to have the whole argument over again with George.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they passed through the hall on their way out they met the clergyman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, George,&rdquo; said Elinor, &ldquo;how are the heathen getting on
+in Belgravia? You look lively.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you going out, Marian,&rdquo; he said, solemnly, disregarding his
+cousin&rsquo;s banter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are going to engage a couple of rooms for some errant members of the
+family,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;May we give you as a reference?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly. I may want to speak to you before I go, Marian. When will you
+return?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know. Probably we shall not be long. You will have plenty of
+opportunities, in any case.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you walk into the study, please, sir,&rdquo; said the parlormaid.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George was closeted with his father for an hour. When he came out, he
+left the house, and travelled by omnibus to Westbourne Grove, whence he walked
+to a house in Uxbridge Road. Here he inquired for Mr. Conolly, and, learning
+that he had just come in, sent up a card. He was presently ushered into a
+comfortable room, with a pleasant view of the garden. A meal of tea,
+wheatcakes, and fruit was ready on the table. Conolly greeted his visitor
+cordially, and rang for another cup. The Rev. George silently noted that his
+host dined in the middle of the day and had tea in the evening. Afraid though
+as he was of Conolly, he felt strengthened in his mission by these habits,
+quite out of the question for Marian. The tea also screwed up his courage a
+little; but he talked about the electro-motor in spite of himself until the
+cloth was removed, when Conolly placed two easy chairs opposite one another at
+the window; put a box of cigarets on a little table close at hand; and invited
+his visitor to smoke. But as it was now clearly time to come to business, the
+cigaret was declined solemnly. So Conolly, having settled himself in an easy
+attitude, waited for the clergyman to begin. The Rev. George seemed at a loss.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has your father spoken to you about an interview he had with me this
+morning?&rdquo; said Conolly, good-naturedly helping him out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That, in fact, is one of the causes of my visit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does he say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe he adheres to the opinion he expressed to you. But I fear he
+may not have exhibited that self-control in speaking to you which I fully admit
+you have as much right to expect as anyone else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It does not matter. I can quite understand his feeling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It does matter&mdash;pardon me. We should be sorry to appear wanting in
+consideration for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a trifle. Let us keep the question straight before us. We need
+make no show of consideration for one another. I have shown none toward your
+family.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I assure you our only desire is to arrange everything in a friendly
+spirit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt. But when I am bent on doing a certain thing which you are
+equally bent on preventing, no very friendly spirit is possible except one of
+us surrender unconditionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hear me a moment, Mr. Conolly. I have no doubt I shall be able to
+convince you that this romantic project of my sister&rsquo;s is out of the
+question. Your ambition&mdash;if I may say so without offence&mdash;very naturally leads
+you to think otherwise; but the prompting of self-interest is not our safest
+guide in this life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is the only guide I recognize. If you are going to argue the
+question, and your arguments are to prevail, they must be addressed to my
+self-interest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot think you quite mean that, Mr. Conolly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, waive the point for the present: I am open to conviction. You know
+what my mind is. I have not changed it since I saw your father this morning.
+You think I am wrong?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not wrong. I do not say for a moment that you are wrong. I&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mistaken. Ill-advised. Any term you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I certainly believe that you are mistaken. Let me urge upon you first
+the fact that you are causing a daughter to disobey her father. Now that is an
+awful fact. May I&mdash;appealing to that righteousness in which I am sure you are
+not naturally deficient&mdash;ask you whether you have reflected on that fact?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not half so awful to me as the fact of a father forcing his
+daughter&rsquo;s inclinations. However, awful is hardly the word for the
+occasion. Let us come to business, Mr. Lind. I want to marry your sister
+because I have fallen in love with her. You object. Have you any other motive
+than aristocratic exclusiveness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed, you quite mistake. I have no such feeling. We are willing to
+treat you with every possible consideration.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then why object?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we are bound to look to her happiness. We cannot believe that it
+would be furthered by an unsuitable match. I am now speaking to you frankly as
+a man of the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As a man of the world you know that she has a right to choose for
+herself. You see, our points of view are different. On Sundays, for instance,
+you preach to a highly privileged audience at your church in Belgravia; whilst
+I lounge here over my breakfast, reading <i>Reynold&rsquo;s Newspaper</i>. I
+have not many social prejudices. Although a workman, I dont look on every
+gentleman as a bloodsucker who seizes on the fruits of my labor only to pursue
+a career of vice. I will even admit that there are gentlemen who deserve to be
+respected more than the workmen who have neglected all their
+opportunities&mdash;slender as they are&mdash;of cultivating themselves a little. You, on
+the other hand, know that an honest man&rsquo;s the noblest work of God; that
+nature&rsquo;s gentlemen are the only real gentlemen; that kind hearts are more
+than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood, and so forth. But when your
+approval of these benevolent claptraps is brought to such a practical test as
+the marriage of your sister to a workman, you see clearly enough that they do
+not establish the suitability of personal intercourse between members of
+different classes. That being so, let us put our respective philosophies of
+society out of the question, and argue on the facts of this particular case.
+What qualifications do you consider essential in a satisfactory
+brother-in-law?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not bound to answer that; but, primarily, I should consider it
+necessary to my sister&rsquo;s happiness that her husband should belong to the
+same rank as she.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see you are changing your ground. I am not in the same rank&mdash;after
+your sense&mdash;as she; but a moment ago you objected to the match solely on the
+ground of unsuitability.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is the difference?&rdquo; said the clergyman, with some warmth.
+&ldquo;I have not changed my ground at all. It is the difference in rank that
+constitutes the unsuitability.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us see, then, how far you are right&mdash;how far suitability is a
+question of rank. A gentleman may be, and frequently is, a drunkard, a gambler,
+a libertine, or all three combined.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stay, Mr. Conolly! You show how little you understand the only true
+significance&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One moment, Mr. Lind. You are about to explain away the term gentleman
+into man of honor, honest man, or some other quite different thing. Let me put
+a case to you. I have a fellow at Queen Victoria Street working for thirty
+shillings a week, who is the honestest man I know. He is as steady as a rock;
+supports all his wife&rsquo;s family without complaining; and denies himself
+beer to buy books for his son, because he himself has experienced what it is to
+be without education. But he is not a gentleman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pardon me, sir. He is a true gentleman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose he calls on you to-morrow, and sends up his name with a request
+for an interview. You wont know his name; and the first question you will put
+to your servant is &lsquo;What sort of person is he?&rsquo; Suppose the servant
+knows him, and, sharing your professed opinion of the meaning of the word,
+replies &lsquo;He is a gentleman!&rsquo; On the strength of that you will order
+him to be shewn in; and the moment you see him you will feel angry with your
+servant for deceiving you completely as to the sort of man you were to expect
+by using the word gentleman in what you call its true sense. Or reverse the
+case. Suppose the caller is your cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, and your
+high-principled servant by mistaking the name or how not, causes you to ask the
+same question with respect to him. The answer will be that Mr. Marmaduke&mdash;being
+a scamp&mdash;is not a gentleman. You would be just as completely deceived as in the
+other case. No, Mr. Lind, you might as well say that this workman of mine is a
+true lord or a true prince as a true gentleman. A gentleman may be a rogue; and
+a knifegrinder may be a philosopher and philanthropist. But they dont change
+their ranks for all that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman hesitated. Then he said timidly, &ldquo;Even admitting this
+peculiar view of yours, Mr. Conolly, does it not tell strongly against yourself
+in the present instance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; and I will presently shew you why not. When we digressed as to the
+meaning of the word gentleman, we were considering the matter of suitability. I
+was saying that a gentleman might be a drunkard, or, briefly, a scoundrel. A
+scoundrel would be a very unsuitable husband for Marian&mdash;I perceive I annoy you
+by calling her by her name.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;N&mdash;no. Oh, no. It does not matter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Therefore gentility alone is no guarantee of suitability. The only
+gentlemanliness she needs in a husband is ordinary good address, presentable
+manners, sense enough to avoid ridiculous solecisms in society, and so forth.
+Marian is satisfied with me on these points; and her approval settles the
+question finally. As to rank, I am a skilled workman, the first in my trade;
+and it is only by courtesy and forbearance that I suffer any man to speak of my
+class as inferior. Take us all, professions and trades together; and you will
+find by actual measurement round the head and round the chest, and round our
+manners and characters, if you like, that we are the only genuine aristocracy
+at present in existence. Therefore I meet your objection to my rank with a
+point-blank assertion of its superiority. Now let us have the other objections,
+if there <i>are</i> any others.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman received this challenge in silence. Then, after clearing his
+throat uneasily twice, he said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had hoped, Mr. Conolly, to have been able to persuade you on general
+grounds to relinquish your design. But as you are evidently not within reach of
+those considerations which I am accustomed to see universally admitted, it
+becomes my painful duty to assure you that a circumstance, on the secrecy of
+which you are relying, is known to me, and, through me, to my father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What circumstance is that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A circumstance connected with Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whom you mentioned
+just now. You understand me, I presume?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! you have found that out?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have. It only remains for me to warn my sister that she is about to
+contract a close relationship with one who is&mdash;I must say it&mdash;living in sin with
+our cousin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you suppose will be the result of that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I leave you to imagine,&rdquo; said the clergyman indignantly, rising.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop a bit. You do not understand me yet, I see. You have said that my
+views are peculiar. What if I have taken the peculiar view that I was bound to
+tell Marian this before proposing to her, and have actually told her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But surely&mdash;That is not very likely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The whole affair is not very likely. Our marriage is not likely; but it
+is going to happen, nevertheless. She knows this circumstance perfectly well.
+You told her yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I! When?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The year before last, at Carbury Towers. It is worth your consideration,
+too, that by mistrusting Marian at that time, and refusing to give her my
+sister&rsquo;s address, you forced her to appeal to me for help, and so
+advanced me from the position of consulting electrician to that of friend in
+need. She knew nothing about my relationship to the woman in a state of sin (as
+you call it), and actually deputed me to warn your cousin of the risk he was
+running by his intimacy with her. Whilst I was away running this queer errand
+for her, she found out that the woman was my sister, and of course rushed to
+the conclusion that she had inflicted the deepest pain on me. Her penitence was
+the beginning of the sentimental side of our acquaintance. Had you recognized
+that she was a woman with as good a right as you to know the truth concerning
+all matters in this world which she has to make her way through, you would have
+answered her question, and then I suppose I should have gone away without
+having exchanged a word with her on any more personal matters than induction
+coils and ohms of resistance; and in all probability you would have been spared
+the necessity of having me for a brother-in-law.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, sir,&rdquo; said the Rev. George dejectedly, &ldquo;if what you
+say be true, I cannot understand Marian, I can only grieve for her. I shall not
+argue with you on the nature of the influence you have obtained over her. I
+shall speak to her myself; since you will not hear me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is hardly fair. I have heard you, and am willing to hear more, if
+you have anything new to urge.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have certainly listened to my voice, Mr. Conolly. But I fear I have
+used it to very little purpose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will fail equally with Marian, believe me. Even I, whose ability to
+exercise influence you admit, never obtained the least over my own sister. She
+knew me too well on my worst side and not at all on my best. If, as I presume,
+your father has tried in vain, what hope is there for you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only my humble trust that a priest may be blessed in his appeal to duty
+even where a father&rsquo;s appeal to natural affection has been
+disregarded.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said Conolly, kindly, rising as his visitor
+disconsolately prepared to go, &ldquo;you can try. <i>I</i> got on by dint of
+dogged faith in myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I get on by lowly faith in my Master. I would I could imbue you with
+the same feeling!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly shook his head; and they went downstairs in silence.
+&ldquo;Hallo!&rdquo; said he, as he opened the door, &ldquo;it is raining. Let
+me lend you a coat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, no. Not at all. Good-night,&rdquo; said the clergyman,
+quickly, and hastened away through the rain from Conolly&rsquo;s civilities.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he arrived at Westbourne Terrace, there was a cab waiting before the
+house. The door was opened to him by Marian&rsquo;s maid, who was dressed for
+walking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Master is in the drawing-room, sir, with Miss McQuinch,&rdquo; she said,
+meaning, evidently, &ldquo;Look out for squalls.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He went upstairs, and found Elinor, with her hat on, standing by the
+pianoforte, with battle in her nostrils. Mr. Lind, looking perplexed and angry,
+was opposite to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;George,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, &ldquo;close the door. Do you know the
+latest news?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian has run away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Run away!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch. &ldquo;She has fled to Mrs.
+Toplis&rsquo;s, at St. Mary&rsquo;s Terrace, with&mdash;as Uncle Reginald was just
+saying&mdash;a most dangerous associate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With&mdash;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;With <i>me</i>, in short.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you have counselled her to take this fatal step?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I advised her to stay. But she is not so well used to domestic
+discomfort as I am; so she insisted on going. We have got very nice rooms: you
+may come and see us, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant humor?&rdquo; said
+the Rev. George, indignantly. &ldquo;I think the spectacle of a wrecked
+home&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stuff!&rdquo; interrupted Elinor, impatiently. &ldquo;What else can I
+say? Uncle Reginald tells me I have corrupted Marian, and refuses to believe
+what I tell him. And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you have
+driven her away. If you want to see her, she is within five minutes walk of
+you. It is you who have wrecked her home, not she who has wrecked yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind,
+with the air of a man who had tried it. &ldquo;You had better go to Marian, and
+tell her what you mentioned this afternoon. What has been the result of your
+visit?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He maintains that she knows everything,&rdquo; said the Rev. George,
+with a dispirited glance at Elinor. &ldquo;I fear my visit has been worse than
+useless.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is impossible that she should know. He lies,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind.
+&ldquo;Go and tell her the truth, George; and say that I desire her&mdash;I order
+her&mdash;to come back at once. Say that I am waiting here for her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, Uncle Reginald,&rdquo; began Elinor, in a softer tone than before,
+whilst the clergyman stood in doubt&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; continued Mr. Lind, &ldquo;that I must request you,
+Elinor, to occupy the rooms you have taken, until you return to your parents. I
+regret that you have forced me to take this step; but I cannot continue to
+offer you facilities for exercising your influence over my daughter. I will
+charge myself with all your expenses until you go to Wiltshire.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor looked at him as if she despaired of his reason. Then, seeing her cousin
+slowly going to the door, she said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You dont really mean to go on such a fool&rsquo;s errand to Marian,
+George?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Elinor!&rdquo; cried Mr. Lind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What else is it?&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;You asserted all your
+authority yourself this morning, and only made matters worse. Yet you expect
+her to obey you at second hand. Besides, she is bound in honor not to desert
+<i>me</i> now; and I will tell her so, too, if I see any sign of her letting
+herself be bullied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say to her,&rdquo; said
+the clergyman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you are coming,&rdquo; said Elinor, &ldquo;you had better come in my
+cab. Good-night, Uncle Reginald.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stay,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, irresolutely. &ldquo;Elinor, I&mdash;you&mdash;Will you
+exercise your influence to induce Marian to return? I think you owe me at least
+so much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her marriage and let her
+do as she likes. But if you can give her no better reason for returning than
+that she can be more conveniently persecuted here than at St. Mary&rsquo;s
+Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter how I may influence
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If she is resolved to quarrel with me, I cannot help it,&rdquo; said Mr.
+Lind, pettishly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know very well that she is the last person on earth to quarrel with
+anyone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has been indulged in every way. This is the first time she has been
+asked to sacrifice her own wishes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To sacrifice her whole life, you mean. It is the first time she has ever
+hesitated to sacrifice her own comfort, and therefore the first time you are
+conscious that any sacrifice is required. Let me tell her that you will allow
+her to take her own course, Uncle Reginald. He is well enough off; and they are
+fond of one another. A man of genius is worth fifty men of rank.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Tell her, if you please, Elinor, that she must choose between Mr.
+Conolly and me. If she prefers him, well and good: I have done with her. That
+is my last word.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So now she has nobody to turn to in the world except him. That is
+sensible. Come, cousin George! I am off.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not think I should do any good by going,&rdquo; said the clergyman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then stay where you are,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;Good-night.&rdquo;
+And she abruptly left the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was a dreadful mistake ever to have allowed that young fury to enter
+the house,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind. &ldquo;She must be mad. What did <i>he</i>
+say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He said a great deal in attempted self-justification. But I could make
+no impression on him. We have no feelings in common with a man of his type. No.
+He is evidently bent on raising himself by a good marriage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We cannot prevent it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, surely we&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell you we <i>cannot</i> prevent it,&rdquo; repeated Mr. Lind,
+turning angrily upon his son. &ldquo;How can we? What can we do? She will marry
+this&mdash;this&mdash;this&mdash;this beggar. I wish to God I had never seen her mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman stood by, cowed, and said nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You had better go to that woman of Marmaduke&rsquo;s,&rdquo; continued
+Mr. Lind, &ldquo;and try whether she can persuade her brother to commute his
+interest in the company, and go back to America, or to the devil. I will take
+care that he gets good terms, even if I have to make them up out of my own
+pocket. If the worst comes, <i>she</i> must be persuaded to leave Marmaduke.
+Offer her money. Women of that sort drive a hard bargain; but they have their
+price.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, sir, consider my profession. How can I go to drive a bargain with a
+woman of evil reputation?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I must go myself, I suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no. I will go. Only I thought I would mention it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A clergyman can go anywhere. You are privileged. Come to breakfast in
+the morning: we can talk over matters then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<p>
+One morning the Rev. George Lind received a letter addressed in a handwriting
+which he did not remember and never thenceforth forgot. Within the envelope he
+found a dainty little bag made of blue satin, secured by ribbons of the same
+material. This contained a note written on scented paper, edged with gold, and
+decorated with a miniature representation of a <i>pierrot</i>, sitting
+cross-legged, conning a book, on the open pages of which appeared the letters
+L.V. The clergyman recognized the monogram no more than the writing. But as it
+was evidently from a lady, he felt a pleasant thrill of expectation as he
+unfolded the paper.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;Laurel Grove West Kensington<br/>
+&ldquo;Wednesday
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Dear Mr. George<br/>
+    &ldquo;I have made poor little Lucy believe that Kew is the most heavenly
+place on earth to spend a May morning so Bob has had to promise to row her down
+there to-morrow (Thursday) after breakfast and I shall be at home alone from
+eleven to one this is very short notice I know but opportunities are scarce and
+another might not present itself for a month.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Believe me Dear Mr. George
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;Yours sincerely<br/>
+Lalage Virtue.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George became thoughtful, and absently put the note in a little rack
+over the mantelpiece. Then, recollecting that a prying servant or landlady
+might misinterpret it, he transferred it to his pocket. After breakfast, having
+satisfied himself before the mirror that his dress was faultless, and his
+expression saintly, he went out and travelled by rail from Sloane Square to
+West Kensington, whence he walked to Laurel Grove. An elderly maid opened the
+gate. It was a rule with the Rev. George not to look at strange women; and this
+morning the asceticism which he thought proper to his office was unusually
+prominent in his thoughts. He did not look up once while the maid conducted him
+through the shrubbery to the house; and he fully believed that he had not seen
+at the first glance that she was remarkably plain, as Susanna took care that
+all her servants should be. Passing by the drawing-room, where he had been on a
+previous occasion, they went on to a smaller apartment at the back of the
+house.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What room is this?&rdquo; he asked, uneasily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Missus&rsquo;s Purjin bodoor, sir,&rdquo; replied the main.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She opened the door; and the clergyman, entering, found himself in a small
+room, luxuriously decorated in sham Persian, but containing ornaments of all
+styles and periods, which had been purchased and introduced just as they had
+caught Susanna&rsquo;s fancy. She was seated on a ottoman, dressed in wide
+trousers, Turkish slippers, a voluminous sash, a short Greek jacket, a long
+silk robe with sleeves, and a turban, all of fine soft materials and rare
+colors. Her face was skilfully painted, and her dark hair disposed so as not to
+overweight her small head. The clergyman, foolishly resisting a natural impulse
+to admire her, felt like St. Anthony struggling with the fascination of a
+disguised devil. He responded to her smile of welcome by a stiff bow.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You mustnt mind this absurd dress: it
+belongs to a new piece I am studying. I always study in character. It is the
+only way to identify myself with my part, you see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems a very magnificent dress, certainly,&rdquo; said the clergyman,
+nervously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you for the compliment&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said he, hastily. &ldquo;I had no such intention.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; said Susanna, with a laugh. &ldquo;It was merely
+an unpremeditated remark: all compliments are, of course. I know all about
+that. But do you think it a proper costume?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In what sense, may I ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it a correct Eastern dress? I am supposed to be one of the wives of
+the Caliph Somebody al Something. You have no idea how difficult it is to get a
+reliable model for a dress before laying out a heap of money on it. This was
+designed in Paris; but I should like to hear it criticized&mdash;chronologically, or
+whatever you call it&mdash;by a scholar.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really do not know, Madam. I am not an Orientalist; and my studies
+take a widely different direction from yours.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, of course,&rdquo; said Susanna, with a sigh. &ldquo;But I assure
+you I often wish for your advice, particularly as to my elocution, which is
+very faulty. You are such a master of the art.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman bowed in acceptance of the compliment, and began to take heart;
+for to receive flattery from ladies in exchange for severe reproof was part of
+his daily experience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have come here,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to have a very serious
+conversation with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right, Doctor. Fire away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This sudden whim of conferring on him a degree in divinity, and her change of
+manner&mdash;implying that she had been laughing at him before&mdash;irritated him.
+&ldquo;I presume,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that you are acquainted with the
+movements of your brother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of Ned?&rdquo; said Susanna, frowning a little. &ldquo;No. What should I
+know about him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is, I believe, about to be married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No!&rdquo; screamed Susanna, throwing herself back, and making her
+bangles and ornaments clatter. &ldquo;Get out, Doctor. You dont mean it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly I mean it. It is not my profession to jest. I must also tell
+you that his marriage will make it quite impossible for you to continue here
+with my cousin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why? Who is he going to marry?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ahem! He has succeeded in engaging the affections of my sister.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Your sister? Marian Lind?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Susanna uttered a long whistle, and then, with a conviction and simplicity
+which prevented even the Rev. George from being shocked, said: &ldquo;Well, I
+<i>am</i> damned! I know more than one fool of a girl who will be sick and
+sorry to hear it.&rdquo; She paused, and added carelessly: &ldquo;I suppose all
+your people are delighted?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know why you should suppose so. We have had no hand in the
+matter. My sister has followed her own inclinations.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! Let me tell you, young man, that your sister might have gone
+farther and fared worse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doubtless. However, you will see now how impossible it is that you
+should remain in your present&mdash;that you should continue here, in fact.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You cannot,&rdquo; said the clergyman, accustomed to be bold and stern
+with female sinners, &ldquo;when you are sister-in-law to Miss Lind, live as
+you are now doing with her cousin.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because it would be a scandal. I will say nothing at present of the sin
+of it: you will have to account for that before a greater than I.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just so, Doctor. You dont mind the sin; but when it comes to a
+scandal&mdash;&mdash;!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not say so. I abhor the sin. I have prayed earnestly for your
+awakening, and shall do so in spite of the unregenerate hardness of
+heart&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hallo, Doctor! draw it mild, if you please. I am not one of your
+parishioners, you know. Perhaps that is the reason your prayers for me have not
+met with much attention. Let us stick to business: you may talk shop as much as
+you please afterwards. What do you want me to do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To sever your connexion with Marmaduke at once. Believe me, it will not
+prove so hard a step as it may seem. You have but to ask for strength to do it,
+and you will find yourself strong. It will profit you even more than poor
+Marmaduke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will it? I dont see it, Doctor. You think it will profit <i>you</i>:
+thats plain enough. But it wont profit me; it wont profit Bob; and it wont by
+any means profit the child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not immediately, perhaps, in a worldly sense&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is the sense I mean. Drop all that other stuff: I dont believe in
+you parsons: you are about the worst lot going, as far as I can see. Just tell
+me this, Doctor. Your sister is a very nice girl, I have no doubt: she would
+hardly have snapped up Ned if she wasn&rsquo;t. But why is she to have
+everything her own way?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, listen. Here is a young woman who has had every chance in life
+that hick could give her: silk cradles, gold rattles, rank, wealth, schooling,
+travelling, swell acquaintances, and anything else she chose to ask for. Even
+when she is fool enough to want to get married, her luck sticks to her, and she
+catches Ned, who is a man in a thousand&mdash;though Lord forbid we should have many
+of his sort about! Yet she&rsquo;s not satisfied. She wants <i>me</i> to give
+up my establishment just to keep her family in countenance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She knows nothing of my visit, I assure you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Even if she doesnt, it makes no odds as to the facts. She can go her own
+way; and I will go mine. I shant want to visit her; and I dont suppose she will
+visit me. So she need trouble herself no more than if there was no such person
+as I in the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you will find that it will be greatly to your advantage to leave
+this house. It is not our intention that you shall suffer in a pecuniary point
+of view by doing so. My father is rich&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is that to me? He doesnt want me to go and live with him, does
+he?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You quite misunderstand me. No such idea ever entered&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There! go on. I only said that to get a rise out of you, Doctor. How do
+you make out that I should gain by leaving this house?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My father is willing to make you some amends for the withdrawal of such
+portion of Marmaduke&rsquo;s income as you may forfeit by ceasing your
+connexion with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have come to buy me out, in fact: is that it? What a clever old man
+your father must be! Knows the world thoroughly, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope I have not offended you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless you, Doctor! nobody could be offended with you. Suppose I agree to
+oblige you (you have a very seductive High Church way about you) who is to make
+Marmaduke amends for such portion of <i>my</i> income as our separation will
+deprive <i>him</i> of? Eh? I see that that staggers you a little. If you will
+just tot up the rent of this house since we have had it; the price of the
+furniture; our expenses, including my carriage and Marmaduke&rsquo;s horse and
+the boat; six hundred pounds of debt that he ran up before he settled down with
+me; and other little things; and then find out from his father how much money
+he has drawn within the last two years, I think you will find it rather hard to
+make the two balance. Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke money
+to spend on me; but he was not too good to keep me playing in the provinces all
+through last autumn just to make both ends meet, when I ought to have been
+taking my holiday. I wish you would tell his mother, your blessed pious Aunt
+Dora, to send Bob the set of diamonds his grandmother left him, instead of
+sermons which he never reads.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, independently of his
+father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A thousand a year! What is that? And your uncle would stop even that, if
+he could, to keep it out of my hands. You may tell him that if it didnt come
+into my hands it would hardly last a week. Only for the child, and the garden,
+and the sort of quiet life he leads here, he would spend a thousand a month.
+And look at <i>my</i> expenses! Look at my dresses! I suppose you think that
+people wear cotton velvet and glazed calico on the stage, as Mrs. Siddons did
+in the old days when they acted by candlelight. Why, between dress and
+jewellery, I have about two hundred pounds on my back at the present moment;
+and you neednt think that any manager alive will find dresses to that tune. At
+the theatre they think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they might
+shut up the house to-morrow if my name was taken out of the bills. Tell your
+father that so far from my living on Bob, it is as much as I can do to keep
+this place going by my work&mdash;not to mention the worry of it, which always falls
+on the woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I certainly had no idea of the case being as you describe,&rdquo; said
+the clergyman, losing his former assurance. &ldquo;But would it not then be
+better for you to separate?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not. I want my house and home. So does he. If an income is
+rather tight, halving it is a very good way to make it tighter. No: if I left
+Bob, he would go to the devil; and very likely I should go to the devil, too,
+and disgrace you in earnest.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, my dear madam, consider the disgrace at present!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What disgrace? When your sister becomes Mrs. Ned, what will be the
+difference between her position and mine? Dont look aghast. What will be the
+difference?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense with the sacrament of
+marriage before casting in her lot with your brother!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I bet you my next week&rsquo;s salary that you dont get Ned to enter a
+church. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of course, your sister will have the
+law of him somehow: she cant help herself. She is not independent; and so she
+must be guaranteed against his leaving her without bread and butter. <i>I</i>
+can support myself, and may shew Bob a clean pair of heels to-morrow, if I
+choose. Even if she has money of her own, she darent stick to her freedom for
+fear of society. <i>I</i> snap my fingers at society, and care as little about
+it as it cares about me; and I have no doubt she would be glad to do the same
+if she had the pluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a regular legal bargain
+of going to live with a man. I dont care to make love a matter of money; it
+gives it a taste of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to be
+honorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. George&rsquo;s, Hanover
+Square, before we came to live here; but, of course, I refused, as any decent
+woman in my circumstances would. Understand me now, Doctor: I dont want to give
+myself any virtuous airs, or to boast of behaving better than your sister. I
+know the world; and I know that she will marry Ned just as much because she
+thinks it right as because she cant help herself. But dont you try to make me
+swallow any gammon about my disgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I
+am. I can respect myself; and I dont care whether you or your family respect me
+or not. If you dont approve of me, why! nobody asks you to associate with me.
+If you want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If I want it, I can
+fill this house to-morrow. Not with stupid fine ladies, but with really clever
+people, who are not at all shy of me. Look at me at the present moment! I am
+receiving a morning visit from the best born and most popular parson in
+Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, what your parishioners would think if they could
+see you now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must confess that I do not understand you at all. You seem to see
+everything reversed&mdash;upside down. You&mdash;I&mdash;you bewilder me, Miss Conol&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sh! Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or you may call me
+Susanna, if you like, since we are as good as related.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear,&rdquo; said the clergyman, blushing, &ldquo;that we have no
+common ground on which to argue. I am sorry I have no power to influence
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and would do more for you
+than most people. If your father had had the cheek to come himself to offer me
+money, and so forth, I would have put him out of the house double quick;
+whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. Never mind your hat yet. Have a
+bottle of champagne with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, no.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont you drink at all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You should. It would give a fillip to your sermons. Let me send you a
+case of champagne. Promise to drink a bottle every Sunday in the vestry before
+you come out to preach, and I will take a pew for the season in your church.
+Thats good of me, isnt it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must go,&rdquo; said the Rev. George, rising, after hastily pretending
+to look at his watch. &ldquo;Will you excuse me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; she said, rising also, and slipping her hand through
+his arm to detain him. &ldquo;Wait and have some luncheon. Why, Doctor, I
+really think youre afraid of me. <i>Do</i> stay.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impossible. I have much business which I am bound&mdash;&mdash;Pray, let me
+go,&rdquo; pleaded the clergyman, piteously, ineffectually struggling with
+Susanna, who had now got his arm against her breast. &ldquo;You must be
+mad!&rdquo; he cried, drops of sweat breaking out on his brow as he felt
+himself being pulled helplessly toward the ottoman. She got her knee on it at
+last; and he made a desperate effort to free himself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, how rough you are!&rdquo; she exclaimed in her softest voice,
+adroitly tumbling into the seat as if he had thrown her down, and clinging to
+his arms; so that it was as much as he could do to keep his feet as he stooped
+over her, striving to get upright. At which supreme moment the door was opened
+by Marmaduke, who halted on the threshold to survey the two reproachfully for a
+moment. Then he said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;George: I&rsquo;m astonished at you. I have not much opinion of parsons
+as a rule; but I really did think that <i>you</i> were to be depended
+on.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marmaduke,&rdquo; said the clergyman, colouring furiously, and almost
+beside himself with shame and anger: &ldquo;you know perfectly well that I am
+actuated in coming here by no motive unworthy of my profession. You
+misunderstand what you have seen. I will not hear my calling made a jest
+of.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite right, Doctor,&rdquo; said Susanna, giving him a gentle pat of
+encouragement on the shoulder. &ldquo;Defend the cloth, always. I was only
+asking him to stay to lunch, Bob. Cant you persuade him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do, old fellow,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;Come! you must: I havnt
+had a chat with you for ever so long. I&rsquo;m really awfully sorry I
+interrupted you. What on earth did you make Susanna rig herself out like that
+for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hold your tongue, Bob. Mr. George has nothing to do with my being in
+character. This is what came last night in the box: I could not resist trying
+it on this morning. I am Zobeida, the light of the harem, if you please. I must
+have your opinion of the rouge song, Doctor. Observe. This is a powder puff: I
+suppose you never saw such a thing before. I am making up my face for a visit
+of the Sultan; and I am apologizing to the audience for using cosmetics. The
+original French is improper; so I will give you the English version, by the
+celebrated Robinson, the cleverest adapter of the day:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&lsquo;Poor odalisques in captive thrall<br/>
+Must never let their charms pall:<br/>
+    If they get the sack<br/>
+    They ne&rsquo;er come back;<br/>
+For the Bosphorus is the boss for all<br/>
+In this harem, harem, harem, harem, harum scarum place.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+Intellectual, isnt it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Susanna, whilst singing, executed a fantastic slow dance, stopping at certain
+points to clink a pair of little cymbals attached to her ankles, and to look
+for a moment archly at the clergyman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, hurt and offended into a sincerity of manner which
+compelled them to respect him for the first time, &ldquo;I will not stay; and I
+am very sorry I came.&rdquo; And he left the room, his cheeks tingling.
+Marmaduke followed him to the gate. &ldquo;Come and look us up soon again, old
+fellow,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marmaduke,&rdquo; said the clergyman: &ldquo;you are travelling as fast
+as you can along the road to Hell.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As he hurried away, Marmaduke leaned against the gate and made the villas
+opposite echo his laughter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On my soul, it&rsquo;s a shame,&rdquo; said he, when he returned to the
+house. &ldquo;Poor old George!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He found no worse than he had made up his mind to find,&rdquo; said
+Susanna. &ldquo;What right has he to come into my house and take it for
+granted, to my face, that I am a disgrace to his sister? One would think I was
+a common woman from the streets.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pshaw! What does he know? He is only a molly-coddling parson, poor
+fellow. He will give them a rare account of you when he goes back.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let him,&rdquo; said Susanna. &ldquo;He can tell them how little I care
+for their opinion, anyhow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George took the next train to the City, and went to the offices of the
+Electro-Motor Company, where he found his father. They retired together to the
+board-room, which was unoccupied just then.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been to that woman,&rdquo; said the clergyman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what does she say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is an entirely abandoned person. She glories in her shame. I have
+never before met with such an example of complete and unconscious depravity.
+Yet she is not unattractive. There is a wonderfully clever refinement even in
+her coarseness which goes far to account for her influence over
+Marmaduke.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt; but apart from her personal charms, about which I am not
+curious, is she willing to assist us?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I could make no impression on her at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it cannot be helped. Did you say anything about Conolly&rsquo;s
+selling his interest here and leaving the country?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said the clergyman, struck with a sense of remissness.
+&ldquo;I forgot that. The fact is, I hardly had the oppor&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind. It is just as well that you did not: it might have made
+mischief.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not think it is of the least use to pursue her with any further
+overtures. Besides, I really could not undertake to conduct them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I ask,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, turning on him suddenly, &ldquo;what
+objection you have to Marian&rsquo;s wishes being consulted in this
+matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George recoiled, speechless.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I certainly think,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, more smoothly, &ldquo;that
+Marian might have trusted to my indulgence instead of hurrying away to a
+lodging and writing the news in all directions. But I must say I have received
+some very nice letters about it. Jasper is quite congratulatory. The <i>Court
+Journal</i> has a paragraph this week alluding to it with quite good taste.
+Conolly is a very remarkable man; and, as the <i>Court Journal</i> truly enough
+remarks, he has won a high place in the republic of art and science. As a
+Liberal, I cannot say that I disapprove of Marian&rsquo;s choice; and I really
+think that it will be looked on in society as an interesting one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind&rsquo;s son eyed him dubiously for quite a long time. Then he said,
+slowly, &ldquo;Am I to understand that I may now speak of the marriage as a
+recognized thing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not, pray?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, since you wish it, and it cannot be helped&mdash;&rdquo; The
+clergyman again looked at his father, still more dubiously. He saw in his eye
+that there would be a quarrel if the interview lasted much longer. So he said
+&ldquo;I must go home now. I have to write my sermon for next Sunday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very good. Do not let me detain you. Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George returned to his rooms quite dazed by the novelty of his
+sensations. He had always respected his father beyond other men; and now he
+knew that his father did not deserve his respect in the least. That was one
+conviction uprooted. And Susanna had done something to him&mdash;he did not exactly
+know what; but he felt altogether a different man from the clergyman of the day
+before. He had come face to face with what he called Vice for the first time,
+and found it not at all what he had supposed it to be. He had believed that he
+knew it to be most dangerously attractive to the physical, but utterly
+repugnant to the moral sense; and such fascination he was prepared to resist to
+the utmost. But he was attacked in just the opposite way, and thereby so thrown
+off his guard that he did not know he was attacked at all; so that he told
+himself vaingloriously that the shafts of the enemy had fallen harmlessly from
+his breastplate of faith. For he was not in the least charmed by
+Susanna&rsquo;s person. He had detected the paint on her cheeks, and had noted
+with aversion a certain unhealthy bloat in her face, and an alcoholic taint in
+her breath. He exulted in the consciousness that he had been genuinely
+disgusted, not as a matter of duty, but unaffectedly, as a matter of simple
+nature. What interested him in her was her novel and bold moral attitude, her
+self-respect in the midst of her sin, her striking arguments in favor of an
+apparently indefensible course of life. Hers was no common case of loose
+living, he felt: there was a soul to be saved there, if only Heaven would raise
+her up a friend in some man absolutely proof against the vulgar fascination of
+her prettiness. He began to imagine a certain greatness of character about her,
+a capacity for heroic repentance as well as for heroic sin. Before long he was
+amusing himself by thinking how it might have gone with her if she had him for
+her counsellor instead of a gross and thoughtless rake like Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It is not necessary to follow the wild goose chase which the Rev.
+George&rsquo;s imagination ran from this starting-point to the moment when he
+was suddenly awakened, by an unmistakable symptom, to the fact that he was
+being outwitted and beglamoured, like the utter novice he was, by a power which
+he believed to be the devil. He rushed to the little oratory he had arranged
+with a screen in the corner of his sitting-room, and prayed aloud, long and
+earnestly. But the hypnotizing process did not tranquilize him as usual. It
+excited him, and led him finally to a passionate appeal for pardon and
+intercession to a statuet of the Virgin Mother, of whom he was a very devout
+adorer. He had always regarded himself as her especial champion in the Church
+of England; and now he had been faithless to her, and indelicate into the
+bargain. And yet, in spite of his contrition, he felt that he was having a
+tremendous spiritual experience, which he would not for worlds have missed. The
+climax of it was the composition of his Sunday sermon, the labor of which
+secured him a sound sleep that night. It was duly delivered on the following
+Sunday morning in this form:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dearly beloved Brethren: In the twenty-third verse of the third chapter
+of St. Mark&rsquo;s gospel, we find this question: &lsquo;<i>How can Satan cast
+out Satan</i>?&rsquo; How can Satan cast out Satan? If you will read what
+follows, you will perceive that that question was not answered. My brethren, it
+is unanswerable: it never has been, and it never can be answered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In these latter days, when the power of Satan has become so vast, when
+his empire and throne tower in our midst so that the faithful are cast down by
+the exceeding great shadow thereof, and when temples innumerable are open for
+his worship, it is no strange thing that many faint-hearted ones should give
+half their hearts to Beelzebub, and should hope by the prince of devils to cast
+out devils. Yes, this is what is taking place daily around us. Oh, you, who
+seek to excuse this book to infidel philosophers by shewing with how much
+facility a glib tongue may reconcile it with their so-called science, I tell
+you that it is science and not the Bible that shall need that apology in the
+great day of wrath. And, therefore, I would have you, my brethren, earnestly
+discountenance all endeavors to justify the Word of God by explaining it in
+conformity with the imaginations of the men of science. How can Satan cast out
+Satan? He cannot; but he can lead you into the sin of adding to and of taking
+from the words of this book. He can add plagues unto you, and take away your
+part out of the holy city.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In this great London which we inhabit we are come upon evil day&rsquo;s.
+The rage of the blasphemer, the laugh at the scoffer, the heartless lip-service
+of the worldling, and the light dalliance of the daughters of music, are
+offered every hour upon a thousand Baal-altars within this very parish. I would
+ask some of you who spend your evenings in the playhouses which multiply around
+us like weeds sown in the rank soil of human frailty, what justification you
+make to yourselves when you are alone in the watches of the night, and your
+conscience saith, &lsquo;<i>What went ye out for to see</i>?&rsquo; You will
+then complain of the bitterness of life, and prate of the refining influences
+of music; of the help to spiritual-mindedness given by the exhibition on the
+public stage of mockeries of God&rsquo;s world, wherein some pitiful temporal
+triumph of simulated virtue in the last act is the apology for the vicious
+trifling that has gone before. And in whom do you there see typified that
+virtue which you should shield in your hearts from the contamination of the
+theatre? Is it not in some woman whose private life is the scandalous matter of
+your whispered conversations, and whose shameless face smirks at you from the
+windows of those picture-shops which are a disgrace to our national morality?
+Is it from such as she that you will learn to be spiritual-minded? Does she
+appear before your carnal crowds repentant, her forehead covered with ashes,
+her limbs covered with sackcloth? No! Her brow is glowing with unquenchable
+fire to kindle the fuel that the devil has hidden in your hearts. Her raiment
+is cloth of gold; and she is not covered with it. Naked and unashamed, she
+smiles and weeps in mockery of the virtue which you would persuade yourselves
+that she represents to you. Will you learn spiritual-mindedness from the sight
+of her eyes, from the sound of her mouth, from the measure of her steps, or
+from the music and the dancing that cease not within the doors of her temple?
+How can Satan cast out Satan? Whom think ye to deceive by whitening the
+sepulchre? Is it yourselves? The devil has blinded you already. Is it God? Who
+shall hide anything from Him? I tell you that he who makes the pursuit of
+virtue a luxury, and takes refuge from sin, not before the altar, but in the
+playhouse, is casting out devils by Beelzebub, the prince of the devils.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As I look about me in this church; I see many things intended to give
+pleasure to the carnal eye. Were the cost of all these dainty robes, this
+delicate headgear, these clouds of silk, of satin, of lace, and of sparkling
+jewels, were the price of these things brought into the Church&rsquo;s
+treasury, how loudly might the Gospel resound in lands between whose torrid
+shores and the tropical sun the holy shade of Calvary has not yet fallen! But,
+you will say, it is a good thing to be comely in the house of the Lord. The
+sight of what is beautiful elevates the mind. Uncleanness is a vice. This,
+then, is how you will war with uncleanness. Not by prayer and holy living. Not
+by pouring of your superfluity into the lap of the poor, and entering by the
+strait gate upon the narrow path in a garment without seam. No. By the dead and
+damning gold; by the purple and by the scarlet; by the brightness of the eyes
+that is born of new wine; by the mincing gait and the gloved fingers; and by
+the musk and civet instead of the myrrh and frankincense: by these things are
+you fain to purge your uncleanness. And will they suffice? Can Satan cast out
+Satan? Beware! &lsquo;<i>For though thou wash thee with nitre and take thee
+much soap, yet thine iniquity is marked before me, saith the Lord
+God</i>.&rsquo; There shall come a day when your lace and feathers shall hang
+on you as heavy as your chains of gold, to drag you down to him in whose name
+you have thought to cast out devils. Do not think that these things are
+harmless vanities. Nothing can fill the human heart and be harmless. If your
+thoughts be not of God, they will keep your minds distraught from His grace as
+effectually as the blackest broodings of crime. &lsquo;<i>Can a maid forget her
+ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people have forgotten me days without
+number, saith the Lord God</i>.&rsquo; Yes, your minds are too puny to
+entertain the full worship of God: do you think they are spacious enough to
+harbor the worship of Baal side by side with it? Much less dare you pretend
+that the Baal altar is erected for the honor of God, that you may come into His
+presence comely and clean. It is but a few days since I stood in the presence
+of a woman who boasted to me that she bore upon her the value of two hundred
+pounds of our money. I cared little for the value of money that was upon her.
+But what shall be said of the weight of sin her attire represented? For, those
+costly garments were the wages of sin&mdash;of hardened, shameless, damnable sin. Yet
+there is not before me a finer dress or a fairer face. Will you, my sisters,
+trust to the comeliness of visage and splendor of raiment in which such a woman
+as this can outshine you? Will you continue to cast out your devils by
+Beelzebub, the prince of devils? Be advised whilst there is yet time. Ask
+yourself again and again, how can Satan cast out Satan?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When sin is committed in a great city for wages, is there no fault on
+the side of those who pay the wages? There is more than fault: there is crime.
+I trust there are few among you who have done such crime. But I know full well
+that it may be said of London to-day &lsquo;<i>Thou art full of stirs, a joyous
+city: thy slain men are not slain with the sword, nor dead in
+battle</i>.&rsquo; No. Our young men are slain by the poison of Beelzebub, the
+prince of the devils. Nor is the crafty old subterfuge lacking here. There are
+lost ones in this town who say, &lsquo;It is by our means that virtue is
+preserved to the rich: it is we who appease the wicked rage which would
+otherwise wreck society.&rsquo; There are men who boast that they have brought
+their sins only to the houses of shame, and that they have respected purity in
+the midst of their foulness. &lsquo;Such things must be,&rsquo; they say:
+&lsquo;let us alone, lest a worse thing ensue.&rsquo; When they are filled full
+with sin, they cry &lsquo;Lo! our appetite has gone from us and we are
+clean.&rsquo; They are willing to slake lust with satiety, but not to combat it
+with prayer. They tread one woman into the mire, and excuse themselves because
+the garment of her sister is spotless. How vain is this lying homage to virtue!
+How can Satan cast out Satan?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, my brethren, this hypocrisy is the curse and danger of our age. The
+Atheist, no longer an execration, an astonishment, a curse, and a reproach,
+poses now as the friend of man and the champion of right. Those who incur the
+last and most terrible curse in this book, do so in the name of that truth for
+which they profess to be seeking. Art, profanely veiling its voluptuous
+nakedness with the attributes of religion, disguises folly so subtly that it
+seems like virtue in the slothful eyes of those who neglect continually to
+watch and pray. The vain woman puts on her ornaments to do honor to her
+Creator&rsquo;s handiwork: the lustful man casts away his soul that society may
+be kept clean: there is not left in these latter days a sin that does not
+pretend to work the world&rsquo;s salvation, nor a man who flatters not himself
+that the sin of one may be the purging of many. To such I say, Look to your own
+soul: of no other shall any account be demanded of you. A day shall come in
+which a fire shall be kindled among your gods. The Lord shall array Himself
+with this land as a shepherd putteth on his garment. Be sure that then if ye
+shall say &lsquo;I am a devil; but I have cast out many devils,&rsquo; He will
+reply unto you, How can Satan cast out Satan? Who shall prompt you to an answer
+to that question? Nay, though in His boundless mercy He give you a thousand
+years to search, and spread before you all the books of science and sociology
+in which you were wont to find excuses for sin, what will it avail you? Will a
+scoff, or a quibble over a doubtful passage, serve your turn? No. You cannot
+scoff whilst your tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth for fear, and there
+will be no passage doubtful in all the Scriptures on that day; for the light of
+the Lord&rsquo;s countenance will be over all things.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="book03"></a>BOOK III</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<p>
+One Sunday afternoon, as the sun was making rainbows in the cloud of spray
+thrown from the fountain in Kew Gardens, Sholto Douglas appeared there amongst
+the promenaders on the banks of the pond. He halted on the steps leading down
+to the basin, gazing idly at the waterfowl paddling at his feet. A lady in a
+becoming grey dress came to the top of the steps, and looked curiously at him.
+Somehow aware of this, he turned indifferently, as if to leave, and found that
+the lady was Marian. Her ripened beauty, her perfect self-possession, a gain in
+her as of added strength and wisdom, and a loss in her as of gentleness
+outgrown and timidity overcome, dazzled him for a moment&mdash;caused a revulsion in
+him which he half recognized as the beginning of a dangerous passion. His
+former love for her suddenly appeared boyish and unreal to him; and this ruin
+of a once cherished illusion cost him a pang. Meanwhile, there she was, holding
+out her hand and smiling with a cool confidence in the success of her advance
+that would have been impossible to Marian Lind.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you do?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you: I am fairly well. You are quite well, I hope?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am in rude health. I hardly knew you at first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Am I altered?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are growing stout.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed? Time has not been so bounteous to me as to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You mean that I am stouter than you?&rdquo; She laughed; and the sound
+startled him. He got from it an odd impression that her soul was gone. But he
+hastened to protest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no. You know I do not. I meant that you have achieved the
+impossible&mdash;altered for the better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am glad you think so. I cling to my good looks desperately now that I
+am growing matronly. How is Mrs. Douglas?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is quite well, thank you. Mr. Conolly is, I trust&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is suffering from Eucalyptus on the brain at present. Do not trouble
+yourself to maintain that admirable expression of shocked sadness. Eucalyptus
+means gum-tree; and Ned is at present studying the species somewhere in the
+neighborhood. He came here with that object: he never goes anywhere without an
+object. He wants to plant Eucalyptuses round some new works where the people
+suffer from ague.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! You mean that he is here in the gardens.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I left him among the trees, as I prefer the flowers. I want to see
+the lilies. There used to be some in a hot-house, or rather a hot bath, near
+this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is it on our right. May I go through it with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just as you please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. It is a long time since we last met, is it not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;More than a year. Fifteen months. I have not seen you since I was
+married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas looked rather foolish at this. He was fatter, lazier, altogether less
+tenacious of his dignity than of old; and his embarrassment brought out the
+change strikingly. Marian liked him all the better for it; he was less
+imposing; but he was more a man and less a mere mask. At last, reddening a
+little, he said, &ldquo;I remember our last meeting very well. We were very
+angry then: I was infuriated. In fact, when I recognized you a minute ago, I
+was not quite sure that you would renew our acquaintance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had exactly the same doubt about you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A very unnecessary doubt. Not a sincere one, I am afraid. You know too
+well that your least beck will bring me to you at any time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont you think we had better not begin that. I generally repeat my
+conversations to Ned. Not that he will mind, if you dont.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas now felt at his ease and in his clement. He was clearly welcome to
+philander. Recovering his poise at once, he began, in his finest voice,
+&ldquo;You need not chide me. There can be no mistake on my part now. You can
+entangle me without fear; and I can love without hope. Ned is an unrepealed
+statute of Forbiddance. Go on, Mrs. Conolly. Play with me: it will amuse you.
+And&mdash;spiritless wretch that I am!&mdash;it will help me to live until you throw me
+away, crushed again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You seem to have been quite comfortable without me: at least you look
+extremely well. I suspect you are becoming a little lazy and attached to your
+dinner. Your old haughtiness seems to have faded into a mere habit. It used to
+be the most active principle in you. Are you quite sure that nobody else has
+been helping you to live, as you call it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Helping me to forget, you mean. No, not one. Time has taught me the way
+to vegetate; and so I no longer need to live. As you have remarked, I have
+habits, not active principles. But one at least of these principles is
+blossoming again even as I speak. If I could only live as that lily lives
+now!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In a warm bath?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Floating on the surface of a quiet pool, looking up into your eyes,
+with no memory for the past, no anticipation of the future.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Delightful! especially for me. I think we had better go and look for
+Ned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Were I in his place I would not be absent from your side now&mdash;or
+ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is to say, if you were in his place, you wouldnt be in his
+place&mdash;among the gum trees. Perhaps you would be right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is the only man I have ever stooped to envy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have reason to,&rdquo; said Marian, suddenly grave.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I envy him sometimes myself. What would you give to be never without a
+purpose, never with a regret, to regard life as a succession of objects each to
+be accomplished by so many days&rsquo; work; to take your pleasure in trifling
+lazily with the consciousness of possessing a strong brain; to study love,
+family affection, and friendship as a doctor studies breathing or digestion; to
+look on disinterestedness as either weakness or hypocrisy, and on death as a
+mere transfer of your social function to some member of the next
+generation?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I could achieve all that, if I would, at the cost of my soul. I would
+not for worlds be such a man, save on one condition.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To wit?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That only as such could I win the woman I loved.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you would not think so much of an insignificant factor like love if
+you were Ned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I ask, do you, too, think of love as &lsquo;an insignificant
+factor&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I? Oh, I am not a sociologist. Besides, I have never been in
+love.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! You have never been in love?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not the real, romantic, burning, suicidal love your sonnets used to
+breathe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you do not know what love is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You should know whether I do or not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Should I? Then I conclude that you do not. You are growing stout. Your
+dress is not in the least neglected. I am certain you enjoy life thoroughly.
+No, you have never known love in all its novelistic-poetic outrageousness. That
+respectable old passion is a myth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You look for signs that only children shew. When an oak dies, it does
+not wither and fall at once as a sapling does. Perhaps you will one day know
+what it is to love.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In any case, you will be able to boast of having inspired the
+passion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope so&mdash;at least, I mean that it is all nonsense. Do look at that
+vegetable lobster of a thing, that cactus.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In order to set off its ugliness properly, you should see yourself
+against the background of palms, with that great fan-like leaf for a halo,
+and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. I see it all in my mind&rsquo;s eye by your eloquent
+description. You are quite right in supposing that I like compliments; but I am
+particular about their quality; and I dont need to be told I am pretty in
+comparison with a hideous cactus. You would not have condescended to make such
+a speech long ago. You are changed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not toward you, on my honor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not mean that: I meant toward yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am glad you have taken even that slender note of me. I find you
+somewhat changed, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not know that I shewed it; but it is true. I feel as if Marian
+Lind was a person whom I knew once, but whom I should hardly know again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The change in me has not produced that effect. I feel as though Marian
+Lind were the history of my life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have become quite a master of the art of saying pretty things. You
+are nearly as glib at it as Ned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have the same incentive to admiration.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The same! You do not suppose that Ned pays <i>me</i> compliments. He
+never did such a thing in his life. No: I first discovered his talent in that
+direction at Palermo, where I surprised him in an animated discourse with the
+dark-eyed daughter of an innkeeper there. That was the first conversation in
+Italian I succeeded in following. A week later I could understand the language
+almost as well as he. However, dont let us waste the whole afternoon talking
+stuff. I want to ask you about your mother. I should greatly like to call upon
+her; but she has never made me any sign since my marriage; and Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax tells me that she never allows my name to be mentioned to her. I
+thought she was fond of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So she was. But she has never forgiven you for making me suffer as you
+did. You see she has more spirit than I. She would be angered if she saw me now
+tamely following the triumphal chariot of my fair tyrant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seriously, do you think, if I made a raid on Manchester Square some
+morning, I could coax back her old feeling for me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think you will be quite safe in calling, at all events. Tell me what
+day you intend to venture. I know my mother will not oppose me if I shew that I
+wish you to be kindly received.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most disinterested of you. Thank you: I will fail or succeed on my own
+merits, not on your recommendation. You must not say a word to her about me or
+my project.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you command me not to&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do command you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must obey. But I fear that the more submissive I am, the more
+imperious you will become.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely. And now look along that avenue to the left. Do you see a
+man in a brown suit, with straw hat to match, walking towards us at a regular
+pace, and keeping in a perfectly straight course? He looks at everybody he
+passes as if he were counting them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is looking back at somebody now, as if he had missed the
+number.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Just so; but that somebody is a woman; doubtless a pretty one, probably
+dark. You recognize him, I see. There is a frost come over you which convinces
+me that you are preparing to receive him in your old ungracious way. I warn you
+that I am accustomed to see Ned made much of. He has caught sight of us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And has just remarked that there is a man talking to his wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite right. See his speculative air! Now he no longer attends to us. He
+is looking at the passers-by as before. That means that he has recognized you,
+and has stowed the observation compactly away in his brain, to be referred to
+when he comes up to us.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So much method must economize his intellect very profitably. How do you
+do, Mr. Conolly? It is some time since we have had the pleasure of
+meeting.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Glad to see you, Mr. Douglas. We have been away all the winter. Are you
+staying in London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you will spend an occasional hour with us at Holland Park.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are very kind. Thank you: yes, if Mrs. Conolly will permit
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should make you come home with us now,&rdquo; said Marian, &ldquo;but
+for this Sunday being a special occasion. Nelly McQuinch is to spend the
+evening with us; and as I have not seen her since we came back, I must have her
+all to myself. Come next Sunday, if you care to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;Half past three is our Sunday hour. If
+you cannot face that, we are usually at home afterwards the entire evening.
+Marian: we have exactly fifteen minutes to catch our train.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! let us fly. If we miss it, Nelly will be kept waiting half an
+hour.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Then they parted, Douglas promising to come to them on that day week.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont you think he is growing very fat?&rdquo; said she, as they walked
+away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. He is beginning to take the world easily. He does not seem to be
+making much of his life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What matter, so long as he enjoys it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pooh! He doesnt know what enjoyment means.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They said nothing further until they were in the train, where Marian sat
+looking listlessly through the window, whilst Conolly, opposite, reclining
+against the cushions, looked thoughtfully at her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ned,&rdquo; said she, suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know that Sholto is more infatuated about me than ever?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Naturally. You are lovelier than when he last saw you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are nearly as complimentary as he,&rdquo; said Marian, blushing with
+a gratification which she was very unwilling to betray. &ldquo;He noticed it
+sooner than you. I discovered it myself in the glass before either of
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt you did. What station is this?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know.&rdquo; Then, raising her voice so as to be overheard, she
+exclaimed &ldquo;Here is a stupid man coming into our carriage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A young man entered the compartment, and, after one glance at Marian, who
+turned her back on him impatiently, spent the remainder of the journey making
+furtive attempts to catch a second glimpse of her face. Conolly looked a shade
+graver at his wife&rsquo;s failure in perfect self-control; but he by no means
+shared her feelings toward the intrusive passenger. Marian and he were in
+different humors; and he did not wish to be left alone with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+As they walked from Addison Road railway station to their house, Conolly mused
+in silence with his eyes on the gardens by the way. Marian, who wished to talk,
+followed his measured steps with impatience.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me take your arm, Ned: I cannot keep up with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope I am not inconveniencing you,&rdquo; she said, after a further
+interval of silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hm&mdash;no.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I am. It does not matter. I can get on by myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Arm in arm is such an inconvenient and ridiculous mode of locomotion&mdash;you
+need not struggle in the public street: now that you have got my arm you shall
+keep it&mdash;I say it is such an inconvenient and ridiculous mode of locomotion that
+if you were any one else I should prefer to wheel you home in a barrow. Our
+present mode of proceeding would be inexcusable if I were a traction-engine,
+and you my tender.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then let me go. What will the people think if they see a great engineer
+violating the laws of mechanics by dragging his wife by the arm?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They will appreciate my motives; and, in fact, if you watch them, you
+will detect a thinly-disguised envy in their countenances. I violate the laws
+of mechanics&mdash;to use your own sarcastic phrase&mdash;for many reasons. I like to be
+envied when there are solid reasons for it. It gratifies my vanity to be seen
+in this artistic quarter with a pretty woman on my arm. Again, the sense of
+possessing you is no longer an abstraction when I hold you bodily, and feel the
+impossibility of keeping step with you. Besides, Man, who was a savage only
+yesterday, has his infirmities, and finds a poetic pleasure in the touch of the
+woman he loves. And I may add that you have been in such a bad temper all the
+afternoon that I suspect you of an itching to box my ears, and therefore feel
+safer with your arm in my custody.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! <i>Indeed</i> I have not been in a bad temper. I have been most
+anxious to spend a happy day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And I have been placidly reflective, and not anxious at all. Is that
+what has provoked you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not provoked. But you might tell me what your reflections are
+about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They would fill volumes, if I could recollect them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must recollect some of them. From the time we left the station until
+a moment ago, when we began to talk, you were pondering something with the
+deepest seriousness. What was it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I forget.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course you forget&mdash;just because I want to know. What a crowded road
+this is!&rdquo; She disengaged herself from his arm; and this time he did not
+resist her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That reminds me of it. The crowd consists partly of people going to the
+pro-Cathedral. The pro-Cathedral contains an altar. An altar suggests kneeling
+on hard stone; and that brings me to the disease called
+&lsquo;housemaids&rsquo; knee,&rsquo; which was the subject of my
+reflections.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A pleasant subject for a fine Sunday! Thank you. I dont want to hear any
+more.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you will hear more of it; for I am going to have the steps of our
+house taken away and replaced by marble, or slate, or something that can be
+cleaned with a mop and a pail of water in five minutes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My chain of thought began at the door steps we have passed, all whitened
+beautifully so as to display every footprint, and all representing an
+expenditure of useless, injurious labor in hearthstoning, that ought to madden
+an intelligent housemaid. I dont think our Armande is particularly intelligent;
+but I am resolved to spare her knees and her temper in future by banishing
+hearthstone from our establishment forever. I shudder to think that I have been
+walking upon those white steps and flag ways of ours every day without
+awakening to a sense of their immorality.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot understand why you are always disparaging Armande. And I hate
+an ill-kept house front. None of our housemaids ever objected to hearthstoning,
+or were any the worse for it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. They would not have gained anything by objecting: they would only
+have lost their situations. You need not fear for your house front. I will
+order a porch with porphyry steps and alabaster pillars to replace your beloved
+hearthstone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. That will be clever. Do you know how easy it is to stain marble?
+Armande will be on her knees all day with a bottle of turpentine and a bit of
+flannel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are thinking of inkstains, Marian. You forget that it does not rain
+ink, and that Nelly will hardly select the porch to write her novels in.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lots of people bring ink on a doorstep. Tax collectors and gasmen carry
+bottles in their pockets.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ask them into the drawing-room when they call, my dear; or, better
+still, dont pay them, so that they will have no need to write a receipt. Let me
+remind you that ink shews as much on white hearthstone as it can possibly do on
+marble. Yet extensive disfigurements of steps from the visits of tax collectors
+are not common.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Ned, you know that you are talking utter nonsense.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, my dear. I think I perceive Nelly looking out of the window for us.
+Here she is at the door.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian hastened forward and embraced her cousin. Miss McQuinch looked older;
+and her complexion was drier than before. But she had apparently begun to study
+her appearance; for her hat and shoes were neat and even elegant, which they
+had never been within Marian&rsquo;s previous experience of her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>You</i> are not changed in the least,&rdquo; she said, as she gave
+Conolly her hand. &ldquo;I have just been wondering at the alteration in
+Marian. She has grown lovely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been telling her so all day, in the vain hope of getting her into
+a better temper. Come into the drawing-room. Have you been waiting for us
+long?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;About fifteen minutes. I have been admiring your organ. I should have
+tried the piano; but I did not know whether that was allowable on
+Sunday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Why did you not pound it to your heart&rsquo;s content? Ned
+scandalizes the neighbors every Sunday by continually playing. Armande: dinner
+as soon as possible, please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I like this house. It is exactly my idea of a comfortable modern
+home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must stay long enough to find out its defects,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+&ldquo;We read your novel at Verona; but we could not agree as to which
+characters you meant to be taken as the good ones.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was only Ned&rsquo;s nonsense,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Most
+novels are such rubbish! I am sure you will be able to live by writing just as
+well as Mrs. Fairfax can.&rdquo; Conolly shewed Miss McQuinch his opinion of
+this unhappy remark by a whimsical glance, which she repudiated by turning
+sharply away from him, and speaking as affectionately as she could to Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+After dinner they returned to the drawing-room, which ran from the front to the
+back of the house. Marian opened a large window which gave access to the
+garden, and sat down with Elinor on a little terrace outside. Conolly went to
+the organ.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;May I play a voluntary while you talk?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I shall
+not scandalize any one: the neighbors think all music sacred when it is played
+on the organ.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We have a nice view of the sunset from here,&rdquo; said Marian, in a
+low voice, turning her forehead to the cool evening breeze.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stuff!&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;We didnt come here to talk about the
+sunset, and what a pretty house you have, and so forth. I want to know&mdash;good
+heavens! what a thundering sound that organ makes!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Please dont say anything about it to him: he likes it,&rdquo; said
+Marian. &ldquo;When he wishes to exalt himself, he goes to it and makes it roar
+until the whole house shakes. Whenever he feels an emotional impulse, he vents
+it at the organ or the piano, or by singing. When he stops, he is satisfied;
+his mind is cleared; and he is in a good-humored, playful frame of mind, such
+as <i>I</i> can gratify.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you were always very fond of music. Dont you ever play together, as
+we used to do; or sing to one another&rsquo;s accompaniments?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot. I hardly ever touch the piano when he is in the house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why? Are you afraid of preventing him from having his turn?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No: it is not so much that. But&mdash;it sounds very silly&mdash;if I attempt to
+play or sing in his presence, I become so frightfully nervous that I hardly
+know what I am doing. I know he does not like my singing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you sure that is not merely your fancy? It sounds very like
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. At first I used to play a good deal for him, knowing that he was
+fond of music, and fancying&mdash;poor fool that I was! [here Marian spoke so
+bitterly that Nelly turned and looked hard at her] that it was part of a
+married woman&rsquo;s duty in a house to supply music after dinner. At that
+time he was working hard at his business; and he spent so much time in the city
+that he had to give up playing himself. Besides, we were flying all about
+England opening those branch offices, and what not. He always took me with him;
+and I really enjoyed it, and took quite an interest in the Company. When we
+were in London, although I was so much alone in the daytime, I was happy in
+anticipating our deferred honeymoon. Then the time for that paradise came. Ned
+said that the Company was able to walk by itself at last, and that he was going
+to have a long holiday after his dry-nursing of it. We went first to Paris,
+where we heard all the classical concerts that were given while we were there.
+I found that he never tired of listening to orchestral music; and yet he never
+ceased grumbling at it. He thought nothing of the great artists in Paris. Then
+we went for a tour through Brittany; and there, in spite of his classical
+tastes, he used to listen to the peasants&rsquo; songs and write them down. He
+seemed to like folk songs of all kinds, Irish, Scotch, Russian, German,
+Italian, no matter where from. So one evening, at a lodging where there was a
+piano, I played for him that old arrangement of Irish melodies&mdash;you
+know&mdash;&lsquo;Irish Diamonds,&rsquo; it is called.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh Lord! Yes, I remember. &lsquo;Believe me if all,&rsquo; with
+variations.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. He thought I meant it in jest: he laughed at it, and played a lot
+of ridiculous variations to burlesque it. I didnt tell him that I had been in
+earnest: perhaps you can imagine how I felt about it. Then, after that, in
+Italy, he got permission&mdash;or rather bought it&mdash;to try the organ in a church. It
+was growing dusk; I was tired with walking; and somehow between the sense of
+repose, and the mysterious twilight in the old church, I was greatly affected
+by his playing. I thought it must be part of some great mass or symphony; and I
+felt how little I knew about music, and how trivial my wretched attempts must
+appear to him when he had such grand harmonies at his fingers&rsquo; ends. But
+he soon stopped; and when I was about to tell him how I appreciated his
+performance, he said, &lsquo;What an abominable instrument a bad organ
+is!&rsquo; I had thought it beautiful, of course. I asked him what he had been
+playing. I said was it not by Mozart; and then I saw his eyebrows go up; so I
+added, as a saving clause, that perhaps it was something of his own. &lsquo;My
+dear girl,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;it was only an <i>entr&rsquo;acte</i> from an
+opera of Donizetti&rsquo;s.&rsquo; He was carrying my shawl at the time; and he
+wrapped it about my shoulders in the tenderest manner as he said this, and made
+love to me all the evening to console me. In his opinion, the greatest
+misfortune that can happen anyone is to make a fool of oneself; and whenever I
+do it, he pets me in the most delicate manner, as if I were a child who had
+just got a tumble. When we settled down here and got the organ, he began to
+play constantly, and I used to practise the piano in the daytime so as to have
+duets with him. But though he was always ready to play whenever I proposed it,
+he was quite different then from what he was when he played by himself. He was
+all eyes and ears, and the moment I played a wrong note he would name the right
+one. Then I generally got worse and stopped. He never lost his patience or
+complained; but I used to feel that he was urging me on, or pulling me back, or
+striving to get me to do something which I could not grasp. Then he would give
+me up in despair, and play on mechanically from the notes before him, thinking
+of something else all the time. I practised harder, and tried again. I thought
+at first I had succeeded; because our duets went so smoothly and we were always
+so perfectly together. But I discovered&mdash;by instinct I believe&mdash;that instead of
+having a musical treat, he was only trying to please me. He thought I liked
+playing duets with him; and accordingly he used to sit down beside me and
+accompany me faithfully, no matter how I chose to play.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dear me! Why doesnt he get Rubinstein to play with him, since he is so
+remarkably fastidious?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not so much mechanical skill that I lack; but there is something&mdash;I
+cannot tell what it is. I found it out one night when we were at Mrs.
+Saunders&rsquo;s. She is an incurable flirt; and she was quite sure that she
+had captivated Ned, who is always ready to make love to anyone that will listen
+to him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A nice sort of man to be married to!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He only does it to amuse himself. He does not really care for them: I
+almost wish he did, sometimes; but it is often none the less provoking. What is
+worse, no amount of flirtation on my part would make <i>him</i> angry. What
+happened at Mrs. Saunders&rsquo;s was this. The Scotts, of Putney, were there;
+and the first remark Ned made to me was, &lsquo;Who is the woman that knows how
+to walk?&rsquo; It was Mrs. Scott: you know you used to say she moved like a
+panther. Afterward Mrs. Scott sang &lsquo;Caller Herrin&rsquo; in that vulgar
+Scotch accent that leaks out occasionally in her speech, with Ned at the piano.
+Everybody came crowding in to listen; and there was great applause. I cannot
+understand it: she is as hard and matter-of-fact as a woman can be: I dont
+believe the expression in her singing comes one bit from true feeling. I heard
+Ned say to her, &lsquo;Thank you, Mrs. Scott: no Englishwoman has the secret of
+singing a ballad as you have it.&rsquo; I knew very well what that meant.
+<i>I</i> have not the secret. Well, Mrs. Scott came over to me and said
+&lsquo;Mr. Conolly is a very _pair_tinaceous man. He persuaded me into shewing
+him the way the little song is sung in Scotland; and I stood up without
+thinking. And see now, I have been _rag_uilarly singing a song in company for
+the first time in my life.&rsquo; Of course, it was a ridiculous piece of
+affectation. Ned talked about Mrs. Scott all the way home, and played
+&lsquo;Caller Herrin&rsquo; four times next day. That finished my domestic
+musical career. I have never sung for him since, except once or twice when he
+has asked me to try the effect of some passage in one of his
+music-books.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And do you never sing when you go out, as you used to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only when he is not with me, or when people force me to. If he is in the
+room, I am so nervous that I can hardly get through the easiest song. He never
+offers to accompany me now, and generally leaves the room when I am asked to
+sing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps he sees the effect his presence has on you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Even so, he ought to stay. He used to like <i>me</i> to listen to
+<i>him</i>, at first.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss McQuinch looked at the sunset with exceeding glumness. There was an
+ominous pause. Then she said, abruptly, &ldquo;You remember how we used to
+debate whether marriage was a mistake or not. Have you found out?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That sounds rather as if you did know. Are you quite sure you are not in
+low spirits this evening? He was bantering you about being out of temper when
+you came in. Perhaps you quarrelled at Kew.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quarrel! He quarrel! I cannot explain to you how we are situated, Nelly.
+You would not understand me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Suppose you try. For instance, is he as fond of you as he was before you
+married him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Miss McQuinch shrugged herself impatiently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Really I do not, Nelly. He has changed in a way&mdash;I do not quite know how
+or why. At first he was not very ceremonious. He used to make remarks about
+people, and discuss everything that came into his head quite freely before me.
+He was always kind, and never grumbled about his dinner, or lost his temper, or
+anything of that kind; but&mdash;it was not that he was coarse exactly: he was not
+that in the least; but he was very open and unreserved and plain in his
+language; and somehow I did not quite like it. He must have found this out: he
+sees and feels everything by instinct; for he slipped back into his old manner,
+and became more considerate and attentive than he had ever been before. I was
+made very happy at first by the change; but I do not think he quite understood
+what I wanted. I did not at all object to going down to the country with him on
+his business trips; but he always goes alone now; and he never mentions his
+work to me. And he is too careful as to what he says to me. Of course, I know
+that he is right not to speak ill of anybody; but still a man need not be so
+particular before his wife as before strangers. He has given up talking to me
+altogether: that is the plain truth, whatever he may pretend. When we do
+converse, his manner is something like what it was in the laboratory at the
+Towers. Of course, he sometimes becomes more familiar; only then he never seems
+in earnest, but makes love to me in a bantering, half playful, half sarcastic
+way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are rather hard to please, perhaps. I remember you used to say that
+a husband should be just as tender and respectful after marriage as before it.
+You seem to have broken poor Ned into this; and now you are not
+satisfied.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nelly, if there is one subject on which girls are more idiotically
+ignorant than on any other, it is happiness in marriage. A courtier, a lover, a
+man who will not let the winds of heaven visit your face too harshly, is very
+nice, no doubt; but he is not a husband. I want to be a wife and not a fragile
+ornament kept in a glass case. He would as soon think of submitting any project
+of his to the judgment of a doll as to mine. If he has to explain or discuss
+any serious matter of business with me, he does so apologetically, as if he
+were treating me roughly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, my dear, you see, when he tried the other plan, you did not like
+that either. What is the unfortunate man to do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know. I suppose I was wrong in shrinking from his confidence. I
+am always wrong. It seems to me that the more I try to do right, the more
+mischief I contrive to make.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is all pretty dismal, Marian. What sort of conduct on his part
+would make you happy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, there are so many little things. He makes me jealous of everything
+and everybody. I am jealous of the men in the city&mdash;I was jealous of the
+sanitary inspector the other day&mdash;because he talks with interest to them. I know
+he stays in the city later than he need. It is a relief to me to go out in the
+evening, or to have a few people here once or twice a week; but I am angry
+because I know it is a relief to him too. I am jealous even of that organ. How
+I hale those Bach fugues! Listen to the maddening thing twisting and rolling
+and racing and then mixing itself up into one great boom. He can get on with
+Bach: he can&rsquo;t get on with me. I have even condescended to be jealous of
+other women&mdash;of such women as Mrs. Saunders. He despises her: he plays with her
+as dexterously as she thinks she plays with him; but he likes to chat with her;
+and they rattle away for a whole evening without the least constraint. She has
+no conscience: she talks absolute nonsense about art and literature: she flirts
+even more disgustingly than she used to when she was Belle Woodward; but she is
+quickwitted, like most Irish people; and she enjoys a broad style of jesting
+which Ned is a great deal too tolerant of, though he would as soon die as
+indulge in it before me. Then there is Mrs. Scott, who is just as shrewd as
+Belle, and much cleverer. I have heard him ask her opinion as to whether he had
+acted well or not in some stroke of business&mdash;something that I had never heard
+of, of course. I wish I were half as hard and strong and self-reliant as she
+is. <i>Her</i> husband would be nothing without her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I was right all along, Marian. Marriage <i>is</i> a mistake.
+There is something radically wrong in the institution. If you and Ned cannot be
+happy, no pair in the world can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We might be very happy if&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Marian stopped to repress a sob.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anybody might be very happy If. There is not much consolation in Ifs.
+You could not be better off than you are unless you could be Marian Lind again.
+Think of all the women who would give their souls to have a husband who would
+neither drink, nor swear at them, nor kick them, nor sulk whenever he was kept
+waiting half a minute for anything. You have no little pests of
+children&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I had. That would give us some interest in common. We sometimes
+have Lucy, Marmaduke&rsquo;s little girl, up here; and Ned seems to me to be
+fond of her. She is a very bold little thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I saw Marmaduke last week. He is not half so jolly as he was.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He lives in chambers in Westminster now, and only comes out in this
+direction occasionally to see Lucy. I am afraid <i>she</i> has taken to
+drinking. I believe she is going to America. I hope she is; for she makes me
+uncomfortable when I think of her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does your&mdash;your Ned ever speak of her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. He used to, before he changed as I described. Now, he never mentions
+her. Hush! Here he is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The sound of the organ had ceased; and Conolly came out and stood between them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you like my consoler, as Marian calls it?&rdquo; said he.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean the organ?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wasn&rsquo;t listening to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You should have: I played the great fugue in A minor expressly for your
+entertainment: you used to work at Liszt&rsquo;s transcription of it. The organ
+is only occasionally my consoler. For the most part I am driven to it by habit
+and a certain itching in my fingers. Marian is my real consoler.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So she has just been telling me,&rdquo; said Elinor. Conolly&rsquo;s
+surprise escaped him for just a moment in a quick glance at Marian. She
+colored, and looked reproachfully at her cousin, who added, &ldquo;I am sure
+you must be a nuisance to the neighbors.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Probably,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not think you should play so much on Sunday,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know. [Marian winced.] Well, if the neighbors will either melt down
+the church bells they jangle so horribly within fifteen yards or so of my
+unfortunate ears, or else hang them up two hundred feet high in a beautiful
+tower where they would sound angelic, as they do at Utrecht, then perhaps I
+will stop the organ to listen to them. Until then, I will take the liberty of
+celebrating the day of rest with such devices as the religious folk cannot
+forbid me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss McQuinch. I admit that
+it does not, at first sight, seem pretty or sentimental. But I do not know how
+even Marian can prefer the church bells to Bach.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean by &lsquo;<i>even</i> Marian&rsquo;?&rdquo; said
+Elinor, sharply.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should have said, &lsquo;Marian, who is tolerant and kind to everybody
+and everything.&rsquo; I hope you have forgiven me for carrying her off from
+you, Miss McQuinch. You are adopting an ominous tone toward me. I fear she has
+been telling you of our quarrels, and my many domestic shortcomings.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;As far as I can judge from her account,
+you are a monotonously amiable husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! Hm! Would you like your coffee out here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not stir, Marian: I will ring for it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When he was gone, Marian said &ldquo;Nelly: for Heaven&rsquo;s sake say nothing
+that could make the slightest coldness between Ned and me. I am clinging to him
+with all my heart and soul; and you must help me. Those sharp things that you
+say to him stab me cruelly; and he is clever enough to guess everything I have
+said to you from them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I cannot keep myself from making mischief, I shall go away,&rdquo;
+said Elinor. &ldquo;Dont suppose I am in a huff: I am quite serious. I have an
+unlucky tongue; and my disposition is such that when I see that a jug is
+cracked, I feel more inclined to smash and have done with it than to mend it
+and handle it tenderly ever after. However, I hope your marriage is not a
+cracked jug yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<p>
+On the following Wednesday Douglas called on his mother at Manchester Square in
+the afternoon. As if to emphasize the purely filial motive of his visit, he
+saluted his mother so affectionately that she was emboldened to be more
+demonstrative with him than she usually ventured to be.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My darling boy,&rdquo; she said, holding him fondly for a moment,
+&ldquo;this is the second visit you have paid your poor old mother this week. I
+want to speak to you about something, too. Marian has been with me this
+morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Has she gone?&rdquo; said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; said Mrs. Douglas. &ldquo;Did you know she was
+coming?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She mentioned to me that she intended to come,&rdquo; he replied,
+carelessly; &ldquo;but she bade me not to tell you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That accounts for your two visits. Well, Sholto, I do not blame you for
+spending your time in gayer places than this.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must not reproach me for neglecting you, mother. You know my
+disposition. I am seldom good company for any one; and I do not care to come
+only to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am morose. I hope you
+received Marian kindly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not expect to see her; and I told her so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mother!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it made no difference. There is no holding her in check now, Sholto;
+she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father or you. What could I
+do but kiss and forgive her? She got the better of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Douglas, gloomily. &ldquo;She has a wonderful
+face.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I hope you will not go
+to her house too often.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you doubt my discretion, mother?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasantness arising between
+you and that man. These working men are so savage to their wives, and so
+jealous of gentlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at all.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a navvy in fustian and
+corduroys. He seems a sensible man: his address is really remarkably good,
+considering what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite the reverse. His
+head is full of figures and machinery; and I am told that he does nothing at
+home but play the piano. He must bore Marian terribly. I do not want to go to
+his house particularly; but Marian and he are, of course, very sensitive to
+anything that can be construed as a slight; and I shall visit them once or
+twice to prevent them from thinking that I wish to snub Conolly. He will be
+glad enough to have me at his dinner-table. I am afraid I must hurry away now:
+I have an appointment at the club. Can I do anything for you in town?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have stayed with me for a cup
+of tea.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the
+club.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come again
+soon, will you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had no real
+appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother, who, though a
+little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relieved by being rid of him.
+They maintained toward one another an attitude which their friends found
+beautiful and edifying; but, like artists&rsquo; models, they found the
+attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practice and its dignity.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted. Turning,
+he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little behind him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where are you going to?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, abruptly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you ask?&rdquo; said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right
+of another to question him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch somewhere, will
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, if you wish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go to the South Kensington Museum.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The South&mdash;&mdash;! My dear fellow, why not suggest Putney, or the Star and
+Garter? Why do you wish to go westward from Hyde Park in search of
+luncheon?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a particular reason. I am to meet someone at the Museum this
+afternoon; and I want to ask your advice first. You might as well come;
+it&rsquo;s only a matter of a few minutes if we drive.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, as you please. I have not been to the Museum for years.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right. Come al&mdash;&mdash;oh, damn! There&rsquo;s Lady Carbury and Constance
+coming out of the Park. Dont look at them. Come on.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+But Constance, sitting a little more uprightly than her mother, who was supine
+upon the carriage cushions, had seen the two gentlemen as they stood talking.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s Marmaduke and Sholto
+Douglas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where???&rdquo; said the Countess, lifting her head quickly.
+&ldquo;Josephs, drive slowly. Where are they, Constance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They are going away. I believe Marmaduke saw us. There he is, passing
+the hospital.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We must go and speak to them. Look pleasant, child; and dont make a fool
+of yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Surely youll not speak to him, mamma! You dont expect me&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense. I heard a great deal about him the other day. He has moved
+from where he was living, and is quite reformed. His father is very ill. Do as
+I tell you. Josephs, stop half way to the hotel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I say,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, finding himself out-manoeuvred:
+&ldquo;come back. There they are right ahead, confound them. What are they up
+to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It cannot be helped,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;There is no escape. You
+must not cross: it would be pointedly rude.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke went on grumbling. When he attempted to pass, the Countess called his
+name, and greeted him with smiles.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We want to know how your father is,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;We have had
+such alarming accounts of him. I hope he is better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They havnt told me much about him,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;There
+was deuced little the matter with the governor when I saw him last.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wicked prodigal! What shall we do to reform him, Mr. Douglas? He has not
+been to see us for three years past, and during that time we have had the worst
+reports of him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You never asked me to go and see you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Silly fellow! Did you expect me to send you invitations and leave cards
+on you, who are one of ourselves? Come to-morrow to dinner. Your uncle the
+Bishop will be there; and you will see nearly all the family besides. You
+cannot plead that you have not been invited now. Will you come?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I cant stand the Bishop. Besides, I have taken to dining in the
+middle of the day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come after dinner, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mamma,&rdquo; said Constance, peevishly, &ldquo;can&rsquo;t you see that
+he does not want to come at all? What is the use of persecuting him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I assure you,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s only the
+Bishop I object to. I&rsquo;ll come after dinner, if I can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And pray what is likely to prevent you?&rdquo; said the Countess.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Devilment of some sort, perhaps,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;Since you
+have all given me a bad name, I dont see why I should make any secret of
+earning it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Countess smiled slyly at him, implying that she was amused, but must not
+laugh at such a sentiment in Constance&rsquo;s presence. Then, turning so as to
+give the rest of the conversation an air of privacy, she whispered, &ldquo;I
+must tell you that you no longer have a bad name. It is said that your wild
+oats are all sown, and I will answer for it that even the Bishop will receive
+you with open arms.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And dry my repentant tears on his apron, the old hypocrite,&rdquo; said
+Marmaduke, speaking rather more loudly than before. &ldquo;Well, we must be
+trotting. We are going to the South Kensington Museum&mdash;to improve our
+minds.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why, that is where we are going; at least, Constance is. She is going to
+work at her painting while I pay a round of visits. Wont you come with
+us?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you: I&rsquo;d rather walk. A man should have gloves and a proper
+hat for your sort of travelling.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense! you look very nice. Besides, it is only down the Brompton
+Road.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The worst neighborhood in London to be seen in with me. I know all sorts
+of queer people down Brompton way. I should have to bow to them if we met; and
+that wouldnt do before <i>her</i>,&rdquo;&mdash;indicating Constance, who was
+conversing with Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are incorrigible: I give you up. Good-bye, and dont forget to-morrow
+evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, as the carriage drove off, &ldquo;what
+she&rsquo;s saying about me to Constance now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That you are the rudest man in London, perhaps.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Serve her right! I hate her. I have got so now that I can&rsquo;t stand
+that sort of woman. You see her game, dont you; she can&rsquo;t get Constance
+off her hands; and she thinks there&rsquo;s a chance of me still. How well she
+knows about the governor&rsquo;s state of health! And Conny, too, grinning at
+me as if we were the best friends in the world. If that girl had an ounce of
+spirit she would not look on the same side of the street with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas, without replying, called a cab. Marmaduke&rsquo;s loud conversation
+was irksome in the street, and it was now clear that he was unusually excited.
+At the museum they alighted, and passed through the courts into the grill-room,
+where they sat down together at a vacant table, and ordered luncheon.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You were good enough to ask my advice about something,&rdquo; said
+Douglas. &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, &ldquo;I am in a fix. Affairs have become
+so uncomfortable at home that I have had to take up my quarters
+elsewhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not know that you had been living at home. I thought your father
+and you were on the usual terms.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My father! Look here: I mean home&mdash;<i>my</i> home. My place at
+Hammersmith, not down at the governor&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! I beg your pardon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course, you know all about my establishment there with Lalage Virtue?
+her real name is Susanna Conolly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it true, then, that she is a cousin of Marian&rsquo;s husband?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Cousin! She&rsquo;s his sister, and Marian&rsquo;s sister-in-law.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never believed it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s true enough. But thats not the mischief. Douglas: I tell you
+she&rsquo;s the cleverest woman in London. She can do anything she likes. She
+can manage a conversation with any foreigner in his own language, whether she
+knows it or not. She gabbles Italian like a native. She can learn off her part
+in a new piece, music and all, between breakfast and luncheon, any day. She can
+cook: she can make a new bonnet out of the lining of an old coat: she can drive
+a bargain with a Jew. She says she never learns a thing at all unless she can
+learn it in ten minutes. She can fence, and shoot. She can dance anything in
+the world. I never knew such a mimic as she is. If you saw her take off the
+Bones at the Christy Minstrels, you&rsquo;d say she was the lowest of the low.
+Next minute she will give herself the airs of a duchess, or do the ingenuous in
+a style that would make Conny burst with envy. To see her preaching like George
+would make you laugh for a week. There&rsquo;s nothing she couldnt do if she
+chose. And now, what do you think she has taken to? Liquor. Champagne by the
+gallon. She used to drink it by the bottle: now she drinks it by the dozen&mdash;by
+the case. She wanted it to keep up her spirits. That was the way it began. If
+she felt down, a glass of champagne would set her up. Then she was always
+feeling down, and always setting herself up. At last feeling down came to mean
+the same thing as being sober. You dont know what a drunken woman is, Douglas,
+unless youve lived in the same house with one.&rdquo; Douglas recoiled, and
+looked very sternly at Marmaduke, who proceeded more vehemently.
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s nothing but a downright beast. She&rsquo;s either screaming
+at you in a fit of rage, or clawing at you in a fit of fondness that makes you
+sick. When she falls asleep, there she is, a besotted heap tumbled anyhow into
+bed, snoring and grunting like a pig. When she wakes, she begins planning how
+to get more liquor. Think of what you or I would feel if we saw our mothers
+tipsy. By God, that child of mine wouldnt believe its eyes if it saw its mother
+sober. Only for Lucy, I&rsquo;d have pitched her over long ago. I did all I
+could when I first saw that she was overdoing the champagne. I swore I&rsquo;d
+break the neck of any man I caught bringing wine into the house. I sacked the
+whole staff of servants twice because I found a lot of fresh corks swept into
+the dustpan. I stopped drinking at home myself: I got in doctors to frighten
+her: I tried bribing, coaxing, threatening: I knocked her down once when I
+caught her with a bottle in her hand; and she fell with her head against the
+fender, and frightened me a good deal more than she hurt herself. It was no
+use. Sometimes she used to defy me, and say she <i>would</i> drink, she didnt
+care whether she was killing herself or not. Other times she cried; implored me
+to save her from destroying herself; asked me why I didnt thrash the life out
+of her whenever I caught her drunk; promised on her oath never to touch another
+drop. The same evening she would be drunk again, and, when I taxed her with it,
+say that she wasn&rsquo;t drunk, that she was sick, and that she prayed the
+Almighty on her knees to strike her dead if she had a bottle in the house. Aye,
+and the very stool she knelt on would be a wine case with a red cloth stuck to
+it with a few gilt-headed nails to make it look like a piece of furniture. Next
+day she would laugh at me for believing her, and ask me what use I supposed
+there was in talking to her. How she managed to hold on at the theatre, I dont
+know. She wouldnt learn new parts, and stuck to old ones that she could do in
+her sleep, she knew them so well. She would go on the stage and get through a
+long part when she couldnt walk straight from the wing to her dressing-room. Of
+course, her voice went to the dogs long ago; but by dint of screeching and
+croaking she pulls through. She says she darent go on sober now; that she knows
+she should break down. The theatre has fallen off, too. The actors got out of
+the place one by one&mdash;they didnt like playing with her&mdash;and were replaced by a
+third-rate lot. The audiences used to be very decent: now they are all cads and
+fast women. The game is up for her in London. She has been offered an
+engagement in America on the strength of her old reputation; but what is the
+use of it if she continues drinking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is very sad,&rdquo; said Douglas, with cold disgust, perfunctorily
+veiled by a conventional air of sympathy. &ldquo;But if she is irreclaimable,
+why not leave her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I would, only for the child. I <i>have</i> left her&mdash;at least,
+I&rsquo;ve taken lodgings in town; but I am always running out to Laurel Grove.
+I darent trust Lucy to her; and she knows it; for she wouldnt let me take the
+poor little creature away, although she doesnt care two straws for it. She
+knows that it gives her a grip over me. Well, I have not seen her for a week
+past. I have tried the trick of only going out in the evening when she has to
+be at the theatre. And now she has sent me a long letter; and I dont exactly
+know what to do about it. She swears she has given up drinking&mdash;not touched a
+spoonful since I saw her last. She&rsquo;s as superstitious as an old woman;
+and yet she will swear to that lie with oaths that make <i>me</i>
+uncomfortable, although I am pretty thick-skinned in religious matters. Then
+she goes drivelling on about me having encouraged her to drink at first, and
+then turned upon her and deserted her when I found out the mischief I had done.
+I used to stand plenty of champagne, but I am sure I never thought what would
+come of it. Then she says she gave up every friend in the world for me: broke
+with her brother, and lost her place in society. <i>Her</i> place in society,
+mind you, Douglas! Thats not bad, is it? Then, of course, I am leaving her to
+die alone with her helpless child: I might have borne with her a little longer:
+she will not trouble me nor anyone else much more; and so on. The upshot is
+that she wants me to come back. She says I ought to be there to save the child
+from her, if I dont care to save her from herself; that I was the last
+restraint on her; and that if I dont come she will make an end of the business
+by changing her tipple to prussic acid. The whole thing is a string of maudlin
+rot from beginning to end; and I believe she primed herself with about four
+bottles of champagne to write it. Still, I dont want to leave her in the lurch.
+You are a man who stand pretty closely on your honor. Do you think I ought to
+go back? I may tell you that as regards money she is under no compliment to me.
+Her earnings were a good half of our income; and she saved nothing out of them.
+In fact, I owe her some money for two or three old debts she paid for me. We
+always shared like husband and wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly understand your hesitation, Lind. You can take the little girl
+out of her hands; allow her something; and be quit of her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats very easy to say; but I cant drag her child away from her if she
+insists on keeping it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, so much the better for you. It would be a burden to you. Pay her
+for its maintenance: that is probably what she wants.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, impatiently. &ldquo;You dont understand.
+Youre talking as if I were a rake living with a loose woman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas looked at him doubtfully. &ldquo;I confess I do not understand,&rdquo;
+he said. &ldquo;Perhaps you will be good enough to explain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very simple. I went to live with her because I fell in love
+with her, and she wouldnt marry me. She had a horror of marriage; and I was
+naturally not very eager for it myself. Matters must be settled between us as
+if we were husband and wife. Paying her off is all nonsense. She doesnt want
+money; and I want the child; so she has the advantage of me. Only for the drink
+I would go back to her to-morrow; but I cant stand her when she is not sober. I
+bore with it long enough; and now all I want is to get Lucy out of her hands
+and be quit of her, as you say&mdash;although it seems mean to leave her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She must certainly be a very extraordinary woman if she refused to marry
+you. Are you sure she is not married already?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bosh! Not she. She likes to be independent; and she has a sort of
+self-respect&mdash;not like Constance and the old Countess, who hunted me long enough
+in the hope of running me down at last in a church.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you offered her marriage, that certainly frees you from the least
+obligation to stay with her. She reserved liberty to leave you; and, of course,
+the same privilege was implied on your part. If you have no sentimental wish to
+return to her, you are most decidedly not bound in honor to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m fond enough of her when she is sober; but I loathe her when
+she is fuddled. If she would only give up drinking, we might make a fresh
+start. But she wont.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must not think of doing that. Get rid of her, my dear fellow. This
+marriage of Marian&rsquo;s has put the affair on a new footing altogether. I
+tell you candidly, I think that under the circumstances your connexion with
+Conolly&rsquo;s sister is a disgraceful one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hang Conolly! Everybody thinks of Marian, and nobody of Susanna. I have
+heard enough of that side of the question. Marian married him with her eyes
+open.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean to say that she knew?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course she did. Conolly told her, fairly enough. He&rsquo;s an
+extraordinary card, that fellow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Reginald Lind told my mother that the discovery was made by accident
+after the marriage, and that they were all shocked by it. It was he who said
+that it was Conolly&rsquo;s <i>cousin</i> that you were with.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Uncle Rej. is an old liar. So are most of the family: I never believe a
+word they say.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian must have been infatuated. I advise you to break the connexion.
+She will be glad to give you the child if she sees that you are resolved to
+leave her. She only holds on because she hopes to make it the means of bringing
+you back.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect youre about right. She wants me to meet her here to-day at half
+past three. Thats the reason I came.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know that it now wants twenty minutes of four?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whew! So it does. I had better go and look for her. I&rsquo;m very much
+obliged to you, old fellow, for talking it over with me. I suppose you dont
+want to meet her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should be in the way at present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to the picture
+galleries, where several students were more or less busy at their easels. Lady
+Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying &ldquo;Sterne&rsquo;s
+Maria,&rdquo; by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She had been annoyed some
+minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a rich costume of black
+silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect her drawing. Lady Constance, by a
+look, had made her aware that she was considered intrusive, whereupon she had
+first stared Lady Constance out of countenance, and then deliberately scanned
+her work with an expression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit. Having
+thus revenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute, and
+at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. A few minutes later Marmaduke
+entered, looking round as if in search of someone.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here I am,&rdquo; said Constance to him, playfully.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So I see,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful
+astonishment. &ldquo;You knew I was looking for you, did you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course I did, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont you see? I am copying a picture.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! it&rsquo;s very pretty. Which one are you copying?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What an impertinent question! You can tell my poor copy well enough,
+only you pretend not to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it&rsquo;s a little like
+Mary the maid of the inn there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s not Mary: it&rsquo;s Maria&mdash;Sterne&rsquo;s Maria.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! Do you read Sterne?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; said Constance, looking very serious.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then what do you paint his Maria for? How do you know whether she is a
+fit subject for you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush, sir! You must not interrupt my work.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose you have lots of fun here over your art studies, eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You, and all the other girls here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I am sure I dont know any of them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite right, too, your ladyship. Dont make yourself cheap. I hope none
+of the low beggars ever have the audacity to speak to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know anything about them,&rdquo; said Lady Constance, pettishly.
+&ldquo;All I mean is that they are strangers to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most likely theyll remain so. You all seem to stick to the little
+pictures tremendously. Why dont you go in for high art? There&rsquo;s a big
+picture of Adam and Eve! Why dont you paint that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you soon be leaving town?&rdquo; she replied, looking steadily at
+her work, and declining to discuss Adam and Eve, who were depicted naked.
+Receiving no reply, she looked round, and saw Marmaduke leaving the room with
+the woman in the black silk dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is that girl?&rdquo; said Susanna, as they went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s Lady Constance, whom I was to have married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I guessed as much when I saw you talking to her. She is a true English
+lady, heaven bless her! I took the liberty of looking at her painting; and she
+stared at me as if I had bitten her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is a little fool.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She will not be such a little fool as to try to snub me again, I think.
+Bob: did you get my letter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course I got it, or I shouldnt be here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I dont believe a word of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s plain speaking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no use mincing matters. You are just as likely to stop drinking
+as you are to stop breathing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps I shall stop breathing before long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very likely, at your present rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That will be a relief to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It will be a relief to everybody, and a release for yourself. You have
+made me miserable for a year past; and now you expect me to be frightened at
+the prospect of being rid of you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont expect you to be frightened. I expect you to do what all men do:
+throw me aside as soon as I have served your turn.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Of course, <i>you</i> are the aggrieved party. Where&rsquo;s
+Lucy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know, and I dont care.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I want to know; and I do care. Is she at home?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do I know whether she is at home or not. I left her there. Very
+likely she is with her Aunt Marian, telling stories about her mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is better there than with you. What harm has she done you that you
+should talk about her in that way?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No harm. I dont object to her being there. She has very pleasant
+conversations with Mrs. Ned, which she retails to me at home. &lsquo;Aunty
+Marian: why do you never drink champagne? Mamma is always drinking it.&rsquo;
+And then, &lsquo;Mamma: why do you drink so much wine? Aunty Marian never
+drinks any.&rsquo; Good heavens! the little devil told me this morning by way
+of consolation that she always takes care not to tell her Aunty that I get
+drunk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What did you do to her for saying it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont lose your temper. I didnt strangle her, nor even box her ears. Why
+should I? She only repeats what you teach her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She repeats what her eyes and ears teach her. If she learned the word
+from me, she learned the meaning from you. A nice lesson for a child hardly
+three years old.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Susanna sat down on a bench, and looked down at her feet. After a few moments,
+she tightened her lips; rose; and walked away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hallo! Where are you going to?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, following her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m going to get some drink. I have been sober and miserable ever
+since I wrote to you. I have not got much thanks for it, except to be made more
+miserable. So I&rsquo;ll get drunk, and be happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, you shant,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, seizing her arm, and forcibly
+stopping her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does it matter to you whether I do or not? You say you won&rsquo;t
+come back. Then leave me to go my own way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Here! you sit down,&rdquo; he said, pushing her into a chair. &ldquo;I
+know your game well enough. You think you have me safe as long as you have the
+child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, thats it, is it? Why dont you go out; take a cab; and go to Laurel
+Grove for her? There is nothing to prevent you taking her away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have a good mind to do it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, <i>do</i> it. I wont stop you. Why didnt you do it long ago? Her
+home is no place for her. I&rsquo;m not fit to have charge of her. I have no
+fancy for having her talking about me, and most likely mimicking me to other
+people.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats exactly what I want to arrange with you to do, if you will only be
+reasonable. Listen. Let us part friends, Susanna, since there is no use in our
+going on together. You must give me the child. It would only be a burden to
+you; and I can have it well taken care of. You can keep the house just as it
+is: I will pay the rent of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What good is the house to me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you hear me out? It will be good to you to live in, I
+suppose; or you can set it on fire, and wipe it off the face of the earth, for
+what I care. I can give you five hundred pounds down&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Five hundred pounds! And what will you live on until your October
+dividends come in? On credit, I suppose. Do you think you can impose on me by
+flourishing money before me? I will never take a halfpenny from you; no, not if
+I starve for it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats all nonsense, Susanna. You must.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Must I? Do you think you can make me take your money as you made me sit
+down here? by force!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I only offer you what I owe you. Those debts&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont want what you owe me. If you think it mean to leave me, you shant
+plaster up your conscience with bank notes. You would like to be able to say in
+your club that you treated me handsomely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont think it mean to leave you, not a bit of it. Any other man would
+have left you months ago. If I had married that little fool inside there, and
+she had taken to drink, I wouldnt have stood it a week. I have stood it from
+you nearly a year. Can you expect me to stay under the same roof with you, with
+the very thought of you making me sick and angry? I was looking at some of your
+old likenesses the other day; and I declare that it is enough to make a man cry
+to look at your face now and listen to your voice. When you used to lecture me
+for losing a twenty pound note at billiards, and coming home half screwed&mdash;no
+man shall ever see me drunk again&mdash;I little thought which of us would be the
+first to go to the dogs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall not trouble you long.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is the use of harping on that? I have seen you drunk so often that
+I should almost be glad to see you dead.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; said Susanna, rising. &ldquo;All right: you need say no
+more. Talking will not remedy matters; and it makes me feel pretty much as if
+you were throwing big stones at my heart. Youre in the right, I suppose:
+I&rsquo;ve chosen to make a beast of myself, and I must take the consequences.
+You can have the child. I will send for my things: you wont see me at Laurel
+Grove again. Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont say another word, Bob. Good-bye.&rdquo; He took her hand
+irresolutely. She drew it quickly away; nodded to him; and went out, whilst he
+stood wondering whether it would be safe&mdash;seeing that he did not desire a
+reconciliation&mdash;to kiss her good-bye.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<p>
+On Sunday afternoon Douglas walked, facing a glorious sunset, along Uxbridge
+Road to Holland Park, where he found Mrs. Conolly, Miss McQuinch, and
+Marmaduke. A little girl was playing in the garden. They were all so
+unconstrained, and so like their old selves, that Douglas at once felt that
+Conolly was absent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am to make Ned&rsquo;s excuses,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;He has some
+pressing family affairs to arrange.&rdquo; She seemed about to explain further;
+but Marmaduke looked so uneasily at her that she stopped. Then, resuming gaily,
+she added, &ldquo;I told Ned that he need not stand on ceremony with you. Fancy
+my saying that of you, the most punctilious of men!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite right. I am glad that Mr. Conolly has not suffered me to interfere
+with his movements,&rdquo; he replied, with a smile, which he suppressed as he
+turned and greeted Miss McQuinch with his usual cold composure. But to
+Marmaduke, who seemed much cast down, he gave an encouraging squeeze of the
+hand. Not that he was moved by the misfortunes of Marmaduke; but he was thawed
+by the beauty of Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We shall have a pleasant evening,&rdquo; continued Marian. &ldquo;Let us
+fancy ourselves back at Westbourne Terrace again. Reminiscences make one feel
+so deliciously aged and sad. Let us think that it is one of our old Sunday
+afternoons. Sholto had better go upstairs and shave, to heighten the
+illusion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not for me, since I cannot see myself, particularly if I have to call
+you Mrs. Conolly. If I may call you Marian, as I used to do, I think that our
+conversation will contain fewer reminders of the lapse of time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said Marian, disregarding an anxious glance from
+Elinor. &ldquo;What else should you call me? We were talking about
+Nelly&rsquo;s fame when you came in. The colonial edition of her book has just
+appeared. Behold the advertisement!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a newspaper open on the table; and Marian pointed to one of its
+columns as she spoke. Douglas took it up and read the following:
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+Now Ready, a New and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 5s.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+THE WATERS OF MARAH,
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+BY ELINOR MCQUINCH.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;Superior to many of the numerous tales which find a ready sale at
+  the railway bookstall.&rdquo; <i>Athenaeum</i>.<br/>
+    &ldquo;There is nothing to fatigue, and something to gratify, the idle
+reader.&rdquo; <i>Examiner</i>.<br/>
+    &ldquo;There is a ring of solid metal in &lsquo;The Waters of
+Marah.&rsquo;&rdquo; <i>Daily Telegraph</i>.<br/>
+    &ldquo;Miss McQuinch has fairly established her claim to be considered the
+greatest novelist of the age.&rdquo; <i>Middlingtown Mercury.</i>
+<br/>
+    &ldquo;Replete with thrilling and dramatic incident….. Instinct with
+passion and pathos.&rdquo; <i>Ladies&rsquo; Gazette</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">
+TABUTEAU &amp; SON, COVENT GARDEN.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is very flattering,&rdquo; said Douglas, as he replaced the paper
+on the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Highly so,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;Coriolanus displaying his wounds
+in the Forum is nothing to it.&rdquo; And she abruptly took the paper, and
+threw it disgustedly behind the sofa. Just then a message from the kitchen
+engaged Marian&rsquo;s attention, and Douglas, to relieve her from her guests
+for the moment, strolled out upon the little terrace, whither Marmaduke had
+moodily preceded him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Still in your difficulties, Lind?&rdquo; he said, with his perfunctory
+air of concern, looking at the garden with some interest.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;m out of my difficulties clean enough,&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s the child among the currant bushes; and I am rid of her
+mother: for good, I suppose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So much the better! I hope it has not cost you too much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not a rap. I met her in the museum after our confab on Wednesday, and
+told her what you recommended: that I must have the child, and that she must
+go. She said all right, and shook hands. I havnt seen her since.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I congratulate you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont feel comfortable about her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Absurd, man! What better could you have done?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats just what I say. It was her own fault; I did all in my power. I
+offered her five hundred pounds down. She wouldnt have it, of course; but could
+I help that? Next day, when she sent her maid for her things, I felt so uneasy
+that I came to Conolly, and told him the whole affair. He behaved very decently
+about it, and said that I might as well have left her six months ago for all
+the good my staying had done or was likely to do. He has gone off to see her
+to-day&mdash;she is in lodgings somewhere near the theatre; and he will let me know
+in case any money is required. I should like to know what they are saying to
+one another about me. They&rsquo;re a rum pair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, let us eat and drink; for to-morrow we die,&rdquo; said Douglas,
+with an unnatural attempt at humor. &ldquo;Marian seems happy. We must not
+spoil her evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes: she is always in good spirits when he is away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems to me that they dont pull together. I think she is afraid of
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You dont mean to say that he ill-treats her?&rdquo; said Douglas,
+fiercely.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No: I dont mean that he thrashes her, or anything of that sort. And yet
+he is just that sort of chap that I shouldnt be surprised at anything he might
+do. As far as ordinary matters go, he seems to treat her particularly well. But
+Ive noticed that she shuts up and gets anxious when he comes into the room; and
+he has his own way in everything.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is that all? He embarrasses her by his behavior, I suppose. Perhaps she
+is afraid of his allowing his breeding to peep out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not she. His manners are all right enough. Besides, as he is a genius
+and a celebrity and all that, people dont expect him to be conventional. He
+might stand on his head, if he chose.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto,&rdquo; said Marian, joining them: &ldquo;have you spoken to
+little Lucy?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then you are unacquainted with the most absolute imp on the face of the
+earth,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;You neednt frown, Marmaduke: it is you who
+have made her so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Leave her alone,&rdquo; said Marmaduke to Marian, who was about to call
+the child. &ldquo;Petting babies is not in Douglas&rsquo;s line: she will only
+bore him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It does not matter whether she bores him or not,&rdquo; said Marian.
+&ldquo;He must learn to take a proper interest in children. Lucy: come
+here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Lucy stopped playing, and said, &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Because I ask you to, dear,&rdquo; said Marian, gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. Miss McQuinch
+laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down the garden. Lucy did not
+perceive him until he was within a few steps of her, when she gave a shrill cry
+of surprise, and ran to the other side of a flower-bed too wide for him to
+spring across. He gave chase; but she, with screams of laughter, avoided him by
+running to and fro so as to keep on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it
+was undignified to dodge his child thus, he stopped and bade her come to him;
+but she only laughed the more. He called her in tones of command, entreaty,
+expostulation, and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly. She placed
+her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; spread her fingers; and made him a
+curtsy. He uttered an imprecation, and returned angrily to the house, saying,
+between his teeth:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is really too bad to-day,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I am quite
+shocked at her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is quite right not to come in and be handed round for inspection
+like a doll,&rdquo; said Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She is very bold not to come when she is told,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, from your point of view,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;I like bold
+children.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke was sulky and Marian serious for some time after this incident. They
+recovered their spirits at dinner, when Marian related to Douglas how she had
+become reconciled to his mother. Afterward, Marmaduke suggested a game at
+whist.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no, not on Sunday,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Whist is too
+wicked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then what the dickens <i>may</i> we do?&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+&ldquo;May Nelly play <i>écarté</i> with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, please dont play for money. And dont sit close to the front
+window.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come along, then, Nell. You two may sing hymns, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you could sing, Sholto,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;It is an age
+since we last had a game of chess together. Do you still play?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Douglas; &ldquo;I shall be delighted. But I fear you
+will beat me now, as I suppose you have been practising with Mr.
+Conolly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Playing with Ned! No: he hates chess. He says it is a foolish expedient
+for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever when they
+are only wasting their time. He actually grumbled about the price of the table
+and the pieces; but I insisted on having them, I suppose in remembrance of
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is kind of you to say that, Marian. Will you have black or
+white?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;White, please, unless you wish me to be always making moves with your
+men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now. Will you move?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I had rather you began. Remember our old conditions. You are not
+to checkmate me in three moves; and you are not to take my queen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. You may rely upon it I shall think more of my adversary than
+of my game. Check.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! You have done it in three moves. That is not fair. I won&rsquo;t
+play any more unless you take back that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I assure you it is not checkmate. My bishop should be at the other
+side for that. There! of course, that will do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a noise Marmaduke makes over his cards! I hope the people next door
+will not hear him swearing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impossible. You must not move that knight: it exposes your king. Do you
+know, I think there is a great charm about this house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed? Yes, it is a pretty house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And this sunset hour makes it additionally so; Besides, it is
+inexpressibly sad to see you here, a perfectly happy and perfectly beautiful
+mistress of this romantic foreign home.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean, Sholto?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I call it a foreign home because, though it is yours, I have no part nor
+lot in it. Remember, we are only playing at old times to-night. Everything
+around, from the organ to the ring on your finger, reminds me that I am a
+stranger here. It seems almost unkind of you to regret nothing whilst I am full
+of regrets.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Check,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Mind your game, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Flippant!&rdquo; exclaimed Douglas, impatiently moving his king.
+&ldquo;I verily believe that if your husband were at the bottom of the Thames
+at this moment, you would fly off unconcernedly to some other nest, and break
+hearts with as much indifference as ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you would not make suggestions of that sort, Sholto. You make me
+uncomfortable. Something <i>might</i> happen to Ned. I wish he were home. He is
+very late.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Happy man. You can be serious when you think about him. I envy
+him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Sholto Douglas stoop to envy any mortal! Prodigious!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes: it has come to that with me. Why should I not envy him? His career
+has been upward throughout. He has been a successful worker in the world, where
+I have had nothing real to do. When the good things I had been dreaming of and
+longing for all my life came in his path, he had them for the mere asking. I
+valued them so highly that when I fancied I possessed them, I was the proudest
+of men. I am humble enough now that I am beggared.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are really talking the greatest nonsense.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt I am. Still in love, Marian, you see. There is no harm in
+telling you so now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;On the contrary, it is now that there is harm. For shame, Sholto!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not ashamed. I tell you of my love because now you can listen to me
+without uneasiness, knowing that it is no longer associated with hope, or
+desire, or anything but regret. You see that I do not affect the romantic
+lover. I eat very well; I play chess; I go into society; and you reproach me
+for growing fat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian bent over the chessboard for a moment to hide her face. Then she said in
+a lower voice, &ldquo;I have thoroughly convinced myself that there is no such
+thing as love in the world.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That means that you have never experienced it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have told you already that I have never been in love, and that I dont
+believe a bit in it. I mean romantic love, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I verily believe that you have not. The future has one more pang in
+store for me; for you will surely love some day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am getting too old for that, I fear. At what age, pray, did you
+receive the arrow in your heart?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When I was a boy, I loved a vision. The happiest hours of my life were
+those in which I was slowly, tremulously daring to believe that I had found my
+vision at last in you. And then the dreams that followed! What a career was to
+have been mine! I remember how you used to reproach me because I was austere
+with women and proud with men. How could I have been otherwise? I contrasted
+the gifts of all other women with those of my elect, and the lot of all other
+men with my own. Can you wonder that, doing so, I carried my head among the
+clouds? You must remember how unfamiliar failure was to me. At school, at
+Oxford, in society, I had sought distinction without misgiving, and attained it
+without difficulty. My one dearest object I deemed secure long before I opened
+my lips and asked expressly for it. I think I walked through life at that time
+like a somnambulist; for I have since seen that I must have been piling mistake
+upon mistake until out of a chaos of meaningless words and smiles I had woven a
+Paphian love temple. At the first menace of disappointment&mdash;a thing as new and
+horrible to me as death&mdash;I fled the country. I came back with only the ruins of
+the doomed temple. You were not content to destroy a ruin: the feat was too
+easy to be glorious. So you rebuilt it in one hour to the very dome, and
+lighted its altars with more than their former radiance. Then, as though it
+were but a house of cards&mdash;as indeed it was nothing else&mdash;you gave it one
+delicate touch and razed it to its foundations. Yet I am afraid those altar
+lamps were not wholly extinguished. They smoulder beneath the ruins
+still.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wonder why they made you the Newdigate poet at Oxford, Sholto: you mix
+your metaphors most dreadfully. Dont be angry with me: I understand what you
+mean; and I am very sorry. I say flippant things because I must. How <i>can</i>
+one meet seriousness in modern society except by chaff?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not angry. I had rather you did not understand. The more flippant
+you are, the more you harden my heart; and I want it to be as hard as the
+nether millstone. Your pity would soften me; and I dread that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe it does every man good to be softened. If you ever really felt
+what you describe, you greatly over-estimated me. What can you lose by a little
+more softness? I often think that men&mdash;particularly good men&mdash;make their way
+through the world too much as if it were a solid mass of iron through which
+they must cut&mdash;as if they dared not relax their hardest edge and finest temper
+for a moment. Surely, that is not the way to enjoy life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps not. Still, it is the way to conquer in life. It may be pleasant
+to have a soft heart; but then someone is sure to break it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not believe much in broken hearts. Besides, I do not mean that men
+should be too soft. For instance, sentimental young men of about twenty are
+odious. But for a man to get into a fighting attitude at the barest suggestion
+of sentiment; to believe in nature as something inexorable, and to aim at being
+as inexorable as nature: is not that almost as bad?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know any such man? You must not attribute that sort of hardness
+to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no; I was not thinking of you. I was not thinking of anyone in fact.
+I only put a case. I sometimes have disputes with Ned on the subject. One of
+his cardinal principles is that there is no use in crying for spilt milk. I
+always argue that as irremediable disasters are the only ones that deserve or
+obtain sympathy, he might as well say that there is no use in crying for
+anything. Then he slips out of the difficulty by saying that that was just what
+he meant, and that there is actually no place for regret in a well-regulated
+scheme of life. In debating with women, men brazen out all the ridiculous
+conclusions of which they are convicted; and then they say that there is no use
+in arguing with a woman. Neither is there, because the woman is always
+right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes; because she suffers her heart to direct her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are just as bad as the rest of your sex, I see. Where you cannot
+withold credit from a woman, you give it to her heart and deny it to her
+head.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There! I wont play any more,&rdquo; said Miss McQuinch, suddenly, at the
+other end of the room. &ldquo;Have you finished your chess, Marian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We are nearly done. Ring for the lamps, please, Nelly. Let us finish,
+Sholto.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whose turn is it to move? I beg your pardon for my inattention.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mine&mdash;no, yours. Stop! it must be mine. I really dont know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor do I. I have forgotten my game.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then let us put up the board. We can finish some other night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It had become dark by this time; and the lamps were brought in whilst Douglas
+was replacing the chessmen in their box.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said Marian, &ldquo;let us have some music. Marmaduke: will
+you sing Uncle Ned for us? We have not heard you sing for ages.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe it is more than three years since that abominable concert at
+Wandsworth; and I have not heard you sing since,&rdquo; said Elinor.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I forget all my songs&mdash;havnt sung one of them for months. However, here
+goes! Have you a banjo in the house?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I will play an accompaniment for
+you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right. See here: you need only play these three chords. When one
+sounds wrong, play another. Youll learn it in a moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke&rsquo;s voice was not so fresh, nor his fun so spontaneous, as at
+Wandsworth; but they were not critical enough to appreciate the difference:
+they laughed like children at him. Elinor was asked to play; but she would not:
+she had renounced that folly, she said. Then, at Douglas&rsquo;s request,
+Marian sang, in memory of Wandsworth, &ldquo;Rose, softly blooming.&rdquo; When
+she had finished, Elinor asked for some old melodies, knowing that Marian liked
+these best. So she began gaily with The Oak and the Ash and Robin Adair. After
+that, finding both herself and the others in a more pathetic vein, she sang
+them The Bailiff&rsquo;s Daughter of Islington, and The Banks of Allan Water,
+at the end of which Marmaduke&rsquo;s eyes were full of tears, and the rest sat
+quite still. She paused for a minute, and then broke the silence with Auld
+Robin Gray, which affected even Douglas, who had no ear. As she sang the last
+strain, the click of a latchkey was heard from without. Instantly she rose;
+closed the pianoforte softly; and sat down at some distance from it. Her action
+was reflected by a change in their behavior. They remembered that they were not
+at home, and became more or less uneasily self-conscious. Elinor was the least
+disturbed. Conolly&rsquo;s first glance on entering was at the piano: his next
+went in search of his wife.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he said, surprised. &ldquo;I thought somebody was
+singing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh dear no!&rdquo; said Elinor drily. &ldquo;You must have been
+mistaken.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps so,&rdquo; said he, smiling. &ldquo;But I have been listening
+carefully at the window for ten minutes; and I certainly dreamt that I heard
+Auld Robin Gray.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian blushed. Conolly did not seem to have been moved by the song. He was
+alert and loquacious: before he had finished his greeting and apology to
+Douglas, they all felt as little sentimental as they had ever done in their
+lives. Marian, after asking whether he had dined, became silent, and dropped
+the pretty airs of command which, as hostess, she had worn before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you any news?&rdquo; said Marmaduke at last. &ldquo;Douglas knows
+the whole business. We are all friends here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only what we expected,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;Affairs are exactly
+as they were. I called to-day at her address&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How did you get it?&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wrote for it to her at the theatre.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And did she send it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course. But she did not give me any encouragement to call on her,
+and, in fact, evidently did not want to see me. Her appearance has altered very
+much for the worse. She is a confirmed dipsomaniac; and she knows it. I advised
+her to abstain in future. She asked me, in her sarcastic, sisterly way, whether
+I had any other advice to give her. I told her that if she meant to go on, her
+proper course was to purchase a hogshead of brandy; keep it by her side; and
+condense the process of killing herself, which may at present take some years,
+into a few days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Ned, you did not really say that to her!&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did indeed. The shocking part of the affair is not, as you seem to
+think, my giving the advice, but that it should be the very best advice I could
+have given.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not think I would have said so.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Most likely not,&rdquo; said Conolly, with a smile. &ldquo;You would
+have said something much prettier. But dipsomania is not one of the pretty
+things of life; nor can it by any stretch of benevolent hypocrisy be made to
+pass as one. When Susanna and I get talking, we do not waste time in trying to
+spare one another&rsquo;s feelings. If we did, we should both see through the
+attempt and be very impatient of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did she tell you what she intends to do?&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She has accepted an American engagement. When that draws to a close, it
+will, she says, be time enough for her to consider her next step. But she has
+no intention of leaving the stage until she is compelled.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has she any intention of reforming her habits?&rdquo; said Elinor,
+bluntly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should say every intention, but no prospect of doing so. Dipsomaniacs
+are always intending to reform; but they rarely succeed. Has Lucy been put to
+bed?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lucy is in disgrace,&rdquo; said Elinor. Marian looked at her
+apprehensively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In disgrace!&rdquo; said Conolly, more seriously. &ldquo;How so?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor described what had taken place in the garden. When she told how the
+child had disregarded Marian&rsquo;s appeal, Conolly laughed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lucy has no sense of how pretty she would have looked toddling in
+obediently because her aunt asked her to,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;She is, like
+all children, very practical, and will not assist in getting up amiable little
+scenes without good reason rendered.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Douglas was speaking to her in a
+low voice, she was listening nervously to her husband. So she said sharply,
+&ldquo;It is a pity you were not here to tell us what to do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Apparently it is,&rdquo; said Conolly, complacently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What would you have done?&rdquo; said Marian suddenly, interrupting
+Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose,&rdquo; said Conolly, looking round at her in surprise,
+&ldquo;I should have answered her question&mdash;told her what she was wanted for. If
+I asked you to do anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely
+annoyed if I answered, &lsquo;because I ask you.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would not ask why,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I would do it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That would be very nice of you,&rdquo; said Conolly; &ldquo;but you
+cannot: expect such a selfish, mistrustful, and curious animal as a little
+child to be equally kind and confiding. Lucy is too acute not to have learned
+long since that grown people systematically impose on the credulity and
+helplessness of children.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats true,&rdquo; said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned away and
+quietly resumed her conversation with Douglas. After a minute she strolled with
+him into the garden, whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss McQuinch?&rdquo; said Conolly,
+left alone with her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. We played chess and
+<i>écarté</i>; and we all agreed to make old times of it. Marmaduke sang for
+us; and Marian had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not. Why do you say that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true: jealousy, perhaps,
+because I missed being here earlier. You think, then, that if I had been here,
+the evening would have been equally pleasant, and Marian equally happy in her
+singing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont you like Marian&rsquo;s singing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Could you not have refrained from that most indiscreet question?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not answer it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That would make matters worse. And there is no reason whatever why the
+plain truth should not be told. When I was a child I heard every day better
+performances than Marian&rsquo;s. She believes there is something pretty and
+good in music, and patronizes it accordingly to the best of her ability. I do
+not like to hear music patronized; and when Marian, lovely as she is, gives her
+pretty renderings of songs which I have heard a hundred times from singers who
+knew what they were about, then, though I admire her as I must always, my
+admiration is rather increased than otherwise when she stops; because then I am
+no longer conscious of a deficiency which even my unfortunate sister could
+supply.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your criticism of her singing sounds more sincere than your admiration
+of her loveliness. I am not musician enough to judge. All I know is that her
+singing is good enough for me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know you are displeased because it is not good enough for me; but how
+can I help myself? Poor Marian&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do hush!&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;Here she is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You need not be in such a hurry, Duke,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;What
+can it matter to you how late you get back?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve got to write home. The
+governor is ill; and my mammy will send me a five-sheet sermon if I neglect
+writing to-night. You will keep Lucy for another week, wont you? Box her ears
+if she gives you any cheek. She wants it: she&rsquo;s been spoiled.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If we find we can do no better than that with her, we shall hand her
+back to you,&rdquo; said Conolly. Then the visitors took their leave. Marian
+gently pressed Douglas&rsquo;s hand and looked into his eyes as he bade her
+farewell. Elinor, seeing this, glanced uneasily at Conolly, and unexpectedly
+met his eye. There was a gleam of cynical intelligence in it that did not
+reassure her. A few minutes later she went to bed, leaving the couple alone
+together. Conolly looked at his wife for a moment with an amused expression;
+but she closed her lips irresponsively, and went to the table for a book which
+she wanted to bring upstairs. She would have gone without a word had he not
+spoken to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian: Douglas is in love with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She blushed; thought a moment; and said quietly, &ldquo;Very well. I shall not
+ask him to come again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, &ldquo;I thought you cared. I
+beg your pardon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear,&rdquo; he replied, amiably: &ldquo;if you exclude everybody who
+falls in love with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And do you like men to be in love with me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them; it makes them attentive to
+you; and it gives you great power for good. When I was a romantic boy, any good
+woman could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love with you as much as
+they please. Afterwards they will seek wives according to a higher standard
+than if they had never known you. But do not return the compliment, or your
+influence will become an evil one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I will. Sholto Douglas
+not only loves me, but he told me so to-day.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or later.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for some time gravely and a
+little wistfully. &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;I should feel very
+angry if any woman made such a confession to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a breach of
+convention; nor a woman an invasion of her privileges, even when they have
+become a burden to her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean by that?&rdquo; she said, rising.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian,&rdquo; he said, looking straight at her: &ldquo;are you
+dissatisfied?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What reason have I to&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never mind the reasons. Are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said she, steadfastly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He smiled indulgently; pressed her hand for a moment against his cheek; and
+went out for the short walk he was accustomed to take before retiring.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<p>
+In October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at the house of Hardy
+McQuinch&rsquo;s brother, who had recently returned to England with a fortune
+made in Australia. Conolly, having the house at Holland Park to himself, fitted
+a spare room as a laboratory, and worked there every night. One evening,
+returning home alone a little before five o&rsquo;clock, he shut himself into
+this laboratory, and had just set to work when Armande, the housemaid,
+interrupted him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax since before his marriage,
+when he had once shewn her the working of his invention at Queen Victoria
+Street; and as Marian had since resented her share of Douglas&rsquo;s second
+proposal by avoiding her society as far as possible without actually
+discontinuing her acquaintance, this visit was a surprise. Conolly looked
+darkly at Armande, and went to the drawing-room without a word.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>How</i> do you do, Mr. Conolly?&rdquo; said Mrs. Fairfax, as he
+entered. &ldquo;I need not ask: you are looking so well. Have I disturbed
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have&mdash;most agreeably. Pray sit down.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know your time is priceless. I should never have ventured to come, but
+that I felt sure you would like to hear all the news from Sark. I have been
+there for the last fortnight. Marian told me to call on you the moment I
+returned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Conolly, convinced that this was not true. &ldquo;She
+promised to do so in her last letter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax, on the point of publishing a few supplementary fictions, checked
+herself, and looked suspiciously at him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The air of Sark has evidently benefited you,&rdquo; he said, as she
+paused. &ldquo;You are looking very well&mdash;I had almost said charming.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax glanced archly at him, and said, &ldquo;Nonsense! but, indeed, the
+trip was absolutely necessary for me. I should hardly have been alive had I
+remained at work; and poor Willie McQuinch was bent on having me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He has been described to me as an inveterate lion hunter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not at all pleasant, I assure you, to be persecuted with
+invitations from people who wish to see a real live novelist. But William
+McQuinch&rsquo;s place at Sark is really palatial. He is called Sarcophagus on
+account of his wealth. A great many people whom he knew were staying in the
+island, besides those in the house with us. Marian was the beauty of the place.
+How every one admires her! Why do you not go down, Mr. Conolly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am too busy. Besides, it will do Marian good to be rid of me for a
+while.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Absurd, Mr. Conolly! You should not leave her there by herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By herself! Why, is not the place full?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes; but I do not mean that. There is nobody belonging to her
+there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You forget. Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend. There is Marmaduke, her
+cousin; and his mother, her Aunt Dora. Then, is there not Mr. Sholto Douglas,
+one of her oldest and most attached friends?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Is Mr. Douglas in charge of her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No doubt he will take charge of her, if she is overtaken by her second
+childhood whilst he is there. Meanwhile, she is in charge of herself, is she
+not? And there is hardly any danger of her feeling lonely.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Sholto Douglas will provide against that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your opinion confirms the accounts I have had from other sources. It
+appears that Mr. Douglas is very attentive to my wife.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very, indeed, Mr. Conolly. You must not think that I am afraid of
+anything&mdash;anything&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well&mdash;Oh, you know what I mean. Anything wrong. At least, not exactly
+wrong, but&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Anything undomestic.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. You see, Marian&rsquo;s position is a very difficult one. She is so
+young and so good looking that she is very much observed; and it seems so
+strange her being without her husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty ladies whose husbands are never seen, often get talked about in
+the world, do they not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is just what I mean. How cleverly you get everything out of me, Mr.
+Conolly! I called here without the faintest idea of alluding to Marian&rsquo;s
+situation; and now you have made me say all sorts of things. What a fortune you
+would have made at the bar!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must apologize, I did not mean to cross-examine you. Naturally, of
+course, you would not like to make me uneasy about Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is the very last thing I should desire. But now that it has slipped
+out, I really think you ought to go to Sark.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! I rather infer that I should be very much in the way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The more reason for you to go, Mr. Conolly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. The attentions of a husband are stale,
+unsuited to holiday time. Picture to yourself my arrival at Sark with the
+tender assurance in my mouth, &lsquo;Marian, I love you.&rsquo; She would
+reply, &lsquo;So you ought. Am I not your wife?&rsquo; The same advance from
+another&mdash;Mr. Douglas, for instance&mdash;would affect her quite differently, and much
+more pleasantly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Conolly; is this indifference, or supreme confidence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Neither of these conjugal claptraps. I merely desire that Marian should
+enjoy herself as much as possible; and the more a woman is admired, the happier
+she is. Perhaps you think that, in deference to the general feeling in such
+matters, I should become jealous.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax again looked doubtfully at him. &ldquo;I cannot make you out at
+all, Mr. Conolly,&rdquo; she said submissively. &ldquo;I hope I have not
+offended you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not in the least. I take it that having observed certain circumstances
+which seemed to threaten the welfare of one very dear to you (as, I am aware,
+Marian is), the trouble they caused you found unpremeditated expression in the
+course of a conversation with me.&rdquo; Conolly beamed at her, as if he
+thought this rather neatly turned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Exactly so. But I do not wish you to think that I have observed anything
+particular.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly not. Still, you think there would be no harm in my writing to
+Marian to say that her behavior has attracted your notice, and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good heavens, Mr. Conolly, you must not mention <i>me</i> in the matter!
+You are so innocent&mdash;at least so frank, so workmanlike, if I may say so, in your
+way of dealing with things! I would not have Marian know what I have said&mdash;I
+really did not notice anything&mdash;for worlds. You had better not write at all, but
+just go down as if you went merely to enjoy yourself; and dont on any account
+let Marian suspect that you have heard anything. Goodness knows what mischief
+you might make, in your&mdash;your ingenuousness!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But I should have thought that the opinion of an old and valued friend
+like yourself would have special weight with her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know nothing about it. Clever engineer as you are, you do not
+understand the little wheels by which our great machine of society is
+worked.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax,&rdquo; he rejoined, echoing the cadence of her
+sentence. &ldquo;Educated as a mere mechanic, I am still a stranger to the
+elegancies of life. I usually depend on Marian for direction; but since you
+think that it would be injudicious to appeal to her in the present
+instance&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Out of the question, Mr. Conolly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;&mdash;I must trust to your guidance in the matter. What do you
+suggest?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Fairfax was about to reply, when the expression which she habitually wore
+like a mask in society, wavered and broke. Her lip trembled: her eyes filled
+with tears: she rose with a sniff that was half a sob. When she spoke, her
+voice was sincere for the first time, and at the sound of it Conolly&rsquo;s
+steely, hard manner melted, and his inhuman self-possession vanished.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You think,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that I came here to make mischief. I
+did not. Marian is nothing to me: she does not even like me; but I dont want to
+see her ruin herself merely because she is too inexperienced to know when she
+is well off. I have had to fight my way in London: and I know what it is, and
+what the world is. She is not fit to take charge of herself. Good-bye, Mr.
+Conolly: you are a great deal too young yourself to know the danger, for all
+your cleverness. You may tell her that I came here and gossipped against her,
+if you like. She will never speak to me again; but if it saves her, I dont
+care. Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear Mrs. Fairfax,&rdquo; he said, with entire frankness, &ldquo;I am
+now deeply and sincerely obliged to you.&rdquo; And in proof that he was
+touched, he kissed her hand with the ease and grace of a man who had been
+carefully taught how to do it. Mrs. Fairfax recovered herself and almost
+blushed as he went with her to the door, chatting easily about the weather and
+the Addison Road trains.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She was not the last visitor that evening. She had hardly been fifteen minutes
+gone when the Rev. George presented himself, and was conducted to the
+laboratory, where he found Conolly, with his coat off, surrounded by apparatus.
+The glowing fire, comfortable chairs, and preparations for an evening meal,
+gladdened him more than the presence of his brother-in-law, with whom he never
+felt quite at ease.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You wont mind my fiddling with these machines while I talk,&rdquo; said
+Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not at all, not at all. I shall witness your operations with great
+interest. You must not think that the wonders of science are indifferent to
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you are going on to Sark, you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. May I ask whether you will be persuaded to come?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, for certain. I have other fish to fry here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it would renovate your health to come for a few days.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My health is always right as long as I have work. Did you meet Mrs.
+Fairfax outside?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A&mdash;yes. I passed her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You spoke to her, I suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A few words. Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know what she came here for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. But stay. I am wrong. She mentioned that she came for a book she
+lent you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She mentioned what was not true. What did she say to you about
+Marian?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, she&mdash;She was just saying that it is perhaps as well that I should
+go down to Sark at once, as Marian is quite alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman looked so guilty as he said this that Conolly laughed outright at
+him. &ldquo;You mean,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that Marian is <i>not</i> quite
+alone. Well, very likely Douglas occupies himself a good deal with her. If so,
+there may be some busybody or another down there fool enough to tell her that
+people are talking about her. That would spoil her holiday; so it is lucky that
+you are going down. No one will take it upon themselves to speak to her when
+you are there; and if they say anything to you, you can let it in at one ear
+and out at the other.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is, of course, unless I should see her really acting
+indiscreetly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had better tell you beforehand what you will see if you keep your eyes
+open. You will see very plainly that Douglas is in love with her. Also that she
+knows that he is in love with her. In fact, she told me so. And you will see
+she rather likes it. Every married woman requires a holiday from her husband
+occasionally, even when he suits her perfectly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George stared. &ldquo;If I follow you aright&mdash;I am not sure that I
+do&mdash;you impute to Marian the sin of entertaining feelings which it is her duty
+to repress.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I impute no sin to her. You might as well tell a beggar that he has no
+right to be hungry, as a woman that it is her duty to feel this and not to feel
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But Marian has been educated to feel only in accordance with her
+duty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So have you. How does it work? However,&rdquo; continued Conolly,
+without waiting for an answer, &ldquo;I dont deny that Marian shews the effects
+of her education. They are deplorably evident in all her conscientious
+actions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You surprise and distress me. This is the first intimation I have
+received of your having any cause to complain of Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense! I dont complain of her. But what you call her education, as
+far as I can make it out, appears to have consisted of stuffing her with lies,
+and making it a point of honor with her to believe them in spite of sense and
+reason. The sense of duty that rises on that sort of foundation is more
+mischievous than downright want of principle. I dont dispute your right, you
+who constitute polite society, to skin over all the ugly facts of life. But to
+make your daughters believe that the skin covers healthy flesh is a crime. Poor
+Marian thinks that a room is clean when all the dust is swept out of sight
+under the furniture; and if honest people rake it out to bring it under the
+notice of those whose duty it is to remove it, she is disgusted with them, and
+ten to one accuses them of having made it themselves. She doesnt know what sort
+of world she is in, thanks to the misrepresentations of those who should have
+taught her. She will deceive her children in just the same way, if she ever has
+any. If she had been taught the truth in her own childhood, she would know how
+to face it, and would be a strong woman as well as an amiable one. But it is
+too late now. The truth seems natural to a child; but to a grown woman or man,
+it is a bitter lesson in the learning, though it may be invigorating when it is
+well mastered. And you know how seldom a hard task forced on an unwilling pupil
+<i>is</i> well mastered.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is truth?&rdquo; said the clergyman, sententiously.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All that we know, Master Pilate,&rdquo; retorted Conolly with a laugh.
+&ldquo;And we know a good deal. It may seem small in comparison with what we
+dont know; but it is more than any one of us can hold, for all that. We know,
+for instance, that the world was not planned by a sentimental landscape
+gardener. If Marian ever learns that&mdash;which she may, although I am neither able
+nor willing to teach it to her&mdash;she will not thank those who gave her so much
+falsehood to unlearn. Until then, she will, I am afraid, do little else than
+lay up a store of regrets for herself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is very strange. We always looked upon Marian as an exceptionally
+amiable girl.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So she is, unfortunately. There is no institution so villainous but she
+will defend it; no tyranny so oppressive but she will make a virtue of
+submitting to it; no social cancer so venomous but she will shrink from cutting
+it out, and plead that it is a comfortable thing, and much better as it is. She
+knows that she disobeyed her father, and that he deserved to be disobeyed; yet
+she condemns other women who are disobedient, and stands out against Nelly
+McQuinch in defence of the unselfishness of parental love. She knows that the
+increased freedom of movement allowed to her as a married woman has been
+healthy for her; yet she looks coldly at other young women who assert their
+right to freedom, and are not afraid to walk through the streets without a
+sheepdog, human or otherwise, at their heels. She knows that marriage is not
+what she expected it to be, and that it gives me many unfair advantages over
+her; and she knows also that ours is a happier marriage than most. Nevertheless
+she will encourage other girls to marry; she will maintain that the chain which
+galls her own wrists so often is a string of honeysuckles; and if a woman
+identifies herself with any public movement for the lightening of that chain,
+she wont allow that that woman is fit to be admitted into decent society. There
+is not one of these shams to which she clings that I would not like to take by
+the throat and shake the life out of; and she knows it. Even in that she has
+not the consistency to believe me wrong, because it is undutiful and out of
+keeping with the honeysuckles to lack faith in her husband. In order to blind
+herself to her inconsistencies, she has to live in a rose-colored fog; and what
+with me constantly, in spite of myself, blowing this fog away on the one side,
+and the naked facts of her everyday experience as constantly letting in the
+daylight on the other, she must spend half the time wondering whether she is
+mad or sane. Between her desire to do right and her discoveries that it
+generally leads her to do wrong, she passes her life in a wistful melancholy
+which I cant dispel. I can only pity her. I suppose I could pet her; but I hate
+treating a woman like a child: it means giving up all hope of her becoming
+rational. She may turn for relief any day either to love or religion; and for
+her own sake I hope she will choose the first. Of the two evils, it is the
+least permanent.&rdquo; And Conolly, having disburdened himself, resumed his
+work without any pretence of waiting for the clergyman&rsquo;s comments.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the Rev. George, cautiously, &ldquo;I do not think I
+have quite followed your opinions, which seem to me to be exactly upside down,
+as if they were projected upon the retina of your mind&rsquo;s eye&mdash;to use
+Shakspear&rsquo;s happy phrase&mdash;just as they would be upon your&mdash;your real eye,
+you know. But I can assure you that your view of Marian is an entirely mistaken
+one. You seem to think that she does not give in her entire adherence to the
+doctrines of the Establishment. This is a matter which I venture to say you do
+not understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Admitted,&rdquo; interposed Conolly, hastily. &ldquo;Here is my
+workman&rsquo;s tea. Are you fond of scones?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hardly know. Anything&mdash;the simplest fare, will satisfy me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it does me, when I can get nothing better. Help yourself,
+pray.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly did not sit down to the meal, but worked whilst the clergyman ate.
+Presently the Rev. George, warmed by the fire and cheered by the repast,
+returned to the subject of his host&rsquo;s domestic affairs.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I am sure that a few judicious words would
+lead to an explanation between you and Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I also think that a few words might do so. But they would not be
+judicious words.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why not? Can it be injudicious to restore harmony in a household?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; but that would not be the effect of an explanation, because the
+truth is not likely to reconcile us. If I were to explain the difficulty to a
+man, he would argue. But Marian would just infer that I despised her, and
+nothing else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh no! Oh dear no! A few kind words; an appeal to her good sense; a
+little concession on both sides&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All excellent for a pair estranged by a flash of temper, or a
+mother-in-law, or a trifle of jealousy, or too many evenings spent at the club
+on the man&rsquo;s part, or too many dances with a gallant on the
+woman&rsquo;s; but no good for us. We have never exchanged unkind words: there
+are no concessions to be made: her good sense is not at fault. Besides, these
+few kind words that are supposed to be such a sovereign remedy for all sorts of
+domestic understandings are generally a few kind fibs. If I told them, Marian
+wouldnt believe them. Fibs dont make lasting truces either. No: the situation
+is graver than you think. Just suppose, for instance, that you undertake to
+restore harmony, as you call it! what will you say to her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it would depend on circumstances.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you know the circumstances on which it depends. How would you
+begin?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There are little ways of approaching delicate subjects with women. For
+instance, I might say, casually, that it was a pity that a pair so happily
+situated as you two should not agree perfectly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You would get no further; for Marian would never admit that we do not
+agree. She does not know what her complaint is, and therefore feels bound in
+honor to maintain that she has nothing to complain of. She is not the woman to
+cast reproach on me for a discontent she cannot explain. Or, if she could
+explain it, how much wiser should you be? <i>I</i> have explained; and you
+confess you cannot understand me. The difference between us is neither her
+fault nor mine; and all the explanations in the world will not remove
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you would allow me to appeal to her religious duty&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Religion! She doesnt believe in it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What!&rdquo; exclaimed the clergyman, unaffectedly shocked.
+&ldquo;Surely, surely&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen. To me, believing in a doctrine doesnt mean holding up your hand
+and saying, &lsquo;Credo.&rsquo; It means habitually acting on the assumption
+that the doctrine is true. Marian thinks it wrong not to go to church; and she
+will hold up her hand and cry &lsquo;Credo&rsquo; to the immortality of her
+soul, or to any verse in the New Testament. The shareholders of our concern in
+the city will do the same. But do they or she ever act on the assumption that
+they are immortal, or that riches are dross, or that class prejudice is
+damnable? Never. They dont believe it. You will find that Marian has been
+thoroughly trained to separate her practice from her religious professions; and
+if you allude to the inconsistency she will instinctively feel that you are
+offending against good taste. In short, her &lsquo;Credo&rsquo; doesnt mean
+faith: it means church-going, which is practised because it is respectable, and
+is respectable because it is a habit of the upper caste. But church-going is
+church-going; and business is business, as Marian will soon let you know if you
+meddle with <i>her</i> business. However, we need not argue about that: we know
+one another&rsquo;s views and can agree to differ.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should be false to my duty as a Christian priest if I made any such
+agreement.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps so; but, at any rate, we cant spend all our lives over the same
+argument. No, as I was saying, take my advice, and let Marian alone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But what do you intend to do, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What <i>can</i> I do but wait? Experience must wear out some of her
+illusions. She will at least find out that she is no worse off than other
+women, and better off than some of them. Since the job cannot be undone, we
+must try how making the best of it will work. I am pretty hopeful myself. How
+are affairs getting on at your chapel? I am told that the sermons of your
+<i>locum tenens</i> send the congregation asleep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is not at his best in the pulpit. A good fellow! a most loving man
+but not able to grapple with a large congregation. After all, I am obliged to
+confess that very few of our cloth are. The power of preaching is quite an
+exceptional one; and it is a gift as well as a trust. I humbly believe that the
+power of the tongue comes of a higher ordination than the
+bishop&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Nothing further was said about Marian. The clergyman&rsquo;s object in visiting
+Conolly was, it presently appeared, to borrow a portmanteau. When he was gone,
+Conolly returned to the laboratory, and wrote the following letter:
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;My dear Marian
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have just had two unexpected visits, one from Mrs. Fairfax, and one
+from George. Mrs. L.F. said you asked her to call and give me the news. When I
+told her, without blushing, that you had written to prepare me for her visit,
+she was rather put out, justly thinking me to mean that I did not believe her.
+As this is fully the thirty-sixth falsehood in which you have detected good
+Mrs. F., I fear you will be compelled, in spite of your principle of believing
+the best of everybody, to regard her in future as a not invariably accurate
+woman. She came with the object of making me go down to Sark. You were so young
+and so much admired: Mr. Douglas was so attentive: you should not be left
+entirely alone, and so forth. You will be angry with her; but she thinks
+Douglas so irresistible that she is genuinely anxious about you: I believe she
+really meant well this time. As to our reverend brother, his portmanteau burst
+in the train coming from Edinburgh; so he came to borrow mine, having
+apparently resolved to wear out those of all his friends before buying a new
+one. Unfortunately, he met Mrs. F. down the road; and she urged him to go down
+to Sark just as she had urged me. Now as George is incapable of holding his
+tongue when he ought, I feel sure that unless I tell you what Mrs. F. said, he
+will anticipate me. Otherwise I should not have mentioned it until your return,
+for fear of annoying you and spoiling your visit. So if his reverence hints or
+lectures, you will know what he means and not heed him. Mrs. F&rsquo;s
+confidences have probably not been confined to me; but were I in your place, I
+should not make the slightest change in my conduct in consequence. At all
+events, if you feel constrained to display any sudden accession of reserve
+toward Douglas, tell him the reason; because if you dont, he will ascribe the
+change to coquetry.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have turned the spare room on the first floor into a laboratory, and
+am sitting in it now. I&rsquo;m thinking of fitting it up like a studio, and
+having private views of my inventions, as Scott has of his pictures.
+Parson&rsquo;s man came with some flowers the other day, and informed me that
+three balls, to the first of which he was invited, took place in the house
+while I was away. One or two trifling dilapidations, and the fact that somebody
+has been tampering with the locks of the organ and piano, dispose me to believe
+this tale. Parson&rsquo;s man declares that he was too virtuous to come to the
+two last entertainments after finding out that the first was a clandestine one;
+but I believe he made himself disagreeable, and was not invited. Probably he
+quarrelled with some military follower of Armande&rsquo;s; for he was
+particularly bitter on the subject of a common soldier making free in a
+gentleman&rsquo;s house. I have not said anything to the two culprits; but I
+have contrived to make them suspect that I know all; and they now do their duty
+with trembling diligence. Some man sat on the little walnut table and broke it;
+but no other damage worth mentioning has been done. The table was absurdly
+repaired with a piece of twine, and pushed into the recess between the organ
+and the front window, whence I sometimes amuse myself by the experiment of
+pulling it into broad daylight. It is always pushed back again before I return
+in the evening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How are you off for money? I have plenty of loose cash just now. Madame
+called last Monday, and asked Matilda, who opened the door, when you would be
+back. Thereupon I interviewed her. I must say she is loyal to her clients; for
+I had great difficulty in extracting her bill, which was, of course, what she
+called about. She evidently recognizes the necessity of keeping husbands in the
+dark in such matters. One of the items was for the lace on your
+maccaroni-colored body, which, as I chanced to remember, you supplied yourself.
+After a brief struggle she deducted it; so I paid her the balance: only 35£
+13s. 9d.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When are you coming back to me? After Sark I fear you will find home a
+little dull. Nevertheless, I should like to see you again. Come back before
+Christmas, at any rate.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;Yours, dear Marian, in solitude,<br/>
+&ldquo;NED.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The answer came two days later than return of post, and ran thus:
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;Melbourne House, Sark,<br/>
+&ldquo;Sunday.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;My dear Ned
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How very provoking about the servants! I do not mind Matilda so much;
+but I do think it hard that we could not depend on Armande, considering all the
+kindness we have shewn her. I can scarcely believe that she would have acted so
+badly unless she were led away by Matilda, whom I will pack off the moment I
+return. As to Armande, I will give her another chance; but she shall have a
+sharp talking to. I am quite sure that a great deal more mischief has been done
+than you noticed. If the carpet was danced on for three nights by men in heavy
+boots, it must be in ribbons. It is really too bad. I do not want any money.
+Indeed the twenty pounds you sent me last was quite unnecessary, as I have
+nearly sixteen left. What a rogue Madame is to try and make you pay for my
+lace! I am sorry you paid the bill. She had no business to call for her money:
+she is <i>never</i> paid so soon by <i>anybody</i>. We have had great fun down
+here. It has been one continual garden party all through; and the weather is
+still lovely. Mr. McQuinch is very colonial: but I think his ways make the
+house pleasanter than if he were still English. Carbury is quite stupid in
+comparison to this place. I have danced more than I ever did in my life before;
+and now we are so tired of frivolity that if any one ventures to strum a waltz
+or propose a game, we all protest. We tried to get up some choral music; but it
+was a failure. On Friday, George, who is looked on as a great man here, was
+asked to give us a Shakespeare reading. He was only too glad to be asked; for
+he had heard Simonton, the actor, read at a bazaar in Scotland, and was full of
+Richard the Third in consequence. He was not very bad; but his imitation of
+Simonton was so obvious and so queerly mixed with his own churchy style that he
+seemed rather monotonous and affected. At least I thought so. I was dreadfully
+uncomfortable during the reading because of Marmaduke, who behaved
+scandalously. There were some schoolboys present; and he not only encouraged
+them to misbehave themselves, but was worse than any of them himself. At last
+he pretended to be overcome by the heat, and went out of the room, to my great
+relief; but when the passage about the early village cock came, he crew outside
+the door, where he had been waiting expressly to do it. Nobody could help
+laughing; and the boys screamed so that Mr. McQuinch took two of them out by
+the collar. I believe he was glad of the excuse to go out and laugh himself.
+George was very angry, and no wonder! He will hardly speak to Marmaduke, who,
+of course, denies all knowledge of the interruption; but George knows better.
+All the Hardy McQuinches are down here. Uncle Hardy is rather stooped from
+rheumatism. Nelly is now the chief personage in the family: Lydia and Jane are
+nowhere beside her. They are good-humored, bouncing girls; but they are
+certainly not brilliant. I hope it is not Aunt Dora&rsquo;s walnut table that
+is broken. Was it not mean of Parson&rsquo;s man to tell on Armande? I think,
+since you have plenty of loose cash, we might venture on a set of those
+curtains we saw at Protheroe&rsquo;s, for the drawing-room. I can easily use
+the ones that are there now for <i>portières</i>.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must not think that I have written this all at once. I shall be able
+to finish to-day, as it is Sunday, and I have made an excuse to stay away from
+church. George is to preach; and somehow I never feel toward the service as I
+ought when he officiates. I know you will laugh at this.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The first part of your letter must have a paragraph all to itself. I
+hardly know what to say. I could not have believed that Mrs. Leith Fairfax
+would have behaved as she has done. I was so angry at first that for fully an
+hour I felt ill; and I spoke quite wickedly to George the day after he arrived,
+because he said that Sholto had better not take me down to dinner, although his
+doing so was quite accidental. I know you will believe me when I tell you that
+I was quite unconscious that he had been unusually attentive to me; and I was
+about to write you an indignant denial, only I shewed Nelly your letter, and
+she crushed me by telling me she had noticed it too. We nearly had a quarrel
+about it; but she counted up the number of times I had danced with him and sat
+beside him at dinner; and I suppose an evil-minded woman looking on might think
+what Mrs. Leith Fairfax thought. But there is no excuse for her. She knows that
+Sholto and I have been intimate since we were children; and there is something
+odious in her, of all people, pretending to misunderstand us. What is worse,
+she was particularly friendly and confidential with me while she was here; and
+although I tried to keep away from her at first, she persisted in conciliating
+me, and persuaded me that Douglas had entirely mistaken what she said that
+other time. Who could have expected her to turn round and calumniate me the
+moment my back was turned! How can people do such things! I hope we shall not
+meet her again; for I will never speak to her. I have not said anything to
+Douglas. How could I? It would only make mischief. I feel that the right course
+is to come home as soon as I can, and in the meantime to avoid him as much as
+possible. So you may expect me on Saturday next. Mr. McQuinch is quite dismayed
+at my departure, which he says will be the signal for a general breaking up;
+but this I cannot help. I shall be glad to go home, of course. Still, I am
+sorry to leave this place, where we have all been so jolly. I will write and
+let you know what train I shall come by; but you need not trouble to meet me,
+unless you like: I can get home quite well by myself. After all, it is just as
+well that I am getting away. It <i>was</i> pleasant enough; but now I feel
+utterly disgusted with everything and everybody. I find I must stop. They have
+just come in from church; and I must go down.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;Your affectionate<br/>
+&ldquo;MARIAN.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<p>
+One Saturday afternoon in December Marian and Elinor sat drinking tea in the
+drawing-room at Holland Park. Elinor was present as an afternoon caller: she no
+longer resided with the Conollys. Marian had been lamely excusing herself for
+not having read Elinor&rsquo;s last book.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray dont apologize,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;I remember the time when
+you would have forced yourself to read it from a sense of duty; and I am too
+delighted to find that nonsense washing out of you at last to feel the wound to
+my vanity. Oh, say no more, my dear you can read it still whenever you please.
+Brother George read it, and was shocked because the heroine loves the villain
+and tells him so without waiting to be asked. It is odd that long ago, when I
+believed so devoutly in the tender passion, I never could write a really
+flaming love story.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont begin to talk like that,&rdquo; said Marian, crossly. &ldquo;People
+<i>do</i> fall in love, fortunately for them. It may be injudicious; and it may
+turn out badly; but it fills up life in a way that all the barren philosophy
+and cynicism on earth cannot. Do you think I would not rather have to regret a
+lost love than to repine because I had been too cautious to love at all? The
+disappointments of love warm the heart more than the triumphs of
+insensibility.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats rather a good sentence,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;Your talk is
+more classical than my writing. But what would the departed Marian Lind have
+said?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The departed Marian Lind was so desperately wise that she neglected that
+excellent precept, &lsquo;Be not righteous over much, neither make thyself over
+wise; why shouldest thou destroy thyself?&rsquo; I took up the Bible last night
+for the first time since my marriage; and I thought what fools we two used to
+be when we made up our minds to avoid all the mistakes and follies and feelings
+of other people, and to be quite superior and rational. &lsquo;He that
+observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not
+reap.&rsquo; It is all so true, in spite of what Ned says. We were very clever
+at observing the wind and regarding the clouds; and what are we the better for
+it? How much irreparable mischief, I wonder, did we do ourselves by letting our
+little wisdoms stifle all our big instincts! Look at those very other people
+whom we despised; how happy they are, in spite of their having always done
+exactly what their hearts told them!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think we are pretty well off as people go. I know I am. Certainly it
+was part of our wisdom that marriage was a bad thing; and I grant that though
+you married in obedience to your instincts you are as well off as I. But I dont
+see that we are the worse for having thought a little.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did <i>not</i> marry in obedience to my instincts, Nelly; and you know
+it. I made a disinterested marriage with a man whom I felt I could respect as
+my superior. I was convinced then that a grand passion was a folly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And what do you think now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think that I did not know what I was talking about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe you were in love with Ned when you married him, and long
+enough before that, too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course I loved him. I love him still.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you, really? To hear you, one would think that you only respected him
+as a superior.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have no right to say that. You dont understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps not. Would you mind explaining?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not mean anything particular; but there are two kinds of love.
+There is a love which one&rsquo;s good sense suggests&mdash;a sort of moral
+approval&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor laughed. &ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;What is the other
+sort?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The other sort has nothing to do with good sense. It is an overpowering
+impulse&mdash;a craving&mdash;a faith that defies logic&mdash;something to look forward to
+feeling in your youth, and look back to with a kindling heart in your
+age.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! Isnt the difference between the two sorts much the same as the
+difference between the old love and the new?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I will take another cup of tea. You neednt stop flying out at
+me, though: I dont mind it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s rather odd that we so seldom meet now without getting on this
+subject and having a row. Has that struck you at all?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why dont you go to Ned, and
+tell him that he is a cast-iron walking machine, and that you are unhappy, and
+want the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furious scene with him, and
+all will come right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and make myself
+ridiculous like that: the words would choke me. Besides, I am not
+unhappy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What a lie! You wicked woman! A moment ago you were contemning all
+prudence; and now you will not speak your mind because you are afraid of being
+ridiculous. What is that but observing the wind and regarding the clouds, I
+should like to know?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in jest. It hurts
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Serve you right! I am not a bit remorseful. No matter: let us talk of
+something else. Where did those flowers come from?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to-night; and I wanted a
+bouquet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it himself. He rarely misses
+an excuse for coming.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you say that, Nelly? He comes here very seldom, except on Sunday;
+and that is a regular thing, just as your coming is.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He was here on Tuesday; you saw him at Mrs. Saunders&rsquo;s on
+Wednesday; he was at your at-home on Thursday; and he sends a bouquet on
+Saturday.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot help meeting him out; and not to invite him to my at-home would
+be to cut him. Pray are you growing spiteful, like Mrs. Leith Fairfax?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian: you got out of bed at the wrong side this morning; and you have
+made that mistake oftener since your return from Sark than in all your life
+before. Douglas has become a lazy good-for-nothing; and he comes here a great
+deal too often. Instead of encouraging him to dangle after you as he does, and
+to teach you all those finely turned sentiments about love which you were
+airing a minute ago, you ought to make him get called to the bar, or sent into
+Parliament, or put to work in some fashion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nelly!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bother Nelly! It is true; and you know it as well as I do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he fancies himself in love with me, I cannot help it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can help his following you about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot. He does not follow me about. Why does not Ned object? He knows
+that Sholto is in love with me; and he does not care.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, if it is only to make Ned jealous, then I have nothing more to say:
+you may flirt away as hard as you please. There&rsquo;s a knock at the door,
+just in time to prevent us from quarrelling. I know whose knock it is,
+too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian had flushed slightly at the sound; and Elinor, with her feet stretched
+out before her, lapped the carpet restlessly with her heels, and watched her
+cousin sourly as Douglas entered. He was in evening dress.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-evening,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;So you are going to the
+theatre, too?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;Is any one coming with us? Shall we
+have the pleasure of your company?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Elinor, drily. &ldquo;I thought Mr. Conolly was
+perhaps going with you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall be very glad, I am sure, if he will,&rdquo; said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He will not,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I doubt if he will come home
+before we start.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You got my flowers safely, I see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, thank you. They are beautiful.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They need be, if you are to wear them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I will go,&rdquo; said Elinor, &ldquo;if you can spare me.
+Marian has been far from amiable; and if you are going to pay her compliments,
+I shall very soon be as bad as she. Good-bye.&rdquo; Douglas gratefully went
+with her to the door. She looked very hard at him, and almost made a grimace as
+they parted; but she said nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am very glad she went,&rdquo; said Marian, when Douglas returned.
+&ldquo;She annoys me. Everything annoys me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are leading an impossible life here, Marian,&rdquo; he said, putting
+his hand on her chair and bending over her. &ldquo;Whilst it lasts, everything
+will annoy you; and I, who would give the last drop of my blood to spare you a
+moment&rsquo;s pain, shall never experience the delight of seeing you
+happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What other life can I lead?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas made an impulsive movement, as though to reply; but he hesitated, and
+did not speak. Marian was not looking at him. She was gazing into the fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto,&rdquo; she said, after an interval of silence, &ldquo;you must
+not come here any more.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are too idle. You come here too often. Why do you not become a
+barrister, or go into Parliament, or at least write books? If Nelly can succeed
+as an author, surely you can.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have left all that behind me. I am a failure: you know why. Let us
+talk no more of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not go on like that,&rdquo; said Marian, pettishly. &ldquo;I dont
+like it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid to say or do anything, you are so easily distressed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I know I am very cross. Elinor remarked it too. I think you might
+bear with me, Sholto.&rdquo; Here, most unexpectedly, she rose and burst into
+tears. &ldquo;When my whole life is one dreary record of misery, I cannot
+always be patient. I have been forbearing toward you many times.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas was at first frightened; for he had never seen her cry before. Then, as
+she sat down again, and covered her face with her handkerchief, he advanced,
+intending to kneel and put his arm about her; but his courage failed: he only
+drew a chair to the fire, and bent over, as he sat beside her, till his face
+was close to hers, saying, &ldquo;It is all the fault of your mad marriage. You
+were happy until then. I have been silent hitherto; but now that I see your
+tears, I can no longer master myself. Listen to me, Marian. You asked me a
+moment since what other life was open to you. There is a better life. Leave
+England with me; and&mdash;and&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Marian had raised her head; and as she looked
+steadily at him, he stopped, and his lips became white.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go on,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am not angry. What else?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing else except happiness.&rdquo; His voice died away: there was a
+pause. Then, recovering himself, he went on with something of his
+characteristic stateliness. &ldquo;There is no use in prolonging your present
+life; it is a failure, like mine. Why should you hesitate? You know how seldom
+the mere letter of duty leads to either happiness or justice. You can rescue me
+from a wasted existence. You can preserve your own heart from a horrible slow
+domestic decay. <i>He</i> will not care: he cares for nothing: he is morally
+murdering you. You have no children to think of. I love you; and I offer you
+your choice of the fairest spots in the wide world to pass our future in, with
+my protection to ensure your safety and comfort there, wherever it may be. You
+know what a hollow thing conventional virtue is. Who are the virtuous people
+about you? Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and her like. If you love me, you must know that
+you are committing a crime against nature in living as you are with a man who
+is as far removed from you in every human emotion as his workshop is from
+heaven. You have striven to do your duty by him in vain. He is none the
+happier: we are unutterably the more miserable. Let us try a new life. I have
+lived in society here all my days, and have found its atmosphere most
+worthless, most selfish, most impure. I want to be free&mdash;to shake the dust of
+London off my feet, and enter on a life made holy by love. You can respond to
+such an aspiration: you, too, must yearn for a pure and free life. It is within
+our reach: you have but to stretch out your hand. Say something to me. Are you
+listening?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It seems strange that I should be listening to you quite calmly, as I
+am; although you are proposing what the world thinks a disgraceful
+thing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Does it matter what the world thinks? I would not, even to save myself
+from a wasted career, ask you to take a step that would really disgrace you.
+But I cannot bear to think of you looking back some day over a barren past, and
+knowing that you sacrificed your happiness to Fashion&mdash;an idol. Do you remember
+last Sunday when we discussed that bitter saying that women who have sacrificed
+their feelings to the laws of society secretly know that they have been fools
+for their pains? <i>He</i> did not deny it. You could give no good reason for
+disbelieving it. You know it to be true; and I am only striving to save you
+from that vain regret. You have shewn that you can obey the world with grace
+and dignity when the world is right. Shew now that you can defy it fearlessly
+when it is tyrannical. Trust your heart, Marian&mdash;my darling Marian: trust your
+heart&mdash;and mine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For what hour have you ordered the carriage?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The carriage! Is that what you say to me at such a moment? Are you still
+flippant as ever?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am quite serious. Say no more now. If I go, I will go deliberately,
+and not on the spur of your persuasion. I must have time to think. What hour
+did you say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Seven.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then it is time for me to dress. You will not mind waiting here
+alone?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you would only give me one hopeful word, I think I could wait happily
+forever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What can I say?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Say that you love me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am striving to discover whether I have always loved you or not.
+Surely, if there be such a thing as love, we should be lovers.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was chilled by her solemn tone; but he made a movement as if to embrace her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, stopping him. &ldquo;I am his wife still. I have
+not yet pronounced my own divorce.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She left the room; and he walked uneasily to and fro Until she returned,
+dressed in white. He gazed at her with quickened breath as she confronted him.
+Neither heeded the click of her husband&rsquo;s latchkey in the door without.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;When I was a little boy, Marian,&rdquo; he said, gazing at her, &ldquo;I
+used to think that Paul Delaroche&rsquo;s Christian martyr was the most
+exquisite vision of beauty in the world. I have the same feeling as I look at
+you now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian reminds me of that picture too,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;I
+remember wondering,&rdquo; he continued, smiling, as they started and turned
+toward him, &ldquo;why the young lady&mdash;she was such a perfect lady&mdash;was martyred
+in a ball dress, as I took her costume to be. Marian&rsquo;s wreath adds to the
+force of the reminiscence.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If I recollect aright,&rdquo; said Marian, taking up his bantering tone
+with a sharper irony, &ldquo;Delaroche&rsquo;s martyr shewed a fine sense of
+the necessity of having her wrists gracefully tied. I am about to follow her
+example by wearing these bracelets, which I can never fasten. Be good enough to
+assist me, both of you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She extended a hand to each; and Conolly, after looking at the catch for a
+moment, closed it dexterously at the first snap. &ldquo;By the bye,&rdquo; he
+said, whilst Douglas fumbled at the other bracelet, &ldquo;I have to run away
+to Glasgow to-night by the ten train. We shall not see one another again until
+Monday evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas&rsquo;s hand began to shake so that the gold band chafed Marian&rsquo;s
+arm. &ldquo;There, there,&rdquo; she said, drawing it away from him, &ldquo;you
+do it for me, Ned. Sholto has no mechanical genius.&rdquo; Her hand was quite
+steady as Conolly shut the clasp. &ldquo;Why must you go to Glasgow?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They have got into a mess at the works there; and the engineer has
+telegraphed for me to go down and see what is the matter. I shall certainly be
+back on Monday. Have something for me to eat at half past seven. I am sorry to
+be away from our Sunday dinner, Douglas; but you know the popular prejudice. If
+you want a thing done, see to it yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto has been very eloquent this evening on the subject of popular
+prejudices,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;He says that to defy the world is a
+proof of honesty.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it is,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;I get on in the world by defying
+its old notions, and taking nobody&rsquo;s advice but my own. Follow
+Douglas&rsquo;s precepts by all means. Do you know that it is nearly a quarter
+to eight?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Let us go. We shall be late.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall not see you to-morrow, Douglas. Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; said Douglas, keeping at some distance; for he did
+not care to offer Conolly his hand before Marian now. &ldquo;Pleasant
+journey.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. Hallo! [Marian had impatiently turned back.] What have you
+forgotten?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My opera-glass,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;No, thanks: you would not
+know where to look for it: I will go myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went upstairs; and Conolly, after a pause, followed, and found her in their
+bedroom, closing the drawer from which she had just taken the opera-glass.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian,&rdquo; he said: &ldquo;you have been crying to-day. Is anything
+wrong? or is it only nervousness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only nervousness,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;How did you find out that I
+had been crying? it was only for an instant, because Nelly annoyed me. Does my
+face shew it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It does to me, not to anyone else. Are you more cheerful now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I am all right. I will go to Glasgow with you, if you like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly recoiled, disconcerted. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Do you
+wish&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo; He recovered himself, and added, &ldquo;It is too cold, my dear;
+and I must travel very fast. I shall be busy all the time. Besides, you are
+forgetting the theatre and Douglas, who, by the bye, is catching cold on the
+steps.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I had better go with Douglas, since it will make you
+happier.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go with Douglas, my dear one, if it will make <i>you</i> happier,&rdquo;
+said he, kissing her. To his surprise, she threw her arm round him, held him
+fast by the shoulder, and looked at him with extraordinary earnestness. He gave
+a little laugh, and disengaged himself gently, saying, &ldquo;Dont you think
+your nervousness is taking a turn rather inconvenient for Douglas?&rdquo; She
+let her hands fall; closed her lips; and passed quietly out. He went to the
+window and watched her as she entered the carriage. Douglas held the door open
+for her; and Conolly, looking at him with a sort of pity, noted that he was, in
+his way, a handsome man and that his habit of taking himself very seriously
+gave him a certain, dignity. The brougham rolled away into the fog. Conolly
+pulled down the blind, and began to pack his portmanteau to a vigorously
+whistled accompaniment.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<p>
+Conolly returned from Glasgow a little before eight on Monday evening. There
+was no light in the window when he entered the garden. Miss McQuinch opened the
+door before he reached it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Going the moment I come in!&rdquo; Then,
+seeing her face by the hall lamp, he put down his bag quickly, and asked what
+the matter was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know whether anything is the matter. I am very glad you have
+returned. Come into the drawing-room: I dont want the servants to hear us
+talking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no light here,&rdquo; he said, following her in. &ldquo;Is it
+possible you have been waiting in the dark?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He lit a candle, and was about to light a lamp when she exclaimed impatiently,
+&ldquo;Oh, I did not notice it: what does it matter? Do let the lamp alone, and
+listen to me.&rdquo; He obeyed, much amused at her irritation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where has Marian gone to?&rdquo; she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is she out?&rdquo; he said, suddenly grave. &ldquo;You forget that I
+have come straight from Glasgow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have been here since three o&rsquo;clock. Marian sent me a note not to
+come on Sunday&mdash;that she should be out and that you were away. But they tell me
+that she was at home all yesterday, except for two hours when she was out with
+Sholto. She packed her trunks in the evening, and went away with them. She told
+the cabman to drive to Euston. I dont know what it all means; and I have been
+half distracted waiting here for you. I thought you would never come. There is
+a note for you on your dressing-table.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He pursed his lips a little and looked attentively at her, but said nothing.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wont you go and open it?&rdquo; she said anxiously. &ldquo;It must
+contain some explanation.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid the explanation is obvious.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have no right to say that. How do you know? If you are not going to
+read her letter, you had better say so at once. I dont want to pry into it: I
+only want to know what is become of Marian.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You shall read it by all means. Will you excuse me whilst I fetch
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She stamped with impatience. He smiled and went for the letter, which, after a
+brief absence, he placed unopened on the table before her, saying:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose this is it. I laid my hand on it in the dark.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you going to open it?&rdquo; she said, hardly able to contain
+herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He had not raised his voice; but it struck her that he was in a rage. His
+friendly look and quiet attitude first reassured, then, on second thoughts,
+exasperated her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why wont you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I really dont know. Somehow, I am not curious. It interests you. Pray
+open it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will lie there
+forever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, and handed her the
+enclosure. She kept down her hands stubbornly. He smiled a little, still
+presenting it. At last she snatched it, much as she would have liked to snatch
+a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned pale, and looked as she had
+used to in her childhood, when in disgrace and resolute not to cry. &ldquo;I
+had rather have had my two hands cut off,&rdquo; she said passionately, after a
+pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is very sad for you,&rdquo; said Conolly, sympathetically. &ldquo;He
+is an educated man; but I cannot think that he has much in him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, indeed! And what are
+<i>you</i> going to do, may I ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening.&rdquo; He seemed to know
+that she would not leave; for he made no movement to open the door for her. On
+her way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists clenched, that for a
+moment he was doubtful whether she would not bodily assault him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?&rdquo; she said, letting her temper
+loose. &ldquo;How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What <i>can</i> I do, Miss McQuinch?&rdquo; he said, gently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utter idiot
+of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him? If you are, I
+will go with you, and not let him touch you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; he said, good-humoredly. &ldquo;But you see she does
+not wish to live with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good God, man, what woman do you think <i>could</i> wish to live with
+you! I suppose Marian wanted a human being to live with, and not a calculating
+machine. You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling enough to have
+kicked him out of the house, and then beaten her black and blue for encouraging
+him, you would have been more of a man than you are: she would have loved you
+more. You are not a man: you are a stone full of brains&mdash;such as they are!
+Listen to me, Mr. Conolly. There is one chance left&mdash;if you will only make
+haste. Go after them; overtake them; thrash him within an inch of his life; and
+bring her back and punish her how you please so long as you shew her that you
+care. You can do it if you will only make up your mind: he is a coward; and he
+is afraid of you: I have seen it in his eye. You are worth fifty of him&mdash;if you
+would only not be so cold blooded&mdash;if you will only go&mdash;<i>dear</i> Mr.
+Conolly&mdash;youre not really insensible&mdash;you will, wont you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This, the first tender tone he had ever heard in her voice, made him look at
+her curiously. &ldquo;What does the letter say?&rdquo; he asked, still quietly,
+but inexorably.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She snatched it up again. &ldquo;Here,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;&lsquo;<i>Our
+marriage was a mistake. I am going away with Douglas to the other side of the
+world. It is all I can do to mend matters. Pray forget me</i>.&rsquo; That is
+what her letter says, since you condescend to ask.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is too late, then. You felt that as you read it, I think?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she cried, sitting down in a paroxysm of grief, but unable
+to weep. &ldquo;It is too late; and it is all your fault. What business had you
+to go away? You knew what was going to happen. You intended it to happen. You
+wanted it to happen. You are glad it has happened; and it serves you right.
+&lsquo;<i>Pray forget her</i>.&rsquo; Oh, yes, poor girl! she need not trouble
+about that. I declare there is nothing viler, meaner, cowardlier, selfisher on
+earth than a man. Oh, if we had only done what we always said we would do&mdash;kept
+free from you!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was a good plan,&rdquo; said Conolly, submissively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Was it? How were we to know that you were not made of flesh and blood,
+pray? There, let me go. [The table was between them; but she rose and shook off
+an imaginary detaining hand.] I dont want to hear anything more about it. I
+suppose you are right not to care. Very likely she was right to go, too; so we
+are all right, and everything is for the best, no doubt. Marian is ruined, of
+course; but what does that matter to you? She was only in your way. You can
+console yourself with your&mdash;&rdquo; Here Armande came in; and Elinor turned
+quickly to the fireplace and stood there, so that the housemaid should not see
+her face.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your dinner, sir,&rdquo; said Armande, with a certain artificiality of
+manner that was, under the circumstances, significant. &ldquo;There is a nice
+fire in the laboratory.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;Presently, Armande.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The things will spoil if you wait too long, sir. The mistress was very
+particular with me and cook about it.&rdquo; And Armande, with an air of
+declining further responsibility, went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What shall I do without Marian?&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;Not one
+woman in a hundred is capable of being a mistress to her servants. She saved me
+all the friction of housekeeping.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are beginning to feel your loss,&rdquo; said Elinor, facing him
+again. &ldquo;A pleasant thing for a woman of her talent to be thrown away to
+save you the friction of housekeeping. If you had paid half the attention to
+her happiness that she did to your dinners you would not be in your present
+predicament.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you really calculated that it is twice as easy to make a woman
+happy as to feed a man?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Calc&mdash;! Yes, I have. I tell you that it is three times as easy&mdash;six times
+as easy: more fool the woman! You can make a woman happy for a week by a word
+or a kiss. How long do you think it takes to order a week&rsquo;s dinners? I
+suppose you consider a kiss a weakness?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid&mdash;judging by the result&mdash;that I am not naturally clever at
+kissing.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I should think not, indeed. Then you had better go and do what you
+<i>are</i> clever at&mdash;eat your dinner.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss McQuinch: did you ever see an unfortunate little child get a severe
+fall, and then, instead of a little kindly petting, catch a sound whacking from
+its nurse for daring to startle her and spoil its clothes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, what is the point of that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You remind me a little of the nurse. I have had a sort of fall this
+evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now you are going to pretend to be hurt, I suppose; because you dont
+care to be told that it is your own fault. That is a common experience with
+children, too. I tell you plainly that I dont believe you are hurt at all;
+though you may not be exactly pleased&mdash;just for the moment. However, I did not
+mean to be uncivil. If you are really sorry, I am at least <i>as</i> sorry. I
+have not said all I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What more?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing of any use to say. I see I am wasting my time here&mdash;and no doubt
+wasting yours too.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I think you have had your turn. If you are not thoroughly
+satisfied, pray go on for ten minutes longer: your feelings do you credit, as
+the phrase goes. Still, do not forget that you thought just the same of me a
+week ago; and that if you had said as much then you might have prevented what
+has happened. Giving me a piece of your mind now is of no use except as far as
+it relieves you. To Marian or me or anyone else it does no good. So when you
+have said your worst, we cannot do better, I think, than set our wits to work
+about our next move.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor received this for a moment in dudgeon. Then she laughed sourly, and
+said, &ldquo;There is some sense in that. I am as much to blame as anybody: I
+dont deny it&mdash;if that is any comfort to you. But as to the next move, you say
+yourself that it is too late to do anything; and I dont see that you can do
+much.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is so. But there are a few things to be faced. First, I have to set
+Marian and myself free.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Divorce her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Divorce!&rdquo; Elinor looked at him in dismay. He was unmoved. Then her
+gaze fell slowly, and she said: &ldquo;Yes: I suppose you have a right to
+that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She also.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So that she may marry him&mdash;from a sense of duty. That will be so happy
+for her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She will have time, before she is free to find out whether she likes him
+or not. There will be a great fuss in the family over the scandal.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you care about that? <i>I</i> dont.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. However, thats a detail. Marian will perhaps write to you. If so,
+just point out to her that her five hundred a year belongs to her still, and
+makes her quite independent of him and of me. That is all, I think. You need
+take no pains now to conceal what has happened: the servants below know it as
+well as we: in a week it will be town talk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Elinor looked wistfully at him, her impetuosity failing her as she felt how
+little effect it was producing. Yet her temper rather rose than fell at him.
+There was a much more serious hostility than before in her tone as she said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You seem to have been thoroughly prepared for what has happened. I do
+not want any instructions from you as to what I shall write to Marian about her
+money affairs: I want to know, in case she takes it into her head to come back
+when she has found what a fool she has made of herself, whether I may tell her
+that you are glad to be rid of her, and that there is no use in her humiliating
+herself by coming to your door and being turned away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I explain the situation to you from my point of view?&rdquo; said
+he. At the sound of his voice she looked up in alarm. The indulgent,
+half-playful manner which she had almost lost the sense of because it was so
+invariable with him in speaking to ladies was suddenly gone. She felt that the
+real man was coming out now without ceremony. He was quick to perceive the
+effect he had produced. To soften it, he placed a comfortable chair on the
+hearthrug, and said, in his ordinary friendly way: &ldquo;Sit nearer the fire:
+we can talk more comfortably. Now,&rdquo; he continued, standing with his back
+to the mantelpiece, &ldquo;let me tell you, Miss McQuinch, that when you talk
+of my turning people away from my door you are not talking fair and square
+sense to me. I dont turn my acquaintances off in that way, much less my
+friends; and a woman who has lived with me as my wife for eighteen months must
+always be a rather particular friend. I liked her before I was her husband, and
+I shall continue to like her when I am no longer her husband. So you need have
+no fear on that score. But I wont remain her husband. You said just now that I
+knew what was going to happen; that I intended it to happen, wanted it to
+happen, and am glad it happened. There is more truth in that than you thought
+when you said it. For some time past Marian has been staying with me as a
+matter of custom and convenience only, using me as a cover for her philandering
+with Douglas, and paying me by keeping the house very nicely for me. I had
+asked myself once or twice how long this was to last. I was in no hurry for the
+answer; for although I was wifeless and had no one to live with who really
+cared for me, I was quite prepared to wait a couple of years if necessary, on
+the chance of our making it up somehow. But sooner or later I should have
+insisted on closing our accounts and parting; and I am not sorry now that the
+end has come, since it was inevitable; though I am right sorry for the way it
+has come. Instead of eloping in the conventional way, she should have come to
+an understanding with me. I could easily have taken her for a trip in the
+States, where we could have stopped a few months in South Dakota and got
+divorced without any scandal. I have never made any claims on her since she
+found out that she didnt care for me; and she might have known from that that I
+was not the man to keep her against her will and play dog in the manger with a
+fellow like Douglas. However, thats past praying for now. She has had enough of
+me; and I have had more than enough of her set and her family, except that I
+should like to remain good friends with you. You are the only one of the whole
+lot worth your salt. It is understood, of course, that you take Marian&rsquo;s
+part against me on all issues; but will you be friends as far as is consistent
+with that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Nelly, shortly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shake hands on it; and I&rsquo;ll tell you something else that will help
+you to understand me better,&rdquo; he said, holding out his hand. She gave
+hers; and when the bargain was struck, he turned to the fire and seated himself
+on the edge of the table.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know that when I married,&rdquo; he resumed, &ldquo;I was promoted
+to mix in fashionable society for the first time. Of course you do: that was
+the whole excitement of the affair for the family. You know the impression I
+made on polite society better, probably, than I do. Now tell me: do you know
+what impression polite society made on me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps it has never occurred even to you, sharp as you are, that I
+could have taken society otherwise than at its own valuation of itself, as
+something much higher, more cultivated and refined than anything that I had
+been accustomed to. Well, I never believed in that much at any time; but it was
+not until I had made a <i>mésalliance</i> for Marian&rsquo;s sake that I
+realized how infinitely beneath me and my class was the one I had married
+into.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Mésalliance!</i>&mdash;with Marian! I take back the shake hands.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>Mésalliance</i> with her class, for her sake: I made the distinction
+purposely. Now what am I, Miss McQuinch? A worker. I belonged and belong to the
+class that keeps up the world by its millions of serviceable hands and
+serviceable brains. All the pride of caste in me settles on that point. I admit
+no loafer as my equal. The man who is working at the bench is my equal, whether
+he can do my day&rsquo;s work or not, provided he is doing the best he can. But
+the man who does not work anyhow, and the class that does not work, is a class
+below mine. When I annoyed Marian by refusing to wear a tall hat and cuffs, I
+did so because I wanted to have it seen as I walked through Piccadilly and St.
+James&rsquo;s Street that I did not belong there, just as your people walk
+through a poor street dressed so as to shew that they dont belong there. To me
+a man like your uncle, Marian&rsquo;s father, or like Marmaduke or Douglas,
+loafing idly round spending money that has been made by the sweat of men like
+myself, are little better than thieves. They get on with the queerest
+makeshifts for self-respect: old Mr. Lind with family pride. Douglas with
+personal vanity, and Marmaduke with a sort of interest in his own appetites and
+his own jollity. Everything is a sham with them: they have drill and etiquet
+instead of manners, fashions instead of tastes, small talk instead of
+intercourse. Everything that is special to them as distinguished from workers
+is a sham: when you get down to the real element in them, good or bad, you find
+that it is something that is common to them and to all civilized mankind. The
+reason that this isnt as clear to other workmen who come among them as it is to
+me is that most workmen share their ignorance of the things they affect
+superiority in. Poor Jackson, whom you all call the Yankee cad, and who is not
+a cad at all in his proper place among the engineers at our works, believes in
+the sham refinements he sees around him at the at-homes he is so fond of. He
+has no art in him&mdash;no trained ear for music or for fine diction, no trained eye
+for pictures and colors and buildings, no cultivated sense of dignified
+movement, gesture, and manner. But he knows what fashionable London listens to
+and looks at, and how it talks and behaves; and he makes that his standard, and
+sets down what is different from it as vulgar. Now the difference between me
+and him is that I got an artistic training by accident when I was young, and
+had the natural turn to profit by it. Before I ever saw a West End Londoner I
+knew beautiful from ugly, rare from common, in music, speech, costume, and
+gesture; for in my father&rsquo;s operatic and theatrical companies there did
+come now and then, among the crowd of thirdraters, a dancer, an actor, a
+scenepainter, a singer, or a bandsman or conductor who was a fine artist.
+Consequently, I was not to be taken in like Jackson by made-up faces, trashy
+pictures, drawling and lounging and strutting and tailoring, drawing-room
+singing and drawing-room dancing, any more than by bad ventilation and
+unwholesome hours and food, not to mention polite dram drinking, and the round
+of cruelties they call sport. I found that the moment I refused to accept the
+habits of the rich as standards of refinement and propriety, the whole illusion
+of their superiority vanished at once. When I married Marian I was false to my
+class. I had a sort of idea that my early training had accustomed me to a
+degree of artistic culture that I could not easily find in a working girl, and
+that would be quite natural to Marian. I soon found that she had the keenest
+sense of what was ladylike, and no sense of what was beautiful at all. A
+drawing, a photograph, or an engraving sensibly framed without a white mount
+round it to spoil it pained her as much as my wrists without cuffs on them. No
+mill girl could have been less in sympathy with me on the very points for which
+I had preferred her to the mill girls. The end of it was that I felt that love
+had made me do a thoroughly vulgar thing&mdash;marry beneath me. These aristocratic
+idle gentlemen will never be shamed out of their laziness and low-mindedness
+until the democratic working gentlemen refuse to associate with them instead of
+running after them and licking their boots. I am heartily glad now to be out of
+their set and rid of them, instead of having to receive them civilly in my
+house for Marian&rsquo;s sake. The whole business was strangling me: the strain
+of keeping my feeling to myself was more than you can imagine. Do you know that
+there have been times when I have been so carried away with the idea that she
+must be as tired of the artificiality of our life as I was, that I have begun
+to speak my mind frankly to her; and when she recoiled, hurt and surprised and
+frightened that I was going to turn coarse at last, I have shut up and sat
+there apparently silent, but really saying under my breath: &lsquo;Why dont you
+go? Why dont you leave me, vanish, fly away to your own people? You must be a
+dream: I never married you. You dont know me: you cant be my wife: your lungs
+were not made to breathe the air I live in.&rsquo; I have said a thousand
+things like that, and then wondered whether there was any truth in
+telepathy&mdash;whether she could possibly be having my thoughts transferred to her
+mind and thinking it only her imagination. I would ask myself whether I
+despised her or not, calling on myself for the truth as if I did not believe
+the excuses I made for her out of the fondness I could not get over. I am fond
+of her still, sometimes. I did not really&mdash;practically, I mean&mdash;despise her until
+I gave up thinking about her at all. There was a certain kind of contempt in
+that indifference, beyond a doubt: there is no use denying it. Besides, it is
+proved to me now by the new respect I feel for her because she has had the
+courage and grit to try going away with Douglas. But my love for her is over:
+nothing short of her being born over again&mdash;a thing that sometimes happens&mdash;will
+ever bring her into contact with me after this. To put it philosophically, she
+made the mistake of avoiding all realities, and yet marrying herself to the
+hardest of realities, a working man; so it was inevitable that she should go
+back at last to the region of shadows and mate with that ghostliest of all
+unrealities, the non-working man. Perhaps, too, the union may be more fruitful
+than ours: the cross between us was too violent. Now you have the whole story
+from my point of view. What do you&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush!&rdquo; said Elinor, interrupting him. &ldquo;What is that noise
+outside?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The house bell began to ring violently; and they could hear a confused noise of
+voices and footsteps without.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Can she have come back?&rdquo; said Elinor, starting up.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo; said Conolly, looking disturbed for the first time.
+They stood a moment listening, with averted eyes. A second peal from the bell
+was followed by roars of laughter, amid which a remonstrant voice was audible.
+Then the house door was hammered with a stick. Conolly ran downstairs at once
+and opened it. On the step he found Marmaduke reeling in the arms of the Rev.
+George.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How are you, ol&rsquo; fler?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, plunging into the
+hall. &ldquo;The parson is tight. I found him tumbling about High Street, and
+brought him along.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray excuse this intrusion,&rdquo; whispered the Rev. George. &ldquo;You
+see the state he is in. He accosted me near Campden Hill; and I really could
+not be seen walking with him into town. I wonder he was not arrested.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is the worse for drink; but he is sober enough to know how to amuse
+himself at your expense,&rdquo; said Conolly, aloud. &ldquo;Come up to the
+laboratory. Miss McQuinch is there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But he is not fit,&rdquo; urged the clergyman. &ldquo;Look at him trying
+to hang up his hat. How absurd&mdash;I should rather say how deplorable! I assure you
+he is perfectly tipsy. He has been ringing the bells of the houses, and
+requesting females to accompany us. Better warn Elinor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nonsense!&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;I have some news that will sober
+him. Here is Miss McQuinch. Are you going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Elinor. &ldquo;I should lose my patience if I had to
+listen to George&rsquo;s comments; and I am tired. I would rather go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not yet, Nelly. Wont um stay and talk to um&rsquo;s Marmadukes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let me go,&rdquo; said Elinor, snatching away her hand, which he had
+seized. &ldquo;You ought to be at home in bed. You are a sot.&rdquo; At this
+Marmaduke laughed boisterously. She passed him contemptuously, and left. The
+three men then went upstairs, Marmaduke dropping his pretence of drunkenness
+under the influence of Conolly&rsquo;s presence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian is not in, I presume,&rdquo; said the clergyman, when they were
+seated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo; said Conolly. &ldquo;She has eloped with Douglas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They stared at him. Then Marmaduke gave a long whistle; and the clergyman rose,
+pale. &ldquo;What do you mean, sir?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly did not answer; and the Rev. George slowly sat down again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, I&rsquo;m damned sorry for it,&rdquo; said Marmaduke,
+emphatically. &ldquo;It was a mean thing for Douglas to do, with all his brag
+about his honor.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The Rev. George covered his face with his handkerchief and sobbed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come, shut up, old fellow; and dont make an ass of yourself,&rdquo; said
+Marmaduke. &ldquo;What are you going to do, Conolly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must simply divorce her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go for heavy damages, Conolly. Knock a few thousand out of him, just to
+punish him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He could easily afford it. Besides, why should I punish him?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; cried the clergyman, &ldquo;you must not dream of
+a divorce. I implore you to abandon such an idea. Consider the disgrace, the
+impiety! The publicity would kill my father.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly shook his head.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no such thing as divorce known to the Church. &lsquo;What God
+hath joined together, let no man put asunder.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She had no right to bolt,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;Thats
+certain.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was married by a registrar,&rdquo; said Conolly; &ldquo;and as there
+is no such thing as civil marriage known to the Church, our union, from the
+ecclesiastical point of view, has no existence. We were not joined by God, in
+fact, in your sense. To deny her the opportunity of remarrying would be to
+compel her to live as an adulteress in the eye of the law, which, by the bye,
+would make me the father of Douglas&rsquo;s children. I cannot, merely because
+your people are afraid of scandal, take such a revenge on Marian as to refuse
+her the freedom she has sacrificed so much for. After all, since our marriage
+has proved a childless one, the only reason for our submitting to be handcuffed
+to one another, now that our hearts are no longer in the arrangement, is
+gone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The game began at Sark,&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;Douglas stuck to
+her there like a leech. He&rsquo;s been about the house here a good deal since
+she came back. I often wondered you didnt kick him out. But, of course, it was
+not my business to say anything. Was she huffed into going? You hadnt any row
+with her just before, had you?
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We never had rows.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was your mistake, Conolly. You should have heard poor Susanna and
+me fighting. We always ended by swearing we would never speak to one another
+again. Nothing duller than a smooth life. If you had given Marian something to
+complain of, she would have been too much taken up with it to bother about
+Douglas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But have you ascertained whither they have gone?&rdquo; said the
+clergyman, distractedly. &ldquo;Will you not follow them?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know nothing of their movements. Probably they are crossing to New
+York.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But surely you ought to follow her,&rdquo; said the Rev. George.
+&ldquo;You may yet be in time to save her from worse than death.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yah!&rdquo; said Marmaduke. &ldquo;Drop all that rot, George. Worse than
+death be hanged! Serves the family right! They are a jolly sight too virtuous:
+it will do them good to get shewn up a bit.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you have no respect for the convictions of a priest,&rdquo; exclaimed
+the Rev. George, shedding tears, &ldquo;you might at least be silent in the
+presence of a heartbroken brother and husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I dont want to shew any want of consideration for you or
+Conolly,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, sulkily. &ldquo;No doubt it&rsquo;s rough on
+you. But as to the feelings of the family, I tell you flatly that I dont care
+if the whole crew were brought to the Old Bailey to-morrow and convicted of
+bigamy. It would take the conceit out of them.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know not how to break this wretched news to my father,&rdquo; said the
+Rev. George, turning disconsolately from his sottish cousin to Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is no such uncommon occurrence. The less fuss made about it the
+better. She is not to blame, and I shall not be heard crying out misery and
+disgrace. Your family can very well follow my example. I have nothing to say
+against her, and I believe she has nothing to say against me. Nothing can
+prevent such publicity as a petition for divorce must entail. Your father will
+survive it, never fear.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman, remembering how vainly he had tried to change Conolly&rsquo;s
+intention when Marian was to be married, felt that he should succeed no better
+now that she was to be divorced. Silent and cast down, he sat dangling his
+handkerchief between his knees and leaning forward on his elbows toward the
+fire.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You must excuse me if I see my way straight through to the end. I
+daresay you would rather realize it gradually, inevitable as it is,&rdquo;
+added Conolly, looking down with some pity at his drooping figure. &ldquo;I
+cannot help my habit of mind. When are you going to be married?&rdquo; he
+continued, to Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know. The Countess is in a hurry. I&rsquo;m not. But I suppose it
+will be some time in spring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have made up your mind to it at last?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, I never had any particular objection to it, only I dont like to be
+hunted into a corner. Conny is a good little girl, and will make a steady wife.
+I dont like her mother; but as for herself, she is fond of me; and after all, I
+<i>did</i> lead her a dance long ago. Besides, old boy, the Earl is forking out
+handsomely; and as I have some notion of settling down to farm, his dust will
+come in conveniently as capital.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The clergyman rose, and slowly pulled on his woolen gloves.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If youre going, I will see you part of the way,&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll cheer you up. You know you neednt tell the governor until
+to-morrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had rather go alone, if you intend to behave as you did before.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never fear. I&rsquo;m as sober as a judge now. Come along. Away with
+melancholy! Youll have Douglas for a brother-in-law before this time next
+year.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+This seemed to have been in the clergyman&rsquo;s mind; for he shook hands with
+his host more distantly than usual. When they were gone, Conolly went to the
+laboratory, and rang for his neglected dinner, which he ate with all a
+traveller&rsquo;s appetite. From the dinner table he went straight to the
+organ, and played until a little before midnight, when, after a brief turn in
+the open air, he retired to bed, and was soon quietly asleep.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="book04"></a>BOOK IV</h2>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<p>
+Miss McQuinch spent Christmas morning in her sitting-room reading; a letter
+which had come by the morning post. It was dated the 17th December at New York:
+and the formal beginning and ending were omitted. This was an old custom
+between Marian and her cousin. In their girlish correspondence they had
+expressed their affection by such modes of address as &ldquo;My darling
+Marian,&rdquo; and &ldquo;My dearest Nelly.&rdquo; Subsequently they became
+oppressed by these ceremonies and dropped them. Thereafter their letters
+contained only the matter to be communicated and the signature.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are the only person in England,&rdquo; wrote Marian, &ldquo;to whom
+I dare write now. A month ago I had more correspondents than I had time to
+answer. Do you know, Nelly, I hesitated before commencing this letter, lest you
+should no longer care to have anything to do with me. That may have been an
+unworthy thought for a friend: but it was an unavoidable one for a woman.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And now comes the great vain question: What does everybody say? Oh, if I
+could only disembody myself; fly back to London for a few hours; and listen
+invisibly to society talking about me. I know this is mean: but one must fill
+up life with some mean curiosities. So please tell me what kind of sensation I
+have caused. Just the usual one. I suppose. Half the people never would have
+thought it; and the other half knew all along what it would come to. Well, I do
+not care much about the world in general; but I cannot quiet my conscience on
+the subject of my father and George. It must be very hard on papa that, after
+being disappointed in my marriage and having suffered long ago from what my
+mother did, he should now be disgraced by his daughter. For disgraced, alas! is
+the word. I am afraid poor George&rsquo;s prospects must be spoiled by the
+scandal, which, I know well, must be terrible. I thought my first duty was to
+leave Ned free, and to free myself, at all hazards; and so I did not dwell on
+the feelings and interests of others as much as I perhaps ought to have done.
+There is one point about which I am especially anxious. It never occurred to me
+before I went that people might say that my going was Ned&rsquo;s fault, and
+that he had treated me badly. You must contradict this with all your might and
+main if you hear it even hinted at.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no use in putting off the confession any longer, Nelly: I have
+made an utter fool of myself. <i>I wish I were back with Ned again</i>. There!
+what do you think of that? Now for another great confession, and a most
+humiliating one. Sholto is a&mdash;I dont know what epithet is fair. I suppose I have
+no right to call him an impostor merely because we were foolish enough to
+overrate him. But I can hardly believe now that we ever really thought that
+there were great qualities and powers latent beneath his proud reserve. Ned, I
+know, never believed in Sholto; and I, in my infinite wisdom, set that down to
+his not understanding him. Ned was right, as usual. If you want to see how
+selfish people are, and how skin-deep fashionable politeness is, take a voyage.
+Go with a picked company of the nice people you have met for an hour or so at a
+dinner or an at-home; and see how different they will appear when they have
+been cooped up in a ship with you day and night for a week. An ocean steamer is
+the next worst thing to the Palace of Truth. Poor Sholto did not stand the
+ordeal. He was ridiculously distant in his manner to the rest of the
+passengers, and in little matters at table and so forth he was really just as
+selfish as he could be. He was impatient because I was ill the first two days,
+and afterwards he seemed to think that I ought not to speak to anyone but
+himself. The doctor, who was very attentive to me, was his particular aversion;
+and it was on his account that we had our first quarrel, the upshot of which
+was a scene between them, which I overheard. One very fine day, when all the
+passengers were on deck, Sholto met the doctor in the saloon, and offered him a
+guinea for his attendance on me, telling him in the most offensively polite way
+that I would not trouble him for any further services. The doctor retorted very
+promptly and concisely; and though what he said was not dignified, I
+sympathized with him, and took care to be very friendly with him at dinner.
+(Meals take place on hoard ship at intervals of ten minutes: it is horrifying
+to see the quantity of food the elderly people consume.) To prevent further
+hostilities I took care to be always in the way when the doctor encountered
+Sholto afterwards. I cannot imagine Ned involving himself in such a paltry
+squabble. It is odd how things come about. I used to take Sholto&rsquo;s genius
+for granted, and think a great deal of it. In another sense, I used to take
+Ned&rsquo;s genius for granted, and think nothing of it. Now I have found out
+in a single fortnight that we saw all of Sholto that there was to be seen. His
+reserves of talent existed only in our imagination. He has absolutely no sense
+of humor; and he is always grumbling. Neither the servants, nor the food, nor
+the rooms, nor the wine, satisfy him. Imagine how this comes home to me, who,
+from not having heard grumbling for two years, had forgotten that men ever were
+guilty of it. I flirted a little, a very little, with the doctor; not because I
+meant anything serious, but because it amused me and made the trip pleasant.
+Sholto will not understand this. One day, on board, I was indiscreet enough to
+ask Sholto the use of a piece of machinery belonging to the ship. Ned would
+have known, or, if he had not, would very soon have found out. Sholto didnt
+know, and was weak enough to pretend that he did; so he snubbed me by saying
+that I could not understand it. This put me on my mettle; and I asked the
+surgeon that afternoon about it. The surgeon didnt know, and said so; but he
+appealed to the first officer, who explained it. I intended to revenge myself
+on Sholto by retailing the explanation to him next day; but unfortunately,
+whether through the first officer&rsquo;s want of perspicuity or my own
+stupidity, I was not a bit the wiser for the explanation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I can tell you nothing as to what we are likely to do next. As Sholto
+has given up all his prospects for me, I cannot honorably desert him. I know
+now that I have ruined myself for nothing, and I must at least try to hide from
+him that he has done likewise. I can see that he is not happy; but he tries so
+desperately to persuade himself that he is, and clings so to the idea that the
+world is well lost for me, that I have not the heart to undeceive him. So we
+are still lovers; and, cynical though it sounds, I make him a great deal
+happier in my insincerity than I could if I really loved him, because I humor
+him with a cunning quite incompatible with passion. He, on the other hand,
+being still sincere, tries my patience terribly with his jealousies and
+importunities. As he has nothing to do, he is almost always with me; and a man
+who has no office to go to&mdash;I dont care who he is&mdash;is a trial of which you can
+have no conception. So much for our present relations. But I fear&mdash;indeed I
+know&mdash;that they will not last long. I dare not look steadily at the future. In
+spite of all that he has sacrificed for me, I cannot live forever with him.
+There are times at which he inspires me with such a frenzy of aversion and
+disgust that I have to put the strongest constraint upon myself to avoid
+betraying my feelings to him. We intended going to the West Indies direct from
+here, in search of some idyllic retreat where we could live alone together. He
+still entertains this project; but as I have totally abandoned it I put him off
+with some pretext for remaining here whenever he mentions it. I have only one
+hope of gaining a separation without being open to the reproach of having
+deserted him. You remember how we disputed that Saturday about the merits of a
+grand passion, which I so foolishly longed for. Well, I have tried it, and
+proved it to be a lamentable delusion, selfish, obstinate, blind, intemperate,
+and transient. As it has evaporated from me, so it will evaporate from Sholto
+in the course of time. It would have done so already, but that his love was
+more genuine than mine. When the time comes, he will get rid of me without the
+least remorse; and so he will have no excuse for reviving his old complaints of
+my treachery.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One new and very disagreeable feature in my existence, which I had
+partly prepared myself for, is the fear of detection. We sailed before our
+flight had become public; and as there was fortunately no one on board who knew
+us, I had a nine days&rsquo; respite, and could fearlessly approach the other
+women, who, I suppose, would not have spoken to me had they known the truth.
+But here it is different. Ned&rsquo;s patents are so much more extensively
+worked here than in England, and the people are so go-ahead, that they take a
+great interest in him, and are proud of him as an American. The news got into
+the papers a few days after we arrived. To appreciate the full significance of
+this, you should know what American newspapers are. One of them actually
+printed a long account of my going away, with every paragraph headed in large
+print, &lsquo;Domestic Unhappiness,&rsquo; &lsquo;The Serpent in the
+Laboratory,&rsquo; &lsquo;The Temptation,&rsquo; &lsquo;The Flight,&rsquo;
+&lsquo;The Pursuit,&rsquo; and so on, all invented, of course. Other papers
+give the most outrageous anecdotes. Old jokes are revived and ascribed to us. I
+am accused of tearing his hair out, and he of coming home late at nights drunk.
+Two portraits of ferocious old women supposed to be Ned&rsquo;s mother-in-law
+have been published. The latest version appeared in a Sunday paper, and is
+quite popular in this hotel. According to it, Ned was in the habit of
+&lsquo;devoting me to science&rsquo; by trying electrical experiments on me.
+&lsquo;This,&rsquo; the account says, &lsquo;was kind of rough on the poor
+woman.&rsquo; The day before I &lsquo;scooted,&rsquo; a new machine appeared
+before the house, drawn by six horses. &lsquo;What are them men foolin&rsquo;
+round with, Mr. C.?&rsquo; said I. &lsquo;That&rsquo;s hubby&rsquo;s
+latest,&rsquo; replied Ned. &lsquo;I guess it&rsquo;s the boss electro-dynamic
+fixin&rsquo; in the universe. Full charge that battery with a pint of washing
+soda, an&rsquo; youll fetch up a current fit to ravage a cont&rsquo;nent. You
+shall have a try t&rsquo;morro&rsquo; mornin&rsquo;, Sal. Youre better seasoned
+to it than most Britishers; but if it dont straighten your hair and lift the
+sparks outer your eyelashes&mdash;!&rsquo; &lsquo;You bet it wont, Mr. C.,&rsquo;
+said I. That night (this is only what the paper says, mind) I stole out of bed;
+arranged the wires on each side of Ned so that if he stirred an inch he would
+make contact; charged the battery; and gently woke him, saying, &lsquo;Mr. C,
+love, dont stir for your life. Them things that&rsquo;s ticklin&rsquo; your
+whiskers is the conductors of that boss fixin&rsquo; o&rsquo; yourn. If I was
+you, I&rsquo;d lie still until the battery runs down.&rsquo; &lsquo;Darn it
+all,&rsquo; said Ned, afraid to lift his lips for a shout, and coming out in
+cold water all over the forehead, &lsquo;it wont run down for a week
+clear.&rsquo; &lsquo;That&rsquo;ll answer me nicely,&rsquo; I replied.
+&lsquo;Good-bye, Mr. C. Young Douglas from the corner grocery is waitin&rsquo;
+for me with a shay down the avenue.&rsquo; I cannot help laughing at these
+things, but they drive Sholto frantic. He is always described in them as a
+young man from some shop or other. He tries hard, out of delicacy, to keep the
+papers which contain them away from me; but I hear about them at breakfast, and
+buy them downstairs in the hall for myself. Another grievance of Sholto&rsquo;s
+is that I will not have meals privately. But my dislike to being always alone
+with him is greater than my dread that my secret will leak out, and that some
+morning I shall see in the people&rsquo;s faces that the Mrs. Forster who has
+so often been regaled with the latest account of the great scandal, is no other
+than the famous Mrs. Conolly. That evil day will come, sooner or later; but I
+had rather face it in one of these wonderful hotels than in a boarding-house,
+which I might be asked to leave. As to taking a house of our own, I shrink from
+any such permanent arrangement. We are noticed a good deal. Sholto is, of
+course, handsome and distinguished; and people take a fancy to me just as they
+used to long ago. I was once proud of this; but now it is a burden to me. For
+instance, there was a Mrs. Crawford staying here with her husband, a general,
+who has just built a house here. She was so determined to know me that I found
+it hard to keep her off without offending her. At last she got ill; and then I
+felt justified in nursing her. Sholto was very sulky because I did so, and
+wanted to know what business it was of mine. I did not trouble myself about his
+anger, and Mrs. Crawford was well in two days. In fact, I think Sholto was
+right in saying that she had only overeaten herself. After that I could avoid
+her no longer, and she was exceedingly kind to me. She wanted to introduce me
+to all her New York friends, and begged me to leave the hotel and go to her new
+mansion. There was plenty of room for us, she said. I did not know what to say.
+I could not repay her kindness by going to her house under false colors, and
+letting her introduce me to her circle; and yet I could make no reasonable
+excuse. At last, seeing that she attributed my refusals to pride, I told her
+plainly that if her friends were to learn my history by any accident they might
+not thank her for the introduction. She was quite confounded; but she did not
+abate her kindness in the least, although my reservation of confidence in only
+giving her a hint of the truth, checked her advances. You may think this an
+insane indiscretion on my part; but if you knew how often I have longed to
+stand up before everybody and proclaim who I am, and so get rid of the incubus
+of a perpetual falsehood, you would not be so much surprised. There is one
+unspeakable blessing in American law. It is quite easy to obtain a divorce. One
+can get free without sacrificing everything except bare existence. I do not
+care what anybody may argue to the contrary, our marriage laws are shameful.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall expect to hear from you very soon. If you desert me, Nelly,
+there is no such thing as friendship in the world. I want particularly to know
+what Ned did&mdash;as far as you know&mdash;when he heard the news. Is papa very angry?
+And, above all, could you find out how Mrs. Douglas is? I thought that Sholto
+would be uneasy and remorseful about her; but he does not really care half so
+much as I do. How selfish I have been! I used to flatter myself that I was
+thoughtful for others because I made a habit&mdash;a detestably self-conscious
+habit&mdash;of being considerate in trifles. And in the end, after being so
+vain-gloriously attentive to the momentary comfort of all connected with me, I
+utterly forgot them and thought only of myself when their whole happiness was
+concerned. I never knew how high I stood in my own estimation until I found how
+far the discovery of my folly and selfishness made me fall. Tell me
+everything&rdquo;. I cannot write any more now. My eyes are smarting: I feel as
+if I had been writing for a whole month instead of two days. Good-bye for three
+weeks.
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;MARIAN.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;P.S. I have just learnt from a very severe criticism in one of the
+papers that Mdlle. Lalage Virtue has failed here completely. I fear from the
+wording that her unfortunate habit was apparent to the audience.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<p>
+On a cold afternoon in January, Sholto Douglas entered a hold in New York, and
+ascended to a room on the first floor. Marian was sitting there, thinking, with
+a letter in her lap, She only looked up for a moment when he entered; and he
+plucked off his sealskin gloves and threw aside his overcoat in silence.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is an infernal day,&rdquo; he said presently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian sighed, and roused herself. &ldquo;The rooms look cheerless in winter
+without the open fireplaces we are accustomed to in England.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Damn the rooms!&rdquo; he muttered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian took up her letter again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know that he has filed a petition for divorce?&rdquo; he said,
+aggressively.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You might have mentioned it to me. Probably you have known it for days
+past.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. I thought it was a matter of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Or rather you did not think at nil. I suppose you would have left me in
+ignorance forever, if I had not heard from London myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it of importance, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Certainly it is&mdash;of vital importance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you any other news? From whom have you heard?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have received some private letters.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! I beg your pardon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Five minutes passed in silence. He looked out of the window, frowning. She sat
+as before.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much longer do you intend to stay in this place?&rdquo; he said,
+turning upon her suddenly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In New York?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is New York, I believe.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think we may as well stay here as anywhere else.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed! On what grounds have you arrived at that cheering
+conclusion?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian shrugged her shoulders. &ldquo;I dont know,&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nor do I. You do not seem happy here. At least, if you are, you fail to
+communicate your state of mind to those about you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So it seems.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does that mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That you do not seem to be happy either.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How in the devil&rsquo;s name can you expect me to be happy in this
+city? Do you think it is pleasant to have no alternative to the society of
+American men except that of a sulky woman?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto!&rdquo; said Marian, rising quickly, and looking at him in
+surprise.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Spare me these airs,&rdquo; he said, coldly. &ldquo;You will have to
+accustom yourself to hear the truth occasionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She sat down again. &ldquo;I am not giving myself airs,&rdquo; she said,
+earnestly. &ldquo;I am astonished. Have I really been sulky?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have been in the sulks for days past: and you are in them at this
+moment.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is some misunderstanding between us then; for you have seemed to
+me quite cross and out of sorts for the last week; and I thought you were out
+of temper when you came in just now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is rather an old-fashioned retort.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto: I do not know whether you intend it or not; but you are speaking
+very slightingly to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He muttered something, and walked across the room and back. &ldquo;I am quite
+clear on one point at least,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It was not for this sort of
+thing that I crossed the Atlantic with you; and you had bettor make our
+relations more agreeable if you wish me to make them permanent.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You to make them permanent? I do not understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall not shrink from explaining myself. If your husband&rsquo;s suit
+is undefended, he will obtain a decree which will leave you a single woman in
+six months. Now, whatever you may think to the contrary, there is not a club in
+London that would hold me in any way bound to marry you after the manner in
+which you have behaved. Let me remind you that your future position depends on
+your present conduct. You have apparently forgotten it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She looked at him; and he went back to the window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My husband&rsquo;s suit cannot be defended,&rdquo; she said.
+&ldquo;Doubtless you will act according to the dictates of the London
+clubs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not say so,&rdquo; he said, turning angrily. &ldquo;I shall act
+according to the dictates of my own common sense. And do not be too sure that
+the petition will be unopposed. The law recognizes the plea of
+connivance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But it would be a false plea,&rdquo; said Marian, raising her voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall not discuss that with you. Whether your husband was blind, or
+merely kept his eyes shut will not be decided by us. You have been warned. We
+will drop the subject now, if you please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you suppose,&rdquo; said Marian, with a bright color in her cheeks,
+&ldquo;that after what you have said, anything could induce me to marry
+you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He was startled, and remained for a moment motionless. Then he said, in his
+usual cold tone, &ldquo;As you please. You may think better of it. I will leave
+you for the present. When we meet again, you will be calmer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Without answering, he changed his coat for a silk jacket, transferred his
+cigar-case to a pocket in it, and went out. When he had passed the threshold,
+he hesitated, and returned.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why do you say good-bye?&rdquo; he said, after clearing his throat
+uneasily.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not like to leave you without saying it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I hope you have not misunderstood me, Marian. I did not mean that we
+should part.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know that. Nevertheless, we shall part. I will never sleep beneath the
+same roof with you again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come!&rdquo; he said, shutting the door: &ldquo;this is nonsense. You
+are out of temper.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you have already told me,&rdquo; she said, becoming pale.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, but&mdash;Marian: perhaps I may have spoken rather harshly just now; but
+I did not mean you to take it so. You must be reasonable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray let us have no more words about it. I need no apologies, and desire
+no advances. Good-bye is enough.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But, Marian,&rdquo; said he, coming nearer, &ldquo;you must not fancy
+that I have ceased to love you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Above all,&rdquo; said Marian, &ldquo;let us have no more of that. You
+say you hate this place and the life we lead here. I am heartily sick of it,
+and have been so for a long time.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let us go elsewhere.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, but not together. One word,&rdquo; she added resolutely, seeing his
+expression become fierce. &ldquo;I will not endure any violence, even of
+language, from you. I know of old what you are when you lose your temper; and
+if you insult me I will summon aid, and proclaim who I am.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you think I am going to strike you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, because you dare not. But I will not listen to oaths or
+abuse.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What have you to complain of? What is your grievance?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I make no complaint. I exercise the liberty I bought so dearly to go
+where I please and do what I please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And to desert me when I have sacrificed everything for you. I have
+incurred enormous expenses; alienated my friends; risked my position in
+society; and broken my mother&rsquo;s heart for your sake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But for that I would have left you before. I am very sorry.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have heard something in that letter which makes you hope that your
+husband will take you back. Not a woman in London will speak to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell you I am not going back. Oh, Sholto, dont be so mean. Can we not
+part with dignity? We have made a mistake. Let us acknowledge it quietly, and
+go our several ways.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will not be got rid of so easily as you suppose,&rdquo; he said, his
+face darkening menacingly. &ldquo;Do you think I believe in your going out
+alone from this hotel and living by yourself in a strange city? Come! who is
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who is&mdash;&mdash;? What do you mean?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What new connexion have you formed? You were very anxious about our ship
+returning the other day&mdash;anxious about the mails, of course. Perhaps also about
+the surgeon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I understand. You think I am leaving you to go to some other man. I will
+tell you now the true reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do,&rdquo; said he, sarcastically, biting his lip.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will. I am leaving you because, instead of loving you, as I foolishly
+thought I could, I neither respect nor even like you. You are utterly selfish
+and narrow-minded; and I deserve my disappointment for having deserted for your
+sake a far better man. I am sorry you have sacrificed so much for me; but if
+you had been worthy of a woman&rsquo;s regard, you would not have lost
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas stared at her. &ldquo;<i>I</i> selfish and narrow-minded!&rdquo; he
+said, with the calm of stupefaction.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I may have been narrow-minded in devoting myself so entirely to
+you,&rdquo; said he slowly, after a pause. &ldquo;But, though I do not ask for
+gratitude, I think I have been sufficiently a loser to disregard such a
+monstrous assertion as that I am selfish.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You show your selfishness by dwelling on what you have lost. You never
+think of what I have lost. I make no profession of unselfishness. I am
+suffering for my folly and egoism; and I deserve to suffer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;In what way, pray, are you suffering? You came here because you had a
+wretched home, and a husband who was glad to be rid of you. You do what you
+like, and have what you like. Name one solitary wish of yours that has not been
+silently gratified.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not find fault with you. You have been generous in supplying me
+with luxuries such as money can obtain. But it was not the want of money that
+made me fancy my home wretched. It is not true that I can do as I like. How
+many minutes is it since you threatened to cast me off if I did not make myself
+agreeable to you? Can you boast of your generosity after taunting me with my
+dependence on you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You misunderstood me, Marian. I neither boasted, nor threatened, nor
+taunted. I have even apologized for that moment&rsquo;s irritation. If you
+cannot forgive such a trifle, you yourself can have very little
+generosity.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps not. I do not violently resent things; but I cannot forget them,
+nor feel as I did before they happened.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You think so at present. Let us cease this bickering. Lovers&rsquo;
+quarrels should not be carried too far.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am longing to cease it. It worries me; and it does not alter my
+determination in the least.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do mean. Dont look at me like that: you make me angry instead of
+frightening me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And do you think I will suffer this quietly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You may suffer it as you please,&rdquo; said Marian, stepping quietly to
+the wall, and pressing a button. &ldquo;I will never see you again if I can
+help it. If you follow me, or persecute me in any way, I will appeal to the
+police for protection as Mrs. Conolly. I despise you more than I do any one on
+earth.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He turned away, and snatched up his coat and hat. She stood apparently watching
+him quietly, but really listening with quickened heart to his loud and
+irregular breathing. As he opened the door to go out, he was confronted on the
+threshold by a foreign waiter.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Vas you reeng?&rdquo; said the waiter doubtfully, retreating a step.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will not be accountable for that woman&rsquo;s expenses from this time
+forth,&rdquo; said Douglas, pointing at her, &ldquo;You can keep her at your
+own risk, or turn her into the streets to pursue her profession, as you
+please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The waiter, smiting vaguely, looked first at the retreating figure of Douglas,
+and then at Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I want another room, if you please,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;One on any
+of the upper floors will do; but I must have my things moved there at
+once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Her instructions were carried out after some parley. In the meantime,
+Douglas&rsquo;s man servant appeared, and said that he had been instructed to
+remove his master&rsquo;s luggage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Mr. Forster leaving the hotel?&rdquo; she asked.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know his arrangements, madam.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I guess I do, then,&rdquo; said a sulky man, who was preparing to wheel
+away Marian&rsquo;s trunk. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s about to shift his billet to the
+Gran&rsquo; Central.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian, still in a towering rage, sat down in her new room to consider her
+situation. To fix her attention, which repeatedly wandered to what had passed
+between her and Douglas, she counted her money, and found that she had, besides
+a twenty pound note which she had brought with her from London, only a few
+loose dollars in her purse. Her practice in housekeeping at Westbourne Terrace
+and Holland Park had taught her the value of money too well to let her suppose
+that she could afford to remain at a first rate American hotel with so small a
+sum in her possession. At home Conolly had made her keep a separate banking
+account; and there was money to her credit there; but in her ignorance of the
+law, she was not sure that she had not forfeited all her property by eloping.
+She resolved to move at once into some cheap lodging, and to live economically
+until she could ascertain the true state of her affairs, or until she could
+obtain some employment, to support her. She faced poverty without fear, never
+having experienced it.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was still early in the afternoon when she left the hotel and drove to the
+Crawfords&rsquo;.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So you have come at last,&rdquo; cried Mrs. Crawford, who was fifty
+years of age and stout, but leaner in the face than fat Englishwomen of that
+age usually are.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I just expected you&rsquo;d soon git tired of being grand all by
+yourself in the hotel yonder.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I fear I shall have to be the reverse of grand all by myself in some
+very shabby lodging,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;Dont be surprised Mrs.
+Crawford. Can one live in New York on ten dollars a week?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;<i>You</i> cant live on ten dollars a week in New York nor on a hundred.
+You rode here, didnt you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, of course.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course. If you have only ten dollars a week you should have walked. I
+know the sort you are, Mrs. Forster. You wont be long getting rid of your
+money, no matter where you live. But whats wrong? Hows your husband?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know. I hope he is quite well,&rdquo; said Marian, her voice
+trembling a little. &ldquo;Mrs. Crawford: you are the only friend I have in
+America; and you have been so very kind to me that since I must trouble some
+one, I have ventured to come to you. The truth is that I have left my husband;
+and I have only about one hundred dollars in the world. I must live on that
+until I get some employment, or perhaps some money of my own from
+England.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Chut, child! Nawnsnse!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, with benevolent
+intolerance. &ldquo;You go right back to your husband. I spose youve had a
+rumpus with him; but you mustnt mind that. All men are a bit selfish; and I
+should say from what I have seen of him that he is no exception to the rule.
+But you cant have perfection. He&rsquo;s a fine handsome fellow; and he knows
+it. And, as for you, I dont know what they reckon you in England; but youre the
+best-looking woman in Noo York: thats surtn. It&rsquo;s a pity for such a pair
+to fall out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is not selfish,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;You never saw him. I am
+afraid I must shock you, Mrs. Crawford. Mr. Forster is not my husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No! Do! Did you ever tell the General that?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;General Crawford! Oh, no.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Think of that man being cuter than me, a woman! He always said so. And
+the grit you must have, to tell it out as cool as that! Well! I&rsquo;m sorry
+to hear it though, Mrs. Forster. It&rsquo;s a bad account&mdash;a very bad one. But
+if I take what you said just now rightly, youre married.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am. I have deserted a very good husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a pity you didnt find that out a little sooner, isnt
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know, Mrs. Crawford. I thought I was acting for the best.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thought you were acting for the best in running away from a good
+husband! Well, you British aristocrats are singular. You throw stones at us
+because our women are so free and our divorces so easy. Yet youre always
+scandlizing us; and now <i>you</i> tell me youve done it on morl grounds! Who
+educated you, child? And what do you intend to do now?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For the present, only to get a lodging. Will you tell me where I should
+look for one? I dont know the east from the west end of this town; and I am so
+inexperienced that I might make a mistake easily as to the character of the
+places. Will you direct me to some street or quarter in which I should he
+likely to find suitable rooms? I can live very economically.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know what to do,&rdquo; said Mrs. Crawford, perplexedly, turning
+her rings on her fingers. &ldquo;You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you
+so pretty!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps you would rather not assist me. You may tell me so candidly. I
+shall not be offended.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You mustnt take me up like that. I must have a talk with the General
+about you. I dont feel like letting you go into some ordinary place by
+yourself. But I cant ask you to stay here without consulting&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no, you must not think of any such thing: I must begin to face the
+world alone at once. I assure you, Mrs. Crawford, I could not come here. I
+should only keep your friends away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But nobody knows you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sooner or later I should meet someone who does. There are hundreds of
+people who know me by sight, who travel every year. Besides, my case is a very
+public one, unfortunately. May I take you into my confidence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you wish, my dear. I dont ask you for it; but I will take it
+kindly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know you will. You must have heard all about me. Mr. Forster&rsquo;s
+real name is Douglas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Crawford stifled a whoop of surprise. &ldquo;And you! Are you&mdash;&mdash;?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only think! And that was Douglas! Why, I thought he was a
+straight-haired, sleeky, canting snake of a man. And you too are not a bit like
+what I thought. You are quite a person, Mrs.&mdash;Mrs. Conolly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no right to bear that name any longer. Pray call me by my assumed
+name still, and keep my secret. I hope you do not believe all the newspapers
+said?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, of course not,&rdquo; said Mrs. Crawford. &ldquo;But whose fault was
+it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mine. Altogether mine. I wish you would tell people that Mr. Conolly is
+blameless in the matter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He will take care of his own credit, never fear. I am sure you got some
+provocation: I know what men are. The General is not my first husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I got no provocation. Mr. Conolly is not like other men. I got
+discontented because I had nothing to desire. And now, about the lodgings, Mrs.
+Crawford. Do not think I am changing the subject from reticence. It is the
+question of money that makes me anxious. All my resources would be swallowed up
+at the hotel in less than a week.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lodgings? You mean rooms, I guess. People here mostly go to
+boarding-houses. And as to the cheapness, you dont know what cheapness is. Cant
+you make some arrangement with your great relations in England? Have you no
+property of your own?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot tell whether my property remains my own or not. You must regard
+me as a poor woman. I am quite determined to have the lodgings; and I should
+like to arrange about them at once; for I am rather upset by something that
+happened this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, if you must, you must, I know a place that might suit you: I lived
+in it myself when I was not so well off as I am at present. It is a little
+down-town; but you will have to put up with that for the sake of
+economy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Crawford, who had read in the papers of her guest&rsquo;s relationship to
+the Earl of Carbury, then sent for her carriage, and dressed herself
+handsomely. When they had gone some distance, they entered a wide street,
+crossed half way along by an avenue and an elevated railway.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do you think of this neighborhood?&rdquo; said Mrs. Crawford.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is a fine, wide street,&rdquo; replied Marian; &ldquo;but it looks as
+if it needed to be swept and painted.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The other end is quieter. I&rsquo;m afraid you wont like living
+here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian had hitherto thought of such streets as thoroughfares, not as places in
+which she could dwell. &ldquo;Beggars cannot be choosers,&rdquo; she said, with
+affected cheerfulness, looking anxiously ahead for the promised quiet part.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Boarding-houses are so much the rule here, that it is not easy to get
+rooms. You will find Mrs. Myers a good soul, and though the house is not much
+to look at, it is comfortable enough inside.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The appearance of the street improved as they went on; and the house they
+stopped at, though the windows were dingy and the paint old, was better than
+Marian had hoped for a minute before. She remained in the carriage whilst her
+companion conferred with the landlady within. Twenty minutes passed before Mrs.
+Crawford reappeared, looking much perplexed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Myers has a couple of rooms that would do you very well; only you
+would be on the same floor with a woman who is always drunk. She has pawned a
+heap of clothes, and promises to leave every day; but Mrs. Myers hasnt got rid
+of her yet. It&rsquo;s very provoking. She&rsquo;s quiet, and doesnt trouble
+any one; but still, of course&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She cannot interfere with me,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;If that is the
+only objection, let it pass. I need have nothing to say to her. If she is not
+violent nor noisy, her habits are her own affair.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, she wont trouble you. You can keep to yourself, English
+fashion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Then let us agree at once. I cannot face any more searching and
+bargaining.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Youre looking pale. Are you sure you are not ill?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. It is nothing. I am rather tired.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They went in together; and Marian was introduced to Mrs. Myers, a nervous widow
+of fifty. The rooms were small, and the furniture and carpets old and worn; but
+all was clean; and there was an open fireplace in the sitting-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They will do very nicely, thank you,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I will
+send for my luggage; and I think I will just telegraph my new address and a few
+words to a friend in London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you feel played out, I can see after your luggage,&rdquo; said Mrs.
+Crawford. &ldquo;But I advise you to come back with me; have a good lunch at
+Delmonico&rsquo;s; and send your cablegram yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian roused herself from a lassitude which was coming upon her, and took Mrs.
+Crawford&rsquo;s advice. When they returned to the richer quarter of the town,
+and especially after luncheon, her spirits revived. At the hotel she observed
+that the clerk was surprised when, arranging for the removal of her luggage and
+the forwarding of her letters, she mentioned her new address. Douglas, she
+found, had paid all expenses before leaving. She did not linger in the
+building; for the hotel staff stared at her curiously. She finished her
+business by telegraphing to Elinor: &ldquo;<i>Separated. Write to new address.
+Have I forfeited my money?</i>&rdquo; This cost her nearly five dollars.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only that you must find out about your money, I wouldnt have let you
+spend all that,&rdquo; said Mrs. Crawford.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not think it would have cost so much,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I
+was horrified when he named the price. However, it cannot be helped.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We may as well be getting back to Mrs. Myers&rsquo;s now. It&rsquo;s
+late.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I suppose so,&rdquo; said Marian, sighing. &ldquo;I am sorry I did
+not ask Nelly to telegraph me. I am afraid my funds will not last so long as I
+thought.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, we shall see. The General was greatly taken with you for the way
+you looked after me when I was ill yonder; so you have two friends in Noo York
+City, at any rate.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have proved that to me to-day. I am afraid I shall have to trouble
+you further if I get bad news. You will have to help me to find some
+work.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. Never mind that until the bad news comes. I hope you wont mope at
+Mrs. Myers&rsquo;s. How does the American air agree with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pretty well. I was sick for the first two days of our passage across,
+and somehow my digestion seems to have got out of order in consequence. Of late
+I have been a little unwell in the mornings.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh! Thats so, is it? Humph! I see I shall have to come and look after
+you occasionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Never you mind, my dear. But dont go moping, nor going without food to
+save money. Take care of yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is nothing serious,&rdquo; said Marian, with a smile. &ldquo;Only a
+passing indisposition. You need not be uneasy about me. This is the house, is
+it not? I shall lose myself whenever I go out for a walk here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is it. Now good-bye. I&rsquo;ll see you soon. Meanwhile, you take
+care of yourself, as youre told.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It was dark when Marian entered her new residence. Mrs. Myers was standing at
+the open door, remonstrating with a milkman. Marian hastily assured her that
+she knew the way, and went upstairs alone. She was chilled and weary; her
+spirits had fallen again during her journey from the telegraph office. As she
+approached her room, hoping to find a good fire, she heard a flapping noise,
+which was suddenly interrupted by the rattle of a falling poker, followed by
+the exclamation, in a woman&rsquo;s voice, &ldquo;Och, musha, I wouldnt doubt
+you.&rdquo; Marian, entering, saw a robust young woman kneeling before the
+grate, trying to improve a dull fire that burnt there. She had taken up the
+poker and placed it standing against the bars so that it pointed up the
+chimney; and she was now using her apron fanwise as a bellows. The fire glowed
+in the draught; and Marian, by its light, noted with displeasure that the young
+woman&rsquo;s calico dress was soiled, and her hair untidy.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;God bless us!&rdquo; ejaculated the servant, starting and turning a
+comely dirty face toward Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did I frighten you?&rdquo; said Marian, herself startled by the
+exclamation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You put the life acrass in me,&rdquo; said the servant, panting, and
+pressing her hand on her bosom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry for that. I was going to say that I think you need not take
+any further trouble with the fire. It will light of itself now.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is your name?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Liza Redmon&rsquo;, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should like some light, Eliza, if you please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yis, miss. Would you wish to take your tay now, miss?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Eliza went away with alacrity. Marian put off her bonnet and furs, and sat down
+before the fire to despond over the prospect of living in that shabby room,
+waited on by that slipshod Irish girl, who roused in her something very like
+racial antipathy. Presently Eliza returned, carrying a small tray, upon which
+she had crowded a lighted kerosene lamp, a china tea service, a rolled-up table
+cloth, a supply of bread and butter, and a copper kettle. When she had placed
+the lamp on the mantelpiece, and the kettle by the fire, she put the tray on
+the sofa, and proceeded to lay the cloth, which she shook from its folds and
+spread like a sail in the air by seizing two of the corners in her hands, and
+pulling them apart whilst she held the middle fold in her teeth. Then she
+adroitly wafted it over the table, making a breeze in which the lamp flared and
+Marian blinked. Her movements were very rapid; and in a few moments she had
+arranged the tea service, and was ready to withdraw.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My luggage will be sent here this evening or to-morrow, Eliza. Will you
+tell me when it comes?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yis, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You know that my name is <i>Mrs</i>. Forster, do you not?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Forster. Yis, miss.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian made no further attempt to get miss changed to maam; and Eliza left the
+room. As she crossed the landing, she was called by someone on the same floor.
+Marian started at the sound. It was a woman&rsquo;s voice, disagreeably husky:
+a voice she felt sure she had heard before, and yet one that was not familiar
+to her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Eliza. Eli-za!&rdquo; Marian shuddered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yis, yis,&rdquo; said Eliza, impatiently, opening a door.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come here, alanna,&rdquo; said the voice, with mock fondness. The door
+was then closed, and Marian could hear the murmur of the conversation which
+followed. It was still proceeding when Mrs. Myers came in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I didnt ought to have left you to find your way up here alone, Mrs.
+Forster,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;but I do have such worry sometimes that
+I&rsquo;m bound to leave either one thing or another undone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It does not matter at all, Mrs. Myers. Your servant has been very
+attentive to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The hired girl? She&rsquo;s smart, she is&mdash;does everything right slick
+away. The only trouble is to keep her out of that room. She&rsquo;s in there
+now. Unless I am always after her, she is slipping out on errands, pawning and
+buying drink for that unfortunate young creature.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For whom?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A person that Mrs. Crawford promised to tell you about.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So she did,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;But I did not know she was
+young.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She&rsquo;s older than you, a deal. I knew her when she was a little
+girl, and I often forget how old she is. She was the prettiest child! Even now
+she would talk you into anything. But I cant help her. It&rsquo;s nothing but
+drink, drink, drink from morning til night. There&rsquo;s Eliza coming out of
+her room. Eliza.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yis, maam,&rdquo; said Eliza, looking in.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You stay in the house, Eliza, do you hear? I wont have you go
+out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Could I spake a word to you, maam?&rdquo; said Eliza, lowering her
+voice.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, Eliza. I&rsquo;m engaged with Mrs. Forster.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She wants to see you,&rdquo; whispered Eliza.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Go downrs, Eliza, this minute. I wont see her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Myers,&rdquo; cried the voice. Marian again shrank from the sound.
+&ldquo;Mrs. My-ers. Aunt Sally. Come to your poor Soozy.&rdquo; Mrs. Myers
+looked perplexedly at Marian. The voice resumed after a pause, with an affected
+Yankee accent, &ldquo;I guess I&rsquo;ll raise a shine if you dont come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I must go,&rdquo; said Mrs. Myers. &ldquo;I promise you, Mrs. Forster,
+she shall not annoy you. She shall go this week. It aint right that you should
+be disturbed by her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Myers went into the other room. Eliza ran downrs, and Marian heard her
+open the house door softly and go out. She also heard indistinctly the voices
+of the landlady and her lodger. After a time these ceased, and she drank her
+tea in peace. She was glad that Mrs. Myers did not return, although she made no
+more comfortable use of her solitude than to think of her lost home in Holland
+Park, comparing it with her dingy apartment, and pressing her handkerchief upon
+her eyes when they became too full of tears. She had passed more than an hour
+thus when Eliza roused her by announcing the arrival of the luggage. Thereupon
+she bestirred herself to superintend its removal to her bedroom, where she
+unpacked a trunk which contained her writing-case and some books. With these
+were stowed her dresses, much miscellaneous finery, and some handsomely worked
+underclothing. Eliza, standing by, could not contain her admiration; and
+Marian, though she did not permit her to handle the clothes, had not the heart
+to send her away until she had seen all that the trunk contained. Marian heard
+her voice afterward in the apartment of the drunken lodger, and suspected from
+its emphasis that the girl was describing the rare things she had seen.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian imparted some interest to her surroundings that evening by describing
+them in a letter to Elinor. When she had finished, she was weary; and the fire
+was nearly out. She looked at her watch, and, finding to her surprise that is
+was two hours after midnight, rose to go to bed. Before leaving the room, she
+stood for a minute before the old-fashioned pier-glass, with one foot on the
+fender, and looked at her image, pitying her own weariness, and enjoying the
+soft beauty of her face and the gentleness of her expression. Her appearance
+did not always please her; but on this occasion the mirror added so much to the
+solace she had found in writing to Elinor, that she felt almost happy as she
+took the lamp to light her to her bedroom.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She had gone no farther than the landing when a sound of unsteady footsteps on
+the stairs caused her to stop. As she lifted the lamp and looked up, she saw a
+strange woman descending toward her, holding the balustrade, and moving as
+though with pains in her limbs. This woman, whose black hair fell nearly to her
+waist, was dressed in a crimson satin dressing-gown, warmly padded, and much
+stained and splashed. She had fine dark eyes, and was young, bold-looking, and
+handsome; but when she came nearer, the moist pallor of her skin, the slackness
+of her lower lip and jaw, and an eager and worn expression in her fine eyes,
+gave her a thirsty, reckless leer that filled Marian with loathing. Her aspect
+conveyed the same painful suggestion as her voice had done before, but more
+definitely; for it struck Marian, with a shock, that Conolly, in the grotesque
+metamorphosis of a nightmare, might appear in some such likeness. The lamp did
+not seem to attract her attention at first; but when she came within a few
+steps, she saw some one before her, and, dazzled by the light, peered at
+Marian, who lost her presence of mind, and stood motionless. Gradually the
+woman&rsquo;s expression changed to one of astonishment. She came down to the
+landing; stopped, grasping the handrail to steady herself; and said in her
+husky voice:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, Lord! It&rsquo;s not a woman at all. It&rsquo;s D. Ts.&rdquo; Then,
+not quite convinced by this explanation, she suddenly stretched out her hand
+and attempted to grasp Marian&rsquo;s arm. Missing her aim, she touched her on
+the breast, and immediately cried, &ldquo;Mrs. Ned!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian shrank from her touch, and recovered her courage.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you know me?&rdquo; she said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I should rather think I do. I have gone off a good deal in my
+appearance, or you would know me. Youve seen me on the stage, I suppose.
+I&rsquo;m your sister-in-law. Perhaps you didnt know you had one.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Are you Miss Susanna Conolly?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats who I am. At least I am what is left of Miss Susanna. You dont
+look overjoyed to make my acquaintance; but I was as good-looking as you once.
+Take my advice, Mrs. Ned: dont drink champagne. The end of champagne is brandy;
+and the end of brandy is&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; Susanna made a grimace and indicated herself.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid we shall disturb the house if we talk here. We had better
+say good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, no. Dont be in such a hurry to get rid of me. Come into my room with
+me for a while. I&rsquo;ll talk quietly: I&rsquo;m not drunk. Ive just slept it
+off; and I was coming down for some more. You may as well keep me from it for a
+few minutes. I suppose Ned hasnt forbidden you to speak to me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; said Marian, yielding to a feeling of pity. &ldquo;Come
+into my room. There is a scrap of fire there still.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We used to lodge in this room long ago, in my father&rsquo;s
+time,&rdquo; said Susanna, following Marian into the room, and reclining with a
+groan on the sofa. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m rather in a fog, you know: I cant make out
+how the deuce you come to be here. Did Ned send you to look after me? Is he in
+New York? Is he here?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Marian, foreseeing with a bitter pang and a terrible
+blush what must follow. &ldquo;He is in England. I am alone here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, why&mdash;? what&mdash;? I dont understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Have you not read the papers?&rdquo; said Marian, in a low voice,
+turning her head away.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Papers! No, not since I saw an account of my brilliant <i>debût</i>
+here, of which I suppose you have heard. I never read: I do nothing but drink.
+What has happened?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian hesitated.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is it any secret?&rdquo; said Susanna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, it is no secret,&rdquo; said Marian, turning, and looking at her
+steadily. &ldquo;All the world knows it. I have left your brother; and I do not
+know whether I am still his wife, or whether I am already divorced.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You dont mean to say youre on the loose!&rdquo; cried Susanna.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian was silent.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I always told Ned that no woman could stand him,&rdquo; said Susanna,
+with sodden vivacity, after a pause, during which Marian had to endure her
+astonished stare. &ldquo;He always thought you the very pink of propriety. Of
+course, there was another man in it. Whats become of him, if I may ask?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have left him,&rdquo; said Marian, sternly. &ldquo;You need impute no
+fault to your brother in the matter, Miss Conolly. He is quite
+blameless.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Susanna, not in the least impressed, &ldquo;he always
+is blameless. How is Bob? I mean Marmaduke, your cousin. I call him Bob, short
+for Cherry Bob.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is very well, thank you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, Bob was not a blameless man, but altogether the reverse; and he was
+a capital fellow to get on with. Ned was always right, always sure of himself;
+and there was an end. He has no variety. I wonder will Bob ever get
+married?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;He is going to be married in the spring.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Who to?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To Lady Constance Car&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Damn that woman!&rdquo; exclaimed Susanna. &ldquo;I hate her. She was
+always throwing herself at his head. Curse her! Damn her! I wish&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Miss Conolly,&rdquo; said Marian: &ldquo;I hope you will not think me
+rude; but I am very tired, and it is very late. I must go to bed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, will you come and see me to-morrow? It will be an act of charity.
+I am dying here all alone. You are a nice woman, and I know what you must feel
+about me; but you will get used to me. I wont annoy you. I wont swear. I wont
+say anything about your cousin. I&rsquo;ll keep sober. Do come. You are a good
+sort: Bob always said so; and you might save me from destroying myself. Say
+youll come.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you particularly wish it, I will,&rdquo; said Marian, not disguising
+her reluctance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Youd rather not, of course,&rdquo; said Susanna, despondently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I cannot be of any use to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For that matter, no one is likely to be of much use to me. But
+it&rsquo;s hard to be imprisoned in this den without anyone to speak to but
+Eliza. However, do as you please. I did as I pleased; and I must take the
+consequences. Just tell me one thing. Did you find me out by accident?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That was odd.&rdquo; Susanna groaned again as she rose from the sofa.
+&ldquo;Well, since you wont have anything to do with me, good-bye. Youre quite
+right.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid you if you are in
+trouble.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do,&rdquo; said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian&rsquo;s hand with her
+moist palm. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll get on better than you think. I like you, and
+I&rsquo;ll make you like me. If I could only keep from it for two days, I
+shouldnt be a bit disgusting. Good-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; said Marian, overcoming her repugnance to
+Susanna&rsquo;s hand, and clasping it. &ldquo;Remember that my name here is
+Mrs. Forster.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never be sorry for having
+compassion on me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Wont you take a light?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont require one. I can find what I want in the dark.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly up to her own bedroom and
+locked herself in. Her first loathing for Susanna had partly given way to pity;
+but the humiliation of confessing herself to such a woman as an unfaithful wife
+was galling. When she went to sleep she dreamed that she was unmarried and at
+home with her father, and that the household was troubled by Susanna, who
+lodged in a room upstairs.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<p>
+Sholto Douglas returned to England in the ship which carried Marian&rsquo;s
+letter to Elinor. On reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel at Euston,
+and sent his man next day to take rooms for him at the West End. Early in the
+afternoon the man reported that he had secured apartments in Charles Street,
+St. James&rsquo;s. It was a fine wintry day, and Douglas resolved to walk, not
+without a sense of being about to run the gauntlet.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever taken in his life. Everybody he
+knew seemed to be lying in wait for him. In Portland Place he met Miss
+McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, looked at him indignantly,
+and cut him. At the Laugham Hotel he passed a member of his club, who seemed
+surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent Street he saw Lady Carbury&rsquo;s
+carriage waiting before a shop. He hurried past the door, for he had lost
+courage at his encounter with Elinor. There were, however, two doors; and as he
+passed the second, the Countess, Lady Constance, and Marmaduke came out just
+before him.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where the devil is the carriage?&rdquo; said Marmaduke, loudly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush! Everybody can hear you,&rdquo; said Lady Constance.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What do I care whether&mdash;Hal-lo! Douglas! How are you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke proffered his hand. Lady Carbury plucked her daughter by the sleeve
+and hurried to her carriage, after returning Douglas&rsquo;s stern look with
+the slightest possible bow. Constance imitated her mother. Douglas haughtily
+raised his hat.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How obstinate Marmaduke is!&rdquo; said the Countess, when she had
+bidden the coachman drive away at once. &ldquo;He is going to walk down Regent
+Street with that man.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you didnt cut him, mamma.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I never dreamed of his coming back so soon; and, of course, I cannot
+tell whether he will be cut or not. We must wait and see what other people will
+do. If we meet him again we had better not see him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look here, old fellow,&rdquo; said Marmaduke, as he walked away with
+Douglas. &ldquo;Youve come back too soon. It wont do. Take my advice and go
+away again until matters have blown over. Hang it, it&rsquo;s too flagrant! You
+have not been away two months.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I believe you are going to be married,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;Allow
+me to congratulate you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. Fine day, isnt it?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very fine.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke walked on in silence. Douglas presently recommenced the conversation.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I only arrived in London last night. I have come from New York.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Indeed. Pleasant voyage?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very pleasant.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Another pause.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Has anything special happened during my absence?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing special.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Was there much fuss made about my going?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, there was a great deal of fuss made about it. Excuse my alluding
+to the subject again. I shouldnt have done so if you hadnt asked me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, my dear fellow, you neednt stand on ceremony with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all very well, Douglas; but when I alluded to it just now,
+you as good as told me to mind my own business.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I told you so!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not in those words, perhaps. However, the matter is easily settled. You
+bolted with Marian. I know that, and you know it. If the topic is disagreeable,
+say so, and it is easily avoided. If you want to talk about it, better not
+change the subject when I mention it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have taken offence needlessly. I changed the subject
+inadvertently.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hm! Well, has she come back with you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do you mean that youve thrown her over?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have said nothing of the kind. As a matter of fact, she has thrown me
+over.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats very strange. You are not going to marry her then, I
+suppose?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How can I? I tell you she has deserted me. Let me remind you, Lind, that
+I should not be bound to marry her in any case, and I shall certainly not do so
+now. If I chose to justify myself, I could easily do so by her own
+conduct.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I expect you will not be troubled for any justification. People seem to
+have made up their minds that you were wrong in the first instance, and you
+ought to keep out of the way until they have forgotten&mdash;&mdash;Oh, confound it,
+here&rsquo;s Conolly! Now, for God&rsquo;s sake, dont let us have any
+row.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas whitened, and took a step back into the roadway before he recovered
+himself; for Conolly had come upon them suddenly as they turned into Charles
+Street. A group of gentlemen stood on the steps of the clubhouse which stands
+at that corner.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Bless me!&rdquo; said Conolly, with perfect good humor. &ldquo;Douglas
+back again! Why on earth did you run away with my wife? and what have you done
+with her?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The party on the steps ceased chatting and began to stare.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is not the place to call me to account, sir,&rdquo; said Douglas,
+still on his guard, and very ill at ease. &ldquo;If you have anything to say to
+me which cannot be communicated through a friend, it had better be said in
+private.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall trouble you for a short conversation,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+&ldquo;How do you do, Lind? Where can we go? I do not belong to any
+club.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;My apartments are at hand,&rdquo; said Douglas.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose I had better leave you,&rdquo; said Marmaduke.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your presence will not embarrass me in the least,&rdquo; said Conolly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have not sought this interview,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;I
+therefore prefer Mr. Lind to witness what passes.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly nodded assent; and they went to a house on the doorstep of which
+Douglas&rsquo;s man was waiting, and ascended to the front drawing-room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Now, sir,&rdquo; said Douglas, without inviting his guests to sit down.
+Conolly alone took off his hat. Marmaduke went aside, and looked out of the
+window.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know the circumstances that have led to your return,&rdquo; said
+Conolly; &ldquo;so we need not go into that. I want you, however, to assist me
+on one point. Do you know what Marian&rsquo;s pecuniary position is at
+present?&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I decline to admit that it concerns me in any way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Of course not. But it concerns me, as I do not wish that she should be
+without money in a foreign city. She has telegraphed a question about her
+property to Miss McQuinch. That by itself is nothing; but her new address,
+which I first saw on a letter this morning, happens to be known to me as that
+of a rather shabby lodging-house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I know nothing of it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do: it means that she is poor. I can guess at the sum she carried with
+her to America. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me whether you have
+ever given her money; if so, how much; and what her expenditure has been, you
+will enable me to estimate her position at present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not know that you have any right to ask such questions.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I do not assert any right to ask them. On the contrary, I have explained
+their object. I shall not press them, if you think that an answer will in any
+way compromise you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no fear of being compromised. None whatever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Conolly nodded, and waited for an answer.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I may say that my late trip has cost me a considerable sum. I paid all
+the expenses; and Miss&mdash;Mrs. Conolly did not, to my knowledge, disburse a single
+fraction. She did not ask me to give her money. Had she done so, I should have
+complied at once.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. Thats all right: she will be able to hold out until she hears
+from us. Good-afternoon.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Allow me to add, sir, before you go,&rdquo; said Douglas, asserting
+himself desperately against Conolly&rsquo;s absolutely sincere disregard of him
+and preoccupation with Marian, &ldquo;that Mrs. Conolly has been placed in her
+present position entirely through her own conduct. I repudiate the insinuation
+that I have deserted her in a foreign city; and I challenge inquiry on the
+point.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite so, quite so,&rdquo; assented Conolly, carelessly.
+&ldquo;Good-bye, Lind.&rdquo; And he took his hat and went out.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;By George!&rdquo; said Marmaduke, admiringly, &ldquo;he did that damned
+well&mdash;<i>damned</i> well. Look here, old man: take my advice and clear out for
+another year or so. You cant stay here. As a looker-on, I see most of the game;
+and thats my advice to you as a friend.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas, whose face had reddened and reddened with successive rushes of blood
+until it was now purple, lost all self-control at Marmaduke&rsquo;s
+commiserating tone. &ldquo;I will see whether I cannot put him in the
+wrong,&rdquo; he burst out, in the debased voice of an ignobly angry man.
+&ldquo;Do you think I will let him tell the world that I have been thrown over
+and fooled?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thats your own story, isnt it? At least, I understood you to say so as
+we came along.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Let him say so, and I&rsquo;ll thrash him like, a dog in the street.
+I&rsquo;ll&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Whats the use of thrashing a man who will simply hand you over to the
+police? and quite right, too! What rot!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;We shall see. We shall see.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. Do as you like. You may twist one another&rsquo;s heads off
+for what I care. He has had the satisfaction of putting you into a rage, at all
+events.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not in a rage.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. Have it your own way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Will you take a challenge to him from me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I am not a born fool.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is plain speaking.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marmaduke put his hands into his pockets, and whistled. &ldquo;I think I will
+take myself off,&rdquo; he said, presently.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As you please,&rdquo; replied Douglas, coldly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will look in on you some day next week, when you have cooled down a
+bit. Good-bye.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas said nothing, and Marmaduke, with a nod, went out. Some minutes later
+the servant entered and said that Mr. Lind was below.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What! Back again!&rdquo; said Douglas, with an oath.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, sir. It&rsquo;s old Mr. Lind&mdash;Mr. Reginald.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Did you say I was in?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The man belonging to the house did, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Confound his officiousness! I suppose he must come up.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Reginald Lind entered, and bowed. Douglas placed a chair for him, and waited,
+mute, and a little put out. Mr. Lind&rsquo;s eyes and voice shewed that he also
+was not at his ease; but his manner was courtly and his expression grave, as
+Douglas had, in his boyhood, been accustomed to see them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry, Sholto,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, &ldquo;that I cannot for the
+present meet you with the cordiality which formerly existed between us. However
+unbearable your disappointment at Marian&rsquo;s marriage may have been, you
+should not have taken a reprehensible and desperate means of remedying it. I
+speak to you now as an old friend&mdash;as one who knew you when the disparity in our
+ages was more marked than it is at present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas bowed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have just heard from Mr. Conolly&mdash;whom I met accidentally in Pall
+Mall&mdash;that you have returned from America. He gave me no further account of you,
+except that he had met you and spoken to you here. I hope nothing unpleasant
+passed.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The meeting was not a pleasant one. I shall take steps to make Mr.
+Conolly understand that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nothing approaching to violence, I trust.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. Mr. Conolly&rsquo;s discretion averted it. I am not sure that a
+second interview between us will end so quietly.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The interview should not have taken place at all, Sholto. I need not
+point out to you that prudence and good taste forbid any repetition of
+it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I did not seek it, Mr. Lind. He forced it upon me. I promise you that if
+a second meeting takes place, it will be forced upon him by me, and will take
+place in another country.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a young man&rsquo;s idea, Sholto. The day for such crimes, thank
+Heaven, is past and gone. Let us say no more of it. I was speaking to your
+mother on Sunday. Have you seen her yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sholto, you hit us all very hard that Monday before Christmas. I know
+what I felt about my daughter. But I can only imagine what your mother must
+have felt about her son.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not insensible to that. I has been rather my misfortune than my
+fault that I have caused you to suffer. If it will gratify you to know that I
+have suffered deeply myself, and am now, indeed, a broken man, I can assure you
+that such is the case.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is fortunate for us all that matters are not absolutely irremediable.
+I will so far take you into my confidence as to tell you that I have never felt
+any satisfaction in Marian&rsquo;s union with Mr. Conolly. Though he is
+unquestionably a remarkable man, yet there was a certain degree of incongruity
+in the match&mdash;you will understand me&mdash;which placed Marian apart from her family
+whilst she was with him. I have never entered my daughter&rsquo;s house without
+a feeling that I was more or less a stranger there. Had she married you in the
+first instance, the case would have been different: I wish she had. However,
+that is past regretting now. What I wish to say is that I can still welcome you
+as Marian&rsquo;s husband, even though she will have a serious error to live
+down; and I shall be no less liberal to her than if her previous marriage had
+never taken place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas cleared his throat, but did not speak.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; said Mr. Lind after a pause, reddening.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This is a very painful matter,&rdquo; said Douglas at last. &ldquo;As a
+man of the world, Mr. Lind, you must be aware that I am not bound to your
+daughter in any way.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not speaking to you as a man of the world. I am speaking as a
+father, and as a gentleman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doubtless your position as a father is an unfortunate one. I can
+sympathize with your feelings. But as a gentleman&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Think of what you are going to say, Sholto. If you speak as a gentleman,
+you can have only one answer. If you have any other, you will speak as a
+scoundrel.&rdquo; The last sentence came irrepressibly to Mr. Lind&rsquo;s
+lips; but the moment he had uttered it, he felt that he had been too
+precipitate.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sir!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I repeat, as a scoundrel&mdash;if you deny your duty in the matter.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I decline to continue this conversation with you, Mr. Lind. You know as
+well as I do that no gentleman is expected or even permitted by society to take
+as his wife a woman who has lived with him as his mistress.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No man who betrays a lady and refuses to make her all the reparation in
+his power can claim to be a gentleman.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are dreaming, Mr. Lind. Your daughter was the guardian of her own
+honor. I made her no promises. It is absurd to speak of a woman of her age and
+experience being betrayed, as though she were a child.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I always understood that you prided yourself on acting up to a higher
+standard of honorable dealing than other men. If this is your boasted&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mr. Lind,&rdquo; said Douglas, interrupting him with determination,
+&ldquo;no more of this, if you please. Briefly, I will have nothing whatever to
+say to Mrs. Conolly in the future. If her reputation were as unstained as your
+own, I would still refuse to know her. I have suffered from her the utmost
+refinements of caprice and treachery, and the coarsest tirades of abuse. She
+left me of her own accord, in spite of my entreaties to her to stay&mdash;entreaties
+which I made her in response to an exhibition of temper which would have
+justified me in parting from her there and then. It is true that I have moulded
+my life according to a higher standard of honor than ordinary men; and it is
+also true that that standard is never higher, never more fastidiously acted up
+to, than where a woman is concerned. I have only to add that I am perfectly
+satisfied as to the propriety of my behavior in Marian&rsquo;s case, and that I
+absolutely refuse to hear another accusation of unworthiness from you, much as
+I respect you and your sorrow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind, though he saw that he must change his tone, found it hard to subdue
+his temper; for though not a strong man, he was unaccustomed to be thwarted.
+&ldquo;Sholto,&rdquo; he said: &ldquo;you are not serious. You are irritated by
+some lovers&rsquo; quarrel.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am justly estranged from your daughter, and I am resolved never to
+give her a place in my thoughts again. I have madly wasted my youth on her. Let
+her be content with that and the other things I have sacrificed for her
+sake.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But this is dreadful. Think of the life she must lead if you do not
+marry her. She will be an outcast. She will not even have a name.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She would not be advised. She made her choice in defiance of an explicit
+warning of the inevitable results, and she must abide by it. I challenge the
+most searching inquiry into my conduct, Mr. Lind. It will be found, if the
+truth be told, that I spared her no luxury before she left me; and that, far
+from being the aggressor, it is I who have the right to complain of insult and
+desertion.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Still, even granting that her unhappy position may have rendered her a
+little sore and impatient at times, do you not owe her some forbearance since
+she gave up her home and her friends for you?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sacrifice for sacrifice, mine was the greater of the two. Like her, I
+have lost my friends and my position here&mdash;to some extent, at least. Worse, I
+have let my youth slip by in fruitless pursuit of her. For the home which she
+hated, I offered her one ten times more splendid. I gave her the devotion of a
+gentleman to replace the indifference of a blacksmith. What have I not done for
+her? I freed her from her bondage; I carried her across the globe; I watched
+her, housed her, fed her, clothed her as a princess. I loved her with a love
+that taught her a meaning of the word she had never known before. And when I
+had served her turn&mdash;when I had rescued her from her husband and placed her
+beyond his reach&mdash;when she became surfeited with a wealth of chivalrous love
+which she could not comprehend, and when a new world opened before her a fresh
+field for intrigue, I was assailed with slanderous lies, and forsaken. Do you
+think, Mr. Lind, that in addition to this, I will endure the reproaches of any
+man&mdash;even were he my own father?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But she suffers more, being a woman. The world will be comparatively
+lenient toward you. If you and she were married and settled, with no
+consciousness of being in a false position, and no wearing fear of detection,
+you would get on together quite differently.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It may be so, but I shall never put it to the test.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Listen a moment, Sholto. Just consider the matter calmly and rationally.
+I am a rich man&mdash;at least, I can endow Marian better than you perhaps think. I
+see that you feel aggrieved, and that you fear being forced into a marriage
+which you have, as you say&mdash;I fully admit it, most fully&mdash;a perfect right to
+decline. But I am urging you to make Marian your legal wife solely because it
+is the best course for both of you. That, I assure you, is the feeling of
+society in the matter. Everybody speaks to me of your becoming my son-in-law.
+The Earl says no other course is possible. I will give you ten thousand pounds
+down on her wedding-day. You will lose nothing: Conolly will not claim damages.
+He has contradicted the report that he would. I will pay the costs of the
+divorce as well. Mind! I do not mean that I will settle the money on her. I
+will give it to her unconditionally. In other words, it will become your
+property the moment you become her husband.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I understand,&rdquo; said Douglas contemptuously. &ldquo;However, as it
+is merely a question of making your daughter an honest woman in consideration
+of so much cash, I have no doubt you will find plenty of poorer men who will be
+glad to close with you for half the money. You are much in the city now, I
+believe. Allow me to suggest that you will find a dealer there more easily than
+in St. James&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mr. Lind reddened again. &ldquo;I do not think you see the matter in the proper
+light,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You are asked to repair the disgrace you have
+brought on a lady and upon her family. I offer you a guarantee that you will
+not lose pecuniarily by doing so. Whatever other loss you may incur, you are
+bound to bear it as the penalty of your own act. I appeal to you, sir, as one
+gentleman appeals to another, to remove the dishonor you have brought upon my
+name.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;To transfer it to my own, you mean. Thank you, Mr. Lind. The public is
+more accustomed to associate conjugal levity with the name of Lind than with
+that of Douglas.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you refuse me the justice you owe to my daughter, you need not couple
+that refusal with an insult.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have already explained that I owe your daughter nothing. You come here
+and offer me ten thousand pounds to marry her. I decline the bargain. You then
+take your stand upon the injury to your name. I merely remind you that your
+name was somewhat tarnished even before Mrs. Conolly changed it for the less
+distinguished one which she has really dishonored.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Douglas,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind, trembling, &ldquo;I will make you repent
+this. I will have satisfaction.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As you remarked when I declared my readiness to give satisfaction in the
+proper quarter, the practice you allude to is obsolete. Fortunately so, I
+think, in our case.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are a coward, sir.&rdquo; Douglas rang the bell. &ldquo;I will
+expose you in every club in London.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shew this gentleman out,&rdquo; said Douglas to his servant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have received that order because I told your master that he is a
+rascal,&rdquo; said Mr. Lind to the man. &ldquo;I shall say the same thing to
+every man I meet between this house and the committee-room of his club.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The servant looked grave as Mr. Lind left the room. Soon after, Douglas, whose
+self-respect, annihilated by Conolly, had at first been thoroughly restored by
+Mr. Lind, felt upset again by the conclusion of the interview. Finding solitude
+and idleness intolerable, he went into the streets, though he no longer felt
+any desire to meet his acquaintances, and twice crossed the Haymarket to avoid
+them. As he strolled about, thinking of all that had been said to him that
+afternoon, he grew morose. Twice he calculated his expenditure on the American
+trip, and the difference that an increment of ten thousand pounds would make in
+his property. Suddenly, in turning out of Air Street into Piccadilly, he found
+himself face to face with Lord Carbury.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How do you do?&rdquo; said the latter pleasantly, but without the
+unceremonious fellowship that had formerly existed between them.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Douglas, &ldquo;I am quite well.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A pause followed, Jasper not knowing exactly what to say next.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am considering where I shall dine,&rdquo; said Douglas. &ldquo;Have
+you dined yet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No. I promised to dine at home this evening. My mother likes to have a
+family dinner occasionally.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas knew that before the elopement he would have been asked to join the
+party. &ldquo;I suppose people have been pleased to talk a good deal about me
+of late,&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I fear so. However, I hope it will pass over.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It shews no sign of passing over as yet, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, it has become a little stale as a topic; but there is undeniably a
+good deal of feeling about it still. If you will excuse my saying so, I think
+that perhaps you would do well to keep out of the way a little longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Presuming, of course, that popular feeling is a matter about which I am
+likely to concern myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is a question for you to decide. Excuse the hint.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The question is whether it is not better to be on the spot, so as to
+strangle calumny at its source, than to hide myself abroad whilst a host of
+malicious tongues are busy with me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;As to that, Douglas, I assure you you have been very fairly treated. The
+chief blame, as usual, has fallen on the weaker sex. Nothing could exceed the
+moderation of those from whom the loudest complaints might have been expected.
+Reginald Lind has hardly ever mentioned the subject. Even to me, he only shook
+his head and said that it was an old attachment. As to Conolly, we have
+actually reproached him for making excuses for you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Aye. A very astute method of bringing me into contempt. Allow me to
+enlighten you a little, Jasper. Lind, whose daughter I have discovered to be
+one of the worst of women, has just offered me ten thousand pounds to marry
+her. That speaks for itself. Conolly, who drove her into my arms by playing the
+tyrant whilst I played the lover, is only too glad to get rid of her. At the
+same time, he is afraid to fight me, and ashamed to say so. Therefore, he
+impudently pretends to pity me for being his gull in the matter. But I will
+stop that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Conolly is a particular friend of mine, Douglas, Let us drop the
+subject, if you dont mind.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he is your friend, of course I have nothing more to say. I think I
+will turn in here and dine. Good-evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+They parted without any salutation: and Douglas entered the restaurant and
+dined alone, he came out an hour later in improved spirits, and began to
+consider whether he would go to the theatre or venture into his club. He was
+close to a lamp at a corner of Leicester Square when he stopped to debate the
+point with himself; and in his preoccupation he did not notice a four-wheeled
+cab going slowly past him, carrying a lady in an old white opera cloak. This
+was Mrs. Leith Fairfax, who, recognizing him, called to the cabman to drive a
+little past the lamp and stop.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good heavens!&rdquo; she said in a half-whisper: &ldquo;you here! What
+madness possessed you to come back?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I had no further occasion to stay away.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How coolly you say so! You have iron nerves, all you Douglases. I have
+heard all, and I know what you have suffered. How soon will you leave
+London?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have no intention of leaving it at present.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But you cannot stay here.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Pray why not? Is not London large enough for any man who does not live
+by the breath of the world?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Out of the question, Mr. Douglas. Absolutely out of the question. You
+<i>must</i> go away for a year at the very least. You must yield something to
+propriety.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I shall yield nothing. I can do without any section of society that may
+feel called upon to do without me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you must subdue that imperious nature of yours for your
+mother&rsquo;s sake if not for your own. Besides, you have been very wicked and
+reckless and daring, just like a Douglas. You ought to do penance with a good
+grace. I may conclude, since you are here, that Elinor McQuinch&rsquo;s story
+is true as far as the facts go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I have not heard her story.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is only that you have parted from&mdash;you know.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is true. Can I gratify your curiosity in any other
+particular?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Strive not to let yourself be soured, Mr. Douglas. I shudder when I
+think of what you have undergone at the hands of one woman. There! I will not
+allude to it again.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will do wisely, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. What I have suffered, I have
+suffered. I desire no pity, and will endure none.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is so like yourself. I must hurry on to Covent Garden, or I shall
+be late. Will you come and see me quietly some day before you go? I am never at
+home to any one on Tuesdays; but if you come at about five, Caroline will let
+you in. It will be dark: nobody will see you. We can have a chat then.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Douglas, coldly, stepping back, and raising his
+hat, &ldquo;I shall not intrude on you. Good-evening.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+She waved her hand at him; and the cab departed. He walked quickly back to
+Charles Street, and called his servant.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose no one has called?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir. Mrs. Douglas came very shortly after you went out. She wishes
+you to go to the Square this evening, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This evening? I am afraid&mdash;Buckstone.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is she looking well?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A little tired, sir. But quite well, I have no doubt.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How much of the luggage have you unpacked?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Only your portmanteau, sir. I thought&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;So much the better. Pack it again. I am going to Brussels to-night. Find
+out about the trains. I shall want you to take a hansom and take a note to
+Chester Square; but come back at once without waiting to be spoken to.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very good, sir.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Douglas then sat down and wrote the note.
+</p>
+
+<p class="letter">
+&ldquo;My dear Mother:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am sorry I was out when you called. I did not expect you, as I am only
+passing through London on my way to Brussels. I am anxious to get clear of this
+vile city, and so shall start to-night. Buckstone tells me you are looking
+well; and this assurance must content me for the present, as I find it
+impossible to go to you. You were quite right in warning me against what has
+happened; but it is all past and broken off now, and I am still as ever,
+</p>
+
+<p class="right">
+&ldquo;Your affectionate son,<br/>
+&ldquo;SHOLTO DOUGLAS.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<p>
+One day Eliza, out of patience, came to Mrs. Myers, and said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A&rsquo; thin, maam, will you come up and spake to Miss Conolly.
+She&rsquo;s rasin ructions above stairs.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh dear, oh dear!&rdquo; said Mrs. Myers. &ldquo;Cant you keep her
+quiet?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Arra, how can I kape her quiet, an she cryin an roarin, dyin an
+desarted?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Ask Mrs. Forster to go in and coax her to stop.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Mrs. Forsther&rsquo;s at dhuddher ind o the town. Whisht! There she is,
+callin me. Youll have to gup to her, maam. Faith I wont go next or near
+her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no use in my going up, Eliza. What can I do?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Eliza had nothing to suggest. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure, maam,&rdquo; she pleaded,
+&ldquo;if she wont mind you, she wont mind me&mdash;bad manners to her!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Mrs. Myers hesitated. The lodger became noisier.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I spose Ive got to go,&rdquo; said Mrs. Myers, plaintively. She went
+upstairs and found Susanna lying on the sofa, groaning, with a dressing-gown
+and a pair of thick boots on.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What <i>is</i> the matter with you, Miss Susan? Youre goin on fit to
+raise the street.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;For God&rsquo;s sake go and get something for me. Make the doctor do
+something. I&rsquo;m famishing. I must be poisoned.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lord forbid!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Look at me. I cant eat anything. Oh! I cant even drink. I tell you I am
+dying of thirst.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, Miss Susan, thers plenty for you to eat and drink.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What is the good of that, when I can neither eat nor drink? Nothing will
+stay inside me. If I could only swallow brandy, I shouldnt care. I thought I
+could die drunk. Oh! Send Eliza out for some laudanum. I cant stand this:
+I&rsquo;ll kill myself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Be quiet, Miss Susan: youll be better presently. Whats the use of
+talking-about the doctor? He says youll not be able to drink for days, and that
+you will get your health back in consequence. You are doing yourself no good by
+screeching like that, and you are ruining me and my house.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Your house is all you care about. Curse you! I hope you may die deserted
+yourself. Dont go away. <i>Dear</i> Aunt Sally, you wont leave me here alone,
+will you? If you do, I&rsquo;ll scream like a hundred devils.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont know what to do with you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Myers, crying.
+&ldquo;Youll drive me as mad as yourself. Why did I ever let you into this
+house?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, bother! Are <i>you</i> beginning to howl now? Have you any sardines,
+or anything spicy? I think I could eat some salted duck. No, I couldnt, though.
+Go for the doctor. There must be something that will do me good. What use is he
+if he can&rsquo;t set me right? All I want is something that will make me able
+to drink a tumbler of brandy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The Lord help you! Praise goodness! here&rsquo;s Mrs. Forster coming up.
+Whatll she think of you if you keep moaning like that? Mrs. Forster: will you
+step in here and try to quiet her a bit? She&rsquo;s clean mad.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Come here,&rdquo; cried Susanna, as Marian entered. &ldquo;Come and sit
+beside me. You may get out, you old cat: I dont want you any longer.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Hush, pray,&rdquo; said Marian, putting her bonnet aside and sitting
+down by the sofa. &ldquo;What is the matter?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;The same as last night, only a great deal worse,&rdquo; said Susanna,
+shutting her eyes and turning her head aside. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all up with me
+this time, Mrs. Ned. I&rsquo;m dying, not of drink, but of the want of it. Is
+that fiend of a woman gone?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes. You ought not to wound her as you did just now. She has been very
+kind to you.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont care. Oh, dear me, I wonder how long this is going to
+last?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Shall I go for the doctor?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No; what can he do? Stay with me. I wish I could sleep or eat.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You will be better soon. The doctor says that Nature is making an effort
+to rescue you from your habit by making it impossible for you to drink. Try and
+be patient. Will you not take off those heavy boots?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I cant feel my feet without them. I shall never be better,&rdquo;
+said Susanna, writhing impatiently. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m done for. How old are you?
+You neednt mind telling me. I shall soon be beyond repeating it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I was twenty-five in June last&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am only twenty-nine. I started at eighteen, and got to the top of the
+tree in seven years. I came down quicker than I went up. I might have gone on
+easily for fifteen years more, only for drinking champagne. I wish I had my
+life to live over again: you wouldnt catch me playing burlesque. If I had got
+the chance, I know I could have played tragedy or real Italian opera. I had to
+work hard at first; and they wont fill my place, very readily: thats one
+comfort. My cleverness was my ruin. Ned was not half so quick. It used to take
+him months to learn things that I picked up offhand, and yet you see how much
+better he has done than I.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Do not disturb yourself with vain regrets. Think of something else.
+Shall we talk about Marmaduke?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, I dont particularly care to. Somehow, at my pass, one thinks most
+about one&rsquo;s self, and about things that happened long ago. People that I
+came to know later on, like Bob, seem to be slipping away from me. There was a
+baritone in my father&rsquo;s company, a tremendous man, with shining black
+eyes, and a voice like a great bell&mdash;quite pretty at the top, though: he must
+have been sixty at least; and he was very fat; but he was the most dignified
+man I ever saw. You should have heard him do the Duke in Lucrezia Borgia, or
+sing Pro Peccatis from Rossini&rsquo;s Stabat Mater! I was ten years old when
+he was with us, and my grand ambition was to sing with him when I grew up. He
+would shake his head if he saw Susanetta now. I would rather hear him sing
+three bars than have ten visits from Bob. Oh, dear! I thought this cursed pain
+was getting numbed, but it is worse than ever.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Try to keep from thinking of it. I have often wondered that you never
+speak of your child. I have heard from my friend in London that it is very well
+and happy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, you mean Lucy. She was a lively little imp.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you not like to see her again?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, thank you. She is well taken care of, I suppose. I am glad she is
+out of my hands. She was a nuisance to me, and I am not a very edifying example
+for her. What on earth should I want to see her for?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I wish I had the good fortune to be a mother.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Susanna laughed. &ldquo;Never say die, Mrs. Ned. You dont know what may happen
+to you yet. There now! I know, without opening my eyes, that you are shocked,
+bless your delicacy! How do you think I should have got through life if
+I&rsquo;d been thin-skinned? What good does it do you? You are pining away in
+this hole of a lodging. You squirm when Mrs. Myers tries to be friendly with
+you; and I sometimes laugh at your expression when Eliza treats you to a little
+blarney about your looks. Now <i>I</i> would just as soon gossip and swear at
+her as go to tea with the Queen.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am not shocked at all. You see as badly as other people when your eyes
+are shut.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;They will soon shut up forever. I half wish they would do it at once, I
+wonder whether I will get any ease before there is an end of me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Perhaps the end of you on earth will be a good beginning for you
+somewhere else, Susanna.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Thank you. Now the conversation has taken a nice, cheerful turn, hasnt
+it? Well, I cant be much worse off than I am at present. Anyhow, I must take my
+chance.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Would you like to see a clergyman? I dont want to alarm you: I am sure
+you will get better: the doctor told me so; but I will go for one if you
+like.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No: I dont want to be bothered&mdash;at least not yet. Besides, I hate
+clergymen, all except your brother, the doctor, who fell in love with
+me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Very well. I only suggested it in case you should feel uneasy.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont feel quite easy; but I dont care sufficiently about it to make a
+fuss. It will be time enough when I am actually at death&rsquo;s door. All I
+know is that if there is a place of punishment in the next world, it is very
+unfair, considering what we suffer in this. I didnt make myself or my
+circumstances. I think I will try to sleep. I am half dead as it is with pain
+and weariness. Dont go until I am asleep.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I will not. Let me get you another pillow.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Susanna, drowsily: &ldquo;dont touch me.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian sat listening to her moaning respiration for nearly half an hour. Then,
+having some letters to write, she went to her own room to fetch her desk.
+Whilst she was looking for her pen, which was mislaid, she heard Susanna
+stirring. The floor creaked, and there was a clink as of a bottle. A moment
+later, Marian, listening with awakened suspicion, was startled by the sound of
+a heavy fall mingled with a crash of breaking glass. She ran back into the next
+room just in time to see Susanna, on her hands and knees near the stove, lift
+her white face for a moment, displaying a bleeding wound on her temple, and
+then stumble forward and fall prone on the carpet. Marian saw this; saw the
+walls of the room revolve before her; and fainted upon the sofa, which she had
+reached without knowing how.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When she recovered the doctor was standing by her; and Eliza was picking up
+fragments of the broken bottle. The smell of the spilled brandy reminded her of
+what had happened.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Where is Miss Conolly?&rdquo; she said, trying to collect her wits.
+&ldquo;I am afraid I fainted at the very moment when I was most wanted.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;Keep quiet; youll be well
+presently. Dont be in a hurry to talk.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian obeyed; and the doctor, whose manner was kind, though different to that
+of the London physicians to whom she was accustomed, presently left the room
+and went upstairs. Eliza was howling like an animal. The sound irritated Marian
+even at that pass: she despised the whole Irish race on its account. She could
+hardly keep her temper as she said:
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Is Miss Conolly seriously hurt?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oa, blessed hour! she&rsquo;s kilt. Her head&rsquo;s dhreepin wid
+blood.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian shuddered and felt faint again.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she done it at all, at all. She
+must ha fell agin the stoave. It&rsquo;s the dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, that
+brought her to it. It&rsquo;s little I knew what that wairy bottle o brandy
+would do to her, or sorra bit o me would ha got it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You did very wrong in getting it, Eliza.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What could I do, miss, when she axed me?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;There is no use in crying over it now. It would have been kinder to have
+kept it from her.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sure I know. Many&rsquo;s the time I tould her so. But she could talk
+the birds off the bushes, and it wint to me heart to refuse her. God send her
+well out of her throuble!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Here the doctor returned. &ldquo;How are you now?&rdquo; he said.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think I am better. Pray dont think of me. How is she?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all over. Hallo! Come, Miss Biddy! you go and cry in the
+kitchen,&rdquo; he added, pushing Eliza, who had set up an intolerable
+lamentation, out of the room.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;How awful!&rdquo; said Marian, stunned. &ldquo;Are you quite sure? She
+seemed better this morning.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Quite sure,&rdquo; said the doctor, smiling grimly at the question.
+&ldquo;She was practically dead when they carried her upstairs, poor girl.
+It&rsquo;s easier to kill a person than you think, Mrs. Forster, although she
+tried so long and so hard without succeeding. But she&rsquo;d have done it.
+She&rsquo;d have been starved into health only to drink herself back into
+starvation, and the end would have been a very bad one. Better as it is, by
+far!&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Doctor: I must go out and telegraph the news to London. I know one of
+her relatives there.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+The doctor shook his head. &ldquo;I will telegraph if you like, but you must
+stay here. Youre not yet fit to go out.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am afraid I have not been well lately,&rdquo; said Marian. &ldquo;I
+want to consult you about myself&mdash;not now, of course, after what has happened,
+but some day when you have leisure to call.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You can put off consulting me just as long as you please; but this
+accident is no reason why you shouldnt do it at once. If there is anything
+wrong, the sooner you have advice&mdash;you neednt have it from me if you prefer some
+other doctor&mdash;the better.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Upon this encouragement Marian described to him her state of health. He seemed
+a little amused, asked her a few questions, and finally told her coolly that
+she might expect to become a mother next fall. She was so utterly dismayed that
+he began to look stern in anticipation of an appeal to him to avert this; an
+appeal which he had often had to refuse without ever having succeeded in
+persuading a woman that it was futile, or convincing her that it was immoral.
+But Marian spared him this: she was overwhelmed by the new certainty that a
+reconciliation with her husband was no longer possible. Her despair at the
+discovery shewed her for the first time how homesick she really was.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+When the doctor left, Mrs. Myers came. She exclaimed; wept; and gossiped until
+two police officers arrived. Marian related to them what she had seen of the
+accident, and became indignant at the apparent incredulity with which they
+questioned her and examined the room. After their departure Eliza came to her,
+and invited her to go upstairs and see the body of Susanna. She refused with a
+shudder; but when she saw that the girl was hurt as well as astonished, it
+occurred to her that avoidance of the dead might, if it came to Conolly&rsquo;s
+knowledge, be taken by him to indicate a lack of kind feeling toward his
+sister. So she overcame her repugnance, and went with Eliza. The window-shades
+were drawn down, and the dressing-table had been covered with a white cloth, on
+which stood a plaster statuet of the Virgin and Child, with two lighted candles
+before it. To please Eliza, who had evidently made these arrangements, Marian
+whispered a few words of approval, and turned curiously to the bed. The sight
+made her uncomfortable. The body was decently laid out, its wounded forehead
+covered with a bandage, and Eliza&rsquo;s rosary and crucifix on its breast;
+but it did not, as Marian had hoped, suggest peace or sleep. It was not
+Susanna, but a vacant thing that had always underlain her, and which, apart
+from her, was ghastly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She died a good Catholic anyhow: the light o Heaven to her sowl!&rdquo;
+said Eliza, whimpering, but speaking as though she expected and defied Marian
+to contradict her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Amen,&rdquo; said Marian.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s sure and sartin. There never was a Conolly a Prodestan
+yet.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian left the room, resolving to avoid such sights in future. Mrs. Myers was
+below, anxious to resume the conversation which the visit of the police had
+interrupted. Marian could not bear this. To escape, she left the house, and
+went to her only friend in New York, Mrs. Crawford, whose frequent visits she
+had never before ventured to return. To her she narrated the events of the day.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;This business of the poor girl killing herself is real shocking,&rdquo;
+said Mrs. Crawford. &ldquo;Perhaps your husband will come over here now, and
+give you a chance of making up with him.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If he does, I must leave New York, Mrs. Crawford.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What are you frightened of? If he is as good a man as you say, you ought
+to be glad to see him. I&rsquo;m sure he would have you back. Depend on it, he
+has been longing for you all this time; and when he sees you again as pretty as
+ever, he will open his arms to you. He wont like you any the worse for being a
+little bashful with him after such an escapade.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I would not meet him for any earthly consideration. After what the
+doctor told me to-day, I should throw myself out of the window, I think, if I
+heard him coming upstairs. I should like to see him, if I were placed where he
+could not see me; but face him I <i>could</i> not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Well, my dear, I think it&rsquo;s right silly of you, though the little
+stranger&mdash;it will be a regular stranger&mdash;is a difficulty: there&rsquo;s no two
+ways about that.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Besides, I have been thinking over things alone in my room; and I see
+that it is better for him to be free. I know he was disappointed in me. He is
+not the sort of man to be tied down to such an ignorant woman as I.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;What does he expect from a woman? If youre not good enough for him, he
+must be very hard to please.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian shook her head. &ldquo;He is capable of pitying and being considerate
+with me,&rdquo; she said: &ldquo;I know that. But I am not sure that it is a
+good thing to be pitied and forborne with. There is something humiliating in
+it. I suppose I am proud, as you often tell me; but I should like to be amongst
+women what he is amongst men, supported by my own strength. Even within the
+last three weeks I have felt myself becoming more independent in my isolation.
+I was afraid to go about the streets by myself at first. Now I am getting quite
+brave. That unfortunate woman did me good. Taking care of her, and being relied
+on so much by her, has made me rely on myself more. Thanks to you, I have not
+much loneliness to complain of. And yet I have been utterly cast down
+sometimes. I cannot tell what is best. Sometimes I think that independence is
+worth all the solitary struggling it costs. Then again I remember how free from
+real care I was at home, and yearn to be back there. It is so hard to know what
+one ought to do.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You have been more lively since you got such a pleasant answer to your
+telegram. I wish the General would offer to let me keep my own money and as
+much more as I wanted. Not that he is close-fisted, poor man! That reminds me
+to tell you that you must stay the evening. He wants to see you as bad as can
+be&mdash;never stops asking me to bring you up some time when he&rsquo;s at home. You
+mustnt excuse yourself: the General will see you safe back to your
+place.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;But if visitors come, Mrs. Crawford?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Nobody will come. If they do, they will be glad to see you. What do they
+know about you? You cant live like a hermit all your life.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian, sooner than go back to Mrs. Myers&rsquo;s, stayed; and the evening
+passed pleasantly enough, although three visitors came: a gentleman, with his
+wife and brother. The lady, besides eating, and replying to the remarks with
+which Mrs. Crawford occasionally endeavored to entertain her, did nothing but
+admire Marian&rsquo;s dress and listen to her conversation. Her husband was
+polite; but Marian, comparing him with the English gentlemen of her
+acquaintance, thought him rather oppressively respectful, and too much given to
+conversing in little speeches. He had been in London; and he described, in a
+correct narrative style, his impressions of St. Paul&rsquo;s, the Tower, and
+Westminster Palace. His brother fell in love with Mrs. Forster at first sight,
+and sat silent until she remarked to him how strangely the hotel omnibuses
+resembled old English stage coaches, when he became recklessly talkative and
+soon convinced her that American society produced quite as choice a compound of
+off-handedness and folly as London could. But all this was amusing after her
+long seclusion; and once or twice, when the thought of dead Susanna came back
+to her, she was ashamed to be so gay.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+No one was stirring at Mrs. Myers&rsquo;s when she returned. They had left her
+lamp in the entry; and she took it upstairs with her, going softly lest she
+should disturb the household. Susanna&rsquo;s usual call and petition for a few
+minutes talk was no longer to be feared, for Susanna was now only a memory.
+Marian tried not to think of the body in the room above. Though she was free
+from the dread which was just then making Eliza tremble, cry, and cross herself
+to sleep, she disliked the body all the more as she distinguished it from the
+no-longer existent woman: a feat quite beyond the Irish peasant girl. She sat
+down and began to think. The Crawfords and their friends had been very nice to
+her: no doubt the lady would not have been civil had she known all; but, then,
+the lady was a silly person. They were not exactly what Marian considered the
+best sort of people; but New York was not London. She would not stay at Mrs.
+Myers&rsquo;s: her income would enable her to lodge more luxuriously. If she
+could afford to furnish some rooms for herself, she would get some curtains she
+had seen one day lately when shopping with Mrs. Crawford. They would go well
+with&mdash;&mdash;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+A noise in the room overhead: Susanna&rsquo;s death chamber. Marian gave a
+great start, and understood what Eliza meant by having &ldquo;the life put
+across in her.&rdquo; She listened, painfully conscious of the beats of her
+heart. The noise came again: a footstep, or a chair pushed back, or&mdash;she was not
+certain what. Could Mrs. Myers be watching at the bedside? It was not unlikely.
+Could Susanna be recovering&mdash;finding herself laid out for dead, and making a
+struggle for life up there alone? That would be inconvenient, undesirable: even
+Marian forgot just then to consider that obvious view wrong and unfeeling; but,
+anyhow, she must go and see, and, if necessary, help. She wished there were
+some one to keep her company; but was ashamed to call Eliza; and she felt that
+she would be as well by herself as with Mrs. Myers. There was nothing for it
+but to take a candle and go alone. No repetition of the noise occurred to daunt
+her afresh; and she reached the landing above almost reassured, and thinking
+how odd it was that the idea of finding somebody&mdash;Susanna&mdash;there, though it had
+come as a fear, was fading out as a disappointed hope.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Finding herself loth to open the door, she at last set her teeth and did it
+swiftly, as if to surprise someone within. She did surprise some one: her
+husband, sitting by his sister&rsquo;s body. He started violently on seeing
+her, and rose; whilst she, mechanically shutting the door without turning,
+leaned back against it with her hand behind her, and looked at him
+open-mouthed.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Marian,&rdquo; he said, in a quite unexpectedly apprehensive tone,
+putting up his hand deprecatingly: &ldquo;remember, here&rdquo;&mdash;indicating the
+figure on the bed&mdash;&ldquo;is an end of hypocrisy! No unrealities now: I cannot
+bear them. Let us have no trash of magnanimous injured husband, erring but
+repentant wife. We are man and woman, nothing less and nothing more. After our
+marriage you declined intercourse on those terms; and I accepted your
+conventions to please you. Now I refuse all conventions: you have broken them
+yourself. If you will not have the truth between us, avoid me until I have
+subsided into the old groove again. There!&rdquo; he added, wincing,
+&ldquo;dont blush. What have you to blush for? It was the only honest thing you
+ever did.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I dont understand.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said gently, but with a gesture of despair; &ldquo;how
+could you? You never did, and you never will.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;If you mean to accuse me of having deceived you,&rdquo; said Marian,
+greatly relieved and encouraged by a sense of being now the injured party,
+&ldquo;you are most unjust. I dont excuse myself for behaving wickedly, but I
+<i>never</i> deceived you or told you a falsehood. Never. When he first spoke
+wrongly to me, I told you at once; and you did not care.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not a straw. It was nothing to me that he loved you: the point was, did
+you love him? If not, then all was well: if so, our marriage was already at an
+end. But you mistake my drift. Falsehood is something more than fibbing. You
+never told fibs&mdash;except the two or three dozen a week that mere politeness
+required and which you never thought of counting; but you never told me the
+truth, Marian, because you never told your self the truth. You told me what you
+told yourself, I grant you; and so you were not conscious of deceit. I dont
+reproach you. Surely you can bear to be told what every honest man tells
+himself almost daily.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I suppose I have deserved it,&rdquo; said Marian; &ldquo;but unkind
+words from you are a new experience. You are very unlike yourself
+to-night.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He repressed, with visible effort, an explosion of impatience. &ldquo;On the
+contrary, I am like myself&mdash;I actually am myself to-night, I hope.&rdquo; Then
+the explosion came. &ldquo;Is it utterly impossible for you to say something
+real to me? Only learn to do that, and you may have ten love romances every
+year with other men, if you like. Be anything rather than a ladylike slave and
+liar. There! as usual, the truth makes you shrink from me. As I said before, I
+refuse further intercourse on such terms. They have proved unkind in the long
+run.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You spoke plainly enough to her,&rdquo; said Marian, glancing at the
+bed, &ldquo;but in the long run it did her no good.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;She would have laughed me to scorn if I had minced matters, for she
+never deceived herself. Society, by the power of the purse, set her to
+nautch-girl&rsquo;s work, and forbade her the higher work that was equally
+within her power. Being enslaved and debauched in this fashion, how could she
+be happy except when she was not sober? It was her own immediate interest to
+drink; it was her tradesman&rsquo;s interest that she should drink; it was her
+servants&rsquo; interest that she should be pleased with them for getting drink
+for her. She was clever, good-natured, more constant to her home and her man
+than you, a living fountain of innocent pleasure as a dancer, singer, and
+actress; and here she lies, after mischievously spending her talent in a series
+of entertainments too dull for hell and too debased for any better place, dead
+of a preventable disease, chiefly because most of the people she came in
+contact with had a direct pecuniary interest in depraving and poisoning her.
+Aye, look at her! with the cross on her breast, the virgin mother in plaster
+looking on from where she kept her mirror when she was alive, and the people
+outside complacently saying &lsquo;Serve her right!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+Marian feared for a moment that he would demolish Eliza&rsquo;s altar by
+hurling the chair through it. &ldquo;Dont, Ned,&rdquo; she said, timidly,
+putting her hand on his arm.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Dont what?&rdquo; he said, taken aback. She drew her hand away and
+retreated a step, coloring at the wifely liberty she had permitted herself to
+take. &ldquo;I beg your pardon. I thought&mdash;I thought you were going to take the
+cross away. No,&rdquo; she added quickly, seeing him about to speak, and
+anticipating a burst of scepticism: &ldquo;it is not that; but the servant is
+an Irish girl&mdash;a Roman Catholic. She put it there; and she meant well, and will
+be hurt if it is thrown aside.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;And you think it better that she should remain in ignorance of what
+educated people think about her superstition than that she should suffer the
+mortification of learning that her opinions are not those of all the world!
+However, I had no such intention. Eliza&rsquo;s idol is a respectable one as
+idols go.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+There was a pause. Then Marian said: &ldquo;It must have been a great shock to
+you when you came and found what had happened. I am very sorry. But had we not
+better go downrs? It seems so unfeeling, somehow, to talk without minding her.
+I suppose you consider that foolish; but I think you are upset by it
+yourself.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You see a change in me, then?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are not quite yourself, I think.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I tell you again that I <i>am</i> myself at last. You do not seem to
+like the real man any better than the unreal: I am afraid you will not have me
+on any terms. Well, let us go downstairs, since you prefer it.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Oh, not unless you wish it too,&rdquo; said Marian, a little bewildered.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+He took her candle and led the way out without another word or a look at the
+bed. Marian, as he stood aside to let her go downstairs before him, was
+suddenly seized with a fantastic fear that he was going to kill her. She did
+not condescend to hurry or look back; but she only felt safe when they were in
+her room, and he no longer behind her.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Sit down,&rdquo; he said, placing the candle on the mantelpiece. She sat
+down at the table, and he stood on the hearthrug. &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; said he,
+&ldquo;about the future. Are you coming back? Will you give the life at Holland
+Park another trial?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I cannot,&rdquo; she said, bending her head almost on her hands.
+&ldquo;I should disgrace you. And there is another reason.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not in your power, nor in that of all London, to disgrace me if I
+do not feel disgraced. It is useless to say that you cannot. If you say
+&lsquo;I will not,&rsquo; then that will settle it. What is the other
+reason?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is not yet born. But it will be.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That is no reason to me. Do you think I shall be a worse father to it
+than he would have been?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No, indeed. But it would be unfair to you.&rdquo; He made an impatient
+gesture. &ldquo;I dont understand you, Ned. Would you not rather be
+free?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Freedom is a fool&rsquo;s dream. I am free. I can divorce you if I
+please: if I live with you again it will be by my own choice. You are free too:
+you have burnt your boats, and are rid of fashionable society, of your family,
+your position, your principles, and all the rest of your chains forever. You
+are declassed by your own act; and if you can frankly give a sigh of relief and
+respect yourself for breaking loose from what is called your duty, then you are
+the very woman I want for a wife. I may not be the very man you want for a
+husband; but at all events you are free to choose, free to change after you
+choose if you choose me, free anyhow; for I will divorce you if you refuse; and
+then you will be&mdash;independent&mdash;your own mistress&mdash;absolute proprietor of your own
+child&mdash;everything that married women and girls envy. You have a foretaste of
+that freedom now. What is it worth? One or two conditions more or less to
+comply with, that is all: nature and society still have you hard and fast; the
+main rules of the game are inviolable.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I think it is a good thing to be free,&rdquo; said Marian, timidly.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;That means &lsquo;I will not.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Not &lsquo;will not&rsquo;; but I think I had better not.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;A characteristic distinction, Marian. I once thought, like you, that
+freedom was the one condition to be gained at all cost and hazard. My favorite
+psalm was that nonsense of John Hay&rsquo;s:
+</p>
+
+<p class="poem">
+&lsquo;For always in thine eyes, O Liberty,<br/>
+Shines that high light whereby the world is saved;<br/>
+And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee.&rsquo;
+</p>
+
+<p class="noindent">
+And she does slay us. Now I am for the fullest attainable life. That involves
+the least endurable liberty. You dont see that yet. Very well: you have
+liberty&mdash;liberty to hurt as well as help yourself; and you are right to try
+whether it will not make you happier than wedlock has done.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It was not your fault; and it is very good of you to offer to take me
+back, I know. Will my refusing disappoint you at all, Ned?&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;I am prepared for it. You may refuse or accept: I foresee how I shall
+adapt myself to either set of circumstances.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Yes, I forgot. You foresee everything,&rdquo; said Marian, with some
+bitterness.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;No: I only face what I see. That is why you do not like living with me.
+Good-bye. Do not look troubled: we shall meet again to-morrow and often
+afterward, I hope; but to-night makes an end of the irrational knot.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; said Marian rather forlornly, after a pause,
+proffering her hand.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;One folly more,&rdquo; he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her.
+She made no resistance. &ldquo;If such a moment could be eternal, we should
+never say good-bye,&rdquo; he added. &ldquo;As it is, we are wise not to tempt
+Fortune by asking her for such another.&rdquo;
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;You are too wise, Ned,&rdquo; she said, suffering him to replace her
+gently in the chair.
+</p>
+
+<p>
+&ldquo;It is impossible to be too wise, dearest,&rdquo; he said, and
+unhesitatingly turned and left her.
+</p>
+
+</div><!--end chapter-->
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRRATIONAL KNOT ***</div>
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diff --git a/old/old/11354-8.txt b/old/old/11354-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..32b31cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/old/11354-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,14677 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Irrational Knot, by George Bernard Shaw
+
+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: The Irrational Knot
+       Being the Second Novel of His Nonage
+
+Author: George Bernard Shaw
+
+Release Date: February 28, 2004 [EBook #11354]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRRATIONAL KNOT ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Rick Niles, John Hagerson and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+THE IRRATIONAL KNOT
+
+BY BERNARD SHAW BEING
+
+THE SECOND NOVEL
+OF HIS NONAGE
+
+
+1905
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+TO THE AMERICAN EDITION OF 1905
+
+
+This novel was written in the year 1880, only a few years after I had
+exported myself from Dublin to London in a condition of extreme rawness
+and inexperience concerning the specifically English side of the life
+with which the book pretends to deal. Everybody wrote novels then. It
+was my second attempt; and it shared the fate of my first. That is to
+say, nobody would publish it, though I tried all the London publishers
+and some American ones. And I should not greatly blame them if I could
+feel sure that it was the book's faults and not its qualities that
+repelled them.
+
+I have narrated elsewhere how in the course of time the rejected MS.
+became Mrs. Annie Besant's excuse for lending me her ever helping hand
+by publishing it as a serial in a little propagandist magazine of hers.
+That was how it got loose beyond all possibility of recapture. It is out
+of my power now to stand between it and the American public: all I can
+do is to rescue it from unauthorized mutilations and make the best of a
+jejune job.
+
+At present, of course, I am not the author of The Irrational Knot.
+Physiologists inform us that the substance of our bodies (and
+consequently of our souls) is shed and renewed at such a rate that no
+part of us lasts longer than eight years: I am therefore not now in any
+atom of me the person who wrote The Irrational Knot in 1880. The last
+of that author perished in 1888; and two of his successors have since
+joined the majority. Fourth of his line, I cannot be expected to take
+any very lively interest in the novels of my literary great-grandfather.
+Even my personal recollections of him are becoming vague and overlaid
+with those most misleading of all traditions, the traditions founded on
+the lies a man tells, and at last comes to believe, about himself _to_
+himself. Certain things, however, I remember very well. For instance, I
+am significantly clear as to the price of the paper on which I wrote The
+Irrational Knot. It was cheap--a white demy of unpretentious quality--so
+that sixpennorth lasted a long time. My daily allowance of composition
+was five pages of this demy in quarto; and I held my natural laziness
+sternly to that task day in, day out, to the end. I remember also that
+Bizet's Carmen being then new in London, I used it as a safety-valve for
+my romantic impulses. When I was tired of the sordid realism of
+Whatshisname (I have sent my only copy of The Irrational Knot to the
+printers, and cannot remember the name of my hero) I went to the piano
+and forgot him in the glamorous society of Carmen and her crimson
+toreador and yellow dragoon. Not that Bizet's music could infatuate me
+as it infatuated Nietzsche. Nursed on greater masters, I thought less of
+him than he deserved; but the Carmen music was--in places--exquisite of
+its kind, and could enchant a man like me, romantic enough to have come
+to the end of romance before I began to create in art for myself.
+
+When I say that _I_ did and felt these things, I mean, of course, that
+the predecessor whose name I bear did and felt them. The I of to-day is
+(? am) cool towards Carmen; and Carmen, I regret to say, does not take
+the slightest interest in him (? me). And now enough of this juggling
+with past and present Shaws. The grammatical complications of being a
+first person and several extinct third persons at the same moment are so
+frightful that I must return to the ordinary misusage, and ask the
+reader to make the necessary corrections in his or her own mind.
+
+This book is not wholly a compound of intuition and ignorance. Take for
+example the profession of my hero, an Irish-American electrical
+engineer. That was by no means a flight of fancy. For you must not
+suppose, because I am a man of letters, that I never tried to earn an
+honest living. I began trying to commit that sin against my nature when
+I was fifteen, and persevered, from youthful timidity and diffidence,
+until I was twenty-three. My last attempt was in 1879, when a company
+was formed in London to exploit an ingenious invention by Mr. Thomas
+Alva Edison--a much too ingenious invention as it proved, being nothing
+less than a telephone of such stentorian efficiency that it bellowed
+your most private communications all over the house instead of
+whispering them with some sort of discretion. This was not what the
+British stockbroker wanted; so the company was soon merged in the
+National Telephone Company, after making a place for itself in the
+history of literature, quite unintentionally, by providing me with a
+job. Whilst the Edison Telephone Company lasted, it crowded the basement
+of a huge pile of offices in Queen Victoria Street with American
+artificers. These deluded and romantic men gave me a glimpse of the
+skilled proletariat of the United States. They sang obsolete sentimental
+songs with genuine emotion; and their language was frightful even to an
+Irishman. They worked with a ferocious energy which was out of all
+proportion to the actual result achieved. Indomitably resolved to assert
+their republican manhood by taking no orders from a tall-hatted
+Englishman whose stiff politeness covered his conviction that they were,
+relatively to himself, inferior and common persons, they insisted on
+being slave-driven with genuine American oaths by a genuine free and
+equal American foreman. They utterly despised the artfully slow British
+workman who did as little for his wages as he possibly could; never
+hurried himself; and had a deep reverence for anyone whose pocket could
+be tapped by respectful behavior. Need I add that they were
+contemptuously wondered at by this same British workman as a parcel of
+outlandish adult boys, who sweated themselves for their employer's
+benefit instead of looking after their own interests? They adored Mr.
+Edison as the greatest man of all time in every possible department of
+science, art and philosophy, and execrated Mr. Graham Bell, the inventor
+of the rival telephone, as his Satanic adversary; but each of them had
+(or pretended to have) on the brink of completion, an improvement on the
+telephone, usually a new transmitter. They were free-souled creatures,
+excellent company: sensitive, cheerful, and profane; liars, braggarts,
+and hustlers; with an air of making slow old England hum which never
+left them even when, as often happened, they were wrestling with
+difficulties of their own making, or struggling in no-thoroughfares from
+which they had to be retrieved like strayed sheep by Englishmen without
+imagination enough to go wrong.
+
+In this environment I remained for some months. As I was interested in
+physics and had read Tyndall and Helmholtz, besides having learnt
+something in Ireland through a fortunate friendship with a cousin of Mr.
+Graham Bell who was also a chemist and physicist, I was, I believe, the
+only person in the entire establishment who knew the current scientific
+explanation of telephony; and as I soon struck up a friendship with our
+official lecturer, a Colchester man whose strong point was
+pre-scientific agriculture, I often discharged his duties for him in a
+manner which, I am persuaded, laid the foundation of Mr. Edison's London
+reputation: my sole reward being my boyish delight in the half-concealed
+incredulity of our visitors (who were convinced by the hoarsely
+startling utterances of the telephone that the speaker, alleged by me to
+be twenty miles away, was really using a speaking-trumpet in the next
+room), and their obvious uncertainty, when the demonstration was over,
+as to whether they ought to tip me or not: a question they either
+decided in the negative or never decided at all; for I never got
+anything.
+
+So much for my electrical engineer! To get him into contact with
+fashionable society before he became famous was also a problem easily
+solved. I knew of three English peers who actually preferred physical
+laboratories to stables, and scientific experts to gamekeepers: in fact,
+one of the experts was a friend of mine. And I knew from personal
+experience that if science brings men of all ranks into contact, art,
+especially music, does the same for men and women. An electrician who
+can play an accompaniment can go anywhere and know anybody. As far as
+mere access and acquaintance go there are no class barriers for him. My
+difficulty was not to get my hero into society, but to give any sort of
+plausibility to my picture of society when I got him into it. I lacked
+the touch of the literary diner-out; and I had, as the reader will
+probably find to his cost, the classical tradition which makes all the
+persons in a novel, except the comically vernacular ones, or the
+speakers of phonetically spelt dialect, utter themselves in the formal
+phrases and studied syntax of eighteenth century rhetoric. In short, I
+wrote in the style of Scott and Dickens; and as fashionable society then
+spoke and behaved, as it still does, in no style at all, my
+transcriptions of Oxford and Mayfair may nowadays suggest an
+unaccountable and ludicrous ignorance of a very superficial and
+accessible code of manners. I was not, however, so ignorant as might
+have been inferred at that time from my somewhat desperate financial
+condition.
+
+I had, to begin with, a sort of backstairs knowledge; for in my teens I
+struggled for life in the office of an Irish gentleman who acted as land
+agent and private banker for many persons of distinction. Now it is
+possible for a London author to dine out in the highest circles for
+twenty years without learning as much about the human frailties of his
+hosts as the family solicitor or (in Ireland) the family land agent
+learns in twenty days; and some of this knowledge inevitably reaches his
+clerks, especially the clerk who keeps the cash, which was my particular
+department. He learns, if capable of the lesson, that the aristocratic
+profession has as few geniuses as any other profession; so that if you
+want a peerage of more than, say, half a dozen members, you must fill it
+up with many common persons, and even with some deplorably mean ones.
+For "service is no inheritance" either in the kitchen or the House of
+Lords; and the case presented by Mr. Barrie in his play of The Admirable
+Crichton, where the butler is the man of quality, and his master, the
+Earl, the man of rank, is no fantasy, but a quite common occurrence, and
+indeed to some extent an inevitable one, because the English are
+extremely particular in selecting their butlers, whilst they do not
+select their barons at all, taking them as the accident of birth sends
+them. The consequences include much ironic comedy. For instance, we have
+in England a curious belief in first rate people, meaning all the people
+we do not know; and this consoles us for the undeniable secondrateness
+of the people we do know, besides saving the credit of aristocracy as an
+institution. The unmet aristocrat is devoutly believed in; but he is
+always round the corner, never at hand. That _the_ smart set exists;
+that there is above and beyond that smart set a class so blue of blood
+and exquisite in nature that it looks down even on the King with haughty
+condescension; that scepticism on these points is one of the stigmata of
+plebeian baseness: all these imaginings are so common here that they
+constitute the real popular sociology of England as much as an unlimited
+credulity as to vaccination constitutes the real popular science of
+England. It is, of course, a timid superstition. A British peer or
+peeress who happens by chance to be genuinely noble is just as isolated
+at court as Goethe would have been among all the other grandsons of
+publicans, if they had formed a distinct class in Frankfurt or Weimar.
+This I knew very well when I wrote my novels; and if, as I suspect, I
+failed to create a convincingly verisimilar atmosphere of aristocracy,
+it was not because I had any illusions or ignorances as to the common
+humanity of the peerage, and not because I gave literary style to its
+conversation, but because, as I had never had any money, I was foolishly
+indifferent to it, and so, having blinded myself to its enormous
+importance, necessarily missed the point of view, and with it the whole
+moral basis, of the class which rightly values money, and plenty of it,
+as the first condition of a bearable life.
+
+Money is indeed the most important thing in the world; and all sound and
+successful personal and national morality should have this fact for its
+basis. Every teacher or twaddler who denies it or suppresses it, is an
+enemy of life. Money controls morality; and what makes the United States
+of America look so foolish even in foolish Europe is that they are
+always in a state of flurried concern and violent interference with
+morality, whereas they throw their money into the street to be scrambled
+for, and presently find that their cash reserves are not in their own
+hands, but in the pockets of a few millionaires who, bewildered by their
+luck, and unspeakably incapable of making any truly economic use of it,
+endeavor to "do good" with it by letting themselves be fleeced by
+philanthropic committee men, building contractors, librarians and
+professors, in the name of education, science, art and what not; so that
+sensible people exhale relievedly when the pious millionaire dies, and
+his heirs, demoralized by being brought up on his outrageous income,
+begin the socially beneficent work of scattering his fortune through the
+channels of the trades that flourish by riotous living.
+
+This, as I have said, I did not then understand; for I knew money only
+by the want of it. Ireland is a poor country; and my father was a poor
+man in a poor country. By this I do not mean that he was hungry and
+homeless, a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. My friend Mr. James
+Huneker, a man of gorgeous imagination and incorrigible romanticism, has
+described me to the American public as a peasant lad who has raised
+himself, as all American presidents are assumed to have raised
+themselves, from the humblest departments of manual labor to the
+loftiest eminence. James flatters me. Had I been born a peasant, I
+should now be a tramp. My notion of my father's income is even vaguer
+than his own was--and that is saying a good deal--but he always had an
+income of at least three figures (four, if you count in dollars instead
+of pounds); and what made him poor was that he conceived himself as born
+to a social position which even in Ireland could have been maintained in
+dignified comfort only on twice or thrice what he had. And he married on
+that assumption. Fortunately for me, social opportunity is not always to
+be measured by income. There is an important economic factor, first
+analyzed by an American economist (General Walker), and called rent of
+ability. Now this rent, when the ability is of the artistic or political
+sort, is often paid in kind. For example, a London possessor of such
+ability may, with barely enough money to maintain a furnished bedroom
+and a single presentable suit of clothes, see everything worth seeing
+that a millionaire can see, and know everybody worth knowing that he can
+know. Long before I reached this point myself, a very trifling
+accomplishment gave me glimpses of the sort of fashionable life a
+peasant never sees. Thus I remember one evening during the novel-writing
+period when nobody would pay a farthing for a stroke of my pen, walking
+along Sloane Street in that blessed shield of literary shabbiness,
+evening dress. A man accosted me with an eloquent appeal for help,
+ending with the assurance that he had not a penny in the world. I
+replied, with exact truth, "Neither have I." He thanked me civilly, and
+went away, apparently not in the least surprised, leaving me to ask
+myself why I did not turn beggar too, since I felt sure that a man who
+did it as well as he, must be in comfortable circumstances.
+
+Another reminiscence. A little past midnight, in the same costume, I was
+turning from Piccadilly into Bond Street, when a lady of the pavement,
+out of luck that evening so far, confided to me that the last bus for
+Brompton had passed, and that she should be grateful to any gentleman
+who would give her a lift in a hansom. My old-fashioned Irish gallantry
+had not then been worn off by age and England: besides, as a novelist
+who could find no publisher, I was touched by the similarity of our
+trades and predicaments. I excused myself very politely on the ground
+that my wife (invented for the occasion) was waiting for me at home, and
+that I felt sure so attractive a lady would have no difficulty in
+finding another escort. Unfortunately this speech made so favorable an
+impression on her that she immediately took my arm and declared her
+willingness to go anywhere with me, on the flattering ground that I was
+a perfect gentleman. In vain did I try to persuade her that in coming up
+Bond Street and deserting Piccadilly, she was throwing away her last
+chance of a hansom: she attached herself so devotedly to me that I could
+not without actual violence shake her off. At last I made a stand at the
+end of Old Bond Street. I took out my purse; opened it; and held it
+upside down. Her countenance fell, poor girl! She turned on her heel
+with a melancholy flirt of her skirt, and vanished.
+
+Now on both these occasions I had been in the company of people who
+spent at least as much in a week as I did in a year. Why was I, a
+penniless and unknown young man, admitted there? Simply because, though
+I was an execrable pianist, and never improved until the happy
+invention of the pianola made a Paderewski of me, I could play a simple
+accompaniment at sight more congenially to a singer than most amateurs.
+It is true that the musical side of London society, with its streak of
+Bohemianism, and its necessary toleration of foreign ways and
+professional manners, is far less typically English than the sporting
+side or the political side or the Philistine side; so much so, indeed,
+that people may and do pass their lives in it without ever discovering
+what English plutocracy in the mass is really like: still, if you wander
+in it nocturnally for a fitful year or so as I did, with empty pockets
+and an utter impossibility of approaching it by daylight (owing to the
+deplorable decay of the morning wardrobe), you have something more
+actual to go on than the hallucinations of a peasant lad setting his
+foot manfully on the lowest rung of the social ladder. I never climbed
+any ladder: I have achieved eminence by sheer gravitation; and I hereby
+warn all peasant lads not to be duped by my pretended example into
+regarding their present servitude as a practicable first step to a
+celebrity so dazzling that its subject cannot even suppress his own bad
+novels.
+
+Conceive me then at the writing of The Irrational Knot as a person
+neither belonging to the world I describe nor wholly ignorant of it, and
+on certain points quite incapable of conceiving it intuitively. A whole
+world of art which did not exist for it lay open to me. I was familiar
+with the greatest in that world: mighty poets, painters, and musicians
+were my intimates. I found the world of artificial greatness founded on
+convention and money so repugnant and contemptible by comparison that I
+had no sympathetic understanding of it. People are fond of blaming
+valets because no man is a hero to his valet. But it is equally true
+that no man is a valet to his hero; and the hero, consequently, is apt
+to blunder very ludicrously about valets, through judging them from an
+irrelevant standard of heroism: heroism, remember, having its faults as
+well as its qualities. I, always on the heroic plane imaginatively, had
+two disgusting faults which I did not recognize as faults because I
+could not help them. I was poor and (by day) shabby. I therefore
+tolerated the gross error that poverty, though an inconvenience and a
+trial, is not a sin and a disgrace; and I stood for my self-respect on
+the things I had: probity, ability, knowledge of art, laboriousness, and
+whatever else came cheaply to me. Because I could walk into Hampton
+Court Palace and the National Gallery (on free days) and enjoy Mantegna
+and Michael Angelo whilst millionaires were yawning miserably over inept
+gluttonies; because I could suffer more by hearing a movement of
+Beethoven's Ninth Symphony taken at a wrong tempo than a duchess by
+losing a diamond necklace, I was indifferent to the repulsive fact that
+if I had fallen in love with the duchess I did not possess a morning
+suit in which I could reasonably have expected her to touch me with the
+furthest protended pair of tongs; and I did not see that to remedy this
+I should have been prepared to wade through seas of other people's
+blood. Indeed it is this perception which constitutes an aristocracy
+nowadays. It is the secret of all our governing classes, which consist
+finally of people who, though perfectly prepared to be generous, humane,
+cultured, philanthropic, public spirited and personally charming in the
+second instance, are unalterably resolved, in the first, to have money
+enough for a handsome and delicate life, and will, in pursuit of that
+money, batter in the doors of their fellow men, sell them up, sweat them
+in fetid dens, shoot, stab, hang, imprison, sink, burn and destroy them
+in the name of law and order. And this shews their fundamental sanity
+and rightmindedness; for a sufficient income is indispensable to the
+practice of virtue; and the man who will let any unselfish consideration
+stand between him and its attainment is a weakling, a dupe and a
+predestined slave. If I could convince our impecunious mobs of this, the
+world would be reformed before the end of the week; for the sluggards
+who are content to be wealthy without working and the dastards who are
+content to work without being wealthy, together with all the
+pseudo-moralists and ethicists and cowardice mongers generally, would be
+exterminated without shrift, to the unutterable enlargement of life and
+ennoblement of humanity. We might even make some beginnings of
+civilization under such happy circumstances.
+
+In the days of The Irrational Knot I had not learnt this lesson;
+consequently I did not understand the British peerage, just as I did not
+understand that glorious and beautiful phenomenon, the "heartless" rich
+American woman, who so thoroughly and admirably understands that
+conscience is a luxury, and should be indulged in only when the vital
+needs of life have been abundantly satisfied. The instinct which has led
+the British peerage to fortify itself by American alliances is healthy
+and well inspired. Thanks to it, we shall still have a few people to
+maintain the tradition of a handsome, free, proud, costly life, whilst
+the craven mass of us are keeping up our starveling pretence that it is
+more important to be good than to be rich, and piously cheating,
+robbing, and murdering one another by doing our duty as policemen,
+soldiers, bailiffs, jurymen, turnkeys, hangmen, tradesmen, and curates,
+at the command of those who know that the golden grapes are _not_ sour.
+Why, good heavens! we shall all pretend that this straightforward truth
+of mine is mere Swiftian satire, because it would require a little
+courage to take it seriously and either act on it or make me drink the
+hemlock for uttering it.
+
+There was the less excuse for my blindness because I was at that very
+moment laying the foundations of my high fortune by the most ruthless
+disregard of all the quack duties which lead the peasant lad of fiction
+to the White House, and harness the real peasant boy to the plough until
+he is finally swept, as rubbish, into the workhouse. I was an ablebodied
+and ableminded young man in the strength of my youth; and my family,
+then heavily embarrassed, needed my help urgently. That I should have
+chosen to be a burden to them instead was, according to all the
+conventions of peasant lad fiction, monstrous. Well, without a blush I
+embraced the monstrosity. I did not throw myself into the struggle for
+life: I threw my mother into it. I was not a staff to my father's old
+age: I hung on to his coat tails. His reward was to live just long
+enough to read a review of one of these silly novels written in an
+obscure journal by a personal friend of my own (now eminent in
+literature as Mr. John Mackinnon Robertson) prefiguring me to some
+extent as a considerable author. I think, myself, that this was a
+handsome reward, far better worth having than a nice pension from a
+dutiful son struggling slavishly for his parent's bread in some sordid
+trade. Handsome or not, it was the only return he ever had for the
+little pension he contrived to export from Ireland for his family. My
+mother reinforced it by drudging in her elder years at the art of music
+which she had followed in her prime freely for love. I only helped to
+spend it. People wondered at my heartlessness: one young and romantic
+lady had the courage to remonstrate openly and indignantly with me, "for
+the which" as Pepys said of the shipwright's wife who refused his
+advances, "I did respect her." Callous as Comus to moral babble, I
+steadily wrote my five pages a day and made a man of myself (at my
+mother's expense) instead of a slave. And I protest that I will not
+suffer James Huneker or any romanticist to pass me off as a peasant boy
+qualifying for a chapter in Smiles's Self Help, or a good son supporting
+a helpless mother, instead of a stupendously selfish artist leaning with
+the full weight of his hungry body on an energetic and capable woman.
+No, James: such lies are not only unnecessary, but fearfully depressing
+and fundamentally immoral, besides being hardly fair to the supposed
+peasant lad's parents. My mother worked for my living instead of
+preaching that it was my duty to work for hers: therefore take off your
+hat to her, and blush.[A]
+
+It is now open to anyone who pleases to read The Irrational Knot. I do
+not recommend him to; but it is possible that the same mysterious force
+which drove me through the labor of writing it may have had some purpose
+which will sustain others through the labor of reading it, and even
+reward them with some ghastly enjoyment of it. For my own part I cannot
+stand it. It is to me only one of the heaps of spoiled material that
+all apprenticeship involves. I consent to its publication because I
+remember that British colonel who called on Beethoven when the elderly
+composer was working at his posthumous quartets, and offered him a
+commission for a work in the style of his jejune septet. Beethoven drove
+the Colonel out of the house with objurgation. I think that was uncivil.
+There is a time for the septet, and a time for the posthumous quartets.
+It is true that if a man called on me now and asked me to write
+something like The Irrational Knot I should have to exercise great
+self-control. But there are people who read Man and Superman, and then
+tell me (actually to my face) that I have never done anything so good as
+Cashel Byron's Profession. After this, there may be a public for even
+The Irrational Knot; so let it go.
+
+
+LONDON, _May_ 26, 1905.
+
+[Footnote A: James, having read the above in proof, now protests he
+never called me a peasant lad: that being a decoration by the
+sub-editor. The expression he used was "a poor lad." This is what James
+calls tact. After all, there is something pastoral, elemental, well
+aerated, about a peasant lad. But a mere poor lad! really, James,
+_really_--!!!]
+
+P.S.--Since writing the above I have looked through the proof-sheets of
+this book, and found, with some access of respect for my youth, that it
+is a fiction of the first order. By this I do not mean that it is a
+masterpiece in that order, or even a pleasant example of it, but simply
+that, such as it is, it is one of those fictions in which the morality
+is original and not readymade. Now this quality is the true diagnostic
+of the first order in literature, and indeed in all the arts, including
+the art of life. It is, for example, the distinction that sets
+Shakespear's Hamlet above his other plays, and that sets Ibsen's work as
+a whole above Shakespear's work as a whole. Shakespear's morality is a
+mere reach-me-down; and because Hamlet does not feel comfortable in it,
+and struggles against the misfit, he suggests something better, futile
+as his struggle is, and incompetent as Shakespear shews himself in his
+effort to think out the revolt of his feeling against readymade
+morality. Ibsen's morality is original all through: he knows well that
+the men in the street have no use for principles, because they can
+neither understand nor apply them; and that what they can understand and
+apply are arbitrary rules of conduct, often frightfully destructive and
+inhuman, but at least definite rules enabling the common stupid man to
+know where he stands and what he may do and not do without getting into
+trouble. Now to all writers of the first order, these rules, and the
+need for them produced by the moral and intellectual incompetence of the
+ordinary human animal, are no more invariably beneficial and respectable
+than the sunlight which ripens the wheat in Sussex and leaves the desert
+deadly in Sahara, making the cheeks of the ploughman's child rosy in the
+morning and striking the ploughman brainsick or dead in the afternoon;
+no more inspired (and no less) than the religion of the Andaman
+islanders; as much in need of frequent throwing away and replacement as
+the community's boots. By writers of the second order the readymade
+morality is accepted as the basis of all moral judgment and criticism of
+the characters they portray, even when their genius forces them to
+represent their most attractive heroes and heroines as violating the
+readymade code in all directions. Far be it from me to pretend that the
+first order is more readable than the second! Shakespear, Scott,
+Dickens, Dumas _p�re_ are not, to say the least, less readable than
+Euripides and Ibsen. Nor is the first order always more constructive;
+for Byron, Oscar Wilde, and Larochefoucauld did not get further in
+positive philosophy than Ruskin and Carlyle, though they could snuff
+Ruskin's Seven Lamps with their fingers without flinching. Still, the
+first order remains the first order and the second the second for all
+that: no man who shuts his eyes and opens his mouth when religion and
+morality are offered to him on a long spoon can share the same
+Parnassian bench with those who make an original contribution to
+religion and morality, were it only a criticism.
+
+Therefore on coming back to this Irrational Knot as a stranger after 25
+years, I am proud to find that its morality is not readymade. The
+drunken prima donna of a bygone type of musical burlesque is not
+depicted as an immoral person, but as a person with a morality of her
+own, no worse in its way than the morality of her highly respectable
+wine merchant in _its_ way. The sociology of the successful inventor is
+his own sociology too; and it is by his originality in this respect that
+he passes irresistibly through all the readymade prejudices that are set
+up to bar his promotion. And the heroine, nice, amiable, benevolent, and
+anxious to please and behave well, but hopelessly secondhand in her
+morals and nicenesses, and consequently without any real moral force now
+that the threat of hell has lost its terrors for her, is left destitute
+among the failures which are so puzzling to thoughtless people. "I
+cannot understand why she is so unlucky: she is such a nice woman!":
+that is the formula. As if people with any force in them ever were
+altogether nice!
+
+And so I claim the first order for this jejune exploit of mine, and
+invite you to note that the final chapter, so remote from Scott and
+Dickens and so close to Ibsen, was written years before Ibsen came to
+my knowledge, thus proving that the revolt of the Life Force against
+readymade morality in the nineteenth century was not the work of a
+Norwegian microbe, but would have worked itself into expression in
+English literature had Norway never existed. In fact, when Miss Lord's
+translation of A Doll's House appeared in the eighteen-eighties, and so
+excited some of my Socialist friends that they got up a private reading
+of it in which I was cast for the part of Krogstad, its novelty as a
+morally original study of a marriage did not stagger me as it staggered
+Europe. I had made a morally original study of a marriage myself, and
+made it, too, without any melodramatic forgeries, spinal diseases, and
+suicides, though I had to confess to a study of dipsomania. At all
+events, I chattered and ate caramels in the back drawing-room (our
+green-room) whilst Eleanor Marx, as Nora, brought Helmer to book at the
+other side of the folding doors. Indeed I concerned myself very little
+about Ibsen until, later on, William Archer translated Peer Gynt to me
+_viva voce_, when the magic of the great poet opened my eyes in a flash
+to the importance of the social philosopher.
+
+I seriously suggest that The Irrational Knot may be regarded as an early
+attempt on the part of the Life Force to write A Doll's House in English
+by the instrumentality of a very immature writer aged 24. And though I
+say it that should not, the choice was not such a bad shot for a stupid
+instinctive force that has to work and become conscious of itself by
+means of human brains. If we could only realize that though the Life
+Force supplies us with its own purpose, it has no other brains to work
+with than those it has painfully and imperfectly evolved in our heads,
+the peoples of the earth would learn some pity for their gods; and we
+should have a religion that would not be contradicted at every turn by
+the thing that is giving the lie to the thing that ought to be.
+
+WELWYN, _Sunday, June_ 25, 1905.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I
+
+
+
+
+THE IRRATIONAL KNOT
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+At seven o'clock on a fine evening in April the gas had just been
+lighted in a room on the first floor of a house in York Road, Lambeth. A
+man, recently washed and brushed, stood on the hearthrug before a pier
+glass, arranging a white necktie, part of his evening dress. He was
+about thirty, well grown, and fully developed muscularly. There was no
+cloud of vice or trouble upon him: he was concentrated and calm, making
+no tentative movements of any sort (even a white tie did not puzzle him
+into fumbling), but acting with a certainty of aim and consequent
+economy of force, dreadful to the irresolute. His face was brown, but
+his auburn hair classed him as a fair man.
+
+The apartment, a drawing-room with two windows, was dusty and untidy.
+The paint and wall paper had not been renewed for years; nor did the
+pianette, which stood near the fireplace, seem to have been closed
+during that time; for the interior was dusty, and the inner end of every
+key begrimed. On a table between the windows were some tea things, with
+a heap of milliner's materials, and a brass candlestick which had been
+pushed back to make room for a partially unfolded cloth. There was a
+second table near the door, crowded with coils, batteries, a
+galvanometer, and other electrical apparatus. The mantelpiece was
+littered with dusty letters, and two trays of Doulton ware which
+ornamented it were filled with accounts, scraps of twine, buttons, and
+rusty keys.
+
+A shifting, rustling sound, as of somebody dressing, which had been
+audible for some minutes through the folding doors, now ceased, and a
+handsome young woman entered. She had thick black hair, fine dark eyes,
+an oval face, a clear olive complexion, and an elastic figure. She was
+incompletely attired in a petticoat that did not hide her ankles, and
+stays of bright red silk with white laces and seams. Quite unconcerned
+at the presence of the man, she poured out a cup of tea; carried it to
+the mantelpiece; and began to arrange her hair before the glass. He,
+without looking round, completed the arrangement of his tie, looked at
+it earnestly for a moment, and said, "Have you got a pin about you?"
+
+"There is one in the pincushion on my table," she said; "but I think
+it's a black one. I dont know where the deuce all the pins go to." Then,
+casting off the subject, she whistled a long and florid cadenza, and
+added, by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close imitation of
+a violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into her room for the pin. On his
+return she suddenly became curious, and said, "Where are you going
+to-night, if one may ask?"
+
+"I am going out."
+
+She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemptuously to the mirror,
+saying, "Thank you. Sorry to be inquisitive."
+
+"I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert at
+Wandsworth."
+
+"Sing! You! The Countess of Barbury! Does she live at Wandsworth?"
+
+"No. She lives in Park Lane."
+
+"Oh! I beg her pardon." The man made no comment on this; and she, after
+looking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest,
+continued, "How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know _you_,
+pray?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+A long pause ensued. Then she said: "Stuff!", but without conviction.
+Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned his
+waistcoat and arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet of
+pink paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched it at once; opened
+it; stared incredulously at it; and said, "Pink paper, and scalloped
+edges! How filthily vulgar! I thought she was not much of a Countess!
+Ahem! 'Music for the People. Parnassus Society. A concert will be given
+at the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th April, by the
+Countess of Carbury, assisted by the following ladies and gentlemen.
+Miss Elinor McQuinch'--what a name! 'Miss Marian Lind'--who's Miss
+Marian Lind?"
+
+"How should I know?"
+
+"I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that you would most
+likely be intimate with her. 'Mrs. Leith Fairfax.' There is a Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax who writes novels, and very rotten novels they are, too. Who are
+the gentlemen? 'Mr. Marmaduke Lind'--brother to Miss Marian, I suppose.
+'Mr. Edward Conolly'--save the mark! they must have been rather hard up
+for gentlemen when they put _you_ down as one. The Conolly family is
+looking up at last. Hm! nearly a dozen altogether. 'Tickets will be
+distributed to the families of working men by the Rev. George
+Lind'--pity they didnt engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing with you. 'A
+limited number of front seats at one shilling. Please turn over. Part I.
+Symphony in F: Haydn. Arranged for four English concertinas by Julius
+Baker. Mr. Julius Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette Baker
+(aged 8); and Miss Totty Baker (aged 6-1/2)'. Good Lord! 'Song: Rose
+softly blooming: Spohr. Miss Marian Lind.' I wonder whether she can
+sing! 'Polonaise in A flat major: Chopin'--what rot! As if working
+people cared about Chopin! Miss Elinor McQuinch is a fool, I see. 'Song:
+The Valley: Gounod.' Of course: I knew you would try that. Oho! Here's
+something sensible at last. 'Nigger melody. Uncle Ned. Mr. Marmaduke
+Lind, accompanied by himself on the banjo.'
+
+  Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum--
+  'And there was an ole nigga; and his name was Uncle Ned;
+    An' him dead long ago, long ago.
+  An' he had no hair on the top of his head
+    In the place where the wool ought to grow,'
+
+Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double _encore_; and no one will take the
+least notice of you or the others. 'Recitation. The Faithful Soul.
+Adelaide Proctor. Mrs. Leith Fairfax.' Well, this certainly is a blessed
+attempt to amuse Wandsworth. _Another_ reading by the Rev.----"
+
+Here Conolly, who had been putting on his overcoat, picked the program
+deftly from his sister's fingers, and left the room. She, after damning
+him very heartily, returned to the glass, and continued dressing,
+taking her tea at intervals until she was ready to go out, when she sent
+for a cab, and bade the driver convey her to the Bijou Theatre, Soho.
+
+Conolly, on arriving at the Wandsworth Town Hall, was directed to a
+committee room, which served as green-room on this occasion. He was
+greeted by a clean shaven young clergyman who protested that he was glad
+to see him there, but did not offer his hand. Conolly thanked him
+briefly, and went without further ceremony to the table, and was about
+to place his hat and overcoat on a heap of similar garments, when,
+observing that there were some hooks along the wall, he immediately
+crossed over and hung up his things on them, thereby producing an
+underbred effect of being more prudent and observant than the rest. Then
+he looked at his program, and calculated how soon his turn to sing would
+come. Then he unrolled his music, and placed two copies of Le Vallon
+ready to his hand upon the table. Having made these arrangements with a
+self-possession that quite disconcerted the clergyman, he turned to
+examine the rest of the company.
+
+His first glance was arrested by the beauty of a young lady with light
+brown hair and gentle grey eyes, who sat near the fire. Beside her, on a
+lower chair, was a small, lean, and very restless young woman with keen
+dark eyes staring defiantly from a worn face. These two were attended by
+a jovial young gentleman with curly auburn hair, who was twanging a
+banjo, and occasionally provoking an exclamation of annoyance from the
+restless girl by requesting her opinion of his progress in tuning the
+instrument. Near them stood a tall man, dark and handsome. He seemed
+unused to his present circumstances, and contemptuous, not of the
+company nor the object for which they were assembled, but in the
+abstract, as if habitual contempt were part of his nature.
+
+The clergyman, who had just conducted to the platform an elderly
+professor in a shabby frock coat, followed by three well-washed
+children, each of whom carried a concertina, now returned and sat down
+beside a middle-aged lady, who made herself conspicuous by using a gold
+framed eyeglass so as to convey an impression that she was an
+exceedingly keen observer.
+
+"It is fortunate that the evening is so fine," said the clergyman to
+her.
+
+"Yes, is it not, Mr. Lind?"
+
+"My throat is always affected by bad weather, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I
+shall be so handicapped by the inevitable comparison of my elocution
+with yours, that I am glad the weather is favorable to me, though the
+comparison is not."
+
+"No," said Mrs. Fairfax, with decision. "I am not in the least an
+orator. I can repeat a poem: that is all. Oh! I hope I have not broken
+my glasses." They had slipped from her nose to the floor. Conolly picked
+them up and straightened them with one turn of his fingers.
+
+"No harm done, madam," said he, with a certain elocutionary correctness,
+and rather in the strong voice of the workshop than the subdued one of
+the drawing-room, handing the glasses to her ceremoniously as he spoke.
+
+"Thank you. You are very kind, very kind indeed."
+
+Conolly bowed, and turned again toward the other group.
+
+"Who is that?" whispered Mrs. Fairfax to the clergyman.
+
+"Some young man who attracted the attention of the Countess by his
+singing. He is only a workman."
+
+"Indeed! Where did she hear him sing?"
+
+"In her son's laboratory, I believe. He came there to put up some
+electrical machinery, and sang into a telephone for their amusement. You
+know how fond Lord Jasper is of mechanics. Jasper declares that he is a
+genius as an electrician. Indeed it was he, rather than the Countess,
+who thought of getting him to sing for us."
+
+"How very interesting! I saw that he was clever when he spoke to me.
+There is so much in trifles--in byplay, Mr. Lind. Now, his manner of
+picking up my glass had his entire history in it. You will also see it
+in the solid development of his head. That young man deserves to be
+encouraged."
+
+"You are very generous, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. It would not be well to
+encourage him too much, however. You must recollect that he is not used
+to society. Injudicious encouragement might perhaps lead him to forget
+his real place in it."
+
+"I do not agree with you, Mr. Lind. You do not read human nature as I
+do. You know that I am an expert. I see men as he sees a telegraph
+instrument, quite uninfluenced by personal feeling."
+
+"True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. But the heart is deceitful above all things
+and des--at least I should say--er. That is, you will admit that the
+finest perception may err in its estimate of the inscrutable work of the
+Almighty."
+
+"Doubtless. But really, Mr. Lind, human beings are _so_ shallow! I
+assure you there is nothing at all inscrutable about them to a trained
+analyst of character. It may be a gift, perhaps; but people's minds are
+to me only little machines made up of superficial motives."
+
+"I say," said the young gentleman with the banjo, interrupting them:
+"have you got a copy of 'Rose softly blooming' there?"
+
+"I!" said Mrs. Fairfax. "No, certainly not."
+
+"Then it's all up with the concert. We have forgotten Marian's music;
+and there is nothing for Nelly--I beg pardon, I mean Miss McQuinch--to
+play from. She is above playing by ear."
+
+"I _cannot_ play by ear," said the restless young lady, angrily.
+
+"If you will sing 'Coal black Rose' instead, Marian, I can accompany you
+on the banjo, and back you up in the chorus. The Wandsworthers--if they
+survive the concertinas--will applaud the change as one man."
+
+"It is so unkind to joke about it," said the beautiful young lady. "What
+shall I do? If somebody will vamp an accompaniment, I can get on very
+well without any music. But if I try to play for myself I shall break
+down."
+
+Conolly here stepped aside, and beckoned to the clergyman.
+
+"That young man wants to speak to you," whispered Mrs. Fairfax.
+
+"Oh, indeed. Thank you," said the Rev. Mr. Lind, stiffly. "I suppose I
+had better see what he requires."
+
+"I suppose you had," said Mrs. Fairfax, with some impatience.
+
+"I dont wish to intrude where I have no business," said Conolly quietly
+to the clergyman; "but I can play that lady's accompaniment, if she will
+allow me."
+
+The clergyman was too much afraid of Conolly by this time--he did not
+know why--to demur. "I am sure she will not object," he said, pretending
+to be relieved by the offer. "Your services will be most acceptable.
+Excuse me for one moment, whilst I inform Miss Lind."
+
+He crossed the room to the lady, and said in a lower tone, "I think I
+have succeeded in arranging the matter, Marian. That man says he will
+play for you."
+
+"I hope he _can_ play," said Marian doubtfully. "Who is he?"
+
+"It is Conolly. Jasper's man."
+
+Miss Lind's eyes lighted. "Is that he?" she whispered, glancing
+curiously across the room at him. "Bring him and introduce him to us."
+
+"Is that necessary?" said the tall man, without lowering his voice
+sufficiently to prevent Conolly from hearing him. The clergyman
+hesitated.
+
+"It is quite necessary: I do not know what he must think of us already,"
+said Marian, ashamed, and looking apprehensively at Conolly. He was
+staring with a policemanlike expression at the tall man, who, after a
+vain attempt to ignore him, had eventually to turn away. The Rev. Mr.
+Lind then led the electrician forward, and avoided a formal presentation
+by saying with a simper: "Here is Mr. Conolly, who will extricate us
+from all our difficulties."
+
+Miss McQuinch nodded. Miss Lind bowed. Marmaduke shook hands
+good-naturedly, and retired somewhat abashed, thrumming his banjo. Just
+then a faint sound of clapping was followed by the return of the quartet
+party, upon which Miss Lind rose and moved hesitatingly toward the
+platform. The tall man offered his hand.
+
+"Nonsense, Sholto," said she, laughing. "They will expect you to do
+something if you appear with me."
+
+"Allow _me_, Marian," said the clergyman, as the tall man, offended,
+bowed and stood aside. She, pretending not to notice her brother, turned
+toward Conolly, who at once passed the Rev. George, and led her to the
+platform.
+
+"The original key?" he enquired, as they mounted the steps.
+
+"I dont know," she said, alarmed.
+
+For a moment he was taken aback. Then he said, "What is the highest note
+you can sing?"
+
+"I can sing A sometimes--only when I am alone. I dare not attempt it
+before people."
+
+Conolly sat down, knowing now that Miss Lind was a commonplace amateur.
+He had been contrasting her with his sister, greatly to the
+disparagement of his home life; and he was disappointed to find the lady
+break down where the actress would have succeeded so well. Consoling
+himself with the reflexion that if Miss Lind could not rap out a B flat
+like Susanna, neither could she rap out an oath, he played the
+accompaniment much better than Marian sang the song. Meanwhile, Miss
+McQuinch, listening jealously in the green-room, hated herself for her
+inferior skill.
+
+"Cool, and reserved, is the modern Benjamin Franklin," observed
+Marmaduke to her.
+
+"Better a reserved man who can do something than a sulky one who can do
+nothing," she said, glancing at the tall man, with whom the clergyman
+was nervously striving to converse.
+
+"Exquisite melody, is it not, Mr. Douglas?" said Mrs. Fairfax, coming to
+the clergyman's rescue.
+
+"I do not care for music," said Douglas. "I lack the maudlin disposition
+in which the taste usually thrives."
+
+Miss McQuinch gave an expressive snap, but said nothing; and the
+conversation dropped until Miss Lind had sung her song, and received a
+round of respectful but not enthusiastic applause.
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Conolly," she said, as she left the platform. "I am
+afraid that Spohr's music is too good for the people here. Dont you
+think so?"
+
+"Not a bit of it," replied Conolly. "There is nothing so very particular
+in Spohr. But he requires very good singing--better than he is worth."
+
+Miss Lind colored, and returned in silence to her seat beside Miss
+McQuinch, feeling that she had exposed herself to a remark that no
+gentleman would have made.
+
+"Now then, Nelly," said Marmaduke: "the parson is going to call time.
+Keep up your courage. Come, get up, get up."
+
+"Do not be so boisterous, Duke," said Marian. "It is bad enough to have
+to face an audience without being ridiculed beforehand."
+
+"Marian," said Marmaduke, "if you think Nelly will hammer a love of
+music into the British workman, you err. Lots of them get their living
+by hammering, and they will most likely resent feminine competition.
+Bang! There she goes. Pity the sorrows of a poor old piano, and let us
+hope its trembling limbs wont come through the floor."
+
+"Really, Marmaduke," said Marian, impatiently, "you are excessively
+foolish. You are like a boy fresh from school."
+
+Marmaduke, taken aback by her sharp tone, gave a long whispered whistle,
+and pretended to hide under the table. He had a certain gift of drollery
+which made it difficult not to laugh even at his most foolish antics,
+and Marian was giving way in spite of herself when she found Douglas
+bending over her and saying, in a low voice:
+
+"You are tired of this place. The room is very draughty: I fear it will
+give you cold. Let me drive you home now. An apology can be made for
+whatever else you are supposed to do for these people. Let me get your
+cloak and call a cab."
+
+Marian laughed. "Thank you, Sholto," she said; "but I assure you I am
+quite happy. Pray do not look offended because I am not so uncomfortable
+as you think I ought to be."
+
+"I am glad you are happy," said Douglas in his former cold tone.
+"Perhaps my presence is rather a drawback to your enjoyment than
+otherwise."
+
+"I told you not to come, Sholto; but you would. Why not adapt yourself
+to the circumstances, and be agreeable?"
+
+"I am not conscious of being disagreeable."
+
+"I did not mean that. Only I do not like to see you making an enemy of
+every one in the room, and forcing me to say things that I know must
+hurt you."
+
+"To the enmity of your new associates I am supremely indifferent,
+Marian. To that of your old friends I am accustomed. I am not in the
+mood to be lectured on my behavior at present; besides, the subject is
+hardly worth pursuing. May I gather from your remarks that I shall
+gratify you by withdrawing?"
+
+"Yes," said Marian, flushing slightly, and looking steadily at him.
+Then, controlling her voice with an effort, she added, "Do not try again
+to browbeat me into telling you a falsehood, Sholto."
+
+Douglas looked at her in surprise. Before he could answer, Miss McQuinch
+reappeared.
+
+"Well, Nelly," said Marmaduke: "is there any piano left?"
+
+"Not much," she replied, with a sullen laugh. "I never played worse in
+my life."
+
+"Wrong notes? or deficiency in the sacred fire?"
+
+"Both."
+
+"I believe your song comes next," said the clergyman to Conolly, who had
+been standing apart, listening to Miss McQuinch's performance.
+
+"Who is to accompany me, sir?"
+
+"Oh--ah--Miss McQuinch will, I am sure," replied the Rev. Mr. Lind,
+smiling nervously. Conolly looked grave. The young lady referred to
+closed her lips; frowned; said nothing. Marmaduke chuckled.
+
+"Perhaps you would rather play your own accompaniment," said the
+clergyman, weakly.
+
+Conolly shook his head decisively, and said, "I can do only one thing at
+a time, sir."
+
+"Oh, they are not very critical: they are only workmen," said the
+clergyman, and then reddened deeply as Marmaduke gave him a very
+perceptible nudge.
+
+"I'll not take advantage of that, as I am only a workman myself," said
+Conolly. "I had rather leave the song out than accompany myself."
+
+"Pray dont suppose that I wish to be disagreeable, Mr. Lind," said Miss
+McQuinch, as the company looked doubtfully at her; "but I have disgraced
+myself too completely to trust my fingers again. I should spoil the song
+if I played the accompaniment."
+
+"I think you might try, Nell," said Marmaduke, reproachfully.
+
+"I might," retorted Miss McQuinch; "but I wont."
+
+"If somebody doesnt go out and do something, there will be a shindy,"
+said Marmaduke.
+
+Marian hesitated a moment and then rose. "I am a very indifferent
+player," she said; "but since no better is to be had, I will venture--if
+Mr. Conolly will trust me."
+
+Conolly bowed.
+
+"If you would rather not," said Miss McQuinch, shamed into remorse, "I
+will try the accompaniment. But I am sure to play it all wrong."
+
+"I think Miss McQuinch had better play," said Douglas.
+
+Conolly looked at Marian; received a reassuring glance; and went to the
+platform with her without further ado. She was not a sympathetic
+accompanist; but, not knowing this, she was not at all put out by it.
+She felt too that she was, as became a lady, giving the workman a lesson
+in courtesy which might stand him in stead when he next accompanied
+"Rose, softly blooming." She was a little taken aback on finding that he
+not only had a rich baritone voice, but was, as far as she could judge,
+an accomplished singer.
+
+"Really," she said as they left the platform, "you sing most
+beautifully."
+
+"One would hardly have expected it," he said, with a smile.
+
+Marian, annoyed at having this side of her compliment exposed, did not
+return the smile, and went to her chair in the green-room without taking
+any further notice of him.
+
+"I congratulate you," said Mrs. Leith Fairfax to Conolly, looking at
+him, like all the rest except Douglas, with a marked access of interest.
+"Ah! what wonderful depth there is in Gounod's music!"
+
+He assented politely with a movement of his head.
+
+"I know nothing at all about music," said Mrs. Fairfax.
+
+"Very few people do."
+
+"I mean technically, of course," she said, not quite pleased.
+
+"Of course."
+
+A tremendous burst of applause here followed the conclusion of the first
+verse of "Uncle Ned."
+
+"_Do_ come and listen, Nelly," said Marian, returning to the door. Mrs.
+Fairfax and Conolly presently went to the door too.
+
+"Would you not like to help in the chorus, Nelly?" said Marian in a low
+voice, as the audience began to join uproariously in the refrain.
+
+"Not particularly," said Miss McQuinch.
+
+"Sholto," said Marian, "come and share our vulgar joy. We want you to
+join in the chorus."
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, "I fear I am too indifferent a vocalist to do
+justice to the occasion."
+
+"Sing with Mr. Conolly and you cannot go wrong," said Miss McQuinch.
+
+"Hush," said Marian, interposing quickly lest Douglas should retort.
+"There is the chorus. Shall we really join?"
+
+Conolly struck up the refrain without further hesitation. Marian sang
+with him. Mrs. Fairfax and the clergyman looked furtively at one
+another, but forbore to swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few words
+in a piercing contralto voice, and then stopped with a gesture of
+impatience, feeling that she was out of tune. Marian, with only Conolly
+to keep her in countenance, felt relieved when Marmaduke, thrice
+encored, entered the room in triumph. Whilst he was being
+congratulated, Douglas turned to Miss McQuinch, who was pretending to
+ignore Marmaduke's success.
+
+"I hope, Miss McQuinch," he said in a low tone, "that you will be able
+to relieve Marian at the piano next time. You know how she dislikes
+having to play accompaniments for strangers."
+
+"How mean it is of you to be jealous of a plumber!" said Miss McQuinch,
+with a quick glance at him which she did not dare to sustain, so
+fiercely did he return it.
+
+When she looked again, he seemed unconscious of her presence, and was
+buttoning his overcoat.
+
+"Really going at last, Sholto?" said Marian. Douglas bowed.
+
+"I told you you wouldnt be able to stand it, old man," said Marmaduke.
+"Mrs. Bluestockings wont be pleased with you for not staying to hear her
+recite." This referred to Mrs. Fairfax, who had just gone upon the
+platform.
+
+"Good night," said Miss McQuinch, shortly, anxious to test how far he
+was offended, but unwilling to appear solicitous for a reconciliation.
+
+"Until to-morrow, farewell," he said, approaching Marian, who gave him
+her hand with a smile: Conolly looking thoughtfully at him meanwhile. He
+left the room; and so, Mrs. Fairfax having gone to the platform to
+recite, quiet prevailed for a few minutes.
+
+"Shall I have the pleasure of playing the accompaniment to your next
+song?" said Conolly, sitting down near Marian.
+
+"Thank you," said Marian, shrinking a little: "I think Miss McQuinch
+knows it by heart." Then, still anxious to be affable to the workman,
+she added, "Lord Jasper says you are a great musician."
+
+"No, I am an electrician. Music is not my business: it is my amusement."
+
+"You have invented something very wonderful, have you not?"
+
+"I have discovered something, and I am trying to invent a means of
+turning it to account. It will be only a cheap electro-motor if it comes
+to anything."
+
+"You must explain that to me some day, Mr. Conolly. I'm afraid I dont
+know what an electro-motor means."
+
+"I ought not to have mentioned it," said Conolly. "It is so constantly
+in my mind that I am easily led to talk about it. I try to prevent
+myself, but the very effort makes me think of it more than ever."
+
+"But I like to hear you talk about it," said Marian. "I always try to
+make people talk shop to me, and of course they always repay me by
+trying to keep on indifferent topics, of which I know as much--or as
+little--as they."
+
+"Well, then," said Conolly, "an electro-motor is only an engine for
+driving machinery, just like a steam engine, except that it is worked by
+electricity instead of steam. Electric engines are so imperfect now that
+steam ones come cheaper. The man who finds out how to make the electric
+engine do what the steam engine now does, and do it cheaper, will make
+his fortune if he has his wits about him. Thats what I am driving at."
+
+Miss Lind, in spite of her sensible views as to talking shop, was not
+interested in the least. "Indeed!" she said. "How interesting that must
+be! But how did you find time to become so perfect a musician, and to
+sing so exquisitely?"
+
+"I picked most of it up when I was a boy. My grandfather was an Irish
+sailor with such a tremendous voice that a Neapolitan music master
+brought him out in opera as a _buffo_. When he had roared his voice
+away, he went into the chorus. My father was reared in Italy, and looked
+more Italian than most genuine natives. He had no voice; so he became
+first accompanist, then chorus master, and finally trainer for the
+operatic stage. He speculated in an American tour; married out there;
+lost all his money; and came over to England, when I was only twelve, to
+resume his business at Covent Garden. I stayed in America, and was
+apprenticed to an electrical engineer. I worked at the bench there for
+six years."
+
+"I suppose your father taught you to sing."
+
+"No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss Lind, he was a capital
+man to teach stage tricks and traditional renderings of old operas; but
+only the exceptionally powerful voices survived his method of teaching.
+He would have finished my career as a singer in two months if he had
+troubled himself to teach me. Never go to Italy to learn singing."
+
+"I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe in your father or
+else be silent about him."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Why! Surely we should hide the failings of those we love? I can
+understand now how your musical and electrical tastes became mixed up;
+but you should not confuse your duties. But please excuse me:"
+(Conolly's eyes had opened a little wider) "I am lecturing you, without
+the least right to. It is a failing of mine which you must not mind."
+
+"Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But the world would never
+get on if every practical man were to stand by his father's mistakes.
+However, I brought it on myself by telling you a long story. This is the
+first opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, and I
+suppose I have abused it."
+
+Marian laughed. "We had better stop apologizing to one another," she
+said. "What about the accompaniments to our next songs?"
+
+Meanwhile Marmaduke and Miss McQuinch were becoming curious about Marian
+and Conolly.
+
+"I say, Nelly," he whispered, "Marian and that young man seem to be
+getting on uncommonly well together. She looks sentimentally happy, and
+he seems pleased with himself. Dont you feel jealous?"
+
+"Jealous! Why should I be?"
+
+"Out of pure cussedness. Not that you care for the electric man, but
+because you hate any one to fall in love with any one else when you are
+by."
+
+"I wish you would go away."
+
+"Why? Dont you like me?"
+
+"I _loathe_ you. Now, perhaps you understand me."
+
+"That's a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow," said Marmaduke,
+roused. "I have a great mind to bring you to your senses as Douglas
+does, by not speaking to you for a week."
+
+"I wish you would let me come to my senses by not speaking to me at
+all."
+
+"Oh! Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. We are no longer on
+speaking terms. Look as contemptuous as you please: you will be sorry
+when you think over this. Remember: you said you loathed me."
+
+"So I do," said Elinor, stubbornly.
+
+"Very good," said Marmaduke, turning his back on her. Just then the
+concertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared with
+refreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in
+dispensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda water
+a sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making small
+talk, went to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew.
+
+"Well, Nelly," said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss McQuinch,
+and speaking in a low voice, "what do you think of Jasper's workman?"
+
+"Not much," replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. "He is very
+conceited, and very coarse."
+
+"Do you really think so? I expected to find you delighted with his
+unconventionality. I thought him rather amusing."
+
+"I thought him extremely aggravating. I hate to have to speak to people
+of that sort."
+
+"Then you consider him vulgar," said Marian, disappointed.
+
+"N--no. Not vulgarer than anybody else. He couldnt be that."
+
+"Sherry and soda, Marian?" said Marmaduke, approaching.
+
+"No, thank you, Marmaduke. Get Nelly something."
+
+"As Miss McQuinch and I are no longer on speaking terms, I leave her to
+the care of yonder scientific amateur, who has just refused, on teetotal
+grounds, to pledge the Rev. George in a glass of eighteen shilling
+sherry."
+
+"Dont be silly, Marmaduke. Bring Nelly some soda water."
+
+"Do nothing of the sort," said Miss McQuinch.
+
+Marmaduke bowed and retired.
+
+"What is the matter between you and Duke now?" said Marian.
+
+"Nothing. I told him I loathed him."
+
+"Oh! I dont wonder at his being a little huffed. How _can_ you say
+things you dont mean?"
+
+"I do mean them. What with his folly, Sholto's mean conceit, George's
+hypocrisy, that man's vulgarity, Mrs. Fairfax's affectation, your
+insufferable amiability, and the dreariness of those concertina people,
+I feel so wretched that I could find it in my heart to loathe anybody
+and everybody."
+
+"Nonsense, Nelly! You are only in the blues."
+
+"_Only_ in the blues!" said Miss McQuinch sarcastically. "Yes. That is
+all."
+
+"Take some sherry. It will brighten you up."
+
+"Dutch courage! Thank you: I prefer my present moroseness."
+
+"But you are not morose, Nelly."
+
+"Oh, stuff, Marian! Dont throw away your amiability on me. Here comes
+your new friend with refreshments. I wonder was he ever a waiter? He
+looks exactly like one."
+
+After this the conversation flagged. Mrs. Fairfax grew loquacious under
+the influence of sherry, but presently a reaction set in, and she began
+to yawn. Miss McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than before,
+and the audience, longing for another negro melody, paid little
+attention to her. Marian sang a religious song, which was received with
+the respect usually accorded to a dull sermon. The clergyman read a
+comic essay of his own composition, and Mrs. Fairfax recited an ode to
+Mazzini. The concertinists played an arrangement of a quartet by Onslow.
+The working men and women of Wandsworth gaped, and those who sat near
+the door began to slip out. Even Miss McQuinch pitied them.
+
+"The idea of expecting them to be grateful for an infliction like
+that!" she said. "What do people of their class care about Onslow's
+quartets?"
+
+"Do you think that people of any class, high or low, would be gratified
+by such an entertainment?" said Conolly, with some warmth. No one had
+sufficient spirit left to reply.
+
+At last the concertinists went home, and the reading drew to a close.
+Conolly, again accompanied by Marian, sang "Tom Bowling." The audience
+awoke, cheered the singer heartily, and made him sing again. On his
+return to the green-room, Miss McQuinch, much affected at the fate of
+Bowling, and indignant with herself for being so, stared defiantly at
+Conolly through a film of tears. When Marmaduke went out, the people
+also were so moved that they were ripe for laughter, and with roars of
+merriment forced him to sing three songs, in the choruses of which they
+joined. Eventually the clergyman had to bid them go home, as Mr. Lind
+had given them all the songs he knew.
+
+"I suppose you will not come with us, Duke," said Marian, when all was
+over, and they were preparing to leave. "We can drop you at your
+chambers if you like; but you will have to sit on the box. Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax, George, Nelly, and I, will be a carriageful."
+
+Marmaduke looked at his watch. "By Jove!" he cried, "it is only ten. I
+forgot how early we began to-night. No thank you, Marian: I am not going
+your way; but you may take the banjo and keep it until I call. Ta ta!"
+
+They all went out together; and the ladies, followed by the clergyman,
+entered their carriage and drove away, leaving Marmaduke and Conolly
+standing on the pavement. Having shared the success of the concert,
+each felt well disposed to the other.
+
+"What direction are you going in?" said Marmaduke.
+
+"Westminster Bridge or thereabouts," replied Conolly. "This place is
+rather out of the way."
+
+"Have you anything particular to do before you turn in for the night?"
+
+"Nothing at all."
+
+"Then I'll tell you what it is, old man. Lets take a hansom, and drive
+off to the Bijou. We shall just be in time to see Lalage Virtue in the
+burlesque; and--look here! I'll introduce you to her: youre just the
+sort of chap she would like to know. Eh?"
+
+Conolly looked at him, nodded, and burst out laughing. Marmaduke, who
+had set him down as a cool, undemonstrative man, was surprised at his
+hilarity for a moment, but presently joined in it. Whilst they were both
+laughing a hansom appeared, and Conolly, recovering himself, hailed the
+driver.
+
+"We shall get on together, I see," said Marmaduke, jumping into the cab.
+"Hallo! The Bijou Theatre, Soho, and drive as fast as you can afford to
+for half a sovereign."
+
+"Right you are, sir," replied the driver, whipping his horse.
+
+The rattling of the cab silenced Conolly; but his companion persisted
+for some time in describing the burlesque to which they were going, and
+particularly the attractions of Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, who enacted
+a principal character therein, and with whom he seemed to be in love.
+When they alighted at the theatre Marmaduke payed the cabman, and
+Conolly took advantage of this to enter the theatre and purchase two
+stall tickets, an arrangement which Lind, suddenly recollecting his new
+friend's position, disapproved of, but found it useless to protest
+against. He forgot it on hearing the voice of Lalage Virtue, who was at
+that moment singing within; and he went to his stall with his eyes
+turned to the stage, treading on toes and stumbling as children commonly
+do when they walk in one direction and look in another. An attendant,
+who seemed to know him, proffered a glass for hire. He took it, and
+leveled it at Mademoiselle Lalage, who was singing some trivial couplets
+much better than they deserved. Catching sight of him presently, she
+greeted him with a flash of her dark eye that made him writhe as though
+his heart had received a fillip from a ponderable missile. She did not
+spare these roguish glances. They darted everywhere; and Conolly,
+looking about him to note their effect, saw rows of callow young faces
+with parted lips and an expression which seemed to have been caught and
+fixed at the climax of a blissful chuckle. There were few women in the
+stalls, and the silly young faces were relieved only by stupid old ones.
+
+The couplets ended amidst great applause. Marmaduke placed his glass on
+his knees, and, clapping his hands vigorously, turned to his companion
+with a triumphant smile, mutely inviting him to clamor for a repetition
+of the air. But Conolly sat motionless, with his arms folded, his cheek
+flushed, and his brow lowered.
+
+"You dont seem used to this sort of thing," said Lind, somewhat
+disgusted.
+
+"It was well sung," replied Conolly "--better than most of these
+blackguards know."
+
+"Then why dont you clap?"
+
+"Because she is not giving herself any trouble. That sort of thing,
+from a woman of her talent, is too cheap to say 'thank you' for."
+
+Marmaduke looked at him, and began to think that he was a priggish
+fellow after all. But as the burlesque went on, Mademoiselle Lalage
+charmed away this disagreeable impression. She warbled in an amorous
+duet, and then sang the pleasures of champagne; tossing her head; waving
+a gilt goblet; and, without the least appearance of effort, working hard
+to captivate those who were to be won by bold smiles and arch glances.
+She displayed her person less freely than her colleagues, being, not
+more modest, but more skilful in the art of seduction. The slang that
+served for dialogue in her part was delivered in all sorts of
+intonations, now demure and mischievous, anon strident and mock tragic.
+Marmaduke was delighted.
+
+"What I like about her is that she is such a genuine little lady," he
+said, as her exit released his attention. "With all her go, she is never
+a bit vulgar. Off the stage she is just the same. Not a spark of
+affectation about her. It is all natural."
+
+"You know her, then?" said Conolly.
+
+"I should think I do," replied Marmaduke, energetically. "You have no
+idea what a rattling sort she is."
+
+"To you, who only see her occasionally, no doubt she gives--as a
+rattling sort--a heightened charm to the order, the refinement, the--the
+beauty of the home life which you can enjoy. Excuse my introducing such
+a subject, Mr. Lind; but would you bring your cousin--the lady who sang
+to-night at the concert--to see this performance?"
+
+"I would if she asked me to," said Marmaduke, somewhat taken aback.
+
+"No doubt. But should you be surprised if she asked you?"
+
+"Not a bit. Fine ladies are neither such fools nor such angels as
+you--as some fellows think. Miss Lind's notion is to see everything. And
+yet she is a thoroughly nice woman too. It is the same with Lalage
+there. She is not squeamish, and she is full of fun; but she knows as
+well as anybody how to pull up a man who doesnt behave himself."
+
+"And you actually think that this Lalage Virtue is as respectable a
+woman as your cousin?"
+
+"Oh, I dont bother myself about it. I shouldnt have thought of comparing
+them if you hadnt started the idea. Marian's way is not the other one's
+way, and each of them is all right in her own way. Look here. I'll
+introduce you to Lalage. We can pick up somebody else to make a party
+for you, and finish with a supper at Jellicoe's."
+
+"Are you privileged to introduce whom you like to Miss Lalage?"
+
+"Well, as to that, she doesnt stand much on ceremony; but then, you see,
+that cuts two ways. The mere introducing is no difficulty; but it
+depends on the man himself whether he gets snubbed afterward or not. By
+the bye, you must understand, if you dont know it already, that Lalage
+is as correct in her morals as a bishop's wife. I just tell you, because
+some fellows seem to think that a woman who goes on the stage leaves her
+propriety behind as a matter of course. In fact, I rather thought so
+myself once. Not that you wont find loose women there as well as
+anywhere else, if you want to. But dont take it for granted, that's
+all."
+
+"Well," said Conolly, "you may introduce me, and we can consider the
+supper afterwards. Would it be indiscreet to ask how you obtained your
+own introduction? You dont, I suppose, move in the same circle as she;
+and if she is as particular as your own people, she can hardly form
+promiscuous acquaintanceships."
+
+"A man at the point of death does not stop to think about etiquet. She
+saved my life."
+
+"Saved your life! That sounds romantic."
+
+"There was precious little romance about it, though I owe my being alive
+now to her presence of mind. It happened in the rummest way. I was
+brought behind the scenes one night by a Cambridge chum. We were
+painting the town a bit red. We were not exactly drunk; but we were not
+particularly sober either; and I was very green at that time, and made a
+fool of myself about Lalage: staring; clapping like a madman in the
+middle of her songs; getting into the way of everybody and everything,
+and so on. Then a couple of fellows we knew turned up, and we got
+chatting at the wing with some girls. At last a fellow came in with a
+bag of cherries; and we began trying that old trick--you know--taking
+the end of a stalk between your lips and drawing the cherry into the
+mouth without touching it with your hand, you know. I tried it; and I
+was just getting the cherry into my mouth when some idiot gave me a
+drive in the waistcoat. I made a gulp; and the cherry stuck fast in my
+throat. I began to choke. Nobody knew what to do; and while they were
+pushing me about, some thinking I was only pretending, the girls
+beginning to get frightened, and the rest shouting at me to swallow the
+confounded thing, I was getting black in the face, and my head was
+bursting: I could see nothing but red spots. It was a near thing, I tell
+you. Suddenly I got a shake; and then a little fist gave me a stunning
+thump on the back, that made the cherry bounce out against my palate. I
+gasped and coughed like a grampus: the stalk was down my throat still.
+Then the little hand grabbed my throat and made me open my mouth wide;
+and the cherry was pulled out, stalk and all. It was Lalage who did this
+while the rest were gaping helplessly. I dont remember what followed. I
+thought I had fainted; but it appears that I nearly cried, and talked
+the most awful nonsense to her. I suppose the choking made me
+hysterical. However, I distinctly recollect the stage manager bullying
+the girls, and turning us all out. I was very angry with myself for
+being childish, as they told me I had been; and when I got back to
+Cambridge I actually took to reading. A few months afterward I made
+another trip to town, and went behind the scenes again. She recognized
+me, and chaffed me about the cherry. I jumped at my chance; I improved
+the acquaintance; and now I know her pretty well."
+
+"You doubt whether any of the ladies that were with us at the concert
+would have been equally useful in such an emergency?"
+
+"I should think I do doubt it, my boy. Hush! Now that the ballet is
+over, we are annoying people by talking."
+
+"You are right," replied Conolly. "Aha! Here is Miss Lalage again."
+
+Marmaduke raised his opera-glass to his eyes, eager for another smile
+from the actress. He seemed about to be gratified; for her glance was
+travelling toward him along the row of stalls. But it was arrested by
+Conolly, on whom she looked with perceptible surprise and dismay. Lind,
+puzzled, turned toward his companion, and found him smiling maliciously
+at Mademoiselle Lalage, who recovered her vivacity with an effort, and
+continued her part with more nervousness than he had ever seen her
+display before.
+
+Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, and re-entered
+it by the stage door.
+
+"Queer place, isnt it?" said Lind.
+
+Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well accustomed to the dingy
+labyrinth of old-fashioned stages. Presently they came upon Lalage. She
+was much heated by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry.
+
+"Well?" she said quarrelsomely.
+
+Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not addressed to him, but
+to Conolly, looked from one to the other, mystified.
+
+"I have come to see you act at last," said Conolly.
+
+"You might have told me you were coming. I could have got you a stall,
+although I suppose you would have preferred to throw away your money
+like a fool."
+
+"I must admit, my dear," said Conolly, "that I could have spent it to
+much greater advantage."
+
+"Indeed! and you!" she said, turning to Lind, whose deepening color
+betrayed his growing mortification: "what is the matter with _you_?"
+
+"I have played a trick on your friend," said Conolly. "He suggested this
+visit; and I did not tell him of the relation between us. Finding us on
+terms of familiarity, if not of affection, he is naturally surprised."
+
+"As I have never tried to meddle with your private affairs," said
+Marmaduke to Lalage, "I need not apologize for not knowing your husband.
+But I regret----"
+
+The actress laughed in spite of her vexation. "Why, you silly old
+thing!" she exclaimed, "he is no more my husband than you are!"
+
+"Oh!" said Marmaduke. "Indeed!"
+
+"I am her brother," said Conolly considerately, stifling a smile.
+
+"Why," said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her voice, "what else
+did you think?"
+
+"Hush," said Conolly, "we are talking too much in this crowd. You had
+better change your dress, Susanna, and then we can settle what to do
+next."
+
+"You can settle what you please," she replied. "I am going home."
+
+"Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together," said Conolly, observing
+her curiously.
+
+Susanna looked quickly at them.
+
+"Who is Mr. Lind?" she said.
+
+"Your friend, of course," said Conolly, with an answering flash of
+intelligence that brought out the resemblance between them startlingly.
+"Mr. Marmaduke Lind."
+
+Marmaduke became very red as they both waited for him to explain.
+
+"I thought that you would perhaps join us at supper," he said to
+Susanna.
+
+"Did you?" she said, threateningly. Then she turned her back on him and
+went to her dressing-room.
+
+"Well, Mr. Lind," said Conolly, "what do you think of Mademoiselle
+Lalage now?"
+
+"I think her annoyance is very natural," said Marmaduke, gloomily. "No
+doubt you are right to take care of your sister, but you are very much
+mistaken if you think I meant to act badly toward her."
+
+"It is no part of my duty to take care of her," said Conolly,
+seriously. "She is her own guardian, and she has never been encouraged
+to suppose that her responsibility lies with any one but herself."
+
+"It doesnt matter now," said Marmaduke; "for I intend never to speak to
+her again."
+
+Conolly laughed. "However that may turn out," he said, "we are evidently
+not in the mood for further conviviality, so let us postpone the supper
+to some other occasion. May I advise you not to wait until Susanna
+returns. There is no chance of a reconciliation to-night."
+
+"I dont want any reconciliation."
+
+"Of course not; I had forgotten," replied Conolly, placably. "Then I
+suppose you will go before she has finished dressing."
+
+"I shall go now," said Marmaduke, buttoning his overcoat, and turning
+away.
+
+"Good-night," said Conolly.
+
+"Good-night," muttered Marmaduke, petulantly, and disappeared.
+
+Conolly waited a moment, so that he might not overtake Lind. He then
+went for a cab, and waited at the stage door until his sister came down,
+frowning. She got into the hansom without a word.
+
+"Why dont you have a brougham, instead of going about in cabs?" he said,
+as they drove away.
+
+"Because I like a hansom better than a brougham; and I had rather pay
+four shillings a night and travel comfortably, than thirteen and be half
+suffocated."
+
+"I thought the appearance of----"
+
+"There is no use in your talking to me. I cant hear a word you say going
+over these stones."
+
+When they were alone together in their drawing-room in Lambeth, he,
+after walking up and down the room a few times, and laughing softly to
+himself, began to sing the couplets from the burlesque.
+
+"Are you aware," she inquired, "that it is half past twelve, and that
+the people of the house are trying to sleep."
+
+"True," said he, desisting. "By the bye, I, too, have had my triumphs
+this evening. I shared the honors of the concert with Master Lind, who
+was so delighted that he insisted on bringing me off to the Bijou. He
+loves you to distraction, poor devil!"
+
+"Yes: you made a nice piece of mischief there. Where is he?"
+
+"Gone away in a rage, swearing never to speak to you again."
+
+"Hm! And so his name is Lind, is it?"
+
+"Didnt you know?"
+
+"No, or I should have told you when I read the program this evening. The
+young villain pretended that his name was Marmaduke Sharp."
+
+"Ah! The name reminds me of one of his cousins, a little spitfire that
+snaps at every one who presumes to talk to her."
+
+"His cousins! Oh, of course; you met them at the concert. What are they
+like? Are they swells?"
+
+"Yes, they seem to be. There were only two cousins, Miss McQuinch and a
+young woman named Marian, blonde and rather good looking. There was a
+brother of hers there, but he is only a parson, and a tall fellow named
+Douglas, who made rather a fool of himself. I could not make him out
+exactly."
+
+"Did they snub you?"
+
+"I dont know. Probably they tried. Are you intimate with many of our
+young nobility under assumed names?"
+
+"Steal a few more marches to the Bijou, and perhaps you will find out."
+
+"Good-night! Pardon my abrupt departure, but you are not the very
+sweetest of Susannas to-night."
+
+"Oh, _good_-night."
+
+"By the bye," said Conolly, returning, "this must be the Mr. Duke Lind
+who is going to marry Lady Constance Carbury, my noble pupil's sister."
+
+"I am sure it matters very little whom he marries."
+
+"If he will pay us a visit here, and witness the working of perfect
+frankness without affection, and perfect liberty without refinement, he
+may find reason to conclude that it matters a good deal. Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Marian Lind lived at Westbourne Terrace, Paddington, with her father,
+the fourth son of a younger brother of the Earl of Carbury. Mr. Reginald
+Harrington Lind, at the outset of his career, had no object in life
+except that of getting through it as easily as possible; and this he
+understood so little how to achieve that he suffered himself to be
+married at the age of nineteen to a Lancashire cotton spinner's heiress.
+She bore him three children, and then eloped with a professor of
+spiritualism, who deserted her on the eve of her fourth confinement, in
+the course of which she caught scarlet fever and died. Her child
+survived, but was sent to a baby farm and starved to death in the usual
+manner. Her husband, disgusted by her behavior (for she had been
+introduced by him to many noblemen and gentlemen, his personal friends,
+some one at least of whom, on the slightest encouragement, would, he
+felt sure, have taken the place of the foreign charlatan she had
+disgraced him by preferring), consoled himself for her bad taste by
+entering into her possessions, which comprised a quantity of new
+jewellery, new lace, and feminine apparel, and an income of nearly seven
+thousand pounds a year. After this, he became so welcome in society that
+he could have boasted with truth at the end of any July that there were
+few marriageable gentlewomen of twenty-six and upward in London who had
+not been submitted to his inspection with a view to matrimony. But
+finding it easy to delegate the care of his children to school
+principals and hospitable friends, he concluded that he had nothing to
+gain and much comfort to lose by adding a stepmother to his
+establishment; and, after some time, it became the custom to say of Mr.
+Lind that the memory of his first wife kept him single. Thus, whilst his
+sons were drifting to manhood through Harrow and Cambridge, and his
+daughter passing from one relative's house to another's on a continual
+round of visits, sharing such private tuition as the cousins with whom
+she happened to be staying happened to be receiving just then, he lived
+at his club and pursued the usual routine of a gentleman-bachelor in
+London.
+
+In the course of time, Reginald Lind, the eldest child, entered the
+army, and went to India with his regiment. His brother George, less
+stolid, weaker, and more studious, preferred the Church. Marian, the
+youngest, from being constantly in the position of a guest, had early
+acquired habits of self-control and consideration for others, and
+escaped the effects, good and evil, of the subjection in which children
+are held by the direct authority of their parents.
+
+Of the numerous domestic circles of her father's kin, that with which
+she was the least familiar, because it was the poorest, had sprung from
+the marriage of one of her father's sisters with a Wiltshire gentleman
+named Hardy McQuinch, who had a small patrimony, a habit of farming, and
+a love of hunting. In the estimation of the peasantry, who would not
+associate lands, horses, and a carriage, with want of money, he was a
+rich man; but Mrs. McQuinch found it hard to live like a lady on their
+income, and had worn many lines into her face by constantly and vainly
+wishing that she could afford to give a ball every season, to get a new
+carriage, and to appear at church with her daughters in new dresses
+oftener than twice a year. Her two eldest girls were plump and pleasant,
+good riders and hearty eaters; and she had reasonable hopes of marrying
+them to prosperous country gentlemen.
+
+Elinor, her third and only other child, was one of her troubles. At an
+early age it was her practice, once a week or thereabouts, to disappear
+in the forenoon; be searched anxiously for all day; and return with a
+torn frock and dirty face at about six o'clock in the afternoon. She was
+stubborn, rebellious, and passionate under reproof or chastisement:
+governesses had left the house because of her; and from one school she
+had run away, from another eloped with a choir boy who wrote verses. Him
+she deserted in a fit of jealousy, quarter of an hour after her escape
+from school. The only one of her tastes that conduced to the peace of
+the house was for reading; and even this made her mother uneasy; for the
+books she liked best were fit, in Mrs. McQuinch's opinion, for the
+bookcase only. Elinor read openly what she could obtain by asking, such
+as Lamb's Tales from Shakespear, and The Pilgrim's Progress. The Arabian
+Nights Entertainments were sternly refused her; so she read them by
+stealth; and from that day there was always a collection of books,
+borrowed from friends, or filched from the upper shelf in the library,
+beneath her mattress. Nobody thought of looking there for them; and even
+if they had, they might have paused to reflect on the consequences of
+betraying her. Her eldest sister having given her a small workbox on her
+eleventh birthday, had the present thrown at her head two days later for
+reporting to her parents that Nelly's fondness for sitting in a certain
+secluded summer-house was due to her desire to read Lord Byron's poetry
+unobserved. Miss Lydia's forehead was severely cut; and Elinor, though
+bitterly remorseful, not only refused to beg pardon for her fault, but
+shattered every brittle article in the room to which she was confined
+for her contumacy. The vicar, on being consulted, recommended that she
+should be well whipped. This counsel was repugnant to Hardy McQuinch,
+but he gave his wife leave to use her discretion in the matter. The
+mother thought that the child ought to be beaten into submission; but
+she was afraid to undertake the task, and only uttered a threat, which
+was received with stubborn defiance. This was forgotten next day when
+Elinor, exhausted by a week of remorse, terror, rage, and suspense,
+became dangerously ill. When she recovered, her parents were more
+indulgent to her, and were gratified by finding her former passionate
+resistance replaced by sulky obedience. Five years elapsed, and Elinor
+began to write fiction. The beginning of a novel, and many incoherent
+verses imitated from Lara, were discovered by her mother, and burnt by
+her father. This outrage she never forgave. She was unable to make her
+resentment felt, for she no longer cared to break glass and china. She
+feared even to remonstrate lest she should humiliate herself by bursting
+into tears, as, since her illness, she had been prone to do in the least
+agitation. So she kept silence, and ceased to speak to either of her
+parents except when they addressed questions to her. Her father would
+neither complain of this nor confess the regret he felt for his hasty
+destruction of her manuscripts; but, whilst he proclaimed that he would
+burn every scrap of her nonsense that might come into his hands, he took
+care to be blind when he surprised her with suspicious bundles of
+foolscap, and snubbed his wife for hinting that Elinor was secretly
+disobeying him. Meanwhile her silent resentment never softened, and the
+life of the family was embittered by their consciousness of it. It never
+occurred to Mrs. McQuinch, an excellent mother to her two eldest
+daughters, that she was no more fit to have charge of the youngest than
+a turtle is to rear a young eagle. The discomfort of their relations
+never shook her faith in their "naturalness." Like her husband and the
+vicar, she believed that when God sent children he made their parents
+fit to rule them. And Elinor resented her parents' tyranny, as she felt
+it to be, without dreaming of making any allowances for their being in a
+false position towards her.
+
+One morning a letter from London announced that Mr. Lind had taken a
+house in Westbourne Terrace, and intended to live there permanently with
+his daughter. Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post came.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had communicated the news: "I knew
+there was something the matter when I saw Reginald's handwriting. It
+must be fully eighteen months since I heard from him last. I am very
+glad he has settled Marian in a proper home, instead of living like a
+bachelor and leaving her to wander about from one house to another. I
+wish we could have afforded to ask her down here oftener."
+
+"Here is a note from Marian, addressed to Nelly," said Lydia, who had
+been examining the envelope.
+
+"To Nelly!" said Mrs. McQuinch, vexed. "I think she should have invited
+one of you first."
+
+"Perhaps it is not an invitation," said Jane.
+
+"What else is it likely to be, child?" said Mrs. McQuinch. Then, as she
+thought how much pleasanter her home would be without Elinor, she
+added, "After all, it will do Nelly good to get away from here. She
+needs change, I think. I wish she would come down. It is too bad of her
+to be always late like this."
+
+Elinor came in presently, wearing a neglected black gown; her face pale;
+her eyes surrounded by dark circles; her black hair straggling in wisps
+over her forehead. Her sisters, dressed twinlike in white muslin and
+gold lockets, emphasized her by contrast. Being blond and gregarious,
+they enjoyed the reputation of being pretty and affectionate. They had
+thriven in the soil that had starved Elinor.
+
+"There's a letter for you from Marian," said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+"Thanks," said Elinor, indifferently, putting the note into her pocket.
+She liked Marian's letters, and kept them to read in her hours of
+solitude.
+
+"What does she say?" said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+"I have not looked," replied Elinor.
+
+"Well," said Mrs. McQuinch, plaintively, "I wish you _would_ look. I
+want to know whether she says anything about this letter from your uncle
+Reginald."
+
+Elinor plucked the note from her pocket, tore it open, and read it.
+Suddenly she set her face to hide some emotion from her family.
+
+"Marian wants me to go and stay with her," she said. "They have taken a
+house."
+
+"Poor Marian!" said Jane. "And will you go?"
+
+"I will," said Elinor. "Have you any objection?"
+
+"Oh dear, no," said Jane, smoothly.
+
+"I suppose you will be glad to get away from your home," said Mrs.
+McQuinch, incontinently.
+
+"Very glad," said Elinor. Mr. McQuinch, hurt, looked at her over his
+newspaper. Mrs. McQuinch was huffed.
+
+"I dont know what you are to do for clothes," she said, "unless Lydia
+and Jane are content to wear their last winter's dresses again this
+year."
+
+The faces of the young ladies elongated. "That's nonsense, mamma," said
+Lydia. "We cant wear those brown reps again." Women wore reps in those
+days.
+
+"You need not be alarmed," said Elinor. "I dont want any clothes. I can
+go as I am."
+
+"You dont know what you are talking about, child," said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+"A nice figure you would make in uncle Reginald's drawing-room with that
+dress on!" said Lydia.
+
+"And your hair in that state!" added Jane.
+
+"You should remember that there are others to be considered besides
+yourself," said Lydia. "How would _you_ like _your_ guests to look like
+scarecrows?"
+
+"How could you expect Marian to go about with you, or into the Park? I
+suppose----"
+
+"Here, here!" said Mr. McQuinch, putting down his paper. "Let us have no
+more of this. What else do you need in the Park than a riding habit? You
+have that already. Whatever clothes you want you had better get in
+London, where you will get the proper things for your money."
+
+"Indeed, Hardy, she is not going to pay a London milliner four prices
+for things she can get quite as good down here."
+
+"I tell you I dont want anything," said Elinor impatiently. "It will be
+time enough to begrudge me some decent clothes when I ask for them."
+
+"I dont begrudge----"
+
+Mrs. McQuinch's husband interrupted her. "Thats enough, now, everybody.
+It's settled that she is to go, as she wants to. I will get her what is
+necessary. Give me another egg, and talk about something else."
+
+Accordingly, Elinor went to live at Westbourne Terrace. Marian had spent
+a month of her childhood in Wiltshire, and had made of Elinor an
+exacting friend, always ready to take offence, and to remain jealous and
+sulky for days if one of her sisters, or any other little girl, engaged
+her cousin's attention long. On the other hand, Elinor's attachment was
+idolatrous in its intensity; and as Marian was sweet-tempered, and more
+apt to fear that she had disregarded Elinor's feelings than to take
+offence at her waywardness, their friendship endured after they were
+parted. Their promises of correspondence were redeemed by Elinor with
+very long letters at uncertain intervals, and by Marian with shorter
+epistles notifying all her important movements. Marian, often called
+upon to defend her cousin from the charge of being a little shrew, was
+led to dwell upon her better qualities. Elinor found in Marian what she
+had never found at her own home, a friend, and in her uncle's house a
+refuge from that of her father, which she hated. She had been Marian's
+companion for four years when the concert took place at Wandsworth.
+
+Next day they were together in the drawing-room at Westbourne Terrace:
+Marian writing, Elinor at the pianoforte, working at some technical
+studies, to which she had been incited by the shortcoming of her
+performance on the previous night. She stopped on hearing a bell ring.
+
+"What o'clock is it?" she said, after listening a moment. "Surely it is
+too early for a visit."
+
+"It is only half past two," replied Marian. "I hope it is not anybody. I
+have not half finished my correspondence."
+
+"If you please, Miss," said a maid, entering, "Mr. Douglas wants to see
+you, and he wont come up."
+
+"I suppose he expects you to go down and talk to him in the hall," said
+Elinor.
+
+"He is in the dining-room, and wishes to see you most particular," said
+the maid.
+
+"Tell him I will come down," said Marian.
+
+"He heard me practising," said Elinor, "that is why he would not come
+up. I am in disgrace, I suppose."
+
+"Nonsense, Nelly! But indeed I have no doubt he has come to complain of
+our conduct, since he insists on seeing me alone."
+
+Miss McQuinch looked sceptically at Marian's guileless eyes, but resumed
+her technical studies without saying anything. Marian went to the
+dining-room, where she found Douglas standing near the window, tall and
+handsome, frock coated and groomed to a spotless glossiness that
+established a sort of relationship between him and the sideboard, the
+condition of which did credit to Marian's influence over her housemaids.
+He looked intently at her as she bade him good morning.
+
+"I am afraid I am rather early," he said, half stiffly, half
+apologetically.
+
+"Not at all," said Marian.
+
+"I have come to say something which I do not care to keep unsaid longer
+than I can help; so I thought it better to come when I could hope to
+find you alone. I hope I have not disturbed you. I have something
+rather important to say."
+
+"You are the same as one of ourselves, of course, Sholto. But I believe
+you delight in stiffness and ceremony. Will you not come upstairs?"
+
+"I wish to speak to you privately. First, I have to apologize to you for
+what passed last night."
+
+"Pray dont, Sholto: it doesnt matter. I am afraid we were rude to you."
+
+"Pardon me. It is I who am in fault. I never before made an apology to
+any human being; and I should not do so now without a painful conviction
+that I forgot what I owed to myself."
+
+"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself--I mean for never having
+apologized before. I am quite sure you have not got through life without
+having done at least one or two things that required an apology."
+
+"I am sorry you hold that opinion of me."
+
+"How is Brutus's paw?"
+
+"Brutus!"
+
+"Yes. That abrupt way of changing the subject is what Mrs. Fairfax calls
+a display of tact. I know it is very annoying; so you may talk about
+anything you please. But I really want to hear how the poor dog is."
+
+"His paw is nearly healed."
+
+"I'm so glad--poor old dear!"
+
+"You are aware that I did not come here to speak of my mother's dog,
+Marian?"
+
+"I supposed not," said Marian, with a smile. "But now that you have made
+your apology, wont you come upstairs? Nelly is there."
+
+"I have something else to say--to you alone, Marian. I entreat you to
+listen to it seriously." Marian looked as grave as she could. "I
+confess that in some respects I do not understand you; and before you
+enter upon another London season, through which I cannot be at your
+side, I would obtain from you some assurance of the nature of your
+regard for me. I do not wish to harass you with jealous importunity. You
+have given me the most unequivocal tokens of a feeling different from
+that which inspires the ordinary intercourse of a lady and gentleman in
+society; but of late it has seemed to me that you maintain as little
+reserve toward other men as toward me. I am not thinking of Marmaduke:
+he is your cousin. But I observed that even the working man who sang at
+the concert last night was received--I do not say intentionally--with a
+cordiality which might have tempted a more humbly disposed person than
+he seemed to be to forget----" Here Douglas, seeing Marian's bearing
+change suddenly, hesitated. Her beautiful gray eyes, always pleading for
+peace like those of a good angel, were now full of reproach; and her
+mouth, but for those eyes, would have suggested that she was at heart an
+obstinate woman.
+
+"Sholto," she said, "I dont know what to say to you. If this is
+jealousy, it may be very flattering; but it is ridiculous. If it is a
+lecture, seriously intended, it is--it is really most insulting. What
+do you mean by my having given you unequivocal signs of regard? Of
+course I think of you very differently from the chance acquaintances I
+make in society. It would be strange if I did not, having known you so
+long and been your mother's guest so often. But you talk almost as if I
+had been making love to you."
+
+"No," said Douglas, forgetting his ceremonious manner and speaking
+angrily and naturally; "but you talk as though I had not been making
+love to _you_."
+
+"If you have, I never knew it. I never dreamt it."
+
+"Then, since you are not the stupidest lady of my acquaintance, you must
+be the most innocent."
+
+"Tell me of one single occasion on which anything has passed between us
+that justifies your speaking to me as you are doing now."
+
+"Innumerable occasions. But since I cannot compel you to acknowledge
+them, it would be useless to cite them."
+
+"All I can say is that we have utterly misunderstood one another," she
+said, after a pause.
+
+He said nothing, but took up his hat, and looked down at it with angry
+determination. Marian, too uneasy to endure silence, added:
+
+"But I shall know better in future."
+
+"True," said Douglas, hastily putting down his hat and advancing a step.
+"You cannot plead misunderstanding now. Can you give me the assurance I
+seek?"
+
+"What assurance?"
+
+Douglas shook his shoulders impatiently.
+
+"You expect me to know everything by intuition," she said.
+
+"Well, my declaration shall be definite enough, even for you. Do you
+love me?"
+
+"No, I dont think I do. In fact, I am quite sure I do not--in the way
+you mean. I wish you would not talk like this, Sholto. We have all got
+on so pleasantly together: you, and I, and Nelly, and Marmaduke, and my
+father. And now you begin making love, and stuff of that kind. Pray let
+us agree to forget all about it, and remain friends as before."
+
+"You need not be anxious about our future relations: I shall not
+embarrass you with my society again. I hoped to find you a woman capable
+of appreciating a man's passion, even if you should be unable to respond
+to it. But I perceive that you are only a girl, not yet aware of the
+deeper life that underlies the ice of conventionality."
+
+"That is a very good metaphor for your own case," said Marian,
+interrupting him. "Your ordinary manner is all ice, hard and chilling.
+One may suspect that there are depths beneath, but that is only an
+additional inducement to keep on the surface."
+
+"Then even your amiability is a delusion! Or is it that you are amiable
+to the rest of the world, and reserve taunts of coldness and treachery
+for me?"
+
+"No, no," she said, angelic again. "You have taken me up wrongly. I did
+not mean to taunt you."
+
+"You conceal your meaning as skilfully as--according to you--I have
+concealed mine. Good-morning."
+
+"Are you going already?"
+
+"Do you care one bit for me, Marian?"
+
+"I do indeed. Believe me, you are one of my special friends."
+
+"I do not want to be _one_ of your friends. Will you be my wife?"
+
+"Sholto!"
+
+"Will you be my wife?"
+
+"No. I----"
+
+"Pardon me. That is quite sufficient. Good-morning."
+
+The moment he interrupted her, a change in her face shewed she had a
+temper. She did not move a muscle until she heard the house door close
+behind him. Then she ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where Miss
+McQuinch was still practising.
+
+"Oh, Nelly," she cried, throwing herself into an easy chair, and
+covering her face with her hands. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" She opened her
+fingers and looked whimsically at her cousin, who, despising this stage
+business, said, impatiently:
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Do you know what Sholto came for?"
+
+"To propose to you."
+
+"Stop, Nelly. You do not know what horrible things one may say in jest.
+He _has_ proposed."
+
+"When will the wedding be?"
+
+"Dont joke about it, please. I scarcely know how I have behaved, or what
+the meaning of the whole scene is, yet. Listen. Did you ever suspect
+that he was--what shall I say?--_courting_ me?"
+
+"I saw that he was trying to be tender in his own conceited way. I fully
+expected he would propose some day, if he could once reconcile himself
+to a wife who was not afraid of him."
+
+"And you never told me."
+
+"I thought you saw it for yourself; particularly as you encouraged him."
+
+"There! The very thing he has been accusing me of! He said I had given
+him unequivocal tokens--yes, unequivocal tokens--that I was madly in
+love with him."
+
+"What did you say?--if I may ask."
+
+"I tried to explain things to him; but he persisted in asking me would I
+be his wife; and when I refused he would not listen to anything else,
+and went off in a rage."
+
+"Yes, I can imagine Sholto's feelings on discovering that he had
+humbled himself in vain. Why did you refuse him?"
+
+"Why! Fancy being Sholto's wife! I would as soon think of marrying
+Marmaduke. But I cannot forget what he said about my flirting with him.
+Nelly: will you promise to tell me whenever you think I am behaving in a
+way that might lead anybody on to--like Sholto, you know?"
+
+"Nonsense! If men choose to make fools of themselves, you cannot prevent
+them. Hush! I hear someone coming upstairs. It is Marmaduke, I think."
+
+"Marmaduke would never come up so slowly. He generally comes up three
+steps at a time."
+
+"Sulky after last night, no doubt. I suppose he wont speak to me."
+
+Marmaduke entered listlessly. "Good morning, Marian," he said, sitting
+down on an uncomfortable chair. "Good morrow, Nell."
+
+Elinor, surprised at the courtesy, looked up and saluted him snappishly.
+
+"Is there anything the matter, Duke?" said Marian. "Are you ill?"
+
+"No, I'm all right. Rather busy: thats all."
+
+"Busy!" said Elinor. "There must be something even more unusual than
+that, when you are too low spirited to keep up a quarrel with me. Why
+dont you sit on the easy chair, or sprawl on the ottoman, after your
+manner?"
+
+"Anything for a quiet life," he replied, moving to the ottoman.
+
+"You must be hungry," said Marian, puzzled by his obedience. "Let me get
+you something."
+
+"No, thank you," said Marmaduke. "I couldnt eat. Just had lunch. Ive
+come to pack up a few things of mine that you have here."
+
+"We have your banjo."
+
+"Oh, I dont want that. You may keep it, or put it in the fire, for all I
+care. I want some clothes I left behind me when we had the theatricals."
+
+"Are you leaving London?"
+
+"Yes. I am getting tired of loafing about here. I think I ought to go
+home for a while. My mother wants me to."
+
+Miss McQuinch, by a subdued but expressive snort, conveyed the most
+entire scepticism as to his solicitude about his mother. She then turned
+to the piano calmly, observing, "You have probably eaten something that
+disagrees with you."
+
+"What a shame!" said Marian. "Come, Duke: I have plenty of good news for
+you. Nelly and I are invited to Carbury Park for the autumn; and there
+will be no visitors but us three. We shall have the whole place to
+ourselves."
+
+"Time enough to think of the autumn yet awhile," said Marmaduke,
+gloomily.
+
+"Well," said Miss McQuinch, "here is some better news for you.
+Constance--_Lady_ Constance--will be in town next week."
+
+Marmaduke muttered something.
+
+"I beg your pardon?" said Elinor, quickly.
+
+"I didnt say anything."
+
+"I may be wrong; but I thought I heard you say 'Hang Lady Constance!'."
+
+"Oh, Marmaduke!" cried Marian, affectedly. "How dare you speak so of
+your betrothed, sir?"
+
+"Who says she is my betrothed?" he said, turning on her angrily.
+
+"Why, everybody. Even Constance admits it."
+
+"She ought to have the manners to wait until I ask her," he said,
+subsiding. "I'm not betrothed to her; and I dont intend to become so in
+a hurry, if I can help it. But you neednt tell your father I said so. It
+might get round to my governor; and then there would be a row."
+
+"You _must_ marry her some day, you know," said Elinor, maliciously.
+
+"_Must_ I? I shant marry at all. I've had enough of women."
+
+"Indeed? Perhaps they have had enough of you." Marmaduke reddened. "You
+seem to have exhausted the joys of this world since the concert last
+night. Are you jealous of Mr. Conolly's success?"
+
+"Your by-play when you found how early it was at the end of the concert
+was not lost on us," said Marian demurely. "You were going somewhere,
+were you not?"
+
+"Since you are so jolly curious," said Marmaduke, unreasonably annoyed,
+"I went to the theatre with Connolly; and my by-play, as you call it,
+simply meant my delight at finding that we could get rid of you in time
+to enjoy the evening."
+
+"With Conolly!" said Marian, interested. What kind of man is he?"
+
+"He is nothing particular. You saw him yourself."
+
+"Yes. But is he well educated, and--and so forth?"
+
+"Dont know, I'm sure. We didnt talk about mathematics and classics."
+
+"Well; but--do you like him?"
+
+"I tell you I dont care a damn about him one way or the other," said
+Marmaduke, rising and walking away to the window. His cousins,
+astonished, exchanged looks.
+
+"Very well, Marmaduke," said Marian softly, after a pause: "I wont tease
+you any more. Dont be angry."
+
+"You havnt teased me," said he, coming back somewhat shamefacedly from
+the window. "I feel savage to-day, though there is no reason why I
+should not be as jolly as a shrimp. Perhaps Nelly will play some Chopin,
+just to soothe me. I should like to hear that polonaise again."
+
+"I should enjoy nothing better than taking you at your word," said
+Elinor. "But I heard Mr. Lind come in, a moment ago; and he is not so
+fond of Chopin as you and I."
+
+Mr. Lind entered whilst she was speaking. He was a dignified gentleman,
+with delicately chiselled features and portly figure. His silky light
+brown hair curled naturally about his brow and set it off imposingly.
+His hands were white and small, with tapering fingers, and small thumbs.
+
+"How do you do, sir?" said Marmaduke, blushing.
+
+"Thank you: I am better than I have been."
+
+Marmaduke murmured congratulations, and looked at his watch as if
+pressed for time. "I must be off now," he said, rising. "I was just
+going when you came in."
+
+"So soon! Well, I must not detain you, Marmaduke. I heard from your
+father this morning. He is very anxious to see you settled in life."
+
+"I suppose I shall shake down some day, sir."
+
+"You have very good opportunities--very exceptional opportunities. Has
+Marian told you that Constance is expected to arrive in town next week?"
+
+"Yes: we told him," said Marian.
+
+"He thought it too good to be true, and would hardly believe us," added
+Elinor.
+
+Mr. Lind smiled at his nephew, happily forgetful, worldly wise as he
+was, of the inevitable conspiracy of youth against age. They smiled too,
+except Marmaduke, who, being under observation, kept his countenance
+like the Man in the Iron Mask. "It is quite true, my boy," said the
+uncle, kindly. "But before she arrives, I should like to have a talk
+with you. When can you come to breakfast with me?"
+
+"Any day you choose to name, sir. I shall be very glad."
+
+"Let us say to-morrow morning. Will that be too soon?"
+
+"Not at all. It will suit me quite well. Good evening, sir."
+
+"Good evening to you."
+
+When Marmaduke was in the street, he stood for a while considering which
+way to go. Before the arrival of his uncle, he had intended to spend the
+afternoon with his cousins. He was now at a loss for a means of killing
+time. On one point he was determined. There was a rehearsal that day at
+the Bijou Theatre; and thither, at least, he would not go. He drove to
+Charing Cross, and drifted back to Leicester Square. He turned away from
+the theatre, and wandered down Piccadilly. Then he thought he would
+return as far as the Criterion, and drink. Finally he arrived at the
+stage door of the Bijou Theatre, and inquired whether the rehearsal was
+over.
+
+"Theyve bin at it since eleven this mornin, and will be pretty nigh til
+the stage is wanted for to-night," said the janitor. "I'd as lief youd
+wait here as go up, if you dont mind, sir. The guvnor is above; and he
+aint in the best o' tempers. I'll send word up."
+
+Marmaduke looked round irresolutely. A great noise of tramping and
+singing began.
+
+"Thats the new procession," continued the doorkeeper. "Sixteen hextras
+took on for it. It's Miss Virtue's chance for lunch, sir: you wont have
+long to wait now."
+
+Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the staircase. Marmaduke
+started, and stood biting his lips as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy, hungry,
+and in haste, hurried towards the door.
+
+"Come! Come on," she said impatiently to him, as she went out. "Go and
+get a cab, will you. I must have something to eat; and I have to get
+back sharp. Do be qu----there goes a hansom. Hi!" She whistled shrilly,
+and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was directed by Marmaduke to a
+restaurant in Regent Street.
+
+"I am absolutely starving," she said as they drove off. "I have been in
+since eleven this morning; and of course they only called the band for
+half-past. They are such damned fools: they drive me mad."
+
+"Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make them arrange it properly
+for next day?"
+
+"Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, and lose my rehearsal.
+It is bad enough to lose my temper. I swore, I can tell you."
+
+"I have no doubt you did."
+
+"This horse thinks he's at a funeral. What o'clock is it?"
+
+"It's only eight minutes past four. There is plenty of time."
+
+When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restaurant; scrutinized the
+tables; and selected the best lighted one. The waiter, a decorous
+elderly man, approached with some severity of manner, and handed a bill
+of fare to Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and addressed the waiter
+sharply.
+
+"Bring me some thin soup; and get me a steak to follow. Let it be a
+thick juicy one. If its purple and raw I wont have it; and if its done
+to a cinder, I wont have it: it must be red. And get me some spring
+cabbage and potatoes, and a pint of dry champagne--the decentest you
+have. And be quick."
+
+"And what for you, sir?" said the waiter, turning to Marmaduke.
+
+"Never mind him," interrupted Susanna. "Go and attend to me."
+
+The waiter bowed and retired.
+
+"Old stick-in-the-mud!" muttered Miss Lalage. "Is it half-past four
+yet?"
+
+"No. It's only quarter past. There's lots of time."
+
+Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal of bread, the steak,
+the vegetables, and the pint of champagne--less a glassful taken by her
+companion--had disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, and
+consumed two ices.
+
+"Have an ice to finish up with?" he said.
+
+"No. I cant work on sweets," she replied. "But I am beginning to feel
+alive again and comfortable. Whats the time?"
+
+"Confound the time!" said Marmaduke. "It's twenty minutes to five."
+
+"Well, I'll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start for quarter of an
+hour yet."
+
+"Thank heaven!" said Marmaduke. "I was afraid I should not be able to
+get a word with you."
+
+"That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, Mr. Marmaduke Lind.
+What did you mean by telling me your name was Sharp?"
+
+"It's the name of a cousin of mine," said Marmaduke, attempting to
+dismiss the subject with a laugh.
+
+"It may be your cousin's name; but it's not yours. By the bye, is that
+the cousin youre engaged to?"
+
+"What cousin? I'm not engaged to anybody."
+
+"That's a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, come, Master
+Marmaduke: you cant humbug me. Youre too young. Hallo! What do _you_
+want?"
+
+It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing a bill on the
+table. Marmaduke put his hand into his pocket.
+
+"Just wait a minute, please," said Susanna. The waiter retired.
+
+"Now then," she resumed, placing her elbows on the table, "let us have
+no more nonsense. What is your little game? Are you going to pay that
+bill or am I?"
+
+"I am, of course."
+
+"There is no of course in it--not yet, anyhow. What are you hanging
+about the theatre after me for? Tell me that. Dont stop to think."
+
+Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally he brightened, and
+said, "Look here. Youre angry with me for bringing your brother last
+night. But upon my soul I had no idea--"
+
+"That's not what I mean at all. You are dodging a plain question. When
+you came to the theatre, I thought you were a nice fellow; and I made
+friends with you. Now I find you have been telling me lies about
+yourself, and trying to play fast and loose. You must either give that
+up or give me up. I wont have you pass that stage door again if you only
+want to amuse yourself like other lounging cads about town."
+
+"What do you mean by playing fast and loose, and being a cad about
+town?" said Marmaduke angrily.
+
+"I hope youre not going to make a row here in public."
+
+"No; but I have you where _you_ cant make a row; and I intend to have it
+out with you once and for all. If you quarrel now, so help me Heaven
+I'll never speak to you again!"
+
+"It is you who are quarrelling."
+
+"Very well," said Susanna, opening her purse as though the matter were
+decided. "Waiter."
+
+"I am going to pay."
+
+"So you can--for what you had yourself. I dont take dinners from strange
+men, nor pay for their ices."
+
+Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse determinedly; glanced
+angrily at her; and muttered, "I never thought you were that sort of
+woman."
+
+"What sort of woman?" demanded Susanna, in a tone that made the other
+occupants of the room turn and stare.
+
+"Never mind," said Marmaduke. She was about to retort, when she saw him
+looking into his purse with an expression of dismay. The waiter came.
+Susanna, instead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the money,
+changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke searched his pockets. Finding
+nothing, he muttered an imprecation, and, fingering his watch chain,
+glanced doubtfully at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the tablecloth.
+
+"There," said Susanna, putting down a sovereign.
+
+Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter changed the coin and
+thanked Susanna for her gratuity. Then he said, "You must let me settle
+with you for this to-night. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket of
+another waistcoat."
+
+"You will not have the chance of settling with me, either to-night or
+any other night. I am done with you." And she rose and left the
+restaurant. Marmaduke sat doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he went
+out, and ran along Regent Street, anxiously looking from face to face in
+search of her. At last he saw her walking at a great pace a little
+distance ahead of him. He made a dash and overtook her.
+
+"Look here, Lalage," he said, keeping up with her as she walked: "this
+is all rot. I didnt mean to offend you. I dont know what you mean, or
+what you want me to do. Dont be so unreasonable."
+
+No answer.
+
+"I can stand a good deal from you; but it's too much to be kept at your
+heels as if I were a beggar or a troublesome dog. _Lalage_." She took no
+notice of him; and he stopped, trying to compose his features, which
+were distorted by rage. She walked on, turning into Glasshouse Street.
+When she had gone twenty yards, she heard him striding behind her.
+
+"If you wont stop and talk to me," he said, "I'll make you. If anybody
+interferes with me I'll smash him into jelly. It would serve you right
+if I did the same to you."
+
+He put his hand on her arm; and she instantly turned and struck him
+across the face, knocking off his hat. He, who a moment before had been
+excited, red, and almost in tears, was appalled. There was a crowd in a
+moment; and a cabman drew up close to the kerb with a calm conviction
+that his hansom would be wanted presently.
+
+"How dare you put your hand on me, you coward?" she exclaimed, with
+remarkable crispness of utterance and energy of style. "Who are you? I
+dont know you. Where are the police?" She paused for a reply; and a
+bracelet, broken by the blow she had given him, dropped on the pavement,
+and was officiously picked up and handed to her by a battered old woman
+who shewed in every wrinkle her burning sympathy with Woman turning at
+bay against Man. Susanna looked at the broken bracelet, and tears of
+vexation sprang to her eyes. "Look at what youve done!" she cried,
+holding out the bracelet in her left hand and shewing a scrape which had
+drawn blood on her right wrist. "For two pins I'd knock your head off!"
+
+Marmaduke, quite out of countenance, and yet sullenly very angry,
+vacillated for a moment between his conflicting impulses to knock her
+down and to fly to the utmost ends of the earth. If he had been ten
+years older he would probably have knocked her down: as it was, he
+signed to the cabman, who gathered up the reins and held them clear of
+his fare's damaged hat with the gratification of a man whose judgment in
+a delicate matter had just been signally confirmed by events.
+
+As they started, Susanna made a dash at the cab, which was pulled up,
+amid a shout from the crowd, just in time to prevent an accident. Then,
+holding on to the rail and standing on the step, she addressed herself
+to the cabman, and, sacrificing all propriety of language to intensity
+of vituperation, demanded whether he wanted to run his cab over her body
+and kill her. He, with undisturbed foresight, answered not a word, but
+again shifted the reins so as to make way for her bonnet. Acknowledging
+the attention with one more epithet, she seated herself in the cab, from
+which Marmaduke at once indignantly rose to escape. But the hardiest
+Grasmere wrestler, stooping under the hood of a hansom, could not resist
+a vigorous pull at his coat tails; and Marmaduke was presently back in
+his seat again, with Susanna clinging to him and half sobbing:
+
+"Oh, Bob, youve killed me. How could you?" Then, with a suspiciously
+sudden recovery of energy, she screamed "Bijou Theatre. Drive on, will
+you" up at the cabman, who was looking down through the trapdoor. The
+horse plunged forward, and, with the jolt, she was fawning on
+Marmaduke's arm again, saying, "Dont be brutal to me any more, Bob. I
+cant bear it. I have enough trouble without your turning on me."
+
+He was young and green, and too much confused by this time to feel sure
+that he had not been the aggressor. But he did, on the whole, the wisest
+thing--folded his arms and sat silent, with his cheeks burning.
+
+"Say something to me," she said, shaking his arm. "I have nothing to
+say," he replied. "I shall leave town for home to-night. I cant shew my
+face again after this."
+
+"Home," she said, in her former contemptuous tone, flinging his arm
+away. "That means your cousin Constance."
+
+"Who told you about her?"
+
+"Never mind. You are engaged to her."
+
+"You lie!"
+
+Susanna was shaken. She looked hard at him, wondering whether he was
+deceiving her or not. "Look me in the face, Bob," she said. If he had
+complied, she would not have believed him. But he treated the challenge
+with supreme disdain and stared straight ahead, obeying his male
+instinct, which taught him that the woman, with all the advantages on
+her side, would nevertheless let him win if he held on. At last she came
+caressingly to his shoulder again, and said:
+
+"Why didnt you tell me about her yourself?"
+
+"Damn it all," he exclaimed, violently, "there is nothing to tell! I am
+not engaged to her: on my oath I am not. My people at home talk about a
+match between us as if it were a settled thing, though they know I dont
+care for her. But if you want to have the truth, I cant afford to say
+that I wont marry her, because I am too hard up to quarrel with the
+governor, who has set his heart on it. You see, the way I am
+circumstanced----"
+
+"Oh, bother your circumstances! Look here, Bob, I dont want you to
+introduce me to your swell relations; it is not worth _my_ while to
+waste time on people who cant earn their own living. And never mind your
+governor: we can get on without him. If you are hard up for money, and
+he is stingy, you had better get it from me than from the Jews."
+
+"I couldnt do that," said Marmaduke, touched. "In fact, I am well enough
+off. By the bye, I must not forget to pay you for that lunch. But if I
+ever am hard up, I will come to you. Will that do?"
+
+"Of course: that is what I meant. Confound it, here we are already. You
+mustnt come in, you would only be in the way. Come to-night after the
+burlesque, if you like. Youre not angry with me, are you?"
+
+Her breast touched his arm just then; and as if she had released some
+spring, all his love for her suddenly surged up within him and got the
+better of him. "Wait--listen," he said, in a voice half choked with
+tenderness. "Look here, Lalage: the honest truth is that I shall be
+ruined if I marry you openly. Let us be married quietly, and keep it
+dark until I am more independent."
+
+"Married! Catch me at it--if you can. No, dear boy, I am very fond of
+you, and you are one of the right sort to make me the offer; but I wont
+let you put a collar round _my_ neck. Matrimony is all very fine for
+women who have no better way of supporting themselves, but it wouldnt
+suit me. Dont look so dazed. What difference does it make to _you_?"
+
+"But----" He stopped, bewildered, gazing at her.
+
+"Get out, you great goose!" she said, and suddenly sprang out of the
+hansom and darted into the theatre.
+
+He sat gaping after her, horrified--genuinely horrified.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The Earl of Carbury was a youngish man with no sort of turn for being a
+nobleman. He could not bring himself to behave as if he was anybody in
+particular; and though this passed for perfect breeding whenever he by
+chance appeared in his place in society, on the magisterial bench, or in
+the House of Lords, it prevented him from making the most of the
+earldom, and was a standing grievance with his relatives, many of whom
+were the most impudent and uppish people on the face of the earth. He
+was, if he had only known it, a born republican, with no natural belief
+in earls at all; but as he was rather too modest to indulge his
+consciousness with broad generalizations of this kind, all he knew about
+the matter was that he was sensible of being a bad hand at his
+hereditary trade of territorial aristocrat. At a very early age he had
+disgraced himself by asking his mother whether he might be a watchmaker
+when he grew up, and his feeble sense on that occasion of the
+impropriety of an earl being anything whatsoever except an earl had
+given his mother an imperious contempt for him which afterward got
+curiously mixed with a salutary dread of his moral superiority to her,
+which was considerable. His aspiration to become a watchmaker was an
+early symptom of his extraordinary turn for mechanics. An apprenticeship
+of six years at the bench would have made an educated workman of him: as
+it was, he pottered at every mechanical pursuit as a gentleman amateur
+in a laboratory and workshop which he had got built for himself in his
+park. In this magazine of toys--for such it virtually was at first--he
+satisfied his itchings to play with tools and machines. He was no
+sportsman; but if he saw in a shop window the most trumpery patent
+improvement in a breechloader, he would go in and buy it; and as to a
+new repeating rifle or liquefied gas gun, he would travel to St.
+Petersburg to see it. He wrote very little; but he had sixteen different
+typewriters, each guaranteed perfect by an American agent, who had also
+pledged himself that the other fifteen were miserable impostures. A
+really ingenious bicycle or tricycle always found in him a ready
+purchaser; and he had patented a roller skate and a railway brake. When
+the electric chair for dental operations was invented, he sacrificed a
+tooth to satisfy his curiosity as to its operation. He could not play
+brass instruments to any musical purpose; but his collection of double
+slide trombones, bombardons with patent compensating pistons, comma
+trumpets, and the like, would have equipped a small military band;
+whilst his newly tempered harmonium with fifty-three notes to each
+octave, and his pianos with simplified keyboards that nobody could play
+on, were the despair of all musical amateurs who came to stay at Towers
+Cottage, as his place was called. He would buy the most expensive and
+elaborate lathe, and spend a month trying to make a true billiard ball
+at it. At the end of that time he would have to send for a professional
+hand, who would cornet the ball with apparently miraculous skill in a
+few seconds. He got on better with chemistry and photography; but at
+last he settled down to electrical engineering, and, giving up the idea
+of doing everything with his own half-trained hand, kept a skilled man
+always in his laboratory to help him out.
+
+All along there had been a certain love of the marvelous at the bottom
+of his fancy for inventions. Therefore, though he did not in the least
+believe in ghosts, he would "investigate" spiritualism, and part with
+innumerable guineas to mediums, slatewriters, clairvoyants, and even of
+turbaned rascals from the East, who would boldly offer at midnight to
+bring him out into the back yard and there and then raise the devil for
+him. And just as his tendency was to magnify the success and utility of
+his patent purchases, so he would lend himself more or less to gross
+impostures simply because they interested him. This confirmed his
+reputation for being a bit of a crank; and as he had in addition all the
+restlessness and eccentricity of the active spirits of his class,
+arising from the fact that no matter what he busied himself with, it
+never really mattered whether he accomplished it or not, he remained an
+unsatisfied and (considering the money he cost) unsatisfactory specimen
+of a true man in a false position.
+
+Towers Cottage was supposed to be a mere appendage to Carbury Towers,
+which had been burnt down, to the great relief of its noble owners, in
+the reign of William IV. The Cottage, a handsome one-storied Tudor
+mansion, with tall chimneys, gabled roofs, and transom windows, had
+since served the family as a very sufficient residence, needing a much
+smaller staff of servants than the Towers, and accommodating fewer
+visitors. At first it had been assumed on all hands that the stay at the
+Cottage was but a temporary one, pending the re-erection of the Towers
+on a scale of baronial magnificence; but this tradition, having passed
+through its primal stage of being a standing excuse with the elders
+into that of being a standing joke with the children, had naturally
+lapsed as the children grew up. Indeed, the Cottage was now too large
+for the family; for the Earl was still unmarried, and all his sisters
+had contracted splendid alliances except the youngest, Lady Constance
+Carbury, a maiden of twenty-two, with a thin face and slight angular
+figure, who was still on her mother's hands. The illustrious matches
+made by her sisters had, in fact, been secured by extravagant dowering,
+which had left nothing for poor Lady Constance except a miserable three
+hundred pounds a year, at which paltry figure no man had as yet offered
+to take her. The Countess (Dowager) habitually assumed that Marmaduke
+Lind ardently desired the hand of his cousin; and Constance herself
+supported tacitly this view; but the Earl was apt to become restive when
+it was put forward, though he altogether declined to improve his
+sister's pecuniary position, having already speculated quite heavily
+enough in brothers-in-law.
+
+In the August following the Wandsworth concert Lord Carbury began to
+take his electrical laboratory with such intensified seriousness that he
+flatly refused to entertain any visitors until the 12th, and held fast
+to his determination in spite of his mother's threat to leave the house,
+alleging, with a laugh, that he had got hold of a discovery with money
+in it at last. But he felt at such a disadvantage after this incredible
+statement that he hastened to explain that his objection to visitors did
+not apply to relatives who would be sufficiently at home at Towers
+Cottage to require no attention from him. Under the terms of this
+capitulation Marian, as universal favorite, was invited; and since there
+was no getting Marian down without Elinor, she was invited too, in
+spite of the Countess's strong dislike for her, a sentiment which she
+requited with a pungent mixture of detestation and contempt. Marian's
+brother, the Reverend George Lind, promised to come down in a day or
+two; and Marmaduke, who was also invited, did not reply.
+
+The morning after her arrival, Marian was awakened at six o'clock by a
+wagon rumbling past the window of her room with a sound quite different
+from that made by the dust-cart in Westbourne Terrace. She peeped out at
+it, and saw that is was laden with packages of irregular shape, which,
+judging by some strange-looking metal rods that projected through the
+covering, she took to be apparatus for Lord Jasper's laboratory. From
+the wagon, with its patiently trudging horse and dull driver, she lifted
+her eyes to the lawn, where the patches of wet shadow beneath the cedars
+refreshed the sunlit grass around them. It looked too fine a morning to
+spend in bed. Had Marian been able to taste and smell the fragrant
+country air she would not have hesitated a moment. But she had been
+accustomed to believe that fresh air was unhealthy at night, and though
+nothing would have induced her to wash in dirty water, she thought
+nothing of breathing dirty air; and so the window was shut and the room
+close. Still, the window did not exclude the loud singing of the birds
+or the sunlight. She ventured to open it a little, not without a sense
+of imprudence. Twenty minutes later she was dressed.
+
+She first looked into the drawing-room, but it was stale and dreary. The
+dining-room, which she tried next, made her hungry. The arrival of a
+servant with a broom suggested to her that she had better get out of the
+way of the household work. She felt half sorry for getting up, and went
+out on the lawn to recover her spirits. There she heard a man's voice
+trolling a stave somewhere in the direction of the laboratory. Thinking
+that it might be Lord Carbury, and that, if so, he would probably not
+wait until half past nine to break his fast, she ran gaily off round the
+southwest corner of the Cottage to a terrace, from which there was
+access through a great double window, now wide open, to a lofty
+apartment roofed with glass.
+
+At a large table in the middle of the room sat a man with his back to
+the window. He had taken off his coat, and was bending over a small
+round block with little holes sunk into it. Each hole was furnished with
+a neat brass peg, topped with ebony; and the man was lifting and
+replacing one of these pegs whilst he gravely watched the dial of an
+instrument that resembled a small clock. A large straw hat concealed his
+head, and protected it from the rays that were streaming through the
+glass roof and open window. The apparent triviality of his occupation,
+and his intentness upon it, amused Marian. She stole into the
+laboratory, came close behind him, and said:
+
+"Since you have nothing better to do than play cribbage with yourself,
+I----"
+
+She had gently lifted up his straw hat, and found beneath a head that
+was not Lord Carbury's. The man, who had cowered with surprise at her
+touch and voice, but had waited even then to finish an observation of
+his galvanometer before turning, now turned and stared at her.
+
+"I _beg_ your pardon," said Marian, blushing vigorously. "I thought it
+was Lord Carbury. I have disturbed you very rudely. I----"
+
+"Not at all," said the man. "I quite understand. I was not playing
+cribbage, but I was doing nothing very important. However, as you
+certainly did take me by surprise, perhaps you will excuse my coat."
+
+"Oh, pray dont mind me. I must not interrupt your work." She looked at
+his face again, but only for an instant, as he was watching her. Then,
+with another blush, she put out her hand and said, "How do you do, Mr.
+Conolly. I did not recognize you at first."
+
+He shook hands, but did not offer any further conversation. "What a
+wonderful place!" she said, looking round, with a view to making herself
+agreeable by taking an interest in everything. "Wont you explain it all
+to me? To begin with, what is electricity?"
+
+Conolly stared rather at this question, and then shook his head. "I dont
+know anything about that," he said; "I am only a workman. Perhaps Lord
+Carbury can tell you: he has read a good deal about it."
+
+Marian looked incredulously at him. "I am sure you are joking," she
+said. "Lord Carbury says you know ever so much more than he does. I
+suppose I asked a stupid question. What are those reels of green silk
+for?"
+
+"Ah," said Conolly, relaxing. "Come now, I can tell you that easily
+enough. I dont know what it _is_, but I know what it does, and I can lay
+traps to catch it. Here now, for instance----"
+
+And he went on to deliver a sort of chatty Royal Institution Children's
+Lecture on Electricity which produced a great impression on Marian, who
+was accustomed to nothing better than small talk. She longed to interest
+him by her comments and questions, but she found that they had a most
+discouraging effect on him. Redoubling her efforts, she at last reduced
+him to silence, of which she availed herself to remark, with great
+earnestness, that science was a very wonderful thing.
+
+"How do you know?" he said, a little bluntly.
+
+"I am sure it must be," she replied, brightening; for she thought he had
+now made a rather foolish remark. "Is Lord Carbury a very clever
+scientist?"
+
+Conolly looked just grave enough to suggest that the question was not
+altogether a discreet one. Then, brushing off that consideration, he
+replied:
+
+"He has seen a great deal and read a great deal. You see, he has great
+means at his disposal. His property is as good as a joint-stock company
+at his back. Practically, he is very good, considering his method of
+working: not so good, considering the means at his disposal."
+
+"What would you do if you had his means?"
+
+Conolly made a gesture which plainly signified that he thought he could
+do a great many things.
+
+"And is science, then, so expensive? I thought it was beyond the reach
+of money."
+
+"Oh, yes: science may be. But I am not a scientific man: I'm an
+inventor. The two things are quite different. Invention is the most
+expensive thing in the world. It takes no end of time, and no end of
+money. Time is money; so it costs both ways."
+
+"Then why dont you discover something and make your fortune?"
+
+"I have already discovered something."
+
+"Oh! What is it?"
+
+"That it costs a fortune to make experiments enough to lead to an
+invention."
+
+"You are exaggerating, are you not? What do you mean by a fortune?"
+
+"In my case, at least four or five hundred pounds."
+
+"Is that all? Surely you would have no difficulty in getting five
+hundred pounds."
+
+Conolly laughed. "To be sure," said he. "What is five hundred pounds?"
+
+"A mere nothing--considering the importance of the object. You really
+ought not to allow such a consideration as that to delay your career. I
+have known people spend as much in one day on the most worthless
+things."
+
+"There is something in that, Miss Lind. How would you recommend me to
+begin?"
+
+"First," said Marian, with determination, "make up your mind to spend
+the money. Banish all scruples about the largeness of the sum. Resolve
+not to grudge even twice as much to science."
+
+"That is done already. I have quite made up my mind to spend the money.
+What next?"
+
+"Well, I suppose the next thing is to spend it."
+
+"Excuse me. The next thing is to get it. It is a mere detail, I know;
+but I should like to settle it before we go any further."
+
+"But how can I tell you that? You forget that I am quite unacquainted
+with your affairs. You are a man, and understand business, which of
+course I dont."
+
+"If you wanted five hundred pounds, Miss Lind, how would you set about
+getting it?--if I may ask."
+
+"What? I! But, as I say, I am only a woman. I should ask my father for
+it, or sign a receipt for my trustees, or something of that sort."
+
+"That is a very simple plan. But unfortunately I have no father and no
+trustees. Worse than that, I have no money. You must suggest some other
+way."
+
+"Do what everybody else does in your circumstances. Borrow it. I am sure
+Lord Carbury would lend it to you."
+
+Conolly shook his head. "It doesnt do for a man in my position to start
+borrowing the moment he makes the acquaintance of a man in Lord
+Carbury's," he said. "We are working a little together already on one of
+my ideas, and that is as far as I care to ask him to go. I am afraid I
+must ask you for another suggestion."
+
+"Save up all your money until you have enough."
+
+"That would take some time. Let me see. As I am an exceptionally
+fortunate and specially skilled workman, I can now calculate on making
+from seventy shillings to six pounds a week. Say four pounds on the
+average."
+
+"Ah," said Marian, despondingly, "you would have to wait more than two
+years to save five hundred pounds."
+
+"And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in the meantime."
+
+"True," said Marian. "Of course, I see that it is impossible for you to
+save anything. And yet it seems absurd to be stopped by the want of such
+a sum. I have a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments to
+make, and he paid a thousand pounds for a race-horse last spring."
+
+Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such things happened.
+
+Marian could think of no further expedient. She stood still, thinking,
+whilst Conolly took up a bit of waste and polished a brass cylinder.
+
+"Mr. Conolly," she said at last, "I cannot absolutely promise you; but I
+think I can get you five hundred pounds." Conolly stopped polishing the
+cylinder, and stared at her. "If I have not enough, I am sure we could
+make the rest by a bazaar or something. I should like to begin to invest
+my money; and if you make some great invention, like the telegraph or
+steam engine, you will be able to pay it back to me, and to lend me
+money when _I_ want it."
+
+Conolly blushed. "Thank you, Miss Lind," said he, "thank you very much
+indeed. I--It would be ungrateful of me to refuse; but I am not so ready
+to begin my experiments as my talking might lead you to suppose. My
+estimate of their cost was a mere guess. I am not satisfied that it is
+not want of time and perseverance more than of money that is the real
+obstacle. However, I will--I will--a----Have you any idea of the value
+of money, Miss Lind? Have you ever had the handling of it?"
+
+"Of course," said Marian, secretly thinking that the satisfaction of
+shaking his self-possession was cheap at five hundred pounds. "I keep
+house at home, and do all sorts of business things."
+
+Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the piece of waste again as
+if he had been looking for that; recollected himself; and looked
+unintelligibly at her. Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was a
+delightful sensation: why, she did not know nor care. To her intense
+disappointment, Lord Carbury entered just then, and roused her from what
+was unaccountably like a happy dream.
+
+Nothing more of any importance happened that day except the arrival of a
+letter from Paris, addressed to Lady Constance in Marmaduke's
+handwriting. Miss McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, where
+she found Constance sitting with her arm around Marian's waist in a
+summer-house. She sat down opposite them, at a rough oak table.
+
+"A letter, Nelly!" said Marian. "A letter! A letter from Marmaduke! I
+have extorted leave for you to read it. Here it is. Handle it carefully,
+pray."
+
+"Has he proposed?" said Elinor, taking it.
+
+Constance changed color. Elinor opened the letter in silence, and read:
+
+  My dear Constance:
+
+  I hope you are quite well. I am having an awfully jolly time of it
+  here. What a pity it is you dont come over! I was wishing for you
+  yesterday in the Louvre, where we spent a pleasant day looking at
+  the pictures. I send you the silk you wanted, and had great trouble
+  hunting through half-a-dozen shops for it. Not that I mind the
+  trouble, but just to let you see my devotion to you. I have no more
+  to say at present, as it is nearly post hour. Remember me to the
+  clan.
+
+                                               Yours ever,
+                                                         DUKE.
+
+  P.S.--How do Nelly and your mother get along together?
+
+Whilst Elinor was reading, the gardener passed the summer-house, and
+Constance went out and spoke to him. Elinor looked significantly at
+Marian.
+
+"Nelly," returned Marian, in hushed tones of reproach, "you have stabbed
+poor Constance to the heart by telling her that Marmaduke never proposed
+to her. That is why she has gone out."
+
+"Yes," said Elinor, "it was brutal. But I thought, as you made such a
+fuss about the letter, that it must have been a proposal at least. It
+cant be helped now. It is one more enemy for me, that is all."
+
+"What do you think of the letter? Was it not kind of him to
+write--considering how careless he is usually?"
+
+"Hm! Did he match the silk properly?".
+
+"To perfection. He must really have taken some trouble. You know how he
+botched getting the ribbon for his fancy dress at the ball last year."
+
+"That is just what I was thinking about. Do you remember also how he
+ridiculed the Louvre after his first trip to Paris, and swore that
+nothing would ever induce him to enter it again?"
+
+"He has got more sense now. He says in the letter that he spent
+yesterday there."
+
+"Not exactly. He says '_we_ spent a pleasant day looking at the
+pictures.' Who is '_we_'?"
+
+"Some companion of his, I suppose. Why?"
+
+"I was just thinking could it be the person who has matched the silk so
+well. The same woman, I mean."
+
+"Oh, Nelly!"
+
+"Oh, Marian! Do you suppose Marmaduke would spend an afternoon at the
+Louvre with a man, who could just as well go by himself? Do men match
+silks?"
+
+"Of course they do. Any fly-fisher can do it better than a woman.
+Really, Nell, you have an odious imagination."
+
+"Yes--when my imagination is started on an odious track. Nothing will
+persuade me that Marmaduke cares a straw for Constance. He does not want
+to marry her, though he is too great a coward to own it."
+
+"Why do you say so? I grant you he is unceremonious and careless. But he
+is the same to everybody."
+
+"Yes: to everybody _we_ know. What is the use of straining after an
+amiable view of things, Marian, when a cynical view is most likely to be
+the true one."
+
+"There is no harm in giving people credit for being good."
+
+"Yes, there is, when people are not good, which is most often the case.
+It sets us wrong practically, and holds virtue cheap. If Marmaduke is a
+noble and warmhearted man, and Constance a lovable, innocent girl, all I
+can say is that it is not worth while to be noble or lovable. If
+amiability consists in maintaining that black is white, it is a quality
+anyone may acquire by telling a lie and sticking to it."
+
+"But I dont maintain that black is white. Only it seems to me that as
+regards white, you are color blind. Where I see white, you see black;
+and----hush! Here is Constance."
+
+"Yes," whispered Elinor: "she comes back quickly enough when it occurs
+to her that we are talking about her."
+
+Instead of simply asking why Constance should not behave in this very
+natural manner if she chose to, Marian was about to defend Constance
+warmly by denying all motive to her return, when that event took place
+and stopped the discussion. Marian and Nelly spent a considerable part
+of their lives in bandying their likes and dislikes under the impression
+that they were arguing important points of character and conduct.
+
+They knew that Constance wanted to answer Marmaduke's letter; so they
+alleged correspondence of their own, and left her to herself.
+
+Lady Constance went to her brother's study, where there was a
+comfortable writing-table. She began to write without hesitation, and
+her pen gabbled rapidly until she had covered two sheets of paper,
+when, instead of taking a fresh sheet, she wrote across the lines
+already written. After signing the letter, she read it through, and
+added two postscripts. Then she remembered something she had forgotten
+to say; but there was no more room on her two sheets, and she was
+reluctant to use a third, which might, in a letter to France, involve
+extra postage. Whilst she was hesitating her brother entered.
+
+"Am I in your way?" she said. "I shall have done in a moment."
+
+"No, I am not going to write. By-the-bye, they tell me you had a letter
+from Marmaduke this morning. Has he anything particular to say?"
+
+"Nothing very particular. He is in Paris."
+
+"Indeed? Are you writing to him?"
+
+"Yes," said Constance, irritated by his disparaging tone. "Why not?"
+
+"Do as you please, of course. I am afraid he is a scamp."
+
+"Are you? You know a great deal about him, I dare say."
+
+"I am not much reassured by those who do know about him."
+
+"And who may they be? The only person you know who has seen much of him
+is Marian, and she doesnt speak ill of people behind their backs."
+
+"Marian takes rather a rose-colored view of everybody, Marmaduke
+included. You should talk to Nelly about him."
+
+"I knew it. I knew, the minute you began to talk, who had set you on."
+
+"I am afraid Nelly's opinion is worth more than Marians."
+
+"_Her_ opinion! Everybody knows what her opinion is. She is bursting
+with jealousy of me."
+
+"Jealousy!"
+
+"What else? Marmaduke has never taken the least notice of her, and she
+is madly in love with him."
+
+"This is quite a new light upon the affair. Constance, are you sure you
+are not romancing?"
+
+"Romancing! Why, she cannot conceal her venom. She taunted me this
+morning in the summer-house because Marmaduke has never made me a formal
+proposal. It was the letter that made her do it. Ask Marian."
+
+"I can hardly believe it: I should not have supposed, from what I have
+observed, that she cared about him."
+
+You should not have supposed it from what she _said_: is that what you
+mean? I dont care whether you believe it or not."
+
+"Well, if you are so confident, there is no occasion to be acrimonious
+about Elinor. She is more to be pitied than blamed."
+
+"Yes, everybody is to pity Elinor because she cant have her wish and
+make me wretched," said Constance, beginning to cry. Whereupon Lord
+Carbury immediately left the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Long before the harvest was home, preparations were made at Towers
+Cottage to receive another visitor. The Rev. George Lind was coming.
+Lord Carbury drove in the wagonet to the railway station, and met him on
+the platform.
+
+"How are you, my dear fellow?" cried the clergyman, shaking the earl's
+hand. "Why did you trouble to meet me? I could have taken a fly. Most
+kind of you, I am sure. How is your dear mother? And Constance: how is
+_she_?"
+
+"All quite well, thank you. Just show my fellow your traps; he will see
+to them."
+
+"Oh, there is no need to trouble him. I myself or a porter--oh, thank
+you, I am sure; the brown one with G.L. on it--and that small green
+metal box too, if you will be so good. Thank you very much. And how are
+you, Jasper, if I may call you so? Studious still, eh? I hope he will be
+careful of the box. No, not a word to him, I beg: it does not matter at
+all. What a charming little trap! What air! Happy man, Jasper! These
+fields are better than the close alleys and garrets to which my
+profession leads me."
+
+"Jump in."
+
+"Thank you. And how is Marian?"
+
+"Quite well, thank you. _Everybody_ is quite well. The girls are at a
+tennis party, or they would have come to meet you. Constance desired me
+particularly to apologize."
+
+"Oh, needless, most needless. Why should they not enjoy themselves?
+What a landscape! The smiling beauty of nature in the country is like
+a--like a message to us. This is indeed a delightful drive."
+
+"Yes, she is a capital trotter, this mare of mine. What do you think of
+her?"
+
+"A noble animal, Jasper. Although I never studied horseflesh much, even
+in my university days, I can admire a spirited nag on occasion. But I
+have to content myself with humbler means of locomotion in my own
+calling. A poor parson cannot entertain his friends as a magnate like
+you can. Have you any one at the hall now, besides the girls?"
+
+"No. The place will be rather dull for you, I am afraid."
+
+"Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. I shall be satisfied and
+thankful under all circumstances."
+
+"We have led a humdrum life for the past month. Marian and Elinor have
+begun to potter about in my laboratory. They come there every day for an
+hour to work and study, as they call it."
+
+"Indeed! I have no doubt Marian will find the study of nature most
+improving. It is very generous of you to allow her to trespass on you."
+
+"I occupy myself chiefly with Nelly McQuinch. Marian is my assistant's
+pupil, and he has made a very expert workwoman of her already. With a
+little direction, she can put a machine together as well as I can."
+
+"I am delighted to hear it. And dear Nelly?"
+
+"Oh, dear Nelly treats the subject in her usual way. But she is very
+amusing."
+
+"Ah, Jasper! Ah! An unstable nature there, an unstable nature! Elinor
+has not been firmly trained. She needs to be tried by adversity."
+
+"No doubt she will be. Most of us are."
+
+"And dear Constance? Does she study?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ahem! A--have you----? That is St. Mildred's yonder, is it not?"
+
+"It is. They have put a new clock in the tower, worth about sixty
+pounds. I believe they collected a hundred and fifty for the purpose.
+But you were going to say something else."
+
+"No. At least, I intended to ask you about Marmaduke. He is coming down,
+I understand."
+
+"I dont know what he is doing. Last week he wrote to us that he had just
+returned from Paris; but I happened to know that he had then been back
+for some time. He has arranged to come twice, but on each occasion, at
+the last moment, he has made excuses. He can do as he likes now. I wish
+he would say definitely that he doesnt intend to come, instead of
+shilly-shallying from week to week. Hallo, Prentice, have the ladies
+returned yet?" This was addressed to the keeper of the gate-lodge, at
+which they had now arrived. He replied that the ladies were still
+absent.
+
+"Then," said Lord Carbury, "we had better get down and stroll across the
+lawn. Perhaps you are tired, though?"
+
+"Not at all. I should prefer it. What a lovely avenue! What greenery!
+How--"
+
+"We were talking about Marmaduke. Do you know what he is doing at
+present? He talks of being busy, and of not having a moment to spare. I
+can understand a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July,
+but what Marmaduke has to do in London in September is more than I can
+imagine."
+
+"I do not care to enquire into these things too closely. I had intended
+to speak to you on the subject. Marmaduke, as I suppose you know, has
+taken a house at West Kensington."
+
+"A house at West Kensington! No, I did not know it. What has he done
+that for?"
+
+"I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on the subject. I
+think he tried to prevent the matter coming to my ears; and when I asked
+him about it, he certainly implied--in fact, I grieve to say he left me
+under the impression that he had taken the house with a view to marrying
+dear Constance, and settling down. I expressed some surprise at his
+going so far out of town; but he did not volunteer any further
+explanation, and so the matter dropped." The Rev. George paused, and
+then continued in a lower tone, "Not long afterward I met him at a very
+late hour. He had perhaps exceeded a little in his cups; for he spoke to
+me with the most shocking cynicism, inviting me to supper at this house
+of his, and actually accusing me of knowing perfectly well the terrible
+truth about his occupation of it. He assured me that she--meaning, I
+presume, the unhappy person with whom he lives there--was exceptionally
+attractive; and I have since discovered that she is connected with the
+theatre, and of great notoriety. I need not tell you how dreadful all
+this is to me, Jasper; but to the best of my judgment, which I have
+fortified by earnest prayers for guidance, it is my imperative duty to
+tell you of it."
+
+"The vagabond! It is exactly as I have always said: Constance is too
+tame for him. He does not care a d----"
+
+"Jasper, my dear fellow, gently," said the clergyman, pressing his arm.
+
+"Pshaw!" said the Earl, "I dont care. I think Constance is well out of
+it. Let us drop the subject for the present. I hear the carriage."
+
+"Yes, here it is. Dear Lady Carbury has recognized me, and is waving her
+hand." The Rev. George stood on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished his
+low-crowned soft felt hat.
+
+During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, looking at the horses
+with an expression that made the coachman uneasy. At dinner he ate
+sedulously, and left the task of entertaining the visitor to his mother
+and the girls. The clergyman was at no loss for conversation. He was
+delighted with the dinner, delighted with the house, delighted to see
+the Countess looking so well, and delighted to hear that the tennis
+party that day had been a pleasant one. The Earl listened with
+impatience, and was glad when his mother rose. Before she quitted the
+dining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon returned, leaving
+Marian, Constance, and Elinor in the drawing-room.
+
+"You will not mind my staying, I hope, George," she said, as she resumed
+her seat.
+
+"A delightful precedent, and from a distinguished source," said the Rev.
+George. "Allow me to pass the bottle. Ha! ha!"
+
+"Thank you, no," said the Countess. "I never take wine." Her tone was
+inconclusive, as if she intended to take something else.
+
+"Will you take brandy-and-soda?" said her son, rather brusquely.
+
+Lady Carbury lowered her eyelids in protest. Then she said: "A very
+little, if you please, Jasper. I dare not touch wine," she continued to
+the clergyman. "I am the slave of my medical man in all matters relating
+to my unfortunate digestion."
+
+"Mother," said Jasper, "George has brought us a nice piece of news
+concerning your pet Marmaduke."
+
+The clergyman became solemn and looked steadily at his glass.
+
+"I do not know that it is fair to describe him as my pet exactly," said
+the Countess, a little troubled. "I trust there is nothing unpleasant
+the matter."
+
+"Oh, nothing! He has settled down domestically in a mansion at West
+Kensington, that is all."
+
+"What! Married!"
+
+"Unhappily," said the Rev. George, "no, not married."
+
+"Oh!" said the Countess slowly, as an expression of relief. "It is very
+shocking, of course; very wrong indeed. Young men _will_ do these
+things. It is especially foolish in Marmaduke's case, for he really
+cannot afford to make any settlement such as this kind of complication
+usually involves when the time comes for getting rid of it. Pray do not
+let it come to Constance's ears. It is not a proper subject for a girl."
+
+"Quite as proper a subject as marriage with a fellow like Marmaduke,"
+said Jasper, rising coolly and lighting a cigaret. "However, it will be
+time enough to trouble about that when there is any sign of his having
+the slightest serious intentions toward Constance. For my part I dont
+believe, and I never did believe, that there was anything real in the
+business. This last move of his proves it--to my satisfaction, at any
+rate."
+
+Lady Carbury, with a slight but impressive bridling, and yet with an
+evident sense of discomfiture, proceeded to assert herself before the
+clergyman. "I beg you will control yourself, Jasper," she said. "I do
+not like to be spoken to in that tone. In discharging the very great
+responsibility which rests with a mother, I am compelled to take the
+world as I find it, and to acknowledge that certain very deplorable
+tendencies must be allowed for in society. You, in the solitude of your
+laboratory, contemplate an ideal state of things that we all, I am sure,
+long for, but which unhappily does not exist. I have never enquired into
+Marmaduke's private life, and I think you ought not to have done so. I
+could not disguise from myself the possibility of his having entered
+into some such relations as those you have alluded to."
+
+Jasper, without the slightest appearance of having heard this speech,
+strolled casually out of the room. The Countess, baffled, turned to her
+sympathetic guest.
+
+"I am sure that you, George, must feel that it is absolutely necessary
+for us to keep this matter to ourselves."
+
+The Rev. George said, gravely, "I do not indeed see what blessing can
+rest on our interference in such an inexpressibly shocking business. It
+is for Marmaduke to wrestle with his own conscience."
+
+"Quite so," said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders as if to invite
+her absent son's attention to this confirmation of her judgment. "Is it
+not absurd of Jasper to snatch at such an excuse for breaking off the
+match?"
+
+"I can sympathize with Jasper's feeling, I trust. It is natural for a
+candid nature to recoil from duplicity. But all our actions need
+charitable construction; and, remembering that, we should take heed to
+prevent our forebearance toward others from wavering. Who knows that the
+alliance with your pure and lovely daughter may not be the means
+specially ordained to rescue him from his present condition."
+
+"I think it very possible," drawled the Countess, looking at him,
+nevertheless, with a certain contempt for what she privately considered
+his priggish, underbred cant. "Besides, such things are recognized,
+though of course they are not spoken of. No lady could with common
+decency pretend to know that such connexions are possible, much less
+assign one of them as a reason for breaking off an engagement."
+
+"Pardon me," said the Rev. George; "but can these worldly considerations
+add anything to the approval of our consciences? I think not. We will
+keep our own counsel in this matter in the sight of Heaven. Then,
+whatever the world may think, all will surely come right in the end."
+
+"Oh, it is sure to come right in the end: these wretched businesses
+always do. I cannot imagine men having such low tastes--as if there were
+anything in these women more than in anybody else! Come into the
+drawing-room, George."
+
+They went into the drawing-room and found it deserted. The ladies were
+in the veranda. The Countess took up the paper and composed herself for
+a nap. George went into the porch, where the girls, having seen the sun
+go down, were now watching the deepening gloom among the trees that
+skirted the lawn. Marian proposed that they should walk through the
+plantation whilst there was still a little light left, and the clergyman
+readily assented. He rather repented of this when they got into the deep
+gloom under the trees, and Elinor began to tell stories about adders,
+wild cats, poachers, and anything else that could possibly make a
+nervous man uncomfortable under such circumstances. He was quite
+relieved when they saw the spark of a cigaret ahead of them and heard
+the voices of Jasper and Conolly coming toward them through the
+darkness.
+
+"Oh, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Conolly," said the
+Rev. George, formally, when they met. "I am glad to see you."
+
+"Thank you," said Conolly. "If you ladies have thin shoes on as usual,
+we had better come out of this."
+
+"As we ladies happen to have our boots on," said Marian, "we shall stay
+as long as we like."
+
+Nevertheless, they soon turned homeward, and as the path was narrow,
+they walked in pairs. The clergyman, with Constance, led the way. Lord
+Jasper followed with Elinor. Conolly and Marian came last.
+
+"Does that young man--Mr. Conolly--live at the Hall?" was the Rev.
+George's first remark to Constance.
+
+"No. He has rooms in Rose Cottage, that little place on Quilter's farm."
+
+"Ha! Then he is very well off here."
+
+"A great deal too well off. Jasper allows him to speak to him as though
+he were an equal. However, I suppose Jasper knows his own business
+best."
+
+"I have observed that he is rather disposed to presume upon any
+encouragement he receives. It is a bad sign in a young man, and one, I
+fear, that will greatly interfere with his prospects."
+
+"He is an American, and I suppose thinks it a fine thing to be
+republican. But it is Jasper's fault. He spoils him. He once wanted to
+have him in the drawing-room in the evenings to play accompaniments; but
+mamma positively refused to allow it. Jasper is excessively obstinate,
+and though he did not make a fuss, he got quite a habit of going over
+to Rose Cottage and spending his evenings there singing and playing.
+Everybody about the place used to notice it. Mamma was greatly
+disgusted."
+
+"Do you find him unpleasant--personally, I mean?"
+
+"I! Oh dear, no! I should never dream of speaking to him. His presence
+is unpleasant, because he exercises a bad influence on Jasper; so I
+wish, on that account alone, that he would go."
+
+"I trust Marian is careful to limit her intercourse with him as much as
+possible."
+
+"Well, Marian learns electricity from him; and of course that makes a
+difference. I do not care about such things; and I never go into the
+laboratory when he is there; so I do not know whether Marian lets him be
+familiar with her or not. She is rather easygoing; and he is
+insufferably conceited. However, if she wants to learn electricity, I
+suppose she must put up with him. He is no worse, after all, than the
+rest of the people one has to learn things from. They are all
+impossible."
+
+"It is a strange fancy of the girls, to study science."
+
+"I am sure I dont know why they do it. It is great nonsense for Jasper
+to do it, either. He will never keep up his position properly until he
+shuts up that stupid workshop. He ought to hunt and shoot and entertain
+a great deal more than he does. It is very hard on us, for we are
+altogether in Jasper's hands for such matters. I think he is very
+foolish."
+
+"Not foolish. Dont say that. Excuse my giving you a little lecture; but
+it is not right to speak, even without thought, of your brother as a
+fool. No doubt he is a little injudicious; but all men are not called to
+the same pursuits."
+
+"If people have a certain position, they ought to make up their minds
+to the duties of their position, whether they are called to them or
+not."
+
+The Rev. George, missing the deference with which ladies not related to
+him usually received his admonitions, changed the subject.
+
+Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly than the rest, had
+fallen far behind. They had been silent at first. She seemed to be in
+trouble. At last, after some wistful glances at him, she said:
+
+"Have you resolved to go to London to-morrow; or will you wait until
+Friday?"
+
+"To-morrow, Miss Lind. Can I do anything for you in town?"
+
+Marian hesitated painfully.
+
+"Do not mind giving me plenty of bother," he said. "I am so accustomed
+to superintend the transit of machines as cumbersome as trunks and as
+fragile as bonnet boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary luggage
+would be a mere amusement for me."
+
+"Thank you; but it is not that. I was only thinking--Are you likely to
+see my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whilst you are in London?"
+
+"N--no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing."
+
+"Oh! I thought you knew him."
+
+"I met him at that concert."
+
+"But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least,
+I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre
+together."
+
+"So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I have
+never seen him since."
+
+"Oh, indeed! I quite mistook."
+
+"If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will.
+It will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him?
+It will be no trouble to me."
+
+"No, oh no. I wanted--it was something that could only be told to him
+indirectly by an intimate friend--by some one with influence over him.
+More a hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it
+cannot be helped."
+
+Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in
+silence. Then he said: "If the matter is of serious importance to you,
+Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a
+person who has influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that I
+can; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty."
+
+Marian looked at him in some surprise. "I hardly know what I ought to
+do," she said, doubtfully.
+
+"Then do nothing," said Conolly bluntly. "Or, if you want anything said
+to this gentleman, write to him yourself."
+
+"But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to write
+to him. I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be told
+something that may prevent a great deal of unhappiness. It seems so
+unfeeling to sit down quietly and say, 'It is not my business to
+interfere,' when the mischief might so easily be prevented."
+
+"I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking care of other
+people's happiness is thankless and dangerous. You dont know your
+cousin's address, you say?"
+
+"No. I thought you did."
+
+Conolly shook his head. "Who does know it?" he said.
+
+"My brother George does; but he refused to tell me. I shall not ask him
+again."
+
+"Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of what use will that be,
+since you think you ought not to write to him?"
+
+"I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned myself, I would
+not hesitate to tell you the whole story, and ask your advice. I feel
+sure you would shew me what was right. But this is a matter which
+concerns other people only."
+
+"Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont meddle in it."
+
+"But--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring about mischief.
+If Marmaduke could be given a hint to come down here at once--he has
+been invited, and is putting off his visit from week to week--it would
+be sufficient. He will get into trouble if he makes any more excuses.
+And he can set everything right by coming down now."
+
+"Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth matters over for the
+present?"
+
+"No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth matters over as to rescue
+him from a bad influence that is ruining him. There is a person in
+London from whom he must he got away at all hazards. If you only knew--I
+_wish_ you knew."
+
+"Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss Lind, let us
+understand one another. Your family want your cousin to marry Lady
+Constance. I know that. She does not object. I know that too. He does."
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Marian, "you are wrong. He does not."
+
+"Anyhow," continued Conolly, "he acts with a certain degree of
+indifference toward her--keeps away at present, for instance. I infer
+that the bad influence you have mentioned is the cause of his
+remissness."
+
+"Yes, you are right; only, looking at it all from without as you do, you
+are mistaken as to Marmaduke's character. He is easily led away, and
+very careless about the little attentions that weigh so much with women;
+but he is thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with Lady
+Constance. Unfortunately, he is easily imposed on, and impatient of
+company in which he cannot be a little uproarious. I fear that somebody
+has taken advantage of this part of his character to establish a great
+ascendency over him. I"--here Marian became nervous, and controlled her
+voice with difficulty--"I saw this person once in a theatre; and I can
+imagine how she would fascinate Marmaduke. She was so clever, so
+handsome, and--and so utterly abominable. I was angry with Duke for
+bringing us to the place; and I remember now that he was angry with me
+because I said she made me shudder."
+
+"Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman to say of another,"
+said Conolly, with a certain sternness. "However, I can understand your
+having that feeling about her. I know her; and it is through her that I
+hope to find out his address for you."
+
+"But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I think it is
+somewhere in West Kensington."
+
+Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled a
+step, frightened.
+
+"Since when, pray?"
+
+"Very lately, I think. I do not know."
+
+They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regretting
+that she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terrible
+darkness. He walked on at last faster than before. No more words passed
+between them until they came out into the moonlight close to the
+veranda. Then he stopped again, and took off his hat.
+
+"Permit me to leave you now," he said, with an artificial politeness
+worthy of Douglas himself. "Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," faltered Marian.
+
+He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she found
+Jasper and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the drawing-room.
+
+"Hallo!" said Jasper, "where is Conolly? I want to say a word to him
+before he goes."
+
+"He has just gone," said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasper
+immediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two cousins
+alone together.
+
+"Well, Marian," said Elinor, "do you know that you have taken more than
+quarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did, and
+that you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls
+her, has been making some kind remarks about it."
+
+"Do I look disturbed? I hope Auntie wont notice it. I wish I could go
+straight to bed without seeing anybody."
+
+"Why? What is the matter?"
+
+"I will tell you to-night when you come in to me. I am disgusted with
+myself; and I think Conolly is mad."
+
+"Mad!"
+
+"On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad," said Lord Jasper, returning
+at this moment out of breath and laughing.
+
+Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian.
+
+"He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of the yellow field when
+I caught sight of him. Just as I was about to hail him, he started off
+and cleared the fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furious
+rate, swinging his arms about, and laughing as if he was enjoying some
+uncommonly good joke. I am not sure that I did not see him dance a
+hornpipe; but as it is so dark I wont swear to that."
+
+"You had better not," said Elinor, sceptically. "Let us go in; and pray
+do not encourage George to talk. I have a headache, and want to go to
+bed."
+
+"You have been in very good spirits, considering your headache," he
+replied, in the same incredulous tone. "It has come on rather suddenly,
+has it not?"
+
+When they went into the drawing-room they found that Constance had
+awakened her mother, and had already given her an account of their walk.
+Jasper added a description of what he had just witnessed. "I have not
+laughed so much for a long time," he said, in conclusion. "He is usually
+such a steady sort of fellow."
+
+"I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken workman," said
+the Countess. "How you could have left Marian in his care even for a
+moment I am at a loss to conceive."
+
+"He was not drunk, indeed," said Marian.
+
+"Certainly not," said Jasper, rather indignantly. "I was walking with
+him for some time before we met the girls. You are very pale, Marian.
+Have you also a headache?"
+
+"I have been playing tennis all day; and I am quite tired out."
+
+Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss McQuinch, according to
+a nightly custom of theirs, was seated on the coverlet with her knees
+doubled up to her chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventure
+very earnestly.
+
+"Dont understand him at all, I confess," said Elinor, when Marian had
+related what had passed in the plantation. "Wasnt it rather rash to make
+a confidant of him in such a delicate matter?"
+
+"That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He might have known that
+I only wanted to do good. I thought he was so entirely above false
+delicacy."
+
+"I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is true? You only have
+it from Mrs. Leith Fairfax's letter; and she is perhaps the greatest
+liar in the world."
+
+"Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about people. She would
+never venture to tell me a made-up tale about Marmaduke."
+
+"In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for the sake of using
+her tongue or pen."
+
+"It is so hard to know what to do. There was nobody whom I could trust,
+was there? Jasper has always been against Marmaduke; and Constance, of
+course, was out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not like to
+tell her."
+
+"Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no nice woman would
+talk to on such a subject," said Elinor, giving the bed a kick with her
+heel.
+
+"Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should say something like
+that before other people, out of sheer habit."
+
+"Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. No use regretting
+what cannot be recalled. You cannot have the security of conventionality
+along with the self-respect of sincerity. By the bye, do you remember
+that Jasper and his fond mamma and George had a family council after
+dinner? You may be sure that George has told them everything."
+
+"What! Then my wretched attempt to have Marmaduke warned was useless.
+Oh, Nelly, this is too bad. Do you really think so? When I told him
+before dinner what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he feared it
+was true, and refused to give me the address."
+
+"And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the responsibility rests
+with George. He knew very well that it was true; for he had only just
+been telling Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. Master
+Georgy has no right to be your brother. He is worse than a dissenter.
+Dissenters try to be gentlemen; but George has no misgivings about
+himself on that score; so he gives his undivided energy to his efforts
+to be parsonic. He is an arrant hypocrite."
+
+"I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely believes that his
+duty to the Church requires him to behave as he does."
+
+"Then he is a donkey, which is worse."
+
+"I wish he were more natural in his manner."
+
+"He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: 'it is their
+nature to.' Good-night. Men are all the same, my dear, all the same."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"Never mind. Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, and
+communicating with it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at
+this time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the opposite side
+were pairs of recently built houses, many of them still unlet. These,
+without depriving the neighbourhood of its suburban quietude, forbade
+any feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to Susanna
+Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind.
+
+One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside each
+was a pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hunger
+was satisfied; but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the
+uppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the flap, and burst
+it open.
+
+"Hm," she said. "First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at me again to
+make the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he must
+be not to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! Just look at
+the _Times_, Bob, and see if the piece is advertized yet."
+
+"I should think so, by Jupiter," said Marmaduke, patiently interrupting
+his meal to open the newspaper.
+
+"Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. 'The latest Parisian
+success. _La petite Maison du Roi._ Music by M. de Jongleur. Mr.
+Faulkner has the honor to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs of
+M. de Jongleur's opera bouffe _La petite Maison du Roi_, entitled King
+Lewis on the lewis'--what the deuce does that mean?"
+
+"On the loose, of course."
+
+"But it is spelt l-e-w----oh! its a pun. What an infernal piece of
+idiocy! Then it goes on as usual, except that each name in the cast has
+a separate line of large print. Here you are: 'Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry'----"
+
+"Is that at the top?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Before Rose Stella?"
+
+"Yes. Why!--I didnt notice it before--you are down fifteen times!
+Every alternate space has your name over again. 'Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry. Fred Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. Felix
+Sumner as the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue as _la belle Jeanneton_.'
+By the way, that is all rot. Cardinal Richelieu died four or five
+hundred years before Madame Dubarry was born."
+
+"Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose Stella the last line
+with a big AND before it. No matter. She is down only once; and I am
+down fifteen times."
+
+"I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! This is a bill, of
+course. The West Kensington Wine Company. Whew! We are getting through
+the champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not counting
+what we pay for when we dine in town."
+
+"Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfully
+low without it."
+
+"All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, and dont injure
+your health, I dont care. Here's a letter of yours put among mine by
+mistake. It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth."
+
+"It's from Ned," said Susanna, turning pale. "He must be coming home,
+or he would not write. Yes, he is. What shall I do?"
+
+"What does he say?" said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her. "'_Back
+at 6 on Wednesday evening. Have high tea. N.C._' Short and sweet! Well,
+he will not turn up til to-morrow, at all events, even if he knows the
+address, which of course he doesnt."
+
+"He knows nothing. His note shews that. What _will_ he do when he finds
+me gone? He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them to
+send on my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for her own
+information. There is no mistake about it," said Susanna, rising and
+walking to the window: "I am in a regular funk about him. I have half a
+mind to go back to Lambeth and meet him. I could let the murder out
+gradually, or, perhaps, get him off to the country again before he
+discovers anything."
+
+"Go back! oh no, nonsense! The worst he can do is to cut you--and a good
+job too."
+
+"I wish he would. It would be a relief to me at present to know for
+certain that he would."
+
+"He cant be so very thin-skinned as you fancy, considering the time you
+have been on the stage."
+
+"There's nothing wrong in being on the stage. There's nothing wrong in
+being here either, in spite of Society. After all, what do I care about
+Ned, or anybody else? He always went his own way when it suited him; and
+he has no right to complain if I go mine. Let him come if he likes: he
+will not get much satisfaction from me." Susanna sat down again, and
+drank some tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate.
+
+"Dont think any more about it," said Marmaduke. "He wont come."
+
+"Oh, let him, if he likes," said Susanna, impatiently. Marmaduke did not
+quite sympathize with her sudden recklessness. He hoped that Conolly
+would have the good sense to keep away.
+
+"Look here, Bob," said she, when they had finished breakfast. "Let us go
+somewhere to-day. I feel awfully low. Let us have a turn up the river."
+
+"All right," said Marmaduke, with alacrity. "Whatever you please. How
+shall we go?"
+
+"Anyhow. Let us go to Hampton by train. When we get there we can settle
+what to do afterward. Can you come now?"
+
+"Yes, whenever you are ready."
+
+"Then I will run upstairs and dress. Go out and amuse yourself with
+that blessed old lawn-mower until I come."
+
+"Yes, I think I will," said Marmaduke, seriously. "That plot near the
+gate wants a trimming badly."
+
+"What a silly old chap you are, Bob!" she said, stopping to kiss him on
+each cheek as she left the room.
+
+Marmaduke had become attached to the pursuit of gardening since his
+domestication. He put on his hat; went out; and set to work on the plot
+near the gate. The sun was shining brightly; and when he had taken a few
+turns with the machine he stopped, raising his face to the breeze, and
+saw Conolly standing so close to him that he started backward, and made
+a vague movement as if to ward off a blow. Conolly, who seemed amused by
+the mowing, said quietly: "That machine wants oiling: the clatter
+prevented you from hearing me come. I have just returned from Carbury
+Towers. Miss Lind is staying there; and she has asked me to give you a
+message."
+
+This speech perplexed Marmaduke. He inferred from it that Conolly was
+ignorant of Susanna's proceedings, but he had not sufficient effrontery
+to welcome him unconcernedly at once. So he stood still and stared at
+him.
+
+"I am afraid I have startled you," Conolly went on, politely. "I found
+the gate unlocked, and thought it would be an unnecessary waste of time
+to ring the bell. You have a charming little place here."
+
+"Yes, it's a pretty little place, isnt it?" said Marmaduke. "A--wont you
+come in and have a--excuse my bringing you round this way, will you? My
+snuggery is at the back of the house."
+
+"Thank you; but I had rather not go in. I have a great deal of business
+to do in town to-day; so I shall just discharge my commission and go."
+
+"At any rate, come into the shade," said Marmaduke, glancing uneasily
+toward the windows of the house. "This open place is enough to give us
+sunstroke."
+
+Conolly followed him to a secluded part of the shrubbery, where they sat
+down on a bench.
+
+"Is there anything up?" said Marmaduke, much oppressed.
+
+"Will you excuse my speaking without ceremony?"
+
+"Oh, certainly. Fire away!"
+
+"Thank you. I must then tell you that the relations between you and Lady
+Constance are a source of anxiety to her brother. You know the way men
+feel bound to look after their sisters. You have, I believe, sisters of
+your own?"
+
+Marmaduke nodded, and stole a doubtful glance at Conolly's face.
+
+"It appears that Lord Carbury has all along considered your courtship
+too cool to be genuine. In this view he was quite unsupported, the
+Countess being strongly in your favor, and the young lady devoted to
+you."
+
+"Well, I knew all that. At least, I suspected it. What is up now?"
+
+"This. The fact of your having taken a villa here has reached the ears
+of the family at Carbury. They are, not unnaturally, curious to know
+what use a bachelor can have for such an establishment."
+
+"But I have my rooms in Clarges Street still. This is not my house. It
+was taken for another person."
+
+"Precisely what they seem to think. But, to be brief with you, Miss Lind
+thinks that unless you wish to break with the Earl, and quarrel with
+your family, you should go down to Towers Cottage at once."
+
+"But I cant go away just now. There are reasons."
+
+"Miss Lind is fully acquainted with your reasons. They are her reasons
+for wishing you to leave London immediately. And now, having executed my
+commission, I must ask you to excuse me. My time is much occupied."
+
+"Well, I am greatly obliged to you for coming all this way out of town
+to give me the straight tip," said Marmaduke, relieved at the prospect
+of getting rid of his visitor without alluding to Susanna. "It is very
+good of you; and I am very glad to see you. Jolly place, Carbury Park
+is, isnt it? How will the shooting be?"
+
+"First rate, I am told. I do not know much about it myself." They had
+risen, and were strolling along the path leading to the gate.
+
+"Shall I see you down there--if I go?"
+
+"Possibly. I shall have to go down for a day at least, to get my
+luggage, in case I decide not to renew my engagement with Lord Jasper."
+
+"I hope so," said Marmaduke. Then, as they reached the gate, he
+proffered his hand, in spite of an inward shrinking, and said heartily,
+"Good-bye, old fellow. Youre looking as well as possible."
+
+Conolly took his hand, and retained it whilst he said: "Good-bye, Mr.
+Lind. I am quite well, thank you. If I may ask--how is Susanna?"
+
+Marmaduke was prevented by a spasm of the throat from replying. Before
+he recovered, Susanna herself, attired for her proposed trip to Hampton,
+emerged from the shrubbery and stood before them, confounded. Conolly,
+still wearing the cordial expression with which he had shaken
+Marmaduke's hand, looked at her, then at her protector, and then at her
+again.
+
+"I have been admiring the villa, Susanna," said he, after an emphatic
+silence. "It is better than our place at Lambeth. You wont mind my
+hurrying away: I have a great deal to do in town. Good-bye. Good-bye,
+Mr. Lind."
+
+Susanna murmured something. Marmaduke, after making an effort to bid his
+guest good-bye genially, opened the gate, and stood for a minute
+watching him as he strode away.
+
+"What does _he_ care what becomes of me, the selfish brute!" cried
+Susanna, passionately.
+
+"He didnt complain: he has nothing to complain of," said Marmaduke.
+"Anyhow, why didnt he stay at home and look after you? By George,
+Susanna, he is the coolest card I ever came across."
+
+"What brought him here?" she demanded, vehemently.
+
+"That reminds me. I am afraid I must go down to Carbury for a few
+days."
+
+"And what am I to do here alone? Are _you_ going to leave me too?"
+
+"Well, I cannot be in two places at the same time. I suppose you can
+manage to get on without me for a few days."
+
+"I will go home. I can get on without you altogether. I will go home."
+
+"Come, Susanna! what is the use of kicking up a row? I cant afford to
+quarrel with all my people because you choose to be unreasonable."
+
+"What do I care about your people, or about you either?"
+
+"Very well, then," said Marmaduke, offended, "you can go home if you
+like. Perhaps your brother appreciates this sort of thing. I dont."
+
+"Ah, you coward! You taunt me because you think I have no home. Do you
+flatter yourself that I am dependent on you?"
+
+"Hold your tongue," said Marmaduke, fiercely. "Dont you turn on me in
+that fashion. Keep your temper if you want me to keep mine."
+
+"You have ruined me," said Susanna, sitting down on the grass, and
+beginning to cry.
+
+"Oh, upon my soul, this is too much," said Marmaduke, with disgust. "Get
+up out of that and dont make a fool of yourself. Ruined indeed! Will you
+get up?"
+
+"No!" screamed Susanna.
+
+"Then stay where you are and be damned," retorted Marmaduke, turning on
+his heel and walking toward the house. In the hall he met a maid
+carrying an empty champagne bottle and goblet.
+
+"Missis is looking for you, sir," said the maid.
+
+"All right," said Marmaduke, "I have seen her. Listen to me. I am going
+to the country. My man Mason will come here to-day to pack up my traps,
+and bring them after me. You had better take a note of my address from
+the card in the strap of my valise."
+
+"Yes, sir," said the maid. "Any message for missis?"
+
+"No," said Marmaduke. He then changed his coat and hat, and went out
+again. As he approached the gate he met Susanna, who had risen and was
+walking toward the house.
+
+"I am going to Carbury," he said. "I dont know when I shall be back."
+
+She passed on disdainfully, as if she had not heard him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+Three days later Lord Carbury came to luncheon with a letter in his
+hand. Marian had not yet come in; and the Rev. George was absent, his
+place being filled by Marmaduke.
+
+"Good news for you and Constance, mother."
+
+"Indeed?" said the Countess, smiling.
+
+"Yes. Conolly is coming down this afternoon to collect his traps and
+leave you forever."
+
+"Really, Jasper, you exaggerate Mr. Conolly's importance. Intelligence
+of his movements can hardly be news--good or bad--either to me or to
+Constance."
+
+"I am glad he is going," said Constance, "for Jasper's sake."
+
+"Thank you," replied Jasper. "I thought you would be. He will be a great
+loss to me."
+
+"Nonsense!" said the Countess. "If another workman is needed, another
+can easily be had."
+
+"If I can be of any assistance to you, old man," said Marmaduke, "make
+what use of me you like. I picked up something about the business
+yesterday."
+
+"Yes," said Elinor. "While you were away, Jasper, he went to the
+laboratory with Constance, and fired off a brass cannon with your new
+pile until he had used up all the gunpowder and spoiled the panels of
+the door. That is what he calls picking up something about the
+business."
+
+"Nothing like experiment for convincing you of the power of
+electricity," said Marmaduke. "Is there, Conny?"
+
+"It's very wonderful; but I hate shots."
+
+"Where is Marian?" said Lady Carbury.
+
+"I left her in the summer-house in the fruit garden," said Elinor. "She
+was reading."
+
+"She must have forgotten the hour," said the Countess. "She has been
+moping, I think, for the last few days. I hope she is not unwell. But
+she would never stay away from luncheon intentionally. I shall send for
+her."
+
+"I'll go," said Marmaduke, eagerly.
+
+"No, no, Duke. You must not leave the table. I will send a servant."
+
+"I will fetch her here in half the time that any servant will. Poor
+Marian, why shouldnt she have her lunch? I shall be back in a jiffy."
+
+"What a restless, extraordinary creature he is!" said Lady Carbury,
+displeased, as Marmaduke hastily left the room. "The idea of a man
+leaving the table in that way!"
+
+"I suspect he has his reasons," said Elinor.
+
+"I think it is a perfectly natural thing for him to do," said Constance,
+pettishly. "I see nothing extraordinary in it."
+
+Marmaduke found Marian reading in the summer-house in the fruit garden.
+She looked at him in lazy surprise as he seated himself opposite to her
+at the table.
+
+"This is the first chance I've had of talking to you privately since I
+came down," he said. "I believe you have been keeping out of my way on
+purpose."
+
+"Well, I concluded that you wanted as many chances as possible of
+talking to some one else in private; so I gave you as many as I could."
+
+"Yes, you and the rest have been uncommonly considerate in that respect:
+thank you all awfully. But I mean to have it out with you, Miss Marian,
+now that I have caught you alone."
+
+"With me! Oh, dear! What have I done?"
+
+"What have you done? I'll tell you what youve done. Why did you send
+Conolly, of all men in the world, to tell me that I was in disgrace
+here?"
+
+"There was no one else, Marmaduke."
+
+"Well, suppose there wasn't! Suppose there had been no one else alive on
+the earth except you, and I, and he, and Constance, and Su--and
+Constance! how could you have offered him such a job?"
+
+"Why not? Was there any special reason--"
+
+"Any special reason! Didnt your common sense tell you that a meeting
+between him and me must be particularly awkward for both of us?"
+
+"No. At least I--. Marmaduke: I think you must fancy that I told him
+more than I did. I did not know where you were; and as he was going to
+London, and I thought you knew him well, and I had no other means of
+warning you, I had to make use of him. Jasper will tell you how
+thoroughly trustworthy he is. But all I said--and I really could not say
+less--was that I was afraid you were in bad company, or under bad
+influence, or something like that; and that I only wanted you to come
+down here at once."
+
+"Oh! Indeed! That was _all_, was it? Merely that I was in bad company."
+
+"I think I said under bad influence. I was told so; and I believed it at
+the time. I hope it's not true, Marmaduke. If it is not, I beg your
+pardon with all my heart."
+
+Marmaduke stared very hard at her for a while, and then said, with the
+emphasis of a man baffled by utter unreason: "Well, I _am_ damned!" at
+which breach of good manners she winced. "Hang me if I understand you,
+Marian," he continued, more mildly. "Of course it's not true. Bad
+influence is all bosh. But it was a queer thing to say to his face. He
+knew very well you meant his sister. Hallo! what's the matter? Are you
+going to faint?"
+
+"No, I--Never mind me."
+
+"Never mind you!" said Marmaduke. "What are you looking like that for?"
+
+"Because--it is nothing: I only blushed. Dont be stupid, Duke."
+
+"Blushed! Why dont you blush red, like other people, and not green?
+Shall I get you something?"
+
+"No, no. Oh, Duke, why did you not tell me? How could you be so
+heartless as to leave us all in the dark when we were talking about you
+before him every day! Oh, are you in earnest, Duke? Pray dont jest about
+it. What do you mean by his sister? I never knew he had one. Who is she?
+What happened? I mean when you saw him?"
+
+"Nothing happened. I was mowing in the garden. He just walked in; bade
+me good morning; admired the place; and told me he came with a message
+from you that things were getting hot here. Then he went off, as cool as
+you please. He didnt seem to mind."
+
+"And he warned you, in spite of all."
+
+"More for your sake than for mine, I suspect. He's rather sweet on you,
+isnt he?"
+
+"Oh, Duke, Duke, are you not ashamed of yourself?"
+
+"Deuce a bit. But I'm in trouble; and I want you to stand by me. Look
+here, Marian, you have no nonsense about you, I know. I may tell you
+frankly how I am situated, maynt I?"
+
+Marian looked at him apprehensively, and said nothing.
+
+"You see you will only mix up matters worse than before unless you know
+the truth. Besides, I offered to marry her: upon my soul I did; but she
+refused. Her real name is Susanna Conolly: his sister, worse luck."
+
+"Dont tell me any more of this, Duke. It is not right."
+
+"I suppose it's not right, as you say. But what am I to do? I must tell
+you; or you will go on making mischief with Constance."
+
+"As if I would tell her! I promise that she shall never know from me. Is
+that enough?"
+
+"No: its too much. The plain truth is that I dont care whether she finds
+me out or not. I want her to understand thoroughly, once and for ever,
+that I wont marry her."
+
+"Marmaduke!"
+
+"Not if I were fifty Marmadukes!"
+
+"Then you will break her heart."
+
+"Never fear! Her heart is pretty tough, if she has one. Whether or no, I
+am not going to have her forced on me by the Countess or any one else.
+The truth is, Marian, they have all tried to bully me into this match.
+Constance can't complain."
+
+"No, not aloud."
+
+"Neither aloud or alow. I never proposed to her."
+
+"Very well, Marmaduke: there is no use now in blaming Auntie or excusing
+yourself. If you have made up your mind, there is an end."
+
+"But you cant make out that I am acting meanly, Marian. Why, I have
+everything to lose by giving her up. There is her money, and I suppose I
+must prepare for a row with the family; unless the match could be
+dropped quietly. Eh?"
+
+"And is that what you want me to manage for you?"
+
+"Well--. Come, Marian! dont be savage. I have been badly used in this
+affair. They forced it on me. I did all I could to keep out of it. She
+was thrown at my head. Besides, I once really used to think I could
+settle down with her comfortably some day. I only found out what an
+insipid little fool she was when I had a woman of sense to compare her
+with."
+
+"Dont say hard things about her. I think you might have a little
+forbearance towards her under the circumstances."
+
+"Hm! I dont feel very forbearing. She has been sticking to me for the
+last few days like a barnacle. Our respectable young ladies think a lot
+of themselves, but--except you and Nelly--I dont know a woman in society
+who has as much brains in her whole body as Susanna Conolly has in her
+little finger nail. I cant imagine how the deuce you all have the cheek
+to expect men to talk to you, much less marry you."
+
+"Perhaps there is something that honest men value more than brains."
+
+"I should like to know what it is. If it is something that ladies have
+and Susanna hasnt, it is not either good looks or good sense. If it's
+respectability, that depends on what you consider respectable. If
+Conny's respectable and Susanna isnt, then I prefer disrepu--"
+
+"Hush, Duke, you know you have no right to speak to me like this. Let
+us think of poor Constance. How is she to be told the truth?"
+
+"Let her find it out. I shall go back to London as soon as I can; and
+the affair will drop somehow or another. She will forget all about me."
+
+"Happy-go-lucky Marmaduke. I think if neglect and absence could make her
+forget you, you would have been forgotten before this."
+
+"Yes. You see you must admit that I gave her no reason to suppose I
+meant anything."
+
+"I am afraid you have consulted your own humor both in your neglect and
+your attentions, Duke. The more you try to excuse yourself, the more
+inexcusable your conduct appears. I do not know how to advise you. If
+Constance is told, you may some day forget all about your present
+infatuation; and then a mass of mischief and misery will have been made
+for nothing. If she is not told, you will be keeping up a cruel
+deception and wasting her chances of----but she will never care for
+anybody else."
+
+"Better do as I say. Leave matters alone for the present. But mind! no
+speculating on my changing my intentions. I wont marry her."
+
+"I wish you hadnt told me about it."
+
+"Well, Marian, I couldnt help it. I know, of course, that you only
+wanted to make us all happy; but you nursed this match and kept it in
+Constance's mind as much as you could. Besides--though it was not your
+fault--that mistake about Conolly was too serious not to explain. Dont
+be downcast: I am not blaming you a bit."
+
+"It seems to me that the worst view of things is always the true one in
+this world. Nelly and Jasper were right about you."
+
+"Aha! So _they_ saw what I felt. You cant say I did not make my
+intentions plain enough to every unbiassed person. The Countess was
+determined to get Constance off her hands; Constance was determined to
+have me; and you were determined to stick up for your own notions of
+love and honeysuckles."
+
+"I was determined to stick up for _you_, Marmaduke."
+
+"Dont be indignant: I knew you would stick up for me in your own way.
+But what I want to shew is, that only three people believed that I was
+in earnest; and those three were prejudiced."
+
+"I wish you had enlightened Constance, and deceived all the rest of the
+world, instead. No doubt I was wrong, very wrong. I am very sorry."
+
+"Pshaw! It doesnt matter. It will all blow over some day. Hush, I hear
+the garden gate opening. It is Constance, come to spy what I am doing
+here with you. She is as jealous as a crocodile--very nearly made a
+scene yesterday because I played with Nelly against her at tennis. I
+have to drive her to Bushy Copse this afternoon, confound it!"
+
+"And _will_ you, after what you have just confessed?"
+
+"I must. Besides, Jasper says that Conolly is coming this evening to
+pack up his traps and go; and I want to be out of the way when he is
+about."
+
+"This evening!"
+
+"Yes. Between ourselves, Marian, Susanna and I were so put out by the
+cool way he carried on when he called, that we had a regular quarrel
+after he went; and we haven't made it up yet."
+
+"Pray dont talk about it to me, Duke. Here is Constance."
+
+"So you are here," said Constance, gaily, but with a quick glance at
+them. "That is a pretty way to bring your cousin in to luncheon, sir."
+
+"We got chatting about you, my ownest," said Marmaduke; "and the subject
+was so sweet, and the moments were so fleet, that we talked for quite an
+hour on the strict q.t. Eh, Marian?"
+
+"As a punishment, you shall have no lunch. Mamma is very angry with you
+both."
+
+"Always ready to make allowances for her, provided she sends you to
+lecture me, Conny. Why dont you wear your hat properly?" He arranged her
+hat as he spoke. Constance laughed and blushed. Marian shuddered. "Now
+youre all that fancy painted you: youre lovely, youre divine. Are you
+ready for Bushy Copse?"
+
+Constance replied by singing:
+
+  "Oh yes, if you please, kind sir, she said; sir, she said; sir, she said;
+  Oh! yes if you ple--ease, kind sir, she said."
+
+"Then come along. After your ladyship," he said, taking her elbows as if
+they were the handles of a wheelbarrow, and pushing her out before him
+through the narrow entrance to the summer-house. On the threshold he
+turned for a moment; met Marian's reproachful eyes with a wink; grinned;
+and disappeared.
+
+For half an hour afterward Marian sat alone in the summer-house,
+thinking of the mistake she had made. Then she returned to the Cottage,
+where she found Miss McQuinch writing in the library, and related to her
+all that had passed in the summer-house. Elinor listened, seated in a
+rocking-chair, restlessly clapping her protended ankles together. When
+she heard of Conolly's relationship to Susanna, she kept still for a
+few moments, looking with widely opened eyes at Marian. Then, with a
+sharp laugh, she said:
+
+"Well, I beg his pardon. I thought he was another of that woman's
+retainers. I never dreamt of his being her brother."
+
+Marian was horror stricken. "You thought--! Oh, Nelly, what puts such
+things into your head?"
+
+"So would you have thought it if you had the least gumption about
+people. However, I was wrong; and I'm glad of it. However, I was right
+about Marmaduke. I told you so, over and over and over again."
+
+"I know you did; but I didnt think you were in earnest."
+
+"No, you never can conceive my being in earnest when I differ from you,
+until the event proves me to be right."
+
+"I am afraid it will kill Constance."
+
+"_Dont_, Marian!" cried Elinor, giving her chair a violent swing.
+
+"I am quite serious. You know how delicate she is."
+
+"Well, if she dies of any sentiment, it will be wounded vanity. Serve
+her right for allowing a man to be forced into marrying her. I believe
+she knows in her soul that he does not care about her. Why else should
+she be jealous of me, of you, and of everybody?"
+
+"It seems to me that instead of sympathizing with the unfortunate girl,
+both you and Marmaduke exult in her disappointment."
+
+"I pity her, poor little wretch. But I dont sympathize with her. I dont
+pity Marmaduke one bit: if the whole family cuts him he will deserve it
+richly, but I do sympathize with him. Can you wonder at his preference?
+When we went to see that woman last June I envied her. There she was,
+clever, independent, successful, holding her own in the world, earning
+her living, fascinating a crowd of people, whilst we poor respectable
+nonentities sat pretending to despise her--as if we were not waiting
+until some man in want of a female slave should offer us our board and
+lodging and the privilege of his lordly name with 'Missis' before it for
+our lifelong services. You may make up as many little bread-and-butter
+romances as you please, Marian; but I defy you to give me any sensible
+reason why Marmaduke should chain himself for ever to a little inane
+thing like Constance, when he can enjoy the society of a capable woman
+like that without binding himself at all."
+
+"Nonsense, Nelly! Really, you oughtnt to say such things."
+
+"No. I ought to keep both eyes tight shut so that I may be contented in
+that station to which it has pleased God to call me."
+
+"Imagine his proposing to marry her, Nell! I am just as wicked as you;
+for I am very glad she refused; though I cant conceive why she did it."
+
+"Perhaps," said Miss McQuinch, becoming excited, "she refused because
+she had too much good sense: aye, and too much common decency to accept.
+It is all very well for us fortunate good-for-nothings to resort to
+prostitution----"
+
+"Oh, Nelly!"
+
+"--I say, to prostitution, to secure ourselves a home and an income.
+Somebody said openly in Parliament the other day that marriage was the
+true profession of women. So it is a profession; and except that it is a
+harder bargain for both parties, and that society countenances it, I
+dont see how it differs from what we--bless our virtuous
+indignation!--stigmatize as prostitution. _I_ dont mean ever to be
+married, I can tell you, Marian. I would rather die than sell myself
+forever to a man, and stand in a church before a lot of people whilst
+George or somebody read out that cynically plain-spoken marriage service
+over me."
+
+"Stop Nelly! Pray stop! If you thought for a moment you would never say
+such awful things."
+
+"I thought we had agreed long ago that marriage is a mistake."
+
+"Yes; but that is very different to what you are saying now."
+
+"I cannot see----"
+
+"Pray stop, Nelly. Dont go on in that strain. It does no good; and it
+makes me very uncomfortable."
+
+"I'll take it out in work," said Nelly calmly, returning to her
+manuscript. "I can see that, as you say, talking does no good. All the
+more reason why I should have another try at earning my own living. When
+I become a great novelist I shall say what I like and do what I please.
+For the present I am your obedient, humble servant."
+
+At any other time Marian would have protested, and explained, and
+soothed. Now she was too heavily preoccupied by her guilty conscience.
+She strolled disconsolately to the window, and presently, seeing that
+Miss McQuinch was at work in earnest and had better not be disturbed,
+went off for a lonely walk. It was a glorious afternoon; and nature
+heaped its peculiar consolations on her; so that she never thought of
+returning until the sun was close to the horizon. As she came, tired,
+through the plantation, with the evening glow and the light wind, in
+which the branches were rustling and the leaves dropping, lulling her
+luxuriously, she heard some one striding swiftly along the path behind.
+She looked back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could not see
+who was coming. Then it occurred to her that it might be Conolly.
+Dreading to face him after what had happened, she stole aside among the
+trees a little way, and sat down on a stone, hoping that he might pass
+by without seeing her. The next moment he came round the curve, looking
+so resolute and vigorous that her heart became fainter as she watched
+him. Just opposite where she sat, he stopped, having a clear view of the
+path ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled. Marian held her
+breath. He looked to the left through the trees, then to the right,
+where she was.
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Lind," he said respectfully, raising his hat.
+
+"Good-evening," said she, trembling.
+
+"You are not looking quite well."
+
+"I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. That is why I had to
+sit down. I shall be rested presently."
+
+Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. "This is my last
+visit to Carbury Towers," he said. "No doubt you know that I am going
+for good."
+
+"Yes," said Marian. "I--I am greatly obliged to you for all the pains
+you have taken with me in the laboratory. You have been very patient. I
+suppose I have often wasted your time unreasonably."
+
+"No," said Conolly, unceremoniously, "you have not wasted my time: I
+never let anybody do that. My time belonged to Lord Carbury, not to
+myself. However, that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving you
+lessons. Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole obligation rests on
+me."
+
+"They were very pleasant."
+
+He shifted himself into an easier position, looking well pleased. Then
+he said, carelessly, "Has Mr. Marmaduke Lind come down?"
+
+Marian reddened and felt giddy.
+
+"I want to avoid meeting him," continued Conolly; "and I thought perhaps
+you might know enough of his movements this evening to help me to do so.
+It does not matter much; but I have a reason."
+
+Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she tried to speak; but
+she repressed it, and said:
+
+"Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know before: I am sure you
+did not think I did. I made a dreadful mistake."
+
+"Why!" said Conolly, with some indignation, "who has told you since?"
+
+"Marmaduke," said Marian, roused to reply quickly by the energy of the
+questioner. "He did not mean to be indiscreet: he thought I knew."
+
+"Thought! He never thought in his life, Miss Lind. However, he was right
+enough to tell you; and I am glad you know the truth, because it
+explains my behavior the last time we met. It took me aback a bit for
+the moment."
+
+"You were very forbearing. I hope you will not think me intrusive if I
+tell you how sincerely sorry I am for the misfortune which has come to
+you."
+
+"What misfortune?"
+
+Marian lost confidence again, and looked at him in silent distress.
+
+"To be sure," he interposed, quickly. "I know; but you had put it all
+out of my head. I am much obliged to you. Not that I am much concerned
+about it. You will perhaps think it an instance of the depravity of my
+order, Miss Lind; but I am not one of those people who think it pious to
+consider their near relatives as if they were outside the natural course
+of things. I never was a good son or a good brother or a good patriot in
+the sense of thinking that my mother and my sister and my native country
+were better than other people's because I happened to belong to them. I
+knew what would happen some day, though, as usual, my foreknowledge did
+not save me from a little emotion when the event came to pass. Besides,
+to tell you the truth, I dont feel it as a misfortune. You know what my
+sister's profession is. You told me how you felt when you saw her act.
+Now, tell me fairly, and without stopping to think of whether your
+answer will hurt me, would you consent to know her in private even if
+you had heard nothing to her disadvantage? Would you invite her to your
+house, or go to a party at which all the other women were like her?
+Would you introduce young ladies to her, as you would introduce them to
+Miss McQuinch? Dont stop to imagine exceptional circumstances which
+might justify you in doing these things; but tell me yes or no, _would_
+you?"
+
+"You see, Mr. Conolly, I should really never have an opportunity of
+doing them."
+
+"By your leave, Miss Lind, that means No. Honestly, then, what has
+Susanna to lose by disregarding your rules of behavior? Even if, by
+marrying, she conciliated the notions of your class, she would only give
+some man the right to ill-treat her and spend her earnings, without
+getting anything in return--and remember there is a special danger of
+that on the stage, for several reasons. She would not really conciliate
+you by marrying, for you wouldnt associate with her a bit the more
+because of her marriage certificate. Of course I am putting her
+self-respect out of the question, that being a matter between herself
+and her conscience, with which we have no concern. Believe me, neither
+actresses nor any other class will trouble themselves about the opinion
+of a society in which they are allowed to have neither part nor lot.
+Perhaps I am wrong to talk about such matters to you; but you are
+trained to feel all the worst that can be felt for my sister; and I feel
+bound to let you know that there is something to be said in her defence.
+I have no right to blame her, as she has done me no harm. The only way
+in which her conduct can influence my prospects will be through her
+being an undesirable sister-in-law in case I should want to marry."
+
+"If the person you choose hesitate on that account, you can let her go
+without regret," said Marian. "She will not be worthy of your regard."
+
+"I am not so sure of that," said Conolly, laughing. "You see, Miss Lind,
+if that invention of mine succeeds, I may become a noted man; and it is
+fashionable nowadays for society to patronize geniuses who hit on a new
+illustration of what people call the marvels of science. I am ambitious.
+As a celebrity, I might win the affections of a duchess. Who knows?"
+
+"I should not advise you to marry a duchess. I do not know many of them,
+as I am a comparatively humble person; but I am sure you would not like
+them."
+
+"Aye. And possibly a lady of gentle nurture would not like me."
+
+"On the contrary, clever people are so rare in society that I think you
+would have a better chance than most men."
+
+"Do you think my manners would pass? I learnt to dance and bow before I
+was twelve years old from the most experienced master in Europe; and I
+used to mix with all the counts, dukes, and queens in my father's opera
+company, not to mention the fashionable people I have read about in
+novels."
+
+"You are jesting, Mr. Conolly. I do not believe that your manners give
+you the least real concern."
+
+"And you think that I may aspire in time--if I am successful in
+public--to the hand of a lady?"
+
+"Surely you know as much of the world as I. Why should you not marry a
+lady, if you wish to?"
+
+"I am afraid class prejudice would be too strong for me, after all."
+
+"I dont think so. What hour is it now, Mr. Conolly?"
+
+"It wants ten minutes of seven."
+
+"Oh!" cried Marian, rising. "Miss McQuinch is probably wondering whether
+I am drowned or lost. I must get back to the Hall as fast as I can. They
+have returned from Bushy Copse before this; and I am sure they are
+asking about me."
+
+Conolly rose silently and walked with her as far as the path from the
+cottage to the laboratory.
+
+"This is my way, Miss Lind," said he. "I am going to the laboratory.
+Will you be so kind as to give my respects to Miss McQuinch. I shall not
+see her again, as I must return to town by the last train to-night."
+
+"And are you not coming back--not at all, I mean?"
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"Oh!" said Marian slowly.
+
+"Good bye, Miss Lind."
+
+He was about to raise his hat as usual; but Marian, with a smile, put
+out her hand. He took it for the first time; looked at her for a moment
+gravely; and left her.
+
+Lest they should surprise one another in the act, neither of them looked
+back at the other as they went their several ways.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+In the spring, eighteen months after his daughter's visit to Carbury
+Towers, Mr. Reginald Harrington Lind called at a house in Manchester
+Square and found Mrs. Douglas at home. Sholto's mother was a widow lady
+older than Mr. Lind, with a rather glassy eye and shaky hand, who would
+have looked weak and shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty of
+money, unlimited domestic service, and unhesitating deference from
+attendants who were all trained artists in their occupation, made a fair
+shew of being a dignified and interesting old lady. When he was seated,
+her first action was to take a new photograph from a little table at her
+side, and hand it to him without a word, awaiting his recognition of it
+with a shew of natural pride and affection which was amateurish in
+comparison to the more polished and skilful comedy with which her
+visitor took it and pretended to admire it.
+
+"Capital. Capital," said Mr. Lind. "He must give us one."
+
+"You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do you?" said Mrs.
+Douglas.
+
+"Certainly not: it is an improvement," said Mr. Lind, decisively. "You
+are glad to have him back again with you, I dare say. Ah yes, yes" (Mrs.
+Douglas's eyes had answered for her). "Did he tell you that he met me? I
+saw him on Wednesday last for the first time since his return to London.
+How long was he away?"
+
+"Two years," she replied, with slow emphasis, as if such an absence
+were hardly credible. "Two long years. He has been staying in Paris, in
+Venice, in Florence: a month here, a week there, dissatisfied
+everywhere. He would have been almost as happy with me at home. And how
+is Marian?"
+
+"Well," said Mr. Lind, smiling, "I believe she is still disengaged; and
+she professes to be fancy free. She is fond of saying, generally, that
+she will never marry, and so forth. That is the new fashion with young
+women--if saying what they dont mean can be called a new fashion."
+
+"Marian is sure to get married," said Mrs. Douglas. "She must have had
+offers already. There are few parents who have not cause to envy you."
+
+"We have both been happy in that respect, Mrs. Douglas. Sholto is a
+highly distinguished young man. I wish I had started in life with half
+his advantages. I thought at one time he was perhaps becoming attached
+to Marian."
+
+"You are quite sure, Mr. Lind, that you could forgive his being a plain
+gentleman? A little bird whispered to me that you desired a title for
+Marian."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Douglas, we, who are familiar with titles, understand
+their true value. I should be very sorry to see Marian lose, by an
+unsuitable alliance, the social position I have been able to give her. I
+should set my face resolutely against such an alliance. But few English
+titles can boast a pedigree comparable with Sholto's. The name of
+Douglas is historic--far more so than that of Lind, which is not even
+English except by naturalization. Besides, Sholto's talents are very
+remarkable. He will certainly adopt a political career; and, with his
+opportunities and abilities, a peerage is anything but a remote
+contingency."
+
+"Sholto, you know, is perfectly unembarrassed. There is not a charge on
+his property. I think that even Marian, good as she is, and lovely as
+she is, will not easily find a better match. But I am well known to be a
+little crazy about my dear boy. That is because I know him so much
+better than anyone else does. Now let us talk about other matters. Let
+me see. Oh yes, I got a prospectus of some company from the city the
+other day; and whose name should there be upon the list of directors but
+Reginald Harrington Lind's! And Lord Carbury's, too! Pray, is the entire
+family going into business?"
+
+"Well, I believe the undertaking to be a commercially sound one; and--"
+
+"Fancy _you_ talking about commercial soundness!"
+
+"True. It must sound strange to you. But it is no longer unusual for men
+in my position to take an active part in the direction of commerce. We
+have duties as well as privileges. I gave my name and took a few shares
+chiefly on the recommendation of Jasper and of my own stockbroker. I
+think there can be no doubt that Jasper and Mr. Conolly have made a very
+remarkable discovery, and one which must prove highly remunerative and
+beneficial."
+
+"What is the discovery? I did not quite understand the prospectus."
+
+"Well, it is called the Conolly Electro-motor."
+
+"Yes, I know that."
+
+"And it--it turns all sorts of machinery. I cannot explain it
+scientifically to you: you would not understand me. But it is, in short,
+a method of driving machinery by electricity at a less cost than by
+steam. It is connected in principle with the conservation of energy and
+other technical matters. You must come and see the machinery at work
+some day."
+
+"I must, indeed. And is it true that Mr. Conolly was a common working
+man?"
+
+"Yes, a practical man, undoubtedly, but highly educated. He speaks
+French and Italian fluently, and is a remarkable musician. Altogether a
+man of very superior attainments, and by no means deficient in culture."
+
+"Dear me! Jasper told me something of that sort about him; but Lady
+Carbury gave him a very different character. She assured me that he was
+sprung from the dregs of the people, and that she had a great deal of
+trouble to teach him his proper place. Still, we know that she is not
+very particular as to what she says when she dislikes people. Yet she
+ought to know; for he was Jasper's laboratory servant--at least so she
+said."
+
+"Oh, surely not a servant. Jasper never regarded him in that light. The
+Countess disapproves of Jasper's scientific pursuits, and sets her face
+against all who encourage him in them. However, I really know nothing
+about Mr. Conolly's antecedents. His manner when he appears at our board
+meetings is quiet and not unpleasant. Marian, it appears, met him at
+Towers Cottage the year before last, and had some scientific lessons
+from him. He was quite unknown then. It was rather a curious
+coincidence. I did not know of it until about a month ago, when he read
+a paper at the Society of Arts on his invention. I attended the meeting
+with Marian; and when it was over, I introduced him to her, and was
+surprised to learn that they knew one another already. He told me
+afterward that Marian had shewn an unusual degree of cleverness in
+studying electricity, and that she greatly interested him at the time."
+
+"No doubt. Marian interests everybody; and even great discoverers, when
+they are young, are only human."
+
+"Ah! Perhaps so. But she must have shewn some ability or she would never
+have elicited a remark from him. He is full of his business."
+
+"And what is the latest news of the family scamp?"
+
+"Do you mean my Reginald?"
+
+"Dear me, no! What a shame to call poor Reggy a scamp! I mean young
+Marmaduke, of course. Is it true that he has a daughter now?"
+
+"Oh yes. Perfectly true."
+
+"The reprobate! And he was always such a pleasant fellow."
+
+"Yes; but he is annoyingly inconsiderate. About a fortnight ago, Marian
+and Elinor went to Putney to a private view at Mr. Scott's studio. On
+their way back they saw Marmaduke on the river, and, rather
+unnecessarily, I think, entered into conversation with him. He begged
+them to come to Hammersmith in his boat, saying that he had something
+there to shew them. Elinor, it appears, had the sense to ask whether it
+was anything they ought not to see; but he replied on his honor that it
+was something perfectly innocent, and promised that they should be
+delighted with it. So they foolishly consented, and went with him to
+Hammersmith, where they left the river and walked some distance with
+him. He left them in a road somewhere in West Kensington, and came back
+after about fifteen minutes with a little girl. He actually presented
+her to Marian and Elinor as a member of the family whom they, as a
+matter of course, would like to know."
+
+"Well, _such_ a thing to do! And what happened?"
+
+"Marian seems to have thought of nothing but the prettiness of the
+unhappy child. She gravely informed me that she forgave Marmaduke
+everything when she saw how he doted on it. Elinor has always shewn a
+disposition to defend him----"
+
+"She is full of perversity, and always was."
+
+"----and this incident did not damage his credit with _her_. However,
+after the little waif had been sufficiently petted and praised to
+gratify Master Marmaduke's paternal feelings, they came home, and,
+instead of holding their tongues, began to tell all our people what a
+dear little child Marmaduke had, and how they considered that it ought
+not to be made to suffer for his follies. In fact, I think they would
+have adopted it, if I had allowed them."
+
+"That is Marian all over. Some of her ideas will serve her very well
+when she goes to heaven; but they will get her into scrapes in this
+wicked world if you do not take care of her."
+
+"I fear so. For that reason I tolerate a degree of cynicism in Elinor's
+character which would otherwise be most disagreeable to me. It is often
+useful in correcting Marian's extravagances. Unfortunately, the incident
+at Hammersmith did not pass off without making mischief. It happens that
+my sister Julia is interested in a Home for foundling girls--a
+semi-private place, where a dozen children are trained as domestic
+servants."
+
+"Yes. I have been through it. It is very neat and pretty; but they
+really treat the poor girls as if they ought to be thankful for
+permission to exist. Their dresses are so ugly!"
+
+"Possibly. I assure you that presentations are much sought after, and
+are very difficult to get. Julia is a patroness. Marian told her about
+this child of Marmaduke's; and it happened that a vacancy had just
+occurred at the Home in consequence of one of the girls dying of
+melancholia and spinal affection. Julia, who has perhaps more piety than
+tact, wrote to Marmaduke offering to present his daughter, and
+expatiating on the advantages of the Home to the poor little lost one.
+In her desire to reclaim Marmaduke also, she entrusted the letter to
+George, who undertook to deliver it, and further Julia's project by
+personal persuasion. George described the interview to me, and shewed
+me, I am sorry to say, how much downright ferocity may exist beneath an
+apparently frank, jovial, reckless exterior like Marmaduke's."
+
+"Well, I hardly wonder at his refusing. Of course, he might have known
+that the motive of the offer was a kind one."
+
+"Refused! A gentleman can always refuse an offer with dignity. Marmaduke
+was outrageous. George--a clergyman--owed his escape from actual
+violence to the interference of the woman, and to a timely
+representation that he had undertaken to bear the message in order to
+soften any angry feelings that it might give rise to. Marmaduke
+repeatedly applied foul language to his aunt and to her offer; and
+George with great difficulty dissuaded him from writing a most offensive
+letter to her. Julia was so hurt by this that she complained to
+Dora--Marmaduke's mother--who had up to that time been kept in ignorance
+of his doings; and now it is hard to say where the mischief will end.
+Dora is overwhelmed by the revelation of the life her son is leading.
+Marmaduke has consequently forfeited his father's countenance, which
+had to be extended to him so far as to allow of his occasional
+appearance at home, in order to keep Dora in the dark. Now that she is
+enlightened, of course there is an end of all that, and he is forbidden
+the house."
+
+"What a lot of mischief! Dear me!"
+
+"So I said to Marian. Had she refused to go up the river with Marmaduke,
+as she should have done, all this would not have occurred. She will not
+see it in that light, but lays all the blame on her aunt Julia, whose
+offer fell somewhat short of her own notions of providing for the
+child's future."
+
+"How does Marmaduke stand with respect to money? I suppose his father
+has stopped his allowance."
+
+"No. He threatened to do it, and went so far as to make his solicitor
+write to that effect to Marmaduke, who had the consummate impudence to
+reply that he should in that case be compelled to provide for himself by
+contracting a marriage of which he could not expect his family to
+approve. Still, he added, if the family chose to sever their connexion
+with him, they could not expect him to consult their feelings in his
+future disposal of himself. In plain English, he threatened to marry
+this woman if his income was cut off. He carried his point, too; for no
+alteration has been made in his allowance. Indeed, as he has money of
+his own, and as part of the property is entailed, it would be easier to
+irritate him uselessly than to subject him to any material deprivation."
+
+"The young scamp! I wonder he was clever enough to take advantage like
+that."
+
+"He has shewn no lack of acuteness of late. I suspect he is under shrewd
+guidance."
+
+"Have you ever seen the--the guidance?"
+
+"Not in person. I seldom enter a theatre now. But I am of course
+familiar with her appearance from the photographic portraits of her.
+They are in all the shop windows."
+
+"Yes. I think I have noticed them."
+
+"And now, Mrs. Douglas, I fear I have paid you a very long visit."
+
+"Why dont you come oftener?"
+
+"I wish I could find time. I have not so much leisure for enjoyment as I
+used."
+
+"I am not so sure of that. But we are always glad to have a chat with
+one another, I know. We are agreed about the dear children, I think?"
+
+"Cordially. Cordially. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+On the morning of the first Friday in May Marian received this letter:
+
+                                  "Uxbridge Road, Holland Park, W.
+
+  "DEAR MISS LIND: I must begin by explaining why I make this
+  communication to you by letter instead of orally. It is because I
+  am about to ask you to do me a favor. If you asked me to do
+  anything for you, then, no matter how much my judgment might
+  protest against my compliance, I could not without pain to myself
+  refuse you face to face. I have no right to assume that your heart
+  would plead on my behalf against your head in this fashion; but, on
+  the other hand--the wish is father to the thought here--I have no
+  right to assume that it would not. Therefore, to spare you all
+  influences except the fair ones of your own interest and
+  inclination, I make my proposal in writing. You will please put the
+  usual construction on the word 'proposal.' What I desire is your
+  consent to marry me. If your first impulse now is to refuse, I beg
+  you to do so in plain terms at once, and destroy this letter
+  without reading further. If you think, on the contrary, that we
+  could achieve a future as pleasant as our past association has
+  been--to me at least, here is what, as I think, you have to
+  consider.
+
+  "You are a lady, rich, well-born, beautiful, loved by many persons
+  besides myself, too happily circumstanced to have any pressing
+  inducement to change your condition, and too fortunately endowed in
+  every way to have reason to anticipate the least difficulty in
+  changing it to the greatest worldly advantage when you please.
+
+  "What I am and have been, you know. I may estrange from you some of
+  the society which you enjoy, and I can introduce you to none that
+  would compensate you for the loss. I am what you call poor: my
+  income at present does not amount to much more than fifteen
+  hundred pounds; and I should not ask you to marry me if it were not
+  that your own inheritance is sufficient, as I have ascertained, to
+  provide for you in case of my early death. You know how my sister
+  is situated; how your family are likely to feel toward me on her
+  account and my own; and how impatient I am of devoting much time to
+  what is fashionably supposed to be pleasure. On the other hand, as
+  I am bidding for a consent and not for a refusal, I hope you will
+  not take my disadvantages for more, or my advantages for less, than
+  they are honestly worth. At Carbury Park you often said that you
+  would never marry; and I have said the same myself. So, as we
+  neither of us overrate the possibilities of happiness in marriage,
+  perhaps we might, if you would be a little forbearing with me,
+  succeed in proving that we have greatly underrated them. As for the
+  prudence of the step, I have seen and practised too much prudence
+  to believe that it is worth much as a rule of conduct in a world of
+  accidents. If there were a science of life as there is one of
+  mechanics, we could plan our lives scientifically and run no risks;
+  but as it is, we must--together or apart--take our chance:
+  cautiousness and recklessness divide the great stock of regrets
+  pretty equally.
+
+  "Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting you, for my
+  own good, to forfeit your present happy independence among your
+  friends, and involve your fortunes with those of a man whom you
+  have only seen on occasions when ceremony compelled him to observe
+  his best behavior. I can only excuse myself by reminding you that
+  no matter whom you marry, you must do so at the same disadvantages,
+  except as to the approval of your friends, of which the value is
+  for you to consider. That being so, why should I not profit by your
+  hazard as well as another? Besides, there are many other feelings
+  impelling me. I should like to describe them to you, and would if I
+  understood them well enough to do it accurately.
+
+  "However, nothing is further from my intention than to indite a
+  love letter; so I will return to graver questions. One, in
+  particular, must be clearly understood between us. You are too
+  earnest to consider an allusion to religious matters out of place
+  here. I do not know exactly what you believe; but I have gathered
+  from stray remarks of yours that you belong to what is called the
+  Broad Church. If so, we must to some extent agree to differ. I
+  should never interfere in any way with your liberty as far as your
+  actions concerned yourself only. But, frankly, I should not permit
+  my wife to teach my children to know Christianity in any other way
+  than that in which an educated Englishman knows Buddhism. I will
+  not go through any ceremony whatever in a church, or enter one
+  except to play the organ. I am prejudiced against religions of all
+  sorts. The Church has made itself the natural enemy of the theatre;
+  and I was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor workman
+  earning wages, when I found the Church always taking part against
+  me and my comrades with the rich who did no work. If the Church had
+  never set itself against me, perhaps I should never have set myself
+  against the Church; but what is done is done: you will find me
+  irreligious, but not, I hope, unreasonable.
+
+  "I will be at the Academy to-morrow at about four o'clock, as I do
+  not care to remain longer in suspense than is absolutely necessary;
+  but if you are not prepared to meet me then, I shall faithfully
+  help you in any effort I may perceive you make to avoid me.
+
+  "I am, dear Miss Lind,
+             "Yours sincerely,
+                  "EDWARD CONOLLY."
+
+This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations set
+forth in it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just what
+she should have hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the quaint
+earnestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as she
+thought) of the advantages which she might forfeit by marrying him,
+there was just enough of the workman to make them characteristic. She
+wished that she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She was
+afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off, occupied
+herself during the forenoon with her household duties, with some
+pianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuade
+herself were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient of
+further delay. She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, and
+re-read the letter resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she read
+it again. The third time she liked it better than the first; and she
+would have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to go to Burlington House.
+
+"It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy," said Mrs.
+Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. "I have been there at the press
+view, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, of
+course, I am expected to be there."
+
+"If I were in your place," said Elinor, "I----"
+
+"Last night," continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her, "I was
+not in bed until half-past two o'clock. On the night before, I was up
+until five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all."
+
+"Why do you do such things?" said Marian.
+
+"My dear, I _must_. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on Tuesday
+at three o'clock, and said he must have an article on the mango
+experiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. For
+his paper, the _Fortnightly Naturalist_, you know. 'My dear John
+Metcalf,' I said, 'I dont know what a mango is.' 'No more do I, Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax,' said he: 'I think it's something that blooms only once
+in a hundred years. No matter what it is, you must let me have the
+article. Nobody else can do it.' I told him it was impossible. My London
+letter for the _Hari Kari_ was not even begun; and the last post to
+catch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the morning. I had
+an article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had been
+shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. 'If you were to
+go down on your knees,' I said, 'I could not find time to read up the
+_flora_ of the West Indies and finish an article before morning.' He
+went down on his knees. 'Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax,' said he, 'I am going
+to stay here until you promise.' What could I do but promise and get rid
+of him? I did it, too: how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf told
+me yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the Society for
+Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, and the greatest living
+authority on the subject, has got the credit of having written my
+article."
+
+"How flattered he must feel!" said Elinor.
+
+"What article had you to write for papa?" said Marian.
+
+"On the electro-motor--the Conolly electro-motor. I went down to the
+City on Wednesday, and saw it working. It is most wonderful, and very
+interesting. Mr. Conolly explained it to me himself. I was able to
+follow every step that his mind has made in inventing it. I remember him
+as a common workman. He fitted the electric bell in my study four years
+ago with his own hands. You may remember that we met him at a concert
+once. He is a thorough man of business. The Company is making upward of
+fifty pounds an hour by the motor at present; and they expect their
+receipts to be a thousand a day next year. My article will be in the
+_Dynamic Statistician_ next week. Have you seen Sholto Douglas since he
+came back from the continent?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I want to see him. When you meet him next, tell him to call on me. Why
+has he not been here? Surely you are not keeping up your old quarrel?"
+
+"What old quarrel?"
+
+"I always understood that he went abroad on your account."
+
+"I never quarreled with him. Perhaps he did with me, as he has not come
+to see us since his return. It used to be so easy to offend him that his
+retirement in good temper after a visit was quite exceptional."
+
+"Come, come, my dear child! that is all nonsense. You must be kind to
+the poor fellow. Perhaps he will be at the Academy."
+
+"I hope not," said Marian, quickly.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I mean if he cherishes any grudge against me; for he will be very
+disagreeable."
+
+"A grudge against you! Ah, Marian, how little you understand him! What
+perverse creatures all you young people are! I must bring about an
+_�claircissement_."
+
+"I advise you not to," said Elinor. "If you succeed, no one will admit
+that you have done anything; and if you fail, everybody will blame you."
+
+"But there is nothing to be _�clairci_," said Marian. We are talking
+nonsense, which is silly----"
+
+"And French, which is vulgar," interposed Miss McQuinch, delivering the
+remark like a pistol shot at Mrs. Fairfax, who had been trying to convey
+by facial expression that she pitied the folly of Elinor's advice, and
+was scandalized by her presumption in offering it. "It is time to start
+for the Academy."
+
+When they arrived at Burlington House, Mrs. Fairfax put on her gold
+rimmed spectacles, and led the way up the stairs like one having
+important business in a place to which others came for pleasure. When
+they had passed the turnstiles, Elinor halted, and said:
+
+"There is no sort of reason for our pushing through this crowd in a gang
+of three. Besides, I want to look at the pictures, and not after you to
+see which way you go. I shall meet you here at six o'clock, sharp.
+Good-bye."
+
+"What an extraordinary girl!" said Mrs. Fairfax, as Elinor opened her
+catalogue at the end, and suddenly disappeared to the right amongst the
+crowd.
+
+"She always does so," said Marian; "and I think she is quite right. Two
+people cannot make their way about as easily as one; and they never want
+to see the same pictures."
+
+"But, my dear, consider the impropriety of a young girl walking about by
+herself."
+
+"Surely there is no impropriety in it. Lots of people--all sensible
+women do it. Who can tell, in this crowd, whether you are by yourself or
+not? And what does it matter if----"
+
+Here Mrs. Fairfax's attention was diverted by the approach of one of her
+numerous acquaintances. Marian, after a moment's indecision, slipped
+away and began her tour of the rooms alone, passing quickly through the
+first in order to escape pursuit. In the second she tried to look at the
+pictures; but as she now for the first time realized that she might meet
+Conolly at any moment, doubt as to what answer she should give him
+seized her; and she felt a strong impulse to fly. The pictures were
+unintelligible to her: she kept her face turned to the inharmonious shew
+of paint and gilding only because she shrank from looking at the people
+about. Whenever she stood still, and any man approached and remained
+near her, she contemplated the wall fixedly, and did not dare to look
+round or even to stir until he moved away, lest he should be Conolly.
+When she passed from the second room to the large one, she felt as
+though she were making a tremendous plunge; and indeed the catastrophe
+occurred before she had accomplished the movement, for she came suddenly
+face to face with him in the doorway. He did not flinch: he raised his
+hat, and prepared to pass on. She involuntarily put out her hand in
+remonstrance. He took it as a gift at once; and she, confused, said
+anxiously: "We must not stand in the doorway. The people cannot pass
+us," as if her action had meant nothing more than an attempt to draw him
+out of the way. Then, perceiving the absurdity of this pretence, she was
+quite lost for a moment. When she recovered her self-possession they
+were standing together in the less thronged space near a bust of the
+Queen; and Conolly was saying:
+
+"I have been here half an hour; and I have not seen a single picture."
+
+"Nor I," she said timidly, looking down at her catalogue. "Shall we try
+to see some now?"
+
+He opened his catalogue; and they turned together toward the pictures
+and were soon discussing them sedulously, as if they wished to shut out
+the subject of the very recent crisis in their affairs, which was
+nevertheless constantly present in their minds. Marian was saluted by
+many acquaintances. At each encounter she made an effort to appear
+unconcerned, and suffered immediately afterward from a suspicion that
+the effort had defeated its own object, as such efforts often do.
+Conolly had something to say about most of the pictures: generally an
+unanswerable objection to some historical or technical inaccuracy, which
+sometimes convinced her, and always impressed her with a confiding sense
+of ignorance in herself and infallible judgment in him.
+
+"I think we have done enough for one day," she said at last. "The
+watercolors and the sculpture must wait until next time."
+
+"We had better watch for a vacant seat. You must be tired."
+
+"I am, a little. I think I should like to sit in some other room. Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax is over there with Mr. Douglas--a gentleman whom I know
+and would rather not meet just now. You saw him at Wandsworth."
+
+"Yes. That tall man? He has let his beard grow since."
+
+"That is he. Let us go to the room where the drawings are: we shall have
+a better chance of a seat there. I have not seen Sholto for two years;
+and our last meeting was rather a stormy one."
+
+"What happened?"
+
+Marian was a little hurt by being questioned. She missed the reticence
+of a gentleman. Then she reproached herself for not understanding that
+his frank curiosity was a delicate appeal to her confidence in him, and
+answered: "He proposed to me."
+
+Conolly immediately dropped the subject, and went in search of a vacant
+seat. They found one in the little room where the architects' drawings
+languish. They were silent for some time.
+
+Then he began, seriously: "Is it too soon to call you by your own name?
+'Miss Lind' is distant; but 'Marian' might shock you if it came too
+confidently without preparation."
+
+"Whichever you please."
+
+"Whichever I please!"
+
+"That is the worst of being a woman. Little speeches that are sheer
+coquetry when you analyze them, come to our lips and escape even when we
+are most anxious to be straightforward."
+
+"In the same way," said Conolly, "the most enlightened men often express
+themselves in a purely conventional manner on subjects on which they
+have the deepest convictions." This sententious utterance had the effect
+of extinguishing the conversation for some moments, Marian being unable
+to think of a worthy rejoinder. At last she said:
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Edward, or, familiarly, Ned. Commonly Ted. In America, Ed. With, of
+course, the diminutives Neddy, Teddy, and Eddy."
+
+"I think I should prefer Ned."
+
+"I prefer Ned myself."
+
+"Have you any other name?"
+
+"Yes; but it is a secret. Why people should be plagued with two
+Christian names, I do not know. No one would have believed in the motor
+if they had known that my name was Sebastian."
+
+"Sebastian!"
+
+"Hush. I was actually christened Edoardo Sebastiano Conolly. My father
+used to spell his name Conollj whilst he was out of Italy. I have
+frustrated the bounty of my godfathers by suppressing all but the
+sensible Edward Conolly."
+
+There was a pause. Then Marian spoke.
+
+"Do you intend to make our--our engagement known at once?"
+
+"I have considered the point; and as you are the person likely to be
+inconvenienced by its publication, I am bound to let you conceal it for
+the present, if you wish to. It must transpire sometime: the sooner the
+better. You will feel uncomfortably deceitful with such a secret; and as
+for me, every time your father greets me cordially in the City I shall
+feel mean. However, you can watch for your opportunity. Let me know at
+once when the cat comes out of the bag."
+
+"I will. I think, as you say, the right course is to tell at once."
+
+"Undoubtedly. But from the moment you do so until we are married you
+will be worried by remonstrances, entreaties, threats, and what not; so
+that we cannot possibly make that interval too short."
+
+"We must take Nelly into our confidence. You will not object to that?"
+
+"Certainly not. I like Miss McQuinch."
+
+"You really do! Oh, I am so glad. Well, we are accustomed to go about
+together, especially to picture galleries. We can come to the Academy as
+often as we like; and you can come as often as you like, can you not?"
+
+"Opening day, for instance."
+
+"Yes, if you wish."
+
+"Let us say between half-past four and five, then. I would willingly be
+here when the doors open in the morning; but my business will not do
+itself while I am philandering and making you tired of me before your
+time. The consciousness of having done a day's work is necessary to my
+complete happiness."
+
+"I, too, have my day's work to do, silly as it is. I have to housekeep,
+to receive visitors, to write notes about nothing, and to think of the
+future. We can say half-past four or any later hour that may suit you."
+
+"Agreed. And now, Marian----"
+
+"Dont let me disturb you," said Miss McQuinch, at his elbow, to Marian;
+"but Mrs. Leith Fairfax will be here with Sholto Douglas presently; and
+I thought you might like to have an opportunity of avoiding him. How do
+you do, Mr. Conolly?"
+
+"I must see him sooner or later," said Marian, rising. "Better face him
+at once and get it over. I will go back by myself and meet them." Then,
+with a smile at Conolly, she went out through the door leading to the
+water-color gallery.
+
+"Marian does not stand on much ceremony with you, Mr. Conolly," said
+Miss McQuinch, glancing at him.
+
+"No," said Conolly. "Do you think you could face the Academy again on
+Monday at half-past four?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Miss Lind is coming to meet me here at that hour."
+
+"Marian!"
+
+"Precisely. Marian. She has promised to marry me. At present it is a
+secret. But it was to be mentioned to you."
+
+"It will not be a secret very long if you allow people to overhear you
+calling her by her Christian name in the middle of the Academy, as you
+did me just now," said Elinor, privately much taken aback, but resolute
+not to appear so.
+
+"Did you overhear us? I should have been more careful. You do not seem
+surprised."
+
+"Just a little, at your audacity. Not in the least at Marian's
+consenting."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"I did not mean it in that way at all," said Elinor resentfully. "I
+think you have been very fortunate, as I suppose you would have married
+somebody in any case. I believe you are able to appreciate her. That's a
+compliment."
+
+"Yes. I hope I deserve it. Do you think you will ever forgive me for
+supplanting the hero Marian deserves?"
+
+"If you had let your chance of her slip, I should have despised you, I
+think: at least, I should if you had missed it with your eyes open. I am
+so far prejudiced in your favor that I think Marian would not like you
+unless you were good. I have known her to pity people who deserved to be
+strangled; but I never knew her to be attracted by any unworthy person
+except myself; and even I have my good points. You need not trouble
+yourself to agree with me: you could not do less, in common politeness.
+As I am rather tired, I shall go and sit in the vestibule until the
+others are ready to go home. In the meantime you can tell me all the
+particulars you care to trust me with. Marian will tell me the rest when
+we go home."
+
+"That is an undeserved stab," said Conolly.
+
+"Never mind: I am always stabbing people. I suppose I like it," she
+added, as they went together to the vestibule.
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Leith Fairfax had not been wasting her time. She had
+come upon Douglas in the large room, and had recognized him by his
+stature and proud bearing, in spite of the handsome Assyrian beard he
+had allowed to grow during his stay abroad.
+
+"I have been very anxious to see you," said she, forcing a conversation
+upon him, though he had saluted her formally, and had evidently intended
+to pass on without speaking. "If your time were not too valuable to be
+devoted to a poor hard-working woman, I should have asked you to call on
+me. Dont deprecate my forbearance. You are Somebody in the literary
+world now."
+
+"Indeed? I was not aware that I had done anything to raise me from
+obscurity."
+
+"I assure you you are very much mistaken, or else very modest. Has no
+one told you about the effect your book produced here?"
+
+"I know nothing of it, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I never enquire after the
+effect of my work. I have lived in comparative seclusion; and I scarcely
+know what collection of fugitive notes of mine you honor by describing
+as a book."
+
+"I mean your 'Note on three pictures in last year's _Salon_,' with the
+sonnets, and the fragment from your unfinished drama. Is it finished,
+may I ask?"
+
+"It is not finished. I shall never finish it now."
+
+"I will tell you--between ourselves--that I heard one of the foremost
+critics of the age say, in the presence of a great poet (whom we both
+know), that it was such another fragment as the Venus of Milo, 'whose
+lost arms,' said he, 'we should fear to see, lest they should be
+unworthy of her.' 'You are right,' said the poet: 'I, for one, should
+shudder to see the fragment completed.' That is a positive fact. But
+look at some of the sonnets! Burgraves says that his collection of
+English sonnets is incomplete because it does not contain your
+'Clytemnestra,' which he had not seen when his book went to press. You
+stand in the very forefront of literature--far higher than I, who
+am--dont tell anybody--five years older than you."
+
+"You are very good. I do not value any distinction of the sort. I write
+sometimes because, I suppose, the things that are in me must come out,
+whether I will or not. Let us talk of something else. You are quite well
+I hope?"
+
+"Very far from it. I am never well; but since I never have a moment's
+rest from work, I must bear with it. People expect me to think, when I
+have hardly time to eat."
+
+"If you have no time to think, I envy you. But I am truly sorry that
+your health remains so bad."
+
+"Thank you. But what is the cause of all this gloomy cynicism, Mr.
+Douglas? Why should you, who are young, distinguished, gifted, and
+already famous, envy me for having no leisure to think?"
+
+"You exaggerate the sadness of my unfortunate insensibility to the
+admiration of the crowd," said Douglas, coldly. "I am, nevertheless,
+flattered by the interest you take in my affairs."
+
+"You need not be, Mr. Douglas," said Mrs. Fairfax, earnestly, fearing
+that he would presently succeed in rebuffing her. "I think you are much
+better off than you deserve. You may despise your reputation as much as
+you like: that only affects yourself. But when a beautiful girl pays you
+the compliment of almost dying of love for you, I think you ought to buy
+a wedding-ring and jump for joy, instead of sulking in remote corners of
+the continent."
+
+"And pray, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, what lady has so honored me?"
+
+"You must know, unless you are blind."
+
+"Pardon me. I do not habitually imply what is not the case. I beg you to
+believe that I do _not_ know."
+
+"Not know! What moles men are! Poor Marian!"
+
+"Oblige me by taking this seat," said Douglas, sternly, pointing to one
+just vacated. "I shall not detain you many minutes," he added, sitting
+down beside her. "May I understand that Miss Lind is the lady of whom
+you spoke just now?"
+
+"Yes. Remember that I am speaking to you as a friend, and that I trust
+to you not to mention the effort I am making to clear up the
+misunderstanding which causes her so much unhappiness."
+
+"Are you then in Miss Lind's confidence? Did she ask you to tell me
+this?"
+
+"What do you mean, Mr. Douglas?"
+
+"I am quite innocent of any desire to shock or offend you, Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax. Does your question imply a negative?"
+
+"Most certainly. Marian ask me to tell! you must be dreaming. Do you
+think, even if Marian were capable of making an advance, that _I_ would
+consent to act as a go-between? Really, Mr. Douglas!"
+
+"I confess I do not understand these matters; and you must bear with my
+ineptitude. If Miss Lind entertains any sentiment for me but one of
+mistrust and aversion, her behavior is singularly misleading."
+
+"Mistrust! Aversion! I tell you she is in love with you."
+
+"But you have not, you admit, her authority for saying so, whereas I
+_have_ her authority for the contrary."
+
+"You do not understand girls. You are mistaken."
+
+"Possibly; but you must pardon me if I hesitate to set aside my own
+judgment in deference to your low estimate of it."
+
+"Very well," said Mrs. Fairfax, her patience yielding a little to his
+persistent stiffness: "be it so. Many men would be glad to beg what you
+will not be bribed to accept."
+
+"No doubt. I trust that when they so humble themselves they may not
+encounter a flippant repulse."
+
+"If they do, it will spring from her unmerited regard for you."
+
+He bowed slightly, and turned away, arranging his gloves as if about to
+rise.
+
+"Pray what is that large picture which is skied over there to the
+right?" said Mrs. Fairfax, after a pause, during which she had feigned
+to examine her catalogue. "I cannot see the number at this distance."
+
+"Do you defend her conduct on the ground of that senseless and cruel
+caprice which your sex seem to consider becoming to them; or has she
+changed her mind in my absence?"
+
+"Oh! you are talking of Marian. I do not know what you have to complain
+of in her conduct. Mind, she has never breathed a word to me on the
+subject. I am quite ignorant of the details of your difference with her.
+But she has confessed to me that she is very sorry for what passed--I am
+abusing her confidence by telling you so--and I am a woman, with eyes
+and brains, and know what the poor girl feels well enough. I will tell
+you nothing more: I have no right to; and Marian would be indignant if
+she knew how much I have said already. But I know what I should do were
+I in your place."
+
+"Expose myself to another refusal, perhaps?"
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, learning now for the first time that he had actually
+proposed to Marian, looked at him for some moments in silence with a
+smile which was assumed to cover her surprise. He thought it expressed
+incredulity at the idea of his being refused again.
+
+"Are you sure?" he began, speaking courteously to her for the first
+time. "May I rely upon the accuracy of your impressions on this subject?
+I know you are incapable of trifling in a matter which might expose me
+to humiliation; but can you give me any guarantee--any--"
+
+"Certainly not, Mr. Douglas. I am really sorry that I cannot give you a
+written undertaking that your suit shall succeed: perhaps that might
+encourage you to brave the scorn of a poor child who adores you. But if
+you need so much encouragement, I fear you do not greatly relish the
+prospect of success. Doubtless it has already struck her that since you
+found absence from her very bearable for two years, and have avoided
+meeting her on your return, her society cannot be very important to your
+happiness."
+
+"But it was her own fault. If she accuses me of having gone away to
+enjoy myself, her thoughts are a bitter sarcasm on the truth."
+
+"Granted that it was her own fault, if you please. But surely you have
+punished her enough by your long seclusion, and can afford to shew a
+tardy magnanimity by this time. There she is, I think, just come in at
+the door on the left. My sight is so wretched. Is it not she?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then let us get up and speak to her. Come."
+
+"You must excuse me, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I have distinctly given her my
+word that I will not intrude upon her again."
+
+"Dont be so foolish."
+
+Douglas's face clouded. "You are privileged to say so," he said.
+
+"Not at all," said Mrs. Fairfax, frightened. "But when I think of
+Marian, I feel like an old woman, and venture to remonstrate with all
+the presumption of age. I beg your pardon."
+
+He bowed. Then Marian joined them, and Mrs. Fairfax again gave tongue.
+
+"Where have you been?" she cried. "You vanished from my side like a
+sprite. I have been searching for you ever since."
+
+"I have been looking at the pictures, of course. I am so glad you have
+come back, Sholto. I think you might have made time to pay us a visit
+before this. You look so strong and well! Your beard is a great
+improvement. Have you met Nelly?"
+
+"I think we saw her at some distance," said Douglas. "I have not been
+speaking to her."
+
+"How did you enjoy yourself while you were away?"
+
+"As best I could."
+
+"You look as if you had succeeded very fairly. What o'clock is it?
+Remember that we have to meet Nelly at the turnstiles at six."
+
+"It is five minutes to six now, Miss Lind."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Douglas. We had better go, I think."
+
+As they left the room, Mrs. Fairfax purposely lingered behind them.
+
+"Am I right in concluding that you are as frivolous as ever, Marian?"
+he said.
+
+"Quite," she replied. "To-day especially so. I am very happy to-day."
+
+"May I ask why?"
+
+"Something has happened. I will tell you what it is some day perhaps,
+but not now. Something that realizes a romantic dream of mine. The dream
+has been hovering vaguely about me for nearly two years; but I never
+ventured to teach myself exactly what it was until to-day."
+
+"Realized here? in the Academy?"
+
+"It was foreshadowed--promised, at home this morning; but it was
+realized here."
+
+"Did you know beforehand that I was coming?"
+
+"Not until to-day. Mrs. Leith Fairfax said that you would most likely be
+here."
+
+"And you are happy?"
+
+"So much so that I cannot help talking about my happiness to you, who
+are the very last person--as you will admit when everything is
+explained--to whom I should unlock my lips on the subject."
+
+"And why? Am I not interested in your happiness?"
+
+"I suppose so. I hope so. But when you learn the truth, you will be more
+astonished than gratified."
+
+"I dare swear that you are mistaken. Is this dream of yours an affair of
+the heart?"
+
+"Now you are beginning to ask questions."
+
+"Well, I will ask no more at present. But if you fear that my long
+absence has rendered me indifferent in the least degree to your
+happiness, you do me a great injustice."
+
+"Well, you were not in a very good humor with me when you went away."
+
+"I will forget that if you wish me to."
+
+"I do wish you to forget it. And you forgive me?"
+
+"Most assuredly."
+
+"Then we are the best friends in the world again. This is a great deal
+better than meeting and pretending to ignore the very thing of which our
+minds are full. You will not delay visiting us any longer now, I hope."
+
+"I will call on your father to-morrow morning. May I?"
+
+"He is out of town until Monday. He will be delighted to see you then.
+He has been talking to me about you a great deal of late. But if you
+want to see him in the morning you had better go to the club. I will
+write to him to-night if you like; so that he can write to you and make
+an appointment."
+
+"Do. Ah, Marian, instinct is better and truer than intellect. I have
+been for two years trying to believe all kinds of evil of you; and yet I
+knew all the time that you were an angel."
+
+Marian laughed. "I suppose that under our good understanding I must let
+you say pretty things to me. You must write me a sonnet before your
+enthusiasm evaporates. I am sure I deserve it as well as Clytemnestra."
+
+"I will. But I fear I shall tear it up for its unworthiness afterward."
+
+"Dont: I am not a critic. Talking of critics, where has Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax gone to? Oh, there she is!"
+
+Mrs. Fairfax came up when she saw Marian look round for her. "My dear,"
+she said: "it is past six. We must go. Elinor may be waiting for us."
+
+They found Elinor seated in the vestibule with Conolly, at whom Mrs.
+Fairfax plunged, full of words. Conolly and Douglas, introduced to one
+another by Marian, gravely raised their hats. When they had descended
+the stairs, they stood in a group near one of the doors whilst Conolly
+went aside to get their umbrellas. Just then Marmaduke Lind entered the
+building, and halted in surprise at finding himself among so many
+acquaintances.
+
+"Hallo!" he cried, seizing Douglas's hand, and attracting the attention
+of the bystanders by his boisterous tone. "Here you are again, old man!
+Delighted to see you. Didnt spot you at first, in the beard. George told
+me you were back. I met your mother in Knightsbridge last Thursday; but
+she pretended not to see me. How have you enjoyed yourself abroad, eh?
+Very much in the old style, I suppose?"
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas. "I trust your people are quite well."
+
+"Hang me if I know!" said Marmaduke. "I have not troubled them much of
+late. How d'ye do, Mrs. Leith Fairfax? How are all the celebrities?"
+Mrs. Fairfax bowed coldly.
+
+"Dont roar so, Marmaduke," said Marian. "Everybody is looking at you."
+
+"Everybody is welcome," said Marmaduke, loudly. "Douglas: you must come
+and see me. By Jove, now that I think of it, come and see me, all of
+you. I am by myself on week-nights from six to twelve; and I should
+enjoy a housewarming. If Mrs. Leith Fairfax comes, it will be all proper
+and right. Let us have a regular party."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax looked indignantly at him. Elinor looked round anxiously
+for Conolly. Marian, struck with the same fear, moved toward the door.
+
+"Here, Marmaduke," she said, offering him her hand. "Good-bye. You are
+in one of your outrageous humors this afternoon."
+
+"What am I doing?" he replied. "I am behaving myself perfectly. Let us
+settle about the party before we go."
+
+"Good evening, Mr. Lind," said Conolly, coming up to them with the
+umbrellas. "This is yours, I think, Mrs. Leith Fairfax."
+
+"Good evening," said Marmaduke, subsiding. "I----Well, you are all off,
+are you?"
+
+"Quite time for us, I think," said Elinor. "Good-bye."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, with a second and more distant bow, passed out with
+Conolly and Douglas. Elinor waited a moment to whisper to Marmaduke.
+
+"First rate," said Marmaduke, in reply to the whisper; "and beginning to
+talk like one o'clock. Oh yes, I tell you!" He shook Elinor's hand at
+such length in his gratitude for the inquiry that she was much relieved
+when a servant in livery interrupted him.
+
+"Missus wants to speak to you, sir, afore she goes," said the man.
+
+Elinor shook her head at Marmaduke, and hurried away to rejoin the rest
+outside. As they went through the courtyard, they passed an open
+carriage, in which reclined a pretty woman with dark eyes and delicate
+artificial complexion. Her beauty and the elegance of her dress
+attracted their attention. Suddenly Marian became aware that Conolly was
+watching her as she looked at the woman in the carriage. She was about
+to say something, when, to her bewilderment, Elinor nudged her. Then she
+understood too, and looked solemnly at Susanna. Susanna, observing her,
+stared insolently in return, and Marian averted her head like a guilty
+person and hurried on. Conolly saw it all, and did not speak until they
+rejoined Mrs. Fairfax and Douglas in Piccadilly.
+
+"How do you propose to go home?" said Douglas.
+
+"Walk to St. James's Street, where the carriage is waiting at the club;
+take Uncle Reginald with us; and drive home through the park," said
+Elinor.
+
+"I will come with you as far as the club, if you will allow me," said
+Douglas.
+
+Conolly then took leave of them, and stood still until they disappeared,
+when he returned to the courtyard, and went up to his sister's carriage.
+
+"Well, Susanna," said he. "How are you?"
+
+"Oh, there's nothing the matter with me," she replied carelessly, her
+eyes filling with tears, nevertheless.
+
+"I hear that I have been an uncle for some time past."
+
+"Yes, on the wrong side of the blanket."
+
+"What is its name?" he said more gravely.
+
+"Lucy."
+
+"Is it quite well?"
+
+"I suppose not. According to Nurse, it is always ill."
+
+Conolly shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into the cynical manner in
+which he had used to talk with his sister. "Tired of it already?" he
+said. "Poor little wretch!"
+
+"It is very well off," she retorted, angrily: "a precious deal better
+than I was at its age. It gets petting enough from its father, heaven
+knows! He has nothing else to do. I have to work."
+
+"You have it all your own way at the theatre now, I suppose. You are
+quite famous."
+
+"Yes," she said, bitterly. "We are both celebrities. Rather different
+from old times."
+
+"We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. However, let us
+hope all that is over now."
+
+"Who were those women who were with you a minute ago?"
+
+"Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss McQuinch."
+
+"I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, she hasnt an idea to
+bless herself with. The other looks more of a devil. Now that you are a
+great man, why dont you marry a swell?"
+
+"I intend to do so."
+
+"The Lord help her then!"
+
+"Amen. Good-bye."
+
+"Oh, good-bye. Go on to Soho," she added, to the coachman, settling
+herself fretfully on the cushions.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+On Monday morning Douglas received a note inviting him to lunch at Mr.
+Lind's club. He had spent the greater part of the previous night
+composing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his pocket to St.
+James's Street. Mr. Lind received him cordially; listened to an account
+of his recent stay abroad; and described his own continental excursions,
+both gentlemen expressing great interest at such coincidences as their
+having put up at the same hotel or travelled by the same line of
+railway. When luncheon was over, Mr. Lind proposed that they should
+retire to the smoking-room.
+
+"I should like to have a few words with you first, as we are alone
+here," said Douglas.
+
+"Certainly," said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity in anticipation of
+being appealed to as a parent. "Certainly, Sholto."
+
+"What I have to say, coming so soon after my long absence, will probably
+surprise you. I had it in contemplation before my departure, and was
+only prevented from broaching it to you then by circumstances which have
+happily since lost their significance. When I tell you that my
+communication has reference to Marian, you will perhaps guess its
+nature."
+
+"Indeed!" said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. "Well, Sholto, if it be so,
+you have my heartiest approval. You know what a lonely life her marriage
+will entail on me; so you will not expect me to consent without a few
+regrets. But I could not desire a better settlement for her. She must
+leave me some day. I have no right to complain."
+
+"We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is in Marian's nature
+to form many ties, but to break none."
+
+"She is an amiable girl, my--my darling child. Does she know anything of
+this?"
+
+"I am here at her express request; and there remains to me the pleasure
+of getting her own final consent, which I would not press for until
+armed with your sanction."
+
+Except for an involuntary hitch of his eyelids, Mr. Lind looked as
+if he believed perfectly in Douglas's respect for his parental claims.
+"Quite right," he said, "quite right. You have my best wishes. I have
+no doubt you will succeed: none. There are, of course, a few
+affairs to be settled--a few contingencies to be provided
+for--children--accidents--and so forth. No difficulty is likely to arise
+between us on that score; but still, these things have to be arranged."
+
+"I propose a very simple method of arranging them. You are a man of
+honor, and more conversant with business than I. Give me your
+instructions. My lawyer shall have them within half an hour."
+
+"That is said like a gentleman and a Douglas, Sholto. But I must
+consider before giving you an answer. You have thrown upon me the duty
+of studying your position as well as Marian's; and I must neither abuse
+your generosity nor neglect her interest."
+
+"You will, nevertheless, allow me to consider the conditions as settled,
+since I leave them entirely in your hands."
+
+"My own means have been seriously crippled by the extravagance of
+Reginald. Indeed both my boys have cost me much money. I had not, like
+you, the good fortune to be an only son. I was the fourth son of a
+younger son: there was very little left for me. I will treat Marian as
+liberally as I can; but I fear I cannot do anything for her that will
+bear comparison with your munificence."
+
+"Surely I can give her enough. I should prefer to be solely responsible
+for her welfare."
+
+"Oh no. That would be too bad. Oh no, Sholto: I will give her something,
+please God."
+
+"As you wish, Mr. Lind. We can arrange it to your satisfaction
+afterward. Do you intend returning to Westbourne Terrace soon?"
+
+"I am afraid not. I have to go into the City. If you would care to come
+with me, I can shew you the Company's place there, and the working of
+the motor. It is well worth seeing. Then you can return with me to the
+Terrace and dine with us. After dinner you can talk to Marian."
+
+Douglas consented; and they went to Queen Victoria Street, to a building
+which had on each doorpost a brass shield inscribed THE CONOLLY
+ELECTRO-MOTOR COMPANY OF LONDON, LIMITED. At the offices, on the first
+floor, they were received obsequiously and informed that Mr. Conolly was
+within. They then went to a door on which appeared the name of the
+inventor, and entered a handsomely furnished office containing several
+working models of machinery, and a writing-table, from his seat at which
+Conolly rose to salute his visitors.
+
+"Good evening, Mr. Lind. How do you do, Mr. Douglas?"
+
+"Oh!" said Mr. Lind. "You two are acquainted. I did not know that."
+
+"Yes," said Conolly, "I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Douglas at the
+Academy yesterday evening."
+
+"Indeed? Marian did not mention that you were there. Well, can we see
+the wonders of the place, Mr. Conolly; or do we disturb you?"
+
+"Not at all," replied Conolly, turning to one of the models, and
+beginning his showman's lecture with disquieting promptitude. "Hitherto,
+as you are no doubt aware, Mr. Douglas, steam has kept electricity, as a
+motive power, out of the field; because it is much less expensive. Even
+induced magnetic currents, the cheapest known form of electric energy,
+can be obtained only by the use of steam power. You generate steam by
+the combustion of coal: electricity, without steam, can only be
+generated by the combustion of metals. Coal is much cheaper than metal:
+consider the vast amount of coal consumed in smelting metals. Still,
+electricity is a much greater force than steam: it's stronger, so to
+speak. Sixpennorth of electricity would do more work than sixpennorth of
+steam if only you could catch it and hold it without waste. Up to the
+present the waste has been so enormous in electric engines as compared
+with steam engines that steam has held its own in spite of its inferior
+strength. What I have invented is, to put it shortly, an electric engine
+in which there is hardly any waste; and we can now pump water, turn
+mill-stones, draw railway trains, and lift elevators, at a saving, in
+fuel and labor, of nearly seventy per cent, of the cost of steam. And,"
+added Conolly, glancing at Douglas, "as a motor of six-horsepower can be
+made to weigh less than thirty pounds, including fuel, flying is now
+perfectly feasible."
+
+"What!" said Douglas, incredulously. "Does not all trustworthy evidence
+prove that flying is a dream?"
+
+"So it did; because a combination of great power with little weight,
+such as an eagle, for instance, possesses, could not formerly be
+realized in a machine. The lightest known four-horse-power steam engine
+weighs nearly fifty pounds. With my motor, a machine weighing thirty
+pounds will give rather more than six-horse-power, or, in other words,
+will produce a wing power competent to overcome much more than its own
+gravity. If the Aeronautical Society does not, within the next few
+years, make a machine capable of carrying passengers through the air to
+New York in less than two days, I will make one myself."
+
+"Very wonderful, indeed," said Douglas, politely, looking askance at
+him.
+
+"No more wonderful than the flight of a sparrow, I assure you. We shall
+presently be conveyed to the top of this building by my motor. Here you
+have a model locomotive, a model steam hammer, and a sewing machine: all
+of which, as you see, I can set to work. However, this is mere show. You
+must always bear in mind that the novelty is not in the working of these
+machines, but the smallness of the cost of working."
+
+Douglas endured the rest of the exhibition in silence, understanding
+none of the contrivances until they were explained, and not always
+understanding them even then. It was disagreeable to be instructed by
+Conolly--to feel that there were matters of which Conolly knew
+everything and he nothing. If he could have but shaped a pertinent
+question or two, enough to prove that he was quite capable of the
+subject if he chose to turn his attention to it, he could have accepted
+Conolly's information on the machinery as indifferently as that of a
+policeman on the shortest way to some place that it was no part of a
+gentleman's routine to frequent. As it was, he took refuge in his
+habitual reserve, and, lest the exhibition should be prolonged on his
+account, took care to shew no more interest in it than was barely
+necessary to satisfy Mr. Lind. At last it was over; and they returned
+westward together in a hansom.
+
+"He is a Yankee, I suppose,'" said Douglas, as if ingenuity were a low
+habit that must be tolerated in an American.
+
+"Yes. They are a wonderful people for that sort of thing. Curious turn
+of mind the mechanical instinct is!"
+
+"It is one with which I have no sympathy. It is generally subject to the
+delusion that it has a monopoly of utility. Your mechanic hates art;
+pelts it with lumps of iron; and strives to extinguish it beneath all
+the hard and ugly facts of existence. On the other hand, your artist
+instinctively hates machinery. I fear I am an artist."
+
+"I dont think you are quite right there, Sholto. No. Look at the steam
+engine, the electric telegraph, the--the other inventions of the
+century. How could we get on without them?"
+
+"Quite as well as Athens got on without them. Our mechanical
+contrivances seem to serve us; but they are really mastering us,
+crowding and crushing the beauty out of our lives, and making commerce
+the only god."
+
+"I certainly admit that the coarser forms of Radicalism have made
+alarming strides under the influence of our modern civilization. But the
+convenience of steam conveyance is so remarkable that I doubt if we
+could now dispense with it. Nor, as a consistent Liberal, a moderate
+Liberal, do I care to advocate any retrogression, even in the direction
+of ancient Greece."
+
+Douglas was seized with a certain impatience of Mr. Lind, as of a
+well-mannered man who had never learned anything, and had forgotten all
+that he had been taught. He did not attempt to argue, but merely said,
+coldly: "I can only say that I wish Fate had made me an Athenian instead
+of an Englishman of the nineteenth century."
+
+Mr. Lind smiled complacently: he knew Douglas, if not Athens, better,
+but was in too tolerant a humor to say so. Little more passed between
+the two until they reached Westbourne Terrace, where Marian and her
+cousin were dressing for dinner. When Marian came down, her beauty so
+affected Douglas that his voice was low and his manner troubled as he
+greeted her. He took her in to dinner, and sat in silence beside her,
+heedless alike of his host's commonplaces and Miss McQuinch's
+acridities.
+
+Mr. Lind unceremoniously took a nap after his wine that evening, and
+allowed his guest to go upstairs alone. Douglas hoped that Elinor would
+be equally considerate, but, to his disappointment, he found her by
+herself in the drawing-room. She hastened to explain.
+
+"Marian is looking for some music. She will be back directly."
+
+He sat down and took an album from the table, saying: "Have you many new
+faces here?"
+
+"Yes. But we never discard old faces for new ones. It is the old ones
+that are really interesting."
+
+"I have not seen this one of Mr. Lind before. It is capital. Ah! this of
+you is an old friend."
+
+"Yes. What do you think of the one of Constance on the opposite page?"
+
+"She looks as if she were trying to be as lugubrious as possible. What
+dress is that? Is it a uniform?"
+
+"Yes. She joined a nursing guild. Didnt Mrs. Douglas tell you?"
+
+"I believe so. I forgot. She went into a cottage hospital or something
+of that kind, did she not?"
+
+"She left it because one of the doctors offended her. He was rather
+dreadful. He said that in two months she had contributed more to the
+mortality among the patients than he had in two years, and told her
+flatly that she had been trained for the drawing-room and ought to stay
+there. She was glad enough to have an excuse for leaving; for she was
+heartily sick of making a fool of herself."
+
+"Indeed! Where is she now?"
+
+"Back at Towers Cottage, moping, I suppose. That's Mr. Conolly the
+inventor, there under Jasper."
+
+"So I perceive. Clever head, rather! A plain, hard nature, with no
+depths in it. Is that his wife, with the Swiss bonnet?"
+
+"His wife! Why, that is a Swiss girl, the daughter of a guide at
+Chamounix, who nursed Marian when she sprained her ankle. Mr. Conolly is
+not married."
+
+"I thought men of his stamp always married early."
+
+"No. He is engaged, and engaged to a lady of very good position."
+
+"He owes that to the diseased craving of modern women for notoriety of
+any sort. What an admirable photograph of Marian! I never saw it before.
+It is really most charming. When was it taken?"
+
+"Last August, at Geneva. She does not like it--thinks it too
+coquettish."
+
+"Then perhaps she will give it to me."
+
+"She will be only too glad, I daresay. You have caught her at a soft
+moment to-night."
+
+"I cannot find that duet anywhere," said Marian, entering. "What! up
+already, Sholto? Where is papa?"
+
+"I left him asleep in the dining-room. I have just been asking Miss
+McQuinch whether she thought you would give me a copy of this carte."
+
+"That Geneva one. It is most annoying how people persist in admiring it.
+It always looks to me as if it belonged to an assortment of popular
+beauties at one shilling each. I dont think I have another. But you may
+take that if you wish."
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, drawing it from the book.
+
+"I think you have a copy of every photograph I have had taken in my
+life," she said, sitting down near him, and taking the album. "I have
+several of yours, too. You must get one taken soon for me; I have not
+got you with your beard yet. I have a little album upstairs which Aunt
+Dora gave me on my eighth birthday; and the first picture in it is you,
+dressed in flannels, holding a bat, and looking very stern as captain of
+your eleven at Eton. I used to stand in great awe of you then. Do you
+remember telling me once that 'Zanoni' was a splendid book, and that I
+ought to read it?"
+
+"Pshaw! No. I must have been a young fool. But it seems that I had the
+grace even then to desire your sympathy."
+
+"I assure you I read it most reverently down in Wiltshire, where Nelly
+kept a select library of fiction concealed underneath her mattress; and
+I believed every word of it. Nelly and I agreed that you were exactly
+like Zanoni; but she was hardly to blame; for she had never seen you."
+
+"Things like that make deep impressions on children," said Elinor,
+thoughtfully. "You were a Zanoni in my imagination for years before I
+saw you. When we first met you treated me insufferably. If you had known
+how my childish fancy had predisposed me to worship you, you might have
+vouchsafed me some more consideration, and I might have gone on
+believing you a demigod to the end of the chapter. I have hardly
+forgiven you yet for disenchanting me."
+
+"I am sorry," said Douglas sarcastically. "I must have been sadly
+lacking in impressiveness. But on the other hand I recollect that you
+did not disappoint me in the least. You fully bore out the expectations
+I had been led to form of you."
+
+"I have no doubt I did," said Elinor. "Yet I protest that my reputation
+was as unjust as yours. However, I have outlived my sensitiveness to
+this injustice, and have even contracted a bad habit of pretending to
+act up to it occasionally before foolish people. Marian: are you sure
+that duet is not on the sofa in my room?"
+
+"Oh, the sofa! I looked only in the green case."
+
+"I will go and hunt it out myself. Excuse me for a few minutes."
+
+Douglas was glad to see her go. Yet he was confused when he was alone
+with Marian. He strolled to the window, outside which the roof of the
+porch had been converted into a summer retreat by a tent of pink-striped
+canvass. "The tent is up already," he said. "I noticed it as we came
+in."
+
+"Yes. Would you prefer to sit there? We can carry out this little
+table, and put the lamp on it. There is just room for three chairs."
+
+"We need not crowd ourselves with the table," he said. "There will be
+light enough. We only want to talk."
+
+"Very well," said Marian, rising. "Will you give me that woolen thing
+that is on the sofa? It will do me for a shawl." He placed it on her
+shoulders, and they went out.
+
+"I will sit in this corner," said Marian. "You are too big for the
+campstool. You had better bring a chair. I am fond of sitting here. When
+the crimson shade is on the lamp, and papa asleep in its roseate glow,
+the view is quite romantic: there is something ecstatically snug in
+hiding here and watching it." Douglas smiled, and seated himself as she
+suggested, near her, with his shoulder against the stone balustrade.
+
+"Marian," said he, after a pause: "you remember what passed between us
+at the Academy yesterday?"
+
+"You mean our solemn league and covenant. Yes."
+
+"Why did we not make that covenant before? Life is not so long, nor
+happiness so common, that we can afford to trifle away two years of it.
+I wish you had told me when I last came here of that old photograph of
+mine in your album."
+
+"But this is not a new covenant. It is only an old one mended. We were
+always good friends until you quarrelled and ran away."
+
+"That was not my fault, Marian."
+
+"Then it must have been mine. However, it does not matter now."
+
+"You are right. Prometheus is unbound now; and his despair is only a
+memory sanctifying his present happiness. You know why I called on your
+father this morning?"
+
+"It was to see the electro-motor in the city, was it not?"
+
+"Good Heavens, Marian!" he said, rising, "what spirit of woman or spirit
+of mischief tempts you to coquet with me even now?"
+
+"I really thought that was the reason--besides, of course, your desire
+to make papa amends for not having been to see him sooner after your
+return."
+
+"Marian!" he said, still remonstrantly.
+
+She looked at him with sudden dread, and instinctively recognized the
+expression in his face.
+
+"You know as well as I," he continued, "that I went to seek his consent
+to our solemn league and covenant, as you call it. If that covenant were
+written on your heart as it is on mine, you would not inflict on me this
+pretty petty torture. Your father has consented: he is delighted. Now
+may I make a guess at that happy secret you told me of yesterday, and
+promised I should know one day?"
+
+"Stop! Wait," said Marian, very pale. "I must tell you that secret
+myself."
+
+"Hush. Do not be so moved. Remember that your confession is to be
+whispered to me alone."
+
+"Dont talk like that. It is all a mistake. My secret has nothing to do
+with you." Douglas drew back a little way.
+
+"I am engaged to be married."
+
+"What do you mean?" he said sternly, advancing a step and looking down
+menacingly at her with his hand on the back of his chair.
+
+"I have said what I mean," replied Marian with dignity. But she rose
+quickly as soon as she had spoken, and got past him into the
+drawing-room. He followed her; and she turned and faced him in the
+middle of the room, paler than before.
+
+"You are engaged to _me_," he said.
+
+"I am not," she replied.
+
+"That is a lie!" he exclaimed, struggling in his rage to break through
+the strong habit of self-control. "It is a damnable lie; but it is the
+most cruel way of getting rid of me, and therefore the one most
+congenial to your heartlessness."
+
+"Sholto," said Marian, her cheeks beginning to redden: "you should not
+speak to me like that."
+
+"I say," he cried fiercely, "that it is a lie!"
+
+"Whats the matter?" said Elinor, coming hastily into the room.
+
+"Sholto has lost his temper," said Marian, firmly, her indignation
+getting the better of her fear now that she was no longer alone with
+him.
+
+"It is a lie," repeated Douglas, unable to shape a new sentence. Elinor
+and Marian looked at one another in perplexity. Then Mr. Lind entered.
+
+"Gently, pray," said he. "You can be heard all through the house.
+Marian: what is the matter?"
+
+She did not answer; but Douglas succeeded, after a few efforts, in
+speaking intelligibly. "Your daughter," he said, "with the assistance of
+her friend Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and a sufficient degree of direct
+assurance on her own part, has achieved the triumph of bringing me to
+her feet a second time, after I had unfortunately wounded her vanity by
+breaking her chains for two years."
+
+"That is utterly false," interrupted Marian, with excitement.
+
+"I say," said Douglas, in a deeper tone and with a more determined
+manner, "that she set Mrs. Leith Fairfax on me with a tale of love and
+regret for my absence. She herself with her own lips deliberately
+invited me to seek your consent to our union. She caused you to write me
+the invitation I received from you this morning. She told me that my
+return realized a dream that had been haunting her for two years. She
+begged me to forgive her the past, and to write her a sonnet, of which
+she said she was at least more worthy than Clytemnestra, and of which I
+say she is at best less worthy than Cressida." He took a paper from his
+pocket as he spoke; and, with a theatrical gesture, tore it into
+fragments.
+
+"This is very extraordinary," said Mr. Lind irresolutely. "Is it some
+foolish quarrel, or what is the matter? Pray let us have no more
+unpleasantness."
+
+"You need fear none from me," said Douglas. "I do not propose to
+continue my acquaintance with Miss Lind."
+
+"Mr. Douglas has proposed to marry me; and I have refused him," said
+Marian. "He has lost his temper and insulted me. I think you ought to
+tell him to go away."
+
+"Gently, Marian, gently. What am I to believe about this?"
+
+"What I have told you," said Douglas, "I confirm _on my honor_, which
+you can weigh against the pretences of a twice perjured woman."
+
+"Sholto!"
+
+"I have to speak plainly on my own behalf, Mr. Lind. I regret that you
+were not in a position this morning to warn me of your daughter's
+notable secret."
+
+"If it is a secret, and you are a gentleman, you will hold your
+tongue," interposed Elinor, sharply.
+
+"Papa," said Marian: "I became engaged yesterday to Mr. Conolly. I told
+Mr. Douglas this in order to save him from making me a proposal. That is
+the reason he has forgotten himself. I had not intended to tell you so
+suddenly; but this misunderstanding has forced me to."
+
+"Engaged to Mr. Conolly!" cried Mr. Lind. "I begin to fear
+that----Enga----" He took breath, and continued, to Marian: "I forbid
+you to entertain any such engagement. Sholto: there is evidently nothing
+to be gained by discussing this matter in hot blood. It is some girlish
+absurdity--some--some--some--"
+
+"I apologize for having doubted the truth of the excuse," said Douglas;
+"but I see that I have failed to gauge Miss Lind's peculiar taste. I beg
+you to understand, Mr. Lind, that my pretensions are at an end. I do not
+aspire to the position of Mr. Conolly's rival."
+
+"You are already in the position of Mr. Conolly's unsuccessful rival;
+and you fill it with a very bad grace," said Elinor.
+
+"Pray be silent, Elinor," said Mr. Lind. "This matter does not concern
+you. Marian: go to your room for the present. I shall speak to you
+afterwards."
+
+Marian flushed, and repressed a sob. "I wish I were under _his_
+protection now," she said, looking reproachfully at Douglas as she
+crossed the room.
+
+"What can you expect from a father but hostility?" said Elinor,
+bitterly. "You are a coward, like all your sex," she added, turning to
+Douglas. Then she suddenly opened the door, and passed out through it
+with Marian, whilst the housemaids fled upstairs, the footman shrank
+into a corner of the landing, and the page hastily dragged the cook
+down to the kitchen.
+
+The two men, left together in the drawing-room, were for some moments
+quite at a loss. Then Mr. Lind, after a preliminary cough or two, said:
+"Sholto: I cannot describe to you how shocked I am by what I have just
+heard. I am deeply disappointed in Marian. I trusted her implicitly; but
+of course I now see that I have been wrong in allowing her so much
+liberty. Evidently a great deal has been going on of which I had not any
+suspicion."
+
+Douglas said nothing. His resentment was unabated; but his rage,
+naturally peevish and thin in quality, was subsiding, though it surged
+back on him at intervals. But now that he no longer desired to speak
+passionately, he would not trust himself to speak at all. Suddenly Mr.
+Lind broke out with a fury that astonished him, preoccupied as he was.
+
+"This--this fellow must have had opportunities of thrusting himself into
+her society of which I knew nothing. I thought she barely knew him. And
+if I had known, could I have suspected her of intriguing with an
+ill-bred adventurer! Yes, I might: my experience ought to have warned me
+that the taint was in her blood. Her mother did the same thing--left the
+position I had given her to run away with a charlatan, disgracing me
+without the shadow of an excuse or reason except her own innate love for
+what was low. I thought Marian had escaped that. I was proud of
+her--placed un--unbounded confidence in her."
+
+"She has struck me a blow," said Douglas, "the infernal treachery----."
+He checked himself, and after a moment resumed in his ordinary formal
+manner. "I must leave you, Mr. Lind. I am quite unable at present to
+discuss what has passed. Any conventional expressions of regret would
+be----Good-night."
+
+He bowed and left the room. Mr. Lind, taken aback, did not attempt to
+detain him or even return his bow, but stood biting his lips with a
+frown of discomfiture and menace. When he was alone, he paced the room
+several times. Then he procured some writing materials and sat down
+before them. He wrote nothing, but, after sitting for some time, he went
+upstairs. Passing Marian's room he listened. The sharp voice and
+restless movements of his niece were the only sounds he heard. They
+seemed to frighten him; for he stole on quickly to his own room, and
+went to bed. Even there he could hear a shrill note of conversation
+occasionally from the opposite room, where Marian was sitting on a sofa,
+trying to subdue the hysteria which had been gaining on her since her
+escape from the balcony; whilst Elinor, seated on the corner of a drawer
+which projected from the dressing-table, talked incessantly in her most
+acrid tones.
+
+"Henceforth," she said, "Uncle Reginald is welcome to my heartiest
+detestation. I have been waiting ever since I knew him for an excuse to
+hate him; and now he has given me one. He has taken part--like a true
+parent--against you with a self-intoxicated fool whom he ought to have
+put out of the house. He has told me to mind my own business. I shall be
+even with him for that some day. I am as vindictive as an elephant: I
+hate people who are not vindictive: they are never grateful either, only
+incapable of any enduring sentiment. And Douglas! Sholto Douglas! The
+hero, the Newdigate poet, the handsome man! What a noble fellow he is
+when a little disappointment rubs his varnish off! I am glad I called
+him a coward to his face. I am thoroughly well satisfied with myself
+altogether: at last I have come out of a scene without having forgotten
+the right thing to say. You never see people in all their selfishness
+until they pretend to love you. See what you owe to your loving suitor,
+Sholto Douglas! See what you owe to your loving father, Reginald Lind!"
+
+"I do not think that my father should have told me to leave the room,"
+said Marian. "It was Sholto's place to have gone, not mine."
+
+"Mr. Lind, who has so suddenly and deservedly descended from 'papa' to
+'my father,' judiciously sided with the stronger and richer party."
+
+"Nelly: I shall be as unhappy after this as even Sholto can desire. I
+feel very angry with papa; and yet I have no right to be. I suppose it
+is because I am in the wrong. I deceived him about the engagement."
+
+"Bosh! You didnt tell him because you knew you couldnt trust him; and
+now you see how right you were."
+
+"Even so, Nelly, I must not forget all his past care of me."
+
+"What care has he ever taken of you? He was very little better
+acquainted with you than he was with me, when you came to keep house for
+him and make yourself useful. Of course, he had to pay for your board
+and lodging and education. The police would not have allowed him to
+leave you to the parish. Besides, he was proud of having a nice, pretty
+daughter to dispose of. You were quite welcome to be happy so long as
+you did not do anything except what he approved of. But the moment you
+claim your independence as a grown woman, the moment you attempt to
+dispose of yourself instead of letting him dispose of you! Bah! _I_
+might have been _my_ father's pet, if I had been a nonentity. As it was,
+he spared no pains to make me miserable; and as I was only a helpless
+little devil of a girl, he succeeded to his heart's content. Uncle
+Reginald will try to do exactly the same to-morrow, he will come and
+bully you, instead of apologizing as he ought. See if he doesnt!"
+
+"If I had as much reason to complain of my childhood as you have,
+perhaps I should not feel so shocked and disappointed by his turning on
+me to-night. Surely, when he saw me attacked as I was, he ought to have
+come to my assistance."
+
+"Any stranger would have taken your part. The footman would, if you had
+asked him. But then, James is not your father."
+
+"It seems a very small thing to be bidden to leave the room. But I will
+never expose myself to a repetition of it."
+
+"Quite right. But what do you mean to do? for, after all, though
+parental love is an imposition, parental authority is a fact."
+
+"I will get married."
+
+"Out of the frying pan into the fire! Certainly, if you are resolved to
+marry, the present is as good as another time, and more convenient. But
+there must be some legal formalities to go through. You cannot turn into
+the first church you meet, and be married off-hand."
+
+"Ned must find out all that. I am sadly disappointed and disilluded,
+Nelly."
+
+"Time will cure you as it does everybody; and you will be the better for
+being wiser. By the bye, what did Sholto mean about Mrs. Fairfax?"
+
+"I dont know."
+
+"She has evidently been telling him a parcel of lies. Do you remember
+her hints about him yesterday at lunch? I have not the least doubt that
+she has told him you are frantically in love with him. She as good as
+told you the same about him."
+
+"Oh! she is not capable of doing such a thing."
+
+"Isnt she? We shall see."
+
+"I dont know what to think," said Marian, despondently. "I used to
+believe that both you and Ned thought too little of other people; but it
+seems now that the world is nothing but a morass of wickedness and
+falsehood. And Sholto, too! Who would have believed that he could break
+out in that coarse way? Do you remember the day that Fleming, the
+coachman, lost his temper with Auntie down at the Cottage. Sholto was
+exactly like that; not a bit more refined or dignified."
+
+"Rather less so, because Fleming was in the right. Let us go to bed. We
+can do nothing to-night, but fret, and wish for to-morrow. Better get to
+sleep. Resentment does not keep me awake, I can vouch for that: I got
+well broken in to it when I was a child. I heard Uncle Reginald going to
+his room some time ago. I am getting sleepy, too, though I feel the
+better for the excitement."
+
+"Very well. To bed be it," said Marian. But she did not sleep at all as
+well as Nelly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Next morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter was astir, and went to
+his club, where he breakfasted. He then went to the offices in Queen
+Victoria Street. Finding the board-room unoccupied, he sat down there,
+and said to one of the clerks:
+
+"Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to him, if he is
+disengaged. And if anyone wants to come in, say that I am busy here. I
+do not wish to be disturbed for half an hour or so."
+
+"Yes, sir," said the clerk, departing. A minute later, he returned, and
+said: "Mr. Conly is disengaged; and he says will you be so good as to
+come to his room, sir."
+
+"I told you to ask him to come here," said Mr. Lind.
+
+"Well, thats what he said, sir," said the clerk, speaking in official
+Board School English. "Shloy gow to him and tell him again?"
+
+"No, no: it does not matter," said Mr. Lind, and walked out through the
+office. The clerk held the door open for him, and carefully closed it
+when he had passed through.
+
+"Ow, oy sy!" cried the clerk. "This is fawn, this is."
+
+"Wots the row?" said another clerk.
+
+"Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to him into the
+board-room. 'Aw right,' says Conly, 'awsk him to cam in eah to me.' You
+should 'a seen the owld josser's feaches wnoy towld im. 'Oyd zoyred jou
+to sy e was to cam in eah to me.' 'Shloy gow and tell him again?' I
+says, as cool as ennything. 'Now,' says he, 'Oil gow myself.' Thets wot
+Aw loike in Conly. He tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owver
+im."
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly's room; returned his greeting by a
+dignified inclination of the head; and accepted, with a cold "Thank
+you," the chair offered him. Conolly, who had received him cordially,
+checked himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind lost
+countenance a little. Then Conolly sat down, and waited.
+
+"Ahem!" said Mr. Lind. "I have to speak to you with--with reference
+to--to a--a matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. It would
+be painful and unnecessary--quite unnecessary, to go into particulars."
+
+Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. Mr. Lind began to
+feel very angry, but this helped him to the point.
+
+"I merely wish--that is, I quite wish you to understand that any
+intimacy that may have arisen between you and--and a member of my family
+must--must, in short, be considered to be at an end. My daughter is--I
+may tell you--engaged to Mr. Sholto Douglas, whom you know; and
+therefore--you understand."
+
+"Mr. Lind," said Conolly, decisively: "your daughter is engaged to me."
+
+Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, "I beg you will not
+repeat that, either here or elsewhere."
+
+"Pray be seated," said Conolly courteously.
+
+"I have nothing more to say, sir."
+
+Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, and seemed to wait
+for his visitor to go.
+
+"We understand one another, I presume," said Mr. Lind, dubiously.
+
+"Not quite, I think," said Conolly, relenting. "I should suggest our
+discussing the matter in full, now that we have a favorable
+opportunity--if you will be so good."
+
+Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, "I am quite willing to
+listen to you."
+
+"Thank you," said Conolly. "Will you tell me what your objections are to
+my engagement with your daughter?"
+
+"I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and knowledge of the world
+would have rendered an explanation superfluous."
+
+"They havnt," said Conolly.
+
+Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. "Oh, Mr. Conolly, I assure you I
+have no objection to explain myself: none whatever. I merely wished to
+spare you as far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what I
+think you must be perfectly well aware of, I can only say that from the
+point of view of English society our positions are different; and
+therefore an engagement between you and any member of my family is
+unsuitable, and--in short--out of the question, however advantageous it
+might be to you. That is all."
+
+Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, and leaned back in
+his chair more confidently. Conolly smiled and shook his head,
+appreciative of the clearness with which Mr. Lind had put his case, but
+utterly unmoved by it. He considered for a moment, and then said,
+weighing his words carefully:
+
+"Your daughter, with her natural refinement and delicate habits, is
+certainly not fit to be married to a foul-mouthed fellow, ignorant,
+dirty, besotted, and out of place in any company except at the bar in a
+public house. That is probably your idea of a workman. But the fact of
+her having consented to marry me is a proof that I do not answer to any
+such description. As you have hinted, it will be an advantage to me in
+some ways to have a lady for my wife; but I should have no difficulty in
+purchasing that advantage, even with my present means, which I expect to
+increase largely in the course of some years. Do you not underrate your
+daughter's personal qualities when you assume that it was her position
+that induced me to seek her hand?"
+
+"I am quite aware of my daughter's personal advantages. They are
+additional reasons against her contracting an imprudent marriage."
+
+"Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage with me be imprudent?
+I possess actual competence, and a prospect of wealth. I come of a long
+lived and healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison, more widely
+known than yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now find myself everywhere
+treated with a certain degree of consideration, which an alliance with
+your daughter will not diminish."
+
+"In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my family by condescending
+to marry into it?"
+
+"I dont understand that way of looking at things, Mr. Lind; and so I
+leave you to settle the question of honor as you please. But you must
+not condemn me for putting my position in the best possible light in
+order to reconcile you to an inevitable fact."
+
+"What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?"
+
+"My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will take place."
+
+"But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think to ignore me in
+the matter?"
+
+"Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be glad for the sake
+of Marian, who will be gratified by it. But if you withhold it, we must
+dispense with it. By opposing us, you will simply--by making Marian's
+home unbearable to her--precipitate the wedding." Conolly, under the
+influence of having put the case neatly, here relaxed his manner so far
+as to rest his elbows on the table and look pleasantly at his visitor.
+
+"Do you know to whom you are speaking?" said Mr. Lind, driven by rage
+and a growing fear of defeat into desperate self-assertion.
+
+"I am speaking," said Conolly with a smile, "to my future
+father-in-law."
+
+"I am a director of this company, of which you are the servant, as you
+shall find to your cost if you persist in holding insulting language to
+me."
+
+"If I found any director of this company allowing other than strictly
+business considerations to influence him at the Board, I should insist
+on his resigning."
+
+Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, then unsteadily,
+without moving him in the least. At last he said, more humbly: "I hope
+you will not abuse your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether you
+have sufficient influence over Marian to induce her to defy me; but
+however that may be, I appeal to your better feelings. Put yourself in
+my place. If you had an only daughter----"
+
+"Excuse my interrupting you," said Conolly, gently; "but that will not
+advance the argument unless you put yourself in mine. Besides, I am
+pledged to Marian. If she asks me to break off the match, I shall
+release her instantly."
+
+"You will bind yourself to do that?"
+
+"I cannot help myself. I have no more power to make her marry me than
+you have to prevent her."
+
+"I have the authority of a parent. And I must tell you, Mr. Conolly,
+that it will be my duty to enlighten my poor child as to the effect a
+union with you must have on her social position. You have made the most
+of your celebrity and your prospects. She may be dazzled for the moment;
+but her good sense will come to the rescue yet, I am convinced."
+
+"I have certainly spared no pains to persuade her. Unless the habit of
+her childhood can induce Marian to defer to your prejudice--you must
+allow me to call it so: it is really nothing more--she will keep her
+word to me."
+
+Mr. Lind winced, recollecting how little his conduct toward Marian
+during her childhood was calculated to accustom her to his influence.
+"It seems to me, sir," he said, suddenly thinking of a new form of
+reproach, "that, to use your own plain language, you are nothing more or
+less than a Radical."
+
+"Radicalism is not considered a reproach amongst workmen," said Conolly.
+
+"I shall not fail to let her know the confidence with which you boast of
+your power over her."
+
+"I have simply tried to be candid with you. You know exactly how I
+stand. If I have omitted anything, ask me, and I will tell you at once."
+
+Mr. Kind rose. "I know quite as much as I care to know," he said. "I
+distinctly object to and protest against all your proceedings, Mr.
+Conolly. If my daughter marries you, she shall have neither my
+countenance in society nor one solitary farthing of the fortune I had
+destined for her. I recommend the latter point to your attention."
+
+"I have considered it carefully, Mr. Lind; and I am satisfied with what
+she possesses in her own right."
+
+"Oh! You have ascertained _that_, have you?"
+
+"I should hardly have proposed to marry her but for her entire
+pecuniary independence of me."
+
+"Indeed. And have you explained to her that you wish to marry her for
+the sake of securing her income?"
+
+"I have explained to her everything she ought to know, taking care, of
+course, to have full credit for my frankness."
+
+Mr. Lind, after regarding him with amazement for a moment, walked to the
+door.
+
+"I am a gentleman," he said, pausing there for a moment, "and too
+old-fashioned to discuss the obligations of good breeding with a
+Radical. If I had believed you capable of the cynical impudence with
+which you have just met my remonstrances, I should have spared myself
+this meeting. Good-morning."
+
+"Good-morning," said Conolly, gravely. When the door closed, he sprang
+up and walked to and fro, chuckling, rubbing his hands, and occasionally
+uttering a short laugh. When he had sufficiently relieved himself by
+this exercise, he sat down at his desk, and wrote a note.
+
+  "The Conolly Electro-Motor Company of London, Limited. Queen
+  Victoria Street, E.C.
+
+  "This is to let your ever-radiant ladyship know that I am fresh
+  from an encounter with your father, who has retired in great wrath,
+  defeated, but of opinion that he deserved no better for arguing
+  with a Radical. I thought it better to put forth my strength at
+  once so as to save future trouble. I send this post haste in order
+  that you may be warned in case he should go straight home and scold
+  you. I hope he will not annoy you much.--E.C."
+
+Having despatched the office boy to Westbourne Terrace with this letter,
+Conolly went off to lunch. Mr. Lind went back to his club, and then to
+Westbourne Terrace, where he was informed that the young ladies were
+together in the drawing-room. Some minutes later, Marian, discussing
+Conolly's letter with Elinor, was interrupted by a servant, who informed
+her that her father desired to see her in his study.
+
+"Now for it, Marian!" said Nelly, when the servant was gone. "Remember
+that you have to meet the most unreasonable of adversaries, a parent
+asserting his proprietary rights in his child. Dont be sentimental.
+Leave that to him: he will be full of a father's anguish on discovering
+that his cherished daughter has feelings and interests of her own.
+Besides, Conolly has crushed him; and he will try to crush you in
+revenge."
+
+"I wish I were not so nervous," said Marian. "I am not really afraid,
+but for all that, my heart is beating very unpleasantly."
+
+"I wish I were in your place," said Elinor. "I feel like a charger at
+the sound of the trumpet."
+
+"I am glad, for poor papa's sake, that you are not," said Marian, going
+out.
+
+She knocked at the study door; and her father's voice, as he bade her
+come in, impressed her more than ever before. He was seated behind the
+writing-table, in front of which a chair was set for his daughter. She,
+unaccustomed from her childhood to submit to any constraint but that
+which the position of a guest, which she so often occupied, had trained
+her to impose on herself, was rather roused than awed by this
+magisterial arrangement. She sat down with less than her usual grace of
+manner, and looked at him with her brows knitted. It was one of the rare
+moments in which she reminded him of her mother. An angry impulse to bid
+her not dare look so at him almost got the better of him. However, he
+began prudently with a carefully premeditated speech.
+
+"It is my duty, Marian," he said gravely, "to speak of the statement
+you made last night. We need not allude to the painful scene which took
+place then: better let that rest and be forgotten as soon as possible.
+But the discovery of what you have been doing without my knowledge has
+cost me a sleepless night and a great deal of anxiety. I wish to reason
+with you now quite calmly and dispassionately; and I trust you will
+remember that I am older and have far more experience of the world than
+you, and that I am a better judge of your interests than you yourself
+can possibly be. Ahem! I have been this morning to the City, where I saw
+Mr. Conolly, and endeavored to make him understand the true nature of
+his conduct toward me--and, I may add, toward you--in working his way
+clandestinely into an intimacy with you. I shall not describe to you
+what passed; but I may say that I have found him to be a person with
+whom you could not hope for a day's happiness. Even apart from his
+habits and tastes, which are those of a mere workman, his social (and, I
+fear, his religious) views are such as no lady, no properly-minded woman
+of any class, could sympathize with. You will be better able to judge of
+his character when I tell you that he informed me of his having taken
+care, before making any advances to you, to ascertain how much money you
+had. He boasted in the coarsest terms of his complete influence over
+you, evidently without a suspicion of the impression of venality and
+indelicacy which his words were calculated to make on me. Besides,
+Marian, I am sure you would not like to contract a marriage which would
+give me the greatest pain; which would offend my family; and which would
+have the effect of shutting you out from all good society."
+
+"You are mistaken in him, papa."
+
+"I beg you will allow me to finish, Marian. [He had to think for a
+moment before he could substantiate this pretence of having something
+more to say.] I have quite made up my mind, from personal observation of
+Mr. Conolly, that even an ordinary acquaintance between you is out of
+the question. I, in short, refuse to allow anything of the kind to
+proceed; and I must ask you to respect my wishes in the matter. There is
+another subject which I will take this opportunity of mentioning; but as
+I have no desire to force your inclinations, I shall not press you for a
+declaration of your feelings at present. Sholto Douglas----"
+
+"I do not want to hear _anything_ about Sholto Douglas," said Marian,
+rising.
+
+"I expect you, Marian, to listen to what I have to say."
+
+"On that subject I will not listen. I have felt very sore and angry ever
+since you told me last night to leave the room when Sholto insulted me,
+as if I were the aggressor."
+
+"Angry! I am sorry to hear you say so to me."
+
+"It is better to say so than to think so. There is no use in going on
+with this conversation, papa. It will only lead to more bitterness
+between us; and I had enough of that when I tasted it for the first time
+last night. We shall never agree about Mr. Conolly. I have promised to
+marry him; and therefore I am not free to withdraw, even if I wished
+to."
+
+"A promise made by you without my sanction is not binding. And--listen
+to me, if you please--I have obtained Mr. Conolly's express assurance
+that if you wish to withdraw, he is perfectly willing that you should."
+
+"Of course, he would not marry me if I did not wish it."
+
+"But he is willing that you should withdraw. He leaves you quite free."
+
+"Yes; and, as you told me, he is quite confident that I will keep faith
+with him; and so I will. I have had a letter from him since you saw
+him."
+
+"What!" said Mr. Lind, rising also.
+
+"Dont let us quarrel, papa," said Marian, appealingly. "Why may I not
+marry whom I please?"
+
+"Who wants to prevent you, pray? I have most carefully abstained from
+influencing you with regard to Sholto Douglas. But this is a totally
+different question. It is my duty to save you from disgracing yourself."
+
+"Where is the disgrace? Mr. Conolly is an eminent man. I am not poor,
+and can afford to marry anyone I can respect. I can respect him. What
+objection have you to him? I am sure he is far superior to Sholto."
+
+"Mr. Douglas is a gentleman, Marian: Mr. Conolly is not; and it is out
+of the question for you to ally yourself with a--a member of the
+proletariat, however skilful he may be in his handicraft."
+
+"What _is_ a gentleman, papa?"
+
+"A gentleman, Marian, is one who is well born and well bred, and who has
+that peculiar tone and culture which can only be acquired by intercourse
+with the best society. I think you should know that as well as I. I hope
+you do not put these questions from a desire to argue with me."
+
+"I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no harm in arguing
+when one is not convinced."
+
+"Humph! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I am sure that you will
+not take any step calculated to inflict pain on me--at least an act of
+selfishness on your part would be a new and shocking experience for me.
+
+"That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You give me no good
+reason for breaking my word, and making myself unhappy; and yet you
+accuse me of selfishness in not being ready to do both."
+
+"I think I have already given you my assurance, weighted as it is by my
+age, my experience, my regard for your welfare, and, I hope, my
+authority as a parent, that both your honor and happiness will be
+secured by your obeying me, and forfeited by following your own
+headstrong inclinations."
+
+Marian, almost crushed by this, hesitated a moment, twisting her fingers
+and looking pitiably at him. Then she thought of Conolly; rallied; and
+said: "I can only say that I am sorry to disagree with you; but I am not
+convinced."
+
+"Do you mean that you refuse to obey me?"
+
+"I cannot obey you in this matter, papa. I--"
+
+"That is enough," said Mr. Lind, gravely, beginning, to busy himself
+with the writing materials. Marian for a moment seemed about to protest
+against this dismissal. Then she checked herself and went out of the
+room, closing the door quite quietly behind her, thereby unconsciously
+terrifying her father, who had calculated on a slam.
+
+"Well," said Elinor, when her cousin rejoined her in the drawing-room:
+"have you been selfish and disobedient? Have you lacerated a father's
+heart?"
+
+"He is thoroughly unfair," said Marian. "However, it all comes to this:
+he is annoyed at my wanting to marry Ned: and I believe there will be no
+more peace for me until I am in a house of my own. What shall we do in
+the meantime? Where shall we go? I cannot stay here."
+
+"Why not? Uncle Reginald will sulk; sit at dinner without speaking to
+us; and keep out of our way as much as he can. But you can talk to me:
+we neednt mind him. It is he who will be out in the cold, biting his
+nose to vex his face. Such a state of things is new to you; but I have
+survived weeks of it without a single sympathizer, and been none the
+worse, except, perhaps, in temper. He will pretend to be inexorable at
+first: then he will come down to wounded affection; and he will end by
+giving in."
+
+"No, Nelly, I couldnt endure that sort of existence. If people cannot
+remain friends they should separate at once. I will not sleep in this
+house to-night."
+
+"Hurrah!" cried Miss McQuinch. "That will be beginning the war with
+spirit. If I were in your place, I would stay and fight it out at close
+quarters. I would make myself so disagreeable that nobody can imagine
+what life in this house would be. But your plan is the best--if you
+really mean it."
+
+"Certainly I mean it. Where shall we go, Nelly?"
+
+"Hm! I am afraid none of the family would make us very comfortable under
+the circumstances, except Marmaduke. It would be a splendid joke to go
+to West Kensington; only it would tell as much against us and Ned as
+against the Roman father. I have it! We will go to Mrs. Toplis's in St.
+Mary's Terrace: my mother always stays there when she is in town. Mrs.
+Toplis knows us: if she has a room to spare she will give it to us
+without making any bother."
+
+"Yes, that will do. Are you ready to come now?"
+
+"If you can possibly wait five minutes I should like to put on my hat
+and change my boots. We will have to come back and pack up when we have
+settled about the room. We cannot go without clothes. I should like to
+have a nightdress, at least. Have you any money?"
+
+"I have the housekeeping money; but that, of course, I shall not take. I
+have thirty pounds of my own."
+
+"And I have my old stocking, which contains nearly seventeen. Say fifty
+in round numbers. That will keep us going very comfortably for a month."
+
+"Ridiculous! It will last longer than that. Oh!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"We mustnt go, after all. I forgot _you_."
+
+"What of me?"
+
+"Where will you go when I am married? You cant live by yourself; and
+papa may not welcome you back if you take my part against him."
+
+"He would not, in any case; so it makes no difference to me. I can go
+home if the worst comes to the worst. It does not matter: my present
+luxurious existence must come to an end some time or another, whether we
+go to Mrs. Toplis's or not."
+
+"I am sure Ned will not object to your continuing with me, if I ask
+him."
+
+"No, poor fellow! He wont object--at first; but he might not like it.
+You have no right to inflict me on him. No: I stick to my resolution on
+that point. Send for the carriage. It is time for us to be off; and Mrs.
+Toplis will be more impressed if we come in state than if we trudge
+afoot."
+
+"Hush," said Marian, who was standing near the window. "Here is George,
+with a face full of importance."
+
+"Uncle Reginald has written to him," said Elinor.
+
+"Then the sooner we go, the better," said Marian.
+
+"I do not care to have the whole argument over again with George."
+
+As they passed through the hall on their way out they met the clergyman.
+
+"Well, George," said Elinor, "how are the heathen getting on in
+Belgravia? You look lively."
+
+"Are you going out, Marian," he said, solemnly, disregarding his
+cousin's banter.
+
+"We are going to engage a couple of rooms for some errant members of the
+family," said Elinor. "May we give you as a reference?"
+
+"Certainly. I may want to speak to you before I go, Marian. When will
+you return?"
+
+"I do not know. Probably we shall not be long. You will have plenty of
+opportunities, in any case."
+
+"Will you walk into the study, please, sir," said the parlormaid.
+
+The Rev. George was closeted with his father for an hour. When he came
+out, he left the house, and travelled by omnibus to Westbourne Grove,
+whence he walked to a house in Uxbridge Road. Here he inquired for Mr.
+Conolly, and, learning that he had just come in, sent up a card. He was
+presently ushered into a comfortable room, with a pleasant view of the
+garden. A meal of tea, wheatcakes, and fruit was ready on the table.
+Conolly greeted his visitor cordially, and rang for another cup. The
+Rev. George silently noted that his host dined in the middle of the day
+and had tea in the evening. Afraid though as he was of Conolly, he felt
+strengthened in his mission by these habits, quite out of the question
+for Marian. The tea also screwed up his courage a little; but he talked
+about the electro-motor in spite of himself until the cloth was removed,
+when Conolly placed two easy chairs opposite one another at the window;
+put a box of cigarets on a little table close at hand; and invited his
+visitor to smoke. But as it was now clearly time to come to business,
+the cigaret was declined solemnly. So Conolly, having settled himself in
+an easy attitude, waited for the clergyman to begin. The Rev. George
+seemed at a loss.
+
+"Has your father spoken to you about an interview he had with me this
+morning?" said Conolly, good-naturedly helping him out.
+
+"Yes. That, in fact, is one of the causes of my visit."
+
+"What does he say?"
+
+"I believe he adheres to the opinion he expressed to you. But I fear he
+may not have exhibited that self-control in speaking to you which I
+fully admit you have as much right to expect as anyone else."
+
+"It does not matter. I can quite understand his feeling."
+
+"It does matter--pardon me. We should be sorry to appear wanting in
+consideration for you."
+
+"That is a trifle. Let us keep the question straight before us. We need
+make no show of consideration for one another. I have shown none toward
+your family."
+
+"But I assure you our only desire is to arrange everything in a friendly
+spirit."
+
+"No doubt. But when I am bent on doing a certain thing which you are
+equally bent on preventing, no very friendly spirit is possible except
+one of us surrender unconditionally."
+
+"Hear me a moment, Mr. Conolly. I have no doubt I shall be able to
+convince you that this romantic project of my sister's is out of the
+question. Your ambition--if I may say so without offence--very naturally
+leads you to think otherwise; but the prompting of self-interest is not
+our safest guide in this life."
+
+"It is the only guide I recognize. If you are going to argue the
+question, and your arguments are to prevail, they must be addressed to
+my self-interest."
+
+"I cannot think you quite mean that, Mr. Conolly."
+
+"Well, waive the point for the present: I am open to conviction. You
+know what my mind is. I have not changed it since I saw your father this
+morning. You think I am wrong?"
+
+"Not wrong. I do not say for a moment that you are wrong. I----"
+
+"Mistaken. Ill-advised. Any term you like."
+
+"I certainly believe that you are mistaken. Let me urge upon you first
+the fact that you are causing a daughter to disobey her father. Now that
+is an awful fact. May I--appealing to that righteousness in which I am
+sure you are not naturally deficient--ask you whether you have reflected
+on that fact?"
+
+"It is not half so awful to me as the fact of a father forcing his
+daughter's inclinations. However, awful is hardly the word for the
+occasion. Let us come to business, Mr. Lind. I want to marry your sister
+because I have fallen in love with her. You object. Have you any other
+motive than aristocratic exclusiveness?"
+
+"Indeed, you quite mistake. I have no such feeling. We are willing to
+treat you with every possible consideration."
+
+"Then why object?"
+
+"Well, we are bound to look to her happiness. We cannot believe that it
+would be furthered by an unsuitable match. I am now speaking to you
+frankly as a man of the world."
+
+"As a man of the world you know that she has a right to choose for
+herself. You see, our points of view are different. On Sundays, for
+instance, you preach to a highly privileged audience at your church in
+Belgravia; whilst I lounge here over my breakfast, reading _Reynold's
+Newspaper_. I have not many social prejudices. Although a workman, I
+dont look on every gentleman as a bloodsucker who seizes on the fruits
+of my labor only to pursue a career of vice. I will even admit that
+there are gentlemen who deserve to be respected more than the workmen
+who have neglected all their opportunities--slender as they are--of
+cultivating themselves a little. You, on the other hand, know that an
+honest man's the noblest work of God; that nature's gentlemen are the
+only real gentlemen; that kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple
+faith than Norman blood, and so forth. But when your approval of these
+benevolent claptraps is brought to such a practical test as the marriage
+of your sister to a workman, you see clearly enough that they do not
+establish the suitability of personal intercourse between members of
+different classes. That being so, let us put our respective philosophies
+of society out of the question, and argue on the facts of this
+particular case. What qualifications do you consider essential in a
+satisfactory brother-in-law?"
+
+"I am not bound to answer that; but, primarily, I should consider it
+necessary to my sister's happiness that her husband should belong to the
+same rank as she."
+
+"You see you are changing your ground. I am not in the same rank--after
+your sense--as she; but a moment ago you objected to the match solely
+on the ground of unsuitability."
+
+"Where is the difference?" said the clergyman, with some warmth. "I have
+not changed my ground at all. It is the difference in rank that
+constitutes the unsuitability.
+
+"Let us see, then, how far you are right--how far suitability is a
+question of rank. A gentleman may be, and frequently is, a drunkard, a
+gambler, a libertine, or all three combined."
+
+"Stay, Mr. Conolly! You show how little you understand the only true
+significance----"
+
+"One moment, Mr. Lind. You are about to explain away the term gentleman
+into man of honor, honest man, or some other quite different thing. Let
+me put a case to you. I have a fellow at Queen Victoria Street working
+for thirty shillings a week, who is the honestest man I know. He is as
+steady as a rock; supports all his wife's family without complaining;
+and denies himself beer to buy books for his son, because he himself has
+experienced what it is to be without education. But he is not a
+gentleman."
+
+"Pardon me, sir. He is a true gentleman."
+
+"Suppose he calls on you to-morrow, and sends up his name with a request
+for an interview. You wont know his name; and the first question you
+will put to your servant is 'What sort of person is he?' Suppose the
+servant knows him, and, sharing your professed opinion of the meaning of
+the word, replies 'He is a gentleman!' On the strength of that you will
+order him to be shewn in; and the moment you see him you will feel angry
+with your servant for deceiving you completely as to the sort of man you
+were to expect by using the word gentleman in what you call its true
+sense. Or reverse the case. Suppose the caller is your cousin, Mr.
+Marmaduke Lind, and your high-principled servant by mistaking the name
+or how not, causes you to ask the same question with respect to him. The
+answer will be that Mr. Marmaduke--being a scamp--is not a gentleman.
+You would be just as completely deceived as in the other case. No, Mr.
+Lind, you might as well say that this workman of mine is a true lord or
+a true prince as a true gentleman. A gentleman may be a rogue; and a
+knifegrinder may be a philosopher and philanthropist. But they dont
+change their ranks for all that."
+
+The clergyman hesitated. Then he said timidly, "Even admitting this
+peculiar view of yours, Mr. Conolly, does it not tell strongly against
+yourself in the present instance?"
+
+"No; and I will presently shew you why not. When we digressed as to the
+meaning of the word gentleman, we were considering the matter of
+suitability. I was saying that a gentleman might be a drunkard, or,
+briefly, a scoundrel. A scoundrel would be a very unsuitable husband for
+Marian--I perceive I annoy you by calling her by her name."
+
+"N--no. Oh, no. It does not matter."
+
+"Therefore gentility alone is no guarantee of suitability. The only
+gentlemanliness she needs in a husband is ordinary good address,
+presentable manners, sense enough to avoid ridiculous solecisms in
+society, and so forth. Marian is satisfied with me on these points; and
+her approval settles the question finally. As to rank, I am a skilled
+workman, the first in my trade; and it is only by courtesy and
+forbearance that I suffer any man to speak of my class as inferior. Take
+us all, professions and trades together; and you will find by actual
+measurement round the head and round the chest, and round our manners
+and characters, if you like, that we are the only genuine aristocracy at
+present in existence. Therefore I meet your objection to my rank with a
+point-blank assertion of its superiority. Now let us have the other
+objections, if there _are_ any others."
+
+The clergyman received this challenge in silence. Then, after clearing
+his throat uneasily twice, he said:
+
+"I had hoped, Mr. Conolly, to have been able to persuade you on general
+grounds to relinquish your design. But as you are evidently not within
+reach of those considerations which I am accustomed to see universally
+admitted, it becomes my painful duty to assure you that a circumstance,
+on the secrecy of which you are relying, is known to me, and, through
+me, to my father."
+
+"What circumstance is that?"
+
+"A circumstance connected with Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whom you mentioned
+just now. You understand me, I presume?"
+
+"Oh! you have found that out?"
+
+"I have. It only remains for me to warn my sister that she is about to
+contract a close relationship with one who is--I must say it--living in
+sin with our cousin."
+
+"What do you suppose will be the result of that?"
+
+"I leave you to imagine," said the clergyman indignantly, rising.
+
+"Stop a bit. You do not understand me yet, I see. You have said that my
+views are peculiar. What if I have taken the peculiar view that I was
+bound to tell Marian this before proposing to her, and have actually
+told her?"
+
+"But surely--That is not very likely."
+
+"The whole affair is not very likely. Our marriage is not likely; but
+it is going to happen, nevertheless. She knows this circumstance
+perfectly well. You told her yourself."
+
+"I! When?"
+
+"The year before last, at Carbury Towers. It is worth your
+consideration, too, that by mistrusting Marian at that time, and
+refusing to give her my sister's address, you forced her to appeal to me
+for help, and so advanced me from the position of consulting electrician
+to that of friend in need. She knew nothing about my relationship to the
+woman in a state of sin (as you call it), and actually deputed me to
+warn your cousin of the risk he was running by his intimacy with her.
+Whilst I was away running this queer errand for her, she found out that
+the woman was my sister, and of course rushed to the conclusion that she
+had inflicted the deepest pain on me. Her penitence was the beginning of
+the sentimental side of our acquaintance. Had you recognized that she
+was a woman with as good a right as you to know the truth concerning all
+matters in this world which she has to make her way through, you would
+have answered her question, and then I suppose I should have gone away
+without having exchanged a word with her on any more personal matters
+than induction coils and ohms of resistance; and in all probability you
+would have been spared the necessity of having me for a brother-in-law."
+
+"Well, sir," said the Rev. George dejectedly, "if what you say be true,
+I cannot understand Marian, I can only grieve for her. I shall not argue
+with you on the nature of the influence you have obtained over her. I
+shall speak to her myself; since you will not hear me."
+
+"That is hardly fair. I have heard you, and am willing to hear more, if
+you have anything new to urge."
+
+"You have certainly listened to my voice, Mr. Conolly. But I fear I have
+used it to very little purpose."
+
+"You will fail equally with Marian, believe me. Even I, whose ability to
+exercise influence you admit, never obtained the least over my own
+sister. She knew me too well on my worst side and not at all on my best.
+If, as I presume, your father has tried in vain, what hope is there for
+you?"
+
+"Only my humble trust that a priest may be blessed in his appeal to duty
+even where a father's appeal to natural affection has been disregarded."
+
+"Well, well," said Conolly, kindly, rising as his visitor disconsolately
+prepared to go, "you can try. _I_ got on by dint of dogged faith in
+myself."
+
+"And I get on by lowly faith in my Master. I would I could imbue you
+with the same feeling!"
+
+Conolly shook his head; and they went downstairs in silence. "Hallo!"
+said he, as he opened the door, "it is raining. Let me lend you a coat."
+
+"Thank you, no. Not at all. Good-night," said the clergyman, quickly,
+and hastened away through the rain from Conolly's civilities.
+
+When he arrived at Westbourne Terrace, there was a cab waiting before
+the house. The door was opened to him by Marian's maid, who was dressed
+for walking.
+
+"Master is in the drawing-room, sir, with Miss McQuinch," she said,
+meaning, evidently, "Look out for squalls."
+
+He went upstairs, and found Elinor, with her hat on, standing by the
+pianoforte, with battle in her nostrils. Mr. Lind, looking perplexed
+and angry, was opposite to her.
+
+"George," said Mr. Lind, "close the door. Do you know the latest news?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Marian has run away!"
+
+"Run away!"
+
+"Yes," said Miss McQuinch. "She has fled to Mrs. Toplis's, at St. Mary's
+Terrace, with--as Uncle Reginald was just saying--a most dangerous
+associate."
+
+"With--?"
+
+"With _me_, in short."
+
+"And you have counselled her to take this fatal step?"
+
+"No. I advised her to stay. But she is not so well used to domestic
+discomfort as I am; so she insisted on going. We have got very nice
+rooms: you may come and see us, if you like."
+
+"Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant humor?" said the
+Rev. George, indignantly. "I think the spectacle of a wrecked home--"
+
+"Stuff!" interrupted Elinor, impatiently. "What else can I say? Uncle
+Reginald tells me I have corrupted Marian, and refuses to believe what I
+tell him. And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you have
+driven her away. If you want to see her, she is within five minutes walk
+of you. It is you who have wrecked her home, not she who has wrecked
+yours."
+
+"There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George," said Mr. Lind, with the
+air of a man who had tried it. "You had better go to Marian, and tell
+her what you mentioned this afternoon. What has been the result of your
+visit?"
+
+"He maintains that she knows everything," said the Rev. George, with a
+dispirited glance at Elinor. "I fear my visit has been worse than
+useless."
+
+"It is impossible that she should know. He lies," said Mr. Lind. "Go and
+tell her the truth, George; and say that I desire her--I order her--to
+come back at once. Say that I am waiting here for her."
+
+"But, Uncle Reginald," began Elinor, in a softer tone than before,
+whilst the clergyman stood in doubt--
+
+"I think," continued Mr. Lind, "that I must request you, Elinor, to
+occupy the rooms you have taken, until you return to your parents. I
+regret that you have forced me to take this step; but I cannot continue
+to offer you facilities for exercising your influence over my daughter.
+I will charge myself with all your expenses until you go to Wiltshire."
+
+Elinor looked at him as if she despaired of his reason. Then, seeing her
+cousin slowly going to the door, she said:
+
+"You dont really mean to go on such a fool's errand to Marian, George?"
+
+"Elinor!" cried Mr. Lind.
+
+"What else is it?" said Elinor. "You asserted all your authority
+yourself this morning, and only made matters worse. Yet you expect her
+to obey you at second hand. Besides, she is bound in honor not to desert
+_me_ now; and I will tell her so, too, if I see any sign of her letting
+herself be bullied."
+
+"I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say to her," said the
+clergyman.
+
+"If you are coming," said Elinor, "you had better come in my cab.
+Good-night, Uncle Reginald."
+
+"Stay," said Mr. Lind, irresolutely. "Elinor, I--you--Will you exercise
+your influence to induce Marian to return? I think you owe me at least
+so much."
+
+"I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her marriage and let her
+do as she likes. But if you can give her no better reason for returning
+than that she can be more conveniently persecuted here than at St.
+Mary's Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter how I may
+influence her."
+
+"If she is resolved to quarrel with me, I cannot help it," said Mr.
+Lind, pettishly.
+
+"You know very well that she is the last person on earth to quarrel with
+anyone."
+
+"She has been indulged in every way. This is the first time she has been
+asked to sacrifice her own wishes."
+
+"To sacrifice her whole life, you mean. It is the first time she has
+ever hesitated to sacrifice her own comfort, and therefore the first
+time you are conscious that any sacrifice is required. Let me tell her
+that you will allow her to take her own course, Uncle Reginald. He is
+well enough off; and they are fond of one another. A man of genius is
+worth fifty men of rank."
+
+"Tell her, if you please, Elinor, that she must choose between Mr.
+Conolly and me. If she prefers him, well and good: I have done with her.
+That is my last word."
+
+"So now she has nobody to turn to in the world except him. That is
+sensible. Come, cousin George! I am off."
+
+"I do not think I should do any good by going," said the clergyman.
+
+"Then stay where you are," said Elinor. "Good-night." And she abruptly
+left the room.
+
+"It was a dreadful mistake ever to have allowed that young fury to
+enter the house," said Mr. Lind. "She must be mad. What did _he_ say?"
+
+"He said a great deal in attempted self-justification. But I could make
+no impression on him. We have no feelings in common with a man of his
+type. No. He is evidently bent on raising himself by a good marriage."
+
+"We cannot prevent it."
+
+"Oh, surely we----"
+
+"I tell you we _cannot_ prevent it," repeated Mr. Lind, turning angrily
+upon his son. "How can we? What can we do? She will marry
+this--this--this--this beggar. I wish to God I had never seen her
+mother."
+
+The clergyman stood by, cowed, and said nothing.
+
+"You had better go to that woman of Marmaduke's," continued Mr. Lind,
+"and try whether she can persuade her brother to commute his interest in
+the company, and go back to America, or to the devil. I will take care
+that he gets good terms, even if I have to make them up out of my own
+pocket. If the worst comes, _she_ must be persuaded to leave Marmaduke.
+Offer her money. Women of that sort drive a hard bargain; but they have
+their price."
+
+"But, sir, consider my profession. How can I go to drive a bargain with
+a woman of evil reputation?"
+
+"Well, I must go myself, I suppose."
+
+"Oh, no. I will go. Only I thought I would mention it."
+
+"A clergyman can go anywhere. You are privileged. Come to breakfast in
+the morning: we can talk over matters then."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+One morning the Rev. George Lind received a letter addressed in a
+handwriting which he did not remember and never thenceforth forgot.
+Within the envelope he found a dainty little bag made of blue satin,
+secured by ribbons of the same material. This contained a note written
+on scented paper, edged with gold, and decorated with a miniature
+representation of a _pierrot_, sitting cross-legged, conning a book, on
+the open pages of which appeared the letters L.V. The clergyman
+recognized the monogram no more than the writing. But as it was
+evidently from a lady, he felt a pleasant thrill of expectation as he
+unfolded the paper.
+
+                                        "Laurel Grove West Kensington
+                                             "Wednesday
+  "Dear Mr. George
+
+  "I have made poor little Lucy believe that Kew is the most heavenly
+  place on earth to spend a May morning so Bob has had to promise to
+  row her down there to-morrow (Thursday) after breakfast and I shall
+  be at home alone from eleven to one this is very short notice I
+  know but opportunities are scarce and another might not present
+  itself for a month.
+
+  "Believe me Dear Mr. George
+
+                                     "Yours sincerely
+                                            Lalage Virtue."
+
+The Rev. George became thoughtful, and absently put the note in a little
+rack over the mantelpiece. Then, recollecting that a prying servant or
+landlady might misinterpret it, he transferred it to his pocket. After
+breakfast, having satisfied himself before the mirror that his dress was
+faultless, and his expression saintly, he went out and travelled by rail
+from Sloane Square to West Kensington, whence he walked to Laurel Grove.
+An elderly maid opened the gate. It was a rule with the Rev. George not
+to look at strange women; and this morning the asceticism which he
+thought proper to his office was unusually prominent in his thoughts. He
+did not look up once while the maid conducted him through the shrubbery
+to the house; and he fully believed that he had not seen at the first
+glance that she was remarkably plain, as Susanna took care that all her
+servants should be. Passing by the drawing-room, where he had been on a
+previous occasion, they went on to a smaller apartment at the back of
+the house.
+
+"What room is this?" he asked, uneasily.
+
+"Missus's Purjin bodoor, sir," replied the main.
+
+She opened the door; and the clergyman, entering, found himself in a
+small room, luxuriously decorated in sham Persian, but containing
+ornaments of all styles and periods, which had been purchased and
+introduced just as they had caught Susanna's fancy. She was seated on a
+ottoman, dressed in wide trousers, Turkish slippers, a voluminous sash,
+a short Greek jacket, a long silk robe with sleeves, and a turban, all
+of fine soft materials and rare colors. Her face was skilfully painted,
+and her dark hair disposed so as not to overweight her small head. The
+clergyman, foolishly resisting a natural impulse to admire her, felt
+like St. Anthony struggling with the fascination of a disguised devil.
+He responded to her smile of welcome by a stiff bow.
+
+"Sit down," she said. "You mustnt mind this absurd dress: it belongs to
+a new piece I am studying. I always study in character. It is the only
+way to identify myself with my part, you see."
+
+"It seems a very magnificent dress, certainly," said the clergyman,
+nervously.
+
+"Thank you for the compliment----"
+
+"No, no," said he, hastily. "I had no such intention."
+
+"Of course not," said Susanna, with a laugh. "It was merely an
+unpremeditated remark: all compliments are, of course. I know all about
+that. But do you think it a proper costume?"
+
+"In what sense, may I ask?"
+
+"Is it a correct Eastern dress? I am supposed to be one of the wives of
+the Caliph Somebody al Something. You have no idea how difficult it is
+to get a reliable model for a dress before laying out a heap of money on
+it. This was designed in Paris; but I should like to hear it
+criticized--chronologically, or whatever you call it--by a scholar."
+
+"I really do not know, Madam. I am not an Orientalist; and my studies
+take a widely different direction from yours."
+
+"Yes, of course," said Susanna, with a sigh. "But I assure you I often
+wish for your advice, particularly as to my elocution, which is very
+faulty. You are such a master of the art."
+
+The clergyman bowed in acceptance of the compliment, and began to take
+heart; for to receive flattery from ladies in exchange for severe
+reproof was part of his daily experience.
+
+"I have come here," he said, "to have a very serious conversation with
+you."
+
+"All right, Doctor. Fire away."
+
+This sudden whim of conferring on him a degree in divinity, and her
+change of manner--implying that she had been laughing at him
+before--irritated him. "I presume," he said, "that you are acquainted
+with the movements of your brother."
+
+"Of Ned?" said Susanna, frowning a little. "No. What should I know about
+him?"
+
+"He is, I believe, about to be married."
+
+"No!" screamed Susanna, throwing herself back, and making her bangles
+and ornaments clatter. "Get out, Doctor. You dont mean it."
+
+"Certainly I mean it. It is not my profession to jest. I must also tell
+you that his marriage will make it quite impossible for you to continue
+here with my cousin."
+
+"Why? Who is he going to marry?"
+
+"Ahem! He has succeeded in engaging the affections of my sister."
+
+"What! Your sister? Marian Lind?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Susanna uttered a long whistle, and then, with a conviction and
+simplicity which prevented even the Rev. George from being shocked,
+said: "Well, I _am_ damned! I know more than one fool of a girl who will
+be sick and sorry to hear it." She paused, and added carelessly: "I
+suppose all your people are delighted?"
+
+"I do not know why you should suppose so. We have had no hand in the
+matter. My sister has followed her own inclinations."
+
+"Indeed! Let me tell you, young man, that your sister might have gone
+farther and fared worse."
+
+"Doubtless. However, you will see now how impossible it is that you
+should remain in your present--that you should continue here, in fact."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"You cannot," said the clergyman, accustomed to be bold and stern with
+female sinners, "when you are sister-in-law to Miss Lind, live as you
+are now doing with her cousin."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because it would be a scandal. I will say nothing at present of the sin
+of it: you will have to account for that before a greater than I."
+
+"Just so, Doctor. You dont mind the sin; but when it comes to a
+scandal----!"
+
+"I did not say so. I abhor the sin. I have prayed earnestly for your
+awakening, and shall do so in spite of the unregenerate hardness of
+heart----"
+
+"Hallo, Doctor! draw it mild, if you please. I am not one of your
+parishioners, you know. Perhaps that is the reason your prayers for me
+have not met with much attention. Let us stick to business: you may talk
+shop as much as you please afterwards. What do you want me to do?"
+
+"To sever your connexion with Marmaduke at once. Believe me, it will not
+prove so hard a step as it may seem. You have but to ask for strength to
+do it, and you will find yourself strong. It will profit you even more
+than poor Marmaduke."
+
+"Will it? I dont see it, Doctor. You think it will profit _you_: thats
+plain enough. But it wont profit me; it wont profit Bob; and it wont by
+any means profit the child."
+
+"Not immediately, perhaps, in a worldly sense----"
+
+"That is the sense I mean. Drop all that other stuff: I dont believe in
+you parsons: you are about the worst lot going, as far as I can see.
+Just tell me this, Doctor. Your sister is a very nice girl, I have no
+doubt: she would hardly have snapped up Ned if she wasn't. But why is
+she to have everything her own way?"
+
+"I do not understand."
+
+"Well, listen. Here is a young woman who has had every chance in life
+that hick could give her: silk cradles, gold rattles, rank, wealth,
+schooling, travelling, swell acquaintances, and anything else she chose
+to ask for. Even when she is fool enough to want to get married, her
+luck sticks to her, and she catches Ned, who is a man in a
+thousand--though Lord forbid we should have many of his sort about! Yet
+she's not satisfied. She wants _me_ to give up my establishment just to
+keep her family in countenance."
+
+"She knows nothing of my visit, I assure you."
+
+"Even if she doesnt, it makes no odds as to the facts. She can go her
+own way; and I will go mine. I shant want to visit her; and I dont
+suppose she will visit me. So she need trouble herself no more than if
+there was no such person as I in the world."
+
+"But you will find that it will be greatly to your advantage to leave
+this house. It is not our intention that you shall suffer in a pecuniary
+point of view by doing so. My father is rich----"
+
+"What is that to me? He doesnt want me to go and live with him, does
+he?"
+
+"You quite misunderstand me. No such idea ever entered----"
+
+"There! go on. I only said that to get a rise out of you, Doctor. How do
+you make out that I should gain by leaving this house?"
+
+"My father is willing to make you some amends for the withdrawal of
+such portion of Marmaduke's income as you may forfeit by ceasing your
+connexion with him."
+
+"You have come to buy me out, in fact: is that it? What a clever old man
+your father must be! Knows the world thoroughly, eh?"
+
+"I hope I have not offended you?"
+
+"Bless you, Doctor! nobody could be offended with you. Suppose I agree
+to oblige you (you have a very seductive High Church way about you) who
+is to make Marmaduke amends for such portion of _my_ income as our
+separation will deprive _him_ of? Eh? I see that that staggers you a
+little. If you will just tot up the rent of this house since we have had
+it; the price of the furniture; our expenses, including my carriage and
+Marmaduke's horse and the boat; six hundred pounds of debt that he ran
+up before he settled down with me; and other little things; and then
+find out from his father how much money he has drawn within the last two
+years, I think you will find it rather hard to make the two balance.
+Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke money to spend on me;
+but he was not too good to keep me playing in the provinces all through
+last autumn just to make both ends meet, when I ought to have been
+taking my holiday. I wish you would tell his mother, your blessed pious
+Aunt Dora, to send Bob the set of diamonds his grandmother left him,
+instead of sermons which he never reads."
+
+"I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, independently of his
+father."
+
+"A thousand a year! What is that? And your uncle would stop even that,
+if he could, to keep it out of my hands. You may tell him that if it
+didnt come into my hands it would hardly last a week. Only for the
+child, and the garden, and the sort of quiet life he leads here, he
+would spend a thousand a month. And look at _my_ expenses! Look at my
+dresses! I suppose you think that people wear cotton velvet and glazed
+calico on the stage, as Mrs. Siddons did in the old days when they acted
+by candlelight. Why, between dress and jewellery, I have about two
+hundred pounds on my back at the present moment; and you neednt think
+that any manager alive will find dresses to that tune. At the theatre
+they think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they might shut
+up the house to-morrow if my name was taken out of the bills. Tell your
+father that so far from my living on Bob, it is as much as I can do to
+keep this place going by my work--not to mention the worry of it, which
+always falls on the woman."
+
+"I certainly had no idea of the case being as you describe," said the
+clergyman, losing his former assurance. "But would it not then be better
+for you to separate?"
+
+"Certainly not. I want my house and home. So does he. If an income is
+rather tight, halving it is a very good way to make it tighter. No: if I
+left Bob, he would go to the devil; and very likely I should go to the
+devil, too, and disgrace you in earnest."
+
+"But, my dear madam, consider the disgrace at present!"
+
+"What disgrace? When your sister becomes Mrs. Ned, what will be the
+difference between her position and mine? Dont look aghast. What will be
+the difference?"
+
+"Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense with the sacrament of
+marriage before casting in her lot with your brother!"
+
+"I bet you my next week's salary that you dont get Ned to enter a
+church. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of course, your sister will
+have the law of him somehow: she cant help herself. She is not
+independent; and so she must be guaranteed against his leaving her
+without bread and butter. _I_ can support myself, and may shew Bob a
+clean pair of heels to-morrow, if I choose. Even if she has money of her
+own, she darent stick to her freedom for fear of society. _I_ snap my
+fingers at society, and care as little about it as it cares about me;
+and I have no doubt she would be glad to do the same if she had the
+pluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a regular legal bargain of
+going to live with a man. I dont care to make love a matter of money; it
+gives it a taste of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to be
+honorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. George's, Hanover
+Square, before we came to live here; but, of course, I refused, as any
+decent woman in my circumstances would. Understand me now, Doctor: I
+dont want to give myself any virtuous airs, or to boast of behaving
+better than your sister. I know the world; and I know that she will
+marry Ned just as much because she thinks it right as because she cant
+help herself. But dont you try to make me swallow any gammon about my
+disgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I am. I can respect
+myself; and I dont care whether you or your family respect me or not. If
+you dont approve of me, why! nobody asks you to associate with me. If
+you want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If I want it, I can
+fill this house to-morrow. Not with stupid fine ladies, but with really
+clever people, who are not at all shy of me. Look at me at the present
+moment! I am receiving a morning visit from the best born and most
+popular parson in Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, what your parishioners
+would think if they could see you now."
+
+"I must confess that I do not understand you at all. You seem to see
+everything reversed--upside down. You--I--you bewilder me, Miss Conol--"
+
+"Sh! Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or you may call me
+Susanna, if you like, since we are as good as related."
+
+"I fear," said the clergyman, blushing, "that we have no common ground
+on which to argue. I am sorry I have no power to influence you."
+
+"Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and would do more for you
+than most people. If your father had had the cheek to come himself to
+offer me money, and so forth, I would have put him out of the house
+double quick; whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. Never mind
+your hat yet. Have a bottle of champagne with me?"
+
+"Thank you, no."
+
+"Dont you drink at all?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You should. It would give a fillip to your sermons. Let me send you a
+case of champagne. Promise to drink a bottle every Sunday in the vestry
+before you come out to preach, and I will take a pew for the season in
+your church. Thats good of me, isnt it?"
+
+"I must go," said the Rev. George, rising, after hastily pretending to
+look at his watch. "Will you excuse me?"
+
+"Nonsense," she said, rising also, and slipping her hand through his arm
+to detain him. "Wait and have some luncheon. Why, Doctor, I really think
+youre afraid of me. _Do_ stay."
+
+"Impossible. I have much business which I am bound----Pray, let me go,"
+pleaded the clergyman, piteously, ineffectually struggling with Susanna,
+who had now got his arm against her breast. "You must be mad!" he cried,
+drops of sweat breaking out on his brow as he felt himself being pulled
+helplessly toward the ottoman. She got her knee on it at last; and he
+made a desperate effort to free himself.
+
+"Oh, how rough you are!" she exclaimed in her softest voice, adroitly
+tumbling into the seat as if he had thrown her down, and clinging to his
+arms; so that it was as much as he could do to keep his feet as he
+stooped over her, striving to get upright. At which supreme moment the
+door was opened by Marmaduke, who halted on the threshold to survey the
+two reproachfully for a moment. Then he said:
+
+"George: I'm astonished at you. I have not much opinion of parsons as a
+rule; but I really did think that _you_ were to be depended on."
+
+"Marmaduke," said the clergyman, colouring furiously, and almost beside
+himself with shame and anger: "you know perfectly well that I am
+actuated in coming here by no motive unworthy of my profession. You
+misunderstand what you have seen. I will not hear my calling made a jest
+of."
+
+"Quite right, Doctor," said Susanna, giving him a gentle pat of
+encouragement on the shoulder. "Defend the cloth, always. I was only
+asking him to stay to lunch, Bob. Cant you persuade him?"
+
+"Do, old fellow," said Marmaduke. "Come! you must: I havnt had a chat
+with you for ever so long. I'm really awfully sorry I interrupted you.
+What on earth did you make Susanna rig herself out like that for?"
+
+"Hold your tongue, Bob. Mr. George has nothing to do with my being in
+character. This is what came last night in the box: I could not resist
+trying it on this morning. I am Zobeida, the light of the harem, if you
+please. I must have your opinion of the rouge song, Doctor. Observe.
+This is a powder puff: I suppose you never saw such a thing before. I am
+making up my face for a visit of the Sultan; and I am apologizing to the
+audience for using cosmetics. The original French is improper; so I will
+give you the English version, by the celebrated Robinson, the cleverest
+adapter of the day:
+
+  'Poor odalisques in captive thrall
+  Must never let their charms pall:
+    If they get the sack
+    They ne'er come back;
+  For the Bosphorus is the boss for all
+  In this harem, harem, harem, harem, harum scarum place.'
+
+Intellectual, isnt it?"
+
+Susanna, whilst singing, executed a fantastic slow dance, stopping at
+certain points to clink a pair of little cymbals attached to her ankles,
+and to look for a moment archly at the clergyman.
+
+"No," he said, hurt and offended into a sincerity of manner which
+compelled them to respect him for the first time, "I will not stay; and
+I am very sorry I came." And he left the room, his cheeks tingling.
+Marmaduke followed him to the gate. "Come and look us up soon again, old
+fellow," he said.
+
+"Marmaduke," said the clergyman: "you are travelling as fast as you can
+along the road to Hell."
+
+As he hurried away, Marmaduke leaned against the gate and made the
+villas opposite echo his laughter.
+
+"On my soul, it's a shame," said he, when he returned to the house.
+"Poor old George!"
+
+"He found no worse than he had made up his mind to find," said Susanna.
+"What right has he to come into my house and take it for granted, to my
+face, that I am a disgrace to his sister? One would think I was a common
+woman from the streets."
+
+"Pshaw! What does he know? He is only a molly-coddling parson, poor
+fellow. He will give them a rare account of you when he goes back."
+
+"Let him," said Susanna. "He can tell them how little I care for their
+opinion, anyhow."
+
+The Rev. George took the next train to the City, and went to the offices
+of the Electro-Motor Company, where he found his father. They retired
+together to the board-room, which was unoccupied just then.
+
+"I have been to that woman," said the clergyman.
+
+"Well, what does she say?"
+
+"She is an entirely abandoned person. She glories in her shame. I have
+never before met with such an example of complete and unconscious
+depravity. Yet she is not unattractive. There is a wonderfully clever
+refinement even in her coarseness which goes far to account for her
+influence over Marmaduke."
+
+"No doubt; but apart from her personal charms, about which I am not
+curious, is she willing to assist us?"
+
+"No. I could make no impression on her at all."
+
+"Well, it cannot be helped. Did you say anything about Conolly's selling
+his interest here and leaving the country?"
+
+"No," said the clergyman, struck with a sense of remissness. "I forgot
+that. The fact is, I hardly had the oppor----"
+
+"Never mind. It is just as well that you did not: it might have made
+mischief."
+
+"I do not think it is of the least use to pursue her with any further
+overtures. Besides, I really could not undertake to conduct them."
+
+"May I ask," said Mr. Lind, turning on him suddenly, "what objection you
+have to Marian's wishes being consulted in this matter?"
+
+The Rev. George recoiled, speechless.
+
+"I certainly think," said Mr. Lind, more smoothly, "that Marian might
+have trusted to my indulgence instead of hurrying away to a lodging and
+writing the news in all directions. But I must say I have received some
+very nice letters about it. Jasper is quite congratulatory. The _Court
+Journal_ has a paragraph this week alluding to it with quite good taste.
+Conolly is a very remarkable man; and, as the _Court Journal_ truly
+enough remarks, he has won a high place in the republic of art and
+science. As a Liberal, I cannot say that I disapprove of Marian's
+choice; and I really think that it will be looked on in society as an
+interesting one."
+
+Mr. Lind's son eyed him dubiously for quite a long time. Then he said,
+slowly, "Am I to understand that I may now speak of the marriage as a
+recognized thing?"
+
+"Why not, pray?"
+
+"Of course, since you wish it, and it cannot be helped--" The clergyman
+again looked at his father, still more dubiously. He saw in his eye that
+there would be a quarrel if the interview lasted much longer. So he said
+"I must go home now. I have to write my sermon for next Sunday."
+
+"Very good. Do not let me detain you. Good-bye."
+
+The Rev. George returned to his rooms quite dazed by the novelty of his
+sensations. He had always respected his father beyond other men; and now
+he knew that his father did not deserve his respect in the least. That
+was one conviction uprooted. And Susanna had done something to him--he
+did not exactly know what; but he felt altogether a different man from
+the clergyman of the day before. He had come face to face with what he
+called Vice for the first time, and found it not at all what he had
+supposed it to be. He had believed that he knew it to be most
+dangerously attractive to the physical, but utterly repugnant to the
+moral sense; and such fascination he was prepared to resist to the
+utmost. But he was attacked in just the opposite way, and thereby so
+thrown off his guard that he did not know he was attacked at all; so
+that he told himself vaingloriously that the shafts of the enemy had
+fallen harmlessly from his breastplate of faith. For he was not in the
+least charmed by Susanna's person. He had detected the paint on her
+cheeks, and had noted with aversion a certain unhealthy bloat in her
+face, and an alcoholic taint in her breath. He exulted in the
+consciousness that he had been genuinely disgusted, not as a matter of
+duty, but unaffectedly, as a matter of simple nature. What interested
+him in her was her novel and bold moral attitude, her self-respect in
+the midst of her sin, her striking arguments in favor of an apparently
+indefensible course of life. Hers was no common case of loose living, he
+felt: there was a soul to be saved there, if only Heaven would raise her
+up a friend in some man absolutely proof against the vulgar fascination
+of her prettiness. He began to imagine a certain greatness of character
+about her, a capacity for heroic repentance as well as for heroic sin.
+Before long he was amusing himself by thinking how it might have gone
+with her if she had him for her counsellor instead of a gross and
+thoughtless rake like Marmaduke.
+
+It is not necessary to follow the wild goose chase which the Rev.
+George's imagination ran from this starting-point to the moment when he
+was suddenly awakened, by an unmistakable symptom, to the fact that he
+was being outwitted and beglamoured, like the utter novice he was, by a
+power which he believed to be the devil. He rushed to the little oratory
+he had arranged with a screen in the corner of his sitting-room, and
+prayed aloud, long and earnestly. But the hypnotizing process did not
+tranquilize him as usual. It excited him, and led him finally to a
+passionate appeal for pardon and intercession to a statuet of the Virgin
+Mother, of whom he was a very devout adorer. He had always regarded
+himself as her especial champion in the Church of England; and now he
+had been faithless to her, and indelicate into the bargain. And yet, in
+spite of his contrition, he felt that he was having a tremendous
+spiritual experience, which he would not for worlds have missed. The
+climax of it was the composition of his Sunday sermon, the labor of
+which secured him a sound sleep that night. It was duly delivered on the
+following Sunday morning in this form:
+
+"Dearly beloved Brethren: In the twenty-third verse of the third chapter
+of St. Mark's gospel, we find this question: '_How can Satan cast out
+Satan_?' How can Satan cast out Satan? If you will read what follows,
+you will perceive that that question was not answered. My brethren, it
+is unanswerable: it never has been, and it never can be answered.
+
+"In these latter days, when the power of Satan has become so vast, when
+his empire and throne tower in our midst so that the faithful are cast
+down by the exceeding great shadow thereof, and when temples innumerable
+are open for his worship, it is no strange thing that many faint-hearted
+ones should give half their hearts to Beelzebub, and should hope by the
+prince of devils to cast out devils. Yes, this is what is taking place
+daily around us. Oh, you, who seek to excuse this book to infidel
+philosophers by shewing with how much facility a glib tongue may
+reconcile it with their so-called science, I tell you that it is science
+and not the Bible that shall need that apology in the great day of
+wrath. And, therefore, I would have you, my brethren, earnestly
+discountenance all endeavors to justify the Word of God by explaining it
+in conformity with the imaginations of the men of science. How can Satan
+cast out Satan? He cannot; but he can lead you into the sin of adding to
+and of taking from the words of this book. He can add plagues unto you,
+and take away your part out of the holy city.
+
+"In this great London which we inhabit we are come upon evil day's. The
+rage of the blasphemer, the laugh at the scoffer, the heartless
+lip-service of the worldling, and the light dalliance of the daughters
+of music, are offered every hour upon a thousand Baal-altars within this
+very parish. I would ask some of you who spend your evenings in the
+playhouses which multiply around us like weeds sown in the rank soil of
+human frailty, what justification you make to yourselves when you are
+alone in the watches of the night, and your conscience saith, '_What
+went ye out for to see_?' You will then complain of the bitterness of
+life, and prate of the refining influences of music; of the help to
+spiritual-mindedness given by the exhibition on the public stage of
+mockeries of God's world, wherein some pitiful temporal triumph of
+simulated virtue in the last act is the apology for the vicious trifling
+that has gone before. And in whom do you there see typified that virtue
+which you should shield in your hearts from the contamination of the
+theatre? Is it not in some woman whose private life is the scandalous
+matter of your whispered conversations, and whose shameless face smirks
+at you from the windows of those picture-shops which are a disgrace to
+our national morality? Is it from such as she that you will learn to be
+spiritual-minded? Does she appear before your carnal crowds repentant,
+her forehead covered with ashes, her limbs covered with sackcloth? No!
+Her brow is glowing with unquenchable fire to kindle the fuel that the
+devil has hidden in your hearts. Her raiment is cloth of gold; and she
+is not covered with it. Naked and unashamed, she smiles and weeps in
+mockery of the virtue which you would persuade yourselves that she
+represents to you. Will you learn spiritual-mindedness from the sight of
+her eyes, from the sound of her mouth, from the measure of her steps, or
+from the music and the dancing that cease not within the doors of her
+temple? How can Satan cast out Satan? Whom think ye to deceive by
+whitening the sepulchre? Is it yourselves? The devil has blinded you
+already. Is it God? Who shall hide anything from Him? I tell you that he
+who makes the pursuit of virtue a luxury, and takes refuge from sin, not
+before the altar, but in the playhouse, is casting out devils by
+Beelzebub, the prince of the devils.
+
+"As I look about me in this church; I see many things intended to give
+pleasure to the carnal eye. Were the cost of all these dainty robes,
+this delicate headgear, these clouds of silk, of satin, of lace, and of
+sparkling jewels, were the price of these things brought into the
+Church's treasury, how loudly might the Gospel resound in lands between
+whose torrid shores and the tropical sun the holy shade of Calvary has
+not yet fallen! But, you will say, it is a good thing to be comely in
+the house of the Lord. The sight of what is beautiful elevates the mind.
+Uncleanness is a vice. This, then, is how you will war with uncleanness.
+Not by prayer and holy living. Not by pouring of your superfluity into
+the lap of the poor, and entering by the strait gate upon the narrow
+path in a garment without seam. No. By the dead and damning gold; by
+the purple and by the scarlet; by the brightness of the eyes that is
+born of new wine; by the mincing gait and the gloved fingers; and by the
+musk and civet instead of the myrrh and frankincense: by these things
+are you fain to purge your uncleanness. And will they suffice? Can Satan
+cast out Satan? Beware! '_For though thou wash thee with nitre and take
+thee much soap, yet thine iniquity is marked before me, saith the Lord
+God_.' There shall come a day when your lace and feathers shall hang on
+you as heavy as your chains of gold, to drag you down to him in whose
+name you have thought to cast out devils. Do not think that these things
+are harmless vanities. Nothing can fill the human heart and be harmless.
+If your thoughts be not of God, they will keep your minds distraught
+from His grace as effectually as the blackest broodings of crime. '_Can
+a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people have
+forgotten me days without number, saith the Lord God_.' Yes, your minds
+are too puny to entertain the full worship of God: do you think they are
+spacious enough to harbor the worship of Baal side by side with it? Much
+less dare you pretend that the Baal altar is erected for the honor of
+God, that you may come into His presence comely and clean. It is but a
+few days since I stood in the presence of a woman who boasted to me that
+she bore upon her the value of two hundred pounds of our money. I cared
+little for the value of money that was upon her. But what shall be said
+of the weight of sin her attire represented? For, those costly garments
+were the wages of sin--of hardened, shameless, damnable sin. Yet there
+is not before me a finer dress or a fairer face. Will you, my sisters,
+trust to the comeliness of visage and splendor of raiment in which such
+a woman as this can outshine you? Will you continue to cast out your
+devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils? Be advised whilst there is
+yet time. Ask yourself again and again, how can Satan cast out Satan?
+
+"When sin is committed in a great city for wages, is there no fault on
+the side of those who pay the wages? There is more than fault: there is
+crime. I trust there are few among you who have done such crime. But I
+know full well that it may be said of London to-day '_Thou art full of
+stirs, a joyous city: thy slain men are not slain with the sword, nor
+dead in battle_.' No. Our young men are slain by the poison of
+Beelzebub, the prince of the devils. Nor is the crafty old subterfuge
+lacking here. There are lost ones in this town who say, 'It is by our
+means that virtue is preserved to the rich: it is we who appease the
+wicked rage which would otherwise wreck society.' There are men who
+boast that they have brought their sins only to the houses of shame, and
+that they have respected purity in the midst of their foulness. 'Such
+things must be,' they say: 'let us alone, lest a worse thing ensue.'
+When they are filled full with sin, they cry 'Lo! our appetite has gone
+from us and we are clean.' They are willing to slake lust with satiety,
+but not to combat it with prayer. They tread one woman into the mire,
+and excuse themselves because the garment of her sister is spotless. How
+vain is this lying homage to virtue! How can Satan cast out Satan?
+
+"Oh, my brethren, this hypocrisy is the curse and danger of our age. The
+Atheist, no longer an execration, an astonishment, a curse, and a
+reproach, poses now as the friend of man and the champion of right.
+Those who incur the last and most terrible curse in this book, do so in
+the name of that truth for which they profess to be seeking. Art,
+profanely veiling its voluptuous nakedness with the attributes of
+religion, disguises folly so subtly that it seems like virtue in the
+slothful eyes of those who neglect continually to watch and pray. The
+vain woman puts on her ornaments to do honor to her Creator's handiwork:
+the lustful man casts away his soul that society may be kept clean:
+there is not left in these latter days a sin that does not pretend to
+work the world's salvation, nor a man who flatters not himself that the
+sin of one may be the purging of many. To such I say, Look to your own
+soul: of no other shall any account be demanded of you. A day shall come
+in which a fire shall be kindled among your gods. The Lord shall array
+Himself with this land as a shepherd putteth on his garment. Be sure
+that then if ye shall say 'I am a devil; but I have cast out many
+devils,' He will reply unto you, How can Satan cast out Satan? Who shall
+prompt you to an answer to that question? Nay, though in His boundless
+mercy He give you a thousand years to search, and spread before you all
+the books of science and sociology in which you were wont to find
+excuses for sin, what will it avail you? Will a scoff, or a quibble over
+a doubtful passage, serve your turn? No. You cannot scoff whilst your
+tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth for fear, and there will be no
+passage doubtful in all the Scriptures on that day; for the light of the
+Lord's countenance will be over all things."
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+One Sunday afternoon, as the sun was making rainbows in the cloud of
+spray thrown from the fountain in Kew Gardens, Sholto Douglas appeared
+there amongst the promenaders on the banks of the pond. He halted on the
+steps leading down to the basin, gazing idly at the waterfowl paddling
+at his feet. A lady in a becoming grey dress came to the top of the
+steps, and looked curiously at him. Somehow aware of this, he turned
+indifferently, as if to leave, and found that the lady was Marian. Her
+ripened beauty, her perfect self-possession, a gain in her as of added
+strength and wisdom, and a loss in her as of gentleness outgrown and
+timidity overcome, dazzled him for a moment--caused a revulsion in him
+which he half recognized as the beginning of a dangerous passion. His
+former love for her suddenly appeared boyish and unreal to him; and this
+ruin of a once cherished illusion cost him a pang. Meanwhile, there she
+was, holding out her hand and smiling with a cool confidence in the
+success of her advance that would have been impossible to Marian Lind.
+
+"How do you do?" she said.
+
+"Thank you: I am fairly well. You are quite well, I hope?"
+
+"I am in rude health. I hardly knew you at first."
+
+"Am I altered?"
+
+"You are growing stout."
+
+"Indeed? Time has not been so bounteous to me as to you."
+
+"You mean that I am stouter than you?" She laughed; and the sound
+startled him. He got from it an odd impression that her soul was gone.
+But he hastened to protest.
+
+"No, no. You know I do not. I meant that you have achieved the
+impossible--altered for the better."
+
+"I am glad you think so. I cling to my good looks desperately now that I
+am growing matronly. How is Mrs. Douglas?"
+
+"She is quite well, thank you. Mr. Conolly is, I trust--"
+
+"He is suffering from Eucalyptus on the brain at present. Do not trouble
+yourself to maintain that admirable expression of shocked sadness.
+Eucalyptus means gum-tree; and Ned is at present studying the species
+somewhere in the neighborhood. He came here with that object: he never
+goes anywhere without an object. He wants to plant Eucalyptuses round
+some new works where the people suffer from ague."
+
+"Oh! You mean that he is here in the gardens."
+
+"Yes. I left him among the trees, as I prefer the flowers. I want to see
+the lilies. There used to be some in a hot-house, or rather a hot bath,
+near this."
+
+"That is it on our right. May I go through it with you?"
+
+"Just as you please."
+
+"Thank you. It is a long time since we last met, is it not?"
+
+"More than a year. Fifteen months. I have not seen you since I was
+married."
+
+Douglas looked rather foolish at this. He was fatter, lazier,
+altogether less tenacious of his dignity than of old; and his
+embarrassment brought out the change strikingly. Marian liked him all
+the better for it; he was less imposing; but he was more a man and less
+a mere mask. At last, reddening a little, he said, "I remember our last
+meeting very well. We were very angry then: I was infuriated. In fact,
+when I recognized you a minute ago, I was not quite sure that you would
+renew our acquaintance."
+
+"I had exactly the same doubt about you."
+
+"A very unnecessary doubt. Not a sincere one, I am afraid. You know too
+well that your least beck will bring me to you at any time."
+
+"Dont you think we had better not begin that. I generally repeat my
+conversations to Ned. Not that he will mind, if you dont."
+
+Douglas now felt at his ease and in his clement. He was clearly welcome
+to philander. Recovering his poise at once, he began, in his finest
+voice, "You need not chide me. There can be no mistake on my part now.
+You can entangle me without fear; and I can love without hope. Ned is an
+unrepealed statute of Forbiddance. Go on, Mrs. Conolly. Play with me: it
+will amuse you. And--spiritless wretch that I am!--it will help me to
+live until you throw me away, crushed again."
+
+"You seem to have been quite comfortable without me: at least you look
+extremely well. I suspect you are becoming a little lazy and attached to
+your dinner. Your old haughtiness seems to have faded into a mere habit.
+It used to be the most active principle in you. Are you quite sure that
+nobody else has been helping you to live, as you call it?"
+
+"Helping me to forget, you mean. No, not one. Time has taught me the
+way to vegetate; and so I no longer need to live. As you have remarked,
+I have habits, not active principles. But one at least of these
+principles is blossoming again even as I speak. If I could only live as
+that lily lives now!"
+
+"In a warm bath?"
+
+"No. Floating on the surface of a quiet pool, looking up into your eyes,
+with no memory for the past, no anticipation of the future."
+
+"Delightful! especially for me. I think we had better go and look for
+Ned."
+
+"Were I in his place I would not be absent from your side now--or ever."
+
+"That is to say, if you were in his place, you wouldnt be in his
+place--among the gum trees. Perhaps you would be right."
+
+"He is the only man I have ever stooped to envy."
+
+"You have reason to," said Marian, suddenly grave.
+
+"I envy him sometimes myself. What would you give to be never without a
+purpose, never with a regret, to regard life as a succession of objects
+each to be accomplished by so many days' work; to take your pleasure in
+trifling lazily with the consciousness of possessing a strong brain; to
+study love, family affection, and friendship as a doctor studies
+breathing or digestion; to look on disinterestedness as either weakness
+or hypocrisy, and on death as a mere transfer of your social function to
+some member of the next generation?"
+
+"I could achieve all that, if I would, at the cost of my soul. I would
+not for worlds be such a man, save on one condition."
+
+"To wit?"
+
+"That only as such could I win the woman I loved."
+
+"Oh, you would not think so much of an insignificant factor like love if
+you were Ned."
+
+"May I ask, do you, too, think of love as 'an insignificant factor'?"
+
+"I? Oh, I am not a sociologist. Besides, I have never been in love."
+
+"What! You have never been in love?"
+
+"Not the real, romantic, burning, suicidal love your sonnets used to
+breathe."
+
+"Then you do not know what love is."
+
+"Do you?"
+
+"You should know whether I do or not."
+
+"Should I? Then I conclude that you do not. You are growing stout. Your
+dress is not in the least neglected. I am certain you enjoy life
+thoroughly. No, you have never known love in all its novelistic-poetic
+outrageousness. That respectable old passion is a myth."
+
+"You look for signs that only children shew. When an oak dies, it does
+not wither and fall at once as a sapling does. Perhaps you will one day
+know what it is to love."
+
+"Perhaps so."
+
+"In any case, you will be able to boast of having inspired the passion."
+
+"I hope so--at least, I mean that it is all nonsense. Do look at that
+vegetable lobster of a thing, that cactus."
+
+"In order to set off its ugliness properly, you should see yourself
+against the background of palms, with that great fan-like leaf for a
+halo, and----"
+
+"Thank you. I see it all in my mind's eye by your eloquent description.
+You are quite right in supposing that I like compliments; but I am
+particular about their quality; and I dont need to be told I am pretty
+in comparison with a hideous cactus. You would not have condescended to
+make such a speech long ago. You are changed."
+
+"Not toward you, on my honor."
+
+"I did not mean that: I meant toward yourself."
+
+"I am glad you have taken even that slender note of me. I find you
+somewhat changed, too."
+
+"I did not know that I shewed it; but it is true. I feel as if Marian
+Lind was a person whom I knew once, but whom I should hardly know
+again."
+
+"The change in me has not produced that effect. I feel as though Marian
+Lind were the history of my life."
+
+"You have become quite a master of the art of saying pretty things. You
+are nearly as glib at it as Ned."
+
+"We have the same incentive to admiration."
+
+"The same! You do not suppose that Ned pays _me_ compliments. He never
+did such a thing in his life. No: I first discovered his talent in that
+direction at Palermo, where I surprised him in an animated discourse
+with the dark-eyed daughter of an innkeeper there. That was the first
+conversation in Italian I succeeded in following. A week later I could
+understand the language almost as well as he. However, dont let us waste
+the whole afternoon talking stuff. I want to ask you about your mother.
+I should greatly like to call upon her; but she has never made me any
+sign since my marriage; and Mrs. Leith Fairfax tells me that she never
+allows my name to be mentioned to her. I thought she was fond of me."
+
+"So she was. But she has never forgiven you for making me suffer as you
+did. You see she has more spirit than I. She would be angered if she saw
+me now tamely following the triumphal chariot of my fair tyrant."
+
+"Seriously, do you think, if I made a raid on Manchester Square some
+morning, I could coax back her old feeling for me?"
+
+"I think you will be quite safe in calling, at all events. Tell me what
+day you intend to venture. I know my mother will not oppose me if I shew
+that I wish you to be kindly received."
+
+"Most disinterested of you. Thank you: I will fail or succeed on my own
+merits, not on your recommendation. You must not say a word to her about
+me or my project."
+
+"If you command me not to----"
+
+"I do command you."
+
+"I must obey. But I fear that the more submissive I am, the more
+imperious you will become."
+
+"Very likely. And now look along that avenue to the left. Do you see a
+man in a brown suit, with straw hat to match, walking towards us at a
+regular pace, and keeping in a perfectly straight course? He looks at
+everybody he passes as if he were counting them."
+
+"He is looking back at somebody now, as if he had missed the number."
+
+"Just so; but that somebody is a woman; doubtless a pretty one, probably
+dark. You recognize him, I see. There is a frost come over you which
+convinces me that you are preparing to receive him in your old
+ungracious way. I warn you that I am accustomed to see Ned made much of.
+He has caught sight of us."
+
+"And has just remarked that there is a man talking to his wife."
+
+"Quite right. See his speculative air! Now he no longer attends to us.
+He is looking at the passers-by as before. That means that he has
+recognized you, and has stowed the observation compactly away in his
+brain, to be referred to when he comes up to us."
+
+"So much method must economize his intellect very profitably. How do you
+do, Mr. Conolly? It is some time since we have had the pleasure of
+meeting."
+
+"Glad to see you, Mr. Douglas. We have been away all the winter. Are you
+staying in London?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I hope you will spend an occasional hour with us at Holland Park."
+
+"You are very kind. Thank you: yes, if Mrs. Conolly will permit me."
+
+"I should make you come home with us now," said Marian, "but for this
+Sunday being a special occasion. Nelly McQuinch is to spend the evening
+with us; and as I have not seen her since we came back, I must have her
+all to myself. Come next Sunday, if you care to."
+
+"Do," said Conolly. "Half past three is our Sunday hour. If you cannot
+face that, we are usually at home afterwards the entire evening. Marian:
+we have exactly fifteen minutes to catch our train."
+
+"Oh! let us fly. If we miss it, Nelly will be kept waiting half an
+hour."
+
+Then they parted, Douglas promising to come to them on that day week.
+
+"Dont you think he is growing very fat?" said she, as they walked away.
+
+"Yes. He is beginning to take the world easily. He does not seem to be
+making much of his life."
+
+"What matter, so long as he enjoys it?"
+
+"Pooh! He doesnt know what enjoyment means."
+
+They said nothing further until they were in the train, where Marian
+sat looking listlessly through the window, whilst Conolly, opposite,
+reclining against the cushions, looked thoughtfully at her.
+
+"Ned," said she, suddenly.
+
+"My dear."
+
+"Do you know that Sholto is more infatuated about me than ever?"
+
+"Naturally. You are lovelier than when he last saw you."
+
+"You are nearly as complimentary as he," said Marian, blushing with a
+gratification which she was very unwilling to betray. "He noticed it
+sooner than you. I discovered it myself in the glass before either of
+you."
+
+"No doubt you did. What station is this?"
+
+"I dont know." Then, raising her voice so as to be overheard, she
+exclaimed "Here is a stupid man coming into our carriage."
+
+A young man entered the compartment, and, after one glance at Marian,
+who turned her back on him impatiently, spent the remainder of the
+journey making furtive attempts to catch a second glimpse of her face.
+Conolly looked a shade graver at his wife's failure in perfect
+self-control; but he by no means shared her feelings toward the
+intrusive passenger. Marian and he were in different humors; and he did
+not wish to be left alone with her.
+
+As they walked from Addison Road railway station to their house, Conolly
+mused in silence with his eyes on the gardens by the way. Marian, who
+wished to talk, followed his measured steps with impatience.
+
+"Let me take your arm, Ned: I cannot keep up with you."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"I hope I am not inconveniencing you," she said, after a further
+interval of silence.
+
+"Hm--no."
+
+"I am afraid I am. It does not matter. I can get on by myself."
+
+"Arm in arm is such an inconvenient and ridiculous mode of
+locomotion--you need not struggle in the public street: now that you
+have got my arm you shall keep it--I say it is such an inconvenient and
+ridiculous mode of locomotion that if you were any one else I should
+prefer to wheel you home in a barrow. Our present mode of proceeding
+would be inexcusable if I were a traction-engine, and you my tender."
+
+"Then let me go. What will the people think if they see a great engineer
+violating the laws of mechanics by dragging his wife by the arm?"
+
+"They will appreciate my motives; and, in fact, if you watch them, you
+will detect a thinly-disguised envy in their countenances. I violate the
+laws of mechanics--to use your own sarcastic phrase--for many reasons. I
+like to be envied when there are solid reasons for it. It gratifies my
+vanity to be seen in this artistic quarter with a pretty woman on my
+arm. Again, the sense of possessing you is no longer an abstraction when
+I hold you bodily, and feel the impossibility of keeping step with you.
+Besides, Man, who was a savage only yesterday, has his infirmities, and
+finds a poetic pleasure in the touch of the woman he loves. And I may
+add that you have been in such a bad temper all the afternoon that I
+suspect you of an itching to box my ears, and therefore feel safer with
+your arm in my custody."
+
+"Oh! _Indeed_ I have not been in a bad temper. I have been most anxious
+to spend a happy day."
+
+"And I have been placidly reflective, and not anxious at all. Is that
+what has provoked you?"
+
+"I am not provoked. But you might tell me what your reflections are
+about."
+
+"They would fill volumes, if I could recollect them."
+
+"You must recollect some of them. From the time we left the station
+until a moment ago, when we began to talk, you were pondering something
+with the deepest seriousness. What was it?"
+
+"I forget."
+
+"Of course you forget--just because I want to know. What a crowded road
+this is!" She disengaged herself from his arm; and this time he did not
+resist her.
+
+"That reminds me of it. The crowd consists partly of people going to the
+pro-Cathedral. The pro-Cathedral contains an altar. An altar suggests
+kneeling on hard stone; and that brings me to the disease called
+'housemaids' knee,' which was the subject of my reflections."
+
+"A pleasant subject for a fine Sunday! Thank you. I dont want to hear
+any more."
+
+"But you will hear more of it; for I am going to have the steps of our
+house taken away and replaced by marble, or slate, or something that can
+be cleaned with a mop and a pail of water in five minutes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"My chain of thought began at the door steps we have passed, all
+whitened beautifully so as to display every footprint, and all
+representing an expenditure of useless, injurious labor in
+hearthstoning, that ought to madden an intelligent housemaid. I dont
+think our Armande is particularly intelligent; but I am resolved to
+spare her knees and her temper in future by banishing hearthstone from
+our establishment forever. I shudder to think that I have been walking
+upon those white steps and flag ways of ours every day without awakening
+to a sense of their immorality."
+
+"I cannot understand why you are always disparaging Armande. And I hate
+an ill-kept house front. None of our housemaids ever objected to
+hearthstoning, or were any the worse for it."
+
+"No. They would not have gained anything by objecting: they would only
+have lost their situations. You need not fear for your house front. I
+will order a porch with porphyry steps and alabaster pillars to replace
+your beloved hearthstone."
+
+"Yes. That will be clever. Do you know how easy it is to stain marble?
+Armande will be on her knees all day with a bottle of turpentine and a
+bit of flannel."
+
+"You are thinking of inkstains, Marian. You forget that it does not rain
+ink, and that Nelly will hardly select the porch to write her novels
+in."
+
+"Lots of people bring ink on a doorstep. Tax collectors and gasmen carry
+bottles in their pockets."
+
+"Ask them into the drawing-room when they call, my dear; or, better
+still, dont pay them, so that they will have no need to write a receipt.
+Let me remind you that ink shews as much on white hearthstone as it can
+possibly do on marble. Yet extensive disfigurements of steps from the
+visits of tax collectors are not common."
+
+"Now, Ned, you know that you are talking utter nonsense."
+
+"Yes, my dear. I think I perceive Nelly looking out of the window for
+us. Here she is at the door."
+
+Marian hastened forward and embraced her cousin. Miss McQuinch looked
+older; and her complexion was drier than before. But she had apparently
+begun to study her appearance; for her hat and shoes were neat and even
+elegant, which they had never been within Marian's previous experience
+of her.
+
+"_You_ are not changed in the least," she said, as she gave Conolly her
+hand. "I have just been wondering at the alteration in Marian. She has
+grown lovely."
+
+"I have been telling her so all day, in the vain hope of getting her
+into a better temper. Come into the drawing-room. Have you been waiting
+for us long?"
+
+"About fifteen minutes. I have been admiring your organ. I should have
+tried the piano; but I did not know whether that was allowable on
+Sunday."
+
+"Oh! Why did you not pound it to your heart's content? Ned scandalizes
+the neighbors every Sunday by continually playing. Armande: dinner as
+soon as possible, please."
+
+"I like this house. It is exactly my idea of a comfortable modern home."
+
+"You must stay long enough to find out its defects," said Conolly. "We
+read your novel at Verona; but we could not agree as to which characters
+you meant to be taken as the good ones."
+
+"That was only Ned's nonsense," said Marian. "Most novels are such
+rubbish! I am sure you will be able to live by writing just as well as
+Mrs. Fairfax can." Conolly shewed Miss McQuinch his opinion of this
+unhappy remark by a whimsical glance, which she repudiated by turning
+sharply away from him, and speaking as affectionately as she could to
+Marian.
+
+After dinner they returned to the drawing-room, which ran from the
+front to the back of the house. Marian opened a large window which gave
+access to the garden, and sat down with Elinor on a little terrace
+outside. Conolly went to the organ.
+
+"May I play a voluntary while you talk?" he asked. "I shall not
+scandalize any one: the neighbors think all music sacred when it is
+played on the organ."
+
+"We have a nice view of the sunset from here," said Marian, in a low
+voice, turning her forehead to the cool evening breeze.
+
+"Stuff!" said Elinor. "We didnt come here to talk about the sunset, and
+what a pretty house you have, and so forth. I want to know--good
+heavens! what a thundering sound that organ makes!"
+
+"Please dont say anything about it to him: he likes it," said Marian.
+"When he wishes to exalt himself, he goes to it and makes it roar until
+the whole house shakes. Whenever he feels an emotional impulse, he vents
+it at the organ or the piano, or by singing. When he stops, he is
+satisfied; his mind is cleared; and he is in a good-humored, playful
+frame of mind, such as _I_ can gratify."
+
+"But you were always very fond of music. Dont you ever play together, as
+we used to do; or sing to one another's accompaniments?"
+
+"I cannot. I hardly ever touch the piano when he is in the house."
+
+"Why? Are you afraid of preventing him from having his turn?"
+
+"No: it is not so much that. But--it sounds very silly--if I attempt to
+play or sing in his presence, I become so frightfully nervous that I
+hardly know what I am doing. I know he does not like my singing."
+
+"Are you sure that is not merely your fancy? It sounds very like it."
+
+"No. At first I used to play a good deal for him, knowing that he was
+fond of music, and fancying--poor fool that I was! [here Marian spoke so
+bitterly that Nelly turned and looked hard at her] that it was part of a
+married woman's duty in a house to supply music after dinner. At that
+time he was working hard at his business; and he spent so much time in
+the city that he had to give up playing himself. Besides, we were flying
+all about England opening those branch offices, and what not. He always
+took me with him; and I really enjoyed it, and took quite an interest in
+the Company. When we were in London, although I was so much alone in the
+daytime, I was happy in anticipating our deferred honeymoon. Then the
+time for that paradise came. Ned said that the Company was able to walk
+by itself at last, and that he was going to have a long holiday after
+his dry-nursing of it. We went first to Paris, where we heard all the
+classical concerts that were given while we were there. I found that he
+never tired of listening to orchestral music; and yet he never ceased
+grumbling at it. He thought nothing of the great artists in Paris. Then
+we went for a tour through Brittany; and there, in spite of his
+classical tastes, he used to listen to the peasants' songs and write
+them down. He seemed to like folk songs of all kinds, Irish, Scotch,
+Russian, German, Italian, no matter where from. So one evening, at a
+lodging where there was a piano, I played for him that old arrangement
+of Irish melodies--you know--'Irish Diamonds,' it is called."
+
+"Oh Lord! Yes, I remember. 'Believe me if all,' with variations."
+
+"Yes. He thought I meant it in jest: he laughed at it, and played a lot
+of ridiculous variations to burlesque it. I didnt tell him that I had
+been in earnest: perhaps you can imagine how I felt about it. Then,
+after that, in Italy, he got permission--or rather bought it--to try the
+organ in a church. It was growing dusk; I was tired with walking; and
+somehow between the sense of repose, and the mysterious twilight in the
+old church, I was greatly affected by his playing. I thought it must be
+part of some great mass or symphony; and I felt how little I knew about
+music, and how trivial my wretched attempts must appear to him when he
+had such grand harmonies at his fingers' ends. But he soon stopped; and
+when I was about to tell him how I appreciated his performance, he said,
+'What an abominable instrument a bad organ is!' I had thought it
+beautiful, of course. I asked him what he had been playing. I said was
+it not by Mozart; and then I saw his eyebrows go up; so I added, as a
+saving clause, that perhaps it was something of his own. 'My dear girl,'
+said he, 'it was only an _entr'acte_ from an opera of Donizetti's.' He
+was carrying my shawl at the time; and he wrapped it about my shoulders
+in the tenderest manner as he said this, and made love to me all the
+evening to console me. In his opinion, the greatest misfortune that can
+happen anyone is to make a fool of oneself; and whenever I do it, he
+pets me in the most delicate manner, as if I were a child who had just
+got a tumble. When we settled down here and got the organ, he began to
+play constantly, and I used to practise the piano in the daytime so as
+to have duets with him. But though he was always ready to play whenever
+I proposed it, he was quite different then from what he was when he
+played by himself. He was all eyes and ears, and the moment I played a
+wrong note he would name the right one. Then I generally got worse and
+stopped. He never lost his patience or complained; but I used to feel
+that he was urging me on, or pulling me back, or striving to get me to
+do something which I could not grasp. Then he would give me up in
+despair, and play on mechanically from the notes before him, thinking of
+something else all the time. I practised harder, and tried again. I
+thought at first I had succeeded; because our duets went so smoothly and
+we were always so perfectly together. But I discovered--by instinct I
+believe--that instead of having a musical treat, he was only trying to
+please me. He thought I liked playing duets with him; and accordingly he
+used to sit down beside me and accompany me faithfully, no matter how I
+chose to play."
+
+"Dear me! Why doesnt he get Rubinstein to play with him, since he is so
+remarkably fastidious?"
+
+"It is not so much mechanical skill that I lack; but there is
+something--I cannot tell what it is. I found it out one night when we
+were at Mrs. Saunders's. She is an incurable flirt; and she was quite
+sure that she had captivated Ned, who is always ready to make love to
+anyone that will listen to him."
+
+"A nice sort of man to be married to!"
+
+"He only does it to amuse himself. He does not really care for them: I
+almost wish he did, sometimes; but it is often none the less provoking.
+What is worse, no amount of flirtation on my part would make _him_
+angry. What happened at Mrs. Saunders's was this. The Scotts, of Putney,
+were there; and the first remark Ned made to me was, 'Who is the woman
+that knows how to walk?' It was Mrs. Scott: you know you used to say
+she moved like a panther. Afterward Mrs. Scott sang 'Caller Herrin' in
+that vulgar Scotch accent that leaks out occasionally in her speech,
+with Ned at the piano. Everybody came crowding in to listen; and there
+was great applause. I cannot understand it: she is as hard and
+matter-of-fact as a woman can be: I dont believe the expression in her
+singing comes one bit from true feeling. I heard Ned say to her, 'Thank
+you, Mrs. Scott: no Englishwoman has the secret of singing a ballad as
+you have it.' I knew very well what that meant. _I_ have not the secret.
+Well, Mrs. Scott came over to me and said 'Mr. Conolly is a very
+_pair_tinaceous man. He persuaded me into shewing him the way the little
+song is sung in Scotland; and I stood up without thinking. And see now,
+I have been _rag_uilarly singing a song in company for the first time in
+my life.' Of course, it was a ridiculous piece of affectation. Ned
+talked about Mrs. Scott all the way home, and played 'Caller Herrin'
+four times next day. That finished my domestic musical career. I have
+never sung for him since, except once or twice when he has asked me to
+try the effect of some passage in one of his music-books."
+
+"And do you never sing when you go out, as you used to?"
+
+"Only when he is not with me, or when people force me to. If he is in
+the room, I am so nervous that I can hardly get through the easiest
+song. He never offers to accompany me now, and generally leaves the room
+when I am asked to sing."
+
+"Perhaps he sees the effect his presence has on you."
+
+"Even so, he ought to stay. He used to like _me_ to listen to _him_, at
+first."
+
+Miss McQuinch looked at the sunset with exceeding glumness. There was
+an ominous pause. Then she said, abruptly, "You remember how we used to
+debate whether marriage was a mistake or not. Have you found out?"
+
+"I dont know."
+
+"That sounds rather as if you did know. Are you quite sure you are not
+in low spirits this evening? He was bantering you about being out of
+temper when you came in. Perhaps you quarrelled at Kew."
+
+"Quarrel! He quarrel! I cannot explain to you how we are situated,
+Nelly. You would not understand me."
+
+"Suppose you try. For instance, is he as fond of you as he was before
+you married him?"
+
+"I dont know."
+
+Miss McQuinch shrugged herself impatiently.
+
+"Really I do not, Nelly. He has changed in a way--I do not quite know
+how or why. At first he was not very ceremonious. He used to make
+remarks about people, and discuss everything that came into his head
+quite freely before me. He was always kind, and never grumbled about his
+dinner, or lost his temper, or anything of that kind; but--it was not
+that he was coarse exactly: he was not that in the least; but he was
+very open and unreserved and plain in his language; and somehow I did
+not quite like it. He must have found this out: he sees and feels
+everything by instinct; for he slipped back into his old manner, and
+became more considerate and attentive than he had ever been before. I
+was made very happy at first by the change; but I do not think he quite
+understood what I wanted. I did not at all object to going down to the
+country with him on his business trips; but he always goes alone now;
+and he never mentions his work to me. And he is too careful as to what
+he says to me. Of course, I know that he is right not to speak ill of
+anybody; but still a man need not be so particular before his wife as
+before strangers. He has given up talking to me altogether: that is the
+plain truth, whatever he may pretend. When we do converse, his manner is
+something like what it was in the laboratory at the Towers. Of course,
+he sometimes becomes more familiar; only then he never seems in earnest,
+but makes love to me in a bantering, half playful, half sarcastic way."
+
+"You are rather hard to please, perhaps. I remember you used to say that
+a husband should be just as tender and respectful after marriage as
+before it. You seem to have broken poor Ned into this; and now you are
+not satisfied."
+
+"Nelly, if there is one subject on which girls are more idiotically
+ignorant than on any other, it is happiness in marriage. A courtier, a
+lover, a man who will not let the winds of heaven visit your face too
+harshly, is very nice, no doubt; but he is not a husband. I want to be a
+wife and not a fragile ornament kept in a glass case. He would as soon
+think of submitting any project of his to the judgment of a doll as to
+mine. If he has to explain or discuss any serious matter of business
+with me, he does so apologetically, as if he were treating me roughly."
+
+"Well, my dear, you see, when he tried the other plan, you did not like
+that either. What is the unfortunate man to do?"
+
+"I dont know. I suppose I was wrong in shrinking from his confidence. I
+am always wrong. It seems to me that the more I try to do right, the
+more mischief I contrive to make."
+
+"This is all pretty dismal, Marian. What sort of conduct on his part
+would make you happy?"
+
+"Oh, there are so many little things. He makes me jealous of everything
+and everybody. I am jealous of the men in the city--I was jealous of the
+sanitary inspector the other day--because he talks with interest to
+them. I know he stays in the city later than he need. It is a relief to
+me to go out in the evening, or to have a few people here once or twice
+a week; but I am angry because I know it is a relief to him too. I am
+jealous even of that organ. How I hale those Bach fugues! Listen to the
+maddening thing twisting and rolling and racing and then mixing itself
+up into one great boom. He can get on with Bach: he can't get on with
+me. I have even condescended to be jealous of other women--of such women
+as Mrs. Saunders. He despises her: he plays with her as dexterously as
+she thinks she plays with him; but he likes to chat with her; and they
+rattle away for a whole evening without the least constraint. She has no
+conscience: she talks absolute nonsense about art and literature: she
+flirts even more disgustingly than she used to when she was Belle
+Woodward; but she is quickwitted, like most Irish people; and she enjoys
+a broad style of jesting which Ned is a great deal too tolerant of,
+though he would as soon die as indulge in it before me. Then there is
+Mrs. Scott, who is just as shrewd as Belle, and much cleverer. I have
+heard him ask her opinion as to whether he had acted well or not in some
+stroke of business--something that I had never heard of, of course. I
+wish I were half as hard and strong and self-reliant as she is. _Her_
+husband would be nothing without her."
+
+"I am afraid I was right all along, Marian. Marriage _is_ a mistake.
+There is something radically wrong in the institution. If you and Ned
+cannot be happy, no pair in the world can."
+
+"We might be very happy if----" Marian stopped to repress a sob.
+
+"Anybody might be very happy If. There is not much consolation in Ifs.
+You could not be better off than you are unless you could be Marian Lind
+again. Think of all the women who would give their souls to have a
+husband who would neither drink, nor swear at them, nor kick them, nor
+sulk whenever he was kept waiting half a minute for anything. You have
+no little pests of children----"
+
+"I wish I had. That would give us some interest in common. We sometimes
+have Lucy, Marmaduke's little girl, up here; and Ned seems to me to be
+fond of her. She is a very bold little thing."
+
+"I saw Marmaduke last week. He is not half so jolly as he was."
+
+"He lives in chambers in Westminster now, and only comes out in this
+direction occasionally to see Lucy. I am afraid _she_ has taken to
+drinking. I believe she is going to America. I hope she is; for she
+makes me uncomfortable when I think of her."
+
+"Does your--your Ned ever speak of her?"
+
+"No. He used to, before he changed as I described. Now, he never
+mentions her. Hush! Here he is."
+
+The sound of the organ had ceased; and Conolly came out and stood
+between them.
+
+"How do you like my consoler, as Marian calls it?" said he.
+
+"Do you mean the organ?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I wasn't listening to you."
+
+"You should have: I played the great fugue in A minor expressly for your
+entertainment: you used to work at Liszt's transcription of it. The
+organ is only occasionally my consoler. For the most part I am driven to
+it by habit and a certain itching in my fingers. Marian is my real
+consoler."
+
+"So she has just been telling me," said Elinor. Conolly's surprise
+escaped him for just a moment in a quick glance at Marian. She colored,
+and looked reproachfully at her cousin, who added, "I am sure you must
+be a nuisance to the neighbors."
+
+"Probably," said Conolly.
+
+"I do not think you should play so much on Sunday," said Marian.
+
+"I know. [Marian winced.] Well, if the neighbors will either melt down
+the church bells they jangle so horribly within fifteen yards or so of
+my unfortunate ears, or else hang them up two hundred feet high in a
+beautiful tower where they would sound angelic, as they do at Utrecht,
+then perhaps I will stop the organ to listen to them. Until then, I will
+take the liberty of celebrating the day of rest with such devices as the
+religious folk cannot forbid me."
+
+"Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned."
+
+"My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss McQuinch. I admit
+that it does not, at first sight, seem pretty or sentimental. But I do
+not know how even Marian can prefer the church bells to Bach."
+
+"What do you mean by '_even_ Marian'?" said Elinor, sharply.
+
+"I should have said, 'Marian, who is tolerant and kind to everybody and
+everything.' I hope you have forgiven me for carrying her off from you,
+Miss McQuinch. You are adopting an ominous tone toward me. I fear she
+has been telling you of our quarrels, and my many domestic
+shortcomings."
+
+"No," said Elinor. "As far as I can judge from her account, you are a
+monotonously amiable husband."
+
+"Indeed! Hm! Would you like your coffee out here?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do not stir, Marian: I will ring for it."
+
+When he was gone, Marian said "Nelly: for Heaven's sake say nothing that
+could make the slightest coldness between Ned and me. I am clinging to
+him with all my heart and soul; and you must help me. Those sharp things
+that you say to him stab me cruelly; and he is clever enough to guess
+everything I have said to you from them."
+
+"If I cannot keep myself from making mischief, I shall go away," said
+Elinor. "Dont suppose I am in a huff: I am quite serious. I have an
+unlucky tongue; and my disposition is such that when I see that a jug is
+cracked, I feel more inclined to smash and have done with it than to
+mend it and handle it tenderly ever after. However, I hope your marriage
+is not a cracked jug yet."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+On the following Wednesday Douglas called on his mother at Manchester
+Square in the afternoon. As if to emphasize the purely filial motive of
+his visit, he saluted his mother so affectionately that she was
+emboldened to be more demonstrative with him than she usually ventured
+to be.
+
+"My darling boy," she said, holding him fondly for a moment, "this is
+the second visit you have paid your poor old mother this week. I want to
+speak to you about something, too. Marian has been with me this
+morning."
+
+"What! Has she gone?" said Douglas.
+
+"Why?" said Mrs. Douglas. "Did you know she was coming?"
+
+"She mentioned to me that she intended to come," he replied, carelessly;
+"but she bade me not to tell you."
+
+"That accounts for your two visits. Well, Sholto, I do not blame you for
+spending your time in gayer places than this."
+
+"You must not reproach me for neglecting you, mother. You know my
+disposition. I am seldom good company for any one; and I do not care to
+come only to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am morose. I
+hope you received Marian kindly."
+
+"I did not expect to see her; and I told her so."
+
+"Mother!"
+
+"But it made no difference. There is no holding her in check now,
+Sholto; she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father or
+you. What could I do but kiss and forgive her? She got the better of
+me."
+
+"Yes," said Douglas, gloomily. "She has a wonderful face."
+
+"The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I hope you will not
+go to her house too often."
+
+"Do you doubt my discretion, mother?"
+
+"No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasantness arising between
+you and that man. These working men are so savage to their wives, and so
+jealous of gentlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at all."
+
+"Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a navvy in fustian and
+corduroys. He seems a sensible man: his address is really remarkably
+good, considering what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite the
+reverse. His head is full of figures and machinery; and I am told that
+he does nothing at home but play the piano. He must bore Marian
+terribly. I do not want to go to his house particularly; but Marian and
+he are, of course, very sensitive to anything that can be construed as a
+slight; and I shall visit them once or twice to prevent them from
+thinking that I wish to snub Conolly. He will be glad enough to have me
+at his dinner-table. I am afraid I must hurry away now: I have an
+appointment at the club. Can I do anything for you in town?"
+
+"No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have stayed with me for a
+cup of tea."
+
+"Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the club."
+
+"If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come again
+soon, will you not?"
+
+"Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother."
+
+Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had no
+real appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother,
+who, though a little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relieved
+by being rid of him. They maintained toward one another an attitude
+which their friends found beautiful and edifying; but, like artists'
+models, they found the attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practice
+and its dignity.
+
+At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted.
+Turning, he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little
+behind him.
+
+"Where are you going to?" said Marmaduke, abruptly.
+
+"Why do you ask?" said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right of
+another to question him.
+
+"I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch somewhere, will you?"
+
+"Yes, if you wish."
+
+"Let's go to the South Kensington Museum."
+
+"The South----! My dear fellow, why not suggest Putney, or the Star and
+Garter? Why do you wish to go westward from Hyde Park in search of
+luncheon?"
+
+"I have a particular reason. I am to meet someone at the Museum this
+afternoon; and I want to ask your advice first. You might as well come;
+it's only a matter of a few minutes if we drive."
+
+"Well, as you please. I have not been to the Museum for years."
+
+"All right. Come al----oh, damn! There's Lady Carbury and Constance
+coming out of the Park. Dont look at them. Come on."
+
+But Constance, sitting a little more uprightly than her mother, who was
+supine upon the carriage cushions, had seen the two gentlemen as they
+stood talking.
+
+"Mamma," she said, "there's Marmaduke and Sholto Douglas."
+
+"Where???" said the Countess, lifting her head quickly. "Josephs, drive
+slowly. Where are they, Constance?"
+
+"They are going away. I believe Marmaduke saw us. There he is, passing
+the hospital."
+
+"We must go and speak to them. Look pleasant, child; and dont make a
+fool of yourself."
+
+"Surely youll not speak to him, mamma! You dont expect me----"
+
+"Nonsense. I heard a great deal about him the other day. He has moved
+from where he was living, and is quite reformed. His father is very ill.
+Do as I tell you. Josephs, stop half way to the hotel."
+
+"I say," said Marmaduke, finding himself out-manoeuvred: "come back.
+There they are right ahead, confound them. What are they up to?"
+
+"It cannot be helped," said Douglas. "There is no escape. You must not
+cross: it would be pointedly rude."
+
+Marmaduke went on grumbling. When he attempted to pass, the Countess
+called his name, and greeted him with smiles.
+
+"We want to know how your father is," she said. "We have had such
+alarming accounts of him. I hope he is better."
+
+"They havnt told me much about him," said Marmaduke. "There was deuced
+little the matter with the governor when I saw him last."
+
+"Wicked prodigal! What shall we do to reform him, Mr. Douglas? He has
+not been to see us for three years past, and during that time we have
+had the worst reports of him."
+
+"You never asked me to go and see you."
+
+"Silly fellow! Did you expect me to send you invitations and leave cards
+on you, who are one of ourselves? Come to-morrow to dinner. Your uncle
+the Bishop will be there; and you will see nearly all the family
+besides. You cannot plead that you have not been invited now. Will you
+come?"
+
+"No. I cant stand the Bishop. Besides, I have taken to dining in the
+middle of the day."
+
+"Come after dinner, then?"
+
+"Mamma," said Constance, peevishly, "can't you see that he does not want
+to come at all? What is the use of persecuting him?"
+
+"No, I assure you," said Marmaduke. "It's only the Bishop I object to.
+I'll come after dinner, if I can."
+
+"And pray what is likely to prevent you?" said the Countess.
+
+"Devilment of some sort, perhaps," he replied. "Since you have all given
+me a bad name, I dont see why I should make any secret of earning it."
+
+The Countess smiled slyly at him, implying that she was amused, but must
+not laugh at such a sentiment in Constance's presence. Then, turning so
+as to give the rest of the conversation an air of privacy, she
+whispered, "I must tell you that you no longer have a bad name. It is
+said that your wild oats are all sown, and I will answer for it that
+even the Bishop will receive you with open arms."
+
+"And dry my repentant tears on his apron, the old hypocrite," said
+Marmaduke, speaking rather more loudly than before. "Well, we must be
+trotting. We are going to the South Kensington Museum--to improve our
+minds."
+
+"Why, that is where we are going; at least, Constance is. She is going
+to work at her painting while I pay a round of visits. Wont you come
+with us?"
+
+"Thank you: I'd rather walk. A man should have gloves and a proper hat
+for your sort of travelling."
+
+"Nonsense! you look very nice. Besides, it is only down the Brompton
+Road."
+
+"The worst neighborhood in London to be seen in with me. I know all
+sorts of queer people down Brompton way. I should have to bow to them if
+we met; and that wouldnt do before _her_,"--indicating Constance, who
+was conversing with Douglas.
+
+"You are incorrigible: I give you up. Good-bye, and dont forget
+to-morrow evening."
+
+"I wonder," said Marmaduke, as the carriage drove off, "what she's
+saying about me to Constance now."
+
+"That you are the rudest man in London, perhaps."
+
+"Serve her right! I hate her. I have got so now that I can't stand that
+sort of woman. You see her game, dont you; she can't get Constance off
+her hands; and she thinks there's a chance of me still. How well she
+knows about the governor's state of health! And Conny, too, grinning at
+me as if we were the best friends in the world. If that girl had an
+ounce of spirit she would not look on the same side of the street with
+me."
+
+Douglas, without replying, called a cab. Marmaduke's loud conversation
+was irksome in the street, and it was now clear that he was unusually
+excited. At the museum they alighted, and passed through the courts into
+the grill-room, where they sat down together at a vacant table, and
+ordered luncheon.
+
+"You were good enough to ask my advice about something," said Douglas.
+"What is the matter?"
+
+"Well," said Marmaduke, "I am in a fix. Affairs have become so
+uncomfortable at home that I have had to take up my quarters elsewhere."
+
+"I did not know that you had been living at home. I thought your father
+and you were on the usual terms."
+
+"My father! Look here: I mean home--_my_ home. My place at Hammersmith,
+not down at the governor's."
+
+"Oh! I beg your pardon."
+
+"Of course, you know all about my establishment there with Lalage
+Virtue? her real name is Susanna Conolly."
+
+"Is it true, then, that she is a cousin of Marian's husband?"
+
+"Cousin! She's his sister, and Marian's sister-in-law."
+
+"I never believed it."
+
+"It's true enough. But thats not the mischief. Douglas: I tell you she's
+the cleverest woman in London. She can do anything she likes. She can
+manage a conversation with any foreigner in his own language, whether
+she knows it or not. She gabbles Italian like a native. She can learn
+off her part in a new piece, music and all, between breakfast and
+luncheon, any day. She can cook: she can make a new bonnet out of the
+lining of an old coat: she can drive a bargain with a Jew. She says she
+never learns a thing at all unless she can learn it in ten minutes. She
+can fence, and shoot. She can dance anything in the world. I never knew
+such a mimic as she is. If you saw her take off the Bones at the Christy
+Minstrels, you'd say she was the lowest of the low. Next minute she will
+give herself the airs of a duchess, or do the ingenuous in a style that
+would make Conny burst with envy. To see her preaching like George would
+make you laugh for a week. There's nothing she couldnt do if she chose.
+And now, what do you think she has taken to? Liquor. Champagne by the
+gallon. She used to drink it by the bottle: now she drinks it by the
+dozen--by the case. She wanted it to keep up her spirits. That was the
+way it began. If she felt down, a glass of champagne would set her up.
+Then she was always feeling down, and always setting herself up. At last
+feeling down came to mean the same thing as being sober. You dont know
+what a drunken woman is, Douglas, unless youve lived in the same house
+with one." Douglas recoiled, and looked very sternly at Marmaduke, who
+proceeded more vehemently. "She's nothing but a downright beast. She's
+either screaming at you in a fit of rage, or clawing at you in a fit of
+fondness that makes you sick. When she falls asleep, there she is, a
+besotted heap tumbled anyhow into bed, snoring and grunting like a pig.
+When she wakes, she begins planning how to get more liquor. Think of
+what you or I would feel if we saw our mothers tipsy. By God, that child
+of mine wouldnt believe its eyes if it saw its mother sober. Only for
+Lucy, I'd have pitched her over long ago. I did all I could when I first
+saw that she was overdoing the champagne. I swore I'd break the neck of
+any man I caught bringing wine into the house. I sacked the whole staff
+of servants twice because I found a lot of fresh corks swept into the
+dustpan. I stopped drinking at home myself: I got in doctors to frighten
+her: I tried bribing, coaxing, threatening: I knocked her down once when
+I caught her with a bottle in her hand; and she fell with her head
+against the fender, and frightened me a good deal more than she hurt
+herself. It was no use. Sometimes she used to defy me, and say she
+_would_ drink, she didnt care whether she was killing herself or not.
+Other times she cried; implored me to save her from destroying herself;
+asked me why I didnt thrash the life out of her whenever I caught her
+drunk; promised on her oath never to touch another drop. The same
+evening she would be drunk again, and, when I taxed her with it, say
+that she wasn't drunk, that she was sick, and that she prayed the
+Almighty on her knees to strike her dead if she had a bottle in the
+house. Aye, and the very stool she knelt on would be a wine case with a
+red cloth stuck to it with a few gilt-headed nails to make it look like
+a piece of furniture. Next day she would laugh at me for believing her,
+and ask me what use I supposed there was in talking to her. How she
+managed to hold on at the theatre, I dont know. She wouldnt learn new
+parts, and stuck to old ones that she could do in her sleep, she knew
+them so well. She would go on the stage and get through a long part when
+she couldnt walk straight from the wing to her dressing-room. Of course,
+her voice went to the dogs long ago; but by dint of screeching and
+croaking she pulls through. She says she darent go on sober now; that
+she knows she should break down. The theatre has fallen off, too. The
+actors got out of the place one by one--they didnt like playing with
+her--and were replaced by a third-rate lot. The audiences used to be
+very decent: now they are all cads and fast women. The game is up for
+her in London. She has been offered an engagement in America on the
+strength of her old reputation; but what is the use of it if she
+continues drinking."
+
+"That is very sad," said Douglas, with cold disgust, perfunctorily
+veiled by a conventional air of sympathy. "But if she is irreclaimable,
+why not leave her?"
+
+"So I would, only for the child. I _have_ left her--at least, I've taken
+lodgings in town; but I am always running out to Laurel Grove. I darent
+trust Lucy to her; and she knows it; for she wouldnt let me take the
+poor little creature away, although she doesnt care two straws for it.
+She knows that it gives her a grip over me. Well, I have not seen her
+for a week past. I have tried the trick of only going out in the evening
+when she has to be at the theatre. And now she has sent me a long
+letter; and I dont exactly know what to do about it. She swears she has
+given up drinking--not touched a spoonful since I saw her last. She's as
+superstitious as an old woman; and yet she will swear to that lie with
+oaths that make _me_ uncomfortable, although I am pretty thick-skinned
+in religious matters. Then she goes drivelling on about me having
+encouraged her to drink at first, and then turned upon her and deserted
+her when I found out the mischief I had done. I used to stand plenty of
+champagne, but I am sure I never thought what would come of it. Then she
+says she gave up every friend in the world for me: broke with her
+brother, and lost her place in society. _Her_ place in society, mind
+you, Douglas! Thats not bad, is it? Then, of course, I am leaving her to
+die alone with her helpless child: I might have borne with her a little
+longer: she will not trouble me nor anyone else much more; and so on.
+The upshot is that she wants me to come back. She says I ought to be
+there to save the child from her, if I dont care to save her from
+herself; that I was the last restraint on her; and that if I dont come
+she will make an end of the business by changing her tipple to prussic
+acid. The whole thing is a string of maudlin rot from beginning to end;
+and I believe she primed herself with about four bottles of champagne to
+write it. Still, I dont want to leave her in the lurch. You are a man
+who stand pretty closely on your honor. Do you think I ought to go back?
+I may tell you that as regards money she is under no compliment to me.
+Her earnings were a good half of our income; and she saved nothing out
+of them. In fact, I owe her some money for two or three old debts she
+paid for me. We always shared like husband and wife."
+
+"I hardly understand your hesitation, Lind. You can take the little girl
+out of her hands; allow her something; and be quit of her."
+
+"Thats very easy to say; but I cant drag her child away from her if she
+insists on keeping it."
+
+"Well, so much the better for you. It would be a burden to you. Pay her
+for its maintenance: that is probably what she wants."
+
+"No, no," said Marmaduke, impatiently. "You dont understand. Youre
+talking as if I were a rake living with a loose woman."
+
+Douglas looked at him doubtfully. "I confess I do not understand," he
+said. "Perhaps you will be good enough to explain."
+
+"It's very simple. I went to live with her because I fell in love with
+her, and she wouldnt marry me. She had a horror of marriage; and I was
+naturally not very eager for it myself. Matters must be settled between
+us as if we were husband and wife. Paying her off is all nonsense. She
+doesnt want money; and I want the child; so she has the advantage of me.
+Only for the drink I would go back to her to-morrow; but I cant stand
+her when she is not sober. I bore with it long enough; and now all I
+want is to get Lucy out of her hands and be quit of her, as you
+say--although it seems mean to leave her."
+
+"She must certainly be a very extraordinary woman if she refused to
+marry you. Are you sure she is not married already?"
+
+"Bosh! Not she. She likes to be independent; and she has a sort of
+self-respect--not like Constance and the old Countess, who hunted me
+long enough in the hope of running me down at last in a church."
+
+"If you offered her marriage, that certainly frees you from the least
+obligation to stay with her. She reserved liberty to leave you; and, of
+course, the same privilege was implied on your part. If you have no
+sentimental wish to return to her, you are most decidedly not bound in
+honor to."
+
+"I'm fond enough of her when she is sober; but I loathe her when she is
+fuddled. If she would only give up drinking, we might make a fresh
+start. But she wont."
+
+"You must not think of doing that. Get rid of her, my dear fellow. This
+marriage of Marian's has put the affair on a new footing altogether. I
+tell you candidly, I think that under the circumstances your connexion
+with Conolly's sister is a disgraceful one."
+
+"Hang Conolly! Everybody thinks of Marian, and nobody of Susanna. I
+have heard enough of that side of the question. Marian married him with
+her eyes open."
+
+"Do you mean to say that she knew?"
+
+"Of course she did. Conolly told her, fairly enough. He's an
+extraordinary card, that fellow."
+
+"Reginald Lind told my mother that the discovery was made by accident
+after the marriage, and that they were all shocked by it. It was he who
+said that it was Conolly's _cousin_ that you were with."
+
+"Uncle Rej. is an old liar. So are most of the family: I never believe a
+word they say."
+
+"Marian must have been infatuated. I advise you to break the connexion.
+She will be glad to give you the child if she sees that you are resolved
+to leave her. She only holds on because she hopes to make it the means
+of bringing you back."
+
+"I expect youre about right. She wants me to meet her here to-day at
+half past three. Thats the reason I came."
+
+"Do you know that it now wants twenty minutes of four?"
+
+"Whew! So it does. I had better go and look for her. I'm very much
+obliged to you, old fellow, for talking it over with me. I suppose you
+dont want to meet her."
+
+"I should be in the way at present."
+
+"Then good-bye."
+
+Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to the
+picture galleries, where several students were more or less busy at
+their easels. Lady Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying
+"Sterne's Maria," by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She had been
+annoyed some minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a rich
+costume of black silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect her
+drawing. Lady Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she was
+considered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady Constance out
+of countenance, and then deliberately scanned her work with an
+expression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit. Having thus
+revenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute,
+and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. A few minutes
+later Marmaduke entered, looking round as if in search of someone.
+
+"Here I am," said Constance to him, playfully.
+
+"So I see," said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful astonishment.
+"You knew I was looking for you, did you?"
+
+"Of course I did, sir."
+
+"Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing here?"
+
+"Dont you see? I am copying a picture."
+
+"Oh! it's very pretty. Which one are you copying?"
+
+"What an impertinent question! You can tell my poor copy well enough,
+only you pretend not to."
+
+"Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it's a little like Mary the
+maid of the inn there."
+
+"It's not Mary: it's Maria--Sterne's Maria."
+
+"Indeed! Do you read Sterne?"
+
+"Certainly not," said Constance, looking very serious.
+
+"Then what do you paint his Maria for? How do you know whether she is a
+fit subject for you?"
+
+"Hush, sir! You must not interrupt my work."
+
+"I suppose you have lots of fun here over your art studies, eh?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"You, and all the other girls here."
+
+"Oh, I am sure I dont know any of them."
+
+"Quite right, too, your ladyship. Dont make yourself cheap. I hope none
+of the low beggars ever have the audacity to speak to you."
+
+"I dont know anything about them," said Lady Constance, pettishly. "All
+I mean is that they are strangers to me."
+
+"Most likely theyll remain so. You all seem to stick to the little
+pictures tremendously. Why dont you go in for high art? There's a big
+picture of Adam and Eve! Why dont you paint that?"
+
+"Will you soon be leaving town?" she replied, looking steadily at her
+work, and declining to discuss Adam and Eve, who were depicted naked.
+Receiving no reply, she looked round, and saw Marmaduke leaving the room
+with the woman in the black silk dress.
+
+"Who is that girl?" said Susanna, as they went out.
+
+"That's Lady Constance, whom I was to have married."
+
+"I guessed as much when I saw you talking to her. She is a true English
+lady, heaven bless her! I took the liberty of looking at her painting;
+and she stared at me as if I had bitten her."
+
+"She is a little fool."
+
+"She will not be such a little fool as to try to snub me again, I think.
+Bob: did you get my letter?"
+
+"Of course I got it, or I shouldnt be here."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, I dont believe a word of it."
+
+"That's plain speaking."
+
+"There is no use mincing matters. You are just as likely to stop
+drinking as you are to stop breathing."
+
+"Perhaps I shall stop breathing before long."
+
+"Very likely, at your present rate."
+
+"That will be a relief to you."
+
+"It will be a relief to everybody, and a release for yourself. You have
+made me miserable for a year past; and now you expect me to be
+frightened at the prospect of being rid of you."
+
+"I dont expect you to be frightened. I expect you to do what all men do:
+throw me aside as soon as I have served your turn."
+
+"Yes. Of course, _you_ are the aggrieved party. Where's Lucy?"
+
+"I dont know, and I dont care."
+
+"Well, I want to know; and I do care. Is she at home?"
+
+"How do I know whether she is at home or not. I left her there. Very
+likely she is with her Aunt Marian, telling stories about her mother."
+
+"She is better there than with you. What harm has she done you that you
+should talk about her in that way?"
+
+"No harm. I dont object to her being there. She has very pleasant
+conversations with Mrs. Ned, which she retails to me at home. 'Aunty
+Marian: why do you never drink champagne? Mamma is always drinking it.'
+And then, 'Mamma: why do you drink so much wine? Aunty Marian never
+drinks any.' Good heavens! the little devil told me this morning by way
+of consolation that she always takes care not to tell her Aunty that I
+get drunk."
+
+"What did you do to her for saying it?"
+
+"Dont lose your temper. I didnt strangle her, nor even box her ears.
+Why should I? She only repeats what you teach her."
+
+"She repeats what her eyes and ears teach her. If she learned the word
+from me, she learned the meaning from you. A nice lesson for a child
+hardly three years old."
+
+Susanna sat down on a bench, and looked down at her feet. After a few
+moments, she tightened her lips; rose; and walked away.
+
+"Hallo! Where are you going to?" said Marmaduke, following her.
+
+"I'm going to get some drink. I have been sober and miserable ever since
+I wrote to you. I have not got much thanks for it, except to be made
+more miserable. So I'll get drunk, and be happy."
+
+"No, you shant," said Marmaduke, seizing her arm, and forcibly stopping
+her.
+
+"What does it matter to you whether I do or not? You say you won't come
+back. Then leave me to go my own way."
+
+"Here! you sit down," he said, pushing her into a chair. "I know your
+game well enough. You think you have me safe as long as you have the
+child."
+
+"Oh, thats it, is it? Why dont you go out; take a cab; and go to Laurel
+Grove for her? There is nothing to prevent you taking her away."
+
+"I have a good mind to do it."
+
+"Well, _do_ it. I wont stop you. Why didnt you do it long ago? Her home
+is no place for her. I'm not fit to have charge of her. I have no fancy
+for having her talking about me, and most likely mimicking me to other
+people."
+
+"Thats exactly what I want to arrange with you to do, if you will only
+be reasonable. Listen. Let us part friends, Susanna, since there is no
+use in our going on together. You must give me the child. It would only
+be a burden to you; and I can have it well taken care of. You can keep
+the house just as it is: I will pay the rent of it."
+
+"What good is the house to me?"
+
+"Can't you hear me out? It will be good to you to live in, I suppose; or
+you can set it on fire, and wipe it off the face of the earth, for what
+I care. I can give you five hundred pounds down----"
+
+"Five hundred pounds! And what will you live on until your October
+dividends come in? On credit, I suppose. Do you think you can impose on
+me by flourishing money before me? I will never take a halfpenny from
+you; no, not if I starve for it."
+
+"Thats all nonsense, Susanna. You must."
+
+"Must I? Do you think you can make me take your money as you made me sit
+down here? by force!"
+
+"I only offer you what I owe you. Those debts----"
+
+"I dont want what you owe me. If you think it mean to leave me, you
+shant plaster up your conscience with bank notes. You would like to be
+able to say in your club that you treated me handsomely."
+
+"I dont think it mean to leave you, not a bit of it. Any other man would
+have left you months ago. If I had married that little fool inside
+there, and she had taken to drink, I wouldnt have stood it a week. I
+have stood it from you nearly a year. Can you expect me to stay under
+the same roof with you, with the very thought of you making me sick and
+angry? I was looking at some of your old likenesses the other day; and
+I declare that it is enough to make a man cry to look at your face now
+and listen to your voice. When you used to lecture me for losing a
+twenty pound note at billiards, and coming home half screwed--no man
+shall ever see me drunk again--I little thought which of us would be the
+first to go to the dogs."
+
+"I shall not trouble you long."
+
+"What is the use of harping on that? I have seen you drunk so often that
+I should almost be glad to see you dead."
+
+"Stop!" said Susanna, rising. "All right: you need say no more. Talking
+will not remedy matters; and it makes me feel pretty much as if you were
+throwing big stones at my heart. Youre in the right, I suppose: I've
+chosen to make a beast of myself, and I must take the consequences. You
+can have the child. I will send for my things: you wont see me at Laurel
+Grove again. Good-bye."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Dont say another word, Bob. Good-bye." He took her hand irresolutely.
+She drew it quickly away; nodded to him; and went out, whilst he stood
+wondering whether it would be safe--seeing that he did not desire a
+reconciliation--to kiss her good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+On Sunday afternoon Douglas walked, facing a glorious sunset, along
+Uxbridge Road to Holland Park, where he found Mrs. Conolly, Miss
+McQuinch, and Marmaduke. A little girl was playing in the garden. They
+were all so unconstrained, and so like their old selves, that Douglas at
+once felt that Conolly was absent.
+
+"I am to make Ned's excuses," said Marian. "He has some pressing family
+affairs to arrange." She seemed about to explain further; but Marmaduke
+looked so uneasily at her that she stopped. Then, resuming gaily, she
+added, "I told Ned that he need not stand on ceremony with you. Fancy my
+saying that of you, the most punctilious of men!"
+
+"Quite right. I am glad that Mr. Conolly has not suffered me to
+interfere with his movements," he replied, with a smile, which he
+suppressed as he turned and greeted Miss McQuinch with his usual cold
+composure. But to Marmaduke, who seemed much cast down, he gave an
+encouraging squeeze of the hand. Not that he was moved by the
+misfortunes of Marmaduke; but he was thawed by the beauty of Marian.
+
+"We shall have a pleasant evening," continued Marian. "Let us fancy
+ourselves back at Westbourne Terrace again. Reminiscences make one feel
+so deliciously aged and sad. Let us think that it is one of our old
+Sunday afternoons. Sholto had better go upstairs and shave, to heighten
+the illusion."
+
+"Not for me, since I cannot see myself, particularly if I have to call
+you Mrs. Conolly. If I may call you Marian, as I used to do, I think
+that our conversation will contain fewer reminders of the lapse of
+time."
+
+"Of course," said Marian, disregarding an anxious glance from Elinor.
+"What else should you call me? We were talking about Nelly's fame when
+you came in. The colonial edition of her book has just appeared. Behold
+the advertisement!"
+
+There was a newspaper open on the table; and Marian pointed to one of
+its columns as she spoke. Douglas took it up and read the following:
+
+  Now Ready, a New and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 5s.
+
+  THE WATERS OF MARAH,
+
+  BY ELINOR MCQUINCH.
+
+  "Superior to many of the numerous tales which find a ready sale at
+  the railway bookstall." _Athenaeum_.
+
+  "There is nothing to fatigue, and something to gratify, the idle
+  reader." _Examiner_.
+
+  "There is a ring of solid metal in 'The Waters of Marah.'" _Daily
+  Telegraph_.
+
+  "Miss McQuinch has fairly established her claim to be considered
+  the greatest novelist of the age." _Middlingtown Mercury._
+
+  "Replete with thrilling and dramatic incident..... Instinct with
+  passion and pathos." _Ladies' Gazette_.
+
+  TABUTEAU & SON, COVENT GARDEN.
+
+"That is very flattering," said Douglas, as he replaced the paper on the
+table.
+
+"Highly so," said Elinor. "Coriolanus displaying his wounds in the
+Forum is nothing to it." And she abruptly took the paper, and threw it
+disgustedly behind the sofa. Just then a message from the kitchen
+engaged Marian's attention, and Douglas, to relieve her from her guests
+for the moment, strolled out upon the little terrace, whither Marmaduke
+had moodily preceded him.
+
+"Still in your difficulties, Lind?" he said, with his perfunctory air of
+concern, looking at the garden with some interest.
+
+"I'm out of my difficulties clean enough," said Marmaduke. "There's the
+child among the currant bushes; and I am rid of her mother: for good, I
+suppose."
+
+"So much the better! I hope it has not cost you too much."
+
+"Not a rap. I met her in the museum after our confab on Wednesday, and
+told her what you recommended: that I must have the child, and that she
+must go. She said all right, and shook hands. I havnt seen her since."
+
+"I congratulate you."
+
+"I dont feel comfortable about her."
+
+"Absurd, man! What better could you have done?"
+
+"Thats just what I say. It was her own fault; I did all in my power. I
+offered her five hundred pounds down. She wouldnt have it, of course;
+but could I help that? Next day, when she sent her maid for her things,
+I felt so uneasy that I came to Conolly, and told him the whole affair.
+He behaved very decently about it, and said that I might as well have
+left her six months ago for all the good my staying had done or was
+likely to do. He has gone off to see her to-day--she is in lodgings
+somewhere near the theatre; and he will let me know in case any money
+is required. I should like to know what they are saying to one another
+about me. They're a rum pair."
+
+"Well, let us eat and drink; for to-morrow we die," said Douglas, with
+an unnatural attempt at humor. "Marian seems happy. We must not spoil
+her evening."
+
+"Yes: she is always in good spirits when he is away."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"It seems to me that they dont pull together. I think she is afraid of
+him."
+
+"You dont mean to say that he ill-treats her?" said Douglas, fiercely.
+
+"No: I dont mean that he thrashes her, or anything of that sort. And yet
+he is just that sort of chap that I shouldnt be surprised at anything he
+might do. As far as ordinary matters go, he seems to treat her
+particularly well. But Ive noticed that she shuts up and gets anxious
+when he comes into the room; and he has his own way in everything."
+
+"Is that all? He embarrasses her by his behavior, I suppose. Perhaps she
+is afraid of his allowing his breeding to peep out."
+
+"Not she. His manners are all right enough. Besides, as he is a genius
+and a celebrity and all that, people dont expect him to be conventional.
+He might stand on his head, if he chose."
+
+"Sholto," said Marian, joining them: "have you spoken to little Lucy?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you are unacquainted with the most absolute imp on the face of the
+earth," said Elinor. "You neednt frown, Marmaduke: it is you who have
+made her so."
+
+"Leave her alone," said Marmaduke to Marian, who was about to call the
+child. "Petting babies is not in Douglas's line: she will only bore
+him."
+
+"Not at all," said Douglas.
+
+"It does not matter whether she bores him or not," said Marian. "He must
+learn to take a proper interest in children. Lucy: come here."
+
+Lucy stopped playing, and said, "What for?"
+
+"Because I ask you to, dear," said Marian, gently.
+
+The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. Miss
+McQuinch laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down the
+garden. Lucy did not perceive him until he was within a few steps of
+her, when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the other side
+of a flower-bed too wide for him to spring across. He gave chase; but
+she, with screams of laughter, avoided him by running to and fro so as
+to keep on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it was undignified to
+dodge his child thus, he stopped and bade her come to him; but she only
+laughed the more. He called her in tones of command, entreaty,
+expostulation, and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly. She
+placed her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; spread her fingers;
+and made him a curtsy. He uttered an imprecation, and returned angrily
+to the house, saying, between his teeth:
+
+"Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate."
+
+"She is really too bad to-day," said Marian. "I am quite shocked at
+her."
+
+"She is quite right not to come in and be handed round for inspection
+like a doll," said Elinor.
+
+"She is very bold not to come when she is told," said Marian.
+
+"Yes, from your point of view," said Elinor. "I like bold children."
+
+Marmaduke was sulky and Marian serious for some time after this
+incident. They recovered their spirits at dinner, when Marian related to
+Douglas how she had become reconciled to his mother. Afterward,
+Marmaduke suggested a game at whist.
+
+"Oh no, not on Sunday," said Marian. "Whist is too wicked."
+
+"Then what the dickens _may_ we do?" said Marmaduke. "May Nelly play
+_�cart�_ with me?"
+
+"Well, please dont play for money. And dont sit close to the front
+window."
+
+"Come along, then, Nell. You two may sing hymns, if you like."
+
+"I wish you could sing, Sholto," said Marian. "It is an age since we
+last had a game of chess together. Do you still play?"
+
+"Yes," said Douglas; "I shall be delighted. But I fear you will beat me
+now, as I suppose you have been practising with Mr. Conolly."
+
+"Playing with Ned! No: he hates chess. He says it is a foolish expedient
+for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever when
+they are only wasting their time. He actually grumbled about the price
+of the table and the pieces; but I insisted on having them, I suppose in
+remembrance of you."
+
+"It is kind of you to say that, Marian. Will you have black or white?"
+
+"White, please, unless you wish me to be always making moves with your
+men."
+
+"Now. Will you move?"
+
+"I think I had rather you began. Remember our old conditions. You are
+not to checkmate me in three moves; and you are not to take my queen."
+
+"Very well. You may rely upon it I shall think more of my adversary than
+of my game. Check."
+
+"Oh! You have done it in three moves. That is not fair. I won't play any
+more unless you take back that."
+
+"No, I assure you it is not checkmate. My bishop should be at the other
+side for that. There! of course, that will do."
+
+"What a noise Marmaduke makes over his cards! I hope the people next
+door will not hear him swearing."
+
+"Impossible. You must not move that knight: it exposes your king. Do you
+know, I think there is a great charm about this house."
+
+"Indeed? Yes, it is a pretty house."
+
+"And this sunset hour makes it additionally so; Besides, it is
+inexpressibly sad to see you here, a perfectly happy and perfectly
+beautiful mistress of this romantic foreign home."
+
+"What do you mean, Sholto?"
+
+"I call it a foreign home because, though it is yours, I have no part
+nor lot in it. Remember, we are only playing at old times to-night.
+Everything around, from the organ to the ring on your finger, reminds me
+that I am a stranger here. It seems almost unkind of you to regret
+nothing whilst I am full of regrets."
+
+"Check," said Marian. "Mind your game, sir."
+
+"Flippant!" exclaimed Douglas, impatiently moving his king. "I verily
+believe that if your husband were at the bottom of the Thames at this
+moment, you would fly off unconcernedly to some other nest, and break
+hearts with as much indifference as ever."
+
+"I wish you would not make suggestions of that sort, Sholto. You make
+me uncomfortable. Something _might_ happen to Ned. I wish he were home.
+He is very late."
+
+"Happy man. You can be serious when you think about him. I envy him."
+
+"What! Sholto Douglas stoop to envy any mortal! Prodigious!"
+
+"Yes: it has come to that with me. Why should I not envy him? His career
+has been upward throughout. He has been a successful worker in the
+world, where I have had nothing real to do. When the good things I had
+been dreaming of and longing for all my life came in his path, he had
+them for the mere asking. I valued them so highly that when I fancied I
+possessed them, I was the proudest of men. I am humble enough now that I
+am beggared."
+
+"You are really talking the greatest nonsense."
+
+"No doubt I am. Still in love, Marian, you see. There is no harm in
+telling you so now."
+
+"On the contrary, it is now that there is harm. For shame, Sholto!"
+
+"I am not ashamed. I tell you of my love because now you can listen to
+me without uneasiness, knowing that it is no longer associated with
+hope, or desire, or anything but regret. You see that I do not affect
+the romantic lover. I eat very well; I play chess; I go into society;
+and you reproach me for growing fat."
+
+Marian bent over the chessboard for a moment to hide her face. Then she
+said in a lower voice, "I have thoroughly convinced myself that there is
+no such thing as love in the world."
+
+"That means that you have never experienced it."
+
+"I have told you already that I have never been in love, and that I
+dont believe a bit in it. I mean romantic love, of course."
+
+"I verily believe that you have not. The future has one more pang in
+store for me; for you will surely love some day."
+
+"I am getting too old for that, I fear. At what age, pray, did you
+receive the arrow in your heart?"
+
+"When I was a boy, I loved a vision. The happiest hours of my life were
+those in which I was slowly, tremulously daring to believe that I had
+found my vision at last in you. And then the dreams that followed! What
+a career was to have been mine! I remember how you used to reproach me
+because I was austere with women and proud with men. How could I have
+been otherwise? I contrasted the gifts of all other women with those of
+my elect, and the lot of all other men with my own. Can you wonder that,
+doing so, I carried my head among the clouds? You must remember how
+unfamiliar failure was to me. At school, at Oxford, in society, I had
+sought distinction without misgiving, and attained it without
+difficulty. My one dearest object I deemed secure long before I opened
+my lips and asked expressly for it. I think I walked through life at
+that time like a somnambulist; for I have since seen that I must have
+been piling mistake upon mistake until out of a chaos of meaningless
+words and smiles I had woven a Paphian love temple. At the first menace
+of disappointment--a thing as new and horrible to me as death--I fled
+the country. I came back with only the ruins of the doomed temple. You
+were not content to destroy a ruin: the feat was too easy to be
+glorious. So you rebuilt it in one hour to the very dome, and lighted
+its altars with more than their former radiance. Then, as though it
+were but a house of cards--as indeed it was nothing else--you gave it
+one delicate touch and razed it to its foundations. Yet I am afraid
+those altar lamps were not wholly extinguished. They smoulder beneath
+the ruins still."
+
+"I wonder why they made you the Newdigate poet at Oxford, Sholto: you
+mix your metaphors most dreadfully. Dont be angry with me: I understand
+what you mean; and I am very sorry. I say flippant things because I
+must. How _can_ one meet seriousness in modern society except by chaff?"
+
+"I am not angry. I had rather you did not understand. The more flippant
+you are, the more you harden my heart; and I want it to be as hard as
+the nether millstone. Your pity would soften me; and I dread that."
+
+"I believe it does every man good to be softened. If you ever really
+felt what you describe, you greatly over-estimated me. What can you lose
+by a little more softness? I often think that men--particularly good
+men--make their way through the world too much as if it were a solid
+mass of iron through which they must cut--as if they dared not relax
+their hardest edge and finest temper for a moment. Surely, that is not
+the way to enjoy life."
+
+"Perhaps not. Still, it is the way to conquer in life. It may be
+pleasant to have a soft heart; but then someone is sure to break it."
+
+"I do not believe much in broken hearts. Besides, I do not mean that men
+should be too soft. For instance, sentimental young men of about twenty
+are odious. But for a man to get into a fighting attitude at the barest
+suggestion of sentiment; to believe in nature as something inexorable,
+and to aim at being as inexorable as nature: is not that almost as bad?"
+
+"Do you know any such man? You must not attribute that sort of hardness
+to me."
+
+"Oh no; I was not thinking of you. I was not thinking of anyone in fact.
+I only put a case. I sometimes have disputes with Ned on the subject.
+One of his cardinal principles is that there is no use in crying for
+spilt milk. I always argue that as irremediable disasters are the only
+ones that deserve or obtain sympathy, he might as well say that there is
+no use in crying for anything. Then he slips out of the difficulty by
+saying that that was just what he meant, and that there is actually no
+place for regret in a well-regulated scheme of life. In debating with
+women, men brazen out all the ridiculous conclusions of which they are
+convicted; and then they say that there is no use in arguing with a
+woman. Neither is there, because the woman is always right."
+
+"Yes; because she suffers her heart to direct her."
+
+"You are just as bad as the rest of your sex, I see. Where you cannot
+withold credit from a woman, you give it to her heart and deny it to her
+head."
+
+"There! I wont play any more," said Miss McQuinch, suddenly, at the
+other end of the room. "Have you finished your chess, Marian?"
+
+"We are nearly done. Ring for the lamps, please, Nelly. Let us finish,
+Sholto."
+
+"Whose turn is it to move? I beg your pardon for my inattention."
+
+"Mine--no, yours. Stop! it must be mine. I really dont know."
+
+"Nor do I. I have forgotten my game."
+
+"Then let us put up the board. We can finish some other night."
+
+It had become dark by this time; and the lamps were brought in whilst
+Douglas was replacing the chessmen in their box.
+
+"Now," said Marian, "let us have some music. Marmaduke: will you sing
+Uncle Ned for us? We have not heard you sing for ages."
+
+"I believe it is more than three years since that abominable concert at
+Wandsworth; and I have not heard you sing since," said Elinor.
+
+"I forget all my songs--havnt sung one of them for months. However, here
+goes! Have you a banjo in the house?"
+
+"No," said Marian. "I will play an accompaniment for you."
+
+"All right. See here: you need only play these three chords. When one
+sounds wrong, play another. Youll learn it in a moment."
+
+Marmaduke's voice was not so fresh, nor his fun so spontaneous, as at
+Wandsworth; but they were not critical enough to appreciate the
+difference: they laughed like children at him. Elinor was asked to play;
+but she would not: she had renounced that folly, she said. Then, at
+Douglas's request, Marian sang, in memory of Wandsworth, "Rose, softly
+blooming." When she had finished, Elinor asked for some old melodies,
+knowing that Marian liked these best. So she began gaily with The Oak
+and the Ash and Robin Adair. After that, finding both herself and the
+others in a more pathetic vein, she sang them The Bailiff's Daughter of
+Islington, and The Banks of Allan Water, at the end of which Marmaduke's
+eyes were full of tears, and the rest sat quite still. She paused for a
+minute, and then broke the silence with Auld Robin Gray, which affected
+even Douglas, who had no ear. As she sang the last strain, the click of
+a latchkey was heard from without. Instantly she rose; closed the
+pianoforte softly; and sat down at some distance from it. Her action was
+reflected by a change in their behavior. They remembered that they were
+not at home, and became more or less uneasily self-conscious. Elinor was
+the least disturbed. Conolly's first glance on entering was at the
+piano: his next went in search of his wife.
+
+"Ah!" he said, surprised. "I thought somebody was singing."
+
+"Oh dear no!" said Elinor drily. "You must have been mistaken."
+
+"Perhaps so," said he, smiling. "But I have been listening carefully at
+the window for ten minutes; and I certainly dreamt that I heard Auld
+Robin Gray."
+
+Marian blushed. Conolly did not seem to have been moved by the song. He
+was alert and loquacious: before he had finished his greeting and
+apology to Douglas, they all felt as little sentimental as they had ever
+done in their lives. Marian, after asking whether he had dined, became
+silent, and dropped the pretty airs of command which, as hostess, she
+had worn before.
+
+"Have you any news?" said Marmaduke at last. "Douglas knows the whole
+business. We are all friends here."
+
+"Only what we expected," said Conolly. "Affairs are exactly as they
+were. I called to-day at her address--"
+
+"How did you get it?" said Marmaduke.
+
+"I wrote for it to her at the theatre."
+
+"And did she send it?"
+
+"Of course. But she did not give me any encouragement to call on her,
+and, in fact, evidently did not want to see me. Her appearance has
+altered very much for the worse. She is a confirmed dipsomaniac; and she
+knows it. I advised her to abstain in future. She asked me, in her
+sarcastic, sisterly way, whether I had any other advice to give her. I
+told her that if she meant to go on, her proper course was to purchase a
+hogshead of brandy; keep it by her side; and condense the process of
+killing herself, which may at present take some years, into a few days."
+
+"Oh, Ned, you did not really say that to her!" said Marian.
+
+"I did indeed. The shocking part of the affair is not, as you seem to
+think, my giving the advice, but that it should be the very best advice
+I could have given."
+
+"I do not think I would have said so."
+
+"Most likely not," said Conolly, with a smile. "You would have said
+something much prettier. But dipsomania is not one of the pretty things
+of life; nor can it by any stretch of benevolent hypocrisy be made to
+pass as one. When Susanna and I get talking, we do not waste time in
+trying to spare one another's feelings. If we did, we should both see
+through the attempt and be very impatient of it."
+
+"Did she tell you what she intends to do?" said Marmaduke.
+
+"She has accepted an American engagement. When that draws to a close, it
+will, she says, be time enough for her to consider her next step. But
+she has no intention of leaving the stage until she is compelled."
+
+"Has she any intention of reforming her habits?" said Elinor, bluntly.
+
+"I should say every intention, but no prospect of doing so.
+Dipsomaniacs are always intending to reform; but they rarely succeed.
+Has Lucy been put to bed?"
+
+"Lucy is in disgrace," said Elinor. Marian looked at her apprehensively.
+
+"In disgrace!" said Conolly, more seriously. "How so?"
+
+Elinor described what had taken place in the garden. When she told how
+the child had disregarded Marian's appeal, Conolly laughed.
+
+"Lucy has no sense of how pretty she would have looked toddling in
+obediently because her aunt asked her to," he said. "She is, like all
+children, very practical, and will not assist in getting up amiable
+little scenes without good reason rendered."
+
+Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Douglas was speaking to
+her in a low voice, she was listening nervously to her husband. So she
+said sharply, "It is a pity you were not here to tell us what to do."
+
+"Apparently it is," said Conolly, complacently.
+
+"What would you have done?" said Marian suddenly, interrupting Douglas.
+
+"I suppose," said Conolly, looking round at her in surprise, "I should
+have answered her question--told her what she was wanted for. If I asked
+you to do anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely annoyed
+if I answered, 'because I ask you.'"
+
+"I would not ask why," said Marian. "I would do it."
+
+"That would be very nice of you," said Conolly; "but you cannot: expect
+such a selfish, mistrustful, and curious animal as a little child to be
+equally kind and confiding. Lucy is too acute not to have learned long
+since that grown people systematically impose on the credulity and
+helplessness of children."
+
+"Thats true," said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned away and quietly
+resumed her conversation with Douglas. After a minute she strolled with
+him into the garden, whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke.
+
+"Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss McQuinch?" said Conolly, left
+alone with her.
+
+"Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. We played chess and
+_�cart�_; and we all agreed to make old times of it. Marmaduke sang for
+us; and Marian had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers."
+
+"And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh?"
+
+"Certainly not. Why do you say that?"
+
+"Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true: jealousy, perhaps,
+because I missed being here earlier. You think, then, that if I had been
+here, the evening would have been equally pleasant, and Marian equally
+happy in her singing?"
+
+"Dont you like Marian's singing?"
+
+"Could you not have refrained from that most indiscreet question?"
+
+"I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not answer it."
+
+"That would make matters worse. And there is no reason whatever why the
+plain truth should not be told. When I was a child I heard every day
+better performances than Marian's. She believes there is something
+pretty and good in music, and patronizes it accordingly to the best of
+her ability. I do not like to hear music patronized; and when Marian,
+lovely as she is, gives her pretty renderings of songs which I have
+heard a hundred times from singers who knew what they were about, then,
+though I admire her as I must always, my admiration is rather increased
+than otherwise when she stops; because then I am no longer conscious of
+a deficiency which even my unfortunate sister could supply."
+
+"Your criticism of her singing sounds more sincere than your admiration
+of her loveliness. I am not musician enough to judge. All I know is that
+her singing is good enough for me."
+
+"I know you are displeased because it is not good enough for me; but how
+can I help myself? Poor Marian----"
+
+"Do hush!" said Elinor. "Here she is."
+
+"You need not be in such a hurry, Duke," said Marian. "What can it
+matter to you how late you get back?"
+
+"No," said Marmaduke. "I've got to write home. The governor is ill; and
+my mammy will send me a five-sheet sermon if I neglect writing to-night.
+You will keep Lucy for another week, wont you? Box her ears if she gives
+you any cheek. She wants it: she's been spoiled."
+
+"If we find we can do no better than that with her, we shall hand her
+back to you," said Conolly. Then the visitors took their leave. Marian
+gently pressed Douglas's hand and looked into his eyes as he bade her
+farewell. Elinor, seeing this, glanced uneasily at Conolly, and
+unexpectedly met his eye. There was a gleam of cynical intelligence in
+it that did not reassure her. A few minutes later she went to bed,
+leaving the couple alone together. Conolly looked at his wife for a
+moment with an amused expression; but she closed her lips
+irresponsively, and went to the table for a book which she wanted to
+bring upstairs. She would have gone without a word had he not spoken to
+her.
+
+"Marian: Douglas is in love with you."
+
+She blushed; thought a moment; and said quietly, "Very well. I shall not
+ask him to come again."
+
+"Why?"
+
+She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, "I thought you cared. I
+beg your pardon."
+
+"My dear," he replied, amiably: "if you exclude everybody who falls in
+love with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men."
+
+"And do you like men to be in love with me?"
+
+"Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them; it makes them attentive to
+you; and it gives you great power for good. When I was a romantic boy,
+any good woman could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love with
+you as much as they please. Afterwards they will seek wives according to
+a higher standard than if they had never known you. But do not return
+the compliment, or your influence will become an evil one."
+
+"Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I will. Sholto
+Douglas not only loves me, but he told me so to-day."
+
+"Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or later."
+
+Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for some time gravely and
+a little wistfully. "I think," she said, "I should feel very angry if
+any woman made such a confession to you."
+
+"A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a breach of
+convention; nor a woman an invasion of her privileges, even when they
+have become a burden to her."
+
+"What do you mean by that?" she said, rising.
+
+"Marian," he said, looking straight at her: "are you dissatisfied?"
+
+"What reason have I to--"
+
+"Never mind the reasons. Are you?"
+
+"No," said she, steadfastly.
+
+He smiled indulgently; pressed her hand for a moment against his cheek;
+and went out for the short walk he was accustomed to take before
+retiring.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+In October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at the house of Hardy
+McQuinch's brother, who had recently returned to England with a fortune
+made in Australia. Conolly, having the house at Holland Park to himself,
+fitted a spare room as a laboratory, and worked there every night. One
+evening, returning home alone a little before five o'clock, he shut
+himself into this laboratory, and had just set to work when Armande, the
+housemaid, interrupted him.
+
+"Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir."
+
+Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax since before his
+marriage, when he had once shewn her the working of his invention at
+Queen Victoria Street; and as Marian had since resented her share of
+Douglas's second proposal by avoiding her society as far as possible
+without actually discontinuing her acquaintance, this visit was a
+surprise. Conolly looked darkly at Armande, and went to the drawing-room
+without a word.
+
+"_How_ do you do, Mr. Conolly?" said Mrs. Fairfax, as he entered. "I
+need not ask: you are looking so well. Have I disturbed you?"
+
+"You have--most agreeably. Pray sit down."
+
+"I know your time is priceless. I should never have ventured to come,
+but that I felt sure you would like to hear all the news from Sark. I
+have been there for the last fortnight. Marian told me to call on you
+the moment I returned."
+
+"Yes," said Conolly, convinced that this was not true. "She promised to
+do so in her last letter."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, on the point of publishing a few supplementary fictions,
+checked herself, and looked suspiciously at him.
+
+"The air of Sark has evidently benefited you," he said, as she paused.
+"You are looking very well--I had almost said charming."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax glanced archly at him, and said, "Nonsense! but, indeed,
+the trip was absolutely necessary for me. I should hardly have been
+alive had I remained at work; and poor Willie McQuinch was bent on
+having me."
+
+"He has been described to me as an inveterate lion hunter."
+
+"It is not at all pleasant, I assure you, to be persecuted with
+invitations from people who wish to see a real live novelist. But
+William McQuinch's place at Sark is really palatial. He is called
+Sarcophagus on account of his wealth. A great many people whom he knew
+were staying in the island, besides those in the house with us. Marian
+was the beauty of the place. How every one admires her! Why do you not
+go down, Mr. Conolly?"
+
+"I am too busy. Besides, it will do Marian good to be rid of me for a
+while."
+
+"Absurd, Mr. Conolly! You should not leave her there by herself."
+
+"By herself! Why, is not the place full?"
+
+"Yes; but I do not mean that. There is nobody belonging to her there."
+
+"You forget. Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend. There is Marmaduke, her
+cousin; and his mother, her Aunt Dora. Then, is there not Mr. Sholto
+Douglas, one of her oldest and most attached friends?"
+
+"Oh! Is Mr. Douglas in charge of her?"
+
+"No doubt he will take charge of her, if she is overtaken by her second
+childhood whilst he is there. Meanwhile, she is in charge of herself, is
+she not? And there is hardly any danger of her feeling lonely."
+
+"No. Sholto Douglas will provide against that."
+
+"Your opinion confirms the accounts I have had from other sources. It
+appears that Mr. Douglas is very attentive to my wife."
+
+"Very, indeed, Mr. Conolly. You must not think that I am afraid of
+anything--anything--"
+
+"Anything?"
+
+"Well--Oh, you know what I mean. Anything wrong. At least, not exactly
+wrong, but--"
+
+"Anything undomestic."
+
+"Yes. You see, Marian's position is a very difficult one. She is so
+young and so good looking that she is very much observed; and it seems
+so strange her being without her husband."
+
+"Pretty ladies whose husbands are never seen, often get talked about in
+the world, do they not?"
+
+"That is just what I mean. How cleverly you get everything out of me,
+Mr. Conolly! I called here without the faintest idea of alluding to
+Marian's situation; and now you have made me say all sorts of things.
+What a fortune you would have made at the bar!"
+
+"I must apologize, I did not mean to cross-examine you. Naturally, of
+course, you would not like to make me uneasy about Marian."
+
+"It is the very last thing I should desire. But now that it has slipped
+out, I really think you ought to go to Sark."
+
+"Indeed! I rather infer that I should be very much in the way."
+
+"The more reason for you to go, Mr. Conolly."
+
+"Not at all, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. The attentions of a husband are stale,
+unsuited to holiday time. Picture to yourself my arrival at Sark with
+the tender assurance in my mouth, 'Marian, I love you.' She would reply,
+'So you ought. Am I not your wife?' The same advance from another--Mr.
+Douglas, for instance--would affect her quite differently, and much more
+pleasantly."
+
+"Mr. Conolly; is this indifference, or supreme confidence?"
+
+"Neither of these conjugal claptraps. I merely desire that Marian should
+enjoy herself as much as possible; and the more a woman is admired, the
+happier she is. Perhaps you think that, in deference to the general
+feeling in such matters, I should become jealous."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax again looked doubtfully at him. "I cannot make you out at
+all, Mr. Conolly," she said submissively. "I hope I have not offended
+you."
+
+"Not in the least. I take it that having observed certain circumstances
+which seemed to threaten the welfare of one very dear to you (as, I am
+aware, Marian is), the trouble they caused you found unpremeditated
+expression in the course of a conversation with me." Conolly beamed at
+her, as if he thought this rather neatly turned.
+
+"Exactly so. But I do not wish you to think that I have observed
+anything particular."
+
+"Certainly not. Still, you think there would be no harm in my writing
+to Marian to say that her behavior has attracted your notice, and----"
+
+"Good heavens, Mr. Conolly, you must not mention _me_ in the matter! You
+are so innocent--at least so frank, so workmanlike, if I may say so, in
+your way of dealing with things! I would not have Marian know what I
+have said--I really did not notice anything--for worlds. You had better
+not write at all, but just go down as if you went merely to enjoy
+yourself; and dont on any account let Marian suspect that you have heard
+anything. Goodness knows what mischief you might make, in your--your
+ingenuousness!"
+
+"But I should have thought that the opinion of an old and valued friend
+like yourself would have special weight with her."
+
+"You know nothing about it. Clever engineer as you are, you do not
+understand the little wheels by which our great machine of society is
+worked."
+
+"True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax," he rejoined, echoing the cadence of her
+sentence. "Educated as a mere mechanic, I am still a stranger to the
+elegancies of life. I usually depend on Marian for direction; but since
+you think that it would be injudicious to appeal to her in the present
+instance----"
+
+"Out of the question, Mr. Conolly."
+
+"--I must trust to your guidance in the matter. What do you suggest?"
+
+Mrs. Fairfax was about to reply, when the expression which she
+habitually wore like a mask in society, wavered and broke. Her lip
+trembled: her eyes filled with tears: she rose with a sniff that was
+half a sob. When she spoke, her voice was sincere for the first time,
+and at the sound of it Conolly's steely, hard manner melted, and his
+inhuman self-possession vanished.
+
+"You think," she said, "that I came here to make mischief. I did not.
+Marian is nothing to me: she does not even like me; but I dont want to
+see her ruin herself merely because she is too inexperienced to know
+when she is well off. I have had to fight my way in London: and I know
+what it is, and what the world is. She is not fit to take charge of
+herself. Good-bye, Mr. Conolly: you are a great deal too young yourself
+to know the danger, for all your cleverness. You may tell her that I
+came here and gossipped against her, if you like. She will never speak
+to me again; but if it saves her, I dont care. Good-bye."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Fairfax," he said, with entire frankness, "I am now deeply
+and sincerely obliged to you." And in proof that he was touched, he
+kissed her hand with the ease and grace of a man who had been carefully
+taught how to do it. Mrs. Fairfax recovered herself and almost blushed
+as he went with her to the door, chatting easily about the weather and
+the Addison Road trains.
+
+She was not the last visitor that evening. She had hardly been fifteen
+minutes gone when the Rev. George presented himself, and was conducted
+to the laboratory, where he found Conolly, with his coat off, surrounded
+by apparatus. The glowing fire, comfortable chairs, and preparations for
+an evening meal, gladdened him more than the presence of his
+brother-in-law, with whom he never felt quite at ease.
+
+"You wont mind my fiddling with these machines while I talk," said
+Conolly.
+
+"Not at all, not at all. I shall witness your operations with great
+interest. You must not think that the wonders of science are indifferent
+to me."
+
+"So you are going on to Sark, you say?"
+
+"Yes. May I ask whether you will be persuaded to come?"
+
+"No, for certain. I have other fish to fry here."
+
+"I think it would renovate your health to come for a few days."
+
+"My health is always right as long as I have work. Did you meet Mrs.
+Fairfax outside?"
+
+"A--yes. I passed her."
+
+"You spoke to her, I suppose?"
+
+"A few words. Yes."
+
+"Do you know what she came here for?"
+
+"No. But stay. I am wrong. She mentioned that she came for a book she
+lent you."
+
+"She mentioned what was not true. What did she say to you about Marian?"
+
+"Well, she--She was just saying that it is perhaps as well that I should
+go down to Sark at once, as Marian is quite alone."
+
+The clergyman looked so guilty as he said this that Conolly laughed
+outright at him. "You mean," he said, "that Marian is _not_ quite alone.
+Well, very likely Douglas occupies himself a good deal with her. If so,
+there may be some busybody or another down there fool enough to tell her
+that people are talking about her. That would spoil her holiday; so it
+is lucky that you are going down. No one will take it upon themselves to
+speak to her when you are there; and if they say anything to you, you
+can let it in at one ear and out at the other."
+
+"That is, of course, unless I should see her really acting
+indiscreetly."
+
+"I had better tell you beforehand what you will see if you keep your
+eyes open. You will see very plainly that Douglas is in love with her.
+Also that she knows that he is in love with her. In fact, she told me
+so. And you will see she rather likes it. Every married woman requires a
+holiday from her husband occasionally, even when he suits her
+perfectly."
+
+The Rev. George stared. "If I follow you aright--I am not sure that I
+do--you impute to Marian the sin of entertaining feelings which it is
+her duty to repress."
+
+"I impute no sin to her. You might as well tell a beggar that he has no
+right to be hungry, as a woman that it is her duty to feel this and not
+to feel that."
+
+"But Marian has been educated to feel only in accordance with her duty."
+
+"So have you. How does it work? However," continued Conolly, without
+waiting for an answer, "I dont deny that Marian shews the effects of her
+education. They are deplorably evident in all her conscientious
+actions."
+
+"You surprise and distress me. This is the first intimation I have
+received of your having any cause to complain of Marian."
+
+"Nonsense! I dont complain of her. But what you call her education, as
+far as I can make it out, appears to have consisted of stuffing her with
+lies, and making it a point of honor with her to believe them in spite
+of sense and reason. The sense of duty that rises on that sort of
+foundation is more mischievous than downright want of principle. I dont
+dispute your right, you who constitute polite society, to skin over all
+the ugly facts of life. But to make your daughters believe that the
+skin covers healthy flesh is a crime. Poor Marian thinks that a room is
+clean when all the dust is swept out of sight under the furniture; and
+if honest people rake it out to bring it under the notice of those whose
+duty it is to remove it, she is disgusted with them, and ten to one
+accuses them of having made it themselves. She doesnt know what sort of
+world she is in, thanks to the misrepresentations of those who should
+have taught her. She will deceive her children in just the same way, if
+she ever has any. If she had been taught the truth in her own childhood,
+she would know how to face it, and would be a strong woman as well as an
+amiable one. But it is too late now. The truth seems natural to a child;
+but to a grown woman or man, it is a bitter lesson in the learning,
+though it may be invigorating when it is well mastered. And you know how
+seldom a hard task forced on an unwilling pupil _is_ well mastered."
+
+"What is truth?" said the clergyman, sententiously.
+
+"All that we know, Master Pilate," retorted Conolly with a laugh. "And
+we know a good deal. It may seem small in comparison with what we dont
+know; but it is more than any one of us can hold, for all that. We know,
+for instance, that the world was not planned by a sentimental landscape
+gardener. If Marian ever learns that--which she may, although I am
+neither able nor willing to teach it to her--she will not thank those
+who gave her so much falsehood to unlearn. Until then, she will, I am
+afraid, do little else than lay up a store of regrets for herself."
+
+"This is very strange. We always looked upon Marian as an exceptionally
+amiable girl."
+
+"So she is, unfortunately. There is no institution so villainous but
+she will defend it; no tyranny so oppressive but she will make a virtue
+of submitting to it; no social cancer so venomous but she will shrink
+from cutting it out, and plead that it is a comfortable thing, and much
+better as it is. She knows that she disobeyed her father, and that he
+deserved to be disobeyed; yet she condemns other women who are
+disobedient, and stands out against Nelly McQuinch in defence of the
+unselfishness of parental love. She knows that the increased freedom of
+movement allowed to her as a married woman has been healthy for her; yet
+she looks coldly at other young women who assert their right to freedom,
+and are not afraid to walk through the streets without a sheepdog, human
+or otherwise, at their heels. She knows that marriage is not what she
+expected it to be, and that it gives me many unfair advantages over her;
+and she knows also that ours is a happier marriage than most.
+Nevertheless she will encourage other girls to marry; she will maintain
+that the chain which galls her own wrists so often is a string of
+honeysuckles; and if a woman identifies herself with any public movement
+for the lightening of that chain, she wont allow that that woman is fit
+to be admitted into decent society. There is not one of these shams to
+which she clings that I would not like to take by the throat and shake
+the life out of; and she knows it. Even in that she has not the
+consistency to believe me wrong, because it is undutiful and out of
+keeping with the honeysuckles to lack faith in her husband. In order to
+blind herself to her inconsistencies, she has to live in a rose-colored
+fog; and what with me constantly, in spite of myself, blowing this fog
+away on the one side, and the naked facts of her everyday experience as
+constantly letting in the daylight on the other, she must spend half
+the time wondering whether she is mad or sane. Between her desire to do
+right and her discoveries that it generally leads her to do wrong, she
+passes her life in a wistful melancholy which I cant dispel. I can only
+pity her. I suppose I could pet her; but I hate treating a woman like a
+child: it means giving up all hope of her becoming rational. She may
+turn for relief any day either to love or religion; and for her own sake
+I hope she will choose the first. Of the two evils, it is the least
+permanent." And Conolly, having disburdened himself, resumed his work
+without any pretence of waiting for the clergyman's comments.
+
+"Well," said the Rev. George, cautiously, "I do not think I have quite
+followed your opinions, which seem to me to be exactly upside down, as
+if they were projected upon the retina of your mind's eye--to use
+Shakspear's happy phrase--just as they would be upon your--your real
+eye, you know. But I can assure you that your view of Marian is an
+entirely mistaken one. You seem to think that she does not give in her
+entire adherence to the doctrines of the Establishment. This is a matter
+which I venture to say you do not understand."
+
+"Admitted," interposed Conolly, hastily. "Here is my workman's tea. Are
+you fond of scones?"
+
+"I hardly know. Anything--the simplest fare, will satisfy me."
+
+"So it does me, when I can get nothing better. Help yourself, pray."
+
+Conolly did not sit down to the meal, but worked whilst the clergyman
+ate. Presently the Rev. George, warmed by the fire and cheered by the
+repast, returned to the subject of his host's domestic affairs.
+
+"Come," he said, "I am sure that a few judicious words would lead to an
+explanation between you and Marian."
+
+"I also think that a few words might do so. But they would not be
+judicious words."
+
+"Why not? Can it be injudicious to restore harmony in a household?"
+
+"No; but that would not be the effect of an explanation, because the
+truth is not likely to reconcile us. If I were to explain the difficulty
+to a man, he would argue. But Marian would just infer that I despised
+her, and nothing else."
+
+"Oh no! Oh dear no! A few kind words; an appeal to her good sense; a
+little concession on both sides----"
+
+"All excellent for a pair estranged by a flash of temper, or a
+mother-in-law, or a trifle of jealousy, or too many evenings spent at
+the club on the man's part, or too many dances with a gallant on the
+woman's; but no good for us. We have never exchanged unkind words: there
+are no concessions to be made: her good sense is not at fault. Besides,
+these few kind words that are supposed to be such a sovereign remedy for
+all sorts of domestic understandings are generally a few kind fibs. If I
+told them, Marian wouldnt believe them. Fibs dont make lasting truces
+either. No: the situation is graver than you think. Just suppose, for
+instance, that you undertake to restore harmony, as you call it! what
+will you say to her?"
+
+"Well, it would depend on circumstances."
+
+"But you know the circumstances on which it depends. How would you
+begin?"
+
+"There are little ways of approaching delicate subjects with women. For
+instance, I might say, casually, that it was a pity that a pair so
+happily situated as you two should not agree perfectly."
+
+"You would get no further; for Marian would never admit that we do not
+agree. She does not know what her complaint is, and therefore feels
+bound in honor to maintain that she has nothing to complain of. She is
+not the woman to cast reproach on me for a discontent she cannot
+explain. Or, if she could explain it, how much wiser should you be? _I_
+have explained; and you confess you cannot understand me. The difference
+between us is neither her fault nor mine; and all the explanations in
+the world will not remove it."
+
+"If you would allow me to appeal to her religious duty----"
+
+"Religion! She doesnt believe in it."
+
+"What!" exclaimed the clergyman, unaffectedly shocked. "Surely,
+surely----"
+
+"Listen. To me, believing in a doctrine doesnt mean holding up your hand
+and saying, 'Credo.' It means habitually acting on the assumption that
+the doctrine is true. Marian thinks it wrong not to go to church; and
+she will hold up her hand and cry 'Credo' to the immortality of her
+soul, or to any verse in the New Testament. The shareholders of our
+concern in the city will do the same. But do they or she ever act on the
+assumption that they are immortal, or that riches are dross, or that
+class prejudice is damnable? Never. They dont believe it. You will find
+that Marian has been thoroughly trained to separate her practice from
+her religious professions; and if you allude to the inconsistency she
+will instinctively feel that you are offending against good taste. In
+short, her 'Credo' doesnt mean faith: it means church-going, which is
+practised because it is respectable, and is respectable because it is a
+habit of the upper caste. But church-going is church-going; and business
+is business, as Marian will soon let you know if you meddle with _her_
+business. However, we need not argue about that: we know one another's
+views and can agree to differ."
+
+"I should be false to my duty as a Christian priest if I made any such
+agreement."
+
+"Perhaps so; but, at any rate, we cant spend all our lives over the same
+argument. No, as I was saying, take my advice, and let Marian alone."
+
+"But what do you intend to do, then?"
+
+"What _can_ I do but wait? Experience must wear out some of her
+illusions. She will at least find out that she is no worse off than
+other women, and better off than some of them. Since the job cannot be
+undone, we must try how making the best of it will work. I am pretty
+hopeful myself. How are affairs getting on at your chapel? I am told
+that the sermons of your _locum tenens_ send the congregation asleep."
+
+"He is not at his best in the pulpit. A good fellow! a most loving man
+but not able to grapple with a large congregation. After all, I am
+obliged to confess that very few of our cloth are. The power of
+preaching is quite an exceptional one; and it is a gift as well as a
+trust. I humbly believe that the power of the tongue comes of a higher
+ordination than the bishop's."
+
+Nothing further was said about Marian. The clergyman's object in
+visiting Conolly was, it presently appeared, to borrow a portmanteau.
+When he was gone, Conolly returned to the laboratory, and wrote the
+following letter:
+
+  "My dear Marian
+
+  "I have just had two unexpected visits, one from Mrs. Fairfax, and
+  one from George. Mrs. L.F. said you asked her to call and give me
+  the news. When I told her, without blushing, that you had written
+  to prepare me for her visit, she was rather put out, justly
+  thinking me to mean that I did not believe her. As this is fully
+  the thirty-sixth falsehood in which you have detected good Mrs. F.,
+  I fear you will be compelled, in spite of your principle of
+  believing the best of everybody, to regard her in future as a not
+  invariably accurate woman. She came with the object of making me go
+  down to Sark. You were so young and so much admired: Mr. Douglas
+  was so attentive: you should not be left entirely alone, and so
+  forth. You will be angry with her; but she thinks Douglas so
+  irresistible that she is genuinely anxious about you: I believe she
+  really meant well this time. As to our reverend brother, his
+  portmanteau burst in the train coming from Edinburgh; so he came to
+  borrow mine, having apparently resolved to wear out those of all
+  his friends before buying a new one. Unfortunately, he met Mrs. F.
+  down the road; and she urged him to go down to Sark just as she had
+  urged me. Now as George is incapable of holding his tongue when he
+  ought, I feel sure that unless I tell you what Mrs. F. said, he
+  will anticipate me. Otherwise I should not have mentioned it until
+  your return, for fear of annoying you and spoiling your visit. So
+  if his reverence hints or lectures, you will know what he means and
+  not heed him. Mrs. F's confidences have probably not been confined
+  to me; but were I in your place, I should not make the slightest
+  change in my conduct in consequence. At all events, if you feel
+  constrained to display any sudden accession of reserve toward
+  Douglas, tell him the reason; because if you dont, he will ascribe
+  the change to coquetry.
+
+  "I have turned the spare room on the first floor into a laboratory,
+  and am sitting in it now. I'm thinking of fitting it up like a
+  studio, and having private views of my inventions, as Scott has of
+  his pictures. Parson's man came with some flowers the other day,
+  and informed me that three balls, to the first of which he was
+  invited, took place in the house while I was away. One or two
+  trifling dilapidations, and the fact that somebody has been
+  tampering with the locks of the organ and piano, dispose me to
+  believe this tale. Parson's man declares that he was too virtuous
+  to come to the two last entertainments after finding out that the
+  first was a clandestine one; but I believe he made himself
+  disagreeable, and was not invited. Probably he quarrelled with some
+  military follower of Armande's; for he was particularly bitter on
+  the subject of a common soldier making free in a gentleman's house.
+  I have not said anything to the two culprits; but I have contrived
+  to make them suspect that I know all; and they now do their duty
+  with trembling diligence. Some man sat on the little walnut table
+  and broke it; but no other damage worth mentioning has been done.
+  The table was absurdly repaired with a piece of twine, and pushed
+  into the recess between the organ and the front window, whence I
+  sometimes amuse myself by the experiment of pulling it into broad
+  daylight. It is always pushed back again before I return in the
+  evening.
+
+  "How are you off for money? I have plenty of loose cash just now.
+  Madame called last Monday, and asked Matilda, who opened the door,
+  when you would be back. Thereupon I interviewed her. I must say she
+  is loyal to her clients; for I had great difficulty in extracting
+  her bill, which was, of course, what she called about. She
+  evidently recognizes the necessity of keeping husbands in the dark
+  in such matters. One of the items was for the lace on your
+  maccaroni-colored body, which, as I chanced to remember, you
+  supplied yourself. After a brief struggle she deducted it; so I
+  paid her the balance: only 35� 13s. 9d.
+
+  "When are you coming back to me? After Sark I
+  fear you will find home a little dull. Nevertheless, I
+  should like to see you again. Come back before Christmas,
+  at any rate.
+
+                     "Yours, dear Marian, in solitude,
+                                                   "NED."
+
+The answer came two days later than return of post, and ran thus:
+
+                                         "Melbourne House, Sark,
+                                                 "Sunday.
+  "My dear Ned
+
+  "How very provoking about the servants! I do not mind Matilda so
+  much; but I do think it hard that we could not depend on Armande,
+  considering all the kindness we have shewn her. I can scarcely
+  believe that she would have acted so badly unless she were led away
+  by Matilda, whom I will pack off the moment I return. As to
+  Armande, I will give her another chance; but she shall have a sharp
+  talking to. I am quite sure that a great deal more mischief has
+  been done than you noticed. If the carpet was danced on for three
+  nights by men in heavy boots, it must be in ribbons. It is really
+  too bad. I do not want any money. Indeed the twenty pounds you sent
+  me last was quite unnecessary, as I have nearly sixteen left. What
+  a rogue Madame is to try and make you pay for my lace! I am sorry
+  you paid the bill. She had no business to call for her money: she
+  is _never_ paid so soon by _anybody_. We have had great fun down
+  here. It has been one continual garden party all through; and the
+  weather is still lovely. Mr. McQuinch is very colonial: but I think
+  his ways make the house pleasanter than if he were still English.
+  Carbury is quite stupid in comparison to this place. I have danced
+  more than I ever did in my life before; and now we are so tired of
+  frivolity that if any one ventures to strum a waltz or propose a
+  game, we all protest. We tried to get up some choral music; but it
+  was a failure. On Friday, George, who is looked on as a great man
+  here, was asked to give us a Shakespeare reading. He was only too
+  glad to be asked; for he had heard Simonton, the actor, read at a
+  bazaar in Scotland, and was full of Richard the Third in
+  consequence. He was not very bad; but his imitation of Simonton was
+  so obvious and so queerly mixed with his own churchy style that he
+  seemed rather monotonous and affected. At least I thought so. I was
+  dreadfully uncomfortable during the reading because of Marmaduke,
+  who behaved scandalously. There were some schoolboys present; and
+  he not only encouraged them to misbehave themselves, but was worse
+  than any of them himself. At last he pretended to be overcome by
+  the heat, and went out of the room, to my great relief; but when
+  the passage about the early village cock came, he crew outside the
+  door, where he had been waiting expressly to do it. Nobody could
+  help laughing; and the boys screamed so that Mr. McQuinch took two
+  of them out by the collar. I believe he was glad of the excuse to
+  go out and laugh himself. George was very angry, and no wonder! He
+  will hardly speak to Marmaduke, who, of course, denies all
+  knowledge of the interruption; but George knows better. All the
+  Hardy McQuinches are down here. Uncle Hardy is rather stooped from
+  rheumatism. Nelly is now the chief personage in the family: Lydia
+  and Jane are nowhere beside her. They are good-humored, bouncing
+  girls; but they are certainly not brilliant. I hope it is not Aunt
+  Dora's walnut table that is broken. Was it not mean of Parson's man
+  to tell on Armande? I think, since you have plenty of loose cash,
+  we might venture on a set of those curtains we saw at Protheroe's,
+  for the drawing-room. I can easily use the ones that are there now
+  for _porti�res_.
+
+  "You must not think that I have written this all at once. I shall
+  be able to finish to-day, as it is Sunday, and I have made an
+  excuse to stay away from church. George is to preach; and somehow I
+  never feel toward the service as I ought when he officiates. I know
+  you will laugh at this.
+
+  "The first part of your letter must have a paragraph
+  all to itself. I hardly know what to say. I could not
+  have believed that Mrs. Leith Fairfax would have behaved
+  as she has done. I was so angry at first that for
+  fully an hour I felt ill; and I spoke quite wickedly to
+  George the day after he arrived, because he said that
+  Sholto had better not take me down to dinner, although
+  his doing so was quite accidental. I know you will believe
+  me when I tell you that I was quite unconscious
+  that he had been unusually attentive to me; and I was
+  about to write you an indignant denial, only I shewed
+  Nelly your letter, and she crushed me by telling me she
+  had noticed it too. We nearly had a quarrel about it;
+  but she counted up the number of times I had danced
+  with him and sat beside him at dinner; and I suppose an
+  evil-minded woman looking on might think what Mrs.
+  Leith Fairfax thought. But there is no excuse for her.
+  She knows that Sholto and I have been intimate since
+  we were children; and there is something odious in her,
+  of all people, pretending to misunderstand us. What is
+  worse, she was particularly friendly and confidential with
+  me while she was here; and although I tried to keep
+  away from her at first, she persisted in conciliating me,
+  and persuaded me that Douglas had entirely mistaken
+  what she said that other time. Who could have expected
+  her to turn round and calumniate me the moment my
+  back was turned! How can people do such things! I
+  hope we shall not meet her again; for I will never speak
+  to her. I have not said anything to Douglas. How
+  could I? It would only make mischief. I feel that the
+  right course is to come home as soon as I can, and in the
+  meantime to avoid him as much as possible. So you
+  may expect me on Saturday next. Mr. McQuinch is
+  quite dismayed at my departure, which he says will be
+  the signal for a general breaking up; but this I cannot
+  help. I shall be glad to go home, of course. Still, I
+  am sorry to leave this place, where we have all been so
+  jolly. I will write and let you know what train I shall
+  come by; but you need not trouble to meet me, unless
+  you like: I can get home quite well by myself. After
+  all, it is just as well that I am getting away. It _was_
+  pleasant enough; but now I feel utterly disgusted with
+  everything and everybody. I find I must stop. They
+  have just come in from church; and I must go down.
+
+                            "Your affectionate
+                                        "MARIAN."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+One Saturday afternoon in December Marian and Elinor sat drinking tea in
+the drawing-room at Holland Park. Elinor was present as an afternoon
+caller: she no longer resided with the Conollys. Marian had been lamely
+excusing herself for not having read Elinor's last book.
+
+"Pray dont apologize," said Elinor. "I remember the time when you would
+have forced yourself to read it from a sense of duty; and I am too
+delighted to find that nonsense washing out of you at last to feel the
+wound to my vanity. Oh, say no more, my dear you can read it still
+whenever you please. Brother George read it, and was shocked because the
+heroine loves the villain and tells him so without waiting to be asked.
+It is odd that long ago, when I believed so devoutly in the tender
+passion, I never could write a really flaming love story."
+
+"Dont begin to talk like that," said Marian, crossly. "People _do_ fall
+in love, fortunately for them. It may be injudicious; and it may turn
+out badly; but it fills up life in a way that all the barren philosophy
+and cynicism on earth cannot. Do you think I would not rather have to
+regret a lost love than to repine because I had been too cautious to
+love at all? The disappointments of love warm the heart more than the
+triumphs of insensibility."
+
+"Thats rather a good sentence," said Elinor. "Your talk is more
+classical than my writing. But what would the departed Marian Lind have
+said?"
+
+"The departed Marian Lind was so desperately wise that she neglected
+that excellent precept, 'Be not righteous over much, neither make
+thyself over wise; why shouldest thou destroy thyself?' I took up the
+Bible last night for the first time since my marriage; and I thought
+what fools we two used to be when we made up our minds to avoid all the
+mistakes and follies and feelings of other people, and to be quite
+superior and rational. 'He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he
+that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.' It is all so true, in spite
+of what Ned says. We were very clever at observing the wind and
+regarding the clouds; and what are we the better for it? How much
+irreparable mischief, I wonder, did we do ourselves by letting our
+little wisdoms stifle all our big instincts! Look at those very other
+people whom we despised; how happy they are, in spite of their having
+always done exactly what their hearts told them!"
+
+"I think we are pretty well off as people go. I know I am. Certainly it
+was part of our wisdom that marriage was a bad thing; and I grant that
+though you married in obedience to your instincts you are as well off as
+I. But I dont see that we are the worse for having thought a little."
+
+"I did _not_ marry in obedience to my instincts, Nelly; and you know it.
+I made a disinterested marriage with a man whom I felt I could respect
+as my superior. I was convinced then that a grand passion was a folly."
+
+"And what do you think now?"
+
+"I think that I did not know what I was talking about."
+
+"I believe you were in love with Ned when you married him, and long
+enough before that, too."
+
+"Of course I loved him. I love him still."
+
+"Do you, really? To hear you, one would think that you only respected
+him as a superior."
+
+"You have no right to say that. You dont understand."
+
+"Perhaps not. Would you mind explaining?"
+
+"I do not mean anything particular; but there are two kinds of love.
+There is a love which one's good sense suggests--a sort of moral
+approval----"
+
+Elinor laughed. "Go on," she said. "What is the other sort?"
+
+"The other sort has nothing to do with good sense. It is an overpowering
+impulse--a craving--a faith that defies logic--something to look
+forward to feeling in your youth, and look back to with a kindling heart
+in your age."
+
+"Indeed! Isnt the difference between the two sorts much the same as the
+difference between the old love and the new?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I think I will take another cup of tea. You neednt stop flying out at
+me, though: I dont mind it."
+
+"Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you."
+
+"It's rather odd that we so seldom meet now without getting on this
+subject and having a row. Has that struck you at all?"
+
+Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent.
+
+"Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why dont you go to Ned, and
+tell him that he is a cast-iron walking machine, and that you are
+unhappy, and want the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furious
+scene with him, and all will come right."
+
+"It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and make myself
+ridiculous like that: the words would choke me. Besides, I am not
+unhappy."
+
+"What a lie! You wicked woman! A moment ago you were contemning all
+prudence; and now you will not speak your mind because you are afraid of
+being ridiculous. What is that but observing the wind and regarding the
+clouds, I should like to know?"
+
+"I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in jest. It hurts me."
+
+"Serve you right! I am not a bit remorseful. No matter: let us talk of
+something else. Where did those flowers come from?"
+
+"Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to-night; and I wanted a
+bouquet."
+
+"Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it himself. He rarely
+misses an excuse for coming."
+
+"Why do you say that, Nelly? He comes here very seldom, except on
+Sunday; and that is a regular thing, just as your coming is."
+
+"He was here on Tuesday; you saw him at Mrs. Saunders's on Wednesday; he
+was at your at-home on Thursday; and he sends a bouquet on Saturday."
+
+"I cannot help meeting him out; and not to invite him to my at-home
+would be to cut him. Pray are you growing spiteful, like Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax?"
+
+"Marian: you got out of bed at the wrong side this morning; and you have
+made that mistake oftener since your return from Sark than in all your
+life before. Douglas has become a lazy good-for-nothing; and he comes
+here a great deal too often. Instead of encouraging him to dangle after
+you as he does, and to teach you all those finely turned sentiments
+about love which you were airing a minute ago, you ought to make him get
+called to the bar, or sent into Parliament, or put to work in some
+fashion."
+
+"Nelly!"
+
+"Bother Nelly! It is true; and you know it as well as I do."
+
+"If he fancies himself in love with me, I cannot help it."
+
+"You can help his following you about."
+
+"I cannot. He does not follow me about. Why does not Ned object? He
+knows that Sholto is in love with me; and he does not care."
+
+"Oh, if it is only to make Ned jealous, then I have nothing more to say:
+you may flirt away as hard as you please. There's a knock at the door,
+just in time to prevent us from quarrelling. I know whose knock it is,
+too."
+
+Marian had flushed slightly at the sound; and Elinor, with her feet
+stretched out before her, lapped the carpet restlessly with her heels,
+and watched her cousin sourly as Douglas entered. He was in evening
+dress.
+
+"Good-evening," said Elinor. "So you are going to the theatre, too?"
+
+"Why?" said Douglas. "Is any one coming with us? Shall we have the
+pleasure of your company?"
+
+"No," replied Elinor, drily. "I thought Mr. Conolly was perhaps going
+with you."
+
+"I shall be very glad, I am sure, if he will," said Douglas.
+
+"He will not," said Marian. "I doubt if he will come home before we
+start."
+
+"You got my flowers safely, I see."
+
+"Yes, thank you. They are beautiful."
+
+"They need be, if you are to wear them."
+
+"I think I will go," said Elinor, "if you can spare me. Marian has been
+far from amiable; and if you are going to pay her compliments, I shall
+very soon be as bad as she. Good-bye." Douglas gratefully went with her
+to the door. She looked very hard at him, and almost made a grimace as
+they parted; but she said nothing.
+
+"I am very glad she went," said Marian, when Douglas returned. "She
+annoys me. Everything annoys me."
+
+"You are leading an impossible life here, Marian," he said, putting his
+hand on her chair and bending over her. "Whilst it lasts, everything
+will annoy you; and I, who would give the last drop of my blood to spare
+you a moment's pain, shall never experience the delight of seeing you
+happy."
+
+"What other life can I lead?"
+
+Douglas made an impulsive movement, as though to reply; but he
+hesitated, and did not speak. Marian was not looking at him. She was
+gazing into the fire.
+
+"Sholto," she said, after an interval of silence, "you must not come
+here any more."
+
+"What!"
+
+"You are too idle. You come here too often. Why do you not become a
+barrister, or go into Parliament, or at least write books? If Nelly can
+succeed as an author, surely you can."
+
+"I have left all that behind me. I am a failure: you know why. Let us
+talk no more of it."
+
+"Do not go on like that," said Marian, pettishly. "I dont like it."
+
+"I am afraid to say or do anything, you are so easily distressed."
+
+"Yes, I know I am very cross. Elinor remarked it too. I think you might
+bear with me, Sholto." Here, most unexpectedly, she rose and burst into
+tears. "When my whole life is one dreary record of misery, I cannot
+always be patient. I have been forbearing toward you many times."
+
+Douglas was at first frightened; for he had never seen her cry before.
+Then, as she sat down again, and covered her face with her handkerchief,
+he advanced, intending to kneel and put his arm about her; but his
+courage failed: he only drew a chair to the fire, and bent over, as he
+sat beside her, till his face was close to hers, saying, "It is all the
+fault of your mad marriage. You were happy until then. I have been
+silent hitherto; but now that I see your tears, I can no longer master
+myself. Listen to me, Marian. You asked me a moment since what other
+life was open to you. There is a better life. Leave England with me;
+and--and----" Marian had raised her head; and as she looked steadily at
+him, he stopped, and his lips became white.
+
+"Go on," she said. "I am not angry. What else?"
+
+"Nothing else except happiness." His voice died away: there was a pause.
+Then, recovering himself, he went on with something of his
+characteristic stateliness. "There is no use in prolonging your present
+life; it is a failure, like mine. Why should you hesitate? You know how
+seldom the mere letter of duty leads to either happiness or justice. You
+can rescue me from a wasted existence. You can preserve your own heart
+from a horrible slow domestic decay. _He_ will not care: he cares for
+nothing: he is morally murdering you. You have no children to think of.
+I love you; and I offer you your choice of the fairest spots in the wide
+world to pass our future in, with my protection to ensure your safety
+and comfort there, wherever it may be. You know what a hollow thing
+conventional virtue is. Who are the virtuous people about you? Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax, and her like. If you love me, you must know that you are
+committing a crime against nature in living as you are with a man who is
+as far removed from you in every human emotion as his workshop is from
+heaven. You have striven to do your duty by him in vain. He is none the
+happier: we are unutterably the more miserable. Let us try a new life. I
+have lived in society here all my days, and have found its atmosphere
+most worthless, most selfish, most impure. I want to be free--to shake
+the dust of London off my feet, and enter on a life made holy by love.
+You can respond to such an aspiration: you, too, must yearn for a pure
+and free life. It is within our reach: you have but to stretch out your
+hand. Say something to me. Are you listening?"
+
+"It seems strange that I should be listening to you quite calmly, as I
+am; although you are proposing what the world thinks a disgraceful
+thing."
+
+"Does it matter what the world thinks? I would not, even to save myself
+from a wasted career, ask you to take a step that would really disgrace
+you. But I cannot bear to think of you looking back some day over a
+barren past, and knowing that you sacrificed your happiness to
+Fashion--an idol. Do you remember last Sunday when we discussed that
+bitter saying that women who have sacrificed their feelings to the laws
+of society secretly know that they have been fools for their pains? _He_
+did not deny it. You could give no good reason for disbelieving it. You
+know it to be true; and I am only striving to save you from that vain
+regret. You have shewn that you can obey the world with grace and
+dignity when the world is right. Shew now that you can defy it
+fearlessly when it is tyrannical. Trust your heart, Marian--my darling
+Marian: trust your heart--and mine."
+
+"For what hour have you ordered the carriage?"
+
+"The carriage! Is that what you say to me at such a moment? Are you
+still flippant as ever?"
+
+"I am quite serious. Say no more now. If I go, I will go deliberately,
+and not on the spur of your persuasion. I must have time to think. What
+hour did you say?"
+
+"Seven."
+
+"Then it is time for me to dress. You will not mind waiting here alone?"
+
+"If you would only give me one hopeful word, I think I could wait
+happily forever."
+
+"What can I say?"
+
+"Say that you love me."
+
+"I am striving to discover whether I have always loved you or not.
+Surely, if there be such a thing as love, we should be lovers."
+
+He was chilled by her solemn tone; but he made a movement as if to
+embrace her.
+
+"No," she said, stopping him. "I am his wife still. I have not yet
+pronounced my own divorce."
+
+She left the room; and he walked uneasily to and fro Until she returned,
+dressed in white. He gazed at her with quickened breath as she
+confronted him. Neither heeded the click of her husband's latchkey in
+the door without.
+
+"When I was a little boy, Marian," he said, gazing at her, "I used to
+think that Paul Delaroche's Christian martyr was the most exquisite
+vision of beauty in the world. I have the same feeling as I look at you
+now."
+
+"Marian reminds me of that picture too," said Conolly. "I remember
+wondering," he continued, smiling, as they started and turned toward
+him, "why the young lady--she was such a perfect lady--was martyred in a
+ball dress, as I took her costume to be. Marian's wreath adds to the
+force of the reminiscence."
+
+"If I recollect aright," said Marian, taking up his bantering tone with
+a sharper irony, "Delaroche's martyr shewed a fine sense of the
+necessity of having her wrists gracefully tied. I am about to follow her
+example by wearing these bracelets, which I can never fasten. Be good
+enough to assist me, both of you."
+
+She extended a hand to each; and Conolly, after looking at the catch for
+a moment, closed it dexterously at the first snap. "By the bye," he
+said, whilst Douglas fumbled at the other bracelet, "I have to run away
+to Glasgow to-night by the ten train. We shall not see one another again
+until Monday evening."
+
+Douglas's hand began to shake so that the gold band chafed Marian's arm.
+"There, there," she said, drawing it away from him, "you do it for me,
+Ned. Sholto has no mechanical genius." Her hand was quite steady as
+Conolly shut the clasp. "Why must you go to Glasgow?"
+
+"They have got into a mess at the works there; and the engineer has
+telegraphed for me to go down and see what is the matter. I shall
+certainly be back on Monday. Have something for me to eat at half past
+seven. I am sorry to be away from our Sunday dinner, Douglas; but you
+know the popular prejudice. If you want a thing done, see to it
+yourself."
+
+"Sholto has been very eloquent this evening on the subject of popular
+prejudices," said Marian. "He says that to defy the world is a proof of
+honesty."
+
+"So it is," said Conolly. "I get on in the world by defying its old
+notions, and taking nobody's advice but my own. Follow Douglas's
+precepts by all means. Do you know that it is nearly a quarter to
+eight?"
+
+"Oh! Let us go. We shall be late."
+
+"I shall not see you to-morrow, Douglas. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," said Douglas, keeping at some distance; for he did not
+care to offer Conolly his hand before Marian now. "Pleasant journey."
+
+"Thank you. Hallo! [Marian had impatiently turned back.] What have you
+forgotten?"
+
+"My opera-glass," said Marian. "No, thanks: you would not know where to
+look for it: I will go myself."
+
+She went upstairs; and Conolly, after a pause, followed, and found her
+in their bedroom, closing the drawer from which she had just taken the
+opera-glass.
+
+"Marian," he said: "you have been crying to-day. Is anything wrong? or
+is it only nervousness?"
+
+"Only nervousness," said Marian. "How did you find out that I had been
+crying? it was only for an instant, because Nelly annoyed me. Does my
+face shew it?"
+
+"It does to me, not to anyone else. Are you more cheerful now?"
+
+"Yes, I am all right. I will go to Glasgow with you, if you like."
+
+Conolly recoiled, disconcerted. "Why?" he said. "Do you wish----?" He
+recovered himself, and added, "It is too cold, my dear; and I must
+travel very fast. I shall be busy all the time. Besides, you are
+forgetting the theatre and Douglas, who, by the bye, is catching cold on
+the steps."
+
+"Well, I had better go with Douglas, since it will make you happier."
+
+"Go with Douglas, my dear one, if it will make _you_ happier," said he,
+kissing her. To his surprise, she threw her arm round him, held him fast
+by the shoulder, and looked at him with extraordinary earnestness. He
+gave a little laugh, and disengaged himself gently, saying, "Dont you
+think your nervousness is taking a turn rather inconvenient for
+Douglas?" She let her hands fall; closed her lips; and passed quietly
+out. He went to the window and watched her as she entered the carriage.
+Douglas held the door open for her; and Conolly, looking at him with a
+sort of pity, noted that he was, in his way, a handsome man and that his
+habit of taking himself very seriously gave him a certain, dignity. The
+brougham rolled away into the fog. Conolly pulled down the blind, and
+began to pack his portmanteau to a vigorously whistled accompaniment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Conolly returned from Glasgow a little before eight on Monday evening.
+There was no light in the window when he entered the garden. Miss
+McQuinch opened the door before he reached it.
+
+"What!" he said. "Going the moment I come in!" Then, seeing her face by
+the hall lamp, he put down his bag quickly, and asked what the matter
+was.
+
+"I dont know whether anything is the matter. I am very glad you have
+returned. Come into the drawing-room: I dont want the servants to hear
+us talking."
+
+"There is no light here," he said, following her in. "Is it possible you
+have been waiting in the dark?"
+
+He lit a candle, and was about to light a lamp when she exclaimed
+impatiently, "Oh, I did not notice it: what does it matter? Do let the
+lamp alone, and listen to me." He obeyed, much amused at her irritation.
+
+"Where has Marian gone to?" she asked.
+
+"Is she out?" he said, suddenly grave. "You forget that I have come
+straight from Glasgow."
+
+"I have been here since three o'clock. Marian sent me a note not to come
+on Sunday--that she should be out and that you were away. But they tell
+me that she was at home all yesterday, except for two hours when she was
+out with Sholto. She packed her trunks in the evening, and went away
+with them. She told the cabman to drive to Euston. I dont know what it
+all means; and I have been half distracted waiting here for you. I
+thought you would never come. There is a note for you on your
+dressing-table."
+
+He pursed his lips a little and looked attentively at her, but said
+nothing.
+
+"Wont you go and open it?" she said anxiously. "It must contain some
+explanation."
+
+"I am afraid the explanation is obvious."
+
+"You have no right to say that. How do you know? If you are not going to
+read her letter, you had better say so at once. I dont want to pry into
+it: I only want to know what is become of Marian."
+
+"You shall read it by all means. Will you excuse me whilst I fetch it?"
+
+She stamped with impatience. He smiled and went for the letter, which,
+after a brief absence, he placed unopened on the table before her,
+saying:
+
+"I suppose this is it. I laid my hand on it in the dark."
+
+"Are you going to open it?" she said, hardly able to contain herself.
+
+"No."
+
+He had not raised his voice; but it struck her that he was in a rage.
+His friendly look and quiet attitude first reassured, then, on second
+thoughts, exasperated her.
+
+"Why wont you?"
+
+"I really dont know. Somehow, I am not curious. It interests you. Pray
+open it."
+
+"I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will lie there
+forever."
+
+He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, and handed her the
+enclosure. She kept down her hands stubbornly. He smiled a little, still
+presenting it. At last she snatched it, much as she would have liked to
+snatch a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned pale, and
+looked as she had used to in her childhood, when in disgrace and
+resolute not to cry. "I had rather have had my two hands cut off," she
+said passionately, after a pause.
+
+"It is very sad for you," said Conolly, sympathetically. "He is an
+educated man; but I cannot think that he has much in him."
+
+"He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, indeed! And what are
+_you_ going to do, may I ask?"
+
+"Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear."
+
+"Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening." He seemed to know that she
+would not leave; for he made no movement to open the door for her. On
+her way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists clenched,
+that for a moment he was doubtful whether she would not bodily assault
+him.
+
+"Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?" she said, letting her temper
+loose. "How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?"
+
+"What _can_ I do, Miss McQuinch?" he said, gently.
+
+"You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utter
+idiot of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him?
+If you are, I will go with you, and not let him touch you."
+
+"Thank you," he said, good-humoredly. "But you see she does not wish to
+live with me."
+
+"Good God, man, what woman do you think _could_ wish to live with you! I
+suppose Marian wanted a human being to live with, and not a calculating
+machine. You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling enough to
+have kicked him out of the house, and then beaten her black and blue for
+encouraging him, you would have been more of a man than you are: she
+would have loved you more. You are not a man: you are a stone full of
+brains--such as they are! Listen to me, Mr. Conolly. There is one chance
+left--if you will only make haste. Go after them; overtake them; thrash
+him within an inch of his life; and bring her back and punish her how
+you please so long as you shew her that you care. You can do it if you
+will only make up your mind: he is a coward; and he is afraid of you: I
+have seen it in his eye. You are worth fifty of him--if you would only
+not be so cold blooded--if you will only go--_dear_ Mr. Conolly--youre
+not really insensible--you will, wont you?"
+
+This, the first tender tone he had ever heard in her voice, made him
+look at her curiously. "What does the letter say?" he asked, still
+quietly, but inexorably.
+
+She snatched it up again. "Here," she said. "'_Our marriage was a
+mistake. I am going away with Douglas to the other side of the world. It
+is all I can do to mend matters. Pray forget me_.' That is what her
+letter says, since you condescend to ask."
+
+"It is too late, then. You felt that as you read it, I think?"
+
+"Yes," she cried, sitting down in a paroxysm of grief, but unable to
+weep. "It is too late; and it is all your fault. What business had you
+to go away? You knew what was going to happen. You intended it to
+happen. You wanted it to happen. You are glad it has happened; and it
+serves you right. '_Pray forget her_.' Oh, yes, poor girl! she need not
+trouble about that. I declare there is nothing viler, meaner,
+cowardlier, selfisher on earth than a man. Oh, if we had only done what
+we always said we would do--kept free from you!"
+
+"It was a good plan," said Conolly, submissively.
+
+"Was it? How were we to know that you were not made of flesh and blood,
+pray? There, let me go. [The table was between them; but she rose and
+shook off an imaginary detaining hand.] I dont want to hear anything
+more about it. I suppose you are right not to care. Very likely she was
+right to go, too; so we are all right, and everything is for the best,
+no doubt. Marian is ruined, of course; but what does that matter to you?
+She was only in your way. You can console yourself with your--" Here
+Armande came in; and Elinor turned quickly to the fireplace and stood
+there, so that the housemaid should not see her face.
+
+"Your dinner, sir," said Armande, with a certain artificiality of manner
+that was, under the circumstances, significant. "There is a nice fire in
+the laboratory."
+
+"Thank you," said Conolly. "Presently, Armande."
+
+"The things will spoil if you wait too long, sir. The mistress was very
+particular with me and cook about it." And Armande, with an air of
+declining further responsibility, went out.
+
+"What shall I do without Marian?" said Conolly. "Not one woman in a
+hundred is capable of being a mistress to her servants. She saved me all
+the friction of housekeeping."
+
+"You are beginning to feel your loss," said Elinor, facing him again. "A
+pleasant thing for a woman of her talent to be thrown away to save you
+the friction of housekeeping. If you had paid half the attention to her
+happiness that she did to your dinners you would not be in your present
+predicament."
+
+"Have you really calculated that it is twice as easy to make a woman
+happy as to feed a man?"
+
+"Calc--! Yes, I have. I tell you that it is three times as easy--six
+times as easy: more fool the woman! You can make a woman happy for a
+week by a word or a kiss. How long do you think it takes to order a
+week's dinners? I suppose you consider a kiss a weakness?"
+
+"I am afraid--judging by the result--that I am not naturally clever at
+kissing."
+
+"No, I should think not, indeed. Then you had better go and do what you
+_are_ clever at--eat your dinner."
+
+"Miss McQuinch: did you ever see an unfortunate little child get a
+severe fall, and then, instead of a little kindly petting, catch a sound
+whacking from its nurse for daring to startle her and spoil its
+clothes?"
+
+"Well, what is the point of that?"
+
+"You remind me a little of the nurse. I have had a sort of fall this
+evening."
+
+"And now you are going to pretend to be hurt, I suppose; because you
+dont care to be told that it is your own fault. That is a common
+experience with children, too. I tell you plainly that I dont believe
+you are hurt at all; though you may not be exactly pleased--just for the
+moment. However, I did not mean to be uncivil. If you are really sorry,
+I am at least _as_ sorry. I have not said all I think."
+
+"What more?"
+
+"Nothing of any use to say. I see I am wasting my time here--and no
+doubt wasting yours too."
+
+"Well, I think you have had your turn. If you are not thoroughly
+satisfied, pray go on for ten minutes longer: your feelings do you
+credit, as the phrase goes. Still, do not forget that you thought just
+the same of me a week ago; and that if you had said as much then you
+might have prevented what has happened. Giving me a piece of your mind
+now is of no use except as far as it relieves you. To Marian or me or
+anyone else it does no good. So when you have said your worst, we cannot
+do better, I think, than set our wits to work about our next move."
+
+Elinor received this for a moment in dudgeon. Then she laughed sourly,
+and said, "There is some sense in that. I am as much to blame as
+anybody: I dont deny it--if that is any comfort to you. But as to the
+next move, you say yourself that it is too late to do anything; and I
+dont see that you can do much."
+
+"That is so. But there are a few things to be faced. First, I have to
+set Marian and myself free."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Divorce her."
+
+"Divorce!" Elinor looked at him in dismay. He was unmoved. Then her gaze
+fell slowly, and she said: "Yes: I suppose you have a right to that."
+
+"She also."
+
+"So that she may marry him--from a sense of duty. That will be so happy
+for her!"
+
+"She will have time, before she is free to find out whether she likes
+him or not. There will be a great fuss in the family over the scandal."
+
+"Do you care about that? _I_ dont."
+
+"No. However, thats a detail. Marian will perhaps write to you. If so,
+just point out to her that her five hundred a year belongs to her still,
+and makes her quite independent of him and of me. That is all, I think.
+You need take no pains now to conceal what has happened: the servants
+below know it as well as we: in a week it will be town talk."
+
+Elinor looked wistfully at him, her impetuosity failing her as she felt
+how little effect it was producing. Yet her temper rather rose than fell
+at him. There was a much more serious hostility than before in her tone
+as she said:
+
+"You seem to have been thoroughly prepared for what has happened. I do
+not want any instructions from you as to what I shall write to Marian
+about her money affairs: I want to know, in case she takes it into her
+head to come back when she has found what a fool she has made of
+herself, whether I may tell her that you are glad to be rid of her, and
+that there is no use in her humiliating herself by coming to your door
+and being turned away."
+
+"Shall I explain the situation to you from my point of view?" said he.
+At the sound of his voice she looked up in alarm. The indulgent,
+half-playful manner which she had almost lost the sense of because it
+was so invariable with him in speaking to ladies was suddenly gone. She
+felt that the real man was coming out now without ceremony. He was quick
+to perceive the effect he had produced. To soften it, he placed a
+comfortable chair on the hearthrug, and said, in his ordinary friendly
+way: "Sit nearer the fire: we can talk more comfortably. Now," he
+continued, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, "let me tell you,
+Miss McQuinch, that when you talk of my turning people away from my door
+you are not talking fair and square sense to me. I dont turn my
+acquaintances off in that way, much less my friends; and a woman who has
+lived with me as my wife for eighteen months must always be a rather
+particular friend. I liked her before I was her husband, and I shall
+continue to like her when I am no longer her husband. So you need have
+no fear on that score. But I wont remain her husband. You said just now
+that I knew what was going to happen; that I intended it to happen,
+wanted it to happen, and am glad it happened. There is more truth in
+that than you thought when you said it. For some time past Marian has
+been staying with me as a matter of custom and convenience only, using
+me as a cover for her philandering with Douglas, and paying me by
+keeping the house very nicely for me. I had asked myself once or twice
+how long this was to last. I was in no hurry for the answer; for
+although I was wifeless and had no one to live with who really cared for
+me, I was quite prepared to wait a couple of years if necessary, on the
+chance of our making it up somehow. But sooner or later I should have
+insisted on closing our accounts and parting; and I am not sorry now
+that the end has come, since it was inevitable; though I am right sorry
+for the way it has come. Instead of eloping in the conventional way, she
+should have come to an understanding with me. I could easily have taken
+her for a trip in the States, where we could have stopped a few months
+in South Dakota and got divorced without any scandal. I have never made
+any claims on her since she found out that she didnt care for me; and
+she might have known from that that I was not the man to keep her
+against her will and play dog in the manger with a fellow like Douglas.
+However, thats past praying for now. She has had enough of me; and I
+have had more than enough of her set and her family, except that I
+should like to remain good friends with you. You are the only one of the
+whole lot worth your salt. It is understood, of course, that you take
+Marian's part against me on all issues; but will you be friends as far
+as is consistent with that?"
+
+"All right," said Nelly, shortly.
+
+"Shake hands on it; and I'll tell you something else that will help you
+to understand me better," he said, holding out his hand. She gave hers;
+and when the bargain was struck, he turned to the fire and seated
+himself on the edge of the table.
+
+"You know that when I married," he resumed, "I was promoted to mix in
+fashionable society for the first time. Of course you do: that was the
+whole excitement of the affair for the family. You know the impression I
+made on polite society better, probably, than I do. Now tell me: do you
+know what impression polite society made on me?"
+
+"Dont understand."
+
+"Perhaps it has never occurred even to you, sharp as you are, that I
+could have taken society otherwise than at its own valuation of itself,
+as something much higher, more cultivated and refined than anything that
+I had been accustomed to. Well, I never believed in that much at any
+time; but it was not until I had made a _m�salliance_ for Marian's sake
+that I realized how infinitely beneath me and my class was the one I had
+married into."
+
+"_M�salliance!_--with Marian! I take back the shake hands."
+
+"_M�salliance_ with her class, for her sake: I made the distinction
+purposely. Now what am I, Miss McQuinch? A worker. I belonged and belong
+to the class that keeps up the world by its millions of serviceable
+hands and serviceable brains. All the pride of caste in me settles on
+that point. I admit no loafer as my equal. The man who is working at the
+bench is my equal, whether he can do my day's work or not, provided he
+is doing the best he can. But the man who does not work anyhow, and the
+class that does not work, is a class below mine. When I annoyed Marian
+by refusing to wear a tall hat and cuffs, I did so because I wanted to
+have it seen as I walked through Piccadilly and St. James's Street that
+I did not belong there, just as your people walk through a poor street
+dressed so as to shew that they dont belong there. To me a man like your
+uncle, Marian's father, or like Marmaduke or Douglas, loafing idly round
+spending money that has been made by the sweat of men like myself, are
+little better than thieves. They get on with the queerest makeshifts for
+self-respect: old Mr. Lind with family pride. Douglas with personal
+vanity, and Marmaduke with a sort of interest in his own appetites and
+his own jollity. Everything is a sham with them: they have drill and
+etiquet instead of manners, fashions instead of tastes, small talk
+instead of intercourse. Everything that is special to them as
+distinguished from workers is a sham: when you get down to the real
+element in them, good or bad, you find that it is something that is
+common to them and to all civilized mankind. The reason that this isnt
+as clear to other workmen who come among them as it is to me is that
+most workmen share their ignorance of the things they affect superiority
+in. Poor Jackson, whom you all call the Yankee cad, and who is not a cad
+at all in his proper place among the engineers at our works, believes in
+the sham refinements he sees around him at the at-homes he is so fond
+of. He has no art in him--no trained ear for music or for fine diction,
+no trained eye for pictures and colors and buildings, no cultivated
+sense of dignified movement, gesture, and manner. But he knows what
+fashionable London listens to and looks at, and how it talks and
+behaves; and he makes that his standard, and sets down what is
+different from it as vulgar. Now the difference between me and him is
+that I got an artistic training by accident when I was young, and had
+the natural turn to profit by it. Before I ever saw a West End Londoner
+I knew beautiful from ugly, rare from common, in music, speech, costume,
+and gesture; for in my father's operatic and theatrical companies there
+did come now and then, among the crowd of thirdraters, a dancer, an
+actor, a scenepainter, a singer, or a bandsman or conductor who was a
+fine artist. Consequently, I was not to be taken in like Jackson by
+made-up faces, trashy pictures, drawling and lounging and strutting and
+tailoring, drawing-room singing and drawing-room dancing, any more than
+by bad ventilation and unwholesome hours and food, not to mention polite
+dram drinking, and the round of cruelties they call sport. I found that
+the moment I refused to accept the habits of the rich as standards of
+refinement and propriety, the whole illusion of their superiority
+vanished at once. When I married Marian I was false to my class. I had a
+sort of idea that my early training had accustomed me to a degree of
+artistic culture that I could not easily find in a working girl, and
+that would be quite natural to Marian. I soon found that she had the
+keenest sense of what was ladylike, and no sense of what was beautiful
+at all. A drawing, a photograph, or an engraving sensibly framed without
+a white mount round it to spoil it pained her as much as my wrists
+without cuffs on them. No mill girl could have been less in sympathy
+with me on the very points for which I had preferred her to the mill
+girls. The end of it was that I felt that love had made me do a
+thoroughly vulgar thing--marry beneath me. These aristocratic idle
+gentlemen will never be shamed out of their laziness and low-mindedness
+until the democratic working gentlemen refuse to associate with them
+instead of running after them and licking their boots. I am heartily
+glad now to be out of their set and rid of them, instead of having to
+receive them civilly in my house for Marian's sake. The whole business
+was strangling me: the strain of keeping my feeling to myself was more
+than you can imagine. Do you know that there have been times when I have
+been so carried away with the idea that she must be as tired of the
+artificiality of our life as I was, that I have begun to speak my mind
+frankly to her; and when she recoiled, hurt and surprised and frightened
+that I was going to turn coarse at last, I have shut up and sat there
+apparently silent, but really saying under my breath: 'Why dont you go?
+Why dont you leave me, vanish, fly away to your own people? You must be
+a dream: I never married you. You dont know me: you cant be my wife:
+your lungs were not made to breathe the air I live in.' I have said a
+thousand things like that, and then wondered whether there was any truth
+in telepathy--whether she could possibly be having my thoughts
+transferred to her mind and thinking it only her imagination. I would
+ask myself whether I despised her or not, calling on myself for the
+truth as if I did not believe the excuses I made for her out of the
+fondness I could not get over. I am fond of her still, sometimes. I did
+not really--practically, I mean--despise her until I gave up thinking
+about her at all. There was a certain kind of contempt in that
+indifference, beyond a doubt: there is no use denying it. Besides, it is
+proved to me now by the new respect I feel for her because she has had
+the courage and grit to try going away with Douglas. But my love for her
+is over: nothing short of her being born over again--a thing that
+sometimes happens--will ever bring her into contact with me after this.
+To put it philosophically, she made the mistake of avoiding all
+realities, and yet marrying herself to the hardest of realities, a
+working man; so it was inevitable that she should go back at last to the
+region of shadows and mate with that ghostliest of all unrealities, the
+non-working man. Perhaps, too, the union may be more fruitful than ours:
+the cross between us was too violent. Now you have the whole story from
+my point of view. What do you--"
+
+"Hush!" said Elinor, interrupting him. "What is that noise outside?"
+
+The house bell began to ring violently; and they could hear a confused
+noise of voices and footsteps without.
+
+"Can she have come back?" said Elinor, starting up.
+
+"Impossible!" said Conolly, looking disturbed for the first time. They
+stood a moment listening, with averted eyes. A second peal from the bell
+was followed by roars of laughter, amid which a remonstrant voice was
+audible. Then the house door was hammered with a stick. Conolly ran
+downstairs at once and opened it. On the step he found Marmaduke reeling
+in the arms of the Rev. George.
+
+"How are you, ol' fler?" said Marmaduke, plunging into the hall. "The
+parson is tight. I found him tumbling about High Street, and brought him
+along."
+
+"Pray excuse this intrusion," whispered the Rev. George. "You see the
+state he is in. He accosted me near Campden Hill; and I really could not
+be seen walking with him into town. I wonder he was not arrested."
+
+"He is the worse for drink; but he is sober enough to know how to amuse
+himself at your expense," said Conolly, aloud. "Come up to the
+laboratory. Miss McQuinch is there."
+
+"But he is not fit," urged the clergyman. "Look at him trying to hang up
+his hat. How absurd--I should rather say how deplorable! I assure you he
+is perfectly tipsy. He has been ringing the bells of the houses, and
+requesting females to accompany us. Better warn Elinor."
+
+"Nonsense!" said Conolly. "I have some news that will sober him. Here is
+Miss McQuinch. Are you going?"
+
+"Yes," said Elinor. "I should lose my patience if I had to listen to
+George's comments; and I am tired. I would rather go."
+
+"Not yet, Nelly. Wont um stay and talk to um's Marmadukes?"
+
+"Let me go," said Elinor, snatching away her hand, which he had seized.
+"You ought to be at home in bed. You are a sot." At this Marmaduke
+laughed boisterously. She passed him contemptuously, and left. The three
+men then went upstairs, Marmaduke dropping his pretence of drunkenness
+under the influence of Conolly's presence.
+
+"Marian is not in, I presume," said the clergyman, when they were
+seated.
+
+"No." said Conolly. "She has eloped with Douglas."
+
+They stared at him. Then Marmaduke gave a long whistle; and the
+clergyman rose, pale. "What do you mean, sir?" he said.
+
+Conolly did not answer; and the Rev. George slowly sat down again.
+
+"Well, I'm damned sorry for it," said Marmaduke, emphatically. "It was
+a mean thing for Douglas to do, with all his brag about his honor."
+
+The Rev. George covered his face with his handkerchief and sobbed.
+
+"Come, shut up, old fellow; and dont make an ass of yourself," said
+Marmaduke. "What are you going to do, Conolly?"
+
+"I must simply divorce her."
+
+"Go for heavy damages, Conolly. Knock a few thousand out of him, just to
+punish him."
+
+"He could easily afford it. Besides, why should I punish him?"
+
+"My dear friend," cried the clergyman, "you must not dream of a divorce.
+I implore you to abandon such an idea. Consider the disgrace, the
+impiety! The publicity would kill my father."
+
+Conolly shook his head.
+
+"There is no such thing as divorce known to the Church. 'What God hath
+joined together, let no man put asunder.'"
+
+"She had no right to bolt," said Marmaduke. "Thats certain."
+
+"I was married by a registrar," said Conolly; "and as there is no such
+thing as civil marriage known to the Church, our union, from the
+ecclesiastical point of view, has no existence. We were not joined by
+God, in fact, in your sense. To deny her the opportunity of remarrying
+would be to compel her to live as an adulteress in the eye of the law,
+which, by the bye, would make me the father of Douglas's children. I
+cannot, merely because your people are afraid of scandal, take such a
+revenge on Marian as to refuse her the freedom she has sacrificed so
+much for. After all, since our marriage has proved a childless one, the
+only reason for our submitting to be handcuffed to one another, now that
+our hearts are no longer in the arrangement, is gone."
+
+"The game began at Sark," said Marmaduke. "Douglas stuck to her there
+like a leech. He's been about the house here a good deal since she came
+back. I often wondered you didnt kick him out. But, of course, it was
+not my business to say anything. Was she huffed into going? You hadnt
+any row with her just before, had you?
+
+"We never had rows."
+
+"That was your mistake, Conolly. You should have heard poor Susanna and
+me fighting. We always ended by swearing we would never speak to one
+another again. Nothing duller than a smooth life. If you had given
+Marian something to complain of, she would have been too much taken up
+with it to bother about Douglas."
+
+"But have you ascertained whither they have gone?" said the clergyman,
+distractedly. "Will you not follow them?"
+
+"I know nothing of their movements. Probably they are crossing to New
+York."
+
+"But surely you ought to follow her," said the Rev. George. "You may yet
+be in time to save her from worse than death."
+
+"Yah!" said Marmaduke. "Drop all that rot, George. Worse than death be
+hanged! Serves the family right! They are a jolly sight too virtuous: it
+will do them good to get shewn up a bit."
+
+"If you have no respect for the convictions of a priest," exclaimed the
+Rev. George, shedding tears, "you might at least be silent in the
+presence of a heartbroken brother and husband."
+
+"Oh, I dont want to shew any want of consideration for you or Conolly,"
+said Marmaduke, sulkily. "No doubt it's rough on you. But as to the
+feelings of the family, I tell you flatly that I dont care if the whole
+crew were brought to the Old Bailey to-morrow and convicted of bigamy.
+It would take the conceit out of them."
+
+"I know not how to break this wretched news to my father," said the Rev.
+George, turning disconsolately from his sottish cousin to Conolly.
+
+"It is no such uncommon occurrence. The less fuss made about it the
+better. She is not to blame, and I shall not be heard crying out misery
+and disgrace. Your family can very well follow my example. I have
+nothing to say against her, and I believe she has nothing to say against
+me. Nothing can prevent such publicity as a petition for divorce must
+entail. Your father will survive it, never fear."
+
+The clergyman, remembering how vainly he had tried to change Conolly's
+intention when Marian was to be married, felt that he should succeed no
+better now that she was to be divorced. Silent and cast down, he sat
+dangling his handkerchief between his knees and leaning forward on his
+elbows toward the fire.
+
+"You must excuse me if I see my way straight through to the end. I
+daresay you would rather realize it gradually, inevitable as it is,"
+added Conolly, looking down with some pity at his drooping figure. "I
+cannot help my habit of mind. When are you going to be married?" he
+continued, to Marmaduke.
+
+"I dont know. The Countess is in a hurry. I'm not. But I suppose it will
+be some time in spring."
+
+"You have made up your mind to it at last?"
+
+"Oh, I never had any particular objection to it, only I dont like to be
+hunted into a corner. Conny is a good little girl, and will make a
+steady wife. I dont like her mother; but as for herself, she is fond of
+me; and after all, I _did_ lead her a dance long ago. Besides, old boy,
+the Earl is forking out handsomely; and as I have some notion of
+settling down to farm, his dust will come in conveniently as capital."
+
+The clergyman rose, and slowly pulled on his woolen gloves.
+
+"If youre going, I will see you part of the way," said Marmaduke. "I'll
+cheer you up. You know you neednt tell the governor until to-morrow."
+
+"I had rather go alone, if you intend to behave as you did before."
+
+"Never fear. I'm as sober as a judge now. Come along. Away with
+melancholy! Youll have Douglas for a brother-in-law before this time
+next year."
+
+This seemed to have been in the clergyman's mind; for he shook hands
+with his host more distantly than usual. When they were gone, Conolly
+went to the laboratory, and rang for his neglected dinner, which he ate
+with all a traveller's appetite. From the dinner table he went straight
+to the organ, and played until a little before midnight, when, after a
+brief turn in the open air, he retired to bed, and was soon quietly
+asleep.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Miss McQuinch spent Christmas morning in her sitting-room reading; a
+letter which had come by the morning post. It was dated the 17th
+December at New York: and the formal beginning and ending were omitted.
+This was an old custom between Marian and her cousin. In their girlish
+correspondence they had expressed their affection by such modes of
+address as "My darling Marian," and "My dearest Nelly." Subsequently
+they became oppressed by these ceremonies and dropped them. Thereafter
+their letters contained only the matter to be communicated and the
+signature.
+
+"You are the only person in England," wrote Marian, "to whom I dare
+write now. A month ago I had more correspondents than I had time to
+answer. Do you know, Nelly, I hesitated before commencing this letter,
+lest you should no longer care to have anything to do with me. That may
+have been an unworthy thought for a friend: but it was an unavoidable
+one for a woman.
+
+"And now comes the great vain question: What does everybody say? Oh, if
+I could only disembody myself; fly back to London for a few hours; and
+listen invisibly to society talking about me. I know this is mean: but
+one must fill up life with some mean curiosities. So please tell me what
+kind of sensation I have caused. Just the usual one. I suppose. Half the
+people never would have thought it; and the other half knew all along
+what it would come to. Well, I do not care much about the world in
+general; but I cannot quiet my conscience on the subject of my father
+and George. It must be very hard on papa that, after being disappointed
+in my marriage and having suffered long ago from what my mother did, he
+should now be disgraced by his daughter. For disgraced, alas! is the
+word. I am afraid poor George's prospects must be spoiled by the
+scandal, which, I know well, must be terrible. I thought my first duty
+was to leave Ned free, and to free myself, at all hazards; and so I did
+not dwell on the feelings and interests of others as much as I perhaps
+ought to have done. There is one point about which I am especially
+anxious. It never occurred to me before I went that people might say
+that my going was Ned's fault, and that he had treated me badly. You
+must contradict this with all your might and main if you hear it even
+hinted at.
+
+"There is no use in putting off the confession any longer, Nelly: I have
+made an utter fool of myself. _I wish I were back with Ned again_.
+There! what do you think of that? Now for another great confession, and
+a most humiliating one. Sholto is a--I dont know what epithet is fair. I
+suppose I have no right to call him an impostor merely because we were
+foolish enough to overrate him. But I can hardly believe now that we
+ever really thought that there were great qualities and powers latent
+beneath his proud reserve. Ned, I know, never believed in Sholto; and I,
+in my infinite wisdom, set that down to his not understanding him. Ned
+was right, as usual. If you want to see how selfish people are, and how
+skin-deep fashionable politeness is, take a voyage. Go with a picked
+company of the nice people you have met for an hour or so at a dinner or
+an at-home; and see how different they will appear when they have been
+cooped up in a ship with you day and night for a week. An ocean steamer
+is the next worst thing to the Palace of Truth. Poor Sholto did not
+stand the ordeal. He was ridiculously distant in his manner to the rest
+of the passengers, and in little matters at table and so forth he was
+really just as selfish as he could be. He was impatient because I was
+ill the first two days, and afterwards he seemed to think that I ought
+not to speak to anyone but himself. The doctor, who was very attentive
+to me, was his particular aversion; and it was on his account that we
+had our first quarrel, the upshot of which was a scene between them,
+which I overheard. One very fine day, when all the passengers were on
+deck, Sholto met the doctor in the saloon, and offered him a guinea for
+his attendance on me, telling him in the most offensively polite way
+that I would not trouble him for any further services. The doctor
+retorted very promptly and concisely; and though what he said was not
+dignified, I sympathized with him, and took care to be very friendly
+with him at dinner. (Meals take place on hoard ship at intervals of ten
+minutes: it is horrifying to see the quantity of food the elderly people
+consume.) To prevent further hostilities I took care to be always in the
+way when the doctor encountered Sholto afterwards. I cannot imagine Ned
+involving himself in such a paltry squabble. It is odd how things come
+about. I used to take Sholto's genius for granted, and think a great
+deal of it. In another sense, I used to take Ned's genius for granted,
+and think nothing of it. Now I have found out in a single fortnight that
+we saw all of Sholto that there was to be seen. His reserves of talent
+existed only in our imagination. He has absolutely no sense of humor;
+and he is always grumbling. Neither the servants, nor the food, nor the
+rooms, nor the wine, satisfy him. Imagine how this comes home to me,
+who, from not having heard grumbling for two years, had forgotten that
+men ever were guilty of it. I flirted a little, a very little, with the
+doctor; not because I meant anything serious, but because it amused me
+and made the trip pleasant. Sholto will not understand this. One day, on
+board, I was indiscreet enough to ask Sholto the use of a piece of
+machinery belonging to the ship. Ned would have known, or, if he had
+not, would very soon have found out. Sholto didnt know, and was weak
+enough to pretend that he did; so he snubbed me by saying that I could
+not understand it. This put me on my mettle; and I asked the surgeon
+that afternoon about it. The surgeon didnt know, and said so; but he
+appealed to the first officer, who explained it. I intended to revenge
+myself on Sholto by retailing the explanation to him next day; but
+unfortunately, whether through the first officer's want of perspicuity
+or my own stupidity, I was not a bit the wiser for the explanation.
+
+"I can tell you nothing as to what we are likely to do next. As Sholto
+has given up all his prospects for me, I cannot honorably desert him. I
+know now that I have ruined myself for nothing, and I must at least try
+to hide from him that he has done likewise. I can see that he is not
+happy; but he tries so desperately to persuade himself that he is, and
+clings so to the idea that the world is well lost for me, that I have
+not the heart to undeceive him. So we are still lovers; and, cynical
+though it sounds, I make him a great deal happier in my insincerity than
+I could if I really loved him, because I humor him with a cunning quite
+incompatible with passion. He, on the other hand, being still sincere,
+tries my patience terribly with his jealousies and importunities. As he
+has nothing to do, he is almost always with me; and a man who has no
+office to go to--I dont care who he is--is a trial of which you can have
+no conception. So much for our present relations. But I fear--indeed I
+know--that they will not last long. I dare not look steadily at the
+future. In spite of all that he has sacrificed for me, I cannot live
+forever with him. There are times at which he inspires me with such a
+frenzy of aversion and disgust that I have to put the strongest
+constraint upon myself to avoid betraying my feelings to him. We
+intended going to the West Indies direct from here, in search of some
+idyllic retreat where we could live alone together. He still entertains
+this project; but as I have totally abandoned it I put him off with some
+pretext for remaining here whenever he mentions it. I have only one hope
+of gaining a separation without being open to the reproach of having
+deserted him. You remember how we disputed that Saturday about the
+merits of a grand passion, which I so foolishly longed for. Well, I have
+tried it, and proved it to be a lamentable delusion, selfish,
+obstinate, blind, intemperate, and transient. As it has evaporated from
+me, so it will evaporate from Sholto in the course of time. It would
+have done so already, but that his love was more genuine than mine. When
+the time comes, he will get rid of me without the least remorse; and so
+he will have no excuse for reviving his old complaints of my treachery.
+
+"One new and very disagreeable feature in my existence, which I had
+partly prepared myself for, is the fear of detection. We sailed before
+our flight had become public; and as there was fortunately no one on
+board who knew us, I had a nine days' respite, and could fearlessly
+approach the other women, who, I suppose, would not have spoken to me
+had they known the truth. But here it is different. Ned's patents are so
+much more extensively worked here than in England, and the people are so
+go-ahead, that they take a great interest in him, and are proud of him
+as an American. The news got into the papers a few days after we
+arrived. To appreciate the full significance of this, you should know
+what American newspapers are. One of them actually printed a long
+account of my going away, with every paragraph headed in large print,
+'Domestic Unhappiness,' 'The Serpent in the Laboratory,' 'The
+Temptation,' 'The Flight,' 'The Pursuit,' and so on, all invented, of
+course. Other papers give the most outrageous anecdotes. Old jokes are
+revived and ascribed to us. I am accused of tearing his hair out, and he
+of coming home late at nights drunk. Two portraits of ferocious old
+women supposed to be Ned's mother-in-law have been published. The latest
+version appeared in a Sunday paper, and is quite popular in this hotel.
+According to it, Ned was in the habit of 'devoting me to science' by
+trying electrical experiments on me. 'This,' the account says, 'was kind
+of rough on the poor woman.' The day before I 'scooted,' a new machine
+appeared before the house, drawn by six horses. 'What are them men
+foolin' round with, Mr. C.?' said I. 'That's hubby's latest,' replied
+Ned. 'I guess it's the boss electro-dynamic fixin' in the universe.
+Full charge that battery with a pint of washing soda, an' youll fetch up
+a current fit to ravage a cont'nent. You shall have a try t'morro'
+mornin', Sal. Youre better seasoned to it than most Britishers; but if
+it dont straighten your hair and lift the sparks outer your
+eyelashes--!' 'You bet it wont, Mr. C.,' said I. That night (this is
+only what the paper says, mind) I stole out of bed; arranged the wires
+on each side of Ned so that if he stirred an inch he would make contact;
+charged the battery; and gently woke him, saying, 'Mr. C, love, dont
+stir for your life. Them things that's ticklin' your whiskers is the
+conductors of that boss fixin' o' yourn. If I was you, I'd lie still
+until the battery runs down.' 'Darn it all,' said Ned, afraid to lift
+his lips for a shout, and coming out in cold water all over the
+forehead, 'it wont run down for a week clear.' 'That'll answer me
+nicely,' I replied. 'Good-bye, Mr. C. Young Douglas from the corner
+grocery is waitin' for me with a shay down the avenue.' I cannot help
+laughing at these things, but they drive Sholto frantic. He is always
+described in them as a young man from some shop or other. He tries hard,
+out of delicacy, to keep the papers which contain them away from me; but
+I hear about them at breakfast, and buy them downstairs in the hall for
+myself. Another grievance of Sholto's is that I will not have meals
+privately. But my dislike to being always alone with him is greater than
+my dread that my secret will leak out, and that some morning I shall see
+in the people's faces that the Mrs. Forster who has so often been
+regaled with the latest account of the great scandal, is no other than
+the famous Mrs. Conolly. That evil day will come, sooner or later; but I
+had rather face it in one of these wonderful hotels than in a
+boarding-house, which I might be asked to leave. As to taking a house of
+our own, I shrink from any such permanent arrangement. We are noticed a
+good deal. Sholto is, of course, handsome and distinguished; and people
+take a fancy to me just as they used to long ago. I was once proud of
+this; but now it is a burden to me. For instance, there was a Mrs.
+Crawford staying here with her husband, a general, who has just built a
+house here. She was so determined to know me that I found it hard to
+keep her off without offending her. At last she got ill; and then I felt
+justified in nursing her. Sholto was very sulky because I did so, and
+wanted to know what business it was of mine. I did not trouble myself
+about his anger, and Mrs. Crawford was well in two days. In fact, I
+think Sholto was right in saying that she had only overeaten herself.
+After that I could avoid her no longer, and she was exceedingly kind to
+me. She wanted to introduce me to all her New York friends, and begged
+me to leave the hotel and go to her new mansion. There was plenty of
+room for us, she said. I did not know what to say. I could not repay her
+kindness by going to her house under false colors, and letting her
+introduce me to her circle; and yet I could make no reasonable excuse.
+At last, seeing that she attributed my refusals to pride, I told her
+plainly that if her friends were to learn my history by any accident
+they might not thank her for the introduction. She was quite confounded;
+but she did not abate her kindness in the least, although my reservation
+of confidence in only giving her a hint of the truth, checked her
+advances. You may think this an insane indiscretion on my part; but if
+you knew how often I have longed to stand up before everybody and
+proclaim who I am, and so get rid of the incubus of a perpetual
+falsehood, you would not be so much surprised. There is one unspeakable
+blessing in American law. It is quite easy to obtain a divorce. One can
+get free without sacrificing everything except bare existence. I do not
+care what anybody may argue to the contrary, our marriage laws are
+shameful.
+
+"I shall expect to hear from you very soon. If you desert me, Nelly,
+there is no such thing as friendship in the world. I want particularly
+to know what Ned did--as far as you know--when he heard the news. Is
+papa very angry? And, above all, could you find out how Mrs. Douglas is?
+I thought that Sholto would be uneasy and remorseful about her; but he
+does not really care half so much as I do. How selfish I have been! I
+used to flatter myself that I was thoughtful for others because I made a
+habit--a detestably self-conscious habit--of being considerate in
+trifles. And in the end, after being so vain-gloriously attentive to the
+momentary comfort of all connected with me, I utterly forgot them and
+thought only of myself when their whole happiness was concerned. I never
+knew how high I stood in my own estimation until I found how far the
+discovery of my folly and selfishness made me fall. Tell me everything".
+I cannot write any more now. My eyes are smarting: I feel as if I had
+been writing for a whole month instead of two days. Good-bye for three
+weeks.
+
+"MARIAN."
+
+"P.S. I have just learnt from a very severe criticism in one of the
+papers that Mdlle. Lalage Virtue has failed here completely. I fear from
+the wording that her unfortunate habit was apparent to the audience."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+On a cold afternoon in January, Sholto Douglas entered a hold in New
+York, and ascended to a room on the first floor. Marian was sitting
+there, thinking, with a letter in her lap, She only looked up for a
+moment when he entered; and he plucked off his sealskin gloves and threw
+aside his overcoat in silence.
+
+"It is an infernal day," he said presently.
+
+Marian sighed, and roused herself. "The rooms look cheerless in winter
+without the open fireplaces we are accustomed to in England."
+
+"Damn the rooms!" he muttered.
+
+Marian took up her letter again.
+
+"Do you know that he has filed a petition for divorce?" he said,
+aggressively.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You might have mentioned it to me. Probably you have known it for days
+past."
+
+"Yes. I thought it was a matter of course."
+
+"Or rather you did not think at nil. I suppose you would have left me in
+ignorance forever, if I had not heard from London myself."
+
+"Is it of importance, then?"
+
+"Certainly it is--of vital importance."
+
+"Have you any other news? From whom have you heard?"
+
+"I have received some private letters."
+
+"Oh! I beg your pardon."
+
+Five minutes passed in silence. He looked out of the window, frowning.
+She sat as before.
+
+"How much longer do you intend to stay in this place?" he said, turning
+upon her suddenly.
+
+"In New York?"
+
+"This is New York, I believe."
+
+"I think we may as well stay here as anywhere else."
+
+"Indeed! On what grounds have you arrived at that cheering conclusion?"
+
+Marian shrugged her shoulders. "I dont know," she said.
+
+"Nor do I. You do not seem happy here. At least, if you are, you fail to
+communicate your state of mind to those about you."
+
+"So it seems."
+
+"What does that mean?"
+
+"That you do not seem to be happy either."
+
+"How in the devil's name can you expect me to be happy in this city? Do
+you think it is pleasant to have no alternative to the society of
+American men except that of a sulky woman?"
+
+"Sholto!" said Marian, rising quickly, and looking at him in surprise.
+
+"Spare me these airs," he said, coldly. "You will have to accustom
+yourself to hear the truth occasionally."
+
+She sat down again. "I am not giving myself airs," she said, earnestly.
+"I am astonished. Have I really been sulky?"
+
+"You have been in the sulks for days past: and you are in them at this
+moment."
+
+"There is some misunderstanding between us then; for you have seemed to
+me quite cross and out of sorts for the last week; and I thought you
+were out of temper when you came in just now."
+
+"That is rather an old-fashioned retort."
+
+"Sholto: I do not know whether you intend it or not; but you are
+speaking very slightingly to me."
+
+He muttered something, and walked across the room and back. "I am quite
+clear on one point at least," he said. "It was not for this sort of
+thing that I crossed the Atlantic with you; and you had bettor make our
+relations more agreeable if you wish me to make them permanent."
+
+"You to make them permanent? I do not understand."
+
+"I shall not shrink from explaining myself. If your husband's suit is
+undefended, he will obtain a decree which will leave you a single woman
+in six months. Now, whatever you may think to the contrary, there is not
+a club in London that would hold me in any way bound to marry you after
+the manner in which you have behaved. Let me remind you that your future
+position depends on your present conduct. You have apparently forgotten
+it."
+
+She looked at him; and he went back to the window.
+
+"My husband's suit cannot be defended," she said. "Doubtless you will
+act according to the dictates of the London clubs."
+
+"I do not say so," he said, turning angrily. "I shall act according to
+the dictates of my own common sense. And do not be too sure that the
+petition will be unopposed. The law recognizes the plea of connivance."
+
+"But it would be a false plea," said Marian, raising her voice.
+
+"I shall not discuss that with you. Whether your husband was blind, or
+merely kept his eyes shut will not be decided by us. You have been
+warned. We will drop the subject now, if you please."
+
+"Do you suppose," said Marian, with a bright color in her cheeks, "that
+after what you have said, anything could induce me to marry you?"
+
+He was startled, and remained for a moment motionless. Then he said, in
+his usual cold tone, "As you please. You may think better of it. I will
+leave you for the present. When we meet again, you will be calmer."
+
+"Yes," she said. "Good-bye."
+
+Without answering, he changed his coat for a silk jacket, transferred
+his cigar-case to a pocket in it, and went out. When he had passed the
+threshold, he hesitated, and returned.
+
+"Why do you say good-bye?" he said, after clearing his throat uneasily.
+
+"I do not like to leave you without saying it."
+
+"I hope you have not misunderstood me, Marian. I did not mean that we
+should part."
+
+"I know that. Nevertheless, we shall part. I will never sleep beneath
+the same roof with you again."
+
+"Come!" he said, shutting the door: "this is nonsense. You are out of
+temper."
+
+"So you have already told me," she said, becoming pale.
+
+"Well, but--Marian: perhaps I may have spoken rather harshly just now;
+but I did not mean you to take it so. You must be reasonable."
+
+"Pray let us have no more words about it. I need no apologies, and
+desire no advances. Good-bye is enough."
+
+"But, Marian," said he, coming nearer, "you must not fancy that I have
+ceased to love you."
+
+"Above all," said Marian, "let us have no more of that. You say you hate
+this place and the life we lead here. I am heartily sick of it, and have
+been so for a long time."
+
+"Let us go elsewhere."
+
+"Yes, but not together. One word," she added resolutely, seeing his
+expression become fierce. "I will not endure any violence, even of
+language, from you. I know of old what you are when you lose your
+temper; and if you insult me I will summon aid, and proclaim who I am."
+
+"Do you think I am going to strike you?"
+
+"No, because you dare not. But I will not listen to oaths or abuse."
+
+"What have you to complain of? What is your grievance?"
+
+"I make no complaint. I exercise the liberty I bought so dearly to go
+where I please and do what I please."
+
+"And to desert me when I have sacrificed everything for you. I have
+incurred enormous expenses; alienated my friends; risked my position in
+society; and broken my mother's heart for your sake."
+
+"But for that I would have left you before. I am very sorry."
+
+"You have heard something in that letter which makes you hope that your
+husband will take you back. Not a woman in London will speak to you."
+
+"I tell you I am not going back. Oh, Sholto, dont be so mean. Can we not
+part with dignity? We have made a mistake. Let us acknowledge it
+quietly, and go our several ways."
+
+"I will not be got rid of so easily as you suppose," he said, his face
+darkening menacingly. "Do you think I believe in your going out alone
+from this hotel and living by yourself in a strange city? Come! who is
+it?"
+
+"Who is----? What do you mean?"
+
+"What new connexion have you formed? You were very anxious about our
+ship returning the other day--anxious about the mails, of course.
+Perhaps also about the surgeon."
+
+"I understand. You think I am leaving you to go to some other man. I
+will tell you now the true reason."
+
+"Do," said he, sarcastically, biting his lip.
+
+"I will. I am leaving you because, instead of loving you, as I foolishly
+thought I could, I neither respect nor even like you. You are utterly
+selfish and narrow-minded; and I deserve my disappointment for having
+deserted for your sake a far better man. I am sorry you have sacrificed
+so much for me; but if you had been worthy of a woman's regard, you
+would not have lost me."
+
+Douglas stared at her. "_I_ selfish and narrow-minded!" he said, with
+the calm of stupefaction.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I may have been narrow-minded in devoting myself so entirely to you,"
+said he slowly, after a pause. "But, though I do not ask for gratitude,
+I think I have been sufficiently a loser to disregard such a monstrous
+assertion as that I am selfish."
+
+"You show your selfishness by dwelling on what you have lost. You never
+think of what I have lost. I make no profession of unselfishness. I am
+suffering for my folly and egoism; and I deserve to suffer."
+
+"In what way, pray, are you suffering? You came here because you had a
+wretched home, and a husband who was glad to be rid of you. You do what
+you like, and have what you like. Name one solitary wish of yours that
+has not been silently gratified."
+
+"I do not find fault with you. You have been generous in supplying me
+with luxuries such as money can obtain. But it was not the want of money
+that made me fancy my home wretched. It is not true that I can do as I
+like. How many minutes is it since you threatened to cast me off if I
+did not make myself agreeable to you? Can you boast of your generosity
+after taunting me with my dependence on you?"
+
+"You misunderstood me, Marian. I neither boasted, nor threatened, nor
+taunted. I have even apologized for that moment's irritation. If you
+cannot forgive such a trifle, you yourself can have very little
+generosity."
+
+"Perhaps not. I do not violently resent things; but I cannot forget
+them, nor feel as I did before they happened."
+
+"You think so at present. Let us cease this bickering. Lovers' quarrels
+should not be carried too far."
+
+"I am longing to cease it. It worries me; and it does not alter my
+determination in the least."
+
+"Do you mean----"
+
+"I do mean. Dont look at me like that: you make me angry instead of
+frightening me."
+
+"And do you think I will suffer this quietly?"
+
+"You may suffer it as you please," said Marian, stepping quietly to the
+wall, and pressing a button. "I will never see you again if I can help
+it. If you follow me, or persecute me in any way, I will appeal to the
+police for protection as Mrs. Conolly. I despise you more than I do any
+one on earth."
+
+He turned away, and snatched up his coat and hat. She stood apparently
+watching him quietly, but really listening with quickened heart to his
+loud and irregular breathing. As he opened the door to go out, he was
+confronted on the threshold by a foreign waiter.
+
+"Vas you reeng?" said the waiter doubtfully, retreating a step.
+
+"I will not be accountable for that woman's expenses from this time
+forth," said Douglas, pointing at her, "You can keep her at your own
+risk, or turn her into the streets to pursue her profession, as you
+please."
+
+The waiter, smiting vaguely, looked first at the retreating figure of
+Douglas, and then at Marian.
+
+"I want another room, if you please," she said. "One on any of the upper
+floors will do; but I must have my things moved there at once."
+
+Her instructions were carried out after some parley. In the meantime,
+Douglas's man servant appeared, and said that he had been instructed to
+remove his master's luggage.
+
+"Is Mr. Forster leaving the hotel?" she asked.
+
+"I dont know his arrangements, madam."
+
+"I guess I do, then," said a sulky man, who was preparing to wheel away
+Marian's trunk. "He's about to shift his billet to the Gran' Central."
+
+Marian, still in a towering rage, sat down in her new room to consider
+her situation. To fix her attention, which repeatedly wandered to what
+had passed between her and Douglas, she counted her money, and found
+that she had, besides a twenty pound note which she had brought with her
+from London, only a few loose dollars in her purse. Her practice in
+housekeeping at Westbourne Terrace and Holland Park had taught her the
+value of money too well to let her suppose that she could afford to
+remain at a first rate American hotel with so small a sum in her
+possession. At home Conolly had made her keep a separate banking
+account; and there was money to her credit there; but in her ignorance
+of the law, she was not sure that she had not forfeited all her property
+by eloping. She resolved to move at once into some cheap lodging, and to
+live economically until she could ascertain the true state of her
+affairs, or until she could obtain some employment, to support her. She
+faced poverty without fear, never having experienced it.
+
+It was still early in the afternoon when she left the hotel and drove to
+the Crawfords'.
+
+"So you have come at last," cried Mrs. Crawford, who was fifty years of
+age and stout, but leaner in the face than fat Englishwomen of that age
+usually are.
+
+"I just expected you'd soon git tired of being grand all by yourself in
+the hotel yonder."
+
+"I fear I shall have to be the reverse of grand all by myself in some
+very shabby lodging," said Marian. "Dont be surprised Mrs. Crawford. Can
+one live in New York on ten dollars a week?"
+
+"_You_ cant live on ten dollars a week in New York nor on a hundred. You
+rode here, didnt you?"
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"Of course. If you have only ten dollars a week you should have walked.
+I know the sort you are, Mrs. Forster. You wont be long getting rid of
+your money, no matter where you live. But whats wrong? Hows your
+husband?"
+
+"I dont know. I hope he is quite well," said Marian, her voice trembling
+a little. "Mrs. Crawford: you are the only friend I have in America;
+and you have been so very kind to me that since I must trouble some one,
+I have ventured to come to you. The truth is that I have left my
+husband; and I have only about one hundred dollars in the world. I must
+live on that until I get some employment, or perhaps some money of my
+own from England."
+
+"Chut, child! Nawnsnse!" exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, with benevolent
+intolerance. "You go right back to your husband. I spose youve had a
+rumpus with him; but you mustnt mind that. All men are a bit selfish;
+and I should say from what I have seen of him that he is no exception to
+the rule. But you cant have perfection. He's a fine handsome fellow; and
+he knows it. And, as for you, I dont know what they reckon you in
+England; but youre the best-looking woman in Noo York: thats surtn. It's
+a pity for such a pair to fall out."
+
+"He is not selfish," said Marian. "You never saw him. I am afraid I must
+shock you, Mrs. Crawford. Mr. Forster is not my husband."
+
+"No! Do! Did you ever tell the General that?"
+
+"General Crawford! Oh, no."
+
+"Think of that man being cuter than me, a woman! He always said so. And
+the grit you must have, to tell it out as cool as that! Well! I'm sorry
+to hear it though, Mrs. Forster. It's a bad account--a very bad one. But
+if I take what you said just now rightly, youre married."
+
+"I am. I have deserted a very good husband."
+
+"It's a pity you didnt find that out a little sooner, isnt it?"
+
+"I know, Mrs. Crawford. I thought I was acting for the best."
+
+"Thought you were acting for the best in running away from a good
+husband! Well, you British aristocrats are singular. You throw stones at
+us because our women are so free and our divorces so easy. Yet youre
+always scandlizing us; and now _you_ tell me youve done it on morl
+grounds! Who educated you, child? And what do you intend to do now?"
+
+"For the present, only to get a lodging. Will you tell me where I should
+look for one? I dont know the east from the west end of this town; and I
+am so inexperienced that I might make a mistake easily as to the
+character of the places. Will you direct me to some street or quarter in
+which I should he likely to find suitable rooms? I can live very
+economically."
+
+"I dont know what to do," said Mrs. Crawford, perplexedly, turning her
+rings on her fingers. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you so
+pretty!"
+
+"Perhaps you would rather not assist me. You may tell me so candidly. I
+shall not be offended."
+
+"You mustnt take me up like that. I must have a talk with the General
+about you. I dont feel like letting you go into some ordinary place by
+yourself. But I cant ask you to stay here without consulting----"
+
+"Oh, no, you must not think of any such thing: I must begin to face the
+world alone at once. I assure you, Mrs. Crawford, I could not come here.
+I should only keep your friends away."
+
+"But nobody knows you."
+
+"Sooner or later I should meet someone who does. There are hundreds of
+people who know me by sight, who travel every year. Besides, my case is
+a very public one, unfortunately. May I take you into my confidence?"
+
+"If you wish, my dear. I dont ask you for it; but I will take it
+kindly."
+
+"I know you will. You must have heard all about me. Mr. Forster's real
+name is Douglas."
+
+Mrs. Crawford stifled a whoop of surprise. "And you! Are you----?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Only think! And that was Douglas! Why, I thought he was a
+straight-haired, sleeky, canting snake of a man. And you too are not a
+bit like what I thought. You are quite a person, Mrs.--Mrs. Conolly."
+
+"I have no right to bear that name any longer. Pray call me by my
+assumed name still, and keep my secret. I hope you do not believe all
+the newspapers said?"
+
+"No, of course not," said Mrs. Crawford. "But whose fault was it?"
+
+"Mine. Altogether mine. I wish you would tell people that Mr. Conolly is
+blameless in the matter."
+
+"He will take care of his own credit, never fear. I am sure you got some
+provocation: I know what men are. The General is not my first husband."
+
+"No, I got no provocation. Mr. Conolly is not like other men. I got
+discontented because I had nothing to desire. And now, about the
+lodgings, Mrs. Crawford. Do not think I am changing the subject from
+reticence. It is the question of money that makes me anxious. All my
+resources would be swallowed up at the hotel in less than a week."
+
+"Lodgings? You mean rooms, I guess. People here mostly go to
+boarding-houses. And as to the cheapness, you dont know what cheapness
+is. Cant you make some arrangement with your great relations in England?
+Have you no property of your own?"
+
+"I cannot tell whether my property remains my own or not. You must
+regard me as a poor woman. I am quite determined to have the lodgings;
+and I should like to arrange about them at once; for I am rather upset
+by something that happened this morning."
+
+"Well, if you must, you must, I know a place that might suit you: I
+lived in it myself when I was not so well off as I am at present. It is
+a little down-town; but you will have to put up with that for the sake
+of economy."
+
+Mrs. Crawford, who had read in the papers of her guest's relationship to
+the Earl of Carbury, then sent for her carriage, and dressed herself
+handsomely. When they had gone some distance, they entered a wide
+street, crossed half way along by an avenue and an elevated railway.
+
+"What do you think of this neighborhood?" said Mrs. Crawford.
+
+"It is a fine, wide street," replied Marian; "but it looks as if it
+needed to be swept and painted."
+
+"The other end is quieter. I'm afraid you wont like living here."
+
+Marian had hitherto thought of such streets as thoroughfares, not as
+places in which she could dwell. "Beggars cannot be choosers," she said,
+with affected cheerfulness, looking anxiously ahead for the promised
+quiet part.
+
+"Boarding-houses are so much the rule here, that it is not easy to get
+rooms. You will find Mrs. Myers a good soul, and though the house is not
+much to look at, it is comfortable enough inside."
+
+The appearance of the street improved as they went on; and the house
+they stopped at, though the windows were dingy and the paint old, was
+better than Marian had hoped for a minute before. She remained in the
+carriage whilst her companion conferred with the landlady within. Twenty
+minutes passed before Mrs. Crawford reappeared, looking much perplexed.
+
+"Mrs. Myers has a couple of rooms that would do you very well; only you
+would be on the same floor with a woman who is always drunk. She has
+pawned a heap of clothes, and promises to leave every day; but Mrs.
+Myers hasnt got rid of her yet. It's very provoking. She's quiet, and
+doesnt trouble any one; but still, of course----"
+
+"She cannot interfere with me," said Marian. "If that is the only
+objection, let it pass. I need have nothing to say to her. If she is not
+violent nor noisy, her habits are her own affair."
+
+"Oh, she wont trouble you. You can keep to yourself, English fashion."
+
+"Then let us agree at once. I cannot face any more searching and
+bargaining."
+
+"Youre looking pale. Are you sure you are not ill?"
+
+"No. It is nothing. I am rather tired."
+
+They went in together; and Marian was introduced to Mrs. Myers, a
+nervous widow of fifty. The rooms were small, and the furniture and
+carpets old and worn; but all was clean; and there was an open fireplace
+in the sitting-room.
+
+"They will do very nicely, thank you," said Marian. "I will send for my
+luggage; and I think I will just telegraph my new address and a few
+words to a friend in London."
+
+"If you feel played out, I can see after your luggage," said Mrs.
+Crawford. "But I advise you to come back with me; have a good lunch at
+Delmonico's; and send your cablegram yourself."
+
+Marian roused herself from a lassitude which was coming upon her, and
+took Mrs. Crawford's advice. When they returned to the richer quarter of
+the town, and especially after luncheon, her spirits revived. At the
+hotel she observed that the clerk was surprised when, arranging for the
+removal of her luggage and the forwarding of her letters, she mentioned
+her new address. Douglas, she found, had paid all expenses before
+leaving. She did not linger in the building; for the hotel staff stared
+at her curiously. She finished her business by telegraphing to Elinor:
+"_Separated. Write to new address. Have I forfeited my money?_" This
+cost her nearly five dollars.
+
+"Only that you must find out about your money, I wouldnt have let you
+spend all that," said Mrs. Crawford.
+
+"I did not think it would have cost so much," said Marian. "I was
+horrified when he named the price. However, it cannot be helped."
+
+"We may as well be getting back to Mrs. Myers's now. It's late."
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," said Marian, sighing. "I am sorry I did not ask
+Nelly to telegraph me. I am afraid my funds will not last so long as I
+thought."
+
+"Well, we shall see. The General was greatly taken with you for the way
+you looked after me when I was ill yonder; so you have two friends in
+Noo York City, at any rate."
+
+"You have proved that to me to-day. I am afraid I shall have to trouble
+you further if I get bad news. You will have to help me to find some
+work."
+
+"Yes. Never mind that until the bad news comes. I hope you wont mope at
+Mrs. Myers's. How does the American air agree with you?"
+
+"Pretty well. I was sick for the first two days of our passage across,
+and somehow my digestion seems to have got out of order in consequence.
+Of late I have been a little unwell in the mornings."
+
+"Oh! Thats so, is it? Humph! I see I shall have to come and look after
+you occasionally."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Never you mind, my dear. But dont go moping, nor going without food to
+save money. Take care of yourself."
+
+"It is nothing serious," said Marian, with a smile. "Only a passing
+indisposition. You need not be uneasy about me. This is the house, is it
+not? I shall lose myself whenever I go out for a walk here."
+
+"This is it. Now good-bye. I'll see you soon. Meanwhile, you take care
+of yourself, as youre told."
+
+It was dark when Marian entered her new residence. Mrs. Myers was
+standing at the open door, remonstrating with a milkman. Marian hastily
+assured her that she knew the way, and went upstairs alone. She was
+chilled and weary; her spirits had fallen again during her journey from
+the telegraph office. As she approached her room, hoping to find a good
+fire, she heard a flapping noise, which was suddenly interrupted by the
+rattle of a falling poker, followed by the exclamation, in a woman's
+voice, "Och, musha, I wouldnt doubt you." Marian, entering, saw a robust
+young woman kneeling before the grate, trying to improve a dull fire
+that burnt there. She had taken up the poker and placed it standing
+against the bars so that it pointed up the chimney; and she was now
+using her apron fanwise as a bellows. The fire glowed in the draught;
+and Marian, by its light, noted with displeasure that the young woman's
+calico dress was soiled, and her hair untidy.
+
+"I think----"
+
+"God bless us!" ejaculated the servant, starting and turning a comely
+dirty face toward Marian.
+
+"Did I frighten you?" said Marian, herself startled by the exclamation.
+
+"You put the life acrass in me," said the servant, panting, and pressing
+her hand on her bosom.
+
+"I am sorry for that. I was going to say that I think you need not take
+any further trouble with the fire. It will light of itself now."
+
+"Very well, miss."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Liza Redmon', miss."
+
+"I should like some light, Eliza, if you please."
+
+"Yis, miss. Would you wish to take your tay now, miss?"
+
+"Yes, thank you."
+
+Eliza went away with alacrity. Marian put off her bonnet and furs, and
+sat down before the fire to despond over the prospect of living in that
+shabby room, waited on by that slipshod Irish girl, who roused in her
+something very like racial antipathy. Presently Eliza returned, carrying
+a small tray, upon which she had crowded a lighted kerosene lamp, a
+china tea service, a rolled-up table cloth, a supply of bread and
+butter, and a copper kettle. When she had placed the lamp on the
+mantelpiece, and the kettle by the fire, she put the tray on the sofa,
+and proceeded to lay the cloth, which she shook from its folds and
+spread like a sail in the air by seizing two of the corners in her
+hands, and pulling them apart whilst she held the middle fold in her
+teeth. Then she adroitly wafted it over the table, making a breeze in
+which the lamp flared and Marian blinked. Her movements were very rapid;
+and in a few moments she had arranged the tea service, and was ready to
+withdraw.
+
+"My luggage will be sent here this evening or to-morrow, Eliza. Will you
+tell me when it comes?"
+
+"Yis, miss."
+
+"You know that my name is _Mrs_. Forster, do you not?"
+
+"Mrs. Forster. Yis, miss."
+
+Marian made no further attempt to get miss changed to maam; and Eliza
+left the room. As she crossed the landing, she was called by someone on
+the same floor. Marian started at the sound. It was a woman's voice,
+disagreeably husky: a voice she felt sure she had heard before, and yet
+one that was not familiar to her.
+
+"Eliza. Eli-za!" Marian shuddered.
+
+"Yis, yis," said Eliza, impatiently, opening a door.
+
+"Come here, alanna," said the voice, with mock fondness. The door was
+then closed, and Marian could hear the murmur of the conversation which
+followed. It was still proceeding when Mrs. Myers came in.
+
+"I didnt ought to have left you to find your way up here alone, Mrs.
+Forster," she said; "but I do have such worry sometimes that I'm bound
+to leave either one thing or another undone."
+
+"It does not matter at all, Mrs. Myers. Your servant has been very
+attentive to me."
+
+"The hired girl? She's smart, she is--does everything right slick away.
+The only trouble is to keep her out of that room. She's in there now.
+Unless I am always after her, she is slipping out on errands, pawning
+and buying drink for that unfortunate young creature."
+
+"For whom?"
+
+"A person that Mrs. Crawford promised to tell you about."
+
+"So she did," said Marian. "But I did not know she was young."
+
+"She's older than you, a deal. I knew her when she was a little girl,
+and I often forget how old she is. She was the prettiest child! Even now
+she would talk you into anything. But I cant help her. It's nothing but
+drink, drink, drink from morning til night. There's Eliza coming out of
+her room. Eliza."
+
+"Yis, maam," said Eliza, looking in.
+
+"You stay in the house, Eliza, do you hear? I wont have you go out."
+
+"Could I spake a word to you, maam?" said Eliza, lowering her voice.
+
+"No, Eliza. I'm engaged with Mrs. Forster."
+
+"She wants to see you," whispered Eliza.
+
+"Go downrs, Eliza, this minute. I wont see her."
+
+"Mrs. Myers," cried the voice. Marian again shrank from the sound. "Mrs.
+My-ers. Aunt Sally. Come to your poor Soozy." Mrs. Myers looked
+perplexedly at Marian. The voice resumed after a pause, with an affected
+Yankee accent, "I guess I'll raise a shine if you dont come."
+
+"I must go," said Mrs. Myers. "I promise you, Mrs. Forster, she shall
+not annoy you. She shall go this week. It aint right that you should be
+disturbed by her."
+
+Mrs. Myers went into the other room. Eliza ran downrs, and Marian
+heard her open the house door softly and go out. She also heard
+indistinctly the voices of the landlady and her lodger. After a time
+these ceased, and she drank her tea in peace. She was glad that Mrs.
+Myers did not return, although she made no more comfortable use of her
+solitude than to think of her lost home in Holland Park, comparing it
+with her dingy apartment, and pressing her handkerchief upon her eyes
+when they became too full of tears. She had passed more than an hour
+thus when Eliza roused her by announcing the arrival of the luggage.
+Thereupon she bestirred herself to superintend its removal to her
+bedroom, where she unpacked a trunk which contained her writing-case and
+some books. With these were stowed her dresses, much miscellaneous
+finery, and some handsomely worked underclothing. Eliza, standing by,
+could not contain her admiration; and Marian, though she did not permit
+her to handle the clothes, had not the heart to send her away until she
+had seen all that the trunk contained. Marian heard her voice afterward
+in the apartment of the drunken lodger, and suspected from its emphasis
+that the girl was describing the rare things she had seen.
+
+Marian imparted some interest to her surroundings that evening by
+describing them in a letter to Elinor. When she had finished, she was
+weary; and the fire was nearly out. She looked at her watch, and,
+finding to her surprise that is was two hours after midnight, rose to go
+to bed. Before leaving the room, she stood for a minute before the
+old-fashioned pier-glass, with one foot on the fender, and looked at her
+image, pitying her own weariness, and enjoying the soft beauty of her
+face and the gentleness of her expression. Her appearance did not always
+please her; but on this occasion the mirror added so much to the solace
+she had found in writing to Elinor, that she felt almost happy as she
+took the lamp to light her to her bedroom.
+
+She had gone no farther than the landing when a sound of unsteady
+footsteps on the stairs caused her to stop. As she lifted the lamp and
+looked up, she saw a strange woman descending toward her, holding the
+balustrade, and moving as though with pains in her limbs. This woman,
+whose black hair fell nearly to her waist, was dressed in a crimson
+satin dressing-gown, warmly padded, and much stained and splashed. She
+had fine dark eyes, and was young, bold-looking, and handsome; but when
+she came nearer, the moist pallor of her skin, the slackness of her
+lower lip and jaw, and an eager and worn expression in her fine eyes,
+gave her a thirsty, reckless leer that filled Marian with loathing. Her
+aspect conveyed the same painful suggestion as her voice had done
+before, but more definitely; for it struck Marian, with a shock, that
+Conolly, in the grotesque metamorphosis of a nightmare, might appear in
+some such likeness. The lamp did not seem to attract her attention at
+first; but when she came within a few steps, she saw some one before
+her, and, dazzled by the light, peered at Marian, who lost her presence
+of mind, and stood motionless. Gradually the woman's expression changed
+to one of astonishment. She came down to the landing; stopped, grasping
+the handrail to steady herself; and said in her husky voice:
+
+"Oh, Lord! It's not a woman at all. It's D. Ts." Then, not quite
+convinced by this explanation, she suddenly stretched out her hand and
+attempted to grasp Marian's arm. Missing her aim, she touched her on the
+breast, and immediately cried, "Mrs. Ned!"
+
+Marian shrank from her touch, and recovered her courage.
+
+"Do you know me?" she said.
+
+"I should rather think I do. I have gone off a good deal in my
+appearance, or you would know me. Youve seen me on the stage, I suppose.
+I'm your sister-in-law. Perhaps you didnt know you had one."
+
+"Are you Miss Susanna Conolly?"
+
+"Thats who I am. At least I am what is left of Miss Susanna. You dont
+look overjoyed to make my acquaintance; but I was as good-looking as you
+once. Take my advice, Mrs. Ned: dont drink champagne. The end of
+champagne is brandy; and the end of brandy is----" Susanna made a
+grimace and indicated herself.
+
+"I am afraid we shall disturb the house if we talk here. We had better
+say good-night."
+
+"No, no. Dont be in such a hurry to get rid of me. Come into my room
+with me for a while. I'll talk quietly: I'm not drunk. Ive just slept it
+off; and I was coming down for some more. You may as well keep me from
+it for a few minutes. I suppose Ned hasnt forbidden you to speak to me."
+
+"Oh, no," said Marian, yielding to a feeling of pity. "Come into my
+room. There is a scrap of fire there still."
+
+"We used to lodge in this room long ago, in my father's time," said
+Susanna, following Marian into the room, and reclining with a groan on
+the sofa. "I'm rather in a fog, you know: I cant make out how the deuce
+you come to be here. Did Ned send you to look after me? Is he in New
+York? Is he here?"
+
+"No," said Marian, foreseeing with a bitter pang and a terrible blush
+what must follow. "He is in England. I am alone here."
+
+"Well, why--? what--? I dont understand."
+
+"Have you not read the papers?" said Marian, in a low voice, turning her
+head away.
+
+"Papers! No, not since I saw an account of my brilliant _deb�t_ here, of
+which I suppose you have heard. I never read: I do nothing but drink.
+What has happened?"
+
+Marian hesitated.
+
+"Is it any secret?" said Susanna.
+
+"No, it is no secret," said Marian, turning, and looking at her
+steadily. "All the world knows it. I have left your brother; and I do
+not know whether I am still his wife, or whether I am already divorced."
+
+"You dont mean to say youre on the loose!" cried Susanna.
+
+Marian was silent.
+
+"I always told Ned that no woman could stand him," said Susanna, with
+sodden vivacity, after a pause, during which Marian had to endure her
+astonished stare. "He always thought you the very pink of propriety. Of
+course, there was another man in it. Whats become of him, if I may ask?"
+
+"I have left him," said Marian, sternly. "You need impute no fault to
+your brother in the matter, Miss Conolly. He is quite blameless."
+
+"Yes," said Susanna, not in the least impressed, "he always is
+blameless. How is Bob? I mean Marmaduke, your cousin. I call him Bob,
+short for Cherry Bob."
+
+"He is very well, thank you."
+
+"Now, Bob was not a blameless man, but altogether the reverse; and he
+was a capital fellow to get on with. Ned was always right, always sure
+of himself; and there was an end. He has no variety. I wonder will Bob
+ever get married?"
+
+"He is going to be married in the spring."
+
+"Who to?"
+
+"To Lady Constance Car----"
+
+"Damn that woman!" exclaimed Susanna. "I hate her. She was always
+throwing herself at his head. Curse her! Damn her! I wish----"
+
+"Miss Conolly," said Marian: "I hope you will not think me rude; but I
+am very tired, and it is very late. I must go to bed."
+
+"Well, will you come and see me to-morrow? It will be an act of charity.
+I am dying here all alone. You are a nice woman, and I know what you
+must feel about me; but you will get used to me. I wont annoy you. I
+wont swear. I wont say anything about your cousin. I'll keep sober. Do
+come. You are a good sort: Bob always said so; and you might save me
+from destroying myself. Say youll come."
+
+"If you particularly wish it, I will," said Marian, not disguising her
+reluctance.
+
+"Youd rather not, of course," said Susanna, despondently.
+
+"I am afraid I cannot be of any use to you."
+
+"For that matter, no one is likely to be of much use to me. But it's
+hard to be imprisoned in this den without anyone to speak to but Eliza.
+However, do as you please. I did as I pleased; and I must take the
+consequences. Just tell me one thing. Did you find me out by accident?"
+
+"Quite."
+
+"That was odd." Susanna groaned again as she rose from the sofa. "Well,
+since you wont have anything to do with me, good-bye. Youre quite
+right."
+
+"I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid you if you are in
+trouble."
+
+"Do," said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian's hand with her moist palm.
+"We'll get on better than you think. I like you, and I'll make you like
+me. If I could only keep from it for two days, I shouldnt be a bit
+disgusting. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," said Marian, overcoming her repugnance to Susanna's hand,
+and clasping it. "Remember that my name here is Mrs. Forster."
+
+"All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never be sorry for having
+compassion on me."
+
+"Wont you take a light?"
+
+"I dont require one. I can find what I want in the dark."
+
+She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly up to her own bedroom
+and locked herself in. Her first loathing for Susanna had partly given
+way to pity; but the humiliation of confessing herself to such a woman
+as an unfaithful wife was galling. When she went to sleep she dreamed
+that she was unmarried and at home with her father, and that the
+household was troubled by Susanna, who lodged in a room upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Sholto Douglas returned to England in the ship which carried Marian's
+letter to Elinor. On reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel at
+Euston, and sent his man next day to take rooms for him at the West End.
+Early in the afternoon the man reported that he had secured apartments
+in Charles Street, St. James's. It was a fine wintry day, and Douglas
+resolved to walk, not without a sense of being about to run the
+gauntlet.
+
+It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever taken in his life.
+Everybody he knew seemed to be lying in wait for him. In Portland Place
+he met Miss McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, looked
+at him indignantly, and cut him. At the Laugham Hotel he passed a member
+of his club, who seemed surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent Street
+he saw Lady Carbury's carriage waiting before a shop. He hurried past
+the door, for he had lost courage at his encounter with Elinor. There
+were, however, two doors; and as he passed the second, the Countess,
+Lady Constance, and Marmaduke came out just before him.
+
+"Where the devil is the carriage?" said Marmaduke, loudly.
+
+"Hush! Everybody can hear you," said Lady Constance.
+
+"What do I care whether--Hal-lo! Douglas! How are you?"
+
+Marmaduke proffered his hand. Lady Carbury plucked her daughter by the
+sleeve and hurried to her carriage, after returning Douglas's stern look
+with the slightest possible bow. Constance imitated her mother. Douglas
+haughtily raised his hat.
+
+"How obstinate Marmaduke is!" said the Countess, when she had bidden the
+coachman drive away at once. "He is going to walk down Regent Street
+with that man."
+
+"But you didnt cut him, mamma."
+
+"I never dreamed of his coming back so soon; and, of course, I cannot
+tell whether he will be cut or not. We must wait and see what other
+people will do. If we meet him again we had better not see him."
+
+"Look here, old fellow," said Marmaduke, as he walked away with Douglas.
+"Youve come back too soon. It wont do. Take my advice and go away again
+until matters have blown over. Hang it, it's too flagrant! You have not
+been away two months."
+
+"I believe you are going to be married," said Douglas. "Allow me to
+congratulate you."
+
+"Thank you. Fine day, isnt it?"
+
+"Very fine."
+
+Marmaduke walked on in silence. Douglas presently recommenced the
+conversation.
+
+"I only arrived in London last night. I have come from New York."
+
+"Indeed. Pleasant voyage?"
+
+"Very pleasant."
+
+Another pause.
+
+"Has anything special happened during my absence?"
+
+"Nothing special."
+
+"Was there much fuss made about my going?"
+
+"Well, there was a great deal of fuss made about it. Excuse my alluding
+to the subject again. I shouldnt have done so if you hadnt asked me."
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, you neednt stand on ceremony with me."
+
+"That's all very well, Douglas; but when I alluded to it just now, you
+as good as told me to mind my own business."
+
+"I told you so!"
+
+"Not in those words, perhaps. However, the matter is easily settled. You
+bolted with Marian. I know that, and you know it. If the topic is
+disagreeable, say so, and it is easily avoided. If you want to talk
+about it, better not change the subject when I mention it."
+
+"You have taken offence needlessly. I changed the subject
+inadvertently."
+
+"Hm! Well, has she come back with you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you mean that youve thrown her over?"
+
+"I have said nothing of the kind. As a matter of fact, she has thrown me
+over."
+
+"Thats very strange. You are not going to marry her then, I suppose?"
+
+"How can I? I tell you she has deserted me. Let me remind you, Lind,
+that I should not be bound to marry her in any case, and I shall
+certainly not do so now. If I chose to justify myself, I could easily do
+so by her own conduct."
+
+"I expect you will not be troubled for any justification. People seem to
+have made up their minds that you were wrong in the first instance, and
+you ought to keep out of the way until they have forgotten----Oh,
+confound it, here's Conolly! Now, for God's sake, dont let us have any
+row."
+
+Douglas whitened, and took a step back into the roadway before he
+recovered himself; for Conolly had come upon them suddenly as they
+turned into Charles Street. A group of gentlemen stood on the steps of
+the clubhouse which stands at that corner.
+
+"Bless me!" said Conolly, with perfect good humor. "Douglas back again!
+Why on earth did you run away with my wife? and what have you done with
+her?"
+
+The party on the steps ceased chatting and began to stare.
+
+"This is not the place to call me to account, sir," said Douglas, still
+on his guard, and very ill at ease. "If you have anything to say to me
+which cannot be communicated through a friend, it had better be said in
+private."
+
+"I shall trouble you for a short conversation," said Conolly. "How do
+you do, Lind? Where can we go? I do not belong to any club."
+
+"My apartments are at hand," said Douglas.
+
+"I suppose I had better leave you," said Marmaduke.
+
+"Your presence will not embarrass me in the least," said Conolly.
+
+"I have not sought this interview," said Douglas. "I therefore prefer
+Mr. Lind to witness what passes."
+
+Conolly nodded assent; and they went to a house on the doorstep of which
+Douglas's man was waiting, and ascended to the front drawing-room.
+
+"Now, sir," said Douglas, without inviting his guests to sit down.
+Conolly alone took off his hat. Marmaduke went aside, and looked out of
+the window.
+
+"I know the circumstances that have led to your return," said Conolly;
+"so we need not go into that. I want you, however, to assist me on one
+point. Do you know what Marian's pecuniary position is at present?'
+
+"I decline to admit that it concerns me in any way."
+
+"Of course not. But it concerns me, as I do not wish that she should be
+without money in a foreign city. She has telegraphed a question about
+her property to Miss McQuinch. That by itself is nothing; but her new
+address, which I first saw on a letter this morning, happens to be known
+to me as that of a rather shabby lodging-house."
+
+"I know nothing of it."
+
+"I do: it means that she is poor. I can guess at the sum she carried
+with her to America. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me whether
+you have ever given her money; if so, how much; and what her expenditure
+has been, you will enable me to estimate her position at present."
+
+"I do not know that you have any right to ask such questions."
+
+"I do not assert any right to ask them. On the contrary, I have
+explained their object. I shall not press them, if you think that an
+answer will in any way compromise you."
+
+"I have no fear of being compromised. None whatever."
+
+Conolly nodded, and waited for an answer.
+
+"I may say that my late trip has cost me a considerable sum. I paid all
+the expenses; and Miss--Mrs. Conolly did not, to my knowledge, disburse
+a single fraction. She did not ask me to give her money. Had she done
+so, I should have complied at once."
+
+"Thank you. Thats all right: she will be able to hold out until she
+hears from us. Good-afternoon."
+
+"Allow me to add, sir, before you go," said Douglas, asserting himself
+desperately against Conolly's absolutely sincere disregard of him and
+preoccupation with Marian, "that Mrs. Conolly has been placed in her
+present position entirely through her own conduct. I repudiate the
+insinuation that I have deserted her in a foreign city; and I challenge
+inquiry on the point."
+
+"Quite so, quite so," assented Conolly, carelessly. "Good-bye, Lind."
+And he took his hat and went out.
+
+"By George!" said Marmaduke, admiringly, "he did that damned
+well--_damned_ well. Look here, old man: take my advice and clear out
+for another year or so. You cant stay here. As a looker-on, I see most
+of the game; and thats my advice to you as a friend."
+
+Douglas, whose face had reddened and reddened with successive rushes of
+blood until it was now purple, lost all self-control at Marmaduke's
+commiserating tone. "I will see whether I cannot put him in the wrong,"
+he burst out, in the debased voice of an ignobly angry man. "Do you
+think I will let him tell the world that I have been thrown over and
+fooled?"
+
+"Thats your own story, isnt it? At least, I understood you to say so as
+we came along."
+
+"Let him say so, and I'll thrash him like, a dog in the street.
+I'll----"
+
+"Whats the use of thrashing a man who will simply hand you over to the
+police? and quite right, too! What rot!"
+
+"We shall see. We shall see."
+
+"Very well. Do as you like. You may twist one another's heads off for
+what I care. He has had the satisfaction of putting you into a rage, at
+all events."
+
+"I am not in a rage."
+
+"Very well. Have it your own way."
+
+"Will you take a challenge to him from me?"
+
+"No. I am not a born fool."
+
+"That is plain speaking."
+
+Marmaduke put his hands into his pockets, and whistled. "I think I will
+take myself off," he said, presently.
+
+"As you please," replied Douglas, coldly.
+
+"I will look in on you some day next week, when you have cooled down a
+bit. Good-bye."
+
+Douglas said nothing, and Marmaduke, with a nod, went out. Some minutes
+later the servant entered and said that Mr. Lind was below.
+
+"What! Back again!" said Douglas, with an oath.
+
+"No, sir. It's old Mr. Lind--Mr. Reginald."
+
+"Did you say I was in?"
+
+"The man belonging to the house did, sir."
+
+"Confound his officiousness! I suppose he must come up."
+
+Reginald Lind entered, and bowed. Douglas placed a chair for him, and
+waited, mute, and a little put out. Mr. Lind's eyes and voice shewed
+that he also was not at his ease; but his manner was courtly and his
+expression grave, as Douglas had, in his boyhood, been accustomed to see
+them.
+
+"I am sorry, Sholto," said Mr. Lind, "that I cannot for the present meet
+you with the cordiality which formerly existed between us. However
+unbearable your disappointment at Marian's marriage may have been, you
+should not have taken a reprehensible and desperate means of remedying
+it. I speak to you now as an old friend--as one who knew you when the
+disparity in our ages was more marked than it is at present."
+
+Douglas bowed.
+
+"I have just heard from Mr. Conolly--whom I met accidentally in Pall
+Mall--that you have returned from America. He gave me no further account
+of you, except that he had met you and spoken to you here. I hope
+nothing unpleasant passed."
+
+"The meeting was not a pleasant one. I shall take steps to make Mr.
+Conolly understand that."
+
+"Nothing approaching to violence, I trust."
+
+"No. Mr. Conolly's discretion averted it. I am not sure that a second
+interview between us will end so quietly."
+
+"The interview should not have taken place at all, Sholto. I need not
+point out to you that prudence and good taste forbid any repetition of
+it."
+
+"I did not seek it, Mr. Lind. He forced it upon me. I promise you that
+if a second meeting takes place, it will be forced upon him by me, and
+will take place in another country."
+
+"That is a young man's idea, Sholto. The day for such crimes, thank
+Heaven, is past and gone. Let us say no more of it. I was speaking to
+your mother on Sunday. Have you seen her yet?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Sholto, you hit us all very hard that Monday before Christmas. I know
+what I felt about my daughter. But I can only imagine what your mother
+must have felt about her son."
+
+"I am not insensible to that. I has been rather my misfortune than my
+fault that I have caused you to suffer. If it will gratify you to know
+that I have suffered deeply myself, and am now, indeed, a broken man, I
+can assure you that such is the case."
+
+"It is fortunate for us all that matters are not absolutely
+irremediable. I will so far take you into my confidence as to tell you
+that I have never felt any satisfaction in Marian's union with Mr.
+Conolly. Though he is unquestionably a remarkable man, yet there was a
+certain degree of incongruity in the match--you will understand
+me--which placed Marian apart from her family whilst she was with him. I
+have never entered my daughter's house without a feeling that I was more
+or less a stranger there. Had she married you in the first instance, the
+case would have been different: I wish she had. However, that is past
+regretting now. What I wish to say is that I can still welcome you as
+Marian's husband, even though she will have a serious error to live
+down; and I shall be no less liberal to her than if her previous
+marriage had never taken place."
+
+Douglas cleared his throat, but did not speak.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Lind after a pause, reddening.
+
+"This is a very painful matter," said Douglas at last. "As a man of the
+world, Mr. Lind, you must be aware that I am not bound to your daughter
+in any way."
+
+"I am not speaking to you as a man of the world. I am speaking as a
+father, and as a gentleman."
+
+"Doubtless your position as a father is an unfortunate one. I can
+sympathize with your feelings. But as a gentleman----"
+
+"Think of what you are going to say, Sholto. If you speak as a
+gentleman, you can have only one answer. If you have any other, you will
+speak as a scoundrel." The last sentence came irrepressibly to Mr.
+Lind's lips; but the moment he had uttered it, he felt that he had been
+too precipitate.
+
+"Sir!"
+
+"I repeat, as a scoundrel--if you deny your duty in the matter."
+
+"I decline to continue this conversation with you, Mr. Lind. You know as
+well as I do that no gentleman is expected or even permitted by society
+to take as his wife a woman who has lived with him as his mistress."
+
+"No man who betrays a lady and refuses to make her all the reparation in
+his power can claim to be a gentleman."
+
+"You are dreaming, Mr. Lind. Your daughter was the guardian of her own
+honor. I made her no promises. It is absurd to speak of a woman of her
+age and experience being betrayed, as though she were a child."
+
+"I always understood that you prided yourself on acting up to a higher
+standard of honorable dealing than other men. If this is your
+boasted----"
+
+"Mr. Lind," said Douglas, interrupting him with determination, "no more
+of this, if you please. Briefly, I will have nothing whatever to say to
+Mrs. Conolly in the future. If her reputation were as unstained as your
+own, I would still refuse to know her. I have suffered from her the
+utmost refinements of caprice and treachery, and the coarsest tirades of
+abuse. She left me of her own accord, in spite of my entreaties to her
+to stay--entreaties which I made her in response to an exhibition of
+temper which would have justified me in parting from her there and then.
+It is true that I have moulded my life according to a higher standard of
+honor than ordinary men; and it is also true that that standard is never
+higher, never more fastidiously acted up to, than where a woman is
+concerned. I have only to add that I am perfectly satisfied as to the
+propriety of my behavior in Marian's case, and that I absolutely refuse
+to hear another accusation of unworthiness from you, much as I respect
+you and your sorrow."
+
+Mr. Lind, though he saw that he must change his tone, found it hard to
+subdue his temper; for though not a strong man, he was unaccustomed to
+be thwarted. "Sholto," he said: "you are not serious. You are irritated
+by some lovers' quarrel."
+
+"I am justly estranged from your daughter, and I am resolved never to
+give her a place in my thoughts again. I have madly wasted my youth on
+her. Let her be content with that and the other things I have sacrificed
+for her sake."
+
+"But this is dreadful. Think of the life she must lead if you do not
+marry her. She will be an outcast. She will not even have a name."
+
+"She would not be advised. She made her choice in defiance of an
+explicit warning of the inevitable results, and she must abide by it. I
+challenge the most searching inquiry into my conduct, Mr. Lind. It will
+be found, if the truth be told, that I spared her no luxury before she
+left me; and that, far from being the aggressor, it is I who have the
+right to complain of insult and desertion."
+
+"Still, even granting that her unhappy position may have rendered her a
+little sore and impatient at times, do you not owe her some forbearance
+since she gave up her home and her friends for you?"
+
+"Sacrifice for sacrifice, mine was the greater of the two. Like her, I
+have lost my friends and my position here--to some extent, at least.
+Worse, I have let my youth slip by in fruitless pursuit of her. For the
+home which she hated, I offered her one ten times more splendid. I gave
+her the devotion of a gentleman to replace the indifference of a
+blacksmith. What have I not done for her? I freed her from her bondage;
+I carried her across the globe; I watched her, housed her, fed her,
+clothed her as a princess. I loved her with a love that taught her a
+meaning of the word she had never known before. And when I had served
+her turn--when I had rescued her from her husband and placed her beyond
+his reach--when she became surfeited with a wealth of chivalrous love
+which she could not comprehend, and when a new world opened before her a
+fresh field for intrigue, I was assailed with slanderous lies, and
+forsaken. Do you think, Mr. Lind, that in addition to this, I will
+endure the reproaches of any man--even were he my own father?"
+
+"But she suffers more, being a woman. The world will be comparatively
+lenient toward you. If you and she were married and settled, with no
+consciousness of being in a false position, and no wearing fear of
+detection, you would get on together quite differently."
+
+"It may be so, but I shall never put it to the test."
+
+"Listen a moment, Sholto. Just consider the matter calmly and
+rationally. I am a rich man--at least, I can endow Marian better than
+you perhaps think. I see that you feel aggrieved, and that you fear
+being forced into a marriage which you have, as you say--I fully admit
+it, most fully--a perfect right to decline. But I am urging you to make
+Marian your legal wife solely because it is the best course for both of
+you. That, I assure you, is the feeling of society in the matter.
+Everybody speaks to me of your becoming my son-in-law. The Earl says no
+other course is possible. I will give you ten thousand pounds down on
+her wedding-day. You will lose nothing: Conolly will not claim damages.
+He has contradicted the report that he would. I will pay the costs of
+the divorce as well. Mind! I do not mean that I will settle the money on
+her. I will give it to her unconditionally. In other words, it will
+become your property the moment you become her husband."
+
+"I understand," said Douglas contemptuously. "However, as it is merely a
+question of making your daughter an honest woman in consideration of so
+much cash, I have no doubt you will find plenty of poorer men who will
+be glad to close with you for half the money. You are much in the city
+now, I believe. Allow me to suggest that you will find a dealer there
+more easily than in St. James's."
+
+Mr. Lind reddened again. "I do not think you see the matter in the
+proper light," he said. "You are asked to repair the disgrace you have
+brought on a lady and upon her family. I offer you a guarantee that you
+will not lose pecuniarily by doing so. Whatever other loss you may
+incur, you are bound to bear it as the penalty of your own act. I appeal
+to you, sir, as one gentleman appeals to another, to remove the dishonor
+you have brought upon my name."
+
+"To transfer it to my own, you mean. Thank you, Mr. Lind. The public is
+more accustomed to associate conjugal levity with the name of Lind than
+with that of Douglas."
+
+"If you refuse me the justice you owe to my daughter, you need not
+couple that refusal with an insult."
+
+"I have already explained that I owe your daughter nothing. You come
+here and offer me ten thousand pounds to marry her. I decline the
+bargain. You then take your stand upon the injury to your name. I merely
+remind you that your name was somewhat tarnished even before Mrs.
+Conolly changed it for the less distinguished one which she has really
+dishonored."
+
+"Douglas," said Mr. Lind, trembling, "I will make you repent this. I
+will have satisfaction."
+
+"As you remarked when I declared my readiness to give satisfaction in
+the proper quarter, the practice you allude to is obsolete. Fortunately
+so, I think, in our case."
+
+"You are a coward, sir." Douglas rang the bell. "I will expose you in
+every club in London."
+
+"Shew this gentleman out," said Douglas to his servant.
+
+"You have received that order because I told your master that he is a
+rascal," said Mr. Lind to the man. "I shall say the same thing to every
+man I meet between this house and the committee-room of his club."
+
+The servant looked grave as Mr. Lind left the room. Soon after, Douglas,
+whose self-respect, annihilated by Conolly, had at first been thoroughly
+restored by Mr. Lind, felt upset again by the conclusion of the
+interview. Finding solitude and idleness intolerable, he went into the
+streets, though he no longer felt any desire to meet his acquaintances,
+and twice crossed the Haymarket to avoid them. As he strolled about,
+thinking of all that had been said to him that afternoon, he grew
+morose. Twice he calculated his expenditure on the American trip, and
+the difference that an increment of ten thousand pounds would make in
+his property. Suddenly, in turning out of Air Street into Piccadilly,
+he found himself face to face with Lord Carbury.
+
+"How do you do?" said the latter pleasantly, but without the
+unceremonious fellowship that had formerly existed between them.
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, "I am quite well."
+
+A pause followed, Jasper not knowing exactly what to say next.
+
+"I am considering where I shall dine," said Douglas. "Have you dined
+yet?"
+
+"No. I promised to dine at home this evening. My mother likes to have a
+family dinner occasionally."
+
+Douglas knew that before the elopement he would have been asked to join
+the party. "I suppose people have been pleased to talk a good deal about
+me of late," he said.
+
+"Yes, I fear so. However, I hope it will pass over."
+
+"It shews no sign of passing over as yet, then?"
+
+"Well, it has become a little stale as a topic; but there is undeniably
+a good deal of feeling about it still. If you will excuse my saying so,
+I think that perhaps you would do well to keep out of the way a little
+longer."
+
+"Presuming, of course, that popular feeling is a matter about which I am
+likely to concern myself."
+
+"That is a question for you to decide. Excuse the hint."
+
+"The question is whether it is not better to be on the spot, so as to
+strangle calumny at its source, than to hide myself abroad whilst a host
+of malicious tongues are busy with me."
+
+"As to that, Douglas, I assure you you have been very fairly treated.
+The chief blame, as usual, has fallen on the weaker sex. Nothing could
+exceed the moderation of those from whom the loudest complaints might
+have been expected. Reginald Lind has hardly ever mentioned the subject.
+Even to me, he only shook his head and said that it was an old
+attachment. As to Conolly, we have actually reproached him for making
+excuses for you."
+
+"Aye. A very astute method of bringing me into contempt. Allow me to
+enlighten you a little, Jasper. Lind, whose daughter I have discovered
+to be one of the worst of women, has just offered me ten thousand pounds
+to marry her. That speaks for itself. Conolly, who drove her into my
+arms by playing the tyrant whilst I played the lover, is only too glad
+to get rid of her. At the same time, he is afraid to fight me, and
+ashamed to say so. Therefore, he impudently pretends to pity me for
+being his gull in the matter. But I will stop that."
+
+"Conolly is a particular friend of mine, Douglas, Let us drop the
+subject, if you dont mind."
+
+"If he is your friend, of course I have nothing more to say. I think I
+will turn in here and dine. Good-evening."
+
+They parted without any salutation: and Douglas entered the restaurant
+and dined alone, he came out an hour later in improved spirits, and
+began to consider whether he would go to the theatre or venture into his
+club. He was close to a lamp at a corner of Leicester Square when he
+stopped to debate the point with himself; and in his preoccupation he
+did not notice a four-wheeled cab going slowly past him, carrying a lady
+in an old white opera cloak. This was Mrs. Leith Fairfax, who,
+recognizing him, called to the cabman to drive a little past the lamp
+and stop.
+
+"Good heavens!" she said in a half-whisper: "you here! What madness
+possessed you to come back?"
+
+"I had no further occasion to stay away."
+
+"How coolly you say so! You have iron nerves, all you Douglases. I have
+heard all, and I know what you have suffered. How soon will you leave
+London?"
+
+"I have no intention of leaving it at present."
+
+"But you cannot stay here."
+
+"Pray why not? Is not London large enough for any man who does not live
+by the breath of the world?"
+
+"Out of the question, Mr. Douglas. Absolutely out of the question. You
+_must_ go away for a year at the very least. You must yield something to
+propriety."
+
+"I shall yield nothing. I can do without any section of society that may
+feel called upon to do without me."
+
+"Oh, you must subdue that imperious nature of yours for your mother's
+sake if not for your own. Besides, you have been very wicked and
+reckless and daring, just like a Douglas. You ought to do penance with a
+good grace. I may conclude, since you are here, that Elinor McQuinch's
+story is true as far as the facts go."
+
+"I have not heard her story."
+
+"It is only that you have parted from--you know."
+
+"That is true. Can I gratify your curiosity in any other particular?"
+
+"Strive not to let yourself be soured, Mr. Douglas. I shudder when I
+think of what you have undergone at the hands of one woman. There! I
+will not allude to it again."
+
+"You will do wisely, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. What I have suffered, I have
+suffered. I desire no pity, and will endure none."
+
+"That is so like yourself. I must hurry on to Covent Garden, or I shall
+be late. Will you come and see me quietly some day before you go? I am
+never at home to any one on Tuesdays; but if you come at about five,
+Caroline will let you in. It will be dark: nobody will see you. We can
+have a chat then."
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, coldly, stepping back, and raising his hat,
+"I shall not intrude on you. Good-evening."
+
+She waved her hand at him; and the cab departed. He walked quickly back
+to Charles Street, and called his servant.
+
+"I suppose no one has called?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Mrs. Douglas came very shortly after you went out. She wishes
+you to go to the Square this evening, sir."
+
+"This evening? I am afraid--Buckstone."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Is she looking well?"
+
+"A little tired, sir. But quite well, I have no doubt."
+
+"How much of the luggage have you unpacked?"
+
+"Only your portmanteau, sir. I thought----"
+
+"So much the better. Pack it again. I am going to Brussels to-night.
+Find out about the trains. I shall want you to take a hansom and take a
+note to Chester Square; but come back at once without waiting to be
+spoken to."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+Douglas then sat down and wrote the note.
+
+  "My dear Mother:
+
+  "I am sorry I was out when you called. I did not expect you, as I
+  am only passing through London on my way to Brussels. I am anxious
+  to get clear of this vile city, and so shall start to-night.
+  Buckstone tells me you are looking well; and this assurance must
+  content me for the present, as I find it impossible to go to you.
+  You were quite right in warning me against what has happened; but
+  it is all past and broken off now, and I am still as ever,
+
+                                     "Your affectionate son,
+                                               "SHOLTO DOUGLAS."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+One day Eliza, out of patience, came to Mrs. Myers, and said:
+
+"A' thin, maam, will you come up and spake to Miss Conolly. She's rasin
+ructions above stairs."
+
+"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs. Myers. "Cant you keep her quiet?"
+
+"Arra, how can I kape her quiet, an she cryin an roarin, dyin an
+desarted?"
+
+"Ask Mrs. Forster to go in and coax her to stop."
+
+"Mrs. Forsther's at dhuddher ind o the town. Whisht! There she is,
+callin me. Youll have to gup to her, maam. Faith I wont go next or near
+her."
+
+"There's no use in my going up, Eliza. What can I do?"
+
+Eliza had nothing to suggest. "I'm sure, maam," she pleaded, "if she
+wont mind you, she wont mind me--bad manners to her!"
+
+Mrs. Myers hesitated. The lodger became noisier.
+
+"I spose Ive got to go," said Mrs. Myers, plaintively. She went upstairs
+and found Susanna lying on the sofa, groaning, with a dressing-gown and
+a pair of thick boots on.
+
+"What _is_ the matter with you, Miss Susan? Youre goin on fit to raise
+the street."
+
+"For God's sake go and get something for me. Make the doctor do
+something. I'm famishing. I must be poisoned."
+
+"Lord forbid!"
+
+"Look at me. I cant eat anything. Oh! I cant even drink. I tell you I am
+dying of thirst."
+
+"Well, Miss Susan, thers plenty for you to eat and drink."
+
+"What is the good of that, when I can neither eat nor drink? Nothing
+will stay inside me. If I could only swallow brandy, I shouldnt care. I
+thought I could die drunk. Oh! Send Eliza out for some laudanum. I cant
+stand this: I'll kill myself."
+
+"Be quiet, Miss Susan: youll be better presently. Whats the use of
+talking-about the doctor? He says youll not be able to drink for days,
+and that you will get your health back in consequence. You are doing
+yourself no good by screeching like that, and you are ruining me and my
+house."
+
+"Your house is all you care about. Curse you! I hope you may die
+deserted yourself. Dont go away. _Dear_ Aunt Sally, you wont leave me
+here alone, will you? If you do, I'll scream like a hundred devils."
+
+"I dont know what to do with you," said Mrs. Myers, crying. "Youll drive
+me as mad as yourself. Why did I ever let you into this house?"
+
+"Oh, bother! Are _you_ beginning to howl now? Have you any sardines, or
+anything spicy? I think I could eat some salted duck. No, I couldnt,
+though. Go for the doctor. There must be something that will do me good.
+What use is he if he can't set me right? All I want is something that
+will make me able to drink a tumbler of brandy."
+
+"The Lord help you! Praise goodness! here's Mrs. Forster coming up.
+Whatll she think of you if you keep moaning like that? Mrs. Forster:
+will you step in here and try to quiet her a bit? She's clean mad."
+
+"Come here," cried Susanna, as Marian entered. "Come and sit beside me.
+You may get out, you old cat: I dont want you any longer."
+
+"Hush, pray," said Marian, putting her bonnet aside and sitting down by
+the sofa. "What is the matter?"
+
+"The same as last night, only a great deal worse," said Susanna,
+shutting her eyes and turning her head aside. "It's all up with me this
+time, Mrs. Ned. I'm dying, not of drink, but of the want of it. Is that
+fiend of a woman gone?"
+
+"Yes. You ought not to wound her as you did just now. She has been very
+kind to you."
+
+"I dont care. Oh, dear me, I wonder how long this is going to last?"
+
+"Shall I go for the doctor?"
+
+"No; what can he do? Stay with me. I wish I could sleep or eat."
+
+"You will be better soon. The doctor says that Nature is making an
+effort to rescue you from your habit by making it impossible for you to
+drink. Try and be patient. Will you not take off those heavy boots?"
+
+"No, I cant feel my feet without them. I shall never be better," said
+Susanna, writhing impatiently. "I'm done for. How old are you? You
+neednt mind telling me. I shall soon be beyond repeating it."
+
+"I was twenty-five in June last"
+
+"I am only twenty-nine. I started at eighteen, and got to the top of the
+tree in seven years. I came down quicker than I went up. I might have
+gone on easily for fifteen years more, only for drinking champagne. I
+wish I had my life to live over again: you wouldnt catch me playing
+burlesque. If I had got the chance, I know I could have played tragedy
+or real Italian opera. I had to work hard at first; and they wont fill
+my place, very readily: thats one comfort. My cleverness was my ruin.
+Ned was not half so quick. It used to take him months to learn things
+that I picked up offhand, and yet you see how much better he has done
+than I."
+
+"Do not disturb yourself with vain regrets. Think of something else.
+Shall we talk about Marmaduke?"
+
+"No, I dont particularly care to. Somehow, at my pass, one thinks most
+about one's self, and about things that happened long ago. People that I
+came to know later on, like Bob, seem to be slipping away from me. There
+was a baritone in my father's company, a tremendous man, with shining
+black eyes, and a voice like a great bell--quite pretty at the top,
+though: he must have been sixty at least; and he was very fat; but he
+was the most dignified man I ever saw. You should have heard him do the
+Duke in Lucrezia Borgia, or sing Pro Peccatis from Rossini's Stabat
+Mater! I was ten years old when he was with us, and my grand ambition
+was to sing with him when I grew up. He would shake his head if he saw
+Susanetta now. I would rather hear him sing three bars than have ten
+visits from Bob. Oh, dear! I thought this cursed pain was getting
+numbed, but it is worse than ever."
+
+"Try to keep from thinking of it. I have often wondered that you never
+speak of your child. I have heard from my friend in London that it is
+very well and happy."
+
+"Oh, you mean Lucy. She was a lively little imp."
+
+"Would you not like to see her again?"
+
+"No, thank you. She is well taken care of, I suppose. I am glad she is
+out of my hands. She was a nuisance to me, and I am not a very edifying
+example for her. What on earth should I want to see her for?"
+
+"I wish I had the good fortune to be a mother."
+
+Susanna laughed. "Never say die, Mrs. Ned. You dont know what may happen
+to you yet. There now! I know, without opening my eyes, that you are
+shocked, bless your delicacy! How do you think I should have got through
+life if I'd been thin-skinned? What good does it do you? You are pining
+away in this hole of a lodging. You squirm when Mrs. Myers tries to be
+friendly with you; and I sometimes laugh at your expression when Eliza
+treats you to a little blarney about your looks. Now _I_ would just as
+soon gossip and swear at her as go to tea with the Queen."
+
+"I am not shocked at all. You see as badly as other people when your
+eyes are shut."
+
+"They will soon shut up forever. I half wish they would do it at once, I
+wonder whether I will get any ease before there is an end of me."
+
+"Perhaps the end of you on earth will be a good beginning for you
+somewhere else, Susanna."
+
+"Thank you. Now the conversation has taken a nice, cheerful turn, hasnt
+it? Well, I cant be much worse off than I am at present. Anyhow, I must
+take my chance."
+
+"Would you like to see a clergyman? I dont want to alarm you: I am sure
+you will get better: the doctor told me so; but I will go for one if you
+like."
+
+"No: I dont want to be bothered--at least not yet. Besides, I hate
+clergymen, all except your brother, the doctor, who fell in love with
+me."
+
+"Very well. I only suggested it in case you should feel uneasy."
+
+"I dont feel quite easy; but I dont care sufficiently about it to make
+a fuss. It will be time enough when I am actually at death's door. All I
+know is that if there is a place of punishment in the next world, it is
+very unfair, considering what we suffer in this. I didnt make myself or
+my circumstances. I think I will try to sleep. I am half dead as it is
+with pain and weariness. Dont go until I am asleep."
+
+"I will not. Let me get you another pillow."
+
+"No," said Susanna, drowsily: "dont touch me."
+
+Marian sat listening to her moaning respiration for nearly half an hour.
+Then, having some letters to write, she went to her own room to fetch
+her desk. Whilst she was looking for her pen, which was mislaid, she
+heard Susanna stirring. The floor creaked, and there was a clink as of a
+bottle. A moment later, Marian, listening with awakened suspicion, was
+startled by the sound of a heavy fall mingled with a crash of breaking
+glass. She ran back into the next room just in time to see Susanna, on
+her hands and knees near the stove, lift her white face for a moment,
+displaying a bleeding wound on her temple, and then stumble forward and
+fall prone on the carpet. Marian saw this; saw the walls of the room
+revolve before her; and fainted upon the sofa, which she had reached
+without knowing how.
+
+When she recovered the doctor was standing by her; and Eliza was picking
+up fragments of the broken bottle. The smell of the spilled brandy
+reminded her of what had happened.
+
+"Where is Miss Conolly?" she said, trying to collect her wits. "I am
+afraid I fainted at the very moment when I was most wanted."
+
+"All right," said the doctor. "Keep quiet; youll be well presently. Dont
+be in a hurry to talk."
+
+Marian obeyed; and the doctor, whose manner was kind, though different
+to that of the London physicians to whom she was accustomed, presently
+left the room and went upstairs. Eliza was howling like an animal. The
+sound irritated Marian even at that pass: she despised the whole Irish
+race on its account. She could hardly keep her temper as she said:
+
+"Is Miss Conolly seriously hurt?"
+
+"Oa, blessed hour! she's kilt. Her head's dhreepin wid blood."
+
+Marian shuddered and felt faint again.
+
+"Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she done it at all, at all. She
+must ha fell agin the stoave. It's the dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, that
+brought her to it. It's little I knew what that wairy bottle o brandy
+would do to her, or sorra bit o me would ha got it."
+
+"You did very wrong in getting it, Eliza."
+
+"What could I do, miss, when she axed me?"
+
+"There is no use in crying over it now. It would have been kinder to
+have kept it from her."
+
+"Sure I know. Many's the time I tould her so. But she could talk the
+birds off the bushes, and it wint to me heart to refuse her. God send
+her well out of her throuble!"
+
+Here the doctor returned. "How are you now?" he said.
+
+"I think I am better. Pray dont think of me. How is she?"
+
+"It's all over. Hallo! Come, Miss Biddy! you go and cry in the kitchen,"
+he added, pushing Eliza, who had set up an intolerable lamentation, out
+of the room.
+
+"How awful!" said Marian, stunned. "Are you quite sure? She seemed
+better this morning."
+
+"Quite sure," said the doctor, smiling grimly at the question. "She was
+practically dead when they carried her upstairs, poor girl. It's easier
+to kill a person than you think, Mrs. Forster, although she tried so
+long and so hard without succeeding. But she'd have done it. She'd have
+been starved into health only to drink herself back into starvation, and
+the end would have been a very bad one. Better as it is, by far!"
+
+"Doctor: I must go out and telegraph the news to London. I know one of
+her relatives there."
+
+The doctor shook his head. "I will telegraph if you like, but you must
+stay here. Youre not yet fit to go out."
+
+"I am afraid I have not been well lately," said Marian. "I want to
+consult you about myself--not now, of course, after what has happened,
+but some day when you have leisure to call."
+
+"You can put off consulting me just as long as you please; but this
+accident is no reason why you shouldnt do it at once. If there is
+anything wrong, the sooner you have advice--you neednt have it from me
+if you prefer some other doctor--the better."
+
+Upon this encouragement Marian described to him her state of health. He
+seemed a little amused, asked her a few questions, and finally told her
+coolly that she might expect to become a mother next fall. She was so
+utterly dismayed that he began to look stern in anticipation of an
+appeal to him to avert this; an appeal which he had often had to refuse
+without ever having succeeded in persuading a woman that it was futile,
+or convincing her that it was immoral. But Marian spared him this: she
+was overwhelmed by the new certainty that a reconciliation with her
+husband was no longer possible. Her despair at the discovery shewed her
+for the first time how homesick she really was.
+
+When the doctor left, Mrs. Myers came. She exclaimed; wept; and gossiped
+until two police officers arrived. Marian related to them what she had
+seen of the accident, and became indignant at the apparent incredulity
+with which they questioned her and examined the room. After their
+departure Eliza came to her, and invited her to go upstairs and see the
+body of Susanna. She refused with a shudder; but when she saw that the
+girl was hurt as well as astonished, it occurred to her that avoidance
+of the dead might, if it came to Conolly's knowledge, be taken by him to
+indicate a lack of kind feeling toward his sister. So she overcame her
+repugnance, and went with Eliza. The window-shades were drawn down, and
+the dressing-table had been covered with a white cloth, on which stood a
+plaster statuet of the Virgin and Child, with two lighted candles before
+it. To please Eliza, who had evidently made these arrangements, Marian
+whispered a few words of approval, and turned curiously to the bed. The
+sight made her uncomfortable. The body was decently laid out, its
+wounded forehead covered with a bandage, and Eliza's rosary and crucifix
+on its breast; but it did not, as Marian had hoped, suggest peace or
+sleep. It was not Susanna, but a vacant thing that had always underlain
+her, and which, apart from her, was ghastly.
+
+"She died a good Catholic anyhow: the light o Heaven to her sowl!" said
+Eliza, whimpering, but speaking as though she expected and defied Marian
+to contradict her.
+
+"Amen," said Marian.
+
+"It's sure and sartin. There never was a Conolly a Prodestan yet."
+
+Marian left the room, resolving to avoid such sights in future. Mrs.
+Myers was below, anxious to resume the conversation which the visit of
+the police had interrupted. Marian could not bear this. To escape, she
+left the house, and went to her only friend in New York, Mrs. Crawford,
+whose frequent visits she had never before ventured to return. To her
+she narrated the events of the day.
+
+"This business of the poor girl killing herself is real shocking," said
+Mrs. Crawford. "Perhaps your husband will come over here now, and give
+you a chance of making up with him."
+
+"If he does, I must leave New York, Mrs. Crawford."
+
+"What are you frightened of? If he is as good a man as you say, you
+ought to be glad to see him. I'm sure he would have you back. Depend on
+it, he has been longing for you all this time; and when he sees you
+again as pretty as ever, he will open his arms to you. He wont like you
+any the worse for being a little bashful with him after such an
+escapade."
+
+"I would not meet him for any earthly consideration. After what the
+doctor told me to-day, I should throw myself out of the window, I think,
+if I heard him coming upstairs. I should like to see him, if I were
+placed where he could not see me; but face him I _could_ not."
+
+"Well, my dear, I think it's right silly of you, though the little
+stranger--it will be a regular stranger--is a difficulty: there's no two
+ways about that."
+
+"Besides, I have been thinking over things alone in my room; and I see
+that it is better for him to be free. I know he was disappointed in me.
+He is not the sort of man to be tied down to such an ignorant woman as
+I."
+
+"What does he expect from a woman? If youre not good enough for him, he
+must be very hard to please."
+
+Marian shook her head. "He is capable of pitying and being considerate
+with me," she said: "I know that. But I am not sure that it is a good
+thing to be pitied and forborne with. There is something humiliating in
+it. I suppose I am proud, as you often tell me; but I should like to be
+amongst women what he is amongst men, supported by my own strength. Even
+within the last three weeks I have felt myself becoming more independent
+in my isolation. I was afraid to go about the streets by myself at
+first. Now I am getting quite brave. That unfortunate woman did me good.
+Taking care of her, and being relied on so much by her, has made me rely
+on myself more. Thanks to you, I have not much loneliness to complain
+of. And yet I have been utterly cast down sometimes. I cannot tell what
+is best. Sometimes I think that independence is worth all the solitary
+struggling it costs. Then again I remember how free from real care I was
+at home, and yearn to be back there. It is so hard to know what one
+ought to do."
+
+"You have been more lively since you got such a pleasant answer to your
+telegram. I wish the General would offer to let me keep my own money and
+as much more as I wanted. Not that he is close-fisted, poor man! That
+reminds me to tell you that you must stay the evening. He wants to see
+you as bad as can be--never stops asking me to bring you up some time
+when he's at home. You mustnt excuse yourself: the General will see you
+safe back to your place."
+
+"But if visitors come, Mrs. Crawford?"
+
+"Nobody will come. If they do, they will be glad to see you. What do
+they know about you? You cant live like a hermit all your life."
+
+Marian, sooner than go back to Mrs. Myers's, stayed; and the evening
+passed pleasantly enough, although three visitors came: a gentleman,
+with his wife and brother. The lady, besides eating, and replying to the
+remarks with which Mrs. Crawford occasionally endeavored to entertain
+her, did nothing but admire Marian's dress and listen to her
+conversation. Her husband was polite; but Marian, comparing him with the
+English gentlemen of her acquaintance, thought him rather oppressively
+respectful, and too much given to conversing in little speeches. He had
+been in London; and he described, in a correct narrative style, his
+impressions of St. Paul's, the Tower, and Westminster Palace. His
+brother fell in love with Mrs. Forster at first sight, and sat silent
+until she remarked to him how strangely the hotel omnibuses resembled
+old English stage coaches, when he became recklessly talkative and soon
+convinced her that American society produced quite as choice a compound
+of off-handedness and folly as London could. But all this was amusing
+after her long seclusion; and once or twice, when the thought of dead
+Susanna came back to her, she was ashamed to be so gay.
+
+No one was stirring at Mrs. Myers's when she returned. They had left her
+lamp in the entry; and she took it upstairs with her, going softly lest
+she should disturb the household. Susanna's usual call and petition for
+a few minutes talk was no longer to be feared, for Susanna was now only
+a memory. Marian tried not to think of the body in the room above.
+Though she was free from the dread which was just then making Eliza
+tremble, cry, and cross herself to sleep, she disliked the body all the
+more as she distinguished it from the no-longer existent woman: a feat
+quite beyond the Irish peasant girl. She sat down and began to think.
+The Crawfords and their friends had been very nice to her: no doubt the
+lady would not have been civil had she known all; but, then, the lady
+was a silly person. They were not exactly what Marian considered the
+best sort of people; but New York was not London. She would not stay at
+Mrs. Myers's: her income would enable her to lodge more luxuriously. If
+she could afford to furnish some rooms for herself, she would get some
+curtains she had seen one day lately when shopping with Mrs. Crawford.
+They would go well with----
+
+A noise in the room overhead: Susanna's death chamber. Marian gave a
+great start, and understood what Eliza meant by having "the life put
+across in her." She listened, painfully conscious of the beats of her
+heart. The noise came again: a footstep, or a chair pushed back, or--she
+was not certain what. Could Mrs. Myers be watching at the bedside? It
+was not unlikely. Could Susanna be recovering--finding herself laid out
+for dead, and making a struggle for life up there alone? That would be
+inconvenient, undesirable: even Marian forgot just then to consider that
+obvious view wrong and unfeeling; but, anyhow, she must go and see, and,
+if necessary, help. She wished there were some one to keep her company;
+but was ashamed to call Eliza; and she felt that she would be as well by
+herself as with Mrs. Myers. There was nothing for it but to take a
+candle and go alone. No repetition of the noise occurred to daunt her
+afresh; and she reached the landing above almost reassured, and thinking
+how odd it was that the idea of finding somebody--Susanna--there,
+though it had come as a fear, was fading out as a disappointed hope.
+
+Finding herself loth to open the door, she at last set her teeth and did
+it swiftly, as if to surprise someone within. She did surprise some one:
+her husband, sitting by his sister's body. He started violently on
+seeing her, and rose; whilst she, mechanically shutting the door without
+turning, leaned back against it with her hand behind her, and looked at
+him open-mouthed.
+
+"Marian," he said, in a quite unexpectedly apprehensive tone, putting up
+his hand deprecatingly: "remember, here"--indicating the figure on the
+bed--"is an end of hypocrisy! No unrealities now: I cannot bear them.
+Let us have no trash of magnanimous injured husband, erring but
+repentant wife. We are man and woman, nothing less and nothing more.
+After our marriage you declined intercourse on those terms; and I
+accepted your conventions to please you. Now I refuse all conventions:
+you have broken them yourself. If you will not have the truth between
+us, avoid me until I have subsided into the old groove again. There!" he
+added, wincing, "dont blush. What have you to blush for? It was the only
+honest thing you ever did."
+
+"I dont understand."
+
+"No," he said gently, but with a gesture of despair; "how could you? You
+never did, and you never will."
+
+"If you mean to accuse me of having deceived you," said Marian, greatly
+relieved and encouraged by a sense of being now the injured party, "you
+are most unjust. I dont excuse myself for behaving wickedly, but I
+_never_ deceived you or told you a falsehood. Never. When he first spoke
+wrongly to me, I told you at once; and you did not care."
+
+"Not a straw. It was nothing to me that he loved you: the point was,
+did you love him? If not, then all was well: if so, our marriage was
+already at an end. But you mistake my drift. Falsehood is something more
+than fibbing. You never told fibs--except the two or three dozen a week
+that mere politeness required and which you never thought of counting;
+but you never told me the truth, Marian, because you never told your
+self the truth. You told me what you told yourself, I grant you; and so
+you were not conscious of deceit. I dont reproach you. Surely you can
+bear to be told what every honest man tells himself almost daily."
+
+"I suppose I have deserved it," said Marian; "but unkind words from you
+are a new experience. You are very unlike yourself to-night."
+
+He repressed, with visible effort, an explosion of impatience. "On the
+contrary, I am like myself--I actually am myself to-night, I hope." Then
+the explosion came. "Is it utterly impossible for you to say something
+real to me? Only learn to do that, and you may have ten love romances
+every year with other men, if you like. Be anything rather than a
+ladylike slave and liar. There! as usual, the truth makes you shrink
+from me. As I said before, I refuse further intercourse on such terms.
+They have proved unkind in the long run."
+
+"You spoke plainly enough to her," said Marian, glancing at the bed,
+"but in the long run it did her no good."
+
+"She would have laughed me to scorn if I had minced matters, for she
+never deceived herself. Society, by the power of the purse, set her to
+nautch-girl's work, and forbade her the higher work that was equally
+within her power. Being enslaved and debauched in this fashion, how
+could she be happy except when she was not sober? It was her own
+immediate interest to drink; it was her tradesman's interest that she
+should drink; it was her servants' interest that she should be pleased
+with them for getting drink for her. She was clever, good-natured, more
+constant to her home and her man than you, a living fountain of innocent
+pleasure as a dancer, singer, and actress; and here she lies, after
+mischievously spending her talent in a series of entertainments too dull
+for hell and too debased for any better place, dead of a preventable
+disease, chiefly because most of the people she came in contact with had
+a direct pecuniary interest in depraving and poisoning her. Aye, look at
+her! with the cross on her breast, the virgin mother in plaster looking
+on from where she kept her mirror when she was alive, and the people
+outside complacently saying 'Serve her right!'"
+
+Marian feared for a moment that he would demolish Eliza's altar by
+hurling the chair through it. "Dont, Ned," she said, timidly, putting
+her hand on his arm.
+
+"Dont what?" he said, taken aback. She drew her hand away and retreated
+a step, coloring at the wifely liberty she had permitted herself to
+take. "I beg your pardon. I thought--I thought you were going to take
+the cross away. No," she added quickly, seeing him about to speak, and
+anticipating a burst of scepticism: "it is not that; but the servant is
+an Irish girl--a Roman Catholic. She put it there; and she meant well,
+and will be hurt if it is thrown aside."
+
+"And you think it better that she should remain in ignorance of what
+educated people think about her superstition than that she should suffer
+the mortification of learning that her opinions are not those of all
+the world! However, I had no such intention. Eliza's idol is a
+respectable one as idols go."
+
+There was a pause. Then Marian said: "It must have been a great shock to
+you when you came and found what had happened. I am very sorry. But had
+we not better go downrs? It seems so unfeeling, somehow, to talk
+without minding her. I suppose you consider that foolish; but I think
+you are upset by it yourself."
+
+"You see a change in me, then?"
+
+"You are not quite yourself, I think."
+
+"I tell you again that I _am_ myself at last. You do not seem to like
+the real man any better than the unreal: I am afraid you will not have
+me on any terms. Well, let us go downstairs, since you prefer it."
+
+"Oh, not unless you wish it too," said Marian, a little bewildered.
+
+He took her candle and led the way out without another word or a look at
+the bed. Marian, as he stood aside to let her go downstairs before him,
+was suddenly seized with a fantastic fear that he was going to kill her.
+She did not condescend to hurry or look back; but she only felt safe
+when they were in her room, and he no longer behind her.
+
+"Sit down," he said, placing the candle on the mantelpiece. She sat down
+at the table, and he stood on the hearthrug. "Now," said he, "about the
+future. Are you coming back? Will you give the life at Holland Park
+another trial?"
+
+"I cannot," she said, bending her head almost on her hands. "I should
+disgrace you. And there is another reason."
+
+"It is not in your power, nor in that of all London, to disgrace me if
+I do not feel disgraced. It is useless to say that you cannot. If you
+say 'I will not,' then that will settle it. What is the other reason?"
+
+"It is not yet born. But it will be."
+
+"That is no reason to me. Do you think I shall be a worse father to it
+than he would have been?"
+
+"No, indeed. But it would be unfair to you." He made an impatient
+gesture. "I dont understand you, Ned. Would you not rather be free?"
+
+"Freedom is a fool's dream. I am free. I can divorce you if I please: if
+I live with you again it will be by my own choice. You are free too: you
+have burnt your boats, and are rid of fashionable society, of your
+family, your position, your principles, and all the rest of your chains
+forever. You are declassed by your own act; and if you can frankly give
+a sigh of relief and respect yourself for breaking loose from what is
+called your duty, then you are the very woman I want for a wife. I may
+not be the very man you want for a husband; but at all events you are
+free to choose, free to change after you choose if you choose me, free
+anyhow; for I will divorce you if you refuse; and then you will
+be--independent--your own mistress--absolute proprietor of your own
+child--everything that married women and girls envy. You have a
+foretaste of that freedom now. What is it worth? One or two conditions
+more or less to comply with, that is all: nature and society still have
+you hard and fast; the main rules of the game are inviolable."
+
+"I think it is a good thing to be free," said Marian, timidly.
+
+"That means 'I will not.'"
+
+"Not 'will not'; but I think I had better not."
+
+"A characteristic distinction, Marian. I once thought, like you, that
+freedom was the one condition to be gained at all cost and hazard. My
+favorite psalm was that nonsense of John Hay's:
+
+  'For always in thine eyes, O Liberty,
+  Shines that high light whereby the world is saved;
+  And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee.'
+
+And she does slay us. Now I am for the fullest attainable life. That
+involves the least endurable liberty. You dont see that yet. Very well:
+you have liberty--liberty to hurt as well as help yourself; and you are
+right to try whether it will not make you happier than wedlock has
+done."
+
+"It was not your fault; and it is very good of you to offer to take me
+back, I know. Will my refusing disappoint you at all, Ned?"
+
+"I am prepared for it. You may refuse or accept: I foresee how I shall
+adapt myself to either set of circumstances."
+
+"Yes, I forgot. You foresee everything," said Marian, with some
+bitterness.
+
+"No: I only face what I see. That is why you do not like living with me.
+Good-bye. Do not look troubled: we shall meet again to-morrow and often
+afterward, I hope; but to-night makes an end of the irrational knot."
+
+"Good-night," said Marian rather forlornly, after a pause, proffering
+her hand.
+
+"One folly more," he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her. She
+made no resistance. "If such a moment could be eternal, we should never
+say good-bye," he added. "As it is, we are wise not to tempt Fortune by
+asking her for such another."
+
+"You are too wise, Ned," she said, suffering him to replace her gently
+in the chair.
+
+"It is impossible to be too wise, dearest," he said, and unhesitatingly
+turned and left her.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Irrational Knot, by George Bernard Shaw
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Irrational Knot, by George Bernard Shaw
+
+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: The Irrational Knot
+       Being the Second Novel of His Nonage
+
+Author: George Bernard Shaw
+
+Release Date: February 28, 2004 [EBook #11354]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRRATIONAL KNOT ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Rick Niles, John Hagerson and PG Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+THE IRRATIONAL KNOT
+
+BY BERNARD SHAW BEING
+
+THE SECOND NOVEL
+OF HIS NONAGE
+
+
+1905
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+TO THE AMERICAN EDITION OF 1905
+
+
+This novel was written in the year 1880, only a few years after I had
+exported myself from Dublin to London in a condition of extreme rawness
+and inexperience concerning the specifically English side of the life
+with which the book pretends to deal. Everybody wrote novels then. It
+was my second attempt; and it shared the fate of my first. That is to
+say, nobody would publish it, though I tried all the London publishers
+and some American ones. And I should not greatly blame them if I could
+feel sure that it was the book's faults and not its qualities that
+repelled them.
+
+I have narrated elsewhere how in the course of time the rejected MS.
+became Mrs. Annie Besant's excuse for lending me her ever helping hand
+by publishing it as a serial in a little propagandist magazine of hers.
+That was how it got loose beyond all possibility of recapture. It is out
+of my power now to stand between it and the American public: all I can
+do is to rescue it from unauthorized mutilations and make the best of a
+jejune job.
+
+At present, of course, I am not the author of The Irrational Knot.
+Physiologists inform us that the substance of our bodies (and
+consequently of our souls) is shed and renewed at such a rate that no
+part of us lasts longer than eight years: I am therefore not now in any
+atom of me the person who wrote The Irrational Knot in 1880. The last
+of that author perished in 1888; and two of his successors have since
+joined the majority. Fourth of his line, I cannot be expected to take
+any very lively interest in the novels of my literary great-grandfather.
+Even my personal recollections of him are becoming vague and overlaid
+with those most misleading of all traditions, the traditions founded on
+the lies a man tells, and at last comes to believe, about himself _to_
+himself. Certain things, however, I remember very well. For instance, I
+am significantly clear as to the price of the paper on which I wrote The
+Irrational Knot. It was cheap--a white demy of unpretentious quality--so
+that sixpennorth lasted a long time. My daily allowance of composition
+was five pages of this demy in quarto; and I held my natural laziness
+sternly to that task day in, day out, to the end. I remember also that
+Bizet's Carmen being then new in London, I used it as a safety-valve for
+my romantic impulses. When I was tired of the sordid realism of
+Whatshisname (I have sent my only copy of The Irrational Knot to the
+printers, and cannot remember the name of my hero) I went to the piano
+and forgot him in the glamorous society of Carmen and her crimson
+toreador and yellow dragoon. Not that Bizet's music could infatuate me
+as it infatuated Nietzsche. Nursed on greater masters, I thought less of
+him than he deserved; but the Carmen music was--in places--exquisite of
+its kind, and could enchant a man like me, romantic enough to have come
+to the end of romance before I began to create in art for myself.
+
+When I say that _I_ did and felt these things, I mean, of course, that
+the predecessor whose name I bear did and felt them. The I of to-day is
+(? am) cool towards Carmen; and Carmen, I regret to say, does not take
+the slightest interest in him (? me). And now enough of this juggling
+with past and present Shaws. The grammatical complications of being a
+first person and several extinct third persons at the same moment are so
+frightful that I must return to the ordinary misusage, and ask the
+reader to make the necessary corrections in his or her own mind.
+
+This book is not wholly a compound of intuition and ignorance. Take for
+example the profession of my hero, an Irish-American electrical
+engineer. That was by no means a flight of fancy. For you must not
+suppose, because I am a man of letters, that I never tried to earn an
+honest living. I began trying to commit that sin against my nature when
+I was fifteen, and persevered, from youthful timidity and diffidence,
+until I was twenty-three. My last attempt was in 1879, when a company
+was formed in London to exploit an ingenious invention by Mr. Thomas
+Alva Edison--a much too ingenious invention as it proved, being nothing
+less than a telephone of such stentorian efficiency that it bellowed
+your most private communications all over the house instead of
+whispering them with some sort of discretion. This was not what the
+British stockbroker wanted; so the company was soon merged in the
+National Telephone Company, after making a place for itself in the
+history of literature, quite unintentionally, by providing me with a
+job. Whilst the Edison Telephone Company lasted, it crowded the basement
+of a huge pile of offices in Queen Victoria Street with American
+artificers. These deluded and romantic men gave me a glimpse of the
+skilled proletariat of the United States. They sang obsolete sentimental
+songs with genuine emotion; and their language was frightful even to an
+Irishman. They worked with a ferocious energy which was out of all
+proportion to the actual result achieved. Indomitably resolved to assert
+their republican manhood by taking no orders from a tall-hatted
+Englishman whose stiff politeness covered his conviction that they were,
+relatively to himself, inferior and common persons, they insisted on
+being slave-driven with genuine American oaths by a genuine free and
+equal American foreman. They utterly despised the artfully slow British
+workman who did as little for his wages as he possibly could; never
+hurried himself; and had a deep reverence for anyone whose pocket could
+be tapped by respectful behavior. Need I add that they were
+contemptuously wondered at by this same British workman as a parcel of
+outlandish adult boys, who sweated themselves for their employer's
+benefit instead of looking after their own interests? They adored Mr.
+Edison as the greatest man of all time in every possible department of
+science, art and philosophy, and execrated Mr. Graham Bell, the inventor
+of the rival telephone, as his Satanic adversary; but each of them had
+(or pretended to have) on the brink of completion, an improvement on the
+telephone, usually a new transmitter. They were free-souled creatures,
+excellent company: sensitive, cheerful, and profane; liars, braggarts,
+and hustlers; with an air of making slow old England hum which never
+left them even when, as often happened, they were wrestling with
+difficulties of their own making, or struggling in no-thoroughfares from
+which they had to be retrieved like strayed sheep by Englishmen without
+imagination enough to go wrong.
+
+In this environment I remained for some months. As I was interested in
+physics and had read Tyndall and Helmholtz, besides having learnt
+something in Ireland through a fortunate friendship with a cousin of Mr.
+Graham Bell who was also a chemist and physicist, I was, I believe, the
+only person in the entire establishment who knew the current scientific
+explanation of telephony; and as I soon struck up a friendship with our
+official lecturer, a Colchester man whose strong point was
+pre-scientific agriculture, I often discharged his duties for him in a
+manner which, I am persuaded, laid the foundation of Mr. Edison's London
+reputation: my sole reward being my boyish delight in the half-concealed
+incredulity of our visitors (who were convinced by the hoarsely
+startling utterances of the telephone that the speaker, alleged by me to
+be twenty miles away, was really using a speaking-trumpet in the next
+room), and their obvious uncertainty, when the demonstration was over,
+as to whether they ought to tip me or not: a question they either
+decided in the negative or never decided at all; for I never got
+anything.
+
+So much for my electrical engineer! To get him into contact with
+fashionable society before he became famous was also a problem easily
+solved. I knew of three English peers who actually preferred physical
+laboratories to stables, and scientific experts to gamekeepers: in fact,
+one of the experts was a friend of mine. And I knew from personal
+experience that if science brings men of all ranks into contact, art,
+especially music, does the same for men and women. An electrician who
+can play an accompaniment can go anywhere and know anybody. As far as
+mere access and acquaintance go there are no class barriers for him. My
+difficulty was not to get my hero into society, but to give any sort of
+plausibility to my picture of society when I got him into it. I lacked
+the touch of the literary diner-out; and I had, as the reader will
+probably find to his cost, the classical tradition which makes all the
+persons in a novel, except the comically vernacular ones, or the
+speakers of phonetically spelt dialect, utter themselves in the formal
+phrases and studied syntax of eighteenth century rhetoric. In short, I
+wrote in the style of Scott and Dickens; and as fashionable society then
+spoke and behaved, as it still does, in no style at all, my
+transcriptions of Oxford and Mayfair may nowadays suggest an
+unaccountable and ludicrous ignorance of a very superficial and
+accessible code of manners. I was not, however, so ignorant as might
+have been inferred at that time from my somewhat desperate financial
+condition.
+
+I had, to begin with, a sort of backstairs knowledge; for in my teens I
+struggled for life in the office of an Irish gentleman who acted as land
+agent and private banker for many persons of distinction. Now it is
+possible for a London author to dine out in the highest circles for
+twenty years without learning as much about the human frailties of his
+hosts as the family solicitor or (in Ireland) the family land agent
+learns in twenty days; and some of this knowledge inevitably reaches his
+clerks, especially the clerk who keeps the cash, which was my particular
+department. He learns, if capable of the lesson, that the aristocratic
+profession has as few geniuses as any other profession; so that if you
+want a peerage of more than, say, half a dozen members, you must fill it
+up with many common persons, and even with some deplorably mean ones.
+For "service is no inheritance" either in the kitchen or the House of
+Lords; and the case presented by Mr. Barrie in his play of The Admirable
+Crichton, where the butler is the man of quality, and his master, the
+Earl, the man of rank, is no fantasy, but a quite common occurrence, and
+indeed to some extent an inevitable one, because the English are
+extremely particular in selecting their butlers, whilst they do not
+select their barons at all, taking them as the accident of birth sends
+them. The consequences include much ironic comedy. For instance, we have
+in England a curious belief in first rate people, meaning all the people
+we do not know; and this consoles us for the undeniable secondrateness
+of the people we do know, besides saving the credit of aristocracy as an
+institution. The unmet aristocrat is devoutly believed in; but he is
+always round the corner, never at hand. That _the_ smart set exists;
+that there is above and beyond that smart set a class so blue of blood
+and exquisite in nature that it looks down even on the King with haughty
+condescension; that scepticism on these points is one of the stigmata of
+plebeian baseness: all these imaginings are so common here that they
+constitute the real popular sociology of England as much as an unlimited
+credulity as to vaccination constitutes the real popular science of
+England. It is, of course, a timid superstition. A British peer or
+peeress who happens by chance to be genuinely noble is just as isolated
+at court as Goethe would have been among all the other grandsons of
+publicans, if they had formed a distinct class in Frankfurt or Weimar.
+This I knew very well when I wrote my novels; and if, as I suspect, I
+failed to create a convincingly verisimilar atmosphere of aristocracy,
+it was not because I had any illusions or ignorances as to the common
+humanity of the peerage, and not because I gave literary style to its
+conversation, but because, as I had never had any money, I was foolishly
+indifferent to it, and so, having blinded myself to its enormous
+importance, necessarily missed the point of view, and with it the whole
+moral basis, of the class which rightly values money, and plenty of it,
+as the first condition of a bearable life.
+
+Money is indeed the most important thing in the world; and all sound and
+successful personal and national morality should have this fact for its
+basis. Every teacher or twaddler who denies it or suppresses it, is an
+enemy of life. Money controls morality; and what makes the United States
+of America look so foolish even in foolish Europe is that they are
+always in a state of flurried concern and violent interference with
+morality, whereas they throw their money into the street to be scrambled
+for, and presently find that their cash reserves are not in their own
+hands, but in the pockets of a few millionaires who, bewildered by their
+luck, and unspeakably incapable of making any truly economic use of it,
+endeavor to "do good" with it by letting themselves be fleeced by
+philanthropic committee men, building contractors, librarians and
+professors, in the name of education, science, art and what not; so that
+sensible people exhale relievedly when the pious millionaire dies, and
+his heirs, demoralized by being brought up on his outrageous income,
+begin the socially beneficent work of scattering his fortune through the
+channels of the trades that flourish by riotous living.
+
+This, as I have said, I did not then understand; for I knew money only
+by the want of it. Ireland is a poor country; and my father was a poor
+man in a poor country. By this I do not mean that he was hungry and
+homeless, a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. My friend Mr. James
+Huneker, a man of gorgeous imagination and incorrigible romanticism, has
+described me to the American public as a peasant lad who has raised
+himself, as all American presidents are assumed to have raised
+themselves, from the humblest departments of manual labor to the
+loftiest eminence. James flatters me. Had I been born a peasant, I
+should now be a tramp. My notion of my father's income is even vaguer
+than his own was--and that is saying a good deal--but he always had an
+income of at least three figures (four, if you count in dollars instead
+of pounds); and what made him poor was that he conceived himself as born
+to a social position which even in Ireland could have been maintained in
+dignified comfort only on twice or thrice what he had. And he married on
+that assumption. Fortunately for me, social opportunity is not always to
+be measured by income. There is an important economic factor, first
+analyzed by an American economist (General Walker), and called rent of
+ability. Now this rent, when the ability is of the artistic or political
+sort, is often paid in kind. For example, a London possessor of such
+ability may, with barely enough money to maintain a furnished bedroom
+and a single presentable suit of clothes, see everything worth seeing
+that a millionaire can see, and know everybody worth knowing that he can
+know. Long before I reached this point myself, a very trifling
+accomplishment gave me glimpses of the sort of fashionable life a
+peasant never sees. Thus I remember one evening during the novel-writing
+period when nobody would pay a farthing for a stroke of my pen, walking
+along Sloane Street in that blessed shield of literary shabbiness,
+evening dress. A man accosted me with an eloquent appeal for help,
+ending with the assurance that he had not a penny in the world. I
+replied, with exact truth, "Neither have I." He thanked me civilly, and
+went away, apparently not in the least surprised, leaving me to ask
+myself why I did not turn beggar too, since I felt sure that a man who
+did it as well as he, must be in comfortable circumstances.
+
+Another reminiscence. A little past midnight, in the same costume, I was
+turning from Piccadilly into Bond Street, when a lady of the pavement,
+out of luck that evening so far, confided to me that the last bus for
+Brompton had passed, and that she should be grateful to any gentleman
+who would give her a lift in a hansom. My old-fashioned Irish gallantry
+had not then been worn off by age and England: besides, as a novelist
+who could find no publisher, I was touched by the similarity of our
+trades and predicaments. I excused myself very politely on the ground
+that my wife (invented for the occasion) was waiting for me at home, and
+that I felt sure so attractive a lady would have no difficulty in
+finding another escort. Unfortunately this speech made so favorable an
+impression on her that she immediately took my arm and declared her
+willingness to go anywhere with me, on the flattering ground that I was
+a perfect gentleman. In vain did I try to persuade her that in coming up
+Bond Street and deserting Piccadilly, she was throwing away her last
+chance of a hansom: she attached herself so devotedly to me that I could
+not without actual violence shake her off. At last I made a stand at the
+end of Old Bond Street. I took out my purse; opened it; and held it
+upside down. Her countenance fell, poor girl! She turned on her heel
+with a melancholy flirt of her skirt, and vanished.
+
+Now on both these occasions I had been in the company of people who
+spent at least as much in a week as I did in a year. Why was I, a
+penniless and unknown young man, admitted there? Simply because, though
+I was an execrable pianist, and never improved until the happy
+invention of the pianola made a Paderewski of me, I could play a simple
+accompaniment at sight more congenially to a singer than most amateurs.
+It is true that the musical side of London society, with its streak of
+Bohemianism, and its necessary toleration of foreign ways and
+professional manners, is far less typically English than the sporting
+side or the political side or the Philistine side; so much so, indeed,
+that people may and do pass their lives in it without ever discovering
+what English plutocracy in the mass is really like: still, if you wander
+in it nocturnally for a fitful year or so as I did, with empty pockets
+and an utter impossibility of approaching it by daylight (owing to the
+deplorable decay of the morning wardrobe), you have something more
+actual to go on than the hallucinations of a peasant lad setting his
+foot manfully on the lowest rung of the social ladder. I never climbed
+any ladder: I have achieved eminence by sheer gravitation; and I hereby
+warn all peasant lads not to be duped by my pretended example into
+regarding their present servitude as a practicable first step to a
+celebrity so dazzling that its subject cannot even suppress his own bad
+novels.
+
+Conceive me then at the writing of The Irrational Knot as a person
+neither belonging to the world I describe nor wholly ignorant of it, and
+on certain points quite incapable of conceiving it intuitively. A whole
+world of art which did not exist for it lay open to me. I was familiar
+with the greatest in that world: mighty poets, painters, and musicians
+were my intimates. I found the world of artificial greatness founded on
+convention and money so repugnant and contemptible by comparison that I
+had no sympathetic understanding of it. People are fond of blaming
+valets because no man is a hero to his valet. But it is equally true
+that no man is a valet to his hero; and the hero, consequently, is apt
+to blunder very ludicrously about valets, through judging them from an
+irrelevant standard of heroism: heroism, remember, having its faults as
+well as its qualities. I, always on the heroic plane imaginatively, had
+two disgusting faults which I did not recognize as faults because I
+could not help them. I was poor and (by day) shabby. I therefore
+tolerated the gross error that poverty, though an inconvenience and a
+trial, is not a sin and a disgrace; and I stood for my self-respect on
+the things I had: probity, ability, knowledge of art, laboriousness, and
+whatever else came cheaply to me. Because I could walk into Hampton
+Court Palace and the National Gallery (on free days) and enjoy Mantegna
+and Michael Angelo whilst millionaires were yawning miserably over inept
+gluttonies; because I could suffer more by hearing a movement of
+Beethoven's Ninth Symphony taken at a wrong tempo than a duchess by
+losing a diamond necklace, I was indifferent to the repulsive fact that
+if I had fallen in love with the duchess I did not possess a morning
+suit in which I could reasonably have expected her to touch me with the
+furthest protended pair of tongs; and I did not see that to remedy this
+I should have been prepared to wade through seas of other people's
+blood. Indeed it is this perception which constitutes an aristocracy
+nowadays. It is the secret of all our governing classes, which consist
+finally of people who, though perfectly prepared to be generous, humane,
+cultured, philanthropic, public spirited and personally charming in the
+second instance, are unalterably resolved, in the first, to have money
+enough for a handsome and delicate life, and will, in pursuit of that
+money, batter in the doors of their fellow men, sell them up, sweat them
+in fetid dens, shoot, stab, hang, imprison, sink, burn and destroy them
+in the name of law and order. And this shews their fundamental sanity
+and rightmindedness; for a sufficient income is indispensable to the
+practice of virtue; and the man who will let any unselfish consideration
+stand between him and its attainment is a weakling, a dupe and a
+predestined slave. If I could convince our impecunious mobs of this, the
+world would be reformed before the end of the week; for the sluggards
+who are content to be wealthy without working and the dastards who are
+content to work without being wealthy, together with all the
+pseudo-moralists and ethicists and cowardice mongers generally, would be
+exterminated without shrift, to the unutterable enlargement of life and
+ennoblement of humanity. We might even make some beginnings of
+civilization under such happy circumstances.
+
+In the days of The Irrational Knot I had not learnt this lesson;
+consequently I did not understand the British peerage, just as I did not
+understand that glorious and beautiful phenomenon, the "heartless" rich
+American woman, who so thoroughly and admirably understands that
+conscience is a luxury, and should be indulged in only when the vital
+needs of life have been abundantly satisfied. The instinct which has led
+the British peerage to fortify itself by American alliances is healthy
+and well inspired. Thanks to it, we shall still have a few people to
+maintain the tradition of a handsome, free, proud, costly life, whilst
+the craven mass of us are keeping up our starveling pretence that it is
+more important to be good than to be rich, and piously cheating,
+robbing, and murdering one another by doing our duty as policemen,
+soldiers, bailiffs, jurymen, turnkeys, hangmen, tradesmen, and curates,
+at the command of those who know that the golden grapes are _not_ sour.
+Why, good heavens! we shall all pretend that this straightforward truth
+of mine is mere Swiftian satire, because it would require a little
+courage to take it seriously and either act on it or make me drink the
+hemlock for uttering it.
+
+There was the less excuse for my blindness because I was at that very
+moment laying the foundations of my high fortune by the most ruthless
+disregard of all the quack duties which lead the peasant lad of fiction
+to the White House, and harness the real peasant boy to the plough until
+he is finally swept, as rubbish, into the workhouse. I was an ablebodied
+and ableminded young man in the strength of my youth; and my family,
+then heavily embarrassed, needed my help urgently. That I should have
+chosen to be a burden to them instead was, according to all the
+conventions of peasant lad fiction, monstrous. Well, without a blush I
+embraced the monstrosity. I did not throw myself into the struggle for
+life: I threw my mother into it. I was not a staff to my father's old
+age: I hung on to his coat tails. His reward was to live just long
+enough to read a review of one of these silly novels written in an
+obscure journal by a personal friend of my own (now eminent in
+literature as Mr. John Mackinnon Robertson) prefiguring me to some
+extent as a considerable author. I think, myself, that this was a
+handsome reward, far better worth having than a nice pension from a
+dutiful son struggling slavishly for his parent's bread in some sordid
+trade. Handsome or not, it was the only return he ever had for the
+little pension he contrived to export from Ireland for his family. My
+mother reinforced it by drudging in her elder years at the art of music
+which she had followed in her prime freely for love. I only helped to
+spend it. People wondered at my heartlessness: one young and romantic
+lady had the courage to remonstrate openly and indignantly with me, "for
+the which" as Pepys said of the shipwright's wife who refused his
+advances, "I did respect her." Callous as Comus to moral babble, I
+steadily wrote my five pages a day and made a man of myself (at my
+mother's expense) instead of a slave. And I protest that I will not
+suffer James Huneker or any romanticist to pass me off as a peasant boy
+qualifying for a chapter in Smiles's Self Help, or a good son supporting
+a helpless mother, instead of a stupendously selfish artist leaning with
+the full weight of his hungry body on an energetic and capable woman.
+No, James: such lies are not only unnecessary, but fearfully depressing
+and fundamentally immoral, besides being hardly fair to the supposed
+peasant lad's parents. My mother worked for my living instead of
+preaching that it was my duty to work for hers: therefore take off your
+hat to her, and blush.[A]
+
+It is now open to anyone who pleases to read The Irrational Knot. I do
+not recommend him to; but it is possible that the same mysterious force
+which drove me through the labor of writing it may have had some purpose
+which will sustain others through the labor of reading it, and even
+reward them with some ghastly enjoyment of it. For my own part I cannot
+stand it. It is to me only one of the heaps of spoiled material that
+all apprenticeship involves. I consent to its publication because I
+remember that British colonel who called on Beethoven when the elderly
+composer was working at his posthumous quartets, and offered him a
+commission for a work in the style of his jejune septet. Beethoven drove
+the Colonel out of the house with objurgation. I think that was uncivil.
+There is a time for the septet, and a time for the posthumous quartets.
+It is true that if a man called on me now and asked me to write
+something like The Irrational Knot I should have to exercise great
+self-control. But there are people who read Man and Superman, and then
+tell me (actually to my face) that I have never done anything so good as
+Cashel Byron's Profession. After this, there may be a public for even
+The Irrational Knot; so let it go.
+
+
+LONDON, _May_ 26, 1905.
+
+[Footnote A: James, having read the above in proof, now protests he
+never called me a peasant lad: that being a decoration by the
+sub-editor. The expression he used was "a poor lad." This is what James
+calls tact. After all, there is something pastoral, elemental, well
+aerated, about a peasant lad. But a mere poor lad! really, James,
+_really_--!!!]
+
+P.S.--Since writing the above I have looked through the proof-sheets of
+this book, and found, with some access of respect for my youth, that it
+is a fiction of the first order. By this I do not mean that it is a
+masterpiece in that order, or even a pleasant example of it, but simply
+that, such as it is, it is one of those fictions in which the morality
+is original and not readymade. Now this quality is the true diagnostic
+of the first order in literature, and indeed in all the arts, including
+the art of life. It is, for example, the distinction that sets
+Shakespear's Hamlet above his other plays, and that sets Ibsen's work as
+a whole above Shakespear's work as a whole. Shakespear's morality is a
+mere reach-me-down; and because Hamlet does not feel comfortable in it,
+and struggles against the misfit, he suggests something better, futile
+as his struggle is, and incompetent as Shakespear shews himself in his
+effort to think out the revolt of his feeling against readymade
+morality. Ibsen's morality is original all through: he knows well that
+the men in the street have no use for principles, because they can
+neither understand nor apply them; and that what they can understand and
+apply are arbitrary rules of conduct, often frightfully destructive and
+inhuman, but at least definite rules enabling the common stupid man to
+know where he stands and what he may do and not do without getting into
+trouble. Now to all writers of the first order, these rules, and the
+need for them produced by the moral and intellectual incompetence of the
+ordinary human animal, are no more invariably beneficial and respectable
+than the sunlight which ripens the wheat in Sussex and leaves the desert
+deadly in Sahara, making the cheeks of the ploughman's child rosy in the
+morning and striking the ploughman brainsick or dead in the afternoon;
+no more inspired (and no less) than the religion of the Andaman
+islanders; as much in need of frequent throwing away and replacement as
+the community's boots. By writers of the second order the readymade
+morality is accepted as the basis of all moral judgment and criticism of
+the characters they portray, even when their genius forces them to
+represent their most attractive heroes and heroines as violating the
+readymade code in all directions. Far be it from me to pretend that the
+first order is more readable than the second! Shakespear, Scott,
+Dickens, Dumas _pere_ are not, to say the least, less readable than
+Euripides and Ibsen. Nor is the first order always more constructive;
+for Byron, Oscar Wilde, and Larochefoucauld did not get further in
+positive philosophy than Ruskin and Carlyle, though they could snuff
+Ruskin's Seven Lamps with their fingers without flinching. Still, the
+first order remains the first order and the second the second for all
+that: no man who shuts his eyes and opens his mouth when religion and
+morality are offered to him on a long spoon can share the same
+Parnassian bench with those who make an original contribution to
+religion and morality, were it only a criticism.
+
+Therefore on coming back to this Irrational Knot as a stranger after 25
+years, I am proud to find that its morality is not readymade. The
+drunken prima donna of a bygone type of musical burlesque is not
+depicted as an immoral person, but as a person with a morality of her
+own, no worse in its way than the morality of her highly respectable
+wine merchant in _its_ way. The sociology of the successful inventor is
+his own sociology too; and it is by his originality in this respect that
+he passes irresistibly through all the readymade prejudices that are set
+up to bar his promotion. And the heroine, nice, amiable, benevolent, and
+anxious to please and behave well, but hopelessly secondhand in her
+morals and nicenesses, and consequently without any real moral force now
+that the threat of hell has lost its terrors for her, is left destitute
+among the failures which are so puzzling to thoughtless people. "I
+cannot understand why she is so unlucky: she is such a nice woman!":
+that is the formula. As if people with any force in them ever were
+altogether nice!
+
+And so I claim the first order for this jejune exploit of mine, and
+invite you to note that the final chapter, so remote from Scott and
+Dickens and so close to Ibsen, was written years before Ibsen came to
+my knowledge, thus proving that the revolt of the Life Force against
+readymade morality in the nineteenth century was not the work of a
+Norwegian microbe, but would have worked itself into expression in
+English literature had Norway never existed. In fact, when Miss Lord's
+translation of A Doll's House appeared in the eighteen-eighties, and so
+excited some of my Socialist friends that they got up a private reading
+of it in which I was cast for the part of Krogstad, its novelty as a
+morally original study of a marriage did not stagger me as it staggered
+Europe. I had made a morally original study of a marriage myself, and
+made it, too, without any melodramatic forgeries, spinal diseases, and
+suicides, though I had to confess to a study of dipsomania. At all
+events, I chattered and ate caramels in the back drawing-room (our
+green-room) whilst Eleanor Marx, as Nora, brought Helmer to book at the
+other side of the folding doors. Indeed I concerned myself very little
+about Ibsen until, later on, William Archer translated Peer Gynt to me
+_viva voce_, when the magic of the great poet opened my eyes in a flash
+to the importance of the social philosopher.
+
+I seriously suggest that The Irrational Knot may be regarded as an early
+attempt on the part of the Life Force to write A Doll's House in English
+by the instrumentality of a very immature writer aged 24. And though I
+say it that should not, the choice was not such a bad shot for a stupid
+instinctive force that has to work and become conscious of itself by
+means of human brains. If we could only realize that though the Life
+Force supplies us with its own purpose, it has no other brains to work
+with than those it has painfully and imperfectly evolved in our heads,
+the peoples of the earth would learn some pity for their gods; and we
+should have a religion that would not be contradicted at every turn by
+the thing that is giving the lie to the thing that ought to be.
+
+WELWYN, _Sunday, June_ 25, 1905.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I
+
+
+
+
+THE IRRATIONAL KNOT
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+At seven o'clock on a fine evening in April the gas had just been
+lighted in a room on the first floor of a house in York Road, Lambeth. A
+man, recently washed and brushed, stood on the hearthrug before a pier
+glass, arranging a white necktie, part of his evening dress. He was
+about thirty, well grown, and fully developed muscularly. There was no
+cloud of vice or trouble upon him: he was concentrated and calm, making
+no tentative movements of any sort (even a white tie did not puzzle him
+into fumbling), but acting with a certainty of aim and consequent
+economy of force, dreadful to the irresolute. His face was brown, but
+his auburn hair classed him as a fair man.
+
+The apartment, a drawing-room with two windows, was dusty and untidy.
+The paint and wall paper had not been renewed for years; nor did the
+pianette, which stood near the fireplace, seem to have been closed
+during that time; for the interior was dusty, and the inner end of every
+key begrimed. On a table between the windows were some tea things, with
+a heap of milliner's materials, and a brass candlestick which had been
+pushed back to make room for a partially unfolded cloth. There was a
+second table near the door, crowded with coils, batteries, a
+galvanometer, and other electrical apparatus. The mantelpiece was
+littered with dusty letters, and two trays of Doulton ware which
+ornamented it were filled with accounts, scraps of twine, buttons, and
+rusty keys.
+
+A shifting, rustling sound, as of somebody dressing, which had been
+audible for some minutes through the folding doors, now ceased, and a
+handsome young woman entered. She had thick black hair, fine dark eyes,
+an oval face, a clear olive complexion, and an elastic figure. She was
+incompletely attired in a petticoat that did not hide her ankles, and
+stays of bright red silk with white laces and seams. Quite unconcerned
+at the presence of the man, she poured out a cup of tea; carried it to
+the mantelpiece; and began to arrange her hair before the glass. He,
+without looking round, completed the arrangement of his tie, looked at
+it earnestly for a moment, and said, "Have you got a pin about you?"
+
+"There is one in the pincushion on my table," she said; "but I think
+it's a black one. I dont know where the deuce all the pins go to." Then,
+casting off the subject, she whistled a long and florid cadenza, and
+added, by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close imitation of
+a violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into her room for the pin. On his
+return she suddenly became curious, and said, "Where are you going
+to-night, if one may ask?"
+
+"I am going out."
+
+She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemptuously to the mirror,
+saying, "Thank you. Sorry to be inquisitive."
+
+"I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a concert at
+Wandsworth."
+
+"Sing! You! The Countess of Barbury! Does she live at Wandsworth?"
+
+"No. She lives in Park Lane."
+
+"Oh! I beg her pardon." The man made no comment on this; and she, after
+looking doubtfully at him to assure herself that he was in earnest,
+continued, "How does the Countess of Whatshername come to know _you_,
+pray?"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+A long pause ensued. Then she said: "Stuff!", but without conviction.
+Her exclamation had no apparent effect on him until he had buttoned his
+waistcoat and arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet of
+pink paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched it at once; opened
+it; stared incredulously at it; and said, "Pink paper, and scalloped
+edges! How filthily vulgar! I thought she was not much of a Countess!
+Ahem! 'Music for the People. Parnassus Society. A concert will be given
+at the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on Tuesday, the 25th April, by the
+Countess of Carbury, assisted by the following ladies and gentlemen.
+Miss Elinor McQuinch'--what a name! 'Miss Marian Lind'--who's Miss
+Marian Lind?"
+
+"How should I know?"
+
+"I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that you would most
+likely be intimate with her. 'Mrs. Leith Fairfax.' There is a Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax who writes novels, and very rotten novels they are, too. Who are
+the gentlemen? 'Mr. Marmaduke Lind'--brother to Miss Marian, I suppose.
+'Mr. Edward Conolly'--save the mark! they must have been rather hard up
+for gentlemen when they put _you_ down as one. The Conolly family is
+looking up at last. Hm! nearly a dozen altogether. 'Tickets will be
+distributed to the families of working men by the Rev. George
+Lind'--pity they didnt engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing with you. 'A
+limited number of front seats at one shilling. Please turn over. Part I.
+Symphony in F: Haydn. Arranged for four English concertinas by Julius
+Baker. Mr. Julius Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette Baker
+(aged 8); and Miss Totty Baker (aged 6-1/2)'. Good Lord! 'Song: Rose
+softly blooming: Spohr. Miss Marian Lind.' I wonder whether she can
+sing! 'Polonaise in A flat major: Chopin'--what rot! As if working
+people cared about Chopin! Miss Elinor McQuinch is a fool, I see. 'Song:
+The Valley: Gounod.' Of course: I knew you would try that. Oho! Here's
+something sensible at last. 'Nigger melody. Uncle Ned. Mr. Marmaduke
+Lind, accompanied by himself on the banjo.'
+
+  Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum--
+  'And there was an ole nigga; and his name was Uncle Ned;
+    An' him dead long ago, long ago.
+  An' he had no hair on the top of his head
+    In the place where the wool ought to grow,'
+
+Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double _encore_; and no one will take the
+least notice of you or the others. 'Recitation. The Faithful Soul.
+Adelaide Proctor. Mrs. Leith Fairfax.' Well, this certainly is a blessed
+attempt to amuse Wandsworth. _Another_ reading by the Rev.----"
+
+Here Conolly, who had been putting on his overcoat, picked the program
+deftly from his sister's fingers, and left the room. She, after damning
+him very heartily, returned to the glass, and continued dressing,
+taking her tea at intervals until she was ready to go out, when she sent
+for a cab, and bade the driver convey her to the Bijou Theatre, Soho.
+
+Conolly, on arriving at the Wandsworth Town Hall, was directed to a
+committee room, which served as green-room on this occasion. He was
+greeted by a clean shaven young clergyman who protested that he was glad
+to see him there, but did not offer his hand. Conolly thanked him
+briefly, and went without further ceremony to the table, and was about
+to place his hat and overcoat on a heap of similar garments, when,
+observing that there were some hooks along the wall, he immediately
+crossed over and hung up his things on them, thereby producing an
+underbred effect of being more prudent and observant than the rest. Then
+he looked at his program, and calculated how soon his turn to sing would
+come. Then he unrolled his music, and placed two copies of Le Vallon
+ready to his hand upon the table. Having made these arrangements with a
+self-possession that quite disconcerted the clergyman, he turned to
+examine the rest of the company.
+
+His first glance was arrested by the beauty of a young lady with light
+brown hair and gentle grey eyes, who sat near the fire. Beside her, on a
+lower chair, was a small, lean, and very restless young woman with keen
+dark eyes staring defiantly from a worn face. These two were attended by
+a jovial young gentleman with curly auburn hair, who was twanging a
+banjo, and occasionally provoking an exclamation of annoyance from the
+restless girl by requesting her opinion of his progress in tuning the
+instrument. Near them stood a tall man, dark and handsome. He seemed
+unused to his present circumstances, and contemptuous, not of the
+company nor the object for which they were assembled, but in the
+abstract, as if habitual contempt were part of his nature.
+
+The clergyman, who had just conducted to the platform an elderly
+professor in a shabby frock coat, followed by three well-washed
+children, each of whom carried a concertina, now returned and sat down
+beside a middle-aged lady, who made herself conspicuous by using a gold
+framed eyeglass so as to convey an impression that she was an
+exceedingly keen observer.
+
+"It is fortunate that the evening is so fine," said the clergyman to
+her.
+
+"Yes, is it not, Mr. Lind?"
+
+"My throat is always affected by bad weather, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I
+shall be so handicapped by the inevitable comparison of my elocution
+with yours, that I am glad the weather is favorable to me, though the
+comparison is not."
+
+"No," said Mrs. Fairfax, with decision. "I am not in the least an
+orator. I can repeat a poem: that is all. Oh! I hope I have not broken
+my glasses." They had slipped from her nose to the floor. Conolly picked
+them up and straightened them with one turn of his fingers.
+
+"No harm done, madam," said he, with a certain elocutionary correctness,
+and rather in the strong voice of the workshop than the subdued one of
+the drawing-room, handing the glasses to her ceremoniously as he spoke.
+
+"Thank you. You are very kind, very kind indeed."
+
+Conolly bowed, and turned again toward the other group.
+
+"Who is that?" whispered Mrs. Fairfax to the clergyman.
+
+"Some young man who attracted the attention of the Countess by his
+singing. He is only a workman."
+
+"Indeed! Where did she hear him sing?"
+
+"In her son's laboratory, I believe. He came there to put up some
+electrical machinery, and sang into a telephone for their amusement. You
+know how fond Lord Jasper is of mechanics. Jasper declares that he is a
+genius as an electrician. Indeed it was he, rather than the Countess,
+who thought of getting him to sing for us."
+
+"How very interesting! I saw that he was clever when he spoke to me.
+There is so much in trifles--in byplay, Mr. Lind. Now, his manner of
+picking up my glass had his entire history in it. You will also see it
+in the solid development of his head. That young man deserves to be
+encouraged."
+
+"You are very generous, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. It would not be well to
+encourage him too much, however. You must recollect that he is not used
+to society. Injudicious encouragement might perhaps lead him to forget
+his real place in it."
+
+"I do not agree with you, Mr. Lind. You do not read human nature as I
+do. You know that I am an expert. I see men as he sees a telegraph
+instrument, quite uninfluenced by personal feeling."
+
+"True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. But the heart is deceitful above all things
+and des--at least I should say--er. That is, you will admit that the
+finest perception may err in its estimate of the inscrutable work of the
+Almighty."
+
+"Doubtless. But really, Mr. Lind, human beings are _so_ shallow! I
+assure you there is nothing at all inscrutable about them to a trained
+analyst of character. It may be a gift, perhaps; but people's minds are
+to me only little machines made up of superficial motives."
+
+"I say," said the young gentleman with the banjo, interrupting them:
+"have you got a copy of 'Rose softly blooming' there?"
+
+"I!" said Mrs. Fairfax. "No, certainly not."
+
+"Then it's all up with the concert. We have forgotten Marian's music;
+and there is nothing for Nelly--I beg pardon, I mean Miss McQuinch--to
+play from. She is above playing by ear."
+
+"I _cannot_ play by ear," said the restless young lady, angrily.
+
+"If you will sing 'Coal black Rose' instead, Marian, I can accompany you
+on the banjo, and back you up in the chorus. The Wandsworthers--if they
+survive the concertinas--will applaud the change as one man."
+
+"It is so unkind to joke about it," said the beautiful young lady. "What
+shall I do? If somebody will vamp an accompaniment, I can get on very
+well without any music. But if I try to play for myself I shall break
+down."
+
+Conolly here stepped aside, and beckoned to the clergyman.
+
+"That young man wants to speak to you," whispered Mrs. Fairfax.
+
+"Oh, indeed. Thank you," said the Rev. Mr. Lind, stiffly. "I suppose I
+had better see what he requires."
+
+"I suppose you had," said Mrs. Fairfax, with some impatience.
+
+"I dont wish to intrude where I have no business," said Conolly quietly
+to the clergyman; "but I can play that lady's accompaniment, if she will
+allow me."
+
+The clergyman was too much afraid of Conolly by this time--he did not
+know why--to demur. "I am sure she will not object," he said, pretending
+to be relieved by the offer. "Your services will be most acceptable.
+Excuse me for one moment, whilst I inform Miss Lind."
+
+He crossed the room to the lady, and said in a lower tone, "I think I
+have succeeded in arranging the matter, Marian. That man says he will
+play for you."
+
+"I hope he _can_ play," said Marian doubtfully. "Who is he?"
+
+"It is Conolly. Jasper's man."
+
+Miss Lind's eyes lighted. "Is that he?" she whispered, glancing
+curiously across the room at him. "Bring him and introduce him to us."
+
+"Is that necessary?" said the tall man, without lowering his voice
+sufficiently to prevent Conolly from hearing him. The clergyman
+hesitated.
+
+"It is quite necessary: I do not know what he must think of us already,"
+said Marian, ashamed, and looking apprehensively at Conolly. He was
+staring with a policemanlike expression at the tall man, who, after a
+vain attempt to ignore him, had eventually to turn away. The Rev. Mr.
+Lind then led the electrician forward, and avoided a formal presentation
+by saying with a simper: "Here is Mr. Conolly, who will extricate us
+from all our difficulties."
+
+Miss McQuinch nodded. Miss Lind bowed. Marmaduke shook hands
+good-naturedly, and retired somewhat abashed, thrumming his banjo. Just
+then a faint sound of clapping was followed by the return of the quartet
+party, upon which Miss Lind rose and moved hesitatingly toward the
+platform. The tall man offered his hand.
+
+"Nonsense, Sholto," said she, laughing. "They will expect you to do
+something if you appear with me."
+
+"Allow _me_, Marian," said the clergyman, as the tall man, offended,
+bowed and stood aside. She, pretending not to notice her brother, turned
+toward Conolly, who at once passed the Rev. George, and led her to the
+platform.
+
+"The original key?" he enquired, as they mounted the steps.
+
+"I dont know," she said, alarmed.
+
+For a moment he was taken aback. Then he said, "What is the highest note
+you can sing?"
+
+"I can sing A sometimes--only when I am alone. I dare not attempt it
+before people."
+
+Conolly sat down, knowing now that Miss Lind was a commonplace amateur.
+He had been contrasting her with his sister, greatly to the
+disparagement of his home life; and he was disappointed to find the lady
+break down where the actress would have succeeded so well. Consoling
+himself with the reflexion that if Miss Lind could not rap out a B flat
+like Susanna, neither could she rap out an oath, he played the
+accompaniment much better than Marian sang the song. Meanwhile, Miss
+McQuinch, listening jealously in the green-room, hated herself for her
+inferior skill.
+
+"Cool, and reserved, is the modern Benjamin Franklin," observed
+Marmaduke to her.
+
+"Better a reserved man who can do something than a sulky one who can do
+nothing," she said, glancing at the tall man, with whom the clergyman
+was nervously striving to converse.
+
+"Exquisite melody, is it not, Mr. Douglas?" said Mrs. Fairfax, coming to
+the clergyman's rescue.
+
+"I do not care for music," said Douglas. "I lack the maudlin disposition
+in which the taste usually thrives."
+
+Miss McQuinch gave an expressive snap, but said nothing; and the
+conversation dropped until Miss Lind had sung her song, and received a
+round of respectful but not enthusiastic applause.
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Conolly," she said, as she left the platform. "I am
+afraid that Spohr's music is too good for the people here. Dont you
+think so?"
+
+"Not a bit of it," replied Conolly. "There is nothing so very particular
+in Spohr. But he requires very good singing--better than he is worth."
+
+Miss Lind colored, and returned in silence to her seat beside Miss
+McQuinch, feeling that she had exposed herself to a remark that no
+gentleman would have made.
+
+"Now then, Nelly," said Marmaduke: "the parson is going to call time.
+Keep up your courage. Come, get up, get up."
+
+"Do not be so boisterous, Duke," said Marian. "It is bad enough to have
+to face an audience without being ridiculed beforehand."
+
+"Marian," said Marmaduke, "if you think Nelly will hammer a love of
+music into the British workman, you err. Lots of them get their living
+by hammering, and they will most likely resent feminine competition.
+Bang! There she goes. Pity the sorrows of a poor old piano, and let us
+hope its trembling limbs wont come through the floor."
+
+"Really, Marmaduke," said Marian, impatiently, "you are excessively
+foolish. You are like a boy fresh from school."
+
+Marmaduke, taken aback by her sharp tone, gave a long whispered whistle,
+and pretended to hide under the table. He had a certain gift of drollery
+which made it difficult not to laugh even at his most foolish antics,
+and Marian was giving way in spite of herself when she found Douglas
+bending over her and saying, in a low voice:
+
+"You are tired of this place. The room is very draughty: I fear it will
+give you cold. Let me drive you home now. An apology can be made for
+whatever else you are supposed to do for these people. Let me get your
+cloak and call a cab."
+
+Marian laughed. "Thank you, Sholto," she said; "but I assure you I am
+quite happy. Pray do not look offended because I am not so uncomfortable
+as you think I ought to be."
+
+"I am glad you are happy," said Douglas in his former cold tone.
+"Perhaps my presence is rather a drawback to your enjoyment than
+otherwise."
+
+"I told you not to come, Sholto; but you would. Why not adapt yourself
+to the circumstances, and be agreeable?"
+
+"I am not conscious of being disagreeable."
+
+"I did not mean that. Only I do not like to see you making an enemy of
+every one in the room, and forcing me to say things that I know must
+hurt you."
+
+"To the enmity of your new associates I am supremely indifferent,
+Marian. To that of your old friends I am accustomed. I am not in the
+mood to be lectured on my behavior at present; besides, the subject is
+hardly worth pursuing. May I gather from your remarks that I shall
+gratify you by withdrawing?"
+
+"Yes," said Marian, flushing slightly, and looking steadily at him.
+Then, controlling her voice with an effort, she added, "Do not try again
+to browbeat me into telling you a falsehood, Sholto."
+
+Douglas looked at her in surprise. Before he could answer, Miss McQuinch
+reappeared.
+
+"Well, Nelly," said Marmaduke: "is there any piano left?"
+
+"Not much," she replied, with a sullen laugh. "I never played worse in
+my life."
+
+"Wrong notes? or deficiency in the sacred fire?"
+
+"Both."
+
+"I believe your song comes next," said the clergyman to Conolly, who had
+been standing apart, listening to Miss McQuinch's performance.
+
+"Who is to accompany me, sir?"
+
+"Oh--ah--Miss McQuinch will, I am sure," replied the Rev. Mr. Lind,
+smiling nervously. Conolly looked grave. The young lady referred to
+closed her lips; frowned; said nothing. Marmaduke chuckled.
+
+"Perhaps you would rather play your own accompaniment," said the
+clergyman, weakly.
+
+Conolly shook his head decisively, and said, "I can do only one thing at
+a time, sir."
+
+"Oh, they are not very critical: they are only workmen," said the
+clergyman, and then reddened deeply as Marmaduke gave him a very
+perceptible nudge.
+
+"I'll not take advantage of that, as I am only a workman myself," said
+Conolly. "I had rather leave the song out than accompany myself."
+
+"Pray dont suppose that I wish to be disagreeable, Mr. Lind," said Miss
+McQuinch, as the company looked doubtfully at her; "but I have disgraced
+myself too completely to trust my fingers again. I should spoil the song
+if I played the accompaniment."
+
+"I think you might try, Nell," said Marmaduke, reproachfully.
+
+"I might," retorted Miss McQuinch; "but I wont."
+
+"If somebody doesnt go out and do something, there will be a shindy,"
+said Marmaduke.
+
+Marian hesitated a moment and then rose. "I am a very indifferent
+player," she said; "but since no better is to be had, I will venture--if
+Mr. Conolly will trust me."
+
+Conolly bowed.
+
+"If you would rather not," said Miss McQuinch, shamed into remorse, "I
+will try the accompaniment. But I am sure to play it all wrong."
+
+"I think Miss McQuinch had better play," said Douglas.
+
+Conolly looked at Marian; received a reassuring glance; and went to the
+platform with her without further ado. She was not a sympathetic
+accompanist; but, not knowing this, she was not at all put out by it.
+She felt too that she was, as became a lady, giving the workman a lesson
+in courtesy which might stand him in stead when he next accompanied
+"Rose, softly blooming." She was a little taken aback on finding that he
+not only had a rich baritone voice, but was, as far as she could judge,
+an accomplished singer.
+
+"Really," she said as they left the platform, "you sing most
+beautifully."
+
+"One would hardly have expected it," he said, with a smile.
+
+Marian, annoyed at having this side of her compliment exposed, did not
+return the smile, and went to her chair in the green-room without taking
+any further notice of him.
+
+"I congratulate you," said Mrs. Leith Fairfax to Conolly, looking at
+him, like all the rest except Douglas, with a marked access of interest.
+"Ah! what wonderful depth there is in Gounod's music!"
+
+He assented politely with a movement of his head.
+
+"I know nothing at all about music," said Mrs. Fairfax.
+
+"Very few people do."
+
+"I mean technically, of course," she said, not quite pleased.
+
+"Of course."
+
+A tremendous burst of applause here followed the conclusion of the first
+verse of "Uncle Ned."
+
+"_Do_ come and listen, Nelly," said Marian, returning to the door. Mrs.
+Fairfax and Conolly presently went to the door too.
+
+"Would you not like to help in the chorus, Nelly?" said Marian in a low
+voice, as the audience began to join uproariously in the refrain.
+
+"Not particularly," said Miss McQuinch.
+
+"Sholto," said Marian, "come and share our vulgar joy. We want you to
+join in the chorus."
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, "I fear I am too indifferent a vocalist to do
+justice to the occasion."
+
+"Sing with Mr. Conolly and you cannot go wrong," said Miss McQuinch.
+
+"Hush," said Marian, interposing quickly lest Douglas should retort.
+"There is the chorus. Shall we really join?"
+
+Conolly struck up the refrain without further hesitation. Marian sang
+with him. Mrs. Fairfax and the clergyman looked furtively at one
+another, but forbore to swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few words
+in a piercing contralto voice, and then stopped with a gesture of
+impatience, feeling that she was out of tune. Marian, with only Conolly
+to keep her in countenance, felt relieved when Marmaduke, thrice
+encored, entered the room in triumph. Whilst he was being
+congratulated, Douglas turned to Miss McQuinch, who was pretending to
+ignore Marmaduke's success.
+
+"I hope, Miss McQuinch," he said in a low tone, "that you will be able
+to relieve Marian at the piano next time. You know how she dislikes
+having to play accompaniments for strangers."
+
+"How mean it is of you to be jealous of a plumber!" said Miss McQuinch,
+with a quick glance at him which she did not dare to sustain, so
+fiercely did he return it.
+
+When she looked again, he seemed unconscious of her presence, and was
+buttoning his overcoat.
+
+"Really going at last, Sholto?" said Marian. Douglas bowed.
+
+"I told you you wouldnt be able to stand it, old man," said Marmaduke.
+"Mrs. Bluestockings wont be pleased with you for not staying to hear her
+recite." This referred to Mrs. Fairfax, who had just gone upon the
+platform.
+
+"Good night," said Miss McQuinch, shortly, anxious to test how far he
+was offended, but unwilling to appear solicitous for a reconciliation.
+
+"Until to-morrow, farewell," he said, approaching Marian, who gave him
+her hand with a smile: Conolly looking thoughtfully at him meanwhile. He
+left the room; and so, Mrs. Fairfax having gone to the platform to
+recite, quiet prevailed for a few minutes.
+
+"Shall I have the pleasure of playing the accompaniment to your next
+song?" said Conolly, sitting down near Marian.
+
+"Thank you," said Marian, shrinking a little: "I think Miss McQuinch
+knows it by heart." Then, still anxious to be affable to the workman,
+she added, "Lord Jasper says you are a great musician."
+
+"No, I am an electrician. Music is not my business: it is my amusement."
+
+"You have invented something very wonderful, have you not?"
+
+"I have discovered something, and I am trying to invent a means of
+turning it to account. It will be only a cheap electro-motor if it comes
+to anything."
+
+"You must explain that to me some day, Mr. Conolly. I'm afraid I dont
+know what an electro-motor means."
+
+"I ought not to have mentioned it," said Conolly. "It is so constantly
+in my mind that I am easily led to talk about it. I try to prevent
+myself, but the very effort makes me think of it more than ever."
+
+"But I like to hear you talk about it," said Marian. "I always try to
+make people talk shop to me, and of course they always repay me by
+trying to keep on indifferent topics, of which I know as much--or as
+little--as they."
+
+"Well, then," said Conolly, "an electro-motor is only an engine for
+driving machinery, just like a steam engine, except that it is worked by
+electricity instead of steam. Electric engines are so imperfect now that
+steam ones come cheaper. The man who finds out how to make the electric
+engine do what the steam engine now does, and do it cheaper, will make
+his fortune if he has his wits about him. Thats what I am driving at."
+
+Miss Lind, in spite of her sensible views as to talking shop, was not
+interested in the least. "Indeed!" she said. "How interesting that must
+be! But how did you find time to become so perfect a musician, and to
+sing so exquisitely?"
+
+"I picked most of it up when I was a boy. My grandfather was an Irish
+sailor with such a tremendous voice that a Neapolitan music master
+brought him out in opera as a _buffo_. When he had roared his voice
+away, he went into the chorus. My father was reared in Italy, and looked
+more Italian than most genuine natives. He had no voice; so he became
+first accompanist, then chorus master, and finally trainer for the
+operatic stage. He speculated in an American tour; married out there;
+lost all his money; and came over to England, when I was only twelve, to
+resume his business at Covent Garden. I stayed in America, and was
+apprenticed to an electrical engineer. I worked at the bench there for
+six years."
+
+"I suppose your father taught you to sing."
+
+"No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss Lind, he was a capital
+man to teach stage tricks and traditional renderings of old operas; but
+only the exceptionally powerful voices survived his method of teaching.
+He would have finished my career as a singer in two months if he had
+troubled himself to teach me. Never go to Italy to learn singing."
+
+"I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe in your father or
+else be silent about him."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Why! Surely we should hide the failings of those we love? I can
+understand now how your musical and electrical tastes became mixed up;
+but you should not confuse your duties. But please excuse me:"
+(Conolly's eyes had opened a little wider) "I am lecturing you, without
+the least right to. It is a failing of mine which you must not mind."
+
+"Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But the world would never
+get on if every practical man were to stand by his father's mistakes.
+However, I brought it on myself by telling you a long story. This is the
+first opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, and I
+suppose I have abused it."
+
+Marian laughed. "We had better stop apologizing to one another," she
+said. "What about the accompaniments to our next songs?"
+
+Meanwhile Marmaduke and Miss McQuinch were becoming curious about Marian
+and Conolly.
+
+"I say, Nelly," he whispered, "Marian and that young man seem to be
+getting on uncommonly well together. She looks sentimentally happy, and
+he seems pleased with himself. Dont you feel jealous?"
+
+"Jealous! Why should I be?"
+
+"Out of pure cussedness. Not that you care for the electric man, but
+because you hate any one to fall in love with any one else when you are
+by."
+
+"I wish you would go away."
+
+"Why? Dont you like me?"
+
+"I _loathe_ you. Now, perhaps you understand me."
+
+"That's a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow," said Marmaduke,
+roused. "I have a great mind to bring you to your senses as Douglas
+does, by not speaking to you for a week."
+
+"I wish you would let me come to my senses by not speaking to me at
+all."
+
+"Oh! Well, I am off; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. We are no longer on
+speaking terms. Look as contemptuous as you please: you will be sorry
+when you think over this. Remember: you said you loathed me."
+
+"So I do," said Elinor, stubbornly.
+
+"Very good," said Marmaduke, turning his back on her. Just then the
+concertinists returned from the platform, and a waiter appeared with
+refreshments, which the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in
+dispensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles of soda water
+a sufficiently skilled labor to be more interesting than making small
+talk, went to the table and busied himself with the corkscrew.
+
+"Well, Nelly," said Marian, drawing her chair close to Miss McQuinch,
+and speaking in a low voice, "what do you think of Jasper's workman?"
+
+"Not much," replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. "He is very
+conceited, and very coarse."
+
+"Do you really think so? I expected to find you delighted with his
+unconventionality. I thought him rather amusing."
+
+"I thought him extremely aggravating. I hate to have to speak to people
+of that sort."
+
+"Then you consider him vulgar," said Marian, disappointed.
+
+"N--no. Not vulgarer than anybody else. He couldnt be that."
+
+"Sherry and soda, Marian?" said Marmaduke, approaching.
+
+"No, thank you, Marmaduke. Get Nelly something."
+
+"As Miss McQuinch and I are no longer on speaking terms, I leave her to
+the care of yonder scientific amateur, who has just refused, on teetotal
+grounds, to pledge the Rev. George in a glass of eighteen shilling
+sherry."
+
+"Dont be silly, Marmaduke. Bring Nelly some soda water."
+
+"Do nothing of the sort," said Miss McQuinch.
+
+Marmaduke bowed and retired.
+
+"What is the matter between you and Duke now?" said Marian.
+
+"Nothing. I told him I loathed him."
+
+"Oh! I dont wonder at his being a little huffed. How _can_ you say
+things you dont mean?"
+
+"I do mean them. What with his folly, Sholto's mean conceit, George's
+hypocrisy, that man's vulgarity, Mrs. Fairfax's affectation, your
+insufferable amiability, and the dreariness of those concertina people,
+I feel so wretched that I could find it in my heart to loathe anybody
+and everybody."
+
+"Nonsense, Nelly! You are only in the blues."
+
+"_Only_ in the blues!" said Miss McQuinch sarcastically. "Yes. That is
+all."
+
+"Take some sherry. It will brighten you up."
+
+"Dutch courage! Thank you: I prefer my present moroseness."
+
+"But you are not morose, Nelly."
+
+"Oh, stuff, Marian! Dont throw away your amiability on me. Here comes
+your new friend with refreshments. I wonder was he ever a waiter? He
+looks exactly like one."
+
+After this the conversation flagged. Mrs. Fairfax grew loquacious under
+the influence of sherry, but presently a reaction set in, and she began
+to yawn. Miss McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than before,
+and the audience, longing for another negro melody, paid little
+attention to her. Marian sang a religious song, which was received with
+the respect usually accorded to a dull sermon. The clergyman read a
+comic essay of his own composition, and Mrs. Fairfax recited an ode to
+Mazzini. The concertinists played an arrangement of a quartet by Onslow.
+The working men and women of Wandsworth gaped, and those who sat near
+the door began to slip out. Even Miss McQuinch pitied them.
+
+"The idea of expecting them to be grateful for an infliction like
+that!" she said. "What do people of their class care about Onslow's
+quartets?"
+
+"Do you think that people of any class, high or low, would be gratified
+by such an entertainment?" said Conolly, with some warmth. No one had
+sufficient spirit left to reply.
+
+At last the concertinists went home, and the reading drew to a close.
+Conolly, again accompanied by Marian, sang "Tom Bowling." The audience
+awoke, cheered the singer heartily, and made him sing again. On his
+return to the green-room, Miss McQuinch, much affected at the fate of
+Bowling, and indignant with herself for being so, stared defiantly at
+Conolly through a film of tears. When Marmaduke went out, the people
+also were so moved that they were ripe for laughter, and with roars of
+merriment forced him to sing three songs, in the choruses of which they
+joined. Eventually the clergyman had to bid them go home, as Mr. Lind
+had given them all the songs he knew.
+
+"I suppose you will not come with us, Duke," said Marian, when all was
+over, and they were preparing to leave. "We can drop you at your
+chambers if you like; but you will have to sit on the box. Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax, George, Nelly, and I, will be a carriageful."
+
+Marmaduke looked at his watch. "By Jove!" he cried, "it is only ten. I
+forgot how early we began to-night. No thank you, Marian: I am not going
+your way; but you may take the banjo and keep it until I call. Ta ta!"
+
+They all went out together; and the ladies, followed by the clergyman,
+entered their carriage and drove away, leaving Marmaduke and Conolly
+standing on the pavement. Having shared the success of the concert,
+each felt well disposed to the other.
+
+"What direction are you going in?" said Marmaduke.
+
+"Westminster Bridge or thereabouts," replied Conolly. "This place is
+rather out of the way."
+
+"Have you anything particular to do before you turn in for the night?"
+
+"Nothing at all."
+
+"Then I'll tell you what it is, old man. Lets take a hansom, and drive
+off to the Bijou. We shall just be in time to see Lalage Virtue in the
+burlesque; and--look here! I'll introduce you to her: youre just the
+sort of chap she would like to know. Eh?"
+
+Conolly looked at him, nodded, and burst out laughing. Marmaduke, who
+had set him down as a cool, undemonstrative man, was surprised at his
+hilarity for a moment, but presently joined in it. Whilst they were both
+laughing a hansom appeared, and Conolly, recovering himself, hailed the
+driver.
+
+"We shall get on together, I see," said Marmaduke, jumping into the cab.
+"Hallo! The Bijou Theatre, Soho, and drive as fast as you can afford to
+for half a sovereign."
+
+"Right you are, sir," replied the driver, whipping his horse.
+
+The rattling of the cab silenced Conolly; but his companion persisted
+for some time in describing the burlesque to which they were going, and
+particularly the attractions of Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, who enacted
+a principal character therein, and with whom he seemed to be in love.
+When they alighted at the theatre Marmaduke payed the cabman, and
+Conolly took advantage of this to enter the theatre and purchase two
+stall tickets, an arrangement which Lind, suddenly recollecting his new
+friend's position, disapproved of, but found it useless to protest
+against. He forgot it on hearing the voice of Lalage Virtue, who was at
+that moment singing within; and he went to his stall with his eyes
+turned to the stage, treading on toes and stumbling as children commonly
+do when they walk in one direction and look in another. An attendant,
+who seemed to know him, proffered a glass for hire. He took it, and
+leveled it at Mademoiselle Lalage, who was singing some trivial couplets
+much better than they deserved. Catching sight of him presently, she
+greeted him with a flash of her dark eye that made him writhe as though
+his heart had received a fillip from a ponderable missile. She did not
+spare these roguish glances. They darted everywhere; and Conolly,
+looking about him to note their effect, saw rows of callow young faces
+with parted lips and an expression which seemed to have been caught and
+fixed at the climax of a blissful chuckle. There were few women in the
+stalls, and the silly young faces were relieved only by stupid old ones.
+
+The couplets ended amidst great applause. Marmaduke placed his glass on
+his knees, and, clapping his hands vigorously, turned to his companion
+with a triumphant smile, mutely inviting him to clamor for a repetition
+of the air. But Conolly sat motionless, with his arms folded, his cheek
+flushed, and his brow lowered.
+
+"You dont seem used to this sort of thing," said Lind, somewhat
+disgusted.
+
+"It was well sung," replied Conolly "--better than most of these
+blackguards know."
+
+"Then why dont you clap?"
+
+"Because she is not giving herself any trouble. That sort of thing,
+from a woman of her talent, is too cheap to say 'thank you' for."
+
+Marmaduke looked at him, and began to think that he was a priggish
+fellow after all. But as the burlesque went on, Mademoiselle Lalage
+charmed away this disagreeable impression. She warbled in an amorous
+duet, and then sang the pleasures of champagne; tossing her head; waving
+a gilt goblet; and, without the least appearance of effort, working hard
+to captivate those who were to be won by bold smiles and arch glances.
+She displayed her person less freely than her colleagues, being, not
+more modest, but more skilful in the art of seduction. The slang that
+served for dialogue in her part was delivered in all sorts of
+intonations, now demure and mischievous, anon strident and mock tragic.
+Marmaduke was delighted.
+
+"What I like about her is that she is such a genuine little lady," he
+said, as her exit released his attention. "With all her go, she is never
+a bit vulgar. Off the stage she is just the same. Not a spark of
+affectation about her. It is all natural."
+
+"You know her, then?" said Conolly.
+
+"I should think I do," replied Marmaduke, energetically. "You have no
+idea what a rattling sort she is."
+
+"To you, who only see her occasionally, no doubt she gives--as a
+rattling sort--a heightened charm to the order, the refinement, the--the
+beauty of the home life which you can enjoy. Excuse my introducing such
+a subject, Mr. Lind; but would you bring your cousin--the lady who sang
+to-night at the concert--to see this performance?"
+
+"I would if she asked me to," said Marmaduke, somewhat taken aback.
+
+"No doubt. But should you be surprised if she asked you?"
+
+"Not a bit. Fine ladies are neither such fools nor such angels as
+you--as some fellows think. Miss Lind's notion is to see everything. And
+yet she is a thoroughly nice woman too. It is the same with Lalage
+there. She is not squeamish, and she is full of fun; but she knows as
+well as anybody how to pull up a man who doesnt behave himself."
+
+"And you actually think that this Lalage Virtue is as respectable a
+woman as your cousin?"
+
+"Oh, I dont bother myself about it. I shouldnt have thought of comparing
+them if you hadnt started the idea. Marian's way is not the other one's
+way, and each of them is all right in her own way. Look here. I'll
+introduce you to Lalage. We can pick up somebody else to make a party
+for you, and finish with a supper at Jellicoe's."
+
+"Are you privileged to introduce whom you like to Miss Lalage?"
+
+"Well, as to that, she doesnt stand much on ceremony; but then, you see,
+that cuts two ways. The mere introducing is no difficulty; but it
+depends on the man himself whether he gets snubbed afterward or not. By
+the bye, you must understand, if you dont know it already, that Lalage
+is as correct in her morals as a bishop's wife. I just tell you, because
+some fellows seem to think that a woman who goes on the stage leaves her
+propriety behind as a matter of course. In fact, I rather thought so
+myself once. Not that you wont find loose women there as well as
+anywhere else, if you want to. But dont take it for granted, that's
+all."
+
+"Well," said Conolly, "you may introduce me, and we can consider the
+supper afterwards. Would it be indiscreet to ask how you obtained your
+own introduction? You dont, I suppose, move in the same circle as she;
+and if she is as particular as your own people, she can hardly form
+promiscuous acquaintanceships."
+
+"A man at the point of death does not stop to think about etiquet. She
+saved my life."
+
+"Saved your life! That sounds romantic."
+
+"There was precious little romance about it, though I owe my being alive
+now to her presence of mind. It happened in the rummest way. I was
+brought behind the scenes one night by a Cambridge chum. We were
+painting the town a bit red. We were not exactly drunk; but we were not
+particularly sober either; and I was very green at that time, and made a
+fool of myself about Lalage: staring; clapping like a madman in the
+middle of her songs; getting into the way of everybody and everything,
+and so on. Then a couple of fellows we knew turned up, and we got
+chatting at the wing with some girls. At last a fellow came in with a
+bag of cherries; and we began trying that old trick--you know--taking
+the end of a stalk between your lips and drawing the cherry into the
+mouth without touching it with your hand, you know. I tried it; and I
+was just getting the cherry into my mouth when some idiot gave me a
+drive in the waistcoat. I made a gulp; and the cherry stuck fast in my
+throat. I began to choke. Nobody knew what to do; and while they were
+pushing me about, some thinking I was only pretending, the girls
+beginning to get frightened, and the rest shouting at me to swallow the
+confounded thing, I was getting black in the face, and my head was
+bursting: I could see nothing but red spots. It was a near thing, I tell
+you. Suddenly I got a shake; and then a little fist gave me a stunning
+thump on the back, that made the cherry bounce out against my palate. I
+gasped and coughed like a grampus: the stalk was down my throat still.
+Then the little hand grabbed my throat and made me open my mouth wide;
+and the cherry was pulled out, stalk and all. It was Lalage who did this
+while the rest were gaping helplessly. I dont remember what followed. I
+thought I had fainted; but it appears that I nearly cried, and talked
+the most awful nonsense to her. I suppose the choking made me
+hysterical. However, I distinctly recollect the stage manager bullying
+the girls, and turning us all out. I was very angry with myself for
+being childish, as they told me I had been; and when I got back to
+Cambridge I actually took to reading. A few months afterward I made
+another trip to town, and went behind the scenes again. She recognized
+me, and chaffed me about the cherry. I jumped at my chance; I improved
+the acquaintance; and now I know her pretty well."
+
+"You doubt whether any of the ladies that were with us at the concert
+would have been equally useful in such an emergency?"
+
+"I should think I do doubt it, my boy. Hush! Now that the ballet is
+over, we are annoying people by talking."
+
+"You are right," replied Conolly. "Aha! Here is Miss Lalage again."
+
+Marmaduke raised his opera-glass to his eyes, eager for another smile
+from the actress. He seemed about to be gratified; for her glance was
+travelling toward him along the row of stalls. But it was arrested by
+Conolly, on whom she looked with perceptible surprise and dismay. Lind,
+puzzled, turned toward his companion, and found him smiling maliciously
+at Mademoiselle Lalage, who recovered her vivacity with an effort, and
+continued her part with more nervousness than he had ever seen her
+display before.
+
+Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, and re-entered
+it by the stage door.
+
+"Queer place, isnt it?" said Lind.
+
+Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well accustomed to the dingy
+labyrinth of old-fashioned stages. Presently they came upon Lalage. She
+was much heated by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry.
+
+"Well?" she said quarrelsomely.
+
+Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not addressed to him, but
+to Conolly, looked from one to the other, mystified.
+
+"I have come to see you act at last," said Conolly.
+
+"You might have told me you were coming. I could have got you a stall,
+although I suppose you would have preferred to throw away your money
+like a fool."
+
+"I must admit, my dear," said Conolly, "that I could have spent it to
+much greater advantage."
+
+"Indeed! and you!" she said, turning to Lind, whose deepening color
+betrayed his growing mortification: "what is the matter with _you_?"
+
+"I have played a trick on your friend," said Conolly. "He suggested this
+visit; and I did not tell him of the relation between us. Finding us on
+terms of familiarity, if not of affection, he is naturally surprised."
+
+"As I have never tried to meddle with your private affairs," said
+Marmaduke to Lalage, "I need not apologize for not knowing your husband.
+But I regret----"
+
+The actress laughed in spite of her vexation. "Why, you silly old
+thing!" she exclaimed, "he is no more my husband than you are!"
+
+"Oh!" said Marmaduke. "Indeed!"
+
+"I am her brother," said Conolly considerately, stifling a smile.
+
+"Why," said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her voice, "what else
+did you think?"
+
+"Hush," said Conolly, "we are talking too much in this crowd. You had
+better change your dress, Susanna, and then we can settle what to do
+next."
+
+"You can settle what you please," she replied. "I am going home."
+
+"Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together," said Conolly, observing
+her curiously.
+
+Susanna looked quickly at them.
+
+"Who is Mr. Lind?" she said.
+
+"Your friend, of course," said Conolly, with an answering flash of
+intelligence that brought out the resemblance between them startlingly.
+"Mr. Marmaduke Lind."
+
+Marmaduke became very red as they both waited for him to explain.
+
+"I thought that you would perhaps join us at supper," he said to
+Susanna.
+
+"Did you?" she said, threateningly. Then she turned her back on him and
+went to her dressing-room.
+
+"Well, Mr. Lind," said Conolly, "what do you think of Mademoiselle
+Lalage now?"
+
+"I think her annoyance is very natural," said Marmaduke, gloomily. "No
+doubt you are right to take care of your sister, but you are very much
+mistaken if you think I meant to act badly toward her."
+
+"It is no part of my duty to take care of her," said Conolly,
+seriously. "She is her own guardian, and she has never been encouraged
+to suppose that her responsibility lies with any one but herself."
+
+"It doesnt matter now," said Marmaduke; "for I intend never to speak to
+her again."
+
+Conolly laughed. "However that may turn out," he said, "we are evidently
+not in the mood for further conviviality, so let us postpone the supper
+to some other occasion. May I advise you not to wait until Susanna
+returns. There is no chance of a reconciliation to-night."
+
+"I dont want any reconciliation."
+
+"Of course not; I had forgotten," replied Conolly, placably. "Then I
+suppose you will go before she has finished dressing."
+
+"I shall go now," said Marmaduke, buttoning his overcoat, and turning
+away.
+
+"Good-night," said Conolly.
+
+"Good-night," muttered Marmaduke, petulantly, and disappeared.
+
+Conolly waited a moment, so that he might not overtake Lind. He then
+went for a cab, and waited at the stage door until his sister came down,
+frowning. She got into the hansom without a word.
+
+"Why dont you have a brougham, instead of going about in cabs?" he said,
+as they drove away.
+
+"Because I like a hansom better than a brougham; and I had rather pay
+four shillings a night and travel comfortably, than thirteen and be half
+suffocated."
+
+"I thought the appearance of----"
+
+"There is no use in your talking to me. I cant hear a word you say going
+over these stones."
+
+When they were alone together in their drawing-room in Lambeth, he,
+after walking up and down the room a few times, and laughing softly to
+himself, began to sing the couplets from the burlesque.
+
+"Are you aware," she inquired, "that it is half past twelve, and that
+the people of the house are trying to sleep."
+
+"True," said he, desisting. "By the bye, I, too, have had my triumphs
+this evening. I shared the honors of the concert with Master Lind, who
+was so delighted that he insisted on bringing me off to the Bijou. He
+loves you to distraction, poor devil!"
+
+"Yes: you made a nice piece of mischief there. Where is he?"
+
+"Gone away in a rage, swearing never to speak to you again."
+
+"Hm! And so his name is Lind, is it?"
+
+"Didnt you know?"
+
+"No, or I should have told you when I read the program this evening. The
+young villain pretended that his name was Marmaduke Sharp."
+
+"Ah! The name reminds me of one of his cousins, a little spitfire that
+snaps at every one who presumes to talk to her."
+
+"His cousins! Oh, of course; you met them at the concert. What are they
+like? Are they swells?"
+
+"Yes, they seem to be. There were only two cousins, Miss McQuinch and a
+young woman named Marian, blonde and rather good looking. There was a
+brother of hers there, but he is only a parson, and a tall fellow named
+Douglas, who made rather a fool of himself. I could not make him out
+exactly."
+
+"Did they snub you?"
+
+"I dont know. Probably they tried. Are you intimate with many of our
+young nobility under assumed names?"
+
+"Steal a few more marches to the Bijou, and perhaps you will find out."
+
+"Good-night! Pardon my abrupt departure, but you are not the very
+sweetest of Susannas to-night."
+
+"Oh, _good_-night."
+
+"By the bye," said Conolly, returning, "this must be the Mr. Duke Lind
+who is going to marry Lady Constance Carbury, my noble pupil's sister."
+
+"I am sure it matters very little whom he marries."
+
+"If he will pay us a visit here, and witness the working of perfect
+frankness without affection, and perfect liberty without refinement, he
+may find reason to conclude that it matters a good deal. Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Marian Lind lived at Westbourne Terrace, Paddington, with her father,
+the fourth son of a younger brother of the Earl of Carbury. Mr. Reginald
+Harrington Lind, at the outset of his career, had no object in life
+except that of getting through it as easily as possible; and this he
+understood so little how to achieve that he suffered himself to be
+married at the age of nineteen to a Lancashire cotton spinner's heiress.
+She bore him three children, and then eloped with a professor of
+spiritualism, who deserted her on the eve of her fourth confinement, in
+the course of which she caught scarlet fever and died. Her child
+survived, but was sent to a baby farm and starved to death in the usual
+manner. Her husband, disgusted by her behavior (for she had been
+introduced by him to many noblemen and gentlemen, his personal friends,
+some one at least of whom, on the slightest encouragement, would, he
+felt sure, have taken the place of the foreign charlatan she had
+disgraced him by preferring), consoled himself for her bad taste by
+entering into her possessions, which comprised a quantity of new
+jewellery, new lace, and feminine apparel, and an income of nearly seven
+thousand pounds a year. After this, he became so welcome in society that
+he could have boasted with truth at the end of any July that there were
+few marriageable gentlewomen of twenty-six and upward in London who had
+not been submitted to his inspection with a view to matrimony. But
+finding it easy to delegate the care of his children to school
+principals and hospitable friends, he concluded that he had nothing to
+gain and much comfort to lose by adding a stepmother to his
+establishment; and, after some time, it became the custom to say of Mr.
+Lind that the memory of his first wife kept him single. Thus, whilst his
+sons were drifting to manhood through Harrow and Cambridge, and his
+daughter passing from one relative's house to another's on a continual
+round of visits, sharing such private tuition as the cousins with whom
+she happened to be staying happened to be receiving just then, he lived
+at his club and pursued the usual routine of a gentleman-bachelor in
+London.
+
+In the course of time, Reginald Lind, the eldest child, entered the
+army, and went to India with his regiment. His brother George, less
+stolid, weaker, and more studious, preferred the Church. Marian, the
+youngest, from being constantly in the position of a guest, had early
+acquired habits of self-control and consideration for others, and
+escaped the effects, good and evil, of the subjection in which children
+are held by the direct authority of their parents.
+
+Of the numerous domestic circles of her father's kin, that with which
+she was the least familiar, because it was the poorest, had sprung from
+the marriage of one of her father's sisters with a Wiltshire gentleman
+named Hardy McQuinch, who had a small patrimony, a habit of farming, and
+a love of hunting. In the estimation of the peasantry, who would not
+associate lands, horses, and a carriage, with want of money, he was a
+rich man; but Mrs. McQuinch found it hard to live like a lady on their
+income, and had worn many lines into her face by constantly and vainly
+wishing that she could afford to give a ball every season, to get a new
+carriage, and to appear at church with her daughters in new dresses
+oftener than twice a year. Her two eldest girls were plump and pleasant,
+good riders and hearty eaters; and she had reasonable hopes of marrying
+them to prosperous country gentlemen.
+
+Elinor, her third and only other child, was one of her troubles. At an
+early age it was her practice, once a week or thereabouts, to disappear
+in the forenoon; be searched anxiously for all day; and return with a
+torn frock and dirty face at about six o'clock in the afternoon. She was
+stubborn, rebellious, and passionate under reproof or chastisement:
+governesses had left the house because of her; and from one school she
+had run away, from another eloped with a choir boy who wrote verses. Him
+she deserted in a fit of jealousy, quarter of an hour after her escape
+from school. The only one of her tastes that conduced to the peace of
+the house was for reading; and even this made her mother uneasy; for the
+books she liked best were fit, in Mrs. McQuinch's opinion, for the
+bookcase only. Elinor read openly what she could obtain by asking, such
+as Lamb's Tales from Shakespear, and The Pilgrim's Progress. The Arabian
+Nights Entertainments were sternly refused her; so she read them by
+stealth; and from that day there was always a collection of books,
+borrowed from friends, or filched from the upper shelf in the library,
+beneath her mattress. Nobody thought of looking there for them; and even
+if they had, they might have paused to reflect on the consequences of
+betraying her. Her eldest sister having given her a small workbox on her
+eleventh birthday, had the present thrown at her head two days later for
+reporting to her parents that Nelly's fondness for sitting in a certain
+secluded summer-house was due to her desire to read Lord Byron's poetry
+unobserved. Miss Lydia's forehead was severely cut; and Elinor, though
+bitterly remorseful, not only refused to beg pardon for her fault, but
+shattered every brittle article in the room to which she was confined
+for her contumacy. The vicar, on being consulted, recommended that she
+should be well whipped. This counsel was repugnant to Hardy McQuinch,
+but he gave his wife leave to use her discretion in the matter. The
+mother thought that the child ought to be beaten into submission; but
+she was afraid to undertake the task, and only uttered a threat, which
+was received with stubborn defiance. This was forgotten next day when
+Elinor, exhausted by a week of remorse, terror, rage, and suspense,
+became dangerously ill. When she recovered, her parents were more
+indulgent to her, and were gratified by finding her former passionate
+resistance replaced by sulky obedience. Five years elapsed, and Elinor
+began to write fiction. The beginning of a novel, and many incoherent
+verses imitated from Lara, were discovered by her mother, and burnt by
+her father. This outrage she never forgave. She was unable to make her
+resentment felt, for she no longer cared to break glass and china. She
+feared even to remonstrate lest she should humiliate herself by bursting
+into tears, as, since her illness, she had been prone to do in the least
+agitation. So she kept silence, and ceased to speak to either of her
+parents except when they addressed questions to her. Her father would
+neither complain of this nor confess the regret he felt for his hasty
+destruction of her manuscripts; but, whilst he proclaimed that he would
+burn every scrap of her nonsense that might come into his hands, he took
+care to be blind when he surprised her with suspicious bundles of
+foolscap, and snubbed his wife for hinting that Elinor was secretly
+disobeying him. Meanwhile her silent resentment never softened, and the
+life of the family was embittered by their consciousness of it. It never
+occurred to Mrs. McQuinch, an excellent mother to her two eldest
+daughters, that she was no more fit to have charge of the youngest than
+a turtle is to rear a young eagle. The discomfort of their relations
+never shook her faith in their "naturalness." Like her husband and the
+vicar, she believed that when God sent children he made their parents
+fit to rule them. And Elinor resented her parents' tyranny, as she felt
+it to be, without dreaming of making any allowances for their being in a
+false position towards her.
+
+One morning a letter from London announced that Mr. Lind had taken a
+house in Westbourne Terrace, and intended to live there permanently with
+his daughter. Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post came.
+
+"Yes," said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had communicated the news: "I knew
+there was something the matter when I saw Reginald's handwriting. It
+must be fully eighteen months since I heard from him last. I am very
+glad he has settled Marian in a proper home, instead of living like a
+bachelor and leaving her to wander about from one house to another. I
+wish we could have afforded to ask her down here oftener."
+
+"Here is a note from Marian, addressed to Nelly," said Lydia, who had
+been examining the envelope.
+
+"To Nelly!" said Mrs. McQuinch, vexed. "I think she should have invited
+one of you first."
+
+"Perhaps it is not an invitation," said Jane.
+
+"What else is it likely to be, child?" said Mrs. McQuinch. Then, as she
+thought how much pleasanter her home would be without Elinor, she
+added, "After all, it will do Nelly good to get away from here. She
+needs change, I think. I wish she would come down. It is too bad of her
+to be always late like this."
+
+Elinor came in presently, wearing a neglected black gown; her face pale;
+her eyes surrounded by dark circles; her black hair straggling in wisps
+over her forehead. Her sisters, dressed twinlike in white muslin and
+gold lockets, emphasized her by contrast. Being blond and gregarious,
+they enjoyed the reputation of being pretty and affectionate. They had
+thriven in the soil that had starved Elinor.
+
+"There's a letter for you from Marian," said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+"Thanks," said Elinor, indifferently, putting the note into her pocket.
+She liked Marian's letters, and kept them to read in her hours of
+solitude.
+
+"What does she say?" said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+"I have not looked," replied Elinor.
+
+"Well," said Mrs. McQuinch, plaintively, "I wish you _would_ look. I
+want to know whether she says anything about this letter from your uncle
+Reginald."
+
+Elinor plucked the note from her pocket, tore it open, and read it.
+Suddenly she set her face to hide some emotion from her family.
+
+"Marian wants me to go and stay with her," she said. "They have taken a
+house."
+
+"Poor Marian!" said Jane. "And will you go?"
+
+"I will," said Elinor. "Have you any objection?"
+
+"Oh dear, no," said Jane, smoothly.
+
+"I suppose you will be glad to get away from your home," said Mrs.
+McQuinch, incontinently.
+
+"Very glad," said Elinor. Mr. McQuinch, hurt, looked at her over his
+newspaper. Mrs. McQuinch was huffed.
+
+"I dont know what you are to do for clothes," she said, "unless Lydia
+and Jane are content to wear their last winter's dresses again this
+year."
+
+The faces of the young ladies elongated. "That's nonsense, mamma," said
+Lydia. "We cant wear those brown reps again." Women wore reps in those
+days.
+
+"You need not be alarmed," said Elinor. "I dont want any clothes. I can
+go as I am."
+
+"You dont know what you are talking about, child," said Mrs. McQuinch.
+
+"A nice figure you would make in uncle Reginald's drawing-room with that
+dress on!" said Lydia.
+
+"And your hair in that state!" added Jane.
+
+"You should remember that there are others to be considered besides
+yourself," said Lydia. "How would _you_ like _your_ guests to look like
+scarecrows?"
+
+"How could you expect Marian to go about with you, or into the Park? I
+suppose----"
+
+"Here, here!" said Mr. McQuinch, putting down his paper. "Let us have no
+more of this. What else do you need in the Park than a riding habit? You
+have that already. Whatever clothes you want you had better get in
+London, where you will get the proper things for your money."
+
+"Indeed, Hardy, she is not going to pay a London milliner four prices
+for things she can get quite as good down here."
+
+"I tell you I dont want anything," said Elinor impatiently. "It will be
+time enough to begrudge me some decent clothes when I ask for them."
+
+"I dont begrudge----"
+
+Mrs. McQuinch's husband interrupted her. "Thats enough, now, everybody.
+It's settled that she is to go, as she wants to. I will get her what is
+necessary. Give me another egg, and talk about something else."
+
+Accordingly, Elinor went to live at Westbourne Terrace. Marian had spent
+a month of her childhood in Wiltshire, and had made of Elinor an
+exacting friend, always ready to take offence, and to remain jealous and
+sulky for days if one of her sisters, or any other little girl, engaged
+her cousin's attention long. On the other hand, Elinor's attachment was
+idolatrous in its intensity; and as Marian was sweet-tempered, and more
+apt to fear that she had disregarded Elinor's feelings than to take
+offence at her waywardness, their friendship endured after they were
+parted. Their promises of correspondence were redeemed by Elinor with
+very long letters at uncertain intervals, and by Marian with shorter
+epistles notifying all her important movements. Marian, often called
+upon to defend her cousin from the charge of being a little shrew, was
+led to dwell upon her better qualities. Elinor found in Marian what she
+had never found at her own home, a friend, and in her uncle's house a
+refuge from that of her father, which she hated. She had been Marian's
+companion for four years when the concert took place at Wandsworth.
+
+Next day they were together in the drawing-room at Westbourne Terrace:
+Marian writing, Elinor at the pianoforte, working at some technical
+studies, to which she had been incited by the shortcoming of her
+performance on the previous night. She stopped on hearing a bell ring.
+
+"What o'clock is it?" she said, after listening a moment. "Surely it is
+too early for a visit."
+
+"It is only half past two," replied Marian. "I hope it is not anybody. I
+have not half finished my correspondence."
+
+"If you please, Miss," said a maid, entering, "Mr. Douglas wants to see
+you, and he wont come up."
+
+"I suppose he expects you to go down and talk to him in the hall," said
+Elinor.
+
+"He is in the dining-room, and wishes to see you most particular," said
+the maid.
+
+"Tell him I will come down," said Marian.
+
+"He heard me practising," said Elinor, "that is why he would not come
+up. I am in disgrace, I suppose."
+
+"Nonsense, Nelly! But indeed I have no doubt he has come to complain of
+our conduct, since he insists on seeing me alone."
+
+Miss McQuinch looked sceptically at Marian's guileless eyes, but resumed
+her technical studies without saying anything. Marian went to the
+dining-room, where she found Douglas standing near the window, tall and
+handsome, frock coated and groomed to a spotless glossiness that
+established a sort of relationship between him and the sideboard, the
+condition of which did credit to Marian's influence over her housemaids.
+He looked intently at her as she bade him good morning.
+
+"I am afraid I am rather early," he said, half stiffly, half
+apologetically.
+
+"Not at all," said Marian.
+
+"I have come to say something which I do not care to keep unsaid longer
+than I can help; so I thought it better to come when I could hope to
+find you alone. I hope I have not disturbed you. I have something
+rather important to say."
+
+"You are the same as one of ourselves, of course, Sholto. But I believe
+you delight in stiffness and ceremony. Will you not come upstairs?"
+
+"I wish to speak to you privately. First, I have to apologize to you for
+what passed last night."
+
+"Pray dont, Sholto: it doesnt matter. I am afraid we were rude to you."
+
+"Pardon me. It is I who am in fault. I never before made an apology to
+any human being; and I should not do so now without a painful conviction
+that I forgot what I owed to myself."
+
+"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself--I mean for never having
+apologized before. I am quite sure you have not got through life without
+having done at least one or two things that required an apology."
+
+"I am sorry you hold that opinion of me."
+
+"How is Brutus's paw?"
+
+"Brutus!"
+
+"Yes. That abrupt way of changing the subject is what Mrs. Fairfax calls
+a display of tact. I know it is very annoying; so you may talk about
+anything you please. But I really want to hear how the poor dog is."
+
+"His paw is nearly healed."
+
+"I'm so glad--poor old dear!"
+
+"You are aware that I did not come here to speak of my mother's dog,
+Marian?"
+
+"I supposed not," said Marian, with a smile. "But now that you have made
+your apology, wont you come upstairs? Nelly is there."
+
+"I have something else to say--to you alone, Marian. I entreat you to
+listen to it seriously." Marian looked as grave as she could. "I
+confess that in some respects I do not understand you; and before you
+enter upon another London season, through which I cannot be at your
+side, I would obtain from you some assurance of the nature of your
+regard for me. I do not wish to harass you with jealous importunity. You
+have given me the most unequivocal tokens of a feeling different from
+that which inspires the ordinary intercourse of a lady and gentleman in
+society; but of late it has seemed to me that you maintain as little
+reserve toward other men as toward me. I am not thinking of Marmaduke:
+he is your cousin. But I observed that even the working man who sang at
+the concert last night was received--I do not say intentionally--with a
+cordiality which might have tempted a more humbly disposed person than
+he seemed to be to forget----" Here Douglas, seeing Marian's bearing
+change suddenly, hesitated. Her beautiful gray eyes, always pleading for
+peace like those of a good angel, were now full of reproach; and her
+mouth, but for those eyes, would have suggested that she was at heart an
+obstinate woman.
+
+"Sholto," she said, "I dont know what to say to you. If this is
+jealousy, it may be very flattering; but it is ridiculous. If it is a
+lecture, seriously intended, it is--it is really most insulting. What
+do you mean by my having given you unequivocal signs of regard? Of
+course I think of you very differently from the chance acquaintances I
+make in society. It would be strange if I did not, having known you so
+long and been your mother's guest so often. But you talk almost as if I
+had been making love to you."
+
+"No," said Douglas, forgetting his ceremonious manner and speaking
+angrily and naturally; "but you talk as though I had not been making
+love to _you_."
+
+"If you have, I never knew it. I never dreamt it."
+
+"Then, since you are not the stupidest lady of my acquaintance, you must
+be the most innocent."
+
+"Tell me of one single occasion on which anything has passed between us
+that justifies your speaking to me as you are doing now."
+
+"Innumerable occasions. But since I cannot compel you to acknowledge
+them, it would be useless to cite them."
+
+"All I can say is that we have utterly misunderstood one another," she
+said, after a pause.
+
+He said nothing, but took up his hat, and looked down at it with angry
+determination. Marian, too uneasy to endure silence, added:
+
+"But I shall know better in future."
+
+"True," said Douglas, hastily putting down his hat and advancing a step.
+"You cannot plead misunderstanding now. Can you give me the assurance I
+seek?"
+
+"What assurance?"
+
+Douglas shook his shoulders impatiently.
+
+"You expect me to know everything by intuition," she said.
+
+"Well, my declaration shall be definite enough, even for you. Do you
+love me?"
+
+"No, I dont think I do. In fact, I am quite sure I do not--in the way
+you mean. I wish you would not talk like this, Sholto. We have all got
+on so pleasantly together: you, and I, and Nelly, and Marmaduke, and my
+father. And now you begin making love, and stuff of that kind. Pray let
+us agree to forget all about it, and remain friends as before."
+
+"You need not be anxious about our future relations: I shall not
+embarrass you with my society again. I hoped to find you a woman capable
+of appreciating a man's passion, even if you should be unable to respond
+to it. But I perceive that you are only a girl, not yet aware of the
+deeper life that underlies the ice of conventionality."
+
+"That is a very good metaphor for your own case," said Marian,
+interrupting him. "Your ordinary manner is all ice, hard and chilling.
+One may suspect that there are depths beneath, but that is only an
+additional inducement to keep on the surface."
+
+"Then even your amiability is a delusion! Or is it that you are amiable
+to the rest of the world, and reserve taunts of coldness and treachery
+for me?"
+
+"No, no," she said, angelic again. "You have taken me up wrongly. I did
+not mean to taunt you."
+
+"You conceal your meaning as skilfully as--according to you--I have
+concealed mine. Good-morning."
+
+"Are you going already?"
+
+"Do you care one bit for me, Marian?"
+
+"I do indeed. Believe me, you are one of my special friends."
+
+"I do not want to be _one_ of your friends. Will you be my wife?"
+
+"Sholto!"
+
+"Will you be my wife?"
+
+"No. I----"
+
+"Pardon me. That is quite sufficient. Good-morning."
+
+The moment he interrupted her, a change in her face shewed she had a
+temper. She did not move a muscle until she heard the house door close
+behind him. Then she ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where Miss
+McQuinch was still practising.
+
+"Oh, Nelly," she cried, throwing herself into an easy chair, and
+covering her face with her hands. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" She opened her
+fingers and looked whimsically at her cousin, who, despising this stage
+business, said, impatiently:
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Do you know what Sholto came for?"
+
+"To propose to you."
+
+"Stop, Nelly. You do not know what horrible things one may say in jest.
+He _has_ proposed."
+
+"When will the wedding be?"
+
+"Dont joke about it, please. I scarcely know how I have behaved, or what
+the meaning of the whole scene is, yet. Listen. Did you ever suspect
+that he was--what shall I say?--_courting_ me?"
+
+"I saw that he was trying to be tender in his own conceited way. I fully
+expected he would propose some day, if he could once reconcile himself
+to a wife who was not afraid of him."
+
+"And you never told me."
+
+"I thought you saw it for yourself; particularly as you encouraged him."
+
+"There! The very thing he has been accusing me of! He said I had given
+him unequivocal tokens--yes, unequivocal tokens--that I was madly in
+love with him."
+
+"What did you say?--if I may ask."
+
+"I tried to explain things to him; but he persisted in asking me would I
+be his wife; and when I refused he would not listen to anything else,
+and went off in a rage."
+
+"Yes, I can imagine Sholto's feelings on discovering that he had
+humbled himself in vain. Why did you refuse him?"
+
+"Why! Fancy being Sholto's wife! I would as soon think of marrying
+Marmaduke. But I cannot forget what he said about my flirting with him.
+Nelly: will you promise to tell me whenever you think I am behaving in a
+way that might lead anybody on to--like Sholto, you know?"
+
+"Nonsense! If men choose to make fools of themselves, you cannot prevent
+them. Hush! I hear someone coming upstairs. It is Marmaduke, I think."
+
+"Marmaduke would never come up so slowly. He generally comes up three
+steps at a time."
+
+"Sulky after last night, no doubt. I suppose he wont speak to me."
+
+Marmaduke entered listlessly. "Good morning, Marian," he said, sitting
+down on an uncomfortable chair. "Good morrow, Nell."
+
+Elinor, surprised at the courtesy, looked up and saluted him snappishly.
+
+"Is there anything the matter, Duke?" said Marian. "Are you ill?"
+
+"No, I'm all right. Rather busy: thats all."
+
+"Busy!" said Elinor. "There must be something even more unusual than
+that, when you are too low spirited to keep up a quarrel with me. Why
+dont you sit on the easy chair, or sprawl on the ottoman, after your
+manner?"
+
+"Anything for a quiet life," he replied, moving to the ottoman.
+
+"You must be hungry," said Marian, puzzled by his obedience. "Let me get
+you something."
+
+"No, thank you," said Marmaduke. "I couldnt eat. Just had lunch. Ive
+come to pack up a few things of mine that you have here."
+
+"We have your banjo."
+
+"Oh, I dont want that. You may keep it, or put it in the fire, for all I
+care. I want some clothes I left behind me when we had the theatricals."
+
+"Are you leaving London?"
+
+"Yes. I am getting tired of loafing about here. I think I ought to go
+home for a while. My mother wants me to."
+
+Miss McQuinch, by a subdued but expressive snort, conveyed the most
+entire scepticism as to his solicitude about his mother. She then turned
+to the piano calmly, observing, "You have probably eaten something that
+disagrees with you."
+
+"What a shame!" said Marian. "Come, Duke: I have plenty of good news for
+you. Nelly and I are invited to Carbury Park for the autumn; and there
+will be no visitors but us three. We shall have the whole place to
+ourselves."
+
+"Time enough to think of the autumn yet awhile," said Marmaduke,
+gloomily.
+
+"Well," said Miss McQuinch, "here is some better news for you.
+Constance--_Lady_ Constance--will be in town next week."
+
+Marmaduke muttered something.
+
+"I beg your pardon?" said Elinor, quickly.
+
+"I didnt say anything."
+
+"I may be wrong; but I thought I heard you say 'Hang Lady Constance!'."
+
+"Oh, Marmaduke!" cried Marian, affectedly. "How dare you speak so of
+your betrothed, sir?"
+
+"Who says she is my betrothed?" he said, turning on her angrily.
+
+"Why, everybody. Even Constance admits it."
+
+"She ought to have the manners to wait until I ask her," he said,
+subsiding. "I'm not betrothed to her; and I dont intend to become so in
+a hurry, if I can help it. But you neednt tell your father I said so. It
+might get round to my governor; and then there would be a row."
+
+"You _must_ marry her some day, you know," said Elinor, maliciously.
+
+"_Must_ I? I shant marry at all. I've had enough of women."
+
+"Indeed? Perhaps they have had enough of you." Marmaduke reddened. "You
+seem to have exhausted the joys of this world since the concert last
+night. Are you jealous of Mr. Conolly's success?"
+
+"Your by-play when you found how early it was at the end of the concert
+was not lost on us," said Marian demurely. "You were going somewhere,
+were you not?"
+
+"Since you are so jolly curious," said Marmaduke, unreasonably annoyed,
+"I went to the theatre with Connolly; and my by-play, as you call it,
+simply meant my delight at finding that we could get rid of you in time
+to enjoy the evening."
+
+"With Conolly!" said Marian, interested. What kind of man is he?"
+
+"He is nothing particular. You saw him yourself."
+
+"Yes. But is he well educated, and--and so forth?"
+
+"Dont know, I'm sure. We didnt talk about mathematics and classics."
+
+"Well; but--do you like him?"
+
+"I tell you I dont care a damn about him one way or the other," said
+Marmaduke, rising and walking away to the window. His cousins,
+astonished, exchanged looks.
+
+"Very well, Marmaduke," said Marian softly, after a pause: "I wont tease
+you any more. Dont be angry."
+
+"You havnt teased me," said he, coming back somewhat shamefacedly from
+the window. "I feel savage to-day, though there is no reason why I
+should not be as jolly as a shrimp. Perhaps Nelly will play some Chopin,
+just to soothe me. I should like to hear that polonaise again."
+
+"I should enjoy nothing better than taking you at your word," said
+Elinor. "But I heard Mr. Lind come in, a moment ago; and he is not so
+fond of Chopin as you and I."
+
+Mr. Lind entered whilst she was speaking. He was a dignified gentleman,
+with delicately chiselled features and portly figure. His silky light
+brown hair curled naturally about his brow and set it off imposingly.
+His hands were white and small, with tapering fingers, and small thumbs.
+
+"How do you do, sir?" said Marmaduke, blushing.
+
+"Thank you: I am better than I have been."
+
+Marmaduke murmured congratulations, and looked at his watch as if
+pressed for time. "I must be off now," he said, rising. "I was just
+going when you came in."
+
+"So soon! Well, I must not detain you, Marmaduke. I heard from your
+father this morning. He is very anxious to see you settled in life."
+
+"I suppose I shall shake down some day, sir."
+
+"You have very good opportunities--very exceptional opportunities. Has
+Marian told you that Constance is expected to arrive in town next week?"
+
+"Yes: we told him," said Marian.
+
+"He thought it too good to be true, and would hardly believe us," added
+Elinor.
+
+Mr. Lind smiled at his nephew, happily forgetful, worldly wise as he
+was, of the inevitable conspiracy of youth against age. They smiled too,
+except Marmaduke, who, being under observation, kept his countenance
+like the Man in the Iron Mask. "It is quite true, my boy," said the
+uncle, kindly. "But before she arrives, I should like to have a talk
+with you. When can you come to breakfast with me?"
+
+"Any day you choose to name, sir. I shall be very glad."
+
+"Let us say to-morrow morning. Will that be too soon?"
+
+"Not at all. It will suit me quite well. Good evening, sir."
+
+"Good evening to you."
+
+When Marmaduke was in the street, he stood for a while considering which
+way to go. Before the arrival of his uncle, he had intended to spend the
+afternoon with his cousins. He was now at a loss for a means of killing
+time. On one point he was determined. There was a rehearsal that day at
+the Bijou Theatre; and thither, at least, he would not go. He drove to
+Charing Cross, and drifted back to Leicester Square. He turned away from
+the theatre, and wandered down Piccadilly. Then he thought he would
+return as far as the Criterion, and drink. Finally he arrived at the
+stage door of the Bijou Theatre, and inquired whether the rehearsal was
+over.
+
+"Theyve bin at it since eleven this mornin, and will be pretty nigh til
+the stage is wanted for to-night," said the janitor. "I'd as lief youd
+wait here as go up, if you dont mind, sir. The guvnor is above; and he
+aint in the best o' tempers. I'll send word up."
+
+Marmaduke looked round irresolutely. A great noise of tramping and
+singing began.
+
+"Thats the new procession," continued the doorkeeper. "Sixteen hextras
+took on for it. It's Miss Virtue's chance for lunch, sir: you wont have
+long to wait now."
+
+Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the staircase. Marmaduke
+started, and stood biting his lips as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy, hungry,
+and in haste, hurried towards the door.
+
+"Come! Come on," she said impatiently to him, as she went out. "Go and
+get a cab, will you. I must have something to eat; and I have to get
+back sharp. Do be qu----there goes a hansom. Hi!" She whistled shrilly,
+and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was directed by Marmaduke to a
+restaurant in Regent Street.
+
+"I am absolutely starving," she said as they drove off. "I have been in
+since eleven this morning; and of course they only called the band for
+half-past. They are such damned fools: they drive me mad."
+
+"Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make them arrange it properly
+for next day?"
+
+"Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, and lose my rehearsal.
+It is bad enough to lose my temper. I swore, I can tell you."
+
+"I have no doubt you did."
+
+"This horse thinks he's at a funeral. What o'clock is it?"
+
+"It's only eight minutes past four. There is plenty of time."
+
+When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restaurant; scrutinized the
+tables; and selected the best lighted one. The waiter, a decorous
+elderly man, approached with some severity of manner, and handed a bill
+of fare to Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and addressed the waiter
+sharply.
+
+"Bring me some thin soup; and get me a steak to follow. Let it be a
+thick juicy one. If its purple and raw I wont have it; and if its done
+to a cinder, I wont have it: it must be red. And get me some spring
+cabbage and potatoes, and a pint of dry champagne--the decentest you
+have. And be quick."
+
+"And what for you, sir?" said the waiter, turning to Marmaduke.
+
+"Never mind him," interrupted Susanna. "Go and attend to me."
+
+The waiter bowed and retired.
+
+"Old stick-in-the-mud!" muttered Miss Lalage. "Is it half-past four
+yet?"
+
+"No. It's only quarter past. There's lots of time."
+
+Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal of bread, the steak,
+the vegetables, and the pint of champagne--less a glassful taken by her
+companion--had disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, and
+consumed two ices.
+
+"Have an ice to finish up with?" he said.
+
+"No. I cant work on sweets," she replied. "But I am beginning to feel
+alive again and comfortable. Whats the time?"
+
+"Confound the time!" said Marmaduke. "It's twenty minutes to five."
+
+"Well, I'll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start for quarter of an
+hour yet."
+
+"Thank heaven!" said Marmaduke. "I was afraid I should not be able to
+get a word with you."
+
+"That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, Mr. Marmaduke Lind.
+What did you mean by telling me your name was Sharp?"
+
+"It's the name of a cousin of mine," said Marmaduke, attempting to
+dismiss the subject with a laugh.
+
+"It may be your cousin's name; but it's not yours. By the bye, is that
+the cousin youre engaged to?"
+
+"What cousin? I'm not engaged to anybody."
+
+"That's a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, come, Master
+Marmaduke: you cant humbug me. Youre too young. Hallo! What do _you_
+want?"
+
+It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing a bill on the
+table. Marmaduke put his hand into his pocket.
+
+"Just wait a minute, please," said Susanna. The waiter retired.
+
+"Now then," she resumed, placing her elbows on the table, "let us have
+no more nonsense. What is your little game? Are you going to pay that
+bill or am I?"
+
+"I am, of course."
+
+"There is no of course in it--not yet, anyhow. What are you hanging
+about the theatre after me for? Tell me that. Dont stop to think."
+
+Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally he brightened, and
+said, "Look here. Youre angry with me for bringing your brother last
+night. But upon my soul I had no idea--"
+
+"That's not what I mean at all. You are dodging a plain question. When
+you came to the theatre, I thought you were a nice fellow; and I made
+friends with you. Now I find you have been telling me lies about
+yourself, and trying to play fast and loose. You must either give that
+up or give me up. I wont have you pass that stage door again if you only
+want to amuse yourself like other lounging cads about town."
+
+"What do you mean by playing fast and loose, and being a cad about
+town?" said Marmaduke angrily.
+
+"I hope youre not going to make a row here in public."
+
+"No; but I have you where _you_ cant make a row; and I intend to have it
+out with you once and for all. If you quarrel now, so help me Heaven
+I'll never speak to you again!"
+
+"It is you who are quarrelling."
+
+"Very well," said Susanna, opening her purse as though the matter were
+decided. "Waiter."
+
+"I am going to pay."
+
+"So you can--for what you had yourself. I dont take dinners from strange
+men, nor pay for their ices."
+
+Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse determinedly; glanced
+angrily at her; and muttered, "I never thought you were that sort of
+woman."
+
+"What sort of woman?" demanded Susanna, in a tone that made the other
+occupants of the room turn and stare.
+
+"Never mind," said Marmaduke. She was about to retort, when she saw him
+looking into his purse with an expression of dismay. The waiter came.
+Susanna, instead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the money,
+changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke searched his pockets. Finding
+nothing, he muttered an imprecation, and, fingering his watch chain,
+glanced doubtfully at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the tablecloth.
+
+"There," said Susanna, putting down a sovereign.
+
+Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter changed the coin and
+thanked Susanna for her gratuity. Then he said, "You must let me settle
+with you for this to-night. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket of
+another waistcoat."
+
+"You will not have the chance of settling with me, either to-night or
+any other night. I am done with you." And she rose and left the
+restaurant. Marmaduke sat doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he went
+out, and ran along Regent Street, anxiously looking from face to face in
+search of her. At last he saw her walking at a great pace a little
+distance ahead of him. He made a dash and overtook her.
+
+"Look here, Lalage," he said, keeping up with her as she walked: "this
+is all rot. I didnt mean to offend you. I dont know what you mean, or
+what you want me to do. Dont be so unreasonable."
+
+No answer.
+
+"I can stand a good deal from you; but it's too much to be kept at your
+heels as if I were a beggar or a troublesome dog. _Lalage_." She took no
+notice of him; and he stopped, trying to compose his features, which
+were distorted by rage. She walked on, turning into Glasshouse Street.
+When she had gone twenty yards, she heard him striding behind her.
+
+"If you wont stop and talk to me," he said, "I'll make you. If anybody
+interferes with me I'll smash him into jelly. It would serve you right
+if I did the same to you."
+
+He put his hand on her arm; and she instantly turned and struck him
+across the face, knocking off his hat. He, who a moment before had been
+excited, red, and almost in tears, was appalled. There was a crowd in a
+moment; and a cabman drew up close to the kerb with a calm conviction
+that his hansom would be wanted presently.
+
+"How dare you put your hand on me, you coward?" she exclaimed, with
+remarkable crispness of utterance and energy of style. "Who are you? I
+dont know you. Where are the police?" She paused for a reply; and a
+bracelet, broken by the blow she had given him, dropped on the pavement,
+and was officiously picked up and handed to her by a battered old woman
+who shewed in every wrinkle her burning sympathy with Woman turning at
+bay against Man. Susanna looked at the broken bracelet, and tears of
+vexation sprang to her eyes. "Look at what youve done!" she cried,
+holding out the bracelet in her left hand and shewing a scrape which had
+drawn blood on her right wrist. "For two pins I'd knock your head off!"
+
+Marmaduke, quite out of countenance, and yet sullenly very angry,
+vacillated for a moment between his conflicting impulses to knock her
+down and to fly to the utmost ends of the earth. If he had been ten
+years older he would probably have knocked her down: as it was, he
+signed to the cabman, who gathered up the reins and held them clear of
+his fare's damaged hat with the gratification of a man whose judgment in
+a delicate matter had just been signally confirmed by events.
+
+As they started, Susanna made a dash at the cab, which was pulled up,
+amid a shout from the crowd, just in time to prevent an accident. Then,
+holding on to the rail and standing on the step, she addressed herself
+to the cabman, and, sacrificing all propriety of language to intensity
+of vituperation, demanded whether he wanted to run his cab over her body
+and kill her. He, with undisturbed foresight, answered not a word, but
+again shifted the reins so as to make way for her bonnet. Acknowledging
+the attention with one more epithet, she seated herself in the cab, from
+which Marmaduke at once indignantly rose to escape. But the hardiest
+Grasmere wrestler, stooping under the hood of a hansom, could not resist
+a vigorous pull at his coat tails; and Marmaduke was presently back in
+his seat again, with Susanna clinging to him and half sobbing:
+
+"Oh, Bob, youve killed me. How could you?" Then, with a suspiciously
+sudden recovery of energy, she screamed "Bijou Theatre. Drive on, will
+you" up at the cabman, who was looking down through the trapdoor. The
+horse plunged forward, and, with the jolt, she was fawning on
+Marmaduke's arm again, saying, "Dont be brutal to me any more, Bob. I
+cant bear it. I have enough trouble without your turning on me."
+
+He was young and green, and too much confused by this time to feel sure
+that he had not been the aggressor. But he did, on the whole, the wisest
+thing--folded his arms and sat silent, with his cheeks burning.
+
+"Say something to me," she said, shaking his arm. "I have nothing to
+say," he replied. "I shall leave town for home to-night. I cant shew my
+face again after this."
+
+"Home," she said, in her former contemptuous tone, flinging his arm
+away. "That means your cousin Constance."
+
+"Who told you about her?"
+
+"Never mind. You are engaged to her."
+
+"You lie!"
+
+Susanna was shaken. She looked hard at him, wondering whether he was
+deceiving her or not. "Look me in the face, Bob," she said. If he had
+complied, she would not have believed him. But he treated the challenge
+with supreme disdain and stared straight ahead, obeying his male
+instinct, which taught him that the woman, with all the advantages on
+her side, would nevertheless let him win if he held on. At last she came
+caressingly to his shoulder again, and said:
+
+"Why didnt you tell me about her yourself?"
+
+"Damn it all," he exclaimed, violently, "there is nothing to tell! I am
+not engaged to her: on my oath I am not. My people at home talk about a
+match between us as if it were a settled thing, though they know I dont
+care for her. But if you want to have the truth, I cant afford to say
+that I wont marry her, because I am too hard up to quarrel with the
+governor, who has set his heart on it. You see, the way I am
+circumstanced----"
+
+"Oh, bother your circumstances! Look here, Bob, I dont want you to
+introduce me to your swell relations; it is not worth _my_ while to
+waste time on people who cant earn their own living. And never mind your
+governor: we can get on without him. If you are hard up for money, and
+he is stingy, you had better get it from me than from the Jews."
+
+"I couldnt do that," said Marmaduke, touched. "In fact, I am well enough
+off. By the bye, I must not forget to pay you for that lunch. But if I
+ever am hard up, I will come to you. Will that do?"
+
+"Of course: that is what I meant. Confound it, here we are already. You
+mustnt come in, you would only be in the way. Come to-night after the
+burlesque, if you like. Youre not angry with me, are you?"
+
+Her breast touched his arm just then; and as if she had released some
+spring, all his love for her suddenly surged up within him and got the
+better of him. "Wait--listen," he said, in a voice half choked with
+tenderness. "Look here, Lalage: the honest truth is that I shall be
+ruined if I marry you openly. Let us be married quietly, and keep it
+dark until I am more independent."
+
+"Married! Catch me at it--if you can. No, dear boy, I am very fond of
+you, and you are one of the right sort to make me the offer; but I wont
+let you put a collar round _my_ neck. Matrimony is all very fine for
+women who have no better way of supporting themselves, but it wouldnt
+suit me. Dont look so dazed. What difference does it make to _you_?"
+
+"But----" He stopped, bewildered, gazing at her.
+
+"Get out, you great goose!" she said, and suddenly sprang out of the
+hansom and darted into the theatre.
+
+He sat gaping after her, horrified--genuinely horrified.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+The Earl of Carbury was a youngish man with no sort of turn for being a
+nobleman. He could not bring himself to behave as if he was anybody in
+particular; and though this passed for perfect breeding whenever he by
+chance appeared in his place in society, on the magisterial bench, or in
+the House of Lords, it prevented him from making the most of the
+earldom, and was a standing grievance with his relatives, many of whom
+were the most impudent and uppish people on the face of the earth. He
+was, if he had only known it, a born republican, with no natural belief
+in earls at all; but as he was rather too modest to indulge his
+consciousness with broad generalizations of this kind, all he knew about
+the matter was that he was sensible of being a bad hand at his
+hereditary trade of territorial aristocrat. At a very early age he had
+disgraced himself by asking his mother whether he might be a watchmaker
+when he grew up, and his feeble sense on that occasion of the
+impropriety of an earl being anything whatsoever except an earl had
+given his mother an imperious contempt for him which afterward got
+curiously mixed with a salutary dread of his moral superiority to her,
+which was considerable. His aspiration to become a watchmaker was an
+early symptom of his extraordinary turn for mechanics. An apprenticeship
+of six years at the bench would have made an educated workman of him: as
+it was, he pottered at every mechanical pursuit as a gentleman amateur
+in a laboratory and workshop which he had got built for himself in his
+park. In this magazine of toys--for such it virtually was at first--he
+satisfied his itchings to play with tools and machines. He was no
+sportsman; but if he saw in a shop window the most trumpery patent
+improvement in a breechloader, he would go in and buy it; and as to a
+new repeating rifle or liquefied gas gun, he would travel to St.
+Petersburg to see it. He wrote very little; but he had sixteen different
+typewriters, each guaranteed perfect by an American agent, who had also
+pledged himself that the other fifteen were miserable impostures. A
+really ingenious bicycle or tricycle always found in him a ready
+purchaser; and he had patented a roller skate and a railway brake. When
+the electric chair for dental operations was invented, he sacrificed a
+tooth to satisfy his curiosity as to its operation. He could not play
+brass instruments to any musical purpose; but his collection of double
+slide trombones, bombardons with patent compensating pistons, comma
+trumpets, and the like, would have equipped a small military band;
+whilst his newly tempered harmonium with fifty-three notes to each
+octave, and his pianos with simplified keyboards that nobody could play
+on, were the despair of all musical amateurs who came to stay at Towers
+Cottage, as his place was called. He would buy the most expensive and
+elaborate lathe, and spend a month trying to make a true billiard ball
+at it. At the end of that time he would have to send for a professional
+hand, who would cornet the ball with apparently miraculous skill in a
+few seconds. He got on better with chemistry and photography; but at
+last he settled down to electrical engineering, and, giving up the idea
+of doing everything with his own half-trained hand, kept a skilled man
+always in his laboratory to help him out.
+
+All along there had been a certain love of the marvelous at the bottom
+of his fancy for inventions. Therefore, though he did not in the least
+believe in ghosts, he would "investigate" spiritualism, and part with
+innumerable guineas to mediums, slatewriters, clairvoyants, and even of
+turbaned rascals from the East, who would boldly offer at midnight to
+bring him out into the back yard and there and then raise the devil for
+him. And just as his tendency was to magnify the success and utility of
+his patent purchases, so he would lend himself more or less to gross
+impostures simply because they interested him. This confirmed his
+reputation for being a bit of a crank; and as he had in addition all the
+restlessness and eccentricity of the active spirits of his class,
+arising from the fact that no matter what he busied himself with, it
+never really mattered whether he accomplished it or not, he remained an
+unsatisfied and (considering the money he cost) unsatisfactory specimen
+of a true man in a false position.
+
+Towers Cottage was supposed to be a mere appendage to Carbury Towers,
+which had been burnt down, to the great relief of its noble owners, in
+the reign of William IV. The Cottage, a handsome one-storied Tudor
+mansion, with tall chimneys, gabled roofs, and transom windows, had
+since served the family as a very sufficient residence, needing a much
+smaller staff of servants than the Towers, and accommodating fewer
+visitors. At first it had been assumed on all hands that the stay at the
+Cottage was but a temporary one, pending the re-erection of the Towers
+on a scale of baronial magnificence; but this tradition, having passed
+through its primal stage of being a standing excuse with the elders
+into that of being a standing joke with the children, had naturally
+lapsed as the children grew up. Indeed, the Cottage was now too large
+for the family; for the Earl was still unmarried, and all his sisters
+had contracted splendid alliances except the youngest, Lady Constance
+Carbury, a maiden of twenty-two, with a thin face and slight angular
+figure, who was still on her mother's hands. The illustrious matches
+made by her sisters had, in fact, been secured by extravagant dowering,
+which had left nothing for poor Lady Constance except a miserable three
+hundred pounds a year, at which paltry figure no man had as yet offered
+to take her. The Countess (Dowager) habitually assumed that Marmaduke
+Lind ardently desired the hand of his cousin; and Constance herself
+supported tacitly this view; but the Earl was apt to become restive when
+it was put forward, though he altogether declined to improve his
+sister's pecuniary position, having already speculated quite heavily
+enough in brothers-in-law.
+
+In the August following the Wandsworth concert Lord Carbury began to
+take his electrical laboratory with such intensified seriousness that he
+flatly refused to entertain any visitors until the 12th, and held fast
+to his determination in spite of his mother's threat to leave the house,
+alleging, with a laugh, that he had got hold of a discovery with money
+in it at last. But he felt at such a disadvantage after this incredible
+statement that he hastened to explain that his objection to visitors did
+not apply to relatives who would be sufficiently at home at Towers
+Cottage to require no attention from him. Under the terms of this
+capitulation Marian, as universal favorite, was invited; and since there
+was no getting Marian down without Elinor, she was invited too, in
+spite of the Countess's strong dislike for her, a sentiment which she
+requited with a pungent mixture of detestation and contempt. Marian's
+brother, the Reverend George Lind, promised to come down in a day or
+two; and Marmaduke, who was also invited, did not reply.
+
+The morning after her arrival, Marian was awakened at six o'clock by a
+wagon rumbling past the window of her room with a sound quite different
+from that made by the dust-cart in Westbourne Terrace. She peeped out at
+it, and saw that is was laden with packages of irregular shape, which,
+judging by some strange-looking metal rods that projected through the
+covering, she took to be apparatus for Lord Jasper's laboratory. From
+the wagon, with its patiently trudging horse and dull driver, she lifted
+her eyes to the lawn, where the patches of wet shadow beneath the cedars
+refreshed the sunlit grass around them. It looked too fine a morning to
+spend in bed. Had Marian been able to taste and smell the fragrant
+country air she would not have hesitated a moment. But she had been
+accustomed to believe that fresh air was unhealthy at night, and though
+nothing would have induced her to wash in dirty water, she thought
+nothing of breathing dirty air; and so the window was shut and the room
+close. Still, the window did not exclude the loud singing of the birds
+or the sunlight. She ventured to open it a little, not without a sense
+of imprudence. Twenty minutes later she was dressed.
+
+She first looked into the drawing-room, but it was stale and dreary. The
+dining-room, which she tried next, made her hungry. The arrival of a
+servant with a broom suggested to her that she had better get out of the
+way of the household work. She felt half sorry for getting up, and went
+out on the lawn to recover her spirits. There she heard a man's voice
+trolling a stave somewhere in the direction of the laboratory. Thinking
+that it might be Lord Carbury, and that, if so, he would probably not
+wait until half past nine to break his fast, she ran gaily off round the
+southwest corner of the Cottage to a terrace, from which there was
+access through a great double window, now wide open, to a lofty
+apartment roofed with glass.
+
+At a large table in the middle of the room sat a man with his back to
+the window. He had taken off his coat, and was bending over a small
+round block with little holes sunk into it. Each hole was furnished with
+a neat brass peg, topped with ebony; and the man was lifting and
+replacing one of these pegs whilst he gravely watched the dial of an
+instrument that resembled a small clock. A large straw hat concealed his
+head, and protected it from the rays that were streaming through the
+glass roof and open window. The apparent triviality of his occupation,
+and his intentness upon it, amused Marian. She stole into the
+laboratory, came close behind him, and said:
+
+"Since you have nothing better to do than play cribbage with yourself,
+I----"
+
+She had gently lifted up his straw hat, and found beneath a head that
+was not Lord Carbury's. The man, who had cowered with surprise at her
+touch and voice, but had waited even then to finish an observation of
+his galvanometer before turning, now turned and stared at her.
+
+"I _beg_ your pardon," said Marian, blushing vigorously. "I thought it
+was Lord Carbury. I have disturbed you very rudely. I----"
+
+"Not at all," said the man. "I quite understand. I was not playing
+cribbage, but I was doing nothing very important. However, as you
+certainly did take me by surprise, perhaps you will excuse my coat."
+
+"Oh, pray dont mind me. I must not interrupt your work." She looked at
+his face again, but only for an instant, as he was watching her. Then,
+with another blush, she put out her hand and said, "How do you do, Mr.
+Conolly. I did not recognize you at first."
+
+He shook hands, but did not offer any further conversation. "What a
+wonderful place!" she said, looking round, with a view to making herself
+agreeable by taking an interest in everything. "Wont you explain it all
+to me? To begin with, what is electricity?"
+
+Conolly stared rather at this question, and then shook his head. "I dont
+know anything about that," he said; "I am only a workman. Perhaps Lord
+Carbury can tell you: he has read a good deal about it."
+
+Marian looked incredulously at him. "I am sure you are joking," she
+said. "Lord Carbury says you know ever so much more than he does. I
+suppose I asked a stupid question. What are those reels of green silk
+for?"
+
+"Ah," said Conolly, relaxing. "Come now, I can tell you that easily
+enough. I dont know what it _is_, but I know what it does, and I can lay
+traps to catch it. Here now, for instance----"
+
+And he went on to deliver a sort of chatty Royal Institution Children's
+Lecture on Electricity which produced a great impression on Marian, who
+was accustomed to nothing better than small talk. She longed to interest
+him by her comments and questions, but she found that they had a most
+discouraging effect on him. Redoubling her efforts, she at last reduced
+him to silence, of which she availed herself to remark, with great
+earnestness, that science was a very wonderful thing.
+
+"How do you know?" he said, a little bluntly.
+
+"I am sure it must be," she replied, brightening; for she thought he had
+now made a rather foolish remark. "Is Lord Carbury a very clever
+scientist?"
+
+Conolly looked just grave enough to suggest that the question was not
+altogether a discreet one. Then, brushing off that consideration, he
+replied:
+
+"He has seen a great deal and read a great deal. You see, he has great
+means at his disposal. His property is as good as a joint-stock company
+at his back. Practically, he is very good, considering his method of
+working: not so good, considering the means at his disposal."
+
+"What would you do if you had his means?"
+
+Conolly made a gesture which plainly signified that he thought he could
+do a great many things.
+
+"And is science, then, so expensive? I thought it was beyond the reach
+of money."
+
+"Oh, yes: science may be. But I am not a scientific man: I'm an
+inventor. The two things are quite different. Invention is the most
+expensive thing in the world. It takes no end of time, and no end of
+money. Time is money; so it costs both ways."
+
+"Then why dont you discover something and make your fortune?"
+
+"I have already discovered something."
+
+"Oh! What is it?"
+
+"That it costs a fortune to make experiments enough to lead to an
+invention."
+
+"You are exaggerating, are you not? What do you mean by a fortune?"
+
+"In my case, at least four or five hundred pounds."
+
+"Is that all? Surely you would have no difficulty in getting five
+hundred pounds."
+
+Conolly laughed. "To be sure," said he. "What is five hundred pounds?"
+
+"A mere nothing--considering the importance of the object. You really
+ought not to allow such a consideration as that to delay your career. I
+have known people spend as much in one day on the most worthless
+things."
+
+"There is something in that, Miss Lind. How would you recommend me to
+begin?"
+
+"First," said Marian, with determination, "make up your mind to spend
+the money. Banish all scruples about the largeness of the sum. Resolve
+not to grudge even twice as much to science."
+
+"That is done already. I have quite made up my mind to spend the money.
+What next?"
+
+"Well, I suppose the next thing is to spend it."
+
+"Excuse me. The next thing is to get it. It is a mere detail, I know;
+but I should like to settle it before we go any further."
+
+"But how can I tell you that? You forget that I am quite unacquainted
+with your affairs. You are a man, and understand business, which of
+course I dont."
+
+"If you wanted five hundred pounds, Miss Lind, how would you set about
+getting it?--if I may ask."
+
+"What? I! But, as I say, I am only a woman. I should ask my father for
+it, or sign a receipt for my trustees, or something of that sort."
+
+"That is a very simple plan. But unfortunately I have no father and no
+trustees. Worse than that, I have no money. You must suggest some other
+way."
+
+"Do what everybody else does in your circumstances. Borrow it. I am sure
+Lord Carbury would lend it to you."
+
+Conolly shook his head. "It doesnt do for a man in my position to start
+borrowing the moment he makes the acquaintance of a man in Lord
+Carbury's," he said. "We are working a little together already on one of
+my ideas, and that is as far as I care to ask him to go. I am afraid I
+must ask you for another suggestion."
+
+"Save up all your money until you have enough."
+
+"That would take some time. Let me see. As I am an exceptionally
+fortunate and specially skilled workman, I can now calculate on making
+from seventy shillings to six pounds a week. Say four pounds on the
+average."
+
+"Ah," said Marian, despondingly, "you would have to wait more than two
+years to save five hundred pounds."
+
+"And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in the meantime."
+
+"True," said Marian. "Of course, I see that it is impossible for you to
+save anything. And yet it seems absurd to be stopped by the want of such
+a sum. I have a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments to
+make, and he paid a thousand pounds for a race-horse last spring."
+
+Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such things happened.
+
+Marian could think of no further expedient. She stood still, thinking,
+whilst Conolly took up a bit of waste and polished a brass cylinder.
+
+"Mr. Conolly," she said at last, "I cannot absolutely promise you; but I
+think I can get you five hundred pounds." Conolly stopped polishing the
+cylinder, and stared at her. "If I have not enough, I am sure we could
+make the rest by a bazaar or something. I should like to begin to invest
+my money; and if you make some great invention, like the telegraph or
+steam engine, you will be able to pay it back to me, and to lend me
+money when _I_ want it."
+
+Conolly blushed. "Thank you, Miss Lind," said he, "thank you very much
+indeed. I--It would be ungrateful of me to refuse; but I am not so ready
+to begin my experiments as my talking might lead you to suppose. My
+estimate of their cost was a mere guess. I am not satisfied that it is
+not want of time and perseverance more than of money that is the real
+obstacle. However, I will--I will--a----Have you any idea of the value
+of money, Miss Lind? Have you ever had the handling of it?"
+
+"Of course," said Marian, secretly thinking that the satisfaction of
+shaking his self-possession was cheap at five hundred pounds. "I keep
+house at home, and do all sorts of business things."
+
+Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the piece of waste again as
+if he had been looking for that; recollected himself; and looked
+unintelligibly at her. Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was a
+delightful sensation: why, she did not know nor care. To her intense
+disappointment, Lord Carbury entered just then, and roused her from what
+was unaccountably like a happy dream.
+
+Nothing more of any importance happened that day except the arrival of a
+letter from Paris, addressed to Lady Constance in Marmaduke's
+handwriting. Miss McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, where
+she found Constance sitting with her arm around Marian's waist in a
+summer-house. She sat down opposite them, at a rough oak table.
+
+"A letter, Nelly!" said Marian. "A letter! A letter from Marmaduke! I
+have extorted leave for you to read it. Here it is. Handle it carefully,
+pray."
+
+"Has he proposed?" said Elinor, taking it.
+
+Constance changed color. Elinor opened the letter in silence, and read:
+
+  My dear Constance:
+
+  I hope you are quite well. I am having an awfully jolly time of it
+  here. What a pity it is you dont come over! I was wishing for you
+  yesterday in the Louvre, where we spent a pleasant day looking at
+  the pictures. I send you the silk you wanted, and had great trouble
+  hunting through half-a-dozen shops for it. Not that I mind the
+  trouble, but just to let you see my devotion to you. I have no more
+  to say at present, as it is nearly post hour. Remember me to the
+  clan.
+
+                                               Yours ever,
+                                                         DUKE.
+
+  P.S.--How do Nelly and your mother get along together?
+
+Whilst Elinor was reading, the gardener passed the summer-house, and
+Constance went out and spoke to him. Elinor looked significantly at
+Marian.
+
+"Nelly," returned Marian, in hushed tones of reproach, "you have stabbed
+poor Constance to the heart by telling her that Marmaduke never proposed
+to her. That is why she has gone out."
+
+"Yes," said Elinor, "it was brutal. But I thought, as you made such a
+fuss about the letter, that it must have been a proposal at least. It
+cant be helped now. It is one more enemy for me, that is all."
+
+"What do you think of the letter? Was it not kind of him to
+write--considering how careless he is usually?"
+
+"Hm! Did he match the silk properly?".
+
+"To perfection. He must really have taken some trouble. You know how he
+botched getting the ribbon for his fancy dress at the ball last year."
+
+"That is just what I was thinking about. Do you remember also how he
+ridiculed the Louvre after his first trip to Paris, and swore that
+nothing would ever induce him to enter it again?"
+
+"He has got more sense now. He says in the letter that he spent
+yesterday there."
+
+"Not exactly. He says '_we_ spent a pleasant day looking at the
+pictures.' Who is '_we_'?"
+
+"Some companion of his, I suppose. Why?"
+
+"I was just thinking could it be the person who has matched the silk so
+well. The same woman, I mean."
+
+"Oh, Nelly!"
+
+"Oh, Marian! Do you suppose Marmaduke would spend an afternoon at the
+Louvre with a man, who could just as well go by himself? Do men match
+silks?"
+
+"Of course they do. Any fly-fisher can do it better than a woman.
+Really, Nell, you have an odious imagination."
+
+"Yes--when my imagination is started on an odious track. Nothing will
+persuade me that Marmaduke cares a straw for Constance. He does not want
+to marry her, though he is too great a coward to own it."
+
+"Why do you say so? I grant you he is unceremonious and careless. But he
+is the same to everybody."
+
+"Yes: to everybody _we_ know. What is the use of straining after an
+amiable view of things, Marian, when a cynical view is most likely to be
+the true one."
+
+"There is no harm in giving people credit for being good."
+
+"Yes, there is, when people are not good, which is most often the case.
+It sets us wrong practically, and holds virtue cheap. If Marmaduke is a
+noble and warmhearted man, and Constance a lovable, innocent girl, all I
+can say is that it is not worth while to be noble or lovable. If
+amiability consists in maintaining that black is white, it is a quality
+anyone may acquire by telling a lie and sticking to it."
+
+"But I dont maintain that black is white. Only it seems to me that as
+regards white, you are color blind. Where I see white, you see black;
+and----hush! Here is Constance."
+
+"Yes," whispered Elinor: "she comes back quickly enough when it occurs
+to her that we are talking about her."
+
+Instead of simply asking why Constance should not behave in this very
+natural manner if she chose to, Marian was about to defend Constance
+warmly by denying all motive to her return, when that event took place
+and stopped the discussion. Marian and Nelly spent a considerable part
+of their lives in bandying their likes and dislikes under the impression
+that they were arguing important points of character and conduct.
+
+They knew that Constance wanted to answer Marmaduke's letter; so they
+alleged correspondence of their own, and left her to herself.
+
+Lady Constance went to her brother's study, where there was a
+comfortable writing-table. She began to write without hesitation, and
+her pen gabbled rapidly until she had covered two sheets of paper,
+when, instead of taking a fresh sheet, she wrote across the lines
+already written. After signing the letter, she read it through, and
+added two postscripts. Then she remembered something she had forgotten
+to say; but there was no more room on her two sheets, and she was
+reluctant to use a third, which might, in a letter to France, involve
+extra postage. Whilst she was hesitating her brother entered.
+
+"Am I in your way?" she said. "I shall have done in a moment."
+
+"No, I am not going to write. By-the-bye, they tell me you had a letter
+from Marmaduke this morning. Has he anything particular to say?"
+
+"Nothing very particular. He is in Paris."
+
+"Indeed? Are you writing to him?"
+
+"Yes," said Constance, irritated by his disparaging tone. "Why not?"
+
+"Do as you please, of course. I am afraid he is a scamp."
+
+"Are you? You know a great deal about him, I dare say."
+
+"I am not much reassured by those who do know about him."
+
+"And who may they be? The only person you know who has seen much of him
+is Marian, and she doesnt speak ill of people behind their backs."
+
+"Marian takes rather a rose-colored view of everybody, Marmaduke
+included. You should talk to Nelly about him."
+
+"I knew it. I knew, the minute you began to talk, who had set you on."
+
+"I am afraid Nelly's opinion is worth more than Marians."
+
+"_Her_ opinion! Everybody knows what her opinion is. She is bursting
+with jealousy of me."
+
+"Jealousy!"
+
+"What else? Marmaduke has never taken the least notice of her, and she
+is madly in love with him."
+
+"This is quite a new light upon the affair. Constance, are you sure you
+are not romancing?"
+
+"Romancing! Why, she cannot conceal her venom. She taunted me this
+morning in the summer-house because Marmaduke has never made me a formal
+proposal. It was the letter that made her do it. Ask Marian."
+
+"I can hardly believe it: I should not have supposed, from what I have
+observed, that she cared about him."
+
+You should not have supposed it from what she _said_: is that what you
+mean? I dont care whether you believe it or not."
+
+"Well, if you are so confident, there is no occasion to be acrimonious
+about Elinor. She is more to be pitied than blamed."
+
+"Yes, everybody is to pity Elinor because she cant have her wish and
+make me wretched," said Constance, beginning to cry. Whereupon Lord
+Carbury immediately left the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+Long before the harvest was home, preparations were made at Towers
+Cottage to receive another visitor. The Rev. George Lind was coming.
+Lord Carbury drove in the wagonet to the railway station, and met him on
+the platform.
+
+"How are you, my dear fellow?" cried the clergyman, shaking the earl's
+hand. "Why did you trouble to meet me? I could have taken a fly. Most
+kind of you, I am sure. How is your dear mother? And Constance: how is
+_she_?"
+
+"All quite well, thank you. Just show my fellow your traps; he will see
+to them."
+
+"Oh, there is no need to trouble him. I myself or a porter--oh, thank
+you, I am sure; the brown one with G.L. on it--and that small green
+metal box too, if you will be so good. Thank you very much. And how are
+you, Jasper, if I may call you so? Studious still, eh? I hope he will be
+careful of the box. No, not a word to him, I beg: it does not matter at
+all. What a charming little trap! What air! Happy man, Jasper! These
+fields are better than the close alleys and garrets to which my
+profession leads me."
+
+"Jump in."
+
+"Thank you. And how is Marian?"
+
+"Quite well, thank you. _Everybody_ is quite well. The girls are at a
+tennis party, or they would have come to meet you. Constance desired me
+particularly to apologize."
+
+"Oh, needless, most needless. Why should they not enjoy themselves?
+What a landscape! The smiling beauty of nature in the country is like
+a--like a message to us. This is indeed a delightful drive."
+
+"Yes, she is a capital trotter, this mare of mine. What do you think of
+her?"
+
+"A noble animal, Jasper. Although I never studied horseflesh much, even
+in my university days, I can admire a spirited nag on occasion. But I
+have to content myself with humbler means of locomotion in my own
+calling. A poor parson cannot entertain his friends as a magnate like
+you can. Have you any one at the hall now, besides the girls?"
+
+"No. The place will be rather dull for you, I am afraid."
+
+"Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. I shall be satisfied and
+thankful under all circumstances."
+
+"We have led a humdrum life for the past month. Marian and Elinor have
+begun to potter about in my laboratory. They come there every day for an
+hour to work and study, as they call it."
+
+"Indeed! I have no doubt Marian will find the study of nature most
+improving. It is very generous of you to allow her to trespass on you."
+
+"I occupy myself chiefly with Nelly McQuinch. Marian is my assistant's
+pupil, and he has made a very expert workwoman of her already. With a
+little direction, she can put a machine together as well as I can."
+
+"I am delighted to hear it. And dear Nelly?"
+
+"Oh, dear Nelly treats the subject in her usual way. But she is very
+amusing."
+
+"Ah, Jasper! Ah! An unstable nature there, an unstable nature! Elinor
+has not been firmly trained. She needs to be tried by adversity."
+
+"No doubt she will be. Most of us are."
+
+"And dear Constance? Does she study?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ahem! A--have you----? That is St. Mildred's yonder, is it not?"
+
+"It is. They have put a new clock in the tower, worth about sixty
+pounds. I believe they collected a hundred and fifty for the purpose.
+But you were going to say something else."
+
+"No. At least, I intended to ask you about Marmaduke. He is coming down,
+I understand."
+
+"I dont know what he is doing. Last week he wrote to us that he had just
+returned from Paris; but I happened to know that he had then been back
+for some time. He has arranged to come twice, but on each occasion, at
+the last moment, he has made excuses. He can do as he likes now. I wish
+he would say definitely that he doesnt intend to come, instead of
+shilly-shallying from week to week. Hallo, Prentice, have the ladies
+returned yet?" This was addressed to the keeper of the gate-lodge, at
+which they had now arrived. He replied that the ladies were still
+absent.
+
+"Then," said Lord Carbury, "we had better get down and stroll across the
+lawn. Perhaps you are tired, though?"
+
+"Not at all. I should prefer it. What a lovely avenue! What greenery!
+How--"
+
+"We were talking about Marmaduke. Do you know what he is doing at
+present? He talks of being busy, and of not having a moment to spare. I
+can understand a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July,
+but what Marmaduke has to do in London in September is more than I can
+imagine."
+
+"I do not care to enquire into these things too closely. I had intended
+to speak to you on the subject. Marmaduke, as I suppose you know, has
+taken a house at West Kensington."
+
+"A house at West Kensington! No, I did not know it. What has he done
+that for?"
+
+"I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on the subject. I
+think he tried to prevent the matter coming to my ears; and when I asked
+him about it, he certainly implied--in fact, I grieve to say he left me
+under the impression that he had taken the house with a view to marrying
+dear Constance, and settling down. I expressed some surprise at his
+going so far out of town; but he did not volunteer any further
+explanation, and so the matter dropped." The Rev. George paused, and
+then continued in a lower tone, "Not long afterward I met him at a very
+late hour. He had perhaps exceeded a little in his cups; for he spoke to
+me with the most shocking cynicism, inviting me to supper at this house
+of his, and actually accusing me of knowing perfectly well the terrible
+truth about his occupation of it. He assured me that she--meaning, I
+presume, the unhappy person with whom he lives there--was exceptionally
+attractive; and I have since discovered that she is connected with the
+theatre, and of great notoriety. I need not tell you how dreadful all
+this is to me, Jasper; but to the best of my judgment, which I have
+fortified by earnest prayers for guidance, it is my imperative duty to
+tell you of it."
+
+"The vagabond! It is exactly as I have always said: Constance is too
+tame for him. He does not care a d----"
+
+"Jasper, my dear fellow, gently," said the clergyman, pressing his arm.
+
+"Pshaw!" said the Earl, "I dont care. I think Constance is well out of
+it. Let us drop the subject for the present. I hear the carriage."
+
+"Yes, here it is. Dear Lady Carbury has recognized me, and is waving her
+hand." The Rev. George stood on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished his
+low-crowned soft felt hat.
+
+During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, looking at the horses
+with an expression that made the coachman uneasy. At dinner he ate
+sedulously, and left the task of entertaining the visitor to his mother
+and the girls. The clergyman was at no loss for conversation. He was
+delighted with the dinner, delighted with the house, delighted to see
+the Countess looking so well, and delighted to hear that the tennis
+party that day had been a pleasant one. The Earl listened with
+impatience, and was glad when his mother rose. Before she quitted the
+dining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon returned, leaving
+Marian, Constance, and Elinor in the drawing-room.
+
+"You will not mind my staying, I hope, George," she said, as she resumed
+her seat.
+
+"A delightful precedent, and from a distinguished source," said the Rev.
+George. "Allow me to pass the bottle. Ha! ha!"
+
+"Thank you, no," said the Countess. "I never take wine." Her tone was
+inconclusive, as if she intended to take something else.
+
+"Will you take brandy-and-soda?" said her son, rather brusquely.
+
+Lady Carbury lowered her eyelids in protest. Then she said: "A very
+little, if you please, Jasper. I dare not touch wine," she continued to
+the clergyman. "I am the slave of my medical man in all matters relating
+to my unfortunate digestion."
+
+"Mother," said Jasper, "George has brought us a nice piece of news
+concerning your pet Marmaduke."
+
+The clergyman became solemn and looked steadily at his glass.
+
+"I do not know that it is fair to describe him as my pet exactly," said
+the Countess, a little troubled. "I trust there is nothing unpleasant
+the matter."
+
+"Oh, nothing! He has settled down domestically in a mansion at West
+Kensington, that is all."
+
+"What! Married!"
+
+"Unhappily," said the Rev. George, "no, not married."
+
+"Oh!" said the Countess slowly, as an expression of relief. "It is very
+shocking, of course; very wrong indeed. Young men _will_ do these
+things. It is especially foolish in Marmaduke's case, for he really
+cannot afford to make any settlement such as this kind of complication
+usually involves when the time comes for getting rid of it. Pray do not
+let it come to Constance's ears. It is not a proper subject for a girl."
+
+"Quite as proper a subject as marriage with a fellow like Marmaduke,"
+said Jasper, rising coolly and lighting a cigaret. "However, it will be
+time enough to trouble about that when there is any sign of his having
+the slightest serious intentions toward Constance. For my part I dont
+believe, and I never did believe, that there was anything real in the
+business. This last move of his proves it--to my satisfaction, at any
+rate."
+
+Lady Carbury, with a slight but impressive bridling, and yet with an
+evident sense of discomfiture, proceeded to assert herself before the
+clergyman. "I beg you will control yourself, Jasper," she said. "I do
+not like to be spoken to in that tone. In discharging the very great
+responsibility which rests with a mother, I am compelled to take the
+world as I find it, and to acknowledge that certain very deplorable
+tendencies must be allowed for in society. You, in the solitude of your
+laboratory, contemplate an ideal state of things that we all, I am sure,
+long for, but which unhappily does not exist. I have never enquired into
+Marmaduke's private life, and I think you ought not to have done so. I
+could not disguise from myself the possibility of his having entered
+into some such relations as those you have alluded to."
+
+Jasper, without the slightest appearance of having heard this speech,
+strolled casually out of the room. The Countess, baffled, turned to her
+sympathetic guest.
+
+"I am sure that you, George, must feel that it is absolutely necessary
+for us to keep this matter to ourselves."
+
+The Rev. George said, gravely, "I do not indeed see what blessing can
+rest on our interference in such an inexpressibly shocking business. It
+is for Marmaduke to wrestle with his own conscience."
+
+"Quite so," said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders as if to invite
+her absent son's attention to this confirmation of her judgment. "Is it
+not absurd of Jasper to snatch at such an excuse for breaking off the
+match?"
+
+"I can sympathize with Jasper's feeling, I trust. It is natural for a
+candid nature to recoil from duplicity. But all our actions need
+charitable construction; and, remembering that, we should take heed to
+prevent our forebearance toward others from wavering. Who knows that the
+alliance with your pure and lovely daughter may not be the means
+specially ordained to rescue him from his present condition."
+
+"I think it very possible," drawled the Countess, looking at him,
+nevertheless, with a certain contempt for what she privately considered
+his priggish, underbred cant. "Besides, such things are recognized,
+though of course they are not spoken of. No lady could with common
+decency pretend to know that such connexions are possible, much less
+assign one of them as a reason for breaking off an engagement."
+
+"Pardon me," said the Rev. George; "but can these worldly considerations
+add anything to the approval of our consciences? I think not. We will
+keep our own counsel in this matter in the sight of Heaven. Then,
+whatever the world may think, all will surely come right in the end."
+
+"Oh, it is sure to come right in the end: these wretched businesses
+always do. I cannot imagine men having such low tastes--as if there were
+anything in these women more than in anybody else! Come into the
+drawing-room, George."
+
+They went into the drawing-room and found it deserted. The ladies were
+in the veranda. The Countess took up the paper and composed herself for
+a nap. George went into the porch, where the girls, having seen the sun
+go down, were now watching the deepening gloom among the trees that
+skirted the lawn. Marian proposed that they should walk through the
+plantation whilst there was still a little light left, and the clergyman
+readily assented. He rather repented of this when they got into the deep
+gloom under the trees, and Elinor began to tell stories about adders,
+wild cats, poachers, and anything else that could possibly make a
+nervous man uncomfortable under such circumstances. He was quite
+relieved when they saw the spark of a cigaret ahead of them and heard
+the voices of Jasper and Conolly coming toward them through the
+darkness.
+
+"Oh, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Conolly," said the
+Rev. George, formally, when they met. "I am glad to see you."
+
+"Thank you," said Conolly. "If you ladies have thin shoes on as usual,
+we had better come out of this."
+
+"As we ladies happen to have our boots on," said Marian, "we shall stay
+as long as we like."
+
+Nevertheless, they soon turned homeward, and as the path was narrow,
+they walked in pairs. The clergyman, with Constance, led the way. Lord
+Jasper followed with Elinor. Conolly and Marian came last.
+
+"Does that young man--Mr. Conolly--live at the Hall?" was the Rev.
+George's first remark to Constance.
+
+"No. He has rooms in Rose Cottage, that little place on Quilter's farm."
+
+"Ha! Then he is very well off here."
+
+"A great deal too well off. Jasper allows him to speak to him as though
+he were an equal. However, I suppose Jasper knows his own business
+best."
+
+"I have observed that he is rather disposed to presume upon any
+encouragement he receives. It is a bad sign in a young man, and one, I
+fear, that will greatly interfere with his prospects."
+
+"He is an American, and I suppose thinks it a fine thing to be
+republican. But it is Jasper's fault. He spoils him. He once wanted to
+have him in the drawing-room in the evenings to play accompaniments; but
+mamma positively refused to allow it. Jasper is excessively obstinate,
+and though he did not make a fuss, he got quite a habit of going over
+to Rose Cottage and spending his evenings there singing and playing.
+Everybody about the place used to notice it. Mamma was greatly
+disgusted."
+
+"Do you find him unpleasant--personally, I mean?"
+
+"I! Oh dear, no! I should never dream of speaking to him. His presence
+is unpleasant, because he exercises a bad influence on Jasper; so I
+wish, on that account alone, that he would go."
+
+"I trust Marian is careful to limit her intercourse with him as much as
+possible."
+
+"Well, Marian learns electricity from him; and of course that makes a
+difference. I do not care about such things; and I never go into the
+laboratory when he is there; so I do not know whether Marian lets him be
+familiar with her or not. She is rather easygoing; and he is
+insufferably conceited. However, if she wants to learn electricity, I
+suppose she must put up with him. He is no worse, after all, than the
+rest of the people one has to learn things from. They are all
+impossible."
+
+"It is a strange fancy of the girls, to study science."
+
+"I am sure I dont know why they do it. It is great nonsense for Jasper
+to do it, either. He will never keep up his position properly until he
+shuts up that stupid workshop. He ought to hunt and shoot and entertain
+a great deal more than he does. It is very hard on us, for we are
+altogether in Jasper's hands for such matters. I think he is very
+foolish."
+
+"Not foolish. Dont say that. Excuse my giving you a little lecture; but
+it is not right to speak, even without thought, of your brother as a
+fool. No doubt he is a little injudicious; but all men are not called to
+the same pursuits."
+
+"If people have a certain position, they ought to make up their minds
+to the duties of their position, whether they are called to them or
+not."
+
+The Rev. George, missing the deference with which ladies not related to
+him usually received his admonitions, changed the subject.
+
+Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly than the rest, had
+fallen far behind. They had been silent at first. She seemed to be in
+trouble. At last, after some wistful glances at him, she said:
+
+"Have you resolved to go to London to-morrow; or will you wait until
+Friday?"
+
+"To-morrow, Miss Lind. Can I do anything for you in town?"
+
+Marian hesitated painfully.
+
+"Do not mind giving me plenty of bother," he said. "I am so accustomed
+to superintend the transit of machines as cumbersome as trunks and as
+fragile as bonnet boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary luggage
+would be a mere amusement for me."
+
+"Thank you; but it is not that. I was only thinking--Are you likely to
+see my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whilst you are in London?"
+
+"N--no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no excuse for doing."
+
+"Oh! I thought you knew him."
+
+"I met him at that concert."
+
+"But I thought you were in the habit of going about with him. At least,
+I understood him one day to say that you had been to the theatre
+together."
+
+"So we were; but only once. We went there after the concert, and I have
+never seen him since."
+
+"Oh, indeed! I quite mistook."
+
+"If you have any particular reason for wishing me to see him, I will.
+It will be all right if I have a message from you. Shall I call on him?
+It will be no trouble to me."
+
+"No, oh no. I wanted--it was something that could only be told to him
+indirectly by an intimate friend--by some one with influence over him.
+More a hint than anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it
+cannot be helped."
+
+Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty yards or so in
+silence. Then he said: "If the matter is of serious importance to you,
+Miss Lind, I think I can manage to have a message conveyed to him by a
+person who has influence over him. I am not absolutely certain that I
+can; but probably I shall succeed without any great difficulty."
+
+Marian looked at him in some surprise. "I hardly know what I ought to
+do," she said, doubtfully.
+
+"Then do nothing," said Conolly bluntly. "Or, if you want anything said
+to this gentleman, write to him yourself."
+
+"But I dont know his address, and my brother says I ought not to write
+to him. I dont think I ought, either; but I want him to be told
+something that may prevent a great deal of unhappiness. It seems so
+unfeeling to sit down quietly and say, 'It is not my business to
+interfere,' when the mischief might so easily be prevented."
+
+"I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking care of other
+people's happiness is thankless and dangerous. You dont know your
+cousin's address, you say?"
+
+"No. I thought you did."
+
+Conolly shook his head. "Who does know it?" he said.
+
+"My brother George does; but he refused to tell me. I shall not ask him
+again."
+
+"Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of what use will that be,
+since you think you ought not to write to him?"
+
+"I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned myself, I would
+not hesitate to tell you the whole story, and ask your advice. I feel
+sure you would shew me what was right. But this is a matter which
+concerns other people only."
+
+"Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont meddle in it."
+
+"But--"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring about mischief.
+If Marmaduke could be given a hint to come down here at once--he has
+been invited, and is putting off his visit from week to week--it would
+be sufficient. He will get into trouble if he makes any more excuses.
+And he can set everything right by coming down now."
+
+"Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth matters over for the
+present?"
+
+"No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth matters over as to rescue
+him from a bad influence that is ruining him. There is a person in
+London from whom he must he got away at all hazards. If you only knew--I
+_wish_ you knew."
+
+"Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss Lind, let us
+understand one another. Your family want your cousin to marry Lady
+Constance. I know that. She does not object. I know that too. He does."
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Marian, "you are wrong. He does not."
+
+"Anyhow," continued Conolly, "he acts with a certain degree of
+indifference toward her--keeps away at present, for instance. I infer
+that the bad influence you have mentioned is the cause of his
+remissness."
+
+"Yes, you are right; only, looking at it all from without as you do, you
+are mistaken as to Marmaduke's character. He is easily led away, and
+very careless about the little attentions that weigh so much with women;
+but he is thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with Lady
+Constance. Unfortunately, he is easily imposed on, and impatient of
+company in which he cannot be a little uproarious. I fear that somebody
+has taken advantage of this part of his character to establish a great
+ascendency over him. I"--here Marian became nervous, and controlled her
+voice with difficulty--"I saw this person once in a theatre; and I can
+imagine how she would fascinate Marmaduke. She was so clever, so
+handsome, and--and so utterly abominable. I was angry with Duke for
+bringing us to the place; and I remember now that he was angry with me
+because I said she made me shudder."
+
+"Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman to say of another,"
+said Conolly, with a certain sternness. "However, I can understand your
+having that feeling about her. I know her; and it is through her that I
+hope to find out his address for you."
+
+"But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I think it is
+somewhere in West Kensington."
+
+Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that she recoiled a
+step, frightened.
+
+"Since when, pray?"
+
+"Very lately, I think. I do not know."
+
+They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: she earnestly regretting
+that she had lingered so far behind her companions in the terrible
+darkness. He walked on at last faster than before. No more words passed
+between them until they came out into the moonlight close to the
+veranda. Then he stopped again, and took off his hat.
+
+"Permit me to leave you now," he said, with an artificial politeness
+worthy of Douglas himself. "Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," faltered Marian.
+
+He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the veranda, where she found
+Jasper and Elinor. The other couple had gone into the drawing-room.
+
+"Hallo!" said Jasper, "where is Conolly? I want to say a word to him
+before he goes."
+
+"He has just gone," said Marian, pointing across the lawn. Jasper
+immediately ran out in the direction indicated, and left the two cousins
+alone together.
+
+"Well, Marian," said Elinor, "do you know that you have taken more than
+quarter of an hour longer to come from the plantation than we did, and
+that you look quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls
+her, has been making some kind remarks about it."
+
+"Do I look disturbed? I hope Auntie wont notice it. I wish I could go
+straight to bed without seeing anybody."
+
+"Why? What is the matter?"
+
+"I will tell you to-night when you come in to me. I am disgusted with
+myself; and I think Conolly is mad."
+
+"Mad!"
+
+"On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad," said Lord Jasper, returning
+at this moment out of breath and laughing.
+
+Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian.
+
+"He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of the yellow field when
+I caught sight of him. Just as I was about to hail him, he started off
+and cleared the fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furious
+rate, swinging his arms about, and laughing as if he was enjoying some
+uncommonly good joke. I am not sure that I did not see him dance a
+hornpipe; but as it is so dark I wont swear to that."
+
+"You had better not," said Elinor, sceptically. "Let us go in; and pray
+do not encourage George to talk. I have a headache, and want to go to
+bed."
+
+"You have been in very good spirits, considering your headache," he
+replied, in the same incredulous tone. "It has come on rather suddenly,
+has it not?"
+
+When they went into the drawing-room they found that Constance had
+awakened her mother, and had already given her an account of their walk.
+Jasper added a description of what he had just witnessed. "I have not
+laughed so much for a long time," he said, in conclusion. "He is usually
+such a steady sort of fellow."
+
+"I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken workman," said
+the Countess. "How you could have left Marian in his care even for a
+moment I am at a loss to conceive."
+
+"He was not drunk, indeed," said Marian.
+
+"Certainly not," said Jasper, rather indignantly. "I was walking with
+him for some time before we met the girls. You are very pale, Marian.
+Have you also a headache?"
+
+"I have been playing tennis all day; and I am quite tired out."
+
+Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss McQuinch, according to
+a nightly custom of theirs, was seated on the coverlet with her knees
+doubled up to her chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventure
+very earnestly.
+
+"Dont understand him at all, I confess," said Elinor, when Marian had
+related what had passed in the plantation. "Wasnt it rather rash to make
+a confidant of him in such a delicate matter?"
+
+"That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He might have known that
+I only wanted to do good. I thought he was so entirely above false
+delicacy."
+
+"I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is true? You only have
+it from Mrs. Leith Fairfax's letter; and she is perhaps the greatest
+liar in the world."
+
+"Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about people. She would
+never venture to tell me a made-up tale about Marmaduke."
+
+"In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for the sake of using
+her tongue or pen."
+
+"It is so hard to know what to do. There was nobody whom I could trust,
+was there? Jasper has always been against Marmaduke; and Constance, of
+course, was out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not like to
+tell her."
+
+"Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no nice woman would
+talk to on such a subject," said Elinor, giving the bed a kick with her
+heel.
+
+"Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should say something like
+that before other people, out of sheer habit."
+
+"Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. No use regretting
+what cannot be recalled. You cannot have the security of conventionality
+along with the self-respect of sincerity. By the bye, do you remember
+that Jasper and his fond mamma and George had a family council after
+dinner? You may be sure that George has told them everything."
+
+"What! Then my wretched attempt to have Marmaduke warned was useless.
+Oh, Nelly, this is too bad. Do you really think so? When I told him
+before dinner what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he feared it
+was true, and refused to give me the address."
+
+"And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the responsibility rests
+with George. He knew very well that it was true; for he had only just
+been telling Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. Master
+Georgy has no right to be your brother. He is worse than a dissenter.
+Dissenters try to be gentlemen; but George has no misgivings about
+himself on that score; so he gives his undivided energy to his efforts
+to be parsonic. He is an arrant hypocrite."
+
+"I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely believes that his
+duty to the Church requires him to behave as he does."
+
+"Then he is a donkey, which is worse."
+
+"I wish he were more natural in his manner."
+
+"He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: 'it is their
+nature to.' Good-night. Men are all the same, my dear, all the same."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"Never mind. Good-night."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, and
+communicating with it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at
+this time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the opposite side
+were pairs of recently built houses, many of them still unlet. These,
+without depriving the neighbourhood of its suburban quietude, forbade
+any feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to Susanna
+Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind.
+
+One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside each
+was a pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hunger
+was satisfied; but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the
+uppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the flap, and burst
+it open.
+
+"Hm," she said. "First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at me again to
+make the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he must
+be not to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! Just look at
+the _Times_, Bob, and see if the piece is advertized yet."
+
+"I should think so, by Jupiter," said Marmaduke, patiently interrupting
+his meal to open the newspaper.
+
+"Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. 'The latest Parisian
+success. _La petite Maison du Roi._ Music by M. de Jongleur. Mr.
+Faulkner has the honor to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs of
+M. de Jongleur's opera bouffe _La petite Maison du Roi_, entitled King
+Lewis on the lewis'--what the deuce does that mean?"
+
+"On the loose, of course."
+
+"But it is spelt l-e-w----oh! its a pun. What an infernal piece of
+idiocy! Then it goes on as usual, except that each name in the cast has
+a separate line of large print. Here you are: 'Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry'----"
+
+"Is that at the top?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Before Rose Stella?"
+
+"Yes. Why!--I didnt notice it before--you are down fifteen times!
+Every alternate space has your name over again. 'Lalage Virtue as Madame
+Dubarry. Fred Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. Felix
+Sumner as the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue as _la belle Jeanneton_.'
+By the way, that is all rot. Cardinal Richelieu died four or five
+hundred years before Madame Dubarry was born."
+
+"Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose Stella the last line
+with a big AND before it. No matter. She is down only once; and I am
+down fifteen times."
+
+"I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! This is a bill, of
+course. The West Kensington Wine Company. Whew! We are getting through
+the champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not counting
+what we pay for when we dine in town."
+
+"Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfully
+low without it."
+
+"All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, and dont injure
+your health, I dont care. Here's a letter of yours put among mine by
+mistake. It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth."
+
+"It's from Ned," said Susanna, turning pale. "He must be coming home,
+or he would not write. Yes, he is. What shall I do?"
+
+"What does he say?" said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her. "'_Back
+at 6 on Wednesday evening. Have high tea. N.C._' Short and sweet! Well,
+he will not turn up til to-morrow, at all events, even if he knows the
+address, which of course he doesnt."
+
+"He knows nothing. His note shews that. What _will_ he do when he finds
+me gone? He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them to
+send on my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for her own
+information. There is no mistake about it," said Susanna, rising and
+walking to the window: "I am in a regular funk about him. I have half a
+mind to go back to Lambeth and meet him. I could let the murder out
+gradually, or, perhaps, get him off to the country again before he
+discovers anything."
+
+"Go back! oh no, nonsense! The worst he can do is to cut you--and a good
+job too."
+
+"I wish he would. It would be a relief to me at present to know for
+certain that he would."
+
+"He cant be so very thin-skinned as you fancy, considering the time you
+have been on the stage."
+
+"There's nothing wrong in being on the stage. There's nothing wrong in
+being here either, in spite of Society. After all, what do I care about
+Ned, or anybody else? He always went his own way when it suited him; and
+he has no right to complain if I go mine. Let him come if he likes: he
+will not get much satisfaction from me." Susanna sat down again, and
+drank some tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate.
+
+"Dont think any more about it," said Marmaduke. "He wont come."
+
+"Oh, let him, if he likes," said Susanna, impatiently. Marmaduke did not
+quite sympathize with her sudden recklessness. He hoped that Conolly
+would have the good sense to keep away.
+
+"Look here, Bob," said she, when they had finished breakfast. "Let us go
+somewhere to-day. I feel awfully low. Let us have a turn up the river."
+
+"All right," said Marmaduke, with alacrity. "Whatever you please. How
+shall we go?"
+
+"Anyhow. Let us go to Hampton by train. When we get there we can settle
+what to do afterward. Can you come now?"
+
+"Yes, whenever you are ready."
+
+"Then I will run upstairs and dress. Go out and amuse yourself with
+that blessed old lawn-mower until I come."
+
+"Yes, I think I will," said Marmaduke, seriously. "That plot near the
+gate wants a trimming badly."
+
+"What a silly old chap you are, Bob!" she said, stopping to kiss him on
+each cheek as she left the room.
+
+Marmaduke had become attached to the pursuit of gardening since his
+domestication. He put on his hat; went out; and set to work on the plot
+near the gate. The sun was shining brightly; and when he had taken a few
+turns with the machine he stopped, raising his face to the breeze, and
+saw Conolly standing so close to him that he started backward, and made
+a vague movement as if to ward off a blow. Conolly, who seemed amused by
+the mowing, said quietly: "That machine wants oiling: the clatter
+prevented you from hearing me come. I have just returned from Carbury
+Towers. Miss Lind is staying there; and she has asked me to give you a
+message."
+
+This speech perplexed Marmaduke. He inferred from it that Conolly was
+ignorant of Susanna's proceedings, but he had not sufficient effrontery
+to welcome him unconcernedly at once. So he stood still and stared at
+him.
+
+"I am afraid I have startled you," Conolly went on, politely. "I found
+the gate unlocked, and thought it would be an unnecessary waste of time
+to ring the bell. You have a charming little place here."
+
+"Yes, it's a pretty little place, isnt it?" said Marmaduke. "A--wont you
+come in and have a--excuse my bringing you round this way, will you? My
+snuggery is at the back of the house."
+
+"Thank you; but I had rather not go in. I have a great deal of business
+to do in town to-day; so I shall just discharge my commission and go."
+
+"At any rate, come into the shade," said Marmaduke, glancing uneasily
+toward the windows of the house. "This open place is enough to give us
+sunstroke."
+
+Conolly followed him to a secluded part of the shrubbery, where they sat
+down on a bench.
+
+"Is there anything up?" said Marmaduke, much oppressed.
+
+"Will you excuse my speaking without ceremony?"
+
+"Oh, certainly. Fire away!"
+
+"Thank you. I must then tell you that the relations between you and Lady
+Constance are a source of anxiety to her brother. You know the way men
+feel bound to look after their sisters. You have, I believe, sisters of
+your own?"
+
+Marmaduke nodded, and stole a doubtful glance at Conolly's face.
+
+"It appears that Lord Carbury has all along considered your courtship
+too cool to be genuine. In this view he was quite unsupported, the
+Countess being strongly in your favor, and the young lady devoted to
+you."
+
+"Well, I knew all that. At least, I suspected it. What is up now?"
+
+"This. The fact of your having taken a villa here has reached the ears
+of the family at Carbury. They are, not unnaturally, curious to know
+what use a bachelor can have for such an establishment."
+
+"But I have my rooms in Clarges Street still. This is not my house. It
+was taken for another person."
+
+"Precisely what they seem to think. But, to be brief with you, Miss Lind
+thinks that unless you wish to break with the Earl, and quarrel with
+your family, you should go down to Towers Cottage at once."
+
+"But I cant go away just now. There are reasons."
+
+"Miss Lind is fully acquainted with your reasons. They are her reasons
+for wishing you to leave London immediately. And now, having executed my
+commission, I must ask you to excuse me. My time is much occupied."
+
+"Well, I am greatly obliged to you for coming all this way out of town
+to give me the straight tip," said Marmaduke, relieved at the prospect
+of getting rid of his visitor without alluding to Susanna. "It is very
+good of you; and I am very glad to see you. Jolly place, Carbury Park
+is, isnt it? How will the shooting be?"
+
+"First rate, I am told. I do not know much about it myself." They had
+risen, and were strolling along the path leading to the gate.
+
+"Shall I see you down there--if I go?"
+
+"Possibly. I shall have to go down for a day at least, to get my
+luggage, in case I decide not to renew my engagement with Lord Jasper."
+
+"I hope so," said Marmaduke. Then, as they reached the gate, he
+proffered his hand, in spite of an inward shrinking, and said heartily,
+"Good-bye, old fellow. Youre looking as well as possible."
+
+Conolly took his hand, and retained it whilst he said: "Good-bye, Mr.
+Lind. I am quite well, thank you. If I may ask--how is Susanna?"
+
+Marmaduke was prevented by a spasm of the throat from replying. Before
+he recovered, Susanna herself, attired for her proposed trip to Hampton,
+emerged from the shrubbery and stood before them, confounded. Conolly,
+still wearing the cordial expression with which he had shaken
+Marmaduke's hand, looked at her, then at her protector, and then at her
+again.
+
+"I have been admiring the villa, Susanna," said he, after an emphatic
+silence. "It is better than our place at Lambeth. You wont mind my
+hurrying away: I have a great deal to do in town. Good-bye. Good-bye,
+Mr. Lind."
+
+Susanna murmured something. Marmaduke, after making an effort to bid his
+guest good-bye genially, opened the gate, and stood for a minute
+watching him as he strode away.
+
+"What does _he_ care what becomes of me, the selfish brute!" cried
+Susanna, passionately.
+
+"He didnt complain: he has nothing to complain of," said Marmaduke.
+"Anyhow, why didnt he stay at home and look after you? By George,
+Susanna, he is the coolest card I ever came across."
+
+"What brought him here?" she demanded, vehemently.
+
+"That reminds me. I am afraid I must go down to Carbury for a few
+days."
+
+"And what am I to do here alone? Are _you_ going to leave me too?"
+
+"Well, I cannot be in two places at the same time. I suppose you can
+manage to get on without me for a few days."
+
+"I will go home. I can get on without you altogether. I will go home."
+
+"Come, Susanna! what is the use of kicking up a row? I cant afford to
+quarrel with all my people because you choose to be unreasonable."
+
+"What do I care about your people, or about you either?"
+
+"Very well, then," said Marmaduke, offended, "you can go home if you
+like. Perhaps your brother appreciates this sort of thing. I dont."
+
+"Ah, you coward! You taunt me because you think I have no home. Do you
+flatter yourself that I am dependent on you?"
+
+"Hold your tongue," said Marmaduke, fiercely. "Dont you turn on me in
+that fashion. Keep your temper if you want me to keep mine."
+
+"You have ruined me," said Susanna, sitting down on the grass, and
+beginning to cry.
+
+"Oh, upon my soul, this is too much," said Marmaduke, with disgust. "Get
+up out of that and dont make a fool of yourself. Ruined indeed! Will you
+get up?"
+
+"No!" screamed Susanna.
+
+"Then stay where you are and be damned," retorted Marmaduke, turning on
+his heel and walking toward the house. In the hall he met a maid
+carrying an empty champagne bottle and goblet.
+
+"Missis is looking for you, sir," said the maid.
+
+"All right," said Marmaduke, "I have seen her. Listen to me. I am going
+to the country. My man Mason will come here to-day to pack up my traps,
+and bring them after me. You had better take a note of my address from
+the card in the strap of my valise."
+
+"Yes, sir," said the maid. "Any message for missis?"
+
+"No," said Marmaduke. He then changed his coat and hat, and went out
+again. As he approached the gate he met Susanna, who had risen and was
+walking toward the house.
+
+"I am going to Carbury," he said. "I dont know when I shall be back."
+
+She passed on disdainfully, as if she had not heard him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+Three days later Lord Carbury came to luncheon with a letter in his
+hand. Marian had not yet come in; and the Rev. George was absent, his
+place being filled by Marmaduke.
+
+"Good news for you and Constance, mother."
+
+"Indeed?" said the Countess, smiling.
+
+"Yes. Conolly is coming down this afternoon to collect his traps and
+leave you forever."
+
+"Really, Jasper, you exaggerate Mr. Conolly's importance. Intelligence
+of his movements can hardly be news--good or bad--either to me or to
+Constance."
+
+"I am glad he is going," said Constance, "for Jasper's sake."
+
+"Thank you," replied Jasper. "I thought you would be. He will be a great
+loss to me."
+
+"Nonsense!" said the Countess. "If another workman is needed, another
+can easily be had."
+
+"If I can be of any assistance to you, old man," said Marmaduke, "make
+what use of me you like. I picked up something about the business
+yesterday."
+
+"Yes," said Elinor. "While you were away, Jasper, he went to the
+laboratory with Constance, and fired off a brass cannon with your new
+pile until he had used up all the gunpowder and spoiled the panels of
+the door. That is what he calls picking up something about the
+business."
+
+"Nothing like experiment for convincing you of the power of
+electricity," said Marmaduke. "Is there, Conny?"
+
+"It's very wonderful; but I hate shots."
+
+"Where is Marian?" said Lady Carbury.
+
+"I left her in the summer-house in the fruit garden," said Elinor. "She
+was reading."
+
+"She must have forgotten the hour," said the Countess. "She has been
+moping, I think, for the last few days. I hope she is not unwell. But
+she would never stay away from luncheon intentionally. I shall send for
+her."
+
+"I'll go," said Marmaduke, eagerly.
+
+"No, no, Duke. You must not leave the table. I will send a servant."
+
+"I will fetch her here in half the time that any servant will. Poor
+Marian, why shouldnt she have her lunch? I shall be back in a jiffy."
+
+"What a restless, extraordinary creature he is!" said Lady Carbury,
+displeased, as Marmaduke hastily left the room. "The idea of a man
+leaving the table in that way!"
+
+"I suspect he has his reasons," said Elinor.
+
+"I think it is a perfectly natural thing for him to do," said Constance,
+pettishly. "I see nothing extraordinary in it."
+
+Marmaduke found Marian reading in the summer-house in the fruit garden.
+She looked at him in lazy surprise as he seated himself opposite to her
+at the table.
+
+"This is the first chance I've had of talking to you privately since I
+came down," he said. "I believe you have been keeping out of my way on
+purpose."
+
+"Well, I concluded that you wanted as many chances as possible of
+talking to some one else in private; so I gave you as many as I could."
+
+"Yes, you and the rest have been uncommonly considerate in that respect:
+thank you all awfully. But I mean to have it out with you, Miss Marian,
+now that I have caught you alone."
+
+"With me! Oh, dear! What have I done?"
+
+"What have you done? I'll tell you what youve done. Why did you send
+Conolly, of all men in the world, to tell me that I was in disgrace
+here?"
+
+"There was no one else, Marmaduke."
+
+"Well, suppose there wasn't! Suppose there had been no one else alive on
+the earth except you, and I, and he, and Constance, and Su--and
+Constance! how could you have offered him such a job?"
+
+"Why not? Was there any special reason--"
+
+"Any special reason! Didnt your common sense tell you that a meeting
+between him and me must be particularly awkward for both of us?"
+
+"No. At least I--. Marmaduke: I think you must fancy that I told him
+more than I did. I did not know where you were; and as he was going to
+London, and I thought you knew him well, and I had no other means of
+warning you, I had to make use of him. Jasper will tell you how
+thoroughly trustworthy he is. But all I said--and I really could not say
+less--was that I was afraid you were in bad company, or under bad
+influence, or something like that; and that I only wanted you to come
+down here at once."
+
+"Oh! Indeed! That was _all_, was it? Merely that I was in bad company."
+
+"I think I said under bad influence. I was told so; and I believed it at
+the time. I hope it's not true, Marmaduke. If it is not, I beg your
+pardon with all my heart."
+
+Marmaduke stared very hard at her for a while, and then said, with the
+emphasis of a man baffled by utter unreason: "Well, I _am_ damned!" at
+which breach of good manners she winced. "Hang me if I understand you,
+Marian," he continued, more mildly. "Of course it's not true. Bad
+influence is all bosh. But it was a queer thing to say to his face. He
+knew very well you meant his sister. Hallo! what's the matter? Are you
+going to faint?"
+
+"No, I--Never mind me."
+
+"Never mind you!" said Marmaduke. "What are you looking like that for?"
+
+"Because--it is nothing: I only blushed. Dont be stupid, Duke."
+
+"Blushed! Why dont you blush red, like other people, and not green?
+Shall I get you something?"
+
+"No, no. Oh, Duke, why did you not tell me? How could you be so
+heartless as to leave us all in the dark when we were talking about you
+before him every day! Oh, are you in earnest, Duke? Pray dont jest about
+it. What do you mean by his sister? I never knew he had one. Who is she?
+What happened? I mean when you saw him?"
+
+"Nothing happened. I was mowing in the garden. He just walked in; bade
+me good morning; admired the place; and told me he came with a message
+from you that things were getting hot here. Then he went off, as cool as
+you please. He didnt seem to mind."
+
+"And he warned you, in spite of all."
+
+"More for your sake than for mine, I suspect. He's rather sweet on you,
+isnt he?"
+
+"Oh, Duke, Duke, are you not ashamed of yourself?"
+
+"Deuce a bit. But I'm in trouble; and I want you to stand by me. Look
+here, Marian, you have no nonsense about you, I know. I may tell you
+frankly how I am situated, maynt I?"
+
+Marian looked at him apprehensively, and said nothing.
+
+"You see you will only mix up matters worse than before unless you know
+the truth. Besides, I offered to marry her: upon my soul I did; but she
+refused. Her real name is Susanna Conolly: his sister, worse luck."
+
+"Dont tell me any more of this, Duke. It is not right."
+
+"I suppose it's not right, as you say. But what am I to do? I must tell
+you; or you will go on making mischief with Constance."
+
+"As if I would tell her! I promise that she shall never know from me. Is
+that enough?"
+
+"No: its too much. The plain truth is that I dont care whether she finds
+me out or not. I want her to understand thoroughly, once and for ever,
+that I wont marry her."
+
+"Marmaduke!"
+
+"Not if I were fifty Marmadukes!"
+
+"Then you will break her heart."
+
+"Never fear! Her heart is pretty tough, if she has one. Whether or no, I
+am not going to have her forced on me by the Countess or any one else.
+The truth is, Marian, they have all tried to bully me into this match.
+Constance can't complain."
+
+"No, not aloud."
+
+"Neither aloud or alow. I never proposed to her."
+
+"Very well, Marmaduke: there is no use now in blaming Auntie or excusing
+yourself. If you have made up your mind, there is an end."
+
+"But you cant make out that I am acting meanly, Marian. Why, I have
+everything to lose by giving her up. There is her money, and I suppose I
+must prepare for a row with the family; unless the match could be
+dropped quietly. Eh?"
+
+"And is that what you want me to manage for you?"
+
+"Well--. Come, Marian! dont be savage. I have been badly used in this
+affair. They forced it on me. I did all I could to keep out of it. She
+was thrown at my head. Besides, I once really used to think I could
+settle down with her comfortably some day. I only found out what an
+insipid little fool she was when I had a woman of sense to compare her
+with."
+
+"Dont say hard things about her. I think you might have a little
+forbearance towards her under the circumstances."
+
+"Hm! I dont feel very forbearing. She has been sticking to me for the
+last few days like a barnacle. Our respectable young ladies think a lot
+of themselves, but--except you and Nelly--I dont know a woman in society
+who has as much brains in her whole body as Susanna Conolly has in her
+little finger nail. I cant imagine how the deuce you all have the cheek
+to expect men to talk to you, much less marry you."
+
+"Perhaps there is something that honest men value more than brains."
+
+"I should like to know what it is. If it is something that ladies have
+and Susanna hasnt, it is not either good looks or good sense. If it's
+respectability, that depends on what you consider respectable. If
+Conny's respectable and Susanna isnt, then I prefer disrepu--"
+
+"Hush, Duke, you know you have no right to speak to me like this. Let
+us think of poor Constance. How is she to be told the truth?"
+
+"Let her find it out. I shall go back to London as soon as I can; and
+the affair will drop somehow or another. She will forget all about me."
+
+"Happy-go-lucky Marmaduke. I think if neglect and absence could make her
+forget you, you would have been forgotten before this."
+
+"Yes. You see you must admit that I gave her no reason to suppose I
+meant anything."
+
+"I am afraid you have consulted your own humor both in your neglect and
+your attentions, Duke. The more you try to excuse yourself, the more
+inexcusable your conduct appears. I do not know how to advise you. If
+Constance is told, you may some day forget all about your present
+infatuation; and then a mass of mischief and misery will have been made
+for nothing. If she is not told, you will be keeping up a cruel
+deception and wasting her chances of----but she will never care for
+anybody else."
+
+"Better do as I say. Leave matters alone for the present. But mind! no
+speculating on my changing my intentions. I wont marry her."
+
+"I wish you hadnt told me about it."
+
+"Well, Marian, I couldnt help it. I know, of course, that you only
+wanted to make us all happy; but you nursed this match and kept it in
+Constance's mind as much as you could. Besides--though it was not your
+fault--that mistake about Conolly was too serious not to explain. Dont
+be downcast: I am not blaming you a bit."
+
+"It seems to me that the worst view of things is always the true one in
+this world. Nelly and Jasper were right about you."
+
+"Aha! So _they_ saw what I felt. You cant say I did not make my
+intentions plain enough to every unbiassed person. The Countess was
+determined to get Constance off her hands; Constance was determined to
+have me; and you were determined to stick up for your own notions of
+love and honeysuckles."
+
+"I was determined to stick up for _you_, Marmaduke."
+
+"Dont be indignant: I knew you would stick up for me in your own way.
+But what I want to shew is, that only three people believed that I was
+in earnest; and those three were prejudiced."
+
+"I wish you had enlightened Constance, and deceived all the rest of the
+world, instead. No doubt I was wrong, very wrong. I am very sorry."
+
+"Pshaw! It doesnt matter. It will all blow over some day. Hush, I hear
+the garden gate opening. It is Constance, come to spy what I am doing
+here with you. She is as jealous as a crocodile--very nearly made a
+scene yesterday because I played with Nelly against her at tennis. I
+have to drive her to Bushy Copse this afternoon, confound it!"
+
+"And _will_ you, after what you have just confessed?"
+
+"I must. Besides, Jasper says that Conolly is coming this evening to
+pack up his traps and go; and I want to be out of the way when he is
+about."
+
+"This evening!"
+
+"Yes. Between ourselves, Marian, Susanna and I were so put out by the
+cool way he carried on when he called, that we had a regular quarrel
+after he went; and we haven't made it up yet."
+
+"Pray dont talk about it to me, Duke. Here is Constance."
+
+"So you are here," said Constance, gaily, but with a quick glance at
+them. "That is a pretty way to bring your cousin in to luncheon, sir."
+
+"We got chatting about you, my ownest," said Marmaduke; "and the subject
+was so sweet, and the moments were so fleet, that we talked for quite an
+hour on the strict q.t. Eh, Marian?"
+
+"As a punishment, you shall have no lunch. Mamma is very angry with you
+both."
+
+"Always ready to make allowances for her, provided she sends you to
+lecture me, Conny. Why dont you wear your hat properly?" He arranged her
+hat as he spoke. Constance laughed and blushed. Marian shuddered. "Now
+youre all that fancy painted you: youre lovely, youre divine. Are you
+ready for Bushy Copse?"
+
+Constance replied by singing:
+
+  "Oh yes, if you please, kind sir, she said; sir, she said; sir, she said;
+  Oh! yes if you ple--ease, kind sir, she said."
+
+"Then come along. After your ladyship," he said, taking her elbows as if
+they were the handles of a wheelbarrow, and pushing her out before him
+through the narrow entrance to the summer-house. On the threshold he
+turned for a moment; met Marian's reproachful eyes with a wink; grinned;
+and disappeared.
+
+For half an hour afterward Marian sat alone in the summer-house,
+thinking of the mistake she had made. Then she returned to the Cottage,
+where she found Miss McQuinch writing in the library, and related to her
+all that had passed in the summer-house. Elinor listened, seated in a
+rocking-chair, restlessly clapping her protended ankles together. When
+she heard of Conolly's relationship to Susanna, she kept still for a
+few moments, looking with widely opened eyes at Marian. Then, with a
+sharp laugh, she said:
+
+"Well, I beg his pardon. I thought he was another of that woman's
+retainers. I never dreamt of his being her brother."
+
+Marian was horror stricken. "You thought--! Oh, Nelly, what puts such
+things into your head?"
+
+"So would you have thought it if you had the least gumption about
+people. However, I was wrong; and I'm glad of it. However, I was right
+about Marmaduke. I told you so, over and over and over again."
+
+"I know you did; but I didnt think you were in earnest."
+
+"No, you never can conceive my being in earnest when I differ from you,
+until the event proves me to be right."
+
+"I am afraid it will kill Constance."
+
+"_Dont_, Marian!" cried Elinor, giving her chair a violent swing.
+
+"I am quite serious. You know how delicate she is."
+
+"Well, if she dies of any sentiment, it will be wounded vanity. Serve
+her right for allowing a man to be forced into marrying her. I believe
+she knows in her soul that he does not care about her. Why else should
+she be jealous of me, of you, and of everybody?"
+
+"It seems to me that instead of sympathizing with the unfortunate girl,
+both you and Marmaduke exult in her disappointment."
+
+"I pity her, poor little wretch. But I dont sympathize with her. I dont
+pity Marmaduke one bit: if the whole family cuts him he will deserve it
+richly, but I do sympathize with him. Can you wonder at his preference?
+When we went to see that woman last June I envied her. There she was,
+clever, independent, successful, holding her own in the world, earning
+her living, fascinating a crowd of people, whilst we poor respectable
+nonentities sat pretending to despise her--as if we were not waiting
+until some man in want of a female slave should offer us our board and
+lodging and the privilege of his lordly name with 'Missis' before it for
+our lifelong services. You may make up as many little bread-and-butter
+romances as you please, Marian; but I defy you to give me any sensible
+reason why Marmaduke should chain himself for ever to a little inane
+thing like Constance, when he can enjoy the society of a capable woman
+like that without binding himself at all."
+
+"Nonsense, Nelly! Really, you oughtnt to say such things."
+
+"No. I ought to keep both eyes tight shut so that I may be contented in
+that station to which it has pleased God to call me."
+
+"Imagine his proposing to marry her, Nell! I am just as wicked as you;
+for I am very glad she refused; though I cant conceive why she did it."
+
+"Perhaps," said Miss McQuinch, becoming excited, "she refused because
+she had too much good sense: aye, and too much common decency to accept.
+It is all very well for us fortunate good-for-nothings to resort to
+prostitution----"
+
+"Oh, Nelly!"
+
+"--I say, to prostitution, to secure ourselves a home and an income.
+Somebody said openly in Parliament the other day that marriage was the
+true profession of women. So it is a profession; and except that it is a
+harder bargain for both parties, and that society countenances it, I
+dont see how it differs from what we--bless our virtuous
+indignation!--stigmatize as prostitution. _I_ dont mean ever to be
+married, I can tell you, Marian. I would rather die than sell myself
+forever to a man, and stand in a church before a lot of people whilst
+George or somebody read out that cynically plain-spoken marriage service
+over me."
+
+"Stop Nelly! Pray stop! If you thought for a moment you would never say
+such awful things."
+
+"I thought we had agreed long ago that marriage is a mistake."
+
+"Yes; but that is very different to what you are saying now."
+
+"I cannot see----"
+
+"Pray stop, Nelly. Dont go on in that strain. It does no good; and it
+makes me very uncomfortable."
+
+"I'll take it out in work," said Nelly calmly, returning to her
+manuscript. "I can see that, as you say, talking does no good. All the
+more reason why I should have another try at earning my own living. When
+I become a great novelist I shall say what I like and do what I please.
+For the present I am your obedient, humble servant."
+
+At any other time Marian would have protested, and explained, and
+soothed. Now she was too heavily preoccupied by her guilty conscience.
+She strolled disconsolately to the window, and presently, seeing that
+Miss McQuinch was at work in earnest and had better not be disturbed,
+went off for a lonely walk. It was a glorious afternoon; and nature
+heaped its peculiar consolations on her; so that she never thought of
+returning until the sun was close to the horizon. As she came, tired,
+through the plantation, with the evening glow and the light wind, in
+which the branches were rustling and the leaves dropping, lulling her
+luxuriously, she heard some one striding swiftly along the path behind.
+She looked back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could not see
+who was coming. Then it occurred to her that it might be Conolly.
+Dreading to face him after what had happened, she stole aside among the
+trees a little way, and sat down on a stone, hoping that he might pass
+by without seeing her. The next moment he came round the curve, looking
+so resolute and vigorous that her heart became fainter as she watched
+him. Just opposite where she sat, he stopped, having a clear view of the
+path ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled. Marian held her
+breath. He looked to the left through the trees, then to the right,
+where she was.
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Lind," he said respectfully, raising his hat.
+
+"Good-evening," said she, trembling.
+
+"You are not looking quite well."
+
+"I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. That is why I had to
+sit down. I shall be rested presently."
+
+Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. "This is my last
+visit to Carbury Towers," he said. "No doubt you know that I am going
+for good."
+
+"Yes," said Marian. "I--I am greatly obliged to you for all the pains
+you have taken with me in the laboratory. You have been very patient. I
+suppose I have often wasted your time unreasonably."
+
+"No," said Conolly, unceremoniously, "you have not wasted my time: I
+never let anybody do that. My time belonged to Lord Carbury, not to
+myself. However, that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving you
+lessons. Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole obligation rests on
+me."
+
+"They were very pleasant."
+
+He shifted himself into an easier position, looking well pleased. Then
+he said, carelessly, "Has Mr. Marmaduke Lind come down?"
+
+Marian reddened and felt giddy.
+
+"I want to avoid meeting him," continued Conolly; "and I thought perhaps
+you might know enough of his movements this evening to help me to do so.
+It does not matter much; but I have a reason."
+
+Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she tried to speak; but
+she repressed it, and said:
+
+"Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know before: I am sure you
+did not think I did. I made a dreadful mistake."
+
+"Why!" said Conolly, with some indignation, "who has told you since?"
+
+"Marmaduke," said Marian, roused to reply quickly by the energy of the
+questioner. "He did not mean to be indiscreet: he thought I knew."
+
+"Thought! He never thought in his life, Miss Lind. However, he was right
+enough to tell you; and I am glad you know the truth, because it
+explains my behavior the last time we met. It took me aback a bit for
+the moment."
+
+"You were very forbearing. I hope you will not think me intrusive if I
+tell you how sincerely sorry I am for the misfortune which has come to
+you."
+
+"What misfortune?"
+
+Marian lost confidence again, and looked at him in silent distress.
+
+"To be sure," he interposed, quickly. "I know; but you had put it all
+out of my head. I am much obliged to you. Not that I am much concerned
+about it. You will perhaps think it an instance of the depravity of my
+order, Miss Lind; but I am not one of those people who think it pious to
+consider their near relatives as if they were outside the natural course
+of things. I never was a good son or a good brother or a good patriot in
+the sense of thinking that my mother and my sister and my native country
+were better than other people's because I happened to belong to them. I
+knew what would happen some day, though, as usual, my foreknowledge did
+not save me from a little emotion when the event came to pass. Besides,
+to tell you the truth, I dont feel it as a misfortune. You know what my
+sister's profession is. You told me how you felt when you saw her act.
+Now, tell me fairly, and without stopping to think of whether your
+answer will hurt me, would you consent to know her in private even if
+you had heard nothing to her disadvantage? Would you invite her to your
+house, or go to a party at which all the other women were like her?
+Would you introduce young ladies to her, as you would introduce them to
+Miss McQuinch? Dont stop to imagine exceptional circumstances which
+might justify you in doing these things; but tell me yes or no, _would_
+you?"
+
+"You see, Mr. Conolly, I should really never have an opportunity of
+doing them."
+
+"By your leave, Miss Lind, that means No. Honestly, then, what has
+Susanna to lose by disregarding your rules of behavior? Even if, by
+marrying, she conciliated the notions of your class, she would only give
+some man the right to ill-treat her and spend her earnings, without
+getting anything in return--and remember there is a special danger of
+that on the stage, for several reasons. She would not really conciliate
+you by marrying, for you wouldnt associate with her a bit the more
+because of her marriage certificate. Of course I am putting her
+self-respect out of the question, that being a matter between herself
+and her conscience, with which we have no concern. Believe me, neither
+actresses nor any other class will trouble themselves about the opinion
+of a society in which they are allowed to have neither part nor lot.
+Perhaps I am wrong to talk about such matters to you; but you are
+trained to feel all the worst that can be felt for my sister; and I feel
+bound to let you know that there is something to be said in her defence.
+I have no right to blame her, as she has done me no harm. The only way
+in which her conduct can influence my prospects will be through her
+being an undesirable sister-in-law in case I should want to marry."
+
+"If the person you choose hesitate on that account, you can let her go
+without regret," said Marian. "She will not be worthy of your regard."
+
+"I am not so sure of that," said Conolly, laughing. "You see, Miss Lind,
+if that invention of mine succeeds, I may become a noted man; and it is
+fashionable nowadays for society to patronize geniuses who hit on a new
+illustration of what people call the marvels of science. I am ambitious.
+As a celebrity, I might win the affections of a duchess. Who knows?"
+
+"I should not advise you to marry a duchess. I do not know many of them,
+as I am a comparatively humble person; but I am sure you would not like
+them."
+
+"Aye. And possibly a lady of gentle nurture would not like me."
+
+"On the contrary, clever people are so rare in society that I think you
+would have a better chance than most men."
+
+"Do you think my manners would pass? I learnt to dance and bow before I
+was twelve years old from the most experienced master in Europe; and I
+used to mix with all the counts, dukes, and queens in my father's opera
+company, not to mention the fashionable people I have read about in
+novels."
+
+"You are jesting, Mr. Conolly. I do not believe that your manners give
+you the least real concern."
+
+"And you think that I may aspire in time--if I am successful in
+public--to the hand of a lady?"
+
+"Surely you know as much of the world as I. Why should you not marry a
+lady, if you wish to?"
+
+"I am afraid class prejudice would be too strong for me, after all."
+
+"I dont think so. What hour is it now, Mr. Conolly?"
+
+"It wants ten minutes of seven."
+
+"Oh!" cried Marian, rising. "Miss McQuinch is probably wondering whether
+I am drowned or lost. I must get back to the Hall as fast as I can. They
+have returned from Bushy Copse before this; and I am sure they are
+asking about me."
+
+Conolly rose silently and walked with her as far as the path from the
+cottage to the laboratory.
+
+"This is my way, Miss Lind," said he. "I am going to the laboratory.
+Will you be so kind as to give my respects to Miss McQuinch. I shall not
+see her again, as I must return to town by the last train to-night."
+
+"And are you not coming back--not at all, I mean?"
+
+"Not at all."
+
+"Oh!" said Marian slowly.
+
+"Good bye, Miss Lind."
+
+He was about to raise his hat as usual; but Marian, with a smile, put
+out her hand. He took it for the first time; looked at her for a moment
+gravely; and left her.
+
+Lest they should surprise one another in the act, neither of them looked
+back at the other as they went their several ways.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+In the spring, eighteen months after his daughter's visit to Carbury
+Towers, Mr. Reginald Harrington Lind called at a house in Manchester
+Square and found Mrs. Douglas at home. Sholto's mother was a widow lady
+older than Mr. Lind, with a rather glassy eye and shaky hand, who would
+have looked weak and shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty of
+money, unlimited domestic service, and unhesitating deference from
+attendants who were all trained artists in their occupation, made a fair
+shew of being a dignified and interesting old lady. When he was seated,
+her first action was to take a new photograph from a little table at her
+side, and hand it to him without a word, awaiting his recognition of it
+with a shew of natural pride and affection which was amateurish in
+comparison to the more polished and skilful comedy with which her
+visitor took it and pretended to admire it.
+
+"Capital. Capital," said Mr. Lind. "He must give us one."
+
+"You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do you?" said Mrs.
+Douglas.
+
+"Certainly not: it is an improvement," said Mr. Lind, decisively. "You
+are glad to have him back again with you, I dare say. Ah yes, yes" (Mrs.
+Douglas's eyes had answered for her). "Did he tell you that he met me? I
+saw him on Wednesday last for the first time since his return to London.
+How long was he away?"
+
+"Two years," she replied, with slow emphasis, as if such an absence
+were hardly credible. "Two long years. He has been staying in Paris, in
+Venice, in Florence: a month here, a week there, dissatisfied
+everywhere. He would have been almost as happy with me at home. And how
+is Marian?"
+
+"Well," said Mr. Lind, smiling, "I believe she is still disengaged; and
+she professes to be fancy free. She is fond of saying, generally, that
+she will never marry, and so forth. That is the new fashion with young
+women--if saying what they dont mean can be called a new fashion."
+
+"Marian is sure to get married," said Mrs. Douglas. "She must have had
+offers already. There are few parents who have not cause to envy you."
+
+"We have both been happy in that respect, Mrs. Douglas. Sholto is a
+highly distinguished young man. I wish I had started in life with half
+his advantages. I thought at one time he was perhaps becoming attached
+to Marian."
+
+"You are quite sure, Mr. Lind, that you could forgive his being a plain
+gentleman? A little bird whispered to me that you desired a title for
+Marian."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Douglas, we, who are familiar with titles, understand
+their true value. I should be very sorry to see Marian lose, by an
+unsuitable alliance, the social position I have been able to give her. I
+should set my face resolutely against such an alliance. But few English
+titles can boast a pedigree comparable with Sholto's. The name of
+Douglas is historic--far more so than that of Lind, which is not even
+English except by naturalization. Besides, Sholto's talents are very
+remarkable. He will certainly adopt a political career; and, with his
+opportunities and abilities, a peerage is anything but a remote
+contingency."
+
+"Sholto, you know, is perfectly unembarrassed. There is not a charge on
+his property. I think that even Marian, good as she is, and lovely as
+she is, will not easily find a better match. But I am well known to be a
+little crazy about my dear boy. That is because I know him so much
+better than anyone else does. Now let us talk about other matters. Let
+me see. Oh yes, I got a prospectus of some company from the city the
+other day; and whose name should there be upon the list of directors but
+Reginald Harrington Lind's! And Lord Carbury's, too! Pray, is the entire
+family going into business?"
+
+"Well, I believe the undertaking to be a commercially sound one; and--"
+
+"Fancy _you_ talking about commercial soundness!"
+
+"True. It must sound strange to you. But it is no longer unusual for men
+in my position to take an active part in the direction of commerce. We
+have duties as well as privileges. I gave my name and took a few shares
+chiefly on the recommendation of Jasper and of my own stockbroker. I
+think there can be no doubt that Jasper and Mr. Conolly have made a very
+remarkable discovery, and one which must prove highly remunerative and
+beneficial."
+
+"What is the discovery? I did not quite understand the prospectus."
+
+"Well, it is called the Conolly Electro-motor."
+
+"Yes, I know that."
+
+"And it--it turns all sorts of machinery. I cannot explain it
+scientifically to you: you would not understand me. But it is, in short,
+a method of driving machinery by electricity at a less cost than by
+steam. It is connected in principle with the conservation of energy and
+other technical matters. You must come and see the machinery at work
+some day."
+
+"I must, indeed. And is it true that Mr. Conolly was a common working
+man?"
+
+"Yes, a practical man, undoubtedly, but highly educated. He speaks
+French and Italian fluently, and is a remarkable musician. Altogether a
+man of very superior attainments, and by no means deficient in culture."
+
+"Dear me! Jasper told me something of that sort about him; but Lady
+Carbury gave him a very different character. She assured me that he was
+sprung from the dregs of the people, and that she had a great deal of
+trouble to teach him his proper place. Still, we know that she is not
+very particular as to what she says when she dislikes people. Yet she
+ought to know; for he was Jasper's laboratory servant--at least so she
+said."
+
+"Oh, surely not a servant. Jasper never regarded him in that light. The
+Countess disapproves of Jasper's scientific pursuits, and sets her face
+against all who encourage him in them. However, I really know nothing
+about Mr. Conolly's antecedents. His manner when he appears at our board
+meetings is quiet and not unpleasant. Marian, it appears, met him at
+Towers Cottage the year before last, and had some scientific lessons
+from him. He was quite unknown then. It was rather a curious
+coincidence. I did not know of it until about a month ago, when he read
+a paper at the Society of Arts on his invention. I attended the meeting
+with Marian; and when it was over, I introduced him to her, and was
+surprised to learn that they knew one another already. He told me
+afterward that Marian had shewn an unusual degree of cleverness in
+studying electricity, and that she greatly interested him at the time."
+
+"No doubt. Marian interests everybody; and even great discoverers, when
+they are young, are only human."
+
+"Ah! Perhaps so. But she must have shewn some ability or she would never
+have elicited a remark from him. He is full of his business."
+
+"And what is the latest news of the family scamp?"
+
+"Do you mean my Reginald?"
+
+"Dear me, no! What a shame to call poor Reggy a scamp! I mean young
+Marmaduke, of course. Is it true that he has a daughter now?"
+
+"Oh yes. Perfectly true."
+
+"The reprobate! And he was always such a pleasant fellow."
+
+"Yes; but he is annoyingly inconsiderate. About a fortnight ago, Marian
+and Elinor went to Putney to a private view at Mr. Scott's studio. On
+their way back they saw Marmaduke on the river, and, rather
+unnecessarily, I think, entered into conversation with him. He begged
+them to come to Hammersmith in his boat, saying that he had something
+there to shew them. Elinor, it appears, had the sense to ask whether it
+was anything they ought not to see; but he replied on his honor that it
+was something perfectly innocent, and promised that they should be
+delighted with it. So they foolishly consented, and went with him to
+Hammersmith, where they left the river and walked some distance with
+him. He left them in a road somewhere in West Kensington, and came back
+after about fifteen minutes with a little girl. He actually presented
+her to Marian and Elinor as a member of the family whom they, as a
+matter of course, would like to know."
+
+"Well, _such_ a thing to do! And what happened?"
+
+"Marian seems to have thought of nothing but the prettiness of the
+unhappy child. She gravely informed me that she forgave Marmaduke
+everything when she saw how he doted on it. Elinor has always shewn a
+disposition to defend him----"
+
+"She is full of perversity, and always was."
+
+"----and this incident did not damage his credit with _her_. However,
+after the little waif had been sufficiently petted and praised to
+gratify Master Marmaduke's paternal feelings, they came home, and,
+instead of holding their tongues, began to tell all our people what a
+dear little child Marmaduke had, and how they considered that it ought
+not to be made to suffer for his follies. In fact, I think they would
+have adopted it, if I had allowed them."
+
+"That is Marian all over. Some of her ideas will serve her very well
+when she goes to heaven; but they will get her into scrapes in this
+wicked world if you do not take care of her."
+
+"I fear so. For that reason I tolerate a degree of cynicism in Elinor's
+character which would otherwise be most disagreeable to me. It is often
+useful in correcting Marian's extravagances. Unfortunately, the incident
+at Hammersmith did not pass off without making mischief. It happens that
+my sister Julia is interested in a Home for foundling girls--a
+semi-private place, where a dozen children are trained as domestic
+servants."
+
+"Yes. I have been through it. It is very neat and pretty; but they
+really treat the poor girls as if they ought to be thankful for
+permission to exist. Their dresses are so ugly!"
+
+"Possibly. I assure you that presentations are much sought after, and
+are very difficult to get. Julia is a patroness. Marian told her about
+this child of Marmaduke's; and it happened that a vacancy had just
+occurred at the Home in consequence of one of the girls dying of
+melancholia and spinal affection. Julia, who has perhaps more piety than
+tact, wrote to Marmaduke offering to present his daughter, and
+expatiating on the advantages of the Home to the poor little lost one.
+In her desire to reclaim Marmaduke also, she entrusted the letter to
+George, who undertook to deliver it, and further Julia's project by
+personal persuasion. George described the interview to me, and shewed
+me, I am sorry to say, how much downright ferocity may exist beneath an
+apparently frank, jovial, reckless exterior like Marmaduke's."
+
+"Well, I hardly wonder at his refusing. Of course, he might have known
+that the motive of the offer was a kind one."
+
+"Refused! A gentleman can always refuse an offer with dignity. Marmaduke
+was outrageous. George--a clergyman--owed his escape from actual
+violence to the interference of the woman, and to a timely
+representation that he had undertaken to bear the message in order to
+soften any angry feelings that it might give rise to. Marmaduke
+repeatedly applied foul language to his aunt and to her offer; and
+George with great difficulty dissuaded him from writing a most offensive
+letter to her. Julia was so hurt by this that she complained to
+Dora--Marmaduke's mother--who had up to that time been kept in ignorance
+of his doings; and now it is hard to say where the mischief will end.
+Dora is overwhelmed by the revelation of the life her son is leading.
+Marmaduke has consequently forfeited his father's countenance, which
+had to be extended to him so far as to allow of his occasional
+appearance at home, in order to keep Dora in the dark. Now that she is
+enlightened, of course there is an end of all that, and he is forbidden
+the house."
+
+"What a lot of mischief! Dear me!"
+
+"So I said to Marian. Had she refused to go up the river with Marmaduke,
+as she should have done, all this would not have occurred. She will not
+see it in that light, but lays all the blame on her aunt Julia, whose
+offer fell somewhat short of her own notions of providing for the
+child's future."
+
+"How does Marmaduke stand with respect to money? I suppose his father
+has stopped his allowance."
+
+"No. He threatened to do it, and went so far as to make his solicitor
+write to that effect to Marmaduke, who had the consummate impudence to
+reply that he should in that case be compelled to provide for himself by
+contracting a marriage of which he could not expect his family to
+approve. Still, he added, if the family chose to sever their connexion
+with him, they could not expect him to consult their feelings in his
+future disposal of himself. In plain English, he threatened to marry
+this woman if his income was cut off. He carried his point, too; for no
+alteration has been made in his allowance. Indeed, as he has money of
+his own, and as part of the property is entailed, it would be easier to
+irritate him uselessly than to subject him to any material deprivation."
+
+"The young scamp! I wonder he was clever enough to take advantage like
+that."
+
+"He has shewn no lack of acuteness of late. I suspect he is under shrewd
+guidance."
+
+"Have you ever seen the--the guidance?"
+
+"Not in person. I seldom enter a theatre now. But I am of course
+familiar with her appearance from the photographic portraits of her.
+They are in all the shop windows."
+
+"Yes. I think I have noticed them."
+
+"And now, Mrs. Douglas, I fear I have paid you a very long visit."
+
+"Why dont you come oftener?"
+
+"I wish I could find time. I have not so much leisure for enjoyment as I
+used."
+
+"I am not so sure of that. But we are always glad to have a chat with
+one another, I know. We are agreed about the dear children, I think?"
+
+"Cordially. Cordially. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+On the morning of the first Friday in May Marian received this letter:
+
+                                  "Uxbridge Road, Holland Park, W.
+
+  "DEAR MISS LIND: I must begin by explaining why I make this
+  communication to you by letter instead of orally. It is because I
+  am about to ask you to do me a favor. If you asked me to do
+  anything for you, then, no matter how much my judgment might
+  protest against my compliance, I could not without pain to myself
+  refuse you face to face. I have no right to assume that your heart
+  would plead on my behalf against your head in this fashion; but, on
+  the other hand--the wish is father to the thought here--I have no
+  right to assume that it would not. Therefore, to spare you all
+  influences except the fair ones of your own interest and
+  inclination, I make my proposal in writing. You will please put the
+  usual construction on the word 'proposal.' What I desire is your
+  consent to marry me. If your first impulse now is to refuse, I beg
+  you to do so in plain terms at once, and destroy this letter
+  without reading further. If you think, on the contrary, that we
+  could achieve a future as pleasant as our past association has
+  been--to me at least, here is what, as I think, you have to
+  consider.
+
+  "You are a lady, rich, well-born, beautiful, loved by many persons
+  besides myself, too happily circumstanced to have any pressing
+  inducement to change your condition, and too fortunately endowed in
+  every way to have reason to anticipate the least difficulty in
+  changing it to the greatest worldly advantage when you please.
+
+  "What I am and have been, you know. I may estrange from you some of
+  the society which you enjoy, and I can introduce you to none that
+  would compensate you for the loss. I am what you call poor: my
+  income at present does not amount to much more than fifteen
+  hundred pounds; and I should not ask you to marry me if it were not
+  that your own inheritance is sufficient, as I have ascertained, to
+  provide for you in case of my early death. You know how my sister
+  is situated; how your family are likely to feel toward me on her
+  account and my own; and how impatient I am of devoting much time to
+  what is fashionably supposed to be pleasure. On the other hand, as
+  I am bidding for a consent and not for a refusal, I hope you will
+  not take my disadvantages for more, or my advantages for less, than
+  they are honestly worth. At Carbury Park you often said that you
+  would never marry; and I have said the same myself. So, as we
+  neither of us overrate the possibilities of happiness in marriage,
+  perhaps we might, if you would be a little forbearing with me,
+  succeed in proving that we have greatly underrated them. As for the
+  prudence of the step, I have seen and practised too much prudence
+  to believe that it is worth much as a rule of conduct in a world of
+  accidents. If there were a science of life as there is one of
+  mechanics, we could plan our lives scientifically and run no risks;
+  but as it is, we must--together or apart--take our chance:
+  cautiousness and recklessness divide the great stock of regrets
+  pretty equally.
+
+  "Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting you, for my
+  own good, to forfeit your present happy independence among your
+  friends, and involve your fortunes with those of a man whom you
+  have only seen on occasions when ceremony compelled him to observe
+  his best behavior. I can only excuse myself by reminding you that
+  no matter whom you marry, you must do so at the same disadvantages,
+  except as to the approval of your friends, of which the value is
+  for you to consider. That being so, why should I not profit by your
+  hazard as well as another? Besides, there are many other feelings
+  impelling me. I should like to describe them to you, and would if I
+  understood them well enough to do it accurately.
+
+  "However, nothing is further from my intention than to indite a
+  love letter; so I will return to graver questions. One, in
+  particular, must be clearly understood between us. You are too
+  earnest to consider an allusion to religious matters out of place
+  here. I do not know exactly what you believe; but I have gathered
+  from stray remarks of yours that you belong to what is called the
+  Broad Church. If so, we must to some extent agree to differ. I
+  should never interfere in any way with your liberty as far as your
+  actions concerned yourself only. But, frankly, I should not permit
+  my wife to teach my children to know Christianity in any other way
+  than that in which an educated Englishman knows Buddhism. I will
+  not go through any ceremony whatever in a church, or enter one
+  except to play the organ. I am prejudiced against religions of all
+  sorts. The Church has made itself the natural enemy of the theatre;
+  and I was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor workman
+  earning wages, when I found the Church always taking part against
+  me and my comrades with the rich who did no work. If the Church had
+  never set itself against me, perhaps I should never have set myself
+  against the Church; but what is done is done: you will find me
+  irreligious, but not, I hope, unreasonable.
+
+  "I will be at the Academy to-morrow at about four o'clock, as I do
+  not care to remain longer in suspense than is absolutely necessary;
+  but if you are not prepared to meet me then, I shall faithfully
+  help you in any effort I may perceive you make to avoid me.
+
+  "I am, dear Miss Lind,
+             "Yours sincerely,
+                  "EDWARD CONOLLY."
+
+This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the considerations set
+forth in it. She thought it a frank, strong, admirable letter, just what
+she should have hoped from her highest estimate of him. In the quaint
+earnestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate (as she
+thought) of the advantages which she might forfeit by marrying him,
+there was just enough of the workman to make them characteristic. She
+wished that she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She was
+afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep it off, occupied
+herself during the forenoon with her household duties, with some
+pianoforte practice, and such other triflings as she could persuade
+herself were necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impatient of
+further delay. She sat down in a nook behind the window curtain, and
+re-read the letter resolutely. It disappointed her a little, so she read
+it again. The third time she liked it better than the first; and she
+would have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to go to Burlington House.
+
+"It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy," said Mrs.
+Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. "I have been there at the press
+view, besides seeing all the pictures long ago in the studios. But, of
+course, I am expected to be there."
+
+"If I were in your place," said Elinor, "I----"
+
+"Last night," continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately ignoring her, "I was
+not in bed until half-past two o'clock. On the night before, I was up
+until five. On Tuesday I did not go to bed at all."
+
+"Why do you do such things?" said Marian.
+
+"My dear, I _must_. John Metcalf, the publisher, came to me on Tuesday
+at three o'clock, and said he must have an article on the mango
+experiments at Kew ready for the printer before ten next morning. For
+his paper, the _Fortnightly Naturalist_, you know. 'My dear John
+Metcalf,' I said, 'I dont know what a mango is.' 'No more do I, Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax,' said he: 'I think it's something that blooms only once
+in a hundred years. No matter what it is, you must let me have the
+article. Nobody else can do it.' I told him it was impossible. My London
+letter for the _Hari Kari_ was not even begun; and the last post to
+catch the mail to Japan was at a quarter-past six in the morning. I had
+an article to write for your father, too. And, as the sun had been
+shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. 'If you were to
+go down on your knees,' I said, 'I could not find time to read up the
+_flora_ of the West Indies and finish an article before morning.' He
+went down on his knees. 'Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax,' said he, 'I am going
+to stay here until you promise.' What could I do but promise and get rid
+of him? I did it, too: how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf told
+me yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the Society for
+Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, and the greatest living
+authority on the subject, has got the credit of having written my
+article."
+
+"How flattered he must feel!" said Elinor.
+
+"What article had you to write for papa?" said Marian.
+
+"On the electro-motor--the Conolly electro-motor. I went down to the
+City on Wednesday, and saw it working. It is most wonderful, and very
+interesting. Mr. Conolly explained it to me himself. I was able to
+follow every step that his mind has made in inventing it. I remember him
+as a common workman. He fitted the electric bell in my study four years
+ago with his own hands. You may remember that we met him at a concert
+once. He is a thorough man of business. The Company is making upward of
+fifty pounds an hour by the motor at present; and they expect their
+receipts to be a thousand a day next year. My article will be in the
+_Dynamic Statistician_ next week. Have you seen Sholto Douglas since he
+came back from the continent?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I want to see him. When you meet him next, tell him to call on me. Why
+has he not been here? Surely you are not keeping up your old quarrel?"
+
+"What old quarrel?"
+
+"I always understood that he went abroad on your account."
+
+"I never quarreled with him. Perhaps he did with me, as he has not come
+to see us since his return. It used to be so easy to offend him that his
+retirement in good temper after a visit was quite exceptional."
+
+"Come, come, my dear child! that is all nonsense. You must be kind to
+the poor fellow. Perhaps he will be at the Academy."
+
+"I hope not," said Marian, quickly.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I mean if he cherishes any grudge against me; for he will be very
+disagreeable."
+
+"A grudge against you! Ah, Marian, how little you understand him! What
+perverse creatures all you young people are! I must bring about an
+_eclaircissement_."
+
+"I advise you not to," said Elinor. "If you succeed, no one will admit
+that you have done anything; and if you fail, everybody will blame you."
+
+"But there is nothing to be _eclairci_," said Marian. We are talking
+nonsense, which is silly----"
+
+"And French, which is vulgar," interposed Miss McQuinch, delivering the
+remark like a pistol shot at Mrs. Fairfax, who had been trying to convey
+by facial expression that she pitied the folly of Elinor's advice, and
+was scandalized by her presumption in offering it. "It is time to start
+for the Academy."
+
+When they arrived at Burlington House, Mrs. Fairfax put on her gold
+rimmed spectacles, and led the way up the stairs like one having
+important business in a place to which others came for pleasure. When
+they had passed the turnstiles, Elinor halted, and said:
+
+"There is no sort of reason for our pushing through this crowd in a gang
+of three. Besides, I want to look at the pictures, and not after you to
+see which way you go. I shall meet you here at six o'clock, sharp.
+Good-bye."
+
+"What an extraordinary girl!" said Mrs. Fairfax, as Elinor opened her
+catalogue at the end, and suddenly disappeared to the right amongst the
+crowd.
+
+"She always does so," said Marian; "and I think she is quite right. Two
+people cannot make their way about as easily as one; and they never want
+to see the same pictures."
+
+"But, my dear, consider the impropriety of a young girl walking about by
+herself."
+
+"Surely there is no impropriety in it. Lots of people--all sensible
+women do it. Who can tell, in this crowd, whether you are by yourself or
+not? And what does it matter if----"
+
+Here Mrs. Fairfax's attention was diverted by the approach of one of her
+numerous acquaintances. Marian, after a moment's indecision, slipped
+away and began her tour of the rooms alone, passing quickly through the
+first in order to escape pursuit. In the second she tried to look at the
+pictures; but as she now for the first time realized that she might meet
+Conolly at any moment, doubt as to what answer she should give him
+seized her; and she felt a strong impulse to fly. The pictures were
+unintelligible to her: she kept her face turned to the inharmonious shew
+of paint and gilding only because she shrank from looking at the people
+about. Whenever she stood still, and any man approached and remained
+near her, she contemplated the wall fixedly, and did not dare to look
+round or even to stir until he moved away, lest he should be Conolly.
+When she passed from the second room to the large one, she felt as
+though she were making a tremendous plunge; and indeed the catastrophe
+occurred before she had accomplished the movement, for she came suddenly
+face to face with him in the doorway. He did not flinch: he raised his
+hat, and prepared to pass on. She involuntarily put out her hand in
+remonstrance. He took it as a gift at once; and she, confused, said
+anxiously: "We must not stand in the doorway. The people cannot pass
+us," as if her action had meant nothing more than an attempt to draw him
+out of the way. Then, perceiving the absurdity of this pretence, she was
+quite lost for a moment. When she recovered her self-possession they
+were standing together in the less thronged space near a bust of the
+Queen; and Conolly was saying:
+
+"I have been here half an hour; and I have not seen a single picture."
+
+"Nor I," she said timidly, looking down at her catalogue. "Shall we try
+to see some now?"
+
+He opened his catalogue; and they turned together toward the pictures
+and were soon discussing them sedulously, as if they wished to shut out
+the subject of the very recent crisis in their affairs, which was
+nevertheless constantly present in their minds. Marian was saluted by
+many acquaintances. At each encounter she made an effort to appear
+unconcerned, and suffered immediately afterward from a suspicion that
+the effort had defeated its own object, as such efforts often do.
+Conolly had something to say about most of the pictures: generally an
+unanswerable objection to some historical or technical inaccuracy, which
+sometimes convinced her, and always impressed her with a confiding sense
+of ignorance in herself and infallible judgment in him.
+
+"I think we have done enough for one day," she said at last. "The
+watercolors and the sculpture must wait until next time."
+
+"We had better watch for a vacant seat. You must be tired."
+
+"I am, a little. I think I should like to sit in some other room. Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax is over there with Mr. Douglas--a gentleman whom I know
+and would rather not meet just now. You saw him at Wandsworth."
+
+"Yes. That tall man? He has let his beard grow since."
+
+"That is he. Let us go to the room where the drawings are: we shall have
+a better chance of a seat there. I have not seen Sholto for two years;
+and our last meeting was rather a stormy one."
+
+"What happened?"
+
+Marian was a little hurt by being questioned. She missed the reticence
+of a gentleman. Then she reproached herself for not understanding that
+his frank curiosity was a delicate appeal to her confidence in him, and
+answered: "He proposed to me."
+
+Conolly immediately dropped the subject, and went in search of a vacant
+seat. They found one in the little room where the architects' drawings
+languish. They were silent for some time.
+
+Then he began, seriously: "Is it too soon to call you by your own name?
+'Miss Lind' is distant; but 'Marian' might shock you if it came too
+confidently without preparation."
+
+"Whichever you please."
+
+"Whichever I please!"
+
+"That is the worst of being a woman. Little speeches that are sheer
+coquetry when you analyze them, come to our lips and escape even when we
+are most anxious to be straightforward."
+
+"In the same way," said Conolly, "the most enlightened men often express
+themselves in a purely conventional manner on subjects on which they
+have the deepest convictions." This sententious utterance had the effect
+of extinguishing the conversation for some moments, Marian being unable
+to think of a worthy rejoinder. At last she said:
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Edward, or, familiarly, Ned. Commonly Ted. In America, Ed. With, of
+course, the diminutives Neddy, Teddy, and Eddy."
+
+"I think I should prefer Ned."
+
+"I prefer Ned myself."
+
+"Have you any other name?"
+
+"Yes; but it is a secret. Why people should be plagued with two
+Christian names, I do not know. No one would have believed in the motor
+if they had known that my name was Sebastian."
+
+"Sebastian!"
+
+"Hush. I was actually christened Edoardo Sebastiano Conolly. My father
+used to spell his name Conollj whilst he was out of Italy. I have
+frustrated the bounty of my godfathers by suppressing all but the
+sensible Edward Conolly."
+
+There was a pause. Then Marian spoke.
+
+"Do you intend to make our--our engagement known at once?"
+
+"I have considered the point; and as you are the person likely to be
+inconvenienced by its publication, I am bound to let you conceal it for
+the present, if you wish to. It must transpire sometime: the sooner the
+better. You will feel uncomfortably deceitful with such a secret; and as
+for me, every time your father greets me cordially in the City I shall
+feel mean. However, you can watch for your opportunity. Let me know at
+once when the cat comes out of the bag."
+
+"I will. I think, as you say, the right course is to tell at once."
+
+"Undoubtedly. But from the moment you do so until we are married you
+will be worried by remonstrances, entreaties, threats, and what not; so
+that we cannot possibly make that interval too short."
+
+"We must take Nelly into our confidence. You will not object to that?"
+
+"Certainly not. I like Miss McQuinch."
+
+"You really do! Oh, I am so glad. Well, we are accustomed to go about
+together, especially to picture galleries. We can come to the Academy as
+often as we like; and you can come as often as you like, can you not?"
+
+"Opening day, for instance."
+
+"Yes, if you wish."
+
+"Let us say between half-past four and five, then. I would willingly be
+here when the doors open in the morning; but my business will not do
+itself while I am philandering and making you tired of me before your
+time. The consciousness of having done a day's work is necessary to my
+complete happiness."
+
+"I, too, have my day's work to do, silly as it is. I have to housekeep,
+to receive visitors, to write notes about nothing, and to think of the
+future. We can say half-past four or any later hour that may suit you."
+
+"Agreed. And now, Marian----"
+
+"Dont let me disturb you," said Miss McQuinch, at his elbow, to Marian;
+"but Mrs. Leith Fairfax will be here with Sholto Douglas presently; and
+I thought you might like to have an opportunity of avoiding him. How do
+you do, Mr. Conolly?"
+
+"I must see him sooner or later," said Marian, rising. "Better face him
+at once and get it over. I will go back by myself and meet them." Then,
+with a smile at Conolly, she went out through the door leading to the
+water-color gallery.
+
+"Marian does not stand on much ceremony with you, Mr. Conolly," said
+Miss McQuinch, glancing at him.
+
+"No," said Conolly. "Do you think you could face the Academy again on
+Monday at half-past four?"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Miss Lind is coming to meet me here at that hour."
+
+"Marian!"
+
+"Precisely. Marian. She has promised to marry me. At present it is a
+secret. But it was to be mentioned to you."
+
+"It will not be a secret very long if you allow people to overhear you
+calling her by her Christian name in the middle of the Academy, as you
+did me just now," said Elinor, privately much taken aback, but resolute
+not to appear so.
+
+"Did you overhear us? I should have been more careful. You do not seem
+surprised."
+
+"Just a little, at your audacity. Not in the least at Marian's
+consenting."
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"I did not mean it in that way at all," said Elinor resentfully. "I
+think you have been very fortunate, as I suppose you would have married
+somebody in any case. I believe you are able to appreciate her. That's a
+compliment."
+
+"Yes. I hope I deserve it. Do you think you will ever forgive me for
+supplanting the hero Marian deserves?"
+
+"If you had let your chance of her slip, I should have despised you, I
+think: at least, I should if you had missed it with your eyes open. I am
+so far prejudiced in your favor that I think Marian would not like you
+unless you were good. I have known her to pity people who deserved to be
+strangled; but I never knew her to be attracted by any unworthy person
+except myself; and even I have my good points. You need not trouble
+yourself to agree with me: you could not do less, in common politeness.
+As I am rather tired, I shall go and sit in the vestibule until the
+others are ready to go home. In the meantime you can tell me all the
+particulars you care to trust me with. Marian will tell me the rest when
+we go home."
+
+"That is an undeserved stab," said Conolly.
+
+"Never mind: I am always stabbing people. I suppose I like it," she
+added, as they went together to the vestibule.
+
+Meanwhile, Mrs. Leith Fairfax had not been wasting her time. She had
+come upon Douglas in the large room, and had recognized him by his
+stature and proud bearing, in spite of the handsome Assyrian beard he
+had allowed to grow during his stay abroad.
+
+"I have been very anxious to see you," said she, forcing a conversation
+upon him, though he had saluted her formally, and had evidently intended
+to pass on without speaking. "If your time were not too valuable to be
+devoted to a poor hard-working woman, I should have asked you to call on
+me. Dont deprecate my forbearance. You are Somebody in the literary
+world now."
+
+"Indeed? I was not aware that I had done anything to raise me from
+obscurity."
+
+"I assure you you are very much mistaken, or else very modest. Has no
+one told you about the effect your book produced here?"
+
+"I know nothing of it, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I never enquire after the
+effect of my work. I have lived in comparative seclusion; and I scarcely
+know what collection of fugitive notes of mine you honor by describing
+as a book."
+
+"I mean your 'Note on three pictures in last year's _Salon_,' with the
+sonnets, and the fragment from your unfinished drama. Is it finished,
+may I ask?"
+
+"It is not finished. I shall never finish it now."
+
+"I will tell you--between ourselves--that I heard one of the foremost
+critics of the age say, in the presence of a great poet (whom we both
+know), that it was such another fragment as the Venus of Milo, 'whose
+lost arms,' said he, 'we should fear to see, lest they should be
+unworthy of her.' 'You are right,' said the poet: 'I, for one, should
+shudder to see the fragment completed.' That is a positive fact. But
+look at some of the sonnets! Burgraves says that his collection of
+English sonnets is incomplete because it does not contain your
+'Clytemnestra,' which he had not seen when his book went to press. You
+stand in the very forefront of literature--far higher than I, who
+am--dont tell anybody--five years older than you."
+
+"You are very good. I do not value any distinction of the sort. I write
+sometimes because, I suppose, the things that are in me must come out,
+whether I will or not. Let us talk of something else. You are quite well
+I hope?"
+
+"Very far from it. I am never well; but since I never have a moment's
+rest from work, I must bear with it. People expect me to think, when I
+have hardly time to eat."
+
+"If you have no time to think, I envy you. But I am truly sorry that
+your health remains so bad."
+
+"Thank you. But what is the cause of all this gloomy cynicism, Mr.
+Douglas? Why should you, who are young, distinguished, gifted, and
+already famous, envy me for having no leisure to think?"
+
+"You exaggerate the sadness of my unfortunate insensibility to the
+admiration of the crowd," said Douglas, coldly. "I am, nevertheless,
+flattered by the interest you take in my affairs."
+
+"You need not be, Mr. Douglas," said Mrs. Fairfax, earnestly, fearing
+that he would presently succeed in rebuffing her. "I think you are much
+better off than you deserve. You may despise your reputation as much as
+you like: that only affects yourself. But when a beautiful girl pays you
+the compliment of almost dying of love for you, I think you ought to buy
+a wedding-ring and jump for joy, instead of sulking in remote corners of
+the continent."
+
+"And pray, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, what lady has so honored me?"
+
+"You must know, unless you are blind."
+
+"Pardon me. I do not habitually imply what is not the case. I beg you to
+believe that I do _not_ know."
+
+"Not know! What moles men are! Poor Marian!"
+
+"Oblige me by taking this seat," said Douglas, sternly, pointing to one
+just vacated. "I shall not detain you many minutes," he added, sitting
+down beside her. "May I understand that Miss Lind is the lady of whom
+you spoke just now?"
+
+"Yes. Remember that I am speaking to you as a friend, and that I trust
+to you not to mention the effort I am making to clear up the
+misunderstanding which causes her so much unhappiness."
+
+"Are you then in Miss Lind's confidence? Did she ask you to tell me
+this?"
+
+"What do you mean, Mr. Douglas?"
+
+"I am quite innocent of any desire to shock or offend you, Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax. Does your question imply a negative?"
+
+"Most certainly. Marian ask me to tell! you must be dreaming. Do you
+think, even if Marian were capable of making an advance, that _I_ would
+consent to act as a go-between? Really, Mr. Douglas!"
+
+"I confess I do not understand these matters; and you must bear with my
+ineptitude. If Miss Lind entertains any sentiment for me but one of
+mistrust and aversion, her behavior is singularly misleading."
+
+"Mistrust! Aversion! I tell you she is in love with you."
+
+"But you have not, you admit, her authority for saying so, whereas I
+_have_ her authority for the contrary."
+
+"You do not understand girls. You are mistaken."
+
+"Possibly; but you must pardon me if I hesitate to set aside my own
+judgment in deference to your low estimate of it."
+
+"Very well," said Mrs. Fairfax, her patience yielding a little to his
+persistent stiffness: "be it so. Many men would be glad to beg what you
+will not be bribed to accept."
+
+"No doubt. I trust that when they so humble themselves they may not
+encounter a flippant repulse."
+
+"If they do, it will spring from her unmerited regard for you."
+
+He bowed slightly, and turned away, arranging his gloves as if about to
+rise.
+
+"Pray what is that large picture which is skied over there to the
+right?" said Mrs. Fairfax, after a pause, during which she had feigned
+to examine her catalogue. "I cannot see the number at this distance."
+
+"Do you defend her conduct on the ground of that senseless and cruel
+caprice which your sex seem to consider becoming to them; or has she
+changed her mind in my absence?"
+
+"Oh! you are talking of Marian. I do not know what you have to complain
+of in her conduct. Mind, she has never breathed a word to me on the
+subject. I am quite ignorant of the details of your difference with her.
+But she has confessed to me that she is very sorry for what passed--I am
+abusing her confidence by telling you so--and I am a woman, with eyes
+and brains, and know what the poor girl feels well enough. I will tell
+you nothing more: I have no right to; and Marian would be indignant if
+she knew how much I have said already. But I know what I should do were
+I in your place."
+
+"Expose myself to another refusal, perhaps?"
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, learning now for the first time that he had actually
+proposed to Marian, looked at him for some moments in silence with a
+smile which was assumed to cover her surprise. He thought it expressed
+incredulity at the idea of his being refused again.
+
+"Are you sure?" he began, speaking courteously to her for the first
+time. "May I rely upon the accuracy of your impressions on this subject?
+I know you are incapable of trifling in a matter which might expose me
+to humiliation; but can you give me any guarantee--any--"
+
+"Certainly not, Mr. Douglas. I am really sorry that I cannot give you a
+written undertaking that your suit shall succeed: perhaps that might
+encourage you to brave the scorn of a poor child who adores you. But if
+you need so much encouragement, I fear you do not greatly relish the
+prospect of success. Doubtless it has already struck her that since you
+found absence from her very bearable for two years, and have avoided
+meeting her on your return, her society cannot be very important to your
+happiness."
+
+"But it was her own fault. If she accuses me of having gone away to
+enjoy myself, her thoughts are a bitter sarcasm on the truth."
+
+"Granted that it was her own fault, if you please. But surely you have
+punished her enough by your long seclusion, and can afford to shew a
+tardy magnanimity by this time. There she is, I think, just come in at
+the door on the left. My sight is so wretched. Is it not she?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then let us get up and speak to her. Come."
+
+"You must excuse me, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I have distinctly given her my
+word that I will not intrude upon her again."
+
+"Dont be so foolish."
+
+Douglas's face clouded. "You are privileged to say so," he said.
+
+"Not at all," said Mrs. Fairfax, frightened. "But when I think of
+Marian, I feel like an old woman, and venture to remonstrate with all
+the presumption of age. I beg your pardon."
+
+He bowed. Then Marian joined them, and Mrs. Fairfax again gave tongue.
+
+"Where have you been?" she cried. "You vanished from my side like a
+sprite. I have been searching for you ever since."
+
+"I have been looking at the pictures, of course. I am so glad you have
+come back, Sholto. I think you might have made time to pay us a visit
+before this. You look so strong and well! Your beard is a great
+improvement. Have you met Nelly?"
+
+"I think we saw her at some distance," said Douglas. "I have not been
+speaking to her."
+
+"How did you enjoy yourself while you were away?"
+
+"As best I could."
+
+"You look as if you had succeeded very fairly. What o'clock is it?
+Remember that we have to meet Nelly at the turnstiles at six."
+
+"It is five minutes to six now, Miss Lind."
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Douglas. We had better go, I think."
+
+As they left the room, Mrs. Fairfax purposely lingered behind them.
+
+"Am I right in concluding that you are as frivolous as ever, Marian?"
+he said.
+
+"Quite," she replied. "To-day especially so. I am very happy to-day."
+
+"May I ask why?"
+
+"Something has happened. I will tell you what it is some day perhaps,
+but not now. Something that realizes a romantic dream of mine. The dream
+has been hovering vaguely about me for nearly two years; but I never
+ventured to teach myself exactly what it was until to-day."
+
+"Realized here? in the Academy?"
+
+"It was foreshadowed--promised, at home this morning; but it was
+realized here."
+
+"Did you know beforehand that I was coming?"
+
+"Not until to-day. Mrs. Leith Fairfax said that you would most likely be
+here."
+
+"And you are happy?"
+
+"So much so that I cannot help talking about my happiness to you, who
+are the very last person--as you will admit when everything is
+explained--to whom I should unlock my lips on the subject."
+
+"And why? Am I not interested in your happiness?"
+
+"I suppose so. I hope so. But when you learn the truth, you will be more
+astonished than gratified."
+
+"I dare swear that you are mistaken. Is this dream of yours an affair of
+the heart?"
+
+"Now you are beginning to ask questions."
+
+"Well, I will ask no more at present. But if you fear that my long
+absence has rendered me indifferent in the least degree to your
+happiness, you do me a great injustice."
+
+"Well, you were not in a very good humor with me when you went away."
+
+"I will forget that if you wish me to."
+
+"I do wish you to forget it. And you forgive me?"
+
+"Most assuredly."
+
+"Then we are the best friends in the world again. This is a great deal
+better than meeting and pretending to ignore the very thing of which our
+minds are full. You will not delay visiting us any longer now, I hope."
+
+"I will call on your father to-morrow morning. May I?"
+
+"He is out of town until Monday. He will be delighted to see you then.
+He has been talking to me about you a great deal of late. But if you
+want to see him in the morning you had better go to the club. I will
+write to him to-night if you like; so that he can write to you and make
+an appointment."
+
+"Do. Ah, Marian, instinct is better and truer than intellect. I have
+been for two years trying to believe all kinds of evil of you; and yet I
+knew all the time that you were an angel."
+
+Marian laughed. "I suppose that under our good understanding I must let
+you say pretty things to me. You must write me a sonnet before your
+enthusiasm evaporates. I am sure I deserve it as well as Clytemnestra."
+
+"I will. But I fear I shall tear it up for its unworthiness afterward."
+
+"Dont: I am not a critic. Talking of critics, where has Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax gone to? Oh, there she is!"
+
+Mrs. Fairfax came up when she saw Marian look round for her. "My dear,"
+she said: "it is past six. We must go. Elinor may be waiting for us."
+
+They found Elinor seated in the vestibule with Conolly, at whom Mrs.
+Fairfax plunged, full of words. Conolly and Douglas, introduced to one
+another by Marian, gravely raised their hats. When they had descended
+the stairs, they stood in a group near one of the doors whilst Conolly
+went aside to get their umbrellas. Just then Marmaduke Lind entered the
+building, and halted in surprise at finding himself among so many
+acquaintances.
+
+"Hallo!" he cried, seizing Douglas's hand, and attracting the attention
+of the bystanders by his boisterous tone. "Here you are again, old man!
+Delighted to see you. Didnt spot you at first, in the beard. George told
+me you were back. I met your mother in Knightsbridge last Thursday; but
+she pretended not to see me. How have you enjoyed yourself abroad, eh?
+Very much in the old style, I suppose?"
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas. "I trust your people are quite well."
+
+"Hang me if I know!" said Marmaduke. "I have not troubled them much of
+late. How d'ye do, Mrs. Leith Fairfax? How are all the celebrities?"
+Mrs. Fairfax bowed coldly.
+
+"Dont roar so, Marmaduke," said Marian. "Everybody is looking at you."
+
+"Everybody is welcome," said Marmaduke, loudly. "Douglas: you must come
+and see me. By Jove, now that I think of it, come and see me, all of
+you. I am by myself on week-nights from six to twelve; and I should
+enjoy a housewarming. If Mrs. Leith Fairfax comes, it will be all proper
+and right. Let us have a regular party."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax looked indignantly at him. Elinor looked round anxiously
+for Conolly. Marian, struck with the same fear, moved toward the door.
+
+"Here, Marmaduke," she said, offering him her hand. "Good-bye. You are
+in one of your outrageous humors this afternoon."
+
+"What am I doing?" he replied. "I am behaving myself perfectly. Let us
+settle about the party before we go."
+
+"Good evening, Mr. Lind," said Conolly, coming up to them with the
+umbrellas. "This is yours, I think, Mrs. Leith Fairfax."
+
+"Good evening," said Marmaduke, subsiding. "I----Well, you are all off,
+are you?"
+
+"Quite time for us, I think," said Elinor. "Good-bye."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, with a second and more distant bow, passed out with
+Conolly and Douglas. Elinor waited a moment to whisper to Marmaduke.
+
+"First rate," said Marmaduke, in reply to the whisper; "and beginning to
+talk like one o'clock. Oh yes, I tell you!" He shook Elinor's hand at
+such length in his gratitude for the inquiry that she was much relieved
+when a servant in livery interrupted him.
+
+"Missus wants to speak to you, sir, afore she goes," said the man.
+
+Elinor shook her head at Marmaduke, and hurried away to rejoin the rest
+outside. As they went through the courtyard, they passed an open
+carriage, in which reclined a pretty woman with dark eyes and delicate
+artificial complexion. Her beauty and the elegance of her dress
+attracted their attention. Suddenly Marian became aware that Conolly was
+watching her as she looked at the woman in the carriage. She was about
+to say something, when, to her bewilderment, Elinor nudged her. Then she
+understood too, and looked solemnly at Susanna. Susanna, observing her,
+stared insolently in return, and Marian averted her head like a guilty
+person and hurried on. Conolly saw it all, and did not speak until they
+rejoined Mrs. Fairfax and Douglas in Piccadilly.
+
+"How do you propose to go home?" said Douglas.
+
+"Walk to St. James's Street, where the carriage is waiting at the club;
+take Uncle Reginald with us; and drive home through the park," said
+Elinor.
+
+"I will come with you as far as the club, if you will allow me," said
+Douglas.
+
+Conolly then took leave of them, and stood still until they disappeared,
+when he returned to the courtyard, and went up to his sister's carriage.
+
+"Well, Susanna," said he. "How are you?"
+
+"Oh, there's nothing the matter with me," she replied carelessly, her
+eyes filling with tears, nevertheless.
+
+"I hear that I have been an uncle for some time past."
+
+"Yes, on the wrong side of the blanket."
+
+"What is its name?" he said more gravely.
+
+"Lucy."
+
+"Is it quite well?"
+
+"I suppose not. According to Nurse, it is always ill."
+
+Conolly shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into the cynical manner in
+which he had used to talk with his sister. "Tired of it already?" he
+said. "Poor little wretch!"
+
+"It is very well off," she retorted, angrily: "a precious deal better
+than I was at its age. It gets petting enough from its father, heaven
+knows! He has nothing else to do. I have to work."
+
+"You have it all your own way at the theatre now, I suppose. You are
+quite famous."
+
+"Yes," she said, bitterly. "We are both celebrities. Rather different
+from old times."
+
+"We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. However, let us
+hope all that is over now."
+
+"Who were those women who were with you a minute ago?"
+
+"Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss McQuinch."
+
+"I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, she hasnt an idea to
+bless herself with. The other looks more of a devil. Now that you are a
+great man, why dont you marry a swell?"
+
+"I intend to do so."
+
+"The Lord help her then!"
+
+"Amen. Good-bye."
+
+"Oh, good-bye. Go on to Soho," she added, to the coachman, settling
+herself fretfully on the cushions.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+On Monday morning Douglas received a note inviting him to lunch at Mr.
+Lind's club. He had spent the greater part of the previous night
+composing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his pocket to St.
+James's Street. Mr. Lind received him cordially; listened to an account
+of his recent stay abroad; and described his own continental excursions,
+both gentlemen expressing great interest at such coincidences as their
+having put up at the same hotel or travelled by the same line of
+railway. When luncheon was over, Mr. Lind proposed that they should
+retire to the smoking-room.
+
+"I should like to have a few words with you first, as we are alone
+here," said Douglas.
+
+"Certainly," said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity in anticipation of
+being appealed to as a parent. "Certainly, Sholto."
+
+"What I have to say, coming so soon after my long absence, will probably
+surprise you. I had it in contemplation before my departure, and was
+only prevented from broaching it to you then by circumstances which have
+happily since lost their significance. When I tell you that my
+communication has reference to Marian, you will perhaps guess its
+nature."
+
+"Indeed!" said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. "Well, Sholto, if it be so,
+you have my heartiest approval. You know what a lonely life her marriage
+will entail on me; so you will not expect me to consent without a few
+regrets. But I could not desire a better settlement for her. She must
+leave me some day. I have no right to complain."
+
+"We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is in Marian's nature
+to form many ties, but to break none."
+
+"She is an amiable girl, my--my darling child. Does she know anything of
+this?"
+
+"I am here at her express request; and there remains to me the pleasure
+of getting her own final consent, which I would not press for until
+armed with your sanction."
+
+Except for an involuntary hitch of his eyelids, Mr. Lind looked as
+if he believed perfectly in Douglas's respect for his parental claims.
+"Quite right," he said, "quite right. You have my best wishes. I have
+no doubt you will succeed: none. There are, of course, a few
+affairs to be settled--a few contingencies to be provided
+for--children--accidents--and so forth. No difficulty is likely to arise
+between us on that score; but still, these things have to be arranged."
+
+"I propose a very simple method of arranging them. You are a man of
+honor, and more conversant with business than I. Give me your
+instructions. My lawyer shall have them within half an hour."
+
+"That is said like a gentleman and a Douglas, Sholto. But I must
+consider before giving you an answer. You have thrown upon me the duty
+of studying your position as well as Marian's; and I must neither abuse
+your generosity nor neglect her interest."
+
+"You will, nevertheless, allow me to consider the conditions as settled,
+since I leave them entirely in your hands."
+
+"My own means have been seriously crippled by the extravagance of
+Reginald. Indeed both my boys have cost me much money. I had not, like
+you, the good fortune to be an only son. I was the fourth son of a
+younger son: there was very little left for me. I will treat Marian as
+liberally as I can; but I fear I cannot do anything for her that will
+bear comparison with your munificence."
+
+"Surely I can give her enough. I should prefer to be solely responsible
+for her welfare."
+
+"Oh no. That would be too bad. Oh no, Sholto: I will give her something,
+please God."
+
+"As you wish, Mr. Lind. We can arrange it to your satisfaction
+afterward. Do you intend returning to Westbourne Terrace soon?"
+
+"I am afraid not. I have to go into the City. If you would care to come
+with me, I can shew you the Company's place there, and the working of
+the motor. It is well worth seeing. Then you can return with me to the
+Terrace and dine with us. After dinner you can talk to Marian."
+
+Douglas consented; and they went to Queen Victoria Street, to a building
+which had on each doorpost a brass shield inscribed THE CONOLLY
+ELECTRO-MOTOR COMPANY OF LONDON, LIMITED. At the offices, on the first
+floor, they were received obsequiously and informed that Mr. Conolly was
+within. They then went to a door on which appeared the name of the
+inventor, and entered a handsomely furnished office containing several
+working models of machinery, and a writing-table, from his seat at which
+Conolly rose to salute his visitors.
+
+"Good evening, Mr. Lind. How do you do, Mr. Douglas?"
+
+"Oh!" said Mr. Lind. "You two are acquainted. I did not know that."
+
+"Yes," said Conolly, "I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Douglas at the
+Academy yesterday evening."
+
+"Indeed? Marian did not mention that you were there. Well, can we see
+the wonders of the place, Mr. Conolly; or do we disturb you?"
+
+"Not at all," replied Conolly, turning to one of the models, and
+beginning his showman's lecture with disquieting promptitude. "Hitherto,
+as you are no doubt aware, Mr. Douglas, steam has kept electricity, as a
+motive power, out of the field; because it is much less expensive. Even
+induced magnetic currents, the cheapest known form of electric energy,
+can be obtained only by the use of steam power. You generate steam by
+the combustion of coal: electricity, without steam, can only be
+generated by the combustion of metals. Coal is much cheaper than metal:
+consider the vast amount of coal consumed in smelting metals. Still,
+electricity is a much greater force than steam: it's stronger, so to
+speak. Sixpennorth of electricity would do more work than sixpennorth of
+steam if only you could catch it and hold it without waste. Up to the
+present the waste has been so enormous in electric engines as compared
+with steam engines that steam has held its own in spite of its inferior
+strength. What I have invented is, to put it shortly, an electric engine
+in which there is hardly any waste; and we can now pump water, turn
+mill-stones, draw railway trains, and lift elevators, at a saving, in
+fuel and labor, of nearly seventy per cent, of the cost of steam. And,"
+added Conolly, glancing at Douglas, "as a motor of six-horsepower can be
+made to weigh less than thirty pounds, including fuel, flying is now
+perfectly feasible."
+
+"What!" said Douglas, incredulously. "Does not all trustworthy evidence
+prove that flying is a dream?"
+
+"So it did; because a combination of great power with little weight,
+such as an eagle, for instance, possesses, could not formerly be
+realized in a machine. The lightest known four-horse-power steam engine
+weighs nearly fifty pounds. With my motor, a machine weighing thirty
+pounds will give rather more than six-horse-power, or, in other words,
+will produce a wing power competent to overcome much more than its own
+gravity. If the Aeronautical Society does not, within the next few
+years, make a machine capable of carrying passengers through the air to
+New York in less than two days, I will make one myself."
+
+"Very wonderful, indeed," said Douglas, politely, looking askance at
+him.
+
+"No more wonderful than the flight of a sparrow, I assure you. We shall
+presently be conveyed to the top of this building by my motor. Here you
+have a model locomotive, a model steam hammer, and a sewing machine: all
+of which, as you see, I can set to work. However, this is mere show. You
+must always bear in mind that the novelty is not in the working of these
+machines, but the smallness of the cost of working."
+
+Douglas endured the rest of the exhibition in silence, understanding
+none of the contrivances until they were explained, and not always
+understanding them even then. It was disagreeable to be instructed by
+Conolly--to feel that there were matters of which Conolly knew
+everything and he nothing. If he could have but shaped a pertinent
+question or two, enough to prove that he was quite capable of the
+subject if he chose to turn his attention to it, he could have accepted
+Conolly's information on the machinery as indifferently as that of a
+policeman on the shortest way to some place that it was no part of a
+gentleman's routine to frequent. As it was, he took refuge in his
+habitual reserve, and, lest the exhibition should be prolonged on his
+account, took care to shew no more interest in it than was barely
+necessary to satisfy Mr. Lind. At last it was over; and they returned
+westward together in a hansom.
+
+"He is a Yankee, I suppose,'" said Douglas, as if ingenuity were a low
+habit that must be tolerated in an American.
+
+"Yes. They are a wonderful people for that sort of thing. Curious turn
+of mind the mechanical instinct is!"
+
+"It is one with which I have no sympathy. It is generally subject to the
+delusion that it has a monopoly of utility. Your mechanic hates art;
+pelts it with lumps of iron; and strives to extinguish it beneath all
+the hard and ugly facts of existence. On the other hand, your artist
+instinctively hates machinery. I fear I am an artist."
+
+"I dont think you are quite right there, Sholto. No. Look at the steam
+engine, the electric telegraph, the--the other inventions of the
+century. How could we get on without them?"
+
+"Quite as well as Athens got on without them. Our mechanical
+contrivances seem to serve us; but they are really mastering us,
+crowding and crushing the beauty out of our lives, and making commerce
+the only god."
+
+"I certainly admit that the coarser forms of Radicalism have made
+alarming strides under the influence of our modern civilization. But the
+convenience of steam conveyance is so remarkable that I doubt if we
+could now dispense with it. Nor, as a consistent Liberal, a moderate
+Liberal, do I care to advocate any retrogression, even in the direction
+of ancient Greece."
+
+Douglas was seized with a certain impatience of Mr. Lind, as of a
+well-mannered man who had never learned anything, and had forgotten all
+that he had been taught. He did not attempt to argue, but merely said,
+coldly: "I can only say that I wish Fate had made me an Athenian instead
+of an Englishman of the nineteenth century."
+
+Mr. Lind smiled complacently: he knew Douglas, if not Athens, better,
+but was in too tolerant a humor to say so. Little more passed between
+the two until they reached Westbourne Terrace, where Marian and her
+cousin were dressing for dinner. When Marian came down, her beauty so
+affected Douglas that his voice was low and his manner troubled as he
+greeted her. He took her in to dinner, and sat in silence beside her,
+heedless alike of his host's commonplaces and Miss McQuinch's
+acridities.
+
+Mr. Lind unceremoniously took a nap after his wine that evening, and
+allowed his guest to go upstairs alone. Douglas hoped that Elinor would
+be equally considerate, but, to his disappointment, he found her by
+herself in the drawing-room. She hastened to explain.
+
+"Marian is looking for some music. She will be back directly."
+
+He sat down and took an album from the table, saying: "Have you many new
+faces here?"
+
+"Yes. But we never discard old faces for new ones. It is the old ones
+that are really interesting."
+
+"I have not seen this one of Mr. Lind before. It is capital. Ah! this of
+you is an old friend."
+
+"Yes. What do you think of the one of Constance on the opposite page?"
+
+"She looks as if she were trying to be as lugubrious as possible. What
+dress is that? Is it a uniform?"
+
+"Yes. She joined a nursing guild. Didnt Mrs. Douglas tell you?"
+
+"I believe so. I forgot. She went into a cottage hospital or something
+of that kind, did she not?"
+
+"She left it because one of the doctors offended her. He was rather
+dreadful. He said that in two months she had contributed more to the
+mortality among the patients than he had in two years, and told her
+flatly that she had been trained for the drawing-room and ought to stay
+there. She was glad enough to have an excuse for leaving; for she was
+heartily sick of making a fool of herself."
+
+"Indeed! Where is she now?"
+
+"Back at Towers Cottage, moping, I suppose. That's Mr. Conolly the
+inventor, there under Jasper."
+
+"So I perceive. Clever head, rather! A plain, hard nature, with no
+depths in it. Is that his wife, with the Swiss bonnet?"
+
+"His wife! Why, that is a Swiss girl, the daughter of a guide at
+Chamounix, who nursed Marian when she sprained her ankle. Mr. Conolly is
+not married."
+
+"I thought men of his stamp always married early."
+
+"No. He is engaged, and engaged to a lady of very good position."
+
+"He owes that to the diseased craving of modern women for notoriety of
+any sort. What an admirable photograph of Marian! I never saw it before.
+It is really most charming. When was it taken?"
+
+"Last August, at Geneva. She does not like it--thinks it too
+coquettish."
+
+"Then perhaps she will give it to me."
+
+"She will be only too glad, I daresay. You have caught her at a soft
+moment to-night."
+
+"I cannot find that duet anywhere," said Marian, entering. "What! up
+already, Sholto? Where is papa?"
+
+"I left him asleep in the dining-room. I have just been asking Miss
+McQuinch whether she thought you would give me a copy of this carte."
+
+"That Geneva one. It is most annoying how people persist in admiring it.
+It always looks to me as if it belonged to an assortment of popular
+beauties at one shilling each. I dont think I have another. But you may
+take that if you wish."
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, drawing it from the book.
+
+"I think you have a copy of every photograph I have had taken in my
+life," she said, sitting down near him, and taking the album. "I have
+several of yours, too. You must get one taken soon for me; I have not
+got you with your beard yet. I have a little album upstairs which Aunt
+Dora gave me on my eighth birthday; and the first picture in it is you,
+dressed in flannels, holding a bat, and looking very stern as captain of
+your eleven at Eton. I used to stand in great awe of you then. Do you
+remember telling me once that 'Zanoni' was a splendid book, and that I
+ought to read it?"
+
+"Pshaw! No. I must have been a young fool. But it seems that I had the
+grace even then to desire your sympathy."
+
+"I assure you I read it most reverently down in Wiltshire, where Nelly
+kept a select library of fiction concealed underneath her mattress; and
+I believed every word of it. Nelly and I agreed that you were exactly
+like Zanoni; but she was hardly to blame; for she had never seen you."
+
+"Things like that make deep impressions on children," said Elinor,
+thoughtfully. "You were a Zanoni in my imagination for years before I
+saw you. When we first met you treated me insufferably. If you had known
+how my childish fancy had predisposed me to worship you, you might have
+vouchsafed me some more consideration, and I might have gone on
+believing you a demigod to the end of the chapter. I have hardly
+forgiven you yet for disenchanting me."
+
+"I am sorry," said Douglas sarcastically. "I must have been sadly
+lacking in impressiveness. But on the other hand I recollect that you
+did not disappoint me in the least. You fully bore out the expectations
+I had been led to form of you."
+
+"I have no doubt I did," said Elinor. "Yet I protest that my reputation
+was as unjust as yours. However, I have outlived my sensitiveness to
+this injustice, and have even contracted a bad habit of pretending to
+act up to it occasionally before foolish people. Marian: are you sure
+that duet is not on the sofa in my room?"
+
+"Oh, the sofa! I looked only in the green case."
+
+"I will go and hunt it out myself. Excuse me for a few minutes."
+
+Douglas was glad to see her go. Yet he was confused when he was alone
+with Marian. He strolled to the window, outside which the roof of the
+porch had been converted into a summer retreat by a tent of pink-striped
+canvass. "The tent is up already," he said. "I noticed it as we came
+in."
+
+"Yes. Would you prefer to sit there? We can carry out this little
+table, and put the lamp on it. There is just room for three chairs."
+
+"We need not crowd ourselves with the table," he said. "There will be
+light enough. We only want to talk."
+
+"Very well," said Marian, rising. "Will you give me that woolen thing
+that is on the sofa? It will do me for a shawl." He placed it on her
+shoulders, and they went out.
+
+"I will sit in this corner," said Marian. "You are too big for the
+campstool. You had better bring a chair. I am fond of sitting here. When
+the crimson shade is on the lamp, and papa asleep in its roseate glow,
+the view is quite romantic: there is something ecstatically snug in
+hiding here and watching it." Douglas smiled, and seated himself as she
+suggested, near her, with his shoulder against the stone balustrade.
+
+"Marian," said he, after a pause: "you remember what passed between us
+at the Academy yesterday?"
+
+"You mean our solemn league and covenant. Yes."
+
+"Why did we not make that covenant before? Life is not so long, nor
+happiness so common, that we can afford to trifle away two years of it.
+I wish you had told me when I last came here of that old photograph of
+mine in your album."
+
+"But this is not a new covenant. It is only an old one mended. We were
+always good friends until you quarrelled and ran away."
+
+"That was not my fault, Marian."
+
+"Then it must have been mine. However, it does not matter now."
+
+"You are right. Prometheus is unbound now; and his despair is only a
+memory sanctifying his present happiness. You know why I called on your
+father this morning?"
+
+"It was to see the electro-motor in the city, was it not?"
+
+"Good Heavens, Marian!" he said, rising, "what spirit of woman or spirit
+of mischief tempts you to coquet with me even now?"
+
+"I really thought that was the reason--besides, of course, your desire
+to make papa amends for not having been to see him sooner after your
+return."
+
+"Marian!" he said, still remonstrantly.
+
+She looked at him with sudden dread, and instinctively recognized the
+expression in his face.
+
+"You know as well as I," he continued, "that I went to seek his consent
+to our solemn league and covenant, as you call it. If that covenant were
+written on your heart as it is on mine, you would not inflict on me this
+pretty petty torture. Your father has consented: he is delighted. Now
+may I make a guess at that happy secret you told me of yesterday, and
+promised I should know one day?"
+
+"Stop! Wait," said Marian, very pale. "I must tell you that secret
+myself."
+
+"Hush. Do not be so moved. Remember that your confession is to be
+whispered to me alone."
+
+"Dont talk like that. It is all a mistake. My secret has nothing to do
+with you." Douglas drew back a little way.
+
+"I am engaged to be married."
+
+"What do you mean?" he said sternly, advancing a step and looking down
+menacingly at her with his hand on the back of his chair.
+
+"I have said what I mean," replied Marian with dignity. But she rose
+quickly as soon as she had spoken, and got past him into the
+drawing-room. He followed her; and she turned and faced him in the
+middle of the room, paler than before.
+
+"You are engaged to _me_," he said.
+
+"I am not," she replied.
+
+"That is a lie!" he exclaimed, struggling in his rage to break through
+the strong habit of self-control. "It is a damnable lie; but it is the
+most cruel way of getting rid of me, and therefore the one most
+congenial to your heartlessness."
+
+"Sholto," said Marian, her cheeks beginning to redden: "you should not
+speak to me like that."
+
+"I say," he cried fiercely, "that it is a lie!"
+
+"Whats the matter?" said Elinor, coming hastily into the room.
+
+"Sholto has lost his temper," said Marian, firmly, her indignation
+getting the better of her fear now that she was no longer alone with
+him.
+
+"It is a lie," repeated Douglas, unable to shape a new sentence. Elinor
+and Marian looked at one another in perplexity. Then Mr. Lind entered.
+
+"Gently, pray," said he. "You can be heard all through the house.
+Marian: what is the matter?"
+
+She did not answer; but Douglas succeeded, after a few efforts, in
+speaking intelligibly. "Your daughter," he said, "with the assistance of
+her friend Mrs. Leith Fairfax, and a sufficient degree of direct
+assurance on her own part, has achieved the triumph of bringing me to
+her feet a second time, after I had unfortunately wounded her vanity by
+breaking her chains for two years."
+
+"That is utterly false," interrupted Marian, with excitement.
+
+"I say," said Douglas, in a deeper tone and with a more determined
+manner, "that she set Mrs. Leith Fairfax on me with a tale of love and
+regret for my absence. She herself with her own lips deliberately
+invited me to seek your consent to our union. She caused you to write me
+the invitation I received from you this morning. She told me that my
+return realized a dream that had been haunting her for two years. She
+begged me to forgive her the past, and to write her a sonnet, of which
+she said she was at least more worthy than Clytemnestra, and of which I
+say she is at best less worthy than Cressida." He took a paper from his
+pocket as he spoke; and, with a theatrical gesture, tore it into
+fragments.
+
+"This is very extraordinary," said Mr. Lind irresolutely. "Is it some
+foolish quarrel, or what is the matter? Pray let us have no more
+unpleasantness."
+
+"You need fear none from me," said Douglas. "I do not propose to
+continue my acquaintance with Miss Lind."
+
+"Mr. Douglas has proposed to marry me; and I have refused him," said
+Marian. "He has lost his temper and insulted me. I think you ought to
+tell him to go away."
+
+"Gently, Marian, gently. What am I to believe about this?"
+
+"What I have told you," said Douglas, "I confirm _on my honor_, which
+you can weigh against the pretences of a twice perjured woman."
+
+"Sholto!"
+
+"I have to speak plainly on my own behalf, Mr. Lind. I regret that you
+were not in a position this morning to warn me of your daughter's
+notable secret."
+
+"If it is a secret, and you are a gentleman, you will hold your
+tongue," interposed Elinor, sharply.
+
+"Papa," said Marian: "I became engaged yesterday to Mr. Conolly. I told
+Mr. Douglas this in order to save him from making me a proposal. That is
+the reason he has forgotten himself. I had not intended to tell you so
+suddenly; but this misunderstanding has forced me to."
+
+"Engaged to Mr. Conolly!" cried Mr. Lind. "I begin to fear
+that----Enga----" He took breath, and continued, to Marian: "I forbid
+you to entertain any such engagement. Sholto: there is evidently nothing
+to be gained by discussing this matter in hot blood. It is some girlish
+absurdity--some--some--some--"
+
+"I apologize for having doubted the truth of the excuse," said Douglas;
+"but I see that I have failed to gauge Miss Lind's peculiar taste. I beg
+you to understand, Mr. Lind, that my pretensions are at an end. I do not
+aspire to the position of Mr. Conolly's rival."
+
+"You are already in the position of Mr. Conolly's unsuccessful rival;
+and you fill it with a very bad grace," said Elinor.
+
+"Pray be silent, Elinor," said Mr. Lind. "This matter does not concern
+you. Marian: go to your room for the present. I shall speak to you
+afterwards."
+
+Marian flushed, and repressed a sob. "I wish I were under _his_
+protection now," she said, looking reproachfully at Douglas as she
+crossed the room.
+
+"What can you expect from a father but hostility?" said Elinor,
+bitterly. "You are a coward, like all your sex," she added, turning to
+Douglas. Then she suddenly opened the door, and passed out through it
+with Marian, whilst the housemaids fled upstairs, the footman shrank
+into a corner of the landing, and the page hastily dragged the cook
+down to the kitchen.
+
+The two men, left together in the drawing-room, were for some moments
+quite at a loss. Then Mr. Lind, after a preliminary cough or two, said:
+"Sholto: I cannot describe to you how shocked I am by what I have just
+heard. I am deeply disappointed in Marian. I trusted her implicitly; but
+of course I now see that I have been wrong in allowing her so much
+liberty. Evidently a great deal has been going on of which I had not any
+suspicion."
+
+Douglas said nothing. His resentment was unabated; but his rage,
+naturally peevish and thin in quality, was subsiding, though it surged
+back on him at intervals. But now that he no longer desired to speak
+passionately, he would not trust himself to speak at all. Suddenly Mr.
+Lind broke out with a fury that astonished him, preoccupied as he was.
+
+"This--this fellow must have had opportunities of thrusting himself into
+her society of which I knew nothing. I thought she barely knew him. And
+if I had known, could I have suspected her of intriguing with an
+ill-bred adventurer! Yes, I might: my experience ought to have warned me
+that the taint was in her blood. Her mother did the same thing--left the
+position I had given her to run away with a charlatan, disgracing me
+without the shadow of an excuse or reason except her own innate love for
+what was low. I thought Marian had escaped that. I was proud of
+her--placed un--unbounded confidence in her."
+
+"She has struck me a blow," said Douglas, "the infernal treachery----."
+He checked himself, and after a moment resumed in his ordinary formal
+manner. "I must leave you, Mr. Lind. I am quite unable at present to
+discuss what has passed. Any conventional expressions of regret would
+be----Good-night."
+
+He bowed and left the room. Mr. Lind, taken aback, did not attempt to
+detain him or even return his bow, but stood biting his lips with a
+frown of discomfiture and menace. When he was alone, he paced the room
+several times. Then he procured some writing materials and sat down
+before them. He wrote nothing, but, after sitting for some time, he went
+upstairs. Passing Marian's room he listened. The sharp voice and
+restless movements of his niece were the only sounds he heard. They
+seemed to frighten him; for he stole on quickly to his own room, and
+went to bed. Even there he could hear a shrill note of conversation
+occasionally from the opposite room, where Marian was sitting on a sofa,
+trying to subdue the hysteria which had been gaining on her since her
+escape from the balcony; whilst Elinor, seated on the corner of a drawer
+which projected from the dressing-table, talked incessantly in her most
+acrid tones.
+
+"Henceforth," she said, "Uncle Reginald is welcome to my heartiest
+detestation. I have been waiting ever since I knew him for an excuse to
+hate him; and now he has given me one. He has taken part--like a true
+parent--against you with a self-intoxicated fool whom he ought to have
+put out of the house. He has told me to mind my own business. I shall be
+even with him for that some day. I am as vindictive as an elephant: I
+hate people who are not vindictive: they are never grateful either, only
+incapable of any enduring sentiment. And Douglas! Sholto Douglas! The
+hero, the Newdigate poet, the handsome man! What a noble fellow he is
+when a little disappointment rubs his varnish off! I am glad I called
+him a coward to his face. I am thoroughly well satisfied with myself
+altogether: at last I have come out of a scene without having forgotten
+the right thing to say. You never see people in all their selfishness
+until they pretend to love you. See what you owe to your loving suitor,
+Sholto Douglas! See what you owe to your loving father, Reginald Lind!"
+
+"I do not think that my father should have told me to leave the room,"
+said Marian. "It was Sholto's place to have gone, not mine."
+
+"Mr. Lind, who has so suddenly and deservedly descended from 'papa' to
+'my father,' judiciously sided with the stronger and richer party."
+
+"Nelly: I shall be as unhappy after this as even Sholto can desire. I
+feel very angry with papa; and yet I have no right to be. I suppose it
+is because I am in the wrong. I deceived him about the engagement."
+
+"Bosh! You didnt tell him because you knew you couldnt trust him; and
+now you see how right you were."
+
+"Even so, Nelly, I must not forget all his past care of me."
+
+"What care has he ever taken of you? He was very little better
+acquainted with you than he was with me, when you came to keep house for
+him and make yourself useful. Of course, he had to pay for your board
+and lodging and education. The police would not have allowed him to
+leave you to the parish. Besides, he was proud of having a nice, pretty
+daughter to dispose of. You were quite welcome to be happy so long as
+you did not do anything except what he approved of. But the moment you
+claim your independence as a grown woman, the moment you attempt to
+dispose of yourself instead of letting him dispose of you! Bah! _I_
+might have been _my_ father's pet, if I had been a nonentity. As it was,
+he spared no pains to make me miserable; and as I was only a helpless
+little devil of a girl, he succeeded to his heart's content. Uncle
+Reginald will try to do exactly the same to-morrow, he will come and
+bully you, instead of apologizing as he ought. See if he doesnt!"
+
+"If I had as much reason to complain of my childhood as you have,
+perhaps I should not feel so shocked and disappointed by his turning on
+me to-night. Surely, when he saw me attacked as I was, he ought to have
+come to my assistance."
+
+"Any stranger would have taken your part. The footman would, if you had
+asked him. But then, James is not your father."
+
+"It seems a very small thing to be bidden to leave the room. But I will
+never expose myself to a repetition of it."
+
+"Quite right. But what do you mean to do? for, after all, though
+parental love is an imposition, parental authority is a fact."
+
+"I will get married."
+
+"Out of the frying pan into the fire! Certainly, if you are resolved to
+marry, the present is as good as another time, and more convenient. But
+there must be some legal formalities to go through. You cannot turn into
+the first church you meet, and be married off-hand."
+
+"Ned must find out all that. I am sadly disappointed and disilluded,
+Nelly."
+
+"Time will cure you as it does everybody; and you will be the better for
+being wiser. By the bye, what did Sholto mean about Mrs. Fairfax?"
+
+"I dont know."
+
+"She has evidently been telling him a parcel of lies. Do you remember
+her hints about him yesterday at lunch? I have not the least doubt that
+she has told him you are frantically in love with him. She as good as
+told you the same about him."
+
+"Oh! she is not capable of doing such a thing."
+
+"Isnt she? We shall see."
+
+"I dont know what to think," said Marian, despondently. "I used to
+believe that both you and Ned thought too little of other people; but it
+seems now that the world is nothing but a morass of wickedness and
+falsehood. And Sholto, too! Who would have believed that he could break
+out in that coarse way? Do you remember the day that Fleming, the
+coachman, lost his temper with Auntie down at the Cottage. Sholto was
+exactly like that; not a bit more refined or dignified."
+
+"Rather less so, because Fleming was in the right. Let us go to bed. We
+can do nothing to-night, but fret, and wish for to-morrow. Better get to
+sleep. Resentment does not keep me awake, I can vouch for that: I got
+well broken in to it when I was a child. I heard Uncle Reginald going to
+his room some time ago. I am getting sleepy, too, though I feel the
+better for the excitement."
+
+"Very well. To bed be it," said Marian. But she did not sleep at all as
+well as Nelly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+Next morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter was astir, and went to
+his club, where he breakfasted. He then went to the offices in Queen
+Victoria Street. Finding the board-room unoccupied, he sat down there,
+and said to one of the clerks:
+
+"Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to him, if he is
+disengaged. And if anyone wants to come in, say that I am busy here. I
+do not wish to be disturbed for half an hour or so."
+
+"Yes, sir," said the clerk, departing. A minute later, he returned, and
+said: "Mr. Conly is disengaged; and he says will you be so good as to
+come to his room, sir."
+
+"I told you to ask him to come here," said Mr. Lind.
+
+"Well, thats what he said, sir," said the clerk, speaking in official
+Board School English. "Shloy gow to him and tell him again?"
+
+"No, no: it does not matter," said Mr. Lind, and walked out through the
+office. The clerk held the door open for him, and carefully closed it
+when he had passed through.
+
+"Ow, oy sy!" cried the clerk. "This is fawn, this is."
+
+"Wots the row?" said another clerk.
+
+"Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to him into the
+board-room. 'Aw right,' says Conly, 'awsk him to cam in eah to me.' You
+should 'a seen the owld josser's feaches wnoy towld im. 'Oyd zoyred jou
+to sy e was to cam in eah to me.' 'Shloy gow and tell him again?' I
+says, as cool as ennything. 'Now,' says he, 'Oil gow myself.' Thets wot
+Aw loike in Conly. He tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owver
+im."
+
+Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly's room; returned his greeting by a
+dignified inclination of the head; and accepted, with a cold "Thank
+you," the chair offered him. Conolly, who had received him cordially,
+checked himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind lost
+countenance a little. Then Conolly sat down, and waited.
+
+"Ahem!" said Mr. Lind. "I have to speak to you with--with reference
+to--to a--a matter which has accidentally come to my knowledge. It would
+be painful and unnecessary--quite unnecessary, to go into particulars."
+
+Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. Mr. Lind began to
+feel very angry, but this helped him to the point.
+
+"I merely wish--that is, I quite wish you to understand that any
+intimacy that may have arisen between you and--and a member of my family
+must--must, in short, be considered to be at an end. My daughter is--I
+may tell you--engaged to Mr. Sholto Douglas, whom you know; and
+therefore--you understand."
+
+"Mr. Lind," said Conolly, decisively: "your daughter is engaged to me."
+
+Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, "I beg you will not
+repeat that, either here or elsewhere."
+
+"Pray be seated," said Conolly courteously.
+
+"I have nothing more to say, sir."
+
+Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, and seemed to wait
+for his visitor to go.
+
+"We understand one another, I presume," said Mr. Lind, dubiously.
+
+"Not quite, I think," said Conolly, relenting. "I should suggest our
+discussing the matter in full, now that we have a favorable
+opportunity--if you will be so good."
+
+Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, "I am quite willing to
+listen to you."
+
+"Thank you," said Conolly. "Will you tell me what your objections are to
+my engagement with your daughter?"
+
+"I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and knowledge of the world
+would have rendered an explanation superfluous."
+
+"They havnt," said Conolly.
+
+Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. "Oh, Mr. Conolly, I assure you I
+have no objection to explain myself: none whatever. I merely wished to
+spare you as far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what I
+think you must be perfectly well aware of, I can only say that from the
+point of view of English society our positions are different; and
+therefore an engagement between you and any member of my family is
+unsuitable, and--in short--out of the question, however advantageous it
+might be to you. That is all."
+
+Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, and leaned back in
+his chair more confidently. Conolly smiled and shook his head,
+appreciative of the clearness with which Mr. Lind had put his case, but
+utterly unmoved by it. He considered for a moment, and then said,
+weighing his words carefully:
+
+"Your daughter, with her natural refinement and delicate habits, is
+certainly not fit to be married to a foul-mouthed fellow, ignorant,
+dirty, besotted, and out of place in any company except at the bar in a
+public house. That is probably your idea of a workman. But the fact of
+her having consented to marry me is a proof that I do not answer to any
+such description. As you have hinted, it will be an advantage to me in
+some ways to have a lady for my wife; but I should have no difficulty in
+purchasing that advantage, even with my present means, which I expect to
+increase largely in the course of some years. Do you not underrate your
+daughter's personal qualities when you assume that it was her position
+that induced me to seek her hand?"
+
+"I am quite aware of my daughter's personal advantages. They are
+additional reasons against her contracting an imprudent marriage."
+
+"Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage with me be imprudent?
+I possess actual competence, and a prospect of wealth. I come of a long
+lived and healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison, more widely
+known than yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now find myself everywhere
+treated with a certain degree of consideration, which an alliance with
+your daughter will not diminish."
+
+"In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my family by condescending
+to marry into it?"
+
+"I dont understand that way of looking at things, Mr. Lind; and so I
+leave you to settle the question of honor as you please. But you must
+not condemn me for putting my position in the best possible light in
+order to reconcile you to an inevitable fact."
+
+"What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?"
+
+"My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will take place."
+
+"But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think to ignore me in
+the matter?"
+
+"Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be glad for the sake
+of Marian, who will be gratified by it. But if you withhold it, we must
+dispense with it. By opposing us, you will simply--by making Marian's
+home unbearable to her--precipitate the wedding." Conolly, under the
+influence of having put the case neatly, here relaxed his manner so far
+as to rest his elbows on the table and look pleasantly at his visitor.
+
+"Do you know to whom you are speaking?" said Mr. Lind, driven by rage
+and a growing fear of defeat into desperate self-assertion.
+
+"I am speaking," said Conolly with a smile, "to my future
+father-in-law."
+
+"I am a director of this company, of which you are the servant, as you
+shall find to your cost if you persist in holding insulting language to
+me."
+
+"If I found any director of this company allowing other than strictly
+business considerations to influence him at the Board, I should insist
+on his resigning."
+
+Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, then unsteadily,
+without moving him in the least. At last he said, more humbly: "I hope
+you will not abuse your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether you
+have sufficient influence over Marian to induce her to defy me; but
+however that may be, I appeal to your better feelings. Put yourself in
+my place. If you had an only daughter----"
+
+"Excuse my interrupting you," said Conolly, gently; "but that will not
+advance the argument unless you put yourself in mine. Besides, I am
+pledged to Marian. If she asks me to break off the match, I shall
+release her instantly."
+
+"You will bind yourself to do that?"
+
+"I cannot help myself. I have no more power to make her marry me than
+you have to prevent her."
+
+"I have the authority of a parent. And I must tell you, Mr. Conolly,
+that it will be my duty to enlighten my poor child as to the effect a
+union with you must have on her social position. You have made the most
+of your celebrity and your prospects. She may be dazzled for the moment;
+but her good sense will come to the rescue yet, I am convinced."
+
+"I have certainly spared no pains to persuade her. Unless the habit of
+her childhood can induce Marian to defer to your prejudice--you must
+allow me to call it so: it is really nothing more--she will keep her
+word to me."
+
+Mr. Lind winced, recollecting how little his conduct toward Marian
+during her childhood was calculated to accustom her to his influence.
+"It seems to me, sir," he said, suddenly thinking of a new form of
+reproach, "that, to use your own plain language, you are nothing more or
+less than a Radical."
+
+"Radicalism is not considered a reproach amongst workmen," said Conolly.
+
+"I shall not fail to let her know the confidence with which you boast of
+your power over her."
+
+"I have simply tried to be candid with you. You know exactly how I
+stand. If I have omitted anything, ask me, and I will tell you at once."
+
+Mr. Kind rose. "I know quite as much as I care to know," he said. "I
+distinctly object to and protest against all your proceedings, Mr.
+Conolly. If my daughter marries you, she shall have neither my
+countenance in society nor one solitary farthing of the fortune I had
+destined for her. I recommend the latter point to your attention."
+
+"I have considered it carefully, Mr. Lind; and I am satisfied with what
+she possesses in her own right."
+
+"Oh! You have ascertained _that_, have you?"
+
+"I should hardly have proposed to marry her but for her entire
+pecuniary independence of me."
+
+"Indeed. And have you explained to her that you wish to marry her for
+the sake of securing her income?"
+
+"I have explained to her everything she ought to know, taking care, of
+course, to have full credit for my frankness."
+
+Mr. Lind, after regarding him with amazement for a moment, walked to the
+door.
+
+"I am a gentleman," he said, pausing there for a moment, "and too
+old-fashioned to discuss the obligations of good breeding with a
+Radical. If I had believed you capable of the cynical impudence with
+which you have just met my remonstrances, I should have spared myself
+this meeting. Good-morning."
+
+"Good-morning," said Conolly, gravely. When the door closed, he sprang
+up and walked to and fro, chuckling, rubbing his hands, and occasionally
+uttering a short laugh. When he had sufficiently relieved himself by
+this exercise, he sat down at his desk, and wrote a note.
+
+  "The Conolly Electro-Motor Company of London, Limited. Queen
+  Victoria Street, E.C.
+
+  "This is to let your ever-radiant ladyship know that I am fresh
+  from an encounter with your father, who has retired in great wrath,
+  defeated, but of opinion that he deserved no better for arguing
+  with a Radical. I thought it better to put forth my strength at
+  once so as to save future trouble. I send this post haste in order
+  that you may be warned in case he should go straight home and scold
+  you. I hope he will not annoy you much.--E.C."
+
+Having despatched the office boy to Westbourne Terrace with this letter,
+Conolly went off to lunch. Mr. Lind went back to his club, and then to
+Westbourne Terrace, where he was informed that the young ladies were
+together in the drawing-room. Some minutes later, Marian, discussing
+Conolly's letter with Elinor, was interrupted by a servant, who informed
+her that her father desired to see her in his study.
+
+"Now for it, Marian!" said Nelly, when the servant was gone. "Remember
+that you have to meet the most unreasonable of adversaries, a parent
+asserting his proprietary rights in his child. Dont be sentimental.
+Leave that to him: he will be full of a father's anguish on discovering
+that his cherished daughter has feelings and interests of her own.
+Besides, Conolly has crushed him; and he will try to crush you in
+revenge."
+
+"I wish I were not so nervous," said Marian. "I am not really afraid,
+but for all that, my heart is beating very unpleasantly."
+
+"I wish I were in your place," said Elinor. "I feel like a charger at
+the sound of the trumpet."
+
+"I am glad, for poor papa's sake, that you are not," said Marian, going
+out.
+
+She knocked at the study door; and her father's voice, as he bade her
+come in, impressed her more than ever before. He was seated behind the
+writing-table, in front of which a chair was set for his daughter. She,
+unaccustomed from her childhood to submit to any constraint but that
+which the position of a guest, which she so often occupied, had trained
+her to impose on herself, was rather roused than awed by this
+magisterial arrangement. She sat down with less than her usual grace of
+manner, and looked at him with her brows knitted. It was one of the rare
+moments in which she reminded him of her mother. An angry impulse to bid
+her not dare look so at him almost got the better of him. However, he
+began prudently with a carefully premeditated speech.
+
+"It is my duty, Marian," he said gravely, "to speak of the statement
+you made last night. We need not allude to the painful scene which took
+place then: better let that rest and be forgotten as soon as possible.
+But the discovery of what you have been doing without my knowledge has
+cost me a sleepless night and a great deal of anxiety. I wish to reason
+with you now quite calmly and dispassionately; and I trust you will
+remember that I am older and have far more experience of the world than
+you, and that I am a better judge of your interests than you yourself
+can possibly be. Ahem! I have been this morning to the City, where I saw
+Mr. Conolly, and endeavored to make him understand the true nature of
+his conduct toward me--and, I may add, toward you--in working his way
+clandestinely into an intimacy with you. I shall not describe to you
+what passed; but I may say that I have found him to be a person with
+whom you could not hope for a day's happiness. Even apart from his
+habits and tastes, which are those of a mere workman, his social (and, I
+fear, his religious) views are such as no lady, no properly-minded woman
+of any class, could sympathize with. You will be better able to judge of
+his character when I tell you that he informed me of his having taken
+care, before making any advances to you, to ascertain how much money you
+had. He boasted in the coarsest terms of his complete influence over
+you, evidently without a suspicion of the impression of venality and
+indelicacy which his words were calculated to make on me. Besides,
+Marian, I am sure you would not like to contract a marriage which would
+give me the greatest pain; which would offend my family; and which would
+have the effect of shutting you out from all good society."
+
+"You are mistaken in him, papa."
+
+"I beg you will allow me to finish, Marian. [He had to think for a
+moment before he could substantiate this pretence of having something
+more to say.] I have quite made up my mind, from personal observation of
+Mr. Conolly, that even an ordinary acquaintance between you is out of
+the question. I, in short, refuse to allow anything of the kind to
+proceed; and I must ask you to respect my wishes in the matter. There is
+another subject which I will take this opportunity of mentioning; but as
+I have no desire to force your inclinations, I shall not press you for a
+declaration of your feelings at present. Sholto Douglas----"
+
+"I do not want to hear _anything_ about Sholto Douglas," said Marian,
+rising.
+
+"I expect you, Marian, to listen to what I have to say."
+
+"On that subject I will not listen. I have felt very sore and angry ever
+since you told me last night to leave the room when Sholto insulted me,
+as if I were the aggressor."
+
+"Angry! I am sorry to hear you say so to me."
+
+"It is better to say so than to think so. There is no use in going on
+with this conversation, papa. It will only lead to more bitterness
+between us; and I had enough of that when I tasted it for the first time
+last night. We shall never agree about Mr. Conolly. I have promised to
+marry him; and therefore I am not free to withdraw, even if I wished
+to."
+
+"A promise made by you without my sanction is not binding. And--listen
+to me, if you please--I have obtained Mr. Conolly's express assurance
+that if you wish to withdraw, he is perfectly willing that you should."
+
+"Of course, he would not marry me if I did not wish it."
+
+"But he is willing that you should withdraw. He leaves you quite free."
+
+"Yes; and, as you told me, he is quite confident that I will keep faith
+with him; and so I will. I have had a letter from him since you saw
+him."
+
+"What!" said Mr. Lind, rising also.
+
+"Dont let us quarrel, papa," said Marian, appealingly. "Why may I not
+marry whom I please?"
+
+"Who wants to prevent you, pray? I have most carefully abstained from
+influencing you with regard to Sholto Douglas. But this is a totally
+different question. It is my duty to save you from disgracing yourself."
+
+"Where is the disgrace? Mr. Conolly is an eminent man. I am not poor,
+and can afford to marry anyone I can respect. I can respect him. What
+objection have you to him? I am sure he is far superior to Sholto."
+
+"Mr. Douglas is a gentleman, Marian: Mr. Conolly is not; and it is out
+of the question for you to ally yourself with a--a member of the
+proletariat, however skilful he may be in his handicraft."
+
+"What _is_ a gentleman, papa?"
+
+"A gentleman, Marian, is one who is well born and well bred, and who has
+that peculiar tone and culture which can only be acquired by intercourse
+with the best society. I think you should know that as well as I. I hope
+you do not put these questions from a desire to argue with me."
+
+"I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no harm in arguing
+when one is not convinced."
+
+"Humph! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I am sure that you will
+not take any step calculated to inflict pain on me--at least an act of
+selfishness on your part would be a new and shocking experience for me.
+
+"That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You give me no good
+reason for breaking my word, and making myself unhappy; and yet you
+accuse me of selfishness in not being ready to do both."
+
+"I think I have already given you my assurance, weighted as it is by my
+age, my experience, my regard for your welfare, and, I hope, my
+authority as a parent, that both your honor and happiness will be
+secured by your obeying me, and forfeited by following your own
+headstrong inclinations."
+
+Marian, almost crushed by this, hesitated a moment, twisting her fingers
+and looking pitiably at him. Then she thought of Conolly; rallied; and
+said: "I can only say that I am sorry to disagree with you; but I am not
+convinced."
+
+"Do you mean that you refuse to obey me?"
+
+"I cannot obey you in this matter, papa. I--"
+
+"That is enough," said Mr. Lind, gravely, beginning, to busy himself
+with the writing materials. Marian for a moment seemed about to protest
+against this dismissal. Then she checked herself and went out of the
+room, closing the door quite quietly behind her, thereby unconsciously
+terrifying her father, who had calculated on a slam.
+
+"Well," said Elinor, when her cousin rejoined her in the drawing-room:
+"have you been selfish and disobedient? Have you lacerated a father's
+heart?"
+
+"He is thoroughly unfair," said Marian. "However, it all comes to this:
+he is annoyed at my wanting to marry Ned: and I believe there will be no
+more peace for me until I am in a house of my own. What shall we do in
+the meantime? Where shall we go? I cannot stay here."
+
+"Why not? Uncle Reginald will sulk; sit at dinner without speaking to
+us; and keep out of our way as much as he can. But you can talk to me:
+we neednt mind him. It is he who will be out in the cold, biting his
+nose to vex his face. Such a state of things is new to you; but I have
+survived weeks of it without a single sympathizer, and been none the
+worse, except, perhaps, in temper. He will pretend to be inexorable at
+first: then he will come down to wounded affection; and he will end by
+giving in."
+
+"No, Nelly, I couldnt endure that sort of existence. If people cannot
+remain friends they should separate at once. I will not sleep in this
+house to-night."
+
+"Hurrah!" cried Miss McQuinch. "That will be beginning the war with
+spirit. If I were in your place, I would stay and fight it out at close
+quarters. I would make myself so disagreeable that nobody can imagine
+what life in this house would be. But your plan is the best--if you
+really mean it."
+
+"Certainly I mean it. Where shall we go, Nelly?"
+
+"Hm! I am afraid none of the family would make us very comfortable under
+the circumstances, except Marmaduke. It would be a splendid joke to go
+to West Kensington; only it would tell as much against us and Ned as
+against the Roman father. I have it! We will go to Mrs. Toplis's in St.
+Mary's Terrace: my mother always stays there when she is in town. Mrs.
+Toplis knows us: if she has a room to spare she will give it to us
+without making any bother."
+
+"Yes, that will do. Are you ready to come now?"
+
+"If you can possibly wait five minutes I should like to put on my hat
+and change my boots. We will have to come back and pack up when we have
+settled about the room. We cannot go without clothes. I should like to
+have a nightdress, at least. Have you any money?"
+
+"I have the housekeeping money; but that, of course, I shall not take. I
+have thirty pounds of my own."
+
+"And I have my old stocking, which contains nearly seventeen. Say fifty
+in round numbers. That will keep us going very comfortably for a month."
+
+"Ridiculous! It will last longer than that. Oh!"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"We mustnt go, after all. I forgot _you_."
+
+"What of me?"
+
+"Where will you go when I am married? You cant live by yourself; and
+papa may not welcome you back if you take my part against him."
+
+"He would not, in any case; so it makes no difference to me. I can go
+home if the worst comes to the worst. It does not matter: my present
+luxurious existence must come to an end some time or another, whether we
+go to Mrs. Toplis's or not."
+
+"I am sure Ned will not object to your continuing with me, if I ask
+him."
+
+"No, poor fellow! He wont object--at first; but he might not like it.
+You have no right to inflict me on him. No: I stick to my resolution on
+that point. Send for the carriage. It is time for us to be off; and Mrs.
+Toplis will be more impressed if we come in state than if we trudge
+afoot."
+
+"Hush," said Marian, who was standing near the window. "Here is George,
+with a face full of importance."
+
+"Uncle Reginald has written to him," said Elinor.
+
+"Then the sooner we go, the better," said Marian.
+
+"I do not care to have the whole argument over again with George."
+
+As they passed through the hall on their way out they met the clergyman.
+
+"Well, George," said Elinor, "how are the heathen getting on in
+Belgravia? You look lively."
+
+"Are you going out, Marian," he said, solemnly, disregarding his
+cousin's banter.
+
+"We are going to engage a couple of rooms for some errant members of the
+family," said Elinor. "May we give you as a reference?"
+
+"Certainly. I may want to speak to you before I go, Marian. When will
+you return?"
+
+"I do not know. Probably we shall not be long. You will have plenty of
+opportunities, in any case."
+
+"Will you walk into the study, please, sir," said the parlormaid.
+
+The Rev. George was closeted with his father for an hour. When he came
+out, he left the house, and travelled by omnibus to Westbourne Grove,
+whence he walked to a house in Uxbridge Road. Here he inquired for Mr.
+Conolly, and, learning that he had just come in, sent up a card. He was
+presently ushered into a comfortable room, with a pleasant view of the
+garden. A meal of tea, wheatcakes, and fruit was ready on the table.
+Conolly greeted his visitor cordially, and rang for another cup. The
+Rev. George silently noted that his host dined in the middle of the day
+and had tea in the evening. Afraid though as he was of Conolly, he felt
+strengthened in his mission by these habits, quite out of the question
+for Marian. The tea also screwed up his courage a little; but he talked
+about the electro-motor in spite of himself until the cloth was removed,
+when Conolly placed two easy chairs opposite one another at the window;
+put a box of cigarets on a little table close at hand; and invited his
+visitor to smoke. But as it was now clearly time to come to business,
+the cigaret was declined solemnly. So Conolly, having settled himself in
+an easy attitude, waited for the clergyman to begin. The Rev. George
+seemed at a loss.
+
+"Has your father spoken to you about an interview he had with me this
+morning?" said Conolly, good-naturedly helping him out.
+
+"Yes. That, in fact, is one of the causes of my visit."
+
+"What does he say?"
+
+"I believe he adheres to the opinion he expressed to you. But I fear he
+may not have exhibited that self-control in speaking to you which I
+fully admit you have as much right to expect as anyone else."
+
+"It does not matter. I can quite understand his feeling."
+
+"It does matter--pardon me. We should be sorry to appear wanting in
+consideration for you."
+
+"That is a trifle. Let us keep the question straight before us. We need
+make no show of consideration for one another. I have shown none toward
+your family."
+
+"But I assure you our only desire is to arrange everything in a friendly
+spirit."
+
+"No doubt. But when I am bent on doing a certain thing which you are
+equally bent on preventing, no very friendly spirit is possible except
+one of us surrender unconditionally."
+
+"Hear me a moment, Mr. Conolly. I have no doubt I shall be able to
+convince you that this romantic project of my sister's is out of the
+question. Your ambition--if I may say so without offence--very naturally
+leads you to think otherwise; but the prompting of self-interest is not
+our safest guide in this life."
+
+"It is the only guide I recognize. If you are going to argue the
+question, and your arguments are to prevail, they must be addressed to
+my self-interest."
+
+"I cannot think you quite mean that, Mr. Conolly."
+
+"Well, waive the point for the present: I am open to conviction. You
+know what my mind is. I have not changed it since I saw your father this
+morning. You think I am wrong?"
+
+"Not wrong. I do not say for a moment that you are wrong. I----"
+
+"Mistaken. Ill-advised. Any term you like."
+
+"I certainly believe that you are mistaken. Let me urge upon you first
+the fact that you are causing a daughter to disobey her father. Now that
+is an awful fact. May I--appealing to that righteousness in which I am
+sure you are not naturally deficient--ask you whether you have reflected
+on that fact?"
+
+"It is not half so awful to me as the fact of a father forcing his
+daughter's inclinations. However, awful is hardly the word for the
+occasion. Let us come to business, Mr. Lind. I want to marry your sister
+because I have fallen in love with her. You object. Have you any other
+motive than aristocratic exclusiveness?"
+
+"Indeed, you quite mistake. I have no such feeling. We are willing to
+treat you with every possible consideration."
+
+"Then why object?"
+
+"Well, we are bound to look to her happiness. We cannot believe that it
+would be furthered by an unsuitable match. I am now speaking to you
+frankly as a man of the world."
+
+"As a man of the world you know that she has a right to choose for
+herself. You see, our points of view are different. On Sundays, for
+instance, you preach to a highly privileged audience at your church in
+Belgravia; whilst I lounge here over my breakfast, reading _Reynold's
+Newspaper_. I have not many social prejudices. Although a workman, I
+dont look on every gentleman as a bloodsucker who seizes on the fruits
+of my labor only to pursue a career of vice. I will even admit that
+there are gentlemen who deserve to be respected more than the workmen
+who have neglected all their opportunities--slender as they are--of
+cultivating themselves a little. You, on the other hand, know that an
+honest man's the noblest work of God; that nature's gentlemen are the
+only real gentlemen; that kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple
+faith than Norman blood, and so forth. But when your approval of these
+benevolent claptraps is brought to such a practical test as the marriage
+of your sister to a workman, you see clearly enough that they do not
+establish the suitability of personal intercourse between members of
+different classes. That being so, let us put our respective philosophies
+of society out of the question, and argue on the facts of this
+particular case. What qualifications do you consider essential in a
+satisfactory brother-in-law?"
+
+"I am not bound to answer that; but, primarily, I should consider it
+necessary to my sister's happiness that her husband should belong to the
+same rank as she."
+
+"You see you are changing your ground. I am not in the same rank--after
+your sense--as she; but a moment ago you objected to the match solely
+on the ground of unsuitability."
+
+"Where is the difference?" said the clergyman, with some warmth. "I have
+not changed my ground at all. It is the difference in rank that
+constitutes the unsuitability.
+
+"Let us see, then, how far you are right--how far suitability is a
+question of rank. A gentleman may be, and frequently is, a drunkard, a
+gambler, a libertine, or all three combined."
+
+"Stay, Mr. Conolly! You show how little you understand the only true
+significance----"
+
+"One moment, Mr. Lind. You are about to explain away the term gentleman
+into man of honor, honest man, or some other quite different thing. Let
+me put a case to you. I have a fellow at Queen Victoria Street working
+for thirty shillings a week, who is the honestest man I know. He is as
+steady as a rock; supports all his wife's family without complaining;
+and denies himself beer to buy books for his son, because he himself has
+experienced what it is to be without education. But he is not a
+gentleman."
+
+"Pardon me, sir. He is a true gentleman."
+
+"Suppose he calls on you to-morrow, and sends up his name with a request
+for an interview. You wont know his name; and the first question you
+will put to your servant is 'What sort of person is he?' Suppose the
+servant knows him, and, sharing your professed opinion of the meaning of
+the word, replies 'He is a gentleman!' On the strength of that you will
+order him to be shewn in; and the moment you see him you will feel angry
+with your servant for deceiving you completely as to the sort of man you
+were to expect by using the word gentleman in what you call its true
+sense. Or reverse the case. Suppose the caller is your cousin, Mr.
+Marmaduke Lind, and your high-principled servant by mistaking the name
+or how not, causes you to ask the same question with respect to him. The
+answer will be that Mr. Marmaduke--being a scamp--is not a gentleman.
+You would be just as completely deceived as in the other case. No, Mr.
+Lind, you might as well say that this workman of mine is a true lord or
+a true prince as a true gentleman. A gentleman may be a rogue; and a
+knifegrinder may be a philosopher and philanthropist. But they dont
+change their ranks for all that."
+
+The clergyman hesitated. Then he said timidly, "Even admitting this
+peculiar view of yours, Mr. Conolly, does it not tell strongly against
+yourself in the present instance?"
+
+"No; and I will presently shew you why not. When we digressed as to the
+meaning of the word gentleman, we were considering the matter of
+suitability. I was saying that a gentleman might be a drunkard, or,
+briefly, a scoundrel. A scoundrel would be a very unsuitable husband for
+Marian--I perceive I annoy you by calling her by her name."
+
+"N--no. Oh, no. It does not matter."
+
+"Therefore gentility alone is no guarantee of suitability. The only
+gentlemanliness she needs in a husband is ordinary good address,
+presentable manners, sense enough to avoid ridiculous solecisms in
+society, and so forth. Marian is satisfied with me on these points; and
+her approval settles the question finally. As to rank, I am a skilled
+workman, the first in my trade; and it is only by courtesy and
+forbearance that I suffer any man to speak of my class as inferior. Take
+us all, professions and trades together; and you will find by actual
+measurement round the head and round the chest, and round our manners
+and characters, if you like, that we are the only genuine aristocracy at
+present in existence. Therefore I meet your objection to my rank with a
+point-blank assertion of its superiority. Now let us have the other
+objections, if there _are_ any others."
+
+The clergyman received this challenge in silence. Then, after clearing
+his throat uneasily twice, he said:
+
+"I had hoped, Mr. Conolly, to have been able to persuade you on general
+grounds to relinquish your design. But as you are evidently not within
+reach of those considerations which I am accustomed to see universally
+admitted, it becomes my painful duty to assure you that a circumstance,
+on the secrecy of which you are relying, is known to me, and, through
+me, to my father."
+
+"What circumstance is that?"
+
+"A circumstance connected with Mr. Marmaduke Lind, whom you mentioned
+just now. You understand me, I presume?"
+
+"Oh! you have found that out?"
+
+"I have. It only remains for me to warn my sister that she is about to
+contract a close relationship with one who is--I must say it--living in
+sin with our cousin."
+
+"What do you suppose will be the result of that?"
+
+"I leave you to imagine," said the clergyman indignantly, rising.
+
+"Stop a bit. You do not understand me yet, I see. You have said that my
+views are peculiar. What if I have taken the peculiar view that I was
+bound to tell Marian this before proposing to her, and have actually
+told her?"
+
+"But surely--That is not very likely."
+
+"The whole affair is not very likely. Our marriage is not likely; but
+it is going to happen, nevertheless. She knows this circumstance
+perfectly well. You told her yourself."
+
+"I! When?"
+
+"The year before last, at Carbury Towers. It is worth your
+consideration, too, that by mistrusting Marian at that time, and
+refusing to give her my sister's address, you forced her to appeal to me
+for help, and so advanced me from the position of consulting electrician
+to that of friend in need. She knew nothing about my relationship to the
+woman in a state of sin (as you call it), and actually deputed me to
+warn your cousin of the risk he was running by his intimacy with her.
+Whilst I was away running this queer errand for her, she found out that
+the woman was my sister, and of course rushed to the conclusion that she
+had inflicted the deepest pain on me. Her penitence was the beginning of
+the sentimental side of our acquaintance. Had you recognized that she
+was a woman with as good a right as you to know the truth concerning all
+matters in this world which she has to make her way through, you would
+have answered her question, and then I suppose I should have gone away
+without having exchanged a word with her on any more personal matters
+than induction coils and ohms of resistance; and in all probability you
+would have been spared the necessity of having me for a brother-in-law."
+
+"Well, sir," said the Rev. George dejectedly, "if what you say be true,
+I cannot understand Marian, I can only grieve for her. I shall not argue
+with you on the nature of the influence you have obtained over her. I
+shall speak to her myself; since you will not hear me."
+
+"That is hardly fair. I have heard you, and am willing to hear more, if
+you have anything new to urge."
+
+"You have certainly listened to my voice, Mr. Conolly. But I fear I have
+used it to very little purpose."
+
+"You will fail equally with Marian, believe me. Even I, whose ability to
+exercise influence you admit, never obtained the least over my own
+sister. She knew me too well on my worst side and not at all on my best.
+If, as I presume, your father has tried in vain, what hope is there for
+you?"
+
+"Only my humble trust that a priest may be blessed in his appeal to duty
+even where a father's appeal to natural affection has been disregarded."
+
+"Well, well," said Conolly, kindly, rising as his visitor disconsolately
+prepared to go, "you can try. _I_ got on by dint of dogged faith in
+myself."
+
+"And I get on by lowly faith in my Master. I would I could imbue you
+with the same feeling!"
+
+Conolly shook his head; and they went downstairs in silence. "Hallo!"
+said he, as he opened the door, "it is raining. Let me lend you a coat."
+
+"Thank you, no. Not at all. Good-night," said the clergyman, quickly,
+and hastened away through the rain from Conolly's civilities.
+
+When he arrived at Westbourne Terrace, there was a cab waiting before
+the house. The door was opened to him by Marian's maid, who was dressed
+for walking.
+
+"Master is in the drawing-room, sir, with Miss McQuinch," she said,
+meaning, evidently, "Look out for squalls."
+
+He went upstairs, and found Elinor, with her hat on, standing by the
+pianoforte, with battle in her nostrils. Mr. Lind, looking perplexed
+and angry, was opposite to her.
+
+"George," said Mr. Lind, "close the door. Do you know the latest news?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Marian has run away!"
+
+"Run away!"
+
+"Yes," said Miss McQuinch. "She has fled to Mrs. Toplis's, at St. Mary's
+Terrace, with--as Uncle Reginald was just saying--a most dangerous
+associate."
+
+"With--?"
+
+"With _me_, in short."
+
+"And you have counselled her to take this fatal step?"
+
+"No. I advised her to stay. But she is not so well used to domestic
+discomfort as I am; so she insisted on going. We have got very nice
+rooms: you may come and see us, if you like."
+
+"Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant humor?" said the
+Rev. George, indignantly. "I think the spectacle of a wrecked home--"
+
+"Stuff!" interrupted Elinor, impatiently. "What else can I say? Uncle
+Reginald tells me I have corrupted Marian, and refuses to believe what I
+tell him. And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you have
+driven her away. If you want to see her, she is within five minutes walk
+of you. It is you who have wrecked her home, not she who has wrecked
+yours."
+
+"There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George," said Mr. Lind, with the
+air of a man who had tried it. "You had better go to Marian, and tell
+her what you mentioned this afternoon. What has been the result of your
+visit?"
+
+"He maintains that she knows everything," said the Rev. George, with a
+dispirited glance at Elinor. "I fear my visit has been worse than
+useless."
+
+"It is impossible that she should know. He lies," said Mr. Lind. "Go and
+tell her the truth, George; and say that I desire her--I order her--to
+come back at once. Say that I am waiting here for her."
+
+"But, Uncle Reginald," began Elinor, in a softer tone than before,
+whilst the clergyman stood in doubt--
+
+"I think," continued Mr. Lind, "that I must request you, Elinor, to
+occupy the rooms you have taken, until you return to your parents. I
+regret that you have forced me to take this step; but I cannot continue
+to offer you facilities for exercising your influence over my daughter.
+I will charge myself with all your expenses until you go to Wiltshire."
+
+Elinor looked at him as if she despaired of his reason. Then, seeing her
+cousin slowly going to the door, she said:
+
+"You dont really mean to go on such a fool's errand to Marian, George?"
+
+"Elinor!" cried Mr. Lind.
+
+"What else is it?" said Elinor. "You asserted all your authority
+yourself this morning, and only made matters worse. Yet you expect her
+to obey you at second hand. Besides, she is bound in honor not to desert
+_me_ now; and I will tell her so, too, if I see any sign of her letting
+herself be bullied."
+
+"I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say to her," said the
+clergyman.
+
+"If you are coming," said Elinor, "you had better come in my cab.
+Good-night, Uncle Reginald."
+
+"Stay," said Mr. Lind, irresolutely. "Elinor, I--you--Will you exercise
+your influence to induce Marian to return? I think you owe me at least
+so much."
+
+"I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her marriage and let her
+do as she likes. But if you can give her no better reason for returning
+than that she can be more conveniently persecuted here than at St.
+Mary's Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter how I may
+influence her."
+
+"If she is resolved to quarrel with me, I cannot help it," said Mr.
+Lind, pettishly.
+
+"You know very well that she is the last person on earth to quarrel with
+anyone."
+
+"She has been indulged in every way. This is the first time she has been
+asked to sacrifice her own wishes."
+
+"To sacrifice her whole life, you mean. It is the first time she has
+ever hesitated to sacrifice her own comfort, and therefore the first
+time you are conscious that any sacrifice is required. Let me tell her
+that you will allow her to take her own course, Uncle Reginald. He is
+well enough off; and they are fond of one another. A man of genius is
+worth fifty men of rank."
+
+"Tell her, if you please, Elinor, that she must choose between Mr.
+Conolly and me. If she prefers him, well and good: I have done with her.
+That is my last word."
+
+"So now she has nobody to turn to in the world except him. That is
+sensible. Come, cousin George! I am off."
+
+"I do not think I should do any good by going," said the clergyman.
+
+"Then stay where you are," said Elinor. "Good-night." And she abruptly
+left the room.
+
+"It was a dreadful mistake ever to have allowed that young fury to
+enter the house," said Mr. Lind. "She must be mad. What did _he_ say?"
+
+"He said a great deal in attempted self-justification. But I could make
+no impression on him. We have no feelings in common with a man of his
+type. No. He is evidently bent on raising himself by a good marriage."
+
+"We cannot prevent it."
+
+"Oh, surely we----"
+
+"I tell you we _cannot_ prevent it," repeated Mr. Lind, turning angrily
+upon his son. "How can we? What can we do? She will marry
+this--this--this--this beggar. I wish to God I had never seen her
+mother."
+
+The clergyman stood by, cowed, and said nothing.
+
+"You had better go to that woman of Marmaduke's," continued Mr. Lind,
+"and try whether she can persuade her brother to commute his interest in
+the company, and go back to America, or to the devil. I will take care
+that he gets good terms, even if I have to make them up out of my own
+pocket. If the worst comes, _she_ must be persuaded to leave Marmaduke.
+Offer her money. Women of that sort drive a hard bargain; but they have
+their price."
+
+"But, sir, consider my profession. How can I go to drive a bargain with
+a woman of evil reputation?"
+
+"Well, I must go myself, I suppose."
+
+"Oh, no. I will go. Only I thought I would mention it."
+
+"A clergyman can go anywhere. You are privileged. Come to breakfast in
+the morning: we can talk over matters then."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+One morning the Rev. George Lind received a letter addressed in a
+handwriting which he did not remember and never thenceforth forgot.
+Within the envelope he found a dainty little bag made of blue satin,
+secured by ribbons of the same material. This contained a note written
+on scented paper, edged with gold, and decorated with a miniature
+representation of a _pierrot_, sitting cross-legged, conning a book, on
+the open pages of which appeared the letters L.V. The clergyman
+recognized the monogram no more than the writing. But as it was
+evidently from a lady, he felt a pleasant thrill of expectation as he
+unfolded the paper.
+
+                                        "Laurel Grove West Kensington
+                                             "Wednesday
+  "Dear Mr. George
+
+  "I have made poor little Lucy believe that Kew is the most heavenly
+  place on earth to spend a May morning so Bob has had to promise to
+  row her down there to-morrow (Thursday) after breakfast and I shall
+  be at home alone from eleven to one this is very short notice I
+  know but opportunities are scarce and another might not present
+  itself for a month.
+
+  "Believe me Dear Mr. George
+
+                                     "Yours sincerely
+                                            Lalage Virtue."
+
+The Rev. George became thoughtful, and absently put the note in a little
+rack over the mantelpiece. Then, recollecting that a prying servant or
+landlady might misinterpret it, he transferred it to his pocket. After
+breakfast, having satisfied himself before the mirror that his dress was
+faultless, and his expression saintly, he went out and travelled by rail
+from Sloane Square to West Kensington, whence he walked to Laurel Grove.
+An elderly maid opened the gate. It was a rule with the Rev. George not
+to look at strange women; and this morning the asceticism which he
+thought proper to his office was unusually prominent in his thoughts. He
+did not look up once while the maid conducted him through the shrubbery
+to the house; and he fully believed that he had not seen at the first
+glance that she was remarkably plain, as Susanna took care that all her
+servants should be. Passing by the drawing-room, where he had been on a
+previous occasion, they went on to a smaller apartment at the back of
+the house.
+
+"What room is this?" he asked, uneasily.
+
+"Missus's Purjin bodoor, sir," replied the main.
+
+She opened the door; and the clergyman, entering, found himself in a
+small room, luxuriously decorated in sham Persian, but containing
+ornaments of all styles and periods, which had been purchased and
+introduced just as they had caught Susanna's fancy. She was seated on a
+ottoman, dressed in wide trousers, Turkish slippers, a voluminous sash,
+a short Greek jacket, a long silk robe with sleeves, and a turban, all
+of fine soft materials and rare colors. Her face was skilfully painted,
+and her dark hair disposed so as not to overweight her small head. The
+clergyman, foolishly resisting a natural impulse to admire her, felt
+like St. Anthony struggling with the fascination of a disguised devil.
+He responded to her smile of welcome by a stiff bow.
+
+"Sit down," she said. "You mustnt mind this absurd dress: it belongs to
+a new piece I am studying. I always study in character. It is the only
+way to identify myself with my part, you see."
+
+"It seems a very magnificent dress, certainly," said the clergyman,
+nervously.
+
+"Thank you for the compliment----"
+
+"No, no," said he, hastily. "I had no such intention."
+
+"Of course not," said Susanna, with a laugh. "It was merely an
+unpremeditated remark: all compliments are, of course. I know all about
+that. But do you think it a proper costume?"
+
+"In what sense, may I ask?"
+
+"Is it a correct Eastern dress? I am supposed to be one of the wives of
+the Caliph Somebody al Something. You have no idea how difficult it is
+to get a reliable model for a dress before laying out a heap of money on
+it. This was designed in Paris; but I should like to hear it
+criticized--chronologically, or whatever you call it--by a scholar."
+
+"I really do not know, Madam. I am not an Orientalist; and my studies
+take a widely different direction from yours."
+
+"Yes, of course," said Susanna, with a sigh. "But I assure you I often
+wish for your advice, particularly as to my elocution, which is very
+faulty. You are such a master of the art."
+
+The clergyman bowed in acceptance of the compliment, and began to take
+heart; for to receive flattery from ladies in exchange for severe
+reproof was part of his daily experience.
+
+"I have come here," he said, "to have a very serious conversation with
+you."
+
+"All right, Doctor. Fire away."
+
+This sudden whim of conferring on him a degree in divinity, and her
+change of manner--implying that she had been laughing at him
+before--irritated him. "I presume," he said, "that you are acquainted
+with the movements of your brother."
+
+"Of Ned?" said Susanna, frowning a little. "No. What should I know about
+him?"
+
+"He is, I believe, about to be married."
+
+"No!" screamed Susanna, throwing herself back, and making her bangles
+and ornaments clatter. "Get out, Doctor. You dont mean it."
+
+"Certainly I mean it. It is not my profession to jest. I must also tell
+you that his marriage will make it quite impossible for you to continue
+here with my cousin."
+
+"Why? Who is he going to marry?"
+
+"Ahem! He has succeeded in engaging the affections of my sister."
+
+"What! Your sister? Marian Lind?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Susanna uttered a long whistle, and then, with a conviction and
+simplicity which prevented even the Rev. George from being shocked,
+said: "Well, I _am_ damned! I know more than one fool of a girl who will
+be sick and sorry to hear it." She paused, and added carelessly: "I
+suppose all your people are delighted?"
+
+"I do not know why you should suppose so. We have had no hand in the
+matter. My sister has followed her own inclinations."
+
+"Indeed! Let me tell you, young man, that your sister might have gone
+farther and fared worse."
+
+"Doubtless. However, you will see now how impossible it is that you
+should remain in your present--that you should continue here, in fact."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"You cannot," said the clergyman, accustomed to be bold and stern with
+female sinners, "when you are sister-in-law to Miss Lind, live as you
+are now doing with her cousin."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because it would be a scandal. I will say nothing at present of the sin
+of it: you will have to account for that before a greater than I."
+
+"Just so, Doctor. You dont mind the sin; but when it comes to a
+scandal----!"
+
+"I did not say so. I abhor the sin. I have prayed earnestly for your
+awakening, and shall do so in spite of the unregenerate hardness of
+heart----"
+
+"Hallo, Doctor! draw it mild, if you please. I am not one of your
+parishioners, you know. Perhaps that is the reason your prayers for me
+have not met with much attention. Let us stick to business: you may talk
+shop as much as you please afterwards. What do you want me to do?"
+
+"To sever your connexion with Marmaduke at once. Believe me, it will not
+prove so hard a step as it may seem. You have but to ask for strength to
+do it, and you will find yourself strong. It will profit you even more
+than poor Marmaduke."
+
+"Will it? I dont see it, Doctor. You think it will profit _you_: thats
+plain enough. But it wont profit me; it wont profit Bob; and it wont by
+any means profit the child."
+
+"Not immediately, perhaps, in a worldly sense----"
+
+"That is the sense I mean. Drop all that other stuff: I dont believe in
+you parsons: you are about the worst lot going, as far as I can see.
+Just tell me this, Doctor. Your sister is a very nice girl, I have no
+doubt: she would hardly have snapped up Ned if she wasn't. But why is
+she to have everything her own way?"
+
+"I do not understand."
+
+"Well, listen. Here is a young woman who has had every chance in life
+that hick could give her: silk cradles, gold rattles, rank, wealth,
+schooling, travelling, swell acquaintances, and anything else she chose
+to ask for. Even when she is fool enough to want to get married, her
+luck sticks to her, and she catches Ned, who is a man in a
+thousand--though Lord forbid we should have many of his sort about! Yet
+she's not satisfied. She wants _me_ to give up my establishment just to
+keep her family in countenance."
+
+"She knows nothing of my visit, I assure you."
+
+"Even if she doesnt, it makes no odds as to the facts. She can go her
+own way; and I will go mine. I shant want to visit her; and I dont
+suppose she will visit me. So she need trouble herself no more than if
+there was no such person as I in the world."
+
+"But you will find that it will be greatly to your advantage to leave
+this house. It is not our intention that you shall suffer in a pecuniary
+point of view by doing so. My father is rich----"
+
+"What is that to me? He doesnt want me to go and live with him, does
+he?"
+
+"You quite misunderstand me. No such idea ever entered----"
+
+"There! go on. I only said that to get a rise out of you, Doctor. How do
+you make out that I should gain by leaving this house?"
+
+"My father is willing to make you some amends for the withdrawal of
+such portion of Marmaduke's income as you may forfeit by ceasing your
+connexion with him."
+
+"You have come to buy me out, in fact: is that it? What a clever old man
+your father must be! Knows the world thoroughly, eh?"
+
+"I hope I have not offended you?"
+
+"Bless you, Doctor! nobody could be offended with you. Suppose I agree
+to oblige you (you have a very seductive High Church way about you) who
+is to make Marmaduke amends for such portion of _my_ income as our
+separation will deprive _him_ of? Eh? I see that that staggers you a
+little. If you will just tot up the rent of this house since we have had
+it; the price of the furniture; our expenses, including my carriage and
+Marmaduke's horse and the boat; six hundred pounds of debt that he ran
+up before he settled down with me; and other little things; and then
+find out from his father how much money he has drawn within the last two
+years, I think you will find it rather hard to make the two balance.
+Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke money to spend on me;
+but he was not too good to keep me playing in the provinces all through
+last autumn just to make both ends meet, when I ought to have been
+taking my holiday. I wish you would tell his mother, your blessed pious
+Aunt Dora, to send Bob the set of diamonds his grandmother left him,
+instead of sermons which he never reads."
+
+"I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, independently of his
+father."
+
+"A thousand a year! What is that? And your uncle would stop even that,
+if he could, to keep it out of my hands. You may tell him that if it
+didnt come into my hands it would hardly last a week. Only for the
+child, and the garden, and the sort of quiet life he leads here, he
+would spend a thousand a month. And look at _my_ expenses! Look at my
+dresses! I suppose you think that people wear cotton velvet and glazed
+calico on the stage, as Mrs. Siddons did in the old days when they acted
+by candlelight. Why, between dress and jewellery, I have about two
+hundred pounds on my back at the present moment; and you neednt think
+that any manager alive will find dresses to that tune. At the theatre
+they think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they might shut
+up the house to-morrow if my name was taken out of the bills. Tell your
+father that so far from my living on Bob, it is as much as I can do to
+keep this place going by my work--not to mention the worry of it, which
+always falls on the woman."
+
+"I certainly had no idea of the case being as you describe," said the
+clergyman, losing his former assurance. "But would it not then be better
+for you to separate?"
+
+"Certainly not. I want my house and home. So does he. If an income is
+rather tight, halving it is a very good way to make it tighter. No: if I
+left Bob, he would go to the devil; and very likely I should go to the
+devil, too, and disgrace you in earnest."
+
+"But, my dear madam, consider the disgrace at present!"
+
+"What disgrace? When your sister becomes Mrs. Ned, what will be the
+difference between her position and mine? Dont look aghast. What will be
+the difference?"
+
+"Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense with the sacrament of
+marriage before casting in her lot with your brother!"
+
+"I bet you my next week's salary that you dont get Ned to enter a
+church. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of course, your sister will
+have the law of him somehow: she cant help herself. She is not
+independent; and so she must be guaranteed against his leaving her
+without bread and butter. _I_ can support myself, and may shew Bob a
+clean pair of heels to-morrow, if I choose. Even if she has money of her
+own, she darent stick to her freedom for fear of society. _I_ snap my
+fingers at society, and care as little about it as it cares about me;
+and I have no doubt she would be glad to do the same if she had the
+pluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a regular legal bargain of
+going to live with a man. I dont care to make love a matter of money; it
+gives it a taste of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to be
+honorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. George's, Hanover
+Square, before we came to live here; but, of course, I refused, as any
+decent woman in my circumstances would. Understand me now, Doctor: I
+dont want to give myself any virtuous airs, or to boast of behaving
+better than your sister. I know the world; and I know that she will
+marry Ned just as much because she thinks it right as because she cant
+help herself. But dont you try to make me swallow any gammon about my
+disgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I am. I can respect
+myself; and I dont care whether you or your family respect me or not. If
+you dont approve of me, why! nobody asks you to associate with me. If
+you want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If I want it, I can
+fill this house to-morrow. Not with stupid fine ladies, but with really
+clever people, who are not at all shy of me. Look at me at the present
+moment! I am receiving a morning visit from the best born and most
+popular parson in Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, what your parishioners
+would think if they could see you now."
+
+"I must confess that I do not understand you at all. You seem to see
+everything reversed--upside down. You--I--you bewilder me, Miss Conol--"
+
+"Sh! Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or you may call me
+Susanna, if you like, since we are as good as related."
+
+"I fear," said the clergyman, blushing, "that we have no common ground
+on which to argue. I am sorry I have no power to influence you."
+
+"Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and would do more for you
+than most people. If your father had had the cheek to come himself to
+offer me money, and so forth, I would have put him out of the house
+double quick; whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. Never mind
+your hat yet. Have a bottle of champagne with me?"
+
+"Thank you, no."
+
+"Dont you drink at all?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You should. It would give a fillip to your sermons. Let me send you a
+case of champagne. Promise to drink a bottle every Sunday in the vestry
+before you come out to preach, and I will take a pew for the season in
+your church. Thats good of me, isnt it?"
+
+"I must go," said the Rev. George, rising, after hastily pretending to
+look at his watch. "Will you excuse me?"
+
+"Nonsense," she said, rising also, and slipping her hand through his arm
+to detain him. "Wait and have some luncheon. Why, Doctor, I really think
+youre afraid of me. _Do_ stay."
+
+"Impossible. I have much business which I am bound----Pray, let me go,"
+pleaded the clergyman, piteously, ineffectually struggling with Susanna,
+who had now got his arm against her breast. "You must be mad!" he cried,
+drops of sweat breaking out on his brow as he felt himself being pulled
+helplessly toward the ottoman. She got her knee on it at last; and he
+made a desperate effort to free himself.
+
+"Oh, how rough you are!" she exclaimed in her softest voice, adroitly
+tumbling into the seat as if he had thrown her down, and clinging to his
+arms; so that it was as much as he could do to keep his feet as he
+stooped over her, striving to get upright. At which supreme moment the
+door was opened by Marmaduke, who halted on the threshold to survey the
+two reproachfully for a moment. Then he said:
+
+"George: I'm astonished at you. I have not much opinion of parsons as a
+rule; but I really did think that _you_ were to be depended on."
+
+"Marmaduke," said the clergyman, colouring furiously, and almost beside
+himself with shame and anger: "you know perfectly well that I am
+actuated in coming here by no motive unworthy of my profession. You
+misunderstand what you have seen. I will not hear my calling made a jest
+of."
+
+"Quite right, Doctor," said Susanna, giving him a gentle pat of
+encouragement on the shoulder. "Defend the cloth, always. I was only
+asking him to stay to lunch, Bob. Cant you persuade him?"
+
+"Do, old fellow," said Marmaduke. "Come! you must: I havnt had a chat
+with you for ever so long. I'm really awfully sorry I interrupted you.
+What on earth did you make Susanna rig herself out like that for?"
+
+"Hold your tongue, Bob. Mr. George has nothing to do with my being in
+character. This is what came last night in the box: I could not resist
+trying it on this morning. I am Zobeida, the light of the harem, if you
+please. I must have your opinion of the rouge song, Doctor. Observe.
+This is a powder puff: I suppose you never saw such a thing before. I am
+making up my face for a visit of the Sultan; and I am apologizing to the
+audience for using cosmetics. The original French is improper; so I will
+give you the English version, by the celebrated Robinson, the cleverest
+adapter of the day:
+
+  'Poor odalisques in captive thrall
+  Must never let their charms pall:
+    If they get the sack
+    They ne'er come back;
+  For the Bosphorus is the boss for all
+  In this harem, harem, harem, harem, harum scarum place.'
+
+Intellectual, isnt it?"
+
+Susanna, whilst singing, executed a fantastic slow dance, stopping at
+certain points to clink a pair of little cymbals attached to her ankles,
+and to look for a moment archly at the clergyman.
+
+"No," he said, hurt and offended into a sincerity of manner which
+compelled them to respect him for the first time, "I will not stay; and
+I am very sorry I came." And he left the room, his cheeks tingling.
+Marmaduke followed him to the gate. "Come and look us up soon again, old
+fellow," he said.
+
+"Marmaduke," said the clergyman: "you are travelling as fast as you can
+along the road to Hell."
+
+As he hurried away, Marmaduke leaned against the gate and made the
+villas opposite echo his laughter.
+
+"On my soul, it's a shame," said he, when he returned to the house.
+"Poor old George!"
+
+"He found no worse than he had made up his mind to find," said Susanna.
+"What right has he to come into my house and take it for granted, to my
+face, that I am a disgrace to his sister? One would think I was a common
+woman from the streets."
+
+"Pshaw! What does he know? He is only a molly-coddling parson, poor
+fellow. He will give them a rare account of you when he goes back."
+
+"Let him," said Susanna. "He can tell them how little I care for their
+opinion, anyhow."
+
+The Rev. George took the next train to the City, and went to the offices
+of the Electro-Motor Company, where he found his father. They retired
+together to the board-room, which was unoccupied just then.
+
+"I have been to that woman," said the clergyman.
+
+"Well, what does she say?"
+
+"She is an entirely abandoned person. She glories in her shame. I have
+never before met with such an example of complete and unconscious
+depravity. Yet she is not unattractive. There is a wonderfully clever
+refinement even in her coarseness which goes far to account for her
+influence over Marmaduke."
+
+"No doubt; but apart from her personal charms, about which I am not
+curious, is she willing to assist us?"
+
+"No. I could make no impression on her at all."
+
+"Well, it cannot be helped. Did you say anything about Conolly's selling
+his interest here and leaving the country?"
+
+"No," said the clergyman, struck with a sense of remissness. "I forgot
+that. The fact is, I hardly had the oppor----"
+
+"Never mind. It is just as well that you did not: it might have made
+mischief."
+
+"I do not think it is of the least use to pursue her with any further
+overtures. Besides, I really could not undertake to conduct them."
+
+"May I ask," said Mr. Lind, turning on him suddenly, "what objection you
+have to Marian's wishes being consulted in this matter?"
+
+The Rev. George recoiled, speechless.
+
+"I certainly think," said Mr. Lind, more smoothly, "that Marian might
+have trusted to my indulgence instead of hurrying away to a lodging and
+writing the news in all directions. But I must say I have received some
+very nice letters about it. Jasper is quite congratulatory. The _Court
+Journal_ has a paragraph this week alluding to it with quite good taste.
+Conolly is a very remarkable man; and, as the _Court Journal_ truly
+enough remarks, he has won a high place in the republic of art and
+science. As a Liberal, I cannot say that I disapprove of Marian's
+choice; and I really think that it will be looked on in society as an
+interesting one."
+
+Mr. Lind's son eyed him dubiously for quite a long time. Then he said,
+slowly, "Am I to understand that I may now speak of the marriage as a
+recognized thing?"
+
+"Why not, pray?"
+
+"Of course, since you wish it, and it cannot be helped--" The clergyman
+again looked at his father, still more dubiously. He saw in his eye that
+there would be a quarrel if the interview lasted much longer. So he said
+"I must go home now. I have to write my sermon for next Sunday."
+
+"Very good. Do not let me detain you. Good-bye."
+
+The Rev. George returned to his rooms quite dazed by the novelty of his
+sensations. He had always respected his father beyond other men; and now
+he knew that his father did not deserve his respect in the least. That
+was one conviction uprooted. And Susanna had done something to him--he
+did not exactly know what; but he felt altogether a different man from
+the clergyman of the day before. He had come face to face with what he
+called Vice for the first time, and found it not at all what he had
+supposed it to be. He had believed that he knew it to be most
+dangerously attractive to the physical, but utterly repugnant to the
+moral sense; and such fascination he was prepared to resist to the
+utmost. But he was attacked in just the opposite way, and thereby so
+thrown off his guard that he did not know he was attacked at all; so
+that he told himself vaingloriously that the shafts of the enemy had
+fallen harmlessly from his breastplate of faith. For he was not in the
+least charmed by Susanna's person. He had detected the paint on her
+cheeks, and had noted with aversion a certain unhealthy bloat in her
+face, and an alcoholic taint in her breath. He exulted in the
+consciousness that he had been genuinely disgusted, not as a matter of
+duty, but unaffectedly, as a matter of simple nature. What interested
+him in her was her novel and bold moral attitude, her self-respect in
+the midst of her sin, her striking arguments in favor of an apparently
+indefensible course of life. Hers was no common case of loose living, he
+felt: there was a soul to be saved there, if only Heaven would raise her
+up a friend in some man absolutely proof against the vulgar fascination
+of her prettiness. He began to imagine a certain greatness of character
+about her, a capacity for heroic repentance as well as for heroic sin.
+Before long he was amusing himself by thinking how it might have gone
+with her if she had him for her counsellor instead of a gross and
+thoughtless rake like Marmaduke.
+
+It is not necessary to follow the wild goose chase which the Rev.
+George's imagination ran from this starting-point to the moment when he
+was suddenly awakened, by an unmistakable symptom, to the fact that he
+was being outwitted and beglamoured, like the utter novice he was, by a
+power which he believed to be the devil. He rushed to the little oratory
+he had arranged with a screen in the corner of his sitting-room, and
+prayed aloud, long and earnestly. But the hypnotizing process did not
+tranquilize him as usual. It excited him, and led him finally to a
+passionate appeal for pardon and intercession to a statuet of the Virgin
+Mother, of whom he was a very devout adorer. He had always regarded
+himself as her especial champion in the Church of England; and now he
+had been faithless to her, and indelicate into the bargain. And yet, in
+spite of his contrition, he felt that he was having a tremendous
+spiritual experience, which he would not for worlds have missed. The
+climax of it was the composition of his Sunday sermon, the labor of
+which secured him a sound sleep that night. It was duly delivered on the
+following Sunday morning in this form:
+
+"Dearly beloved Brethren: In the twenty-third verse of the third chapter
+of St. Mark's gospel, we find this question: '_How can Satan cast out
+Satan_?' How can Satan cast out Satan? If you will read what follows,
+you will perceive that that question was not answered. My brethren, it
+is unanswerable: it never has been, and it never can be answered.
+
+"In these latter days, when the power of Satan has become so vast, when
+his empire and throne tower in our midst so that the faithful are cast
+down by the exceeding great shadow thereof, and when temples innumerable
+are open for his worship, it is no strange thing that many faint-hearted
+ones should give half their hearts to Beelzebub, and should hope by the
+prince of devils to cast out devils. Yes, this is what is taking place
+daily around us. Oh, you, who seek to excuse this book to infidel
+philosophers by shewing with how much facility a glib tongue may
+reconcile it with their so-called science, I tell you that it is science
+and not the Bible that shall need that apology in the great day of
+wrath. And, therefore, I would have you, my brethren, earnestly
+discountenance all endeavors to justify the Word of God by explaining it
+in conformity with the imaginations of the men of science. How can Satan
+cast out Satan? He cannot; but he can lead you into the sin of adding to
+and of taking from the words of this book. He can add plagues unto you,
+and take away your part out of the holy city.
+
+"In this great London which we inhabit we are come upon evil day's. The
+rage of the blasphemer, the laugh at the scoffer, the heartless
+lip-service of the worldling, and the light dalliance of the daughters
+of music, are offered every hour upon a thousand Baal-altars within this
+very parish. I would ask some of you who spend your evenings in the
+playhouses which multiply around us like weeds sown in the rank soil of
+human frailty, what justification you make to yourselves when you are
+alone in the watches of the night, and your conscience saith, '_What
+went ye out for to see_?' You will then complain of the bitterness of
+life, and prate of the refining influences of music; of the help to
+spiritual-mindedness given by the exhibition on the public stage of
+mockeries of God's world, wherein some pitiful temporal triumph of
+simulated virtue in the last act is the apology for the vicious trifling
+that has gone before. And in whom do you there see typified that virtue
+which you should shield in your hearts from the contamination of the
+theatre? Is it not in some woman whose private life is the scandalous
+matter of your whispered conversations, and whose shameless face smirks
+at you from the windows of those picture-shops which are a disgrace to
+our national morality? Is it from such as she that you will learn to be
+spiritual-minded? Does she appear before your carnal crowds repentant,
+her forehead covered with ashes, her limbs covered with sackcloth? No!
+Her brow is glowing with unquenchable fire to kindle the fuel that the
+devil has hidden in your hearts. Her raiment is cloth of gold; and she
+is not covered with it. Naked and unashamed, she smiles and weeps in
+mockery of the virtue which you would persuade yourselves that she
+represents to you. Will you learn spiritual-mindedness from the sight of
+her eyes, from the sound of her mouth, from the measure of her steps, or
+from the music and the dancing that cease not within the doors of her
+temple? How can Satan cast out Satan? Whom think ye to deceive by
+whitening the sepulchre? Is it yourselves? The devil has blinded you
+already. Is it God? Who shall hide anything from Him? I tell you that he
+who makes the pursuit of virtue a luxury, and takes refuge from sin, not
+before the altar, but in the playhouse, is casting out devils by
+Beelzebub, the prince of the devils.
+
+"As I look about me in this church; I see many things intended to give
+pleasure to the carnal eye. Were the cost of all these dainty robes,
+this delicate headgear, these clouds of silk, of satin, of lace, and of
+sparkling jewels, were the price of these things brought into the
+Church's treasury, how loudly might the Gospel resound in lands between
+whose torrid shores and the tropical sun the holy shade of Calvary has
+not yet fallen! But, you will say, it is a good thing to be comely in
+the house of the Lord. The sight of what is beautiful elevates the mind.
+Uncleanness is a vice. This, then, is how you will war with uncleanness.
+Not by prayer and holy living. Not by pouring of your superfluity into
+the lap of the poor, and entering by the strait gate upon the narrow
+path in a garment without seam. No. By the dead and damning gold; by
+the purple and by the scarlet; by the brightness of the eyes that is
+born of new wine; by the mincing gait and the gloved fingers; and by the
+musk and civet instead of the myrrh and frankincense: by these things
+are you fain to purge your uncleanness. And will they suffice? Can Satan
+cast out Satan? Beware! '_For though thou wash thee with nitre and take
+thee much soap, yet thine iniquity is marked before me, saith the Lord
+God_.' There shall come a day when your lace and feathers shall hang on
+you as heavy as your chains of gold, to drag you down to him in whose
+name you have thought to cast out devils. Do not think that these things
+are harmless vanities. Nothing can fill the human heart and be harmless.
+If your thoughts be not of God, they will keep your minds distraught
+from His grace as effectually as the blackest broodings of crime. '_Can
+a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people have
+forgotten me days without number, saith the Lord God_.' Yes, your minds
+are too puny to entertain the full worship of God: do you think they are
+spacious enough to harbor the worship of Baal side by side with it? Much
+less dare you pretend that the Baal altar is erected for the honor of
+God, that you may come into His presence comely and clean. It is but a
+few days since I stood in the presence of a woman who boasted to me that
+she bore upon her the value of two hundred pounds of our money. I cared
+little for the value of money that was upon her. But what shall be said
+of the weight of sin her attire represented? For, those costly garments
+were the wages of sin--of hardened, shameless, damnable sin. Yet there
+is not before me a finer dress or a fairer face. Will you, my sisters,
+trust to the comeliness of visage and splendor of raiment in which such
+a woman as this can outshine you? Will you continue to cast out your
+devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils? Be advised whilst there is
+yet time. Ask yourself again and again, how can Satan cast out Satan?
+
+"When sin is committed in a great city for wages, is there no fault on
+the side of those who pay the wages? There is more than fault: there is
+crime. I trust there are few among you who have done such crime. But I
+know full well that it may be said of London to-day '_Thou art full of
+stirs, a joyous city: thy slain men are not slain with the sword, nor
+dead in battle_.' No. Our young men are slain by the poison of
+Beelzebub, the prince of the devils. Nor is the crafty old subterfuge
+lacking here. There are lost ones in this town who say, 'It is by our
+means that virtue is preserved to the rich: it is we who appease the
+wicked rage which would otherwise wreck society.' There are men who
+boast that they have brought their sins only to the houses of shame, and
+that they have respected purity in the midst of their foulness. 'Such
+things must be,' they say: 'let us alone, lest a worse thing ensue.'
+When they are filled full with sin, they cry 'Lo! our appetite has gone
+from us and we are clean.' They are willing to slake lust with satiety,
+but not to combat it with prayer. They tread one woman into the mire,
+and excuse themselves because the garment of her sister is spotless. How
+vain is this lying homage to virtue! How can Satan cast out Satan?
+
+"Oh, my brethren, this hypocrisy is the curse and danger of our age. The
+Atheist, no longer an execration, an astonishment, a curse, and a
+reproach, poses now as the friend of man and the champion of right.
+Those who incur the last and most terrible curse in this book, do so in
+the name of that truth for which they profess to be seeking. Art,
+profanely veiling its voluptuous nakedness with the attributes of
+religion, disguises folly so subtly that it seems like virtue in the
+slothful eyes of those who neglect continually to watch and pray. The
+vain woman puts on her ornaments to do honor to her Creator's handiwork:
+the lustful man casts away his soul that society may be kept clean:
+there is not left in these latter days a sin that does not pretend to
+work the world's salvation, nor a man who flatters not himself that the
+sin of one may be the purging of many. To such I say, Look to your own
+soul: of no other shall any account be demanded of you. A day shall come
+in which a fire shall be kindled among your gods. The Lord shall array
+Himself with this land as a shepherd putteth on his garment. Be sure
+that then if ye shall say 'I am a devil; but I have cast out many
+devils,' He will reply unto you, How can Satan cast out Satan? Who shall
+prompt you to an answer to that question? Nay, though in His boundless
+mercy He give you a thousand years to search, and spread before you all
+the books of science and sociology in which you were wont to find
+excuses for sin, what will it avail you? Will a scoff, or a quibble over
+a doubtful passage, serve your turn? No. You cannot scoff whilst your
+tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth for fear, and there will be no
+passage doubtful in all the Scriptures on that day; for the light of the
+Lord's countenance will be over all things."
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+One Sunday afternoon, as the sun was making rainbows in the cloud of
+spray thrown from the fountain in Kew Gardens, Sholto Douglas appeared
+there amongst the promenaders on the banks of the pond. He halted on the
+steps leading down to the basin, gazing idly at the waterfowl paddling
+at his feet. A lady in a becoming grey dress came to the top of the
+steps, and looked curiously at him. Somehow aware of this, he turned
+indifferently, as if to leave, and found that the lady was Marian. Her
+ripened beauty, her perfect self-possession, a gain in her as of added
+strength and wisdom, and a loss in her as of gentleness outgrown and
+timidity overcome, dazzled him for a moment--caused a revulsion in him
+which he half recognized as the beginning of a dangerous passion. His
+former love for her suddenly appeared boyish and unreal to him; and this
+ruin of a once cherished illusion cost him a pang. Meanwhile, there she
+was, holding out her hand and smiling with a cool confidence in the
+success of her advance that would have been impossible to Marian Lind.
+
+"How do you do?" she said.
+
+"Thank you: I am fairly well. You are quite well, I hope?"
+
+"I am in rude health. I hardly knew you at first."
+
+"Am I altered?"
+
+"You are growing stout."
+
+"Indeed? Time has not been so bounteous to me as to you."
+
+"You mean that I am stouter than you?" She laughed; and the sound
+startled him. He got from it an odd impression that her soul was gone.
+But he hastened to protest.
+
+"No, no. You know I do not. I meant that you have achieved the
+impossible--altered for the better."
+
+"I am glad you think so. I cling to my good looks desperately now that I
+am growing matronly. How is Mrs. Douglas?"
+
+"She is quite well, thank you. Mr. Conolly is, I trust--"
+
+"He is suffering from Eucalyptus on the brain at present. Do not trouble
+yourself to maintain that admirable expression of shocked sadness.
+Eucalyptus means gum-tree; and Ned is at present studying the species
+somewhere in the neighborhood. He came here with that object: he never
+goes anywhere without an object. He wants to plant Eucalyptuses round
+some new works where the people suffer from ague."
+
+"Oh! You mean that he is here in the gardens."
+
+"Yes. I left him among the trees, as I prefer the flowers. I want to see
+the lilies. There used to be some in a hot-house, or rather a hot bath,
+near this."
+
+"That is it on our right. May I go through it with you?"
+
+"Just as you please."
+
+"Thank you. It is a long time since we last met, is it not?"
+
+"More than a year. Fifteen months. I have not seen you since I was
+married."
+
+Douglas looked rather foolish at this. He was fatter, lazier,
+altogether less tenacious of his dignity than of old; and his
+embarrassment brought out the change strikingly. Marian liked him all
+the better for it; he was less imposing; but he was more a man and less
+a mere mask. At last, reddening a little, he said, "I remember our last
+meeting very well. We were very angry then: I was infuriated. In fact,
+when I recognized you a minute ago, I was not quite sure that you would
+renew our acquaintance."
+
+"I had exactly the same doubt about you."
+
+"A very unnecessary doubt. Not a sincere one, I am afraid. You know too
+well that your least beck will bring me to you at any time."
+
+"Dont you think we had better not begin that. I generally repeat my
+conversations to Ned. Not that he will mind, if you dont."
+
+Douglas now felt at his ease and in his clement. He was clearly welcome
+to philander. Recovering his poise at once, he began, in his finest
+voice, "You need not chide me. There can be no mistake on my part now.
+You can entangle me without fear; and I can love without hope. Ned is an
+unrepealed statute of Forbiddance. Go on, Mrs. Conolly. Play with me: it
+will amuse you. And--spiritless wretch that I am!--it will help me to
+live until you throw me away, crushed again."
+
+"You seem to have been quite comfortable without me: at least you look
+extremely well. I suspect you are becoming a little lazy and attached to
+your dinner. Your old haughtiness seems to have faded into a mere habit.
+It used to be the most active principle in you. Are you quite sure that
+nobody else has been helping you to live, as you call it?"
+
+"Helping me to forget, you mean. No, not one. Time has taught me the
+way to vegetate; and so I no longer need to live. As you have remarked,
+I have habits, not active principles. But one at least of these
+principles is blossoming again even as I speak. If I could only live as
+that lily lives now!"
+
+"In a warm bath?"
+
+"No. Floating on the surface of a quiet pool, looking up into your eyes,
+with no memory for the past, no anticipation of the future."
+
+"Delightful! especially for me. I think we had better go and look for
+Ned."
+
+"Were I in his place I would not be absent from your side now--or ever."
+
+"That is to say, if you were in his place, you wouldnt be in his
+place--among the gum trees. Perhaps you would be right."
+
+"He is the only man I have ever stooped to envy."
+
+"You have reason to," said Marian, suddenly grave.
+
+"I envy him sometimes myself. What would you give to be never without a
+purpose, never with a regret, to regard life as a succession of objects
+each to be accomplished by so many days' work; to take your pleasure in
+trifling lazily with the consciousness of possessing a strong brain; to
+study love, family affection, and friendship as a doctor studies
+breathing or digestion; to look on disinterestedness as either weakness
+or hypocrisy, and on death as a mere transfer of your social function to
+some member of the next generation?"
+
+"I could achieve all that, if I would, at the cost of my soul. I would
+not for worlds be such a man, save on one condition."
+
+"To wit?"
+
+"That only as such could I win the woman I loved."
+
+"Oh, you would not think so much of an insignificant factor like love if
+you were Ned."
+
+"May I ask, do you, too, think of love as 'an insignificant factor'?"
+
+"I? Oh, I am not a sociologist. Besides, I have never been in love."
+
+"What! You have never been in love?"
+
+"Not the real, romantic, burning, suicidal love your sonnets used to
+breathe."
+
+"Then you do not know what love is."
+
+"Do you?"
+
+"You should know whether I do or not."
+
+"Should I? Then I conclude that you do not. You are growing stout. Your
+dress is not in the least neglected. I am certain you enjoy life
+thoroughly. No, you have never known love in all its novelistic-poetic
+outrageousness. That respectable old passion is a myth."
+
+"You look for signs that only children shew. When an oak dies, it does
+not wither and fall at once as a sapling does. Perhaps you will one day
+know what it is to love."
+
+"Perhaps so."
+
+"In any case, you will be able to boast of having inspired the passion."
+
+"I hope so--at least, I mean that it is all nonsense. Do look at that
+vegetable lobster of a thing, that cactus."
+
+"In order to set off its ugliness properly, you should see yourself
+against the background of palms, with that great fan-like leaf for a
+halo, and----"
+
+"Thank you. I see it all in my mind's eye by your eloquent description.
+You are quite right in supposing that I like compliments; but I am
+particular about their quality; and I dont need to be told I am pretty
+in comparison with a hideous cactus. You would not have condescended to
+make such a speech long ago. You are changed."
+
+"Not toward you, on my honor."
+
+"I did not mean that: I meant toward yourself."
+
+"I am glad you have taken even that slender note of me. I find you
+somewhat changed, too."
+
+"I did not know that I shewed it; but it is true. I feel as if Marian
+Lind was a person whom I knew once, but whom I should hardly know
+again."
+
+"The change in me has not produced that effect. I feel as though Marian
+Lind were the history of my life."
+
+"You have become quite a master of the art of saying pretty things. You
+are nearly as glib at it as Ned."
+
+"We have the same incentive to admiration."
+
+"The same! You do not suppose that Ned pays _me_ compliments. He never
+did such a thing in his life. No: I first discovered his talent in that
+direction at Palermo, where I surprised him in an animated discourse
+with the dark-eyed daughter of an innkeeper there. That was the first
+conversation in Italian I succeeded in following. A week later I could
+understand the language almost as well as he. However, dont let us waste
+the whole afternoon talking stuff. I want to ask you about your mother.
+I should greatly like to call upon her; but she has never made me any
+sign since my marriage; and Mrs. Leith Fairfax tells me that she never
+allows my name to be mentioned to her. I thought she was fond of me."
+
+"So she was. But she has never forgiven you for making me suffer as you
+did. You see she has more spirit than I. She would be angered if she saw
+me now tamely following the triumphal chariot of my fair tyrant."
+
+"Seriously, do you think, if I made a raid on Manchester Square some
+morning, I could coax back her old feeling for me?"
+
+"I think you will be quite safe in calling, at all events. Tell me what
+day you intend to venture. I know my mother will not oppose me if I shew
+that I wish you to be kindly received."
+
+"Most disinterested of you. Thank you: I will fail or succeed on my own
+merits, not on your recommendation. You must not say a word to her about
+me or my project."
+
+"If you command me not to----"
+
+"I do command you."
+
+"I must obey. But I fear that the more submissive I am, the more
+imperious you will become."
+
+"Very likely. And now look along that avenue to the left. Do you see a
+man in a brown suit, with straw hat to match, walking towards us at a
+regular pace, and keeping in a perfectly straight course? He looks at
+everybody he passes as if he were counting them."
+
+"He is looking back at somebody now, as if he had missed the number."
+
+"Just so; but that somebody is a woman; doubtless a pretty one, probably
+dark. You recognize him, I see. There is a frost come over you which
+convinces me that you are preparing to receive him in your old
+ungracious way. I warn you that I am accustomed to see Ned made much of.
+He has caught sight of us."
+
+"And has just remarked that there is a man talking to his wife."
+
+"Quite right. See his speculative air! Now he no longer attends to us.
+He is looking at the passers-by as before. That means that he has
+recognized you, and has stowed the observation compactly away in his
+brain, to be referred to when he comes up to us."
+
+"So much method must economize his intellect very profitably. How do you
+do, Mr. Conolly? It is some time since we have had the pleasure of
+meeting."
+
+"Glad to see you, Mr. Douglas. We have been away all the winter. Are you
+staying in London?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I hope you will spend an occasional hour with us at Holland Park."
+
+"You are very kind. Thank you: yes, if Mrs. Conolly will permit me."
+
+"I should make you come home with us now," said Marian, "but for this
+Sunday being a special occasion. Nelly McQuinch is to spend the evening
+with us; and as I have not seen her since we came back, I must have her
+all to myself. Come next Sunday, if you care to."
+
+"Do," said Conolly. "Half past three is our Sunday hour. If you cannot
+face that, we are usually at home afterwards the entire evening. Marian:
+we have exactly fifteen minutes to catch our train."
+
+"Oh! let us fly. If we miss it, Nelly will be kept waiting half an
+hour."
+
+Then they parted, Douglas promising to come to them on that day week.
+
+"Dont you think he is growing very fat?" said she, as they walked away.
+
+"Yes. He is beginning to take the world easily. He does not seem to be
+making much of his life."
+
+"What matter, so long as he enjoys it?"
+
+"Pooh! He doesnt know what enjoyment means."
+
+They said nothing further until they were in the train, where Marian
+sat looking listlessly through the window, whilst Conolly, opposite,
+reclining against the cushions, looked thoughtfully at her.
+
+"Ned," said she, suddenly.
+
+"My dear."
+
+"Do you know that Sholto is more infatuated about me than ever?"
+
+"Naturally. You are lovelier than when he last saw you."
+
+"You are nearly as complimentary as he," said Marian, blushing with a
+gratification which she was very unwilling to betray. "He noticed it
+sooner than you. I discovered it myself in the glass before either of
+you."
+
+"No doubt you did. What station is this?"
+
+"I dont know." Then, raising her voice so as to be overheard, she
+exclaimed "Here is a stupid man coming into our carriage."
+
+A young man entered the compartment, and, after one glance at Marian,
+who turned her back on him impatiently, spent the remainder of the
+journey making furtive attempts to catch a second glimpse of her face.
+Conolly looked a shade graver at his wife's failure in perfect
+self-control; but he by no means shared her feelings toward the
+intrusive passenger. Marian and he were in different humors; and he did
+not wish to be left alone with her.
+
+As they walked from Addison Road railway station to their house, Conolly
+mused in silence with his eyes on the gardens by the way. Marian, who
+wished to talk, followed his measured steps with impatience.
+
+"Let me take your arm, Ned: I cannot keep up with you."
+
+"Certainly."
+
+"I hope I am not inconveniencing you," she said, after a further
+interval of silence.
+
+"Hm--no."
+
+"I am afraid I am. It does not matter. I can get on by myself."
+
+"Arm in arm is such an inconvenient and ridiculous mode of
+locomotion--you need not struggle in the public street: now that you
+have got my arm you shall keep it--I say it is such an inconvenient and
+ridiculous mode of locomotion that if you were any one else I should
+prefer to wheel you home in a barrow. Our present mode of proceeding
+would be inexcusable if I were a traction-engine, and you my tender."
+
+"Then let me go. What will the people think if they see a great engineer
+violating the laws of mechanics by dragging his wife by the arm?"
+
+"They will appreciate my motives; and, in fact, if you watch them, you
+will detect a thinly-disguised envy in their countenances. I violate the
+laws of mechanics--to use your own sarcastic phrase--for many reasons. I
+like to be envied when there are solid reasons for it. It gratifies my
+vanity to be seen in this artistic quarter with a pretty woman on my
+arm. Again, the sense of possessing you is no longer an abstraction when
+I hold you bodily, and feel the impossibility of keeping step with you.
+Besides, Man, who was a savage only yesterday, has his infirmities, and
+finds a poetic pleasure in the touch of the woman he loves. And I may
+add that you have been in such a bad temper all the afternoon that I
+suspect you of an itching to box my ears, and therefore feel safer with
+your arm in my custody."
+
+"Oh! _Indeed_ I have not been in a bad temper. I have been most anxious
+to spend a happy day."
+
+"And I have been placidly reflective, and not anxious at all. Is that
+what has provoked you?"
+
+"I am not provoked. But you might tell me what your reflections are
+about."
+
+"They would fill volumes, if I could recollect them."
+
+"You must recollect some of them. From the time we left the station
+until a moment ago, when we began to talk, you were pondering something
+with the deepest seriousness. What was it?"
+
+"I forget."
+
+"Of course you forget--just because I want to know. What a crowded road
+this is!" She disengaged herself from his arm; and this time he did not
+resist her.
+
+"That reminds me of it. The crowd consists partly of people going to the
+pro-Cathedral. The pro-Cathedral contains an altar. An altar suggests
+kneeling on hard stone; and that brings me to the disease called
+'housemaids' knee,' which was the subject of my reflections."
+
+"A pleasant subject for a fine Sunday! Thank you. I dont want to hear
+any more."
+
+"But you will hear more of it; for I am going to have the steps of our
+house taken away and replaced by marble, or slate, or something that can
+be cleaned with a mop and a pail of water in five minutes."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"My chain of thought began at the door steps we have passed, all
+whitened beautifully so as to display every footprint, and all
+representing an expenditure of useless, injurious labor in
+hearthstoning, that ought to madden an intelligent housemaid. I dont
+think our Armande is particularly intelligent; but I am resolved to
+spare her knees and her temper in future by banishing hearthstone from
+our establishment forever. I shudder to think that I have been walking
+upon those white steps and flag ways of ours every day without awakening
+to a sense of their immorality."
+
+"I cannot understand why you are always disparaging Armande. And I hate
+an ill-kept house front. None of our housemaids ever objected to
+hearthstoning, or were any the worse for it."
+
+"No. They would not have gained anything by objecting: they would only
+have lost their situations. You need not fear for your house front. I
+will order a porch with porphyry steps and alabaster pillars to replace
+your beloved hearthstone."
+
+"Yes. That will be clever. Do you know how easy it is to stain marble?
+Armande will be on her knees all day with a bottle of turpentine and a
+bit of flannel."
+
+"You are thinking of inkstains, Marian. You forget that it does not rain
+ink, and that Nelly will hardly select the porch to write her novels
+in."
+
+"Lots of people bring ink on a doorstep. Tax collectors and gasmen carry
+bottles in their pockets."
+
+"Ask them into the drawing-room when they call, my dear; or, better
+still, dont pay them, so that they will have no need to write a receipt.
+Let me remind you that ink shews as much on white hearthstone as it can
+possibly do on marble. Yet extensive disfigurements of steps from the
+visits of tax collectors are not common."
+
+"Now, Ned, you know that you are talking utter nonsense."
+
+"Yes, my dear. I think I perceive Nelly looking out of the window for
+us. Here she is at the door."
+
+Marian hastened forward and embraced her cousin. Miss McQuinch looked
+older; and her complexion was drier than before. But she had apparently
+begun to study her appearance; for her hat and shoes were neat and even
+elegant, which they had never been within Marian's previous experience
+of her.
+
+"_You_ are not changed in the least," she said, as she gave Conolly her
+hand. "I have just been wondering at the alteration in Marian. She has
+grown lovely."
+
+"I have been telling her so all day, in the vain hope of getting her
+into a better temper. Come into the drawing-room. Have you been waiting
+for us long?"
+
+"About fifteen minutes. I have been admiring your organ. I should have
+tried the piano; but I did not know whether that was allowable on
+Sunday."
+
+"Oh! Why did you not pound it to your heart's content? Ned scandalizes
+the neighbors every Sunday by continually playing. Armande: dinner as
+soon as possible, please."
+
+"I like this house. It is exactly my idea of a comfortable modern home."
+
+"You must stay long enough to find out its defects," said Conolly. "We
+read your novel at Verona; but we could not agree as to which characters
+you meant to be taken as the good ones."
+
+"That was only Ned's nonsense," said Marian. "Most novels are such
+rubbish! I am sure you will be able to live by writing just as well as
+Mrs. Fairfax can." Conolly shewed Miss McQuinch his opinion of this
+unhappy remark by a whimsical glance, which she repudiated by turning
+sharply away from him, and speaking as affectionately as she could to
+Marian.
+
+After dinner they returned to the drawing-room, which ran from the
+front to the back of the house. Marian opened a large window which gave
+access to the garden, and sat down with Elinor on a little terrace
+outside. Conolly went to the organ.
+
+"May I play a voluntary while you talk?" he asked. "I shall not
+scandalize any one: the neighbors think all music sacred when it is
+played on the organ."
+
+"We have a nice view of the sunset from here," said Marian, in a low
+voice, turning her forehead to the cool evening breeze.
+
+"Stuff!" said Elinor. "We didnt come here to talk about the sunset, and
+what a pretty house you have, and so forth. I want to know--good
+heavens! what a thundering sound that organ makes!"
+
+"Please dont say anything about it to him: he likes it," said Marian.
+"When he wishes to exalt himself, he goes to it and makes it roar until
+the whole house shakes. Whenever he feels an emotional impulse, he vents
+it at the organ or the piano, or by singing. When he stops, he is
+satisfied; his mind is cleared; and he is in a good-humored, playful
+frame of mind, such as _I_ can gratify."
+
+"But you were always very fond of music. Dont you ever play together, as
+we used to do; or sing to one another's accompaniments?"
+
+"I cannot. I hardly ever touch the piano when he is in the house."
+
+"Why? Are you afraid of preventing him from having his turn?"
+
+"No: it is not so much that. But--it sounds very silly--if I attempt to
+play or sing in his presence, I become so frightfully nervous that I
+hardly know what I am doing. I know he does not like my singing."
+
+"Are you sure that is not merely your fancy? It sounds very like it."
+
+"No. At first I used to play a good deal for him, knowing that he was
+fond of music, and fancying--poor fool that I was! [here Marian spoke so
+bitterly that Nelly turned and looked hard at her] that it was part of a
+married woman's duty in a house to supply music after dinner. At that
+time he was working hard at his business; and he spent so much time in
+the city that he had to give up playing himself. Besides, we were flying
+all about England opening those branch offices, and what not. He always
+took me with him; and I really enjoyed it, and took quite an interest in
+the Company. When we were in London, although I was so much alone in the
+daytime, I was happy in anticipating our deferred honeymoon. Then the
+time for that paradise came. Ned said that the Company was able to walk
+by itself at last, and that he was going to have a long holiday after
+his dry-nursing of it. We went first to Paris, where we heard all the
+classical concerts that were given while we were there. I found that he
+never tired of listening to orchestral music; and yet he never ceased
+grumbling at it. He thought nothing of the great artists in Paris. Then
+we went for a tour through Brittany; and there, in spite of his
+classical tastes, he used to listen to the peasants' songs and write
+them down. He seemed to like folk songs of all kinds, Irish, Scotch,
+Russian, German, Italian, no matter where from. So one evening, at a
+lodging where there was a piano, I played for him that old arrangement
+of Irish melodies--you know--'Irish Diamonds,' it is called."
+
+"Oh Lord! Yes, I remember. 'Believe me if all,' with variations."
+
+"Yes. He thought I meant it in jest: he laughed at it, and played a lot
+of ridiculous variations to burlesque it. I didnt tell him that I had
+been in earnest: perhaps you can imagine how I felt about it. Then,
+after that, in Italy, he got permission--or rather bought it--to try the
+organ in a church. It was growing dusk; I was tired with walking; and
+somehow between the sense of repose, and the mysterious twilight in the
+old church, I was greatly affected by his playing. I thought it must be
+part of some great mass or symphony; and I felt how little I knew about
+music, and how trivial my wretched attempts must appear to him when he
+had such grand harmonies at his fingers' ends. But he soon stopped; and
+when I was about to tell him how I appreciated his performance, he said,
+'What an abominable instrument a bad organ is!' I had thought it
+beautiful, of course. I asked him what he had been playing. I said was
+it not by Mozart; and then I saw his eyebrows go up; so I added, as a
+saving clause, that perhaps it was something of his own. 'My dear girl,'
+said he, 'it was only an _entr'acte_ from an opera of Donizetti's.' He
+was carrying my shawl at the time; and he wrapped it about my shoulders
+in the tenderest manner as he said this, and made love to me all the
+evening to console me. In his opinion, the greatest misfortune that can
+happen anyone is to make a fool of oneself; and whenever I do it, he
+pets me in the most delicate manner, as if I were a child who had just
+got a tumble. When we settled down here and got the organ, he began to
+play constantly, and I used to practise the piano in the daytime so as
+to have duets with him. But though he was always ready to play whenever
+I proposed it, he was quite different then from what he was when he
+played by himself. He was all eyes and ears, and the moment I played a
+wrong note he would name the right one. Then I generally got worse and
+stopped. He never lost his patience or complained; but I used to feel
+that he was urging me on, or pulling me back, or striving to get me to
+do something which I could not grasp. Then he would give me up in
+despair, and play on mechanically from the notes before him, thinking of
+something else all the time. I practised harder, and tried again. I
+thought at first I had succeeded; because our duets went so smoothly and
+we were always so perfectly together. But I discovered--by instinct I
+believe--that instead of having a musical treat, he was only trying to
+please me. He thought I liked playing duets with him; and accordingly he
+used to sit down beside me and accompany me faithfully, no matter how I
+chose to play."
+
+"Dear me! Why doesnt he get Rubinstein to play with him, since he is so
+remarkably fastidious?"
+
+"It is not so much mechanical skill that I lack; but there is
+something--I cannot tell what it is. I found it out one night when we
+were at Mrs. Saunders's. She is an incurable flirt; and she was quite
+sure that she had captivated Ned, who is always ready to make love to
+anyone that will listen to him."
+
+"A nice sort of man to be married to!"
+
+"He only does it to amuse himself. He does not really care for them: I
+almost wish he did, sometimes; but it is often none the less provoking.
+What is worse, no amount of flirtation on my part would make _him_
+angry. What happened at Mrs. Saunders's was this. The Scotts, of Putney,
+were there; and the first remark Ned made to me was, 'Who is the woman
+that knows how to walk?' It was Mrs. Scott: you know you used to say
+she moved like a panther. Afterward Mrs. Scott sang 'Caller Herrin' in
+that vulgar Scotch accent that leaks out occasionally in her speech,
+with Ned at the piano. Everybody came crowding in to listen; and there
+was great applause. I cannot understand it: she is as hard and
+matter-of-fact as a woman can be: I dont believe the expression in her
+singing comes one bit from true feeling. I heard Ned say to her, 'Thank
+you, Mrs. Scott: no Englishwoman has the secret of singing a ballad as
+you have it.' I knew very well what that meant. _I_ have not the secret.
+Well, Mrs. Scott came over to me and said 'Mr. Conolly is a very
+_pair_tinaceous man. He persuaded me into shewing him the way the little
+song is sung in Scotland; and I stood up without thinking. And see now,
+I have been _rag_uilarly singing a song in company for the first time in
+my life.' Of course, it was a ridiculous piece of affectation. Ned
+talked about Mrs. Scott all the way home, and played 'Caller Herrin'
+four times next day. That finished my domestic musical career. I have
+never sung for him since, except once or twice when he has asked me to
+try the effect of some passage in one of his music-books."
+
+"And do you never sing when you go out, as you used to?"
+
+"Only when he is not with me, or when people force me to. If he is in
+the room, I am so nervous that I can hardly get through the easiest
+song. He never offers to accompany me now, and generally leaves the room
+when I am asked to sing."
+
+"Perhaps he sees the effect his presence has on you."
+
+"Even so, he ought to stay. He used to like _me_ to listen to _him_, at
+first."
+
+Miss McQuinch looked at the sunset with exceeding glumness. There was
+an ominous pause. Then she said, abruptly, "You remember how we used to
+debate whether marriage was a mistake or not. Have you found out?"
+
+"I dont know."
+
+"That sounds rather as if you did know. Are you quite sure you are not
+in low spirits this evening? He was bantering you about being out of
+temper when you came in. Perhaps you quarrelled at Kew."
+
+"Quarrel! He quarrel! I cannot explain to you how we are situated,
+Nelly. You would not understand me."
+
+"Suppose you try. For instance, is he as fond of you as he was before
+you married him?"
+
+"I dont know."
+
+Miss McQuinch shrugged herself impatiently.
+
+"Really I do not, Nelly. He has changed in a way--I do not quite know
+how or why. At first he was not very ceremonious. He used to make
+remarks about people, and discuss everything that came into his head
+quite freely before me. He was always kind, and never grumbled about his
+dinner, or lost his temper, or anything of that kind; but--it was not
+that he was coarse exactly: he was not that in the least; but he was
+very open and unreserved and plain in his language; and somehow I did
+not quite like it. He must have found this out: he sees and feels
+everything by instinct; for he slipped back into his old manner, and
+became more considerate and attentive than he had ever been before. I
+was made very happy at first by the change; but I do not think he quite
+understood what I wanted. I did not at all object to going down to the
+country with him on his business trips; but he always goes alone now;
+and he never mentions his work to me. And he is too careful as to what
+he says to me. Of course, I know that he is right not to speak ill of
+anybody; but still a man need not be so particular before his wife as
+before strangers. He has given up talking to me altogether: that is the
+plain truth, whatever he may pretend. When we do converse, his manner is
+something like what it was in the laboratory at the Towers. Of course,
+he sometimes becomes more familiar; only then he never seems in earnest,
+but makes love to me in a bantering, half playful, half sarcastic way."
+
+"You are rather hard to please, perhaps. I remember you used to say that
+a husband should be just as tender and respectful after marriage as
+before it. You seem to have broken poor Ned into this; and now you are
+not satisfied."
+
+"Nelly, if there is one subject on which girls are more idiotically
+ignorant than on any other, it is happiness in marriage. A courtier, a
+lover, a man who will not let the winds of heaven visit your face too
+harshly, is very nice, no doubt; but he is not a husband. I want to be a
+wife and not a fragile ornament kept in a glass case. He would as soon
+think of submitting any project of his to the judgment of a doll as to
+mine. If he has to explain or discuss any serious matter of business
+with me, he does so apologetically, as if he were treating me roughly."
+
+"Well, my dear, you see, when he tried the other plan, you did not like
+that either. What is the unfortunate man to do?"
+
+"I dont know. I suppose I was wrong in shrinking from his confidence. I
+am always wrong. It seems to me that the more I try to do right, the
+more mischief I contrive to make."
+
+"This is all pretty dismal, Marian. What sort of conduct on his part
+would make you happy?"
+
+"Oh, there are so many little things. He makes me jealous of everything
+and everybody. I am jealous of the men in the city--I was jealous of the
+sanitary inspector the other day--because he talks with interest to
+them. I know he stays in the city later than he need. It is a relief to
+me to go out in the evening, or to have a few people here once or twice
+a week; but I am angry because I know it is a relief to him too. I am
+jealous even of that organ. How I hale those Bach fugues! Listen to the
+maddening thing twisting and rolling and racing and then mixing itself
+up into one great boom. He can get on with Bach: he can't get on with
+me. I have even condescended to be jealous of other women--of such women
+as Mrs. Saunders. He despises her: he plays with her as dexterously as
+she thinks she plays with him; but he likes to chat with her; and they
+rattle away for a whole evening without the least constraint. She has no
+conscience: she talks absolute nonsense about art and literature: she
+flirts even more disgustingly than she used to when she was Belle
+Woodward; but she is quickwitted, like most Irish people; and she enjoys
+a broad style of jesting which Ned is a great deal too tolerant of,
+though he would as soon die as indulge in it before me. Then there is
+Mrs. Scott, who is just as shrewd as Belle, and much cleverer. I have
+heard him ask her opinion as to whether he had acted well or not in some
+stroke of business--something that I had never heard of, of course. I
+wish I were half as hard and strong and self-reliant as she is. _Her_
+husband would be nothing without her."
+
+"I am afraid I was right all along, Marian. Marriage _is_ a mistake.
+There is something radically wrong in the institution. If you and Ned
+cannot be happy, no pair in the world can."
+
+"We might be very happy if----" Marian stopped to repress a sob.
+
+"Anybody might be very happy If. There is not much consolation in Ifs.
+You could not be better off than you are unless you could be Marian Lind
+again. Think of all the women who would give their souls to have a
+husband who would neither drink, nor swear at them, nor kick them, nor
+sulk whenever he was kept waiting half a minute for anything. You have
+no little pests of children----"
+
+"I wish I had. That would give us some interest in common. We sometimes
+have Lucy, Marmaduke's little girl, up here; and Ned seems to me to be
+fond of her. She is a very bold little thing."
+
+"I saw Marmaduke last week. He is not half so jolly as he was."
+
+"He lives in chambers in Westminster now, and only comes out in this
+direction occasionally to see Lucy. I am afraid _she_ has taken to
+drinking. I believe she is going to America. I hope she is; for she
+makes me uncomfortable when I think of her."
+
+"Does your--your Ned ever speak of her?"
+
+"No. He used to, before he changed as I described. Now, he never
+mentions her. Hush! Here he is."
+
+The sound of the organ had ceased; and Conolly came out and stood
+between them.
+
+"How do you like my consoler, as Marian calls it?" said he.
+
+"Do you mean the organ?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I wasn't listening to you."
+
+"You should have: I played the great fugue in A minor expressly for your
+entertainment: you used to work at Liszt's transcription of it. The
+organ is only occasionally my consoler. For the most part I am driven to
+it by habit and a certain itching in my fingers. Marian is my real
+consoler."
+
+"So she has just been telling me," said Elinor. Conolly's surprise
+escaped him for just a moment in a quick glance at Marian. She colored,
+and looked reproachfully at her cousin, who added, "I am sure you must
+be a nuisance to the neighbors."
+
+"Probably," said Conolly.
+
+"I do not think you should play so much on Sunday," said Marian.
+
+"I know. [Marian winced.] Well, if the neighbors will either melt down
+the church bells they jangle so horribly within fifteen yards or so of
+my unfortunate ears, or else hang them up two hundred feet high in a
+beautiful tower where they would sound angelic, as they do at Utrecht,
+then perhaps I will stop the organ to listen to them. Until then, I will
+take the liberty of celebrating the day of rest with such devices as the
+religious folk cannot forbid me."
+
+"Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned."
+
+"My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss McQuinch. I admit
+that it does not, at first sight, seem pretty or sentimental. But I do
+not know how even Marian can prefer the church bells to Bach."
+
+"What do you mean by '_even_ Marian'?" said Elinor, sharply.
+
+"I should have said, 'Marian, who is tolerant and kind to everybody and
+everything.' I hope you have forgiven me for carrying her off from you,
+Miss McQuinch. You are adopting an ominous tone toward me. I fear she
+has been telling you of our quarrels, and my many domestic
+shortcomings."
+
+"No," said Elinor. "As far as I can judge from her account, you are a
+monotonously amiable husband."
+
+"Indeed! Hm! Would you like your coffee out here?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Do not stir, Marian: I will ring for it."
+
+When he was gone, Marian said "Nelly: for Heaven's sake say nothing that
+could make the slightest coldness between Ned and me. I am clinging to
+him with all my heart and soul; and you must help me. Those sharp things
+that you say to him stab me cruelly; and he is clever enough to guess
+everything I have said to you from them."
+
+"If I cannot keep myself from making mischief, I shall go away," said
+Elinor. "Dont suppose I am in a huff: I am quite serious. I have an
+unlucky tongue; and my disposition is such that when I see that a jug is
+cracked, I feel more inclined to smash and have done with it than to
+mend it and handle it tenderly ever after. However, I hope your marriage
+is not a cracked jug yet."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+On the following Wednesday Douglas called on his mother at Manchester
+Square in the afternoon. As if to emphasize the purely filial motive of
+his visit, he saluted his mother so affectionately that she was
+emboldened to be more demonstrative with him than she usually ventured
+to be.
+
+"My darling boy," she said, holding him fondly for a moment, "this is
+the second visit you have paid your poor old mother this week. I want to
+speak to you about something, too. Marian has been with me this
+morning."
+
+"What! Has she gone?" said Douglas.
+
+"Why?" said Mrs. Douglas. "Did you know she was coming?"
+
+"She mentioned to me that she intended to come," he replied, carelessly;
+"but she bade me not to tell you."
+
+"That accounts for your two visits. Well, Sholto, I do not blame you for
+spending your time in gayer places than this."
+
+"You must not reproach me for neglecting you, mother. You know my
+disposition. I am seldom good company for any one; and I do not care to
+come only to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am morose. I
+hope you received Marian kindly."
+
+"I did not expect to see her; and I told her so."
+
+"Mother!"
+
+"But it made no difference. There is no holding her in check now,
+Sholto; she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father or
+you. What could I do but kiss and forgive her? She got the better of
+me."
+
+"Yes," said Douglas, gloomily. "She has a wonderful face."
+
+"The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I hope you will not
+go to her house too often."
+
+"Do you doubt my discretion, mother?"
+
+"No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasantness arising between
+you and that man. These working men are so savage to their wives, and so
+jealous of gentlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at all."
+
+"Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a navvy in fustian and
+corduroys. He seems a sensible man: his address is really remarkably
+good, considering what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite the
+reverse. His head is full of figures and machinery; and I am told that
+he does nothing at home but play the piano. He must bore Marian
+terribly. I do not want to go to his house particularly; but Marian and
+he are, of course, very sensitive to anything that can be construed as a
+slight; and I shall visit them once or twice to prevent them from
+thinking that I wish to snub Conolly. He will be glad enough to have me
+at his dinner-table. I am afraid I must hurry away now: I have an
+appointment at the club. Can I do anything for you in town?"
+
+"No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have stayed with me for a
+cup of tea."
+
+"Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the club."
+
+"If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come again
+soon, will you not?"
+
+"Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother."
+
+Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had no
+real appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother,
+who, though a little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relieved
+by being rid of him. They maintained toward one another an attitude
+which their friends found beautiful and edifying; but, like artists'
+models, they found the attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practice
+and its dignity.
+
+At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted.
+Turning, he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little
+behind him.
+
+"Where are you going to?" said Marmaduke, abruptly.
+
+"Why do you ask?" said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right of
+another to question him.
+
+"I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch somewhere, will you?"
+
+"Yes, if you wish."
+
+"Let's go to the South Kensington Museum."
+
+"The South----! My dear fellow, why not suggest Putney, or the Star and
+Garter? Why do you wish to go westward from Hyde Park in search of
+luncheon?"
+
+"I have a particular reason. I am to meet someone at the Museum this
+afternoon; and I want to ask your advice first. You might as well come;
+it's only a matter of a few minutes if we drive."
+
+"Well, as you please. I have not been to the Museum for years."
+
+"All right. Come al----oh, damn! There's Lady Carbury and Constance
+coming out of the Park. Dont look at them. Come on."
+
+But Constance, sitting a little more uprightly than her mother, who was
+supine upon the carriage cushions, had seen the two gentlemen as they
+stood talking.
+
+"Mamma," she said, "there's Marmaduke and Sholto Douglas."
+
+"Where???" said the Countess, lifting her head quickly. "Josephs, drive
+slowly. Where are they, Constance?"
+
+"They are going away. I believe Marmaduke saw us. There he is, passing
+the hospital."
+
+"We must go and speak to them. Look pleasant, child; and dont make a
+fool of yourself."
+
+"Surely youll not speak to him, mamma! You dont expect me----"
+
+"Nonsense. I heard a great deal about him the other day. He has moved
+from where he was living, and is quite reformed. His father is very ill.
+Do as I tell you. Josephs, stop half way to the hotel."
+
+"I say," said Marmaduke, finding himself out-manoeuvred: "come back.
+There they are right ahead, confound them. What are they up to?"
+
+"It cannot be helped," said Douglas. "There is no escape. You must not
+cross: it would be pointedly rude."
+
+Marmaduke went on grumbling. When he attempted to pass, the Countess
+called his name, and greeted him with smiles.
+
+"We want to know how your father is," she said. "We have had such
+alarming accounts of him. I hope he is better."
+
+"They havnt told me much about him," said Marmaduke. "There was deuced
+little the matter with the governor when I saw him last."
+
+"Wicked prodigal! What shall we do to reform him, Mr. Douglas? He has
+not been to see us for three years past, and during that time we have
+had the worst reports of him."
+
+"You never asked me to go and see you."
+
+"Silly fellow! Did you expect me to send you invitations and leave cards
+on you, who are one of ourselves? Come to-morrow to dinner. Your uncle
+the Bishop will be there; and you will see nearly all the family
+besides. You cannot plead that you have not been invited now. Will you
+come?"
+
+"No. I cant stand the Bishop. Besides, I have taken to dining in the
+middle of the day."
+
+"Come after dinner, then?"
+
+"Mamma," said Constance, peevishly, "can't you see that he does not want
+to come at all? What is the use of persecuting him?"
+
+"No, I assure you," said Marmaduke. "It's only the Bishop I object to.
+I'll come after dinner, if I can."
+
+"And pray what is likely to prevent you?" said the Countess.
+
+"Devilment of some sort, perhaps," he replied. "Since you have all given
+me a bad name, I dont see why I should make any secret of earning it."
+
+The Countess smiled slyly at him, implying that she was amused, but must
+not laugh at such a sentiment in Constance's presence. Then, turning so
+as to give the rest of the conversation an air of privacy, she
+whispered, "I must tell you that you no longer have a bad name. It is
+said that your wild oats are all sown, and I will answer for it that
+even the Bishop will receive you with open arms."
+
+"And dry my repentant tears on his apron, the old hypocrite," said
+Marmaduke, speaking rather more loudly than before. "Well, we must be
+trotting. We are going to the South Kensington Museum--to improve our
+minds."
+
+"Why, that is where we are going; at least, Constance is. She is going
+to work at her painting while I pay a round of visits. Wont you come
+with us?"
+
+"Thank you: I'd rather walk. A man should have gloves and a proper hat
+for your sort of travelling."
+
+"Nonsense! you look very nice. Besides, it is only down the Brompton
+Road."
+
+"The worst neighborhood in London to be seen in with me. I know all
+sorts of queer people down Brompton way. I should have to bow to them if
+we met; and that wouldnt do before _her_,"--indicating Constance, who
+was conversing with Douglas.
+
+"You are incorrigible: I give you up. Good-bye, and dont forget
+to-morrow evening."
+
+"I wonder," said Marmaduke, as the carriage drove off, "what she's
+saying about me to Constance now."
+
+"That you are the rudest man in London, perhaps."
+
+"Serve her right! I hate her. I have got so now that I can't stand that
+sort of woman. You see her game, dont you; she can't get Constance off
+her hands; and she thinks there's a chance of me still. How well she
+knows about the governor's state of health! And Conny, too, grinning at
+me as if we were the best friends in the world. If that girl had an
+ounce of spirit she would not look on the same side of the street with
+me."
+
+Douglas, without replying, called a cab. Marmaduke's loud conversation
+was irksome in the street, and it was now clear that he was unusually
+excited. At the museum they alighted, and passed through the courts into
+the grill-room, where they sat down together at a vacant table, and
+ordered luncheon.
+
+"You were good enough to ask my advice about something," said Douglas.
+"What is the matter?"
+
+"Well," said Marmaduke, "I am in a fix. Affairs have become so
+uncomfortable at home that I have had to take up my quarters elsewhere."
+
+"I did not know that you had been living at home. I thought your father
+and you were on the usual terms."
+
+"My father! Look here: I mean home--_my_ home. My place at Hammersmith,
+not down at the governor's."
+
+"Oh! I beg your pardon."
+
+"Of course, you know all about my establishment there with Lalage
+Virtue? her real name is Susanna Conolly."
+
+"Is it true, then, that she is a cousin of Marian's husband?"
+
+"Cousin! She's his sister, and Marian's sister-in-law."
+
+"I never believed it."
+
+"It's true enough. But thats not the mischief. Douglas: I tell you she's
+the cleverest woman in London. She can do anything she likes. She can
+manage a conversation with any foreigner in his own language, whether
+she knows it or not. She gabbles Italian like a native. She can learn
+off her part in a new piece, music and all, between breakfast and
+luncheon, any day. She can cook: she can make a new bonnet out of the
+lining of an old coat: she can drive a bargain with a Jew. She says she
+never learns a thing at all unless she can learn it in ten minutes. She
+can fence, and shoot. She can dance anything in the world. I never knew
+such a mimic as she is. If you saw her take off the Bones at the Christy
+Minstrels, you'd say she was the lowest of the low. Next minute she will
+give herself the airs of a duchess, or do the ingenuous in a style that
+would make Conny burst with envy. To see her preaching like George would
+make you laugh for a week. There's nothing she couldnt do if she chose.
+And now, what do you think she has taken to? Liquor. Champagne by the
+gallon. She used to drink it by the bottle: now she drinks it by the
+dozen--by the case. She wanted it to keep up her spirits. That was the
+way it began. If she felt down, a glass of champagne would set her up.
+Then she was always feeling down, and always setting herself up. At last
+feeling down came to mean the same thing as being sober. You dont know
+what a drunken woman is, Douglas, unless youve lived in the same house
+with one." Douglas recoiled, and looked very sternly at Marmaduke, who
+proceeded more vehemently. "She's nothing but a downright beast. She's
+either screaming at you in a fit of rage, or clawing at you in a fit of
+fondness that makes you sick. When she falls asleep, there she is, a
+besotted heap tumbled anyhow into bed, snoring and grunting like a pig.
+When she wakes, she begins planning how to get more liquor. Think of
+what you or I would feel if we saw our mothers tipsy. By God, that child
+of mine wouldnt believe its eyes if it saw its mother sober. Only for
+Lucy, I'd have pitched her over long ago. I did all I could when I first
+saw that she was overdoing the champagne. I swore I'd break the neck of
+any man I caught bringing wine into the house. I sacked the whole staff
+of servants twice because I found a lot of fresh corks swept into the
+dustpan. I stopped drinking at home myself: I got in doctors to frighten
+her: I tried bribing, coaxing, threatening: I knocked her down once when
+I caught her with a bottle in her hand; and she fell with her head
+against the fender, and frightened me a good deal more than she hurt
+herself. It was no use. Sometimes she used to defy me, and say she
+_would_ drink, she didnt care whether she was killing herself or not.
+Other times she cried; implored me to save her from destroying herself;
+asked me why I didnt thrash the life out of her whenever I caught her
+drunk; promised on her oath never to touch another drop. The same
+evening she would be drunk again, and, when I taxed her with it, say
+that she wasn't drunk, that she was sick, and that she prayed the
+Almighty on her knees to strike her dead if she had a bottle in the
+house. Aye, and the very stool she knelt on would be a wine case with a
+red cloth stuck to it with a few gilt-headed nails to make it look like
+a piece of furniture. Next day she would laugh at me for believing her,
+and ask me what use I supposed there was in talking to her. How she
+managed to hold on at the theatre, I dont know. She wouldnt learn new
+parts, and stuck to old ones that she could do in her sleep, she knew
+them so well. She would go on the stage and get through a long part when
+she couldnt walk straight from the wing to her dressing-room. Of course,
+her voice went to the dogs long ago; but by dint of screeching and
+croaking she pulls through. She says she darent go on sober now; that
+she knows she should break down. The theatre has fallen off, too. The
+actors got out of the place one by one--they didnt like playing with
+her--and were replaced by a third-rate lot. The audiences used to be
+very decent: now they are all cads and fast women. The game is up for
+her in London. She has been offered an engagement in America on the
+strength of her old reputation; but what is the use of it if she
+continues drinking."
+
+"That is very sad," said Douglas, with cold disgust, perfunctorily
+veiled by a conventional air of sympathy. "But if she is irreclaimable,
+why not leave her?"
+
+"So I would, only for the child. I _have_ left her--at least, I've taken
+lodgings in town; but I am always running out to Laurel Grove. I darent
+trust Lucy to her; and she knows it; for she wouldnt let me take the
+poor little creature away, although she doesnt care two straws for it.
+She knows that it gives her a grip over me. Well, I have not seen her
+for a week past. I have tried the trick of only going out in the evening
+when she has to be at the theatre. And now she has sent me a long
+letter; and I dont exactly know what to do about it. She swears she has
+given up drinking--not touched a spoonful since I saw her last. She's as
+superstitious as an old woman; and yet she will swear to that lie with
+oaths that make _me_ uncomfortable, although I am pretty thick-skinned
+in religious matters. Then she goes drivelling on about me having
+encouraged her to drink at first, and then turned upon her and deserted
+her when I found out the mischief I had done. I used to stand plenty of
+champagne, but I am sure I never thought what would come of it. Then she
+says she gave up every friend in the world for me: broke with her
+brother, and lost her place in society. _Her_ place in society, mind
+you, Douglas! Thats not bad, is it? Then, of course, I am leaving her to
+die alone with her helpless child: I might have borne with her a little
+longer: she will not trouble me nor anyone else much more; and so on.
+The upshot is that she wants me to come back. She says I ought to be
+there to save the child from her, if I dont care to save her from
+herself; that I was the last restraint on her; and that if I dont come
+she will make an end of the business by changing her tipple to prussic
+acid. The whole thing is a string of maudlin rot from beginning to end;
+and I believe she primed herself with about four bottles of champagne to
+write it. Still, I dont want to leave her in the lurch. You are a man
+who stand pretty closely on your honor. Do you think I ought to go back?
+I may tell you that as regards money she is under no compliment to me.
+Her earnings were a good half of our income; and she saved nothing out
+of them. In fact, I owe her some money for two or three old debts she
+paid for me. We always shared like husband and wife."
+
+"I hardly understand your hesitation, Lind. You can take the little girl
+out of her hands; allow her something; and be quit of her."
+
+"Thats very easy to say; but I cant drag her child away from her if she
+insists on keeping it."
+
+"Well, so much the better for you. It would be a burden to you. Pay her
+for its maintenance: that is probably what she wants."
+
+"No, no," said Marmaduke, impatiently. "You dont understand. Youre
+talking as if I were a rake living with a loose woman."
+
+Douglas looked at him doubtfully. "I confess I do not understand," he
+said. "Perhaps you will be good enough to explain."
+
+"It's very simple. I went to live with her because I fell in love with
+her, and she wouldnt marry me. She had a horror of marriage; and I was
+naturally not very eager for it myself. Matters must be settled between
+us as if we were husband and wife. Paying her off is all nonsense. She
+doesnt want money; and I want the child; so she has the advantage of me.
+Only for the drink I would go back to her to-morrow; but I cant stand
+her when she is not sober. I bore with it long enough; and now all I
+want is to get Lucy out of her hands and be quit of her, as you
+say--although it seems mean to leave her."
+
+"She must certainly be a very extraordinary woman if she refused to
+marry you. Are you sure she is not married already?"
+
+"Bosh! Not she. She likes to be independent; and she has a sort of
+self-respect--not like Constance and the old Countess, who hunted me
+long enough in the hope of running me down at last in a church."
+
+"If you offered her marriage, that certainly frees you from the least
+obligation to stay with her. She reserved liberty to leave you; and, of
+course, the same privilege was implied on your part. If you have no
+sentimental wish to return to her, you are most decidedly not bound in
+honor to."
+
+"I'm fond enough of her when she is sober; but I loathe her when she is
+fuddled. If she would only give up drinking, we might make a fresh
+start. But she wont."
+
+"You must not think of doing that. Get rid of her, my dear fellow. This
+marriage of Marian's has put the affair on a new footing altogether. I
+tell you candidly, I think that under the circumstances your connexion
+with Conolly's sister is a disgraceful one."
+
+"Hang Conolly! Everybody thinks of Marian, and nobody of Susanna. I
+have heard enough of that side of the question. Marian married him with
+her eyes open."
+
+"Do you mean to say that she knew?"
+
+"Of course she did. Conolly told her, fairly enough. He's an
+extraordinary card, that fellow."
+
+"Reginald Lind told my mother that the discovery was made by accident
+after the marriage, and that they were all shocked by it. It was he who
+said that it was Conolly's _cousin_ that you were with."
+
+"Uncle Rej. is an old liar. So are most of the family: I never believe a
+word they say."
+
+"Marian must have been infatuated. I advise you to break the connexion.
+She will be glad to give you the child if she sees that you are resolved
+to leave her. She only holds on because she hopes to make it the means
+of bringing you back."
+
+"I expect youre about right. She wants me to meet her here to-day at
+half past three. Thats the reason I came."
+
+"Do you know that it now wants twenty minutes of four?"
+
+"Whew! So it does. I had better go and look for her. I'm very much
+obliged to you, old fellow, for talking it over with me. I suppose you
+dont want to meet her."
+
+"I should be in the way at present."
+
+"Then good-bye."
+
+Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to the
+picture galleries, where several students were more or less busy at
+their easels. Lady Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying
+"Sterne's Maria," by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She had been
+annoyed some minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a rich
+costume of black silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect her
+drawing. Lady Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she was
+considered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady Constance out
+of countenance, and then deliberately scanned her work with an
+expression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit. Having thus
+revenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute,
+and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. A few minutes
+later Marmaduke entered, looking round as if in search of someone.
+
+"Here I am," said Constance to him, playfully.
+
+"So I see," said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful astonishment.
+"You knew I was looking for you, did you?"
+
+"Of course I did, sir."
+
+"Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing here?"
+
+"Dont you see? I am copying a picture."
+
+"Oh! it's very pretty. Which one are you copying?"
+
+"What an impertinent question! You can tell my poor copy well enough,
+only you pretend not to."
+
+"Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it's a little like Mary the
+maid of the inn there."
+
+"It's not Mary: it's Maria--Sterne's Maria."
+
+"Indeed! Do you read Sterne?"
+
+"Certainly not," said Constance, looking very serious.
+
+"Then what do you paint his Maria for? How do you know whether she is a
+fit subject for you?"
+
+"Hush, sir! You must not interrupt my work."
+
+"I suppose you have lots of fun here over your art studies, eh?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"You, and all the other girls here."
+
+"Oh, I am sure I dont know any of them."
+
+"Quite right, too, your ladyship. Dont make yourself cheap. I hope none
+of the low beggars ever have the audacity to speak to you."
+
+"I dont know anything about them," said Lady Constance, pettishly. "All
+I mean is that they are strangers to me."
+
+"Most likely theyll remain so. You all seem to stick to the little
+pictures tremendously. Why dont you go in for high art? There's a big
+picture of Adam and Eve! Why dont you paint that?"
+
+"Will you soon be leaving town?" she replied, looking steadily at her
+work, and declining to discuss Adam and Eve, who were depicted naked.
+Receiving no reply, she looked round, and saw Marmaduke leaving the room
+with the woman in the black silk dress.
+
+"Who is that girl?" said Susanna, as they went out.
+
+"That's Lady Constance, whom I was to have married."
+
+"I guessed as much when I saw you talking to her. She is a true English
+lady, heaven bless her! I took the liberty of looking at her painting;
+and she stared at me as if I had bitten her."
+
+"She is a little fool."
+
+"She will not be such a little fool as to try to snub me again, I think.
+Bob: did you get my letter?"
+
+"Of course I got it, or I shouldnt be here."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, I dont believe a word of it."
+
+"That's plain speaking."
+
+"There is no use mincing matters. You are just as likely to stop
+drinking as you are to stop breathing."
+
+"Perhaps I shall stop breathing before long."
+
+"Very likely, at your present rate."
+
+"That will be a relief to you."
+
+"It will be a relief to everybody, and a release for yourself. You have
+made me miserable for a year past; and now you expect me to be
+frightened at the prospect of being rid of you."
+
+"I dont expect you to be frightened. I expect you to do what all men do:
+throw me aside as soon as I have served your turn."
+
+"Yes. Of course, _you_ are the aggrieved party. Where's Lucy?"
+
+"I dont know, and I dont care."
+
+"Well, I want to know; and I do care. Is she at home?"
+
+"How do I know whether she is at home or not. I left her there. Very
+likely she is with her Aunt Marian, telling stories about her mother."
+
+"She is better there than with you. What harm has she done you that you
+should talk about her in that way?"
+
+"No harm. I dont object to her being there. She has very pleasant
+conversations with Mrs. Ned, which she retails to me at home. 'Aunty
+Marian: why do you never drink champagne? Mamma is always drinking it.'
+And then, 'Mamma: why do you drink so much wine? Aunty Marian never
+drinks any.' Good heavens! the little devil told me this morning by way
+of consolation that she always takes care not to tell her Aunty that I
+get drunk."
+
+"What did you do to her for saying it?"
+
+"Dont lose your temper. I didnt strangle her, nor even box her ears.
+Why should I? She only repeats what you teach her."
+
+"She repeats what her eyes and ears teach her. If she learned the word
+from me, she learned the meaning from you. A nice lesson for a child
+hardly three years old."
+
+Susanna sat down on a bench, and looked down at her feet. After a few
+moments, she tightened her lips; rose; and walked away.
+
+"Hallo! Where are you going to?" said Marmaduke, following her.
+
+"I'm going to get some drink. I have been sober and miserable ever since
+I wrote to you. I have not got much thanks for it, except to be made
+more miserable. So I'll get drunk, and be happy."
+
+"No, you shant," said Marmaduke, seizing her arm, and forcibly stopping
+her.
+
+"What does it matter to you whether I do or not? You say you won't come
+back. Then leave me to go my own way."
+
+"Here! you sit down," he said, pushing her into a chair. "I know your
+game well enough. You think you have me safe as long as you have the
+child."
+
+"Oh, thats it, is it? Why dont you go out; take a cab; and go to Laurel
+Grove for her? There is nothing to prevent you taking her away."
+
+"I have a good mind to do it."
+
+"Well, _do_ it. I wont stop you. Why didnt you do it long ago? Her home
+is no place for her. I'm not fit to have charge of her. I have no fancy
+for having her talking about me, and most likely mimicking me to other
+people."
+
+"Thats exactly what I want to arrange with you to do, if you will only
+be reasonable. Listen. Let us part friends, Susanna, since there is no
+use in our going on together. You must give me the child. It would only
+be a burden to you; and I can have it well taken care of. You can keep
+the house just as it is: I will pay the rent of it."
+
+"What good is the house to me?"
+
+"Can't you hear me out? It will be good to you to live in, I suppose; or
+you can set it on fire, and wipe it off the face of the earth, for what
+I care. I can give you five hundred pounds down----"
+
+"Five hundred pounds! And what will you live on until your October
+dividends come in? On credit, I suppose. Do you think you can impose on
+me by flourishing money before me? I will never take a halfpenny from
+you; no, not if I starve for it."
+
+"Thats all nonsense, Susanna. You must."
+
+"Must I? Do you think you can make me take your money as you made me sit
+down here? by force!"
+
+"I only offer you what I owe you. Those debts----"
+
+"I dont want what you owe me. If you think it mean to leave me, you
+shant plaster up your conscience with bank notes. You would like to be
+able to say in your club that you treated me handsomely."
+
+"I dont think it mean to leave you, not a bit of it. Any other man would
+have left you months ago. If I had married that little fool inside
+there, and she had taken to drink, I wouldnt have stood it a week. I
+have stood it from you nearly a year. Can you expect me to stay under
+the same roof with you, with the very thought of you making me sick and
+angry? I was looking at some of your old likenesses the other day; and
+I declare that it is enough to make a man cry to look at your face now
+and listen to your voice. When you used to lecture me for losing a
+twenty pound note at billiards, and coming home half screwed--no man
+shall ever see me drunk again--I little thought which of us would be the
+first to go to the dogs."
+
+"I shall not trouble you long."
+
+"What is the use of harping on that? I have seen you drunk so often that
+I should almost be glad to see you dead."
+
+"Stop!" said Susanna, rising. "All right: you need say no more. Talking
+will not remedy matters; and it makes me feel pretty much as if you were
+throwing big stones at my heart. Youre in the right, I suppose: I've
+chosen to make a beast of myself, and I must take the consequences. You
+can have the child. I will send for my things: you wont see me at Laurel
+Grove again. Good-bye."
+
+"But----"
+
+"Dont say another word, Bob. Good-bye." He took her hand irresolutely.
+She drew it quickly away; nodded to him; and went out, whilst he stood
+wondering whether it would be safe--seeing that he did not desire a
+reconciliation--to kiss her good-bye.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+On Sunday afternoon Douglas walked, facing a glorious sunset, along
+Uxbridge Road to Holland Park, where he found Mrs. Conolly, Miss
+McQuinch, and Marmaduke. A little girl was playing in the garden. They
+were all so unconstrained, and so like their old selves, that Douglas at
+once felt that Conolly was absent.
+
+"I am to make Ned's excuses," said Marian. "He has some pressing family
+affairs to arrange." She seemed about to explain further; but Marmaduke
+looked so uneasily at her that she stopped. Then, resuming gaily, she
+added, "I told Ned that he need not stand on ceremony with you. Fancy my
+saying that of you, the most punctilious of men!"
+
+"Quite right. I am glad that Mr. Conolly has not suffered me to
+interfere with his movements," he replied, with a smile, which he
+suppressed as he turned and greeted Miss McQuinch with his usual cold
+composure. But to Marmaduke, who seemed much cast down, he gave an
+encouraging squeeze of the hand. Not that he was moved by the
+misfortunes of Marmaduke; but he was thawed by the beauty of Marian.
+
+"We shall have a pleasant evening," continued Marian. "Let us fancy
+ourselves back at Westbourne Terrace again. Reminiscences make one feel
+so deliciously aged and sad. Let us think that it is one of our old
+Sunday afternoons. Sholto had better go upstairs and shave, to heighten
+the illusion."
+
+"Not for me, since I cannot see myself, particularly if I have to call
+you Mrs. Conolly. If I may call you Marian, as I used to do, I think
+that our conversation will contain fewer reminders of the lapse of
+time."
+
+"Of course," said Marian, disregarding an anxious glance from Elinor.
+"What else should you call me? We were talking about Nelly's fame when
+you came in. The colonial edition of her book has just appeared. Behold
+the advertisement!"
+
+There was a newspaper open on the table; and Marian pointed to one of
+its columns as she spoke. Douglas took it up and read the following:
+
+  Now Ready, a New and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 5s.
+
+  THE WATERS OF MARAH,
+
+  BY ELINOR MCQUINCH.
+
+  "Superior to many of the numerous tales which find a ready sale at
+  the railway bookstall." _Athenaeum_.
+
+  "There is nothing to fatigue, and something to gratify, the idle
+  reader." _Examiner_.
+
+  "There is a ring of solid metal in 'The Waters of Marah.'" _Daily
+  Telegraph_.
+
+  "Miss McQuinch has fairly established her claim to be considered
+  the greatest novelist of the age." _Middlingtown Mercury._
+
+  "Replete with thrilling and dramatic incident..... Instinct with
+  passion and pathos." _Ladies' Gazette_.
+
+  TABUTEAU & SON, COVENT GARDEN.
+
+"That is very flattering," said Douglas, as he replaced the paper on the
+table.
+
+"Highly so," said Elinor. "Coriolanus displaying his wounds in the
+Forum is nothing to it." And she abruptly took the paper, and threw it
+disgustedly behind the sofa. Just then a message from the kitchen
+engaged Marian's attention, and Douglas, to relieve her from her guests
+for the moment, strolled out upon the little terrace, whither Marmaduke
+had moodily preceded him.
+
+"Still in your difficulties, Lind?" he said, with his perfunctory air of
+concern, looking at the garden with some interest.
+
+"I'm out of my difficulties clean enough," said Marmaduke. "There's the
+child among the currant bushes; and I am rid of her mother: for good, I
+suppose."
+
+"So much the better! I hope it has not cost you too much."
+
+"Not a rap. I met her in the museum after our confab on Wednesday, and
+told her what you recommended: that I must have the child, and that she
+must go. She said all right, and shook hands. I havnt seen her since."
+
+"I congratulate you."
+
+"I dont feel comfortable about her."
+
+"Absurd, man! What better could you have done?"
+
+"Thats just what I say. It was her own fault; I did all in my power. I
+offered her five hundred pounds down. She wouldnt have it, of course;
+but could I help that? Next day, when she sent her maid for her things,
+I felt so uneasy that I came to Conolly, and told him the whole affair.
+He behaved very decently about it, and said that I might as well have
+left her six months ago for all the good my staying had done or was
+likely to do. He has gone off to see her to-day--she is in lodgings
+somewhere near the theatre; and he will let me know in case any money
+is required. I should like to know what they are saying to one another
+about me. They're a rum pair."
+
+"Well, let us eat and drink; for to-morrow we die," said Douglas, with
+an unnatural attempt at humor. "Marian seems happy. We must not spoil
+her evening."
+
+"Yes: she is always in good spirits when he is away."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"It seems to me that they dont pull together. I think she is afraid of
+him."
+
+"You dont mean to say that he ill-treats her?" said Douglas, fiercely.
+
+"No: I dont mean that he thrashes her, or anything of that sort. And yet
+he is just that sort of chap that I shouldnt be surprised at anything he
+might do. As far as ordinary matters go, he seems to treat her
+particularly well. But Ive noticed that she shuts up and gets anxious
+when he comes into the room; and he has his own way in everything."
+
+"Is that all? He embarrasses her by his behavior, I suppose. Perhaps she
+is afraid of his allowing his breeding to peep out."
+
+"Not she. His manners are all right enough. Besides, as he is a genius
+and a celebrity and all that, people dont expect him to be conventional.
+He might stand on his head, if he chose."
+
+"Sholto," said Marian, joining them: "have you spoken to little Lucy?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then you are unacquainted with the most absolute imp on the face of the
+earth," said Elinor. "You neednt frown, Marmaduke: it is you who have
+made her so."
+
+"Leave her alone," said Marmaduke to Marian, who was about to call the
+child. "Petting babies is not in Douglas's line: she will only bore
+him."
+
+"Not at all," said Douglas.
+
+"It does not matter whether she bores him or not," said Marian. "He must
+learn to take a proper interest in children. Lucy: come here."
+
+Lucy stopped playing, and said, "What for?"
+
+"Because I ask you to, dear," said Marian, gently.
+
+The child considered for a while, and then resumed her play. Miss
+McQuinch laughed. Marmaduke muttered impatiently, and went down the
+garden. Lucy did not perceive him until he was within a few steps of
+her, when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the other side
+of a flower-bed too wide for him to spring across. He gave chase; but
+she, with screams of laughter, avoided him by running to and fro so as
+to keep on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it was undignified to
+dodge his child thus, he stopped and bade her come to him; but she only
+laughed the more. He called her in tones of command, entreaty,
+expostulation, and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly. She
+placed her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; spread her fingers;
+and made him a curtsy. He uttered an imprecation, and returned angrily
+to the house, saying, between his teeth:
+
+"Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate."
+
+"She is really too bad to-day," said Marian. "I am quite shocked at
+her."
+
+"She is quite right not to come in and be handed round for inspection
+like a doll," said Elinor.
+
+"She is very bold not to come when she is told," said Marian.
+
+"Yes, from your point of view," said Elinor. "I like bold children."
+
+Marmaduke was sulky and Marian serious for some time after this
+incident. They recovered their spirits at dinner, when Marian related to
+Douglas how she had become reconciled to his mother. Afterward,
+Marmaduke suggested a game at whist.
+
+"Oh no, not on Sunday," said Marian. "Whist is too wicked."
+
+"Then what the dickens _may_ we do?" said Marmaduke. "May Nelly play
+_ecarte_ with me?"
+
+"Well, please dont play for money. And dont sit close to the front
+window."
+
+"Come along, then, Nell. You two may sing hymns, if you like."
+
+"I wish you could sing, Sholto," said Marian. "It is an age since we
+last had a game of chess together. Do you still play?"
+
+"Yes," said Douglas; "I shall be delighted. But I fear you will beat me
+now, as I suppose you have been practising with Mr. Conolly."
+
+"Playing with Ned! No: he hates chess. He says it is a foolish expedient
+for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever when
+they are only wasting their time. He actually grumbled about the price
+of the table and the pieces; but I insisted on having them, I suppose in
+remembrance of you."
+
+"It is kind of you to say that, Marian. Will you have black or white?"
+
+"White, please, unless you wish me to be always making moves with your
+men."
+
+"Now. Will you move?"
+
+"I think I had rather you began. Remember our old conditions. You are
+not to checkmate me in three moves; and you are not to take my queen."
+
+"Very well. You may rely upon it I shall think more of my adversary than
+of my game. Check."
+
+"Oh! You have done it in three moves. That is not fair. I won't play any
+more unless you take back that."
+
+"No, I assure you it is not checkmate. My bishop should be at the other
+side for that. There! of course, that will do."
+
+"What a noise Marmaduke makes over his cards! I hope the people next
+door will not hear him swearing."
+
+"Impossible. You must not move that knight: it exposes your king. Do you
+know, I think there is a great charm about this house."
+
+"Indeed? Yes, it is a pretty house."
+
+"And this sunset hour makes it additionally so; Besides, it is
+inexpressibly sad to see you here, a perfectly happy and perfectly
+beautiful mistress of this romantic foreign home."
+
+"What do you mean, Sholto?"
+
+"I call it a foreign home because, though it is yours, I have no part
+nor lot in it. Remember, we are only playing at old times to-night.
+Everything around, from the organ to the ring on your finger, reminds me
+that I am a stranger here. It seems almost unkind of you to regret
+nothing whilst I am full of regrets."
+
+"Check," said Marian. "Mind your game, sir."
+
+"Flippant!" exclaimed Douglas, impatiently moving his king. "I verily
+believe that if your husband were at the bottom of the Thames at this
+moment, you would fly off unconcernedly to some other nest, and break
+hearts with as much indifference as ever."
+
+"I wish you would not make suggestions of that sort, Sholto. You make
+me uncomfortable. Something _might_ happen to Ned. I wish he were home.
+He is very late."
+
+"Happy man. You can be serious when you think about him. I envy him."
+
+"What! Sholto Douglas stoop to envy any mortal! Prodigious!"
+
+"Yes: it has come to that with me. Why should I not envy him? His career
+has been upward throughout. He has been a successful worker in the
+world, where I have had nothing real to do. When the good things I had
+been dreaming of and longing for all my life came in his path, he had
+them for the mere asking. I valued them so highly that when I fancied I
+possessed them, I was the proudest of men. I am humble enough now that I
+am beggared."
+
+"You are really talking the greatest nonsense."
+
+"No doubt I am. Still in love, Marian, you see. There is no harm in
+telling you so now."
+
+"On the contrary, it is now that there is harm. For shame, Sholto!"
+
+"I am not ashamed. I tell you of my love because now you can listen to
+me without uneasiness, knowing that it is no longer associated with
+hope, or desire, or anything but regret. You see that I do not affect
+the romantic lover. I eat very well; I play chess; I go into society;
+and you reproach me for growing fat."
+
+Marian bent over the chessboard for a moment to hide her face. Then she
+said in a lower voice, "I have thoroughly convinced myself that there is
+no such thing as love in the world."
+
+"That means that you have never experienced it."
+
+"I have told you already that I have never been in love, and that I
+dont believe a bit in it. I mean romantic love, of course."
+
+"I verily believe that you have not. The future has one more pang in
+store for me; for you will surely love some day."
+
+"I am getting too old for that, I fear. At what age, pray, did you
+receive the arrow in your heart?"
+
+"When I was a boy, I loved a vision. The happiest hours of my life were
+those in which I was slowly, tremulously daring to believe that I had
+found my vision at last in you. And then the dreams that followed! What
+a career was to have been mine! I remember how you used to reproach me
+because I was austere with women and proud with men. How could I have
+been otherwise? I contrasted the gifts of all other women with those of
+my elect, and the lot of all other men with my own. Can you wonder that,
+doing so, I carried my head among the clouds? You must remember how
+unfamiliar failure was to me. At school, at Oxford, in society, I had
+sought distinction without misgiving, and attained it without
+difficulty. My one dearest object I deemed secure long before I opened
+my lips and asked expressly for it. I think I walked through life at
+that time like a somnambulist; for I have since seen that I must have
+been piling mistake upon mistake until out of a chaos of meaningless
+words and smiles I had woven a Paphian love temple. At the first menace
+of disappointment--a thing as new and horrible to me as death--I fled
+the country. I came back with only the ruins of the doomed temple. You
+were not content to destroy a ruin: the feat was too easy to be
+glorious. So you rebuilt it in one hour to the very dome, and lighted
+its altars with more than their former radiance. Then, as though it
+were but a house of cards--as indeed it was nothing else--you gave it
+one delicate touch and razed it to its foundations. Yet I am afraid
+those altar lamps were not wholly extinguished. They smoulder beneath
+the ruins still."
+
+"I wonder why they made you the Newdigate poet at Oxford, Sholto: you
+mix your metaphors most dreadfully. Dont be angry with me: I understand
+what you mean; and I am very sorry. I say flippant things because I
+must. How _can_ one meet seriousness in modern society except by chaff?"
+
+"I am not angry. I had rather you did not understand. The more flippant
+you are, the more you harden my heart; and I want it to be as hard as
+the nether millstone. Your pity would soften me; and I dread that."
+
+"I believe it does every man good to be softened. If you ever really
+felt what you describe, you greatly over-estimated me. What can you lose
+by a little more softness? I often think that men--particularly good
+men--make their way through the world too much as if it were a solid
+mass of iron through which they must cut--as if they dared not relax
+their hardest edge and finest temper for a moment. Surely, that is not
+the way to enjoy life."
+
+"Perhaps not. Still, it is the way to conquer in life. It may be
+pleasant to have a soft heart; but then someone is sure to break it."
+
+"I do not believe much in broken hearts. Besides, I do not mean that men
+should be too soft. For instance, sentimental young men of about twenty
+are odious. But for a man to get into a fighting attitude at the barest
+suggestion of sentiment; to believe in nature as something inexorable,
+and to aim at being as inexorable as nature: is not that almost as bad?"
+
+"Do you know any such man? You must not attribute that sort of hardness
+to me."
+
+"Oh no; I was not thinking of you. I was not thinking of anyone in fact.
+I only put a case. I sometimes have disputes with Ned on the subject.
+One of his cardinal principles is that there is no use in crying for
+spilt milk. I always argue that as irremediable disasters are the only
+ones that deserve or obtain sympathy, he might as well say that there is
+no use in crying for anything. Then he slips out of the difficulty by
+saying that that was just what he meant, and that there is actually no
+place for regret in a well-regulated scheme of life. In debating with
+women, men brazen out all the ridiculous conclusions of which they are
+convicted; and then they say that there is no use in arguing with a
+woman. Neither is there, because the woman is always right."
+
+"Yes; because she suffers her heart to direct her."
+
+"You are just as bad as the rest of your sex, I see. Where you cannot
+withold credit from a woman, you give it to her heart and deny it to her
+head."
+
+"There! I wont play any more," said Miss McQuinch, suddenly, at the
+other end of the room. "Have you finished your chess, Marian?"
+
+"We are nearly done. Ring for the lamps, please, Nelly. Let us finish,
+Sholto."
+
+"Whose turn is it to move? I beg your pardon for my inattention."
+
+"Mine--no, yours. Stop! it must be mine. I really dont know."
+
+"Nor do I. I have forgotten my game."
+
+"Then let us put up the board. We can finish some other night."
+
+It had become dark by this time; and the lamps were brought in whilst
+Douglas was replacing the chessmen in their box.
+
+"Now," said Marian, "let us have some music. Marmaduke: will you sing
+Uncle Ned for us? We have not heard you sing for ages."
+
+"I believe it is more than three years since that abominable concert at
+Wandsworth; and I have not heard you sing since," said Elinor.
+
+"I forget all my songs--havnt sung one of them for months. However, here
+goes! Have you a banjo in the house?"
+
+"No," said Marian. "I will play an accompaniment for you."
+
+"All right. See here: you need only play these three chords. When one
+sounds wrong, play another. Youll learn it in a moment."
+
+Marmaduke's voice was not so fresh, nor his fun so spontaneous, as at
+Wandsworth; but they were not critical enough to appreciate the
+difference: they laughed like children at him. Elinor was asked to play;
+but she would not: she had renounced that folly, she said. Then, at
+Douglas's request, Marian sang, in memory of Wandsworth, "Rose, softly
+blooming." When she had finished, Elinor asked for some old melodies,
+knowing that Marian liked these best. So she began gaily with The Oak
+and the Ash and Robin Adair. After that, finding both herself and the
+others in a more pathetic vein, she sang them The Bailiff's Daughter of
+Islington, and The Banks of Allan Water, at the end of which Marmaduke's
+eyes were full of tears, and the rest sat quite still. She paused for a
+minute, and then broke the silence with Auld Robin Gray, which affected
+even Douglas, who had no ear. As she sang the last strain, the click of
+a latchkey was heard from without. Instantly she rose; closed the
+pianoforte softly; and sat down at some distance from it. Her action was
+reflected by a change in their behavior. They remembered that they were
+not at home, and became more or less uneasily self-conscious. Elinor was
+the least disturbed. Conolly's first glance on entering was at the
+piano: his next went in search of his wife.
+
+"Ah!" he said, surprised. "I thought somebody was singing."
+
+"Oh dear no!" said Elinor drily. "You must have been mistaken."
+
+"Perhaps so," said he, smiling. "But I have been listening carefully at
+the window for ten minutes; and I certainly dreamt that I heard Auld
+Robin Gray."
+
+Marian blushed. Conolly did not seem to have been moved by the song. He
+was alert and loquacious: before he had finished his greeting and
+apology to Douglas, they all felt as little sentimental as they had ever
+done in their lives. Marian, after asking whether he had dined, became
+silent, and dropped the pretty airs of command which, as hostess, she
+had worn before.
+
+"Have you any news?" said Marmaduke at last. "Douglas knows the whole
+business. We are all friends here."
+
+"Only what we expected," said Conolly. "Affairs are exactly as they
+were. I called to-day at her address--"
+
+"How did you get it?" said Marmaduke.
+
+"I wrote for it to her at the theatre."
+
+"And did she send it?"
+
+"Of course. But she did not give me any encouragement to call on her,
+and, in fact, evidently did not want to see me. Her appearance has
+altered very much for the worse. She is a confirmed dipsomaniac; and she
+knows it. I advised her to abstain in future. She asked me, in her
+sarcastic, sisterly way, whether I had any other advice to give her. I
+told her that if she meant to go on, her proper course was to purchase a
+hogshead of brandy; keep it by her side; and condense the process of
+killing herself, which may at present take some years, into a few days."
+
+"Oh, Ned, you did not really say that to her!" said Marian.
+
+"I did indeed. The shocking part of the affair is not, as you seem to
+think, my giving the advice, but that it should be the very best advice
+I could have given."
+
+"I do not think I would have said so."
+
+"Most likely not," said Conolly, with a smile. "You would have said
+something much prettier. But dipsomania is not one of the pretty things
+of life; nor can it by any stretch of benevolent hypocrisy be made to
+pass as one. When Susanna and I get talking, we do not waste time in
+trying to spare one another's feelings. If we did, we should both see
+through the attempt and be very impatient of it."
+
+"Did she tell you what she intends to do?" said Marmaduke.
+
+"She has accepted an American engagement. When that draws to a close, it
+will, she says, be time enough for her to consider her next step. But
+she has no intention of leaving the stage until she is compelled."
+
+"Has she any intention of reforming her habits?" said Elinor, bluntly.
+
+"I should say every intention, but no prospect of doing so.
+Dipsomaniacs are always intending to reform; but they rarely succeed.
+Has Lucy been put to bed?"
+
+"Lucy is in disgrace," said Elinor. Marian looked at her apprehensively.
+
+"In disgrace!" said Conolly, more seriously. "How so?"
+
+Elinor described what had taken place in the garden. When she told how
+the child had disregarded Marian's appeal, Conolly laughed.
+
+"Lucy has no sense of how pretty she would have looked toddling in
+obediently because her aunt asked her to," he said. "She is, like all
+children, very practical, and will not assist in getting up amiable
+little scenes without good reason rendered."
+
+Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Douglas was speaking to
+her in a low voice, she was listening nervously to her husband. So she
+said sharply, "It is a pity you were not here to tell us what to do."
+
+"Apparently it is," said Conolly, complacently.
+
+"What would you have done?" said Marian suddenly, interrupting Douglas.
+
+"I suppose," said Conolly, looking round at her in surprise, "I should
+have answered her question--told her what she was wanted for. If I asked
+you to do anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely annoyed
+if I answered, 'because I ask you.'"
+
+"I would not ask why," said Marian. "I would do it."
+
+"That would be very nice of you," said Conolly; "but you cannot: expect
+such a selfish, mistrustful, and curious animal as a little child to be
+equally kind and confiding. Lucy is too acute not to have learned long
+since that grown people systematically impose on the credulity and
+helplessness of children."
+
+"Thats true," said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned away and quietly
+resumed her conversation with Douglas. After a minute she strolled with
+him into the garden, whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke.
+
+"Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss McQuinch?" said Conolly, left
+alone with her.
+
+"Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. We played chess and
+_ecarte_; and we all agreed to make old times of it. Marmaduke sang for
+us; and Marian had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers."
+
+"And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh?"
+
+"Certainly not. Why do you say that?"
+
+"Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true: jealousy, perhaps,
+because I missed being here earlier. You think, then, that if I had been
+here, the evening would have been equally pleasant, and Marian equally
+happy in her singing?"
+
+"Dont you like Marian's singing?"
+
+"Could you not have refrained from that most indiscreet question?"
+
+"I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not answer it."
+
+"That would make matters worse. And there is no reason whatever why the
+plain truth should not be told. When I was a child I heard every day
+better performances than Marian's. She believes there is something
+pretty and good in music, and patronizes it accordingly to the best of
+her ability. I do not like to hear music patronized; and when Marian,
+lovely as she is, gives her pretty renderings of songs which I have
+heard a hundred times from singers who knew what they were about, then,
+though I admire her as I must always, my admiration is rather increased
+than otherwise when she stops; because then I am no longer conscious of
+a deficiency which even my unfortunate sister could supply."
+
+"Your criticism of her singing sounds more sincere than your admiration
+of her loveliness. I am not musician enough to judge. All I know is that
+her singing is good enough for me."
+
+"I know you are displeased because it is not good enough for me; but how
+can I help myself? Poor Marian----"
+
+"Do hush!" said Elinor. "Here she is."
+
+"You need not be in such a hurry, Duke," said Marian. "What can it
+matter to you how late you get back?"
+
+"No," said Marmaduke. "I've got to write home. The governor is ill; and
+my mammy will send me a five-sheet sermon if I neglect writing to-night.
+You will keep Lucy for another week, wont you? Box her ears if she gives
+you any cheek. She wants it: she's been spoiled."
+
+"If we find we can do no better than that with her, we shall hand her
+back to you," said Conolly. Then the visitors took their leave. Marian
+gently pressed Douglas's hand and looked into his eyes as he bade her
+farewell. Elinor, seeing this, glanced uneasily at Conolly, and
+unexpectedly met his eye. There was a gleam of cynical intelligence in
+it that did not reassure her. A few minutes later she went to bed,
+leaving the couple alone together. Conolly looked at his wife for a
+moment with an amused expression; but she closed her lips
+irresponsively, and went to the table for a book which she wanted to
+bring upstairs. She would have gone without a word had he not spoken to
+her.
+
+"Marian: Douglas is in love with you."
+
+She blushed; thought a moment; and said quietly, "Very well. I shall not
+ask him to come again."
+
+"Why?"
+
+She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, "I thought you cared. I
+beg your pardon."
+
+"My dear," he replied, amiably: "if you exclude everybody who falls in
+love with you, we shall have no one in the house but blind men."
+
+"And do you like men to be in love with me?"
+
+"Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them; it makes them attentive to
+you; and it gives you great power for good. When I was a romantic boy,
+any good woman could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love with
+you as much as they please. Afterwards they will seek wives according to
+a higher standard than if they had never known you. But do not return
+the compliment, or your influence will become an evil one."
+
+"Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I will. Sholto
+Douglas not only loves me, but he told me so to-day."
+
+"Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or later."
+
+Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for some time gravely and
+a little wistfully. "I think," she said, "I should feel very angry if
+any woman made such a confession to you."
+
+"A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a breach of
+convention; nor a woman an invasion of her privileges, even when they
+have become a burden to her."
+
+"What do you mean by that?" she said, rising.
+
+"Marian," he said, looking straight at her: "are you dissatisfied?"
+
+"What reason have I to--"
+
+"Never mind the reasons. Are you?"
+
+"No," said she, steadfastly.
+
+He smiled indulgently; pressed her hand for a moment against his cheek;
+and went out for the short walk he was accustomed to take before
+retiring.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+
+In October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at the house of Hardy
+McQuinch's brother, who had recently returned to England with a fortune
+made in Australia. Conolly, having the house at Holland Park to himself,
+fitted a spare room as a laboratory, and worked there every night. One
+evening, returning home alone a little before five o'clock, he shut
+himself into this laboratory, and had just set to work when Armande, the
+housemaid, interrupted him.
+
+"Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir."
+
+Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax since before his
+marriage, when he had once shewn her the working of his invention at
+Queen Victoria Street; and as Marian had since resented her share of
+Douglas's second proposal by avoiding her society as far as possible
+without actually discontinuing her acquaintance, this visit was a
+surprise. Conolly looked darkly at Armande, and went to the drawing-room
+without a word.
+
+"_How_ do you do, Mr. Conolly?" said Mrs. Fairfax, as he entered. "I
+need not ask: you are looking so well. Have I disturbed you?"
+
+"You have--most agreeably. Pray sit down."
+
+"I know your time is priceless. I should never have ventured to come,
+but that I felt sure you would like to hear all the news from Sark. I
+have been there for the last fortnight. Marian told me to call on you
+the moment I returned."
+
+"Yes," said Conolly, convinced that this was not true. "She promised to
+do so in her last letter."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax, on the point of publishing a few supplementary fictions,
+checked herself, and looked suspiciously at him.
+
+"The air of Sark has evidently benefited you," he said, as she paused.
+"You are looking very well--I had almost said charming."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax glanced archly at him, and said, "Nonsense! but, indeed,
+the trip was absolutely necessary for me. I should hardly have been
+alive had I remained at work; and poor Willie McQuinch was bent on
+having me."
+
+"He has been described to me as an inveterate lion hunter."
+
+"It is not at all pleasant, I assure you, to be persecuted with
+invitations from people who wish to see a real live novelist. But
+William McQuinch's place at Sark is really palatial. He is called
+Sarcophagus on account of his wealth. A great many people whom he knew
+were staying in the island, besides those in the house with us. Marian
+was the beauty of the place. How every one admires her! Why do you not
+go down, Mr. Conolly?"
+
+"I am too busy. Besides, it will do Marian good to be rid of me for a
+while."
+
+"Absurd, Mr. Conolly! You should not leave her there by herself."
+
+"By herself! Why, is not the place full?"
+
+"Yes; but I do not mean that. There is nobody belonging to her there."
+
+"You forget. Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend. There is Marmaduke, her
+cousin; and his mother, her Aunt Dora. Then, is there not Mr. Sholto
+Douglas, one of her oldest and most attached friends?"
+
+"Oh! Is Mr. Douglas in charge of her?"
+
+"No doubt he will take charge of her, if she is overtaken by her second
+childhood whilst he is there. Meanwhile, she is in charge of herself, is
+she not? And there is hardly any danger of her feeling lonely."
+
+"No. Sholto Douglas will provide against that."
+
+"Your opinion confirms the accounts I have had from other sources. It
+appears that Mr. Douglas is very attentive to my wife."
+
+"Very, indeed, Mr. Conolly. You must not think that I am afraid of
+anything--anything--"
+
+"Anything?"
+
+"Well--Oh, you know what I mean. Anything wrong. At least, not exactly
+wrong, but--"
+
+"Anything undomestic."
+
+"Yes. You see, Marian's position is a very difficult one. She is so
+young and so good looking that she is very much observed; and it seems
+so strange her being without her husband."
+
+"Pretty ladies whose husbands are never seen, often get talked about in
+the world, do they not?"
+
+"That is just what I mean. How cleverly you get everything out of me,
+Mr. Conolly! I called here without the faintest idea of alluding to
+Marian's situation; and now you have made me say all sorts of things.
+What a fortune you would have made at the bar!"
+
+"I must apologize, I did not mean to cross-examine you. Naturally, of
+course, you would not like to make me uneasy about Marian."
+
+"It is the very last thing I should desire. But now that it has slipped
+out, I really think you ought to go to Sark."
+
+"Indeed! I rather infer that I should be very much in the way."
+
+"The more reason for you to go, Mr. Conolly."
+
+"Not at all, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. The attentions of a husband are stale,
+unsuited to holiday time. Picture to yourself my arrival at Sark with
+the tender assurance in my mouth, 'Marian, I love you.' She would reply,
+'So you ought. Am I not your wife?' The same advance from another--Mr.
+Douglas, for instance--would affect her quite differently, and much more
+pleasantly."
+
+"Mr. Conolly; is this indifference, or supreme confidence?"
+
+"Neither of these conjugal claptraps. I merely desire that Marian should
+enjoy herself as much as possible; and the more a woman is admired, the
+happier she is. Perhaps you think that, in deference to the general
+feeling in such matters, I should become jealous."
+
+Mrs. Fairfax again looked doubtfully at him. "I cannot make you out at
+all, Mr. Conolly," she said submissively. "I hope I have not offended
+you."
+
+"Not in the least. I take it that having observed certain circumstances
+which seemed to threaten the welfare of one very dear to you (as, I am
+aware, Marian is), the trouble they caused you found unpremeditated
+expression in the course of a conversation with me." Conolly beamed at
+her, as if he thought this rather neatly turned.
+
+"Exactly so. But I do not wish you to think that I have observed
+anything particular."
+
+"Certainly not. Still, you think there would be no harm in my writing
+to Marian to say that her behavior has attracted your notice, and----"
+
+"Good heavens, Mr. Conolly, you must not mention _me_ in the matter! You
+are so innocent--at least so frank, so workmanlike, if I may say so, in
+your way of dealing with things! I would not have Marian know what I
+have said--I really did not notice anything--for worlds. You had better
+not write at all, but just go down as if you went merely to enjoy
+yourself; and dont on any account let Marian suspect that you have heard
+anything. Goodness knows what mischief you might make, in your--your
+ingenuousness!"
+
+"But I should have thought that the opinion of an old and valued friend
+like yourself would have special weight with her."
+
+"You know nothing about it. Clever engineer as you are, you do not
+understand the little wheels by which our great machine of society is
+worked."
+
+"True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax," he rejoined, echoing the cadence of her
+sentence. "Educated as a mere mechanic, I am still a stranger to the
+elegancies of life. I usually depend on Marian for direction; but since
+you think that it would be injudicious to appeal to her in the present
+instance----"
+
+"Out of the question, Mr. Conolly."
+
+"--I must trust to your guidance in the matter. What do you suggest?"
+
+Mrs. Fairfax was about to reply, when the expression which she
+habitually wore like a mask in society, wavered and broke. Her lip
+trembled: her eyes filled with tears: she rose with a sniff that was
+half a sob. When she spoke, her voice was sincere for the first time,
+and at the sound of it Conolly's steely, hard manner melted, and his
+inhuman self-possession vanished.
+
+"You think," she said, "that I came here to make mischief. I did not.
+Marian is nothing to me: she does not even like me; but I dont want to
+see her ruin herself merely because she is too inexperienced to know
+when she is well off. I have had to fight my way in London: and I know
+what it is, and what the world is. She is not fit to take charge of
+herself. Good-bye, Mr. Conolly: you are a great deal too young yourself
+to know the danger, for all your cleverness. You may tell her that I
+came here and gossipped against her, if you like. She will never speak
+to me again; but if it saves her, I dont care. Good-bye."
+
+"My dear Mrs. Fairfax," he said, with entire frankness, "I am now deeply
+and sincerely obliged to you." And in proof that he was touched, he
+kissed her hand with the ease and grace of a man who had been carefully
+taught how to do it. Mrs. Fairfax recovered herself and almost blushed
+as he went with her to the door, chatting easily about the weather and
+the Addison Road trains.
+
+She was not the last visitor that evening. She had hardly been fifteen
+minutes gone when the Rev. George presented himself, and was conducted
+to the laboratory, where he found Conolly, with his coat off, surrounded
+by apparatus. The glowing fire, comfortable chairs, and preparations for
+an evening meal, gladdened him more than the presence of his
+brother-in-law, with whom he never felt quite at ease.
+
+"You wont mind my fiddling with these machines while I talk," said
+Conolly.
+
+"Not at all, not at all. I shall witness your operations with great
+interest. You must not think that the wonders of science are indifferent
+to me."
+
+"So you are going on to Sark, you say?"
+
+"Yes. May I ask whether you will be persuaded to come?"
+
+"No, for certain. I have other fish to fry here."
+
+"I think it would renovate your health to come for a few days."
+
+"My health is always right as long as I have work. Did you meet Mrs.
+Fairfax outside?"
+
+"A--yes. I passed her."
+
+"You spoke to her, I suppose?"
+
+"A few words. Yes."
+
+"Do you know what she came here for?"
+
+"No. But stay. I am wrong. She mentioned that she came for a book she
+lent you."
+
+"She mentioned what was not true. What did she say to you about Marian?"
+
+"Well, she--She was just saying that it is perhaps as well that I should
+go down to Sark at once, as Marian is quite alone."
+
+The clergyman looked so guilty as he said this that Conolly laughed
+outright at him. "You mean," he said, "that Marian is _not_ quite alone.
+Well, very likely Douglas occupies himself a good deal with her. If so,
+there may be some busybody or another down there fool enough to tell her
+that people are talking about her. That would spoil her holiday; so it
+is lucky that you are going down. No one will take it upon themselves to
+speak to her when you are there; and if they say anything to you, you
+can let it in at one ear and out at the other."
+
+"That is, of course, unless I should see her really acting
+indiscreetly."
+
+"I had better tell you beforehand what you will see if you keep your
+eyes open. You will see very plainly that Douglas is in love with her.
+Also that she knows that he is in love with her. In fact, she told me
+so. And you will see she rather likes it. Every married woman requires a
+holiday from her husband occasionally, even when he suits her
+perfectly."
+
+The Rev. George stared. "If I follow you aright--I am not sure that I
+do--you impute to Marian the sin of entertaining feelings which it is
+her duty to repress."
+
+"I impute no sin to her. You might as well tell a beggar that he has no
+right to be hungry, as a woman that it is her duty to feel this and not
+to feel that."
+
+"But Marian has been educated to feel only in accordance with her duty."
+
+"So have you. How does it work? However," continued Conolly, without
+waiting for an answer, "I dont deny that Marian shews the effects of her
+education. They are deplorably evident in all her conscientious
+actions."
+
+"You surprise and distress me. This is the first intimation I have
+received of your having any cause to complain of Marian."
+
+"Nonsense! I dont complain of her. But what you call her education, as
+far as I can make it out, appears to have consisted of stuffing her with
+lies, and making it a point of honor with her to believe them in spite
+of sense and reason. The sense of duty that rises on that sort of
+foundation is more mischievous than downright want of principle. I dont
+dispute your right, you who constitute polite society, to skin over all
+the ugly facts of life. But to make your daughters believe that the
+skin covers healthy flesh is a crime. Poor Marian thinks that a room is
+clean when all the dust is swept out of sight under the furniture; and
+if honest people rake it out to bring it under the notice of those whose
+duty it is to remove it, she is disgusted with them, and ten to one
+accuses them of having made it themselves. She doesnt know what sort of
+world she is in, thanks to the misrepresentations of those who should
+have taught her. She will deceive her children in just the same way, if
+she ever has any. If she had been taught the truth in her own childhood,
+she would know how to face it, and would be a strong woman as well as an
+amiable one. But it is too late now. The truth seems natural to a child;
+but to a grown woman or man, it is a bitter lesson in the learning,
+though it may be invigorating when it is well mastered. And you know how
+seldom a hard task forced on an unwilling pupil _is_ well mastered."
+
+"What is truth?" said the clergyman, sententiously.
+
+"All that we know, Master Pilate," retorted Conolly with a laugh. "And
+we know a good deal. It may seem small in comparison with what we dont
+know; but it is more than any one of us can hold, for all that. We know,
+for instance, that the world was not planned by a sentimental landscape
+gardener. If Marian ever learns that--which she may, although I am
+neither able nor willing to teach it to her--she will not thank those
+who gave her so much falsehood to unlearn. Until then, she will, I am
+afraid, do little else than lay up a store of regrets for herself."
+
+"This is very strange. We always looked upon Marian as an exceptionally
+amiable girl."
+
+"So she is, unfortunately. There is no institution so villainous but
+she will defend it; no tyranny so oppressive but she will make a virtue
+of submitting to it; no social cancer so venomous but she will shrink
+from cutting it out, and plead that it is a comfortable thing, and much
+better as it is. She knows that she disobeyed her father, and that he
+deserved to be disobeyed; yet she condemns other women who are
+disobedient, and stands out against Nelly McQuinch in defence of the
+unselfishness of parental love. She knows that the increased freedom of
+movement allowed to her as a married woman has been healthy for her; yet
+she looks coldly at other young women who assert their right to freedom,
+and are not afraid to walk through the streets without a sheepdog, human
+or otherwise, at their heels. She knows that marriage is not what she
+expected it to be, and that it gives me many unfair advantages over her;
+and she knows also that ours is a happier marriage than most.
+Nevertheless she will encourage other girls to marry; she will maintain
+that the chain which galls her own wrists so often is a string of
+honeysuckles; and if a woman identifies herself with any public movement
+for the lightening of that chain, she wont allow that that woman is fit
+to be admitted into decent society. There is not one of these shams to
+which she clings that I would not like to take by the throat and shake
+the life out of; and she knows it. Even in that she has not the
+consistency to believe me wrong, because it is undutiful and out of
+keeping with the honeysuckles to lack faith in her husband. In order to
+blind herself to her inconsistencies, she has to live in a rose-colored
+fog; and what with me constantly, in spite of myself, blowing this fog
+away on the one side, and the naked facts of her everyday experience as
+constantly letting in the daylight on the other, she must spend half
+the time wondering whether she is mad or sane. Between her desire to do
+right and her discoveries that it generally leads her to do wrong, she
+passes her life in a wistful melancholy which I cant dispel. I can only
+pity her. I suppose I could pet her; but I hate treating a woman like a
+child: it means giving up all hope of her becoming rational. She may
+turn for relief any day either to love or religion; and for her own sake
+I hope she will choose the first. Of the two evils, it is the least
+permanent." And Conolly, having disburdened himself, resumed his work
+without any pretence of waiting for the clergyman's comments.
+
+"Well," said the Rev. George, cautiously, "I do not think I have quite
+followed your opinions, which seem to me to be exactly upside down, as
+if they were projected upon the retina of your mind's eye--to use
+Shakspear's happy phrase--just as they would be upon your--your real
+eye, you know. But I can assure you that your view of Marian is an
+entirely mistaken one. You seem to think that she does not give in her
+entire adherence to the doctrines of the Establishment. This is a matter
+which I venture to say you do not understand."
+
+"Admitted," interposed Conolly, hastily. "Here is my workman's tea. Are
+you fond of scones?"
+
+"I hardly know. Anything--the simplest fare, will satisfy me."
+
+"So it does me, when I can get nothing better. Help yourself, pray."
+
+Conolly did not sit down to the meal, but worked whilst the clergyman
+ate. Presently the Rev. George, warmed by the fire and cheered by the
+repast, returned to the subject of his host's domestic affairs.
+
+"Come," he said, "I am sure that a few judicious words would lead to an
+explanation between you and Marian."
+
+"I also think that a few words might do so. But they would not be
+judicious words."
+
+"Why not? Can it be injudicious to restore harmony in a household?"
+
+"No; but that would not be the effect of an explanation, because the
+truth is not likely to reconcile us. If I were to explain the difficulty
+to a man, he would argue. But Marian would just infer that I despised
+her, and nothing else."
+
+"Oh no! Oh dear no! A few kind words; an appeal to her good sense; a
+little concession on both sides----"
+
+"All excellent for a pair estranged by a flash of temper, or a
+mother-in-law, or a trifle of jealousy, or too many evenings spent at
+the club on the man's part, or too many dances with a gallant on the
+woman's; but no good for us. We have never exchanged unkind words: there
+are no concessions to be made: her good sense is not at fault. Besides,
+these few kind words that are supposed to be such a sovereign remedy for
+all sorts of domestic understandings are generally a few kind fibs. If I
+told them, Marian wouldnt believe them. Fibs dont make lasting truces
+either. No: the situation is graver than you think. Just suppose, for
+instance, that you undertake to restore harmony, as you call it! what
+will you say to her?"
+
+"Well, it would depend on circumstances."
+
+"But you know the circumstances on which it depends. How would you
+begin?"
+
+"There are little ways of approaching delicate subjects with women. For
+instance, I might say, casually, that it was a pity that a pair so
+happily situated as you two should not agree perfectly."
+
+"You would get no further; for Marian would never admit that we do not
+agree. She does not know what her complaint is, and therefore feels
+bound in honor to maintain that she has nothing to complain of. She is
+not the woman to cast reproach on me for a discontent she cannot
+explain. Or, if she could explain it, how much wiser should you be? _I_
+have explained; and you confess you cannot understand me. The difference
+between us is neither her fault nor mine; and all the explanations in
+the world will not remove it."
+
+"If you would allow me to appeal to her religious duty----"
+
+"Religion! She doesnt believe in it."
+
+"What!" exclaimed the clergyman, unaffectedly shocked. "Surely,
+surely----"
+
+"Listen. To me, believing in a doctrine doesnt mean holding up your hand
+and saying, 'Credo.' It means habitually acting on the assumption that
+the doctrine is true. Marian thinks it wrong not to go to church; and
+she will hold up her hand and cry 'Credo' to the immortality of her
+soul, or to any verse in the New Testament. The shareholders of our
+concern in the city will do the same. But do they or she ever act on the
+assumption that they are immortal, or that riches are dross, or that
+class prejudice is damnable? Never. They dont believe it. You will find
+that Marian has been thoroughly trained to separate her practice from
+her religious professions; and if you allude to the inconsistency she
+will instinctively feel that you are offending against good taste. In
+short, her 'Credo' doesnt mean faith: it means church-going, which is
+practised because it is respectable, and is respectable because it is a
+habit of the upper caste. But church-going is church-going; and business
+is business, as Marian will soon let you know if you meddle with _her_
+business. However, we need not argue about that: we know one another's
+views and can agree to differ."
+
+"I should be false to my duty as a Christian priest if I made any such
+agreement."
+
+"Perhaps so; but, at any rate, we cant spend all our lives over the same
+argument. No, as I was saying, take my advice, and let Marian alone."
+
+"But what do you intend to do, then?"
+
+"What _can_ I do but wait? Experience must wear out some of her
+illusions. She will at least find out that she is no worse off than
+other women, and better off than some of them. Since the job cannot be
+undone, we must try how making the best of it will work. I am pretty
+hopeful myself. How are affairs getting on at your chapel? I am told
+that the sermons of your _locum tenens_ send the congregation asleep."
+
+"He is not at his best in the pulpit. A good fellow! a most loving man
+but not able to grapple with a large congregation. After all, I am
+obliged to confess that very few of our cloth are. The power of
+preaching is quite an exceptional one; and it is a gift as well as a
+trust. I humbly believe that the power of the tongue comes of a higher
+ordination than the bishop's."
+
+Nothing further was said about Marian. The clergyman's object in
+visiting Conolly was, it presently appeared, to borrow a portmanteau.
+When he was gone, Conolly returned to the laboratory, and wrote the
+following letter:
+
+  "My dear Marian
+
+  "I have just had two unexpected visits, one from Mrs. Fairfax, and
+  one from George. Mrs. L.F. said you asked her to call and give me
+  the news. When I told her, without blushing, that you had written
+  to prepare me for her visit, she was rather put out, justly
+  thinking me to mean that I did not believe her. As this is fully
+  the thirty-sixth falsehood in which you have detected good Mrs. F.,
+  I fear you will be compelled, in spite of your principle of
+  believing the best of everybody, to regard her in future as a not
+  invariably accurate woman. She came with the object of making me go
+  down to Sark. You were so young and so much admired: Mr. Douglas
+  was so attentive: you should not be left entirely alone, and so
+  forth. You will be angry with her; but she thinks Douglas so
+  irresistible that she is genuinely anxious about you: I believe she
+  really meant well this time. As to our reverend brother, his
+  portmanteau burst in the train coming from Edinburgh; so he came to
+  borrow mine, having apparently resolved to wear out those of all
+  his friends before buying a new one. Unfortunately, he met Mrs. F.
+  down the road; and she urged him to go down to Sark just as she had
+  urged me. Now as George is incapable of holding his tongue when he
+  ought, I feel sure that unless I tell you what Mrs. F. said, he
+  will anticipate me. Otherwise I should not have mentioned it until
+  your return, for fear of annoying you and spoiling your visit. So
+  if his reverence hints or lectures, you will know what he means and
+  not heed him. Mrs. F's confidences have probably not been confined
+  to me; but were I in your place, I should not make the slightest
+  change in my conduct in consequence. At all events, if you feel
+  constrained to display any sudden accession of reserve toward
+  Douglas, tell him the reason; because if you dont, he will ascribe
+  the change to coquetry.
+
+  "I have turned the spare room on the first floor into a laboratory,
+  and am sitting in it now. I'm thinking of fitting it up like a
+  studio, and having private views of my inventions, as Scott has of
+  his pictures. Parson's man came with some flowers the other day,
+  and informed me that three balls, to the first of which he was
+  invited, took place in the house while I was away. One or two
+  trifling dilapidations, and the fact that somebody has been
+  tampering with the locks of the organ and piano, dispose me to
+  believe this tale. Parson's man declares that he was too virtuous
+  to come to the two last entertainments after finding out that the
+  first was a clandestine one; but I believe he made himself
+  disagreeable, and was not invited. Probably he quarrelled with some
+  military follower of Armande's; for he was particularly bitter on
+  the subject of a common soldier making free in a gentleman's house.
+  I have not said anything to the two culprits; but I have contrived
+  to make them suspect that I know all; and they now do their duty
+  with trembling diligence. Some man sat on the little walnut table
+  and broke it; but no other damage worth mentioning has been done.
+  The table was absurdly repaired with a piece of twine, and pushed
+  into the recess between the organ and the front window, whence I
+  sometimes amuse myself by the experiment of pulling it into broad
+  daylight. It is always pushed back again before I return in the
+  evening.
+
+  "How are you off for money? I have plenty of loose cash just now.
+  Madame called last Monday, and asked Matilda, who opened the door,
+  when you would be back. Thereupon I interviewed her. I must say she
+  is loyal to her clients; for I had great difficulty in extracting
+  her bill, which was, of course, what she called about. She
+  evidently recognizes the necessity of keeping husbands in the dark
+  in such matters. One of the items was for the lace on your
+  maccaroni-colored body, which, as I chanced to remember, you
+  supplied yourself. After a brief struggle she deducted it; so I
+  paid her the balance: only 35L 13s. 9d.
+
+  "When are you coming back to me? After Sark I
+  fear you will find home a little dull. Nevertheless, I
+  should like to see you again. Come back before Christmas,
+  at any rate.
+
+                     "Yours, dear Marian, in solitude,
+                                                   "NED."
+
+The answer came two days later than return of post, and ran thus:
+
+                                         "Melbourne House, Sark,
+                                                 "Sunday.
+  "My dear Ned
+
+  "How very provoking about the servants! I do not mind Matilda so
+  much; but I do think it hard that we could not depend on Armande,
+  considering all the kindness we have shewn her. I can scarcely
+  believe that she would have acted so badly unless she were led away
+  by Matilda, whom I will pack off the moment I return. As to
+  Armande, I will give her another chance; but she shall have a sharp
+  talking to. I am quite sure that a great deal more mischief has
+  been done than you noticed. If the carpet was danced on for three
+  nights by men in heavy boots, it must be in ribbons. It is really
+  too bad. I do not want any money. Indeed the twenty pounds you sent
+  me last was quite unnecessary, as I have nearly sixteen left. What
+  a rogue Madame is to try and make you pay for my lace! I am sorry
+  you paid the bill. She had no business to call for her money: she
+  is _never_ paid so soon by _anybody_. We have had great fun down
+  here. It has been one continual garden party all through; and the
+  weather is still lovely. Mr. McQuinch is very colonial: but I think
+  his ways make the house pleasanter than if he were still English.
+  Carbury is quite stupid in comparison to this place. I have danced
+  more than I ever did in my life before; and now we are so tired of
+  frivolity that if any one ventures to strum a waltz or propose a
+  game, we all protest. We tried to get up some choral music; but it
+  was a failure. On Friday, George, who is looked on as a great man
+  here, was asked to give us a Shakespeare reading. He was only too
+  glad to be asked; for he had heard Simonton, the actor, read at a
+  bazaar in Scotland, and was full of Richard the Third in
+  consequence. He was not very bad; but his imitation of Simonton was
+  so obvious and so queerly mixed with his own churchy style that he
+  seemed rather monotonous and affected. At least I thought so. I was
+  dreadfully uncomfortable during the reading because of Marmaduke,
+  who behaved scandalously. There were some schoolboys present; and
+  he not only encouraged them to misbehave themselves, but was worse
+  than any of them himself. At last he pretended to be overcome by
+  the heat, and went out of the room, to my great relief; but when
+  the passage about the early village cock came, he crew outside the
+  door, where he had been waiting expressly to do it. Nobody could
+  help laughing; and the boys screamed so that Mr. McQuinch took two
+  of them out by the collar. I believe he was glad of the excuse to
+  go out and laugh himself. George was very angry, and no wonder! He
+  will hardly speak to Marmaduke, who, of course, denies all
+  knowledge of the interruption; but George knows better. All the
+  Hardy McQuinches are down here. Uncle Hardy is rather stooped from
+  rheumatism. Nelly is now the chief personage in the family: Lydia
+  and Jane are nowhere beside her. They are good-humored, bouncing
+  girls; but they are certainly not brilliant. I hope it is not Aunt
+  Dora's walnut table that is broken. Was it not mean of Parson's man
+  to tell on Armande? I think, since you have plenty of loose cash,
+  we might venture on a set of those curtains we saw at Protheroe's,
+  for the drawing-room. I can easily use the ones that are there now
+  for _portieres_.
+
+  "You must not think that I have written this all at once. I shall
+  be able to finish to-day, as it is Sunday, and I have made an
+  excuse to stay away from church. George is to preach; and somehow I
+  never feel toward the service as I ought when he officiates. I know
+  you will laugh at this.
+
+  "The first part of your letter must have a paragraph
+  all to itself. I hardly know what to say. I could not
+  have believed that Mrs. Leith Fairfax would have behaved
+  as she has done. I was so angry at first that for
+  fully an hour I felt ill; and I spoke quite wickedly to
+  George the day after he arrived, because he said that
+  Sholto had better not take me down to dinner, although
+  his doing so was quite accidental. I know you will believe
+  me when I tell you that I was quite unconscious
+  that he had been unusually attentive to me; and I was
+  about to write you an indignant denial, only I shewed
+  Nelly your letter, and she crushed me by telling me she
+  had noticed it too. We nearly had a quarrel about it;
+  but she counted up the number of times I had danced
+  with him and sat beside him at dinner; and I suppose an
+  evil-minded woman looking on might think what Mrs.
+  Leith Fairfax thought. But there is no excuse for her.
+  She knows that Sholto and I have been intimate since
+  we were children; and there is something odious in her,
+  of all people, pretending to misunderstand us. What is
+  worse, she was particularly friendly and confidential with
+  me while she was here; and although I tried to keep
+  away from her at first, she persisted in conciliating me,
+  and persuaded me that Douglas had entirely mistaken
+  what she said that other time. Who could have expected
+  her to turn round and calumniate me the moment my
+  back was turned! How can people do such things! I
+  hope we shall not meet her again; for I will never speak
+  to her. I have not said anything to Douglas. How
+  could I? It would only make mischief. I feel that the
+  right course is to come home as soon as I can, and in the
+  meantime to avoid him as much as possible. So you
+  may expect me on Saturday next. Mr. McQuinch is
+  quite dismayed at my departure, which he says will be
+  the signal for a general breaking up; but this I cannot
+  help. I shall be glad to go home, of course. Still, I
+  am sorry to leave this place, where we have all been so
+  jolly. I will write and let you know what train I shall
+  come by; but you need not trouble to meet me, unless
+  you like: I can get home quite well by myself. After
+  all, it is just as well that I am getting away. It _was_
+  pleasant enough; but now I feel utterly disgusted with
+  everything and everybody. I find I must stop. They
+  have just come in from church; and I must go down.
+
+                            "Your affectionate
+                                        "MARIAN."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+
+One Saturday afternoon in December Marian and Elinor sat drinking tea in
+the drawing-room at Holland Park. Elinor was present as an afternoon
+caller: she no longer resided with the Conollys. Marian had been lamely
+excusing herself for not having read Elinor's last book.
+
+"Pray dont apologize," said Elinor. "I remember the time when you would
+have forced yourself to read it from a sense of duty; and I am too
+delighted to find that nonsense washing out of you at last to feel the
+wound to my vanity. Oh, say no more, my dear you can read it still
+whenever you please. Brother George read it, and was shocked because the
+heroine loves the villain and tells him so without waiting to be asked.
+It is odd that long ago, when I believed so devoutly in the tender
+passion, I never could write a really flaming love story."
+
+"Dont begin to talk like that," said Marian, crossly. "People _do_ fall
+in love, fortunately for them. It may be injudicious; and it may turn
+out badly; but it fills up life in a way that all the barren philosophy
+and cynicism on earth cannot. Do you think I would not rather have to
+regret a lost love than to repine because I had been too cautious to
+love at all? The disappointments of love warm the heart more than the
+triumphs of insensibility."
+
+"Thats rather a good sentence," said Elinor. "Your talk is more
+classical than my writing. But what would the departed Marian Lind have
+said?"
+
+"The departed Marian Lind was so desperately wise that she neglected
+that excellent precept, 'Be not righteous over much, neither make
+thyself over wise; why shouldest thou destroy thyself?' I took up the
+Bible last night for the first time since my marriage; and I thought
+what fools we two used to be when we made up our minds to avoid all the
+mistakes and follies and feelings of other people, and to be quite
+superior and rational. 'He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he
+that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.' It is all so true, in spite
+of what Ned says. We were very clever at observing the wind and
+regarding the clouds; and what are we the better for it? How much
+irreparable mischief, I wonder, did we do ourselves by letting our
+little wisdoms stifle all our big instincts! Look at those very other
+people whom we despised; how happy they are, in spite of their having
+always done exactly what their hearts told them!"
+
+"I think we are pretty well off as people go. I know I am. Certainly it
+was part of our wisdom that marriage was a bad thing; and I grant that
+though you married in obedience to your instincts you are as well off as
+I. But I dont see that we are the worse for having thought a little."
+
+"I did _not_ marry in obedience to my instincts, Nelly; and you know it.
+I made a disinterested marriage with a man whom I felt I could respect
+as my superior. I was convinced then that a grand passion was a folly."
+
+"And what do you think now?"
+
+"I think that I did not know what I was talking about."
+
+"I believe you were in love with Ned when you married him, and long
+enough before that, too."
+
+"Of course I loved him. I love him still."
+
+"Do you, really? To hear you, one would think that you only respected
+him as a superior."
+
+"You have no right to say that. You dont understand."
+
+"Perhaps not. Would you mind explaining?"
+
+"I do not mean anything particular; but there are two kinds of love.
+There is a love which one's good sense suggests--a sort of moral
+approval----"
+
+Elinor laughed. "Go on," she said. "What is the other sort?"
+
+"The other sort has nothing to do with good sense. It is an overpowering
+impulse--a craving--a faith that defies logic--something to look
+forward to feeling in your youth, and look back to with a kindling heart
+in your age."
+
+"Indeed! Isnt the difference between the two sorts much the same as the
+difference between the old love and the new?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I think I will take another cup of tea. You neednt stop flying out at
+me, though: I dont mind it."
+
+"Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you."
+
+"It's rather odd that we so seldom meet now without getting on this
+subject and having a row. Has that struck you at all?"
+
+Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent.
+
+"Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why dont you go to Ned, and
+tell him that he is a cast-iron walking machine, and that you are
+unhappy, and want the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furious
+scene with him, and all will come right."
+
+"It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and make myself
+ridiculous like that: the words would choke me. Besides, I am not
+unhappy."
+
+"What a lie! You wicked woman! A moment ago you were contemning all
+prudence; and now you will not speak your mind because you are afraid of
+being ridiculous. What is that but observing the wind and regarding the
+clouds, I should like to know?"
+
+"I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in jest. It hurts me."
+
+"Serve you right! I am not a bit remorseful. No matter: let us talk of
+something else. Where did those flowers come from?"
+
+"Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to-night; and I wanted a
+bouquet."
+
+"Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it himself. He rarely
+misses an excuse for coming."
+
+"Why do you say that, Nelly? He comes here very seldom, except on
+Sunday; and that is a regular thing, just as your coming is."
+
+"He was here on Tuesday; you saw him at Mrs. Saunders's on Wednesday; he
+was at your at-home on Thursday; and he sends a bouquet on Saturday."
+
+"I cannot help meeting him out; and not to invite him to my at-home
+would be to cut him. Pray are you growing spiteful, like Mrs. Leith
+Fairfax?"
+
+"Marian: you got out of bed at the wrong side this morning; and you have
+made that mistake oftener since your return from Sark than in all your
+life before. Douglas has become a lazy good-for-nothing; and he comes
+here a great deal too often. Instead of encouraging him to dangle after
+you as he does, and to teach you all those finely turned sentiments
+about love which you were airing a minute ago, you ought to make him get
+called to the bar, or sent into Parliament, or put to work in some
+fashion."
+
+"Nelly!"
+
+"Bother Nelly! It is true; and you know it as well as I do."
+
+"If he fancies himself in love with me, I cannot help it."
+
+"You can help his following you about."
+
+"I cannot. He does not follow me about. Why does not Ned object? He
+knows that Sholto is in love with me; and he does not care."
+
+"Oh, if it is only to make Ned jealous, then I have nothing more to say:
+you may flirt away as hard as you please. There's a knock at the door,
+just in time to prevent us from quarrelling. I know whose knock it is,
+too."
+
+Marian had flushed slightly at the sound; and Elinor, with her feet
+stretched out before her, lapped the carpet restlessly with her heels,
+and watched her cousin sourly as Douglas entered. He was in evening
+dress.
+
+"Good-evening," said Elinor. "So you are going to the theatre, too?"
+
+"Why?" said Douglas. "Is any one coming with us? Shall we have the
+pleasure of your company?"
+
+"No," replied Elinor, drily. "I thought Mr. Conolly was perhaps going
+with you."
+
+"I shall be very glad, I am sure, if he will," said Douglas.
+
+"He will not," said Marian. "I doubt if he will come home before we
+start."
+
+"You got my flowers safely, I see."
+
+"Yes, thank you. They are beautiful."
+
+"They need be, if you are to wear them."
+
+"I think I will go," said Elinor, "if you can spare me. Marian has been
+far from amiable; and if you are going to pay her compliments, I shall
+very soon be as bad as she. Good-bye." Douglas gratefully went with her
+to the door. She looked very hard at him, and almost made a grimace as
+they parted; but she said nothing.
+
+"I am very glad she went," said Marian, when Douglas returned. "She
+annoys me. Everything annoys me."
+
+"You are leading an impossible life here, Marian," he said, putting his
+hand on her chair and bending over her. "Whilst it lasts, everything
+will annoy you; and I, who would give the last drop of my blood to spare
+you a moment's pain, shall never experience the delight of seeing you
+happy."
+
+"What other life can I lead?"
+
+Douglas made an impulsive movement, as though to reply; but he
+hesitated, and did not speak. Marian was not looking at him. She was
+gazing into the fire.
+
+"Sholto," she said, after an interval of silence, "you must not come
+here any more."
+
+"What!"
+
+"You are too idle. You come here too often. Why do you not become a
+barrister, or go into Parliament, or at least write books? If Nelly can
+succeed as an author, surely you can."
+
+"I have left all that behind me. I am a failure: you know why. Let us
+talk no more of it."
+
+"Do not go on like that," said Marian, pettishly. "I dont like it."
+
+"I am afraid to say or do anything, you are so easily distressed."
+
+"Yes, I know I am very cross. Elinor remarked it too. I think you might
+bear with me, Sholto." Here, most unexpectedly, she rose and burst into
+tears. "When my whole life is one dreary record of misery, I cannot
+always be patient. I have been forbearing toward you many times."
+
+Douglas was at first frightened; for he had never seen her cry before.
+Then, as she sat down again, and covered her face with her handkerchief,
+he advanced, intending to kneel and put his arm about her; but his
+courage failed: he only drew a chair to the fire, and bent over, as he
+sat beside her, till his face was close to hers, saying, "It is all the
+fault of your mad marriage. You were happy until then. I have been
+silent hitherto; but now that I see your tears, I can no longer master
+myself. Listen to me, Marian. You asked me a moment since what other
+life was open to you. There is a better life. Leave England with me;
+and--and----" Marian had raised her head; and as she looked steadily at
+him, he stopped, and his lips became white.
+
+"Go on," she said. "I am not angry. What else?"
+
+"Nothing else except happiness." His voice died away: there was a pause.
+Then, recovering himself, he went on with something of his
+characteristic stateliness. "There is no use in prolonging your present
+life; it is a failure, like mine. Why should you hesitate? You know how
+seldom the mere letter of duty leads to either happiness or justice. You
+can rescue me from a wasted existence. You can preserve your own heart
+from a horrible slow domestic decay. _He_ will not care: he cares for
+nothing: he is morally murdering you. You have no children to think of.
+I love you; and I offer you your choice of the fairest spots in the wide
+world to pass our future in, with my protection to ensure your safety
+and comfort there, wherever it may be. You know what a hollow thing
+conventional virtue is. Who are the virtuous people about you? Mrs.
+Leith Fairfax, and her like. If you love me, you must know that you are
+committing a crime against nature in living as you are with a man who is
+as far removed from you in every human emotion as his workshop is from
+heaven. You have striven to do your duty by him in vain. He is none the
+happier: we are unutterably the more miserable. Let us try a new life. I
+have lived in society here all my days, and have found its atmosphere
+most worthless, most selfish, most impure. I want to be free--to shake
+the dust of London off my feet, and enter on a life made holy by love.
+You can respond to such an aspiration: you, too, must yearn for a pure
+and free life. It is within our reach: you have but to stretch out your
+hand. Say something to me. Are you listening?"
+
+"It seems strange that I should be listening to you quite calmly, as I
+am; although you are proposing what the world thinks a disgraceful
+thing."
+
+"Does it matter what the world thinks? I would not, even to save myself
+from a wasted career, ask you to take a step that would really disgrace
+you. But I cannot bear to think of you looking back some day over a
+barren past, and knowing that you sacrificed your happiness to
+Fashion--an idol. Do you remember last Sunday when we discussed that
+bitter saying that women who have sacrificed their feelings to the laws
+of society secretly know that they have been fools for their pains? _He_
+did not deny it. You could give no good reason for disbelieving it. You
+know it to be true; and I am only striving to save you from that vain
+regret. You have shewn that you can obey the world with grace and
+dignity when the world is right. Shew now that you can defy it
+fearlessly when it is tyrannical. Trust your heart, Marian--my darling
+Marian: trust your heart--and mine."
+
+"For what hour have you ordered the carriage?"
+
+"The carriage! Is that what you say to me at such a moment? Are you
+still flippant as ever?"
+
+"I am quite serious. Say no more now. If I go, I will go deliberately,
+and not on the spur of your persuasion. I must have time to think. What
+hour did you say?"
+
+"Seven."
+
+"Then it is time for me to dress. You will not mind waiting here alone?"
+
+"If you would only give me one hopeful word, I think I could wait
+happily forever."
+
+"What can I say?"
+
+"Say that you love me."
+
+"I am striving to discover whether I have always loved you or not.
+Surely, if there be such a thing as love, we should be lovers."
+
+He was chilled by her solemn tone; but he made a movement as if to
+embrace her.
+
+"No," she said, stopping him. "I am his wife still. I have not yet
+pronounced my own divorce."
+
+She left the room; and he walked uneasily to and fro Until she returned,
+dressed in white. He gazed at her with quickened breath as she
+confronted him. Neither heeded the click of her husband's latchkey in
+the door without.
+
+"When I was a little boy, Marian," he said, gazing at her, "I used to
+think that Paul Delaroche's Christian martyr was the most exquisite
+vision of beauty in the world. I have the same feeling as I look at you
+now."
+
+"Marian reminds me of that picture too," said Conolly. "I remember
+wondering," he continued, smiling, as they started and turned toward
+him, "why the young lady--she was such a perfect lady--was martyred in a
+ball dress, as I took her costume to be. Marian's wreath adds to the
+force of the reminiscence."
+
+"If I recollect aright," said Marian, taking up his bantering tone with
+a sharper irony, "Delaroche's martyr shewed a fine sense of the
+necessity of having her wrists gracefully tied. I am about to follow her
+example by wearing these bracelets, which I can never fasten. Be good
+enough to assist me, both of you."
+
+She extended a hand to each; and Conolly, after looking at the catch for
+a moment, closed it dexterously at the first snap. "By the bye," he
+said, whilst Douglas fumbled at the other bracelet, "I have to run away
+to Glasgow to-night by the ten train. We shall not see one another again
+until Monday evening."
+
+Douglas's hand began to shake so that the gold band chafed Marian's arm.
+"There, there," she said, drawing it away from him, "you do it for me,
+Ned. Sholto has no mechanical genius." Her hand was quite steady as
+Conolly shut the clasp. "Why must you go to Glasgow?"
+
+"They have got into a mess at the works there; and the engineer has
+telegraphed for me to go down and see what is the matter. I shall
+certainly be back on Monday. Have something for me to eat at half past
+seven. I am sorry to be away from our Sunday dinner, Douglas; but you
+know the popular prejudice. If you want a thing done, see to it
+yourself."
+
+"Sholto has been very eloquent this evening on the subject of popular
+prejudices," said Marian. "He says that to defy the world is a proof of
+honesty."
+
+"So it is," said Conolly. "I get on in the world by defying its old
+notions, and taking nobody's advice but my own. Follow Douglas's
+precepts by all means. Do you know that it is nearly a quarter to
+eight?"
+
+"Oh! Let us go. We shall be late."
+
+"I shall not see you to-morrow, Douglas. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," said Douglas, keeping at some distance; for he did not
+care to offer Conolly his hand before Marian now. "Pleasant journey."
+
+"Thank you. Hallo! [Marian had impatiently turned back.] What have you
+forgotten?"
+
+"My opera-glass," said Marian. "No, thanks: you would not know where to
+look for it: I will go myself."
+
+She went upstairs; and Conolly, after a pause, followed, and found her
+in their bedroom, closing the drawer from which she had just taken the
+opera-glass.
+
+"Marian," he said: "you have been crying to-day. Is anything wrong? or
+is it only nervousness?"
+
+"Only nervousness," said Marian. "How did you find out that I had been
+crying? it was only for an instant, because Nelly annoyed me. Does my
+face shew it?"
+
+"It does to me, not to anyone else. Are you more cheerful now?"
+
+"Yes, I am all right. I will go to Glasgow with you, if you like."
+
+Conolly recoiled, disconcerted. "Why?" he said. "Do you wish----?" He
+recovered himself, and added, "It is too cold, my dear; and I must
+travel very fast. I shall be busy all the time. Besides, you are
+forgetting the theatre and Douglas, who, by the bye, is catching cold on
+the steps."
+
+"Well, I had better go with Douglas, since it will make you happier."
+
+"Go with Douglas, my dear one, if it will make _you_ happier," said he,
+kissing her. To his surprise, she threw her arm round him, held him fast
+by the shoulder, and looked at him with extraordinary earnestness. He
+gave a little laugh, and disengaged himself gently, saying, "Dont you
+think your nervousness is taking a turn rather inconvenient for
+Douglas?" She let her hands fall; closed her lips; and passed quietly
+out. He went to the window and watched her as she entered the carriage.
+Douglas held the door open for her; and Conolly, looking at him with a
+sort of pity, noted that he was, in his way, a handsome man and that his
+habit of taking himself very seriously gave him a certain, dignity. The
+brougham rolled away into the fog. Conolly pulled down the blind, and
+began to pack his portmanteau to a vigorously whistled accompaniment.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+
+Conolly returned from Glasgow a little before eight on Monday evening.
+There was no light in the window when he entered the garden. Miss
+McQuinch opened the door before he reached it.
+
+"What!" he said. "Going the moment I come in!" Then, seeing her face by
+the hall lamp, he put down his bag quickly, and asked what the matter
+was.
+
+"I dont know whether anything is the matter. I am very glad you have
+returned. Come into the drawing-room: I dont want the servants to hear
+us talking."
+
+"There is no light here," he said, following her in. "Is it possible you
+have been waiting in the dark?"
+
+He lit a candle, and was about to light a lamp when she exclaimed
+impatiently, "Oh, I did not notice it: what does it matter? Do let the
+lamp alone, and listen to me." He obeyed, much amused at her irritation.
+
+"Where has Marian gone to?" she asked.
+
+"Is she out?" he said, suddenly grave. "You forget that I have come
+straight from Glasgow."
+
+"I have been here since three o'clock. Marian sent me a note not to come
+on Sunday--that she should be out and that you were away. But they tell
+me that she was at home all yesterday, except for two hours when she was
+out with Sholto. She packed her trunks in the evening, and went away
+with them. She told the cabman to drive to Euston. I dont know what it
+all means; and I have been half distracted waiting here for you. I
+thought you would never come. There is a note for you on your
+dressing-table."
+
+He pursed his lips a little and looked attentively at her, but said
+nothing.
+
+"Wont you go and open it?" she said anxiously. "It must contain some
+explanation."
+
+"I am afraid the explanation is obvious."
+
+"You have no right to say that. How do you know? If you are not going to
+read her letter, you had better say so at once. I dont want to pry into
+it: I only want to know what is become of Marian."
+
+"You shall read it by all means. Will you excuse me whilst I fetch it?"
+
+She stamped with impatience. He smiled and went for the letter, which,
+after a brief absence, he placed unopened on the table before her,
+saying:
+
+"I suppose this is it. I laid my hand on it in the dark."
+
+"Are you going to open it?" she said, hardly able to contain herself.
+
+"No."
+
+He had not raised his voice; but it struck her that he was in a rage.
+His friendly look and quiet attitude first reassured, then, on second
+thoughts, exasperated her.
+
+"Why wont you?"
+
+"I really dont know. Somehow, I am not curious. It interests you. Pray
+open it."
+
+"I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will lie there
+forever."
+
+He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, and handed her the
+enclosure. She kept down her hands stubbornly. He smiled a little, still
+presenting it. At last she snatched it, much as she would have liked to
+snatch a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned pale, and
+looked as she had used to in her childhood, when in disgrace and
+resolute not to cry. "I had rather have had my two hands cut off," she
+said passionately, after a pause.
+
+"It is very sad for you," said Conolly, sympathetically. "He is an
+educated man; but I cannot think that he has much in him."
+
+"He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, indeed! And what are
+_you_ going to do, may I ask?"
+
+"Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear."
+
+"Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening." He seemed to know that she
+would not leave; for he made no movement to open the door for her. On
+her way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists clenched,
+that for a moment he was doubtful whether she would not bodily assault
+him.
+
+"Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?" she said, letting her temper
+loose. "How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?"
+
+"What _can_ I do, Miss McQuinch?" he said, gently.
+
+"You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utter
+idiot of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him?
+If you are, I will go with you, and not let him touch you."
+
+"Thank you," he said, good-humoredly. "But you see she does not wish to
+live with me."
+
+"Good God, man, what woman do you think _could_ wish to live with you! I
+suppose Marian wanted a human being to live with, and not a calculating
+machine. You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling enough to
+have kicked him out of the house, and then beaten her black and blue for
+encouraging him, you would have been more of a man than you are: she
+would have loved you more. You are not a man: you are a stone full of
+brains--such as they are! Listen to me, Mr. Conolly. There is one chance
+left--if you will only make haste. Go after them; overtake them; thrash
+him within an inch of his life; and bring her back and punish her how
+you please so long as you shew her that you care. You can do it if you
+will only make up your mind: he is a coward; and he is afraid of you: I
+have seen it in his eye. You are worth fifty of him--if you would only
+not be so cold blooded--if you will only go--_dear_ Mr. Conolly--youre
+not really insensible--you will, wont you?"
+
+This, the first tender tone he had ever heard in her voice, made him
+look at her curiously. "What does the letter say?" he asked, still
+quietly, but inexorably.
+
+She snatched it up again. "Here," she said. "'_Our marriage was a
+mistake. I am going away with Douglas to the other side of the world. It
+is all I can do to mend matters. Pray forget me_.' That is what her
+letter says, since you condescend to ask."
+
+"It is too late, then. You felt that as you read it, I think?"
+
+"Yes," she cried, sitting down in a paroxysm of grief, but unable to
+weep. "It is too late; and it is all your fault. What business had you
+to go away? You knew what was going to happen. You intended it to
+happen. You wanted it to happen. You are glad it has happened; and it
+serves you right. '_Pray forget her_.' Oh, yes, poor girl! she need not
+trouble about that. I declare there is nothing viler, meaner,
+cowardlier, selfisher on earth than a man. Oh, if we had only done what
+we always said we would do--kept free from you!"
+
+"It was a good plan," said Conolly, submissively.
+
+"Was it? How were we to know that you were not made of flesh and blood,
+pray? There, let me go. [The table was between them; but she rose and
+shook off an imaginary detaining hand.] I dont want to hear anything
+more about it. I suppose you are right not to care. Very likely she was
+right to go, too; so we are all right, and everything is for the best,
+no doubt. Marian is ruined, of course; but what does that matter to you?
+She was only in your way. You can console yourself with your--" Here
+Armande came in; and Elinor turned quickly to the fireplace and stood
+there, so that the housemaid should not see her face.
+
+"Your dinner, sir," said Armande, with a certain artificiality of manner
+that was, under the circumstances, significant. "There is a nice fire in
+the laboratory."
+
+"Thank you," said Conolly. "Presently, Armande."
+
+"The things will spoil if you wait too long, sir. The mistress was very
+particular with me and cook about it." And Armande, with an air of
+declining further responsibility, went out.
+
+"What shall I do without Marian?" said Conolly. "Not one woman in a
+hundred is capable of being a mistress to her servants. She saved me all
+the friction of housekeeping."
+
+"You are beginning to feel your loss," said Elinor, facing him again. "A
+pleasant thing for a woman of her talent to be thrown away to save you
+the friction of housekeeping. If you had paid half the attention to her
+happiness that she did to your dinners you would not be in your present
+predicament."
+
+"Have you really calculated that it is twice as easy to make a woman
+happy as to feed a man?"
+
+"Calc--! Yes, I have. I tell you that it is three times as easy--six
+times as easy: more fool the woman! You can make a woman happy for a
+week by a word or a kiss. How long do you think it takes to order a
+week's dinners? I suppose you consider a kiss a weakness?"
+
+"I am afraid--judging by the result--that I am not naturally clever at
+kissing."
+
+"No, I should think not, indeed. Then you had better go and do what you
+_are_ clever at--eat your dinner."
+
+"Miss McQuinch: did you ever see an unfortunate little child get a
+severe fall, and then, instead of a little kindly petting, catch a sound
+whacking from its nurse for daring to startle her and spoil its
+clothes?"
+
+"Well, what is the point of that?"
+
+"You remind me a little of the nurse. I have had a sort of fall this
+evening."
+
+"And now you are going to pretend to be hurt, I suppose; because you
+dont care to be told that it is your own fault. That is a common
+experience with children, too. I tell you plainly that I dont believe
+you are hurt at all; though you may not be exactly pleased--just for the
+moment. However, I did not mean to be uncivil. If you are really sorry,
+I am at least _as_ sorry. I have not said all I think."
+
+"What more?"
+
+"Nothing of any use to say. I see I am wasting my time here--and no
+doubt wasting yours too."
+
+"Well, I think you have had your turn. If you are not thoroughly
+satisfied, pray go on for ten minutes longer: your feelings do you
+credit, as the phrase goes. Still, do not forget that you thought just
+the same of me a week ago; and that if you had said as much then you
+might have prevented what has happened. Giving me a piece of your mind
+now is of no use except as far as it relieves you. To Marian or me or
+anyone else it does no good. So when you have said your worst, we cannot
+do better, I think, than set our wits to work about our next move."
+
+Elinor received this for a moment in dudgeon. Then she laughed sourly,
+and said, "There is some sense in that. I am as much to blame as
+anybody: I dont deny it--if that is any comfort to you. But as to the
+next move, you say yourself that it is too late to do anything; and I
+dont see that you can do much."
+
+"That is so. But there are a few things to be faced. First, I have to
+set Marian and myself free."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Divorce her."
+
+"Divorce!" Elinor looked at him in dismay. He was unmoved. Then her gaze
+fell slowly, and she said: "Yes: I suppose you have a right to that."
+
+"She also."
+
+"So that she may marry him--from a sense of duty. That will be so happy
+for her!"
+
+"She will have time, before she is free to find out whether she likes
+him or not. There will be a great fuss in the family over the scandal."
+
+"Do you care about that? _I_ dont."
+
+"No. However, thats a detail. Marian will perhaps write to you. If so,
+just point out to her that her five hundred a year belongs to her still,
+and makes her quite independent of him and of me. That is all, I think.
+You need take no pains now to conceal what has happened: the servants
+below know it as well as we: in a week it will be town talk."
+
+Elinor looked wistfully at him, her impetuosity failing her as she felt
+how little effect it was producing. Yet her temper rather rose than fell
+at him. There was a much more serious hostility than before in her tone
+as she said:
+
+"You seem to have been thoroughly prepared for what has happened. I do
+not want any instructions from you as to what I shall write to Marian
+about her money affairs: I want to know, in case she takes it into her
+head to come back when she has found what a fool she has made of
+herself, whether I may tell her that you are glad to be rid of her, and
+that there is no use in her humiliating herself by coming to your door
+and being turned away."
+
+"Shall I explain the situation to you from my point of view?" said he.
+At the sound of his voice she looked up in alarm. The indulgent,
+half-playful manner which she had almost lost the sense of because it
+was so invariable with him in speaking to ladies was suddenly gone. She
+felt that the real man was coming out now without ceremony. He was quick
+to perceive the effect he had produced. To soften it, he placed a
+comfortable chair on the hearthrug, and said, in his ordinary friendly
+way: "Sit nearer the fire: we can talk more comfortably. Now," he
+continued, standing with his back to the mantelpiece, "let me tell you,
+Miss McQuinch, that when you talk of my turning people away from my door
+you are not talking fair and square sense to me. I dont turn my
+acquaintances off in that way, much less my friends; and a woman who has
+lived with me as my wife for eighteen months must always be a rather
+particular friend. I liked her before I was her husband, and I shall
+continue to like her when I am no longer her husband. So you need have
+no fear on that score. But I wont remain her husband. You said just now
+that I knew what was going to happen; that I intended it to happen,
+wanted it to happen, and am glad it happened. There is more truth in
+that than you thought when you said it. For some time past Marian has
+been staying with me as a matter of custom and convenience only, using
+me as a cover for her philandering with Douglas, and paying me by
+keeping the house very nicely for me. I had asked myself once or twice
+how long this was to last. I was in no hurry for the answer; for
+although I was wifeless and had no one to live with who really cared for
+me, I was quite prepared to wait a couple of years if necessary, on the
+chance of our making it up somehow. But sooner or later I should have
+insisted on closing our accounts and parting; and I am not sorry now
+that the end has come, since it was inevitable; though I am right sorry
+for the way it has come. Instead of eloping in the conventional way, she
+should have come to an understanding with me. I could easily have taken
+her for a trip in the States, where we could have stopped a few months
+in South Dakota and got divorced without any scandal. I have never made
+any claims on her since she found out that she didnt care for me; and
+she might have known from that that I was not the man to keep her
+against her will and play dog in the manger with a fellow like Douglas.
+However, thats past praying for now. She has had enough of me; and I
+have had more than enough of her set and her family, except that I
+should like to remain good friends with you. You are the only one of the
+whole lot worth your salt. It is understood, of course, that you take
+Marian's part against me on all issues; but will you be friends as far
+as is consistent with that?"
+
+"All right," said Nelly, shortly.
+
+"Shake hands on it; and I'll tell you something else that will help you
+to understand me better," he said, holding out his hand. She gave hers;
+and when the bargain was struck, he turned to the fire and seated
+himself on the edge of the table.
+
+"You know that when I married," he resumed, "I was promoted to mix in
+fashionable society for the first time. Of course you do: that was the
+whole excitement of the affair for the family. You know the impression I
+made on polite society better, probably, than I do. Now tell me: do you
+know what impression polite society made on me?"
+
+"Dont understand."
+
+"Perhaps it has never occurred even to you, sharp as you are, that I
+could have taken society otherwise than at its own valuation of itself,
+as something much higher, more cultivated and refined than anything that
+I had been accustomed to. Well, I never believed in that much at any
+time; but it was not until I had made a _mesalliance_ for Marian's sake
+that I realized how infinitely beneath me and my class was the one I had
+married into."
+
+"_Mesalliance!_--with Marian! I take back the shake hands."
+
+"_Mesalliance_ with her class, for her sake: I made the distinction
+purposely. Now what am I, Miss McQuinch? A worker. I belonged and belong
+to the class that keeps up the world by its millions of serviceable
+hands and serviceable brains. All the pride of caste in me settles on
+that point. I admit no loafer as my equal. The man who is working at the
+bench is my equal, whether he can do my day's work or not, provided he
+is doing the best he can. But the man who does not work anyhow, and the
+class that does not work, is a class below mine. When I annoyed Marian
+by refusing to wear a tall hat and cuffs, I did so because I wanted to
+have it seen as I walked through Piccadilly and St. James's Street that
+I did not belong there, just as your people walk through a poor street
+dressed so as to shew that they dont belong there. To me a man like your
+uncle, Marian's father, or like Marmaduke or Douglas, loafing idly round
+spending money that has been made by the sweat of men like myself, are
+little better than thieves. They get on with the queerest makeshifts for
+self-respect: old Mr. Lind with family pride. Douglas with personal
+vanity, and Marmaduke with a sort of interest in his own appetites and
+his own jollity. Everything is a sham with them: they have drill and
+etiquet instead of manners, fashions instead of tastes, small talk
+instead of intercourse. Everything that is special to them as
+distinguished from workers is a sham: when you get down to the real
+element in them, good or bad, you find that it is something that is
+common to them and to all civilized mankind. The reason that this isnt
+as clear to other workmen who come among them as it is to me is that
+most workmen share their ignorance of the things they affect superiority
+in. Poor Jackson, whom you all call the Yankee cad, and who is not a cad
+at all in his proper place among the engineers at our works, believes in
+the sham refinements he sees around him at the at-homes he is so fond
+of. He has no art in him--no trained ear for music or for fine diction,
+no trained eye for pictures and colors and buildings, no cultivated
+sense of dignified movement, gesture, and manner. But he knows what
+fashionable London listens to and looks at, and how it talks and
+behaves; and he makes that his standard, and sets down what is
+different from it as vulgar. Now the difference between me and him is
+that I got an artistic training by accident when I was young, and had
+the natural turn to profit by it. Before I ever saw a West End Londoner
+I knew beautiful from ugly, rare from common, in music, speech, costume,
+and gesture; for in my father's operatic and theatrical companies there
+did come now and then, among the crowd of thirdraters, a dancer, an
+actor, a scenepainter, a singer, or a bandsman or conductor who was a
+fine artist. Consequently, I was not to be taken in like Jackson by
+made-up faces, trashy pictures, drawling and lounging and strutting and
+tailoring, drawing-room singing and drawing-room dancing, any more than
+by bad ventilation and unwholesome hours and food, not to mention polite
+dram drinking, and the round of cruelties they call sport. I found that
+the moment I refused to accept the habits of the rich as standards of
+refinement and propriety, the whole illusion of their superiority
+vanished at once. When I married Marian I was false to my class. I had a
+sort of idea that my early training had accustomed me to a degree of
+artistic culture that I could not easily find in a working girl, and
+that would be quite natural to Marian. I soon found that she had the
+keenest sense of what was ladylike, and no sense of what was beautiful
+at all. A drawing, a photograph, or an engraving sensibly framed without
+a white mount round it to spoil it pained her as much as my wrists
+without cuffs on them. No mill girl could have been less in sympathy
+with me on the very points for which I had preferred her to the mill
+girls. The end of it was that I felt that love had made me do a
+thoroughly vulgar thing--marry beneath me. These aristocratic idle
+gentlemen will never be shamed out of their laziness and low-mindedness
+until the democratic working gentlemen refuse to associate with them
+instead of running after them and licking their boots. I am heartily
+glad now to be out of their set and rid of them, instead of having to
+receive them civilly in my house for Marian's sake. The whole business
+was strangling me: the strain of keeping my feeling to myself was more
+than you can imagine. Do you know that there have been times when I have
+been so carried away with the idea that she must be as tired of the
+artificiality of our life as I was, that I have begun to speak my mind
+frankly to her; and when she recoiled, hurt and surprised and frightened
+that I was going to turn coarse at last, I have shut up and sat there
+apparently silent, but really saying under my breath: 'Why dont you go?
+Why dont you leave me, vanish, fly away to your own people? You must be
+a dream: I never married you. You dont know me: you cant be my wife:
+your lungs were not made to breathe the air I live in.' I have said a
+thousand things like that, and then wondered whether there was any truth
+in telepathy--whether she could possibly be having my thoughts
+transferred to her mind and thinking it only her imagination. I would
+ask myself whether I despised her or not, calling on myself for the
+truth as if I did not believe the excuses I made for her out of the
+fondness I could not get over. I am fond of her still, sometimes. I did
+not really--practically, I mean--despise her until I gave up thinking
+about her at all. There was a certain kind of contempt in that
+indifference, beyond a doubt: there is no use denying it. Besides, it is
+proved to me now by the new respect I feel for her because she has had
+the courage and grit to try going away with Douglas. But my love for her
+is over: nothing short of her being born over again--a thing that
+sometimes happens--will ever bring her into contact with me after this.
+To put it philosophically, she made the mistake of avoiding all
+realities, and yet marrying herself to the hardest of realities, a
+working man; so it was inevitable that she should go back at last to the
+region of shadows and mate with that ghostliest of all unrealities, the
+non-working man. Perhaps, too, the union may be more fruitful than ours:
+the cross between us was too violent. Now you have the whole story from
+my point of view. What do you--"
+
+"Hush!" said Elinor, interrupting him. "What is that noise outside?"
+
+The house bell began to ring violently; and they could hear a confused
+noise of voices and footsteps without.
+
+"Can she have come back?" said Elinor, starting up.
+
+"Impossible!" said Conolly, looking disturbed for the first time. They
+stood a moment listening, with averted eyes. A second peal from the bell
+was followed by roars of laughter, amid which a remonstrant voice was
+audible. Then the house door was hammered with a stick. Conolly ran
+downstairs at once and opened it. On the step he found Marmaduke reeling
+in the arms of the Rev. George.
+
+"How are you, ol' fler?" said Marmaduke, plunging into the hall. "The
+parson is tight. I found him tumbling about High Street, and brought him
+along."
+
+"Pray excuse this intrusion," whispered the Rev. George. "You see the
+state he is in. He accosted me near Campden Hill; and I really could not
+be seen walking with him into town. I wonder he was not arrested."
+
+"He is the worse for drink; but he is sober enough to know how to amuse
+himself at your expense," said Conolly, aloud. "Come up to the
+laboratory. Miss McQuinch is there."
+
+"But he is not fit," urged the clergyman. "Look at him trying to hang up
+his hat. How absurd--I should rather say how deplorable! I assure you he
+is perfectly tipsy. He has been ringing the bells of the houses, and
+requesting females to accompany us. Better warn Elinor."
+
+"Nonsense!" said Conolly. "I have some news that will sober him. Here is
+Miss McQuinch. Are you going?"
+
+"Yes," said Elinor. "I should lose my patience if I had to listen to
+George's comments; and I am tired. I would rather go."
+
+"Not yet, Nelly. Wont um stay and talk to um's Marmadukes?"
+
+"Let me go," said Elinor, snatching away her hand, which he had seized.
+"You ought to be at home in bed. You are a sot." At this Marmaduke
+laughed boisterously. She passed him contemptuously, and left. The three
+men then went upstairs, Marmaduke dropping his pretence of drunkenness
+under the influence of Conolly's presence.
+
+"Marian is not in, I presume," said the clergyman, when they were
+seated.
+
+"No." said Conolly. "She has eloped with Douglas."
+
+They stared at him. Then Marmaduke gave a long whistle; and the
+clergyman rose, pale. "What do you mean, sir?" he said.
+
+Conolly did not answer; and the Rev. George slowly sat down again.
+
+"Well, I'm damned sorry for it," said Marmaduke, emphatically. "It was
+a mean thing for Douglas to do, with all his brag about his honor."
+
+The Rev. George covered his face with his handkerchief and sobbed.
+
+"Come, shut up, old fellow; and dont make an ass of yourself," said
+Marmaduke. "What are you going to do, Conolly?"
+
+"I must simply divorce her."
+
+"Go for heavy damages, Conolly. Knock a few thousand out of him, just to
+punish him."
+
+"He could easily afford it. Besides, why should I punish him?"
+
+"My dear friend," cried the clergyman, "you must not dream of a divorce.
+I implore you to abandon such an idea. Consider the disgrace, the
+impiety! The publicity would kill my father."
+
+Conolly shook his head.
+
+"There is no such thing as divorce known to the Church. 'What God hath
+joined together, let no man put asunder.'"
+
+"She had no right to bolt," said Marmaduke. "Thats certain."
+
+"I was married by a registrar," said Conolly; "and as there is no such
+thing as civil marriage known to the Church, our union, from the
+ecclesiastical point of view, has no existence. We were not joined by
+God, in fact, in your sense. To deny her the opportunity of remarrying
+would be to compel her to live as an adulteress in the eye of the law,
+which, by the bye, would make me the father of Douglas's children. I
+cannot, merely because your people are afraid of scandal, take such a
+revenge on Marian as to refuse her the freedom she has sacrificed so
+much for. After all, since our marriage has proved a childless one, the
+only reason for our submitting to be handcuffed to one another, now that
+our hearts are no longer in the arrangement, is gone."
+
+"The game began at Sark," said Marmaduke. "Douglas stuck to her there
+like a leech. He's been about the house here a good deal since she came
+back. I often wondered you didnt kick him out. But, of course, it was
+not my business to say anything. Was she huffed into going? You hadnt
+any row with her just before, had you?
+
+"We never had rows."
+
+"That was your mistake, Conolly. You should have heard poor Susanna and
+me fighting. We always ended by swearing we would never speak to one
+another again. Nothing duller than a smooth life. If you had given
+Marian something to complain of, she would have been too much taken up
+with it to bother about Douglas."
+
+"But have you ascertained whither they have gone?" said the clergyman,
+distractedly. "Will you not follow them?"
+
+"I know nothing of their movements. Probably they are crossing to New
+York."
+
+"But surely you ought to follow her," said the Rev. George. "You may yet
+be in time to save her from worse than death."
+
+"Yah!" said Marmaduke. "Drop all that rot, George. Worse than death be
+hanged! Serves the family right! They are a jolly sight too virtuous: it
+will do them good to get shewn up a bit."
+
+"If you have no respect for the convictions of a priest," exclaimed the
+Rev. George, shedding tears, "you might at least be silent in the
+presence of a heartbroken brother and husband."
+
+"Oh, I dont want to shew any want of consideration for you or Conolly,"
+said Marmaduke, sulkily. "No doubt it's rough on you. But as to the
+feelings of the family, I tell you flatly that I dont care if the whole
+crew were brought to the Old Bailey to-morrow and convicted of bigamy.
+It would take the conceit out of them."
+
+"I know not how to break this wretched news to my father," said the Rev.
+George, turning disconsolately from his sottish cousin to Conolly.
+
+"It is no such uncommon occurrence. The less fuss made about it the
+better. She is not to blame, and I shall not be heard crying out misery
+and disgrace. Your family can very well follow my example. I have
+nothing to say against her, and I believe she has nothing to say against
+me. Nothing can prevent such publicity as a petition for divorce must
+entail. Your father will survive it, never fear."
+
+The clergyman, remembering how vainly he had tried to change Conolly's
+intention when Marian was to be married, felt that he should succeed no
+better now that she was to be divorced. Silent and cast down, he sat
+dangling his handkerchief between his knees and leaning forward on his
+elbows toward the fire.
+
+"You must excuse me if I see my way straight through to the end. I
+daresay you would rather realize it gradually, inevitable as it is,"
+added Conolly, looking down with some pity at his drooping figure. "I
+cannot help my habit of mind. When are you going to be married?" he
+continued, to Marmaduke.
+
+"I dont know. The Countess is in a hurry. I'm not. But I suppose it will
+be some time in spring."
+
+"You have made up your mind to it at last?"
+
+"Oh, I never had any particular objection to it, only I dont like to be
+hunted into a corner. Conny is a good little girl, and will make a
+steady wife. I dont like her mother; but as for herself, she is fond of
+me; and after all, I _did_ lead her a dance long ago. Besides, old boy,
+the Earl is forking out handsomely; and as I have some notion of
+settling down to farm, his dust will come in conveniently as capital."
+
+The clergyman rose, and slowly pulled on his woolen gloves.
+
+"If youre going, I will see you part of the way," said Marmaduke. "I'll
+cheer you up. You know you neednt tell the governor until to-morrow."
+
+"I had rather go alone, if you intend to behave as you did before."
+
+"Never fear. I'm as sober as a judge now. Come along. Away with
+melancholy! Youll have Douglas for a brother-in-law before this time
+next year."
+
+This seemed to have been in the clergyman's mind; for he shook hands
+with his host more distantly than usual. When they were gone, Conolly
+went to the laboratory, and rang for his neglected dinner, which he ate
+with all a traveller's appetite. From the dinner table he went straight
+to the organ, and played until a little before midnight, when, after a
+brief turn in the open air, he retired to bed, and was soon quietly
+asleep.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+
+Miss McQuinch spent Christmas morning in her sitting-room reading; a
+letter which had come by the morning post. It was dated the 17th
+December at New York: and the formal beginning and ending were omitted.
+This was an old custom between Marian and her cousin. In their girlish
+correspondence they had expressed their affection by such modes of
+address as "My darling Marian," and "My dearest Nelly." Subsequently
+they became oppressed by these ceremonies and dropped them. Thereafter
+their letters contained only the matter to be communicated and the
+signature.
+
+"You are the only person in England," wrote Marian, "to whom I dare
+write now. A month ago I had more correspondents than I had time to
+answer. Do you know, Nelly, I hesitated before commencing this letter,
+lest you should no longer care to have anything to do with me. That may
+have been an unworthy thought for a friend: but it was an unavoidable
+one for a woman.
+
+"And now comes the great vain question: What does everybody say? Oh, if
+I could only disembody myself; fly back to London for a few hours; and
+listen invisibly to society talking about me. I know this is mean: but
+one must fill up life with some mean curiosities. So please tell me what
+kind of sensation I have caused. Just the usual one. I suppose. Half the
+people never would have thought it; and the other half knew all along
+what it would come to. Well, I do not care much about the world in
+general; but I cannot quiet my conscience on the subject of my father
+and George. It must be very hard on papa that, after being disappointed
+in my marriage and having suffered long ago from what my mother did, he
+should now be disgraced by his daughter. For disgraced, alas! is the
+word. I am afraid poor George's prospects must be spoiled by the
+scandal, which, I know well, must be terrible. I thought my first duty
+was to leave Ned free, and to free myself, at all hazards; and so I did
+not dwell on the feelings and interests of others as much as I perhaps
+ought to have done. There is one point about which I am especially
+anxious. It never occurred to me before I went that people might say
+that my going was Ned's fault, and that he had treated me badly. You
+must contradict this with all your might and main if you hear it even
+hinted at.
+
+"There is no use in putting off the confession any longer, Nelly: I have
+made an utter fool of myself. _I wish I were back with Ned again_.
+There! what do you think of that? Now for another great confession, and
+a most humiliating one. Sholto is a--I dont know what epithet is fair. I
+suppose I have no right to call him an impostor merely because we were
+foolish enough to overrate him. But I can hardly believe now that we
+ever really thought that there were great qualities and powers latent
+beneath his proud reserve. Ned, I know, never believed in Sholto; and I,
+in my infinite wisdom, set that down to his not understanding him. Ned
+was right, as usual. If you want to see how selfish people are, and how
+skin-deep fashionable politeness is, take a voyage. Go with a picked
+company of the nice people you have met for an hour or so at a dinner or
+an at-home; and see how different they will appear when they have been
+cooped up in a ship with you day and night for a week. An ocean steamer
+is the next worst thing to the Palace of Truth. Poor Sholto did not
+stand the ordeal. He was ridiculously distant in his manner to the rest
+of the passengers, and in little matters at table and so forth he was
+really just as selfish as he could be. He was impatient because I was
+ill the first two days, and afterwards he seemed to think that I ought
+not to speak to anyone but himself. The doctor, who was very attentive
+to me, was his particular aversion; and it was on his account that we
+had our first quarrel, the upshot of which was a scene between them,
+which I overheard. One very fine day, when all the passengers were on
+deck, Sholto met the doctor in the saloon, and offered him a guinea for
+his attendance on me, telling him in the most offensively polite way
+that I would not trouble him for any further services. The doctor
+retorted very promptly and concisely; and though what he said was not
+dignified, I sympathized with him, and took care to be very friendly
+with him at dinner. (Meals take place on hoard ship at intervals of ten
+minutes: it is horrifying to see the quantity of food the elderly people
+consume.) To prevent further hostilities I took care to be always in the
+way when the doctor encountered Sholto afterwards. I cannot imagine Ned
+involving himself in such a paltry squabble. It is odd how things come
+about. I used to take Sholto's genius for granted, and think a great
+deal of it. In another sense, I used to take Ned's genius for granted,
+and think nothing of it. Now I have found out in a single fortnight that
+we saw all of Sholto that there was to be seen. His reserves of talent
+existed only in our imagination. He has absolutely no sense of humor;
+and he is always grumbling. Neither the servants, nor the food, nor the
+rooms, nor the wine, satisfy him. Imagine how this comes home to me,
+who, from not having heard grumbling for two years, had forgotten that
+men ever were guilty of it. I flirted a little, a very little, with the
+doctor; not because I meant anything serious, but because it amused me
+and made the trip pleasant. Sholto will not understand this. One day, on
+board, I was indiscreet enough to ask Sholto the use of a piece of
+machinery belonging to the ship. Ned would have known, or, if he had
+not, would very soon have found out. Sholto didnt know, and was weak
+enough to pretend that he did; so he snubbed me by saying that I could
+not understand it. This put me on my mettle; and I asked the surgeon
+that afternoon about it. The surgeon didnt know, and said so; but he
+appealed to the first officer, who explained it. I intended to revenge
+myself on Sholto by retailing the explanation to him next day; but
+unfortunately, whether through the first officer's want of perspicuity
+or my own stupidity, I was not a bit the wiser for the explanation.
+
+"I can tell you nothing as to what we are likely to do next. As Sholto
+has given up all his prospects for me, I cannot honorably desert him. I
+know now that I have ruined myself for nothing, and I must at least try
+to hide from him that he has done likewise. I can see that he is not
+happy; but he tries so desperately to persuade himself that he is, and
+clings so to the idea that the world is well lost for me, that I have
+not the heart to undeceive him. So we are still lovers; and, cynical
+though it sounds, I make him a great deal happier in my insincerity than
+I could if I really loved him, because I humor him with a cunning quite
+incompatible with passion. He, on the other hand, being still sincere,
+tries my patience terribly with his jealousies and importunities. As he
+has nothing to do, he is almost always with me; and a man who has no
+office to go to--I dont care who he is--is a trial of which you can have
+no conception. So much for our present relations. But I fear--indeed I
+know--that they will not last long. I dare not look steadily at the
+future. In spite of all that he has sacrificed for me, I cannot live
+forever with him. There are times at which he inspires me with such a
+frenzy of aversion and disgust that I have to put the strongest
+constraint upon myself to avoid betraying my feelings to him. We
+intended going to the West Indies direct from here, in search of some
+idyllic retreat where we could live alone together. He still entertains
+this project; but as I have totally abandoned it I put him off with some
+pretext for remaining here whenever he mentions it. I have only one hope
+of gaining a separation without being open to the reproach of having
+deserted him. You remember how we disputed that Saturday about the
+merits of a grand passion, which I so foolishly longed for. Well, I have
+tried it, and proved it to be a lamentable delusion, selfish,
+obstinate, blind, intemperate, and transient. As it has evaporated from
+me, so it will evaporate from Sholto in the course of time. It would
+have done so already, but that his love was more genuine than mine. When
+the time comes, he will get rid of me without the least remorse; and so
+he will have no excuse for reviving his old complaints of my treachery.
+
+"One new and very disagreeable feature in my existence, which I had
+partly prepared myself for, is the fear of detection. We sailed before
+our flight had become public; and as there was fortunately no one on
+board who knew us, I had a nine days' respite, and could fearlessly
+approach the other women, who, I suppose, would not have spoken to me
+had they known the truth. But here it is different. Ned's patents are so
+much more extensively worked here than in England, and the people are so
+go-ahead, that they take a great interest in him, and are proud of him
+as an American. The news got into the papers a few days after we
+arrived. To appreciate the full significance of this, you should know
+what American newspapers are. One of them actually printed a long
+account of my going away, with every paragraph headed in large print,
+'Domestic Unhappiness,' 'The Serpent in the Laboratory,' 'The
+Temptation,' 'The Flight,' 'The Pursuit,' and so on, all invented, of
+course. Other papers give the most outrageous anecdotes. Old jokes are
+revived and ascribed to us. I am accused of tearing his hair out, and he
+of coming home late at nights drunk. Two portraits of ferocious old
+women supposed to be Ned's mother-in-law have been published. The latest
+version appeared in a Sunday paper, and is quite popular in this hotel.
+According to it, Ned was in the habit of 'devoting me to science' by
+trying electrical experiments on me. 'This,' the account says, 'was kind
+of rough on the poor woman.' The day before I 'scooted,' a new machine
+appeared before the house, drawn by six horses. 'What are them men
+foolin' round with, Mr. C.?' said I. 'That's hubby's latest,' replied
+Ned. 'I guess it's the boss electro-dynamic fixin' in the universe.
+Full charge that battery with a pint of washing soda, an' youll fetch up
+a current fit to ravage a cont'nent. You shall have a try t'morro'
+mornin', Sal. Youre better seasoned to it than most Britishers; but if
+it dont straighten your hair and lift the sparks outer your
+eyelashes--!' 'You bet it wont, Mr. C.,' said I. That night (this is
+only what the paper says, mind) I stole out of bed; arranged the wires
+on each side of Ned so that if he stirred an inch he would make contact;
+charged the battery; and gently woke him, saying, 'Mr. C, love, dont
+stir for your life. Them things that's ticklin' your whiskers is the
+conductors of that boss fixin' o' yourn. If I was you, I'd lie still
+until the battery runs down.' 'Darn it all,' said Ned, afraid to lift
+his lips for a shout, and coming out in cold water all over the
+forehead, 'it wont run down for a week clear.' 'That'll answer me
+nicely,' I replied. 'Good-bye, Mr. C. Young Douglas from the corner
+grocery is waitin' for me with a shay down the avenue.' I cannot help
+laughing at these things, but they drive Sholto frantic. He is always
+described in them as a young man from some shop or other. He tries hard,
+out of delicacy, to keep the papers which contain them away from me; but
+I hear about them at breakfast, and buy them downstairs in the hall for
+myself. Another grievance of Sholto's is that I will not have meals
+privately. But my dislike to being always alone with him is greater than
+my dread that my secret will leak out, and that some morning I shall see
+in the people's faces that the Mrs. Forster who has so often been
+regaled with the latest account of the great scandal, is no other than
+the famous Mrs. Conolly. That evil day will come, sooner or later; but I
+had rather face it in one of these wonderful hotels than in a
+boarding-house, which I might be asked to leave. As to taking a house of
+our own, I shrink from any such permanent arrangement. We are noticed a
+good deal. Sholto is, of course, handsome and distinguished; and people
+take a fancy to me just as they used to long ago. I was once proud of
+this; but now it is a burden to me. For instance, there was a Mrs.
+Crawford staying here with her husband, a general, who has just built a
+house here. She was so determined to know me that I found it hard to
+keep her off without offending her. At last she got ill; and then I felt
+justified in nursing her. Sholto was very sulky because I did so, and
+wanted to know what business it was of mine. I did not trouble myself
+about his anger, and Mrs. Crawford was well in two days. In fact, I
+think Sholto was right in saying that she had only overeaten herself.
+After that I could avoid her no longer, and she was exceedingly kind to
+me. She wanted to introduce me to all her New York friends, and begged
+me to leave the hotel and go to her new mansion. There was plenty of
+room for us, she said. I did not know what to say. I could not repay her
+kindness by going to her house under false colors, and letting her
+introduce me to her circle; and yet I could make no reasonable excuse.
+At last, seeing that she attributed my refusals to pride, I told her
+plainly that if her friends were to learn my history by any accident
+they might not thank her for the introduction. She was quite confounded;
+but she did not abate her kindness in the least, although my reservation
+of confidence in only giving her a hint of the truth, checked her
+advances. You may think this an insane indiscretion on my part; but if
+you knew how often I have longed to stand up before everybody and
+proclaim who I am, and so get rid of the incubus of a perpetual
+falsehood, you would not be so much surprised. There is one unspeakable
+blessing in American law. It is quite easy to obtain a divorce. One can
+get free without sacrificing everything except bare existence. I do not
+care what anybody may argue to the contrary, our marriage laws are
+shameful.
+
+"I shall expect to hear from you very soon. If you desert me, Nelly,
+there is no such thing as friendship in the world. I want particularly
+to know what Ned did--as far as you know--when he heard the news. Is
+papa very angry? And, above all, could you find out how Mrs. Douglas is?
+I thought that Sholto would be uneasy and remorseful about her; but he
+does not really care half so much as I do. How selfish I have been! I
+used to flatter myself that I was thoughtful for others because I made a
+habit--a detestably self-conscious habit--of being considerate in
+trifles. And in the end, after being so vain-gloriously attentive to the
+momentary comfort of all connected with me, I utterly forgot them and
+thought only of myself when their whole happiness was concerned. I never
+knew how high I stood in my own estimation until I found how far the
+discovery of my folly and selfishness made me fall. Tell me everything".
+I cannot write any more now. My eyes are smarting: I feel as if I had
+been writing for a whole month instead of two days. Good-bye for three
+weeks.
+
+"MARIAN."
+
+"P.S. I have just learnt from a very severe criticism in one of the
+papers that Mdlle. Lalage Virtue has failed here completely. I fear from
+the wording that her unfortunate habit was apparent to the audience."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+
+On a cold afternoon in January, Sholto Douglas entered a hold in New
+York, and ascended to a room on the first floor. Marian was sitting
+there, thinking, with a letter in her lap, She only looked up for a
+moment when he entered; and he plucked off his sealskin gloves and threw
+aside his overcoat in silence.
+
+"It is an infernal day," he said presently.
+
+Marian sighed, and roused herself. "The rooms look cheerless in winter
+without the open fireplaces we are accustomed to in England."
+
+"Damn the rooms!" he muttered.
+
+Marian took up her letter again.
+
+"Do you know that he has filed a petition for divorce?" he said,
+aggressively.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You might have mentioned it to me. Probably you have known it for days
+past."
+
+"Yes. I thought it was a matter of course."
+
+"Or rather you did not think at nil. I suppose you would have left me in
+ignorance forever, if I had not heard from London myself."
+
+"Is it of importance, then?"
+
+"Certainly it is--of vital importance."
+
+"Have you any other news? From whom have you heard?"
+
+"I have received some private letters."
+
+"Oh! I beg your pardon."
+
+Five minutes passed in silence. He looked out of the window, frowning.
+She sat as before.
+
+"How much longer do you intend to stay in this place?" he said, turning
+upon her suddenly.
+
+"In New York?"
+
+"This is New York, I believe."
+
+"I think we may as well stay here as anywhere else."
+
+"Indeed! On what grounds have you arrived at that cheering conclusion?"
+
+Marian shrugged her shoulders. "I dont know," she said.
+
+"Nor do I. You do not seem happy here. At least, if you are, you fail to
+communicate your state of mind to those about you."
+
+"So it seems."
+
+"What does that mean?"
+
+"That you do not seem to be happy either."
+
+"How in the devil's name can you expect me to be happy in this city? Do
+you think it is pleasant to have no alternative to the society of
+American men except that of a sulky woman?"
+
+"Sholto!" said Marian, rising quickly, and looking at him in surprise.
+
+"Spare me these airs," he said, coldly. "You will have to accustom
+yourself to hear the truth occasionally."
+
+She sat down again. "I am not giving myself airs," she said, earnestly.
+"I am astonished. Have I really been sulky?"
+
+"You have been in the sulks for days past: and you are in them at this
+moment."
+
+"There is some misunderstanding between us then; for you have seemed to
+me quite cross and out of sorts for the last week; and I thought you
+were out of temper when you came in just now."
+
+"That is rather an old-fashioned retort."
+
+"Sholto: I do not know whether you intend it or not; but you are
+speaking very slightingly to me."
+
+He muttered something, and walked across the room and back. "I am quite
+clear on one point at least," he said. "It was not for this sort of
+thing that I crossed the Atlantic with you; and you had bettor make our
+relations more agreeable if you wish me to make them permanent."
+
+"You to make them permanent? I do not understand."
+
+"I shall not shrink from explaining myself. If your husband's suit is
+undefended, he will obtain a decree which will leave you a single woman
+in six months. Now, whatever you may think to the contrary, there is not
+a club in London that would hold me in any way bound to marry you after
+the manner in which you have behaved. Let me remind you that your future
+position depends on your present conduct. You have apparently forgotten
+it."
+
+She looked at him; and he went back to the window.
+
+"My husband's suit cannot be defended," she said. "Doubtless you will
+act according to the dictates of the London clubs."
+
+"I do not say so," he said, turning angrily. "I shall act according to
+the dictates of my own common sense. And do not be too sure that the
+petition will be unopposed. The law recognizes the plea of connivance."
+
+"But it would be a false plea," said Marian, raising her voice.
+
+"I shall not discuss that with you. Whether your husband was blind, or
+merely kept his eyes shut will not be decided by us. You have been
+warned. We will drop the subject now, if you please."
+
+"Do you suppose," said Marian, with a bright color in her cheeks, "that
+after what you have said, anything could induce me to marry you?"
+
+He was startled, and remained for a moment motionless. Then he said, in
+his usual cold tone, "As you please. You may think better of it. I will
+leave you for the present. When we meet again, you will be calmer."
+
+"Yes," she said. "Good-bye."
+
+Without answering, he changed his coat for a silk jacket, transferred
+his cigar-case to a pocket in it, and went out. When he had passed the
+threshold, he hesitated, and returned.
+
+"Why do you say good-bye?" he said, after clearing his throat uneasily.
+
+"I do not like to leave you without saying it."
+
+"I hope you have not misunderstood me, Marian. I did not mean that we
+should part."
+
+"I know that. Nevertheless, we shall part. I will never sleep beneath
+the same roof with you again."
+
+"Come!" he said, shutting the door: "this is nonsense. You are out of
+temper."
+
+"So you have already told me," she said, becoming pale.
+
+"Well, but--Marian: perhaps I may have spoken rather harshly just now;
+but I did not mean you to take it so. You must be reasonable."
+
+"Pray let us have no more words about it. I need no apologies, and
+desire no advances. Good-bye is enough."
+
+"But, Marian," said he, coming nearer, "you must not fancy that I have
+ceased to love you."
+
+"Above all," said Marian, "let us have no more of that. You say you hate
+this place and the life we lead here. I am heartily sick of it, and have
+been so for a long time."
+
+"Let us go elsewhere."
+
+"Yes, but not together. One word," she added resolutely, seeing his
+expression become fierce. "I will not endure any violence, even of
+language, from you. I know of old what you are when you lose your
+temper; and if you insult me I will summon aid, and proclaim who I am."
+
+"Do you think I am going to strike you?"
+
+"No, because you dare not. But I will not listen to oaths or abuse."
+
+"What have you to complain of? What is your grievance?"
+
+"I make no complaint. I exercise the liberty I bought so dearly to go
+where I please and do what I please."
+
+"And to desert me when I have sacrificed everything for you. I have
+incurred enormous expenses; alienated my friends; risked my position in
+society; and broken my mother's heart for your sake."
+
+"But for that I would have left you before. I am very sorry."
+
+"You have heard something in that letter which makes you hope that your
+husband will take you back. Not a woman in London will speak to you."
+
+"I tell you I am not going back. Oh, Sholto, dont be so mean. Can we not
+part with dignity? We have made a mistake. Let us acknowledge it
+quietly, and go our several ways."
+
+"I will not be got rid of so easily as you suppose," he said, his face
+darkening menacingly. "Do you think I believe in your going out alone
+from this hotel and living by yourself in a strange city? Come! who is
+it?"
+
+"Who is----? What do you mean?"
+
+"What new connexion have you formed? You were very anxious about our
+ship returning the other day--anxious about the mails, of course.
+Perhaps also about the surgeon."
+
+"I understand. You think I am leaving you to go to some other man. I
+will tell you now the true reason."
+
+"Do," said he, sarcastically, biting his lip.
+
+"I will. I am leaving you because, instead of loving you, as I foolishly
+thought I could, I neither respect nor even like you. You are utterly
+selfish and narrow-minded; and I deserve my disappointment for having
+deserted for your sake a far better man. I am sorry you have sacrificed
+so much for me; but if you had been worthy of a woman's regard, you
+would not have lost me."
+
+Douglas stared at her. "_I_ selfish and narrow-minded!" he said, with
+the calm of stupefaction.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I may have been narrow-minded in devoting myself so entirely to you,"
+said he slowly, after a pause. "But, though I do not ask for gratitude,
+I think I have been sufficiently a loser to disregard such a monstrous
+assertion as that I am selfish."
+
+"You show your selfishness by dwelling on what you have lost. You never
+think of what I have lost. I make no profession of unselfishness. I am
+suffering for my folly and egoism; and I deserve to suffer."
+
+"In what way, pray, are you suffering? You came here because you had a
+wretched home, and a husband who was glad to be rid of you. You do what
+you like, and have what you like. Name one solitary wish of yours that
+has not been silently gratified."
+
+"I do not find fault with you. You have been generous in supplying me
+with luxuries such as money can obtain. But it was not the want of money
+that made me fancy my home wretched. It is not true that I can do as I
+like. How many minutes is it since you threatened to cast me off if I
+did not make myself agreeable to you? Can you boast of your generosity
+after taunting me with my dependence on you?"
+
+"You misunderstood me, Marian. I neither boasted, nor threatened, nor
+taunted. I have even apologized for that moment's irritation. If you
+cannot forgive such a trifle, you yourself can have very little
+generosity."
+
+"Perhaps not. I do not violently resent things; but I cannot forget
+them, nor feel as I did before they happened."
+
+"You think so at present. Let us cease this bickering. Lovers' quarrels
+should not be carried too far."
+
+"I am longing to cease it. It worries me; and it does not alter my
+determination in the least."
+
+"Do you mean----"
+
+"I do mean. Dont look at me like that: you make me angry instead of
+frightening me."
+
+"And do you think I will suffer this quietly?"
+
+"You may suffer it as you please," said Marian, stepping quietly to the
+wall, and pressing a button. "I will never see you again if I can help
+it. If you follow me, or persecute me in any way, I will appeal to the
+police for protection as Mrs. Conolly. I despise you more than I do any
+one on earth."
+
+He turned away, and snatched up his coat and hat. She stood apparently
+watching him quietly, but really listening with quickened heart to his
+loud and irregular breathing. As he opened the door to go out, he was
+confronted on the threshold by a foreign waiter.
+
+"Vas you reeng?" said the waiter doubtfully, retreating a step.
+
+"I will not be accountable for that woman's expenses from this time
+forth," said Douglas, pointing at her, "You can keep her at your own
+risk, or turn her into the streets to pursue her profession, as you
+please."
+
+The waiter, smiting vaguely, looked first at the retreating figure of
+Douglas, and then at Marian.
+
+"I want another room, if you please," she said. "One on any of the upper
+floors will do; but I must have my things moved there at once."
+
+Her instructions were carried out after some parley. In the meantime,
+Douglas's man servant appeared, and said that he had been instructed to
+remove his master's luggage.
+
+"Is Mr. Forster leaving the hotel?" she asked.
+
+"I dont know his arrangements, madam."
+
+"I guess I do, then," said a sulky man, who was preparing to wheel away
+Marian's trunk. "He's about to shift his billet to the Gran' Central."
+
+Marian, still in a towering rage, sat down in her new room to consider
+her situation. To fix her attention, which repeatedly wandered to what
+had passed between her and Douglas, she counted her money, and found
+that she had, besides a twenty pound note which she had brought with her
+from London, only a few loose dollars in her purse. Her practice in
+housekeeping at Westbourne Terrace and Holland Park had taught her the
+value of money too well to let her suppose that she could afford to
+remain at a first rate American hotel with so small a sum in her
+possession. At home Conolly had made her keep a separate banking
+account; and there was money to her credit there; but in her ignorance
+of the law, she was not sure that she had not forfeited all her property
+by eloping. She resolved to move at once into some cheap lodging, and to
+live economically until she could ascertain the true state of her
+affairs, or until she could obtain some employment, to support her. She
+faced poverty without fear, never having experienced it.
+
+It was still early in the afternoon when she left the hotel and drove to
+the Crawfords'.
+
+"So you have come at last," cried Mrs. Crawford, who was fifty years of
+age and stout, but leaner in the face than fat Englishwomen of that age
+usually are.
+
+"I just expected you'd soon git tired of being grand all by yourself in
+the hotel yonder."
+
+"I fear I shall have to be the reverse of grand all by myself in some
+very shabby lodging," said Marian. "Dont be surprised Mrs. Crawford. Can
+one live in New York on ten dollars a week?"
+
+"_You_ cant live on ten dollars a week in New York nor on a hundred. You
+rode here, didnt you?"
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"Of course. If you have only ten dollars a week you should have walked.
+I know the sort you are, Mrs. Forster. You wont be long getting rid of
+your money, no matter where you live. But whats wrong? Hows your
+husband?"
+
+"I dont know. I hope he is quite well," said Marian, her voice trembling
+a little. "Mrs. Crawford: you are the only friend I have in America;
+and you have been so very kind to me that since I must trouble some one,
+I have ventured to come to you. The truth is that I have left my
+husband; and I have only about one hundred dollars in the world. I must
+live on that until I get some employment, or perhaps some money of my
+own from England."
+
+"Chut, child! Nawnsnse!" exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, with benevolent
+intolerance. "You go right back to your husband. I spose youve had a
+rumpus with him; but you mustnt mind that. All men are a bit selfish;
+and I should say from what I have seen of him that he is no exception to
+the rule. But you cant have perfection. He's a fine handsome fellow; and
+he knows it. And, as for you, I dont know what they reckon you in
+England; but youre the best-looking woman in Noo York: thats surtn. It's
+a pity for such a pair to fall out."
+
+"He is not selfish," said Marian. "You never saw him. I am afraid I must
+shock you, Mrs. Crawford. Mr. Forster is not my husband."
+
+"No! Do! Did you ever tell the General that?"
+
+"General Crawford! Oh, no."
+
+"Think of that man being cuter than me, a woman! He always said so. And
+the grit you must have, to tell it out as cool as that! Well! I'm sorry
+to hear it though, Mrs. Forster. It's a bad account--a very bad one. But
+if I take what you said just now rightly, youre married."
+
+"I am. I have deserted a very good husband."
+
+"It's a pity you didnt find that out a little sooner, isnt it?"
+
+"I know, Mrs. Crawford. I thought I was acting for the best."
+
+"Thought you were acting for the best in running away from a good
+husband! Well, you British aristocrats are singular. You throw stones at
+us because our women are so free and our divorces so easy. Yet youre
+always scandlizing us; and now _you_ tell me youve done it on morl
+grounds! Who educated you, child? And what do you intend to do now?"
+
+"For the present, only to get a lodging. Will you tell me where I should
+look for one? I dont know the east from the west end of this town; and I
+am so inexperienced that I might make a mistake easily as to the
+character of the places. Will you direct me to some street or quarter in
+which I should he likely to find suitable rooms? I can live very
+economically."
+
+"I dont know what to do," said Mrs. Crawford, perplexedly, turning her
+rings on her fingers. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. And you so
+pretty!"
+
+"Perhaps you would rather not assist me. You may tell me so candidly. I
+shall not be offended."
+
+"You mustnt take me up like that. I must have a talk with the General
+about you. I dont feel like letting you go into some ordinary place by
+yourself. But I cant ask you to stay here without consulting----"
+
+"Oh, no, you must not think of any such thing: I must begin to face the
+world alone at once. I assure you, Mrs. Crawford, I could not come here.
+I should only keep your friends away."
+
+"But nobody knows you."
+
+"Sooner or later I should meet someone who does. There are hundreds of
+people who know me by sight, who travel every year. Besides, my case is
+a very public one, unfortunately. May I take you into my confidence?"
+
+"If you wish, my dear. I dont ask you for it; but I will take it
+kindly."
+
+"I know you will. You must have heard all about me. Mr. Forster's real
+name is Douglas."
+
+Mrs. Crawford stifled a whoop of surprise. "And you! Are you----?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Only think! And that was Douglas! Why, I thought he was a
+straight-haired, sleeky, canting snake of a man. And you too are not a
+bit like what I thought. You are quite a person, Mrs.--Mrs. Conolly."
+
+"I have no right to bear that name any longer. Pray call me by my
+assumed name still, and keep my secret. I hope you do not believe all
+the newspapers said?"
+
+"No, of course not," said Mrs. Crawford. "But whose fault was it?"
+
+"Mine. Altogether mine. I wish you would tell people that Mr. Conolly is
+blameless in the matter."
+
+"He will take care of his own credit, never fear. I am sure you got some
+provocation: I know what men are. The General is not my first husband."
+
+"No, I got no provocation. Mr. Conolly is not like other men. I got
+discontented because I had nothing to desire. And now, about the
+lodgings, Mrs. Crawford. Do not think I am changing the subject from
+reticence. It is the question of money that makes me anxious. All my
+resources would be swallowed up at the hotel in less than a week."
+
+"Lodgings? You mean rooms, I guess. People here mostly go to
+boarding-houses. And as to the cheapness, you dont know what cheapness
+is. Cant you make some arrangement with your great relations in England?
+Have you no property of your own?"
+
+"I cannot tell whether my property remains my own or not. You must
+regard me as a poor woman. I am quite determined to have the lodgings;
+and I should like to arrange about them at once; for I am rather upset
+by something that happened this morning."
+
+"Well, if you must, you must, I know a place that might suit you: I
+lived in it myself when I was not so well off as I am at present. It is
+a little down-town; but you will have to put up with that for the sake
+of economy."
+
+Mrs. Crawford, who had read in the papers of her guest's relationship to
+the Earl of Carbury, then sent for her carriage, and dressed herself
+handsomely. When they had gone some distance, they entered a wide
+street, crossed half way along by an avenue and an elevated railway.
+
+"What do you think of this neighborhood?" said Mrs. Crawford.
+
+"It is a fine, wide street," replied Marian; "but it looks as if it
+needed to be swept and painted."
+
+"The other end is quieter. I'm afraid you wont like living here."
+
+Marian had hitherto thought of such streets as thoroughfares, not as
+places in which she could dwell. "Beggars cannot be choosers," she said,
+with affected cheerfulness, looking anxiously ahead for the promised
+quiet part.
+
+"Boarding-houses are so much the rule here, that it is not easy to get
+rooms. You will find Mrs. Myers a good soul, and though the house is not
+much to look at, it is comfortable enough inside."
+
+The appearance of the street improved as they went on; and the house
+they stopped at, though the windows were dingy and the paint old, was
+better than Marian had hoped for a minute before. She remained in the
+carriage whilst her companion conferred with the landlady within. Twenty
+minutes passed before Mrs. Crawford reappeared, looking much perplexed.
+
+"Mrs. Myers has a couple of rooms that would do you very well; only you
+would be on the same floor with a woman who is always drunk. She has
+pawned a heap of clothes, and promises to leave every day; but Mrs.
+Myers hasnt got rid of her yet. It's very provoking. She's quiet, and
+doesnt trouble any one; but still, of course----"
+
+"She cannot interfere with me," said Marian. "If that is the only
+objection, let it pass. I need have nothing to say to her. If she is not
+violent nor noisy, her habits are her own affair."
+
+"Oh, she wont trouble you. You can keep to yourself, English fashion."
+
+"Then let us agree at once. I cannot face any more searching and
+bargaining."
+
+"Youre looking pale. Are you sure you are not ill?"
+
+"No. It is nothing. I am rather tired."
+
+They went in together; and Marian was introduced to Mrs. Myers, a
+nervous widow of fifty. The rooms were small, and the furniture and
+carpets old and worn; but all was clean; and there was an open fireplace
+in the sitting-room.
+
+"They will do very nicely, thank you," said Marian. "I will send for my
+luggage; and I think I will just telegraph my new address and a few
+words to a friend in London."
+
+"If you feel played out, I can see after your luggage," said Mrs.
+Crawford. "But I advise you to come back with me; have a good lunch at
+Delmonico's; and send your cablegram yourself."
+
+Marian roused herself from a lassitude which was coming upon her, and
+took Mrs. Crawford's advice. When they returned to the richer quarter of
+the town, and especially after luncheon, her spirits revived. At the
+hotel she observed that the clerk was surprised when, arranging for the
+removal of her luggage and the forwarding of her letters, she mentioned
+her new address. Douglas, she found, had paid all expenses before
+leaving. She did not linger in the building; for the hotel staff stared
+at her curiously. She finished her business by telegraphing to Elinor:
+"_Separated. Write to new address. Have I forfeited my money?_" This
+cost her nearly five dollars.
+
+"Only that you must find out about your money, I wouldnt have let you
+spend all that," said Mrs. Crawford.
+
+"I did not think it would have cost so much," said Marian. "I was
+horrified when he named the price. However, it cannot be helped."
+
+"We may as well be getting back to Mrs. Myers's now. It's late."
+
+"Yes, I suppose so," said Marian, sighing. "I am sorry I did not ask
+Nelly to telegraph me. I am afraid my funds will not last so long as I
+thought."
+
+"Well, we shall see. The General was greatly taken with you for the way
+you looked after me when I was ill yonder; so you have two friends in
+Noo York City, at any rate."
+
+"You have proved that to me to-day. I am afraid I shall have to trouble
+you further if I get bad news. You will have to help me to find some
+work."
+
+"Yes. Never mind that until the bad news comes. I hope you wont mope at
+Mrs. Myers's. How does the American air agree with you?"
+
+"Pretty well. I was sick for the first two days of our passage across,
+and somehow my digestion seems to have got out of order in consequence.
+Of late I have been a little unwell in the mornings."
+
+"Oh! Thats so, is it? Humph! I see I shall have to come and look after
+you occasionally."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Never you mind, my dear. But dont go moping, nor going without food to
+save money. Take care of yourself."
+
+"It is nothing serious," said Marian, with a smile. "Only a passing
+indisposition. You need not be uneasy about me. This is the house, is it
+not? I shall lose myself whenever I go out for a walk here."
+
+"This is it. Now good-bye. I'll see you soon. Meanwhile, you take care
+of yourself, as youre told."
+
+It was dark when Marian entered her new residence. Mrs. Myers was
+standing at the open door, remonstrating with a milkman. Marian hastily
+assured her that she knew the way, and went upstairs alone. She was
+chilled and weary; her spirits had fallen again during her journey from
+the telegraph office. As she approached her room, hoping to find a good
+fire, she heard a flapping noise, which was suddenly interrupted by the
+rattle of a falling poker, followed by the exclamation, in a woman's
+voice, "Och, musha, I wouldnt doubt you." Marian, entering, saw a robust
+young woman kneeling before the grate, trying to improve a dull fire
+that burnt there. She had taken up the poker and placed it standing
+against the bars so that it pointed up the chimney; and she was now
+using her apron fanwise as a bellows. The fire glowed in the draught;
+and Marian, by its light, noted with displeasure that the young woman's
+calico dress was soiled, and her hair untidy.
+
+"I think----"
+
+"God bless us!" ejaculated the servant, starting and turning a comely
+dirty face toward Marian.
+
+"Did I frighten you?" said Marian, herself startled by the exclamation.
+
+"You put the life acrass in me," said the servant, panting, and pressing
+her hand on her bosom.
+
+"I am sorry for that. I was going to say that I think you need not take
+any further trouble with the fire. It will light of itself now."
+
+"Very well, miss."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Liza Redmon', miss."
+
+"I should like some light, Eliza, if you please."
+
+"Yis, miss. Would you wish to take your tay now, miss?"
+
+"Yes, thank you."
+
+Eliza went away with alacrity. Marian put off her bonnet and furs, and
+sat down before the fire to despond over the prospect of living in that
+shabby room, waited on by that slipshod Irish girl, who roused in her
+something very like racial antipathy. Presently Eliza returned, carrying
+a small tray, upon which she had crowded a lighted kerosene lamp, a
+china tea service, a rolled-up table cloth, a supply of bread and
+butter, and a copper kettle. When she had placed the lamp on the
+mantelpiece, and the kettle by the fire, she put the tray on the sofa,
+and proceeded to lay the cloth, which she shook from its folds and
+spread like a sail in the air by seizing two of the corners in her
+hands, and pulling them apart whilst she held the middle fold in her
+teeth. Then she adroitly wafted it over the table, making a breeze in
+which the lamp flared and Marian blinked. Her movements were very rapid;
+and in a few moments she had arranged the tea service, and was ready to
+withdraw.
+
+"My luggage will be sent here this evening or to-morrow, Eliza. Will you
+tell me when it comes?"
+
+"Yis, miss."
+
+"You know that my name is _Mrs_. Forster, do you not?"
+
+"Mrs. Forster. Yis, miss."
+
+Marian made no further attempt to get miss changed to maam; and Eliza
+left the room. As she crossed the landing, she was called by someone on
+the same floor. Marian started at the sound. It was a woman's voice,
+disagreeably husky: a voice she felt sure she had heard before, and yet
+one that was not familiar to her.
+
+"Eliza. Eli-za!" Marian shuddered.
+
+"Yis, yis," said Eliza, impatiently, opening a door.
+
+"Come here, alanna," said the voice, with mock fondness. The door was
+then closed, and Marian could hear the murmur of the conversation which
+followed. It was still proceeding when Mrs. Myers came in.
+
+"I didnt ought to have left you to find your way up here alone, Mrs.
+Forster," she said; "but I do have such worry sometimes that I'm bound
+to leave either one thing or another undone."
+
+"It does not matter at all, Mrs. Myers. Your servant has been very
+attentive to me."
+
+"The hired girl? She's smart, she is--does everything right slick away.
+The only trouble is to keep her out of that room. She's in there now.
+Unless I am always after her, she is slipping out on errands, pawning
+and buying drink for that unfortunate young creature."
+
+"For whom?"
+
+"A person that Mrs. Crawford promised to tell you about."
+
+"So she did," said Marian. "But I did not know she was young."
+
+"She's older than you, a deal. I knew her when she was a little girl,
+and I often forget how old she is. She was the prettiest child! Even now
+she would talk you into anything. But I cant help her. It's nothing but
+drink, drink, drink from morning til night. There's Eliza coming out of
+her room. Eliza."
+
+"Yis, maam," said Eliza, looking in.
+
+"You stay in the house, Eliza, do you hear? I wont have you go out."
+
+"Could I spake a word to you, maam?" said Eliza, lowering her voice.
+
+"No, Eliza. I'm engaged with Mrs. Forster."
+
+"She wants to see you," whispered Eliza.
+
+"Go downrs, Eliza, this minute. I wont see her."
+
+"Mrs. Myers," cried the voice. Marian again shrank from the sound. "Mrs.
+My-ers. Aunt Sally. Come to your poor Soozy." Mrs. Myers looked
+perplexedly at Marian. The voice resumed after a pause, with an affected
+Yankee accent, "I guess I'll raise a shine if you dont come."
+
+"I must go," said Mrs. Myers. "I promise you, Mrs. Forster, she shall
+not annoy you. She shall go this week. It aint right that you should be
+disturbed by her."
+
+Mrs. Myers went into the other room. Eliza ran downrs, and Marian
+heard her open the house door softly and go out. She also heard
+indistinctly the voices of the landlady and her lodger. After a time
+these ceased, and she drank her tea in peace. She was glad that Mrs.
+Myers did not return, although she made no more comfortable use of her
+solitude than to think of her lost home in Holland Park, comparing it
+with her dingy apartment, and pressing her handkerchief upon her eyes
+when they became too full of tears. She had passed more than an hour
+thus when Eliza roused her by announcing the arrival of the luggage.
+Thereupon she bestirred herself to superintend its removal to her
+bedroom, where she unpacked a trunk which contained her writing-case and
+some books. With these were stowed her dresses, much miscellaneous
+finery, and some handsomely worked underclothing. Eliza, standing by,
+could not contain her admiration; and Marian, though she did not permit
+her to handle the clothes, had not the heart to send her away until she
+had seen all that the trunk contained. Marian heard her voice afterward
+in the apartment of the drunken lodger, and suspected from its emphasis
+that the girl was describing the rare things she had seen.
+
+Marian imparted some interest to her surroundings that evening by
+describing them in a letter to Elinor. When she had finished, she was
+weary; and the fire was nearly out. She looked at her watch, and,
+finding to her surprise that is was two hours after midnight, rose to go
+to bed. Before leaving the room, she stood for a minute before the
+old-fashioned pier-glass, with one foot on the fender, and looked at her
+image, pitying her own weariness, and enjoying the soft beauty of her
+face and the gentleness of her expression. Her appearance did not always
+please her; but on this occasion the mirror added so much to the solace
+she had found in writing to Elinor, that she felt almost happy as she
+took the lamp to light her to her bedroom.
+
+She had gone no farther than the landing when a sound of unsteady
+footsteps on the stairs caused her to stop. As she lifted the lamp and
+looked up, she saw a strange woman descending toward her, holding the
+balustrade, and moving as though with pains in her limbs. This woman,
+whose black hair fell nearly to her waist, was dressed in a crimson
+satin dressing-gown, warmly padded, and much stained and splashed. She
+had fine dark eyes, and was young, bold-looking, and handsome; but when
+she came nearer, the moist pallor of her skin, the slackness of her
+lower lip and jaw, and an eager and worn expression in her fine eyes,
+gave her a thirsty, reckless leer that filled Marian with loathing. Her
+aspect conveyed the same painful suggestion as her voice had done
+before, but more definitely; for it struck Marian, with a shock, that
+Conolly, in the grotesque metamorphosis of a nightmare, might appear in
+some such likeness. The lamp did not seem to attract her attention at
+first; but when she came within a few steps, she saw some one before
+her, and, dazzled by the light, peered at Marian, who lost her presence
+of mind, and stood motionless. Gradually the woman's expression changed
+to one of astonishment. She came down to the landing; stopped, grasping
+the handrail to steady herself; and said in her husky voice:
+
+"Oh, Lord! It's not a woman at all. It's D. Ts." Then, not quite
+convinced by this explanation, she suddenly stretched out her hand and
+attempted to grasp Marian's arm. Missing her aim, she touched her on the
+breast, and immediately cried, "Mrs. Ned!"
+
+Marian shrank from her touch, and recovered her courage.
+
+"Do you know me?" she said.
+
+"I should rather think I do. I have gone off a good deal in my
+appearance, or you would know me. Youve seen me on the stage, I suppose.
+I'm your sister-in-law. Perhaps you didnt know you had one."
+
+"Are you Miss Susanna Conolly?"
+
+"Thats who I am. At least I am what is left of Miss Susanna. You dont
+look overjoyed to make my acquaintance; but I was as good-looking as you
+once. Take my advice, Mrs. Ned: dont drink champagne. The end of
+champagne is brandy; and the end of brandy is----" Susanna made a
+grimace and indicated herself.
+
+"I am afraid we shall disturb the house if we talk here. We had better
+say good-night."
+
+"No, no. Dont be in such a hurry to get rid of me. Come into my room
+with me for a while. I'll talk quietly: I'm not drunk. Ive just slept it
+off; and I was coming down for some more. You may as well keep me from
+it for a few minutes. I suppose Ned hasnt forbidden you to speak to me."
+
+"Oh, no," said Marian, yielding to a feeling of pity. "Come into my
+room. There is a scrap of fire there still."
+
+"We used to lodge in this room long ago, in my father's time," said
+Susanna, following Marian into the room, and reclining with a groan on
+the sofa. "I'm rather in a fog, you know: I cant make out how the deuce
+you come to be here. Did Ned send you to look after me? Is he in New
+York? Is he here?"
+
+"No," said Marian, foreseeing with a bitter pang and a terrible blush
+what must follow. "He is in England. I am alone here."
+
+"Well, why--? what--? I dont understand."
+
+"Have you not read the papers?" said Marian, in a low voice, turning her
+head away.
+
+"Papers! No, not since I saw an account of my brilliant _debut_ here, of
+which I suppose you have heard. I never read: I do nothing but drink.
+What has happened?"
+
+Marian hesitated.
+
+"Is it any secret?" said Susanna.
+
+"No, it is no secret," said Marian, turning, and looking at her
+steadily. "All the world knows it. I have left your brother; and I do
+not know whether I am still his wife, or whether I am already divorced."
+
+"You dont mean to say youre on the loose!" cried Susanna.
+
+Marian was silent.
+
+"I always told Ned that no woman could stand him," said Susanna, with
+sodden vivacity, after a pause, during which Marian had to endure her
+astonished stare. "He always thought you the very pink of propriety. Of
+course, there was another man in it. Whats become of him, if I may ask?"
+
+"I have left him," said Marian, sternly. "You need impute no fault to
+your brother in the matter, Miss Conolly. He is quite blameless."
+
+"Yes," said Susanna, not in the least impressed, "he always is
+blameless. How is Bob? I mean Marmaduke, your cousin. I call him Bob,
+short for Cherry Bob."
+
+"He is very well, thank you."
+
+"Now, Bob was not a blameless man, but altogether the reverse; and he
+was a capital fellow to get on with. Ned was always right, always sure
+of himself; and there was an end. He has no variety. I wonder will Bob
+ever get married?"
+
+"He is going to be married in the spring."
+
+"Who to?"
+
+"To Lady Constance Car----"
+
+"Damn that woman!" exclaimed Susanna. "I hate her. She was always
+throwing herself at his head. Curse her! Damn her! I wish----"
+
+"Miss Conolly," said Marian: "I hope you will not think me rude; but I
+am very tired, and it is very late. I must go to bed."
+
+"Well, will you come and see me to-morrow? It will be an act of charity.
+I am dying here all alone. You are a nice woman, and I know what you
+must feel about me; but you will get used to me. I wont annoy you. I
+wont swear. I wont say anything about your cousin. I'll keep sober. Do
+come. You are a good sort: Bob always said so; and you might save me
+from destroying myself. Say youll come."
+
+"If you particularly wish it, I will," said Marian, not disguising her
+reluctance.
+
+"Youd rather not, of course," said Susanna, despondently.
+
+"I am afraid I cannot be of any use to you."
+
+"For that matter, no one is likely to be of much use to me. But it's
+hard to be imprisoned in this den without anyone to speak to but Eliza.
+However, do as you please. I did as I pleased; and I must take the
+consequences. Just tell me one thing. Did you find me out by accident?"
+
+"Quite."
+
+"That was odd." Susanna groaned again as she rose from the sofa. "Well,
+since you wont have anything to do with me, good-bye. Youre quite
+right."
+
+"I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid you if you are in
+trouble."
+
+"Do," said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian's hand with her moist palm.
+"We'll get on better than you think. I like you, and I'll make you like
+me. If I could only keep from it for two days, I shouldnt be a bit
+disgusting. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night," said Marian, overcoming her repugnance to Susanna's hand,
+and clasping it. "Remember that my name here is Mrs. Forster."
+
+"All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never be sorry for having
+compassion on me."
+
+"Wont you take a light?"
+
+"I dont require one. I can find what I want in the dark."
+
+She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly up to her own bedroom
+and locked herself in. Her first loathing for Susanna had partly given
+way to pity; but the humiliation of confessing herself to such a woman
+as an unfaithful wife was galling. When she went to sleep she dreamed
+that she was unmarried and at home with her father, and that the
+household was troubled by Susanna, who lodged in a room upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+
+Sholto Douglas returned to England in the ship which carried Marian's
+letter to Elinor. On reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel at
+Euston, and sent his man next day to take rooms for him at the West End.
+Early in the afternoon the man reported that he had secured apartments
+in Charles Street, St. James's. It was a fine wintry day, and Douglas
+resolved to walk, not without a sense of being about to run the
+gauntlet.
+
+It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever taken in his life.
+Everybody he knew seemed to be lying in wait for him. In Portland Place
+he met Miss McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, looked
+at him indignantly, and cut him. At the Laugham Hotel he passed a member
+of his club, who seemed surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent Street
+he saw Lady Carbury's carriage waiting before a shop. He hurried past
+the door, for he had lost courage at his encounter with Elinor. There
+were, however, two doors; and as he passed the second, the Countess,
+Lady Constance, and Marmaduke came out just before him.
+
+"Where the devil is the carriage?" said Marmaduke, loudly.
+
+"Hush! Everybody can hear you," said Lady Constance.
+
+"What do I care whether--Hal-lo! Douglas! How are you?"
+
+Marmaduke proffered his hand. Lady Carbury plucked her daughter by the
+sleeve and hurried to her carriage, after returning Douglas's stern look
+with the slightest possible bow. Constance imitated her mother. Douglas
+haughtily raised his hat.
+
+"How obstinate Marmaduke is!" said the Countess, when she had bidden the
+coachman drive away at once. "He is going to walk down Regent Street
+with that man."
+
+"But you didnt cut him, mamma."
+
+"I never dreamed of his coming back so soon; and, of course, I cannot
+tell whether he will be cut or not. We must wait and see what other
+people will do. If we meet him again we had better not see him."
+
+"Look here, old fellow," said Marmaduke, as he walked away with Douglas.
+"Youve come back too soon. It wont do. Take my advice and go away again
+until matters have blown over. Hang it, it's too flagrant! You have not
+been away two months."
+
+"I believe you are going to be married," said Douglas. "Allow me to
+congratulate you."
+
+"Thank you. Fine day, isnt it?"
+
+"Very fine."
+
+Marmaduke walked on in silence. Douglas presently recommenced the
+conversation.
+
+"I only arrived in London last night. I have come from New York."
+
+"Indeed. Pleasant voyage?"
+
+"Very pleasant."
+
+Another pause.
+
+"Has anything special happened during my absence?"
+
+"Nothing special."
+
+"Was there much fuss made about my going?"
+
+"Well, there was a great deal of fuss made about it. Excuse my alluding
+to the subject again. I shouldnt have done so if you hadnt asked me."
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, you neednt stand on ceremony with me."
+
+"That's all very well, Douglas; but when I alluded to it just now, you
+as good as told me to mind my own business."
+
+"I told you so!"
+
+"Not in those words, perhaps. However, the matter is easily settled. You
+bolted with Marian. I know that, and you know it. If the topic is
+disagreeable, say so, and it is easily avoided. If you want to talk
+about it, better not change the subject when I mention it."
+
+"You have taken offence needlessly. I changed the subject
+inadvertently."
+
+"Hm! Well, has she come back with you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Do you mean that youve thrown her over?"
+
+"I have said nothing of the kind. As a matter of fact, she has thrown me
+over."
+
+"Thats very strange. You are not going to marry her then, I suppose?"
+
+"How can I? I tell you she has deserted me. Let me remind you, Lind,
+that I should not be bound to marry her in any case, and I shall
+certainly not do so now. If I chose to justify myself, I could easily do
+so by her own conduct."
+
+"I expect you will not be troubled for any justification. People seem to
+have made up their minds that you were wrong in the first instance, and
+you ought to keep out of the way until they have forgotten----Oh,
+confound it, here's Conolly! Now, for God's sake, dont let us have any
+row."
+
+Douglas whitened, and took a step back into the roadway before he
+recovered himself; for Conolly had come upon them suddenly as they
+turned into Charles Street. A group of gentlemen stood on the steps of
+the clubhouse which stands at that corner.
+
+"Bless me!" said Conolly, with perfect good humor. "Douglas back again!
+Why on earth did you run away with my wife? and what have you done with
+her?"
+
+The party on the steps ceased chatting and began to stare.
+
+"This is not the place to call me to account, sir," said Douglas, still
+on his guard, and very ill at ease. "If you have anything to say to me
+which cannot be communicated through a friend, it had better be said in
+private."
+
+"I shall trouble you for a short conversation," said Conolly. "How do
+you do, Lind? Where can we go? I do not belong to any club."
+
+"My apartments are at hand," said Douglas.
+
+"I suppose I had better leave you," said Marmaduke.
+
+"Your presence will not embarrass me in the least," said Conolly.
+
+"I have not sought this interview," said Douglas. "I therefore prefer
+Mr. Lind to witness what passes."
+
+Conolly nodded assent; and they went to a house on the doorstep of which
+Douglas's man was waiting, and ascended to the front drawing-room.
+
+"Now, sir," said Douglas, without inviting his guests to sit down.
+Conolly alone took off his hat. Marmaduke went aside, and looked out of
+the window.
+
+"I know the circumstances that have led to your return," said Conolly;
+"so we need not go into that. I want you, however, to assist me on one
+point. Do you know what Marian's pecuniary position is at present?'
+
+"I decline to admit that it concerns me in any way."
+
+"Of course not. But it concerns me, as I do not wish that she should be
+without money in a foreign city. She has telegraphed a question about
+her property to Miss McQuinch. That by itself is nothing; but her new
+address, which I first saw on a letter this morning, happens to be known
+to me as that of a rather shabby lodging-house."
+
+"I know nothing of it."
+
+"I do: it means that she is poor. I can guess at the sum she carried
+with her to America. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me whether
+you have ever given her money; if so, how much; and what her expenditure
+has been, you will enable me to estimate her position at present."
+
+"I do not know that you have any right to ask such questions."
+
+"I do not assert any right to ask them. On the contrary, I have
+explained their object. I shall not press them, if you think that an
+answer will in any way compromise you."
+
+"I have no fear of being compromised. None whatever."
+
+Conolly nodded, and waited for an answer.
+
+"I may say that my late trip has cost me a considerable sum. I paid all
+the expenses; and Miss--Mrs. Conolly did not, to my knowledge, disburse
+a single fraction. She did not ask me to give her money. Had she done
+so, I should have complied at once."
+
+"Thank you. Thats all right: she will be able to hold out until she
+hears from us. Good-afternoon."
+
+"Allow me to add, sir, before you go," said Douglas, asserting himself
+desperately against Conolly's absolutely sincere disregard of him and
+preoccupation with Marian, "that Mrs. Conolly has been placed in her
+present position entirely through her own conduct. I repudiate the
+insinuation that I have deserted her in a foreign city; and I challenge
+inquiry on the point."
+
+"Quite so, quite so," assented Conolly, carelessly. "Good-bye, Lind."
+And he took his hat and went out.
+
+"By George!" said Marmaduke, admiringly, "he did that damned
+well--_damned_ well. Look here, old man: take my advice and clear out
+for another year or so. You cant stay here. As a looker-on, I see most
+of the game; and thats my advice to you as a friend."
+
+Douglas, whose face had reddened and reddened with successive rushes of
+blood until it was now purple, lost all self-control at Marmaduke's
+commiserating tone. "I will see whether I cannot put him in the wrong,"
+he burst out, in the debased voice of an ignobly angry man. "Do you
+think I will let him tell the world that I have been thrown over and
+fooled?"
+
+"Thats your own story, isnt it? At least, I understood you to say so as
+we came along."
+
+"Let him say so, and I'll thrash him like, a dog in the street.
+I'll----"
+
+"Whats the use of thrashing a man who will simply hand you over to the
+police? and quite right, too! What rot!"
+
+"We shall see. We shall see."
+
+"Very well. Do as you like. You may twist one another's heads off for
+what I care. He has had the satisfaction of putting you into a rage, at
+all events."
+
+"I am not in a rage."
+
+"Very well. Have it your own way."
+
+"Will you take a challenge to him from me?"
+
+"No. I am not a born fool."
+
+"That is plain speaking."
+
+Marmaduke put his hands into his pockets, and whistled. "I think I will
+take myself off," he said, presently.
+
+"As you please," replied Douglas, coldly.
+
+"I will look in on you some day next week, when you have cooled down a
+bit. Good-bye."
+
+Douglas said nothing, and Marmaduke, with a nod, went out. Some minutes
+later the servant entered and said that Mr. Lind was below.
+
+"What! Back again!" said Douglas, with an oath.
+
+"No, sir. It's old Mr. Lind--Mr. Reginald."
+
+"Did you say I was in?"
+
+"The man belonging to the house did, sir."
+
+"Confound his officiousness! I suppose he must come up."
+
+Reginald Lind entered, and bowed. Douglas placed a chair for him, and
+waited, mute, and a little put out. Mr. Lind's eyes and voice shewed
+that he also was not at his ease; but his manner was courtly and his
+expression grave, as Douglas had, in his boyhood, been accustomed to see
+them.
+
+"I am sorry, Sholto," said Mr. Lind, "that I cannot for the present meet
+you with the cordiality which formerly existed between us. However
+unbearable your disappointment at Marian's marriage may have been, you
+should not have taken a reprehensible and desperate means of remedying
+it. I speak to you now as an old friend--as one who knew you when the
+disparity in our ages was more marked than it is at present."
+
+Douglas bowed.
+
+"I have just heard from Mr. Conolly--whom I met accidentally in Pall
+Mall--that you have returned from America. He gave me no further account
+of you, except that he had met you and spoken to you here. I hope
+nothing unpleasant passed."
+
+"The meeting was not a pleasant one. I shall take steps to make Mr.
+Conolly understand that."
+
+"Nothing approaching to violence, I trust."
+
+"No. Mr. Conolly's discretion averted it. I am not sure that a second
+interview between us will end so quietly."
+
+"The interview should not have taken place at all, Sholto. I need not
+point out to you that prudence and good taste forbid any repetition of
+it."
+
+"I did not seek it, Mr. Lind. He forced it upon me. I promise you that
+if a second meeting takes place, it will be forced upon him by me, and
+will take place in another country."
+
+"That is a young man's idea, Sholto. The day for such crimes, thank
+Heaven, is past and gone. Let us say no more of it. I was speaking to
+your mother on Sunday. Have you seen her yet?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Sholto, you hit us all very hard that Monday before Christmas. I know
+what I felt about my daughter. But I can only imagine what your mother
+must have felt about her son."
+
+"I am not insensible to that. I has been rather my misfortune than my
+fault that I have caused you to suffer. If it will gratify you to know
+that I have suffered deeply myself, and am now, indeed, a broken man, I
+can assure you that such is the case."
+
+"It is fortunate for us all that matters are not absolutely
+irremediable. I will so far take you into my confidence as to tell you
+that I have never felt any satisfaction in Marian's union with Mr.
+Conolly. Though he is unquestionably a remarkable man, yet there was a
+certain degree of incongruity in the match--you will understand
+me--which placed Marian apart from her family whilst she was with him. I
+have never entered my daughter's house without a feeling that I was more
+or less a stranger there. Had she married you in the first instance, the
+case would have been different: I wish she had. However, that is past
+regretting now. What I wish to say is that I can still welcome you as
+Marian's husband, even though she will have a serious error to live
+down; and I shall be no less liberal to her than if her previous
+marriage had never taken place."
+
+Douglas cleared his throat, but did not speak.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Lind after a pause, reddening.
+
+"This is a very painful matter," said Douglas at last. "As a man of the
+world, Mr. Lind, you must be aware that I am not bound to your daughter
+in any way."
+
+"I am not speaking to you as a man of the world. I am speaking as a
+father, and as a gentleman."
+
+"Doubtless your position as a father is an unfortunate one. I can
+sympathize with your feelings. But as a gentleman----"
+
+"Think of what you are going to say, Sholto. If you speak as a
+gentleman, you can have only one answer. If you have any other, you will
+speak as a scoundrel." The last sentence came irrepressibly to Mr.
+Lind's lips; but the moment he had uttered it, he felt that he had been
+too precipitate.
+
+"Sir!"
+
+"I repeat, as a scoundrel--if you deny your duty in the matter."
+
+"I decline to continue this conversation with you, Mr. Lind. You know as
+well as I do that no gentleman is expected or even permitted by society
+to take as his wife a woman who has lived with him as his mistress."
+
+"No man who betrays a lady and refuses to make her all the reparation in
+his power can claim to be a gentleman."
+
+"You are dreaming, Mr. Lind. Your daughter was the guardian of her own
+honor. I made her no promises. It is absurd to speak of a woman of her
+age and experience being betrayed, as though she were a child."
+
+"I always understood that you prided yourself on acting up to a higher
+standard of honorable dealing than other men. If this is your
+boasted----"
+
+"Mr. Lind," said Douglas, interrupting him with determination, "no more
+of this, if you please. Briefly, I will have nothing whatever to say to
+Mrs. Conolly in the future. If her reputation were as unstained as your
+own, I would still refuse to know her. I have suffered from her the
+utmost refinements of caprice and treachery, and the coarsest tirades of
+abuse. She left me of her own accord, in spite of my entreaties to her
+to stay--entreaties which I made her in response to an exhibition of
+temper which would have justified me in parting from her there and then.
+It is true that I have moulded my life according to a higher standard of
+honor than ordinary men; and it is also true that that standard is never
+higher, never more fastidiously acted up to, than where a woman is
+concerned. I have only to add that I am perfectly satisfied as to the
+propriety of my behavior in Marian's case, and that I absolutely refuse
+to hear another accusation of unworthiness from you, much as I respect
+you and your sorrow."
+
+Mr. Lind, though he saw that he must change his tone, found it hard to
+subdue his temper; for though not a strong man, he was unaccustomed to
+be thwarted. "Sholto," he said: "you are not serious. You are irritated
+by some lovers' quarrel."
+
+"I am justly estranged from your daughter, and I am resolved never to
+give her a place in my thoughts again. I have madly wasted my youth on
+her. Let her be content with that and the other things I have sacrificed
+for her sake."
+
+"But this is dreadful. Think of the life she must lead if you do not
+marry her. She will be an outcast. She will not even have a name."
+
+"She would not be advised. She made her choice in defiance of an
+explicit warning of the inevitable results, and she must abide by it. I
+challenge the most searching inquiry into my conduct, Mr. Lind. It will
+be found, if the truth be told, that I spared her no luxury before she
+left me; and that, far from being the aggressor, it is I who have the
+right to complain of insult and desertion."
+
+"Still, even granting that her unhappy position may have rendered her a
+little sore and impatient at times, do you not owe her some forbearance
+since she gave up her home and her friends for you?"
+
+"Sacrifice for sacrifice, mine was the greater of the two. Like her, I
+have lost my friends and my position here--to some extent, at least.
+Worse, I have let my youth slip by in fruitless pursuit of her. For the
+home which she hated, I offered her one ten times more splendid. I gave
+her the devotion of a gentleman to replace the indifference of a
+blacksmith. What have I not done for her? I freed her from her bondage;
+I carried her across the globe; I watched her, housed her, fed her,
+clothed her as a princess. I loved her with a love that taught her a
+meaning of the word she had never known before. And when I had served
+her turn--when I had rescued her from her husband and placed her beyond
+his reach--when she became surfeited with a wealth of chivalrous love
+which she could not comprehend, and when a new world opened before her a
+fresh field for intrigue, I was assailed with slanderous lies, and
+forsaken. Do you think, Mr. Lind, that in addition to this, I will
+endure the reproaches of any man--even were he my own father?"
+
+"But she suffers more, being a woman. The world will be comparatively
+lenient toward you. If you and she were married and settled, with no
+consciousness of being in a false position, and no wearing fear of
+detection, you would get on together quite differently."
+
+"It may be so, but I shall never put it to the test."
+
+"Listen a moment, Sholto. Just consider the matter calmly and
+rationally. I am a rich man--at least, I can endow Marian better than
+you perhaps think. I see that you feel aggrieved, and that you fear
+being forced into a marriage which you have, as you say--I fully admit
+it, most fully--a perfect right to decline. But I am urging you to make
+Marian your legal wife solely because it is the best course for both of
+you. That, I assure you, is the feeling of society in the matter.
+Everybody speaks to me of your becoming my son-in-law. The Earl says no
+other course is possible. I will give you ten thousand pounds down on
+her wedding-day. You will lose nothing: Conolly will not claim damages.
+He has contradicted the report that he would. I will pay the costs of
+the divorce as well. Mind! I do not mean that I will settle the money on
+her. I will give it to her unconditionally. In other words, it will
+become your property the moment you become her husband."
+
+"I understand," said Douglas contemptuously. "However, as it is merely a
+question of making your daughter an honest woman in consideration of so
+much cash, I have no doubt you will find plenty of poorer men who will
+be glad to close with you for half the money. You are much in the city
+now, I believe. Allow me to suggest that you will find a dealer there
+more easily than in St. James's."
+
+Mr. Lind reddened again. "I do not think you see the matter in the
+proper light," he said. "You are asked to repair the disgrace you have
+brought on a lady and upon her family. I offer you a guarantee that you
+will not lose pecuniarily by doing so. Whatever other loss you may
+incur, you are bound to bear it as the penalty of your own act. I appeal
+to you, sir, as one gentleman appeals to another, to remove the dishonor
+you have brought upon my name."
+
+"To transfer it to my own, you mean. Thank you, Mr. Lind. The public is
+more accustomed to associate conjugal levity with the name of Lind than
+with that of Douglas."
+
+"If you refuse me the justice you owe to my daughter, you need not
+couple that refusal with an insult."
+
+"I have already explained that I owe your daughter nothing. You come
+here and offer me ten thousand pounds to marry her. I decline the
+bargain. You then take your stand upon the injury to your name. I merely
+remind you that your name was somewhat tarnished even before Mrs.
+Conolly changed it for the less distinguished one which she has really
+dishonored."
+
+"Douglas," said Mr. Lind, trembling, "I will make you repent this. I
+will have satisfaction."
+
+"As you remarked when I declared my readiness to give satisfaction in
+the proper quarter, the practice you allude to is obsolete. Fortunately
+so, I think, in our case."
+
+"You are a coward, sir." Douglas rang the bell. "I will expose you in
+every club in London."
+
+"Shew this gentleman out," said Douglas to his servant.
+
+"You have received that order because I told your master that he is a
+rascal," said Mr. Lind to the man. "I shall say the same thing to every
+man I meet between this house and the committee-room of his club."
+
+The servant looked grave as Mr. Lind left the room. Soon after, Douglas,
+whose self-respect, annihilated by Conolly, had at first been thoroughly
+restored by Mr. Lind, felt upset again by the conclusion of the
+interview. Finding solitude and idleness intolerable, he went into the
+streets, though he no longer felt any desire to meet his acquaintances,
+and twice crossed the Haymarket to avoid them. As he strolled about,
+thinking of all that had been said to him that afternoon, he grew
+morose. Twice he calculated his expenditure on the American trip, and
+the difference that an increment of ten thousand pounds would make in
+his property. Suddenly, in turning out of Air Street into Piccadilly,
+he found himself face to face with Lord Carbury.
+
+"How do you do?" said the latter pleasantly, but without the
+unceremonious fellowship that had formerly existed between them.
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, "I am quite well."
+
+A pause followed, Jasper not knowing exactly what to say next.
+
+"I am considering where I shall dine," said Douglas. "Have you dined
+yet?"
+
+"No. I promised to dine at home this evening. My mother likes to have a
+family dinner occasionally."
+
+Douglas knew that before the elopement he would have been asked to join
+the party. "I suppose people have been pleased to talk a good deal about
+me of late," he said.
+
+"Yes, I fear so. However, I hope it will pass over."
+
+"It shews no sign of passing over as yet, then?"
+
+"Well, it has become a little stale as a topic; but there is undeniably
+a good deal of feeling about it still. If you will excuse my saying so,
+I think that perhaps you would do well to keep out of the way a little
+longer."
+
+"Presuming, of course, that popular feeling is a matter about which I am
+likely to concern myself."
+
+"That is a question for you to decide. Excuse the hint."
+
+"The question is whether it is not better to be on the spot, so as to
+strangle calumny at its source, than to hide myself abroad whilst a host
+of malicious tongues are busy with me."
+
+"As to that, Douglas, I assure you you have been very fairly treated.
+The chief blame, as usual, has fallen on the weaker sex. Nothing could
+exceed the moderation of those from whom the loudest complaints might
+have been expected. Reginald Lind has hardly ever mentioned the subject.
+Even to me, he only shook his head and said that it was an old
+attachment. As to Conolly, we have actually reproached him for making
+excuses for you."
+
+"Aye. A very astute method of bringing me into contempt. Allow me to
+enlighten you a little, Jasper. Lind, whose daughter I have discovered
+to be one of the worst of women, has just offered me ten thousand pounds
+to marry her. That speaks for itself. Conolly, who drove her into my
+arms by playing the tyrant whilst I played the lover, is only too glad
+to get rid of her. At the same time, he is afraid to fight me, and
+ashamed to say so. Therefore, he impudently pretends to pity me for
+being his gull in the matter. But I will stop that."
+
+"Conolly is a particular friend of mine, Douglas, Let us drop the
+subject, if you dont mind."
+
+"If he is your friend, of course I have nothing more to say. I think I
+will turn in here and dine. Good-evening."
+
+They parted without any salutation: and Douglas entered the restaurant
+and dined alone, he came out an hour later in improved spirits, and
+began to consider whether he would go to the theatre or venture into his
+club. He was close to a lamp at a corner of Leicester Square when he
+stopped to debate the point with himself; and in his preoccupation he
+did not notice a four-wheeled cab going slowly past him, carrying a lady
+in an old white opera cloak. This was Mrs. Leith Fairfax, who,
+recognizing him, called to the cabman to drive a little past the lamp
+and stop.
+
+"Good heavens!" she said in a half-whisper: "you here! What madness
+possessed you to come back?"
+
+"I had no further occasion to stay away."
+
+"How coolly you say so! You have iron nerves, all you Douglases. I have
+heard all, and I know what you have suffered. How soon will you leave
+London?"
+
+"I have no intention of leaving it at present."
+
+"But you cannot stay here."
+
+"Pray why not? Is not London large enough for any man who does not live
+by the breath of the world?"
+
+"Out of the question, Mr. Douglas. Absolutely out of the question. You
+_must_ go away for a year at the very least. You must yield something to
+propriety."
+
+"I shall yield nothing. I can do without any section of society that may
+feel called upon to do without me."
+
+"Oh, you must subdue that imperious nature of yours for your mother's
+sake if not for your own. Besides, you have been very wicked and
+reckless and daring, just like a Douglas. You ought to do penance with a
+good grace. I may conclude, since you are here, that Elinor McQuinch's
+story is true as far as the facts go."
+
+"I have not heard her story."
+
+"It is only that you have parted from--you know."
+
+"That is true. Can I gratify your curiosity in any other particular?"
+
+"Strive not to let yourself be soured, Mr. Douglas. I shudder when I
+think of what you have undergone at the hands of one woman. There! I
+will not allude to it again."
+
+"You will do wisely, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. What I have suffered, I have
+suffered. I desire no pity, and will endure none."
+
+"That is so like yourself. I must hurry on to Covent Garden, or I shall
+be late. Will you come and see me quietly some day before you go? I am
+never at home to any one on Tuesdays; but if you come at about five,
+Caroline will let you in. It will be dark: nobody will see you. We can
+have a chat then."
+
+"Thank you," said Douglas, coldly, stepping back, and raising his hat,
+"I shall not intrude on you. Good-evening."
+
+She waved her hand at him; and the cab departed. He walked quickly back
+to Charles Street, and called his servant.
+
+"I suppose no one has called?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Mrs. Douglas came very shortly after you went out. She wishes
+you to go to the Square this evening, sir."
+
+"This evening? I am afraid--Buckstone."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Is she looking well?"
+
+"A little tired, sir. But quite well, I have no doubt."
+
+"How much of the luggage have you unpacked?"
+
+"Only your portmanteau, sir. I thought----"
+
+"So much the better. Pack it again. I am going to Brussels to-night.
+Find out about the trains. I shall want you to take a hansom and take a
+note to Chester Square; but come back at once without waiting to be
+spoken to."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+Douglas then sat down and wrote the note.
+
+  "My dear Mother:
+
+  "I am sorry I was out when you called. I did not expect you, as I
+  am only passing through London on my way to Brussels. I am anxious
+  to get clear of this vile city, and so shall start to-night.
+  Buckstone tells me you are looking well; and this assurance must
+  content me for the present, as I find it impossible to go to you.
+  You were quite right in warning me against what has happened; but
+  it is all past and broken off now, and I am still as ever,
+
+                                     "Your affectionate son,
+                                               "SHOLTO DOUGLAS."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+
+One day Eliza, out of patience, came to Mrs. Myers, and said:
+
+"A' thin, maam, will you come up and spake to Miss Conolly. She's rasin
+ructions above stairs."
+
+"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs. Myers. "Cant you keep her quiet?"
+
+"Arra, how can I kape her quiet, an she cryin an roarin, dyin an
+desarted?"
+
+"Ask Mrs. Forster to go in and coax her to stop."
+
+"Mrs. Forsther's at dhuddher ind o the town. Whisht! There she is,
+callin me. Youll have to gup to her, maam. Faith I wont go next or near
+her."
+
+"There's no use in my going up, Eliza. What can I do?"
+
+Eliza had nothing to suggest. "I'm sure, maam," she pleaded, "if she
+wont mind you, she wont mind me--bad manners to her!"
+
+Mrs. Myers hesitated. The lodger became noisier.
+
+"I spose Ive got to go," said Mrs. Myers, plaintively. She went upstairs
+and found Susanna lying on the sofa, groaning, with a dressing-gown and
+a pair of thick boots on.
+
+"What _is_ the matter with you, Miss Susan? Youre goin on fit to raise
+the street."
+
+"For God's sake go and get something for me. Make the doctor do
+something. I'm famishing. I must be poisoned."
+
+"Lord forbid!"
+
+"Look at me. I cant eat anything. Oh! I cant even drink. I tell you I am
+dying of thirst."
+
+"Well, Miss Susan, thers plenty for you to eat and drink."
+
+"What is the good of that, when I can neither eat nor drink? Nothing
+will stay inside me. If I could only swallow brandy, I shouldnt care. I
+thought I could die drunk. Oh! Send Eliza out for some laudanum. I cant
+stand this: I'll kill myself."
+
+"Be quiet, Miss Susan: youll be better presently. Whats the use of
+talking-about the doctor? He says youll not be able to drink for days,
+and that you will get your health back in consequence. You are doing
+yourself no good by screeching like that, and you are ruining me and my
+house."
+
+"Your house is all you care about. Curse you! I hope you may die
+deserted yourself. Dont go away. _Dear_ Aunt Sally, you wont leave me
+here alone, will you? If you do, I'll scream like a hundred devils."
+
+"I dont know what to do with you," said Mrs. Myers, crying. "Youll drive
+me as mad as yourself. Why did I ever let you into this house?"
+
+"Oh, bother! Are _you_ beginning to howl now? Have you any sardines, or
+anything spicy? I think I could eat some salted duck. No, I couldnt,
+though. Go for the doctor. There must be something that will do me good.
+What use is he if he can't set me right? All I want is something that
+will make me able to drink a tumbler of brandy."
+
+"The Lord help you! Praise goodness! here's Mrs. Forster coming up.
+Whatll she think of you if you keep moaning like that? Mrs. Forster:
+will you step in here and try to quiet her a bit? She's clean mad."
+
+"Come here," cried Susanna, as Marian entered. "Come and sit beside me.
+You may get out, you old cat: I dont want you any longer."
+
+"Hush, pray," said Marian, putting her bonnet aside and sitting down by
+the sofa. "What is the matter?"
+
+"The same as last night, only a great deal worse," said Susanna,
+shutting her eyes and turning her head aside. "It's all up with me this
+time, Mrs. Ned. I'm dying, not of drink, but of the want of it. Is that
+fiend of a woman gone?"
+
+"Yes. You ought not to wound her as you did just now. She has been very
+kind to you."
+
+"I dont care. Oh, dear me, I wonder how long this is going to last?"
+
+"Shall I go for the doctor?"
+
+"No; what can he do? Stay with me. I wish I could sleep or eat."
+
+"You will be better soon. The doctor says that Nature is making an
+effort to rescue you from your habit by making it impossible for you to
+drink. Try and be patient. Will you not take off those heavy boots?"
+
+"No, I cant feel my feet without them. I shall never be better," said
+Susanna, writhing impatiently. "I'm done for. How old are you? You
+neednt mind telling me. I shall soon be beyond repeating it."
+
+"I was twenty-five in June last"
+
+"I am only twenty-nine. I started at eighteen, and got to the top of the
+tree in seven years. I came down quicker than I went up. I might have
+gone on easily for fifteen years more, only for drinking champagne. I
+wish I had my life to live over again: you wouldnt catch me playing
+burlesque. If I had got the chance, I know I could have played tragedy
+or real Italian opera. I had to work hard at first; and they wont fill
+my place, very readily: thats one comfort. My cleverness was my ruin.
+Ned was not half so quick. It used to take him months to learn things
+that I picked up offhand, and yet you see how much better he has done
+than I."
+
+"Do not disturb yourself with vain regrets. Think of something else.
+Shall we talk about Marmaduke?"
+
+"No, I dont particularly care to. Somehow, at my pass, one thinks most
+about one's self, and about things that happened long ago. People that I
+came to know later on, like Bob, seem to be slipping away from me. There
+was a baritone in my father's company, a tremendous man, with shining
+black eyes, and a voice like a great bell--quite pretty at the top,
+though: he must have been sixty at least; and he was very fat; but he
+was the most dignified man I ever saw. You should have heard him do the
+Duke in Lucrezia Borgia, or sing Pro Peccatis from Rossini's Stabat
+Mater! I was ten years old when he was with us, and my grand ambition
+was to sing with him when I grew up. He would shake his head if he saw
+Susanetta now. I would rather hear him sing three bars than have ten
+visits from Bob. Oh, dear! I thought this cursed pain was getting
+numbed, but it is worse than ever."
+
+"Try to keep from thinking of it. I have often wondered that you never
+speak of your child. I have heard from my friend in London that it is
+very well and happy."
+
+"Oh, you mean Lucy. She was a lively little imp."
+
+"Would you not like to see her again?"
+
+"No, thank you. She is well taken care of, I suppose. I am glad she is
+out of my hands. She was a nuisance to me, and I am not a very edifying
+example for her. What on earth should I want to see her for?"
+
+"I wish I had the good fortune to be a mother."
+
+Susanna laughed. "Never say die, Mrs. Ned. You dont know what may happen
+to you yet. There now! I know, without opening my eyes, that you are
+shocked, bless your delicacy! How do you think I should have got through
+life if I'd been thin-skinned? What good does it do you? You are pining
+away in this hole of a lodging. You squirm when Mrs. Myers tries to be
+friendly with you; and I sometimes laugh at your expression when Eliza
+treats you to a little blarney about your looks. Now _I_ would just as
+soon gossip and swear at her as go to tea with the Queen."
+
+"I am not shocked at all. You see as badly as other people when your
+eyes are shut."
+
+"They will soon shut up forever. I half wish they would do it at once, I
+wonder whether I will get any ease before there is an end of me."
+
+"Perhaps the end of you on earth will be a good beginning for you
+somewhere else, Susanna."
+
+"Thank you. Now the conversation has taken a nice, cheerful turn, hasnt
+it? Well, I cant be much worse off than I am at present. Anyhow, I must
+take my chance."
+
+"Would you like to see a clergyman? I dont want to alarm you: I am sure
+you will get better: the doctor told me so; but I will go for one if you
+like."
+
+"No: I dont want to be bothered--at least not yet. Besides, I hate
+clergymen, all except your brother, the doctor, who fell in love with
+me."
+
+"Very well. I only suggested it in case you should feel uneasy."
+
+"I dont feel quite easy; but I dont care sufficiently about it to make
+a fuss. It will be time enough when I am actually at death's door. All I
+know is that if there is a place of punishment in the next world, it is
+very unfair, considering what we suffer in this. I didnt make myself or
+my circumstances. I think I will try to sleep. I am half dead as it is
+with pain and weariness. Dont go until I am asleep."
+
+"I will not. Let me get you another pillow."
+
+"No," said Susanna, drowsily: "dont touch me."
+
+Marian sat listening to her moaning respiration for nearly half an hour.
+Then, having some letters to write, she went to her own room to fetch
+her desk. Whilst she was looking for her pen, which was mislaid, she
+heard Susanna stirring. The floor creaked, and there was a clink as of a
+bottle. A moment later, Marian, listening with awakened suspicion, was
+startled by the sound of a heavy fall mingled with a crash of breaking
+glass. She ran back into the next room just in time to see Susanna, on
+her hands and knees near the stove, lift her white face for a moment,
+displaying a bleeding wound on her temple, and then stumble forward and
+fall prone on the carpet. Marian saw this; saw the walls of the room
+revolve before her; and fainted upon the sofa, which she had reached
+without knowing how.
+
+When she recovered the doctor was standing by her; and Eliza was picking
+up fragments of the broken bottle. The smell of the spilled brandy
+reminded her of what had happened.
+
+"Where is Miss Conolly?" she said, trying to collect her wits. "I am
+afraid I fainted at the very moment when I was most wanted."
+
+"All right," said the doctor. "Keep quiet; youll be well presently. Dont
+be in a hurry to talk."
+
+Marian obeyed; and the doctor, whose manner was kind, though different
+to that of the London physicians to whom she was accustomed, presently
+left the room and went upstairs. Eliza was howling like an animal. The
+sound irritated Marian even at that pass: she despised the whole Irish
+race on its account. She could hardly keep her temper as she said:
+
+"Is Miss Conolly seriously hurt?"
+
+"Oa, blessed hour! she's kilt. Her head's dhreepin wid blood."
+
+Marian shuddered and felt faint again.
+
+"Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she done it at all, at all. She
+must ha fell agin the stoave. It's the dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, that
+brought her to it. It's little I knew what that wairy bottle o brandy
+would do to her, or sorra bit o me would ha got it."
+
+"You did very wrong in getting it, Eliza."
+
+"What could I do, miss, when she axed me?"
+
+"There is no use in crying over it now. It would have been kinder to
+have kept it from her."
+
+"Sure I know. Many's the time I tould her so. But she could talk the
+birds off the bushes, and it wint to me heart to refuse her. God send
+her well out of her throuble!"
+
+Here the doctor returned. "How are you now?" he said.
+
+"I think I am better. Pray dont think of me. How is she?"
+
+"It's all over. Hallo! Come, Miss Biddy! you go and cry in the kitchen,"
+he added, pushing Eliza, who had set up an intolerable lamentation, out
+of the room.
+
+"How awful!" said Marian, stunned. "Are you quite sure? She seemed
+better this morning."
+
+"Quite sure," said the doctor, smiling grimly at the question. "She was
+practically dead when they carried her upstairs, poor girl. It's easier
+to kill a person than you think, Mrs. Forster, although she tried so
+long and so hard without succeeding. But she'd have done it. She'd have
+been starved into health only to drink herself back into starvation, and
+the end would have been a very bad one. Better as it is, by far!"
+
+"Doctor: I must go out and telegraph the news to London. I know one of
+her relatives there."
+
+The doctor shook his head. "I will telegraph if you like, but you must
+stay here. Youre not yet fit to go out."
+
+"I am afraid I have not been well lately," said Marian. "I want to
+consult you about myself--not now, of course, after what has happened,
+but some day when you have leisure to call."
+
+"You can put off consulting me just as long as you please; but this
+accident is no reason why you shouldnt do it at once. If there is
+anything wrong, the sooner you have advice--you neednt have it from me
+if you prefer some other doctor--the better."
+
+Upon this encouragement Marian described to him her state of health. He
+seemed a little amused, asked her a few questions, and finally told her
+coolly that she might expect to become a mother next fall. She was so
+utterly dismayed that he began to look stern in anticipation of an
+appeal to him to avert this; an appeal which he had often had to refuse
+without ever having succeeded in persuading a woman that it was futile,
+or convincing her that it was immoral. But Marian spared him this: she
+was overwhelmed by the new certainty that a reconciliation with her
+husband was no longer possible. Her despair at the discovery shewed her
+for the first time how homesick she really was.
+
+When the doctor left, Mrs. Myers came. She exclaimed; wept; and gossiped
+until two police officers arrived. Marian related to them what she had
+seen of the accident, and became indignant at the apparent incredulity
+with which they questioned her and examined the room. After their
+departure Eliza came to her, and invited her to go upstairs and see the
+body of Susanna. She refused with a shudder; but when she saw that the
+girl was hurt as well as astonished, it occurred to her that avoidance
+of the dead might, if it came to Conolly's knowledge, be taken by him to
+indicate a lack of kind feeling toward his sister. So she overcame her
+repugnance, and went with Eliza. The window-shades were drawn down, and
+the dressing-table had been covered with a white cloth, on which stood a
+plaster statuet of the Virgin and Child, with two lighted candles before
+it. To please Eliza, who had evidently made these arrangements, Marian
+whispered a few words of approval, and turned curiously to the bed. The
+sight made her uncomfortable. The body was decently laid out, its
+wounded forehead covered with a bandage, and Eliza's rosary and crucifix
+on its breast; but it did not, as Marian had hoped, suggest peace or
+sleep. It was not Susanna, but a vacant thing that had always underlain
+her, and which, apart from her, was ghastly.
+
+"She died a good Catholic anyhow: the light o Heaven to her sowl!" said
+Eliza, whimpering, but speaking as though she expected and defied Marian
+to contradict her.
+
+"Amen," said Marian.
+
+"It's sure and sartin. There never was a Conolly a Prodestan yet."
+
+Marian left the room, resolving to avoid such sights in future. Mrs.
+Myers was below, anxious to resume the conversation which the visit of
+the police had interrupted. Marian could not bear this. To escape, she
+left the house, and went to her only friend in New York, Mrs. Crawford,
+whose frequent visits she had never before ventured to return. To her
+she narrated the events of the day.
+
+"This business of the poor girl killing herself is real shocking," said
+Mrs. Crawford. "Perhaps your husband will come over here now, and give
+you a chance of making up with him."
+
+"If he does, I must leave New York, Mrs. Crawford."
+
+"What are you frightened of? If he is as good a man as you say, you
+ought to be glad to see him. I'm sure he would have you back. Depend on
+it, he has been longing for you all this time; and when he sees you
+again as pretty as ever, he will open his arms to you. He wont like you
+any the worse for being a little bashful with him after such an
+escapade."
+
+"I would not meet him for any earthly consideration. After what the
+doctor told me to-day, I should throw myself out of the window, I think,
+if I heard him coming upstairs. I should like to see him, if I were
+placed where he could not see me; but face him I _could_ not."
+
+"Well, my dear, I think it's right silly of you, though the little
+stranger--it will be a regular stranger--is a difficulty: there's no two
+ways about that."
+
+"Besides, I have been thinking over things alone in my room; and I see
+that it is better for him to be free. I know he was disappointed in me.
+He is not the sort of man to be tied down to such an ignorant woman as
+I."
+
+"What does he expect from a woman? If youre not good enough for him, he
+must be very hard to please."
+
+Marian shook her head. "He is capable of pitying and being considerate
+with me," she said: "I know that. But I am not sure that it is a good
+thing to be pitied and forborne with. There is something humiliating in
+it. I suppose I am proud, as you often tell me; but I should like to be
+amongst women what he is amongst men, supported by my own strength. Even
+within the last three weeks I have felt myself becoming more independent
+in my isolation. I was afraid to go about the streets by myself at
+first. Now I am getting quite brave. That unfortunate woman did me good.
+Taking care of her, and being relied on so much by her, has made me rely
+on myself more. Thanks to you, I have not much loneliness to complain
+of. And yet I have been utterly cast down sometimes. I cannot tell what
+is best. Sometimes I think that independence is worth all the solitary
+struggling it costs. Then again I remember how free from real care I was
+at home, and yearn to be back there. It is so hard to know what one
+ought to do."
+
+"You have been more lively since you got such a pleasant answer to your
+telegram. I wish the General would offer to let me keep my own money and
+as much more as I wanted. Not that he is close-fisted, poor man! That
+reminds me to tell you that you must stay the evening. He wants to see
+you as bad as can be--never stops asking me to bring you up some time
+when he's at home. You mustnt excuse yourself: the General will see you
+safe back to your place."
+
+"But if visitors come, Mrs. Crawford?"
+
+"Nobody will come. If they do, they will be glad to see you. What do
+they know about you? You cant live like a hermit all your life."
+
+Marian, sooner than go back to Mrs. Myers's, stayed; and the evening
+passed pleasantly enough, although three visitors came: a gentleman,
+with his wife and brother. The lady, besides eating, and replying to the
+remarks with which Mrs. Crawford occasionally endeavored to entertain
+her, did nothing but admire Marian's dress and listen to her
+conversation. Her husband was polite; but Marian, comparing him with the
+English gentlemen of her acquaintance, thought him rather oppressively
+respectful, and too much given to conversing in little speeches. He had
+been in London; and he described, in a correct narrative style, his
+impressions of St. Paul's, the Tower, and Westminster Palace. His
+brother fell in love with Mrs. Forster at first sight, and sat silent
+until she remarked to him how strangely the hotel omnibuses resembled
+old English stage coaches, when he became recklessly talkative and soon
+convinced her that American society produced quite as choice a compound
+of off-handedness and folly as London could. But all this was amusing
+after her long seclusion; and once or twice, when the thought of dead
+Susanna came back to her, she was ashamed to be so gay.
+
+No one was stirring at Mrs. Myers's when she returned. They had left her
+lamp in the entry; and she took it upstairs with her, going softly lest
+she should disturb the household. Susanna's usual call and petition for
+a few minutes talk was no longer to be feared, for Susanna was now only
+a memory. Marian tried not to think of the body in the room above.
+Though she was free from the dread which was just then making Eliza
+tremble, cry, and cross herself to sleep, she disliked the body all the
+more as she distinguished it from the no-longer existent woman: a feat
+quite beyond the Irish peasant girl. She sat down and began to think.
+The Crawfords and their friends had been very nice to her: no doubt the
+lady would not have been civil had she known all; but, then, the lady
+was a silly person. They were not exactly what Marian considered the
+best sort of people; but New York was not London. She would not stay at
+Mrs. Myers's: her income would enable her to lodge more luxuriously. If
+she could afford to furnish some rooms for herself, she would get some
+curtains she had seen one day lately when shopping with Mrs. Crawford.
+They would go well with----
+
+A noise in the room overhead: Susanna's death chamber. Marian gave a
+great start, and understood what Eliza meant by having "the life put
+across in her." She listened, painfully conscious of the beats of her
+heart. The noise came again: a footstep, or a chair pushed back, or--she
+was not certain what. Could Mrs. Myers be watching at the bedside? It
+was not unlikely. Could Susanna be recovering--finding herself laid out
+for dead, and making a struggle for life up there alone? That would be
+inconvenient, undesirable: even Marian forgot just then to consider that
+obvious view wrong and unfeeling; but, anyhow, she must go and see, and,
+if necessary, help. She wished there were some one to keep her company;
+but was ashamed to call Eliza; and she felt that she would be as well by
+herself as with Mrs. Myers. There was nothing for it but to take a
+candle and go alone. No repetition of the noise occurred to daunt her
+afresh; and she reached the landing above almost reassured, and thinking
+how odd it was that the idea of finding somebody--Susanna--there,
+though it had come as a fear, was fading out as a disappointed hope.
+
+Finding herself loth to open the door, she at last set her teeth and did
+it swiftly, as if to surprise someone within. She did surprise some one:
+her husband, sitting by his sister's body. He started violently on
+seeing her, and rose; whilst she, mechanically shutting the door without
+turning, leaned back against it with her hand behind her, and looked at
+him open-mouthed.
+
+"Marian," he said, in a quite unexpectedly apprehensive tone, putting up
+his hand deprecatingly: "remember, here"--indicating the figure on the
+bed--"is an end of hypocrisy! No unrealities now: I cannot bear them.
+Let us have no trash of magnanimous injured husband, erring but
+repentant wife. We are man and woman, nothing less and nothing more.
+After our marriage you declined intercourse on those terms; and I
+accepted your conventions to please you. Now I refuse all conventions:
+you have broken them yourself. If you will not have the truth between
+us, avoid me until I have subsided into the old groove again. There!" he
+added, wincing, "dont blush. What have you to blush for? It was the only
+honest thing you ever did."
+
+"I dont understand."
+
+"No," he said gently, but with a gesture of despair; "how could you? You
+never did, and you never will."
+
+"If you mean to accuse me of having deceived you," said Marian, greatly
+relieved and encouraged by a sense of being now the injured party, "you
+are most unjust. I dont excuse myself for behaving wickedly, but I
+_never_ deceived you or told you a falsehood. Never. When he first spoke
+wrongly to me, I told you at once; and you did not care."
+
+"Not a straw. It was nothing to me that he loved you: the point was,
+did you love him? If not, then all was well: if so, our marriage was
+already at an end. But you mistake my drift. Falsehood is something more
+than fibbing. You never told fibs--except the two or three dozen a week
+that mere politeness required and which you never thought of counting;
+but you never told me the truth, Marian, because you never told your
+self the truth. You told me what you told yourself, I grant you; and so
+you were not conscious of deceit. I dont reproach you. Surely you can
+bear to be told what every honest man tells himself almost daily."
+
+"I suppose I have deserved it," said Marian; "but unkind words from you
+are a new experience. You are very unlike yourself to-night."
+
+He repressed, with visible effort, an explosion of impatience. "On the
+contrary, I am like myself--I actually am myself to-night, I hope." Then
+the explosion came. "Is it utterly impossible for you to say something
+real to me? Only learn to do that, and you may have ten love romances
+every year with other men, if you like. Be anything rather than a
+ladylike slave and liar. There! as usual, the truth makes you shrink
+from me. As I said before, I refuse further intercourse on such terms.
+They have proved unkind in the long run."
+
+"You spoke plainly enough to her," said Marian, glancing at the bed,
+"but in the long run it did her no good."
+
+"She would have laughed me to scorn if I had minced matters, for she
+never deceived herself. Society, by the power of the purse, set her to
+nautch-girl's work, and forbade her the higher work that was equally
+within her power. Being enslaved and debauched in this fashion, how
+could she be happy except when she was not sober? It was her own
+immediate interest to drink; it was her tradesman's interest that she
+should drink; it was her servants' interest that she should be pleased
+with them for getting drink for her. She was clever, good-natured, more
+constant to her home and her man than you, a living fountain of innocent
+pleasure as a dancer, singer, and actress; and here she lies, after
+mischievously spending her talent in a series of entertainments too dull
+for hell and too debased for any better place, dead of a preventable
+disease, chiefly because most of the people she came in contact with had
+a direct pecuniary interest in depraving and poisoning her. Aye, look at
+her! with the cross on her breast, the virgin mother in plaster looking
+on from where she kept her mirror when she was alive, and the people
+outside complacently saying 'Serve her right!'"
+
+Marian feared for a moment that he would demolish Eliza's altar by
+hurling the chair through it. "Dont, Ned," she said, timidly, putting
+her hand on his arm.
+
+"Dont what?" he said, taken aback. She drew her hand away and retreated
+a step, coloring at the wifely liberty she had permitted herself to
+take. "I beg your pardon. I thought--I thought you were going to take
+the cross away. No," she added quickly, seeing him about to speak, and
+anticipating a burst of scepticism: "it is not that; but the servant is
+an Irish girl--a Roman Catholic. She put it there; and she meant well,
+and will be hurt if it is thrown aside."
+
+"And you think it better that she should remain in ignorance of what
+educated people think about her superstition than that she should suffer
+the mortification of learning that her opinions are not those of all
+the world! However, I had no such intention. Eliza's idol is a
+respectable one as idols go."
+
+There was a pause. Then Marian said: "It must have been a great shock to
+you when you came and found what had happened. I am very sorry. But had
+we not better go downrs? It seems so unfeeling, somehow, to talk
+without minding her. I suppose you consider that foolish; but I think
+you are upset by it yourself."
+
+"You see a change in me, then?"
+
+"You are not quite yourself, I think."
+
+"I tell you again that I _am_ myself at last. You do not seem to like
+the real man any better than the unreal: I am afraid you will not have
+me on any terms. Well, let us go downstairs, since you prefer it."
+
+"Oh, not unless you wish it too," said Marian, a little bewildered.
+
+He took her candle and led the way out without another word or a look at
+the bed. Marian, as he stood aside to let her go downstairs before him,
+was suddenly seized with a fantastic fear that he was going to kill her.
+She did not condescend to hurry or look back; but she only felt safe
+when they were in her room, and he no longer behind her.
+
+"Sit down," he said, placing the candle on the mantelpiece. She sat down
+at the table, and he stood on the hearthrug. "Now," said he, "about the
+future. Are you coming back? Will you give the life at Holland Park
+another trial?"
+
+"I cannot," she said, bending her head almost on her hands. "I should
+disgrace you. And there is another reason."
+
+"It is not in your power, nor in that of all London, to disgrace me if
+I do not feel disgraced. It is useless to say that you cannot. If you
+say 'I will not,' then that will settle it. What is the other reason?"
+
+"It is not yet born. But it will be."
+
+"That is no reason to me. Do you think I shall be a worse father to it
+than he would have been?"
+
+"No, indeed. But it would be unfair to you." He made an impatient
+gesture. "I dont understand you, Ned. Would you not rather be free?"
+
+"Freedom is a fool's dream. I am free. I can divorce you if I please: if
+I live with you again it will be by my own choice. You are free too: you
+have burnt your boats, and are rid of fashionable society, of your
+family, your position, your principles, and all the rest of your chains
+forever. You are declassed by your own act; and if you can frankly give
+a sigh of relief and respect yourself for breaking loose from what is
+called your duty, then you are the very woman I want for a wife. I may
+not be the very man you want for a husband; but at all events you are
+free to choose, free to change after you choose if you choose me, free
+anyhow; for I will divorce you if you refuse; and then you will
+be--independent--your own mistress--absolute proprietor of your own
+child--everything that married women and girls envy. You have a
+foretaste of that freedom now. What is it worth? One or two conditions
+more or less to comply with, that is all: nature and society still have
+you hard and fast; the main rules of the game are inviolable."
+
+"I think it is a good thing to be free," said Marian, timidly.
+
+"That means 'I will not.'"
+
+"Not 'will not'; but I think I had better not."
+
+"A characteristic distinction, Marian. I once thought, like you, that
+freedom was the one condition to be gained at all cost and hazard. My
+favorite psalm was that nonsense of John Hay's:
+
+  'For always in thine eyes, O Liberty,
+  Shines that high light whereby the world is saved;
+  And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee.'
+
+And she does slay us. Now I am for the fullest attainable life. That
+involves the least endurable liberty. You dont see that yet. Very well:
+you have liberty--liberty to hurt as well as help yourself; and you are
+right to try whether it will not make you happier than wedlock has
+done."
+
+"It was not your fault; and it is very good of you to offer to take me
+back, I know. Will my refusing disappoint you at all, Ned?"
+
+"I am prepared for it. You may refuse or accept: I foresee how I shall
+adapt myself to either set of circumstances."
+
+"Yes, I forgot. You foresee everything," said Marian, with some
+bitterness.
+
+"No: I only face what I see. That is why you do not like living with me.
+Good-bye. Do not look troubled: we shall meet again to-morrow and often
+afterward, I hope; but to-night makes an end of the irrational knot."
+
+"Good-night," said Marian rather forlornly, after a pause, proffering
+her hand.
+
+"One folly more," he said, taking her in his arms and kissing her. She
+made no resistance. "If such a moment could be eternal, we should never
+say good-bye," he added. "As it is, we are wise not to tempt Fortune by
+asking her for such another."
+
+"You are too wise, Ned," she said, suffering him to replace her gently
+in the chair.
+
+"It is impossible to be too wise, dearest," he said, and unhesitatingly
+turned and left her.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Irrational Knot, by George Bernard Shaw
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